#so i was very sick and had my dad pick me up and he was so mad bc he thought i was faking

[kookiestarlight]

Lines of fate: 01 | jjk

➵ pairing: tattooist!jungkook x f. reader

➵ genre: apocalypse au, exes to lovers (?) dad!jungkook, survival, angst, smut

➵ summary: the last thing Jungkook ever imagined was an outbreak that turned the dead into the living. But even more unexpected is seeing you—an ex he’s known nothing about in the past four years—with a small child who bears a striking resemblance to himself. As Jungkook grapples with the shock and the city spirals into chaos, the two of you are thrust back together, forced to confront unresolved feelings, long-buried truths, and the horrors of the deadly virus taking over.

➵ word count: 11.9k

➵ warnings: swearing (jk says fuck way too much), graphic depictions of violence and death, blood and gore, seizures, virus and zombies ofc, brief mentions of alcohol consumption.

➵ series masterlist

➵ a/n: it’s finally here!! <3 sorry this was postponed way longer than expected, all I can say is: life :,) anyway!! posting my writing again after years on hiatus definitely feels nerve wracking lol. this idea has been in my wips for literally years so I’m so excited to finally be sharing it with you all!! I would greatly appreciate your feedback and thoughts as it is something quite different from anything I usually write (it’s definitely been a kick in the ass) it’ll also really help me stay motivated to continue writing it. thank you for all the hype and excitement you showed for this fic before it was even released cause like hello?? that’s crazy to me😭 thanks for always showing my stories love and support🫶🏻 I’ve taken inspiration from all the zombie movies and videogames I’ve ever seen and played over the years (thanks dad). I should also mention, I had a very thorough plot for this planned out and it kinda went to shit in the process of writing so we’re kind of going off vibes only and 20% of the plot I had originally planned so yeah, bare with me🤪 I also want to say, updates on this will most likely be slow, but I will try my best to get them out as fast I can for you🙏 now that that’s over, I hope you enjoy this series as much as I am enjoying writing it!! this chapter is just the very beginning <33

The autumn sun filters through the large window with an amber glow as you take a slow sip of your coffee, the warm bitterness spreading in your chest as you attempt to chase some kind of comfort. But the loud hum of the city just outside and the muffled chatter of the bustling cafe are very much a grounding reminder of where you are — and where you really wish you weren't.

Your gaze travels down to your daughter sitting on the booth beside you, her little legs swinging off the seat contentedly as she picks away at her blueberry muffin. Completely oblivious to your ongoing little inner torment. Her big eyes flicker up to meet yours, brimming with glee. Brushing a crumb off her cheek, you force a little smile for her. 

Like a dull sting under your skin, you feel how little teeth of guilt gnaw away at you, not only because it’s been almost impossible to offer her a genuine smile in the past two days since you stepped foot in this dammed place, but because you simply wish you could share the same excitement as she does, and perhaps…feel more positive about this whole situation. For her.

But all you’ve been able to feel is guilt.

An incessant amount of it. Guilt and fear. Slowly brewing up inside you like some sort of poison that has had you feeling a little sick to your stomach.

”You’re spiraling again.” Hoseok pulls you out of your absentminded state, studying you over the rim of his half finished iced americano.

You blink. You often tend to forget how well he’s capable of reading you. Though you suppose that’s a skill acquired with nearly twenty years of friendship, and an unavoidable consequence of growing up constantly together, practically like siblings. 

Hoseok has been the only constant in your life for as long as you can remember, like a brother to you — conjoined at the hip as his mother always used to joke. It all began when you moved next door. With your parents always working late and often times far away from home, Hoseok's home slowly became your second one — the place you spent most of your childhood and adolescence and formed some of your fondest memories. A place where you were never alone.

You do suppose it’s no surprise the years and the unbreakable bond you’ve formed have given you exceptional abilities to know when something is off with just a simple glance. But it's never less surprising.

The corners of your mouth tug upwards into a tiny smile at his words, brows pinched in a pathetic attempt to hide your truth. “I am not.”

“You are. You’re thinking too much,” he stirs the ice in his drink with the straw, eyes flicking up to meet yours again. “Which if I may remind you, is one of your fatal flaws.”

You scoff, only slightly offended as you watch him take a slow sip. Pushing your sunglasses further up your head as you lean back. “Thinking too much is not my fatal flaw.” 

He’s may very likely be right about that, but of course, you’d never actually admit it.

Hoseok snorts, clearly unconvinced. His voice just above a whisper when he murmurs, “Right. Sorry. It’s definitely lying.”

Before you can argue, he leans forward to accept some crumbs of muffin Jieun is so eagerly offering him. The sight tugs at something deep in your chest, watching his expression soften to mush as he thanks her with that brightest, tender smile he only ever uses for her before he brings his attention back to you. 

“If it weren’t your fatal flaw, you’d actually be enjoying that overpriced coffee and oh—, maybe being reunited with your best friend again. I haven’t even seen you in like three months.” He shakes his head in utter disappointment, sitting back with a dramatic sigh.

“Hobi, I am so thrilled to be reunited with you, truly.” You roll your eyes ever so slightly and place a hand on your heart rather sarcastically as you say it, but deep down you hope he knows you’re only half joking. No one has done for you more than what hoseok has in the time you’ve known him.

You suppose all the change has got you in a rather sentimental state. But you bury it away. Hoseok deserves a nice time out with a friend for once too. He’s seen enough of your tears.

“Yeah?” he leans in, studying you with mock concern. Though not falling for it even a bit. "That's your thrilled face? You sure about that?” You almost laugh in response, but then, he shifts, looking more serious than just seconds ago. “You know,” he pauses, crossing his arms over his chest. “For someone who finally landed a nice new job and has everything working out, you don’t look all that thrilled to me, actually. That’s all.”

You press your lips together and glance down at your coffee, suddenly the truth a little too hard to face. You should be happy. He’s right. Because things really are starting to look up for you again. Everything you’ve spent the last few months wishing for has finally become a reality. And yet, you can’t shake the fact that there’s a deep buried sense of dread that seems to be getting in the way of that, a familiar fear that's been present for years, but only intensified since you stepped foot in Seoul again. 

Hoseok follows your gaze, watching you carefully, then nudges your foot under the table gently. “Come on.” He murmurs softly, eyebrows raised gently. “What is it?”

You suppose your real fatal flaw is your emotions showing up as flashy neon subtitles over your head apparently, or the fact you are simply terrible at hiding them, because Hoseok doesn't budge. He sees right through your little facade — always has. And as much as you know he is a great listener and that he genuinely cares to hear it all, always ready to give you a helping hand in any way he possibly can, you just don’t want to sound ungrateful. Not when anyone else in your position would be feeling over the moon right now.

Besides, you’ve never liked burdening him, or anyone for that matter. Never wanted to add more weight to the heavy things he already carries himself. He deals with so much of that at work already. So many problems significantly worse than your own worries. So you simply shake your head, putting on a small smile once again in hopes to appease him.

“I’m alright, Hobi. It's just…strange. Being back here. Overwhelming, I guess,” you admit, though only to half of the truth. “It’s so calm on the island. I suppose I got used to it. Everything here is just so intense. But that's all.” You cross your arms on the table as you gaze out at the busy streets. Hoping you don't sound as pathetic as you feel. Though in truth, this whole things isn't just strange. It’s all actually fucking terrifying.

In many ways it seemed like nothing here had changed since the day you left four years ago. The cityscape is as bustling as you remember – a stark contrast to the quietude and stillness of Jeju, where you had been building your new life up until now. People in suits rush back and forth and push into each other with no care, everything is always shadowed by a maze of buildings that don't seem to have an end. Cars weave through traffic like they want to crash into each other, and neon signs and billboards still flicker blindingly even in the daytime. 

The fact that everything remains the same, terrifies you. The rush, the stress, the chaos. That constant hustle and bustle that seems suffocating. It wasn't the reason why you left. but it was certainly a factor that made your life here something you wanted to escape from. It feels like stepping back into the life you thought you’d left behind for good. Like stepping onto a moving treadmill, when you no longer know how to run. Not sure if you’ll ever find your place here again.

Hobi hums in understanding, and the warmth in the familiarity of his smile helps lessen the knot that's been forming in your stomach all morning. And though you've only let out a tiny portion of what's on your mind, you already feel like you can breathe with more ease.

Sometimes, it’s not so bad that he can see right through you. Because you also tend to forget he’s the only one that truly gets you, understands you when even you struggle to understand yourself, and has never once been one to judge you, no matter how small or ridiculous it may be.

“Yeah, I get it. It can be overwhelming.” He nods slowly, letting the words settle. “But if I were you, I’d be damn proud of myself.” His expression is calm and his words full of sincerity as he speaks. “You did what you had to do, and now you’re doing it again. Making more big changes. Really tough decisions, and I know that’s not easy.” He pauses. “But you've always made it after all. This time won't be different. Besides, think about this, we’re close to each other now. I’ll be here for anything you guys need, you know that.”

Your heart softens at his comforting words, and the reassurance feels like it melts some of the tension off your shoulders. And for just a split second you feel that roar of confidence, thinking about everything you've accomplished, but it's not lasting, and deflates with the weight of your heavier thoughts.

You want to believe what he says — you really do. For your daughter's sake. Because this is finally your chance to start over and build something better. To give Jieun the life she deserves, something stable, a chance to thrive in a place full of new opportunities. 

A fresh start. 

After all, isn't that all you've ever been chasing?

You don’t want to allow your fears and the past to come in the way of that. But it's never so simple. At least, definitely not here — definitely not for you.

Because the truth is, being in Seoul again feels like roaming a haunted city. Tainted and plagued by shadows from the past, by who you used to be, and everything and everyone you left behind all those years ago when you ran and didn’t dare to look back. Being here now, you can’t shake the feeling — the apprehension and fear that everything you once left behind is lurking around the corner, ready to jump out and haunt you, making everything you've finally built up crumble to pieces once again. This place just gives you an indescribable feeling of…dread. Eeriness even. Enough for it to linger gut deep with a painful sense of discomfort that hasn’t eased since the day you arrived. As if you can never truly let your guard down.

But after all, it was an opportunity you couldn’t pass up, even if it meant returning to the city you swore you’d never step foot in again. The offer came at just the right moment, a lifeline after months of uncertainty and dead-ends. After losing your job, and endless nights crying yourself to sleep with the heavy burden of becoming a failure of a mother and not knowing how to make ends meet. You practically cried with joy the morning you finally got the call, and ignored the pit that formed in your stomach when you heard where it required you to move to. It had felt like you were about to reach the peak of a mountain, only to drop all the way back down to the bottom. But it was a steady paycheck, and a chance to finally give Jieun some stability. It wasn’t glamorous or grand — a position in a small marketing firm. But it was enough to rebuild. The breakthrough you so badly needed to start over and secure a future for your little girl. 

How could you possibly turn it down?

That was your biggest and only goal in life.

There was nothing you wouldn’t do for her. So you knew in that very instant you had to take it. Even if it meant returning to the place that broke you beyond repair. So you packed up your life and now, here you are. Back where you never thought you’d be. So far from the tranquility of the home you had made for yourself in a secluded tiny seaside town four years ago. Where you were happy. Where you didn't live in constant fear.

“I know this is what I need right now,” you speak softly, more to yourself than anything. You reach out, gently brushing your fingers through Jieun's baby soft hair, watching as she focuses intently on her muffin, completely unaware of the heaviness of the conversation. “I just don’t want to mess anything up…the job, you know, our new life here. I want to get this right. I don’t want anything, getting in the way of that.” You swallow thickly, fingers tightening around the mug of coffee in front of you, and Hoseok knows exactly what you mean by that. You hesitate, letting out a quiet breath before speaking again. “I know there's so many opportunities for us here but…I was happy in Jeju. Jieun was happy.”

Hoseok nods, slow and understanding. “I know you were. A city like this takes some adapting to, you know that.” He reaches out and gives your arm a gentle squeeze, “but give it time. You’ll settle right back in.” He says warmly, reassuring. You return a tiny smile, more genuine this time.

“Seriously though. Change is good. New home, new job, meeting new people…maybe even someone special…” he adds.

You scoff, eyes widening, only half incredulous at how fast he swerved the topic there. So typical of him. 

“Yeah no, thanks. You can stop it right there.” You shake your head.

“What?” Hobi leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he waggles his eyebrows, a tiny smirk pulling at the corner of his lips, completely unbothered despite your clear opposition. “I'm just saying,” he adds in, raising his hands in mock innocence, though he feels like your glare could actually kill him. “You’re young. You’re no longer in that tiny ass town full of old drunk married cheating men. Everyone deserves a little fun. It wouldn't kill you to-”

“Hobi,” you sigh, cringing internally at the memories of disastrous dates you told him all about over the phone. You throw a pointed look in his direction, but Hoseok just chuckles. “I’m done with all that. Seriously.”

“Come on,” he presses.

“No. No way. I told you.” You interject, tone firm, not even allowing space for the idea. “I’m a single mother, Hobi. That’s been off the cards for years. I have different priorities now.” You straighten in your seat, making a point to scoop Jieun's hair back and out of her drink. These are your priorities now.

Hoseok raises a brow, watching you carefully, but there's no judgment in his expression now — just silent understanding. He leans back in his chair again, smile dying down, tapping his fingers absently against his iced americano before his gaze drifts over to your little girl. His expression softens, fondness flowing in his eyes.

“I know,” he says after a moment, his tone a tad more gentle. “But I’m just saying…you’re allowed to let yourself be happy again, you know. You deserve that.”

Something uncomfortable twists in your insides. Happy. What a simple word, but what a complex thing. 

You lift your eyes to meet his, the sincerity in his gaze cutting right through. You could argue, explain that you don't agree, that romance is a door locked for good. Not only out of fear, but out of necessity. It’s no longer just about you. You don’t have the luxury of reckless choices or fleeting little flings like you did before.

There's simply to much buried history to let anyone new into your life.

And deep down, you don't believe you deserve it. But you don’t voice any of that. There's no need to explain. Hoseok knows your history better than anyone, the pain etched deep into you, the one you carry like a scar beneath your skin. He knows Jieun's father plays a big role in that, even though you don’t dare to mention him and haven’t in years. He knows his existence and every memory he’s involved in is something you merely refuse to acknowledge. And though Hoseok wants nothing more than for you to thrive, he knows better than to press on the matter. 

Still, he hesitates before speaking quietly. “I’ve been here four years, and I’ve never seen him again.”

He says it gently, in hopes the information is comforting to you, to maybe put you at ease, but instead it feels like a small jab between your ribs. You stiffen, for just a second. You feel your heart begin to race a tiny bit faster. And you wonder when the mention of him will stop having this goddamn effect on you.

Hoseok notices, and regret quickly flickers across his face. He realizes he might have overstepped, treading on thin ice that he fears may slowly be cracking beneath him.

But it doesn't. You take a deep breath, and you simply nod. It’s okay. You know you can’t avoid it forever. Besides, who’s to say he even still lives here? The thought should be reassuring, bring you some sort of peace, be relieving. But it isn’t. Because the thought of ever seeing him again makes your palms sweat, and your chest a little tight.

“Yeah.” You say quietly. “You’re right. Who knows.”

You don't mention how many late nights you've stayed up, haunted with thoughts like if ever did make it out of here. If he ever made it to the states and accomplished all those things he wanted. If he's perhaps settled down and started a family or if he's stuck right where he used to be, how he used to be. You don't mention that sometimes, you mind even attacks you with the intrusive thought of if he’s even still alive.

You don't dare mention any of it.

Hoseok exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I just-” He pauses, voice lowering as he checks Jieun to make sure she's not listening, not that she would know or understand, but you appreciate that he does. “I know we’re not meant to talk about him–“

You push past it, giving a small dismissive shake of the head. Instead, you plaster on a small practiced smile, turning to glance down at the little girl beside you as well. It isn't something easy to avoid. But for the past four years, somehow, you’ve managed it. 

“Anyway. I am happy,” you say, voice softer now, steering the conversation elsewhere. “I get all the love I need from my little lovebug right here, don’t I?”

The little lovebug in question remains completely unaware of the heaviness of the conversation. Instead, her wide eyes are fixated on something outside, her eyes big and small fingers suddenly clutching your sleeve.

“Mommy, look!” She gasps, tugging desperately for your attention, she calls you again, tearing you away from your conversation. “The birdy!”

You follow her gaze, a small black bird just on the other side of the glass, and the simplicity of her joy softens you, eases the heaviness for a second. It really doesn't take much to amuse a child, and you’re glad to see at least someone enjoying her time here so far. “I see, baby.”

You smile with her, that is until, just a moment later, you notice… the small bird is no longer pecking at crumbs on the pavement. It’s… acting rather strangely. Its head twitches sharply to the side, body jerking with twitchy erratic movements as it flaps it’s wings like crazy, then suddenly, it freezes, before twitchting again.

Your brows furrow, unable to take your eyes off it. What the hell? Something about it sends a strange chill through you, suddenly understanding what had Jieun so surprised.

“Oh, I think that poor bird might have gone a little coo coo.” Hoseok turns his head to take a look himself, and you both exchange a puzzled glance, to which Hobi just shrugs with a mildly disgusted expression.

“What, you know I hate birds.” he whispers, shrugging like someone just walked over his grave, and you swat his arm and shush him, suppressing a laugh. You wouldn't want your sweet animal loving daughter hearing that. 

“Isn't that so weird. I’ve never seen one do that before.” You say, and hoseok tilts his head, staring at it with a mildly grossed out frown. “Probably has some kind of parasite or something. Not sure.”

“It’s gonna die?” she looks up at hobi, her little face full of worry. You wrap your arms around her, pulling her in closer.

“Not necessarily, bub. I’m sure it’ll be okay,” Hobi answers, trying to be tactful, however, Jieun doesn’t look convinced, but she nods sadly and resumes eating spoonfuls of her hot chocolate that's long gone cold. 

“Yeah, it’ll be fine baby.” You kiss the top of her head, as you glance out the window once again, only to see it’s no longer there. 

“So odd.” You shake your head, taking another sip of your coffee, and Hoseok nods and lets out a low hum, taking another sip himself.

“So, what’s the plan for the rest of the day? Are you actually gonna start unpacking, or are you going to let those suitcases rot in your living room for another week?” He taunts.

You chuckle. “I’ll unpack eventually. This little girl and I have a long list of errands left to do today.”

“Uh-huh.” He gives you an unconvinced look, then looks at Jieun with a dramatic pout, cooing. “My poor little monkey. Prisoner to moms to do list. I remember that feeling.”

She giggles, and you speak up. “Shhh, she loves errands with mommy, don't you-”

Suddenly, a loud crash sound from the back of the café, startling you all.

The sharp clatter of metal rings out and you hear a young worker gasp, emerging hastily from behind the counter as the previous muffle of conversation begins to die down. Heads immediately start turning towards the scene unfolding before them. 

“What the hell?” you murmur as you hastily turn around yourself, pulse spiked from the jump.

Near the back of the cafe, a chair is knocked to the ground, a mans body hunched over on the floor, shaking and convulsing with an unnatural force that seems to take over him completely. The man sitting beside him instantly scrambles to the floor next to him, shaking his shoulders in a failed attempt to break him out of whatever is happening as he calls out for help in a trembling voice, panicked.

“Oh my god, Hobi-” You gasp and your stomach twists as you take in what is occurring, grip instinctively tightening around your daughter's hand, turning her away from the scene. One of the members of staff pulls out her phone, announcing that she will call an ambulance right away, the man on the floor now surrounded by two other workers that instantly made their way over to him.

Hoseok takes just a few seconds to register what’s going on. “Shit.” He mutters, “A seizure.”

Instantly, he’s up on his feet, leaving you and Jieun behind and rushes over to help, but before he can reach the man on the floor, a young worker steps in front of him, his hands raised. 

“An ambulance is on the way!” he blurts out, eyes darting between the unconscious man and the crowd gathering around him, Hoseok noticing his eyes full of panic. “Please, just give him space.”

“It's alright. I’m a nurse,” Hoseok urges, trying to step around him. “Please, let me-”

This time, there’s no resistance — only relief in the young man's panicked eyes as he steps aside, allowing Hoseok through to where the man is convulsing on the floor.

Jesus christ. On his one day off. He thinks internally.

Without hesitation, Hoseok drops to one knee. “Don’t hold him down,” he instructs the mans friend beside him as he proceeds to unbutton the first few buttons of the man's shirt to facilitate his breathing. He presses his fingers to his wrist as best as he can, taking a pulse. He attempts to roll him on his side, but he seizes with too much force, limbs jerking far too erratically for him to do so. 

“Has he ever had seizures before? Is he epileptic?” Hoseok asks without tearing his eyes away from the man.

The man's friend just shakes his head. “No…no- he was fine right before.”

“Ambulance is just two minutes away,” the barista yells, phone still pressed to her ear. Hoseok nods but keeps his focus on the young man. Face contorted in concertation as he's checking his pulse once again before tilting his head to ensure he’s breathing properly.

You sit speechless few tables away, watching the scene unfold, your heart erratic in your chest. But feeling so much relief Hoseok was here. Jieun's small hand holds yours tightly, grip strong. She shifts in her seat, trying to peek over the booth to the commotion, but you gently pull her in beside you. Pulling her close, you brush a soothing hand over her hair.

“It’s okay, baby,” your whisper. “That man wasn’t feeling very well. But uncle hobi is helping him. Isn’t that so good? He’s really good at helping people remember. It's okay.”

Jien nods slowly, though her brows are still drawn together in concern. She doesn’t fully understand, but she doesn’t doubt your word, or her uncle's abilities.

Across the large space, Hoseok presses his lips into a thin line, his eyes watching carefully as the man's convulsions finally begin to slow, the violent jerking finally seeming to ease up. But just as the worst seems to have passed…Hoseok stiffens. 

There’s a concerning, deep purplish hue creeping up the man’s neckline, peeking through the gap of his unbuttoned white shirt. Dark veins snaking against his pale skin, spreading like ink through thin cracks. Hoseok swallows hard, alarm bells ringing at the back of his mind. 

That…that doesn’t look right. His medical knowledge kicks in, a thousand possibilities racing through his mind, digging for the most fitting answer. Is it cyanosis? an undiagnosed vascular disease? Possibly an infected wound? blunt trauma?

His mind dashing for answers in an instant, but before he can take a better look and unbutton his shirt completely, after what feels like a lifetime, the piercing wail of sirens cuts right through his thoughts, and just moments after, paramedics burst into the café, pushing past the gathered crowd near the Hoseok and the patient on the floor. Hoseok quickly regains focus, stepping back to allow them to take over. 

“He had a seizure. Approximately a minute long. His breathing is stable but—“ He hesitates for a second, then presses on, giving them a brief diagnosis and rundown. “I think he may have another underlying condition. Possible hypoxia.”

The paramedic beside him nods, wasting no time as they swiftly load him onto a stretcher. He stands back, his jaw tight, fingertips tingling with the urge to do more, watching as they wheel him out through the entrance. The murmurs of the coffee shop begin to start up again, confused and concerned looks turning left and right, but Hoseok can’t shake all the questions in his mind. 

He just hopes the guy turns out to be okay. The same way it goes with every patient he sees. You have to do your part and let go. That's how it works. but this time, he's left with a weird feeling bubbling inside.

After a few minutes, Hoseok turns back to your table. The moment his eyes meet yours, you’re already standing and asking, “God, is everything okay? He’s okay, right?”

“It’s alright,” Hoseok reassures you, though his tone is softer than usual. “They've got it under control.”

His gaze flickers toward Jieun, who’s still clinging to you, her small face twisted in worry as she glances between the two of you. She tugs your sleeve, her voice barely above a whisper. “Mommy…what happened to the man?”

“The ambulance people will take care of him and take him to the hospital so they can help him.” You say gently. She blinks up at you, then glances toward Hoseok, as if waiting for confirmation.

Hoseok lips form a small smile, crouching slightly to be at her eye level. “Your mom is right,” he says carefully, patting her head. “Sometimes when people don’t feel well they need a little help. That’s what doctors and nurses are for Jieun. It’s okay.”

Jieun watches him for a moment, and gives him a slow understanding nod. He then straightens and exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s get out of here,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking back toward the road in front of the entrance where the ambulance is now setting off.

You nod, now feeling a weight of unease in the crowded space. It would probably be best to give them space to handle the situation, and to get some fresh air after that. So you retrieve Jieun's little pink puffer vest from off hobis chair and gently help her arms into, zipping it up snuggly to keep her warm from the afternoon chill, before taking her hand in yours.

As the three of you finally step outside, you're grateful for the crisp autumn air that lifts some of the heaviness off you. God, that was stressful. The distant sounds of the city hum around you, and life moves as if nothing happened.

“God, I hope that guy is okay.” You say quietly only for Hoseok to hear, taking your daughter's hand as you let out a slow breath. “First that weird bird and then that poor guy.”

Hoseok hums in agreement and gives a small reassuring nod, pushing his concerns aside. But you know how hard it is for him to switch off. How even when the emergency is over, his mind replays it again and again, analysing— wondering if he could have done more, if he could’ve done better. Even when he deals with stuff like this everyday, it’s never been easy.

“Jesus Christ. What's that saying, bad things always come in two’s? Three’s? ” He chuckles, letting out a huff. “I told you, there’s never an uneventful day out here.” Hobi shakes his head, forcing a smile to lift the mood. But his body still buzzes with tension. Then, in one swift movement, he scoops Jieun up, swinging her into his arms. “Now, time for ice cream?”

Jieun giggles loudly, kicking her feet excitedly at his words, all her earlier worries forgotten. “Yes!”

“Hobi, she just had a hot chocolate. Do you even have space for ice cream, Jieun?” You say, trying to sound stern, but the sight of them giggling together pulls a real smile out of you. And something inside already tells you you’re going to give in.

“She’s with uncle hobi now, there’s no rules.” He sing songs, walking ahead of you with your daughter in arms, all smiles as she squeals at his gentle tickling. The spitting image of joy if you ever saw it.

And for just a moment, you try to push away the nagging feeling that’s been pressing at the back of your mind. 

Because maybe, just maybe, this time, everything will be just fine after all.

Jungkook steadies his hand, a quiet hiss of pain getting lost in the low thrumming of the tattoo gun that fills the quiet studio, lulling him into that comforting sense of calm he knows so well. It’s a fairly big piece, he’s been here hunched over for hours now, that familiar dull ache creeping up his back, but he barely registers it. Because all that matters is the art taking form beneath his touch. 

Here, in these moments, it's when the feels most himself. Distracted, at peace, In control. Something he’s never found that easy outside of these four walls.

Every stroke, every line falls exactly where he intends it to. In a way, the rest of the world seems to fade away — no worries, just ink and skin, art coming to life. And it grants him a satisfaction nothing else can quite offer. And if there’s one thing Jungkook prides himself on, it’s his work and dedication. He built this place with steady hands and relentless effort, and he knows damn well he’s good at what he does. Confidence hasn't always been second nature to him, but time and experience have definitely sharpened him.

He leans back slightly to take in the work before him, his disheveled strands of dark hair falling over his eyes as he uses a paper towel to wipe up some excess ink from the client's forearm before glancing up. “How are we holding up?”

The young guy shifts in the chair, letting out a breathy chuckle. “Let’s just say I felt that last bit there.”

Jungkook nods, noting the slight sheen of sweat on the guy's forehead. He’s just glad he’s not a squirmer. That shit makes his job so much harder than it needs to be. 

His own body is the canvas of plenty tattoos. All colours, shapes and sizes. He's more than numb to the pain now. But he gets it.

