#I’ve been thinking about this for like … a month.

[ceesimz]

growing pains

how does your relationship change, years down the line, with two kids in the picture? (angst + lotttt of fluff. like, 16k of it.)

When it’s right, it’s right. 

That’s something you believed in and always had done. If something feels right, let it happen. Don’t fight it. It led you down many paths, of which were almost always successful. 

Your favourite path, however, was how right it felt when you sat across from Alexia on the first date. How easy it was to laugh and joke with her, to have meaningful conversations about the past, the present, and the future. How quick you decided she was the one for you; in both your relationship, and in parenthood. Coming to the decision of having children with her was like breathing and blinking, it was natural for you. You didn’t want anyone else, didn’t believe there was another person in the world that you’d want to navigate the highs and lows with. 

No matter what happened, no matter how hard it got, not a single part of you doubted you wouldn’t get through it together.

That didn’t mean the first blip didn’t hurt any less, didn’t make you panic or overthink everything any less. The first one might have been the scariest to get through, simply because of the unfamiliarity and unknown of it. And thankfully, it wasn’t anybody’s fault, it was a combination of many things that built up continuously until it all erupted like a volcano. But realising that and accepting that in the moment was an impossible task when it felt like the world was ending and the one person meant to be on your side no matter what was fighting against you.

Your first child, Anaís, didn’t adjust well to moving into her own room without her two parents, like any baby did. Some adapted quicker than others, whilst ones like Anaís just couldn’t bear it. Her reaction of screaming and crying, exerting herself and dropping into a cycle of over-exhaustion whilst being too unsettled to sleep was one of the hardest things you had ever witnessed. The same went for Alexia too.

However, at the one moment you should have been there for each other and collectively there for your daughter, your love got in the way. It sounded backwards, but it was the truth. You both cared for the six month old immeasurably, and that led to your solutions causing you to clash in figuring out what was best for the shrieking baby that just could not settle.

“She won’t stop crying, I’m not just going to ignore her!” 

Alexia's argument was valid, of course it was. Self-soothing was apparently something important to learn in hand with this adjustment for Anaís, the only thing was that it went against every parental instinct in existence, and Alexia just couldn’t handle it. 

You couldn’t either, and she would have recognised that if she took a second to step back and think rationally about the situation you found yourselves. However, all rational thinking had flown out the window for you both, her particularly, because there was no rational thinking to be done when your child was screaming like she was and igniting every ounce of concern either of you had to give.

“We’re not ignoring her, I’ve told you this. It’s an important step, Ale. We’re right here, if there’s somethi-”

“There is something wrong with her! Can’t you hear her?” You huffed and buried your head in your hands where you sat on the edge of the bed, baby monitor beside you with the brunette pacing back and forth in front of you. 

“Stop. Of course I can hear her. This isn’t easy for me either, stop putting the blame on me.” 

You were seconds away from getting up and walking out the room to avoid her misplaced anger. With every shout from her, every exclamation, your emotional stamina was wearing thin; initially you understood where it was coming from, a place of love and fear, it was natural. But each time she raised her voice and grumbled under her breath, you were growing irritated with her at the immature display of emotion. 

The sounds of Anaís’ discomfort was unbearable – every scream made your skin crawl and your heart clench excruciatingly. In situations like this, where you were on the edge of a nervous breakdown, Alexia would be the first person you’d go to. Actually, nevermind that, she would already be there before you reached the edge. She’d be there with open arms and endless words of reassurances, ready to remind you that you weren’t losing your mind and things were solvable. 

Without her there to tell you all that, things didn’t seem so simple and solvable like they usually did. Everything just seemed so much worse. You felt lost without her on your team. 

“I’m not putting the blame on you.” She grumbled, leaning back against the wall by the door and letting out a disapproving sigh that grated at you. A minute or two passed by of silence, the only sounds being Anaís’ whimpers and cries that never ceased. “I’m tired of this, it’s unfair. I’m going in.”

You had to grab onto her hand before she could swing the door open in her aggression, keeping a tight grip when she tried to shake it off.

“Don’t go against me on this, Alexia. It’s no easier for you than it is for me, please don’t rebuttal against it.” You half-warned, half-begged. Only for her to scoff in your face.

“No, I am her parent too, I get to make important decisions too. And I am deciding that this is too much for my daughter.”

She swiped her wrist out of your grasp and stormed out the room, reaching Anaís’ nursery in four long strides and rushing in like a firefighter. After watching her go and hearing what she had to say, you slammed the bedroom door shut behind her. 

At first, your blood boiled at the sheer amount of audacity she had to say ‘her’ daughter, like the decisions you were making had any impact on your position as Anaís parent. Quite frankly, it disgusted you that she chose to say that. Never did you think she’d use such a delicate thing to spite you, especially when you worried constantly about if you were good enough for the sweet little baby whose life depended on you. 

Yet, you could hear every soft and soothing word she sweetly murmured to your daughter through the baby monitor. And for a moment, you were jealous. Jealous of your own child for being on the receiving end of the care Alexia usually gave to you. An intense jealousy that consumed you, seeped into your soul, and took over you like your love was some kind of possession. 

That was when you realised something had to change in this situation. 

This wasn’t the way you wanted to raise your child. Even though there wasn’t even the slightest possible chance Anaís would remember it, you knew the effect these kinds of things had on children, and both you and Alexia had sworn that, no matter what, Anaís and any future children would never know what it was like to grow up in a home that wasn’t drowning in love. Not even for just a second.

You took a deep breath, or ten, and tried to relax the tension in your shoulders. They were nearly up to your ears with stress, you could feel the knots beginning to build in your muscles across your back, as well as a stress headache building up ferociously.

Alexia was the best coparent you could ask for, how she was acting in the other room when she thought no one was listening said all that needed to be said. Anaís’ reaction wasn’t how you expected her to be, and it became very clear that a different approach was needed.

Only you and Alexia know your child. Only the two of you knew what was best, not some random articles and forums. So you took another breath, looked at the love of your life on the screen of the monitor, the mother of your child, heard how perfect she was with your baby, and it all clicked. She was on your team, you were both just too clouded to remember that. Clouded because you had made your daughter the top priority, clouded for the best reason, most important reason. You were still outrageously frustrated at her and the comment she made, but she’d make her regret known, you could hear it in the quiet sniffles that sounded through the small monitor sporadically.

Down the microphone of the baby monitor, Alexia was still quietly mumbling to a significantly calmer Anaís, and it warmed your heart. You held down the button to get the microphone on your end to work, waiting for a second as Alexia finished her rambling and placed a gentle kiss to the tired baby’s head, punctuated with a swipe of her thumb against her own cheek to rid it of the wetness that had accumulated.

“Bring her back in here, Ale.” You told her, stifling a smile at the way she jumped a little at the unexpected voice in the room. She nodded though, and did as you said.

She looked a little sheepish as she walked in, her arms cradling Anaís and rocking her ever so slightly. You shuffled to sit back against the headboard and patted the space beside you for her to sit too. In her arms, Anaís was minutes away from falling asleep, finally. Meanwhile, the two of you had stress lines and dark eyebags that told a story in itself. One you wanted to end, so desperately. 

However, you weren’t going to be the one that gave in first. You deserved an apology and you could tell Alexia knew that with how she sat uncomfortably beside you, her guilt evidently eating away at her. The second she opened her mouth, you already knew you’d forgive her, and that she was the only person in the world you would navigate this pathway with.

It seemed Alexia felt that way too.

“I… am so sorry.” She whispered, accompanied by a sigh that was a lot gentler, quieter, not a spiteful one like earlier. 

Your eyes drifted to your daughter and remained unmoving, stuck on the slight up and down of her chest as she breathed and the flutter of her tiny eyelashes as she fought sleep once more. Alexia seemed to notice, and though she would keep Anaís in her arms forever if she could, the only other person she would let her go for is you. 

“Take her. She’s okay. She’ll fall asleep right away with you.” Her voice was so soft, the contrast of it then compared to before, it made your heart ache. 

You didn’t stay on that note too long as you tried to ignore the lump in your throat. Instead, you reached for your daughter instead, being careful to keep the peace that’d finally found her. Alexia lay her in your arms and you leaned back against the headboard, cuddling Anaís as close to you as you could get her. It wasn’t until now, with her in your hold, that you realised just how much this whole thing had affected you. There was no point in fighting off the overwhelm of emotions that started cascading over you. If Alexia felt guilty before, it increased by an astronomical amount when she saw the first glimmer of a tear stream down your cheek in the low light of the bedroom.

She let you have your moment with your baby, knowing it was the main thing that could ground you then, and she’d wait for her turn when you had the space for it in your mind. The brunette knew, after her earlier actions, that she was low on your list of priorities, that she understood. She made a low blow and hated herself for it.

“We’ll keep her in here for tonight. Try again another day.” You mumbled, closing your eyes and resting your forehead against Anaís as she began to doze off. Alexia nodded and left it at that, she could read between the lines of your words as you wrote the conversation off for the night. 

The light weight of your daughter, there was no greater comfort in the world. The second she was away from you, it felt like half your heart had gone with her; you only felt whole with her around, something you never expected to experience before becoming a parent. You simply weren’t you without your new little family. 

Time ticked on a little, it being so quiet in the room you could hear the hands of Alexia’s watch on her bedside table tick by. Anaís didn’t shuffle or stir once, she was almost always at peace with you, something that filled you with both pride and relief. It was enough of a remedy for the tumultuous turn the night had taken, that you leaned your head against Alexia’s shoulder with a tired exhale. The small action turned the midfielder’s whole mood around, unknowingly needing you just as much as you her. Even if sometimes you didn’t feel it, or you did but you rejected it, you would always need her. She’d always need you. There were some occasions where your reliance on each other overpowered your anger, you both needed to get better at recognising that. 

So even though you were still mad, you gladly leaned into her more when she wrapped an arm around your shoulders and placed a kiss on your temple.

“I’m sorry. More than you know.” Alexia murmured, and you didn’t even have to look at her to know there was a self-deprecating frown on her face. Normally you’d kiss it off her or brush the wrinkled lines away with your thumb, but you let this one linger a tad longer. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it and I could never mean it. I’m so sorry, amor. I swear.” 

“It really hurt, Alexia.” You blurted out. You didn’t know you had things to say, but there were words rolling off your tongue anyway. “Don’t ever use that against me again. You… made me feel like a bad mother and you’re the last person in the world that’s supposed to make me feel like that. It really did hurt.” 

Your voice cracked as you spoke, your eyes never moving from your daughter. Still, in your peripheral vision, you saw Alexia turn her head away for a second as she let out a sharp breath. Sharp because it felt like she’d been stabbed in the heart with your honesty, your much needed honesty, but painful nevertheless. It was entirely her fault, she knew that, and to know she had made you feel so wrecked was something she would never forget. It’d be on her mind for the next god knows however long, until she feels deserving to not be reminded of such idiocy, only as a result of you knowing you were a good parent. The best parent. Until you remembered that again, she’d be stuck wallowing in her regret forever. 

After she collected herself again, she turned back to you, attempting to discreetly wipe her tears away that’d come back when your voice wobbled with emotion you never should have felt in the first place. Her arm that was still around you hugged you tighter, and she repeatedly pressed her lips to your forehead as if she was trying to kiss away the hurt you described. 

“I’m sorry.” She whispered once more, suppressing a sob as all that ran through her mind was you, the offense you must have taken, the doubts that must be running rampant in your head, all these things you never should have to experience yet you did then because of her own stupid actions. “You are the best parent, I swear my life on that. On everything I have. There is no one else that could give Anaís the love you give to her. You’re the love of my life, the love of Anaís’ life. She looks at you like you’re the only person that exists, she adores you, and that’s because of how amazing you are as a mother to her. Look how she has settled now. You’re her favourite person in the world.”

Even though her earlier words still echoed in the background, something about the soothing, sincere way she apologised hit something inside you. This version of her was the version you knew, the one that knew exactly what you needed to hear and when, even if what you needed now was a result of her own wrongdoing. But she was human, she made mistakes, and despite the fact that what she said before rang deep, you knew she didn’t mean it. She wasn’t the type of woman to say something like that and mean every syllable, she couldn’t be further from the opposite if she tried. She was the type to love you when it was hard, to care for you when you pushed her away, and to give you the world when she herself didn’t have the strength to carry it. The important thing was that she tried, god she was the most determined person you’d ever met, and she’d be damned if she didn’t try her hardest to get you to forgive her. 

Hell, you’d made some choice words once or twice to her over the years, you wouldn’t be a good partner if you didn’t give her the same grace she always gave you, no matter what. This time, when tears came to your eyes once more, it was because of her words again, but for totally different reasons. Hearing her talk so warmly and honestly about what she thought of you as a parent never failed to strike you right in the chest.

“You really think that?” You sniffled, gazing down at your sleeping daughter through blurred vision and feeling the soft smile Alexia had to give rather than seeing it, her cheek pressed against yours. 

“I do. You are her entire world, amor.” The brunette replied without a shred of doubt. 

Her fingertips of the arm she had draped around your shoulders lightly trailed up and down your skin in a comforting gesture, yet another reason for the tears that quietly made their way down your cheeks. She noticed, but she didn’t speak. Instead, she chose to take the moment with you, a silent reconciliation where any further words weren’t necessary. The evening had been filled with frustration and, consequently, too many exchanges rife with vitriol that had led to this point. Now, with most of it behind you both, the tension began to dissolve and your focus could be averted back to the important things; your baby, and each other.

Anaís, despite her rosy cheeks and slightly runny nose, was calm again. And that calmness bled into you and Alexia, bringing the two of you down from your heightened states and relishing in the serenity in the room. A combination of Anaís’ muffled snores, Alexia’s steady and forever unwavering presence and hold, and the newfound stillness around meant you could breathe a little easier, think a little clearer. It provided a moment of much needed clarity, where you recognised that any challenge you came across, whether that be in parenthood, your relationship, or the two combined, you could get through them. 

When you woke up the next morning, you had a feeling you’d feel more sure and certain in your capabilities as a parent and partner, with a better sense of the strength you possessed to tackle any obstacles that cropped up in the future. Most importantly, however, you weren’t alone. Though you wished you didn’t have to go through these sorts of things, they provided an opportunity to grow, and you weren’t going to bypass that just to hold a grudge. You wanted to let her know that you were well on your way to forgiving her. 

“I love how she is sleeping like she didn’t nearly cause a war.” Alexia commented some time later, the pair of you breaking into very quiet laughter, fearful of disgruntling Anaís. “How beautiful she is, no?” 

“I know. But it’s a bit vain to say that, Ale, when she’s entirely your DNA and not mine.” You teased, grinning at the shake of her head and soft chuckle. 

“Nuestra pequeña. Qué afortunados somos.” Alexia stated ever so quietly, almost intelligibly, in complete awe. You shared the sentiment, a smile on your face when the brunette leaned down to graze her lips against the young girl’s forehead. 

“The luckiest.” You agreed in a breathy whisper, utterly consumed with love for your daughter, and the woman at your side. 

“I know she has to sleep in her room eventually, but for tonight, we have her in here. And maybe, I don’t know, we think of a different approach. It isn’t working for her and it’s not fair on any of us.” You nodded immediately, mind already reeling with idea after idea to make it an easier transition for everyone. Ultimately though, after the night that’d already been had, now wasn’t the time.

“We’ll figure it out tomorrow. We’re all exhausted.” Alexia hummed her agreement with a yawn for good measure. 

After a few more minutes of cuddles with your family, you cautiously put Anaís down into the cot next to your side of the bed. Having already done your own night routine long before the events that had occurred, you climbed into bed and lay on your side facing your daughter, like you did nearly every night. Alexia did a quick check around the house, locking the doors and grabbing anything the three of you might need overnight as she always did, before sliding under the duvet behind you. Her lips found your shoulder, followed by her arms wrapping around you and hugging you tight back to her. 

“I love you. Always.” She murmured against your skin, nuzzling her face into the back of your neck.

“I love you too, Ale.” You said back easily, because it was easy to say those words to her, no matter what had happened. Some truths were simple. 

The next day, you found a new system for Anaís bedtime. One that was extraordinarily better for all of you, and worked almost seamlessly. Some nights were a bit harder than others, and she did end up in your room every so often, but it wasn’t long before she was sleeping in her rooms every night and only waking up a couple times. And when it was time for your second child, your son Oriol, to adapt to his room, the two of you had it down perfectly. That blip with Anaís was merely a distant memory.

—

“Anaís, no, you can’t throw your food at me!” Alexia sighed exasperatedly, bending down for the hundredth time to pick up her daughter’s dinner that was more on the floor than her plate. 

Days where you were out working and Alexia was left alone with Anaís were days she treasured. Except, when the two year old seemingly decided that she didn’t feel like treasuring them and instead didn’t want anything to do with her Mami, things weren’t so fun. 

The morning had been bliss, with the three of you spending it lazily in bed until 10am where you finally had to get up and get ready to leave, which was when everything fell apart. The second the door closed behind you, the what should be quiet house was then filled with the sharpest cries one could imagine. It took twenty minutes and too many persuasion tactics from Alexia to get her to calm down, which included a small bowl of chocolate buttons in front of the TV, something so out of the norm for a morning with Anaís. She screamed and screamed anytime the brunette tried to change her into clothes other than her pajamas, and the same went for when she tried to put some shoes on her. So that threw the day’s plans out the window, substituted for a day at home instead, where Alexia had no idea what to do with both Anaís and herself.

Alarm bells were already ringing loudly in her mind at the out-of-character behaviour from her daughter, but no matter what she tried, she couldn’t get to the bottom of it. The toddler didn’t seem ill, she wasn’t showing any signs of injuries that Alexia could see, she’d had a great night's sleep the night before, and nothing else was out of the norm. She wasn’t the type to behave badly on purpose, or at least hadn’t until that point, and Alexia didn’t believe that was what the case was. The midfielder was left completely dumbfounded. 

And it remained that way for the whole time you were gone. In fact, things got worse. Hardly half an hour went by without tears from Anaís and concern that was unknowingly turning into frustration for Alexia. All sorts of things started running through her mind, thoughts she hadn’t had in a long time, not since her daughter was a tiny sub-10-pound baby whose fist fit around her pinky. With each show of defiance, of utter distaste for her Mami, and every scrike that shook the walls of your home, the doubts began to creep in for Alexia. They snuck in quietly, disguised by the sounds coming from Anaís, nestling deep in the back of her head and growing nearly every second. 

When dinner time came, of which even just getting Anaís into her chair was a struggle, her confidence as a parent was in tatters. It’d been thoroughly wrecked, she didn’t even know how the pair of them had survived the day. But the worst was yet to come.

No less than five minutes in and almost her entire dinner was scattered across the tiled floor of the kitchen. What hadn’t made it to the ground had gathered on Alexia’s shirt. The tears came back in full force for the younger girl, and the excruciating pain it was to listen to it nearly evoked the same reaction from the footballer. Never had she felt so lost, so not worthy of being a parent. She didn’t feel at all good enough for her daughter, something she always worried she’d feel but never actually believed it was a point she’d reach. Well, she had, and it seemed like a pit she’d spiralled into that she would never get out of again.

You came home at precisely the right time to save the situation from becoming any worse. You closed the door behind you and went to call out to your family, just to hear what could only be described as terror. Anaís’ shouting voice echoed from the kitchen to the hall by the front door, paired with Alexia’s panicked ramble as she tried to extinguish the situation. At that, you rushed to put your things down so you could go in and see what seemed to be going so wrong.

“-please! Anaís, we’re okay, it’s okay! Mi amor, I don’t know what to do for you, wha-”

“Ale? What’s going on?” 

When you walked in, Alexia looked like she could have cried from relief. Anaís calmed instantly, like the day hadn’t even happened. Her arms reached out for you whilst Alexia slumped back in her chair, slamming an empty plastic bowl that once had fruit in it onto the table, and putting her head in her hands. 

“Of course she fucking settles with you.” 

Whereas such a phrase may have sounded venomous to anyone else, to you, the person that had spoken to her every single day since you met her all those years ago, you knew the sentence was coated in frustration which was aimed entirely at herself. And the accompanying sniffle she tried to disguise after it too told you everything. When she got angry, especially at herself, she got tearful. Because she wasn’t an angry person; she was afraid of disappointing others. Which, in turn, filled her with fury that burned her from the inside out. Barely two seconds in the room with her and you knew it must’ve been a terrible day for the both of them, and that Alexia was wracked with a devastating amount of self-loathing.

“Okay, okay. She didn’t eat much dinner, I’m assuming?” You checked gently, being met with a scoff and a shake of her head where it was still in her hands, hiding the turmoil that’d be visible on her face with the tears that no doubt streamed. “That’s fine, we can deal with it. Could you go run her a bath for me? Take a moment away from all this and run her a bath so I can try and get her to eat something before bedtime?”

The two year old, with wispy strands of her brown hair sticking to her cheek from a combo of sweat and tears, rested her head against your shoulder and tucked her face into your neck. She seemed tired, exhausted even, something that didn’t exactly come as a surprise given what had apparently transpired during the day. However, you weren’t certain that she was properly feeling like herself, something told you she wasn’t doing too well. 

Per your request, Alexia left the room as soon as you spoke, head bowed as she left which was just another example of the mental state she was in. It concerned you, both of them concerned you, and it took everything within you to keep a frown off your face at the ache you felt in your chest as a result of the situation you were faced with. Almost all your questions were solved when you grabbed the thermometer from the first aid box in one of the kitchen cupboards and found that Anaís had a temperature. 

You rushed to fix her a bowl of cereal, all care for what she ate out the window, so that you could give her some medicine as soon as possible. She ate some of it, albeit reluctantly with a bit of defiance, but enough that satisfied you for the night. Leaving the mess for later, you cuddled your daughter close to you as you headed upstairs to where Alexia had a bath ready and waiting. The brunette sat on the edge of it, hand dipped into the water to check it was just right, before she turned the taps off and dried her fingertips on her shirt.

“Ready?” You hummed quietly, her jumping a little and standing abruptly, turning around to face you. 

Her face was red, much alike Anaís’, and it seemed her emotions were still overwhelming her. She gave a quick nod, before mumbling something about going downstairs to clean up and going to rush past you. You, on the other hand, were having none of it.

“Hey. Hey, hey, hey.” You reached a hand out to carefully grab her wrist, Alexia not putting up a fight as you did so and stopping in her step. You turned her to face you, but she didn’t look at you. So you dropped her hand and raised your own to her cheek, a tender touch that had her inhaling sharply at the softness of it. “She’s okay, she’s eaten now and she’s calm, she had a temperature so I ga-”

“She had a temperature? But I checked twice today?” Alexia cut you off in alarm. Immediately, she put the back of her hand on Anaís’ back under her shirt to find her skin was running hot. “I checked twice, this morning and only a couple hours ago, it was normal, I sw-”

“I know, I know. It must have only come on in the last hour or so, but she was probably feeling unwell all throughout the day. She’s had some medicine, she’ll start feeling better any time now. Don’t worry about it, Ale. Everything is alright. I’m gonna bath her and put her to bed, I’ll come find you after and we can talk, okay?” It seemed the midfielder forewent a reply because she wasn’t sure if it were words or sobs that would come out, so she nodded once more, avoiding your gaze. You leaned up and kissed her forehead, smiling sadly at the tears drowning her eyes. “I love you. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

Later on, with Anaís fast asleep tucked up in bed, it taking no time at all for her to doze off, you came downstairs to total silence. The kitchen and lounge, which were both once a mess, were spotless. The horrors of the day had been erased, and Alexia was nowhere to be found. 

Through the window, you could see evening turn to dusk with the sky painted a deep orange that faded into light blue. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, only a small crescent moon and trails from planes that’d flown overhead. And there, staring at the view of the city from the backyard of your home, was the one person you were looking for. 

Alexia was sat on the edge of the stone wall where patio stones turned to grass, leaning back on her hands that rested on the bricks, shoulders shuddering infrequently with her sporadic breaths. Without being clued up yet on exactly what had occurred whilst you were away, you knew it’d been a bad day for her as a parent. You felt for her, heart a little broken at the psychologically wrecked version of her you’d come home to. You’d been in her place a number of times, and she never failed at making you feel invincible with her love and care afterwards, no matter how far you’d spiralled down. Tonight, she needed you.

The defeated brunette definitely would have heard you open and close the door, as well as your footsteps, though she gave no reaction to either. You wandered over, rounding the wall and sitting beside her. You looked at her, really looked at her, but she kept her eyes averted, glancing at everything apart from you. Her knee was bouncing, her posture was tense, and there was still a steady stream of tears down her cheeks that she ignored. You didn’t want to overwhelm her, or worsen her mood, so all you did then was rest a hand on her thigh, and give her some time to decompress a little. Or, so you thought.

“I don’t know what went so wrong today. I don’t know what I did.” She started to ramble quickly, sniffling and stumbling over her words with her shoulders up to her ears in a shrug as she tried to defend herself to you. But she didn’t need to defend herself, you didn’t blame her for a thing. “I-I got the thermometer out and checked her twice, it was normal, it was fine. I didn’t recognise she was… she was ill. She was sick all day because of… because of m-me.” 

As she spoke, it sounded like she was about to break. It’d been so long since you’d heard her like that.

“Ale, she’s fine. She won’t even remember today when she wakes up in the morning, tomorrow is a new day and-”

“Do you think I’m a bad parent?” The question she cut you off shocked you, and it took a second for it to register before you frowned at her and squeezed her knee.

“Alexia, of course I d-” She stood abruptly, shaking her head incessantly. 

“No, because I missed so many signs today, it’s my fault she had such a bad day. I messed up so much I just didn’t get anything right, I would understand if y-”

You got up and stood in front of her, hands on her face to stop her panicking and to ground her. Still, she refused to meet your eye, but you gave her a soft yet firm look.

“I don’t, Alexia, I never could.” 

She nodded in response before she properly processed your words, and when the realisation did settle in, that’s when she cracked. Her forehead fell to your shoulder and her hands linked loosely around your waist, leaning into you as sobs ripped out from her. You wrapped your arms around her tightly, turning your head a little to leave a few kisses on her cheek every now and then as she cried, a reminder you were there for her. One of your hands rubbed up and down her back comfortingly as she let out all the pent up emotions into your shoulder. You didn’t move. You stayed right there for her.

“Anaís is okay, you’re okay. Everything is okay, Alexia, I promise. It’s just a bad day.” You whispered as she began to calm, hand still moving up and down, just slower but still reassuring. “She’ll go to Eli’s like normal if she’s well enough tomorrow, and she’ll have the best day there because you know she’ll get treated like a princess. You didn’t miss anything because there were no signs to miss, you said it yourself. You checked, twice, like any good and loving parent would, and nothing concerning came up. That’s not your fault.”

There was a minute nod against you, and you’d take that for now. You turned again to kiss her cheek, lingering for longer and hugging her impossibly tighter after. A minute or so later, she leaned back in your hold but you didn’t let go for a second, and she wiped her eyes on the sleeve of the jumper she’d changed into at some point whilst you dealt with Anaís. Then, finally, she met your gaze, defeat and exhaustion along with some taunting guilt that still hovered around, all present in her red, puffy eyes. 

“Is she upset or, maybe, angry? At me?” She asked cautiously, to which you smiled and shook your head with a click of your tongue.

“She’s your daughter, she doesn’t get angry at the people she loves. Especially not her Mami.” You answered with ease, with certainty. Even though you hadn’t outright asked Anaís how she felt about the day, you knew one thing and that was she didn’t feel any of those things towards Alexia. Never could.

“She was earlier. For most of the day.” Alexia feebly argued.

“No, she’s ill, and as a small toddler in such a big, scary world, she doesn’t know what to do when she feels like that.” You reassured her, reaching a hand up to tuck a loose strand of hair that had fallen from her bun back behind her ear. “Don’t blame yourself anymore, please. Because Anaís and I don’t, nobody does. Tell that huge brain of yours to shut up for once.” 

She let out a quiet chuckle, and though you’d heard that sound a thousand times before, it was music to your ears then, no less than it was the first time you heard it. Walking to your table on your first date, Alexia close behind you with her hand on your back, you making a stupid comment about how overly hard the waiter was trying to impress your date, clearly having recognised her, and her softly chuckling down your ear. You shivered then at the sound, and you shivered there, in the backyard of your shared home, your daughter asleep inside and attempts for a second child actively in progress. But the shiver this time was, rather unfortunately and not so romantically, due to the chill of the evening as the sun bid its goodbye with the horizon.

“I make no promises.” Alexia murmured, resting her forehead against yours and letting her eyes fall shut. 

You smiled, noticing the difference in her already compared to when you first stepped outside, and tilted your head a bit to leave a kiss to her lips. It caught her by surprise, and she opened her eyes again to find you, the love of her life, gazing at her with all the love you had to give and more, not a single part of you believing the doubts that weighed her down. It helped her to remember what she did everything for and why; for her family. Always. You, Anaís, and any future children if the pair of you were to be so lucky. A bad day was a drop in the ocean, it was an ounce of misfortune compared to the pricelessness of your lives. It would stick in her mind for a little while, but how could she focus on that when she lived a dream everyday. 

—

Your fortune only grew when you fell pregnant with your third child after months of failed IVF attempts – a son, named Oriol, who was the mirror of his older sister, something that only became more and more true as he grew up. Anaís flourished in her role, absolutely infatuated with her baby brother and desperate to do anything to help her parents whenever she could. For some time, the four of you lived in a perfect little bubble of pure bliss. All the talk about how difficult it was going from one child to two seemed far away, everyday was… perfect. 

You were never much of a morning person before becoming a parent, but having two children didn’t really leave you much of a choice but to become one. Alexia had been, and she often took those early sunrise shifts because she treasured them. When Anaís was a baby that didn’t have the boundless energy of a toddler, she was always more than happy to sit in her Mami’s arms as she woke up. On warmer mornings, they’d spend the time outside, until winter settled in and made that prospect daunting, Alexia fearing her daughter’s fingers and toes might drop off in only a few minutes of being out in the cold. 

Then Oriol came along, and mornings turned into a bit of a handful for one parent to handle. Especially because Anaís did possess an unreal amount of giddiness that was difficult to juggle with a grouchy newborn. So the pair of you found a system, a routine that quickly became something that you treasured.

