#local sign writers | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

defmaybe · 5 months ago

Text

Noona from the Bar

IVE's Kim Gaeul x Male Reader

5.2k words

A/N: Ahh, my debut! Thanks to @msafterhours and @i-am-lifeform24 for editing and beta-reading! And thanks to all the kind writers and fellow readers who have been nothing but supportive of me. I know my skills aren’t really up to the task yet (I have a Minji-Haewon 15k draft with broken grammar sitting lol), but I’ll seek my way through it. Thanks for reading!

—

It’s Friday night. The sound of the electronic beats echo throughout the bar, accompanied with the shaking bass. Customers are cramped into small tables, shuffling together to accommodate the enormous crowd. And there you are, sitting in front of the vacant stage, which, to your knowledge, is usually reserved for the band to play, with the Nordic-esque climate sending shivers through your body.

Leehan and Sungho dragged you with a few other guys here after your sophomore finals. You wouldn’t say that it’s a chore, but there are definitely better things to do than get drunk. These two are the most outgoing guys of your diverse group. Meanwhile, you aren’t much of a social butterfly, preferring the more busy student council member life. Sitting in between them, you can only scroll through your phone to pass the time.

“To our grades!” Sungho raises his glass and looks around, inviting you and the other friends to join him.

“To our grades,” you say, barely able to hear your own voice before clinking your glass with others.

You chug half your beer, ready for a long night, your friends laughing as they do the same.

Sungho sighs, putting down his drink, and saying, “Thanks to Seokjin, or we wouldn’t have today, drinking beers and listening to music!”

All eyes on your table turns to Seokjin, the kind, quiet nerd of your group. “It’s nothing really, you’re my friends, and—”

“To Seokjin!” Leehan puts his glass up for another toast, while Seokjin scans around him, seeing all his friends doing the same, smiling.

“Thanks, guys.” Seokjin says, as he raises his glass for a toast with yours.

—

As the night goes on, the music shows no sign of calming down. NewJeans booms through the speakers, interspersed with remixes of local songs. Alcohol has started to take hold of you, plaguing your inhibition with sharp tingles as you chug your glass away.

“Shit, I have to go to the bathroom,” Leehan suddenly says.

“I’m coming with you,” Namjoon follows. “Anyone else?”

Everyone around the table stands up except for you, and you watch as they shoot you apologetic glances. “Watch the table for us!” Sungho shouts at you, his voice struggling to carry through the loud music. “Use your student committee power to protect this table or whatever.”

“Fine, and I’m only a secretary, by the way. Don’t be gone for too long.” You smile, waving to your friends as they leave one by one.

“I think Leehan is going to stay there for quite a while. I saw him heaving a bit earlier,” Seokjin sighs, worried.

Your eyes widen. “Well, I’ll wait for you guys here. Take your time,” you assure Seokjin, with him gesturing a thanks with a grateful smile.

—

On the other side of the bar, another group revels as their finals come to an end.

“Jiwon, pass me the liquor, please,” Gaeul asks.

Jiwon holds the half-full rum bottle. “Gaeul, this is your fourth glass of the night. Are you sure you wanna drink more?”

Gaeul scoffs, voice already slurring. “Yeah, why not?”

“Well, the last time this happened, I was holding your head above my toilet by the sixth shot,” Yujin adds.

“It will be different this time, come on~” Gaeul pleads, sulking in her chair, matched by her descending tone.

“Fine,” Jiwon huffs, finally passing the rum to Gaeul. “I’m not holding your hair again, though,” she pouts, with Yujin nodding in agreement.

“Thanks!” Gaeul pours the drink into her ice-filled glass before topping the golden liquor with cola. She glances around her table. “I promise, I’ll be the one who holds Wonyoung—,” her stream of thoughts is cut off, as she catches your presence not too far from her, alone, sliding one video after another, gleaming her with flame.

Yujin follows her sight to you. “Well, well, another freshman, huh?” She scoffs.

“Oh, come on, I never get to do this. God, Jiwon brought like three guys to her place in the same month before,” Gaeul deflects.

“Hey!” Jiwon reaches to slap her hand. “You say that like it’s an insult.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Gaeul pouts, making Jiwon roll her eyes, smiling.

“If you want him, then go get him!” Wonyoung adds. “We may not have another chance in our senior year. They are going to kill us with those goddamn projects.” She takes a sip from her glass and contorts her face after that.

“You know men don’t like older women, right?” Gaeul turns her head back onto Wonyoung, who’s still trying to make peace with the content of her glass. “He’d say no.”

Yujin laughs, “That attitude is why you’ve brought no one back to your place!” She pushes Gaeul’s drink into its owner’s hand, pointing at her face.

“Don’t live to regret this.”

Gaeul taps the table with her fingers rapidly, contemplating her approach. Her friends watch her hesitation with anticipation, until Gaeul retorts, “Alright, fine. If that’ll make you guys happy,” before getting up from her chair and walking towards you, glancing back to see her peers watch the scene unfold from afar.

—

It has been twenty minutes since your friends left. You are caught under the crushing weight of the foreign sounds and solitude among the crowd. Leehan is probably having his face in the toilet. And being the good friend you are, you bring up your phone to text Seokjin to ask about the situation.

Before you hit send, a sound comes from your right, catching your attention.

“Hi!”

You turn to see a woman with short, raven black hair standing before you. Her hand is holding a glass of what your best guess seems to be cola. Her nails are cut short and plain. She’s wearing a black cardigan that somehow shows off her lean curves. Her jeans don't make it even easier for you, leaving you with little to imagine.

“Is this seat taken?” she asks, bending down to hover her glass above Sungho’s seat.

“Hey!” You greet her. “Yeah, it’s taken. I’m sorry about that.” You plant your hand on the vacant chair, inadvertently touching her long fingers, eliciting a giggle from her.

“Shit, sorry! …Again.” You pull your hand back as you feel her warm skin. You can feel a small fire in your cheeks.

Gaeul lifts her glass to cover herself laughing. “Haha, it’s fine. Still, are your friends coming back soon? I’m kinda looking for… company tonight.”

It’s quite rare to find someone approaching you, let alone stating their romantic needs this clearly. Yet, it’s a bar after all; alcohol strips people’s inhibitions off here. And who are you to say no to this beautiful woman?

“Oh, sure! They are probably taking care of my friend in the toilet. Go ahead.” You gesture at her to sit down, as she moves the chair a little to comply.

“I’m Gaeul, by the way.” She offers you a handshake, smiling, to which you happily accept. Unlike yours, her hand is silky soft,

“Hi, Gaeul. I’m from engineering, civil. What do you study?” You ask.

“Architecture! I’m just beside you, haha,” as she pulls her hand back and placing her glass on your table. The architecture faculty is bordering your engineering main building, and you’ve walked past it often during lunchtime.

“Have I met you before?” You inquire, squinting your eyes on you to examine her shadowed features.

“I don’t think so. I would have remembered you with that face.” Gaeul playfully points at your face, chuckling.

You chuckle along to hide the fact that she’s really influencing you with such an irresistible charm. “Thanks, I guess.”

“What year are you in?” Gaeul asks. “I’ve recently finished my junior finals. I made a lot of home models this year.” She rolls her eyes and sighs while recounting her experience.

“You are a year above me. I’m just a sophomore.” You answer.

“So, I’m your noona, right?” She giggles, tapping your shoulder softly with her finger.

“Yes, Gaeul noona,” you pout, placing your hands on your thighs.

Gaeul giggles, “No need, haha. Just Gaeul is fine, really.”

“Alright, Gaeul.” You smile along with her.

The night with Gaeul advances, while you quickly forget about your friends taking care of Leehan. You learn about her aspirations of being an architect, and how she also hates drawing to death.

“And you want to become an architect?” you ask, baffled in such contradiction.

“Yeah, haha, I’ve always loved elegant buildings, and I really want to create them myself as I grow up.” Gaeul smiles, gladly sharing her wishes.

She continues, “But when it comes to drawing, I’ve always had the feeling of having to perfect them. And that eats up a lot of my energy, really.”

“So, you’re a perfectionist?” you continue to shoot questions at her, giggling.

Gaeul laughs. “You can say that.”

She then tells you about the pets at her home, as she learns about your ambitions. And you feel like the conversation is sparking everywhere; it flows like the alcohol in your blood, suppressing your shyness just for her.

—

“Yeah! I just got my driver’s license a few months ago.” The clock strikes almost ten, over half an hour after your first words with her, and the topic is lingering on driving at the moment.

Gaeul takes a deep breath before gaining the courage to ask. “Hey, do you want to go back to my place?”

“Really?” you ask.

“Yeah, talking in here doesn’t give us much privacy.” Gaeul seems to be going all-in here.

Unable to bother yourself under these waves of songs you can’t sing along to anymore, you answer in a quickfire, “Sure! Where do you live, though?”

Gaeul points her thumb behind her, towards the outside. “Just across this bar. I usually have my friends crashing for the night if they can’t walk to their dorms.”

“Lead the way, then.”

—

“Well, show’s over, girls,” Jiwon huffs, seeing Gaeul guiding you out of the bar. “It’s the three of us now. Anyone you guys are eyeing on?”

Yujin and Wonyoung shrug. “Let’s just enjoy the rest of the night first,” Wonyoung says.

“Yeah.” Yujin adds and signals a toast, as Jiwon and Wonyoung join her.

—

Gaeul unlocks the door to her room before leading you inside. Her room is pretty tidy, aside from the lump of unfolded clothes on her bed on the left, covered by brown bedsheets. She has a few stuffed animals sitting at the top of it: some Care Bears, a cylinder piggy doll, with Shaun the Sheep gracefully sitting in the middle, and a few more aquatic animals.

“I’m saving up my money to buy my fifth Care Bear,” Gaeul says with a smile, determination sparks in her eyes.

On the opposite side, there’s a drawing table with a few sketches of buildings, showcasing her architecture works. You close the door and lock it for her.

Noticing the mess, she darts toward the bed. “It’s a little messy, sorry,” she says, picking up the pile before cramming it inside her closet. “I didn’t have time to take care of it when I was coming out.”

“I don’t mind, really.” You smile, understanding her struggle of doing laundry.

Gaeul smiles back as she shuts her closet door. “Where were we again?” she leans against it, giving you a questioning look.

“I—,” you pause, further taking in the atmosphere of her room. You find a few movie posters on her wall above the bed: Thirteen, Little Women, and After Hours are the ones standing out. She also has her Jubilee vinyl on display just by her table.

“So, you like Japanese Breakfast?” you ask, before she follows your gaze onto the album. You’ve never expected someone you find at a bar to listen to Michelle Zauner’s band, to be honest.

“Yeah, it was my sister’s before she moved out,” Gaeul answers. “But the album itself is pretty good. I pick it up now and then to let it loop while I’m drawing.”

“I’ve heard about its quality.” You tap your fingers on your thighs, eyes darting everywhere except onto her.

Gaeul taps her chin in a staccato rhythm; she seems as unsure of her next action as you do. The humming of the air conditioner lulls from behind her. She ponders for a while, before stepping towards you.

“You know the implications, right?”

And that’s it; the way she says ‘right’ tingles you in a peculiar way. Gaeul looks into your eyes as she does, eliciting an indescribable feeling inside you. Your hands shake as she closes her distance to the point where you can feel her breathing.

“May I?” she asks, lips just inches away from yours.

“S—sure,” you stutter out in front of this gorgeous woman.

Without further ado, Gaeul kisses you ardently. Her tongue doesn’t let your mouth simply rest on hers, as she invades your cavern to display the passion she has been holding. She cups your cheeks so that she can taste you more thoroughly. You moan at such a confident act right into her mouth, before you let your tongue wrestle with hers.

As the kiss deepens, Gaeul draws her hand down your neck, and you shudder in response. “Fuck, noona,” you utter through the connected lips. Your hands cup her face, letting her take control. And without initiation from you, her fingers sliding down your abdomen seem to invite you to engage with her under the same depravity. Yet, your hands linger on her facial features.

Soon, Gaeul’s hand works its way to your crotch, stroking your erect length through the pants. “Wow, all excited for me, huh?” she says, suppressed under the kiss, and you moan through the gaps, having your shaft fondled.

Gaeul breaks off from the torrid act, but her lips leave just a little distance from yours. However, it’s far enough to keep you wanting her more. She lifts her arms to wrap around your neck. “I want to ask you something.” She says in a whisper while looking into your eyes; her deep voice shakes you.

“Go ahead.”

Gaeul clicks her tongue a few times, glancing at the wall before asking.

“Are you comfortable calling me noona again? I know I told you back in the bar to drop it, but seeing you being all obedient because of me is a bit of a…” She bites her lip as if to resist the inevitable. “…turn on.” She grins, unsure, not even believing the words coming out of her mouth.

You chuckle before answering without another hesitation. “Sure, Gaeul noona.”

Gaeul smiles. “Alright, baby boy.” She slides her hands down to work on your top button. “Let’s go to our main course.”

You quickly unbutton your shirt upward to meet her trembling hands. And quickly, your shirt is up for Gaeul to toss it away into the void. She runs her right hand down your chest. “You take care of yourself well, don’t you?” As her fingers tap on your flat stomach, hitching your breath.

“C—Cardio from time to time, noona.” You stutter out; fuck, this woman is burning your skin.

“Good for you.” She says in a deep tone, while her right hand is still feeling your midriff.

“Now, leaving you like this wouldn’t be… fair, right? Bare for me to—” The next word cut short for her to plant her lips on your nipple, tasting your body and eliciting a moan from you.

“Noona…” You are now lost in the pleasure; jolts after jolts from her lips rush through your body, making you shudder. Her saliva coats your nipple, and you lock your hand behind your noona’s head to keep yourself from falling over.

Gaeul keeps switching her suction on your peaks before she pushes you onto her bed. “I was talking about fairness, right?” She says with her fingers tilting your head down on your chin a little to meet her eyes. Her legs are straddling yours, keeping you in place.

“Y—Yes, noona,” you speak out.

“So, since you are half naked… under me.” She traces a line down your abdomen, igniting a fire in its wake. “You get to choose which half of me… that you want to see.”

You gulp, eyes wide. Fuck, this woman is really having her way with you now, and there’s nothing you can do to resist her seductive endeavor. Your mind goes into overdrive with the choices: top or bottom, top or bottom, top or—

“Every second counts, my baby boy.” Gaeul taps her bare wrist, grinning.

You swallow another gulp. “Your pick, n—noona.”

Gaeul giggles. “Well, since I’m a believer in justice…” She moves her hands to the top button of her black cardigan, ready to unlock it. “Say please, baby,” she says with her sultry voice.

“Please, noona.” You succumb to her domination. As Gaeul unlocks the first button, putting her soft cleavage into view.

“Please what, baby boy?” She continues her seduction; her hands are toying with the second button now. She pulls the neckline down to reveal the strings of her bra and the full view of the valley between her mounds.

“Please take your top off, noona,” you plead.

Giggling, “Alright, baby boy.” Gaeul quickly unbuttons the remaining locks, as her unending tease also seems to affect herself. Her toned midriff quickly reveals itself to you, decorated by the sky blue laced bra above, sending you further into a spiral.

Slowly, she strips herself off of her cardigan, your tongue becomes drawn to the thin string that holds two sides of the chest cover together. You can taste the hints of her salty sweat absorbed by the cloth.

“Fuck,” Gaeul whimpers. “S—So needy, aren’t you?” She tosses the outer garment away before pressing your head onto her. Being pushed even more, you map a straight line up the hollow of her chest with your tongue, causing her to moan out.

“Alright, I—I get it, you’re a—a tits person,” Gaeul cries out, quickly retreating her hands to unclasp the back of her remaining top attire. “This doesn’t mean y—you have p—power over me or anything, though.”

“Yes, noona,” you say through your licks, her bra falls off right between you two. As you pull yourself back to take a break from your appetizer, you are given the heavenly sight of her succulent tits. They are small, but you’ve never been the one to care, anyway. Her nipples are already erect, aroused as she expects the divine rapture from no one but you.

“You like the view, baby boy?” Gaeul chuckles at the sight of you salivating in front of her perky mounds.

As an answer, you dive in to savor her excited brown nubs. There’s no particular taste to them, yet you’re being commanded by these peaks to satisfy her overflowing lust, making her a writhing mess right before you.

“God, fuck!” Gaeul moans out. You remain fixated on her tits, sucking on them as if your life is hanging on the strings of her cries. And to further stimulate her, you use your hand to caress the freed side of her frame. You roam from her shoulder to the waistline, squeezing her chest with each passing.

Gaeul, again, presses you onto her soft chest, yet she’s unable to let herself being satisfied just on the outside anymore.

“F—Fuck, shall we go to the m—main course, baby boy?” her words come out ragged; she can’t further shackle herself from the peak of intimacy.

You remove yourself from her nubs. “Yes, please, noona.” Gaeul pushes you down onto her bed, signaling you to unzip your pants while she does so. And within a blink, your erect cock and her soaked cunt are just a breath away from each other. She seems to be an all-natural girl too, choosing to let her hair grow above the canal, and that just makes her even more mouthwatering.

Still, the sex education lessons hold you back on the ground. “Do you need protection?” you ask, concerned about the prospect of unwanted consequences.

“I have my contingency plans, baby,” she huffs with a smile as she hovers her sex just above your shaft now, ready for the ride of her life.

With no words, you nod, and she slowly sinks herself onto your rod. You cry out as your tip gradually disappears into her. You pull your head back under the overwhelming sensations. “Fuck,” and you can do nothing but whimper.

“D—Do I feel good on top of you?” Gaeul asks, voice and her body shuddering in the descent. You are halfway inside her now. Her hands are roaming on your writhing frame, determined to push you off the edge even faster.

“Yes, fuck, noona. You feel so fucking good.” You’re enamored by the throes of pleasure surrounding your body. She slowly impales herself down to the hilt, fully coating your cock with her nectar.

“Fuck!” Gaeul’s tone becomes a scream now. She bends herself back, showing her fragile frame. Traces of ribs are visible under the room light, and her immaculate chest stretches for you to view.

Gaeul remains in the position for a while, before she drags her wet cunt off of you, just barely seeing your tip, grazing your dick with such an unbearable pleasure. Your length now glistens with her honey, but the shackling gratification lets you register only her up and down motion. And as she slams down, you can do nothing but moan under such divine elation.

Wet squelches and moans echo throughout the room, as Gaeul picks up her pace to quicken this perversion. She cries out in every movement, and you echo out every moan. Her short hair becomes really helpful in situations like this, since, with each bounce, they don’t seem to cover her face as much as it should. And you’re one lucky man to see her all invested in the depravity - every contorted face, every line drawn on your abdomen with her hands, and God, how her moan is a symphony you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

Inevitably, with each of her bounce, it drives you toward the precipice. Her angelic moans and the bouncing chest ramp you up closer to paradise. The sight of her riding you - mouth agape, perky tits bouncing, hands shuffling her strands to make sense of the pleasure, creating such an immaculate image - with the sensations around your cock is just unyielding.

“N—Noona, I’m gonna cum, slow down,” you plead, and Gaeul looks down at you, hands still locked in her olive hair. Her breaths become ragged, and her whimpers seem to scale up with each insertion.

“Me too, baby boy, me too,” Gaeul cries out. “Cum with me.”