“You’re doing really well. I won’t torture you much longer. We’re almost done with the worst part.” Pressing the pedal again, he feels the familiar vibration travel up his arm, he tongues with his lip piercing, a habit that signals his concentration. His hair is dusting over his eyes as he continues with the last bits of shading and does the final touch ups of all the smaller details. Another forty five minutes pass, broken by lighthearted conversation here and there. Though Jungkook never used to be one for making conversation before, he has long mastered the art of letting his mouth wander while his hands and precision remain steady and focused.

“Alright, and we’re done,” he wipes down the fresh ink one last time before setting the tattoo gun aside, letting out a silent exhale as he wheels back, peeling off his black gloves to grab the aftercare instruction sheet, ready to spew his usual little lecture he knows most people don’t even pay much attention to.

“Sit up slowly.” Jungkook instructs.

When the guy finally stands, he marvels at his tattoo in the mirror. Jungkook feels a flicker of pride swell in his chest. No matter how many times he does this, seeing the completed, polished work and his client's expressions of amazement never gets old. “Looks sick man. Better than I imagined.” He beams, twisting his arm under the light, his smile spreading all across his face.

“Good choice with the design.” Jungkook replies with a faint smile tugging at his lips. He then places the protective film, gives him a quick rundown of the aftercare and hands him the sheet. “Take care of it. Follow the aftercare instructions and it’ll heal nicely. And you know, any issues just come by or give me a call and I’ll check it out.”

“Will do. Thanks man, it’s perfect.”

As the last client of the day slips out with a final wave and he hears the bell over at the entrance ding, Jungkook finally feels the exhaustion set in — the kind that only comes after hours of steady concentrated work. Fuck, he really does need to work on his posture. He stretches his back, then cracks his knuckles, stretching his toned, inked arms over his head. But despite the tiredness, he feels no rush no rush to get back to his empty apartment.

He never does.

Instead, he takes his time wiping down his station, tidying all his clutter and ink in the methodical and organized way only he understands — something Yoongi always grumbles about when borrowing his space. But this is his sanctuary. He makes the rules. And yoongi may complain, but he accepts it.

When he's done cleaning up, Jungkook emerges into the entrance area of the studio, rubbing the back of his neck and ruffling his hair at the nape.

Yoongi stretches in his chair behind the front counter, arms lifting above his head as he lets out as wide yawn, smacking his lips as his eyes land on the younger. “Christ, I thought you were dead in there,” he says deadpan, watching as Jungkook attempts to roll out the tension coiled in his shoulders, stifling a yawn himself. “Or are you? I genuinely can't tell.”

“Very funny.” Jungkook mutters, slumping onto the leather couch with an over dramatic sigh, throwing the back of his arm over his eyes as he lets his body sink into the plush cushion. It’s moments like this he’s really fucking glad they invested in a good sofa. He wants it to swallow him.

“Sure you can survive the schedule tomorrow? We’re fucking packed.” He says.

Jungkook’s brows knit together as his eyes dart over to Yoongi, eyeing the printed schedule in front of him as he rubs his jaw. “What? You think I can't handle it?”

Yoongi shakes his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He coughs into his fist, a rough dry sound that echoes through the quietness of the now empty studio. “I know you think you’re some kind of machine,” he gives the younger a pointed look, “but let me just remind you that you are, in fact, very much not.”

Jungkook's lips quirk. “Woah, woah. I’ll be fine. Unlike someone who sounds like they've caught the plague.” Lifting his arms from his eyes just enough to peer at Yoongi, he swings his arm as if to push him away. “Stay away from me with that. I can’t afford a day off anytime soon.”

Yoongi scoffs, waving a dismissive hand as he coughs into his fist again. “Relax, it's just the dust. Or if you’re lucky enough I've caught that shit going around. Won't be on your case anymore for at least two weeks. That's if I survive.”

The sound is muffled by his arm as Jungkook lets out a tired chuckle, but his eyes remain closed. “Now you’re just trying to get out of work tomorrow, hyung. I know your little tricks.”

“If anyone should be trying to get our work, it should be you. Admit your running on fumes.” Yoongi drops the piece of paper to the desk and crosses his arms, looking right across to Jungkook, his eyes squinting lightly.

Jungkook feels his heavy gaze, but he's not in the mood to face one of Yoongis lectures right now. He can’t exactly argue that. Because he knows Yoongi is not entirely wrong. 

He's working six days a week, morning till night, barely stopping to take a breath. Hell, it would've been the entire seven days of the week if Yoongi hadn’t raised hell the day he suggested it. Jungkook had tried to reason with him, insisting that Yoongi would still get his days off as usual, that he’d open up the studio alone on weekends and get everything sorted for the week ahead. But it was never about that, and he knew it.

Jungkook has always had a knack for picking up self-destructive tendencies. A slow brewing kind of self destruction, pushing himself way past his limits, working himself down to the bone until he can barely function. And Yoongi simply wasn't going to stand back and watch it happen all over again right in front of his eyes.

Most days, he only eats because it’s Yoongi who shoves food his way, whether he wants it or not.  Prepping meals and stashing them away in their mini fridge in the back room where Jungkook can find them, labeled with a little note in his unmistakable messy handwriting that reads “eat.”

Because behind his serious facade, Yoongi had always tried his best to care for him. 

From countless nights of dragging his black out drunk body home back in college, and many times after college as well. To picking him up from the streets at 4 am after he got into a nasty fight, bruised and bleeding and sobbing his heart out alone on an empty sidewalk. Yoongi didn’t question it back then, didn't hesitate. He never does. He just helped quietly with no second thought, allowing him to sit with his silent sobs on the car ride home. He had always been there, offering him a home when he had nowhere else to go, offering everything he had if it helped Jungkook from drowning.

It was Yoongi that had seen the potential in him and had patiently guided him to finally see it for himself, helping him build this studio from nothing — helping him build every piece of furniture, putting up every shelf, painting every wall, making sure Jungkook finally had something to call his. 

And now, despite all the hardships, he’s come further than they both could have imagined.

Yet deep down, Yoongi knows no amount of help can stop Jungkook from being who he is, not when he has it so deeply rooted in himself to self sabotage in every way he possibly can. It's simply how he’s wired. Yoongi has long accepted that some things are simply beyond his reach, and that Jungkook won’t ever fully change. And he may never admit it out loud, but somewhere in his heart, as the eldest, he’s always felt an unspoken weight of responsibility for Jungkook. That's why he tries relentlessly to guide him towards better choices.

Even though Jungkook has matured and come a long way from his troubled past and the reckless kid he used to be, he’s far from eradicating his bad habits entirely. He knows he’s working himself down to the bone. He knows it's not healthy. Unrealistic for him to sustain in the long run. But he doesn’t like himself when he’s unoccupied. 

He doesn't like the quiet.

Because when there’s silence, there’s space for his mind to make noise.

So that’s what he does. He works, works until he can exhaust himself to the point of passing out, too drained to even feel. It means no thoughts can haunt him when his head hits the pillow. And he’s okay with that.

Besides, he loves his job. That's a fact. The only thing he’s passionate about. All he’s ever found himself to be good at. He doesn’t need anything or anyone else. 

Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

“Fumes are still fuel,” Jungkook shoots back. He reaches behind his head to grab an old vintage manga off the small side table, flipping through the pages without really reading.

Yoongi studies him for a moment, his sharp gaze softening just a fraction. He shifts in his seat, resting his elbows on the counter, zeroing in on him as if he were ready to throw out a serious scolding, like he did back when he was a kid. But his next words are nothing but gentle. “You know, if you wanna keep up with that schedule, you’re gonna need sleep. I can close up if you wanna head out first.”

Jungkooks expression falters — just a flicker. But he covers it with an exaggerated groan. It does get on his nerves ever so slightly, just slightly. What is it with everyone always underestimating him? Treating him like he's not capable of making his own decisions. But his tongue toys with his lip ring as he continues flicking through the pages, feigning nonchalance. “I’m good. I wanna sketch out a few new designs first. Got some ideas ratting around.”

Yoongi squints at him, clearly unconvinced. “You do know that old couch isn't a substitute for a bed, right? and you could just…do that at home.”

Jungkook tosses the comic aside as he shrugs, already bored of the conversation, his inked fingers drumming relentlessly against the worn red leather. “I focus better here.” Is his simple answer, but before Yoongi can speak, a loud siren cuts through their conversation, blaring jarringly as it flashes by across the street. Almost instantly another follows, and then another.

Instinctively, both of their heads turn towards the window, though it only gives view to a small glimpse of the larger front street, most of their view blocked by the building across from them, all they can see is the bright lights flashing as they rush past.

“The hell’s that about,” Yoongi mutters, straightening in his chair.

Jungkook furrows his brows, pushing himself up on his elbows to get a better look outside. But from what he can see, everything seems normal enough — cars passing by, people going about their night and a few students heading home from late study sessions. Nothing in particular out of the ordinary.

The studio is located on a fairly quiet smaller side street, on the outskirts of the city, just a little further from the booming heart of Seoul. It’s never as busy or chaotic here, much quieter.

“Accident, maybe?” Jungkook guesses, a tired breath slipping past his lips. It’s still Seoul after all. When is it ever completely quiet? 

Yoongi hums in agreement, but as if on cue, another set of sirens blares through the streets, overlapping with others as the noise grows, this time it’s police cars too, wailing violently and urgently before fading into the distance as they speed away. Jungkook glances at Yoongi, who meets his gaze with an equally puzzled expression.

“Must be pretty bad.” Jungkook says.

Yoongi just pulls out his phone to check the time and sighs. “Well, whatever it is, I'm not sticking around to find out.” He pushes himself to his feet, patting his back pocket to pull out his dented pack of cigarettes before reaching for his jacket draped over the back of the chair.

A slight sense of uneasiness crawls up Jungkook's spine. That was about four ambulances and three police cars if not more. That’s….that’s a lot. But he soon brushes it off. “I’ll check the news later.” He mumbles, letting his heavy body drop back against the soft cushion, with no energy or intention to move.

Yoongi tugs his jacket on, tossing him a small glance. “Well, if you’re gonna stay here, at least don’t fall asleep on that damn couch again. You drool, and it’s gross.”

Jungkook chuckles, though it's half hearted. “I won’t ruin your sacred couch, hyung. Don't you worry.”

“Good.” Yoongi deadpans, heading toward the door. He flips the neon sign to closed before turning back to Jungkook once more, his tired features softening just a touch. “Don't stay too late. Tomorrow is fucking packed and you’ll regret it when youre half dead in the morning. And don’t forget about that girl you booked in at 9.”

He presses his eyes shut for a moment, letting out a breath. The girl needed some touch ups to her tattoo but had a busy schedule and no time to visit any other day or at ay other time. So Jungkook did the favour, and offered to book her in before opening time. But fuck. He really does need to stop bending his schedule for people.

He knows he’s going to regret it.

Jungkook just waves a dismissive hand, already getting comfy on the couch. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll leave soon.”

Yoongi doesn't believe him, but he doesn't argue, just pulls out a cigarette from the pack and raises his hands in surrender before he pulls open the door. “Alright. See you tomorrow.”

Jungkook hums in acknowledgement. “Rest up, Hyung.”

The studio fades to dead silence once the door closes. Though sirens still echo faintly in the background.

Stretched out on the couch, Jungkook stares at the ceiling a little longer than necessary. His limbs feel heavy, exhaustion pressing down on him heavily. He wants to work on those sketches, he wants to push his limits a little further. But his body seems to know what's best for him. And within minutes, he’s passed out.

When Jungkook’s eyes crack open, it’s to the gentle sound of rain pattering against the windows. But it’s not rain the noise that woke him. Distant voices shout over one another, and the erratic wailing of car alarms and sirens blast in a near distance, sounding like he’s still stuck between consciousness and a dream. Jungkook blinks, then suddenly, screeching tires follow into a loud crash, something heavy and metal hitting the pavement. His heart spikes, and his body jerks up instantly before his mind can register what the hell is going on. The sudden movement makes him lightheaded, blinking as he tries to shake the disorientation fogging his mind.

Shit. How long had he been out?

He curses under his breath, his head throbbing. Did someone just fucking crash their car outside? In his dazed state his fingers fumble for his phone in the front pocket of his jeans. He squints, the bright screen glaring back at him painfully in the darkness of the studio.

11:48 PM.

The first thought that comes to mind is drunk people causing a ruckus. It certainly wouldn't be unusual for Friday night. But then… he stops to listen. Are they breaking in? then his mind steers more towards the possibility of some petty street fight, or some idiots causing trouble. It’s the only conclusion his sleepy can come to.

But then, he hears it. 

Raw, panicked, screams erupting from the streets outside. It sounds close. Really close.

What the fuck? 

Jungkook feels a sickening pit form in his stomach.

Because that's definitely not the drunken shouts of a fight, not the sound of some petty fight or a car accident. It’s the kind of scream that crawls under your skin. And Jungkook knows the sounds of panic when he hears it. He feels his heart beating in his chest now, fast and strong. Something isn’t right. Before his mind can think  further, he pushes off the couch and yanks his leather jacket from the armrest, pulling it on in a swift motion, feeling a little dizzy as the room slowly begins to spin from getting up so fast. 

Behind the front counter he crouches, reaching for his motorcycle helmet. But his grip isn't steady, his palms suddenly feel a bit sweaty. The air in the room slightly suffocating.

His mind scrambles as he finally strides for the door, all he knows something is telling him he needs to get out. He’s ready to leave and check on what's happening outside, but just as his fingers brush the cold metal door handle—

A loud bang crashes into the large front window of the studio.

The impact rattles the entire front window, the glass shuddering violently as something smacks right into it with bone crushing force, causing large cracks to expand from the center like a spiderweb, blooming outwards across the glass. The helmet drops to the ground with a loud thud and Jungkook stumbles back in the darknesses, almost crashing back into the front counter as his breath gets stuck in his throat.

Jungkook freezes. His entire body completely paralyzed as he watches a thick, dark gush of red begin to trail down the ruins of the window. His eyes slowly follow it upwards and then…then he sees it.

A face, wedged between the shards of glass.

Jungkook sees the face of a man...except, it can't be. The skin is unnaturally pale, sickly white, dark veins bulging beneath the surface, tiny pieces of glass wedged everywhere into its flesh. Blood coats its entire mouth, dripping to the floor beneath — but it's the eyes… They send a shot of terror right down Jungkook's spine. 

They’re clouded and gray, almost white and eerily vacant, yet somehow, they’re locked right onto him.

Jungkook feels like he can’t take a breath, his chest tight as his eyes grow with complete shock and confusion.

Then, it moves.

Its head twitches in a slow agonized form before it seems to fully register Jungkook's figure standing right across. It cocks his head towards him completely with a grotesque sound of craking and lunges forward, slamming its hands against the glass with inhuman strength. Giving it all his power to break inside. It lets out another groan, a guttural broken sound as it reveals a row of blood stained teeth, the deep red liquid dripping from its mouth.

Jungkook swallows hard. If he moves will it move too? Will it...chase him? He feels like no oxygen is reaching his lungs, or his brain, his mind struggling to even process what he is seeing. That…that can't be real. It can’t be human. All he can do is watch as his heartbeat pounds like a hammer in his chest, louder than the sirens and screams growing outside, louder than the animalistic banging against the window.

That…thing is trying to kill him. It’s going to kill him.

It doesn’t stop. It claws at the glass, smearing the blood, desperate, mindless — growing more violent as it seems to realise its stuck. But the glass creaks more with each hit, trembling under the pressure of each movement, and Jungkook realizes it might not hold up much longer. He has no time.

Move.

He has to move.

Like a spring snapping, his body finally kicks into action. He stumbles backwards, feeling glass beneath his shoes as he tries to hold in a breath, his eyes fixed on the creature as he tries to back away with steady steps. After a beat, he sprints towards the back of the studio, running as his body pushes through the beaded curtain into the back room. 

His hands fumble frantically in his pocket — keys, keys, keys — but his hands are trembling too much to grip them. Fuck.

Jungkooks mind races with a thousand questions colliding all at once. But none of them make sense. None of them are even remotely rational.

That thing. It wasn’t human. Then what the hell was it?

Another jarring bang echoes in the studio, followed by a loud screech. But Jungkook doesn’t look up. He doesn’t have time. His only thought is to get out of here. Fast. He needs to get away from whatever the fuck that is. He needs to get to his motorcycle. He needs to get the police.

His fingers finally curl around cold metal. The keys. With a sharp inhale, he yanks opens the heavy back door leading into the tiny side alley and slams it shut behind him as he rushes out.

It’s dim, lit only by a flickering street lamp near the end, casting eerie shadows across the brick walls. The air is cool and damp, the smell of rain fresh on the damp asphalt and the sound of sirens and shouting voices in the distance become even clearer than before. But Jungkook can't see the one thing he’s looking for. His gaze darts around frantically and he feels a dreadful realization claw at his throat. 

His motorcycle is gone. The spot where it’s always parked is empty. 

Jungkook panics, his hands coming to his hair. Fuck, fuck, fuck. As he looks around helplessly, his breath only grows more erratic. He finds no other option but to run, so he runs to the end of the alleyway, running right towards the screams and tumult, and when he reaches the end, the scene unfolding before him almost kicks him to his feet.

The once quiet street had turned into a horrifying scene. People mindlessly running away from something. But what his eyes land on almost immediately is on a young woman in the middle of street, clutching her neck with both hands, her body swaying as she chokes out for help before she drops to her knees, her body shaking. Jungkook watches in horror as someone else runs right past her, coming from the same direction, white button up shirt soaked in something dark as his features display a kind of terror he’d never witnessed before. Across the street, an older man is pulling down the storefront gates as he locks himself inside, letting two kids in high school uniforms scream and kick as they beg to be let in, screaming and crying.

“What the fuck...” the words escape involuntarily in a quiet mumble to himself, his hands coming to his head.

Jungkook blinks repeatedly, completely aghast. But he doesn’t think— just moves, bolting down the street. His thick leather boots slam against the wet pavements as he runs, his dark hair blows in the air, his skin covered in a layer of sweat as he weaves past a fallen trash can and then a body, his breath ragged as he tries not to slip on the broken glass. The rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins too strong to even feel his body protesting.

Rounding a corner, he nearly collides into another person, but his hands instinctively come up to push them away, almost knocking them to the ground. He doesn’t have a space in his mind to think about it or time to dwell on it. His body acting on autopilot. The more he runs, the more people seem to be running in the opposite direction. Away from something. His legs burn as he sprints faster, but coming off onto the main street of Jongno, he comes to a halt as he takes in the state of the streets, pupils blown as something terrible dawns on his expression.

The city is in shambles.

Everything.

Chaos.

Cars sit abandoned in the middle of the road, their doors flung open, some have crashed into street lamps and traffic signs, into each other at intersections, even buildings, the smoke clouding up into the dark sky. Blending with the red and blue of wailing sirens. People are everywhere. Hundreds of people are running in all different directions — some screaming, some covered in blood, some sobbing and some seemingly unmoving on the ground. Pushing and tripping against each other, running, but most don’t even know what they’re running from, simply following the crowd. 

How many more of those rabid people were there? How far had this spread? 

He wants so badly to be wrong, but something deep inside him tells him this is something big.

He stills for an instant, trying to orientate himself. He scans the street hurriedly for the best route to avoid getting stuck in a crush, to avoid more of those things…but all he sees is the panicked chaos spreading by the second. 

Jungkook feels like he’s outside of his body, like this is a dream, a nightmare he’ll wake up from any second now. He closed his eyes for a second and inwardly prays for it to be just a bad dream. But the air is thick with the acrid scent of smoke and blood, and the pounding in his chest is too real. The world around him still screams, set aflame.

This can’t be real.

This…this can’t be happening.

Just a few meters away from him two figures wrestle on the ground — except one of them isn’t fighting back anymore, and the other is hunched over them, their head buried in the victim’s throat. Jungkook staggers back, his stomach lurching at the gut wrenching sounds of someone being mauled alive, bile burning the back of his throat when he watches infected pulls back, large chunks of flesh dangling from its bloody mouth, dripping crimson.

The truth slams into him, but his mind is till fighting to accept it.

People are killing people. Eating people. Except…they're not people. They’re monsters.

Jungkook scans the crowd for an escape route, desperate. After a moment, he catches sight of the least crowded street, it's right on the way to his place. He takes a sharp breath and runs, runs non stop down a dozen blocks. But as he navigates the frantic roads, he spots something as he runs past a small street. Stopping him in his tracks. He notices a tiny figure huddled up alone at the beginning of an alleyway, wearing bright pink, shoulders trembling and hands pressed over her ears as she sobs violently. 

A child, no older than three or four if Jungkook had to guess. He halts, heart pounding as he registers her small frightened face, streaked with tears. 

He should keep running, he knows he should. His body is urging him to just keep moving, his insides shaking with adrenaline. That’s not his responsibility. He hasn’t stopped for anyone. But the burning images of what he’s just witnessed flash fresh in his mind. And something deeper roots him in place. Something inside him twists, snaps almost, an unfamiliar instinct that overrides his own confusion and fear.

Ah, fuck it. 

Before his mind can catch up with what he’s doing, he rushes into the alley, approaching the child cautiously with slow steps as he gets closer. He crouches down to her level, looking over his shoulder nervously. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” his voice is gentle but hurried as he searches her face. “Where are your parents? Are you lost?”

The small girl just looks up at him with large, wet eyes and a trembling pout, her hands balled into tiny fists. She doesn’t answer, just stares, whimpering and hiccuping softly, like she’s been warned to not talk to strangers — especially not ones clothed head to toe in black, covered in tattoos and piercings like himself. He glances around, hoping to see someone rushing towards them, any sign of this child's parents so he can just hand her over and run, but there’s nothing, just the crowd at the end of the alley pushing past in frantic waves and yelling, no one stopping to even look in their direction. 

He has to do something.

“Do you…where did you see your parents last-” a loud metal bang echoes in the distance, making Jungkook and the child flinch, a heavy breath escaping him. Fuck, his mind races as he realizes she’s truly alone. The girl just sobs more and he curses under his breath, eyes pressed shut as his mind scrambles for what to do.

He can’t just leave her alone in whatever the hell this is. But what the hell is he supposed to do?

“Uh, alright,” he coughs, throat dry, and speaks softly but hurriedly, trying to mask his unease as he reaches out his hand. “Come with me. It’s not safe here. I’ll… I'll help you find your parents.”

He’ll take her home, get her out of danger and call the police. That’s what he should do. 

It’s the right thing to do.

Okay. 

He hopes she knows he’s only trying to help. God, his pulse races every second he’s standing here still. They need to move. Now. She just stares at him, uncertain, then slowly reaches out with her tiny fingers, clasping his much larger hand with a surprising grip. She must see past his intimidating exterior, or be so terrified that she’ll take up any offer of being reunited with her parents, either way, her innocence makes Jungkook's heart sting a little. He can't just leave a child out here, he has to help her before something terrible happens to her or she falls into the wrong hands. He doesn't know what the hell to do, all he knows is they have to run, run right now and get away from this, and-

Suddenly, a piercing, desperate voice breaks through the havoc of noise, loud enough to catch Jungkook's attention.

“Jieun!” 

The sound makes his entire body lock up, his heart jumping in his chest as he turns toward the voice. 

Running towards him, just feet away, eyes filled with worry and tears, he sees you.

Jungkook feels the blood drain from his face. 

For a split moment, the world seems to fall silent. The noise, the screams and chaos, the sirens — all of it blurs into a distant hum in the back of his mind. He feels like the air is knocked straight from his lungs as he slowly takes in your face, a slightly more matured version of a face he once knew every inch of, a face he’d buried away along with every memory he’d tried so hard everyday to annihilate ever since you disappeared from his life. A face he could never forget, not even after four painful years.

It can’t be.

No, no, no-

But it’s real, because there you are. Lunging forward and arms out reaching for the little girl beside him with thick tears of relief flooding from your eyes. The child lets go of Jungkook's hand instantly and her tiny feet pat across the concrete as she launches herself into your embrace, leaving him behind to watch, frozen and stone cold like a statue. 

“Mommy!” She cries.

Jungkook feels his stomach drop. He thinks he's going to throw up.

He must’ve heard that incorrectly.

Mommy? That child is…

He feels like he can’t move, blood cold as he watches you crumble to your knees, gathering the little girl into your arms with a grip that looks suffocating, as if she might disappear into thin air again. Your whole frame trembles as you hold her close, relief pouring from you in loud, choked sobs, your fingers getting tangled in her wet hair as you comb though it desperately.

That’s.. your child?

“Jieun, oh my god, baby. You’re here, you’re okay,” your voice cracks with all the pain your body just underwent, whispering against her temple. “Are you hurt? You’re not hurt are you, baby?”

The last thing you remember is being in the convenience store when the chaos began. When you walked out you had no choice but to run into the crowd. How Jieun was holding your hand and in the blink of an eye, her hand slipped from yours. You turned back, screaming her name, but she was gone, just another small figure lost in the stampede of a city falling apart.

By the time you fought your way out of the crowd, Jieun was nowhere in sight. Your heart is still hammering loudly between your ribs, mind stuck on the past horrifying minutes since she disappeared from your side.

But as you finally look up… all your relief shifts, eyes darkening with shocking realisation that mirrors the expression in the man standing just feet away when you. Heart hammering in your chest as if it recognized him before your eyes do.

You blink once, twice to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. Completely distraught.

If Jungkook thought he was stuck in a bad dream before, he’s certain now this is all a cruel, sick and twisted nightmare. He feels his stomach churn. The weight of clashing emotions and utter disbelief thrown over him. So many questions he can’t yet voice crashing into him like a bucket of ice cold water, making his blood run cold.

This has to be some kind of sick joke. 

All of it. 

“Jungkook?” Your voice trembles, barely a whisper, as if the sound of his name out loud might shatter you to pieces.

He’s standing in front of you, drenched from the rain, his wet dark hair hanging messily in his face — so much longer than it used to be. He has new piercings on his face, and his features have definitely matured. He looks…different, yet somehow exactly how you remember him. His big dark eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, you feel your world stop. 

“Y/n?” His voice cracks slightly, like he’s just been punched in the gut. “Wh…what are you doing here?” but there’s no anger in his voice, just confusion, and perhaps, a hint of something painful. His words hang heavy between you, getting lost in the sounds of the burning city beyond this tiny street, and you feel a paralysing weight on your chest. Your mind reeling beyond comprehension.

You open your mouth to speak, ready to say something, anything. But you feel like you’ve forgotten how to form words. So you close it again, no words come out. His eyes flicker from your face to the little girl clutching your side, and you feel a pit sinking in your stomach. God, please no.

This can’t be happening — not here, not now. 

Not like this.

You want to bolt, to run and not look back like you always do. You wish the earth would just swallow you entirely. But all you can do is stand there, your heart pounding faster in your chest, mouth dry.

You try to step around him, desperate to move forward, to escape this horror. But before you know it, his hand catches your arm. He grips you gently, but with a force that indicates he won’t let you slip away again. His touch almost makes you fall to your knees.

“Come with me.” 

Your body stiffens at his words, and you swat your arm loose of his grip. You lift Jieun into your arms instinctively, fingers curling around her small body as if the mere act of holding her can shield you from everything. From him, from all the pain, from all of this living nightmare.

“No,” you say, the word coming out broken, like your breath is caught. “I can’t go with you. I need- I need to get hobi-” 

“My apartment isn’t far,” he cuts in, not giving you space to say more. “We need to get off the streets.’’