Most days it was a toss up between which child would wake up first, but they usually stirred at the same time, a blessing in disguise most days. On some occasions, you’d get up and go for a walk, or out for breakfast, or to a family member’s house. But other times, of which were your favourite, you’d have breakfast in bed together, a lazy start to the day. They were a rarity more than others, with Alexia in and out of the city and the country, so you never took them for granted.

Perfect, until you went back to work, many months down the line, just as the intensity of Alexia’s football season picked up, and suddenly everything you thought you knew just… disappeared. Sure, she’d stepped away from the national team when Anaís was around a year old, but that never lightened the load of club football, which still caught you off guard every year, especially your first as a parent of two. Going from seeing Alexia nearly everyday, spending hours with her, to barely having her in one place for too long as you juggled work was more difficult than you expected. 

Even on the days she was in Barcelona, there was training and media commitments and sponsorship shoots and meetings that kept her away. You saw her at breakfast, where she rushed out with nothing but a banana and a protein shake, not before kissing your cheek and your children’s, and you saw her when she got home late in the evening, helping with bedtime before falling into bed with you and dozing off almost immediately. 

Before you could realise, you felt a distance growing between you. You felt disconnected from her world when normally your worlds were one and the same. She was still the perfect parent you knew her as, but that’s all she had time and energy for. The strain was becoming too much for the both of you, with two kids and workloads that had no limits. For some time, you didn’t know how to solve it. And that scared the life out of you.

Each morning you dropped off your children at Eli’s house, which was only three days a week as the rest you worked when you had the chance to at home, she could see the stress everything was causing you grow more every time you visited her. On the rare occasion she saw her daughter, she saw the same burden on her shoulders too. The wiser woman couldn’t let it go on any longer; one morning, she ordered that you came in and sat down with her for coffee. She was a persuasive woman, even as you argued about being late for work, she waved you off and gently took hold of your hand to lead you inside. With Oriol in one arm, resting on her hip, she moved around her kitchen with an effortlessness you dreamed of having. 

Everything took so much energy, so much mental strength, a piece of your resolve was chipped away everyday. It seemed things had gotten too much, your resolve becoming too weak, because when Eli set down your coffee in front of you, you were already in bits. All it took was the hug she gave for you to fall apart into her arms. 

After that, you took the day off work. You sat and listened, your son offering you a slice of normality, of comfort, as he slept in your arms whilst Eli gave every bit of advice she had to give. If it wasn’t for her, you dreaded to think of how far things might have gone before either you or Alexia fell apart, and if that might have manifested as a breakdown or a show of anger that could have done irreparable damage. But as you listened to her mother, you knew where Alexia got her parenting skills from, where she got her fierce care and compassion from. You were incredibly grateful for the both of them.

Eli demanded that, when Alexia got home from her game later that evening, you were to sit down and speak with her. You tried to argue that the brunette would be tired and a conversation like that was the last thing she would want to do, but you lost that fight. The older woman had you under strict instruction to get her to do it anyway, and if she didn’t, she had Eli’s wrath to deal with the next day.

Your children’s most beloved grandparent wasn’t the only saving grace of that particularly difficult period of time; the aforementioned game Alexia had that same night ended in a loss. And the effect it had on her was the final straw for her. Even without the push from her mother, the second she walked in to find you waiting at the door for her, she made it known that she couldn’t go on any longer the way you two were. She made it known by collapsing into your arms with ease, and it felt like decades since you last hugged her, properly. 

That night, you spent hours on the sofa, limbs entangled and tears soaking each other’s t-shirts, talking about how difficult things had been and how you could get past them. It wasn’t easy, it couldn’t be further from that description. There were things Alexia said that made you want to scream, shout, cry, argue about, and vice versa. Yet, you worked past it. By the time morning came, you were both fast asleep on the couch still, as close as you could where you held each other, not even stirring at the return of your children after their impromptu night at their abuela’s house, until Anaís snatched a crayon away from Oriol’s teething mouth which resulted in him letting out a piercing cry, abruptly waking the both of you.

This blip, as difficult and unbearable as it was at the time, was necessary for your relationship. It taught you things about each other that set you up for the rest of your lives together. 

An unspoken acknowledgement formed that presented itself when brief periods of busyness happened again; you learned to love each other quietly in those moments, ready to love loudly again when the storm passed. Your devotion to one another could be found in the quiet moments, like shared glances across the dinner table over breakfast and lingering touches as you passed each other whilst getting your children ready for the day. It could be found in notes slipped into the other’s coat pocket, coming home with flowers after a trip to the supermarket, guilty pleasure treats hidden in the cupboard away from the sweet tooth habits of your children that they’d definitely picked up from their Mami. 

There was an underlying agreement that whenever there was a hard moment, a disagreement, frustration at each other or the defiant behaviours from Anaís and Oriol, that you can still go to each other no matter what. Even if things went too far, you’d still end the night in each other’s arms, whether you were on speaking terms, one giving the other the silent treatment, or simply too tired to talk. And that might be the thing you treasure most about your relationship.

All these things were evident in the next large obstacle that fell before you both. 

Oriol was not quite the social butterfly as his sister had always naturally been. Nursery, to him, was torture. Being away from his family, with people he didn’t know? It was the scariest thing he’d ever had to face in the nearly three years of his life. 

The first day that you and Alexia dropped him off there, only for an hour to get him adjusted, it couldn’t have gone any worse. The ordeal left you both in tears as Alexia drove you home silently. The brunette had to stand beside you and watch as they pulled your son out of your arms, him clinging onto you desperately as the most heartbreaking sobs you’d heard in your life ripped through him. And that had been after the two of you spent half an hour showing him around and playing with him, as well as trying to leave quietly before his cries brought you running right back. 

Every part of you screamed to take him home, to never step foot near a nursery again, because you couldn’t cope with the fear and anxiety he was feeling. It hurt, physically hurt. Your heart clenched so tightly each time, you swore if his scrikes were a decibel higher, you’d go into cardiac arrest. But that wasn’t realistic, he had to go at some point and taking him home to stop that would only delay the inevitable. You just didn’t know it would be so hard.

Anaís wasn’t at all like that; the second she step foot in the small classroom, saw all the toys she could play with, saw the mud kitchen and the sand pit and the water pit, all the bikes and scooters she could ride out on the playground, it was more of a challenge to get her to leave than stay. Oriol though, he despised it.

Three days in a row, you arrived back at home with a lump in your throat and remnants of your son’s pain on you in the form of the tear drops that dotted your jumper, and you couldn’t take it. Alexia closed the door behind you both, and you immediately broke down crying at the thought of him back there, all alone, wondering why his parents had taken him to such a terrible place and left him there.

“We, we can’t take him there anymore, Ale, h-he hates it so much.” You sobbed, eyes closed as you pictured his little face, his eyes filled with betrayal, and his wobbling bottom lip when he realised you were just going to walk out on him again.

“We have to, amor, you know this.” Alexia sighed sadly, not frustrated with you, instead equally as torn up about it. 

“Alexia, he hates it! We’re his parents, we’re not meant to do this to him, we can’t keep putting him through this!” 

With a frown on her face as she tried to suppress her own emotions, she headed over to you and hugged you, holding you close to her.

“Shh.” She shushed you gently, but it had the opposite effect. You pushed away from her, the brunette stumbling backwards slightly and having to catch herself with a hand on the drawers behind. 

“No, why are you okay with this? You’re not letting anything on, why aren’t you as affected as I am?” You accused, and she had to take a breath to keep a cool head. 

This wasn’t you talking, it was your concern. It was a momentary blip that happened to the both of you every now and then. She recognised it instantly, two kids did that to her.

“We’re not fighting about this, mi amor. I’m not fighting you.” Alexia told you in a soft, calming tone. You raked your hand through your hair and huffed, not even sure why you were starting on her like that. Of course she felt just as guilty and afraid as you. “We have to do this now, at some point, otherwise we will never get him into school anyway. He will get used to it, I know he will. But it’s hard now, it’s so hard.” 

“So hard.” You whimpered, putting your head in your hands as your cries picked up again. Alexia stepped closer, her arms around you again as you buried your face into her chest.

“We’ll get him through it. I know we will. He’ll love it before you know it.” She whispered, her comforting words beginning to crack through the walls of panic that surrounded your mind, even if she didn’t know if what she was saying would become true.

The thing was, it only got tougher. Everyday he spent longer there, until you dropped him off as he sobbed for you and there wasn’t anything you could do but leave him there until mid-afternoon to pick him up. It was a wonder you got any work done during that time because all you could see was the heartbreak on his face every time you walked out of his classroom. And there were numerous occasions after that one day with Alexia where the two of you clashed over it, some worse than others. Her lack of expression about the situation grated on you, as if she didn’t care, until you stepped back and gained rationality and realised she was just trying to be strong for you.

But then, your son surprised you. One of the best surprises, one of the most relieving.

After another difficult day of dealing with his meltdowns before nursery and being extremely distracted at work, you decided to walk to pick him up. Alexia’s training had run late, something she was frustrated and a little upset with (not that she’d admit that to you) because it put her head at peace to have her son back in her sight, her arms, after seeing him so worked up in the morning. She really kept quiet about it, she let the guilt eat away at her silently rather than adding to the things you were feeling. When she was at home, she occupied herself with the most unnecessary things, because it distracted her from how the silence of the house exaggerated the cries that echoed around her mind whilst Oriol was away. Picking him up from nursery and seeing the way he ran towards you both was the only thing that made it feel worth it.

You had all the faith in the world in your son, like any parent should towards their child. Maybe it was wrong to feel so shocked, but that was the last thing on your mind when you arrived at his classroom door, saw the way he grinned from ear to ear as he played with two other boys, and laughed heartily at something one of them did. You’d seen him playing other times, though he didn’t seem so bright and happy like he did then. It brought tears to your eyes, for all the right reasons this time.

“He has had a much better day today. He is adjusting now.” One of his teachers told you when she came over, a warm smile on her face. “I know it has been hard for you and your partner seeing him struggle every morning, but today we have noticed a big difference. I think he’s happy.”

When she saw your reaction of tears of euphoria, she brought you in for a brief, comforting hug. It set in then, that as horribly difficult and unbearable as it had been, it was worth it. You did the right thing. All you could wish for in that moment was to have Alexia there with you.

Your next best bet was meeting her at training. It wasn’t too far from the nursery, and with Oriol being in such an upbeat mood, you decided you would walk there with him. Because you have to take care of the person you love just as much as your children. And it felt like, with Oriol finally happy with the day he’d had, you could turn your attention to Alexia, and pour all the love back into your relationship which had been a little neglected during that time.

You would have done anything to make the experience better for your young son from the get-go, but all the trials and tribulations just made it sweeter. The whole walk, he rambled endlessly about what he did that day. He remembered every single detail about the friends he had made, what games they played, the size of the train line they’d built around the whole classroom; you hadn’t ever seen such elation on his face as he relayed it all to you. Then he said–

“I can’t wait to go back tomorrow.” 

Each time he came home, the first thing he talked about was how much he didn’t want to go back the next day. Honestly, you weren’t sure how you didn’t break down crying on the spot. But with his tiny dinosaur bag hanging off one of your shoulders, his hand in yours, and tears burning your eyes, you couldn’t recall a better feeling whilst being his parent. All you could do was march down the streets of your newfound home and think of what the love of your life’s reaction would be.

It wasn’t just her though, it was all her teammates too, who filed into the locker room each with equally wide smiles at the surprise of seeing you both there. Oriol went a little shy in your arms, as you would expect, but he relished in the proud reactions each person gave when you told them about the successful day he’d had. Irene especially, who could have passed as Oriol’s third parent when she looked as if she could cry from pride at the news. Alexia, of course, was the last one in. 

The others left after changing, heading home after quick showers, all whilst Alexia lingered outside with a few members of staff, talking away like she always did about football. Thankfully though, to put you out of your misery, one of them that stayed behind with you shouted her in under the guise of physio, even though she was apparently perfectly fine. You could hear her grumbling about it as she came closer, making you laugh, as you sat at her cubby whilst your son wandered around the room, babbling to himself and messing with things he probably shouldn’t. 

Then she walked in, head still down, not noticing you both until Oriol’s squeal had her eyes snapping up.

“Wha–? What are you doing here?” The brunette broke out into one of the happiest, all-consuming smiles you’d ever seen her do, crouching down to her son’s height as he ran over as fast as he could waddle. She laughed giddily as he wrapped his little arms around her neck, lifting him up and hugging him tightly. 

“Oriol, why don’t you tell Mami about your day?” You prompted him, watching his face light up even more as he leaned back in Alexia’s hold so he could see her. 

“I loved it!” He beamed, a bright grin on his lips, one you hadn’t seen in so long. 

Alexia turned to you briefly as he started rambling, speaking a whole load of nothing initially as he couldn’t contain himself with his babbling. Her expression was one of astonishment, but also the most relief you had ever seen a human possess. There was a gloss to her eye that shone brightly in the fluorescent light of the locker room, one she tried to blink away when she turned back to her son.

He went on and on, just like he did to you, stuttering due to his mind working faster than his mouth, and diving in and out of a hundred stories at once. As he did so, Alexia had one hand splayed out across his back, rubbing up and down or in circles whilst holding him up with her other arm. Her eyes were wide as she listened to each and every detail he revealed, so much giddiness radiating off of him, it was hard to keep up.

“And-and then, then we played in the water and I g-got water on my jumper, but it was okay, ‘cause the teacher made it not wet again, that was good ‘cause I got cold, and then Pau finded more train pieces, so we made it more long, and-”

“Breathe, mister.” Alexia laughed, brushing back his wispy brown hair and stroking his cheek with her thumb as he inhaled dramatically. “Sounds like the best day!”

“I can’t wait to go back tomorrow!” He kicked his legs as he spoke, almost hitting Alexia in the stomach, but that was the last thing on her mind. All she could focus on were the words you got stuck on earlier too.

“You want to go back?” She asked softly, eyes darting all over his face to find a hint of the dread he had been weighed down by since starting nursery.

“Sí! Ahora!” He answered without a millisecond of hesitation, before descending into unorganised chatter.

“I am so proud of you.” She interrupted him a moment later, scattering kisses all over his face that had him squealing and pushing her away with his small hands. “I love you.”

“I love you too!” Oriol shrieked when more were pressed against his cheek. “Mama said I can have churros for dinner.” 

“Really?” Alexia raised an eyebrow as she looked at you, waving you over. When you were close enough, she wrapped an arm around your shoulders and kissed your cheek, this time a lot more civilly. “Well, I can’t disagree with that. I think you deserve all the churros we can find in Barcelona.”

The three of you laughed together, for the first time in a while, not burdened by the thought of tomorrow. No, instead, he couldn’t wait for it. Perhaps more excited for it then his churros, and that was no easy feat. What more could you ask for, other than the unbridled joy of your child, even if that was with chocolate spilled onto any surface and material he could find?

And just like any other time that felt uncertain, difficult, borderline end of the world, Alexia was there with you through it all. Steady. Calm when you weren’t. Ready to celebrate you when you needed it most. The best part was, you could tell she thought the same about you. That was a compliment you couldn’t get over. Even being a parent, having two lives depend on you, knowing that you were the person that the one you loved most went to for everything and anything, it was still something you wore like a medal. You loved being her person, loved building a life with her. Loved everything to do with her, even all the parts of her that aggravated to your wits end. You couldn’t get enough of her. 

—

Fights were inevitable. In any and all relationships, they were an impossible thing to avoid. It was rare, so rare, for you and Alexia to have ones that lasted longer than even a few hours. Yet, as was reality, there were one or two that snuck in which uprooted everything, and it was an even tougher mountain to get over when kids were involved.

With their tiny, developing, and unsuspecting brains, it often went under the radar the utter scale of things they picked up on. And you weren’t sure what was in Alexia’s eggs, but your two children ended up growing into the most emotionally mature seven year old and three year old the world had ever seen. No amount of hushed whispers and avoided eye contact could get past them; as a result of the two of you being so openly happy and in love, the second something was amiss, they could just sense it in the air somehow. It blew your mind, plain and simple. So no matter how hard you tried to keep your arguments separate from their little worlds, they always knew anyway. 

You and Alexia had your own stresses you were dealing with, you with your job and Alexia with hers, with the addition of bad news from family that weighed down on the both of you. Those things, as much as you tried to keep them on the down-low and deal with them individually, they soon became too heavy for the burdens to not be shared. But neither of you recognised that. They built and built and built, until everything came crashing down around you. 

First, it started with furrowed eyebrows and heavy sighs from Alexia as she moved around the kitchen like everything in her way was merely an inconvenience. Not you, not her children, rather the mess that had been left behind as you attempted to keep two hyperactive kids on their school breaks entertained for the fourth day they had off, which was a challenge and a half. You hadn’t had time to clean up after them as they went through the house like a tornado or a bull in a fine China shop, hoping they could keep their giddiness contained enough so that you didn’t spend your evening in the emergency waiting room at the nearby hospital. 

Whether Alexia was directing her passive aggressive frustration at you or not, you took it that way regardless. She wasn’t the one that’d had to spend the day chasing after Anaís and Oriol, she’d had a fairly inconspicuous schedule of training and some media interviews and shoots. What you didn’t know, however, was the onslaught of questions she had received about her form which had taken a slight dip in the past few games, as well as the carefully worded questions about Barcelona’s future and her future too, a topic journalists ran with the second she didn’t do well in a game. She loathed the doubts of her ability just because she was a mother and older than her peers, she knew she was still capable, and perfection was expected of her when perfection wasn’t possible for anyone.

Looking back, you knew it was immature, but you made a stupid passing comment anyway about her behaviour since she’d come home. The carelessness in the way she kicked her shoes off at the door and haphazardly left her bag beside it, the theatrics as she cleaned the kitchen, and the aversion she had to even looking at you. One sentence from you was all it took for the house to burst into flames. And with your children outside in the garden doing whatever they were doing, neither of you had no qualms raising your voices at each other.

In only a matter of minutes, there were tears streaking down your face and Alexia’s too. You took yourself away from the situation, unable to bear the venomous way the one surefire person on your team was talking to you, slamming the bedroom door shut behind you for good measure. Alexia, on the other hand, gripped the edge of the counter and bowed her head, teardrops falling onto the granite as she squeezed her eyes shut to try, and fail, at keeping them in. 

Meanwhile, outside, Anaís and Oriol found themselves rooted to the spot for the whole duration of the short fight they heard indoors. They couldn’t make out the words, slightly intelligible as they were muffled by the closed doors and windows of the house, but the damage was already done. Oriol turned to Anaís with a wobbling lower lip first, his little heart beating rapidly at the scary situation he was now presented with. Anaís noticed, and shook the fear off her shoulders before hastily walking over to him. With a determined face, her eyebrows pressed down into a scowl much alike her mother during the most intense game of her life, she planted her hands on her brother’s shoulders and, before speaking her plan, quickly kissed his forehead which calmed his anxiety just a little.

“I go check on Mama, you go see Mami. Vale?” She addressed him calmly, yet like she knew exactly what she was doing, which reassured him. Oriol thought of his big sister as someone he looked up to, he wanted to be her, he admired her. So he stood taller, puffed his chest out, took a deep breath, and nodded like he’d been handed a military mission that was due to save the world. Still, Anaís could spot the worry in his eyes. “It will be okay, Oriol. Promise!”

She removed one of her hands and held out her pinky for him. Without a shred of hesitation, he linked his own with hers and they both kissed their knuckles, just like they’d seen their Mami do with her goalkeeper teammate. Then, they marched inside, Anaís leading Oriol of course, making their way to their designated locations. Just before the door into the kitchen, the brunette girl turned back to her younger brother and gave him a reassuring smile. He smiled back, not quite as sure as hers, but confident enough that she kissed his forehead again before turning and running up the stairs. 

Oriol then turned to face the open doorway where he could see his Mami, his strong and dependent and steady parent, stood with her shoulders shaking as she cried silently. He found himself frowning, his bottom lip threatening to quiver again, before he remembered the task at hand and marched forwards towards her with a confidence he didn’t have.

“Mami?” He said gently, flinching a little at the speed Alexia whipped around to look at him whilst wiping her tears. It was futile to do so, with her already puffy eyes and red cheeks as more fell immediately. 

“Hola, mi príncipe.” The midfielder replied, voice cracking as she choked down her sobs at the flurry of emotions drowning her in that moment.

“Qué pasa?” He asked, stepping closer to her and reaching out his hand for her to take. She did, squeezing his and finding comfort in the soft weight of it in her hold. 

“Nothing.” Her natural reaction was to shrug it off, but it wasn’t right. One look at his face, the depth of his concern far too deep for a boy his age, told her she should be as honest as she could whilst still protecting him.  That was her job after all. “I am a little sad, Oriol. I’m sad because your Mama is sad too. We said some silly things to each other. But it is okay, we are allowed to be sad. I… I…” 

Her emotions got the better of her again, tears dripping off her cheeks and dampening her t-shirt as her son stood and watched. He fumbled internally for a moment, growing upset at the sight of his normally strong and steady Mami, and thinking hard on what she normally does when he cried. 

She hugged him, until he stopped, and long after that. So that’s what he did.

He stepped forward, slipped his hand out of hers, and wrapped his arms around her thigh. She wiped her eyes so she could see clearly and looked down, seeing the curiosity on his face of if he’d done the right thing or not. God, if he only knew. 

Alexia leaned down, hooking her hands under his arms, gently pulled him away, before sliding down to sit back against the cabinet and bringing him back into her. She crossed her legs and placed Oriol in the gap left, before wrapping her arms around him this time, hugging him as tight as she could without hurting him or scaring him off. He hugged her back, a proud smile on his face that he’d got it right. 

What was occurring upstairs, however, was a different story. 

Anaís crept in with the subtlety of a marching band, trying to read the room before she went ahead with Plan A, and if necessary, she would switch to a gentler approach of Plan B. She found you lay in bed, crying, but trying to hide your face from your daughter due to the avalanche of emotions you were experiencing. However, when you factored in who she got her genes from, you should have known better. 

“Excuse me.” The younger girl started, standing beside your bed with her hands on her hip and a look on her face that was all too familiar to one the person that caused this would make. It made you laugh, quietly, but also cry a bit more. So Anaís softened, moving to sit on the side of the bed and taking hold of your hand. “Are you okay?”

“I will be.” You sniffled, an ever so dramatic statement. Anaís looked at you skeptically, like she didn’t quite trust you. “Mami said some mean things to me.”

Her face changed then, an obvious one that not even the most oblivious person could miss. 

“Did you say some mean things to Mami too?” 

Your silence, paired with the sheepish look on your face at being caught out by a seven year old was more than enough for her.

“That’s not fair, Mama! God, you are both so stupid.” She groaned, slapping a hand over her eyes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume she was seventeen.

“Excuse me!” You scolded lightly, with no real threat behind it. 

Anaís sighed disapprovingly, a shake of her head to tie off the performance, before laying down next to you. She copied your position, pausing for a moment as she thought of what to do with herself, before laying an arm across your waist like she had seen Alexia do sometimes. You smiled at her, and copied her, which she then replied with an expression that mirrored yours.

“You shouldn’t argue with Mami. It makes you both sad.” Anaís commented, one of those things that a kid says that pulls at every heart string you have. 

“I know. But it happens sometimes, it shouldn’t, but it does. Adults argue over big things, like you and Oriol argue over who gets a piggyback first.” Strangely, her eyes lit up at that.

“You were arguing about piggybacks?!” She exclaimed like it was the most exciting prospect in the world. You laughed loudly, one that cleared the fog a bit and brightened your mood.

“No, god no. Something a bit more adult than piggybacks unfortunately. Really boring, nowhere near as exciting.”

“Well, if it was boring, then why did you argue? If you’re going to argue, it should be over something interesting at least. Like piggybacks.” You smiled in amusement, leaning forward to kiss your daughter’s forehead. Your children had a marvellous habit at making you indescribably happy at any given moment. 

“You make a good point, Anaís. Very good.” 

“Exactly. So why would you be mean! You love each other!” She fought her point again. If only things were so simple. But then again, maybe they are, when you look at it from a different perspective. 

Was there any real reason for you and Alexia to argue then like you did? You could hardly even remember how it started beyond a few passive aggressive sighs and slams of cupboards and an unnecessary jab. And those were really ridiculous reasons to start a fight. So maybe it was that simple.

“If I bring Mami upstairs, will you say sorry to each other?” Anaís wondered. It was then that you realised, beyond her joking nature, this whole thing had gotten to her quite a bit. Her and Oriol hadn’t ever really witnessed such a big blow-up like this before. You felt guilty for it, immeasurably so. 

“Only if she says sorry to me first.” You joked, holding back a laugh when Anaís rolled her eyes again. “Fine. Go get her.”

It wasn’t your kids’ job to be the emotionally wise ones of the house. It certainly wasn’t their job to fix adult arguments. That was supposed to be your responsibility, as well as Alexia’s, and you had failed. You were just glad your children had the maturity you momentarily lacked to provide some much needed clarity (and humour) to a situation that could have ended up worse.

“Mami, go upstairs. Now.” Anaís demanded as she stepped into the kitchen. 

Oriol was in Alexia’s lap then, sat on her thigh as he fidgeted with her wedding ring whilst they spoke quietly. The older woman’s tears had dried up, but the heartbreak on her face was still evident. Oriol, once he’d spotted Anaís, ditched Alexia and went over to his sister instead. That left the brunette on the floor of her kitchen, shirt damp with tear splotches, eyes red and ego bruised. But per her daughter’s demand, she nodded, got up off the floor, and left the kitchen, not before leaving kisses to their temples.

With a knuckle, she knocked on the bedroom door delicately, then walked in afterwards. Before the door had even closed behind her, there were two eavesdroppers waiting behind the corner of the wall for her to go in so that they could wait at the door. If Alexia’s attention wasn’t on you, and vice versa, you both would have heard the quiet thump of footsteps that stopped just outside of the room.

“I… was sent in by a very angry seven year old.” Alexia started, unsure what to do or say. You rolled onto your back and sat up against the headboard, hands fiddling with the corner of the blanket.

“I was lectured by a very angry seven year old.” You replied, the slightest hint of a smile on the midfielder’s face that spread to your face not long after. “I think they formed a coup against us.”

“I think they did.” Alexia agreed, moving away from the door and taking a seat on the bed in front of you, crossing her legs again. 

Neither of you said anything for a moment or two, and Oriol let out a frustrated huff outside the bedroom that Anaís shushed him for. Still, the two of you didn’t catch it. Alexia’s hand reached out to trace her fingertip over the pattern on the duvet below you both, a silent offering. Your hand landed in front of hers, accepting it. She linked your fingers together then, some of the pressure lifting from her chest as she squeezed your hand.

“I’m sorry. For saying what I said. And starting an argument.” You went first, knowing that you should, since you were the one that started it and let it descend into something it didn’t need to be.

“I’m sorry too. I… it was a bit stupid, wasn’t it?” Alexia grimaced, making you giggle just a little, just quietly. But it was enough for her.

“It was. We’re both a bit stupid sometimes. But thank god we’ve got two smart kids, right? Don’t know how that happened.” You teased back, this time the pair of you laughing. 

“Oriol hugged my leg and I think it made me cry even more.” You smiled sadly at that, shame crawling in that he felt the need to do that. All you could think was that he shouldn’t have had to do that.

“Anaís actually called us stupid too. Even they recognised it before we did.” You admitted with a shake of your head, a sentiment Alexia shared. Then it fell silent for a moment or two, and your smile fell into something more downbeat. “I think we need to be parents for a little while before we can sort us out. They shouldn’t have to do this, Ale. We… failed.” 

Alexia frowned deeply, one that wrinkled her forehead so intensely it was a wonder they didn’t stick. 

“We’re allowed to mess up sometimes, amor. They’re kids, they don’t expect perfection from us even if they don’t realise it. They want us to be okay, I don’t think that means we failed.” Alexia pointed out. She could see you arguing in your mind with yourself about it afterwards. “I hate that they saw it and felt like they had to fix it, I hate that too, don’t think I don’t. But it’s not a failure. We’re still here, they’re sat outside the door waiting for us, we’re all okay. They know they argue from time to time, but they still love each other. It’s no different for us.”

“I just…” You breathed out shakily, swallowed hard, and dropped your voice to a mumble. “I don’t want them to think this is what love looks like.”

The brunette softened then, immediately. She shuffled closer to you, sitting at your side, her body positioned towards yours, and wrapped an arm around your shoulders as she leaned her forehead against yours. 

“They know what love looks like. They see it between us everyday. They will remember this, but they will remember the rest too. Like me kissing your cheek and their cheeks before I leave in the morning, how ‘I love you’ is the last thing we all say at night. They know there is so much more to love, but… arguing is sometimes a part of it too. Maybe it just makes it a bit more real for them, even if we want to protect them from this side of it.” 

Wise, as always. One of the most emotionally intelligent people you knew, even if it took a year or two for her to reach that point when you first got together. Her perspective on everything, especially since becoming a parent, had shifted. Now, in moments like this, she always knew what to say. And what a moving thing to state at a time you felt your parenthood fracture into two. With some perfectly placed words, handcrafted to a T, that crack was sealed with gold.

Later that night, she said near enough the same thing to your kids. She made it known, in easier phrases, basic enough for their age, that it wasn’t their job to uphold your relationship. They shouldn’t feel the need to fix it, that that was a mistake on your behalfs. Yet, simultaneously, she explained that instances like that happened every so often between parents, between two people that loved each other. Even though Anaís didn’t seem too pleased about that, she certainly seemed to sleep easier after it. The next morning, it was like nothing had even happened. Thank god for pancakes.

—

No matter how many years had passed, how many times Alexia had to travel for work, you never missed her any less. That surprised you, honestly. At some point along the way you thought you would get used to it, and you did, to some degree. You just got better at handling it; didn’t mean you missed her any less at all. Probably more, actually.

Since retiring from the national team, her trips away had gotten much shorter. No two or three week long camps some place in Europe, no summer-long tournaments. Just a night or two away for a game before getting the earliest flight back she could get away with. 

That meant, the first long trip in quite a while hit your family harder than expected. Not in a way that was hard or difficult, there was a routine for it now. But there was just something missing from your home, the atmosphere of it changed. Ten video calls a day couldn’t change that. All that mattered, to you and your children, was having her back. Having her presence, her energy, her love, in the house again. 