She keeps the moderate tempo she has been putting on you. Her bare, untrimmed, drenched cunt rams your cock with steady speed to keep your orgasms alight. Sounds of fleshes crashing into each other; an unyielding amount of Gaeul’s honey is mixing with the notes that come out of her gorgeous lips, creating a concoction that sends you into ecstasy.

And with one last thrust, along with you, Gaeul becomes a squirming wreck. With eyes fluttering, delectable chest heaving, wailing such a symphony that only a deity can sing. Her entire frame shakes with exaltation. You cry from the depths of your lungs, and the knot in your stomach becomes undone. Your cock shoots spurts of cum inside her, as Gaeul’s delicate cunt gushes out torrents of clear juice onto your crotch.

With each twitch of your length, they serve the purpose of unloading into her womb to the brim, and they shake you to sing out such a beautiful melody, joining Gaeul into composing an amorous masterpiece. Your nectar finds its way out to concoct with hers, pooling on your crotch. It’s a breathtaking sight, seeing her undone like this - juice spilled, wails unrestrained, walls contracting to drain you dry.

Gaeul’s climax subsides; her moans show signs of her normal voice again. “G–Good job, baby boy,” she chuckles through her whimpers. Her pace decreases, and you’re thankful that she doesn’t ride your consciousness out.

“You’re getting sensitive, right?” She brings her motion to a stop, but still enveloping your length within her needy core. It’s warm; she’s warm.

“Yeah, noona. You can–,” you stop halfway for a few breathers. “You can stay like this, to be honest.”

“Oh, my poor baby boy~,” Gaeul laughs. “We can stay like this if you really want it.” Her voice still carries hints of intoxication, yet you can’t deny that the potential of it being genuine affection entices you. “I’ll have to go to the bathroom first, though. I can’t sleep with our cum being everywhere like this.”

She bends down to give you a peck on your forehead, before slowly, agonizingly, pulling herself off of you. And doesn’t that make you whimper out, as your cock is still sensitive from shooting spurts of your seed inside her dainty cunt? The feeling of unloading still lingers in your filthy mind.

Maybe it’s a mix of all the sensations you’ve ever felt - mostly pleasure with pain. You moan out as she chuckles at the sight of you crumbling under her final touch. “Alright, baby boy, wanna take a shower?” Gaeul gets up from the bed before sauntering towards the bathroom. “Maybe we can have another round~,” she winks across her shoulder, before going into the shower.

“I’ll be there, noona,” you reply, as you collect your inhibition enough to take another shot of intimacy with her under the running water.

—

Sunlight peeks through the curtains, waking you up after the rough night, naked. Last night’s debauchery remains clear in your head, as the images of Gaeul commanding you around are still in high definition. You look around the room to catch your noona examining the contents of her fridge, bending over to show you her bare, plump ass, only slightly covered by her baby blue shirt.

“Up already, sleepyhead?” She notices you through the gap between her arm and the single garment on her. “I have some banana cake left, not expired yet,” she says before picking it up and surveys the package. “Yeah, a day left. You want one?”

“How much is it? Can you send me your QR code after this, noona?” The memory of you acting all-obedient shows up again, and you can only cover your mouth after that.

“No need, ‘baby boy’,” Gaeul chuckles, pulling up an air quote, mocking the tone she used last night. “Consider this as part of the one-night plan.”

God, she looks flawless under this morning’s light. The way her short hair is messy; the tired eyes, and that pair of legs - the pair you wish to be caught between - makes you want to spend another day with her.

“Can I extend my subscription?” you utter out involuntarily. The alcohol hasn’t returned your reticence yet, perhaps.

Gaeul considers your proposal for a while, nibbling her chin with her free hand, while tapping her feet with the cake still in the other hand.

“Well, I’m not sure, really,” she says. “I have only known you for barely half a day, with the help of alcohol.”

“I know, Gaeul,” you groan. “But like, I want to know you more.”

“I don’t know.” She chuckles as she closes the distance between you two.

Gaeul continues her interrogation, “do you, really?” Her bare, untrimmed pussy comes in at your face level. She changes her motion to crossing her legs forward, slowly, covering the lower part of her sex as she gets right in front of your eyes.

You drool at the sight, tranced, as your morning wood is twitching. Your tongue involuntarily sticks out, aimed at her nub, and you are magnetized to her cunt again. You are so ready to please your noona again, making her a drenched disarray before you, before Gaeul breaks your train of desire, grabbing your chin and tilting your head up to watch her smile.

“Alright, I believe you now.” She simpers with your tongue still out. “I’ll give you my Instagram before you leave.”

You sign an okay to her, as you retreat your tongue back into your mouth.

“Good boy,” Gaeul laughs. “Here, your breakfast.”

You take the banana cake from her. “Thanks, noona.”

“I’ll give you more than this the next time, if you can make me fancy you.” She lets go of you before climbing onto her bed to the other side, giving you a view of her luscious cheeks once more. She bends down to pick up your discarded, now-creased clothes, involuntarily (or not) putting her sex into display, and you can do nothing but let your length twitch at the sight.

You gulp at the sight, mustering the courage to ask out, “Really?”

She sits back up after her teasing act, legs crossed, but you can still see flashes of her. Gaeul ponders for a while, tapping her chin in the same veins she did before the explicit scene of you two.

“Definitely, maybe.” She laughs again, shooting the garments at you, and you can only join along with her.

—

As you walk back to your dorm, your phone suddenly rings. You pick up the phone, eyes widen. It’s Sungho, the ‘friend’ you left with no trace for him last night.

“Shit.” You utter before accepting the call.

“Where the fuck have you been last night, bro?” His breath is coming in shorts. “We were worried about you. We came back around ten—”

“I was with a woman; her room is just across the bar. I’m fine, Sungho,” you reply.

“Oh.” Sungho pauses. “Oh damn. Wow.” He’s left speechless for a few seconds.

“Yeah, and we—, uh—” You stop, contemplating on whether to tell him.

“No need, bro.” You can hear Sungho chuckling through your phone. “Who’s the lucky woman who takes your virginity, huh?”

“Architecture,” you play coy, withholding Gaeul’s identity. “And we trade each other’s contact just this morning.”

“Goddamn, you had been inside her, and you just asked for her contact after that? Fucking hell, man.” Sungho laughs again. “Well, we’re happy that you didn’t lose an arm or anything, bro.”

You smile before remembering about your sick friend. “Oh, what about Leehan? How’s he now?”

“Fine, he’s still sleeping on my bed,” Sungho affirms.

You smile, and reply, “Alright, good, thanks for calling.”

“No problem, see ya!” Sungho says.

“See ya.” And you hang up the phone.

On the way back, the prospect of building your relationship with Gaeul reels in your mind. The probability of you two working remains shaky. Emotions might take hold of only one of you, dragging its victim into an unbearable sorrow. What if a crush turns into a craving? Either way, the shared moment of your bodies clashing into each other is going to be etched into you, and, hopefully, her.

And as you unlock the door, a notification pops up on your phone, and it reads as:

actualgaeul started following you.

—

#gaeul #gaeul smut #kim gaeul #kim gaeul smut #ive gaeul #ive #ive smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #male reader #male reader smut

844 notes · View notes

camandemstudios · 22 days ago

Text

🎞️ Cam&Em Studios Presents...

Experience this winter in the warmth of cam&emstudios' home theatre, where Cam [@highvern] and Em [@gyuswhore] welcome you to watch your favourite members star in winter flicks written by your favourite writers! We've got blankets, hot chocolate and pillows to savour these moments in time together. Take your pick from our DVD rack below!

Wanna call dibs on a showing ⁉️ Sign up for the taglist here with a visible age indicator on your blog [important].

📀 Oops, some of those are 18+. Remember to check those NSFW warnings before hitting play!

🎥 DVD 1: Cherry Picker by @gyuswhore

🌟 Starring: Choi Seungcheol x reader

⏯️ Intermission ▶️ Watch Now!

🎬 Trailer: Cherry Picking [ice hockey]: a manoeuver in which a player, the floater, literally loafs (spends time in idleness) or casually skates behind the opposing team's unsuspecting defencemen while they are in their attacking zone. There wasn't much you counted on in life; just your skates, your drive and how it felt to win. And of course, your local ice rink, that is now being colonised by an obnoxious hockey team in all their big, loud, stinking glory. Neither does it help that one particular red donned specimen forgets to leave his cherry picking on the ice.

🎥 DVD 2: Candy by @wheeboo

🌟 Starring: Yoon Jeonghan x reader

⏯️ Intermission ▶️ Watch Now!

🎬 Trailer: After moving back into the city to be closer with friends and family, you start receiving letters from an unknown sender in your mail. When curiosity gets the better of you, you decide to respond, and what begins as a simple sweet-tasting exchange soon blossoms into something more with someone you’ve never met—or so you think. But as the snow continues to fall, you find yourself confronting the bitter-tasting feelings you thought were long buried back in your youth, as well as the person who’s been hiding in plain sight all along. Loosely inspired from vocal unit’s, Candy.

🎥 DVD 3: The Plunge by @tomodachiii

🌟 Starring: Joshua Hong x reader

⏯️ Intermission ▶️ Watch Now!

🎬 Trailer: You’ve always been a little too competitive to the point of pettiness as pointed out by many of your close friends. But after a year recovering from heartbreak caused by your first love–your cheater of an ex-boyfriend, you learn that he’s happily in a relationship. It doesn’t sit right with you that he’s already moved on while you’re still picking up the pieces he shattered—especially when you’re heading home single for the holidays. So you hatch up a plan to ‘hire’ a boyfriend for the holidays. And who’s a better candidate than the most sought out bachelor, the perfect gentleman–your very best friend, Joshua?

🎥 DVD 4: waste a moment by @miniseokminnies

🌟 Starring: Wen Junhui x gn!reader

⏯️ Intermission ▶️ Watch Now!

🎬 Trailer: You live your life on a schedule, until of course you sleep through your alarm and it throws your life off kilter. You're late for your bus, it's getting cold, and the restaurant that's always closed on your commute is open and smelling like cashing in a precious PTO day. The days continue to tumble into chaos, but during the first snow of the year, why not take the time to waste a moment?

🎥 DVD 5: Pane-ting You a Picture by @bitchlessdino

🌟 Starring: Jeon Wonwoo x gn!reader

▶️ Watch Now!

🎬 Trailer: Snow is beautiful—when you’re not trapped in it. After days of relentless snowstorms that left your family without electricity—let alone entertainment—you found an unexpected refuge: sketching on the condensation of your windows. What began as idle doodles soon turned into shared exchanges with someone in the neighboring cabin. Though you don’t know who they are or even what they look like, the icy walls and snow couldn’t keep them out your head.

🎥 DVD 6: babe for the weekend by @ylangelegy

🌟 Starring: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

⏯️ Intermission ▶️ Watch Now!

🎬 Trailer: Everybody thought that you and Kwon Soonyoung were a foregone conclusion, but then he had to go and change the ending. Six years after the breakup, he decides to come home for the holidays— and now, you’re stuck between your pride, his dreams, and the road not taken. ‘Tis the damn season, indeed.

🎥 DVD 7: safe haven by @seungkw1

🌟 Starring: Lee Jihoon x f!reader

⏯️ Intermission ▶️ Watch Now!

🎬 Trailer: As if your fiancé leaving you for another woman wasn’t enough to make this the shittiest week of your life, now you’ve managed to lock yourself out of your house during an incoming blizzard. At least your next-door neighbor is home, and he’s kind enough to offer you shelter from the storm. You barely know Jihoon, only having spoken to him a few times - but soon, you discover you have more in common than you initially thought.

🎥 DVD 8: Totally Scrooged by @highvern

🌟 Starring: Lee Seokmin x f!reader

⏯️ Intermission ▶️ Watch Now!

🎬 Trailer: When your ex decides to propose to his best friend he told you not to worry about only eleven months after your breakup, you decide the holidays aren’t worth it this year. You’re dedicated to ignoring the red and green splashed on every surface, but your neighbor has a way of convincing you maybe the holidays aren’t totally bad.

🎥 DVD 9: lost in the west by @the-boy-meets-evil

🌟 Starring: Kim Mingyux f!reader

⏯️ Intermission ▶️ Watch Now!

🎬 Trailer: when your mother finds out just before the holidays that you broke it off with another partner, she considers setting you up. in her eyes, you really should be married by now. to avoid all that, your best friend offers to go back home with you instead. the last thing you want to do is pretend to date him, but you're not sure you have another option. the only problem? your family all thought you already were dating him.

🎥 DVD 10: The Great British Fake-Off by @ugh-yoongi

🌟 Starring: Xu Minghao x f!reader

⏯️ Intermission ▶️ Watch Now!

🎬 Trailer: you thought the guy in the hawaiian-print shirt who seems physically incapable of being quiet was going to be the most annoying person here, so imagine your shock when it's actually xu minghao, who has decided you're the enemy and keeps sabotaging you. a baking competition for charity might have others on their best behavior, but not you. happy christmas—war is not over.

🎥 DVD 11: Agrodolce by @amourcheol

🌟 Starring: Boo Seungkwan x f!reader

⏯️ Intermission ▶️ Watch Now!

🎬 Trailer: one would expect being a dessert chef to be a life filled with sugary goodness, but nothing is sweet when working alongside boo seungkwan. when the two of you are forced to create a special dessert for the winter menu together, you think the restaurant will burn down. late night planning, shopping mall snooping, and a simple dessert might just save you from your expectations.

🎥 DVD 12: yeoubi by @fairyhaos

🌟 Starring: Chwe Hansol x reader

⏯️ Intermission ▶️ Watch Now!

🎬 Trailer: yeoubi (여우비): “fox rain” — when sunlight filters through rainfall, creating a golden shower. living as a magic healer in a rural mountain village means most of your existence has been rather peaceful. that is, until one cold winter when an injured yokai stumbles into your life; and though everyone else is terrified of him, you take him in, nurse him back to health... and show the others that some demons aren’t that scary after all. (and maybe, just maybe, you end up falling for the pretty fox yokai too.)

🎥 DVD 13: between you and me by @haologram

🌟 Starring: Lee Chan x f!reader

▶️ Watch Now!

🎬 Trailer: everything you've ever done, chan has been by your side - either egging you on or talking you off the ledge. after a rough year of studying, failed relationships and having chan be the insistent angel on your shoulder, the holidays roll around - and let's just say you're not too happy about it.

401 notes · View notes

gothcsz · 22 days ago

Text

part ten of the neighbors series. i hope everyone who has been reading so far enjoys this chapter, because i definitely shed a tear or two during the writing process. one of the more difficult things i've had to write because that writer's block hit me good and hard multiple times throughout this, but i am pretty proud of what came out of it! mwah, love you all... please come cry about this with me ok thank u 🖤 oh and a big big big thank you to @persephone-girl for always being there for me when i'm ranting about how i don't know what the hell i'm doing and for reading over the parts i was struggling with. ¡te amo, cleo!

javier peña x f!reader. ~10k word count. (oops) the angst we've all come to know and love, canon typical violence (please proceed with caution), feelings are confessed, anything procedural that occurs comes from the small knowledge i have and just pure vibes (let's suspend our belief real quick), translated spanish, mateo is a piece of shit, reader is going through it, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know ok thx.

The sharp buzzing of your pager against the kitchen table jolts you out of your book. You frown, sliding a ribbon into place to mark your page before rising to see who’s paging you this late.

Mateo glances over from his spot on the couch, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches you. “¿Quién te llama tan tarde?” (Who is calling you so late?)

“No se,” (I don’t know) you pluck the device from the table and squint at the screen. A number you don’t recognize flashes, accompanied by the name of a local hospital.

You blink in confusion, picking up the landline and dialing the number, tapping your fingers against the countertop as you wait.

A brisk receptionist answers, eventually redirecting you to someone who can actually help you in English.

Your Spanish is good but not that good.

“Javier Peña is here and you’re listed as one of his emergency contacts.”

Your heart drops into your stomach and your grip tightens on the receiver. “Is he okay? What happened?” Your mind races through a dozen worst-case scenarios.

“He’s alright,” the nurse assures you, “Much less intoxicated than when he was brought in. He was involved in an… altercation at a bar. We need someone to sign his discharge papers before he can leave.”

The knot of anxiety loosens slightly, but in its place comes a flare of exasperation. Of course. A bar fight? You rub at your eyebrow, closing your eyes.

You’ve done everything possible to create distance between you and this man, and still, somehow, he finds a way to pull you back in.

“Hello? Are you still there?”

You snap out of your thoughts and clear your throat. “Yes—sorry. I’ll be there shortly.”

Hanging up, you let out a sharp breath. Why do you keep doing this? Even though you tell yourself you’re just being a good person, there’s a part of you that knows better… that secretly wonders if you’re glad for an excuse to see him again.

You straighten up and head back to the living room where Mateo is lounging, and his eyes shift to you expectantly.

“¿Quién fue?” (Who was it?)

“The hospital downtown. Javier’s been injured and I need to go help him.” You move around the room, grabbing your things.

You feel the shift in the air when he mutes the television and stands, his brows furrowing. “Javier? Your neighbor? The one who nearly ruined our first date?”

You pause, bending to put on your shoes, catching the sharp edge in his tone.

“Yeah,” you admit, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’m listed as one of his emergency contacts, so…”

His body language shifts into something more rigid. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“My girlfriend is being called out in the middle of the night to pick up some malparido who’s clearly into her. That’s what I mean.”

The snort that escapes you is involuntary. “You’re being ridiculous. We’re just friends.” Barely that anymore, you think. That word feels like a fragile label for whatever exists—or existed—between you and him. But Mateo doesn’t need to know the messy, complicated details.

You’ve deliberately kept it that way to avoid exactly what’s happening now.

“Friends,” he repeats, the word heavy with doubt. “No me gusta.” (I don’t like it)

“It’s a good thing I don’t need your permission.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“You don’t see how strange this is?”

You let out a breath, straightening your posture as you meet his gaze. “I don’t know what to tell you, Mateo. All I have to do is sign his discharge papers and call him a cab home. That’s it.”

“It’s not your responsibility. He’s not your responsibility.”

You blink at him, taken aback slightly. He’s always been steady, easygoing, and this possessive edge is new—unwelcome. Jealousy, you realize. You understand it to a degree, but it makes you wary.

“I know that—”

“You don’t see me playing knight-in-shining-armor for some random woman I barely talk to anymore.”

“Javier is not just some random guy—” You cut yourself off with an exasperated sigh, hating how defensive you sound, feeling uncomfortable with the turn this conversation has made.

Mateo’s expression darkens, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Exactly,” he mutters bitterly. “He’s not some random guy. Y ese es el problema ¿no?” (And that’s the problem, isn’t it?)

You can feel the heat rising in your face, a mix of anger and guilt twisting in your gut. “We’re just friends.” You reiterate, trying to sound as resolute as possible. “You can believe that or not, but it’s the truth,” you retort, ending your side of this argument before grabbing your bag from the entryway table.

“Are you coming or not?” you ask without looking back.

There’s a long, agonizing pause that makes your heart pound in your ears. For a moment, you think he might refuse, that he might dig his heels in and escalate this further. But then he just sighs, shuffling to gather his own things.

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

The nurse ushers you through a brightly lit hallway and into a larger room lined with hospital beds, each one partially hidden by flimsy curtains that do little to offer privacy. At the very end, you spot Javier.