You hesitate, watching his gaze scurry between you both again. Everything in you is telling you to just run, to put as much distance as you can between yourself and Jungkook. Willing this conversation to die before it can even begin. Before he can start asking questions you’re not ready to answer. Before you have to face things you’ve already buried deep. Before it’s too late.

You need to leave. But Jieun is shaking, clutching onto you for dear life as she whimpers against your chest, and the sounds of screams still ringing in your ears. And there’s infected everywhere. You’re stuck in the middle of a warzone, and you have no idea what to do, no idea where to go.

All you know is you need to get Jieun out of this. Away from danger.

“Have you not seen what the fuck is going on? People have gone fucking insane!” His tone grows harsher now, trying to knock some sense into you. “We need to move.”

A gut wrenching scream echoes from somewhere beyond the alley, closer than before this time. Too close. 

Jungkook swears under his breath, running a hand through his hair, torn between a storm of brewing emotions and the immediate danger closing in. His jaw tightens as he looks behind him then back to you. “Y/n, we need to go. Now.”

You shake your head violently, and you can feel hushed tears burning behind your eyes. You can’t breathe, can’t think clearly. All you can feel is Jieun trembling in your arms.

“Please-” his voice drops, raw and desperate. Almost a plea.

And don’t know when or why it happens, but the next thing you know, your feet are moving. You’re running with everything you have left in you.

Somehow, the world is ending, and you’re allowing yourself to be guided by Jungkook down streets devoured by chaos, heading to the only safe place around you. 

His home.

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[mypoisonedvine]

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐂𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 | dad's best friend!cillian murphy x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | based on the following request: what would dilf/dad's best friend cillian do if he found your dildo?

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5k (this was literally supposed to be a drabble...)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut (18+ only), significant age gap (reader is college-aged, cillian is in his late forties), voyeurism/exhibitionism, semi-public sex, use of toys, praise kink, unprotected sex, very brief/semi sarcastic 'sir' kink, shockingly fluffy??

Not that your parents' anniversary cocktail party wasn't horribly riveting (cue dramatic eyeroll) but you were upstairs, on your bed, on your phone; you'd had enough of 'so how's college going?' and 'what's your major again?' and 'got any boyfriends yet? you must be a heartbreaker' for one evening— or a lifetime, preferably.

It wasn’t even that comfortable to be on the bed in your party dress—a cute, short sparkly one that you’d picked out for tonight—but it was better than standing around and trying to balance in those sky-high heels; those you had kicked off into the corner of the room the second you were alone.

When you heard a small rap on the door, you hummed a quick "Come in!" and didn't even look up from your phone, figuring it was your mom or dad come to find you after you disappeared.

Instead, you heard Mr. Murphy's voice as he leaned in the doorframe; "Sorry to bug you," he said, startling you slightly as you closed Instagram and set your phone down. "Just needed a Tide pen— your mom said you might have one in here?"

"O-oh, yeah," you said, sitting up, "sure— what happened?"

"Salsa fiasco," he joked softly as he shut the door behind him, showing you the dark red stain on his shirt— though the shirt itself was red, so it wasn't too egregious, but still noticeable.

"That's too bad," you chuckled, "I warned them about that salsa— if you serve salsa, there's gonna be a fiasco, that's what I said."

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "They should listen to you more," he agreed.

"I've got a couple stain remover pens in that top drawer," you suggested as you pointed to your dresser.

"Great," he smiled, starting to unbutton the shirt; you got nervous for a second until you realized he had on a black undershirt beneath. It's hard to say why you were nervous about that, since you'd seen him shirtless plenty of times in the years you'd known him...

"Nobody's worried about me going missing, right?" you wondered as he continued working on the buttons, and he shook his head while shrugging slightly.

"Not yet," he replied, "but they're going to want to find you soon, you're sort of the star of the night."

You rolled your eyes, frowning. "It's my parents' anniversary party, I think they should be the focus."

"Maybe they should, but you're the much more interesting one," he informed you.

You pulled your legs up a bit, leaning to the side as you sat on your bed; as much as all this attention from your parents' friends was usually annoying to you, something about being interesting to Mr. Murphy didn't bother you so much. "Is it weird for you?" you asked, lowering your voice a bit; he tilted his head quickly as if to ask what you meant. "Going to an anniversary party after, you know—"

The words hung in the air, seeming to gather around his conspicuously naked ring finger: after the divorce. "Oh, no," he scoffed, taking off his cufflinks. "It's fine; but I'm sick of the questions about it."

You winced. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Don't worry," he laughed finally shirking off the shirt; he looked a little too good in just the short-sleeved undershirt. "You can make it even by letting me ask you how college is going."

"Oh god," you groaned, rolling your eyes, and he laughed.

"If I didn't know from your parents that you were acing it, I'd worry that your aversion to talking about it meant you were struggling somehow."

"It's not that," you assured, "it's the people."

"The people?" he pressed. "Or the guys?"

You laughed nervously, looking down at your lap. "Geez, you learn to mindread while I was gone or something?"

He stepped around your bed to get to the dresser, laying his shirt down over it. "No, I just remember that time— somehow. And I remember how much of a headache I and every other young guy was."

"I guess not much has changed then," you smiled.

"What, I'm still a headache?" he grinned as he looked over his shoulder at you.

"No, I meant—"

"I know what you meant, I'm just teasing," he chuckled. "Top drawer you said?"

"Yeah," you nodded, and he opened the top drawer of the dresser; of course, only right then did you remember that you should have specifically said top left. Because the top right was—

Oh shit.

You swallowed thickly as Cillian stared down into the open drawer, and your heart pounded as you somehow hoped and prayed that what was in there had turned invisible or something; but if the look on his face was anything to go by, it was just as visible as ever.

“I—fuck, sorry, I forgot that’s—” you choked out, face burning impossibly hot.  “I never meant for you to see—I’m—could you shut the fucking drawer, please, you pervert?!”

“I’m the pervert?” he laughed thinly, looking at you again finally.  “You’re the one with a massive fucking dildo in here.”

“Well—you weren’t supposed to see that—”

“Yeah, but—fuck,” he choked, “I was just looking for your stain remover and I see your— you have a— are you sure that isn’t technically considered a weapon or something?  How’s a guy supposed to compete with that?”

“That’s the great thing about it: he doesn’t have to compete,” you explained, “that’s sort of the whole idea.”

He looked back at it for a second and you yelped, reaching your leg off the bed to kick him in the hip.  “Would you please shut the drawer?!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughed a bit, “but I mean, how am I supposed to react to that?

“Well, you’re not supposed to just stare at it!” you insisted.

He shut the drawer, giving you a look you couldn’t possibly decipher.

“What were you thinking?!” you said, somewhat rhetorically.

“I—well,” he hummed, looking away from you for a second, “I was thinking that I can’t imagine how you can possibly fit something like that.”

You blinked quickly, not sure what to say in response to that.  “Well—I mean, it’s a little big, but… it gets the job done.  Keeps me from calling the guys I shouldn’t be calling.”

He nodded.  “Well, that’s good… none of those college boys could possibly deserve you…”

His eyes were running all over you, and even though you’d picked out this dress just for this party because you loved how you looked in it, you felt a little exposed by his stare.

“I just can’t believe a girl like you—”

“Come on, I’ve never been a saint,” you scoffed, glancing away.

“No, I just mean… the size of that thing…” he trailed off.

“You really can’t get over that part,” you noticed, “is this some kind of… intimidation, Freudian situation?”

You glanced quickly at his pants, and he started to deny it instantly.  “No—come on, it’s not—I just can’t believe you take all that.  For fun.  It looks like it would break you.”

You hadn’t even had any drinks at this anniversary party, and yet you found yourself with this foggy head like you were tipsy; you blurted something out as if you were tipsy.  “What, you want me to prove it?”

His chest sunk a bit, and you were about to take it back when he spoke before you.  “I’d like to see you try.”

Biting your lip, you sat up on the bed, reaching around him and into the drawer.  He didn’t step back or out of the way, just let you grab the toy and lean back on the bed in front of him.

You reached up under your dress, sliding your panties out of the way, finding yourself suddenly plenty wet to fit this toy.

His eyes never left you, though they certainly travelled all over your body as you pressed the toy up to your entrance; it was thick, he wasn’t wrong, and you had to slowly warm yourself up to it whenever you used it on yourself. 

After pushing with enough pressure, the tip finally slipped inside and you let out a small sigh.  He watched carefully, and your lips fell open into a moan as you pushed the toy deeper into yourself.  When the stretch became a bit too sharp, you winced and slowed down, trying to take your time even with your heart racing and hands shaking.

You heard his own breathing picking up, watching you take the toy deeper; you found your gaze wandering over him, even lingering on his groin to see if you could catch a bulge growing there, but nothing was obvious yet.  You stared for a moment at his hands, too, suddenly wishing to have them all over you—well, maybe not that suddenly, you’d sort of thought about this before.  It wasn’t until somewhat recently that you noticed how sexy he was.  Maybe when you were younger, you understood that he was better looking than all the other adults you knew, but only once you left for college did you start thinking about him out of nowhere, imagining what he was really like when he wasn’t just being friendly with you—you even asked your mom once on a phone call if he was dating anyone.  Thankfully, she didn’t seem to get suspicious when you asked that; but she’d be more than fucking suspicious if she walked in now, saw you doing this to yourself under his watchful eye.

Oddly enough, the knowledge that someone could walk in and see this just made you even more desperate, and you gasped as you pushed the toy in deeper.

It still wasn’t all the way in, and you already felt so full… truth be told, he had a point about it maybe being too big for you—when you usually used it on yourself, you only put it in a little over halfway, since that was all you really needed.  You hadn’t put the whole thing inside since you first got it—and yes, you’d ordered it online, because if you’d seen it in person you probably would’ve been as intimidated by its girth as he was.

Your decision not to wear a bra with this dress became very apparent when his gaze settled on your chest; your nipples were hard, and clearly visible under the fabric now.  It was just because it was strapless that you went without, but you were thankful for it when you saw him quickly lick his lips at the sight.  You dared to moan just a little louder as you pulled the toy in and out, picking up your pace carefully.

“How’s it feel?” he asked lowly, his eyes drifting back to where the toy slid into you. 

“Good,” you mumbled, “really fucking good.”

“Can you really take it all?” he pressed, making your walls clench on the silicone.

Instead of answering aloud, you simply pushed it all the way in until your eyes rolled back—it was so deep, pressing heavy and fat against your deepest points until it felt like you might burst.

“Fuck,” he praised—it was just a swear, but the way he whispered it made it sound like a praise.

You sped up slightly, trying to do this the way you normally would without someone staring at you.  But you were even more sensitive with him watching, your walls clenching more and more around the toy until it was almost hard to keep thrusting it in and out.  Sighing, you shut your eyes and laid back on the bed to try to help yourself relax.  The change in angle just seemed to make the toy go deeper, rubbing harder against the spot inside you that made your back arch.

“You’re so wet,” he breathed; you whimpered, nodding in agreement, and kept moving the dildo as deep as you could get it with every thrust. 

Your free arm went back over your head to hold onto the comforter under you, your hand gripping tight for some relief for the pressure inside you.  “Fuck yes,” you whispered, knitting your brows together and fucking yourself faster.  “Feels so fucking good…”

He hummed a little, but you kept your eyes shut, afraid you’d lose your nerve if you looked at him again.  It had been months since you used anything but this, and you had no regrets—the toy performed way better than any of the guys you’d met at college.  But, truthfully, you didn’t like having to do this to yourself.  It felt like you could never move it fast or hard enough, and you needed to constantly have perfect control over the toy to get yourself to come—and when you come, the last thing you want is to take control, you want to lay back and lose control.  Still, it was better than the college fuckboys who smelled like beer and didn’t last more than two minutes.

Thinking about them wasn’t going to help you now, though; it was much better to think about Cillian, about those icy blue eyes running all over your body, about how his hands would hold you down while he claimed you, about how his lips would feel on your neck before he whispered in your ear that you were his…

You let out a sharp and sudden moan as the toy hit harder on that spot; your legs started to shake.  “Good girl,” he mumbled, making you moan even louder because god, those words just sounded right in his accent, with that rough voice—and they sounded right being said to you.

“Fuck,” you choked, “Mr. Murphy, I—”

He laughed a little.  “So polite,” he cooed.  “Open your eyes and look at me.”

Though it made your heart beat even faster, you did as you were told.  His stare was all-encompassing, making you feel completely trapped in a way you enjoyed more than you could’ve imagined. 

“Call me Cillian,” he insisted.

You weren’t sure if he meant to literally call him that right in that moment, but it sort of came out anyway: “Cillian,” you moaned, and the grip he’d taken on the dresser behind him tightened.

“Can you come for me?” he asked lowly.  “Right now?  Can you come on that fake cock?”

You bit your lip and nodded, moving the toy faster and faster— more desperate to come than ever.  “I—fuck, yeah, I’m close…”

“Good,” he praised again.  “Let me see you come, honey.”

Your back arched harder, deeper—your hands were shaking but you kept going, holding on tight to the dildo and forcing it back and forth as your legs began to quiver.

Moans poured from your mouth faster than you could try to quiet them—everyone was downstairs, you just had to hope the music and conversation was enough to drown out your desperate, pleading noises.  “Fuckin’ beautiful,” he mumbled, right as you hit the peak and melted into the mattress, a wave of ecstasy pouring over you.

You felt hot everywhere, but especially between your legs—you could swear you felt yourself leaking out around the toy, soaking it, giving away how needy you’d become and not even having the mental energy to feel any shame for it.

Cillian certainly didn’t look like he was trying to shame you for it; when you opened your eyes again, he had a stunned expression—in the best way.  “You normally come that fast for a toy?”

You laughed a little, but you still couldn’t quite catch your breath.  “No,” you admitted, “it normally takes… a bit longer than that…”

“What was different about tonight?” he mused, and you scoffed and rolled your eyes again.

“Shut up,” you sighed.  “Now I have to figure out how to take this thing out—I’m always sore after…”

“If you can handle putting it in, taking it out shouldn’t be much trouble,” he noticed.

Which, yes, that would make sense, but after coming you always got all tight and sensitive and it could be a little intense.

“How about I help you?” he offered, and your chest tightened.  He waited for you to nod before carefully wrapping his hand around your own, watching your face as he gently guided you to pull the toy out.

Your lips were slack and your eyes were probably glassy and dazed as he looked at you like that, completely enveloping you in his stare as he studied every detail of your expression.  Aside from some heavy breathing you didn’t react much to him sliding the toy out of you, until the ridge of the head reached your entrance and you winced.

“Shh,” he soothed gently, “it’s okay…”

A long sigh of relief emptied your chest when the toy tapered off and you felt the last of it slip out of you; you really noticed then how soaked you were, as a draft in the room seemed to cling to the patch of wetness that had coated all between your legs somehow.

“Lemme see, baby,” he cooed under his breath as he set the toy aside, kneeling down and resting a hand on the inside of your thigh to keep your legs open.

You could barely catch your breath with him doing that; you’d never had someone… look at it like that.  You felt incredibly vulnerable but impossibly sexy as you heard him sigh at the sight.  “Is it all stretched out now?” you wondered.

“No,” he said, “you look… just as tight as before.  Fuck.  That’s incredible.”

You bit your lip, sitting up enough to try to get a look at his face past the puffiness of your dress’ skirt, and he smirked up at you with the loveliest sparkle in his eye.  “Really?” you breathed, and he nodded.

Even though your hands were still shaking you suddenly felt brave; maybe it was just the afterglow, but you grabbed him by the shirt and sat up to kiss him, colliding your lips with his.  He reciprocated instantly, putting his hands on your upper back that the strapless dress left bare.

The kiss was perfect—needy but not too fast, sweet but not too chaste, teasing but not too slow.  The guys in college couldn’t even kiss like this… you were wondering why you ever even tried with them—or, you would’ve been if that kiss left you capable of thinking about anything but him.  “Need you,” you whispered as you pulled him closer, wrapping your arms around his strong shoulders.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your lips, a hand holding your waist while he started to kiss your neck and jaw.  “Not here—your parents—”

“Don’t care,” you whimpered, “I’m so—fuck, Cillian, please—”

“You already came,” he noticed with a small laugh, “didn’t that take the edge off?”

“Not enough,” you whined, getting impatient and running a hand down over his shirt and down to his pants—and you smiled proudly as you felt the hardening bulge beneath.  He choked a little when you touched him there, holding you tighter.  “You want me too,” you noticed.

“Of course I do, but—” he breathed, then stopped himself as he tossed you back on the bed; you giggled as he crawled up over you, pinning you down.  “But we can’t… your parents would have my head on a platter—once they’re done serving crawfish etouffee off of it downstairs.”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on telling my parents,” you smirked.  “Were you?”

“No,” he agreed, kissing your neck again as you hummed happily.  “But if they found out—”

“So?  They wouldn’t like if they found out about what just happened, either—and they won’t.”

“But this is different,” he insisted.

“How?”

“Because this…”

He trailed off, kissing down your neck and over your shoulder, until a hand reached up to pull your dress down and expose your chest.

“Shit,” he sighed at the sight of it, and you smiled up at him.

“You were saying?” you teased.

“Right, erm,” he swallowed, “this is different because—because if we do this, you’re gonna be my girl.  Not just a misguided one-time fuck because you were turned on after screwing yourself with your dildo while I watched.”

You felt a little out of breath but nodded up at him.  “Okay,” you agreed.

“Okay?” he repeated, looking a little shocked.  “I tell you that you have to be mine and you just say okay?”

“What was I supposed to say, yes sir?” you joked.

“I just mean—shit, if I knew it would be this easy, I would’ve said something sooner,” he chuckled.  “But I’m, er, not complaining about the yes sir thing either…”

He sat up and started to unbutton his pants, making you wiggle a bit on the bed impatiently.  Even though you’d just gotten filled by your big toy, you felt needier than ever for something inside you—something real. 

Your throat caught when he took it out— it was pale and veiny just like the rest of him; long, uncut, a bead of precum starting to leak from the slit… it was beautiful, honestly.  The artificial fleshy hue of the silicone could never compete.

“Big enough for you?” he asked with a smirk, but you had to swallow before you answered because your mouth was watering.

“Yeah,” you panted, “plenty.”

He kissed you again, laying more of his weight on top of you; your legs wrapped around his hips, keeping him close as he pressed you down into your bed.

One hand found your wrist and held it back above your head, while the other kept a tight wrap around his cock so he could guide it to your waiting entrance.  When he pushed inside, you both sighed with relief like you’d been longing for this for ages—perhaps because both of you had, in your own ways.  “Fuck,” you breathed, “Cillian…”

He whispered your name back to you, heavy and desperate and right by your ear, and you absolutely knew you were his, just like he said.  He only stilled for a moment when he was all the way inside, already starting to rock back and forth—but he was sort of tender about it, watching you move under him as he fucked you.  “So pretty,” he praised quietly, kissing you again, even harder than before.  You both moaned into the kiss, and a warm, rough hand settled on your thigh under your dress.

Soon, the pleasure was too much to even focus on kissing, and your mouth just fell wide open in front of his as needy moans passed through it.  He stayed close, though, watching your face go slack with ecstasy.  The previous orgasm had left you sticky and sensitive inside, still totally dripping for him, everything in you begging for more.  “Oh my god,” you sighed, eyes rolling back, your composure completely slipping already.  He made you feel so good so easily—and fuck, the way he was looking at you, it was just too much to bear.

“Mm,” he hummed proudly, latching his lips onto your neck again until your fingers tangled in his hair.  He moved down and caught a nipple in his mouth, making you whimper as he suckled at it gently. 

“Fuck,” you whined, nearly pulling him along by the hair when he moved to the other one; you couldn’t stop clenching inside, squeezing him until he groaned against your skin. 

“Won’t last if you keep doing that,” he warned you softly. 

“What if I don’t want you to?” you teased, and he growled a little between his teeth, sitting up to look down at you.  He fucked you harder, but put a hand on top of your head and pet your hair for a moment, looking at you like you hung the moon; how could he be so dirty then so adorable within the same split-second?!

“I’ll do whatever you want me to,” he decided, speaking softly, “how about that?  What do you want me to do?”

That was a little too much power to give you, at least in your opinion, but you grinned as you considered it.  “Then I want you to come way too quick,” you decided, “like all those annoying college boys—because you just can’t help yourself.”

He laughed a little, though he stopped to bite his lip as he fucked you even harder—and faster, too.  “Okay,” he breathed, “don’t know why you want that, but—fuck— it won’t be very difficult after that little show you gave me.  You look so pretty when you come…”

“Just keep going and you can see it again,” you promised, holding onto him tighter as he pressed into you and really let you have it—not really rough or anything, you couldn’t risk making any more noise than you were, but still aggressive and passionate and desperate.

He kissed your neck again, burying his face in your shoulder and finding the spot that made you gasp out his name suddenly; your fingers clutched at fistfuls of his undershirt, and your legs began to shake where they were hooked around his hips and half-pushed-down pants.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, the pleasure hitting you again—but it was better than with the toy, it was stronger, and it just kept going because he kept going.  When your head fell back onto the mattress with a sigh, he realized that he’d made you come.

“Wait, fuck, I wasn’t looking,” he rushed as he popped his head up from the crook of your neck, “do it again.”

You laughed breathlessly and pushed against his shoulder a bit; “Shut up, I can’t do it on command.”

“You did it the last two times I told you to,” he reminded you, and that just made you feel even more deliciously dizzy. 

Yes, you were definitely his girl now—totally addicted to him.  You’d never felt like this with somebody—not just physically, but the trust and the laughter and the comfort of it all.  This wasn’t a too-empty dorm room that still smelled like fresh paint, it wasn’t a mattress with no sheets in an apartment with 5 roommates nearby, it wasn’t a guy you vaguely knew from a two-hundred-student class or someone you saw on a dating app and talked with for an afternoon before meeting for ‘coffee’ (it was never just coffee).  This was Mr. Murphy—and that should’ve made it weirder, but somehow, it just made it make more sense.

“So, if I tell you to come again,” he spoke lowly by your ear, a new authority to his tone, “you should come.”

You couldn’t think of anything else to say: “Yes, sir,” you breathed, hugging him close to you and pressing your face against his shoulder.

Of course, it wasn’t quite instantaneous, but just another minute of him giving you those deep, controlled thrusts right into your favorite spot sent you over the edge easily—and this time, he gently guided your face out of its hiding spot and looked at you, watched your pleasure overtake you, tenderly rubbing your cheek with his thumb.  “Good girl,” he praised softly, kissing you again just as the last of it drained from you; you were so numb that you barely heard him whisper something to you—it took you a few seconds to process it.

“I’m gonna come,” he’d whispered to you, “fuck, you’re so fucking warm…”

“Come inside,” you instructed, and for all the concern he tried to perform for you after you said that, his moan was undeniable, as was the way he started to move faster.

“Fuck, really?” he nearly whined.  “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, panting.

“You’re on—”

“Yes, please, just come inside me,” you begged, and he finally stopped protesting and pressed himself as deep into you as he could—you could feel the way his cock flexed, and it made your exhausted walls dig up just enough energy to flex back.

“Fuuuuck,” he groaned, holding onto you tightly.

You hummed a little at the feeling, turning your face towards his, hoping to see what he looked like in this moment—but he pulled you into another kiss before you could get a good look.  Even this kiss was different from the others—a little slower, a little more tired in a wonderful, dreamy way.  He was breathing heavy against you, and eventually he found the energy to push himself up with his arms on either side of your head, and you smiled up at him.  He looked really fucking good like this: his face a bit flushed, which seemed to show his freckles and fine lines even more (which you adored); his hair falling down, a little wavier from the slight sweat he’d worked up; his lips swollen and slick from the kisses; and those eyes, they looked as beautiful as always, but they made you feel beautiful, too.

“Is taking this one out gonna hurt, too?” he asked you with a smirk.

“Probably a little,” you shrugged.

“For both of us,” he agreed, “I’m so fucking sensitive now… you really do have me acting like a desperate college boy—but you know, it’s been a while, so…”

“Right, sure—good excuse,” you joked, but you didn’t mind any of it either way.

He did it a little quicker, pulling back as he took a sharp breath in, and you giggled softly.

“Fuck, I can feel it, like… leaking out,” you admitted, biting your lip at the sick satisfaction of the warm gush.

“I think I need to see that,” he said, sitting up and picking your legs up from under the knee to look at you.  This was apparently a habit of his—and you were starting to get used to it already.

“How’s it look?” you asked, wondering if he’d finally stretched you out after that.

He just stared at it for a moment longer, running his tongue over his teeth, before finally looking back at you and saying with a smile: “Looks like you need the Tide pen more than I do.”

[noturlondonboy]

BRUH STOP 😭

[sailortongue]

Lima Bean

pairing: kenji sato x reader

summary: kenji makes his intentions clear and a certain reporter is a little too committed to his job

an: ik the title is kinda dumb but bear with me i have an idea (title is still subject to change if the idea falls through). also tags are being kind of silly and I don't know how to get them to act right so if you asked to be tagged but didn't get notified I swear I tried 😭

wc: 2k

navi | prev | series mlist

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“I’m pregnant.”

Those two words changed Kenji’s entire demeanor in seconds. His face dropped and his jaw hung open in complete disbelief. “. . . Are you sure?” He asked. 

“Positive test, missed period, morning sickness,” you listed off. “I’m going to make an OBGYN appointment anyway just to be 100% sure, but so far yeah I’m pretty sure.”

“Ah,” was all he could say in response, his mind both blank and racing at the same time. Had he really not used protection? Was he that drunk? He tried to think back to that night, but all he could seem to remember was a flash of you under him and his lips on your neck. His face immediately flushed scarlet. 

“Are you angry?” You asked, noticing the rapid shift in his complexion. 

He rushed to deny your assumption. “No! No, nothing like that. I'm just . . . not sure what to make of this.”

“I know how you feel,” you said wryly. “Just thought you should know, I guess.” You shrugged your shoulders, feeling almost hollow inside with the knowledge that your life was about to undergo a drastic change.

“I appreciate it, thank you. If you don’t mind, uh,” he hesitated, searching for the right words. “I'd like to be present. To be a father.” He thought back to when he took care of Emi and how much he came to love her. He was confident in his ability to take care of his own biological child, even if these weren’t the circumstances in which he imagined he’d have one. 

You looked at him as if you were meeting him for the very first time, entirely taken aback by his willingness to step up. Truthfully you'd expected him to deny any responsibility, but there he was, asking to raise the baby alongside you—to step up to the metaphorical plate and be a dad. “Really? And you’re not going to leave at the first inconvenience?”

“No. You have my word on that.” His expression was one of utmost sincerity. “I want to be a dad. Granted, this isn’t how I expected it,” he laughed awkwardly, “but it’s how it happened, and I won't run away from it.”

You gave him a soft smile. “I'll be honest, I didn't expect you to be so noble.”

“Thought I’d tell you to get rid of it or just throw a check at you to never contact me again? I understand the concern, but I want to be there every step of the way.”

“Then, would you like to come with me for my appointment? I haven’t scheduled it yet but . . .” you trailed off, realizing you were asking a very busy man to take time out of his day to accompany you to a doctor's appointment. “Unless of course you’re busy or don’t want to,” you added quickly.

He laughed at how flustered you’d gotten. “I'll be there. No matter the weather, practice, or a game, I will be there. That’s my kid you’ve got in there after all,” he said with a broad grin on his face as he pointed to your abdomen. “And that takes priority over everything else.”

“Wow. You’re smitten with something that’s probably the size of a lima bean right now,” you teased.