When she first mentioned a two week pre-season camp in Mexico, you already felt that uncomfortable twist in your stomach just at the idea of it. There was a weight behind your eyes too, not quite tears, just a heaviness, like your body was already bracing for her absence. Those two feelings paled in comparison to what it was like as you stood on your doorstep, Anaís and Oriol beside you, watching her get into a taxi with her suitcases. The kids had been quiet for the rest of the day, missing her, not knowing what to do with the love they had for her without having a place for it to go. 

The morning before her planned flight back home, you woke up to a notification from her. No text, just a screenshot. A confirmation of a new plane ticket, due to land in Barcelona that night. The excitement that energised you for the rest of the day was boundless, much to your childrens’ confusion. Due to the very late hour of her arrival compared to their bedtimes, you didn’t want to tell them about it, apart from that the next time they woke up, she would be home. And that was the truth, because you had no doubts that Alexia would go into their rooms to see them, maybe even let them sleep in your bed for the night. 

You were pacing in the hallway, nervously flitting from room to room, making sure it was tidy even though you’d cleaned already and done a hundred once-overs, checking your phone, as you listened out for her arrival. You felt a little ridiculous with how your breathing stuttered every time a car passed by.

And, finally, when the door lock clicked at midnight, the light fluttery feeling in your chest hit its peak, stronger than you ever remember it being.

You froze in the midst of your pacing, in the hallway as the door opened with a creak that always annoyed her, one you never fixed just for moments like this. Your hands fidgeted with the hem of your shirt as she walked in, suitcase dragging behind her, duffel bag landing with a thud beside the shoe rack. She closed the door, shoulders slumped with the exhaustion of travelling, sighed quietly, and lifted her head up at the shuffling sound she heard of your slippers against the wood slats. Then, she gave that easy, lop-sided, quirk of a smile, the one she saved just for you, and you were moving. You didn’t greet her – instead, simply wrapped your arms around her back, hers landing around your neck and pulling you closer to her, if at all possible. A second or two of silence passed, until her soft chuckle was muffled against your hair.

“You missed me?” She hummed teasingly, her voice low and scratchy with tiredness. 

“A little.” Didn’t matter what your reply was, the embarrassingly raw emotion in your tone said it all for you.

Her grin pressed into your cheek as she turned her head, forehead against your temple, like the mere contact of your skin was recharging her soul. It was, if you asked her. 

You pulled back slightly, intending on looking at her, taking in the sight of her home again, but she surged forward to kiss you, foiling your plans as she let out an almost relieved breath against your lips. Her nose brushed yours, and it wasn’t the tidiest one you’d shared, but the way her hand came up to cradle your cheek and the softness that her lips moved with against yours was more than enough. You felt at home again, which was a little silly because you weren’t the one that had left for two weeks. But it was the truth.

“Mami?” 

A sleepy voice from the top of the stairs interrupted you both, your cheeks pink but hidden by the low light of the house bar one corner lamp, the pair of you casting your eyes up to your children staring. Anaís was there, one pant leg rolled up to her knee, most of her hair falling out of her plait. Oriol stood slightly behind her, blanket in one hand and his favourite teddy in the other.

“You are meant to be asleep.” Alexia told them both with a smile, watching as their eyes widened, like they had just processed who they were talking to.

All of sudden, there were two pairs of feet racing down the stairs so fast you thought they were going to fall through them. Anaís approached her at full speed, you hardly having enough warning to move out the way of her, giving Alexia the time to greet her children and brace for impact. Oriol trailed behind a little slower, dazed and confused. He didn’t even know 00:00 existed on a clock.

“Is it morning?” He asked, blinking like he had to think about it. You laughed quietly and shook your head, though he wasn’t at all interested in you, and you couldn’t even be mad about it.

Alexia was crouched down, Anaís wrapped in one arm as she opened the other for a waddling Oriol. He dropped his belongings and walked straight into her arms, half-asleep, adorning a dopey smile when she pulled him into her. She hugged them like she hadn’t seen them in a year, which is understandable when you’re all used to a night or two away. Two weeks in comparison to a precariously built routine that hardly lasts 48 hours feels like a lifetime. 

“You’re really home?” Anaís mumbled, clutching Alexia’s jumper collar in her fist like it was half a threat and half a hope she didn’t disappear again. Oriol watched the brunette’s face keenly, waiting for her answer, like his life depended on it.

“I’m really home.” She murmured in response, kissing their foreheads one after the other. Both of them shuffled closer to her then, trying to get as close as possible, to make up for lost time.

You watched from afar, leaning against the wall, arms crossed and gazing at the reunion of your family. Anaís’ fist didn’t budge, and Oriol clung to her arm, sleepy and clingy. You saw the way Alexia adjusted her hold on him, letting him bury his face in her neck before standing with the pair of them in her arms. She turned to you, a down-turned smile on her face, one that conveyed her adoration for the two tired beings curled into her. Now that she was home, they had settled immediately. The world was back on its tilt, the house no longer felt too big, the chests no longer missing a piece. Everything was right again.

“Go put them to bed. I’ll be down here.” You told her, not wanting to take away her time with them. She nodded, a grateful look in her eye directed towards you. You met it with a smile, then watched as she walked upstairs with two dead-weight children in her arms, hardly breaking a sweat.

Sometimes it did catch you off-guard, how much you missed her when she wasn’t with you, how much you loved her even all these years later. But all you had to do was take one look at her, see the admiration in her eyes when she gazed at her children, see the warmth and wonder she greeted you with every morning, to remember what it was that had you so content in your life. Because even after so much time had passed, she still looked at you like you were the best thing that had ever happened to her.

By the time she came back down, the house was quiet again. No thumps of feet against the floor as Anaís avoided bedtime to show Alexia each and every drawing herself and Oriol had made whilst she was gone, no requests for stories through slurred voices with drooping eyelids. Just the two of you, the hum of the fridge, the flicker of the lamp in the corner, and the gentle thrill of being together again that had your heart skipping still.

“They’re bigger.” She commented as she walked in, eyes fixed solely on you where you waited for her again. She came over to you, and that same fluttery feeling from earlier returned with every step she took.

“They always are when you come back.” 

She looked at you, then squinted a little.

“You okay?” She asked. “You seem… nervous.”

You nod your head, before breaking out into quiet, disbelieving laughter.

“I just… I’m happy you’re home again. I had like… butterflies whilst waiting for you. I have them now.” You admitted, blushing at the ever-so-slightly proud smirk on her face. “It doesn’t even make sense. We’ve been together for… feels like forever. We’ve been apart so many times, for longer than this one, but… I don’t know. I always miss you when you go. Never changes.”

To your surprise, she tilted her head and smiled, before saying, “Of course it makes sense. I always miss you too, so much. I was nervous on the ride here, and walking up to the door. It took me three attempts to get the key in the door.” 

You laughed at that, openly and freely, because you could, because the love of your life was home again, in front of you, indirectly admitting that she still loved you just as much as you loved her.

“I was too nervous to even hear that.” You said, heart clenching at the soft giggle that sounded through the room as a result. 

“I have something to tell you. Something to admit.” She stated, out of nowhere. 

“What is it? Did you leave your passport in the taxi?” That was met with a roll of her eyes and a click of her tongue.

“No, idiota. Come here and I tell you.” Her hand outstretched to take yours, tugging you closer. You stumbled a little, but she caught you, of course she did. Her arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you tight to her, her chin falling to your shoulder, mouth beside your ear. “You’re my best friend.”

You laughed, again, but there were shivers down your spine that told a different story.

“You always say that.” It was true, she did. At random points, like it was a detail of her life she didn’t want to forget, yet also couldn’t believe. 

“Because you are.” She grinned, gummy and full of heart. Then a yawn broke through her romantics, delirious and exhausted giggles spilling from the both of you. “That was a long two weeks.” 

“Without your best friend?” You teased, Alexia humming her amusement.

“Sí, exactly.” She went quiet for a moment, before speaking again. “You really are, you know? I don’t say it to be… funny. I really mean it.” 

Your heart warmed, your cheeks blushed. Again. For the thousandth time since she came home.

“I know.” You whispered, leaning back to leave a kiss to her lips. She held it longer than you planned to, reminding you of exactly what you’d missed. “It was a long two weeks. House isn’t the same without you.” 

Alexia smiled again, though it was slightly fuelled with guilt. Or maybe… regret. Like travelling for football wasn’t something she wanted to do for much longer. But her reply didn’t match the look on her face.

“I hope Anaís and Oriol find someone who loves them like this someday.”

It came out of nowhere, a quiet thing, said with ease like it wasn’t the most profound thing you had ever heard her say. You sat with it for a moment, taking it in, until you realised it had stirred something within you. Not dramatic, not loud, there was no fanfare. Just… a content revelation. 

You didn’t respond initially. You only looked at her, at her profile in the low light, the tiniest quirk of her lip that was always there when she spoke to you, the ease of which her hands rested against your waist. Like they belonged, which they did.

And you thought to yourself, because it was such a profound thing to say, and it wasn’t even really about you. It was about your children and the hope that one day they’ll be loved the way you’ve been loved. Not with grand gestures, but with consistency. A soft, everyday kind of devotion. There in her arms, this revelation of yours grew. It built a home for itself in the back of your mind that won’t move for the rest of your life.

If they find this kind of love, then they’ll be okay.

Even when things get hard for them, when the world demands things you can’t protect them from, when you’re not there to guide them through it. Someone will be. Someone who chooses them over and over, like Alexia does with you. 

You leaned back forward in her arms, inviting yourself into your embrace, which she immediately accepted as her arms tightened around you. There, something within you settled, something you couldn’t quite put a finger on. But something that felt like accomplishment as a parent. 

“You loving me like you do, it’s shown them what to look for. I can’t be so scared for their future when you’ve given them that gift, Ale.” 

That time, it was her turn to be left speechless. 

Her tired mind was too exhausted and sluggish to think of a reply worthy enough to express how much that meant to her. And if she dwelled on it for too long in such a vulnerable state, she might cry. She didn’t have the energy to cry.

“We haven’t done so bad, have we.” She mumbled against your shoulder, her body instinctively letting out a sigh of relief at the comment. Almost like it was confirmation to herself that she had done what she needed to do, both as a parent and a partner. That was all she wished for. Truly.

“I think we’ve done better than we give ourselves credit for.” You hummed, Alexia huffing a breath of laughter. She was minutes away from falling asleep in your arms. 

“We need to go to bed. We’re getting too soft. They will make fun of us if they catch us.” You giggled down her ear, and it echoed in her chest. Sparked the fire there that had dimmed whilst she was gone.

“Younger us would think we’re so lame.”

“Mm, no, not lame. I think they would be proud. We have come a long way.” 

“We have.” You agreed with ease, thinking back on the years that had passed in what felt like just a blink. “But one thing has stayed the same.”

Alexia hummed curiously, eyes most definitely closed as she held you in the middle of the kitchen of the house you’d bought together, the home you’d built.

“I love you.” 

A simple statement that hadn’t missed a day of your relationship. One thing that linked the both of you, all the way back to when you were two nervous, giddy, lovesick but too scared to say so, people that had no idea what the future held. 

Still, it seemed, you were nervous, giddy and lovesick, but now a little older and not afraid to say it. Certainly not afraid to share it with your children. So maybe, on paper things had changed, but in retrospect, a lot was the same. You had grown, individually, and come together to form something that’d last long after death do you part. Your children would carry it, their children would carry it, and so on. You stayed the same people, whilst creating something bigger than the both of you without letting it affect your relationship. That was something not many people could brag about. 

You were sure that, when you were both old, in your sixties, seventies, eighties, and beyond, should life let you, that you most definitely would brag about it. Hell, Alexia already bragged about it. You couldn’t blame her; the life you had made together was the greatest achievement you would ever do. Nothing could compare.

“And I love you.” 

Nothing could compare to that either.

—

i wish i could make this twice as long, that i could include the scenes i had to cut out, and just never end this story but the woso tumblr audience nowadays unfortunately does not Iike such a thing and it would most likely get v boring (as if it isn't too long and boring already lol) there's writers out there that could convey the summary of the final scene in a third of the word count in a single scene, so yes it is unnecessarily long but🤷🏼‍♀️ it was a nice distraction writing it and i'm sad it's come to an end lol. if you got this far, thanks for sticking with it and i hope it was enjoyable <3

[moondustbaby]

You’re Still My Girl

Blue collar!Rafe x Wife!Reader

a/n: based on this request! 💌

Summary: It’s your first formal event since having the babies, and dress shopping brings out every insecurity you’ve been trying to ignore. But Rafe’s not having it—not when you’ve never looked more beautiful to him.

⸻

You should’ve been excited.

It had been months since you and Rafe had gone out—like really out, somewhere nice, somewhere that didn’t require packing snacks and extra diapers. When the wedding invitation came in the mail, he grinned like a kid. “We’re going,” he said, already setting it on the fridge. “Mia and Jace can stay with my sister. You and me—just us.”

And it sounded perfect. Until you had to find something to wear.

The first dress you tried on barely zipped. The second clung to every part of you that still didn’t feel like yours. By the third, you were blinking back tears in the dressing room, hands trembling as you tugged at the fabric.

Your body had grown two babies. It had been stretched, softened, changed—and most days, you were proud of it. But not here. Not under the fluorescent lights, with Rafe waiting outside, hopeful and smiling like this was supposed to be fun.

You cracked open the door.

He stood up immediately, eyes lighting up like they always did when he saw you. But the second your arms crossed over your chest, his smile faltered.

“Baby,” he said gently, stepping closer. “Talk to me.”

You shook your head. “I look terrible.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do, Rafe. None of these fit right. I hate the way I look—I just… I don’t feel like myself.”

He was quiet for a second. Then, without asking, he pushed open the door the rest of the way and came inside. His hands found your waist, rough fingers brushing against the curve of your stomach.

“You feel like you to me.”

Your throat tightened.

“I mean it,” he said, voice softer now. “You think I care that your body changed? I watched you carry our babies. I watched you wake up every night, feed them, rock them, love them when you could barely keep your eyes open. You think I look at you and see anything but the strongest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever known?”

You looked down, tears blurring the cheap tile under your feet.

His thumb brushed your cheek. “I know it’s hard. I know it’s different now. But it’s still you. You’re still my girl.”

A breath caught in your chest.

“I love you,” he said. “All of you. Always.”

And maybe it wasn’t the dress. Maybe it wasn’t your body. Maybe it was just the pressure to feel like everything was back to normal when your whole world had changed. But with Rafe’s arms around you, forehead pressed to yours, something inside you softened.

You ended up picking a dress you hadn’t expected to like. A soft navy blue one that flowed where it needed to and hugged where it didn’t hurt to be held. Rafe’s eyes practically bugged out when you stepped out of the store in it.

“You’re gonna ruin me in that,” he murmured, hand resting on your lower back like he couldn’t help himself.

That night, he zipped it up slow, whispering praises into your neck, kissing every inch of skin he could reach.

And when you walked into the wedding, hand in hand, his pride was louder than anything you wore.

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: this one’s for the girlies who cried in a Target dressing room and still made it to the event!! blue collar!rafe doesn’t give a damn about stretch marks or soft tummies—he just wants his girl to feel like the goddess she is. let him hype you up and zip your dress, ok?? also rafe seeing you in that navy gown? he’s not surviving the night.

♥️ lani

Send Me Requests! 💌

Masterlist

𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉:

@lolabunnyworldss @superlegend216

[rain-water-flowers]

Take You Down

WC: 1738

Synopsis: Hyunjin doesn't think anyone knows about your relationship. Enter Felix. Literally.

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex (you know better), dirty talk, desperation, very slight exhibitionism, very slight voyeurism, softdom!hyunjin, switch!felix? (maybe), sub!reader, reader is out of it for like half of the fic, jerking off, reader didn't explicitly consent to Felix watching but she's all for it, I think I got it all?

A/N: This was a request from a reader, soooo thank you! There was supposed to be some plot to this. That went out of the window when I started writing the smut. Im disappointed in myself, smh. Thanks to my beta @midnighthazee who continues to put up with my continuous smut writing. Enjoy!!

Y/n was excited when Hyunjin told her that the members were gonna be out for the day — everyone having schedules and being too busy to even think about being at home. Except for Hyunjin. 

He had just gotten back from a promotion video shoot for a skincare company. He had two days off before going back to his regular schedules, leaving him time to spend with y/n.

Hyunjin Do you wanna come over? The members are at schedules all day. I miss you…

Y/n had almost jumped for joy at that text. She hadn’t seen Hyunjin for a month now, starting to feel the distance drag on her. 

Y/n Of course! I’ll be over in like 30 I’ve been waiting to see you for weeks now :((

Hyunjin told her how much he missed her, and that he would cook her a nice big meal when she came over. They planned on watching a movie and cuddling until y/n inevitably had to leave before the members got back. 

He felt bad about keeping their relationship in the dark, but he feared that other people would make it seem like he wasn’t able to do his job if he was in a relationship. That’s how they always act, and he wanted to save y/n from the backlash they would receive — even from management. 

Y/n didn’t care, she wanted the whole world to know. The backlash didn’t matter, and if his managers wanted to scold them then they could scold them. It wasn’t going to keep y/n from being in his life either way. 

— — — —

When y/n had arrived at his dorm, she knocked softly and he opened the door eagerly. Hyunjin immediately took her into his arms and squeezed her so much she couldn’t breathe. 

“I missed you so much, baby.” He said, smiling brightly at her and taking her face in his hands. 

“I missed you too, so much.” She replied. She closed the distance between them and their lips met. 

It had been a month since they’d last seen each other, but now, finally alone, they couldn’t get enough of each other. 

Y/n moaned into the kiss, her fingers making their way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer and pressing herself against him. Hyunjin was just as desperate, his hands roaming her body possessively as he guided her towards his bedroom. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve thought about you these past few weeks,” Hyunjin groaned against her lips, nipping at the bottom one. “Fantasized about having you in my bed again.” 

Y/n whimpered, arching into his touch. “Me too,” she breathed. “I need you so badly.”

They stumbled over to the bed, already tugging at each other's clothes. Y/n yanked Hyunjin’s shirt over his head trailing her fingers down his abs before untying the string on his sweatpants. 

Hyunjin groaned as he pushed her shirt up and off, cupping her breasts in his hands and squeezing them, rolling her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. “Fuck, I’ve missed these,” he rumbled, dipping his head to suck one into his mouth. 

Y/n cried out, her head falling back as pleasure raced through her. She kicked off her jeans leaving her bare except for her underwear. Hyunjin made quick work of that too, tossing it aside and exposing her fully to his hungry gaze. 

“Gonna worship every inch of you,” he promised, his voice roush with desire. “Remind you who you belong to.”

Y/n shivered at his words, the primal possessiveness in his tone making her pussy clench with need. “I’m yours,” she gasped. “Only yours.” 

Hyunjin smiled dangerously. He loved hearing those words from her. He pushed her back onto the bed, settling between her thighs and rubbing his hard cock against her dripping cunt. 

“Fuck you’re so wet for me,” he groaned, reaching down to stroke himself. “Gonna fill you up so good, hm?” 

Y/n spread her legs wider, mind only focused on him and his words. His voice had a strong effect on her, and she could’ve sworn he was born a siren. 

She keened as he pushed into her slowly, his thick cock stretching her open and hitting all the right spots. He was so big it was hard not to. 

“Ah, fuck, yes,” Hyunjin hissed, starting to move faster after pulling out and pushing in once. “Take it all, baby.” 

He reached up and took her hands into his, interlacing their fingers and squeezing. Y/n could only moan in response, wrapping her legs around his hips as he pounded into her. The bed creaked beneath them, the headboard slamming against the wall with every thrust. 

They moved together like they were made for each other, and they were. Hyunjin fucked her so well, sending shockwaves of pleasure up her spine with every pass. Y/n arched her back, urging him on as she chased her release. 

They were so in their little world of pleasure, they didn’t hear the front door shut loudly, the automatic lock clicking into place. They were so lost in each other that they didn’t hear the bedroom door open, Felix letting out a gasp as he saw the scene in front of him. 

Hyunjin noticed him when he gasped, not stopping his thrusts, and only looking in his direction to confirm his thoughts before turning back to his girl, thrusts turning rougher. 

Y/n made eye contact with Felix, unconsciously clenching around Hyunjin. He groaned and moved one of his hands from hers to wrap around her throat. 

“You see him over there, baby? See how desperate he looks just from seeing us?” Hyunjin whispered in her ear. Y/n let out a moan at the sight of him. 

“Looks like we’ve been made.” He said, an amused tone to his voice and a small smirk on his face. 

Felix finally came back to himself after what felt like an hour of staring at the unbelievably arousing sight in front of him. “I–I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you had company!” He rushed out, sounding stressed. 

All y/n could do was moan and lay there and take what Hyunjin was giving her. She was barely able to acknowledge the fact that he was saying anything, Hyunjin’s thrust feeling too good. 

“We were just getting started,” Hyunjin said, that addictive siren-like tone in his voice again. “Are you just gonna stand there? Grab a seat, hm?” 

Felix’s brain glitched.

He stuttered out a response, feeling hot all over. He walked over to the gaming chair in the corner of the room, sitting down and facing the scene in front of him. His dick was so hard in his jeans it hurt. 

Hyunjin turned his focus back to y/n, pounding into her at a ravenous pace. She was gonna cum soon. She could feel it building up and Felix’s presence wasn’t helping. 

Hyunjin could feel her squeeze around him. “So tight,” he groaned, extra loud for Felix. “Gonna cum, sweetheart?” He asked, knowing she wouldn’t answer. She was barely present. 

Felix had taken off his jeans and pulled his cock out of his underwear. He was so hard and red and leaky. He had never been this turned on in his life. Hyunjin kept showering y/n in his dirty words and Felix was so embarrassingly close to cumming all over himself. 

It was made worse when Hyunjin looked his way, gripping y/n’s jaw and turning her head to face Felix. “Doesn’t she look so fucked out, Lix-ah?” 

Felix groaned loudly, taking in the pleasured look on her face and stroking his cock faster. Hyunjin smirked and brought his hand down to her throat, restricting her airflow. 

It took three more thrusts for y/n to squeeze around him harshly, moaning so loud throughout her orgasm that Hyunjin would have been afraid the neighbors would hear if he didn’t feel so good right now. 

He let out a loud groan at the tight feeling of her squeezing around his cock. Felix couldn’t hold himself back any longer. He squeezed his eyes shut and moaned loudly, pitch rising as he came all over himself. He was twitching, stroking himself through his orgasm and letting out soft little moans. 

Hyunjin came next at the sight of Felix cumming and the feeling of y/n squeezing around him. He moaned loudly, the sound tapering off into a groan as he filled her up, pumping into her and working himself through his orgasm. 

Y/n was so out of it, she didn’t even realize he pulled out, subconsciously clenching to keep his cum inside of her. 

“That’s a good girl,” Hyunjin said softly in her ear. 

Felix bit his lip nervously, waiting for Hyunjin to kick him out after he just walked in on them and jerked off to the sight of them. 

He didn’t though. He picked y/n up off of the bed and just as he reached the doorway of the bedroom, he turned back and jerked his head toward the hallway. “Come on,” 

Felix immediately got up and followed him out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. He sat on the toilet as Hyunjin sat y/n down on the counter and started a bath for them. 

“How long have you known,” Hyunjin asked, squirting the bubble solution from the bottle into the water. 

“Maybe two months?” Felix said. 

Hyunjin nodded in understanding. “Do the others know?” 

“Not that I know of,” he responded, glancing over at y/n. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” 

“It’s okay, you were gonna figure it out sooner or later. My main problem is our management. They can be real assholes.” Hyunjin gritted out, walking over to y/n and lifting her off of the sink and into the bathtub. “Get in, Lix.” 

Felix stood and climbed into the tub, sitting opposite of y/n while Hyunjin sat behind her. “I won’t tell them. It’s not my business anyways.”

Hyunjin smiled at that, feeling his love for his band mate increase as he started to wash y/n off. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to tell the rest of the group. They would all be supportive, and would back him when he inevitably told his managers. 

Little did he know, they already knew. Felix had been the last to find out. 

[eveningepiphany]

only would happen to us | H.S oneshot

summary: you and harry just got stuck up on the tower bridge in london and it’s clear sometimes feelings are just too hard to ignore

warnings: smut! bandmate harry, fluff, heights, unplanned confession, making out, trying to hide it from everyone, REALLY CUTE CAR SCENE, tension, fingering, dirty talk, vague reference to choking, protected p in v sec, talk of unprotected sex, frat boy harry just being too hot.

a/n: this is a longer smutshot with a bit of plot, took me MONTHS of coming back and forth from this draft, but it’s so so cute I think you’re gonna love these two!

not heavily edited, may be some typos, just want to post it so bad and its 2am HAHA

———

A deep, almost shaky exhale passes through your lungs and out past your lips. Your own numb hands coming to your waist underneath the thick knitted sweater that hung baggy over your frame, meeting the tight harness fitted over your jeans. It was so cold outside that with each breath out, there was a pale cloud that got puffed out with it. The kind you’d see on a crisp morning while walking to school as a kid, and pretend you were exhaling a long drag of a cigarette.

It’s weird to see something such as the air from deep in your lungs in a way you never normally do. Something that is typically invisible, in the exact right conditions, can be suddenly tangible. The air you exhale always there, regardless of whether you can see it or not. But on a night like tonight it’s no longer able to be ignored.

How one individual might perceive it can be starkly different to another. What is perhaps an annoying reminder of the cold to one person— is a thrilling reminder of their state of aliveness to another.

You believe in the latter. Despite it highlighting how freezing cold you feel, it makes your heart sing. Right now, you’re alive, living in this very moment. Your breath is the very proof that you’re here, experiencing something few other people understand.

The mosaic of London city lights can be seen all around you, reflecting on the swell of water that consumes the far drop below your feet.

Gratitude floats through your mind at the tight harness wrapped around your middle, attaching to the safety line behind you. Otherwise just looking down would make you loose your balance, and that's not a fall you want to experience.

Filming music videos, you’ve learnt, is no joke. Considering you’re 200 feet in the sky above the river Thames on London’s most famous bridge.

“M’pretty sure I’ve just frozen my balls off.” Louis shivers out, earning a snort from Liam who has his hands shoved under his arms— in attempt to warm them up— beside him.

The camera crew have filmed the shots planned, and a few extras for behind the scenes footage, but everything that needed to be taken has now been ticked off, and the rest of the team are beginning to get ready for the band to come back down.

“And here i was just thinking how surreal it is to be up here,” You sigh out with sarcastic whimsy, “Louis sure knows how to put it into words…”

Niall pipes in, “Best view in the whole city and Louis is talking about his junk.”

Everyone up there let’s out a belly laugh at Niall’s quip. It’s an oddly touching moment. Just the six of you feeling like you’re on top of the world, laughing at a joke about Louis dick.

A very fitting theme for a bunch of still-teenagers, you think to yourself. Heartwarming in its own odd way that makes you smile. Eyes flitting from the skyline in front of you back to the band, attempting to take in every small detail that’s painting the wondrous view ahead of you.

You’re glad you went up first, it means you can see all their faces at once when you look to the left. The toothy grins, lit up eyes, and red, wind kissed cheeks.

Especially Harry, who beside you, looks absolutely elated to be up there. The glimmer in his eye's is possessing an emotion in your chest that's admittedly different tonight in comparison to any other.

Maybe it was just your surroundings, but you’re convinced this is the most beautiful he’s ever looked. His brown curls were tousled back from the breeze, lips flushed from the cold. The big khaki jacket cast over his broad shoulders is bundling him up, yet he was still shivering slightly.

Somehow now— even in London's coldest months—his skin still appears tan. Like if you reached out and touched it, it would thrum with the warmth of his blood. A heat you want to settle into with your entire body and soul.

Forcibly, you have to tear your gaze away from him. Reminding yourself that he is your bandmate, and one of your best friends. Not someone for you to be staring at as if there was something to be entertained.

Besides, you’ve spent months gaslighting yourself into the belief it’s simply because you work together so closely. Of course your brain is trying to tell you that there’s something there!

Hell, you’ve heard the horror stories from your girls back home. Problematic shit almost always happens when they fuck around with male colleagues at their jobs. You’ve even said to them, “Is he hot, or is it just because he’s a guy at your work?”

And while your relationship with Harry is arguably a lot more personal than just two colleagues, surely the theory still applies— you’re only so attracted to him because you both work together. That’s it…

Not at all the fact he is definitely the most gorgeous person you’ve ever seen.

Shaking your head— as if the physical movement will stop the internal battle between the voices in your head, you focus your eyes back to the city. Trying to memorise this beautiful sight instead, and commit each red set of break lights, and every yellow glow of someone’s window to the mental picture you’ve taken.

You wish you could know how many people are looking at the Tower bridge right now. If they have any idea that there’s 6 idiots up the top of it. It casts a familiar, deep set of wonder over you.

Are they cooking dinner, watching tv, or staring out at the world just like you? who are they with, why are they with them?

Just the notion that all the people in that city are out there, living a life as shockingly intricate, and beautiful as your own makes your heart clench. It’s a feeling you want to hold forever.

Harry notices from next to you the look on your face. He sees this look often, he knows how deep of a thinker you are. When your lips part in the slightest bit, displaying that sense of earnest shock— and your big eyes search the scene in front of them as if it might disappear on the very next blink.

You do it at airports, in every new city you visit, and onstage too— you do it almost everywhere, come to think of it.

His own mouth slants into a warm smile, even Niall has glanced over and shared a quiet chuckle at your ability to just slip into your mind every time something unreal happens to the six of you.

“Alright— we’re gonna get you guys down one by one!” A crew member's call pulls you out of your trance. Harry is almost sad to see the captivation on your face get snapped away in an instant, making him divert his attention away from you so he doesn’t get caught staring.

Given that you were the first of them to go up, you’d be the last to be lowered down. Zayn however was the last to go up, and arguably the hardest of everyone to convince to get up here.

Despite looking like he could conquer anything, and any challenge, he is scared easily of new things. Like going on a plane for the first time, or being lifted to the top of tower bridge and held by only a harness.

“Thank god—“ he sighs a chuckle, running an anxious hand through his hair as he slowly starts to shuffle along the narrow edge you’re all standing on.

“People pay good money t'do stuff like this, is the real kicker.” Liam nudges him, earning a playful eye roll from Zayn at his dig.