He’s perched on the edge of a bed, his broad shoulders slumped forward. His arm is wrapped in gauze, a deep gash on his eyebrow held together with fresh stitches. His lip is swollen and split, a constellation of bruises littering his face, one eye swollen shut.

He looks like he’s been through hell.

“Javier, oh my god!” Your voice comes out squeakier than you intended as you rush toward him. You stop short, your hands hovering awkwardly in the space between you, instinct screaming to pull him into a hug. But the injuries hold you back.

Even with the ache radiating through his body, the sound of your voice and the sight of you standing there softens the edges of his pain, offering a brief, soothing reprieve. He can’t believe you actually came.

“What happened?” You ask, your voice cracking with worry despite your efforts to keep it even.

Javier looks up at you, his gaze glassy but warm, a tired smirk tugging at the corner of his injured mouth. “Guys talkin’ shit at the bar,” he mutters, his voice raspy and slightly slurred. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t mention how he courted the violence, drunk and bitter, until it exploded into a fight he couldn’t win. Three guys dragged him outside, taking turns landing blows.

The shameful truth is, he relished the pain. It was sharp, tangible—more real than the numbness he’d been drowning in with booze and meaningless sex.

It was a culmination of all the bad decisions, every scar his job had etched into his soul, and the emptiness he couldn’t seem to escape.

“You are not fine, Javier,” you snap, your frustration spilling over as you gesture to the mess of bruises and bandages covering him. “You got the shit beat out of you.”

That earns you a low chuckle, though it quickly morphs into a wince as he presses his uninjured hand lightly to his ribs. “Always so dramatic,” he teases, his gaze sweeping over you. “You look good.”

Your cheeks warm despite yourself. How he’s able to be a flirtatious bastard all the time is lost on you. You cross your arms over your chest. “Don’t laugh. I’m serious.”

“I know you are.” He grins wider, which only makes him wince again. “That’s why I’m laughing.”

You let out a sharp breath, your emotions roiling—frustration, worry, and relief that he’s fine.

“I handled everything up front,” you say firmly, needing to regain control. “We just need to go outside and wait for your cab.”

Javier’s expression falters, his brows pulling together. “You’re not coming back home with me?”

The casual way he says it makes your stomach flip. You bite the inside of your cheek, choosing your next words carefully. “I’m going home with Mateo. He drove me here.”

For a moment, Javier is quiet. Too quiet. You watch as his body stiffens, his bruised jaw clenching tightly.

“He’s here?”

“Yes,” you reply as you shift your weight from one foot to the other, dropping your arms to your sides. “He’s waiting in the lobby.”

Javier swears he’s never sobered up so fast.

The urge to tear through the room rises, and he almost gives in to the intrusive thoughts, but instead, he tamps it down, the only outward sign being the sharp scowl twisting his swollen, beaten features.

“Couldn’t leave him at home?”

“Excuse me?” Your brows shoot up.

“I don’t need an audience for this.”

“An audience? He’s my boyfriend, Javier. Of course he’s here. This isn’t even about him,” you’re feeling déjà vu from your argument earlier.

No one really prepares you for how dramatic relationships can be.

“This is about you—about you acting out and dragging me into it. You show up at my place drunk, claiming you miss me after ditching me for months, fall asleep at my door like I’m some kind of lifeline for you. You pull me in so many different directions, and it’s exhausting.”

Javier’s mouth opens like he’s about to fire back, but then he deflates. The irritation in his eyes dims, replaced by something that looks a lot like regret.

“I don’t know how else to tell you that I’m sorry.”

You roll your eyes, looking away from him, partially relieved that Mateo wasn’t allowed back here, or this confrontation would have spiraled into something much uglier.

“Try by being sincere. Every time you apologize it feels like you’re only doing it to save your own ass.”

“Because I was. For the longest time.” He admits, gingerly slipping off the bed, slowly walking over to you and you swallow harshly as the distance between you decreases. “Then I realized how much I took you for granted and I’ve been falling apart since.”

Why does he have to make everything so complicated? Why does the apology you’ve craved for months suddenly feel like the hardest thing you’ve had to hear?

You cross your arms over your chest again, trying to create some kind of barrier between you and the honesty radiating off him. You don’t even know what to say.

Javier inches closer, his voice softening further. “I’m sorry for treatin’ you like shit and for being a terrible friend. I just... I need you to know that I really mean that, and I will do whatever it takes to make it up to you… if that’s something you even want from me anymore.”

You look at him then, really look at him—the bruises, the stitches, the exhaustion lining his face. There’s no wall of deflection in his eyes this time, no trace of the usual excuses he uses like armor. Just unguarded sincerity.

You rub your temple, trying to soothe the headache forming.

“I appreciate your apology,” you finally manage to find your voice. “And that you recognize what you’ve done wrong. But it’s going to take more than just words to fix this.”

The admission feels dangerous, like opening a door you’re not sure you’ll be able to close.

Is it even a good idea to let him try to fix this? The memory of the argument earlier replays in your mind, and you know without a doubt there will be more fights like it if you allow Javier back into your life.

Mateo made his feelings about him abundantly clear.

But beyond your boyfriend’s disapproval—and that glaring red flag of jealousy you haven’t entirely processed yet—there’s the deeper question: can you handle this? Can you handle being just friends with Javier? The last time you tried, it nearly destroyed you.

And if he does follow through? If he becomes the person you’ve wanted him to be this entire time? That might be worse, because you don’t know if you’ll be able to keep your feelings in check.

The storm of thoughts threatens to overwhelm you, so you silence them, focusing instead on the immediate task: getting him home safely.

Javier’s expression softens at your words. Relief flickers in his eyes, subtle but unmistakable. “I know. I’ll be better.”

You let out a heavy sigh, toying with the pendant around your neck as you try to ground yourself. “Come on,” you say after a beat, resigned. “Let’s get you out of here.”

He follows you out of the room, each step betraying just how much pain he’s in.

When you step into the waiting room, Mateo is standing by the entrance, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His dark eyes sweep over Javier, taking in the full extent of his injuries, before landing on you.

There’s no mistaking the irritation simmering beneath his calm facade.

Javier straightens despite the visible discomfort it causes him, his sore muscles screaming at him. His dark gaze meets Mateo’s, and for a moment, the two men size each other up.

You can practically hear the things they’re not saying. Mateo’s scorn is written all over his face—This is the guy? The one who’s causing all this bullshit? And Javier’s defiance is just as clear—Yeah, I’m the guy. What are you going to do about it?

“Mateo,” you say, your voice cutting through the charged silence, “this is Javier.”

“I remember.” Mateo’s tone is clipped, his eyes narrowing slightly as they linger on Javier’s injuries. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks.”

“Let’s wait for the cab outside.” You quickly add, anything to keep these two and their manly, dick measuring competition at bay.

As you lead the way, the two men follow like a shadow, heavy and unavoidable, their stares burning into your back.

“Oh—I forgot to grab your meds. Wait here,” you quickly pivot back toward the sliding glass doors before either of them can protest.

The moment you’re out of earshot, Mateo takes a step closer to Javier, his gaze hard and unyielding. “No sé cuál es tu obsesión con mi mujer,” (I don’t know what your obsession with my girl is) he begins to confront him, “but that shit ends tonight. Basta con estas tonterías de ser contacto de emergencia o de andar con ella, fingiendo ser su amigo. I can see right through you.” (No more of this emergency contact bullshit or hanging around her pretending to be her friend)

Javier’s jaw tightens, and a muscle twitches in his cheek. He’s already had his ass handed to him once tonight, but the temptation to go another round—this time with Mateo—is almost too good to resist.

He tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Yeah? Then maybe you should be the one hittin’ the road,” he retorts, his tone like gravel. “Keepin’ her locked up at your place like she’s some fuckin’ doll that doesn’t have a life of her own to live. Eso no es amor, es control.” (That’s not love, that’s control)

Mateo snorts, a humorless sound that sets Javier’s blood boiling. “Locked up?” he echoes, his lips curling into a sneer. “Le doy todo lo que necesita. Está feliz conmigo—ya no es el desastre que era cuando andabas por aqui. Cree que no me doy cuenta, pero no soy idiota. Desde que desapareciste de la faz de la tierra, está contenta. No necesito que regreses y me lo arruines. Stay the fuck away from her.” (I give her everything she needs. She’s happy with me —no longer the upset mess she was when you were around. She thinks I don’t notice, but I’m not an idiot. Ever since you dropped off the face of the earth, she’s been content. I don’t need you coming back and ruining it for me)

The words hit Javier harder than any punch he took earlier that night. He knows there’s some truth to them. Hell, he’s been kicking himself for months over how he left things with you.

But Mateo’s entitled delivery makes his fists clench, his chest puffing out in barely contained fury. It takes every ounce of willpower not to lunge forward and break his fucking nose.

Before either of them can escalate the situation further, you reappear, a white paper bag in hand. You stop short, glancing between them, your brows furrowing at their postures.

“Instructions are on the bag,” you say, handing it to Javier. “Your cab should be here any minute.”

Javier takes the bag, his eyes darting to you briefly before landing back on Mateo. His fists relax slightly, but his shoulders remain rigid.

You shift uncomfortably, the atmosphere heavy and you wonder what you just walked in on.

Mateo steps closer to you, sliding his hand into yours and pulling you to his side. You let it happen, not fully grasping that this isn’t just affection—it’s a display of dominance. He’s making a point, staking his claim on you in front of Javier.

Javier notices. Of course he does. It burns him up inside, but he bites down on the simmering anger, knowing now isn’t the time to say anything. He’s just been given a sliver of hope to fix things with you, and he’s not about to jeopardize it by getting into it with your asshole boyfriend.

Moments later, the cab pulls up to the curb. Javier exhales slowly, steeling himself as he moves toward the car. He tries not to wince as he slides into the backseat, his body protesting every movement.

“I’ll see you around,” you tell him softly, still standing at Mateo’s side. His arm has snaked around your waist now, and Javi’s stomach twists at the sight.

He doesn’t respond, just nods, his expression unreadable. The door closes, and as the cab pulls away, Javier’s head falls back against the headrest.

He knows this isn’t going to be easy. Fixing things with you, proving he’s deserving of your friendship—it’s going to take a lot of fucking effort.

A nagging doubt then creeps in: has he set himself up for failure?

The room is stifling, the warm glow of the desk lamp barely cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke and exhaustion. Papers are strewn across the table, maps, routing numbers, and satellite photos spread out like the world's most maddening puzzle.

Javier leans back in his chair with his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose while Trujillo flips through pages, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“I keep seeing the same routing number attached to some of these shipments,” Steve mutters, ashing his cigarette into an overflowing tray. He leans forward, his tone carrying a spark of determination. “Something’s telling me we should check it out.”

It feels like it’s been months of running after ghosts while Escobar and his men continue to outpace them. “Half of these are fake accounts set up to throw us off,” Javi states. “Even if there’s drug money in ‘em, they don’t give a shit. It’s collateral. They’ll make that back in days.”

“It’s still worth checking out,” Steve counters, unbothered by his partner’s irritation. He taps the paper. “Could be our needle in this fucked-up haystack.”

Javier exhales heavily, rolling his neck like he’s trying to shake off the weight of his own weariness. He has no desire to chase another dead end tonight. “You handle it. I’ll stay here with Trujillo, see if we can find another angle.”

Steve shrugs, already slipping on his coat. “Fine by me. Need some fresh air anyway. Smells like ass in here.”

Trujillo snorts, his laughter muffled behind his fist, but Javier doesn’t even crack a smile. His focus is already back on the satellite photos sprawled across the table—grainy images of the barrios where Escobar’s operations are most active.

He traces the outline of one, his coffee mug dangling precariously from his other hand, its contents spiked with enough liquor to numb the ache of his lingering injuries.

The hours stretch thin, blending into each other, the occasional sound of shuffling papers or Trujillo’s half-snore the only break in the silence. Javier barely notices, remaining focused to find anything that could give them the upperhand.

When Steve returns, the sound of the folder slamming onto the table jolts Trujillo awake. He blinks blearily, mumbling something incoherent, while Javier looks up, his expression more bored than curious.

“What’d you find?” he asks, his tone flat, tired.

“Open it,” Steve says, a sly edge in his voice.

Javier grabs the folder with little enthusiasm. But the moment his eyes land on the photo inside, his entire body stiffens. His jaw tightens, and his chest constricts as a surge of panic bolts through him.

It’s Mateo.

Steve keeps talking, his words distant and muddled as Javier stares at the picture. “Just like that account is attached to the shipments, he’s attached to the account. The bank he works at is owned by some powerful and shady people. I’m almost certain he’s on Escobar’s payroll. At this point—who isn’t?”

The rest of Steve’s explanation fades into background noise as Javier processes what this means.

For months you’ve been involved with someone who has ties to one of the most dangerous men in the world.

It can’t be a coincidence. Mateo sought you out. You work at the American embassy—not in a high-ranking position, but enough to get the attention of the wrong people.

That night at the hospital… it wasn’t just jealousy. It wasn’t just him ‘staking his claim’, telling Javi to stay away. Mateo knew. He knew that if Javier got too close, he’d find out.

Now all of the violence, the lies, the endless cycles of chasing men like your boyfriend have spilled over into your life, staining the one good thing he’s tried to keep untouched.

“Javier.” Steve snaps his fingers in front of his face, jolting him back to the present.

“What?”

Steve narrows his eyes. “What do you think we should do?”

Javier exhales through his nose, rubbing his lips together as he stares down at the photo again. His mind is already spinning with strategies, balancing the need to act against the risk of tipping Mateo off too soon.

Then he thinks about how you’ll react when he tells you. He knows you’ll need more than just his word. He’ll need proof. Otherwise, you’ll think he’s doing this just to sabotage your relationship.

“Tail the guy,” he finally says, his voice steadier now. “Follow him around, gather intel. We need to be sure we’re not just jumping the gun because it fits the narrative we want it to fit.”

Steve nods, but Javier barely notices. His only priority now is making sure that you remain safe while they think of a plan to bring this man in.

“Cariño, hold up.” Javier’s voice cuts through the cool night air as he jogs toward you. You’re halfway to the entrance of Mateo’s building, keys in hand, when you stop and turn, startled to see him.

“Javi?” Your brows furrow, confusion flickering across your face as you take in his familiar figure—black button-up shirt, jeans, and those scuffed boots that have somehow become as much a part of him as the shadows he carries. “What are you doing here?”

Things between you two aren’t as strained as they were, but they’re far from how they used to be. Those easy conversations and shared meals feel like a distant memory, replaced by brief, polite interactions at work and the occasional glance that lingers too long.

At least you’re acknowledging that he exists again.

Javier hasn’t pushed, though. He’s been careful, letting things progress naturally, giving you space while silently yearning for the warmth you once offered so freely.

But right now, his usual restraint is gone. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to tell you.” He glances around the semi-populated area then gently takes your elbow, guiding you away from the open street to a nearby alleyway.

Your heart sinks. You don’t know what he’s about to say, but the hardened look in his eyes tells you it’s not good. “What’s wrong?”

He reaches behind him, pulling out a stack of folded papers he had tucked into the back of his jeans. He holds them out to you, his expression unreadable, as if bracing for impact. “Mateo is working for Escobar,” he says bluntly.

For a moment, all you can do is blink at him, your mind scrambling to process. Slowly, you take the papers, your hands trembling slightly as you unfold them.

The photos hit you first: Mateo in various locations, surrounded by men you don’t recognize. Beneath the images are detailed reports, routing numbers, bank transactions—a web of evidence you don’t want to believe.

“I’m sorry—what?” You let out a laugh, but it’s strained and hollow, a defense against the disbelief clawing at your chest. “Are you serious?”

“The bank he works at launders money for Escobar’s operations,” Javier explains, his voice steady but tense. “Fake accounts, hidden transfers, branches overseas—he’s tied to all of it. We’re building a case now, but—”

“Stop.” You cut him off, shoving the papers back into his hands. Your head shakes instinctively, refusing to entertain the possibility. “No. No way. Mateo would never. He’s always talking about how much he hates those men, how they’ve ruined this country. He wouldn’t work for them, Javi. He hates them. And honestly? I’m kind of hurt you’d even accuse him of this.”

The man Javier is describing—some slimy criminal playing a dangerous game with the cartel—doesn’t resemble the Mateo you know, the Mateo you’ve spent nearly a year forcing yourself to feel something for. And now that some feelings are sticking, here comes Javier with this metaphorical anvil, dropping it right over your head.

Your brain scrambles, frantically searching for some explanation that could make it all untrue.

You’ve seen his disgust at the violence that plagues this country, the way his jaw tightens when the news shows another bombing or assassination. You’ve heard his impassioned speeches about wanting to see real change, about how the corruption needs to end for there to be any hope.

Your chest tightens as the thoughts contort inside you: What if you’re wrong? What if Mateo’s perfect facade is just that—a facade? It feels impossible, a cruel betrayal by the universe itself.

Because if it’s true, then you’ve let yourself fall for a lie. And you’re not sure how you’ll cope with the weight of that.

Javier’s face hardens, his frustration nipping at him. He says your name firmly. “This isn’t about some petty rivalry. I’m not making this up. It’s real. He’s dangerous.”

But you shake your head again, denial eclipsing reason. “You’re wrong. This is just…” You exhale sharply, the words tangled on your tongue. “It’s absurd. You don’t like him, so now you’re trying to drag him into this?”

A flicker of pain crosses his face at your lack of acceptance, but it’s gone in an instant, replaced by sheer exasperation. “This has nothing to do with how I feel about him,” his voice rises slightly before he reins it in.

He steps closer, his hands gently gripping your forearms to stop you from walking away. “I’m not lying to you. You have to trust me. Mateo isn’t who you think he is.”

“Much like you, right?” The words escape before you can stop them, cutting deep and twisting in the space between you.

His jaw twitches. “Cariño, por favor—”

“Let go, Javi.” Your voice wavers, but your resolve doesn’t.

He wants to shout, to demand you reconsider, to tell you how these things usually end. But he doesn’t. The thought that you’re safer because of your government ties is the only thing keeping him in check.

He stares at you for a long moment, his grip loosening before he finally lets go. “Fine,” he says, “don’t believe me. But you’ll see soon enough. Just…” He swallows hard, “be smart. Be safe. If something happens to you…”

He trails off, looking down, his thoughts drifting elsewhere. You don’t know about the ghosts that haunt him, but you can see the weight of them now, heavy in the lines of his face. “Por favor, cuídate.” (Please take care of yourself)

You straighten your shoulders, masking the turmoil inside with a veneer of indifference. “I’ll be fine. Goodbye, Javi.”

Turning away, you walk back toward the building without a backward glance. Your steps are steady, but your chest feels hollow, your mind buzzing with too many thoughts to make sense of any of them.

Behind you, Javier stands in the shadows of the alley, watching until you disappear through the doors of the building.

His hands curl into fists at his sides, frustration and dread curling in his gut.

What happened earlier with Javier clouds your line of thinking as you lie naked beneath the silk sheets of Mateo’s bed, his lips lazily dragging across your shoulder before finding their way to your mouth, kissing you passionately.

“Join me in the shower?” He mutters, his large hand massaging your thigh before it trails up to cup your breast.

You offer him a tight-lipped smile, hoping it disguises the unease you’re beginning to feel. “Yeah, just give me a second and I’ll be there.”