“Woah now, that’s our lima bean and I’m going to be the best dad a bean could wish for,” he asserted, imagining teaching his future son or daughter to play baseball with him or helping with homework, even what it would be like to do his daughter’s hair, or perhaps teaching his son how to tie a tie.

He was snapped from his thoughts when you slid your phone towards him from across the table, the screen displaying a new contact. “If we're going to be coparenting we should have each other's numbers.”

He picked up the device to input his number and then checked his own phone. He showed you the screen, a message from your own number displayed there. 

It was only when he handed your phone back to you that you noticed how late it had already become. “Oh wow, I didn’t realize the time. I didn't mean to keep you so late,” you apologized. 

“No no, it’s fine. I'm glad you, or, Ami, I guess, insisted we have this conversation in person. Think if I had been told over text I’d still be sitting on the couch reading it over and over again,” he laughed. 

“That was how I felt looking at the test. It didn’t feel real.” You had a smile that mirrored his own, and you couldn’t believe how fortunate you were that Kenji wasn’t the douche you expected he’d be when he found out. Quite the opposite, to your pleasant surprise.

“Do you need a ride back home?” He asked earnestly, not quite ready to say bye. After all, you hadn’t  allowed him the chance the last time you had met. 

You shook your head as you stood from the table. “No, I drove here, but thanks anyway. I guess I'll keep in touch?”

He hummed in affirmation, standing from his chair, his impressive height towering over you. He gestured for you to walk first, following close behind you, his hand lightly pressed to your lower back as he walked with you to your car. While the two of you were wishing each other good night, another patron of the cafe was typing furiously into his phone, notifying his boss that he had just overheard the sport's world's juiciest scandal in months.

-❀-

The first thing you did the following day was schedule an appointment with an obstetrician. There had been a recent cancellation so you were able to get a slot in just a few days. You sent Kenji a text to notify him when and where, a small part of you looking forward to seeing him again. He responded quickly, saying he would definitely be there. 

When the day came, he called you to ask if you wanted to go together, rather than take two cars. You agreed and told him your address, choosing to wait for him inside due to the biting cold of December. When you heard a car pull up, you exited your home, and it took all of your willpower not to gawk at his car, which was probably worth more than your entire house. You saw the driver's door begin to open, and he stepped out, breathtakingly handsome as usual. He pushed his sunglasses on top of his head and waved, greeting you with a jovial “Morning!”

“Good morning, Kenji,” you returned, a smile gracing your features. 

As you approached the car, he slid back into the driver's seat and looked over at you, taking in the sight of the mother of his future child. He'd lain awake all night, playing with the idea over and over in his mind. He was really going to be a dad. How different could it be to raise a human baby if he’d already done so with a 20-foot-tall kaiju baby?

You noticed his gaze in your peripheral vision, but as you turned to look at him he snapped his attention forward and made himself busy with inputting the name of the doctor’s office you’d given him into the GPS. 

The ride was filled with pleasant small talk, asking each other how you had been since last time, basically avoiding the elephant in the room and talking about everything except the new life between you. After parking, he made sure to open the door to the office for you and entered after you, a rush of cold air enveloping you as you approached the front desk. You confirmed your appointment with the receptionist, and she directed the two of you to sit in the waiting room and told you your name would be called when the doctor was ready. 

As you were waiting, you noticed Kenji’s leg bouncing up and down rapidly, showing his nerves despite it not even being his appointment. You took the opportunity that had presented itself and placed your hand atop his knee. He looked over at you, his brown eyes wide and his lips pressed into a thin line. “You can wait in the car if you’d prefer—“

“No!” He all but shouted, refusing to let you believe for even one second that he would run out. “I said I would be here for you and I will,” he said adamantly, placing his hand over yours where it was still on his knee and squeezing tightly, a physical reassurance that we was staying put. 

“y/n l/n.” You heard your name called.  You and Kenji stood together, his hand not releasing yours. Instead, he rubbed calming circles on the skin as you were escorted into the patient rooms, though you weren’t entirely sure if it was meant to ease his nerves or yours. Either way, it was a sweet gesture.

-❀-

The gel was cold as it was spread across your exposed skin, sending shivers up your spine. A grainy black and white image showed up on the screen, and the doctor pointed to a small grey object depicted on it, surrounded by a sea of black. “This,” she started, “is the fetus.” You looked at the screen in awe before glancing over at Kenji. He was seated in a chair against the wall, his elbows braced on his knees as he leaned forward, his attention rapt on the screen and his lips open in a small “o” shape. 

The doctor chuckled at your amazed reactions. “Excited to be parents?” She asked.

You don’t think Kenji even heard her, so you answered. “To be totally honest, this was unexpected, but I think we can make it work. Kenji here made it very clear that he wants to be a dad.”

“That's wonderful to hear. Well, looking at the scan I'd say you’re about 7 weeks along and you can expect to welcome the baby around August 11. 

Kenji was practically bubbling as you each took your seats in the car, and he kept stealing glances at your tummy even if you weren’t showing any visible change yet. 

-❀-

These past few days of tailing the nation's sweetheart baseball player were so worth it, thought the man sitting in his car while browsing through the photos of Kenji Sato and a woman he’d never been seen with before entering and leaving an OBGYN facility together. Interesting. Very interesting. With those photos there was no denying that Kenji Sato, baseball heartthrob, was a soon-to-be father.

-❀-

Kenji put the car in park in your driveway. You made to get out of the car until he exclaimed “Wait!” You re-situated yourself on the seat, angling yourself towards him. He seemed almost at war with himself, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to actually say what had prompted him to stop you from leaving. “Would you, uh,” he faltered, chuckling awkwardly. “Would you like to go on a date with me?” He gave you a hopeful look. 

Heat flushed across your face and ears, and you beamed at him. “Doing things way out of order aren’t we?” You joked. 

He laughed mirthfully as well. “Way out of order,” he agreed. “So, was that a yes? To go out?”

“Yes, that was a yes,” you giggled, finding his eagerness endearingly sweet.

He nodded his head. “Ok. Ok, great. Are you free this Saturday? I'll pick you up?”

“I’ll see you then,” you agreed cheerfully, and, deciding to take another risk since you were doing things all out of order anyway, you leaned over and placed a quick peck against his cheek before hopping out of the car and waving goodbye. He continued to wait in the car until he saw you safely enter your home, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest and his face crimson red, one hand placed lightly against where your lips had touched his skin. 

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next

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taglist: @mochminnie @lovingyeet @sassy-cat-in-town @hanachiiii @aise-30 @reivelmin @fcheung750 @breaddippedinorangejuice @lunaryasha @imsimping4life @boomboom-tanjiro2019 @f1uveryysblog @random-3455 @b3e-sat0 @retaaaa56 @casualburning

[lillymmb]

-"How old is she?" RAFE CAMERON X READER

(open requests)

part 2!

paring: rafe cameron x reader

warning: none

summary: you and rafe were friends since birth, you two fell in love but he cheated on you and you went away and never went to outer banks but your mother died and you went to her funeral but you didn't knew rafe and his family would be there.

Going back to Outer Banks was not a good idea and i knew it, but with my mother's death I knew I had to go, my father was in pieces so was I. I look at my one year old daughter sleeping in the back of my car, "I hope I don't see him" i think.

Me and Rafe were childhood friends since ever and 4 years ago when we started dating I knew he was the love of my life, but I was wrong, I can still remember Sofia kissing him and he hugging her:

1 year ago I was going to tell him about the pregnancy but when I saw them my heart broke and I just left Outer Banks without looking back. Had Charlotte in New York, my parents knew but I made them promise to don't talk about her to anyone.

I was not alone, I had friends in New York, I had a job at my dad's company, but the most important thing I had Charlotte. She is just like him, her strong blue eyes, her blonde hair just as soft as his, she had a strong personality just like him, it was his copy, my little chunk of my love with him.

When I got home, everything looked the same, nothing had ever changed. My father wasn't home and I soon went into my old room, I saw polaroids of Rafe and me on the wall, the presents he had given me, it looked like I had never left, everything was clean and the bed was as messy as the day I decided to leave the city behind with a baby.

Charlotte looked at the room with precision for a 1 year old baby, this year on her first birthday we came here at night to have dinner with my parents and we left early in the morning so there was no risk of Rafe knowing I had been there.

"Mama" She pointed to a teddy bear that I had gotten from Rafe on our second anniversary. I gave the bear to her, watching her reaction. My little girl hugged the bear and started laughing.

"How are you so cute" I started tickling her belly, her laughter filled the room with joy.

"Here are my girls" I looked back and my dad was leaning against the door frame with a smile despite his tired looking eyes.

"Bubu" she ran towards him and hugged his leg tightly, my father picked her up with a sad smile on his face "Hello my love" he said to her.

"The burial will be tomorrow morning" he said with a soft voice.

I nodded in agreement and we soon went to dinner.

In my dream, Rafe laughed with me in my room, "If we have a daughter, her name will be Charlotte." He said looking at my eyes

"Why that name?"

"I don't know, love, I just like it." And he hugged me softly.

I woke up confused with my daughter in the crib next to me.

The route to the funeral was silent, I just thought about how I wished my mother was here. She was very sick and cancer took her from us, my father said that at least he had ended her suffering and pain during those years.

I got out of the car with Charlotte and her teddy bear by my side, her dress was black with a big bow on her side and I was with the same dress. There were few people at the funeral but since my mother was a pogue there were many of her pogue friends and I saw John B's group right at the top of the stairs JJ looked at me and smiled. The day was beautiful but it seemed unfair because my mother had died but I knew that the weather was a message from her telling me that she was okay.

My father picked Charlotte up and they went in first and I was just working up the courage to go in while praying not to see him. The crowd had already left and I started to enter the house near the beach where my mother's funeral would be.

Until someone bumped into me, I knew that scent but I didn't want to believe it, there it was. Rafe was wearing a black suit, his eyes got bigger when he saw me and he seemed to want to say something but he couldn't, he was in complete shock to see me after 1 year without news.

"Um-oh hi-" he was interrupted by my daughter screaming mommy when she saw me, Charlotte asked to be held by me and I picked her up. Rafe looked at her holding the teddy bear with confusion, his head turned to the side and so did my daughter's, they looked at each other as if in a mirror.

"Mama" my daughter tried to go to rafe's lap who was in complete shock.

"Charlotte no baby you can't" when he heard his name rafe he felt like he was going to faint

"Charlotte? wh-who is this?"

I had thought about this conversation for a long time but nothing came out of my mouth, I always thought that I could call Rafe and tell him everything and we could become a happy family like we dreamed of but I couldn't say anything.

"Rafe, c'mon your sister is asking about you-oh hi" There she was, Sofia look at me with disgust and confusion, but when she saw the baby in my arms she just looked at Rafe looking for some answer as to who that was.

"How old is she?" Rafe asked with a weak voice and tears in his eyes, I could tell he knew the answer but wanted to hear it from me. Before I could answer, my father appeared in the hall and understood what was happening.

"Where were you, let's go is going to start" My father grabbed my hand and took me while I was in complete shock and Charlotte was crying wanting to go to Rafe's arms.

I just walked away and left a confused Rafe with his eyes closed as if he was holding himself back from crying.

"Fuck" was the only thing that crossed my mind.

part 2? I had this idea on the subway on the way to school and i had to write it! let me know if you guys want pt 2💞

[darkbluekies]

Make things right? Or make them worse?

Part 2 Yandere!doctor husband (platonic to his children) x twin daughters ocs x female!reader

Summary: Dr Kry’s children finds out their fathers dark secret, and he's determined to silence them.

Warnings: toxic household, yandere, favoritism, guilt, poison, mentions of murder (things along this way)

A/N: I have created my own poison for this story, so I choose the effects. Lol.

Word count: 6.2k

“Bye, dad”, Lydia says and closes the car door.

Her twin follows out of the car, almost hides behind her like a shadow. Lydia frowns confusedly. She’s been more silent than usual this morning. They turn to walk into school.

“Girls”, Dr Kry says through the open car window, catching their attention. “I want you here at three sharp, okay? I’m not in the mood for waiting.”

“Yes, sir”, Lydia answers. 

“Good. Have a good day, girls, I’ll see you later.”

With that said, he drives off. Lydia turns to Nadia who finally raises her gaze from her feet. 

“What’s wrong?” Lydia asks and fixes her backpack. “You’ve been acting off all morning.”

“I have to talk to you about something”, Nadia says hesitantly and looks at her with uneasy eyes. 

Lydia blinked and frowned. “What?”

“I was meaning to talk to you earlier, but I didn’t want to do it when dad was around.” Nadia glanced at the other students swarming around the school grounds. “It’s about mom … and her sickness.”

For as long as they can remember, their mother has been bound to her bed by a rare disease. Thankfully, their father is a remarkable doctor and has been caring for her ever since the twins' birth. He works at a hospital in the city and travels forty minutes back and forth every day, dropping the twins off at school on the way there, and picking them up on the wayback. When they were young, they were put in a private school carefully chosen by their father — who has been very active in the administration.

Their father is a complex person. Although they’ve been by him their entire life, they still feel like they don’t know him. He rarely talks about himself, and seem to have a human side for their mother only. Very rarely, there’s a soft side for the girls … often they’re met by a doctor, rather than a parent. Despite that, Lydia has always been a daddy’s girl, while Nadia has clung to their mom for love and comfort. 

“What about it?” Lydia asks carefully. 

“I heard something …”, Nadia starts and licks her lips nervously. “I heard these noises, from mom and dad’s room-”

“Don’t tell me you heard them have sex”, Lydia grimaces. 

“No …” Nadia shakes her head, eyes shaking. “They were talking. Mom was crying and daad was standing by the bed, holding her cheeks in his hands like this …” She cups her sisters cheeks in demonstration, “...while saying: ‘you’re never going back there, I’ll never share you like that again’.” She shivers. “I-I don’t know what that was, but it made me feel really weird.”

Lydia frowns, trying to picture the scene in front of her. 

“Are you sure that it wasn’t just dad’s weird love language?” she asks carefully. 

“I don’t know”, Nadia sighs defeatedly. “Mom seemed … scared. She looked up at him with eyes full of terror. She could have had a nightmare or something, but dad’s voice- … it was awful. I don’t know how to describe it, but it sounded extremely dark.”

“We could try to ask her.”

“What if dad hears?”

“I could distract him while you ask, if that helps you ease your worry.”

Nadia smiles gratefully. “Thank you, Lyd.”

Lydia gives her an unsure smile and grabs her hand and they walk into school. 

Like Dr Kry had asked them to, they stand by the gates at three sharp. His white car rolls over and the two of them jumps in, Lydia in the front seat and Nadia in the backseat.

“How has your day been?” he asks and drives off. 

He always asks about their classes, teachers and friends. If there’s a small detail he doesn’t like, he makes sure to contact the school and let them know his thoughts. More than one friendship has ended thanks to his overprotectiveness and the twins has learned to dilute the truth enough for him to be able to swallow it. So once again, they answer in the way he wants to hear it. 

The car drives from the city, gets off the highway and enters a countryside road. The dirt road is divided in the middle with grass, creating enough space for the wheels of his white car to roll forward. Here, nothing can be heard except the sounds of distant birds. Their white, edwardian villa is surrounded by a deep, dark forest, close to a gigantic sparkly lake with the closest neighbor being a kilometer away. Despite the isolating upbringing the twins have had, getting away from the noisy, stressful city to the empty forest always cleanse their brains. 

The white, Scandinavian, edwardian aged, wooden villa appears behind the trees like a castle. The house has two floors with a green atticroof, and a bushy, blooming garden in the same color, two glass verandahs on either side of the house and a white fence around the garden.

The twins get out of the car. Nadia gives her a look and Lydia nods. 

“Dad”, she says. “I’ve been feeling a bit weird these last days … I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Really?” Dr Kry asks and frowns. He closes the trunk of the car. “Who have you been around? Are any of the other students sick?”

“A few.”

“Nadia, are you feeling bad too?”

“No”, Nadia replies.

“Could you please give me a check up?” Lydia asks. 

“Alright, come with me”, Dr Kry says and nods at her to follow him. 

While they walk inside, their father and Lydia walks to the living room and Nadia sneaks off upstairs. She moves carefully to their parents’ room and knock gently on the door before entering. Their mother, you, is lying in bed with a book in her hand. You look as weak as ever. Nadia shivers. 

“Hi, sweetheart”, you smile and puts down your book on your chest. “Did you have a good day in school?”

“Yes …”, Nadia mumbles and sits down on the side of the bed, unsure on how to start this absurd conversation. 

“What’s wrong, Nadia?”

“What happened yesterday? WIth you and dad?”

You flinch. Your smile disappears for a moment for it to appear quickly again, but this time in a fake manner. 

“Why did he say that?” Nadia asks carefully. “Why did he say that he wasn’t going to share you again?”

“O-Oh, that …”, you mumble with an embarrassed smile. “It was nothing, don’t worry about it. It was just some adult stuff that me and your dad were talking about.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, honey. Why? Did it make you worry?”

Nadia nods slightly. Y/N gives her a smile and takes her hand. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart, there’s nothing to be afraid of”, you reassure Nadia. “Whatever happens between me and your dad is nothing you have to be afraid of. We will always put you and your sister first, okay? There’s nothing you have to be worried about. I love you, darling.”

“I love you too, mom …”

You hug her, and Nadia hugs back, but she can’t help but feel that her heart sinks. Something isn’t right. 

The very next day when they’re left off at school, Nadia grabs Lydia’s arm. 

“Let’s go to the hospital”, she says the second their father’s car disappears behind the corner. She holds up a metallic key. “I have the key to mom’s old room.”

“What?” Lydia asks in confusion. “Why?”

“I have a feeling that mom isn’t really sick and I have to take a look around in her old hospital room. Something isn’t right!” She clears her throat and lowers her voice. “Mom and dad met at the hospital and that he was her doctor, that much we know, right?”

Lydia nods, trying to follow along. 

“Isn’t it weird that a doctor as professional as our dad decided to start a relationship with a patient like that?” Nadia asks, sounding unsure. “And wouldn’t he have done everything he could to make mom feel better? Shouldn’t she be better now? I just … I want to know if he has done something.”

“Do you really think he has?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know. But something isn’t right, and I feel that. Mom seemed to be put on the spot when I asked her about the interaction I had overheard. She seemed scared.” Nadia grabbed her hand in hers. “Please, Lyd, can we go there and just take a look?”

Lydia hesitates and glances at the private school behind them, contemplating the consequences. 

“Please”, Nadia repeats. “If mom is getting hurt, I want to help her.”

“Okay”, Lydia nods. 

With that said, they hurry past the school gates before a teacher has the time to catch them. They take the first bus to the state hospital their father works at and hope that he’s with a patient while they sneak around. 

They hurry inside the hospital and keep their heads down to make sure that none of the working receptionists would recognise them and report to their father right away. They stay silent until they get into the elevator. 

Once out, they sneak over to the door. Lydia stands guard as Nadia presses the key into its lock. The click from the key opening echoes in the empty corridor. Nadia’s hand hovers above the door handle. Her heart twirls around uncomfortably. In a moment, she will be in the room where their parents met, where something happened that made their dad take the decision of stepping over the professional line. If that was good or bad is yet to be known, but she can’t help but feel worried. 

The room is empty, in more than one way. The spirits of old memories haunt the room and they leave a sour taste in the twins’ mouths. Lydia looks towards the bed. Their mother has been lying here for months with a sickness that has kept her bed bound for years. But what happened while she was here?

“What are we looking for?” Lydia wonders. 

“Anything”, Nadia shrugs and looks around. “Whatever that can help us is fine. Journals, reports, notes — anything.”

They start to rummage through drawers, in binders and notepads. Lydia finds herself holding a yellow paper binder with their mother’s name written on it, in their father’s handwriting. 

“Nad, look at this”, Lydia says and holds up the binder. 

They put the binder on the desk and start to pull out papers. Every paper is written from the top to the bottom in ink.

“He has documented her every day …”, Lydia says, perplexed. She shakes her head in denial. “Every single day, every single hour. Obsessively. Look, every little detail is written down. ‘12:35, eaten an apple’, ‘16:52, took a shower’, ‘22:30, called for me on the telephone’. What is this?”

Nadia picks up another paper, a smaller, clearly supposed to be hidden between the other sides. She puts her hand over her mouth as her eyes widens. 

“Oh no”, she gasps and drops the paper. “No, no, no, no …”

Lydia frowns, bends down and picks up the paper. Her heart sinks as she reads the note. It’s a single word, but they’re familiar with it. They’ve found bottles of it in the cellar and the attic multiple times, and when they asked Dr Kry about it, he answered that it was a substance to kill vermin.

“He’s poisoning mom”, Nadia whispers in horror and looks at her twin with wide, terrified eyes. 

Lydia feels the air disappear from her lungs. Suddenly, she feels nauseous. She sits down on the rolling stool and tries to control her breathing. Nadia sinks down on the bed with her head in her hands. 

“What the fuck do we do?” Lydia breathes out with her eyes staring dimly in front of her. She has never felt this empty before, this helpless. “What the fuck do we do now, Nadia?”

“W-We have to call the cops”, Nadia gulps. 

“The cops? Nad, he’s our dad!”

“But if he hurts mom …” Her voice dies out. “We can’t let him take more years from her.”

Lydia nods and wipes the few tears that have begun to run down her cheeks. With shaking hands, she unzips her backpack and shoves the binder down. They will need evidence if they have to prove to the cops. 

The door behind them opens. Both girls fly up from their positions and scurry over to each other. Dr Kry walks in and stops abruptly in the door. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks quickly. 

He’s trying to force a smile, but the red eyes of his daughters and the trembling bodies of theirs are all he needs to see, to know that they know. 

“How fucking could you?!” Nadia screams. 

Dr Kry hurries to close the door as she continues to shout through sobs. 

“What’s your deal with mom?!” she screams. “How can you keep her like this?! Where’s your fucking conscience?!”

She thinks that she’s going to explode in pure fear, anger and sorrow. Dr Kry clenches his jaw and sighs heavily. 

“Your mother is a very, very special person”, he says slowly, as if he is talking to a ticking bomb. “It is all a misunderstanding, girls, I will tell you everything at home. Come, we’re going home now.”

“We’re not going anywhere with you”, Nadia spits and stands in front of her frozen sister. 

“You don’t have to be afraid of me.” Dr Kry rolls his eyes when they don’t answer. “You’re my daughters, and you are not yet of age, you have to come with me.”

Nadia wants to refuse again, but she doesn’t want to leave her mother alone with him, not when he knows that they know. 

“Now”, Dr Kry decides. 

Nadia picks up Lydia’s bag and gives it to her sister. It looks like Lydia is going to throw up any second now. Nadia takes her hand and they follow their father out of the room, and out through a back door. For the first time, Lydia sits down in the backseat together with her twin. They hold each others hands tightly and keep silent the entire car ride home. 

“Girls, I never wanted you to see that”, Dr Kry sighs and tries to meet their eyes in the rear view mirror. “I- … It’s hard to explain. Your mother is a very special person who I’m very lucky to have met.”

Lydia squeezes her eyes shut, but she can’t keep him out of her head. 

When they come home, Nadia drags her sister into the house. 

“Girls, don’t go upstairs”, Dr Kry says in that same dark voice Nadia had heard him talk in a few days ago. “I want you to stay down here.”

They halt, suddenly too scared to move. 

“I want you to help me with dinner”, Dr Kry says. “Come on.”

The twins glance at each other. Lydia starts to drag her sister to the kitchen. They help in complete silence. Lydia’s hands are trembling while she cuts cucumber and it slips, cutting a slit in her finger. She yelps and drops the knife. 

“Oh, honey”, Dr Kry breathes out and grabs her hand. “You have to be careful.”

She doesn’t look at him as he washes her hand under the kitchen sink and puts on a bandaid. Her entire body is in fight or flight mode. 

When Dr Kry takes care of the final touches, the twins scurry up to their mother. Your face drops when you see them. 

“Why is he doing this to you?” Nadia asks thickly as she tries not to cry. “We found out.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, girls”, you say sorrowfully. “I wish that you never had to know.”

“Why do you let it happen?” Lydia asks quietly. 

“I have no choice … I can’t do anything.” You lower your gaze and voice to an ashamed whisper. “I don’t have the energy to run away, and if I managed to, you’d be in danger and I’d be dead. Your father has the only antidote to his self made poison. It’s safer for everyone if I stay here.”

“But mom …”, Nadia whimpers, “... he’s hurting you.”

“I … I know, dear.” 

The door opens behind them. 

“Girls, dinner”, Dr Kry says shortly and nods towards the corridor. “Go downstairs.”

The twins turn to you, wanting you to make their decision. You give them a reassuring smile and they leave. You look at the man who has become your husband, much to your dismay. 

“Why did you let them find out?” you whisper with tears in your eyes. “You promised that they would never know!”

“I didn't think that they would.” He wipes the tears that roll down your cheeks. “I’ll fix this mess. Don’t worry, darling.”

With that said, he tucks you in and leaves to go downstairs. The twins have sat down by the dining table with their blank, staring eyes turned down into the table. Dr Kry sits down and start to eat, without seeming to care at all about the incidents that happened earlier. Nadia stares down into her plate with disgust roaring in her stomach. If she eats, she’s going to throw it all up in a matter of thirty minutes. She closes her eyes and sighs sadly. Lydia tries to eat a bite, forcing it down her throat. 

“Nadia, eat a little”, Dr Kry says. 

“I’m not hungry”, she mumbles. 

“You need to eat a bit. I won’t allow you to leave the table before you have eaten. Look at Lydia, she’s eating.”

Lydia feels her cheeks heat up as the attention turns to her. She’s suddenly embarrassed over obeying. Feeling exposed and naked under Nadia’s look of disbelief, as if she’s just broken a silent pact. But instead of saying anything, Nadia picks up her fork and takes a bite of the white rice. The twins can agree that this might have been the worst dinner they have ever experienced. 

Nadia puts her hand over her heart and clears her throat. There's a heavy feeling over her chest, something almost suffocating. She looks to the side, seeing how Lydia is frowning as well, trying to clear her throat. Nadia think that she looks like she’s going to faint. She wants to ask her how she’s feeling, but doesn’t dare talk in front of their father, afraid to start a conversation. 

After dinner, the twins decide to go upstairs, but their legs suddenly feel weak enough to break apart. 

“What’s going on?” Lydia whispers and grips the staircase railing. 

“I think that he put something in the food”, Nadia whispers back. 

“I feel really sick …”

She falls down on her knees in the middle of the staircase, still holding onto the railing. Nadia hurries to pull her up again and drags her over to her bedroom, lazily tucking her in. 

“Don’t leave me”, Lydia whimpers and grabs her hand before she can leave the room. “Stay … please. Don’t go. I'm scared.”

Nadia agrees, not wanting to leave. She climbs down under the covers of Lydia’s bed. They lay in silence and look up at the tilted, wooden ceiling. For every minute passes by, they’re growing more and more sick. Every muscle in their bodies seem to ache, twist and turn. 

“He’s doing it to us too”, Nadia whispers. 

They hear the lock on the door click and give each other terrified looks. Nadia stumbles out of the bed and feel the handle. She gulps in horror and turns back to the bed. 

“It’s locked!” she says and breathes out in shock. “He actually locked it …”

“Come back …”, Lydia begs and reaches for her. 

Nadia returns to the bed, crawls down under the covers and hugs her. She wraps her arms around her sister and rests Lydia’s head on her shoulder. 

“I’m scared”, Lydia whispers. 

“It’s going to be okay”, Nadia replies, although she doesn’t believe it herself. “We’re going to be okay.”