“Don’ get me wrong, s’beautiful, but im out of here. Back to solid ground where I belong.” He points to the mechanism that will lower him back down to the platform underneath where the crew is, hand then coming back to cling to the X shaped beams behind you all.

From what you were all told, it’s actually for maintenance… a large steel cage of sorts. One that’s clunky on the way up and down, and can’t carry more than two bodies a time— at best.

You hear the sigh of relief Zayn lets out as he steps onto the solid metal— sliding the carabiner out of the cable holding you all to the bridge. Waving a hand down to the crew to lower the lift, shouting down to them, “good to go, thank you lads!”

Once it’s back up, Liam goes down next, smiling pridefully as he gets onto the platform. Everyone knows this is a night you’ll all never forget.

Next is Louis, who does a salute to you all, “see you all on the other side,” leaving with a wink as he unclips himself once he’s in the cage.

Niall cleared his throat to shout, “Goodnight London, I bloody love ya!”

However, this is where things start to go awry. Because the platform doesn’t come back up as you and Harry had both been anticipating… causing you to both share a confused look as the final two up on the bridge.

“What the fuck…?” The two of you hear a worker cuss in annoyance, clear to you a slight commotion is going on below. It’s a very faint murmur of concerned, and also annoyed voices, that you’re straining to hear over the wind.

But suddenly Niall can be heard, loud and clear. Whatever it is can’t be that serious, because Niall is giggling? You and Harry both are leaning your heads to try and hear properly. Eventually he sounds like he’s having a full laughing fit, followed by a loud bellow of his amused tone that echoes all the way up to the two of you, “…So they’re stuck up there?”

Your heads snap to one another, locking eyes as you realise why the platform hasn’t come back up yet. Your cold hand comes over your mouth in shock trying to cover up your dropped jaw, warm breath ghosting over the red tips of your fingers.

“Fuckin— there’s no way…” Harry frowns, shaking his head, “He has to be tryin’ t’pull one over on us.”

"Gave the team 10 bucks t'act like its broken..." He murmurs to himself, pursing his lips as his head shakes in disbelief.

A part of you wishes that was the case, but your gut is telling you that its not. That sensation confirmed when your phone starts ringing in your back pocket.

Carefully, you pull it out of your pocket and glance to the screen, gesturing it over to Harry. Georgie, a part of your management team was calling you. He was a short, wiry red-haired man in his late thirties, who had a really lovely husband that would bake the band cookies with their son, Thomas.

With a sigh, you answer the call— putting it on speaker and shuffling closer to Harry so he can hear what he says.

Shoulder to shoulder, he leans his head down to listen, curls brushing the top of your head.

“Hello?” You say as you hear shuffling behind the phone, biting your bottom lip with your teeth as you wait for Georgie to actually talk to you.

Finally you hear him clear his throat with a short apology, “Okay— Y/N, Harry?”

He asks this as if it weren't abundantly obvious you were the only two people up there for him to be speaking to. It makes Harry palm his forward with a slight roll of his green eyes, “Georgie, what’s goin’ on?”

Annoyed look good on him, you thought. The way his brows pinched together and his lips formed a harsh line, jaw clenching tightly.

“Don’t panic but—“

“Oh, fucks sake, we’re gonna die up here, aren’t we?” You immediately interrupted, free hand coming up to your mouth as you take the nail of your thumb between your teeth.

“No, No!” He repeats, and you know he’s down there tapping his foot on the ground like he always does in conversations.

He’s either genuinely confident, or doing a really good job at faking it as he states, “All is well— just a minor inconvenience, is all…”

Harry and you say nothing though, waiting for him to fill the silence with an explanation of what exactly is happening down there.

“The cage lift has… uh,” his tone falters as he tries to find a way to explain the situation, “It’s had a bit of an issue. It’s not going up— we’ve got people on the way to fix it, so don’t worry.”

“They think it’s a combination of the cold night and the fact it’s not been used in a few weeks… but I promise we’re doing everything we can to get you guys down.”

Niall and Louis can be heard laughing in the back, and you feel at ease knowing the bridge isn’t about to collapse under your feet. You’re safe, just stuck up there for a little longer than planned.

“Wait till the media gets a hold of this,” Harry shakes his head, but a tiny relieved smile cracks now he also knows what’s going on— and likely at the boys cackling through the line.

“For now, just hold tight. I know it’s cold but atleast there’s two of you up there—“ you both shoot each other a confused look, “And I’ll call you when the blokes with their big tools are here to fix the lift and send it up…”

“Right… so in the meantime we just stay up here. On the top of a 200ft ledge?” You clarify, stupefied at the situation you've landed yourself in.

“Uhm, yep… I’ll call you guys back when I know more.” He replied curtly, before bidding a quick goodbye and hanging up.

Given the height you’re situated at, you don’t waste any time tucking your phone safely back into the pocket of your jeans. Glancing over to Harry who is smiling out at the city, “At least you’ve got a bit more time to try and memorise all this, hey?”

“Or we’re living our last hours up here before we die of hypothermia…”

A chuckle comes from him, where he nudges your shoulder with his, “C’mon Y/N, I think they’d airlift us off the bridge before it came to that point.”

"Now that would be a news story about us," you slant your gaze to him, his hands stuffed into the pocket of his jacket, “And that's at least true, I'm just being dramatic considering the situation.”

His lips curve into a smile, shaking his head with amusement, “We’re gonna get the biggest I told you so from Zayn.”

The wind blows your hair in all directions as it randomly pushes a strong gust against you, making you reach up to try and tame it back down.

“Whose fucking idea was it to leave my hair down,” you complain, despite it actually being your own. Harrys own hand comes to try and brush it out of your squinted eyes, quietly humming, “y’shivering, love.”

The way he is so gently pushing the hair from your face, paired with the hushed pet name makes you look up to him, “And so are you…”

Internally, you are cursing. Cursing right now whatever greater force has planted your ass in this set of circumstances. Stuck up here, in arguably the most romantic spot you could be put into. Together. Right at the time the resolve you've tried so hard to maintain that Harry is 'just a friend', is starting to crash and burn.

“C’mere.” He says, the lilt in his accent is deep from the crisp air, casually wrapping an arm around your middle, pulling you towards him. Just the action alone makes your whole body heat up, and your praying your cheeks are already red enough to hide the blush that's creeping hot up your neck…

Your cheek meets his shoulder, nose bumping his collarbone as he tucks you in the space between his arm and his side, the hand around your waist splaying over the knit of your sweater. He smells so good, masculine… the scent woodsy, but with an undertone of warm spices. You try not to draw in an obvious inhale against the collar of his shirt.

You adored how close a connection two of you shared, but you also hated it. Hated it because there’s no hesitancy in the way his hand curls around your side and lets your body lean into his. The this is just what friends do mentality. Especially in a situation like this, where the action can simply be justified by that, and that alone. It kills you feeling him like this, warm and gentle against your cold body, and trying to pretend like it isn't currently making your insides squirm.

“If this ledge weren’t so bloody thin, I’d wrap you up with m’jacket.” He admits, looking down at you.

He cant help but unknowingly make it worse for you.

Lips forming a thin line, you try to bite back the smile that's forcing it's way onto your face. The image playing off in your mind no matter how hard you try to wipe it. Stood here, arms slid around his toned middle, meeting together at the small of his back. oh god...

Your own hands have unconsciously braced themselves on the outer edge of his jacket, gripping it for dear life as you try to calm your racing heart.

Eyes veering outwards as you look at the scene in front of you, “it’s okay... its cold, but at least its beautiful.”

His own eyes are trailing the profile of your face, heart thrumming underneath his chest as an almost welcome heat spreads through him. He’s made a mistake pulling you into him, he should’ve known he’d bitten off more than he could chew. That he’d want more, to feel more of you than he already is.

When suddenly nothing is more appealing than leaning down and nudging your nose with his, to let your head tilt for him, so he can press a warm kiss against your mouth.

“So beautiful,” he quietly parrots, but he’s not thinking about the view.

Forcing his eyes away from you, he clears his throat carefully. A tiny chuckle escaping in the silence that had enveloped the two of you as you stared out at the city.

“Only this would happen to us.” He suddenly says, and you feel him draw in a deep inhale. Confused in what context he means it, you turn your head to look up at him with a puzzled smile, “What do you mean?”

“I can almost bet a thousand bucks we are probably the first and only people t'ever have this happen t'them. Somehow I find it fitting.”

“Pretty special... if you think of it like that.” You mutter, nodding slowly.

“No one can even see us, and there's a whole city out there—“ he gestures out with his finger, “that doesn’t know we’re up here.”

A morbid laugh bubbles from your throat, "I know were not gonna die up here, but if we were, I can't really imagine what the last thing I would want to do would be." You feel his chest rumble with a chuckle, and he's shaking his head at you.

His voice is completely normal as he ponders the thought, "Well... we’re kind of limited with what we can do because of these." His hand finds the hem of his white t-shirt, peeling the material above his belly button. It's intention to gesture to the harness flush around his middle. Your eyes however... they veer to the tan skin of his stomach, and the dark tattooed ferns that adorn his hips and bracket the dusting of hair that trails up from the band of his Calvin Klein briefs. Only graced with the sight for a few fleeting seconds before it disappears behind the white fabric once again.

You almost about choke on nothing. Having to force your throat to swallow before a bout of laughter rattles out of you without you able to stop it, "The harnesses?'

Your obviously answered question makes his brows furrow, and mouth quirk into a confused sort of smile. It only makes you laugh more, hand coming up to scrape down your face as a desperate attempt to ground your brain.

But, fuck— what he just said, you're banking it was an entirely innocent comment, and that's exactly what is causing the confusion at your disheveled reaction. But he quite literally doesn't realise what insinuation you thought he was making. And that you are imagining all kinds of depraved scenes without ability to stop.

A parallel of you only a minute earlier, he begins, "What do you—"

The pang of realisation hits him.

"...oh."

His words die where they were in his voice box, stomach churning the second he clocks onto your almost guilty laugh. The sound drips with warmth as it enters his ears.

He rolls his eyes, but suddenly his cheeks feel hot as a blush spreads across them no matter how hard he tries to will it away, "That is not what I meant! Of course you would think that."

Your jaw drops in feigned offense, knocking your elbow against the side of his ribs, "What are you trying to say about me?"

You've taken a small step back from him, hand coming to your chest as a mimic of your fake shock. You know how dangerous this is getting, and quickly at that. Breaching into uncharted territory.

"That your head is stuck in the gutter." He mumbles, blinking fast as he avoids meeting eyes with you as if you'd be able to simply see the thoughts plagued in his head now.

"It is not, you're the one that worded it weird!" You tease, arms crossing. It is truly like the rest of the world has fallen away, and like you are the only two people alive right now.

"Is so," he argues passionately back, "So far in the gutter, in fact, tell pennywise i say hi."

You burst out with a laugh, trying to tuck your cold hands between your upper arm and ribcage, "Gross, Harry. I fucking hate clowns."

"And mind you, I said nothing! You came to this conclusion on your own."

"Okay Y/N, What conclusion is it tha’ I'm coming to, if y'would be so gracious to enlighten me." Checkmate.

He's smiling now, you are red, embarrassed or worked up, or perhaps a heated mixture of both.

The ball is back in your court, and you struggle to get your mouth to move properly, "I— You cant— Don't turn this back on me!"

Suddenly, he tumbles his own inner thoughts out of his lips before he can halt them, they sound with a rasp, "Darling, you're the one having deluded n’dirty thoughts 200ft up n'the sky."

God. Does this count as foreplay to the mile high club? And fucking hell, his voice sounds too deep right now. The way his thick accent rolls the words out. Its making your head hurt.

Your earlier resolve is officially gone. It's thrown itself off the ledge of this bridge and is falling the very far drop to the bottom. And you know what, pretty sure your self respect is going with it. Between the two of them, it will be loud enough to probably hear the impact they make when they hit the water at full force.

"Probably the first person to be doing that up here, too." The words are gritted out of you as your heart pounds in your chest.

You hear the inhale he takes, deep— as if he's trying to ground himself, hold back whatever is transpiring right here, right now.

"Do have even half the idea of how badly I want t'kiss you right now?"

Your head snaps from where it was, tearing your eyes from where they'd locked onto the city skyline in attempt to distract yourself from the trouble you're about to get into. A part of you deep down realises how bad this could get quickly, how absolutely irreversible this conversation is.

And that regardless if something or nothing comes of it, you are never going to function the same. Laying in bed staring at the celling you'll see his face, next time you're on stage you'll feel your stomach drop when he looks at you, when you're in a room with him you'll cease to be able to function.

His green eyes have literally pinned you where you stand, wind toying with your hair as your lips are parted in shock.

"You don't mean that..." you stare at him, shaking your head slowly. Trying to back out of this, attempting to give him a moment to throw the blanket back over what he was uncovering.

He frowns, almost offended, as if doubting him is the worst thing there is in the world. Taking a brief step forward to fully face you, "Y/N, I would have you backed up against these beams if I wasn't literally restrained from doing so."

"What— Harry, what about—" At this rate, you're mustering up any excuse to rationalise what is happening right now, "I'm pretty sure there's strict rules against this in our contracts— you know?"

"Fuck the contracts." He immediately replies, disregarding that as a point entirely. His hand coming up to brush the brown curls that have been blown in front of his intense gaze, "Could care less 'bout them, not like we haven't broken a million other things in them."

True. You can think of several things between you and the band. You're still employed, if that says anything.

"The things I would do to you if I knew no one would interrupt" He takes another step closer to you, close enough you can reach out and touch him, "then well see about me not meaning any of this."

His voice, the absoluteness in his tone makes your head spin. Resolve slipping, cracking, completely dissipating from where it was being grappled in your palms two seconds prior to this conversation starting.

You feel like you're floating outside of your own body as your hands find the bottom of his white shirt, lifting it until you can wrap your fingers around the black harness taut around his middle. Slowly, you pull it until he is forced to step closer to you.

His heart stutters at the action... it's arguably the hottest thing a girl has ever done to him— beating a tug of belt loops or a belt by a mile. This was personal.

"This is still a problem, as you said earlier." You drawl quietly. Tone void of any indicative of emotion, the only thing he gets any intel from being the blush that's deepened on your cheeks.

There's a few ticks of silence when his chin dips to follow the action that's led your cold hands underneath his shirt, the way he stares the only point of physical contact between the two of you. But god, when your stare flickers up to him and he meets it with his own— his stomach jolts. Eyes squeezing shut as his forehead drops down, hesitating before pressing ever so slightly against your own, "Y'are too much, love."

His hands sliding up to meet your jaw, your low voice echoes out a plea, "Well, it would be a waste if we didn't."

Referring to the kiss of course, it does feel like it would be a missed opportunity to surpass right now. As, in all fairness you'll never be able to have a first kiss with Harry in a more memorable place. So even if the idea is stupid, It could be justified by that alone...

You feel his chest rumble with a deep chuckle, his lips pulling into a smile, "We'd regret it... if we didn't."

"We’d always wonder.” You nod, tone bearing on certainty as the two of you knowingly come to the biggest reach of a justification you could.

His fingers coil around your jawline, and you can feel his warm breath gently panning across your skin. It makes your eyes flutter closed, feeling his thumb ghost over your bottom lip. Eliciting a shudder that runs straight up your spine, making him smile with pride.

Tipping your chin up, he brushes his mouth over the corner of your lips. Catching them just slightly, “I’d always be thinking about what your mouth would feel like against mine,”

“And then you’d just end up kissing me anyway,” you chuckle quietly, “just in a probably less cool place.”

“Mhmm,” the low hum of agreement rumbles from his throat as finally he bears his mouth down against your own. The press of warm lips against yours making your whole body sing.

Cold was no longer a feeling in you, there was only a hot tingling sensation that’s shot through your limbs as his mouth lingers in hesitation for a moment before moving to kiss lightly against the fullness of your bottom lip.

He nearly groans when you regain enough control over yourself to actively kiss him back, leaning into his touch.

The excitement spreads through you both like wildfire— you’re kissing each other on the top of a world famous bridge. Cars below, and mentionably the crew members also underneath, have no idea. No idea the fact your hands are skating up his white shirt further until you’re palming the hard slabs of muscle over his abdomen. Not even a clue that one of his hands has taking sanctuary on your hip bone, tugging your body into his.

Your mouths work against each other, tongues suddenly getting involved when he squeezes a hand along your ribs making your lips part. His warm tongue gliding into your mouth just enough for you to taste him slightly.

“Harry,” his name is whined against his mouth, nails clawing over the skin of his chest.

“Fuck—“ he bites out, tongue lulling against your bottom lip, greedily trying to taste more of you.

The action alone is enough to make your knees nearly give out, “I need—“

Your desperate words are cut off, the sound of your phone ringing bringing you both to an instant halt.

There’s a shared look, both taking in what you’ve done to one another. Left standing here with eyes half lidded and lips swollen— looking entirely, wholeheartedly, fucked.

A tortured sigh comes from you as he promptly leans back down and kisses your mouth. If it had anything to do with you, you'd let the call ring out just to have more of this. He is more sensible than that, clearly. As his hand comes to the back pocket of your jeans, sliding your buzzing phone out into his palm.

Wanting to whine when he pulls away, a part of you is battling all your logic and is begging to stay up here with him. For how long? You don’t care, forever as far as you’re concerned. Fighting the urge to just grab your phone and throw it off the ledge, purely so his hands can busy themselves on your skin again.

Harry clears his throat before tapping the accept button, hoping to god he can muster a normal sounding voice.

Georgie’s voice comes through first, less shuffling on his end of the phone this time— indicating some higher level of organisation in comparison to earlier, you assume.

“Harry, Y/N! Platforms on its way up you two, everything okay?”

“Yep, Georgie,” he nods, pursing his lips as his eyes find your to pin you with a stare, “things are good.”

A small laugh and he replies, “Well— I can’t really tell if you’re bein’ sarcastic but I’ll take it.”

“Anyway, once it’s up there we’ve been told strictly to keep it one at a time to come down just to be on the safe side so it doesn’t malfunction again.”

“Very reassuring…” Harry drawls with slight grimace, glancing over to where the metal cage is rising up.

“Don’t be so pessimistic,” he scolds playfully over the speakers, making Harry roll his eyes— but a playful smile falls on his lips.

“See you soon, thanks for saving us Georgie, I owe ya one.”

You finally lean towards the phone, “I second this, thank you.”

“Not a worry, didn’t want that much paperwork on a Friday night.” He teases, before ending the call with a quick ‘see you soon.’

Harry’s eyes return to you. Your lips part and draw in a hushed gasp as he leans back into your space. Hands slowly sliding around your middle. Making that same breath catch in the middle of your throat as he pulls you in, slowly, almost sensually as his eyes drop to your lips.

He lingers against you, a tease, you already know it.

Proving you right, he deposits your phone back safely into your back pocket, applying a few gentle taps to the swell of your ass as he leans back again.

"H." is all you can say, and at this point it comes from you as almost a whine. But it saying exactly what you want without having to even tell him.

A grin is plastered on his handsome face at the blush that’s already torn its way back through you. His bashful smirk mirroring that of two teenagers that have sneaked a kiss before going back to their friends or family.

Which is exactly what he does, struggling not to smile against your mouth as he presses warmly, firmly against you. Giving you exactly what you wanted.

Allowing you both as much time as reasonably possible to soak in the feeling before he starts to pull away, your body almost instinctually following his movement— leaning further, pecking against his mouth until he steadies your shoulders with his hands.

A soft chuckle breathily escaped him, heart nearly melting inside his chest as your wide, wild eyes stare up at him. A tiny, smile on your own mouth now, one he reaches up to thumb delicately over.

The touch is earnest and makes you nearly sink into yourself— or better yet, sink into him.

A light hum of pleasure, and then he pulls away, turning to start walking along the ledge.

Carefully, you both shuffle to where the platform is now fully stationary. As he takes a step onto it, feet planting solidly onto the metal, you see a sense of relief on his face. Hands working to unbuckle the carabiner, and his eyes flitting back to yours.

You’re staring at his hands… the way they seamlessly open the clasp. You’ve always been drawn to them, the firm tendons that run into his fingers. He catches you doing this, and whether or not he knows you’re ogling the stature of his hands, the smirk on his face is all consuming.

You roll your eyes bashfully at him, pursing your lips and crossing your arms all in an attempt to be normal about this. But struggling to come across to him as unaffected by this whole ordeal.

He is having none of it.

“M’not done with you, love. Not even close.”

And that’s the last thing he said before the platform started the trip back down. Suddenly you are alone up here once again. The moment of solitude very sobering in a situation as such.

Unbelievable to consider that if you told yourself two hours ago that by the end of the night, you had made out with Harry up here, you would’ve believed sooner that you were having hallucinations than actually thought it were true.

Your brain is going over it and over it, like a flashbulb memory, all you can think about is him, and what you’d just done.

“Fuck sakes.” You cursed, hand coming up over your eyes in attempt to quell the thoughts.

It was closest to a face palm. Your palm immediately clapped over your eyes. It’s to no use though, as even behind the darkness of shut and covered eyelids you could still see him, still feel him. The sensation of his fingers softly grazing over the skin of your ribcage, slipped tentatively underneath the knit of your sweater. The heat of his tongue lulling gently into your mouth.

M’not done with you, love. Not even close…

The sound of his voice, even if it’s simply the imagination of it in your own head, it reignited the heat in your stomach— if it ever truly went away— making it churn with heavy desire. Almost worse than earlier, now that you had to stand here and suffer through it stationary.

Dragging your heavy hand up to take place in your hair, you push the loose strands out of your face, and tug at its roots.

With now open eyes, the city stared back at you. Supplying you with a mocking silence. As if to imply, I saw what you just did. Watched you kiss someone you shouldn’t, and not even just once by any means. You went back for more even after it stopped. Got your hands and feelings involved.

You attempted to smooth your hair down, annoyed that your guilt has conjured into the city of London taking over your internal monologue. It was messy as you combed your fingers through it, but whether it was Harry or the wind, you’re hoping that— and the rest of your disheveled appearance— can be attributed to the cold and wind entirely.

Which suddenly, that cold felt so much harsher now Harry was no longer up there with you. Either it was his body heat pressed against you that heated you up, or kissing him had that much of an affect on you. Tragically, you’re ball parking that it’s a torturously attractive combination of them both.

When the platform thankfully returns up, you steal a final glance out at the Thames and London. Definitely a sight you’ll have burned into your mind for the rest of your life.

Stepping onto the platform, you felt equal parts relief and anxiety. God forbid people can sense something is different between you two… and this is not a situation you’ve ever been in before. Who knows your own capacity to hold a convincing lie about something like this.

The second you’re down all the way and the platform meets the ground, you’re greeted with a flurry of workers and people from the crew. All chorusing questions of ‘are you okay?’ to you as if you’d been up there for days without food or water.

Tamara, one of the women on the styling teams, rushed up to you with a thick black coat, shawling it over you and rubbing your shoulders, “here lovie, y'shaking like a leaf you poor thing... this’ll warm you up.”

Her lower lip pouted out in sympathy for you, her dark curls of hair casting over her eyes as she spoke “Gosh, you look so cold, the wind up there must’ve been so chilly… your cheeks are all red— and your hair's all over the place."

At least she was attributing it all to the cold wind, and wasn't immediately aware you'd just snogged with your bandmate up there. Either way the slight shake to your hands was the last of your worries, and your gaze has landed on Harry— but he was already looking at you.

His stare said it all really, the look of we have unfinished business all over his face. The tiny curve to the corner of his mouth that may go unnoticed to everyone else but you. Possibly because you had his tongue in your mouth less than half an hour ago, but still— you pick up on it all the same.

Georgie is fussing over him currently, and Harry takes a second to break the eye contact the two of you held, pausing to let out a breathy laugh as he turns to Georgie, “And surely after all this excitement we get to go back to the hotel room— no more crazy behind the scenes to film?”

Tamara’s ears perk and she overhears him, nodding as she rubs your shoulder, “we’ve already got a car down there to get you back to the hotel."

You thank god for the bridge being closed to traffic, entirely unable to imagine trying to trudge through hordes of tourists and potentially fans just to get back to a car.

Several people escort you and harry down the stairs to where a black car is parked opposite to the exit.

Tamara opens the door for you both, and you share a look before scooting into the backseats. Georgie gets into the front passenger seat, greeting the driver politely. Already clued in on the mishap on the bridge, they waste no time having a relieved laugh about you both getting down in one piece.

The heater is already cranking in the black car, heating your skin. Harry pats the middle seat with his hand, giving you a look. It lingered like an unspoken sentence in the glimmer of his green eyes, and the tiny upwards tilt to the corner of his mouth.

Next to me, it said.

Like it was less question, and more that he needed you next to him more than anything else in the world right now.

And as you’re coming to realise, this look on his face can pretty much get you to do anything. It’s only telling how far that alone could take you. So you silently settle into the middle seat, pulling the seatbelt across yourself. Buckling it in, feeling Harry’s thigh gently press against your own.

There are so many unspoken words floating in the air between you two. Things you want to say, things you want to do, all suspended above you. Making you wonder if Georgie— who is rugged up in the front seat and is apparently accompanying you both on the ride back to the hotel— can sense it too.

However, he seems oblivious despite your expectation for him to be the opposite. He pays no additional mind to you both, other her than the slight dart of his eyes to your body taking up the middle seat instead of the window seat behind him.

Your teeth are working over the skin on the corner of your lower lip as you’re driving back towards central London. Delmar, the driver whose name you’ve overheard in passing as Georgie and him acquainted, is weaving back into the thick of the cities traffic as you’re off the closed bridge.

Harry’s eyes are cast outside the window, but his hands are deciding to play a dangerous game. Simply at the fact he cannot help himself. He’s aware that Georgie is distracted, and is taking the opportunity to innocently flex his knuckles against your knee. Breaching the gap from where his hand rests atop his own. The warm city lights are cutting a deep shadow across his jaw, outlining the smirk on his side profile.

It conveys his need to touch you, that your body filling up the space next to him is not enough. Although you have to hold back an exasperated sigh at his actions, and how he is only making this worse for you, you end up sliding your hand down your thigh, slowly and carefully.

It's likely that you're just as bad as him, because you brush your hand against his— Nothing but your pinky stretched out, grazing his. Both of your eyes shifting upwards to lock with each other, then back to Georgie. A silent acknowledgment at how careful the two of you have to be right now.

Slowly, you link your pinky around his own, catching his ring finger too as he curls them against you. The delicate touch is somehow a head-spinning mix of sincere and beautiful, but also so insanely attractive.

He's smiling, a wide grin that his free hand attempts to cover as his elbow rests on the car door. Covering the dimples you wanted to take in, allowing you only the sight of slightly crinkled eyes from how hard he's smiling underneath the palm of his hand. To put it simply, right now he looks like an art piece. His chocolate curls over his forehead, and the smile on his face you know that you're the cause of. Hands brushing together, hidden between the both of you— all in the back of a car, trying to hide it like true teenagers.

It's sudden when you realise you are in the exact same state, struggling to disguise the curve of your mouth from not only Harry, but the other two people in the vehicle. Trying to press your lips together as he plays with your fingers. Hands soft and warm against yours, your eyes casting down to where they're joint together between the two of your knees. Just barely. Small enough a move to ensure you're the only two that know about it, but also enough to make your stomach churn with need.

I want his mouth on mine again, your brain chimes.

Before your brain can send you spiraling back into the memory of you two kissing, the sound of your name from the front seat cuts through it.

"Y/N, You were up there, tell Delmar what it was like!"

Snapping your gaze back to Georgie, he serves a unintentional reality check for you.

"Oh, uhm—" Shaking your head as if to clear your thoughts, you endeavor to form a coherent sentence. Harry's hand gently, and as discretely as possible, slides out of yours, taking its place back on his own thigh. If you were to look, you'd see that the smile on his face has somehow gotten wider, as if the aspect of being nearly caught out in the backseat of the car is the most amusing thing in the world.

Amplified by him listening to you stumble over your words, that too is endearingly hilarious. A true gentlemen.

However, you're now unable to find the words for what happened up there that don't relate to having someone kissing you over and over again.

"Well, you can imagine it was beautiful," A tiny, pained chuckle comes out of you, "London is... massive— from up there, y'know?"

God. You sound like such an idiot, you already know that.

The driver laughs and nods at your attempt to tell the story, voice warm and sincere as he replies, "Some things can be hard to put into words, I understand."

You take a moment to realign your thoughts, come up with anything better than 'London is... massive'.

Finally smiling back at him, you draw in a breath, trying to articulate the feeling prior to getting distracted up there with your bandmates mouth, "Well, the city lights are kind of like a warm sky of stars... Hard to believe that there's so many people in London when you look at it from that high up."

He hums at your much better description of the sight, and of course— just as anyone would, he curiously asks a few more questions.

Such as 'how long were you up there? were you scared?' All of which Georgie unfortunately does not swoop in on to steer the conversation again, as he too wants to hear the experience from you.

Delmar does eventually cast his attention to Harry's broad frame in the rear view mirror, quizzing him on his own outlook on the event, making you thankful to have a second to breath and not be skirting around the fact you made out with the person sitting currently right next to you.

He handles the questions with tragic ease— or at the very least it comes off that way— but you can hear how he is still trying not to laugh. And the way he's knocking your thigh with his every chance he gets when the eyes in the front of the car aren't on either of you.

The streets and the traffic within them get busier as the hotel the band is staying at draws close. Delmar weaving into the back lot so you can both get inside discreetly, not forgetting to thank you for the pleasurable chat. His kind words you both smile, and Harry isn't shy to also gives his gracious appreciation, "Drive was a dream, thank you mate, 'ave a lovely rest of your night."

His hand comes to open the car door, allowing him to slide out— But once he's standing, he gestured out his palm for you to take as your feet come to the asphalt below. The smirk on his face as you take it is enough to make you roll your eyes, trying to downplay the effect it has on you.

He leans discretely down to your ear, speaking only loud enough for you both to hear, "I know I will."

A wink to you, and it feels like your knees are going to give out simply where you stand. He gives it a squeeze before breaking off to shut the car door, and walk over to where Georgie is standing.

“Tamara told me they’ve got hot chocolates prepared in the foyer for you two.” Georgie informs you both, typing quickly back to Tamara on his phone before leading you both in through the back entrance of the hotel. Harry’s hands are tucked into the pockets of his jacket as you walk beside him, likely to stop himself from caving and trying to grab your hand or arm in his as you walk behind Georgie.