He doesn’t think anything of it, kissing you again before slipping out of bed. You listen as the bathroom door shuts and wait for the faint hiss of water hitting the tile.

Wrapping the sheet around yourself, you rise quietly, your pulse pounding in your ears. The small voice in your head that’s screaming at you to stop is drowned out by the rush of adrenaline as you start rifling through his belongings.

Nothing stands out—just the neatly arranged trappings of his life, curated to look perfect. But perfection doesn’t leave room for secrets.

If he’s hiding something, it wouldn’t be here. Your gaze shifts to the hallway where the closed door of his office is.

Tiptoeing down the corridor, you push the door open and slip inside, the sheet still wrapped tightly around you.

The air in here feels heavier, like the room itself is holding its breath. You move quickly, sifting through drawers and shelves, your heart a riot in your chest as you search for something—anything—to prove or disprove Javier’s accusations.

Then you find it: a loose bottom in one of the desk drawers. Your fingers fumble as you pry it open, and there it is—a leather-bound ledger, hidden away like a dirty secret.

You bite your lip, hesitating for just a moment before flipping through it. Familiar initials, dates, and sums that match too closely with what Javier showed you earlier. Names you’ve heard on the news, men associated with violence and destruction.

Your stomach turns as the realization washes over you—Javier was right.

You’re so caught up in the revelation, that you don’t hear when Mateo curiously cuts his shower short after you failed to join him, padding down the hallway until he’s at the door of his office, catching you red handed with the ledger in your possession.

“What the hell are you doing?”

His voice slices through the air like a whip, and you flinch, clutching the damning item to your chest. Turning slowly, you meet his glare, the heat of his anger so palpable it makes your skin prickle.

“What is this, Mateo?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, heat flooding your face, panic building at the base of your spine.

He steps into the room, his wet hair dripping onto his shoulders, his eyes dark and dangerous. “Why the fuck are you going through my things?”

“You need to explain yourself right now,” you demand, though your hands tremble. “Or else—”

“Or else what, lindura?” His voice drips indignation as he closes the space between you in an instant. “You gonna call your friend at the DEA? Snitch on me?”

Before you can answer, he crosses the room in two long strides. The ledger is ripped from your grasp, and his hands are on you, shoving you roughly against the wall. Your cheek presses against the cool surface, and he yanks your arms behind your back, his grip on your wrists unrelenting.

The cool silk of the sheet clings to your skin, but it does nothing to shield you from the shame burning through your body. His breath, hot and sharp with fury, ghosts over your ear as he leans in close. “You had no right to go through my things.”

“You lied to me,” you spit back, struggling against his grip. “You’re working with those monsters—you’re just like them!”

He laughs bitterly, the sound lacking humor. “You don’t know shit about how this works.” He presses harder, keeping you pinned. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand enough to know what you are,” you hiss, your voice breaking. “That ledger proves everything. The accounts, the shipments—everything Javi said was true.”

At the mention of Javier, his grip tightens painfully, and you let out a soft gasp. “Javier.” The way he spits the name sends a shiver down your spine. “Of course, this is about him.”

“You’re deflecting,” you accuse, though your body betrays you, trembling against the wall. “If you’re innocent, explain it to me. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Mateo lets out another harsh, humorless laugh. “Wrong? Wrong?” He releases one of your wrists, only to grab a fistful of your hair, forcing your head back until your neck strains and you wince. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong? You’ve put both of us in danger.”

“I’m not the one working with murderers!” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “You lied to me, Mateo. You’ve been lying this whole time.”

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he might actually hurt you. Instead, he yanks you back from the wall and spins you around to face him, his hold on you still bruising.

“This world isn’t all black and white like you think it is. People like me—we do what we have to, to survive.”

“Survive?” you repeat, disbelief lacing your words. “You chose this. You chose to work for men who ruin lives, who destroy families. You’re just as bad as they are. You’re profiting off the misery and destruction of others. That’s not survival—that’s greed.”

Mateo’s face twists with fury, his hand flying up like he’s about to strike, and you brace yourself for the hit, but he stops himself, his chest heaving.

For a moment, the room is filled with nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths.

He steps back, releasing you abruptly, and you stumble, clutching the sheet tightly against you.

“You know too much. I can’t risk you running off telling them everything, especially if they’ve already been tipped off. Fuck!” He swipes at his desk, sending a glass trinket flying and shattering against the hardwood floor.

You try not to let fear swallow you whole, but it’s hard not to—especially when you know how brutal these things can end.

You remain silent, watching Mateo pace the room with a towel wrapped around his hips, not daring to say anything because you don’t want to be on the receiving end of his anger again.

He doesn’t let you leave his apartment for three long days, the hours stretching endlessly under his watchful gaze.

Being held in his penthouse—perched high above the city like a gilded cage—only amplifies the suffocating isolation.

The thought of trying to escape crosses your mind repeatedly, but you know better. Running would make things worse. Right now, staying put and waiting for Javier to come through is your best, and only, option.

You can’t stop replaying the moment he tried to warn you, the worry etched into his face, the edge of desperation in his voice.

You’d brushed it all off, blinded by your need to believe Mateo was different. That he could be something good.

You should have listened to him.

Now you see the truth. He wasn’t special; he was just another man playing a role. You hate yourself for letting your heart cloud your judgment so easily.

Calling in sick to work is a delicate operation. Mateo looms nearby, arms crossed, glaring at you as you speak to your supervisor. You carefully mask the tremor in your voice, saying all the right things to ensure no suspicions are raised.

He keeps his own phone calls confined to the balcony, speaking in rapid-fire Spanish that’s too muffled and too quick for you to decipher. You strain to catch even a few words, pressing your ear to the glass, but it’s futile. The conversations are long, tense, and only heighten your paranoia.

You’re not sure what his plan is, but since the initial explosion of anger and aggression when he caught you with the ledger, he’s been disturbingly composed.

His calmness is almost off putting.

He finally approaches you one evening, the sun dipping low behind him, his voice is unnervingly steady. “You can go.”

You blink, sure you’ve misheard him. “What?”

“You’re not a threat. Too low-level for anyone to care about. By the time you’re home, I’ll be gone.”

His nonchalance unsettles you, and you hesitate as he disappears down the hall. When he returns, he’s carrying your shoes and bag, as though this were a casual parting.

“So that’s it? You’re just letting me leave after keeping me here like a hostage?”

“I had to make sure everything was in place first,” he explains. “I couldn’t have you running your mouth before things were handled.”

His packed suitcase in his closet flashes in your mind, along with his endless phone calls. Maybe he really is more worried about disappearing than dealing with you.

But the cartel doesn’t let loose ends walk away. Your heart pounds as you weigh whether this sudden freedom is genuine—or a trap.

You slip on your shoes and sling your bag over your shoulder, the need to escape drowning your caution. Still, you pause, unable to shake the uneasy feeling settling in your bones.

“What?” Mateo’s eyes narrow as he studies you. “You don’t believe me? Want me to drop you off myself?” He steps toward you, and you instinctively retreat.

“Why were you even with me?” you ask, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “Was it my job?”

He tilts his head, his gaze cold and calculating. “No,” he replies, his tone devoid of emotion. “I was attracted to you. Then you mentioned your job, and I figured, why not? But you turned out to be useless for that. Didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy the perks—companionship, a warm bed…”

The insinuation in his voice makes your stomach churn. “So you used me.”

“As much as you used me,” he counters, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Your chest tightens and your gaze flits down to the floor. His detached demeanor cuts deeper than any heated argument could. When he says your name, it pulls your attention back to him like a leash.

“Leave.”

The word releases you, your body moving before your mind catches up. Stumbling toward the door, your trembling hands barely manage to turn the lock. The moment it opens, you bolt, refusing to look back.

Your necessities are in your bag, everything left behind purely materialistic.

You know you can’t go back to your apartment. They know who you are now, and no matter how insignificant Mateo says you are, you can’t risk staying.

Your fingers dig into the strap of your bag as you mentally map out an escape plan. You’ll go straight to Javier. He’ll know what to do. He’ll keep you safe.

Upstairs, Mateo leans against the window, the burner phone pressed to his ear. “Ya se fue,” (She’s gone) he says, his tone devoid of emotion. “Hagan lo que quieran con ella, pero no le disparen.” (Do whatever you want with her—just don’t shoot her)

Javier has been restless all night, unable to shake the weight of worry that had clung to him since returning from his assignment in Medellín.

The information about your sudden “illness” hadn’t sat right with him. Too convenient, too vague. He hadn’t pressed his team tailing Mateo for more than the facts—they’d seen nothing suspicious—but the absence of evidence did little to calm him.

So when the muffled sounds outside his door reach him, he’s on his feet in seconds.

He swings open the door to find you struggling to unlock yours, your entire body trembling as you fumble with your keys. Relief washes over him so suddenly, it nearly buckles his knees. “You’re okay.”

The second his voice cuts through the silence, something inside you begins to break. It’s soft, concerned, carrying a weight of relief that only makes you feel heavier.

The ache that has swallowed your body whole now reaches your chest, blooming into something sharper. You feel like crumbling right there in the hallway, letting the floor catch you because you don’t think you can hold yourself up for much longer.

This pain is a hum that pulses through your entire being, dull in some places, jagged and relentless in others. It numbs you in strange ways, yet it’s all you can feel, consuming every fragile thread of strength you have left.

You don’t even know how you made it back, how your trembling legs carried you through shadowed alleys and along dimly lit streets. Survival instinct? Perseverance?

It all happened so fast.

You stepped off the bus from Mateo’s place, unaware of the storm waiting to meet you. A few minutes of walking was all it took. They came out of nowhere, grabbing you roughly and dragging you into the shadows. Two of them—large, brutal—landed punches and kicks like you were nothing more than a punching bag.

The pain blurred into one endless wave, but their words cut even deeper. They spoke mockingly, almost laughing, about assaulting you in ways that made you wish they would just pull a gun out and end it all right there.

When you finally fell limp under their blows, you heard one of them mutter something. A boot nudged your side—testing, checking—but they didn’t bother to confirm. No pulse, no breath. Just assumptions. They left you there like discarded trash, their shadows disappearing into the night.

It took minutes, maybe hours, before you could even think about moving. You waited, your breath catching on sharp pains that confirmed what you feared—broken ribs.

The air burned in your lungs, and your head spun so violently, it was hard to tell if you were standing or lying down.

Eventually, with no other choice, you dragged yourself upright, ignoring the protests of your battered body.

The world tilted as you took your first step, and then another. Every ounce of strength you had went into putting one foot in front of the other.

When you finally reached your apartment door, you were shaking so hard it was nearly impossible to hold your keys.

Trembling hands fumbled with the lock, missing again and again. Your vision swam, blurring the keyhole into an indistinct smudge.

And then there’s Javier.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him. He says your name, but you don’t respond, your focus locked on the useless, agitating hands that can’t seem to do anything right. How could you possibly move on from this?

You’re just standing here, struggling to breathe, struggling to exist, as the weight of everything presses harder and harder on your broken soul.

His relief is short-lived. Something’s wrong.

The second his voice reaches you, your whole body seems to collapse inward. You clutch the door frame for balance, your breathing ragged.

Javier’s stomach twists as he takes in your state—your disheveled hair, the cuts on your hands, the way your shoulders slump as if the weight of the world has been dropped on them.

He steps closer. “Hey,” he says softly yet firmly. “Look at me. Mirame.”

You don’t. Your head shakes faintly, and the motion makes you wince.

It’s not purposeful ignoring; you’re hurt. He notices it now, the stiffness in the way you hold yourself, the shallow rise and fall of your chest like every breath is a struggle. His jaw clenches. What the hell happened to you?

His plea is more urgent now. “Cariño, please. You’re worrying me.”

Your lip quivers, and slowly, you start to unravel—one tear falls, then another, then another until they’re streaming freely down your cheeks.

He can’t hold himself back anymore. In two strides, he’s in front of you, slipping between you and the door, his large frame a protective shield.

Still, you refuse to meet his gaze, your silence loud and barbed.

Javier’s jaw tightens, his hand twitching at his side. It is taking every ounce of restraint not to reach out and cup your face, tilt it upward, make you look at him.

The tension is unbearable, the space between your bowed head and his searching eyes buzzing with unsaid words.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “Look at me.”

Finally, you do. And it breaks him.

Your face is battered—one eye nearly swollen shut, a deep gash across your cheek, your lip split, nose still bleeding.

The vulnerability in your gaze hits him like a freight train, and he fights to keep his rage at bay. His nostrils flare, his entire body tensing as red creeps into the edges of his vision.

Every mark on your face feels like a personal attack.

This isn’t the time to lose control—not when you need him steady. Not when you’re crumbling right in front of him. You’re here. You’re alive. And right now, that’s all that matters.

His grip is careful, as though you might shatter beneath his touch, as he gently cradles your face into his hands. “Did he do this to you?” He has to know, though the answer seems to be glaringly obvious.

The sob tears from your throat like a wounded animal’s cry, raw and unrestrained, echoing down the hallway. It shakes you to your core, unraveling the fragile composure you’ve been clinging to.

Before you can hit the ground, Javier is there—solid and unyielding—catching you in his arms and pulling you carefully against his chest then guiding you into his apartment.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice cracking under the weight of his anger and helplessness.

The pain hits you all at once and you cling to Javier like he’s a lifeline, allowing him to move you until you’re sitting on his couch and he’s crouching in front of you.

Through choked cries, you manage, “Two men... they pulled me into an alley and did this.” The words spill out in fragments, each one more pained than the last. Your whole body quivers, and your heart races so wildly that you feel like you’re about to have a heart attack.

“We need to get you to a hospital.” He is woefully underprepared to deal with you in this state, you need proper care and he needs to deal with the fury that’s engulfing him by finding this piece of shit to beat his teeth in for what he’s done to you.

Your eyes widen. “No,” you croak, your voice hoarse from crying. “They’ll know they didn’t kill me. I can’t, Javi. I can’t.”

This is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do–remaining calm and fucking collected right now, suppressing the rage that’s clawing at his chest and threatening to spill out in a way that would terrify you more than you already are.

His mind spirals, circling back to that same godforsaken question: Why does it always come to this? First Helena, now you. This job—this life—it’s a parasite, sucking the light out of anything worth a damn.

Why can’t his penance be his own? Why must it reach everything he loves?

Fuck, maybe Connie knows enough to help you in the time being. If not, he’d find a way to make sure you got the care you needed while flying under the radar.

He’d tear down the goddamn world for you if he had to. Move heaven and hell, break every rule in the book—none of it matters if it means keeping you safe.

He looks at you again, seeing the fear trembling on your lips, and something solidifies within him. No hesitation. No second-guessing.

I won’t let them take anything more from you, he swears silently, his gaze softening despite the storm raging inside him. “I’ll take care of it,” he says aloud, his voice steadier now, resolute.

He starts to rise, intent on getting help, but your hand darts out, catching his wrist with trembling fingers, even though the motion sends a fresh wave of agony through your ribs. “Please,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Don’t leave me.” The sheer terror in your eyes is enough to tear him up from the inside out.

“Never again.” He promises, reaching over for the phone on the end table with one hand while the other stays on yours, dialing the familiar number.

Javier leans against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed and his jaw tight, listening as Connie explains your injuries.

The words feel like punches themselves—broken ribs, bruises all over your body, stitches across your cheekbone, but nothing that needed immediate intervention.

When he finally forces himself to ask, his voice is gruff, barely above a whisper. “Did they…”

Connie’s face softens, the professionalism in her demeanor giving way to quiet sympathy. “No,” she says firmly, meeting his eyes. “I asked her. I didn’t see any bruising or signs of trauma around her pelvis. She says it didn’t happen, but we won’t know for sure until she gets a kit ran.”

The tightness in his chest doesn’t ease, even with her answer. The mere thought of those men doing that to you has his fists clenching so hard his knuckles ache. His fury simmers low but steady, like a kettle on the verge of boiling over.

He nods curtly, his voice rough with gratitude. “Thanks for coming, Connie. I owe you one.”

She waves him off, already heading toward the door with her medical bag slung over her shoulder. “It’s the least I can do. You make sure my husband gets home safe all the time. Just… make sure she rests, takes the pain meds. No heavy lifting, no unnecessary stress.” She glances back at him, her eyes full of meaning. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

When he closes the door behind her, he exhales slowly, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on his chest. The apartment feels too quiet now, and his eyes drift toward the closed bathroom door where you’re still inside.

He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck before knocking gently. “You good?” he asks, his voice softer than usual, almost tentative.

There’s a long pause before he hears your voice, quiet and weary. “Yeah… you can come in.”

Pushing the door open, Javier steps inside, his boots scraping softly against the tile. The sight of you in the tub stops him cold.

You’re hugging your knees to your chest, your arms wrapped tightly around them despite the obvious strain it puts on your ribs. The water is cloudy, tinged slightly pink from where Connie had cleaned your wounds. Steam curls faintly in the air, the room heavy with the scent of lavender soap.

His chest tightens again, a mix of anger and something else entirely. You look so small, so vulnerable, your face drawn with exhaustion and pain. Your head tilts slightly, your damp hair sticking to your cheeks as you glance up at him, your expression guarded.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m broken.”

Javier’s throat works as he swallows hard, dragging a hand down his face to mask the guilt flashing across his features. “I don’t think you’re broken,” he says finally, his voice rough but steady. “I think you’re strong as hell.”

You huff a soft, humorless laugh, resting your chin on your knees. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

He takes a careful step closer, his hand brushing against the edge of the sink as he leans back against it, his eyes never leaving you. “You survived,” he says quietly, his voice thick with conviction. “That’s strength.”

For a moment, you don’t respond, your gaze fixed on the water as if it holds answers you can’t quite find. Finally, you sigh, your arms loosening slightly from around your knees. “You don’t have to stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Javier says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The silence stretches between you like a fragile thread until your voice breaks it, soft and raw. “I’m sorry for not believing you.”

Javier’s head snaps up, his expression hardening—not with anger, but with the kind of fierce protectiveness that has become second nature to him. “Don’t,” he says sharply, the words thick with conviction. He shakes his head, his voice softening but no less intense. “Don’t you dare apologize, cariño. None of this—none of it—is on you. This is on men like them, who run through life hurting innocent people for their selfish, fucked-up reasons.”

Your face crumples, and you press your trembling lips together, trying to stave off the tears threatening to spill over again. “I was stupid,” you choke out, the words a blade against your own heart. “I thought—God, I thought he was just going to let me go. He made it seem like… like I was nothing but a minor inconvenience. And then…” Your voice falters, the memories clawing at you, and you shut your eyes tight, forcing a deep breath the way Connie had just taught you.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Seeing you like this does something to Javier that he’s never quite felt before.

He’s seen grief, fear, and pain—hell, he’s caused more than his fair share—but this? This helplessness, this guilt? It’s a hollowing thing, gnawing at his insides with ruthless efficiency.

He thought what happened Helena had broken him, but this is different. This is you. You. And he’s here, but it feels like it isn’t enough.

“What’s going to happen now?” you ask, barely above a whisper, as though afraid of the answer.

He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze drops to the tips of his boots, jaw tightening.

The logical answer is simple: those bastards who hurt you should be found, arrested, and thrown behind bars to rot. But he’s not naïve. Justice doesn’t always come cleanly. More often than not, it doesn’t come at all. And the thought of leaving it up to the system? Doing nothing would be more beneficial somehow.