Dr Kry removes his tie, about to go to sleep. 

“I can’t believe you …”, you whisper from the bed, with her eyes down at her trembling hands. 

“Darling …”, Dr Kry sighs and turns around. 

You raise your tone, but keep it hushed enough not to exceed the bedroom walls. “You promised that they would never get hurt! You promised that they would never get exposed to this fucking substance!”

“They haven’t … yet.”

“Yet?! Don’t fucking tell me-”

“They figured it out, okay? They heard our conversation and decided to check out the hospital for themselves. I underestimated their intelligence … and their love for you.” He sighs annoyedly. “I’m not going to let their lack of understanding break apart our family — that I have fought so hard for. I put something in their food to keep them still for a while. It’s nothing dangerous, little one. I promise you that.”

“If I knew that you were going to break your promise-”

“I had to.”

He is about to caress your cheek, but hears sounds coming from next door. One of the girls is banging on the locked bedroom door, and calling for him. Dr Kry excuses himself and gets out of the room. He walks over to Lydia’s room, where the noise is coming from. Quickly, he unlocks, finding Nadia leaning on the wall right next to the door. Her eyes are full with tears. 

“What’s going on?” Dr Kry asks. 

“Lydia isn’t waking up!” Nadia cries.

Dr Kry feels his body turn cold. He runs over to the bed where his other daughter is lying on her side, and he soon finds out that Nadia is right — she isn’t waking up. He shakes her, gives her gentle taps on her cheeks and lifts her up. Nothing wakes her. He has to take her to the hospital. 

“Wait, where are you going?!” Nadia screams after him as Dr Kry carries her sister down the stairs. “She doesn’t want to be alone!”

“You have to stay here with mom”, Dr Kry says over his shoulder. “I’m taking care of Lydia.”

He hurries out of the house and quickly places her down in the back seat. Dr Kry’s usual forty minute drive to the hospital took only twenty five minutes this time. He picked her up in her arms and ran inside through the backdoor, and didn’t stop until their reach the room you have spent many, many months in. Dr Kry places his daughter down on the very same bed you have laid in. He placed an oxygen over Lydia’s mouth and nose, turning on the machine. He hasn’t felt this scared in a long time. 

Finally, after an hour, Lydia opens her eyes with a small moan. Dr Kry hurries over to the bed and removes the mask. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks her and brushes the hair out of her face. 

“I feel really sick”, she whimpers. 

“Do you need to throw up?” 

Lydia nods. Dr Kry picks her up again and moves her into the bathroom where she hovers over the toilet for ten minutes. Dr Kry holds her hair back and grimaces sadly. He does feel bad for putting her through this, but he has to. 

“There you go”, he says and puts her down on the bed again. 

“Why am I here?” Lydia asks weakly.

“You weren’t responding when anyone tried to wake you up. I got worried, so I decided to take you here.”

“Am I going to die?”

Dr Kry scoffs out a smile in a weird sensation of deja-vu. He has heard that question a lot, in the exact same tone and manner, but from the generation before her.  

“You’re not”, he reassures her and strokes her hair. “You know that I would never let anything happen to you.”

“Why am I feeling like this?”

“I put something in your food to make you and Nadia calm down, but you seem to have reacted badly to the substance … weirdly enough. Since you’re identical twins, i thought you’d react the same, but it seems like you are a bit more sensitive than your sister.”

“Nadia ate less than me.”

“Yeah, you might have gotten more substance in your body, which is why you feel worse. It’s going to be okay, I will not let anything happen to you.”

“But you hurt me.”

His smile drops and his hand stops stroking her hair. He knows that Lydia shares half of her mothers genetics, but he didn’t know that she would sound exactly like you. She has never heard you use these phrases, and yet Lydia has chosen the exact same wording that you have tortured Dr Kry with years ago. 

“I didn’t mean for you to end up here”, Dr Kry sighs and continues to stroke her hair. “That was my fault, I admit that. However, I had to keep you and Nadia a bit sedated because of how scared you were.”

“Why did you use so much?” she whimpers. 

“I was a bit shaky myself, I wasn’t meant to hurt you, Lydia.”

Lydia sighs shakily and sinks down in the mattress. She wants nothing more than to go back home, to Nadia, but at the same time she knows that if she goes back home, she will be locked in her room again. Continuing with life now that they know their father’s secret will be difficult. 

“How long do I have to stay here?” she asks quietly. 

“Until you’re feeling better”, Dr Kry replies and stands up. “For now, I think that you need to sleep. It’s late.”

That’s the last thing she wants to do. She has always been Dr Kry’s (not so subtle) favorite, and she has always had a preference for her father … but for the very first time, she’s afraid of him. She can’t trust him anymore, especially about her health. Being unconscious is the last thing she wants to do. 

“I don’t want to”, Lydia says pleadingly. “I’m not tired … please don’t make me sleep, dad.”

Please don’t make me sleep. Your voice echoes in his head, in the exact same tone. Dr Kry knows that he did a million things wrong when he kept you here, and now he has a second chance to fix things. 

“Okay”, he breathes out and sits down on his stool. “You don’t have to sleep, darling.”

Lydia gulps and looks around in the room, trying to imagine how you had felt while being here. She feels a heavy sensation over her chest, like a heavy stone. She couldn’t see the poisoned air purifier that was mentioned in the journal. 

“Did mom lay here?” Lydia whispers. 

“Yes”, he answers quietly. 

“How long?”

Dr Kry looks down at his nails, eyes faltering. “A, uh … very long time. Many, many months.”

She starts to look around again. “Where is the air purifier?”

“It’s not here … it broke, a long time ago. I had to throw it away.”

“Do you still use that kind of thing on mom?”

“No, I don’t. Not often.”

But he has his new way to make sure you stay.

Nadia runs her hand through her hair. Her poor sister. What should she do? Dr Kry left the rooms unlocked, which means that she can move around. She drags herself into your bedroom. You look at her with wide, nervous eyes. 

“Is she okay?” you ask and take Nadia in your arms. 

“I-I don’t know”, Nadia responds shakily while shaking her head desperately. “She wasn’t waking up and …”

“She’s going to be okay. I know your father can all of those medical stuff … maybe a little too well.” You sigh and caress the seventeen-year old girl’s face. “It’s going to be okay.”

Nadia shakes her head. “No fucking way things are going to be okay! He’s a madman, mom.”

“I … I know.”

“We can’t stay here.”

“Where are we supposed to go, Nad? We have no car, nearest neighbor is a kilometer away and we have poison in our blood. Sweetheart, we can’t walk far.”

“Mom, we have to leave. We can’t stay here with this psychopath!”

“Nadia …”

Nadia sighs frustratedly and hides her face in her hands. Something has to work. The farthest she has seen you walk is out to the garden when they’ve had picnic evenings. You take her hand, removing it.

“Sweetheart … you know dad loves you, right?” you ask carefully. You don’t want her to hate her him, after all he is her father … but you have to let her know the truth, no more living in the shadow.

“Fucking doubt it”, Nadia mutters. 

“He does. In his … own little way. But I need you to understand that he has sides that he hasn’t shown you … a-and I don’t want you to see those sides.”

Nadia’s face goes blank. You’re trying your best not to get swindled back into old memories, but thinking about that murderous side of Dr Kry brings you back to a time you much rather would want to forget. 

“Mom?” Nadia asks blankly and almost shouts in panic. “Mom! What sides?”

“He … He is a very patient man, but he can't take as much as possible, so please, whatever you do … cooperate.”

“What does that mean? Mom?”

Nadia goes cold. That’s it, she thinks, they have to leave. 

“Mom, get up”, she says and grabs the blanket before ripping it off. “Now. Before he returns.”

“Nad-”

“We have to try, at least. Please.”

You hesitate before getting out of bed. Nadia grabs your hand and try to pull you out of the bedroom, but everything around you seem to spin. Your entire body is heavy and aching in all the wrong places. 

“Nadia, wait”, you groan. “If I’m going to move, I have to move slowly.”

“Alright”, Nadia agrees. “I’ll go get some stuff and then meet you by the stairs.”

Nadia runs to her room to collect her wallet and hoodies for herself and her sister, then runs to get your jacket. She meets you by the stairs, helps you put your jacker on and then start to lead you down. You’re terrified of falling. 

“Nadia, I don’t think that this is a good idea”, you mumble and think back of your numerous escape attempts, all ending with someone losing their life. 

“We have to, mom”, Nadia pleads. “I can’t leave you here.”

“What about Lydia?”

“I’ll figure something out afterwards.”

Nadia unlocks the front door and leads you out on the glass verandah. You’re filled with fear. What if you can’t walk? What if you hurt yourself? What if Dr Kry finds out? Your body won’t be able to take his anger. Besides, you have barely left the house in eighteen years — apart from a few car rides here and there — what if the world has changed to something you don’t like?

“Mom”, Nadia says slowly. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I’m terrified”, you admit. 

“We will be okay.”

They start to walk along the dark countryside road. There are no streetlight this far out in the forest, but the moon lights up enough for them to see where the road is heading. 

“It’s been years since I was outside last”, you say. “I think the last time I was out walking was in the garden, last summer when we had that picnic.”

“Have you ever tried to run away from dad before?” Nadia asks. 

“I have”, you answer quietly. “A few times.”

“Did you ever succeed?”

“That depends on what you mean by ‘succeeding’, because I’m still here, aren’t I? But I got away a few times … the only problem was that he found me again.” You sigh, realizing that perhaps you shouldn’t have this conversation with your underage daughter. “Forget that. Where are we going?”

“We need to go to our neighbors. They have to help us.”

Nadia has only spoken to the neighbors a few times, because of how rarely they run into each other. 

They only manage to walk a hundred meters before bright, beaming headlights light up in front of them. Nadia wants to flee into the forest — in case it happens to be her father behind the wheel — but can’t seem to pull you with her. The car stops and to Nadia’s horror, her father gets out. 

“What the Hell are you doing?!” he shouts, sounding both angry and terrified. “Y/N!”

You freeze in your spot and seem to crawl together like a hurt dog, sounding like one too. Dr Kry runs over to you. Nadia watches in horror and starts to panic, wondering what she should do. Stay here with you and get caught in Dr Kry’s claws … or make a run for it to try to get help. 

“I’m sorry”, you shriek in fear. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

Dr Kry hugs your shaking body in his arms and strokes your back, hushing softly.

“I know you didn’t come up with this stupid idea”, he reassures you. “Don’t cry, my dear, I'm here now. I know this wasn't your fault. I'm not mad at you. I’ll get you back home and I'll take care of you. It’s going to be okay.”

He helps you into the front seat. You don’t fight back in the slightest. Nadia looks back at the dark forest and gulps. Her eyes glues onto something in the backseat and realizes that he has come back with her sister! 

“Nadia, get in, we've had enough of these childish outbursts”, her father tells her. “Get in. Now.”

“Is she okay?” Nadia almost stutters and points at her sleeping sister. 

“She’s okay. If you don’t get in now, Nadia, I’m taking them both with me and you’ll never see them again.”

His favoritism has never been clearer, Nadia thinks. She can’t leave her sister … so she gets into the backseat. Nadia wakes her sister up and caresses her cheek. 

“Are you okay?” she whispers quickly. “Did he hurt you?”

“I feel okay”, Lydia whispers back. “Just … tired. I had tro throw up a lot and I think that he gave me some sleeping pills or something. I insisted on going home … so he let me.”

Nadia breathes out. She glances over at the front seat. Their father holds the steering wheel with one hand and yours with the other. 

“Please don’t cry”, he wishes. 

Nadia watches on in disgust. 

When they get back to the white villah, Nadia pulls her sister up to her own room and lays her down on the bed while Dr Kry takes you into the master bedroom. 

“Here you go”, Nadia says and tucks her in. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“Some water”, Lydia says quietly. 

Nadia disappears downstairs to get a glass of water. She meets her father in the stairs. 

“Nadia, I’m not sure your sister will be able to leave her bed for a while”, he says warningly. “I wouldn’t try to leave, if i were you. If you do, I will take both of them with me, and you’ll never see them again.”

“Do you like to hurt your family?” she spits back. “What kind of sadist are you?”

“One to make sure my family stays with me. If you don’t want to end up in the same physical state as your sister and mother, you’re going to continue living as if everything is normal, got that? Go to school, come home, study, continue everything. No talking to anyone about this. Is that clear?”

“So everything as normal … but without Lydia?”

“Exactly.”

“Why aren’t you healing her?”

“Because I’m not going to let you, or anyone, take my family from me. Be glad that I’m still letting you live normally.”

Nadia glares at him and continues up the stairs. She holds the glass to Lydia’s mouth, watching her sip. 

“What now?” she whispers. 

“I’m allowed to continue living like normally … and you don’t”, Nadia says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“But … but I don’t want to live like mom!”

“I know. I’m sorry, Lyd.”

The girl in the bed sighs sadly. Naida takes her hand and gulps. 

The coming weeks seem normal. Nadia goes to school, studies, returns to the villah, but nothing is the same. Without Lydia, there’s no use in being on top. She has no one to impress anymore. Her father is dead to her, and sucking up to him makes her sick. She barely talks to her friends anymore. They’re always asking her about Lydia, and why she’s not in school anymore. Nadia can’t come up with countless excuses … it’s easier to distance herself. 

Life doesn’t seem that bright and colorful anymore. Nadia can’t bring herself to be excited about things that used to interest her badly. Now, every day is a chore, something she wants to get done, until something happens … but she doesn’t know what it is. A death in the family? Someone saving them? Someone killing someone? 

Nadia walks out of school, seeing her fathers white car parked outside the gates, and him inside … waiting for her. 

[youunravelme]

to all the girls you've loved before part seven

author's note: WHEW okay i am so sorry it took five days short of a year to finish this. what a wild ride it has been! i just wanted to shout out my dear friend @dani746 who has cheered me on (and roasted me) many times throughout this process. i probably wouldn't have finished this without you. i also want to shout out my other friend @thewintersoldierdisaster who helped me process so much of this part to get it written. you both are the best and i owe you both big time! i also owe all of you who have read and reblogged and replied and liked this series over the last year and a half, you have been so amazing! anyway, here's part seven! (and not to worry, while this is the last part of the series, i will be writing more about mama bear and mat).

pairing: single dad!mat barzal x reader

summary: being a nanny for rich people was probably the worst thing that ever happened to you, until you started working for mat.

warnings: children, rich people, fear of falling in love, anxiety

day seventy-one

you arrived at sydney and matt's in thirty minutes. it probably would've taken less time had traffic not been absolutely abhorrent due to the holiday.

you thanked the driver and paid before grabbing your bag and walking out into the cold air.

in your rush, you forgot a jacket.

you stumbled up the martin's front steps, and dialed sydney's number, pointedly ignoring the five missed calls and eleven texts from mat.

"hello?" thank god sydney sounded awake.

"hey," you exhaled. "can you let me in? i need a place to stay for tonight."

you could hear her mumble something to her husband. and the door was opened thirty seconds later.

matt ushered you in without a word. sydney met you in the foyer with a crease between her brows at the sight of your jacket-less frame and the bag in your hands.

"what happened?" she asked as she led you to the living room and sat you down on a couch. a ringtone sounded and when you turned around matt was answering his phone.

your focus shifted to matt who was looking straight at you. "hey barzy," he said. "yeah, she's here." he nodded, but his eyes were focused on you and sydney. "she got here just a minute ago. no she doesn't have a jacket. syd's with her now." matt hummed into the phone. "we'll drive her to the airport tomorrow, don't worry about it."

you wanted to bury yourself into the pillows. you wanted the couch to swallow you whole.

you didn't hear the end of the conversation matt had on the phone. to be quite frank, you weren't sure you wanted to hear it at all.

matt joined you and syd on the sectional. he threw an arm around the back of the couch and the very sight of it made you sick. you loved them together, you did, that wasn't your problem.

it just reminded you how jason never did anything close to that.

or more importantly (and maybe this was your bigger concern): your shoulders felt cold without mat's arm wrapped around them.

"what happened?" matt asked. and you had to give it to him, you appreciated the "no bullshit" approach he was taking, even if you felt a little attacked.

you opened and closed your mouth repeatedly, but no words came out.

"i'm asking because barzy sounded like he was two seconds away from a full blown panic attack."

you could feel your ears getting hot. your cheeks were getting warm. you wanted to throw up.

"we kissed," you mumbled.

the martins blinked, and you had to give credit where credit was due, sydney didn't shout "i told you so." matt, though, seemed to recognize that the conversation was probably best had between you and sydney because he pressed a kiss to the side of her head and walked out of the room.

sydney nodded and cocked her head to the side. "why did you run?" she asked.

you broke eye contact to look at your hands which were furiously picking at your cuticles. you could see her move closer, leaning forward on her elbows.

sydney said your name quietly. "what happened? did he overstep a boundary? i can get matt to say something to him--"

"i kissed him," you admitted, still not looking up. "i kissed him and freaked out and ran."

“why?”

you exhaled and continued picking at your fingers. "jason said some shit that just got under my skin and now i can't stop thinking about it."

sydney waited for a moment before she spoke again. "what did he say?"

you couldn't see, and it took you a minute to realize that it was because your eyes were blurring with tears. it felt pathetic to sniffle and wallow when it was your fault.

it was all your fault.

"no it's not, honey," sydney said, sounding closer than she did a few minutes ago. you didn't even realize you had said anything. "what did your ex say to you?"

"he said mat would eventually get bored of me. whether that meant just in general or if we slept together."

"you know that's not true, right?"

you halfheartedly shrugged.

sydney was beside you now. she placed her hand on your knee and squeezed. "honey, it's not true. jason treated you like shit, if the one interaction i saw the two of you have was any indication." when you didn't reply, she sighed. "we don't have to talk about it anymore. let's get the guest room set up so you can get some sleep."

it took all of ten minutes for the guest room to be ready. you were curled into the bed moments later.

you found yourself staring at the ceiling wondering how you could've ruined your life so quickly.

you shouldn't have kissed him.

god what were you thinking.

at a professional level, he was your boss, at a technical level, he was a roommate and also—

the best guy you'd ever known.

not that it mattered at the end of the day. you kissed him and ruined any sort of relationship, professional or platonic, you could've had. you might not have been a stem girly, might not be a rocket scientist, but even you could knew that it didn't matter if the stars aligned—

there was no way mat barzal was in love with you.

so you cried yourself to sleep and dreamt of the hazel eyes that had enraptured your heart.

day seventy-two

matt drove you to the airport and thankfully said nothing about your puffy eyes and messy hair. it was safe to say you were restless all night, barely feeling like you slept at all when your alarm went off.

“do you need someone to pick you up when you get back into town?” matt asked as jfk airport approached.

you hesitated. “i hadn't thought that far ahead,” you admitted. “mat was supposed to pick me up, but i don't think he'll want to see me.” not after you ruined everything.

matt nodded. “text syd and let her know when your flight gets into town and we’ll figure something out. if not us, then i’m sure the lees can help.”

when he pulled up to the airport, you gave him a grateful smile and a small thanks before grabbing your personal item and carry on and getting out of his suv. for a brief second, you contemplated jumping back in his car and begging matt to take you back to mat and ella, but you forced your legs to carry you into the airport, telling yourself your mother would be upset if you missed your flight.

so you walked through the airport, through tsa, to your gate, onto the plane, like a zombie. you couldn't stop imagining the way mat’s lips felt against yours, couldn't stop hearing jason’s words in your head like a broken record.

and when your plane took off, you imagined and wondered how mat did it all the time. your stomach dropped as you increased in elevation. your heart lurched when you looked at your lock screen, a photo of the three of you after one of his games.

you should change it, but you loved that little girl and that photo was one time of many recent memories where you felt like you truly belonged.

you locked your phone to keep yourself from thinking about it too much.

your mom met you in your hometown’s airport with a cheesy poster with your baby pictures plastered all over it. she squealed and shoved the poster at your father in favor of nearly tackling you to the ground. you could've cried in her arms, the weight of the last few months catching up to you. for all your parents’ faults, of which there were many, it felt good to be with them again.

your mom pulled back and gave you a watery smile. her hands framed your cheeks as she pulled your head down to place a kiss in your hair. “we've missed you, sweetheart,” she said. “christmas wasn’t christmas without you.”

“missed you too, mom.”

your dad scooped up your carry on and led you to the beat up suv he'd had since you were a sophomore in high school.

the backseat felt familiar like wearing your dad’s old college t-shirt, like fitting into something you'd previously forgotten about. your parents recapped the last few months to you, as they told you about the family drama and what happened at christmas. you were only half listening, doing your best to keep up when you left your heart and mind in new york. you glanced at your parents, married for thirty years, been through their own fair share of struggles. you passively wondered if there was ever this crippling fear in their chests at the idea of loving someone else, or of even falling in love and the enormity of it.

you knew logistically you weren't the first person to fear the act of falling, but you felt so alone in it.

wasn't it crazy? humans had been falling in love for ages and yet you felt completely isolated in this feeling. you weren't the first woman to fall in love with her boss, with a single father, with an athlete. you probably weren't the first to fall in love with a man who was all of the above—

but god it felt like it.

the entire experience felt confining. you knew there were girls dating famous athletes, but they were models, or rich, or childhood sweethearts, or not as mentally fucked up as you currently felt. you were never gonna be sydney or grace or sofia or any of the other nice girls you’d met. you were a nanny, a girl who chose a useless major in a highly competitive city who couldn't handle the stress of a starbucks in new york city at 8am. then you’d gone and kissed mat and consequently felt lighter than you had in the weeks it’d been since you found out your ex cheated on you with the girl you lived with.

but as soon as it ended, you remembered seeing the rangers jersey discarded on your living room floor. you remembered the way your stomach dropped to your toes, how you wanted so badly to pretend it wasn’t happening, but the noises from your roommate’s bedroom were evidence enough.

the writing was in the stars, it was in the fucking clouds, on the fucking wall. every man you'd had been with prior, you'd realized, treated you like garbage. your high school boyfriend never texted or called you back at a reasonable time. your sophomore year of college boyfriend never fully committed, saying he was too busy during football season.

then there was jason who didn’t really show red flags until you started working for mat.

he’ll get bored of you.

“honey? you okay? you went quiet for a second.”

your mom’s voice snapped you out of whatever that mental spiral was.

you gave her your best convincing smile and nodded. “just thinking.”

“how’s that boyfriend of yours?” your dad asked. “jack? joseph?”

“jason?” you gritted out through your painfully tight smile.

your dad snapped and smiled. “that’s his name. how is he?”

“i wouldn’t know, we’re not together anymore,” you mumbled just loud enough for them to hear, but not loud enough for it to echo in your brain.

the car went silent, even as the radio crackled out some random eighties bop from when your parents were in college.

“are you okay?” your mom asked.

“i’m fine.”

day seventy-three

your parents didn't make you celebrate christmas as soon as you got into town. they, thankfully, waited a day before calling your entire extended family over to watch you open presents alone. you smiled and thanked each member for their corresponding present. you dutifully laughed at every joke and sipped at your glass of red wine in hopes that the acidity would distract you from heavier things.

like the texts from sydney asking if you were alright.

or the video from mat of ella playing with the stuffed hippo you got her. you'd watched it ten times just to hear her laugh that she definitely inherited from his childlike cackle. you couldn't help but see the scrunched up face of ella’s that was a carbon copy of her father’s. but even after all that, you still didn't have the heart to reply. what would you even say?

“aw she’s so cute! also sorry i kissed you and ran away?”

you were on your fourteenth watch of the video when he texted again.

mat: let me know when your flight is coming back into town, we’ll pick you up.

you locked your phone and took a sip of your wine. and when your cousin did a cartwheel in the middle of the living room and nearly knocked over the christmas tree? you smiled politely while her parents chided her while you tried to forget the similar stories mat’s parents told you about his childhood.

as the family members cleared out, you helped your parents clean up the common areas. you were in the kitchen with your mom loading the dishwasher when she asked the question you were dreading.

“when are you going back to new york?”

your hands nearly dropped the plate you were holding, but you recovered quickly. “i have to be back before the isles’ next roadie.” a non answer, but you didn't feel like pulling out your calendar and counting the days to see how close you were to facing the mess you left on the island.

“are you staying for new year’s?”

you didn't need to look at your calendar to know you'd already been gone for too long. you'd memorized mat’s schedule at the beginning of the season when you started working for him. his roadie started on new year’s eve.

when you did the dreaded math, you had maximum two days left before you had to head back and take care of ella like nothing had happened.

“i can’t, mat has a road trip that starts on new year’s eve.” you couldn't even look at her. “i’m sorry, mom.”

but she shrugged your apology off and hugged you from behind with a tight grip. “don't apologize, baby. i just wish you'd tell us what's going on.”

“there’s nothing going on—”

your mother said your name, a cross between gentle and chastising. “i was born at night, but not last night. i know you, i know when something’s wrong. if you don't want to talk about it, that’s fine. you're an adult. but don't lie and say you're okay.”

you nodded but didn't offer up any more information.

“when you're ready,” she said, rubbing your back. “when you're ready to talk, i’m here to listen.” your mom pressed a kiss to your cheek, squeezed your shoulders, and walked out of the kitsch, leaving you to gaze out the window over the sink.

day seventy-five

sydney picked you up from the airport at noon with a certain smile on her face that you couldn't place. the backseat was devoid of her kids, so you assumed they were with the nanny or matt was home already with the kids.

she did most of the talking, which you were thankful for. you still felt unsettled back on the island so soon. too soon, if anyone asked. there was nothing more that you wanted than to go back home and hide under the covers in your childhood bedroom, pretending that your biggest fears were monsters in the shapes of shadows from your closet doors.

you were only halfway paying attention. your thoughts were monopolized by the last memories you had before going to your parents’ house. the sound of ella’s laugh when she opened your gift, the warmth in your chest at the anders and grace’s christmas party because you felt so welcomed in by people you'd only known for a few months, the overwhelming unnamable emotion in your stomach at the photo album mat gave you, the capsizing undertow feeling of being seen and known, how mat’s lips felt against your own like every good thing you’d ever done was to make sure you deserved that moment.

you were floating in your own thought bubbles when sydney parked her car in the garage. your eyes didn't wander to the car parked in the street, or the reason why she brought you to her place instead of the one you shared with mat.

you weren’t thinking of any of that until you heard his laugh from the living room.

but your feet were already carrying you there, following sydney diligently like you always did. you stood there in the entrance of the living room, your bag still wheeled behind you.

he'd robbed you of all oxygen.

it was like a spotlight was on him and the nearly eleven month old baby in his arms. a closer look showed that ella was barely holding her eyes open, but she was clinging to her hippo like her life depended on it. 

she looked so small, curled into mat’s chest, but so big compared to when you first met her.

her father cheering loudly when he scored on marty, had her flinching awake. her brown eyes opened wide and by some act of grace (or maybe torture on your part) she made eye contact with you and whined. ella reached her hands out for you.

and who were you to deny her?

you ignored the feeling of his eyes on your face, ignored the way his mouth opened in your peripheral vision. instead, you picked up ella and bounced her as she tucked her head under your chin, ignoring the hazel eyes that were locked on your face.

“you're back,” were the first words mat said to you since you left his apartment that night. “how was your trip?”

you fussed over ella in your arms to keep him from seeing how your hands shook around him and vaguely registered that marty had paused the game. “it was fine,” you said. “how long did your family stay in town?”

“they left yesterday, told me to tell you goodbye.”

you nodded, unable to form any other words to keep the conversation going, so you walked towards the kitchen in hopes sydney would follow. she did, thankfully, and soon enough the sound of chel echoed through the downstairs.