The air is contrastingly cold compared to the warm car, which brings another bout of relief when you to get back into the heated hotel lobby.

Surely enough, a short, older lady comes out from a kitchen area upon you all entering. Promptly walking up to Georgie with a tray with 3 large cups filled with the sweet beverage. He gasps in excitement as she approaches, remarking sweetly that "Tam even got me one, what a sweetheart!"

"Bet thats the real reason y'came back with us." Harry teases, then nods in greeting to the lady holding the tray of drinks, "Thanks for these, love."

Even she looks up at him with a big grin. Reminding you of the way the elderly ladies talked about the boys when you were filming earlier for this music video. Harry— and all the others— just have that charm about them. Clearly it lacks a generational age limit. And you know what, you cant even blame her. She gets it.

"Not a worry darling's, buzz us if you all need anything else,” You give her a smile as she reaches to pat your arm, “it should warm everyone up.”

“Thank you so much.” You affirm as you clasp the hot cup from the tray.

Heading towards the posh elevator, Georgie presses the up button and is talking to Harry about tomorrow, how he has a fitting for a suit. Something about an awards show. You're struggling to pay attention, as you know all three of you are headed to the same floor. Not only does Georgie have to think you're going back to your respective rooms for the night, but if any of the other boys waited up for you two, there is no way you're going to get to be alone tonight.

Harry is busy entertaining Georgie's itinerary as you step into the elevator, his hand reaching for the '32' button on the control panel. The descent up each floor feels like it drags on forever, anticipation for how this is going to play out genuinely killing you.

When the large silver doors open to the 32nd floor, all of you walk out in tandem onto the tiled hallway. Your rooms are all pooled together at the start of the hall, meaning there’s hardly any further to walk once you’re out of the elevator.

Your own keycard for your room is in your phone case, so you reach to pop the case off and slide it out as you come to a stop outside the large white doors of your room.

"Well," You clear your throat, eyes darting between Harry and Georgie, "Glad we all survived that ordeal, I’ll see you all bright and early tomorrow."

A small buzz sounds from the sensor as you hold the card over it, a small green light flashing.

“Mhm, tomorrow.” Harry affirms casually, casting a sly nod your way from where he stands on the opposite side of the hallway. Standing outside his own room, fishing out a keycard from deep in the pocket of his jeans.

Georgie, who is happily and unknowingly pushing open his own door, chuckles at your comment, "Definitely glad, see you two in the morning."

With a small smile, he makes sure to squeeze in a a final reminder to Harry, "H, half ten tomorrow, don't forget."

The two of you have both slid inside your respective hotel rooms as Harry laughs quietly, replying to him, "Wouldn't dare."

Waiting, your free hand clutches the door. Admiring his face in the warm glow of the hall lights, and the way he keeps his eyes trained on the room Georgie was disappearing into. As you watch, you’re taking a sip of your hot chocolate when his gaze finally darts to yours as the click of a door sounds up the hall.

Now you’re just looking at each other, tension in the air thick and warm. He’s smiling as he mimics your behaviour, taking a leisurely drink from his own cup without breaking eye contact.

Given the few seconds of silence, you are certain that no one is going to disturb you, and a sense of relief washes over you. Finally. Other than the pounding of your heart in your chest, everything around you is quiet. You peak your head around the smooth rim of the doorframe, all the doors were shut, and the rooms were hushed.

By some grace of god, not only has one of your managers gone to bed without any hunch as to what’s going on, but the rest of your bandmates too. And it really is just the two of you.

Harry’s gaze is burning into with an equal grin when you look back to him. Revelling in the privilege he feels watching you step quietly back into the hall, turning your body to very gingerly tug your door closed again.

You cannot be closing the gap between you both fast enough, you’re practically running across the hall, shoes lightly clacking against the tiles to reach him before this perfect opportunity could be interrupted by a single soul. Pursing your lips as you step across the threshold of his door and the hallway, forcing back a laugh that’s bubbling in your chest at the situation.

Not wasting a second more, you invade his space. Leaning into the curve of his body where his arm is braced against the door he’s holding open.

“Hi…” Your hand reaches up to meet the back of his neck, where it cranes to look down to meet your eyes.

“Hey, baby,” he rasps, eyes fluttering as he takes you in. The black of his pupils have blown out over the mosaic of emerald green surrounding them, dilated in what can only be described as sheer anticipation. Conveying the want and need he feels without having to speak more than a word. That alone is something you can’t handle for half a moment longer, because suddenly your hand sinks into the soft curls at his nape, and you’re pulling to tug his head further down. Moulding your lips together in a single, rushed movement.

There’s no words that can do justice the feeling that explodes in your chest. Little buds of heat bloom and flower in there faster than you can keep up with, kicking your lungs into a pant as his tongue can’t help but get involved immediately— lulling over the fullness of your bottom lip. The firm press of a single kiss had promptly melted into a plethora, one after the other as your lips show no mercy against one another.

You have to physically focus to keep the cup from slipping from your grip. A nearly impossible feat when his tongue is invading the gap between your top and bottom lip, gliding into your mouth with a hum from his throat at the taste of you. Warm and chocolatey, a flavour he wants to sink in.

Harry too tastes of the warm drink, a sweet contrast to earlier— when your tongue tingled from the spearmint on his breath. Your body leans into his. More, more, more, your brain is practically begging. Naturally it causes him to stumble back as your chest is arching to press against his own. The softness of your body makes him want to groan, and his hand almost instinctually leaves its hold on the doorframe to meet the dip of your waist. Supporting your stature as he pulls you to follow each step back he takes.

With a loud slam, the door falls shut, eliciting a slight flinch and laugh from you both. Like you didn’t expect it. As if natural consequences don’t exist right now, and the world around you is falling away with every press of lips against skin. There is no actions causing reactions, except the ones happening solely between the two of your bodies.

“Oh god—“ You sputter a strained laugh, hand stroking along his jawline as your eyes dart to the now shut door. It’s thrown the room into darkness, except for the faint glow London’s city lights have provide from his window on the opposite side of the room. “So much for being discrete… and quiet.”

This lighting bought the sharp shadows back onto his face, but this time you can finally touch them— revel in them.

“You’ll be more worried about quiet later, darling.” His voice comes low against your cheek, hand on your hip. Guiding you backward until the small of your back meets the cool countertop of the kitchenette.

His words bring that familiar, pleasure-filled roll into your stomach. Drawing out a tiny whine from your throat as he smirks against your flushed skin. Placing a peck against your cheekbone, he lingers for a few seconds. Letting the warmth of his lips burn a mark into the very nerves they touch, before pulling back to take a swig of the hot chocolate between his hands. Using his free one to now guide your own cup towards your mouth.

As your big eyes look up to him, he breaks his lips from the lid to speak, “drink s’more, it’ll be a cold chocolate by the time we come back to it.”

Chuckling around the edge of the cup, you press your mouth to it and let the sweet and warm liquid trail down your throat. He watches intently, the way you swallow it down— knuckles coming to run from the base of your throat upwards, tracing along the hook of your jaw.

He has to stifle a groan at the sight of you, the way your throat bobs with your red cheeks and messy hair. It translates instead through the clench of his jaw, and fluttering shut of his green eyes. The expression makes your stomach flip, not only warm from the hot chocolate, but from the arousal that’s sparking heat in every part of your body it can tangibly reach.

“Fuck— H,” you say, turning to push the takeaway cup on the counter behind you, “You’re so fucking beautiful, look at you.”

Finally, that groan escapes him simply at your words. Furthering into something more as now both of your hands run up his white shirt. No longer stopped by the barrier of a body harness, you skate along the taut, firm muscles of his abdomen in one long stroke.

“Fuckin’ Hell…” he curses, eyes darting down to meet where your hands have slid up his shirt— again, for the second time tonight.

It’s a much more heated parallel of earlier, one he takes no hesitancy to act on. Leaning into your touch, he turns briefly to place his cup adjacent to yours on the bench top. Feeling your nails scratch along his abs, he is quick to move so he’s facing you again, planting his lips back on your own and reigniting the fiery kiss.

With two free hands now, he runs them up your hips, firmly pulling you against him as he walks you away from the kitchenette. Your feet stumble along with his long strides, brain struggling to pay attention to anything other than the drag of his hot kiss against you.

It’s clear all resolve is lost to you both, and when the backs of your knees hit the edge of the cool comforter… “Im gonna wreck you, love… if you’ll let me.” The depraved words are whispered against your lips.

His body presses you down, you have to sit now, thighs meeting the bed and your lips disconnecting. The sudden distance causes you to whine, “Harry—“

“You’re going to have to tell m’too stop.” He rasps, the heat of his palms travelling up under your sweater. However this time, they traverse higher than just your ribcage— ghosting over the sides of your breasts.

The sight is obscene on its own, despite all articles of clothing still being on. The tension around you both is crowding the air to the point your lungs are heaving to bring any oxygen left into them.

Finally, your brain manages to string a sentence together, “I won’t. I wouldn’t. I don’t think you realise what you’ve done to me.”

The urgency held in your words starkly highlights how fast your need for him has snowballed. You’ve gone from wanting just his lips, to wanting every inch of him. Needing his body pressed against yours, pressed into you. You grasp his hips and tug him to stand between your parted legs.

Once you’d done that, if that hadn’t thrown your last handful of caution to the wind, your fingers now reach for the hem of your sweater.

This was a greenlight. It was a go ahead to cross a line that you both knew shouldn’t be crossed. As it was no longer just words. Not just strung up whispers that imply a want, it was an action that affirmed it. One that drags a growl from him once your hands have shucked the knit from your body, leaving you in just bra and jeans, “pretty little thing y’are.”

“We’re making a mistake, probably,” you pant out, reaching your arms up to his shoulders, grabbing the collar of his jacket to slowly slide it off him. The thick fabric hitting the floor with a gentle thump, “but I don’t fucking care.”

“Mistake is already long done baby, we made that hours ago when we first did this.” He finally cranes down again, pressing a wet kiss against you, making you almost moan.

“Fuck it,” I rasp, “I need you Harry, I wanna do this. Don’t care how stupid we are for it.”

Breaking away from the kiss, his eyes bore down at you as his jaw forms a hard line, “You want this? Need y’to say it…”

His sentence trails off, allowing you a moment to verbalise a yes. A seek for certain consent turns you on even more.

“If it’s not already obvious,” your response comes out in a breathy, almost tortured chuckle, “I do, H.”

It’s like his expression flips. As if his gaze darkens, and now all he wants is to make you feel everything he possibly can, “Right, darling— gonna have to be quiet tonight, though.”

Tonight. God— in your head this implied a want for this to go on for more than just one night. That it’s not just a one and done situation. Your body reels at the imagery it creates in your head.

The picture that shows more than tonight, the two of you sneaking around all over again. Fucking him in his dressing room before soundchecks, in dark hotel rooms, climbing into his bunk on the bus…

And right now, somehow that’s all you want for your future.

“I can…” you nod, “I’ll be quiet if it means I get you, please.”

Your own voice sounds foreign to your ears, the plea so desperate that it comes from you in a tone you’ve simply never heard before. In response, his hands make quick work of your bra as they skate up the skin of your back to meet the clasp— shedding it off your body with a gentle groan.

He lowers you down with his arms, letting your back meet the mattress as he closely follows with his mouth on your neck.

“Already being so good for me,” he rumbles, voice so deep it has you nearly seeing stars, “will y’let me turn the lamp on baby? Want to see you, properly.”

Your heart jumps in your chest, eyes fluttering shut as you nod. He wants to revel in your body, see every reaction it has to offer— and that’s enough to have goosebumps rattle up your skin.

However, your nod alone doesn’t satisfy him.

His hands run up your waist, skirting up your ribcage as his lips instead move down. Mouthing over your clavicle, “Words, love…” making you whine out when his sucks lightly over the skin.

“Need to hear you say it.”

“Yes… yes turn the lamp on…” The words almost shudder out your chest, evoking a smirk from him against your collarbone.

“Good girl.”

His words are foreplay enough on their own with the way his sweet accent twists them out. They replay over and over again as some part of your brain registers the sound of his feet walking across the floor, and the lamp flicking on. Casting a warm glow across the room.

“Want to see you too...”

The sentence comes out of you airy, as if you’re floating. When turns around to come back to you, he audibly groans just at the sight of you. The way your skin is peppered with goosebumps and nipples perked from the cool air of the hotel room.

His steps take him quickly back to you, your eyes big as they stare up at him, hair fanned across the duvet. He reaches a hand to run lightly over your hip, “God, you are fucking divine.”

Shyly, you smile. A part feeling so out of place as you watch him looking at you. Knowing Harry is perceiving you right now— your body from the chest up entirely naked— seeing you in a way he never has before. In attempt to even the playing field slightly, you reach for the white tee that’s fitted across his chest, tugging the hem of it so he gets the hint.

As he peels it off his torso and you want to cry. The abs on his chest are in front of you, along with every inch of tan skin that’s littered in the dark ink. Secretly, his tattoos have always been something you’ve wanted to trace your tongue over. An urge you’ve been denying since he got the first one, and it’s only grown since… the idea of re-carving the lines of the butterfly that sits in the middle of his abdomen with the heat of your mouth… or perhaps lower over the laurels that bloom from the band of his jeans.

“You look so good… so beautiful, H.” Is all you manage to groan out. Your legs part instinctively as you spew out compliments, letting him step between your thighs again. Filling the space like the piece of a puzzle, he slots perfectly between them.

Wasting no time before taking his lips to your breast, kissing over you and making your back arch. Hands coming back to the dark curls on his head, lacing into them as his mouth works delicately over you.

The whimpers that are echoed around the room are enough to drive him insane. Tiny whines and pleas of his name coming from you as your hands tangle further into his hair— pulling at the soft roots. Your body is reacting to his touch like it’s lighting a fire inside of you.

“Harry— fuck—“ when he looks up to you, he sees your flushed cheeks and screwed shut eyes. That paired with the slight upturn of your brows as your hips suddenly— and desperately— grind into him is enough to make him nearly loose it. He’s unable to take it anymore, and seeing you like this is utterly corrupting him.

His kisses work a trail back up your neck and jaw, meeting your eager lips before muttering with hot breath against you, “Y’are unbelievable, love. Gonna completely ruin myself in you…”

His hands are nearly shaking as he presses his hips flush to your core.

“Ohh—“ your voice croons out as you feel him, the hardness snug between your legs. It’s incomparable to anything you’ve ever felt. Your whole body practically gives out just from that simple action alone.

He is truly going to ruin you and himself in the process.

And happily, you’ll let him.

His fingers ghost down your stomach, over your naval to pop the button of your jeans open with a single hand. Watching his plump bottom lip come between his teeth as your hips instinctively rise upwards to help him slide the tight fabric down your frame.

“That’s m’girl,” he murmurs, patting your exposed hipbone as he slips yours jeans off you. The way his pupils have blown out as he peels them below your core, eyes meeting the fabric of your panties.

“What’s all this?” Once your pants are stripped from your legs, his fingers take place gently to press between your parted thighs. Delicately drifting over the wetness that’s seeped through your already thin pair of underwear.

“T-the panties, or the state that they’re in?” You manage to croak out in amusement, tone tight as he touches over the most sensitive parts of you.

“Because arguably, both are for you.”

“For me…” He hums, “Skimpy pair of panties, and the fact y’ve wet them all the way through… both of those things are all f’me, love?”

His finger plucks underneath the seam of your underwear, yanking the lacy material forwards before letting it snap back into place. Only making you moan aloud, “Fuck—“

“It’s been—“ his thumb runs against you, firmer this time, breaking your voice, “it’s been a long night—“

To your admission he only smirks, unbuttoning his own jeans— again, all with the talent of a single hand. As his other is busy with the ministrations it’s working over your clothed core.

“Mm, wouldn’t want to drag it out any longer, hey baby?” His playful voice making you practically clench… “or should I make you come a couple of time first…”

Suddenly, he’s shucked his own jeans off and kicked them over into the haphazardly made pile of other clothes on the floor. And the simple but absolutely mouth watering pair of CK briefs is all he’s left in. His hard cock filling up the space in them, making it abundantly clear he’s working with a lot tonight.

He leans back into your ear, feeling your legs wrap around the backs of his thighs like you’re trying to mould the two of you together, “Could work over your pretty pussy with m’fingers, get it nice and wet.”

The filth from his mouth only makes you moan, tightening your legs and finally feeling the length of his cock back against your cunt.

There’s few layers between you now, and his hands meet your hips to hold you in place flush with himself, “fuck—“

“Could play with you using my mouth for a bit—“ he bites out, already struggling to regulate his breath, “reckon you’d loose it the second I got m’lips around your clit.”

Jesus Christ.

“H— please—“ your words are desperate, voice growing louder.

“Or does my pretty girl just want my cock? Is it too much for you to wait before y’have me— y’just need to be filled up now?”

You rub firmly up against him, a long drag that has him muffling a groan into your neck— teeth grazing the skin of your ear as he revels in the feeling entirely.

“Want it now,” you conclude, “can’t stop thinking about you just stretching me out.”

“God— you are such a fucking tease, y’don’t even realise it,” he growls, kicking back into action as his rough hands travel down your side to hook into your panties.

“Laying here, begging for my cock like a good girl.” The rasp in your voice only makes you more turned on… and the pet name— that in itself is enough to keep you here all night. All things he’s about to witness first hand as he steps back so he can work your underwear off your body.

“Lift y’hips up, dove, let me see your pretty cunt.”

He moans at the sight.

Your panties aren’t even off you and he’s moaning like he’s a starved man.

“Fuck, baby.” There’s a desperate sound to him as he sees your swollen cunt, green eyes raking over the wetness that’s pooled between your legs. Unblinking, scared as if you might disappear.

His own moans kick you off too, making you whine out your own plea, “God— Harry, please…”

He manages to get the panties off you, and now he’s able to spread your legs and really look at you. Hands coming between your knees to part them.

You’re a mess.

A complete and utter mess.

“Hiding this gorgeous cunt from me for so long, never knew you’d get this wet f’me.” He groans, fingers coming to your cunt and spreading you open, “puffy clit looks like it’s been wanting attention for hours, darling.”

The sensation ripples through you body, washing up your spine with a chill that he can almost see, “I— shit…” your voice shudders, “feels like it.”

“Kills me thinking you were this ready for me when we were in the car, or god— on that fucking bridge.”

He swirls his thumb over your clit, your arousal glistening on the pad of his finger. You’re begging before you can stop yourself, backs of your legs tightening around his as you groan, “Harry, please, don’t tease me.”

This pulls a chuckle from his chest, rumbling as he flicking over you gently, “M’not teasing y’baby, just enjoying you.”

His finger slowly dips inside of you, “S’this better, this what my girl wanted?”

“Fuckk…” you roll against his hand, feeling him work a second one into you at your reaction. Relishing the feeling of you around his fingers, the wetness he can’t believe he’s managed to be the cause of.

Never in a million years did he imagine the two of you would be in a situation like this, yet here you are. Breath panting out of lungs as he smirks down at you, watching your brows knit together with every slow curl of his long fingers.

Suddenly, he verbalises this, “Never thought I’d get you under me like this, that I’d get to see you all worked up for me.”

“I—“ you bite your lip as his thumb comes back to gently stroke your clit while his other fingers ease in and out of you. The pace excruciatingly slow, considering you just wanted him to flip you over and fuck you senseless— but is causing a deep winding in the pit of your stomach.

It’s another moment where your mouth and brain struggle to match up, but finally, you push out a reply, “I’ve always been denying that I’ve wanted this… but fuck.”

“Mm?” He hums, cocking a brow and urging you to keep talking with a quicker thrust of his fingers, “Care to tell me more, love, about these thoughts of yours?”

“Always pretended I didn’t, but fuck I’ve wanted to have you—“ he hooks his fingers, “B-but— fuck, Harry— I’ve wanted your cock for so long…”

His mouth is suddenly on yours, a rough and messy exchange— tongues running over lips, teeth grazing already kiss swollen mouths. It’s a kiss that you’re both groaning into, yours perpetuated as his fingers slide out from between your core.

An unwelcome emptiness to your body, especially given the pleasure it was slowly building up for you.

However, this is no longer an issue when he leans to your ear, “I have condoms, baby— just say the words.”

“Yes, yes, please—“ you croak out, hands running up his bare back before he doesn’t waste any time breaking away from you.

Trying to make it quick as you lie there awaiting his return, a hand running between your own legs in the meantime.

He comes back with a small square packet, stopping dead in his tracks as he sees the sight of you. When he thinks there’s no way his cock could get harder, he’s proved wrong when he catches glimpse of your own fingers pushed into you.

“So desperate,” he almost growls as he walks over, pushing boxers down his thighs without a second thought. A moan escaping you at the sight of his thick cock springing up, lust driving the both of you now— its deep hooks sunk into you in their entirety.

“They don’t feel the same though, do they?” He asks, eyes dark as his hand runs down the middle of his stomach to come wrap around his length and slowly stroke over it, “don’t hear you moaning like you were five minutes ago.”

“Fucking hell,” your hips feel like they’re on fire, another roll against your own hand but he’s right, “no, nothing is as good…”

“I have a feeling we’re going to fuck ourselves up here,” he pauses, taking the wrapper of the condom between his teeth and tearing it. Hand rolling it over his length— his teeth sucking his bottom lip between them at the sensitivity. His nose sighs out a breath after a moment, glancing back over to you, continuing on from what he was saying a moment prior, “tha’ no matter how hard we try we’re always gonna want this.”

His hands gesture between the two of you, and despite how many problems that idea alone could spell you, you nod feverishly, “I’ll have it… I’ll take it that way if it means I get to have you.”

With that, he’s stepping forward and taking the space between your thighs, “guess the damage is already done, anyway.”

His breath is laboured as he pulls your ass forward, cock pressed against your core.

“You tell me baby,” Harry sighs out, leaning his body over yours again from where he stands at the edge of the bed, lips grazing your cheek in a soft but heated movement, “tell me just how you want it.”

There’s an element of tenderness and care in the way the hushed words fan warmly across your face. Intimate with the way the two of you are pressed together… almost as close as you can get. One step away from being two halves that form some kind of messy, beautiful whole.

Your hands embrace the moment, sliding between your chests to cradle his jaw. A tiny laugh coming from you as his gaze flickers down to your breasts, and how they’ve pushed together from your arms. As a silent acknowledgment of your giggling at him, he rolls his eyes in faux annoyance.

And oh god, he is beautiful.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for this.

Plain and simple, the words come from your hushed voice, “Want you just like this, H.”

His lips part, looking at you.

“Want you close, just want you to fuck me.”

And how could he ever say no to that.

A hand wrapping around his cock, he carefully lines himself up with you, leaning back to kiss you as he slowly, so very slowly, pushes into you.

There’s a gasp that immediately comes from you, and a moan that rumbles from him. Shared between the fraction of space between your lips, opened both in shock and pleasure.

“Fucking hell—“ his voice is so deep as he leans his forehead to yours, hair messily cascading over it, “so tight ‘round me.”

“Harry— f— shit…” you can’t even complete a sentence, even with the litany of profanities that are echoing in the chambers of your head.

“That feel good?” He asks, hand coming to your waist as he slides further into you, finally reaching the thick middle of his cock.

“Mmm…” only able to nod, your hips are rolling on their own accord now. The slight pinch of him stretching you out, paired with that pleasurable fullness that neither of your fingers could come close to.

His body straightens up at the buck of your cunt against him, “D—fuck—dontfuckingmove—“

It feels like all the blood in his body has deviated in two directions. Firstly, into his head, making him feel so lightheaded the room is nearly slanted. And secondly, straight to his cock, pulsing inside of you so hard you can feel it.

You moan at the sensation, and at the rough clamp of his fingers around your hips— attempting to still them, “baby, don’t… just— just need a moment, or I’m gonna come before I can even ruin you…”

“Already ruined,” you pant, eyes coming to his as sweat starts to dampen your skin— a light sheen over your glowy complexion.

“So fucking filthy.” He mutters, looking down between the two of you.

His cock half pushed inside you he’s certain is the best view he’s ever seen. Better than any view from the top of a bridge, a mountain, or any other landmark in the world.

Your swollen, glistening cunt wrapped around him, already leaking arousal more arousal now he’s got his cock in you. Reacting as you’ve never been touched before.

Slowly, he manages to get himself fully inside of you, and is starting to make small thrusts— hips gently hitting against yours as he draws in and out of you. A low, intense groan escaping him with each movement. And it’s good to know it feels just as insane for him as it does for you, because right now— even with just his length rutting at such a gradual pace inside of you, you’re already melting.

Every inch of your body is tingling as his name comes from your lips in the form of a desperate moan, “Harry….”

A harder thrust, and your hands are wringing the white comforter as you legs wrap tighter around his middle.

He wants to imprint the shape of your body on this duvet, and frame the scrunches from your curled fists like art pieces. Just to know that what he did to you, and how it made you feel was entirely real. Not something he dreamed up. That the words leaving your lips are no figment of depraved imagination.

“I'm so fucking wet… I’m sorry— I'm making a mess.” You whine, body shaking. You feel out of control, every reaction coming from your body that of a primal instinct you can't wrap any element of authority over.

The sweet cadence of your voice as you shift beneath him... that in itself makes him feel like if he blinks, he’s suddenly going to wake up. Alone in a hotel room, in need of a cold, cold shower. Making his head spin, and it effortlessly swindles his sense of reality from him.

His hands splay on your hips, the hint of possessive nature in him you felt as they coil and tighten around the skin there. Anchoring where you lay as he cements himself in reality.

“No baby—“ he scolds at your apology, “y'dont 'ave to apologise. Being such a good girl f’me… feel you clenching me so hard already.”

An unbridled moan tears from your chest as he takes it upon himself to pull almost all the way out of your cunt, and then swiftly drive back into you.

“Fuckkk!” It’s a high pitched moan, the exact thing he wants to hear more of, even though the two of you should be trying a lot harder to be quiet. It still manages drags out a groan of him in response.

“Have to— shittt… have to be quiet darling…” he reminds, head tossing back as he suddenly picks up the pace between your legs.

“Feels so good, H… your cock is filling me up feels so fucking good—“

“N’ya takin’ it so bloody well,” he slaps lightly at your ass, suddenly grabbing it to cant your hips upward, “never been fucked this good, have you?”

In truth, you haven't. Never has it felt like every nerve-ending on your body is tingling, and like any more from him and you would simply break.

“N-no, Harry.” your head physically shakes, arms using any strength you have left to come behind you, and prop yourself up onto your elbows. Desperately, you want to see him inside of you, and what he's done to you.

He smirks at this, watching your eyes meet where he's stretching you out between your legs. The way your eyes flutter shut and roll back just at the sight. A visual accompanying the feeling is almost too much for you to process.

"Tha's it baby, take a look... see what I'm doing, how my cock is making y'feel so good."

A clench around his cock, and he grunts with another deeper thrust into you. Its sudden and abundantly clear that he’s starting to loose himself in you, unable to stop his mouth from spewing every dirty thing his brain produces, “C'mon, love. Beg me for it.”

“Tell me you don’t want me to stop.”

Your core is fluttering around him now, succinctly timed to each press of his cock, “Harry—“

The words however don’t come, only whines and moans as his cock pushes deeper into you with each stroke.

“Don’t make me get rough.” His tone is a sweet contradiction to his words, and he only juxtaposes them further with the feather-like touch of his fingers against your breast, "Or is that what my girl wants, wants me to get rough? Use you a little. Let me be selfish with this pussy and take it how I want.”

Curling his fingers around your breast, he squeezes gently, making you bite down on your lip to stifle the cry that was threatening to come out.

“Rough, be rough… can take it.” You pant out, arms giving out again as your back hits the mattress. Unable to support your weight, but still managing to reach up and tug his face to yours. He folds his body over yours to comply with the pull of your hands. Chest to chest, his cock is starting to slam harder into you, deeper— hitting places you were unaware of as his pelvis stimulates your clit from this new angle.

Turning to mush, the moans are bubbling out faster than you’re able to hold them back, your mouth resting parted against his cheekbone. His ears hearing each and every sound with complete pleasure.

“Shh, such a loud girl.” He says, but its hardly a scold or instruction to quieten down. It speaks more like an invitation, to let him hear more of you, no matter the consequences it could bring after the fact.

Infact, his own voice is beginning to sound strained, like another rough clench of your cunt and he's would to come straight into the condom wrapped around his cock.

You want him to come desperately. Your body perhaps wants it even more— doing things to tip him closer and closer to the edge you're both teetering on without even consciously noticing it.

Legs tightening around his waist, arms holding him as close as physically possible, nails clawing at the firm muscles of his back. As if there were a way to fuse the two of your frames together.

“God… it’s so fucking good… I feel so good.”

“Pretty girl, about to come all over my cock." He grinds out, feeling you pulse around his length, "About to wake the whole floor up, aren't you?"

The sound of him fucking you is enough— each slide of himself into your slick arousal that’s soaked both your cunt and his cock is louder than the next. But god, oh god, its hand that slowly wraps around the column of your neck that completely undoes you.

He doesn't press down, the touch is actually quite tender. But even the semblance of control it represents in your mind rips a moan from you as your core tightens, a hot budding sensation in the pit of your stomach. His slender fingers gliding up slowly— a stark contrast to the pace he's taking between your legs— thumb stroking the hook of your jaw with just a tad more pressure behind it.

Your impending orgasm feels like a pot that is just about to boil over the edge. It's making your whole body shake, "Sh— Shit! Harryyy, im gonna—"

"Mhm, baby, it's okay, i know," He whispers hoarsly into your ear, "Dont worry, y'can come, let it all go around my cock."

"Ohh— Oh god!" Your syllables draw out as you moan, eyes screwing shut as suddenly all the pressure between your hips explodes, "come with me."

The plea spills from your lips as your body clenches around him, making him moan with you. In an instant response to your words, you feel his thrusts turn messy and harsh inside you. Your name a loud drawn out whine that echoes around the room as he gives into your ask without a single question.

The two of your moan completely in sync as a shared blanket of ecstasy and euphoria casts over you both. The moment maybe lasted a minute, or really no more than two. But it felt endless, as if time and reality ceased to exist when you both finished with each other. His cock released into the condom, but his thighs stuttered against yours either way, as if he were filling your cunt with his orgasm. A groan rattling from him when your legs wrapped tighter around him, pulling him flush to you. You know he knows that's exactly what you were wishing were happening right now. Playing along with it to satiate the sick craving for it within you as you still pulsated around his length.