Ever since Connie showed up to treat your wounds, an idea has been gnawing at the back of his mind.

He could visit Berna… one of his more resourceful informants, and get everything he needs to track those motherfuckers down. Handle things his way.

But he can’t tell you that, especially if he decides to follow through with it.

“You’re going to stay with me until I can guarantee that you’re safe,” he says finally. “Or, I can arrange for you to go to a safe house—”

“No.” The word comes sharp and immediate, your eyes snapping open to meet his. Despite the pain radiating through your battered body, you sit up slightly, holding his gaze with surprising resolve. “I’d rather stay here. With you.”

He exhales a long breath, nodding slowly as he scratches at his jaw, considering his next words carefully. “Do you remember that night you got drunk with Maria from HR and almost threw up in my car?”

The memory hits you, sharp and vivid. It was after you and Javier had mended things following the night he stood you up for Helena. You cringe a little at the thought of how self-deprecating you’d been then, how you’d spilled your guts—both figuratively and literally—once you got home.

This unexpected shift catches you off guard. For a moment, the ghost of a smile tries to tug at your lips, though it’s swallowed quickly by the weight of the night. “Yeah,” you murmur. “One of the worst hangovers I’ve ever had.”

Javier chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. “Tequila’ll do that…” His voice trails off as he thinks about the confession you’d made that night—about your discomfort in your own skin, your doubts about whether you even belonged here. He remembers how, in return, he’d told you then how much you meant to him, how much this job weighed on his conscience.

“I should’ve told you then. That I loved you.”

The confession rams right into your heart. Tears spill freely, and you bury your face in your arms, your entire body shaking.

As tender and sincere as it is, his profession doesn’t soothe you.

You want to feel comforted, to let his words wrap around you like a shield against the horror of the night, but instead, they do the opposite.

The timing feels wrong, the weight of his love pressing down on wounds too fresh to bear it. It feels like trying to breathe through shattered ribs—too much, too soon, and it hurts more than it heals.

Fuck. shouldn’t have said that—not now, not when you’re at your most vulnerable. He stands frozen for a moment, unsure if he should move closer or stay where he is. His hands grip the edge of the sink so tightly his knuckles turn white.

Finally, you lift your head, your face swollen and red. “Don’t say that just because of what h-happened,” you stammer, your voice cracking. “I don’t need you to feel obligated to feel some type of way because of it.”

“This has nothing to do with what happened tonight,” Javier says firmly, your name falling from his lips. He pushes off the sink, crossing the room to crouch beside the tub.

Neither of you seem to care about your state of undress—it’s not about that. His gaze locks on yours, steady and sure.

“It’s how I’ve been feeling for so long now,” he continues, his voice low but full of conviction. “And I’ve fucked it up so many times along the way when I should have just been honest. But I was so scared—scared of hurting you, of not being able to give you all of me. Of not being the man you deserve.”

You blink at him, your mind swimming in the gravity of his words.

They hit you like waves, powerful and unrelenting, pulling you under even as you struggle to stay afloat in this overwhelming moment.

Javier loves you. Despite the scars he carries, despite his mistakes, he’s offering you a truth that feels too big to hold right now. It’s not just one-sided; it never has been, and that realization aches in a way you weren’t prepared for.

“Javi…” you whisper his name, a sigh that escapes like a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

One of your arms unwinds from around your body, trembling as you reach out and rest your hand on his where it clings to the edge of the tub. The warmth of his skin against yours feels grounding, even as everything inside you is unraveling.

His gaze locks onto yours, those soulful brown eyes glinting with hope and desperation under the soft bathroom light. He leans closer, as if every ounce of him is hanging on what you might say next.

“Do you mean that?”

“With all my fuckin’ heart.”

Your heart lurches painfully in your chest, conflicting emotions tearing you apart. “I can’t even begin to fathom that right now,” you admit, your voice breaking.

“And I’m not expecting you to,” he says quickly, his grip tightening on the porcelain edge of the tub. “I just needed you to know. I guess what happened tonight finally put my ass in place. Made me realize how much of a dumbass I’ve been. Te amo, cariño. If you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine. But I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

You want to tell him everything—how you’ve carried feelings for him from the very first day you met, how his mere presence lit up spaces you didn’t know were dark. How you’ve loved him in ways that scared you, in ways you tried to push down. But the words stay trapped, locked behind the barricade of pain you’re still trying to process.

“I wish we could have had this conversation before all of this.” Your thumb brushes over the back of his hand in a tentative, instinctual show of affection, and his whole body seems to soften under the touch.

“Me too,” he admits, “But we can’t change the past, as much as we want to. Whatever happens after this… we’ll get through it. Together.” His voice lowers, a quiet promise lingering in the air. “I meant it when I said I’m not leaving you.”

For the first time tonight, you feel a fragile flicker of safety, of something unbroken, even if you’re not ready to hold it just yet.

You nod, biting your lip as tears spill over yet again, and Javier’s hand shifts slightly beneath yours, his fingers brushing against yours in silent reassurance.

For now, that’s enough.

tag list for my works can be found here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️ : @almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @magneticecstasy . @thundermartini . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @almostfoxglove . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @pigeonmama . @lunatiquess . @piercethevic03 . @theestorm . @myownwholewildworld . @pepsicolacoochie . @getitoutofmymindwrites . @letsmeetintheafterglow . @pasc4lfuzz . @larascorneroftheworld . @marisemonteiroo . @samanthajonees . @yellowbrickyeti . @bambisweethearts . @whiskeyneat-coffeeblack . @picketniffler .

#javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfic #javier peña fanfic #javier peña fic #javier pena fic #javier peña fanfiction #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier peña narcos

324 notes · View notes

joongsheartx · 3 days ago

Text

wooyoung hard thought

pairing: pottery teacher!wooyoung x f!reader

warnings: smut | mdni

a/n: this was supposed to be a quick one of my thoughts but it turned into a full hard thought 😭 but my inspo were these pictures 😫

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

you sign up for some pottery lessons at your local ceramic studio. you don’t have too high of expectations, only wanting to pick up a new hobby. but when you show up for the lesson your blown away at the man who’s sitting in front of the small group of you.

he starts the first class and you find yourself getting distracted by how attractive he is. and theres a moment where he’s eyeing you, causing you to apply too much pressure on the spinning clay and decentre it. he doesn’t even think twice before he’s up to help you. he gives you some pointers and makes light convo.

at the end of the class, people are making their way out the studio. while you pack up your stuff. you thank him once again for helping you. there’s a moment where he’s just staring at you, trying to read you.

“i have a few private lessons open if you’d be down to sometime this week.”

and thats how for the next couple of weeks, you find yourself back at the same studio but alone and no one else showing up.

each private lesson the tension grows thick. the both of you know that at one point something is going to happen it’s only a matter of time.

and when the day happens it’s after a month or two when woo finally gets the courage to ask you on a date. the night is magical and you feel yourself really liking him. at the end of the night he takes you back home. you find yourself inviting him in cause you don’t want him to leave just yet, it’s not too late anyway.

it’s not long before your lips are pressed to his, his hand caressing your cheek. the kiss deepens and you know your in for a long night.

clothes are pulled off, hands roaming each others bodies. his hands are firm yet soft as they move against your skin. he pushes you back onto the couch. pulls your legs on his shoulders. a slow lick to your clit has your eyes fluttering shut, he hums at your reaction.

the way he eats you is slow like he’s savouring your taste. you’re so close to coming before he pulls away. you let out a soft protest.

“i know baby, but i can make you feel so much better with my dick.”

and he showed you that his cock indeed could make you feel much better.

i give full permission for writers to use my hard thoughts as inspiration to write (with credit ofc)

#ateez smut #ateez hard thoughts #ateez x reader #ateez hard hours #wooyoung smut #wooyoung hard thoughts #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung hard hours

183 notes · View notes

signarama-truganina · 1 month ago

Text

Why Professional Sign Writers Matter to Your Brand Success https://melbournesigns.blogspot.com/2024/11/why-professional-sign-writers-matter-to.html Best Sign Writers in Melbourne

0 notes

dragonpropaganda · 10 months ago

Text

The Architecture of Rain World: Layers of History

A major theme in Rain World's world design that often goes overlooked is the theme of, as James Primate, the level designer, composer and writer calls it, "Layers of History." This is about how the places in the game feel lived-in, and as though they have been built over each other. Here's what he said on the matter as far back as 2014!

The best example of this is Subterranean, the final area of the base game and a climax of the theme. Subterranean is pretty cleanly slpit vertically, there's the modern subway built over the ancient ruins, which are themselves built over the primordial ruins of the depths. Piercing through these layers is Filtration System, a high tech intrusion that cuts through the ground and visibly drills through the ceiling of the depths.

Two Sprouts, Twelve Brackets, the friendly local ghost, tells the player of the "bones of forgotten civilisations, heaped like so many sticks," highlighting this theme of layering as one of the first impressions the player gets of Subterranean. Barely minutes later, the player enters the room SB_H02, where the modern train lines crumble away into a cavern filled with older ruins, which themselves are invaded by the head machines seen prior in outskirts and farm arrays, some of which appear to have been installed destructively into the ruins, some breaking through floors.

These layers flow into each other, highlighting each other's decrepit state.

The filtration system, most likely the latest "layer," is always set apart from the spaces around it. At its top, the train tunnels give way to a vast chasm, where filtration system stands as a tower over the trains, while at the bottom in depths, it penetrates the ceiling of the temple, a destructive presence. (it's also a parallel to the way the leg does something similar in memory crypts, subterranean is full of callbacks like that!)

Filtration system is an interesting kind of transition, in that it is much later and more advanced than both of the areas it cuts between. This is a really interesting choice from James! It would be more "natural" to transition smoothly from the caves of upper subterranean to the depths, but by putting filtration system in between, the two are clearly demarcated as separate. The difference in era becomes palpable, the player has truly found something different and strange.

Depths itself is, obviously, the oldest layer not only of subterranean but of the game itself. The architecture of Depths has little to do with the rest of the game around it, it's a clear sign of the forgotten civilisations that our friend Two Sprouts, Twelve Brackets showed us, there's not actually that much to say about it itself, it's mostly about how it interacts with the other layers of subterranean.

That said, Subterranean is far from the only case of the theme of layers of history. It's present as soon as the player starts the game!

The very first room of the game, SU_C04, is seemingly a cave. It is below the surface, the shapes of it are distinctly amorphous rather than geometric. (well. kind of, it doesn't do a very good job of hiding the tile grid with its 45 degree angles.)

But let's take a closer look, shall we?

See that ground? it's made of bricks. The entire cave area of outskirts is characterised by this, the "chaotic stone" masonry asset is mixed with brickwork, unlike the surface ruins which are mostly stone. This, seemingly, is an inversion of common sense! The caves are bricks and the buildings are stone. This is not, however, a strange and unique aspect but a recurring motif.

This occurs enough in the game for it to be clearly intentional, but why would materials such as bricks be used in otherwise natural looking terrain?

The answer lies in the "Layers of History" theme. This is in fact, something that happens in real life, and it's called a tell

To be specific, a tell is a kind of mound formed by settlements building over the ruins of previous iterations of themselves. Centuries of rubble and detritus form until a hill grows from the city. Cities such as Troy and Jericho are famous examples. The connections to the layers of history theme are pretty clear here, I think. Cities growing, then dying, then becoming the bedrock of the next city. The ground, then, is made of bricks, because the ground is the rubble of past buildings. The bones of forgotten civilisations, heaped like so many sticks!

#rain world #rainworld #rain world lore #rainworld lore #rw lore #rw #subterranean my beloved #thank you to videocult for making the first survival game themed around stratigraphy and new york city rats #i would've gone on for another paragraph about how OE relates to this but like.#that's dlc stuff #and i still think of the dlc stuff as modded content lol #better to keep it separate #also this analysis is not comprehensive! the layers of history stuff is common throughout #there's farm arrays there's the relationship between shaded citadel and five pebbles there's the stuff buried under garbage wastes #so much more #unfortunately i do not have much energy lol

860 notes · View notes

theoutcastrogue · 19 days ago

Text

In 1976, after Dungeons & Dragons co-creator Gary Gygax, the most important person in roleplaying games was a Los Angeles woman named Lee Gold. She still contributes to the hobby and still runs a campaign using her Lands of Adventure (1983) game. ...

The shabby state of D&D’s original rules inspired much discussion, and Lee’s [fanzine] Alarums & Excursions served as the hub of this network. “All the role players I know, when we looked a Gary Gygax’s game with its “% liar” and all its typos said, ‘this stuff needs tinkering.’ ... Everybody tinkered with D&D because it needed tinkering to be playable. The nice part about D&D was that it obviously needed player help. ...

Soon though, Gary came to hate APAs like A&E. Partly, he seemed to see APAs as ringleaders for thieves, and not just the sort who—in Gary’s estimation—stole a ride on his coattales. Remember that Lee Gold started with a photocopy of the D&D rules. Early on, copies of D&D, especially outside of TSR’s reach in the Midwest, proved scarce. The $10 price of the original box struck many gamers as outrageous. In the first issues of Alarums & Excursions, some contributors argued that TSR’s profiteering justified Xerox copies of the D&D rules. Gary wrote a rebuttal and Lee told readers that Gary deserved to gain from his work and investment. Surely though, he remained incensed. ...

Meanwhile, Lee published A&E and began writing games. Much of her work showed an interest in history and particularly Japan, where she lived 4 months during A&E’s first year. Land of the Rising Sun (1980) extended the Chivalry & Sorcery system to Japan. Her game Lands of Adventure (1983) aimed for roleplaying in historical settings. Her other credits include GURPS Japan (1988) and Vikings (1989) for Rolemaster. ...

Meanwhile, the men in gaming tended to suppose that only men contributed to the hobby. Lee remembers visiting the Origins convention and spotting shirts for sale that identified the wearer as a “wargaming widow.” Why else would a woman attend a gaming convention?

After Lee finished writing Land of the Rising Sun for Fantasy Games Unlimited, she met publisher Scott Bizar at a local convention to sign the contract. She recalls discussing the game’s credits.

“Do you want to say this game is written by yourself and your husband Barry?” Bizar asked.

“No,” I said. “Barry didn’t write any bit of it. He did the indexing, and I gave him full credit for that. I wrote all of the game. Just say the game is by Lee Gold.”

“Most female writers say they wrote a game with their husbands,” said Bizar.

“I don’t care what other people do,” I said. “Just say the game is by Lee Gold.” And so Land of the Rising Sun came out as written by Lee Gold.

Her one personal encounter with Gary Gygax revealed a similar bias. Early on, Lee sent copies of A&E to TSR. After a couple of months, she received a phone call, which she recounts.

“This is Gary Gygax,” said the voice, “and I’d like to speak to Lee Gold.”

“I’m Lee Gold,” I said. “I gather you got the copies of A&E I sent you.”

“You’re a woman!” he said.

“That’s right,” I said, and I told him how much we all loved playing D&D and how grateful we were to him for writing it.

“You’re a woman,” he said. “I wrote some bad things about women wargamers once.”

“You don’t need to feel embarrassed,” I said. “I haven’t read them.”

“You’re a woman,” he said.

We didn’t seem to be getting anywhere, so I told him goodbye and hung up.

#Lee Gold #Gary Gygax #d&d history #roleplaying

150 notes · View notes

quizzicalwriter · 11 months ago

Note

i really love ur writing especially with any matt dillon character <3 i feel like u improved sm with ur recent fics too (or maybe i just like the angst HAHA) but uve always been a great writer, i love how u also include canon details and like realistic details (if that makes sense) but u just r really good with expressing ur words!! id love if u wrote smut like dally bothering fem!reader working a shift at the diner or something idk nonetheless ur writing is sosososgood

Cherry

Pairing: Dallas Winston x Fem!Reader

Summary: Dallas makes everything better after a shitty day at work, most of which had been his fault in the first place.

Warnings: Smut. MDNI. Pain in the ass Dallas. Make-up sex, fingering, oral, all that good stuff.

A/N: Thank you so much for the kind words! And thank you for the request!

Word Count: 4.5k

Working at a local diner wasn't necessarily the high point of your life, working the closing shift even less so. Dealing with inebriated patrons, groups of teenagers, and the occasional male who stayed well past the hours of operation was your usual.

It was a cute thing, the diner, owned by a man who'd inherited the land from his grandfather. His wife had based the menu on her recipes, along with a few from her mother, grandmother, and so on. You'd worked there long enough to gain their trust, and if you were honest, you saw them more as your grandparents than you did your employers.

Dallas accompanied you on the busier nights, whenever he passed by and caught sight of the unruly nighttime crowd, he'd duck into the diner and give you a crooked grin before making his way over to the counter. You fed him, or gave him drinks, just as you did the remainder of the guys whenever you could get away with doing so. It was calming, and made you feel safe having your guard-dog of a boyfriend waiting by the front counter until you flipped the sign that hung on the front door.

While his presence was welcome, the attention it drew was not. Possessive streaks weren't something you prided yourself on. You trusted Dallas as anyone would their boyfriend, but you weren't blind to him either. Dallas was a man, a cocky man at that, his cockiness flared whenever a woman looked his way for longer than a second. Had he ever truly pursued someone other than yourself? No, but, you couldn't help your jealousy whenever a woman approached him with glossed lips and bright eyes.

Internally you thrived on him turning down each woman that came his way, although, much to your dismay, some women took longer to disperse than others had. Whether it was due to Dallas's charm, or their persistence, you weren't sure, nor did you have the ability to check during busy shifts, especially when a man who looked as though he'd seen conflict in the Civil War whistled from the other end of the diner.

"Miss!" He called, waving his hand higher than he had seconds ago. Truthfully, you weren't ignoring him, you'd had to run two other checks to nearby booths and had simply forgotten about him. "Miss!"

With a feigned smile, you peeled your attention from the woman all but draping herself over Dallas, her thin fingers splayed over his forearm. He smiled back at her, the sight made your stomach sour enough for you to partially crumble the bill you'd written up moments prior for the increasingly impatient man.

"Here's your bill, sir. I'm sorry for the wait, busy as all get out tonight."

Your apology was met with a gruff laugh, but he seemed to understand your plight as he followed your line of sight back toward the front counter. While he signed the bottom of the receipt, he cleared his throat, pulling your attention back to him.

"Ain't no sense in apologizin'." He responded with a lift of his hips as he retrieved his wallet from his back pocket. "I get why your attention's elsewhere."

You opened your mouth to apologize, only to be met with the raise of his hand as he placed a few dollars down on the table, enough to cover the tab and your tip. It was generous and kind enough to leave you mentally berating yourself for not having given him better service. But, you ventured by the kind, almost apologetic smile upon his face that he had been in a similar situation in his youth.

Incessant laughter bubbled from the opposing side of the diner, the noise boisterous enough to pick away at your fading patience. You pocketed the cash, inwardly begging whatever deity listening for the grace to clean up shop and kick the girl out without causing a scene.

Their conversation continued, words muffled by distance and the clatter of putting away cutlery, although you tried your damndest to overhear it all. You began your routine of cleaning up house, a wet rag over your shoulder with a bottle of cleaning solution in your left hand. As you spritzed a nearby table, her laughter kicked up a notch, yet again.