“what was that?” sydney whispered. “you haven't seen him in a few days and that’s all you have to say?”

“what did you want me to say? ‘sorry i kissed you and ran away. hope your holiday was fun?’”

sydney sighed through her nose and placed her hands on her hips. “you’re gonna have to talk about it eventually.”

“and i get that, but i don’t want an audience when we talk about it.”

she nodded and looked to the side. “i just hate to see you two like this.”

“like what?”

“like you're strangers.”

a cleared throat kept you from replying, but it did have you turning your head to see mat leaned against the entryway of the kitchen. “i don’t mean to rush you, but i think we need to get ella home so she's in her crib for at least a portion of her nap.”

quickly you nodded and bid goodbye to sydney and, at the door, you smiled at marty as he opened the front door. mat had his hand on your suitcase and was already carrying it outside to his car like it weighed nothing, which it certainly was not light because you had to sit on it with your parents’ obese cat in your lap while your mom zipped it up.

mat loaded your suitcase, you strapped his child in her car seat. he got in the driver’s seat while you slid into shotgun.

and neither of you said a word.

not until you got about five minutes into the drive. it was almost like mat couldn't handle the quiet anymore. “we don’t have to talk about it after this, but i think we should at least acknowledge what happened, right?”

“we don't have to acknowledge it at all, really. it was unprofessional and crossed too many boundaries. i think it’s best if we just forget about it.”

you were too busy staring out the window, watching the buildings pass to see something like hurt flash in mat’s eyes. “why? why do we have to forget it?”

he will get bored of you.

you shook your head and continued to look out the window.

“no, i think i deserve an answer, a reason why you ran out of our apartment on christmas and didn’t say anything.”

“it’s nothing, mat.”

“it’s something if you won't even look at me.” he sighed and adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. judging by the white color of his knuckles, you guessed he'd only tightened his hold. “i just—” he cut himself off with a sigh and rubbed at his jaw with one hand. “do you still want to look after ella? because if you don't, i’ll need some time to find someone else—”

you flinched into the passenger window. “why would you think i wouldn't want to watch her?”

mat shrugged. “i don't know, you don't want to seem to be around me and considering she's my daughter, i just figured.”

“as long as you're okay with it, i’d like to keep nannying. but if you want me to find another place to stay—”

“don't worry about it, it won't be a problem.”

you nodded but didn't say a word for the rest of the ride home. not to worry though, neither did mat.

when you finally got back to the apartment, you grabbed your suitcase while he maneuvered ella out of her car seat and into his arms. neither of you spoke, not even as you went your separate ways as you got into the apartment. you split in the hallway with him going into ella’s nursery and you into your room.

you at least waited to hear the door shut behind you before your shoulders slumped and tears pricked at your eyes.

he’ll get bored of you. he’ll get bored of you. he’ll get bored of you. he’ll get bored of you. he’ll get bored of you. he’ll get bored of you. he’ll get bored of you. he’ll get bored of you. he’ll get bored of you. he’ll get bored—

i’ll need some time to find someone else. i’ll need some time to find someone else. i’ll need some time to find someone else. i’ll need some time to find someone else. i’ll need some time to find someone—

someone else. someone else. someone else. someone else—

a knock on the door startled you enough that you had to cover your mouth to muffle the noise that escaped your lips.

“you okay?” he asked.

you managed to clear your throat and squeak out a “mhm.” you didn't hear any movement, probably mat wondering if he should press the issue, but after a few moments, you could hear feet padding back down the hallway.

you should’ve unpacked, you should’ve cleaned your room from how you left it. you should’ve done a lot of things. but you took a shower where you cried the entire time. then you got in bed and wished you were in your parents’ house so you could smell the slightly burned sugar cookies your mom made and hear your dad’s disgruntled sighs from the living room when his football team didn't play well.

now you were sitting in a cold city that you used to adore, but it felt like the love had evaporated once you were shown how unlovable you were. jason cheated, mat suggested a replacement, maybe that’s all you were. maybe you were just the ikea couch that moved from apartment to apartment only to be replaced with a crate and barrel sofa when the owner got a house.

there was no telling how long time passed before mat knocked again. “tito’s coming over, did you want anything? he’s offering to pick something up.”

you cleared your throat yet again before speaking. “no, no i’m good.”

“you sure? he's getting pizza from borelli’s.”

your stomach growled but you ignored it. “i’m sure, thanks mat.”

the footsteps retreated, leaving you to your thoughts.

it wasn’t long before ella woke up, forcing you to leave your little cave you called a bedroom. she smiled when she saw you, all her four little baby teeth proudly on display. you pulled her out of her sleep sack and changed her diaper, all while her legs and arms were flapping around happily.

“did you have a good nap, ella bean?” she didn't say any intelligible words, mostly just babble, but you smiled anyway. “i bet, baby girl. do you wanna go see dada and uncle tito?”

her deep brown eyes lit up. her eyes were probably the only thing she got from her mom considering she was a carbon copy of mat.

once her diaper was changed, you buttoned her onesie and pulled her little pants back on before you carried her into the living room.

both mat and tito’s eyes lit up when they saw her. almost immediately, ella started kicking her legs and pushing away from you to go to her dad. instead of bringing her straight to mat, you let her down on the floor and watched as she crawled her way to him.

she’d gotten much faster in your absence, even if it was only for a few days. and to your joy, and maybe a little tweak of sadness, she pulled herself up on mat’s knees where he pulled her into his lap.

“how was practice?” you asked.

mat blinked at you. “we didn’t come from practice...”

“i know,” you replied. “but i didn't get to ask you earlier this morning, so i’m asking now.”

tito’s eyes bounce back and forth from you and mat, almost like he’s unsure of what to do.

mat shrugged. “it was fine, just a lot of bag skating.”

and given their performance a few nights ago, that wasn’t completely surprising.

you nodded and walked into the kitchen when the tension became too much. you gripped the cold counter and took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

i’ll need some time to find someone else. i’ll need some time to find someone else. i’ll need some time—

“you okay?”

your eyes shot open and you spun around to see beau standing in the kitchen with a furrow between his brows.

“y-yeah, why?”

he jerked a thumb over his shoulder where mat was playing with ella on the living room floor, or at least you assumed he was, you couldn't see him from where you were standing. “you're joking, right? you seriously don’t know why? it’s been almost three months and i’ve never heard you talk to each other that way.”

“like what?”

“short.” when you said nothing, he continued. “what’s going on?”

“you mean he didn't tell you?”

“tell me what? that you kissed him and ran away and didn't speak to him while you were gone? yeah, he told me that. didn't tell me anything else though.”

beau wasn’t being cruel, you knew that. he was simply narrating what you had done in a matter of fact manner.

so why did it feel like someone was twisting a knife in your chest?

he sighed and placed his hands on his hips. “look, i’m not judging you, i just hate to see you both acting this way.”

“acting like what?”

“strangers. or maybe worse than strangers.”

 “what could be worse than strangers?”

“estranged lovers.”

a scoff left your lips before you could stop it. “one kiss hardly makes us estranged lovers.”

“no but it does make you two act like you don’t know how to be around each other.”

you refused to look at him, choosing instead to study the grain of the marble countertop. “he’s my boss, tito. i shouldn't have done it.”

he fixed you with a look you couldn't quite interpret. maybe it was similar to one sydney gave winnie after she asked her mom a million questions when none of them made sense and had no obvious connection between them. “you're lying to yourself if you think that’s all you are to him, if that’s all he is to you.”

you shrugged your shoulders. “that’s all we can be.”

“says who?”

no one, no one but you. you and that cruel voice in your head that sounds a lot like your ex. “we just can’t.”

“maybe you just need to be proven wrong. allow him to prove you wrong.”

day seventy-seven

“are you still coming to the game tonight?” mat called from his room while you sat in the living room watching ella play with the stacking cups before she got mad and knocked them over.

to say things had returned to normal would be a lie, but you and mat were good at pretending the elephant wasn’t in the room or even in the apartment building. “i’m not sure,” you replied loud enough for him to hear. “ella’s been kinda cranky all day, hasn’t napped well.”

on cue, ella knocked down the cups and screamed bloody murder. you cringed almost immediately. as soon as the scream was over, you could hear mat’s sigh from his bedroom. his voice sounded closer when he spoke again. “you think she’s getting sick?”

you glanced up and saw mat walking through the doorway. in his suit, he still managed to squat next to you. you quickly averted your eyes instead of staring at his thighs. “i don't know, she doesn’t have a fever, she could be teething or it could just be a sleep regression. all three are possible.”

mat leaned in and ruffled the hair on ella’s head. any attitude or frustration she had evaporated the second she saw her dad. she lifted her arms and babbled until he picked her up. he stood up to his full height and placed the back of his hand against her forehead. “does she feel warm to you?

you stood and replaced his hand with yours. you hummed. “maybe a little, but it’s also a little warm in here.”

mat nodded before he kissed the top of ella’s head. “just let me know if you plan on coming.”

“we’ll be there,” you said before you could stop yourself.

if you were a painter, you'd capture the look of mild surprise on mat’s face because it was equal parts endearing and handsome, you couldn't describe it in just words. “really?”

“yeah,” you said, a small smile on your face. “you’ll need your number one fans there.” and even if you doubted your permanence in his life, there was no doubt in your mind where he ranked in yours. “i mean,” you babbled. “aside from your parents and liana.”

mat chuckled a little. “you definitely rank higher than liana. you don't roast me as much as she does.”

“yeah well, she knows more about hockey than i do.”

his eyes looked into yours and you felt the vulnerability of being seen, of being observed through a microscope.

he’ll get bored of you—

“you should know that doesn't matter to me, it’s the fact that you show up.”

“i’ll keep showing up then,” you smiled. “even if i have no idea what’s going on.”

his smile matched your own. “i’ll come home and explain it to you then.”

you probably could’ve stared at him for eternity, his floppy hair and hazel eyes but ella screamed and wriggled around until mat put her back down on the floor, ending whatever moment you thought you were having.

he glanced at his wrist watch and cursed. “i gotta go or i’ll be late, you have the tickets right?”

“they're on my phone, you sent them yesterday.”

he nodded looking at you then ella, then back at you. “i’ll see you later, then. text me if something changes, i’ll check between periods.”

“you really shouldn't—”

“but i’m going to anyway!” he exclaimed before shutting the door behind him.

ella got a kick out of the uber ride to ubs, even from the comfort of her car seat. the driver was kind enough to play gracie’s corner, which was ella’s new musical obsession. she was giddy for once (because she’d been cranky all day) and didn't even protest when you put the headphones on her head as you entered the noisy arena.

you made your way down to the glass where sydney and grace were waiting with their kids. while it wasn’t your first time at a game with ella, it was your first time this close to the ice. mat had sent you tickets because the wags didn't rent a suite out for the game this time. which, in all honesty, was more than fine with you, experiencing a live game close up sounded more than fun.

the boys came out skating at a pace you couldn't dream of replicating. your eyes were as wide as ella’s as you both looked around, stunned.

“you okay?” sydney chuckled. “you look like a deer in headlights.”

you nodded. “they're just...really fast.”

grace and sydney laughed but nodded along with you.

after the initial lap of skating, matt and anders came over to say hi to their kids and wives. matt had a knowing look in his eye and skated away momentarily. maybe you were a little dumb for being surprised when mat, your mat (but not really) came up to the boards grinning ear to ear. 

ella, by an act of god, recognized him even with his helmet on (not that it covered his whole face, but you'd seen videos of babies freaking out when their dads shave so you weren't sure how she would react). she was flapping her arms and squealing, a nice change from the ear piercing scream she’d been giving you all afternoon.

you couldn't really hear what mat was saying, but you saw the happiness in his eyes, the matching grin he shared with his daughter. you didn't even realize you were staring at him until his eyes met yours. he gave you another award winning smile before grabbing a puck and tossing it over for a girl a few seats away from you.

before you realized the time, mat skated away from you so he could finish warming up. that, of course, didn't stop him from looking over in your general direction to look at ella who was enraptured by the entire experience.

the buzzer sounded shortly after and the game started.

ella made it about seventeen minutes into the first period before deciding she’d had enough. smiling apologetically to the other girls, you said, “sorry, the queen has decided it’s time for bed.”

“how're you getting home?” syd asked.

“uber,” you said.

“text us when you get home,” grace said.

you nodded and grabbed your things and placed ella in her car seat before heading up the numerous stairs to the lobby area of the arena. you sent a text to mat after you ordered your uber but before you walked outside, not wanting to stand out in the cold longer than you had to.

you: 

sorry to miss the game! the queen has said she’s had enough. we’re about to get a taxi.

you didn't expect him to reply soon. you managed to get an uber and head back to your shared apartment when you got a text back. 

mat:

call me when you get home.

before you could stop yourself, you furrowed your brows and replied.

you:

what if you’re in the game?

his reply was immediate.

mat:

call anyway, if i have time during the second intermission, i’ll call back. if not, i’ll see you at home.

as if on instinct, you smiled at your phone. you didn't even realize the uber arrived at your apartment building until the driver threw the car in park.

“thank you,” you said as you climbed out of the car and unhooked ella’s car seat.

the first thing you did upon entering the apartment was put ella and her car seat on the floor. the second was pull out your phone and call mat like he asked you to. it rang twice before your heard his voice on the other line.

“you home?”

you blinked. “you actually picked up?

he made a noise that sounded somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “you're surprised?”

“you have a game to focus on.”

“this isn’t a lengthy conversation. i just needed to know that you got home alright.”

“well we’re home. you can stop stressing about us and go win a game instead.”

he cackled through the phone right before he said a quick bye and hung up.

you squatted down to ella’s eye level. she was dozing off in the car seat and you were already not looking forward to the tantrum she’d throw as you tried to get her out and into pajamas. a tired baby barzy was a cranky baby barzy.

just as expected, she started crying and rubbing her eyes when you picked her up. she cried even as you changed her diaper and into her pajamas. she cried through chicka chicka boom boom and the little blue truck which she usually loved. she cried up until the moment you put her in her sleep sack and into her crib.

once she was down, you came back into the living room and started cleaning up to the sound of mat’s game on the television. you still weren't an expert on hockey, but you did at least try to understand what was going on. the important thing was that the isles were winning by a goal.

mat didn't get home until closer to midnight. you were still up, watching carpet cleaning videos on your phone. maybe you should've done something more productive, like cracking open one of the fifty books stacked in piles in your room, but after all the screaming from ella, you just wanted to see a dirty carpet turn white.

“you're still up?” he asked, a slight note of surprise in his voice as he walked through the door.

you shrugged. “was waiting for my hockey debrief.” you watched as he sat his hockey back next to the door and ran a hand down his face. “congrats on the win, by the way.”

he crossed the room and plopped down on the sofa next to you and groaned. “i can’t even think about winning when my body hurts.”

“that’s what happens when you can't stay on your feet for more than half a shift.”

he chuckled a little. “not you too, i get enough shit from the guys.”

“if you want it to stop, you should stop falling down.”

abruptly, mat turned to you. “can you even skate?”

“no, but you can. you even get paid to do so. which is why it’s so surprising that you can’t stay on your feet.” he rolled his eyes but there was a smile on his face. “what?” you smiled back. “what is it?”

“nothing,” he said. “i’m just glad we’re cool again.”

day eighty-nine

you felt like a zombie, simply put. ella was eleven months old and shouldn't be going through a sleep regression, yet she was up on and off all night. you knew that it was because she’d learned a new skill, one you couldn't wait to show mat when he got home.

part of you was nervous that he would be upset that he wasn't there for it. last roadie, he came home to ella cruising along furniture and taking steps while she pushed her walker or held your hands.

it took him two days to come to terms with it.

so you sat on the couch and watched ella play in the ball pit playpen with her stuffed hippo. any other time, you might have cleaned up after her, picking up the balls she’d thrown out (because that was yet another thing she’d learned how to do), but you were doing your best to keep your eyes open.

it was the rattling of the doorknob that had you and ella perking up and looking towards the doorway. you could hear fumbling and what you assumed was mat’s hockey bag dropping to the ground.

despite that, it was still a moment or two before you saw mat walk into the living room with a....iced latte in hand?

you furrowed your brows. “what—”

“dada!” ella screamed, flapping her arm that wasn't holding her hippo, doing her best to scramble to her feet without letting go of her stuffie.

mat nearly dropped everything in his hands, including the coffee, which you were still hung up on, because he drank black coffee, not whatever light colored drink that was in his left hand.

“did she—?” he looked to you, hazel eyes wide as the sun. “did she say—”

“dada dada dada dada,” ella kept babbling, her voice only getting happier the closer he came to her.

“hey sweet girl,” he cooed, bending down and scooping her up with one arm. his voice sounded thick, and when you glanced at his face, his eyes looked a little shiny. “i missed you. did you keep mama bear up all night?”

“how did you know—”

“you replied to my text at 2am. you're usually asleep before midnight.” he said it so casually that you almost didn't clock the deeper meaning behind his words. he didn't even look at you, his gaze solely focused on his daughter. “how long has she been saying dada?” he asked.

you smiled. “yesterday, i got it on video. she likes to watch interviews of you sometimes and when i turned an older one on, she said it. i meant to send it to you after it happened, but i figured you'd wanna hear it in person, and if she didn't say it when you walked in, i’d show you the video later.”

“this was much better, thank you,” he said, finally looking you in the eye. then, like a lightbulb went off over his head, he reached his hand out with the iced coffee. “this is for you, figured you'd want coffee after staying up all night.”

you thanked him and hesitantly, took a sip. pleasantly surprised was a phrase you weren't used to using, especially when it came to your coffee order. there were seldom people in your life who could remember how much sugar, cream, and syrup that you liked in your coffee.

jason never remembered, said it was too complicated.

so when you took a sip and it was the exact flavor profile you'd grown accustomed to, you almost started crying.

“did i get it right?” he asked. “i wrote it down in my phone from a month ago just in case. if it’s wrong, ella and i can go grab another one—”

but your smile cut off any rambling left. “it’s perfect. how was your roadie?”

day ninety-two

mat was gracious enough to lend you his car for the day. he didn't have a game, just a morning skate which meant you didn't have to uber to storytime at the library.

it did mean, however, that you had to go pick him up because tito was busy after practice.

you were anxious initially because you had no idea how you'd get into the practice facility, and you weren’t keen on keeping the car running in this economy. thankfully, right as you were walking towards the building, dobson was walking out. he smiled and said a quiet good morning while he held the door for you and ella.

“barzy’s still on the ice,” he said. “should be finishing up any minute.”

“still? is it a punishment?”

dobson shrugged. “i think he's just trying to tighten up his shot.” he cleared his throat. “do you know how to get to the rink?”

you shrugged. “i'm sure i can figure it out.”

which you did, it was pretty self explanatory, though the signage definitely helped. you walked out to the rink and couldn't help the smile on your face when you saw mat zooming around at a ridiculous speed. mesmerized was the only word you could think to use to describe both you and ella. both your heads followed him around the rink.

which meant you had the perfect view of mat absolutely eating it and slamming into the boards behind the goal.

the laugh that burst from your mouth caught you off guard. given how mat flinched, you would say it caught him off guard too.

but you couldn't help it, the sight of him flailing and slamming into the boards had tears forming in your eyes from the sheer force of your laughter.

“oh my god,” you huffed out between laughs. “you're a professional!” you didn't need to say anymore, he knew what you were implying.

mat stuttered out your name. “y—you’re here?”

“i told you i’d pick you up, mat,” you got out through giggles. you walked closer to the ice, stopping at the gate. he hadn't gotten up off the ice, his legs were spread as he sat there. you couldn't place why, but it was still insanely funny to you. as you kept laughing, ella started too, letting out a loud baby cackle that echoed across the ice.

that seemed to kick mat into gear because he stood up and skated towards the two of you, a dopey smile on his face. you moved ella off your hip and in front of your body, holding her back against your chest so she could fully face mat.

“hey ella bean,” he smiled. he tossed his stick over the boards by the bench and reached for her.

“dada dada dada—” as she kept giggling and babbling, you watched as the smile on mat’s face got wider and wider.

you felt your heart lurch into your throat as mat took her out on the ice and started skating. “are you sure that’s safe?” you called out.

mat’s scoff echoed throughout the rink. “i’m a professional.”

“a professional at ending up on your ass.”

while supporting ella with one arm, mat flipped you off with the other hand as he skated around at a moderate pace. something between a scoff and a laugh burst from your mouth like the fireworks in that one katy perry music video.

mat’s head snapped to look at you, an expression on his face that you couldn't place, you'd never seen it before. he skated back to you, with ella still giggling.

“what?” you asked. “why're you looking at me like that?”

he shrugged. “i just like your laugh, is all. you should do it more.”

feeling shy, you looked down at your nails, you really needed to get a manicure done. “haven’t had much to laugh about lately.” the anxiety you had earlier didn't miraculously disappear after your conversation with beau, but up until this moment, you hadn't realized how quiet your mind had been.

a few weeks ago, it was consumed with jason’s words.

now you couldn't stop thinking about mat.

“well, i’ll gladly bust my ass over and over if you keep laughing like that.”

you couldn't help yourself, another laugh forced its way out of your mouth as you looked at him.

day one hundred and one

deep down in your bones, you could feel the exhaustion from yesterday seeping into today. it was a good exhaustion, though. one caused by brunch with grace, sydney, and alexa, a playdate with sofia and romanov’s daughter, deep cleaning the apartment while ella napped, and a nice walk in the park before mat’s game. 

he got home last night after a short roadie. it was a successful trip, with them winning more than they lost. you knew ella would be happy to see him when he woke up, all she talked about was “dada,” though that just might be the excitement of saying her favorite and only word.

for now, though, it was just you and ella sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast. well, you were eating your cereal, she was spreading avocado around on her high chair. still, she was eating her scrambled eggs, so you couldn't really complain.

the two of you had moved into the living room with ella playing with her hippo and building blocks while you watched the newest episode of abbott elementary.

“is this a new one?” you jumped at the sound of mat’s morning voice and ignored the sensation in your stomach when you saw him rubbing at his eyes, bed head and all. 

“huh?”

mat opened his mouth, but at the sound of her father’s voice, ella turned around and screamed before crawling towards him. he didn't even hesitate to scoop her up and keep her cradled between his left arm and his chest.

“i said,” he started. “is this a new episode? i haven't seen this one yet.”

you blinked. “aren't they all new episodes to you?”

“what do you mean?”

did he hit his head or something? “mat, i've never seen you watch a single episode of anything that wasn't hockey highlights or espn...”

he shrugged. “that's because you're not with me on my roadies.”

it was your turn to ask, “what do you mean?”

mat rounded the couch and plopped down next to you, close enough to not be awkwardly apart but far enough that his leg wasn't touching yours, regardless of how much you wanted him to. “i started watching abbott on the road.”

“why would you do that?”

the tips of his ears turned pink. maybe it was warm in the apartment because the idea that you could cause him to blush wasn't something you were able to comprehend at eight in the morning. “you said you loved the show, i wanted to see what the hype was about.”

“you watched it because i told you about it?” it didn't make sense, no one had ever taken your recommendations seriously enough.

he wouldn't make eye contact with you. “beau kept falling asleep and i was tired of watching film and it popped up and you thought it was good so...”

you smiled to ease the anxiety on his face. “how far did you get?”

“i’m all caught up, except for this episode. i caught up on the roadie.”

“well,” you started. “you’re more than welcome to join us. if you want breakfast, i can pause it and wait.” but you remembered he was a professional hockey player, he probably had somewhere to be. “oh wait, when do you have to be at the rink?”

he checked his phone. “it’s not for a few hours because we got in so late. i’m yours in the meantime.”

you quickly turned your attention back to the screen so he couldn't see the flush on your face.

day one hundred and nine

it was a bad brain day. you couldn't explain it. you woke up and your mood soured. ella only marginally improved it, not even her giggles and smiles, as she stood in her crib babbling as you walked towards her, could fully fix your mood.

there was no rhyme or reason for it either.

well—

that wasn’t completely true.

you'd slept like shit last night. no twenty something should still be having nightmares, god you felt embarrassed just saying the word. but your brain didn't care about shoulds, shouldn’ts, and age because you woke up pouring sweat after jason berated you for what felt like hours.

he’ll get bored of you ringing in your head like church bells on sunday.

it was made worse when, to soothe the anxiety creeping in, you stupidly got on instagram. you should've known better, never in the history of the internet has going on social media improved your mood, especially instagram.

but there you were, staring at the instagram stories of the wags of the isles. pilates, jogs, dinner parties, team events you were too shy to go to. then you went to their feeds, wag jackets and happy families and all the things you wouldn't be a part of. they were rich, had a cool job, a happy nuclear family. and you were what? a nanny? you were a scandal waiting to happen.

he’ll get bored of you turned into it’s just a matter of time until mat finds a replacement. then, because your mind absolutely hated you, it would seem, mat’s own words echoed back to you.

and you knew it was out of context, he’d proven it to you over the last few weeks. but all you could hear was:

i’ll need some time to find someone else.

natalie was jason’s someone else.

who would mat’s be?

which was how you ended up crying into the pan of scrambled eggs. “sorry ella bean,” you managed to get out. “these will be mine, i’ll make you some fresh ones.” you plated the eggs and turned to set them aside on the island behind you, but you weren't expecting mat to be standing there in a white t-shirt and sweats.

no one should look that good in pajamas.

he’ll get bored of you.

“you okay?” and before you could even reply, mat was moving closer. “are you crying? what happened?”

you shook your head. “nothing.”

“it’s not nothing if you're crying into breakfast food.” he was right in front of you now. “c'mon, mama, you can talk to me.”

and you weren't sure why that one word did you in. “that’s not my name,” you huffed out.

“huh?” mat stepped closer and placed his large hands on your arms. “what’re you talking about—”

you stepped back into the counter, trying to get out of his hold. “‘mama’ isn’t my name. i’m not ella’s mom. i’m no one’s mom.”

his brows pulled together, his lips turned down into a frown. “i wasn’t asking you to be her mom, if you want me to find—”

“someone else, right?” you said. “you're just waiting to find someone else? everyone always is.” and it just burst from you. like it had been bubbling for twenty something years and this was the release. “i'm never enough for anyone. was i just a placeholder until she got a real mom? i can be a nanny but nothing more, right?”

“whoa, where is this coming from?” mat cut in, immediately breaking up whatever tirade you were going on. “who’s telling you these things?”

you wanted to scream. “you are! you told me you'd find someone else—”

“—if you didn't want to do this anymore! you weren't talking to me, and didn't seem very interested in doing this,” he gestured to himself and ella, “—at all.” he sighed, like he was calming himself. “i thought we were doing better these last few weeks. what changed?”

you shook your head. “just had a bad night.”

“please,” he begged. “please just tell me the truth.” another moment passed and you didn't say a word, you wouldn't even look at him. “was it jason?” you shifted on your feet. “what did he say?”

for a moment, you thought about shrugging it off, changing the subject. but you were so tired of bottling up all the negative thoughts, the buzzing bees in your head, you just let it all out. “he said you'd get bored of me,” you admitted, feeling a little embarrassed that you were so upset about it. “that i was just a nanny and once you realized you couldn't fuck me, you'd fire me and kick me out.”

you looked up just in time to see mat’s jaw clench. he opened his mouth to say something but shut it just as quickly. ella squawked from her seat so you quickly grabbed her out of her high chair and started bouncing her. she was probably hungry, but she seemed content just being in your arms.

“you know that's not true, right?” he said after a moment, his voice tight.

“i know i should believe you but the buzzing bees in my head, they...” you didn't finish.