Expletive's are the only things coming from your mouths other than whines. Your orgasms gradually subsiding from the heated high that was all consuming to a low hum that lingers in your bones. Still, you're holding his hips to yours as if to keep him inside of you.

Logistically, a condom was the appropriate thing to do for first and very unplanned time together, but of course right now you wish otherwise.

"Fuckkk, dirty girl," He growls out finally, pressing a hot kiss to your smiling mouth, "Acting like im filling you up?"

Hand sliding up to your cup your jaw fully now, he cranes his thumb out and is pulling on your lip, waiting for your brain to slowly start working enough to generate a sensical reply.

"Is that wrong?"

"Fuck, no. it's so hot." His voice is low as he kisses you again, letting your mouths work against each other again in a sensual kiss.

"Can't help it, H," You try to justify anyways, "cock feels so good inside me, was wishing I got your come..."

“Didn’t know you wanted it angel,” he whispers in a pant.

“Mhm, neither,” you hum against his mouth, “till I just realised how good it made me feel imagining your finishing inside of me.”

"Gonna make me hard again..." He sighs out with a shake of his head, "'Nother night baby, can fill you up anywhere y'like."

Anywhere. God.

Images of his cock filling your mouth makes you shudder with need. A thing you are keenly interested in trying… and since clearly he’s insinuating this could happen again…

"Want this again?" You ask, a slightly serious tone taking over your voice as he slowly peels off you, feeling your legs loosen from around him as his cock softens.

A smile blossoms on his lips at the way your big eyes gaze up to him, "Again, and again."

"If it wasn't obvious already, love."

A blush was conjuring on your cheeks out of nowhere, "I— Okay... good. Because I do too."

"Who knows—" He begins, pausing with a slight wince as he slides out of you. There’s a lull in what he was saying for a moment, when he leans down to kiss your cheek, walking over to a bin to dispose of the used condom that was just wrapped over him.

He also goes and grabs the two take away cups from the counter, wasting no more time before coming back to you. Finally resuming his prior conversation, “Drink this and then maybe we can squeeze another round in before we have t'sneak you back to your room."

"Think we woke anyone?" You giggle, sitting up to take the cup from his hand thats gestured out to you.

"Wouldn't rule it out." He snorts, "we can worry about what lie we'll tell later, if anyone asks."

"But," he takes a small sip from his cup, still staring at you, "either way, right now, i dont care."

"I want you." His voice is certain, "So, rest of tha' is irrelevant to me."

"C'mere," Hand wrapping around his bicep, pulling him onto the bed with you. The mattress sinks with his weight on top of it, his firm frame that was only just on top of you moments before... You lean forward and peck his mouth with yours. One he doesn't want to end as soon as it does, his mouth chasing yours as you pull back far too soon for his liking. Clearly, you're in the same boat as him, unable to find it in yourself to care about anything other than him. That in this very moment as you have him, real and in front of you, he is yours. "Fuck, then. Lets just do it."

"Think we already did, love." He chuckles, letting the innuendo come out with a rasp. Unbelievable, he is.

You can only shake your head, suppressing a grin as you bring the once-hot hot chocolate to your lips. The liquid is lukewarm at best, but somehow nothing has ever tasted better— except maybe his mouth.

———

a/n: hope you guys enjoyed, this has been in the works in my drafts for SO long. pls let me know what you think! ily, thank you for your support and hopefully will post some more writing soon lovelies🤍

[organveils]

HEELLOO HAIII, I contemplated on not posting this but I’m doing it anyway because I’ve been thinking about this combination for months. So I decided to design Sanji’s fit after The Cookie Queen from The Cookie Carnival <33 WHICH IS A VERY CUTE SILLY SYMPHONY CARTOON GO TAKE A LOOK WHEN YOU CAN IF YOU HAVENT SEEN IT BEFORE. But yeah :33 hope you like !!

[absdollievu]

You said you were different, but you’re the same

Toxic!abby x reader

Warnings: car s*x , fingering (Abby!receiving) cunnilingus (r!receiving)

It’s been eight months since you last saw her.

Eight long, exhausting, angry months.

And yet, the moment you turn that corner downtown, arms full of groceries, and run straight into her chest—broad, solid, familiar—it’s like no time has passed at all.

You almost drop your bag.

“Shit, sorry—” you start, before you look up.

And freeze.

Abby.

Your chest tightens instantly. She looks the same, but also not. Her muscle mass is leaner now, her eyes a little sunken like she hasn’t slept well. The blonde braid drapes across her shoulder, damp with rain. Her gray hoodie is too big—definitely not one of the ones you remember.

“Y/N,” she breathes, like your name is a ghost she hasn’t dared say out loud until now.

You hate the way your breath catches. You hate the way your body still remembers her like it never forgot.

“No,” you murmur. “No, not today. Not like this.”

“I’ve been looking for you,” she says, stepping forward, like she’s afraid you’ll run.

You step back. “Don’t.”

“Please.” Her voice cracks. “Just… let me talk. Just for a minute. Please.”

You stare at her. The rain is starting to pick up. Her lashes are already wet.

“Talk about what?” Your voice comes out flat. Cold. “You made it pretty clear there wasn’t anything left to say.”

She runs a hand down her face. “I know I hurt you. I know I shut you out. But I never stopped—” Her voice stutters. “I can’t sleep. I can’t eat right. You’re everywhere. And I thought I could live with it but I can’t. I fucked up, Y/N. Let me try to make it right.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Eight months, Abby.”

“I know.”

“You disappeared. No calls. Nothing.”

“I know.” Her voice gets desperate. “Please. Just tonight. Let me come with you. Let me be with you. I’ll sleep on the couch. I won’t touch you. I swear. Just—don’t shut me out like I did to you.”

She’s crying now. Not loud sobs, but silent tears down her face, and your whole chest caves in. Because you loved her. Maybe you still do.

“…Get in the car,” you say.

⸻

Your apartment smells like rosemary and garlic by the time the pasta is ready. You’d made it on autopilot—old habits. She always liked it when you cooked for her. She used to lean over your shoulder, press a kiss to your neck while you stirred the sauce.

Now she’s sitting at the dining table, the same one she helped you build your second year of college, looking like she’s afraid to even breathe too loudly.

You set the plate down in front of her. She looks up like you just handed her a warm memory.

“You didn’t have to cook,” she murmurs.

You shrug. “Didn’t do it for you.”

She flinches. But she eats.

You both do. The silence is thick. Tension rides every second like a wire ready to snap.

Half a glass of wine in, she finally speaks.

“I was scared,” she says, voice low. “Not of you. Of what I was when I was with you. It felt too good, too… safe. Like I was going soft. Like I couldn’t protect myself anymore.”

You grip your fork tighter. “So you ran.”

“I shut down. I thought it would protect you. From what I become when I spiral. But I ended up protecting myself. Like I always fucking do.”

You stare at her, unsure whether to yell or cry. “And you didn’t think I deserved a choice? A chance to be there for you?”

“I didn’t think I deserved you,” she says quietly.

You look away.

She swallows. “I still don’t. But I want you to know that I’m sorry. I’ll never stop being sorry.”

You hate how badly your body reacts. How warm your chest gets at the sound of her voice. How easily she slides into the cracks you’ve spent months trying to seal shut.

You finish your wine and stand. “There’s a party tomorrow. Jesse’s. You know the crew—Ellie, Dina…”

Abby blinks up at you. “Are you asking me to go?”

You shrug. “I don’t know what I’m doing. But yeah. Come.”

A beat of silence. Then: “Okay.”

⸻

The party is already buzzing by the time you get there. Jesse’s house is packed, loud music spilling into the front yard, lights flickering behind closed curtains. You’re not even fully up the steps when you feel Abby tense beside you.

You glance over. She’s dressed in all black—fitted tee that clings to her arms, jeans that ride low on her hips. Her shoulders are stiff, eyes scanning the house like it’s enemy territory.

“You don’t have to act like you’re walking into a war zone,” you tease.

She gives a dry smile. “You sure about that?”

Inside, the place is chaos. Beer pong, sticky floors, someone already vomiting in the bathroom. It’s nostalgic in the worst way. You push through the crowd, fingers brushing Abby’s wrist once—just enough to guide her without thinking about it.

“Y/N!” Ellie calls from the kitchen. Dina’s leaning against the counter beside her, grinning. “Holy shit, is that Abby?”

Abby raises a hand awkwardly. “Hey.”

Ellie gives a low whistle. “Thought you vanished.”

“Yeah,” Abby murmurs. “I kinda did.”

The conversation gets easier from there—Ellie is sarcastic enough to carry most of it. Abby stays close, but quiet. She doesn’t drink. You do. One shot, then two, then someone hands you something in a red cup and you down that too.

You laugh harder, talk faster. You forget to notice when you start dancing.

The living room is sweaty, pulsing with bass. Someone—short, curvy, tatted—grinds up behind you, swaying to the beat. You let her. Why not let her? You’ve been good. You’ve been careful.

Her hands slide around your waist, down over your hips. You gasp-laugh into the music as she moves against you. You push back into her. She whispers something against your neck. You don’t hear it. You don’t care.

Then—her hands slide lower. Bold. Open-palmed. She grabs your ass, firm and possessive, like she’s entitled to it.

That’s when you feel it.

The stare.

You turn your head and see her: Abby, halfway across the room, chest rising and falling like she just got socked in the gut. Her jaw is locked, eyes storm-dark. She watches for one second too long—then turns and leaves.

“Shit—” You stumble away from the girl without even looking back, pushing through the party like your body knows where to go. You hit the front door, then the driveway.

She’s at her car. One hand on the door. The other clenched at her side.

“Abby!”

She doesn’t stop. Doesn’t look at you.

“Abby, wait—”

She spins around, eyes wild. “What the fuck was that?!”

You flinch. “What?”

“You and that girl,” she growls. “Grinding like you were auditioning for a fucking porn shoot—her hands all over your ass like she owned you.”

“She didn’t own anything,” you snap, storming closer. “And what the fuck do you care, Abby? You’re the one who left!”

“That doesn’t mean I want to watch you let someone else feel you up like that!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, was that hard for you?” Your voice is sharp now, slicing. “Seeing someone else want me? Seeing me want them?”

Her face twists. “You looked like you were ready to fuck each other right there on the floor!”

“Well maybe I was,” you spit.

There’s a beat.

A pause.

Then: “Fuck you,” Abby snarls.

You shove her. Not hard. Just enough. “No, fuck you. You don’t get to be jealous. You don’t get to come back and pretend like you didn’t tear me apart!”

“I never stopped loving you!” she yells.

The silence is deafening.

Then she’s on you. Mouth crashing into yours like a storm—raw, unforgiving. You kiss her back because of course you do. Because every nerve in your body is on fire. You grip her shirt, drag her closer, teeth clashing. Her hands are in your hair, pulling just hard enough to make you gasp.

The car door slams behind you as she pulls you inside.

The second the car door slams behind you, you barely register the cold leather of the back seat before Abby’s on top of you—mouth on yours, hands already underneath your shirt, dragging it up your body. She groans when her fingers touch your skin, like she’s been starving for the feeling.

“You don’t know what you fucking do to me,” she growls against your lips. “Watching her touch you like that—”

You cut her off with a bite to her lower lip. “Should’ve said something sooner.”

“I’m saying it now.”

She grabs your thighs, yanks you into her lap as she sits back, your legs straddling her waist. You can feel her through her jeans—hot and tense and hard beneath you. Her hands grip your hips tight, grinding you down against her until your breath stutters and your head falls to her shoulder.

She pushes your shirt up, and you lift your arms just long enough for her to strip it over your head. Her mouth is on your neck instantly—teeth scraping, tongue following, lips leaving bruises you’ll see tomorrow.

You tug at her shirt next. “Off,” you hiss.

She pulls it over her head, and fuck—she’s still ripped. Her abs flex as she shifts under you, the muscles in her arms twitching when you run your hands down them. You lean in and kiss down her chest, slow, lingering. She gasps when your mouth wraps around her nipple, and her hips jerk up into you, helpless.

“Fuck, baby…” Her voice cracks. Her hand tangles in your hair, guiding you, begging for more.

You kiss lower, your hand already sliding between your bodies to pop open her jeans. She watches you, jaw clenched, breath shallow. You push her pants down just enough, then slip your fingers beneath her waistband, cupping her heat.

She’s soaked.

“Jesus, Abby…”

“For you,” she grits out, grabbing your wrist. “Always for you.”

You slip two fingers inside her, and she arches into you like it’s the only thing she’s needed for months. Her hands claw at the seat, knuckles white, moaning low in her throat as you curl your fingers just right.

“Y/N—oh my god—fuck—”

She’s so vocal, so needy, hips bucking under you with every thrust. You pump faster, grinding your palm against her clit, and her entire body shakes. Her thighs clamp around your hand as she crashes over the edge, crying out your name like it’s a prayer.

She slumps back, panting. Sweat slicks her chest.

But she’s not done.

“Your turn,” she growls. “Get in the seat.”

You don’t even hesitate—you climb off her, switch places, your back hitting the cold leather as she drops to her knees in front of you in the cramped space. She pulls your pants off so fast you hear the button pop. Then her fingers hook in your underwear and rip them down in one motion.

And then her mouth is on you.

Your entire body jerks. “Abby—fuck—!”

She eats you like she’s making up for every second of those eight months. Her tongue moves slow, then fast, then sucks hard on your clit until your legs are shaking. You grab her hair, hips rising to meet her mouth, and she moans against you—loud, needy, like the taste of you is the only thing keeping her alive.

You’re close in minutes. “Don’t stop,” you beg. “Don’t fucking stop—”

She doesn’t.

You come hard, crying out her name, thighs clamping around her head. She doesn’t let up until you’re writhing, twitching, gasping for air.

She crawls up your body and kisses you deep—your taste still on her lips. You hold her there, breathing together in the dark, chests rising and falling in sync.

For a long time, neither of you speaks.

Finally, you whisper, “I hate how good that still felt.”

Her voice is raw. “I hate how much I still love you.”

You close your eyes.

Because you do too.

_______

a/n: craziest fic written yet..

[vaginalvr]

Okokokokok so I’ve been thinking for a while about this idea but reader and Spencer are like hook up buddies or in a relationship in secret. During sex reader leaves a ton of scratches on Spencer and the team finds out about them via those scratches. Can be as filthy or clean as you would like

Mwah 💋

if you insist 😋😋😋

a/n got a little carried away and didn’t do my hw but worth it!!

cw: Secret relationship, unprotected sex (fictional), rough/possessive sex, scratching, dirty talk, mild public embarrassment, team teasing, aftercare

You’d always thought Spencer would be quiet in bed. Bookish. Shy.

You were so wrong.

The first time it happened—an accidental blur of passion in a hotel room two cases ago—you told yourself it’d be just the once. A stress release. A moment of weakness. But now, three months in, you’re tangled in his sheets again, nails digging into his back as he fucks into you with such intense purpose that your voice is barely working.

“Spence—fuck—harder,” you gasp, legs locked around his waist.

He obliges with a low grunt, the sound rough and possessive, driving his hips deeper until the headboard slams the wall. His hands grip your hips, fingers bruising your skin as he fucks you like he owns you.

“You like this?” he pants, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You like when I make you scream my name?”

“Yes—god, yes—don’t stop—”

He doesn’t. In fact, he drags your hips up just enough to hit that devastating angle, and you keen so loud he has to kiss you to muffle the sound. Your nails scrape down his back in sheer reflex, leaving raised red trails in their wake. He hisses into your mouth but keeps going, chasing your high with relentless determination.

“You’re gonna make me come,” you cry out, one hand fisting in his hair, the other clawing at his shoulder. “Fuck—Spencer—”

“Let go for me, sweetheart,” he rasps. “Want to feel you come all over me.”

The orgasm rips through you, a blinding shockwave that has your body arching and trembling under his. You moan his name, over and over, nails digging deeper as if anchoring yourself to him. Spencer groans, losing his rhythm just enough for you to feel him start to unravel.

“God, I’m gonna—shit—” His hips stutter. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

He spills inside you with a shudder, gripping your waist like he’ll never let go.

⸻

The room is quiet now, save for your breathing.

You lie tangled in Spencer’s sheets, skin still prickling from the aftershocks. He rests his forehead against your shoulder, breath hot, damp curls clinging to his forehead.

“I think I actually blacked out for a second,” you mumble, making him laugh quietly against your skin.

“I noticed,” he murmurs. “You left…a lot of evidence.”

You glance at his back. Red lines. Welts. Some might turn into bruises.

“Oh, shit.”

Spencer looks far too pleased. “Don’t apologize. I liked it.”

You sigh and flop back onto the bed. “Yeah, but… we work with profilers. How are we supposed to hide that?”

“We’ll be careful,” he says, nuzzling your neck. “We always are.”

⸻

You are not, in fact, careful.

The next morning is a disaster waiting to happen.

You’d barely finished dressing in Spencer’s guest bathroom when you noticed the time. You hadn’t planned to spend the night, but the sex was too good—and now you’re both late.

The plan: Arrive separately. Pretend everything’s normal. Keep your hands to yourselves. Easy.

The reality: You both show up at the same time, with suspiciously matching yawns and Spencer looking like he lost a fight with a cat in the dark.

“Morning,” Morgan says, sipping his coffee. “Rough night, Pretty Boy?”

Spencer blinks. “Uh. What?”

JJ, walking in, freezes mid-step. “Oh my God.”

You turn, panic prickling under your skin.

“What?” Spencer says, confused—until JJ points to his neck.

“Spencer,” she says slowly, clearly trying not to laugh, “you have scratches. A lot of them.”

Morgan leans closer, raising an eyebrow. “Damn, someone got wild. Who knew the genius had it in him?”

Rossi walks in, glances at Spencer’s neck, and just smirks. “Looks like someone had a good night.”

You want to melt into the floor.

Spencer, poor thing, goes beet red. “I—it’s not—They’re not—It’s—”

Emily strolls by, pausing long enough to inspect his collarbone. “Jesus, Reid. Was this a date or an exorcism?”

“Okay,” you blurt out, desperate to redirect, “can we maybe not turn this into an interrogation?”

“Ohhh.” Emily turns to you, grinning wickedly. “Getting defensive, are we?”

You open your mouth—then promptly close it.

Silence.

Morgan’s eyes narrow as he looks between the two of you. “Wait a minute…”

“Don’t,” Spencer warns.

“You two?” JJ says, wide-eyed. “No. No way.”

“Way,” Emily says, delighted. “That makes so much sense.”

Morgan lets out a loud laugh. “Reid! You dog! And here I thought you were all about statistics and chess nights.”

“He is,” you mutter, cheeks burning. “He just also happens to be really fucking good in bed.”

The room explodes.

JJ gasps. Rossi chuckles into his coffee. Garcia, walking in late, hears that last part and squeals loud enough to make Hotch look up from his office.

And then, of course, he walks out.

You both freeze.

Hotch surveys the scene with the quiet menace of a man used to chaos. “Is there a reason everyone’s yelling about Spencer’s sex life?”

Your heart drops into your shoes.

Rossi, ever the chaos instigator, shrugs. “It’s come to our attention that Dr. Reid has a secret admirer. Or maybe not so secret, considering the claw marks.”

Spencer groans. You cover your face.

Hotch raises a brow and looks at Spencer, then you.

“You’re both adults,” he says flatly. “Just… try to be discreet. And if either of you show up covered in hickeys again, I’m filing a wellness report.”

He turns and walks back into his office like he didn’t just casually approve your sex life.

⸻

The teasing doesn’t stop for a week.

Spencer can’t so much as yawn without someone winking at him. You can’t drink from a water bottle without Morgan muttering, “Gotta stay hydrated after all that cardio, huh?”

But despite the embarrassment, you can’t stop thinking about that night. Or the way Spencer looked afterward—flushed, breathless, marked.

Yours.

So the next time you end up in bed together, you don’t hold back.

You kiss him hard, fingers raking down his chest. He pulls you close, and his voice is rough in your ear.

“Go ahead,” he whispers. “Mark me again.”

And you do.

Because the secret’s out—and he’s yours.

[laylaysdelusions]

Your boyfriend is a lame and you’re a bottom

Warnings: aggressive sex, cheating, strap on.

Inspired by she don’t wanna by Kevin gates

“What the fuck? Again?” Paige said sternly. You just told her about your dumb ass boyfriend being flirty in other girls' comments, once again. “I’ve talked to him about it and he doesn’t listen!” You practically yell, letting your frustration out on your masc bestie. “When does he ever listen? Let’s be real” something about her know it all persona spent a shock through your body. You put your head in your hands. “I just-!” You sighed.

“Just what? Orgasm and sleep deprived?” Paige says while laughing her ass off. You slap her shoulder and roll your eyes. “Not funny”. “You know you’re cute when you’re mad at me?” the blonde player smirks at you. “Shut up!” Only now did you realize how beautiful she looked. Her blonde hair in a slick back bun and her lips in a smirk. Her cheeks tinted from laughing. “No seriously, when was the last time you got good sleep?..or a good orgasm for fucks sake” heat rises to your face at the question.

“A few months..” you mumble. “Yeah because your boyfriend’s a fuckin’ lame” Paige rolls her eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m here for you to vent but I hate seeing you go through this” the blonde’s eyes softens. “It’s like- he doesn’t even try to make me feel good anymore” tears start to develop in your eyes as you start to realize just how deprived you are of normal relationship habits.

Paige wraps her arms around your shoulders. Adjusting her pants, making you a little confused. You notice that she’s been manspreading this whole time. The view makes you feel less sad and more nervous. If you were honest with anyone you and Paige had a deeper history than just best friends. When you first realized you like girls, Paige offered to help you understand your wants and needs better.

She taught you how to kiss a woman and even eat pussy. You can’t help but still think about her moans when your hand is down your pants on lonely nights. It was just experimental right? You tried to push the thought away.

“I have an idea to make you feel better princess” the blonde attacks you with sudden eye contact. “Hm?” You look kinda puzzled. “Look, before you got a boyfriend we used to kinda experiment together and you seemed to like it, would you like to try it again? We don’t have to tell him” her words shocked you equally as much as it made heat surround your areas. You thought to yourself that if your boyfriend can’t get the job done you might as well as the one person you know can.

You lean into her and attack her lips with a deep kiss. “Fuck it” you mutter under her touch. Paige grabs you and practically throws you on the couch. Paige’s view was perfect. Your hair laid out with your facial features glowing. The heat from your body shined through to her.

When you fell back your tits bounced along with the motion. That tank top you were wearing needed to come off immediately. “Can I? Paige asked as her slim fingers placed themselves along the edges of your top. “Yes Paige” you practically whined. She kissed up your stomach, grabbing at your sides. The both of you were almost animalistic with the way you pawed at each other. It was clear the fire between you two had been burning this whole time.

“Mm fuck” Paige groaned into your mouth as she played with your hair. Her hands found themselves at your bra and you made a sudden moan. “Poor baby hasn’t been touched good in so long” Paige had a mocking pout on her face. Holy shit, you loved when she was mean. Her face buried itself in your chest, taking in everything. Your scent filled her nose.

She unclasped your bra and quickly took a nipple between her teeth. “Mmm” you cried. It would be usually silly to be so sensitive but with recent experiences this is top tier. Her hand came to your jean shorts. “Do you mind if I unbutton these baby?”. “Go ahead, do whatever you want to” you looked her in the eyes.

In just a few seconds you were completely undressed. “My girl is so soaked” the player said, referring to your pussy. Her fingers come up to circle your bud. You cry. “Need you!” You muttered with shallow breaths. “Let me do all the work pretty” Paige smiled against your neck. “I got something for ya” you look at her as if you’re wanting an answer. “Yeah?” You say with your chest rising and falling fast.

“Here princess, take my sweatpants off” she smirked while bringing your hands to her waist band. When you pull them down your eyes widen. She had a seven inch strap. That’s when you realized why she had been moving her legs so much. Your eyes turn impossibly needier. “Use your words if you want it doll”. You began to beg and after the third plea she gave in. She grabbed your legs and moved in between them.

You sighed softly as you felt her hands running across your body. The tip of the strap hit your hood making you shiver. “Tell me if you wanna stop alright?” Paige said in a serious tone. You nodded in agreement. The strap slipped in and you practically burst into tears from the pleasure. Out of the blue your phone started ringing.

You went to swipe off it until you saw who it was. “I-it’s him” you whined to Paige while she stilled within you. Her voice got stern. “Answer it.” You started to object until she repeated herself this time rougher. “Yes Paigey” you replied, out of breath and desperate.

“H-hey” you gasped as Paige started up again. “I need 30 dollars” he shouted into your ear. “N-no I don’t have it” you replied, you did but not for him. “I’m not playing games with you, send me it” he said in the most unattractive tone. Paige bucked her hips into you more causing a deep moan to arise from your throat. “What the fuck was that?” Your boyfriend yelled. “Give me the phone!” Paige whispered. You listen.

“She’s kinda busy getting her brains fucked out right now, she’ll call you back” Paige laughed and grunted into the phone and hung up. The both of you let out a laugh and fell into a kiss. She fucks you so beautifully you can’t stop shaking. It’s not long into your orgasm approaches. “Tell me baby, tell me I fuck you good” Paige groans as she hits your g spot.

“Holy shit, it feels so good, so much better than anyone else” you say, tears streaming down your face. “Cum for me baby” when she gives the command you spill. “Ima pull out ok?” And you nod. Your chest rises and falls like waves and it stuns Paige everytime.

She kisses your cheeks making you giggle. “So am I better?” “Duh”

[inwithrin]

ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡ spell it out ! abby anderson

abby has no idea what she does to you, and worse—she has no clue what you’re doing to her, either.

cw: fingering (reader!receiving), veryyyy soft dom!abby. i lowkey think this is too respectful, but i'm getting used to writing smut again lol

wc: 1710

like, she doesn’t notice the way your eyes linger just a little too long when she’s braiding her hair. doesn’t catch how your voice always goes soft when you talk to her, or how you always sit just close enough that your knees touch under the table. and she definitely doesn’t pick up on the way your shirts always dip just a little lower when she’s around, how your sparkly lip gloss is always freshly applied when she shows up at your dorm, how your perfume clings to her hoodie every time you “accidentally” borrow it.

no. all that goes straight over her head, because abby thinks you’re just sweet and friendly.

until moments like this.

the two of you are hanging out in your dorm, music low, sun pouring through the window. you're trying to open a stubborn jar of strawberry jam—one that’s clearly not budging—and you’re not even trying to hide your dramatics about it. you sigh loudly. twist the lid. grunt a little, extra breathy. then, you glance at abby, who’s lounging in her usual way: legs spread wide, hair braided, arms stretched behind her head.

“hey, uh. can you help me with this?” you ask. 

she sits up instantly, eyes on the jar. “what’s up?”

“i can’t open it,” you hold it out toward her with a pout. “c’mon. use those muscles, anderson.”

she freezes like you just short-circuited her. “you’re really gonna say that with a straight face?”

you just nod innocently, biting back a grin. “please?” 

abby rolls her eyes, but her blushing cheeks tell a different story. she takes the jar from you and wraps those big hands around the lid, giving it one, quick, effortless twist. the pop it makes echoes loudly in your small dorm.

she hands it back, trying to be casual. “there. happy?”

you lean in a little too close as you take it back, peering up at her through your lashes. “very happy.”

she clears her throat, fidgeting with fingers. “you could’ve used a towel or something for grip.”

you shrug. “why would i do that when i have you?”

abby blinks. “that’s not fair.”

you tilt your head. “what’s not fair?”

she gestures vaguely between you two. “you—you say stuff like that. i never know if you’re serious.”

you smile, slow and warm—dipping one of your thumb into the jam before leaving it on the table. “i’m serious.”

she goes quiet. really quiet. then she looks down at your lips and back up like she didn’t mean to. “you’re messing with me,” she mumbles, but her voice sounds unsure now. like maybe she’s not so oblivious anymore.

“you’d know if i was messing with you, abby,” you say, licking a little bit of the strawberry jam off your thumb. deliberately. slowly.

her eyes track the motion and you don’t break eye contact. you want her to see it—need her to. because it’s been months of waiting, of hoping, of brushing your fingers against hers just a little too long and watching her never, ever put the pieces together.

but now… her jaw is tense. her eyes won’t leave your mouth. and you can see it in the way she swallows, the way she shifts her weight, fists now clenched in her lap like she’s grounding herself.

“abs,” you say, just above a whisper.

she blinks, like she’s coming out of a daze. “yeah?”

“can i tell you something?” you ask. she barely nods as you lean in, heart pounding. “i’ve wanted you for so long. and you’re either the most patient person in the world or… really stupid.”

she lets out a stunned breath. then a laugh—half embarrassed, half relieved. “oh my god.”

you arch a brow. “what?”

“i'm stupid,” she mutters, scrubbing a hand over her face. “i mean—i thought maybe, maybe, but you’re so sweet to everyone, and i didn’t want to make it weird and fuck things up—”

“abby,” you cut her off, leaning closer, faces just inches apart now. “i wasn’t particularly subtle.”

she lets out another shaky laugh. “you practically spelled it out for me.”

“so?” you whisper.

abby repeats your words. “so?”

“are you gonna kiss me now, or do i need to spell that out too?” you ask, tilting your head.

she moves fast.

one hand curling around the back of your neck, the other settling on your waist as she pulls you in, and her mouth finds yours in a kiss that’s been aching to happen. it’s firm, but gentle, and when you sigh into her, when your hands slide up the front of her hoodie and she groans softly into your mouth. abby deepens it, tilts her head, kisses you like she’s trying to make up for the fact she didn’t realize you wanted her.

she pulls back to look at you, breathing heavily, and her lips slightly swollen. “guess i’m not that oblivious anymore,” she says softly.

you grin, tugging her closer. “took you long enough.”

her lips are still barely parted when she kisses you again—hungrier this time. deeper. it’s clumsy in the best way, like she can’t decide where to touch you first, and all that hesitation she carried for months? it’s all gone.

abby groans low in her throat when your fingers tug at the hem of her hoodie, bunching it in your fists as you pull her closer, closer, closer, like you’re trying to press her into you. she lets you, her hands skimming under your shirt, palms warm and rough as they trail up your sides.