"We're closing!" You called, giving her a feigned smile as she turned her head to face you. She returned your smile, just as you had given it to her, coarse and fake. You bit at your inner cheek as she turned back to Dallas, her hand lifting to rest against his shoulder.

"Hey, we're closed!" You shouted, tone louder than before. Dallas peered at you from behind her shoulder, face a mixture of shock and amusement. You were having none of it, not her bold and brazen behavior, his cockiness - none of it. You tossed your rag toward the counter, slinging the bottle alongside it as you moved toward them.

The woman, for what it was worth, met your eyes as you approached. The sudden eye contact left you stumbling over your thoughts, but as you caught sight of her hand still lingering upon his shoulder, all sense of humility left you.

"He's taken, did you know that?" You asked as you grabbed her wrist, quickly shoving it back toward her. Her smile faltered then, her eyes flickering between you and Dallas as she backed away. "No, I suppose you didn't."

All anger you had directed toward her vanished with each step she took toward the door, instead raising and flaring at the man sitting beside you. You turned, meeting his gaze with a scowl and a shake of your head.

"Seriously, Dallas?" You asked, although you knew no response he could provide at that moment would abate the growing ache in your chest. "You're an asshole. A real - fuckin' - asshole."

Each pause was accentuated with a shove of his shoulder, jealousy seething in your mind, burning your eyes with tears you refused to let him see. You could tell from the sudden switch of emotion on his face, albeit blurred from your tears, that he hadn't meant to hurt you. His hands grabbed your forearms, holding you steady whilst simultaneously shielding himself from your jealousy-fueled tirade. You were in no mood for his touch, so you pulled away from it with a grunt.

The sooner you finished closing up shop, the sooner you'd be away from him. Those words rang in your mind as you walked away from him, repeating with each step as though it were a mantra.

It was shitty; your jealousy, his cockiness, it was a toxic mix that neither of you relished in. You had known going into your relationship with Dallas how he handled interactions with women, you knew where his loyalties were, yet some part of you continued to twist and sour with each look his way.

Maybe it was the extra shifts you'd taken at the diner, the fewer hours you were able to spend by his side, being reassured by his touch and his words. Whatever it was, you hadn't the patience to linger on it, all you wanted to do was wallow in your anger - so, you did.

"Doll!" He called, although he was met with no answer as you tossed unclean plastic menus onto the countertop. You could hear him walking toward you, swearing under his breath, yet you continued to ignore him as you snagged your house keys from underneath the counter.

"Christ's sake, I didn't say a damn thing to the broad!"

"That's not the point." You sighed, shaking your head as you spoke, fingers blindly fumbling with your keyring as you neared the front entrance. "Not the point at all, and you know it."

Once your fingers had found the key to the front door, you hastened your pace, not necessarily wishing to have an argument with Dallas in the middle of the night. Dallas, however, absolutely seemed up to the challenge. He stood behind you, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, a heavy scowl on his face as he watched you lock the place up.

"Explain it to me then." He whispered, and for a second you believed him to be apologetic. "'Cause this attitude, it ain't helpin' your cause."

And then he ruined it.

You swirled on your heel, months of pushed-aside irritation bubbling to the surface. You weren't one for confrontation, never had been, it was a sore point for you. You quickly pocketed your keys, hands gripping the middle of your jacket, tugging it snug around your middle.

"You're an asshole, you know that?" You asked. "You could've shooed her away, told her you were with someone. And yet, you- you entertain it."

The words would've rung home for anyone willing to listen, but Dallas, with his stubborn ways, only cocked his head to the side and gave you a lopsided grin.

"I'm not interested in other women." He responded, taking a step closer to you. "I can't help who talks to me, doll. I ain't entertaining anything, you know that."

Did you? Maybe, but in your jealousy-fueled haze, you refused to admit your part in the misunderstanding. He lifted his right hand from his pocket, placing it against your upper arm, thumb gently rubbing along the fabric of your jacket.

"Do you worry about me?" He asked with a duck of his head, trying to center your attention back on him. "Worry about me talkin' to other girls?"

You nodded, and instead of snickering, he pulled you forward. You thudded against his chest, the sudden move knocking a bit of wind from your lungs. His arms wrapped around you as he laughed out an apology, the sound soft, the words genuine.

"Still an asshole." You murmured, resting your cheek on his chest as your hands grasped onto the back of his jacket. You felt him nod, chin atop your head, his hands smoothing up your back.

"I know." He replied. "At least let me drive you home, alright? Even if you're pissed."

"Not pissed." You assured, leaning back from the embrace to meet his gaze. "Might have overreacted."

Dallas clicked his tongue against his teeth, eyebrows screwing together as he nodded his head back. "No," he chuckled. "I would've done the same if some guy talked to you."

The thought made you smile, not that you hadn't seen Dallas's protective side flair. You were both territorial over each other, and there was nothing necessarily wrong with that as long as the feelings were reciprocated - which they were in their entirety.

"Ever notice how empty this lot is at night?" He commented, snapping you from your mind with a gentle squeeze of your hip. "Hardly any cars pass by, somethin' I noticed after a few nights sittin' by the counter."

Dallas hadn't been wrong, not in the slightest. In truth, you would've been surprised if you'd caught anyone lingering in the parking lot after closing. Your town wasn't quiet by any means, but the diner had been built around, years of infrastructure hiding it amidst a cluster of run-down businesses.

With a hum, you leaned into his side. "Guess you're right." You replied, tilting your head back to give him a squinty-eyed smile, on account of the nearby flickering lot light.

"Could make you feel better." He whispered. "On account of earlier, or whatever."

You snickered, rolling your eyes at his blatant suggestion, yet for all its crudeness, you couldn't deny the stir you felt in your lower stomach.

"You're filthy." You chided, nudging his side with your elbow.

Dallas huffed out a laugh, his arm looping around your back. "C'mon," he urged as he began walking, leading you toward his car. "Ain't wasting the opportunity to make you feel better."

Mere moments had passed before you were both clamoring into the back of the Thunderbird, limbs bumping into limbs, soft laughter echoing inside the vehicle as Dallas reached over your middle to pull the door shut. As soon as the door had shut, your lips were on his, your hands blindly fumbling with the front of his jeans.

You'd just gotten the button undone when his hands wrapped around your wrists, pulling them back as he pulled away from your kiss. You were left pouting, the sight adorable and pitiful enough to pull a laugh from Dallas as he set your hands down in your lap.

"This is for you, not me. Let me make you feel good."

Dallas focusing his sole attention on you? On pleasing you, no less? How could you refuse? Elated laughter bubbled in your chest as his hands slid up and underneath your skirt, the fabric bunching up around your hips. You helped him with a gentle lift of your hips, allowing him to hook his fingers around the waistband of your underwear, before slinking the fabric down your legs.

"You're going to cum on my tongue." He stated, tone full of nonchalance as he tossed your underwear toward the front of the car. "And, I want you over me when you do."

"You want me to sit on your face?" You asked, lips quirking up into a smile as you bit back laughter, truly believing he was joking. "Is that what you're asking me?"

Dallas only nodded, and only then did the realization of his request register in your mind. Heat prickled at the nape of your neck, spreading forward until it encompassed your chest in a deep blush. Sensing your nerves, Dallas's thumbs rubbed gentle circles above your hip bones, his head ducking down to meet your avoidant gaze.

"Hey," he whispered. "Ain't nothin' I haven't seen before. It'll feel good, doll, promise."

So, you allowed him to help you into a position that didn't have both of you groaning in discomfort. Maneuvering into a position where you straddled his shoulders, in the back of an already narrow car, wasn't exactly the easiest to accomplish. Somehow, you both managed, mostly thanks to Dallas's hands keeping you steady as you moved over him.

The chill of his silver rings bit into your thighs, keeping you sunk in the present, hovered over him as he looked up at you from below. There was nothing other than pure, unadulterated lust pouring from his eyes, pupils blown so heavily there was only a crescent of color visible. His fingers tapped, once and then again, a nonverbal request for you to lower yourself.

So you did.

He met you halfway, tongue licking a fat stripe up your cunt, delving between your folds to collect your essence against his tastebuds. He wanted to savor you, that much was readily apparent by his hardened grasp on your thighs, all but cementing you atop his face. Your head fell back, eyes fluttering shut as a plethora of broken-off moans tumbled past your lips.

You begged for him, murmuring his name between praises lost on your ears, but not his. Each word, no matter how garbled by pleasure, left his hips rutting up into the air as he circled his tongue around your clit. Your hips moved in synchrony with his tongue, adjacent swirls, and he let you. He had always favored dominance, being in control of the situation, but having you atop him had him praising every divine figure he could conjure in his lust-riddled mind.

“Dallas-“ You crooned, the noise so sweet it pulled a moan from his chest, the vibration left directly against your aching cunt. You smiled, a mixture of a laugh and moan leaving you as your hands raked through his hair, tugging at the short strands. “So good, Dal.”

With an open-mouthed kiss to your clit, he pulled away. It was for a fraction of a second, needed to slip his right hand between your thighs, but you were left whining and pouting. He tutted from between your thighs, lips, and chin glistening with your cum.

“C’mon, doll.” He whispered as his middle and ring fingers pushed inside of you, delicately curling to brush against a spot that had your thighs clamping down around him. “It'll feel good, I promise.”

His left hand squeezed your hip, guiding you just as he would if you were riding him. You unconsciously followed his guidance, sliding down onto his fingers, before raising yourself, only to repeat the motion over, and over. Lewd squelches sounded from between your thighs, your cunt dripping a mixture of cum and saliva down onto his palm.

“See?” He asked through a breathy laugh, quickly resuming his position between your thighs. “Told ‘ya I’d make you feel better.”

You wanted to berate him for his cockiness, you truly did, but the feeling of his lips encircling your clit left you breathless. If anything, any ridicule would’ve turned into a garbled mess of his name.

A groan of a laugh reverberated in Dallas’s chest, yet he never pulled away. His tongue lapped at your clit, intervals of swirls and sucks following each grunt he managed to sound out. The sounds were carnal, stoking the steadily building flame in your lower stomach. Your fingers tightened their hold on his hair, pulling him closer, yourself closer. In truth, you weren’t sure if he could breathe, but neither of you moved from where you were.

“That’s it, doll.” He rasped, words hardly audible, muffled from your cunt. You managed a sighed moan in response, your hips rolling, sliding your cunt against his tongue. His fingers thrusted into you, mimicking the tempo of his eager tongue, each lap and circle of the muscle pushing you closer to the edge.

The uptake of an octave, your head rolling back as your eyes squeezed shut; Dallas knew each instinctual move of your body by heart. His eyes stayed locked on you, memorizing the sight of you coming undone above him, riding his face like a woman starved. His free hand lifted from your hip, curving around the plush of your ass, knowing he needed a tight hold on you to keep you steady.

“Dal-“

There it was, the familiar beckon of his name. His cock strained against the confines of his boxers, tip leaking precum, smearing against the now dampened fabric. His thighs tensed as his hips rolled, desperately seeking some form of reprieve as your cunt twitched around his fingers. Instead of verbalizing his reply, he squeezed the swell of your ass, wordlessly urging you to cum.

White-hot pleasure seared your veins, unconsciously twitching your limbs, tightening your hold on his hair. Your cunt spasmed, clit throbbing against his circling tongue. You cursed under your breath, eyes squeezed shut, mind solely focused on the ecstasy overtaking your body. Dallas grounded you with slow brushes of his hand along your thigh, fingers still inside of you, lips placing gentle kisses on your oversensitive clit.

“Alright?” He asked, tone rough enough to pull a surprised laugh from you. You nodded, threading your fingers through his hair.

“More than alright.” You replied. “Way more.”

Instead of hovering over his face for another second with wobbly legs, you moved yourself back, giving Dallas enough time to situate himself upright. His hands found your hips quickly after, gently guiding you back to his lap.

In an almost instinctive move, you lowered yourself to place your lips on his. His hands slid around your back, fingers absentmindedly grabbing at the fabric of your uniform as his lips moved with yours.

You braced yourself against the rear windshield, the slick condensation gathering in the palm of your hands, smearing your fingerprints down the pane as your lips moved against his. If anyone had passed by, anyone at all, they would've gathered what you both had gotten up to.

Neither of you could bring yourself to care, not when Dallas slipped his hands underneath the back of your shirt, his fingernails scraping along the curve of your back to have you closer as he sucked your tongue.

Your lips curved into a smile at the move, the lucrative, nearly addictive slide of his tongue against your own. He knew you, knew your body and how to make it tick. Your hips rocked against his lap, causing his already hard cock to twitch and pulse against the confines of his jeans.

"You're still hard," you rasped into the kiss, "I can make you feel good, too."

He groaned, his eyebrows knitting together as his hips bucked up into you. You bit at your bottom lip as you moved your hands from the rear windshield, letting your now cool skin slide down his front, keeping your eyes locked with his as you unzipped his jeans.

His lips parted in a silent moan as your hand slipped underneath the hem of his boxers, your fingers curling around the thick base of his cock. You could feel each twitch of his cock beneath your palm, the skin slick and warm, coated in his precum. You slid your hand up, leisurely pumping him, the act enough to have him grunting out your name.

You savored each lecherous moan that fell from his lips. With a shift of your hips, you centered yourself over his thigh, rolling your hips down in tandem with each stroke of his cock. You knew you were dampening the denim, soiling it, yet all you saw reflected in Dallas's eyes was the same debauchery you held heavy in your mind.

“Fuck me.” You begged, tired of the hassle, of denying yourself the most innate of pleasures. He relented with a lift of your body, allowing his hard cock to slide along your folds, catching against you. You watched as he lowered you onto him, his cock sliding into you deliciously slow.

Thin, red lines followed his nails as they dragged up the skin of your thighs, coming to a halt at your hips where he steadied you. You could feel his cock pulse inside of you, twitching just before your cervix. You watched him with bated breath, allowing him to guide each movement of your hips, and he did so with precision.

"So tight," he murmured, eyebrows knitted together in a mixture of pure lust and concentration, as though the mere sight of you atop him would undo him if he gave into it. "So fuckin' good."

All you could muster was a moan in response, your hips rolling forward, each forward motion brushing your clit against his lower stomach. Your thighs strained, muscles burning, yet you paid them no mind in favor of the persistent push of Dallas's cock, the way his tip brushed against your g-spot with each shift of his hips.

His eyes flitted, sight torn between your breasts and the needy, desperate look in your eyes. He shifted beneath you, planting his feet against the floorboard, giving himself enough stability to thrust upward, pushing himself deeper than before.

The shift in position forced the air from your lungs, a pitiful, broken-off mess of a moan passing your parted lips as you grasped his shoulders. He whispered something to you, but whatever it was had been lost on your muddled mind in favor of the budding feeling of ecstasy coiling in your lower stomach.

"Dallas-" You whined, the urgency in your call not lost on him. He nodded, wetting his lips as he rolled his hips upward. You could feel your arousal dripping between your thighs, smearing along your skin as well as his, coating his lower stomach in your cum.

"That's it, doll." He whispered, his left hand moving between your thighs to circle his thumb around your clit, rhythm syncing with each pump of his hips. "C'mon, cum for me."

Ecstasy coiled tight in your stomach, and with each swirl of his thumb and pump of his cock, you felt it twist tighter and tighter. Your hands moved from his shoulders, fingers threading through the back of his hair where you pulled. His mouth fell open, eyebrows lifting as an expression of shock-induced euphoria crossed his face.

So, you pulled harder, the harshness of your hold mirrored in the desperate way you fucked yourself on his cock, movements so frenzied you felt your muscles burning beneath your skin.

A deep, almost sinful moan rumbled in his chest. You swallowed it with a kiss to his lips, hands moving to his jaw as your tongue moved with his. His thumb was slick against your clit, and with a gasp of his name, your cunt spasmed around his cock.

"Fuck, that's it." He groaned, words strained as he teetered on the edge of his orgasm. "Let it out, doll."

Your lips moved from his, kisses trailing down his cheek, onto his jaw, before you settled your cheek to his shoulder, simply choosing to give yourself over to the onslaught of pleasure Dallas had you wrapped up in. Dallas's hold on your hip tightened as his head fell back, his eyes screwed shut, jaw clenched as his cock twitched inside of you, each pulse filling you with his cum.

You both shared the blissful silence that came afterward, the only noises being the occasional breath and whispered praise, the brush of his hands against your skin.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, words muffled by the press of his lips against your throat. "I'm sorry."

Apologies weren't common with Dallas. To his benefit, he hadn't done much to call for one, but this - this you appreciated. You nodded, leaning into his touch, his lips, with a thread of your fingers through his hair. He continued murmuring into your skin, you drank in each word, heart slowing in your chest, calming with the promises he spoke only to you.

His hand moved from your hip, thumb, and forefinger resting against your chin, tipping your head up to meet his eyes. His eyebrows were furrowed together, skin coated in a thin veneer of sweat. His thumb brushed across your bottom lip, yet his eyes never left yours.

"You're my girl." He whispered, and you nodded. "I'd never do anything to hurt you."

You placed a kiss on the pad of his thumb, the sincerity in his words causing you to smile. He smiled in return, fingers splaying against your cheek where he held you gently.

"It won't happen again, alright?"

His words were soft, the sentiment mirrored in his eyes. You leaned forward, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, burying your face into the crook of his neck. He met your embrace with one of his own, wrapping his arms around the small of your back, hands gently caressing between your shoulder blades.

"Good apology, been workin' on it for a while?" You joked, placing a kiss on his jaw with a soft bout of laughter. You felt him laugh, the vibration of his chest against yours.

"Nope." He admitted, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple. "You're worth a genuine apology."

"Sap." You teased, but your tone gave way to your true feelings, how much you appreciated his honesty, his words. He caught on, but never made it known, instead choosing to reply with another kiss to your skin.

"Yeah, guess I am."

A/N: Siri, play "Lover, You Should've Come Over" by Jeff Buckley, please! No, but seriously, I finished this piece with that song on repeat. Alas, I am not dead! I won't lie, I've suffered with pretty damn bad writers block. Somehow, I finished this. I hope you all like it! Thank you for your continuous support of me and my work, I value you all more than I could ever put into words! I hope this piece makes up for my time gone, see it as an early Valentine's gift!

586 notes · View notes

tbgblr2 · 1 month ago

Text

Mickey and Skye - Trapped!

This one could have possibly taken 9 months to write, thanks to stops/starts, holidays getting the way, writers block and all sorts, but we got there in the end. Special thanks once again to @allkindsofpreg for the help in writing this. Enjoy!

---

Mickey and Skye were flustered, there’s no two ways about it. How they got into this predicament is a bit of a tale in itself. First we should delve into a bit of their history.

The two of them met at an apprenticeship intake for a local IT company. It was definitely an entry level data job but it helped give them a bit of spending money whilst they lived with their parents. At the age of 20 and 21 they suffered an unfortunate ‘oops’ moment as the condom broke and Skye found herself sporting her sizeable bump several months later. Their parents helped and in truth life was looking good for the young couple. They even got married, Skye wearing a dress which clung to her gravid belly, leaving no one in the congregation guessing about the nature of their marriage. However, they were young, in love, and things were working out.

As is the natural sequence of things Skye began to feel contractions around 10pm the night previous. After labouring at home for several hours, around 2am they were told to come to the hospital as the labour became more established. After getting admitted and assed, around 3am, the pair were completely exhausted but wanted to try and walk around the hospital corridors to move things on. Skye was 4cm dilated and was potentially looking at a long, drawn out labour.