“they what?”

“i’m not like them, mat. i don't have what they have.”

“who? you're not like who?”

“the other wags. you're gonna want someone who goes to games and has a car and can function in life without overthinking every little thing and...” 

he was shaking his head, his hazel eyes searching yours, like he was looking for the words to say, but couldn't find them. “who told you that's what i want?”

“everyone wants that, mat. i’m just—” ella started leaning and reaching for the eggs you cried into so you moved them out of reach.

after a moment of quiet, of ella just contentedly bouncing in your arms, mat spoke. “i didn't watch abbott elementary just because you said it was good, i watched it because i wanted you to talk to me,” he said, not looking away from your face once. “i wanted us to be us again and if watching a show i wasn’t familiar with meant i could talk to you, i would do it.”

his eyes darted away for a moment, a blush covering his face. but he pushed on anyway. “it turned out to be a really funny show so it wasn't like a burden or anything but i would’ve watched it even if it was garbage because it was something that you liked.”

“mat—”

“no, please let me finish.” he took in a deep breath and looked you dead in the eye. “i would've watched the scott’s tots episode of the office on repeat if you told me that's what you wanted to do.”

mat took a step closer to you, just a foot between you now. “beau said you didn’t believe that i could want you, sydney said it was because of something your piece of shit ex said. so i’ve spent the last few weeks trying to prove to you that i love you, that i love you right now, just like this. even with the million buzzing bees in your head telling you i can’t, i’m telling you i can and i do.”

the buzzing in your head stopped. you couldn't hear anything but—

i love you right now, just like this.

“there is no ‘someone else.’ there’s no one else i could want because you're here.”

“you're not gonna get bored of me?” you asked, kinda hating how weak your voice sounded, but not enough to be embarrassed about it. not when mat was standing so close to you, not when he was saying the things he was saying.

he smiled and shook his head. “i'm not gonna get bored of you.”

“even if i feel like a thursday in october?”

he blinked. “i don't know what that means, but yeah. even if you feel like a thursday in october.”

there was a part of you who wanted to believe him, who wanted to kiss him, but you still hesitated.

you hesitated until you thought about how mat called you every night on his first roadie away from ella, how he admitted that he missed her and kept waking up in the middle of the night expecting her to be down the hall, but how he felt safe knowing that she was with you. you thought about how he waited for you to call when you got into your apartment and immediately helped you move out when you found jason and natalie in bed together. you thought about how his family loved you, gave you christmas presents. you thought about the kiss, you thought about how he called matt when you left the apartment, how he asked if you had a jacket, how you were getting to the airport.

you hesitated until you realized he stole all the oxygen from your lungs. how you knew nothing about hockey prior to him and now it felt like your entire life. you thought about the family skate he'd invited you to in a month and how you dreamt of holding his hand in front of everyone. you thought about how nice it would be to wear his name on your back and know that he was yours at the end of the night.

you hesitated until you knew all the girls from his past, all the boys from yours, had led you both to this moment, standing in his kitchen in your pajamas with his child in your arms while he bared his heart to you.

“you promise just as i am right now?”

he nodded. “i promise, baby, i love you yesterday, right now, and tomorrow.”

you smiled, your heart racing, but your mind was quiet, quiet except for four words. “i love you, mat.”

“oh thank god,” he muttered before placing his hands on your cheeks and pulling your lips to his. he kissed you first, but you chased his lips when he tried to pull away.

it was only the need for air and ella’s screaming that pulled you two away from each other. “are you hungry, baby?” you asked.

“did mama not feed you fast enough?” mat teased, grabbing her from you and tossing her in the air a few times to get her laughing.

“mat,” you groaned.

“it’s okay though,” he said looking you dead in the eye, the widest smile you'd seen on his face. ella looked at you too, both of their faces scrunched up in that way you loved. “we love you anyway.”

mat barzal. nearly everyone in new york was obsessed with him, you knew him by the way he kissed you in the morning, when he got home from practice, before you went to bed. you knew him as the man who scooped his daughter up and tickled her just to hear her laugh. you knew him by the strong arms that would wrap around your waist.

you knew him by the way he loved you.

one hundred and nine days later, you loved him.

[celabi]

hm.. dad scummy mouche…hm I’m going to get him pregnant hm.

i feel like, no matter how many years have passed since scaramouche has evolved into a proper man and has some what [not really] outgrew his scummy teenage and early adult years, he still gets a little embarrassed around you. like, no matter how long you’ve been married, or how many times you’ve seen him nude, he can’t help but look away shyly when he catches you staring, or sigh shakily when you compliment him. so, he’s glad that he’s got his little helper to help him express his love to you on the days where he’s feeling just a little embarrassed.

thirty years old. no longer this scrawny teen with pimples and greasy hair, no. he has stubble on his chin, tattoos on his arms, piercings in his ears…and yet he gets nervous around his wife, and bribes his daughter with ice cream, to compliment her for him.

scaramouche hums when he feels a little tug on his pants, and when he turns his head down to see what it is now; he meets the eyes of his little girl, who stares back up at her dad with gleaming cheekiness. he smiles, and wipes the dish soap off his hand and on the fabric of his shirt before bending down and scooping her up into his arms. she beams happily, reaching up to tug on his purple hair. “daddy! mama told me to say to you… ‘thank you’ and that she thinks you’re very um, gor—jus? as well!” her little grubby hands tug on his locks with more force then she probably realises, and he can slowly start to feel a headache coming along from how hard she’s pulling. “she’s right! you are gor—jus daddy!” she swings her feet, twisting and turning the strands of his hair between her little fingers.

“hm, not as gorgeous as mommy, though…” he sighs wistfully, staring blankly at the wall. the little girl in his grasp playfully gags at the look in her fathers eyes. “dad! that’s so gross! don’t you think you love mommy a bit too much…?” her chubby fingers moves to poke at his cheek, which drags him back down to earth.

he shakes his head in slight, “no, mommy likes it.”

“are you sure? mommy probably thinks you’re weird with how much you look at her…”

he frowns, “yeah, okay… that’s enough of that.” and bends down to place her back to the floor, making her huff and puff in disbelief. he sighs, rubbing his temples: “how about instead of poking fun at daddy… you go and tell mommy that I think she looks pretty, and that i’ll make dinner for us tonight.” he shoulders sag, making him chuckle as he lightly pats her head. “aw again? your cooking blows, and mommy is gonna get sick of you if you tell her that all the time…”

he tuts, and shakes his head. “yeah right… she had all of her life to get rid of me, i’m not going anywhere, anytime soon… so suck it.” he teases lightly, flicking her forehead, which has her scowling.

“ugh, dad you stink so much!” she stomps her little feet as she runs off. “this is why mommy always stops to say hi to mr.capitano at school!”

“huh?! she does what now?!”

scaramouche likes to think he’s a good influence on his daughter, but his wife digresses.

scaramouche watches as his daughter pulls you by the hand and towards the front door, where she carelessly flops on her behind and raises her legs up into the air, shoes dangling off her feet. “please tie my shoes mama!”

he sighs, leaning his cheek in his palm. a cozy little home with both of his favourite girls… life is good, he thinks, and mentally pats his past self on the back for having such amazing rizz… [stealing your underwear and chewing your gum had really paid off]. the sounds of tiny feet padding along the floor pulls him out of his thoughts, makinghim look down, where his little girl is beaming back up at him with her arms stretched, waiting for her hug. heof course does, and bends down to pick her up, where her head flops onto his shoulder. “bye papa, see you after school!” so energetic, so early in the morning… scaramouche doesn’t know how she does it. either way, he huffs, and moves his hand up to smooth down her hair, ridding the knots and strays caused by her excitement.

“have a good day, baby… and remember what I told you? if any of those nasty boy teachers smile at mommy when she drops you off… tell them that your daddy kills people.”

“got it, dad!”

[russellsppttemplates]

Hiii!well maybe herve is a mommy boy and he don't wanna share his mum with his dad

cw: child's sickness

"Mama, mama, mama", Hervé said as you picked him up from the bed, hands rubbing his eyes to rid them of the remnants of sleep from his nap. "Hey, my sweet boy, did you have a good nap?", you asked, kissing his cheeks sweetly as you walked downstairs to the living room, hoping to get Hervé to eat something since he had been poorly over the last few days.

"We can eat here, with papa", you said as Charles held the tray, letting you sit on the sofa comfortably so he could place the tray down safely and properly, "hey, buddy, are you feeling better?", Charles cupped his cheeks, kissing his forehead and getting a smile out of him, "I think so, he's not so warm, he's smiley- yes you are, baby boy, yes you are-, I'm hoping he will eat something now", you said as you gave him his favourite fruits all cut up in a little bowl.

"Very good, Hervé", you praised, brushing the wavy hair on his head with your fingers as Charles scooted closer to you, resting his head on your shoulder, "it's insane how much he looks like me", your husband muttered.

"Oh, won't you tell me about it? He's a mini you", you smiled, kissing your husband's cheek and being met with Hervé's hand on your chin, fingers slightly wet from him eating with his hands.

"My mama", he muttered, placing the bowl back on the tray and changing his position só he was lying on top of you, looking like a starfish and taking up all the space so his father wouldn't be able to cuddle you.

"She was mine before she was yours, little guy", Charles nudged, seeing Hervé smirk cheekily as you cuddled him further to you, "Mama is my wife, and she has been for quite some time".

(Thank you for your submission ✨️)

[marblehazel]

Deeper

dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Part Two of Sitter

After nine months of no contact since the night Joel spent at your house, you run into him again over winter break.

Tags: Explicit MDNI, no outbreak, age gap, hurt/comfort, lots of feelings and tensions and arguing, which eventually lead to, car sex, unprotected penetration, fingering, first kiss (yay?!!)

Word count: 8.1k

You wake up disoriented.

The first thing your brain registers is how hot your face feels. After blinking a few times, you squint and look around. Sunlight is pouring through the window to the room, hitting you with what feels like a gigajoule worth of heat right on your cranium. You yank the blanket that is covering you away, cursing at how hot and sweaty you are under.

Supporting yourself up with your elbows, you plant your feet on the floor before sitting up straight, stretching your back and arms and groaning while doing so. You scare yourself hearing how nasally your voice is. Your mind runs, dissecting the events from the previous night.

Oh, right. You were sick last night. You slept in front of the TV after taking some medication. You remember the ache in your muscles and joints, the debilitating fever. How you embodied a person in Victorian times on their deathbed, pale and sickly, and all they wanted was to see the garden for one last time. You touch your forehead, and then your neck. Seems like the fever has gone away, leaving your skin sticky with sweat. Your nose isn’t stuffy anymore. And the sore throat is almost gone. You should send a love letter to Vicks headquarters.

While rubbing your face, you are hit by the sudden realization of this strangely vivid dream you had about Joel. It was definitely a wet one, on top of how it was obviously strange and came out-of-nowhere. The kind of dream only fever and probably too much Benadryl can produce. You remember that in the dream, you were watching TV with Joel, and it escalated to going down on him before he went down on you. Fuck, that was embarrassing. And so… porn-y. Straight out of a cheap adult video production company. Ooh, look at me, I’m sick and I’m alone and my dad’s hot friend came and ate my pussy out. What’s next, a plumbing guy? A pizza delivery boy?

Going upstairs is a chore. Your joints are stiff and the knob of the upstairs bathroom’s door gets stuck from time to time, and apparently today is the time. After almost kicking it down, you run the tap and give your face a good wash with cold water, resuscitating your brain cells from doxylamine-induced coma. After that, the very much needed teeth brushing.

You glance at the mirror, cringing at how disheveled your reflection looks. Maybe you should take a hot shower while you’re at it. Toothbrush still in mouth, you run your fingers through your hair, feeling the oily scalp under your fingertips.

And that’s when you find the proof of Joel’s visit. His release, not even fully dried up, is lodged between the strands of hair near your forehead. You pick at it and bring the sample to your nose, half hoping it’s snot. One whiff and it’s confirmed. The dreamy sequence of Joel Miller eating you out was, in fact, not a dream.

The realization hits like a truck. Your body is ahead of your mind and before you realize it, you’re already halfway downstairs, almost tripping and splitting your skull on the staircase. You turn the living room upside down, trying to find your phone. Eventually, you find it after digging in every crook and corner of the couch. It’s dead. You quickly plug it in and wait for the home screen to appear. 4 missed calls from your father, 2 from Amy. A bunch of texts.

Dad

Sweetie? I was asleep. I am so sorry you’re going through it alone. I called Joel. He should be on his way.

Is he there yet?

Didn’t hear from Joel and I can’t reach you. Please call me ASAP.

I hope you’re just asleep. Rest up and text me when you’re finally awake, okay 👍

Sweetie?

Amy

Your dad and I are worried sick. I hope you’re feeling better! Say hi when you’re up

Make some lemon ginger tea if your throat still feels awful

Ignoring the fact that you are pretty much shaking, you scroll until you find Joel’s contact, checking if he has left any message before leaving. The last conversation was from him last year on your birthday, to which you said thanks with a bunch of emojis. Nothing new. You check around the house, thinking maybe Joel left a note. Also nothing.

The house is eerily clean from his trace. In the kitchen you find everything is where it should be, and he even took the trash out. The front lawn seems unchanged, too. No tire marks on the driveway, no flattened grass, no dried mud in the shape of the sole of his boots on the porch. It’s like he was never here.

If you hadn’t found the remains of his semen on you, you would totally believe last night was just a dirty fantasy that somehow managed to override your brain while asleep.

You’re not sure what to do, or even how to feel. Guilt? Disgust? You guess it wouldn’t have bothered you that much if not for the fact that Joel tried his best to pretend he never visited. It makes your stomach churns.

Your phone rings. Dad.

“Sweetheart?”

“Dad,”

A relieved sigh from the other end. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. I can run a marathon.” you let out a breathy laugh. “Sorry I left you worried last night. I took some NyQuil and slept,”

That was technically not a lie.

“Yeah? I figured. Did Joel come? He said he would check, but we haven’t heard anything—”

Fucking pussy, you mouth. “Uh, I was probably asleep when he came. If—he came.”

Not only did he come figuratively, he also came metaphorically.

A faint ding sound, and your father pauses to read the notification. “Ah, there he is! Sorry… Car broke down… Phone died… Couldn’t find the damn charger. Ha!”

You chuckle dryly, heart sinking. “Yeah, it was storming last night, too, so…”

“Ah,” he gasps. “Well I sure do hope he wasn’t in the middle of the road when his car broke down! Did I tell you about that one time a chair—“

You can’t hear anything past that.

.

Joel is scared.

He hasn’t stopped thinking about what happened since the second he left your house. He doesn’t even remember driving home. One moment he was grinning as you skipped your way to the land of dreams, the next he was pulling on his jeans with shaking hands, and then he was standing in the middle of his kitchen staring at the microwave clock, heart thundering like he just ran ten miles.

What the fuck did I do? It plays in his head on a loop, over and over again. Not the way your mouth felt, not the way your voice cracked when you begged, not even the way you looked up at him with those wet, feverish eyes like you needed him more than air. No. None of the good stuff. Just the guilt. The sinking, oil-thick weight in his chest when he looked down at you and remembered who you were. Who your father is. What you meant to him before last night blurred all the lines.

At work, he drops a box on his foot. Snaps at someone who didn’t deserve it. Spends a full ten minutes staring at a power drill someone hands to him to fix, unable to remember what the fuck he’s supposed to be doing. His head isn’t screwed on right. It’s full of images he doesn’t want to replay, and feelings he doesn’t know what to do with.

You text him mid-afternoon.

Thank you for last night. I hope you have a good day at work.

He sees it pop up on his screen while he’s staring blankly at the schedule of the construction, unable to assess whether it’s on track or not. He doesn’t open the message. Doesn’t reply. Can’t.

Another one comes two hours later.

Can we talk? I was thinking maybe dinner. At my place, or yours, or anywhere you want. Please?

He turns his phone off and tells himself it’s the right thing. That not answering is kinder than… indulging you. That if he keeps quiet, maybe it’ll just fade. Maybe you’ll forget. Or at least catch the hint.

He spends the rest of the day in silence. Takes the long way home. Opens a beer and leaves it on the counter untouched. Stares out the window until the sun goes down and he’s just a silhouette in his own house. Feels like a coward. Because he is.

He knows he should regret it because it was wrong.

He does regret it.

But with each minute passing, it comes to his mind that he doesn’t regret making you come apart in his hands as much as he regrets—and realizes —how badly he’s wanted it for longer than he should have. How despite him trying so hard to deny and fight himself on it, the first word that came to his mind when you looked at him like that last night, all flushed and needy and trusting as he spent himself on you, was ‘finally’.

Back at your place, you sit curled on the couch with your phone in your hands, screen glowing against your knees. You check it every few minutes. Nothing. You start composing a message, delete it. Try again. Delete that one too. Eventually, you just set the phone down and bury your face in your hands.

You don’t even know why you’re crying. Maybe it’s the way he left. Or the way he’s pretending it didn’t happen. Or maybe it’s just that being sick and alone is already shitty enough without adding heartbreak to the list.

Heartbreak? You laugh at your own thoughts, but nothing comes out of your vocal cord.

You eat some stale bread over the sink for dinner that night, tears still running down your cheeks.

.

You make up your mind around noon, halfway through a cold cup of tea you never meant to finish. The ache in your chest hasn't dulled, not even after crying yourself to sleep and waking up three separate times just to check your phone like some pathetic addict. No new messages. No missed calls. You drive over to his house like a goddamn lunatic, cursing yourself when you keep checking yourself on the rearview mirror like Joel would care.

You wait. Hours pass. The sun shifts. You scroll. You text Amy some bullshit about feeling “a little better.” You rehearse what you're going to say and then un-rehearse it because you know damn well you’ll go off-script the second you see his face.

Every truck that drove by had your heart in your throat, but none of them were Joel’s until now. You see the familiar beat-up Ford come up the street, slow into the driveway. Your whole body goes still. His expression passes through surprise, confusion, resignation. Then he gets out, slams the door, and approaches.

“What are you doin’ here?” he says, cautious. Almost gentle.

You shrug like you just happened to be in the neighborhood. “Thought we could talk.”

Joel doesn’t say anything at first, just exhales through his nose and unlocks the door. “C’mon in.”

The house is dim, cooled by the late afternoon. Lived-in, but quiet. He toes off his boots at the entryway. You follow suit.

“Been out here long?” he asks, not looking at you.

“Just a bit,” you lie.

He nods like he knows you’re lying. Heads to the kitchen, opens the fridge.

“You hungry?”

“No.”

“I got leftovers. Chicken and rice. You could eat.”

You smirk, bitter and tired. “I gotta say, you have a very interesting modus operandi. Feed me, eat my pussy, then act like I don’t exist, and then feed me again. By the pattern I guess you’ll eat my pussy again after this? Can’t wait.”

Joel closes the fridge, slow and quiet. Doesn’t move. “Quit it, kid.”

“Quit it, kid,” You parrot him, leaning against the counter, trying to keep your cool. “Oh sorry, you know, for having the balls to talk to your face.”

His face doesn’t shift, not even the tiniest bit, and it only pisses you off more. “The way you were just, gone, and all. Didn’t even leave a note or something. Lied to my dad, saying you didn’t even come over. Like it was so disgusting you don’t even want to remember. Like I was disgusting.” Each word is delivered sharper than the last without you meaning to.

He sighs. Deep, guttural. Like this whole thing is dragging something out of him he’s spent years trying to bury. He finally looks at you, and you wish he wouldn’t. There’s too much in his eyes. Grief, guilt, something like longing, but dulled at the edges.

“It was a mistake,” he says, low.

You hold your arms across your chest like they might catch you if you fall. “You didn’t stop me. You could, but you didn’t. You wanted it as much as I did, Joel.”

“I know.” He takes a small step toward you, then stops himself. “And I ain’t proud of that.”

“Why?” Own it, Joel, don’t take it back, you want to say, but your voice cracks before you can voice the rest of it out loud.

“Because you’re you,” he echoes, pain blooming in every syllable. “Because I’ve known you forever. Because I used to sit on that porch with your dad talkin’ about you. Because I care about you and that means I shouldn’t want you the way I do.”

You blink fast. The weight of it lands too heavy in your gut, and you both stand in silence for what feels like years.

“You know,” you say, forcing levity. “It’s not like I was about to ask you to marry me.”

Joel exhales through a tired, pained laugh. “Didn’t think you were.”

Joel looks at you for a long, long moment. And when he finds you silent, processing, his voice softens again—dangerously soft, like the floor’s about to give way.

“You’re beautiful. You’re strong. One day you’re gonna have someone who sees you and knows exactly what you need and gives it without all this…mess.”

“But it won’t be you.” you look at him, fighting the feeling of barbed wire closing around your throat.

“No. It won’t be me.”

The way he said it. Soft. Like he was trying not to scare a stray duckling away. Like he was mending pieces of a broken vase and loud noises would make it shatter again. He knows you. You know he’s not trying to hurt you. But it still stings, opening an old wound somewhere that you can’t locate.

The silence after that is unbearable. You hate that he said it kindly. You wish he’d screamed, or thrown something, or just been a dick so you’d have a reason to stay angry. But no. He just says it with that same sad softness that makes your chest cave in.

You force a brittle laugh. “Well. I guess I’ll go let someone else ruin my life, then.”

Joel’s mouth twitches like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t.

You move to the door. “Take care, Joel.”

“You too, kid.”

“And. Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t. My fault as much as yours.”

“Yeah. I hope you, uh, go find someone that’s not… uh,”

“My friend’s kid?” Joel cuts, filling in the blank.

“Yeah,” you laugh dryly.

“Right,” Joel concurs. “Someone that’s not, uh, affiliated with me, I guess.”

.

You don’t see Joel again after that. You don’t tell a soul about what happened, either.

After that conversation with Joel, you drive your blue Pontiac Vibe back home, all teary and snotty. Two days after that you spend in front of the TV, eyes pointed at the screen but mind elsewhere. Your tears dry soon after, and you ridicule yourself for reacting so strongly over the whole thing like you are going through a divorce or something. You blame it on the hormones.

Your father and Amy come back home later that week, all tanned and radiant. They bring back a vintage jewelry dish for you and a leather wallet for Joel, plus a couple bottles of artisan wine. Your father suggests inviting Joel over for dinner before you go back to school, but before you get to find a convincing excuse to not have to participate in said dinner, Joel declines the invite, saying he is busy handling a big project. While setting the jewelry dish on your vanity, you lament how you should’ve probably gone to Italy instead of staying home.

That weekend you drive back to college. Nothing really changes. Same old routines of going to class and the library, occasional hangouts with friends. By three or four weeks, you have forgotten how seemingly serious the whole ordeal was. The days stretch out, lazily unfolding into summer.

Your father proposes to Amy in July. They send you pictures of the ring and them smiling. Amy cries tears of happiness on the phone, and you discuss the best time to hold the wedding and where, what color and theme, which friends and acquaintances should get invited, and if you’d bring a special someone. You laugh it off.

One day late summer your father sends pictures of him and Joel fishing. Joel is wearing a baseball cap in the picture, biceps flexing as he’s holding the biggest bass you had ever seen, its green scales glistening under the sun. God, he is insufferable. Isn’t bass hard to catch during this time? Even a fish finds Joel irresistible, it seems like. Your father puts his classic goofy smile while having his arms out, holding a phantom fish. In the other picture is Tommy with a catfish. “Day out with the boys 👍” your father captions.

.

Summer goes by, and fall doesn't stay long. You don’t go home for Thanksgiving, opting to take a few small jobs around the school while taking care of your roommate who landed on her ankle wrong trying to copy a girl from the cheer team.

When winter break starts, she’s picked up by her family and you drive back to your hometown, the two hour trip spent singing and pointing at things around the highway to yourself.

You hug your father and Amy first thing after stepping out of the car. The first meal you have together is warm, fun, familiar. You do the dishes and plan to catch up with old friends in town before Christmas.

The next day, you go out to go Christmas shopping. You have secured a really nice silk scarf for Amy after seeing a same one worn by a friend in school that you think would totally go well with her purse, but nothing yet for your father. He’d be satisfied with a tie or a pair of socks, but maybe you’ll get some air dry clay and sculpt something to keep on his nightstand.

After copping some art supplies, wrapping paper, and ribbons from a chaotic Hobby Lobby, you walk around the mall and get a few books your father might like. Next stop is a makeup store, and you swatch some lipstick on the back of your hand before checking out two, one for yourself and one to fill Amy’s stocking.

You catch up with an old friend in the afternoon, drinking smoothies instead of margaritas because she’s apparently pregnant. Baby Daddy? Your crush in middle school. They didn’t know each other until last January, when she hit his truck trying to parallel park and exchanged numbers to give him her insurance information and they allegedly “fell in love at first sight”. It’s not like you and this guy had ever progressed past stealing glances in the hallway, but it still hurts your ego and quite possibly starts a premature existential crisis. Quarter-life crisis, if you will.

You say goodbye and decide that you need a drink. In the area is a sports bar, and for a brief period you think any kind of bar will do as long as they got liquor. But inside the bar there are far too many people occupying a limited space waiting for the game to begin on large TVs mounted over the bar, and it doesn’t seem suitable to drink and maybe cry while people are cursing over a missed field goal. You quickly go back to your car, feeling suffocated, and flee the scene.

The road was surprisingly clear, as is the sky, but the radio plays the most obnoxiously ill-sounding songs that get to your temper. You smash the buttons, almost hitting the curb. Twenty curse words don’t satisfy you and you turn the car and rear into an empty parking spot in the back of a bar that looks quieter than the one you previously visited. You ditch your sweater, leaving out a padded tank top that shows your outline in the best way, thinking maybe you can at least get somebody inside to notice—maybe even fuck the feeling of being left behind out of your brain in the parking lot. Anyone. Anything, really. Maybe the universe will feel bad and throw a fall-in-love-at-first-sight there for free, too.

Your eyes sweep the vicinity upon entering. It’s quiet inside. Even the jukebox is playing on a low volume. Under ten people are scattered around the tables and bar, some of them conversing, a tall man playing pool by himself, the bartender straightening bottles on the shelf.

A familiar figure is sitting alone on the stool by the bar, his shoulders stretched to the front, posture almost slumped, but it doesn’t hide the broad that his frame is. Your heart sinks when you realize who it is.

“Joel,” You call from behind him. Upon hearing his name, he slightly turns his back and his eyes find yours.

“Kid!” He raises his eyebrows in surprise, teeth showing behind his almost-too-long beard that he likes to grow out every winter. He stands up and almost opens both of his arms to embrace you before he visibly realizes something, pulling you into a side hug instead, giving a couple pats to your arm.

“Been a while,” he says as he sits back down. You take a seat on the dark wooden stool beside him, placing your purse on the bar.

He asks what you want to drink and gestures to the bartender after you tell him you’ll have what he’s having. He then slightly faces you before asking when you arrived in town.

“Couple days ago,” you fidget with the bottle just set in front of you. It’s cold under your fingertips, and you can feel the condensation forming. “You looked so gloomy. Can’t find someone here that is not affiliated with you to take home?” You gently nudge his shoulder, teasing.

Joel chuckles, shaking his head before taking another swig of his beer. 

“Eh, just usual shit day at work,” he shrugs.

“People still renovate this time of the year?” you furrow your brows.

“That’s the thing—They’re pushin’ for everythin’ to be done in one night before family comes over like I'm a genie in a lamp.”