“fuck,” she mutters, breath shaky. “you’re gorgeous.”

you gasp when she pulls you back onto the couch, her body moving to hover over yours—but never putting her full weight down. her fingers slip under your thighs, dragging you down a little more, so your hips meet just right and she hisses at the contact.

“abs…” you whine, voice barely there.

her forehead presses against yours, her eyes blown wide and hazy. “god, i wanted this. i wanted you. for so long. you don’t even know.”

“then show me,” you whisper, slipping your hands under her shirt now—feeling the ridges of her stomach.

and abby does.

she kisses down your jaw, your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses as she goes. her breath is hot against your skin, her teeth dragging lightly when she meets your collarbone. your shirt rides up as her hands roam, and when she lifts it—slowly, giving you time to stop her—you just nod, breathless.

she stares for a moment, eyes glued to your tits practically spilling out of your pink lacy bra. “holy shit,” she murmurs. “you’re so fucking pretty… you’re going to kill me.”

you bite your lip, tugging at the drawstring of her sweatpants. “then die a little, because i want you closer.”

abby kisses you again, her hands now confidently sliding over your tits, your waist, your thighs—everywhere she can reach. her mouth trails lower, marking a slow path down your body—every touch is desperate and reverent. 

when her fingers dip between your legs, featherlight over the fabric of your shorts, you whine—and she stills. her voice is strained. “tell me if you want me to stop.”

you shake your head, pupils blown wide. “please, abs. i want you.”

she tugs down at your shorts, lifting you so you could pull them off. “you already have me.”

abby doesn’t rush. she could—she wants to, if she’s being honest—but the way you’re looking up at her, flushed, open and waiting, makes something slow and achingly tender bloom in her chest.

her fingers slide beneath your matching pink underwear, and when she touches you, it’s with a kind of reverence that makes your heartbeat faster. she’s careful, eyes locked on yours as her fingers part you, drag through your slick, learning and watching every reaction. 

you gasp, hips bucking slightly, and she smiles—small, stunned. “fuck, abigail. i need more.”

“you’re so wet,” she whispers, intonation low and teasing. “is that all for me, pretty?”

you nod desperately, cheeks burning, and she leans down to kiss you again—slower now, as her fingers begin to move in a lazy rhythm, circling just enough to make your body tense. your hands move under her hoodie, nails digging into the skin of her back, and she moans when you arch against her, needing more.

“fuck,” she breathes, struggling to keep it together. “i could do this all night. just—feel you like this.”

you whimper when she slips a finger inside, then two, stretching you so perfectly your eyes flutter shut. but she nudges her nose against yours, whispers, “hey—eyes on me. look at me.”

you blink up at her, and she kisses your lips, your temple, your jaw, all while her fingers curl just right. “abby, i—”

“that’s it,” she murmurs, pressing her forehead to yours. “let me take care of you.”

your legs start to tremble when her pace picks up—still soft and slow, but with more intent now. her palm drags against your clit with every motion, and you feel yourself start to come undone beneath her, one hand flying up to cover your mouth as you grow embarrassed of the noises pouring out of your lips.

abby pulls it away. “no,” she whispers. “i wanna hear you, baby. please, let me hear you.”

“abs, i’m going to—” you moan, body trembling, thighs clenched around her hips.

she doesn’t stop. she works you through it with quiet praise, soft kisses, and careful touches. even as your body shudders and you whimper from the overstimulation, she stays close, murmuring things like “so perfect for me,” and “been thinking about this forever,” and “you’re mine now, yeah?”

and when you nod—weak, dazed and clinging to her hoodie, she lets out a breath like she’s finally exhaled after holding it for months. she pulls you into her arms, tucking you into her chest, fingers stroking softly over your back.

“hope that makes up for me being stupidly oblivious,” she says into your hair, letting out an airy chuckle.

“i’m going—to keep making you feel stupidly oblivious—” you try catching your breath. “if that’s what i get in return.”

[hellsquills]

Unknown Scars

A small drabble about the Stan twins at sea and hidden memories. No trigger warnings for this one, other than the mention of scars. There'll probably be a second part too. Thank you so much to @babyblankyerror for encouraging me to post this <3 Enjoy!

⪻ ⪻ ⪻ ⨳ ⪼ ⪼ ⪼

There’re a few scars that Stanley doesn't remember getting after the memory wipe.

It makes sense, of course, but it is a reminder of the parts of his life that he's missing. Part of him tries to convince himself that it's better this way; the last one he remembered was the one at the base of his left foot, and boy that memory sucked. He could've gone the rest of his days without ever feeling that glass again.

However, these remain a mystery. Ford asked him about them as soon as he saw them, worried about their size. Stanley simply made a joke, as he usually did whenever he found it difficult to talk about something. Seeing Ford's expression, Stan shrugged and admitted that he had no clue.

Obviously, that didn't stop his hypochondriac twin from writing down every single detail about them. Stan wasn't happy about it, but obliged, probably because he knew Stanford would otherwise interrogate him relentlessly. In his new journal, next to their encounters in the last months at sea and some sticky notes courtesy of Stan, there was a page dedicated to their injuries, a way to keep track of the damage the creatures (or the stove, in Ford's case) had dealt them. The new text read:

March 14th, 2013

I have discovered some new scars on Stanley's body, although they are not the product of any recent altercation. He has not regained that memory yet, which is most definitely worrying: his worst ones are those that take longer to come back, as I have been noticing lately. If I had to guess, I would assume they belong to his decade away from home; this part of his mind is still locked away somewhere in his mindscape, and I’m fairly certain that it is more than just the effects of the memory gun.

They are located on both sides of his torso: two sets of semi-even parallel lines over his ribs. On each set, the upper scar is around six inches below the armpit, and the remaining two are three inches apart from each other. What concerns me about these scars in particular is their size: they are about eight inches long, horizontal, not straight but parallel between them. Their even distribution leads me to believe that each set was done at the same time, probably with a sharp object with three blades, like a trident of some sort. I have yet to figure out what could’ve caused such strange markings. Stanley said he shouldn’t have gotten involved with Wolverine during his 20s, quote “he didn’t take it well when I told him we should break up”. As stupid as the joke might’ve been, it made me think about the possibility of some animal-like creature being the culprit of the scars. However, as I said before, it is highly unlikely that Stanley encountered supernatural creatures before arriving in Gravity Falls, whether he remembers it or not. Therefore, I believe it is more plausible that whatever happened occurred before we reunited the first time.

The “animal” theory would make sense, if it weren’t for the way the scars look. They are nothing like some of the others I’ve previously seen on him. The first one that comes to mind whose size resembles these new ones is the one above his left kidney– or rather, where his left kidney used to be. It is a long and poorly healed line that, even 30 years later, still looks like it was heavily infected, forcefully done and clumsily stitched back together, probably several times. These new, unknown scars are completely different: they're roughly the same color as the rest of his skin, which usually means it wasn’t a deep cut, but they have a slight relief, which means that it was. They don’t have any noticeable stitch signs, even though cuts this big would almost definitely need them, and judging by some other scars on his body, I doubt he ever managed to get suture thread and/or staples. Although wobbly, they look neatly done, which makes me skeptical to believe it was some vicious animal.

The nature of these scars remains a mystery for the time being. Even though I would like to ask him more questions until we figure it out, I don’t want to force him to remember something that his brain is obviously trying to lock away. I will keep my inquiries at bay. In the meantime, I will do some research to at least figure out what the weapon was.

⪻ ⪻ ⪻ ⨳ ⪼ ⪼ ⪼

It's a rough night for the Pines twins. Ford's latest research had led them further from land that they had expected, and it was too late to turn back. Now they are right in the middle of a storm, a pretty wild one at that.

Both men are doing their best to keep their ship afloat. Even though the boat is resilient, the waves are slamming hard against its side and crashing onto the deck, making it almost impossible to stand straight.

"There's no reason for a storm of this size to have formed in such a short time! There must be some sort of climate irregularities of supernatural ilk, otherwise–”

"Sixer, does it look like the time right now?!" Stan's voice roars over the storm, cutting his brother's train of thought. He cannot afford to have Ford distracted. "Go downstairs and get the life jackets, now!"

"Are you insane? I cannot leave you here by yourself, the boom is too heavy!"

"Well you better hurry the fuck up, then!"

"Stanley, you can't handle this on your own, if a bigger wave hits it'll—"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GET THE LIFE JACKETS!" Stan's voice is now impossibly louder, and desperate. "If I let go, the boat will overturn. If you stay, we'll both die out here. Get the damn jackets before the big wave hits, now!"

Stanford is quick to puff his cheeks in annoyance, but as stubborn as he is, he's not an idiot. He runs to the cabin, rushing downstairs to get the only thing that might keep them alive in case the sea decides to eat their boat for dinner. As he reaches their bedroom, lightning crosses the sky outside their window, and he makes out the shape of the life jackets, their color heightened by the sudden light. He quickly puts on his own, damp hands shaking with cold, and makes his way out of the room.

He barely has time to process where he is when the boat shakes, almost as if it had collided with another at an intersection. The crash is so brutal that it sends him almost flying against the opposite wall, falling to the ground unceremoniously. Thankfully, the cabin has a good few layers to protect the ship from impacts like this, so he isn't too worried about the hull.

The exterior will be fine. What won't be is whatever is on it.

Ford's vision goes tunnel in an instant. That was the Big Wave, and it was hard enough to make him lose his usually impeccable balance. But Stan isn't as agile, and he's outside, on his own, and without a life jacket.

He's out of the cabin in a matter of seconds, although in his mind it might as well have been hours. His eyes scan the deck, finding only a pool of water covering it and some broken boxes they didn't manage to put away in time, as well as Stan's fishing chair stuck in a corner.

STANLEY. WHERE. SEARCH. NOW

His mind, usually as eloquent as his speech, is now screaming the words he can’t manage to get past his throat. Another bolt lights up the night, and Ford can clearly see everything for a few moments.

Everything and nothing. His brother is not on the deck.

STANLEY. WHERE. WHERE

Stanley was holding the rope when he left, making sure the sail wouldn’t turn around and disrupt the ship’s balance— or worse, break the mast with its weight. Ford’s eyes follow the mast, then the boom, then the rope Stan was gripping. He stares at the spot he was at, noticing that the rope is now securely tied around a cleat. No trace of his brother.

WHERE. STANLEY

Ford’s ears are starting to ring from how hard his jaw is clenched. He walks around the deck, checking every single corner behind the cabin, the only place that was out of his view when he exited. Stan is nowhere to be seen.

NOWHERE. WHERE. NO

With his right hand still firmly gripping his twin’s jacket, Ford makes his way to the gunwale and looks around the water. The boat isn’t shaking as violently as before now that the sail is tied in place, but the waves haven’t stopped hitting the hull the whole time. His eyes stare at the infinite mass of water in front of him, which now resembles more a deadly trap than the freeing space they both have loved since childhood.

He wants to shout his brother’s name, but the screaming words in his mind can’t seem to make their way to his vocal cords. Instead, all he manages to emit is a sort of roar that emerges from his guts. It isn’t entirely animalistic, but it definitely isn’t human either. His vision is getting blurry, and he quickly wipes his eyes. There’s no hint of Stan anywhere, the waves making it impossible to discern any shapes on the surface.

GIVE HIM BACK

The smallest voice at the back of his head, the only remnant of his non-wild persona, keeps him from jumping overboard and swimming until he finds Stan. It would be useless; the waves don’t appear to be slowing down any further, and the water would be too turbid to see anything regardless. Besides, even though they’re not far from the equator and it’s spring, the water might still be cold enough to provoke hypothermia if exposed to it for too long. The risk is too high.

A bright red spot appears on top of the next wave. Stanley’s beanie.

Ford’s inside voice stays complicitly quiet as the man jumps overboard.

To be continued...

[guksfairy]

AFTER DARK 1 | JJK

⋆˙⟡ wc: 555

⋆˙⟡NSFW MDNI !!, unprotected sex, big dick jk, CHEATING, jk cheats on his girlfriend with yn on their 1 year anniversary...enjoy!

The sound of his cock sliding in and out of you is hidden behind the noises he gets out of you. The way he speaks to you. Every word that comes out of his mouth only dragging you further and further from your morals

“Say you missed me baby- tell me you missed me,” he pants out, his chain dangling in front of your face, your moans and whimpers are heaven to him

“Tell me you missed me pretty girl I know you did,” he thrusts deep with every word, your brain barely processing the amount of pleasure Jungkook is giving you.

“I missed you,” you barely breath out but it’s enough for him. His smug smile is there as he leans down to kiss on your neck, your legs wrapped securely around his waist.

“I know you did, baby. You know how much I missed you?” his pace slows and you yearn for him to go quick again but he disregards you, his hand grabbing your face so you can look at him, “I logged into our old twitter account months ago, baby,” oh. The Twitter account you both made when you were hot and heavy and still dating. The Twitter account that had your sex tapes and pictures.

“I fucking needed you. She’s not enough for me. She’s not you, baby,” his whisper is gentle unlike the thrust he just did. Your moan is loud and he smiles. Knowing he’s the one making you stupid with his dick is something Jungkook can always be proud about.

“Fuck-I…I jerk off almost every night to your videos baby, your cries and whimpers are the only thing I can cum to,” he confesses and you feel a bit of pride

“How do you think she’d feel, huh? How do you think my girlfriend would feel if she found out I finish every night thinking about you-” he moans when you clench around his dick, “Holy shit I can’t even finish when I’m with her,” his thrusts are getting sloppy and you can feel the familiar feeling in your stomach

“Have to close my eyes and think of you,” he pants

His pants mix with your moans like a song of lust and moments later he’s cumming deep inside of you, bottoming out when you cry out and finish seconds after.

Your juices mixed together and drip down your ass, ruining his sheets, but you know he doesn’t mind. You’ve both done worse in the past.

He doesn’t slide out immediately and instead picks your almost limp body and turns you sideways so he can lay with you, never once pulling out.

“You don’t know how bad I’ve been wanting this, baby,” he says and kisses the top of your head. You smile and sniff a gentle laugh completely unaware that his girlfriend had walked in a few minutes ago and witnessed the scene before fleeing Jungkook’s apartment along with her gift that she had made specifically for today. Today’s their 1 year anniversary.

So rather than spending the day with her, like he told her he would, he instead was spending it inside of you, confessing to you everything he’s been holding back since the day he let go.

[cup1drul3z]

★ — Thats MY girl | CH 3

5ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ | ᴄᴇᴏ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

CW : Age gap if you squint, PLUS SIZED READER, power kink, cheating, modern au, new york, assistant reader, readers a little awkward but we love her anyway, sugar mommy, SMUT, fingering, cunninglings, strap, bondage, lingerie, angst

A/N : im watching twilight so its only a matter of time before i pick my vampire series back up guys

The ceiling is blank. Pale. A little cracked in the corner. You’ve counted the lines three times already. Maybe four.

The room is dark except for the faint orange glow from the streetlight outside the window, spilling across the sheets. It's warm. Too warm. You shift, careful not to wake him.

He’s breathing softly beside you. One arm tossed over your waist like it means something.

The sheets are pulled halfway up. Bare shoulders. Bare skin. You’re both naked beneath them, still tangled from something that should’ve made you feel better.

It didn’t.

You exhale through your nose, slow and quiet. You feel the ache in your hips, the soreness in your thighs, the damp still clinging faintly between them—and it should make you feel wanted. Claimed. Loved.

But all it makes you feel is hollow.

Your eyes trace the ceiling again.

You think of her.

Of Sevika.

The way she looked at you when she lit that cigarette. The way her voice dropped when she said your name. The way her mouth tasted like smoke and ruin and promises she wasn’t allowed to keep.

You remember her hands—strong, steady. Never unsure.

And then you think of Mel.

You think of the way Sevika walked back inside with someone who clearly knows her. Someone who gets to see the parts of her you don’t. Someone who doesn’t flinch, doesn’t walk away, doesn’t leave her standing alone on a balcony with nothing but a dying ember between her fingers.

You wonder if you were just something easy to reach for in the dark.

You blink at the ceiling again, and this time, your vision stings.

But you don’t cry.

You just lie there, still and silent, with a warm body curled beside you and the echo of someone else’s hands still burned into your skin.

The alarm never goes off.

You’re already awake.

You’d been staring at the shadows on the ceiling for an hour, maybe longer—watching them shift as the sun started to rise, turning everything soft and gray. There’s no real sound, just the occasional creak of the pipes, the muffled hum of early morning traffic outside your window.

He’s still asleep.

Curled into the sheets, one hand resting on the empty space you just left. His chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm, the same rhythm you’ve listened to for months. Safe. Familiar. Easy.

And somehow, it feels heavier than ever.

You move around the room quietly, slipping into your new mid lengthed plaid bodycon skirt and black blouse Caitlyn picked out. The fabric is soft. It fits right. You don’t have to tug or adjust or suck anything in. For once, it feels like it was made for you.

You clip your hair up, swipe on a little mascara.

Just enough to look awake.

Not enough to look like you’re trying too hard.

You pause at the edge of the bed, looking down at him.

His brow is slightly furrowed, even in sleep. His lips twitch like he’s mid-dream. Maybe about video games. Maybe about something else. You’ll never know.

He stirs when you grab your bag. “Mm—what time is it?”

“Early,” you whisper, pulling on your shoes by the door. “I’ve got a long day.”

He grunts in response, already sinking back into the mattress. No kiss goodbye. No real goodbye at all.

You shut the door behind you.

It clicks gently. Clean. Final.

The hallway outside smells like someone else’s toast. The light is brighter out here. You take a breath.

And you leave.

Because right now, the only thing worse than being around him—

—is staying.

The office hums with its usual morning rhythm—phones ringing, keys clacking, someone complaining about the coffee. But everything feels a little… dull. Like the world’s moving just half a second slower than usual.

You walk in quietly, head slightly lowered, adjusting the strap of your bag as you pass your desk. You catch a few glances—some subtle, some not. Whispers behind coffee cups. You don’t know if they’re about last night… or if you’re just paranoid enough to assume they are.

You sit down, open your email, try to look busy.

Then the message pings.

"My office. Now."

No name. No frills.

Just Sevika.

Your stomach flips.

You smooth the fabric of your plaid skirt, run your hands down your black blouse, and stand. The short sleeves feel suddenly too short. The buttons too tight. The hallway feels longer than it is.

You knock once on her office door.

“Come in.”

Her voice is calm. Controlled. Of course it is.

You open the door and step inside, closing it behind you.

Sevika’s at her desk, suit jacket draped over the back of her chair. Her black dress shirt is rolled at the sleeves again, exposing the ink on her forearms. She looks up at you with unreadable eyes.

“You left early last night,” she says, leaning back in her chair.

You nod once. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, like she knows that’s not the whole story—but she doesn’t push. Not yet.

“You look nice,” she adds after a beat, voice lower now. “New outfit?”

You nod again. “Thanks.”

The silence stretches. Too long.

And then she asks—soft, almost careful:

“Why’d you leave?”

You don’t sit.

You stay just inside the door, hands clasped in front of you like they might keep you steady. The weight in your chest has been there since last night, and now it’s pressing harder, heavier, louder.

“I saw you,” you say finally. “With Mel. On the balcony.”

Sevika raises a brow.

You swallow. “You came in together. You were close. And I just—”

You pause. It sounds stupid when you say it out loud. You feel stupid. But the words are already hanging there, between the two of you like smoke.

Her lips twitch.

And then she laughs.

It’s low and sharp and not entirely cruel—but close.

“Seriously?” she says, folding her arms across her chest. “Aren’t you the one cheating on your boyfriend?”

Your face burns. “That’s—That’s not the point.”

“No?” she tilts her head, still smirking. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re the one sneaking out of someone else’s bed to crawl into mine.”

You flinch.

“I asked you a question,” you say, voice smaller now, tighter. “Answer it.”

The smirk fades, just a little.

Sevika leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk, eyes steady on yours. “Yeah,” she says. “Mel and I slept together. A few times. It was a long time ago.”

You blink.

“She’s not into complications,” Sevika adds. “And I’m not into pretending.”

You nod slowly, unsure what you expected.

But then her gaze sharpens again, voice cool and matter-of-fact:

“And nothing would ever happen between us again—not with you around.”

That lands differently.

You feel it in your gut.

Because it’s not a compliment. Not really. It’s a fact. A statement. You’ve changed something. Shifted a dynamic that used to be casual, clean.

Now it’s messy.

Now it’s you.

You’re not sure whether to feel wanted or warned.

Sevika sits back, waiting—watching you unravel without ever touching you.

And you suddenly don’t know where to go next.

You’re still standing there, blinking, your heart thudding so loud it drowns out the hum of the air conditioning. Sevika hasn’t looked away—not once—and it’s unbearable. Not because she’s mocking you anymore, but because she isn’t.

She’s watching you like she’s waiting for your next move.

And then—

The office door slams open.

“Sevika—!”

A man in a rumpled suit storms in, breathless and wild-eyed. His tie is crooked, his tablet clutched tight in one hand. You recognize him vaguely—Ronan, one of the higher-up corporate advisors. Usually polished, always annoyingly self-important. Right now? Disheveled. Panicked.

Sevika doesn’t flinch. Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t take her eyes off you for another two seconds before turning her full attention on him.

“This better be good,” she says, already shifting into a different version of herself—cool, sharp, efficient.

“It’s the international account,” Ronan blurts. “Someone from the Singapore division leaked the quarterly numbers. Press has it. Analysts are already speculating a crash. We need you upstairs—now.”

You blink.

“Fuck,” Sevika mutters, standing abruptly and grabbing her blazer off the back of the chair.

Ronan looks at you like he just realized you exist. Then quickly pretends he didn’t.

“You—wait outside,” Sevika tells you as she shrugs on the blazer. “We’re not done.”

But she doesn’t say it like a threat this time.

She says it like a promise.

Then she’s out the door, Ronan scrambling to keep up with her, shouting something about press embargoes and legal teams.

You’re left alone in the office, her chair still warm, the tension still clinging to the air like static.

And suddenly, you’re not sure what she meant by we’re not done.

You’re not sure if it’s about the job.

Or about you.

You’ve been staring at the same half-written sentence for an hour.

I think we’ve been growing apart.

You delete it. Rewrite it.

You didn’t do anything wrong, I just—

Delete.

It’s not you, it’s—

You actually gag.

Your cursor blinks on the blank page, cruel and steady. Your hand tightens around the pen. There’s a second version scrawled in your notebook, then crossed out. Another started on your phone. And still—nothing feels right.

He didn’t hit you. He didn’t scream. He didn’t cheat.

But he also didn’t see you. Not the real you. Not the one who’s been unraveling piece by piece every time Sevika looks at you like she knows you better than anyone else ever has.

You close your eyes and lean back in your chair, the ache in your chest louder than the clack of keyboards around the floor. You fold the paper in half, then in half again. Then unfold it. Stare at it. Fold it again.

You don’t notice the footsteps until a voice cuts through your thoughts:

“Damn. You look like you were hit by a train”

You jolt, eyes snapping up.

Jinx leans on your desk, two lollipops sticking out of her mouth like fangs, one eyebrow cocked. Mel stands beside her, arms crossed, looking slightly more composed—but her expression softens when she sees your face.

“Everything okay?” she asks gently.

You nod too quickly. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just… working.”

Jinx leans in, stealing a glance at the crumpled letter before you can shove it away. “Oooooh, is that a break-up letter?”

You flush. “It’s nothing.”

“Dramatic nothing,” she grins. “Ten bucks says you’re dumping that Game Boy boyfriend of yours.”

“Jinx,” Mel warns, but she’s already circling behind your desk.

“We came to give you an update,” Mel says, redirecting. “Sevika’s still upstairs with the legal team. Press is calling it a ‘leak,’ but it looks like it was internal sabotage.”

Your stomach twists.

“She okay?”

Mel tilts her head. “Define ‘okay.’ She hasn’t killed anyone. Yet. But she’s in full damage-control mode. Probably won’t be back down until after lunch.”

“She asked about you, though,” Jinx pipes in, wiggling her brows. “Not in a weird way—okay maybe a little—but still.”

You look away, lips pressing together.

Mel eyes the paper again, then you.

“You don’t have to rush into anything,” she says softly. “But if you’re already writing letters…”

She lets the sentence hang.

Unspoken, but heavy.

The office is dark when you wake.

Not pitch black—but that soft, eerie kind of dark where everything looks dipped in deep blue, shadows long and slow-moving. For a moment, you don’t even remember falling asleep. Your neck aches. Your blouse is rumpled. The faint smell of leather and cologne clings to the air.

You shift and realize you’re on a couch.

Not yours.

This one is firmer, smoother, expensive.

Your fingers twitch against the material, and that’s when it hits you—

Sevika’s couch.

You sit up slowly, blinking the sleep from your eyes. The light from the city filters in through the wide windows behind the desk. Her desk. You glance around, disoriented.

You’re in her office.

But she’s not here.

Her chair is empty.

The room is still, too still. The digital clock on the wall blinks 2:17 a.m. The hum of the building has dropped to that late-night hush where the AC cycles feel like thunder and every tiny creak makes your heart skip.

You rub your eyes, trying to remember.

The last thing you recall was staring at your half-written break-up letter… then Jinx, then Mel… and then—

Nothing.

You must’ve passed out.

But Sevika must have—

She moved you. Carried you? Laid you here?

You blink at the thought.

The throw blanket draped over your legs is the same dark gray one she sometimes tosses across her lap during long calls. It smells like her.

You sit there for a moment, eyes scanning the room. Her jacket is gone. So is her phone. But her ashtray’s still on the desk—fresh, a cigarette half-burned and smoldered out on the edge.

She was here.

You exhale slowly.

And you wonder why it feels lonelier now than it did before you fell asleep.

You step out of Sevika’s office, the hallway dim and empty, the air cold in a way that makes you hug the throw blanket tighter around your shoulders. The building is silent. No hum of conversation. No tapping keyboards. Just the occasional creak of old infrastructure and the glow of emergency lights lining the floor.

Your desk is still there, frozen in time.

The half-folded break-up letter.

Your cold coffee cup.

And your phone—right where you left it, screen dark.

You pick it up.

No missed calls.

No texts.

Not even a where are you?

Your stomach turns.

You scroll to his contact. Your thumb hovers for a moment.

Then you call.

It rings. Once. Twice. Four times. Straight to voicemail.

You stare at the screen, then lift the phone to your ear as the beep sounds.

Your voice comes out quieter than you expect.

“Hey. I’m okay.”

You pause.

“I crashed at the office. Long day. You didn’t… check in. But I guess you figured I’d be fine.”

Your throat tightens, and you clear it quietly.

“I’ll be home in the morning. Just—don’t wait up.”

You end the call before your voice can crack.

The phone screen goes black again.

And the silence presses back in.

You sit at your desk for a while, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders like armor, phone resting cold in your hand.

You check the time again. 2:39 a.m.

You could go home—but it doesn’t feel like home.

Not tonight.

The idea of slipping into bed next to him, pretending things are fine… it makes your skin itch.

You open your phone, thumb hovering over a browser tab.

Cheap motels near me.

The results pop up: sterile lobbies, coin-operated vending machines, scratchy lighting that never quite goes out.

You rub your face with both hands.

You could just stay here. No one would know. You could curl back up on that couch and let yourself disappear for a little longer. No pretending. No lying. Just silence.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the soft ding of the elevator.

You don’t move.

You just listen as the footsteps approach—slow, heavy, tired.

And then she appears.

Sevika steps into the hallway, blazer draped over one shoulder, sleeves rolled halfway up her forearms, shirt half-untucked. Her hair is messy—hands-through-it-too-many-times messy. She looks like she hasn’t sat down in hours.

She stops the second she sees you.

Dead in her tracks.

You stare at each other under the hum of the emergency lights, two worn-out souls caught in the wreckage of a long day.

“…You’re still here,” she says, voice lower than usual. Rough around the edges.

You nod slowly.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

Sevika blinks, like that answer hits somewhere deeper than she expected.

She shifts the blazer on her shoulder, jaw tense.

Neither of you speak for a moment. The weight of her exhaustion—and yours—hangs thick in the air.

“You could’ve called,” she says quietly, stepping forward. “I would’ve answered.”

You believe her.

And somehow, that hurts even more than if you didn’t.

You watch Sevika approach slowly, the heels of her boots barely making a sound against the polished floor. She stops in front of your desk, eyes sweeping over you—still wrapped in her throw blanket, hair mussed from sleep, makeup smudged beneath tired eyes.

She doesn’t comment on any of it.

Just rests a hand on the edge of your desk, her posture relaxed but heavy with exhaustion.

“You didn’t even go home,” she says softly.

You shake your head. “Didn’t feel like it.”

Sevika breathes out through her nose, like she understands too well.

“Press is gonna have a field day tomorrow,” she mutters, more to herself than to you. “But I needed to get out of there. Too many suits. Not enough oxygen.”

You manage the smallest smile. “And yet, here you are. Back at the office.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, dragging a hand down her face. “I left my keys. But I was on my way to that twenty-four-hour ramen place by the bridge.”

Your brows lift. “At this hour?”

She shrugs. “Best time to go. No line, no tourists, just you and your bowl.”

You look at her, half-curious. “You eat ramen when you’re stressed?”

“I eat ramen when I’m alive.”

You huff a tired laugh.

Then, after a pause, her eyes soften just a touch.

“Come with me.”

Your heart skips.

“What?”

“Ramen,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You look like you need hot broth and no questions.”

You blink at her, still bundled in a blanket and emotional whiplash, but something about the offer—the simplicity of it, the warmth under the words—hits deep.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Yeah. Okay.”

She nods once, then jerks her chin toward her office.

“Get your stuff. I’ll drive.”

And just like that, for the first time in what feels like days, you feel the tightness in your chest ease—just a little.

 The ramen shop is tucked between a shuttered nail salon and a 24-hour laundromat, its red paper lanterns swaying lazily in the night breeze.

Inside, it’s warm. Quiet. The kind of place where the radio plays lo-fi jazz and no one talks louder than necessary. A man in the corner is asleep against his bowl. The chef doesn’t even blink when Sevika walks in with you trailing behind.

You both slide into a booth by the window.

Neither of you speak for a moment.

She pulls off her blazer and tosses it beside her, rolling her sleeves higher as she leans forward and flips open the menu. You don’t bother. You just order what she does when the chef looks over.