Blindly they walked down empty corridors stopping for the occasional contraction until they reached a door. Pushing it open they were met with darkness. Thinking it was a quiet corridor and the motion sensors would turn on the lights as they walked down they trudged on, tiredness dulling their senses.

That was until they stepped inside, and the lights flickered on to show they were in a store cupboard. Mickey turned to find the handle was missing from the door. He pushed it - nothing. They were trapped.

As Skye was mid-contraction, the realization came upon Mickey first. He tried not to panic, because he was sure there would be a way out. Surely no reputable hospital would contain an inescapable room that two exhausted, unsuspecting parents-to-be could just wander haphazardly into.

He inspected the door more closely, the spike of adrenaline finally allowing his bleary eyes to focus, and he saw a metal plate over where the handle would be and a doorstop by his feet. Only then did he vaguely recall a paper sign taped to the other side of the door. He hadn’t read it, but he now guessed it said something like “Caution: do not close, door locks automatically.”

Still, this was a busy hospital; it couldn’t be that long before someone would need something from this supply closet, right?

When Skye’s contraction ended and her breathing normalized, she found her husband wide-eyed and stricken and any tiredness that had been clouding her mind vanished. “What? What is it?”

“Okay, don’t panic.” He held out his hands in an almost pleading gesture. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

His placating tone only made her fear ratchet up another notch. “What does that mean? What do you mean everything’s going to be okay?”

“Well,” he explained, wrapping an arm around her waist and letting her lean into him, “we seem to have found ourselves in a somewhat unconventional labour suite.”

Skye looked around, first confused, then slightly amused. “Oh. You’re right—no bed? no doctors? no epidural?? Yes, this is certainly no place to be having a baby.”

Mickey grimaced—she was right, but at the moment they had no other choice. “That’s the thing, yeah? The door is…” he trailed off, nodded toward the door, but she either couldn’t or wouldn’t put the pieces together. “It’s kind of one-way, love.” Still no hint of recognition. “And that way… is not out.” He shrugged and did his best to adopt a more light-hearted tone. “We’re stuck.”

Skye’s eyes danced frantically around the small room—the low ceiling, the dirty floor, the packed shelves lining the walls, and finally the door. The very solid-looking, heavy and more importantly, locked door.

Her breathing quickened, heart rate spiking, as the reality of their situation finally began to sink in. “Oh shit,” she whispered, a tremble in her voice.

“It’s going to be okay,” Mickey said again, as much to himself as to her.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” she continued muttering, her eyes turning up to the dimly lit ceiling in an attempt to stave off the tears that threatened to spill over. Her midsection tightened suddenly, quick and fierce, and she gasped, her litany of curses cut off as she attempted to hum through the pain.

Mickey immediately moved from emotional support position to physical support position. He guided Skye’s arms around his neck and wrapped his strong hands around her hips, giving them a gentle squeeze of counter pressure.

“Mick,” she whined into his chest, and he squeezed harder as her fingers dug into his shoulders. They swayed together as the contraction built, but paused at its peak, clinging to each other tightly. He swept the hair back over her neck and away from her face and whispered in her ear until her body finally slumped against him. “That one felt stronger,” she said, “And longer.”

Neither wanted to admit what that might mean, and since neither of them had a watch so they couldn’t be 100% sure. But after three more merciless contractions in relatively quick succession, it certainly seemed like the stress of the situation had finally kicked her labour into high gear.

“Ok let’s keep calm” came the reasoning voice of Mickey as he tried to assess the situation.

“Calm! Calm! I can’t even turn around in here without either my ass or belly touching one of the sides. This is no place for a pregn… gah!” Skye’s rant was cut short by her hand grasping the underside of her belly as she groaned through another contraction. It was certainly not 5 minutes between them that’s for sure.

Mickey resumed his supporting position, using one arm to cuddle his wife whilst the other brushed at her hair in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. He felt tears stream down her cheek.

He looked at the floor. In the dusty grime on there he at least saw footprints. He explained it to Skye and both were buoyed that at least they were somewhere that someone visits. Perhaps they need to wait until morning… even then 7am, that’s at least 3 hours away, maybe more. If the day staff don’t arrive until 9am that’s even longer. Skye might not last that long.

As Skye came down from her flustered bout of crying, and he was confident that she could stand unaided he banged on the door and asked her to be quiet. He concentrated in the silence listening out for any reply beyond the edge of the door. He tried again and shouted a yell at the same time ‘thump… thump…thump’ went the rhythmical banging. Once again they listened out to be greeted only with silence. They even held their breath.

Until Skye yelped. “My waters!”

Mikey looked down at the water running down Skye’s leg. “At least there’s a mop,” he joked, which only made Skye glare first at the dirty water bucket and then back at her husband. “Sorry, bad timing?”

Skye’s face settled into something more like anxious resignation as her eyes welled back up again. “What if they don’t find us before the baby comes? I don’t- how am I supposed to have a baby in here?”

Mickey pulled her in close again and stroked gentle fingertips up and down her back. “No need to worry about that just yet. We’ll take things as they come, yeah?”

She nodded—what other choice did they have?

“How’re you feeling? How’s the little one?”

Skye took a deep breath, forced down the spiralling worst case scenarios playing in her mind, and actually focused on how she felt in her body at this moment. “Mm, baby’s low,” she said, noting how her stance had unconsciously widened after her waters had gone. “More pressure. Definitely moving down.”

If she thought the pressure was intense just standing there, she had no words for its severity once the next contraction started. It would have brought her to her knees if Mickey hadn’t already been holding her.

“Skye?” he asked with concern when she moaned and dropped into as much of a squatting position as the cramped space would allow.

The stinging weight filling her from within was unfamiliar and sudden and her hand found its way between her legs. She half expected to feel a bulge there, but of course there was nothing yet—it was irrational to think that a single contraction would progress things along so quickly, but fear and pain weren’t exactly known for producing rational thoughts.

Weathering the contraction in this position made her quads and glutes ache and by the time it was over she was sweaty and overheated.

“I’ve got to get this gown off,” she muttered, tugging at the thin fabric as she clambered to an upright position.

“What was that?” Mickey asked, unsure what she wanted or how to help her.

“I’m fucking roasting in here.” Skye clawed at the gown but it clung to her damp skin and she couldn’t unfurl her arms or twist well enough with her giant belly in the way. “I can’t get this fucking thing off!” she cried out in frustration, one elbow stuck in the arm hole.

“Okay. Okay, it’s alright, you’re just—“ Mickey stilled her frantic flailing limbs and pinched the open flap of her hospital gown. “Just a bit twisted up here.” He peeled the fabric over her shoulder and down her arm, which freed it to assist in freeing the other. He caught it before it hit the filthy floor—they may need it later—and placed it on top of what looked like a relatively clean surface.

Skye spent a few moments bending and rotating and testing her newfound freedom of movement. Once her breathing levelled out and she appeared to relax a bit, Mickey didn’t exactly mind the sight of his wife’s full, curvy figure bouncing and shimmying in front of him.

“Better?” he asked as she finally stilled, fully upright with hands pressed into her lower back. He loved looking at her like this, and he mentally scolded himself for starting to get hard at a moment like this.

It was as if Skye just remembered her husband was here, but once her eyes found his she recognized the look in them and she looked down at her naked body. Well, as much of it as she could see. It could very well have been a closet just like this in which their child was conceived, and the irony had her giggling.

Mickey looked somewhat perplexed at the change of tone, but didn’t object when she pressed into him, guided his hands to her bare breasts and kissed him. His body responded automatically, teasing her nipples as his tongue danced with hers.

“Fuck!” Skye gasped and he began to pull away, but she shook her head, kept his hands anchored to her body. “Do it again.”

His fingers barely brushed her, but her whole body clenched with the onslaught of another contraction. “Already?”

“Mmhmm.” Skye closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of his hands on her body—so familiar, so comforting—and suddenly knew, no matter what, they could get through this. Together.

Skye’s response to the contractions had changed since she shed her gown. She no longer seemed to be focused on riding through them, but rather seemed to be actively working with them. Her hands were clamped around Mickey, pressing her body – at least the parts that were sticking out as a result of the pregnancy – tight against him. She breathed deep breaths in moments of relief between the pains, and made a lot of noise during the pain. The noises weren’t painful noises – shouts and screeches – more “ooh’s” and “ahh’s.”

It had the effect of causing her chest to heave up and down. Naked flesh pressed against Mikey’s clothing resulted in more friction, and in turn, her nipples were rock hard and being rubbed – not painfully though – quite the opposite. Mikey’s ears picked up a change in tone… almost erotic. He heard that noise a lot when they were in bed. It was almost a whimper. He risked a kiss to Skye’s forehead and she returned in kind, her head tilting up to allow her lips to meet his and they grabbed into an embrace.

Tongue met tongue as their natural instinct took over, though it was broken quickly by the onset of another contraction. This one took Skye a little by surprise and she wasn’t ready for it, her hands grasping Mickey’s hair and pulling tight as her voice let out the closest thing a yell of pain so far.

“You ok?” Mikey asked, concern in his voice as he felt Skye’s legs shuffle apart. She didn’t answer. “Babe?” he asked again. Still Skye pulled on his hair. It was getting painful now, but he knew he wasn’t exactly in any place to complain. He gritted his teeth and just rode it through with this wife.

Skye finally gasped, and much to Mikey’s relief, loosened her grip on his hair.

“What was that?” he asked, still a note of concern in his voice.

Skye blew out her breath, and took a moment to compose herself. “Just the joy of contractions I think. No two seem to be the same. Just hope I don’t have many more like that. That wasn’t fun.”

“Yeah,” came Mikey’s reply. “I didn’t like that, it hurt!”

The absurdity of the moment caused Skye to burst into laughter. “That hurt? Don’t be a baby. You should see what’s happening between my legs.”

Mikey took a gulp before continuing. “Lets not focus on the between the legs too quickly. I mean we need to get out of here first. Then I’ll gladly stare down the barrel of the gun and watch our baby come out, and I’ll not even complain when you squeeze my hand tight as you’re doing it.”

“Oh you charmer…” winced Skye, the next contraction building. This was starting to get exhausting, all she wanted to do was sit down and take her weight off her legs. There as nowhere to sit though unless she sank down onto the floor… and maybe then she might never get up. No… need to stay focused on getting out. Cross my legs, lean on Mikey. She had an inner monologue going through her head as she felt her midsection tighten, hold and release once more. Whilst it wasn’t exactly comfortable, she had gotten used to the pains happening again and again and found ways to cope. She just had to hope that they were released before it came to the main pushing phase. She really didn’t want to be caught on some CCTV pushing her baby out in a corridor, and she knew it was quite a walk back to the birthing suite based on how far they walked to get into the situation they were in right now.

They swayed, hummed, kissed and breathed through several more pains, but it was becoming harder to focus on anything but the steadily increasing contractions. The worst of the pain ebbed and flowed, but the pressure seemed constant now and she ached from her back all the way down to her ankles. She wasn’t able to catch her breath after one contraction before another one would begin and the discomfort became sharper—less a broad, dull ache and more concentrated, stabbing deep down through her core.

Skye wanted to ask Mickey to check her dilation, but firstly, she wasn’t sure either of them could contort themselves into a position that would make that possible at the moment, and secondly, she suspected it wouldn’t be all that accurate anyway. She just had to trust her instincts, and right now her instincts were telling her that things were about to get really intense.

“Mm, I need to—“ Skye shifted restlessly, wriggling her hips and pausing in several different positions before frowning. “I don’t know... something.” She bent over, leaning heavily into the shelf ledge as gravity shifted the pull on her gravid belly and a fraction of the tension in her lower back eased.

The next contraction was on her before she’d anticipated and her grip tightened. Natural reflexes took hold and she started to lower into a squat when Mickey’s panicked voice breached the fog of pain.

“Skye!” Mickey threw his body over his wife’s hunched form and several items from the higher shelves bounced off his back and onto the floor. With more force than intended, he ripped her hands away from the unstable shelving unit.

Skye didn’t resist, but cried out and collapsed onto her knees, which spread wide of their own accord. “Sorry, baby. Sorry,” she muttered as the objects rained down around her and she heard Mickey’s little “ow’s” and “oomph’s”. “Didn’t mean to. Didn’t—“ She couldn’t finish the thought. Her breathing was shallow and quick, Mickey’s heat overwhelmed her already flushed skin and she suddenly felt like she was going to be sick. “Sorry,” she finally said again, closing her eyes and willing the nausea to abate.

Mickey shushed her and gave her a little squeeze, which caused her to flinch. He pulled away and examined his wife more closely — curled in on herself tightly, both arms encircling her belly, and whiter than a wedding dress. He was sure if he could see her face it would be wearing a grimace.

How could he help her?

He tried pounding on the door again to no avail, and the added sensory input only made Skye wince even more. Looking around the room, he noticed that the mop bucket was actually two nested buckets, which meant the bottom one was empty and Skye could finally have somewhere to sit.

“I need you to stand for me, love,” Mickey pleaded, which earned him a pained groan. “I know, but only for a minute.” She started to get up, but then he realized that if she did then he wouldn’t be able to get past her to reach the bucket. Instead, he grabbed her hand and sort of ushered her between his legs as he stepped over her, which was awkward and hurt his shoulder, but he was glad he did when she nearly toppled over once he was on the other side of her. “Alright, up one more time for me. You can do it.”

Skye was shaky and a bit dazed and dizzy, but she allowed Mickey to help her to her feet and then leaned heavily against the door. Mickey bent down into the newly occupied space below her, but another contraction was building and she groaned loudly. “Mick, hurry.”

Mickey extricated the empty bucket and hastily flipped it over, but it was far from clean. He grabbed Skye’s discarded gown and draped it over the top, piling as much fabric as he could at the top. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable chair in the world, but it was better than nothing.

Skye’s legs were already splayed, so it didn’t take much effort to slide the makeshift stool between them. Wordlessly, and more like she could no longer hold herself up than that she’d realized what he’d done, she grabbed Mickey’s forearms and began sliding down the door.

“That’s it, there you go.” Mickey breathed a sigh of relief at the same time Skye’s laboured huffs picked up again. “Just relax and focus on the baby.”

Skye would have laughed at the idea of relaxing, but she had no air to spare—it was all going toward a meditative hum that was the only thing keeping her from screaming.

Things were moving quickly now. The contractions were long and brutal, right on top of each other and she blindly grabbed for Mickey’s hand. His grip was both strong and comforting and once again she reminded herself that she could do this as long as he was there by her side.

Her body was in transition—she could feel it, the descending, the opening, the hint of an urge beginning to build—and the hardest part was yet to come. If they were going to be found before the baby came… it would have to be pretty damn soon.

Mickey settled down into a squat between Skye’s legs as she hummed and groaned through one contraction after another. He held and squeezed her hand, rubbed her thigh and leaned forward kissing the belly. After about 20 minutes of what seemed like non stop pain he started feeling cramp himself in his legs and moved to a kneeling position, his jeans legs getting messy from the muck and liquid spilled on the floor. He looked around and tried to find something - anything that could mop up the mess. Best he could find was piles of toilet rolls.

“Better than nothing” he grumbled as he got up and pulled them off the shelf. He started unspooling the paper from the roll, dropping it in the floor and trying to mop things up with his foot. It looked comical. Not only was the paper disintegrating as it hit the wet floor, but the sticky mess was caked on his shoes within minutes.

He looks up to see Skye giggling.

“I know you’re trying to help but just give up will you?”

Mickey, flustered responded “I can’t have the floor this messy what if you do have the baby in here and you need to lay her down on the floor ?”

Skye still looked to have humour in her features, though she did seem to pant a little out of breath as she spoke.

“Firstly… I’m not having her here. Secondly… you see these?” She grabbed her breasts and jiggled them.

“Yeah, how could I not…” commented Mickey - his wife’s pregnancy enhanced bosom a constant source of pleasure for him since they got over the shock of the pregnancy.

“Well these will be where the baby will be, cradled in my arms even if it’s here, there or anywhere else in this building.”

Mickey sighed and reluctantly returned to his position on the floor supporting Skye. “Ok you’re right I’m just trying to find something to do.”

Skye had gone a little white as he said the last sentence. She announced “you might need to catch the baby… I think I need to push!”

Two equally powerful instincts warred within Skye—the desperate desire to give birth with the help of professionals in a big clean bed versus the absolute feral need to give in to her body’s need to push. As the next contraction built she clung to the former, panting and squirming and squeezing the hell out of Mickey’s hand. Anything that wasn’t bearing down with the impossible pressure.

She was able to weather another three or four contractions this way before the pain of holding back far surpassed the fear of giving in.

“Babe, I can’t- I have to—“ Skye whimpered, trailing off as the reality began to sink in.

It was Mickey’s turn to squeeze Skye’s hand, and she looked down into his determined gaze. “I know. I know, and it’s alright.” She nodded, but her face was pinched and tense and looked like she was trying not to cry. He put his free hand on the curve of her stomach and felt it clench and harden beneath his touch. “You want to try pushing?”

Skye hesitated, but then nodded again, breathing picking up as her midsection coiled and squeezed. There had started a small respite between contractions now, and it gave her precious time to renew her strength—both physical and mental. She released her hold on Mickey and closed her eyes to block out the less than ideal environment and instead focused inward.

The bucket seat was hard and awkward and caused an ache in her sacrum. She adjusted her position, scooting her ass forward and opening her knees as wide as they could go while leaning back and pressing into the unyielding door. Her palms and fingers dug into her thighs and everything tensed as she gave her first real push.

“Hhhah, hah, ah, fuck,” she huffed, kneading the muscles in her thigh before grabbing them and holding her breath and pushing again. She strained harder this time, tilting her hips up and shaking with the effort she was putting into it, but it was still like trying to roll a boulder up a hill.

When it was over she collapsed against the door and gasped in deep gulps of air, the sheen of sweat causing her heaving belly to glisten.

“Okay?” Mickey asked, coaxing her hands to release their death grip on her own legs. Her response was a disgruntled whine. “You’re doing great,” he assured her.

She “hmph”-ed again and opened her eyes to look at him. “It doesn’t feel like anything’s happening.”

Mickey chuckled. “It was one contraction. You’re good, but you’re not that good.”

Skye pouted and rubbed both hands over her impressive swell. “It all just hurts. Everywhere. I can’t tell where she is. I don’t- I don’t know how to do this.”

“Is that all?” She glared at him, but he just smirked in response. “I think I can help with that.”

Mickey pulled her forward on the makeshift stool even more, then his hands moved up her thighs to between her legs. She was wet with birthing fluids and his fingers easily slipped between her folds. Her muscles instinctively clamped around him, then relaxed enough for him to push deeper, then clenched again with the start of another contraction.

“Relax,” he instructed, teasing her just enough to release the tension there but not enough to pull her focus. “Can you feel me?” He wiggled his fingers and her mouth quirked up into a half smile. “Push. There. Push for me, love.”

The effort was still there, painted into her features and posture, but more concentrated now. He could see the muscles in her abdomen press in, push down; he could feel the soft flesh press gently but insistently against his fingertips.

“She’s not far,” Mickey announced, voice suddenly thick with emotion. “You’ll have her out in no time.”

Skye redoubled her efforts. She could feel Mickey’s hand on her, in her, with her. She wasn’t just pushing her baby out from her body, she was pushing it into his hands.