“You’ve really done this before,” you murmur, watching her tear open a napkin.

Sevika smirks faintly. “This place has saved my ass more times than I can count.”

Your hands are wrapped around your glass of water, fingers cold, eyes still heavy with sleep you didn’t get enough of.

She notices.

“You didn’t have to come with me,” she says after a moment.

You shrug. “I didn’t want to go home.”

A silence falls between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It just is.

Steam starts to rise from the open kitchen. You can smell the broth before you see it.

“So,” Sevika says, eyes fixed on her water, “what were you writing earlier?”

You hesitate. “A letter.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“A break-up letter,” you clarify. “For my boyfriend.”

Sevika leans back slightly, lips parting like she might say something cocky—but nothing comes.

Instead, she just says, “Did you finish it?”

You shake your head. “I fell asleep.”

She nods slowly, then looks away.

Your food arrives, placed in front of you with the quiet respect of a late-night chef who’s seen too much and asks too little.

You both start to eat.

The broth is hot and rich. The noodles perfect.

You let it soothe the ache in your chest.

After a few minutes, she speaks again—quietly.

“I’ve had people I didn’t know how to leave, too.”

You look up.

She’s not looking at you, just stirring her noodles, jaw tight.

“Even when I knew I wasn’t happy. Even when I knew they weren’t what I needed.”

Her voice is calm, but there’s something raw underneath it.

“You stay,” she adds, “because it’s easier than starting over. Until it isn’t.”

You don’t say anything.

You just stare at her, bowl half-full, something loosening in your chest.

And for the first time in days, you feel like someone sees you.

You don’t even realize how long you’ve been sitting in Sevika’s car until the sun starts to rise—soft and pink on the horizon, the kind of light that makes the world feel like it’s been forgiven for something.

Sevika parks in front of your building and puts the car in park, engine still rumbling beneath your feet. Neither of you speak for a moment. You just sit there, half-drained, half-overstimulated, the smell of broth still clinging to your clothes and the weight of unsaid things heavier than the bag in your lap.

“I’ll let HR know,” she says, her voice a little rough from exhaustion. “You’ve got the day off.”

You turn to her. “Sevika, I can—”

She cuts you off with a look. Not stern. Not cold. Just final.

“Go rest,” she murmurs. “You look like you haven’t in a while.”

You nod. Quiet. Small.

And for once, you don’t argue.

Your bed feels strange when you crawl into it—too soft, too empty, too yours in a way that doesn’t feel right anymore.

You leave the curtains open.

Let the morning light spill across the blankets.

You’re still wearing the same blouse from yesterday. You don’t care.

You fall asleep within minutes.

And that’s when the dreams start.

They’re not nightmares.

They’re not even memories.

They’re moments.

Flashes.

Sevika’s hand brushing the back of your neck.

The smell of her cologne lingering on your pillow.

The sound of her voice—low, gravelly, almost tender—murmuring something you can’t quite make out.

You dream of sitting beside her in her office, your knees just barely touching, her fingers curled around a mug while she watches you like you’re a puzzle she wants to figure out.

You wake up.

Then fall asleep again.

And this time, she’s behind you, her hand resting on your waist in bed. No words. Just warmth.

It doesn’t feel like lust.

It feels like comfort. Like danger dressed in safety. Like someone who could ruin you and still have the decency to carry you home.

You wake again.

Then sleep.

Again.

And again.

And every time?

She’s there.

You wake with your throat raw and your body aching all over.

At first, you think it’s the dreams again—that floaty, heavy-headed feeling that’s clung to you all morning. But then the wave of heat crashes over your back, followed by a bone-deep chill that makes you curl further into the blankets.

Your skin’s clammy.

Your head pounds.

And your nose is so stuffed you can barely breathe.

You groan, eyes blinking open slowly. The soft light from the window spills across your bed, warm and quiet—and the space beside you is cold. Empty.

You reach for your phone, but your hand brushes something else instead.

A note.

It’s scribbled on a folded napkin, His handwriting is rushed.

“Gone to hang with Miles. Be back later. If you need anything, just order food or whatever. <3”

You stare at the note for a long second, then let it drop to the floor beside the bed.

Your head lolls back against the pillow.

Of course he left.

Of course he didn’t notice the sweat soaking your shirt or the flush across your cheeks or the fact that you were tossing and turning all night with a fever that left your mouth dry and your joints aching.

You try to sit up and instantly regret it.

The room spins slightly. Your sinuses throb. Your stomach turns.

You cough once, sharp and painful, and it leaves your chest tight like your lungs aren’t working quite right.

You manage to shuffle to the bathroom, running the cold water, splashing it on your face. The girl in the mirror looks pale. Tired. Worn down.

You reach for your toothbrush and gag on the effort.

You lean over the sink, forehead pressed to your forearm, breathing shallow.

Something’s wrong.

This isn’t just a little cold.

And you’re alone.

Again.

You’re curled up on the bathroom floor now, your cheek pressed against the cold tile. The fever’s making your skin feel like it’s on fire, but your hands are ice. Every breath comes shallow and slow, like your lungs are full of sand.

You reach for your phone again with trembling fingers.

You dial him.

It rings.

And rings.

Then his voicemail picks up.

You don’t bother leaving a message.

You try again.

Voicemail.

Again.

Nothing.

Your chest tightens—not just from the congestion, but from something deeper. Something bitter. You’re sick. You’re scared. You asked for one thing.

You blink back tears and scroll to the next name.

Caitlyn.

She picks up on the third ring.

“Hey! I was just about to text you—wait, are you okay? You sound—”

“I think I need to go to the hospital,” you croak out, voice barely above a whisper. “I—I feel really dizzy, and my chest hurts when I breathe.”

There’s a pause. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Not answering,” you mumble, eyes squeezed shut.

She curses under her breath. “Shit, I’m like two hours out, I’m visiting my aunt—but I can try to call—”

You don’t say anything.

You don’t have to.

Caitlyn sighs gently, and you can hear her shifting on the other end, voice softening.

“I know you don’t want to. But you need help now. Call her.”

You’re quiet for a beat. Then another.

“Y/N,” she says firmly. “Call Sevika.”

You hang up without arguing.

Your fingers hover over her name in your contacts.

Your heart pounds in your ears.

Then you tap it.

The line rings.

Once.

Twice.

“Yeah?”

Her voice is groggy—like she just woke up. Low. Rough. But clear.

You close your eyes, trying to summon whatever pride you have left.

“Hi,” you whisper. “I… I’m really sorry to bother you, but… I think I need to go to the ER.”

A pause.

Her tone changes instantly.

“Where are you?”

You sniffle. “At home. I tried calling my boyfriend, but—he didn’t answer.”

Another pause.

“Okay,” she says, already moving, you can hear it in the rustle of clothes, the slam of a drawer. “I’m coming. Stay on the phone with me, yeah?”

You nod, even though she can’t see it.

“Yeah.”

And for the first time in hours, something in you exhales.

Because someone’s actually coming.

Sevika pounds on the door harder this time. “Open up.”

Nothing.

Her jaw tightens.

She tries the knob—it’s unlocked.

She steps inside.

It’s too quiet.

The air is heavy, like it hasn’t moved in hours. The curtains are drawn, and the only light comes from the flicker of the TV left on, playing some low-volume show neither of them had been watching.

“Y/N?”

No answer.

The apartment isn’t trashed, but it’s off. There’s a used tissue on the couch, a water bottle untouched on the coffee table, a hoodie draped over the back of a chair like someone stripped it off in a rush.

And then she sees the bathroom light.

Her boots hit the tile fast.

“Y/N—”

She freezes in the doorway.

You’re on the floor, barely conscious—half-curled, skin flushed with fever, lips parted as if even breathing is something your body has to remember to do.

Sevika drops to her knees beside you, hands already reaching to check your forehead, your pulse. You’re burning up. Clammy. Dehydrated.

Her chest tightens.

She presses her palm to your cheek, firm but gentle. “Hey. Hey. You with me?”

You murmur something unintelligible—half her name, maybe. Then your head lolls.

Her jaw clenches.

She stands quickly, scooping you into her arms like you weigh nothing. You’re limp against her chest, burning like a match in her hands.

She doesn’t waste time with blankets or apologies. She moves.

As she carries you out, her eyes catch the napkin note on the nightstand.

Her eyes narrow.

Gone to hang with Miles.

That’s all it says.

She breathes out through her nose, long and slow, trying to stop the red crawling up the back of her neck.

He knew you were sick.

He had to.

You weren’t well last night. Anyone who gave a shit would’ve seen that.

And he still left.

No calls.

No check-ins.

Just some half-assed scribble and a warm body-shaped hole next to yours in bed.

Sevika looks down at you, head tucked under her chin, your breath shallow against her collarbone.

Her stomach turns.

This is too familiar. Carrying someone out of their own apartment, feeling the fire of fever through thin clothes, holding back everything she wants to say because the other person can’t hear it.

But this time?

This time she’s not going to be quiet.

Not if he shows up.

Not if he tries to explain it away.

Not when you could’ve died choking on your own fever, alone on a bathroom floor, waiting for someone who didn’t even think to call.

She adjusts her grip on you, tighter, more protective.

“You’re okay,” she mutters, voice rough. “I’ve got you now.”

And she means it.

More than she probably should.

comment to be added to the taglist!

@gaptoothedlesbo @magnificentmilkshakearbiter @half-of-a-gay @vkumi @kazimakozu @aiden-slayyyys @loreensdarling @tsubiki @h0n3yf0rlif3

[whumpsday]

Hallucinations

@medwhumpmay Day 5

Medwhump May Masterlist

content: recovery, past pet whump, older / middle-aged whumpee, comfort, psychological whump

-

Stocking shelves was a simple job with clear tasks. That was what the social worker told him. That wasn’t to say stocking was easy, especially not on Whumpee, even after he’d put the meat back on his bones. It was physical, and the boxes were often heavy, and he almost never stopped moving his whole shift.

But he could handle it right now, and that was all he needed. He needed this.

“Could always go for cleaning or food service. You were good at those,” Whumper purred.

Whumpee pushed his cart through him wordlessly, his expression unchanging. He was getting better at that, just staring straight ahead so his coworkers wouldn’t think he was crazy. Though that ship had pretty much sailed months ago.

He pushed the cart, unloading its contents and placing them on the shelves where they belonged. Twisting things around so the labels faced forward like they were supposed to.

Whumper reappeared, sighing contentedly as he reclined to watch Whumpee work. “Good boy. What a good pet you are, following your orders.”

Whumpee shook his head with a grumble, just barely keeping himself from muttering I’m not a ‘good boy’. I’m forty-six. Even without that added tidbit, he was already getting an odd look from the new girl working beside him, a kid about half his age. He gave her an awkward smile to try and save it, but she quickly looked away, and he dropped the effort. Whatever. She was seasonal anyway, just some college kid trying to earn something over the summer.

Maybe if things had been different, he’d have a daughter her age. That ship had long since sailed, too.

Despite his internal protests, Whumper continued to coo at him about being a good boy and a good pet as he did his damn job. He’d learned to mostly ignore it by now. Better that than… the opposite.

“So, uh, what are you studying?” he asked, just to distract himself.

The girl startled. “Oh! Social work. Yeah. About halfway through. Junior year around the corner.” She spoke a little too quickly.

Whumpee couldn’t help but laugh.

“What?” the kid demanded, somehow seeming a little more comfortable then.

“I just know a lot of social workers. Nothin’ against it, just thought it was funny. It’s good people, most of ‘em.” Most.

“Oh.” The girl relaxed a little, walking with him as they moved to unload more product. “And they… help?”

“What, with the talking to myself? I mean, not enough, I guess.” Was that rude? He’s been way too rude during this conversation. He’d let himself slip in Whumper’s absence.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

He raised a hand in peace. “It’s fine. It takes a lot more than that to offend me.”

“Bad pet,” Whumper admonished with a tsk-tsk. “You know better than to interrupt.”

Whumpee flinched, just barely managing to stop himself from dropping the box he was unloading to grovel. “I’m sorry for interrupting you.”

There. Normal thing to say. Not so hard.

The kid eyed him curiously, not that Whumpee could figure out what it was this time. “It’s fine.” And lightly, with a smile, “Takes a lot more than that to offend me.”

“She’s cute,” Whumper whispered in his ear. “I’ve been needing a new pet, ever since you left me. You were getting older anyway. Maybe she could take your place.”

Whumpee whipped around so fast his head spun. “Shut up! Don’t you dare say that about her! What’s wrong with you!?”

The girl gasped, dropping her box. Something shattered inside it, spilling red through the cracks, just like him.

Whumper trailed a finger up Whumpee’s throat to his chin. He could swear he could feel it. “You don’t talk to your master that way, pet. You know what comes next.”

“Mr. Whumpee?” the girl asked, voice small, tears in her eyes.

Whumpee dropped to the ground, cowering on the floor with his arms over his face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

By that point, others were rushing over, a cavalcade of coworkers pushing themselves between them and all talking at once so he could hear none of them.

“Just give me a minute,” Whumpee begged. Whether it was Whumper or the real people he was begging, he wasn’t sure. “I just need a minute. Please. Just a minute.”

“I’m fine, give him some space,” he distantly heard the kid say among the rumble.

After a couple minutes, he dared to uncover his face. She was still there, though everyone else had left. She crouched as soon as she could see his eyes. “Hey,” she said, gentle. “You alright?”

“I guess.” He pushed himself up to sitting, wiping the tears from his face with his sleeve. “Sorry you had to see that.”

She shrugged. “Sorry you had to experience it.” And then: “I also know a lot of social workers. For the record. It’s why I decided to go into it.”

“Ah, a kindred spirit.” Though he doubted it was for the same reason. At least, he damn hoped so.

“Thanks for defending me from the voice you were hearing. That’s what you were doing, right?” She offered him a hand.

Whumpee took it, getting back to his feet. “Yeah. He’s a dick.”

The girl laughed. “I bet.”

-

Oneshots taglist:

@icyheart-and-friends

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@whuarri

@reborrowing

@paperprinxe

@what-if-i-just-did

Everything taglist:

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@t0rture-me

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@whumpshaped

@pigeonwhumps

@the-scrapegoat

@whumpycries

@lonesome--hunter

@whumpy-wyrms

@all-hail-pigeons

@wolfeyedwitch

@starfields08000

@jumpywhumpywriter

[tacobacoyeet]

Oh pudge!!! But it’s reader with the pudge either they’ve just had a baby or our pregnant. I feel like Patrick would be obsessed with how he was able to change his partners body.

a little blurb. sorry i can't take anything seriously. SMUT 18+, pregnant!reader, mentions of body troubles

-----

It starts with a quiet war against your own reflection.

The mirror catches everything: the flush of your cheeks, the slope of your belly, the fine sheen of sweat collecting beneath the swell. You’re not glowing. You’re not radiant. You’re tired. And you’re prickly. In more ways than one.

The razor in your hand feels like a joke, some useless little weapon you’re no longer equipped to wield. Your fingers strain, stomach tight with effort, and still—there’s just too much of you in the way.

So it starts with a complaint.

"I can't see or reach," you huff, struggling to bend far enough over the sink. "This is undignified. I'm undignified."

Patrick barely glances up from the bed where he's sprawled, socks mismatched and a spoon hanging out of his mouth. "What are you doing in there?"

You hesitate. The answer feels too stupid to say out loud. "Self-maintenance."

"...Are you shaving?"

You close the door slightly. Not enough to hide, just enough to deny. "Trying. I can't see past the bump."

There's a pause. Then the familiar shuffle of Patrick rising, setting his half-eaten yogurt cup on the bedside table like it's some grand gesture of sacrifice.

"Alright," he says, voice too eager, "tag me in."

"Patrick—no—"

"C'mon," he says, already heading your way. "If Scott Disick can help Kourtney, I can handle a bush."

You groan. "I knew I shouldn't have let you watch Keeping Up with me."

He grins. "You say that, but I’ve been preparing for this moment for months."

He’s already crouching in front of you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he’s not kneeling in your cramped bathroom between a bathmat and the trash can, about to get way too intimate with your third-trimester jungle.

"So what’s the emergency? Hair? Access? Aesthetic crisis?"

You glare. He softens.

His voice shifts, more grounded. "You think I care that you’re hairy? Babe, I’ve seen you puke with a toothbrush in your mouth and still wanted to kiss you. You think a little bush is gonna scare me off?"

You look down at your body—heavy, flushed, marked in every direction. You don’t feel cute. You don’t even feel human. You feel like a host.

Patrick must see it on your face. His teasing quiets, but he doesn’t get mushy. He just nudges your knee apart with two fingers and says, “Okay. Here's my official statement: your body is hot, your pussy’s hotter, and I’m about to make your night."

Your jaw drops. “That’s your statement?”

“Do you want a PowerPoint?”

"You sound like a feminist porn director," you mutter, half-laughing.

Patrick shrugs. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

You don’t know whether to smack him or kiss him. But he’s already settling on his knees like he’s clocking in for a job he takes very seriously. The air shifts—not because he says something sentimental, but because his whole posture changes. Intent, hungry, locked in.

His hands run slowly up your thighs, thumbs skimming the crease where they meet the bump. His breath ghosts over your skin. He looks up, not for permission, but to remind you who you are to him.

There’s a moment where he just stares. Not at your face, not even at your pussy—but at all of it. The shape of you. The curve. The softness. The undeniable presence you carry now.

It undoes him a little.

Every time he sees you like this—round, flushed, a little breathless—it sets something low and aching in his chest. Not arousal. Not even pride. Something more like awe.

He used to trace your waist when you were asleep. Now he does it without thinking, just to feel the give beneath his palm. The way your body feels like home. Like time made visible.

He doesn’t repeat himself. Doesn’t keep hammering the same line. He just stares. And then he acts.

He’s on you.

Not gentle. Not delicate. Just hungry.

He nuzzles in like he belongs there, beard scratchy, mouth confident. He licks you like he’s starving, like you’re dessert and dinner and everything in between.

You gasp, legs twitching. He growls. "Don’t even think about it."

Your head tips back against the mirror. Patrick anchors you, hands firm, tongue relentless. The words he mutters are crude, yes—but they’re also true. And it’s that truth, hot and messy and absurd, that finally undoes you.

He moans into you when you come. Like he’s proud. Like it wrecks him.

When he pulls back, his face is slick and smug.

"Still wanna shave it?"

You’re speechless.

"Didn’t think so."

He kisses your bump. Then your mouth.

Later, when you're breathless and boneless against the bathroom door, the silence hums between you like a held note. Your legs are still shaky. The room smells like soap and heat and him.

He presses a kiss to your thigh, then another to the underside of your belly, soft and lingering like a thank-you. Not for the sex. For staying. For carrying this weight. For letting him see you, really see you.

"This is why I can’t trust you around reality TV," you murmur, eyes still closed.

Patrick wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning. "Reality’s never been this entertaining."

He helps you up, steady hands under your arms, and guides you back to bed like he’s afraid you’ll tip over. Once you’re beneath the sheets, he crawls in beside you without ceremony. No smugness now. Just warmth.

You’re already half-asleep when you feel his hand settle over the curve of your belly. He doesn’t say anything. He just rests there, grounded and quiet, like he could stay that way until morning.

You roll your eyes. But your hand finds his warmth, and stays there.

[starsinthesky5]

ok ok so i’ve had this in my head FOR A WHILE and just kept forgetting to send it to you

but since songbird is based off of taylor, what was Joe’s reaction to the Brazil (I think it was Brazil) show? like it got so hot that she’s struggling to breathe, maybe panicking a little.

lowkey hope this makes sense lmao

a/n: HI MY LOVE <3 ty for sending this in

also, the fic series is not up to the tour storyline yet, but take this as another peek into it like i did a few months ago with this ask!

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

oh god. if joe had been watching that brazil show live, there’s no way he stayed calm. especially if he wasn’t there in person.

he was in pittsburgh, holed up in a quiet corner suite the team booked for away games. it was late—past 11—room lit only by the muted glow of the bathroom light and the flickering of his ipad screen, propped up on the pillows beside him. he was supposed to be asleep by now. that’s what he told her he’d do. but he couldn't help it. he never missed a show if he didn’t have to. especially not when she was overseas, out of reach, singing her heart out in a place where the heat was breaking records and even fans were fainting.

he watched with one earbud in, hoodie up, covers kicked off his legs because his body ran hot at night. his forearm was slung over his eyes like maybe that would help him ignore the adrenaline that always bubbled up when he watched her perform. every night it happened like clockwork, the same soft awe that curled through his chest when she hit her high notes, when the crowd screamed her name, when her smile spread so wide he could feel it in his bones.

and then it happened.

at first, he thought the audio glitched. she paused between songs, longer than usual. too long. and when the camera angle shifted, his gut twisted.

she stepped back a little too slow, like her balance wasn’t quite right. her hand rose to her chest. he saw the way her shoulders hitched—fast, shallow breaths. her lips moved like she was trying to say something, but no sound came through.

and then her hand went to her neck.

joe’s stomach plummeted.

he sat bolt upright, yanking the earbud out and turning the ipad volume all the way up. his heart pounded against his ribs, cold sweat slicking his palms. he leaned in, scanning the screen like he could read her mind, like maybe he could will her body to breathe for her. the lights kept flashing. the crowd was still screaming. but all he could see was her. the way her eyes blinked fast, searching the stage for someone. the way her other hand braced on her thigh. the faint, shaky wobble in her knees.

panic. real, raw panic.

he knew that look. he’s had that look.

and suddenly, he was moving.

already dialing her manager. already flipping open his laptop, opening the group text thread with her team, fingers flying across the keyboard.

“what’s happening.”

“is she okay??”

“SOMEONE GET HER WATER.”

his thumbs could barely keep up with his racing mind. he refreshed the thread twice. his heart thundered like it was trying to punch through his chest. every second that ticked by without an update made him feel physically sick.

he knew how hot that show was. he’d seen the photos—sweat-soaked fans, security handing out bottles like lifelines. he’d heard the warnings about the heat index, how people were being treated for heat exhaustion before she even stepped onstage.

but he hadn’t expected this.

hadn’t expected to watch the love of his life nearly collapse on stage in real time, her body trying to push through something it physically couldn’t take. he didn’t breathe again until he saw her crouch down near the edge of the stage and someone—god bless whoever it was—rushed over with a water bottle and a towel. she took both with shaky hands. stayed down for a beat too long. and then slowly, so slowly, held her mic again raised it to her mouth.

“i just need a second, okay?” she told the crowd, her voice small, rough around the edges. “just…just give me a minute,”.

he could hear how unsteady she was, how hard she was working to keep it together. and still, even then the crowd screamed her name, chanting it like a prayer.

joe stood up, pacing now. one hand fisted in his hair. the other pressed to his chest. he didn’t know what else to do. he wanted to be on that stage. wanted to lift her off her feet and carry her straight into the nearest air-conditioned room. wrap her in a cold towel. rub her back. hold her hand until her breathing slowed.

he came so close to calling her. hovered over her name in his favorites list. but he knew she was still mid-show. he knew she wouldn’t answer. so instead, he left a voicemail. just to feel like he was doing something.

“baby. please. call me. i just need to hear your voice, okay? i need to know you're alright,”.

when she finally called hours later—hair damp, skin pink from the shower, voice still hoarse—he couldn’t speak at first. he just stared at the screen, jaw clenched, blinking too fast.

she gave him a tired smile. “hi, joey,”.

his throat tightened. “baby. jesus. don’t ever scare me like that again,”.

she laughed, but it cracked down the middle. her eyes welled. “i didn’t know if i was gonna pass out or throw up or both,” she admitted, voice whisper-soft. “i couldn’t breathe. my lungs felt like they were cooking,”.

he let out a long breath, running a hand over his mouth, his face. “i almost flew down there,”.

her lips parted. “joey—,”.

“i’m serious. i didn’t even care that i had game tomorrow. i had my bag halfway packed,”.

“you’re in the middle of a season, quarterback,” she whispered.

“don’t care.”

and god, he meant it. she was everything. if she needed him—even for something as simple as sitting cross-legged on a hotel carpet with a cold gatorade pressed to her forehead—he’d do it. no g questions asked.

“next time,” he murmured, soft and deliberate, “we’re getting you one of those backstage AC packs. like, the ones they use in NASCAR. or one of those cool astronaut-suits. i’ll build it myself if i have to,”.

she giggled, all sleepy and tender. “you’d make a cute little roadie, joey,”.

he smiled, gaze warm and unwavering. “anything for my girl,”.

and he meant that, too.

[surfeitstar]

reflections — iwaizumi x reader

ᯓ✦ ๋࣭ ⭑ social media au! (smau)

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

bonus #4 — the breakup 🌀

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

you don’t know how he does it. how hajime can make everything feel okay just by being in the same room.

when he showed up three days ago, you almost cried. not because he flew in from california to surprise you, not because he was there watching all your matches, but because for a moment, you didn’t feel like your whole life was falling apart.

you didn’t tell him about the phone call from your mom. the way your dad signed the divorce papers with a smile. the silence that followed after tooru left for argentina and never really looked back.

you didn’t want to talk about it. fencing was the only thing you felt like you had control over.

hajime was helping. his hand on your lower back before matches. his stupid nutrition reminders. the quiet way he looked at you like you were the whole world.

you were fine, at least you thought you were.

he slips into your changing room five minutes before your semi-finals.

“you’re not supposed to be back here,” you tease, fixing your gear. “you’re going to get kicked out before i even make it to finals.”

he doesn’t smile.

“we need to talk.”

your heart dips, but you laugh it off. “can’t it wait? you know how important this match is—”

“i’m serious.”

you freeze.

and then he says it. five words, so quiet you almost miss them.

“we need to break up.”

you laugh again, but it’s wrong now. “okay. that’s… not funny.”

“i’m not joking.”

you stare at him. the room feels smaller, suffocating. “we were fine this morning,” you whisper in disbelief. “you kissed me. you held my hand. you said i’ve got this—”

“i meant it,” he sighs exasperatedly. “but this… this isn’t right.”

you take a step back, like distance will help you breathe. “what the fuck are you talking about?”

his hands brushes back his hair and his voice begins to shake. “i can’t keep doing this, okay? lying to tooru. going behind his back like this. i feel like shit every time i look him in the eye knowing he doesn’t know.”

“so let’s tell him!” you snap. “tell him we’ve been together for three years, that you love me and that—”

“he won’t forgive me.”

your mouth opens. shuts. “so you’re choosing him over me?”

“no,” he pauses, trying to find the right words. “i’m just trying to do the right thing.”

“the right thing?” your voice cracks, angry tears blurring your vision. “you fly halfway across the world to support me, stand by me during every round, and then dump me right before one of the most important matches of my life? it’s the perfect time to do the right thing now?”

hajime won’t look at you. a part of you knows he can’t look at you. “i knew you wouldn’t understand. i just can’t do this anymore.”

“then why bother coming at all?” your voice is rising, and you can’t stop it. “why say all those things, why hold me last night like nothing was wrong if you didn’t fucking mean it?”

“because i wanted to believe it was okay!” he explodes. “i wanted to pretend that we could keep doing this, but i was lying to myself. i was lying to you.”

his voice is raw now, shaking with something you can’t name.

“this—us—has been killing me.”

your chest caves in.

“the guilt’s been eating at me. you don’t know what it feels like because you don’t even bother thinking about anyone but yourself. haven’t you noticed how it’s been eating away at me? this is the right thing to do. we can’t keep doing this.”

“you don’t mean that,” you whisper. “tell me you don’t mean that.”

“i do. you have no idea what it’s like to be in my shoes, to keep lying to your own best friend like this,” he says it all too fast. “i can’t keep doing this. you’re killing me.”

“fuck you,” your throat tightens. “if you wanted out, you could’ve left me months ago. you could’ve decided to end this years ago before it got serious. not here. not now. not when i needed you the most.”

he doesn’t say anything.

so you keep going, choking on it now. “you don’t even care, do you? i’m falling apart and you don’t even see it. you’re too busy protecting him to notice that i’m drowning.”

he closes his eyes.

you step forward. “haji, look at me.”

he doesn’t.

“hajime, please,” you plead, your voice breaking.

he still doesn’t.

you can’t hold it in anymore. your voice breaks. “please don’t do this, not now.”

he looks at you.

you wish he didn’t. because there’s something final in his eyes. like the decision is already made and it’s killing him, too.

“i’m sorry,” iwaizumi says. you know he means it.

but he turns around and walks out on you. on everything you’ve built with him. he walks away from everything, he walks away from you and doesn’t bother looking back.

you don’t follow. you want to, but you can’t.

you sink onto the bench as the door clicks shut behind him, hands trembling, mouth pressed into your sleeve to muffle the sound of your sobs. your chest hurts. your throat burns. you feel like you’re going to be sick.

your coach bangs on the door. “come on, you’re up soon.”

you wipe your own tears because he’s not here anymore to wipe it for you, and you grab your own helmet because he won’t be here to carry it for you anymore.

most importantly? you walk out like your heart didn’t just shatter into a million pieces.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

fun facts! ❀༉‧₊˚

wait for the next bonus chapter to see just how it affected you

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

taglist ❀༉‧₊˚

@wordsofelie , @loriiiroari , @bbning , @sunny-sailor , @sexylexy12 , @evilari111 , @softtashoney , @rowensboat , @aldebrana , @zuhaeri , @jadeyaps , @mo072806 , @0rangej0e , @curlyhairkk , @iamflav , @forgottensniper , @hashxu , @karinaaanakamura , @tsukisangel , @kozu-chan , @juie13 , @wham-stars , @baggies-of-eggies , @yiooobb37 , @amterasuu , @oneanabillion , @meikstv , @realrintaro , @heyhihellowhatsup , @sophiahearttss , @manaribbons , @nobodybutnnoorr , @mmst4rz , @mistpx , @nscuit , @tojirin , @insbread , @rabbitcola , @rvm1ne , @origamipivo , @rnashkalyy , @lexi2005 , @saiongfs , @choiuikawa , @starrzzworld , @explosionmurdergoddynamite , @nomyimi , @bbyrugou , @shozuken , @iloveiwaizumihajime

previous || m. list || next

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

thanks for reading! all characters belong to haikyuu, all writing belongs to surfeitstar, please do not repost without permission. reblogs are greatly appreciated:) — ©️ 2025