She stopped keeping track of how many contractions came and went—didn’t want to lose that tenuous connection that was holding the three of them together—but then something shifted. It stopped feeling like there was no progress being made and started feeling like it was being made far too quickly. Like every push was testing the limits of her flesh. The pressure just kept building, and building, with nowhere for it to go.

Skye was pressed back hard against the door, but no amount of length in her spine would alleviate the fullness in her hips. She wailed as that immense force narrowed and sharpened, concentrated at a single unyielding point.

Mickey’s heart rate spiked as the last push came with a distinctive bowing out of her skin, evicting his fingers completely. He was about to tell her has such when they were both jostled harshly as a crack of light appeared in the doorway and a frantic voice on the other side was calling their names.

They had finally been found… but Skye wasn’t going anywhere.

Skye was jostled forward as the door opened. It only opened a crack before her body stopped it moving but the voices behind were recognisable as the two midwives the couple had met on their arrival.

“Hello! Hello are you ok?” One of the concerned voices shouted beyond the door.

“We’re alive, if that’s what you mean” shouted Mickey in response. “Skye’s pushing, I can feel the head right there. She can’t move. We need help. “

“What do you mean she can’t move, is she injured?” Asked the midwife.

Skye was the next to answer “no, there’s a bowling ball between my legs, I can’t get up!” She was clearly stressed and yelling. “I need to push it out, I don’t know what to do!”

Skye closed her eyes and gripped onto Mickeys hands, a clear sign her contraction had started again. The midwives listened carefully as Skye yelled out a few moments later, all her effort into a push.

“Is she dilated?” Asked the midwife.

“How do I tell?” Asked Mickey in response.

“If you can get your fingers sanitised you should put them in your wife’s vagina, you might be able to feel around the head and take a guess at how wide her cervix is open?” A hand poked through the gap in the door “ if it’s open up as wide as needed your fingers should be this wide” the disembodied hand showed a gap between thumb and forefinger.

“Listen!” Yelled Mickey to make his voice heard over Skye’s own pained moans “the head is fucking right there, it’s bulging out. I can’t even fit my fingers in right now.”

“Ok” came the voice from the other side of the door “sounds like she’s doing what she needs to be doing. I really need you to help her to her feet and get her out of the way so we can get in.”

“Nooooo!” Wailed Skye. “Don’t ask me to stand. Don’t think my legs will hold my weight. Need to push, need to push!” She closed her eyes and let out a grunting sound.

Skye’s body stiffened as the urge built up inside her once again. She threw her head back, the tendons cording in her neck as her face reddened. Some wet, strangled sound escaped her throat as she took in a few ragged breaths and then redoubled her efforts. She pushed this way for several contractions and the effort nearly made her sick, coughing and sputtering as she came down from the last one.

“Remember to breathe, Skye,” came the unhelpful reminder from the other side of the door.

“Don’t force anything; the babe will come. Relax if you can,” the second midwife added.

“Relax?” Sky growled, incredulous. How the hell was she supposed to do that? She looked down at Mickey and his eyes were pleading—she was giving it everything she had and still wasn’t crowning and he was worried about her. “Help me. Please.”

“Anything.” Their space was limited, but Mickey managed to lean forward, one hand still cupped around Skye’s sex, and kiss up her thigh, her belly, her breasts. “You’re so beautiful like this. So strong.” She was about to protest but he bit down lightly on her neck and she gasped, releasing the vice like grip she’d had on her legs and instead curling around the muscles of his shoulders. “Working so hard to bring our baby into the world.” Just as his lips reached her jaw she tensed and began to arch away from him, but he anchored her in place and whispered in her ear, “Stay with me, love. Right here with me.” She nodded against his temple and he smiled. “Good girl. Gentle pushes for me now.”

It seemed counterintuitive to Skye, that putting in less effort would yield greater results, but the subtle burning release she felt between her legs as she hummed and grunted her way through the next few contractions hinted that it was working.

“How are things progressing in there?” the midwives asked.

Mickey pulled back and Skye whimpered, grabbed onto his wrist. “I’m just going to take a look,” he promised, sitting back on his heels. When he finally saw what was happening between his wife’s legs, tears began welling in his eyes. “I- I can see the head,” he called to the crack in the door. Then, to Skye, “The head is right there, baby, even when you’re not pushing. You are the most amazing woman who’s ever lived.”

Sky giggled at that. “Pretty sure there are at least a dozen other women right down the hall doing this exact same thing right now.”

Mickey shook his head. “Nope. None of them are as amazing as you.”

“None of them doing it in a broom closet, though, I can assure you of that!” one of the midwives added, only slightly exasperated.

“As if that’s something to brag about,” Skye muttered.

Mickey was going to say something back about it at least being a damn good story, but then Skye’s eyes screwed shut and her chest heaved with laboured breaths. Her body pushed of its own accord and she wailed as her opening widened another fraction of an inch.

The midwives’ chatter picked up at the change in her tone. “Yep, sounds like the beginning of a crown to me!”

Skye let out a groan which echoed around the confined space of the cupboard. Mickey got himself back in close, his hands kneading Skye’s shoulders and his lips exploring her face.

“Just like that…” he said, keeping his voice low and calm.

Skye continued her effort, grunting, sighing, moaning and holding her breath almost in a cycle as she felt her body do the work it needed to do.

The burning sensation between her legs grew and grew, as the head of their babe continued its unrelenting journey, but at the end of each panting contraction, there was noticeable movement between Skye’s legs.

She had stopped any sort of conversation at this point, only managing enough energy to keep going, and when the contraction subsided, she used the opportunity to pant and catch her breath.

Mickey on the other hand was chattering on incessantly.

“I can see the head, you’re doing great. She’s almost got the head out. What do I do to catch it. The heads coming. Baby I’m so proud of you. Keep going, do what you’re doing. “

“Shutup shutup shutup!” The exclamation from Skye was unexpected and Mickey was taken aback for a second.

“What’s up?” He asked.

“It burns… it really burns. Mickey help me…” Skye looked pleading

“Anything baby… what I can I do”

“Rub my clit…”

The announcement may as well have been shouted out using a loud speaker the fact that Mickey and the 2 midwives both went silent.

Mickey froze, shook his head, certain he’d heard incorrectly. “You- I—what?”

“Mickey, please. Please, baby,” she whined, the words just as breathless and desperate as they were in the bedroom, but now for entirely different reasons.

When his mind finally caught up with her words, a slight blush coloured his cheeks. “What, here? Now? Can I do that?” Then, because he was sure the women on the other side of the door had heard her request as well, “Am I allowed to do that?”

“Never argue with a pregnant person,” one replied.

The other hummed in agreement. “Do what you need to do, sweetie. Whatever makes the pain a little easier to take.”

Babe!” Skye gasped—a warning, an appeal. She whimpered and panted and shifted her hips, but there was no relief to be found there. “Please,” she said again, and this finally spurred Mickey into action.

He adjusted the hand that was supporting the emerging head, his thumb immediately going to work on her sensitive bud. The motion was habit, done without thinking in his usual strong vigorous rhythm, and she flinched away from him with a cry. He snatched his hand away and examined her with frantic eyes. “Oh my god, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you? The baby? I thought—”

Skye shook her head, reaching blindly for his hand. When it found her grasp, she guided it back between her legs. “Slow. Please. Gentle. Slow,” she managed punctuated guidance between panted breaths.

Tentatively this time, almost fearful, Mickey brushed his thumb featherlight across her clit and she shivered, exhaling a little more forcefully. Encouraged by her response, he pressed deeper into her folds, tracing the lines and edges in lazy circles.

“Mhmm, just like that,” Skye moaned, wincing as the pleasure mixed with the pain. The burn was intense now, stealing her breath just as quickly as Mickey’s ministrations allowed her to catch it. “Is the head, is it—hah, ah—is it almost—fuck—out?” Mickey’s pause was answer enough and Skye threw her head back against the door in frustration. “Fuck.”

“You’re stretching really good, babe.” Skye huffed. “No, really. So much is out already. There’s just… you’ve still got a little ways to go yet.”

Skye growled as another contraction wound its way around her midsection. “Just don’t stop.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mickey said, a smile in his voice, shaking out his hand and flexing his fingers before returning them to their post.

This time, just to give her own hands something to do, Skye drew them up the curve of her belly and moulded them around her full breasts, kneading the tender flesh and rolling her nipples under her thumbs, between her fingers. The action seemed to intensify the contraction and she curled forward instinctually, her upper body wrapping around her tight stomach and one arm dropping to hook under a knee and pull her leg up and back as she released a primal strangled cry.

Mickey had to abandon his duties between Skye’s legs in favour of making sure she didn’t fall over. He put a steadying hand on her waist as her roar intensified, the pain now in full force without the distraction of his intimate touch.

“That’s it, baby. Keep going, let it out.”

“Burning. It’s burning,” Skye panted in desperation, wrapping her free arm under his and digging her fingers into his back. She nestled her head into his neck and grunted, getting in a few more small pushes before slumping into him as the contraction waned. “Hurts.”

“I know.” Mickey kissed the top of her head and she released her hold on her leg. His hand drifted back down her inner thigh and he gasped excitedly. “Holy shit, the head’s almost out!”

“Really?” Mickey nodded. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?” Mickey’s lips found hers and he guided her hand to where his had just been. Her whole palm filled with something soft, wet, warm, and she stroked her thumb along the gentle curve. “Hi, baby,” she cooed, voice thick with emotion. “We can’t wait to meet you. I can’t believe you’re almost here.”

“Just another push or two ought to do it. You were so close on that last one.”

“Mm, you better be right about that.” Skye let out a few short quick breaths before pulling her leg back once more, leaning forward into another big push.

“Ehm, about those instruction on how to catch…?” Mickey called out to the hallway as Skye’s screams began anew.

“Just hold the head as it pops out, DON’T pull it” came the supportive voice from beyond the other side of the door - though the end of the statement was punctuated by the warning which he readily took in.

Mickey leaned back to get as good a look as he could under Skye’s belly and he let out an involuntary gasp. Where before her hole was red and swollen it was now white, stretched to the extreme, and the boulder shape of their baby - an object easily as wide as his hand - rested there almost at the tipping point.

Skye didn’t notice Mickey as she whimpered, the sensations taking all of her focus until she suddenly flinched completely in her seat and let out a yelp then suddenly, just like that, the head seemed to surge forward and it was suddenly… out.

The bottom half of the head slipped forward as Mickey darted his hand down instinctively only to get it covered by amniotic fluid but he held onto… something. It took a moment to realise that nestled in his palm were the features of their baby. He could feel the nose, the mouth. He was dumbstruck.

“Mickey!” shrieked Skye

“Baby!” shrieked Mickey

“What happened” came the voice from the other side of the door.

“The… the heads out.” stammered Mickey. He took in the scene. Skye was panting big heaving breaths, taking what time she could to rest, their baby’s head was nestled in his hands and he was squatted down like a baseball catcher. The puddle of water that just came out of Skye was spreading wider on the floor beneath him… and he realised his thighs ached like crazy.

“OK stay exactly as you are. Keep supporting the head. Check the neck, make sure there isn’t a cord wrapped around it” came the voice of guidance

“How?”

“Stick your finger in there and run it around the baby’s neck.”

Mickey tentatively extended a finger and probed it into his wife. She didn’t flinch or react, oblivious to this tiny additional movement, but compared to before… it was nothing.

“No, it’s not there.” Mickey sounded relieved that’s for certain.

“Ok so the head will want to rotate, then when baby is turned to the side it’s time for the shoulders.”

Skye grunted, shifted in her seat as Mickey felt the head rotate. He took a chance to adjust his position, knees going to the soggy ground as the baby’s head turned.

Looks like things were happening again.

It was a strange sensation, feeling the baby shift partially inside and partially outside her. The consuming burn had eased with the passing of the head but the pressure remained just as insistent. Once again it felt as if the baby would simply fall out of her—if only it would be that easy.

“That’s it, baby, keep pushing, just a few more pushes,” Mickey encouraged as Skye grunted and bore down with the next contraction.

“Mmm, no, not again,” Skye pleaded with no one in particular as her tender opening bulged and stretched with the press of the shoulders behind it. “I can’t do it again,” she whined, breaths become erratic, panicked, pained, “I’m not ready!”

Well, she was ready for this all to be over, to have her baby in her arms and an actual bed to lie in, but the pain was still so fresh and raw, her tissues fragile and strained.

“S’okay, Skye. Take a break, take a breath. Baby’ll still be waiting for you whenever you’re ready,” came a voice through the crack in the door.

Mickey was thankful for their guidance then, as he’d had no idea what to say to Skye in that moment. As she puffed out quick breaths of air, he squinted in the dim light, peering under her belly. Now that the baby had rotated, it was actually facing toward him. Waxy and wet and scrunched, Mickey had never seen anything more beautiful.

“Hi, baby,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over a chubby cheek. The baby’s mouth opened and closed, already responding to his touch. “Go easy on mommy, okay? She loves you very much, but you’ve got daddy’s big head and she’s a little sore at the moment.”

Skye smiled at that, eyes still closed in a rare moment of rest, and reached down to stroke the top of the baby’s head. “You listen to your father now,” she warned, breathing picking back up again.

“Ready?” Mickey asked. Skye paused a moment, then nodded. “Whenever you’re ready—let’s have a baby.”

Skye nodded again, this time to herself, gathering her wits about her. Her groan was guttural, deep, primal, an animal driven by instinct. Her whole body seemed to bow inward, concentrating all its forces into her core. One shoulder would peek out, only to slip back in as soon as Skye sucked in a quick breath. She’d shift her hips and then the other would make an appearance, but then the stretch would become unbearable and cause her to cry out, weakening her efforts just enough for it to disappear back between her folds. She pressed her palms into her thighs, digging into her flesh and forcing her knees outward as far apart as they would go.

When another contraction came and went like this, Skye heaved a sigh of exasperation. “I don’t,” she panted, “think I,” another breath, “can get the shoulders out like this.”

Mickey, their child’s head still cradled in his hands, bit his lips and directed his question toward the door, a tinge of worry creeping into his tone. “How do we do this? What- what can we do?”

“Just keep calm. The best thing to do is open up her pelvis. Either a nice deep squat, or we push her legs back to get the same thing.” The voice was reassuring, realising that Mickey was starting to panic.

“I’ll get down I’ll get down” voiced Skye as she lifted her butt up ready to push the bucket she had been resting on out of the way. She actually shuffled a step forward and overbalanced Mickey who tumbled to the floor, though he kept his hand fixed to the head of their child.

The commotion caught the attention of the team on the other side of the door who tried to make sense of the clattering and banging going on inside the closet.

Skye hunkered down and grunted, her deep squat resulted in Mickeys hand, holding the baby’s head, being pressed into the ground, in the muck and birth fluids that were pooling there.

A strong grunt, a whine and another grunt. Suddenly she yelled “help, it’s not moving”

From the other side of the door came the question “Mickey do you still have the head?”

“Yes…” came the response.

“Ok… let go, and pull Skye up.”

“You sure?”

“Trust us…”

Mickey wriggled his hand out from under Skye leaving the head exposed, grabbed her hands and heaved backwards so Skye was back on her feet.

“She’s up”

“Ok stand back, we’re coming in.”

There was a blur of activity. Finally the door opened wide, and Mickey and Skye were met with the sight of 2 midwives, someone wearing a pair of overalls presumably from the maintenance team and a cold blast of air as the air conditioned corridor opened wide.

One of the midwives rushed in and grabbed Skye by the arms as they led her backwards, wide legged and frog-walking out of the closet.

One kept close attention to the baby as Skye was turned around and lowered to the floor. Everything looked good as she was laid on her back, icy cold flooring sending shivers all over her body as her legs were pushed back and her hips were opened wide.

“Skye, give me the biggest push you can, right now!” the midwives commanded.

As the cold seeped into Skye’s bare flushed skin, she was suddenly very conscious of the fact that she was completely naked in the very non-private hallway, with her legs spread open as wide as they were capable of going.

The medical staff, at least, had the decency to mind their own business even as the passersby gaped and gawked. She wasn’t embarrassed, exactly, but it made her self conscious about her actions, her noises, her progress, and she couldn’t quite give herself over fully to the next contraction.

Skye whimpered, close to tears and feeling like a failure that she still wasn’t able to get her baby out. She grabbed for Mickey’s hand and he knelt on the far side of her, hunching himself over her body and blocking at least her upper half from view from all but the most curious onlookers.

“Too big,” she whined, looking into his eyes for comfort or encouragement or sympathy, she didn’t know.

“I know, baby, but you’re so close. Your body was made for this, just a few more pushes, you’ll get out baby out, I know you will,” he murmured in the space between contractions. Then, when Skye released a sharp breath and her belly visibly tensed, “Come on now, as hard as you can.”

Skye nodded at the same time the midwives forced her knees comically far back and down, lifting her butt off the floor so that her vagina was practically sticking straight up toward the ceiling. When she crunched up, folding over her belly, her head was almost between her knees and all the air was forced from her lungs.

She held the push as long as she could, the baby’s head pressing up and away from her hips, attempting to free itself from her tight hole. She fell back to the floor, gasped in a breath, and curled back up, the baby’s head bobbing up and down in time with her efforts.

Mickey was so focused on his wife’s face that he didn’t see when the midwife stuck half her hand around the emerging shoulder in Skye’s opening, but he saw the change in her expression, heard as her cries escalated into strangled, wild howls.

“What are you doing!” Mickey asked frantically, bordering on yelling.

“Just helping the other shoulder along; don’t want it getting bruised or stuck,” the midwife explained.

Mickey wanted to protest, but Skye was nodding, eyes still screwed shut with pain. Something must have given way because Skye gasped, surged forward into an almost unexpected push as the baby was finally shifted into a proper position. She screamed one last time as the shoulders emerged, stretching her even wider than the head, and then the rest of the baby slid out easily, along with an impressive spray of amniotic fluid, and immediately placed on Skye’s bare chest.

The scream brought a few people running and Skye ended up being the unfortunate recipient of yet more public scrutiny… but at that point she couldn’t care. She’d done it. The sound of her and Mickeys baby crying loud wails was music to her ears and nothing could take that fact away.

Tears flowed freely down her cheeks and the same was true of Mickey, the events of the day had reached a point where he was just so glad it was over.

He sensed a figure appear behind him then heard a cough. Turning he looked at the maintenance man in his overalls behind him, holding forward Skye’s gown she had discarded earlier.

He thanked him and grabbed it, looking to the midwives for guidance.

“I’ve called for a wheelchair for Skye, I want to get her back to maternity before she has to deliver the afterbirth.” Mickey nodded at what the midwife had said. He moved around to the back of Skye and pulled the gown over her, as one of the midwives took the baby temporarily and held it - finally getting a good chance too look at the gender and realising the couple had a girl - as Skye did the best she could on the floor to pull the gown over her thighs and get handed back the baby again.

“Besides… I think Skye may need a few stitches… that last few moments were quite… forceful I think it’s fair to say.”

As the chair arrived and between Mickey and one of the midwives they managed to get Skye to her feet the group left at a hurried pace back to the room assigned to them.

For Tom the janitor, he just looked at the mess in the cupboard and sighed. Best get to tidying that little patch of chaos up… and changing that door handle.

#birth kink #fpreg #birth #pregnancy #labor kink

152 notes · View notes