You chuckle sympathetically before taking a sip of the beer. The smooth rounded glass mouth touching your lips, your lip gloss staining the already foggy surface. You feel Joel staring, and you would prefer it if it wasn’t true. But you don’t check to confirm. The carbonation is sizzling weakly on your tongue. Hops and malt are not exactly your favorite. But what wouldn’t you give to appear more relatable in Joel Miller’s eyes? When you set the bottle down on the bar, Joel is looking at his own bottle.

“How’s the old man?” he asks, shifting in his seat.

“Oh, the usual.” You smile. “Did Dad invite you over for dinner on Christmas Eve, yet? If not, you’re invited.”

Joel smiles. Your father did, and he said no, but he lets himself enjoy your courtesy, avoiding declining your invitation blatantly. He then asks if you’re on track to graduate next year, to which you spoil him with the stories of things that had happened to you during the nine-months of no contact with him. He listens intently, chuckling as you go, at one point supporting the side of his head using his hand with elbow on the bar. You look so lovely under the warm overhead light, and Joel suppresses the urge to focus on how your eyes gleam instead of your story.

You don’t change at all, he thinks. Still as sweet as ever. He’s amused by how you seem unaffected by whatever happened between the two of you. The cheerful optimism, almost naive way of thinking that is only wasted on the youth. Or maybe it just didn’t mean that much to you, he reckons. 

Somehow the thought breaks his heart.

In this new angle his eyes catch the pool player eyeing you before moving to him. Joel’s pretty sure the stickman furrows his brows before looking at you again, an unreadable expression on his face. Like questioning.

Like accusing.

Suddenly he becomes hyper aware of how this looks again, of his age, of your age, of how he’s betraying the only person he can call a friend, of how he’s ‘preying’ on the young or something. His shoulders are getting tense, his spine leaning ever so slightly away from you.

He’s being paranoid. He’s not even touching you. The last time his skin touched your skin was almost a year ago. But he can’t help himself.

“…and they said they are probably gonna get married next year when the baby’s here, and it’s not like I’m angry, or jealous, you know? It’s just—“

“Sorry, I’m gonna, uh, use the restroom.” he clears his throat before scurrying away. You mutter a quick ‘okay’ before fidgeting with your bottle again, wondering if you killed the vibe by telling him the old friend old crush situation. Maybe that kind of story is best reserved for a person like your roommate and not a fifty something year old contractor that you fucked once. Well, you didn’t exactly fuck him. But.

You sigh and stare into the neck of your bottle. The soft hum of the jukebox continues, a Teddy Pendergrass song now drifting in like fog. You tap your nail absent-mindedly against the glass, annoyed at yourself for rambling, for oversharing, for hoping too much again. Not to mention how acutely aware you are of how cold your shoulders feel now, how your exposed arms—meant to be a silent dare to the universe—now just make you look lost. Just a sad and lonely fool looking for some quick-relief, when you know deep inside that’s not what you want at all, now that you’ve seen him again.

You feel... stupid. Joel might not even come back—he probably has left the bar now for all you know, not being able to handle this again. You reach for your purse, pretending to search for something to stop yourself from thinking.

A voice interrupts.

“Trouble in paradise?”

You turn slightly. The pool player—tall, maybe late twenties, shaggy hair and a smirk that tells you everything you need to know—has approached and is now leaning one elbow against the bar. Too close. To think that you would’ve been waiting for this moment if not for meeting Joel…

And, god, he’s not it. Not even close. All you can see now is how un-Joel he is. You’re offended you almost let yourself settle for this. You straighten a bit. “Excuse me?”

He gestures loosely toward the empty stool beside you. “Mind if I sit?”

“I do.”

That makes him chuckle, but he sits anyway. “Didn’t mean to overhear, but sounds like you and your... old man had a disagreement.”

You blink slowly, then roll your eyes. “He’s not my dad.”

“Oh,” the guy replies, his eyes shifting a little like he’s just caught the scent of blood. “So... that older guy isn’t your father. Interesting.”

“Not really,” you say coolly. “He’s just someone I know.”

“Sure. Someone you know.” He lets the words hang in the air, thick with implication. “Well then. I was gonna say, it’s a shame someone like you is wasting your night sitting next to—what is he, your boss or somethin’?”

You push your bottle away, now entirely uninterested in the drink or the conversation. “Do you want something or are you just trying to see how many wrong assumptions you can fit into a minute?”

He leans in just a touch, eyes gleaming like he thinks this is all flirtation. “How about we step outside? Get some air. I know a place not far from here where you can actually hear yourself think.”

“I don’t need air,” you reply evenly. “I need you to get lost.”

The guy’s smile falters for a second, just enough to show what’s underneath—the entitlement, the ugly little bruise of a rejected ego.

“You sure? Doesn’t look like that guy’s coming back anytime soon.”

You don’t get to answer.

“She said she’s good.”

You both turn. Joel’s standing just behind the man now, tall and still, a hand resting loosely at his side. His expression is deceptively calm, but his eyes are hard, unblinking.

The pool guy sizes Joel up for half a second, like he’s thinking of saying something else—but he doesn't. He just shrugs and backs off.

“No harm meant, man,” he mutters, walking off toward the tables again.

Joel waits until the guy is fully gone before he turns to you. “You alright?”

You nod once, your face hot. “Yeah. I was fine.”

Joel doesn’t say anything. He just settles back onto the stool beside you and places his bottle down, fingers wrapping around the glass with a quiet tension.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

You glance over. Joel’s jaw is clenched. His thumb moves idly over a drop of condensation on the bottle. You want to say something to lighten the moment, but your throat is tight. There’s something about the way he’s sitting—close but not too close. Like if he touches you he’ll lose the reins completely. But still, he stayed. Still, he came back.

“Thanks for stepping in,” you say softly.

Joel turns his head to you then, eyes meeting yours with that unbearable softness he reserves only for the moments where he’s too tired to hide it. He looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t trust himself to do it.

“I’d do it again.” he says.

The jukebox changes to a quieter track. You wonder if he knows what he just said. If he knows what he means.

“Ain’t you cold in that?” Joel gestures toward you with the heel of his bottle. He takes a quick gulp right after, like the words tasted too vulnerable coming out and need to be drowned fast.

You blink at him. “Oh—this?” You look down at yourself, arms bare, chest rising in the tight tank top. Suddenly you feel exposed, and not in the sexy, power-holding way you imagined when you ditch the outer layer of the outfit. “Left my coat in the car. Thought it’d be warmer in here.”

Joel’s mouth presses into a line. He nods like he accepts that, but it bugs him. You can tell. He drains the rest of his bottle and taps the bar for the check.

You step outside a few minutes later together, the door shutting behind you with a low mechanical thunk. The cold hits instantly. You cross your arms in front of your chest, trying to fake composure, but it bites through the fabric quick. Joel walks beside you in silence, hands deep in his pockets, his boots heavy against the pavement.

“You sure you’re alright to drive?” he asks, voice low.

“Yeah. Only had the one.” You shrug, still not looking at him.

The parking lot’s near empty. His truck and your car sit apart, like siblings who got into a fight and were told to face opposite corners. Nine months, wasted down the drain. You could’ve lived a very different life if he didn’t push you away—maybe today would’ve been an illicit date instead, your arms linking, his jacket on your shoulders. Alas.

“Guess this is where we say goodbye again,” you mutter, half-laughing, but it lands bitter and brittle in the cold air.

Joel exhales, annoyed. “Don’t start.”

“What?” You turn to face him now, jaw set, but the disbelieving scoffs can’t stop making their presence known, and you’re halfway to freeze to death yet the glacier encasing your anger, your sadness, is melting down out of nowhere. “You don’t like hearing how it felt like shit?”

Joel blinks. “That’s not what I—”

“No, I know what you said,” you snap, stepping closer, heat rising in your throat. “You said it wasn’t right. You said it shouldn’t have happened. I heard you the first time, Joel, pretty much the only thing I could think about for the past nine months, by the way.”

He closes his eyes briefly, like he’s trying to shut it out. “Shut up, for god’s sake, just, cut it, it’s not—” He stops himself, lips pressing into a hard line.

“It’s not right? Yeah, it’s not fucking right alright, Joel. Sorry I manipulated you into agreeing to get your dick sucked or something. My fault.” You throw your hands in the air, desperate to leave, to drive and step on the gas, yet your feet are unbudging.

“Kid,”

“I’m not a kid!” you snap, eyes burning. And you fucking hate how much you’re the only one ‘furious’ and ‘emotional' here, essentially proving yourself to be as immature as Joel probably thinks. It makes your head spin with rage. He says something, but you keep shooting. “Stop calling me that. I came into that bar tonight thinking maybe, maybe, I could move on—and then I saw you, because of course, of course of all places and all fucking time in the entirety of Austin County you had to be there—and I knew. I can’t.” 

“You’re bleeding,” he says again, clearer, louder.

You blink. “What?”

“Your nose. It’s—shit—” He fumbles in his coat pocket and pulls out a napkin, stepping forward to press it into your hand. “Here.”

You touch your nose and wince at the warm stickiness trickling down your lip.

“Goddammit,” you mutter, tilting your head back, suddenly humiliated. You swipe at it, annoyed, feeling foolish and hot all over. The cold, maybe. Or your body just caving under the weight of it all.

“Get in the truck,” Joel says.

“I’m fine,” you mumble, eyes stinging.

“Get in the goddamn truck.” he says again, and you finally move.

The inside of the truck is still warm. You climb in stiffly, heart still pounding from the fight, blood still trickling into the damp napkin. Joel gets in a second later, slamming the door, rummaging through the console for something better than the now-soaked paper.

The silence is thick.

You sit there, breathing hard, your throat tight. Joel shifts in his seat, jaw ticking, hands clenched on the wheel like it's the only thing keeping him tethered. You dab at your nose with a fresh tissue, watching the red smear dull across the paper. You're still simmering, blood still hot, even as your face feels cold and clammy.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “But you can’t blame me for feeling.”

He turns then. Slowly. Like if he moves too fast, he might break something. His eyes are molten, locked on yours, full of restraint barely holding.

“You think I don’t feel?” he says, voice low and rough, like gravel sliding down a slope. “You think I don’t—every fuckin’ day—I try not to think about it. About you.” His chest rises like he’s swallowing a scream. “You walked in that bar tonight and I swear to god—”

The air goes taut.

Something in him snaps.

One hand reaches across the console, rough fingers curling around the back of your neck, the other on your thigh, hauling you over the center divide like the whole world is breaking under him and you’re the only thing he needs to hold onto.

And then he kisses you.

His mouth crashes onto yours with months of hunger behind it, years of guilt and need unraveling all at once. It’s not careful or measured—it’s needy, punishing. Teeth clashing, lips bruising, breath stolen. You gasp into his mouth and clutch the front of his jacket like you’ll die if he pulls away.

Your legs are halfway in his lap now, the cold forgotten, the bloody napkin crumpled under your thigh. His hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head just how he wants it, deepening the kiss until your moan slips free—and he lets out a low sound from his throat, like he’s been starving and just remembered what full tastes like.

When he pulls back, just barely, your lips are slick, swollen. You chase him, whimpering, desperate for more, but he’s just looking at you.

“This is wrong,” he murmurs, voice shaking.

“Then stop,” you whisper back, eyes locked on his.

His breath stutters. His mouth opens. But the words don’t come.

Because he can’t.

The second kiss is worse—worse because it’s better. Hotter. Deeper. There’s no hesitation in it now. No breath between. Joel’s hand cradles the back of your head as your mouth parts under his, teeth catching on his lip before he swallows the sound you make. It’s a kiss meant to punish both of you—for the months you lost, for the things unsaid, for the heat neither of you dared acknowledge until now.

You shift closer, knee on the seat, hands fumbling for his jacket to drag him closer. Joel grunts, half in surprise, half in surrender, pulling you practically across the console. His large hands span your back like he needs to anchor himself to your body or else spin out.

When you roll your hips forward, testing the waters, he chokes out a low, broken noise that sounds like something breaking in his chest.

“Jesus, kid—”

“I’m not a kid,” you breathe. “Not with you. Never was.”

He exhales sharp through his nose, forehead still pressed to yours like he’s trying to restrain himself. But the restraint is dying fast. He palms your waist, thumbs dragging along your ribs like he’s memorizing them.

You kiss down the side of his jaw, your breath warm against his scruff, the beard tickling your lips. He smells like old leather and pine, like beer and smoke and winter air. It’s dizzying.

“Fuck,” he murmurs when you nip at the sensitive spot beneath his ear. His fingers twitch on your skin. He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you back in—no more space, no more questions. Just mouths and hands and breath. The kind of kiss that’s nearly a collision, like two storms crashing into each other.

You don’t even remember when your legs end up straddling him in the seat, your thighs bracketing his, but suddenly he’s beneath you, hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise, and you grind down on him with a gasp you can’t swallow.

Joel curses, low and rough and reverent. His head falls back against the seat as your lips trail down his throat, and he lets you, lets you taste him, own him, just for a moment. His hand slides down your lower back, wiggling its way through your almost-too-tight pants, trembling just a little as it curves over the swell of your ass. You reach down to unclasp the button and give him more space to work with.

His mouth finds yours again, sloppier now, breathless. Your nails scrape his chest through his flannel, and he groans into your mouth like it’s killing him. And maybe it is.

You rock against him again, slower this time, deliberate. Joel exhales like he’s in pain. Not from you, never from you—but from everything else that makes this wrong when all of it feels so, so right.

You tilt your hips again, more confident now, and feel the press of him through his jeans, thick and straining. Your tank top clings to you in places now, damp from the heat growing between you, and Joel’s hand slip up beneath the hem, palms callused and warm as they coast up your spine and then over the swell of your chest, the other still fondling your ass. He breathes in sharply as his thumbs brush your nipples, and you arch into him like a lit fuse.

It’s quiet in the truck except for the rush of your breath and the sharp inhale he takes when your hands find the waistband of his jeans. Your fingers tremble only a little as you pop the button and lower the zipper. You feel him hard against your palm, feel how he flinches when your hand grazes him through his briefs.

“Jesus,” Joel murmurs against your shoulder, voice hoarse. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

You smile into his neck, nipping lightly at the stubble there. “I think I do.”

His laugh is strained, like it’s breaking on the way out. His hand dips lower, over your ass, fingers curling under the waistband of your pants. “These gotta come off,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

You rise up just enough to shimmy your pants down—tight denim making the motion graceless, awkward even—but Joel helps, dragging them over your thighs with a touch far gentler than it has any right to be. You tug the fabric from your ankles and throw them to the backseat. Joel reaches down, kissing your lower abdomen as he pulls your panties down, almost impatient.

“Jesus,” he says again when you’re bare from the waist down, pulling you back into his lap, one hand palming your breast through the thin cotton of your top, the other settling between your thighs like it belongs there. You’re already soaked, and he groans when he feels it, followed by your own gasps and restrained moans.

“You’re killin’ me,” he whispers against your collarbone, and then you kiss him again—messy, open-mouthed, full of teeth and need. He kisses you like he’s starving. Like he wants to memorize every corner of your mouth. Like he doesn’t want to ever come up for air.

You both know this can’t last. That this little world, this heat and ache and dizzying need, exists only for now. That when it ends, things might not be the same. But none of it matters when he finally pushes his briefs down and you both freeze for just a moment—because this is the point of no return.

You meet his eyes. They’re wide and dark and a little scared, same as yours.

Then you sink down.

A gasp breaks from both of you, raw and involuntary. His hands clench hard at your hips as your bodies connect, slow but sure, the stretch pulling a sound from your throat that you try to smother against his shoulder. Joel swears again, under his breath, grounding himself in your skin, your heat.

He buries his face in your neck, breathing you in like a man on fire finally finding water.

You move in a slow rhythm. Not rushing, not taking, just being. Registering the shape of his cock inside you and the sweet symphony of squelch every time you sink back into him. His hands map your torso, breath uneven like he’s three inhales away from dying, but he’s smiling.

“Can’t believe you’re here,” he mutters. “Can’t believe I’m…”

You shush him gently, fingers threading through his hair, tugging. “Just feel. Don’t think.”

But he does think. You can feel it in the way he holds you, in the way he kisses the base of your throat like an apology and a promise all in one.

He doesn’t last long. The build-up, the months of repression, the way you move over him, how warm you are, how soft. It’s all too much.

You feel it before he does: the subtle tremble of his legs, the catch in his breath. He comes with a low, guttural sound against your neck, holding you to him like the act alone might stop time. It’s filling you up, warm and strange and by all means should make you panic, but it doesn’t. Instead, you impossibly feel the organs inside your ribs soften, the muscles of your walls clenching around him greedily, as if trying to hold onto him forever.

You go still, still joined, breath shallow and skin damp. His eyes close, jaw tight.

“Shit,” he says, guilt setting in immediately. “I—I didn’t mean to. I didn’t…”

“It’s okay,” you murmur, brushing sweaty hair from his forehead. “It’s okay, Joel.”

He doesn’t look at you as he lifts you up and turns your back to face him, your cunt already missing his softening cock. You position yourself on his lap, cheek touching his equally sweaty cheek as he holds your frame with one arm in place, the other reaches down to the still pulsing, overall sensitive skin.

“I got you,” he whispers, voice strained, remorseful, full of something you can’t name.

His fingers are slow and sure, working with grit and determination despite the narrow space and nearly awkward angle, and you reach to grab his arm.

“Joel, Joel,” you whine. The pleasure builds up, stronger this time, like it’s an arm reach away. He pins you into place, the pad of his thumb not losing its steady pace on your clit, the others somehow pushing, slightly curling inside you, covered by his own spend and your juice. You buck your hips forward, swallowing screams, it feels hot, hot, hot, your legs twitching and kicking and—

It’s like a blitz, showering you with bliss and pleasure and your body arches, chasing it like a bow.

The next thing you know, you’re limp against Joel, sweat and cum pooling on the seat.

.

“Safe trip, sweetie,” Amy hugs you one more time while your dad asks if you didn’t miss anything for the fourteenth time.

“Yes, Dad,” you sigh. “Print a checklist next time so we can both check and spare me the headache and anxiety, okay?”

You kiss his cheek and pat him on the shoulder. “Bye, guys.”

You’re releasing the clutch when you hear your dad shouts again, “Did you say goodbye to Joel?”

“Do I have to?” you laugh lightheartedly, putting your best acting attempt to look nonchalant.

Your dad shrugs. “He did give you a nice Christmas present. Be nice.”

“Yeah, alright.” you tap the steering wheel. “I’ll send him a text.”

.

The sun’s barely up when Joel shuts the trunk of your car.

Your duffel sits heavy against the bumper, almost not being able to zip up from yesterday’s clothes you crumple on top of the folded pile. The car breathes cold in the early morning air, engine idling low, your playlist queued up but not playing yet. It’s quiet. Too quiet for a goodbye, but maybe that’s the point.

You hand him his coffee back and he leans against the side of his own truck, arms folded. He’s got his jacket on, but his collar’s still turned wrong. You almost fix it, but you don’t.

It was definitely a crime to say goodbye to your unsuspecting parents and drive your car straight to Joel’s driveway, but you don’t really care about that right now. Neither does Joel, apparently.

God, you can still feel the ghost of his hands, how they held you close this morning, the fine arm hair you traced under your fingertips.

“You got everything?” he asks.

“Yeah. Got what I need.” you nod. “But if I did, I’d have a good excuse to come back.”

He chuckles. Finally, he sets the coffee on the truck bed and steps toward you.

“You drive safe, alright?” his voice is soft and almost impossible to hear as he pulls you for a quick hug.

“I will.”

His hand hovers near your waist for a second too long, like maybe he wants to pull you in again, kiss you senseless in the driveway—but doesn’t. Instead, he just looks at you like he’s memorizing something he can’t say out loud.

“Call me when you get there,” he says.

You smile. “You know I will."

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[7:09 pm]

(cw: parents!au)

Every parent knew what silence meant. Silence meant some huge mess was being made, someone was hiding, being mischievous, general mayhem being had. This was especially true in your home with your daughter and 3 cats. It was never this quiet in your house with the four—five troublemakers in your house. It couldn’t be the main troublemaker because he was sitting right next to you, fully invested in a a reality tv show.

“Jaemin, listen,” You said quietly while you muted the tv.

He looked at you quizzically, “I don’t hear anything… what could she be doing now?”

“It’s not her nap time yet, I have a very bad feeling about this,” you replied nervously.

Your daughter had a sweet face, she was nice and friendly in public. She always waved at strangers with a huge smile on her face. She knew to stay by your side when she wasn’t sitting in a shopping cart. She very rarely threw tantrums, a perfect little angel. People had even told you so.

In the comfort of your home on the other hand, she was hyperactive and loud. She wreaked havoc on the daily. And the cats were either right her side or far, far away from her. There was no in between. When the cats decided she was being too much your daughter would try to climb their scratching posts to reach them or pull on their tails. The poor animals. When they decided to help her the house was loud, something got destroyed, scratched, or simply broken.

The last time the 4 of them had joined forces you needed to buy a new bookshelf for the living room with all new frames for the pictures that filled up some empty spaces on the shelves.

“Rock, paper, scissors to see who goes,” Jaemin offered. You rolled your eyes but complied. Softly hitting your fist against the palm of your hand. One paper and one rock, you lost.

“Wish me luck please, and have your credit card ready to shop. Oh my god, I think I’m gonna be sick,” you muttered, standing from the couch and walking toward your daughter’s room, but not without pouting and sending pleasing looks to your husband.

You tiptoed quietly to her open door and took a peek inside. Oh good, she was playing with her baby dolls. Wait, since when were they covered in fur?

You ran back to the living room whisper yelling, “Honey, you have to come see what your daughter is doing!”

Jaemin tilted his head back and shut his eyes, “why is she only my daughter when she’s being naughty?”

“It’s not even that bad, no new furniture. Just come see!” You tugged on his arm until he was up and quietly sneaking behind you.

You both peeked into the open door and watched as your daughter swaddled up one of the cats, Luke. And he liked it! He was purring and nuzzling into your daughters small and unusually gentle hands. “Ok baby! It’s time for a nap!” She told the cat before placing him in her toy bassinet. The poor doll who it belonged to could be seen face down under her bed.

“And for the other baby, it’s lunch! Time for your bottle,” she told Luna, picking up the cat and holding her like a newborn while holding a toy bottle to the cat’s mouth. And poor Lucy was sitting on a doll bed with a bonnet tied below her chin, but she looked unbothered.

“I think the cats… like it?” Jaemin whispered in confusion.

You looked at him, “weirdly enough, I think they do too.”

You and Jaemin continued to watch the four of them play and interact. They were all calm and playing happily, until, she turned and caught sight of you.

She bounded over to you and jumped into your arms, knocking the wind out of you.

“I’m practicing!” She smiled brightly.

“What are you practicing for, baby?” You asked her, moving some hair out of her face.

“Daddy said he’s going to get me a baby brother! So I have to practice being a good big sister!” She smiled, stating it like it was obvious.

Your fave dropped, looking at Jaemin with a raised eyebrow, “did your dad say that? That’s news to me. What else did he tell you, baby?”

Jaemin’s face dropped and your daughter began spilling all their secrets. How he always bought her candy before ballet, they sometimes snuck some ice cream together after you were asleep, Jaemin put sugar in her cereal, and how he promised her new toys if she didn’t mention anything about a new sibling. “Do I still get my toys daddy?”

“Uh! No! She would not be getting any new toys!”Jaemin yelled in his mind.

“You can ask daddy later, he’s about to be in very big trouble.”

[lavandulawrites]

This is my first request and I'm not sure how to do it but ever since Delico's Nursery came out I've been begging for someone to write about them and I've been wanting to read something about Gerhard and Angelico, maybe one where the reader is Angelico's mom and She tries to make Gerhard's attitude a little softer with Angelico, or where the reader spends a day with Angelico, anyway, if you read this, I appreciate it and you don't need to take the ideas here into account as long as you do something about them. I'm happy. Hahaha I don't know how to end that so I hope you're okay :)))

A Good Father

Gerhard Fra x reader

It’s kinda sad how I’m the only one who has written Delico’s Nursery fanfic here on Tumblr:,) we desperately need more fics!! (Let me know if anyone wanna be apart of my taglist).

Masterlist

Synopsis: you (Gerhard’s wife) try to change Gerhard’s behaviour towards his son.

Your husband was a busy man who was as prideful as a lion. He prioritised his duties before his own son. You understood very well that his duties were important, but you saw yourself sick of his negligence of his three year old.

“Gerhard! Come here” you called out to your husband.

It didn’t take long before you heard his boots against the hardwood floors. A blond head picked in the door way. “What is it, [Name]?” his deep voice soft. He had always been so kind to you. It had surprised you at first how soft he was deep down.

“How was it at Dali’s? Did Angelico have fun?” you ask as you take a sip of your apple cinnamon tea.

The tall vampire huffed. “It was exhausting. I still don’t get why he thinks raising our children together why working on that case is a good idea”. He took a seat at the table. “I suppose he had fun… He behaved rather well.”

“That’s good. I trust that you spent some time with him and didn’t leave all the responsibility to Dali?” you rose your brow at him in a stern manner.

Gerhard swallowed as he leaned slightly back in his chair. “I played a little bit with him. But that is fitting for a nobleman.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes which earned a glare from the blond man. “Your role as a father is to spend time with your son.”

“He needs his father to be there for him. You will regret it when you’re older, you know. He is three years old for gods sake!” you raised your voice in frustration.

Gerhard remained silent after you finished your reprimand. He rubbed his forehead. “I get what you mean but-”

“No. You don’t get what I mean do you? If you did, you would already be spending time with Angelico” you were getting tired of his attitude and stubbornness.

His eyes found yours before he looked away. After staying silent for a moment he opened his mouth. “Okay fine, I will from now on out spend more time with Angelico.”

You pulled the corner of your lips up into a smile. “Good! I can promise you, it won’t take long before you find playing with him fun” you rose to your feet and rounded the table. You leaned down and kissed Gerhard softly on the lips. “You will turn out to be a wonderful dad. I’m sure of it.”

[ihavethedreamiesx]

Worth It In The End | Anton [NSFW]

Anton Lee/Lee Chanyoung - RIIZE

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~ 6.9k (lol)

Pairing: Anton x AFAB!Reader

Genre: Reader-Insert, Smut, Friends-to-Lovers, Angry Sex, Kinda Angst, Jealousy

!!This is smut...if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Summary: After Anton gets jealous and does something rash in his jealousy, you get pissed.

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Anger, Jealousy, Pet Names (Pretty Girls, Baby, etc.), Swearing, Kissing, Oral (F! & M! Receiving, Fingering, Deepthroating, Size Difference, Size Kink, Cock-Bulge (a bit), Overstimulation, Squirting, Unprotected Sex (Use a condom! Reader is on the pill), Big Dick! Anton (yay)

Author's Note: What is this? I actually wrote something to completion? And posted it? Must be why the weather is crazy...

Also, this is a dream I had... The only thing that's different is my freaking dad cutting a whole in our wall upstairs woke me up right after I got to the hotel room.

P.S. Where the hell did SM find him? He's just so freaking gorgeous...

P.P.S. the middle picture is Shohei Ohtani

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! Share, even if it's to the other site! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

You go to almost every single event Anton is in, he’s your best friend after all, and you only miss if you’re sick. You however, much prefer his swim meets to his baseball games. And it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s shirtless when swimming, because you like his butt in his baseball uniform even more. You don’t try to hide how attractive you find him even if you are just friends, you aren’t blind. The reason you prefer his swim meets is because, for some reason, less of his fan-girlies come to those. Probably because they aren’t as “cool” or they don’t even know he’s also on the swim team. This upcoming baseball game though is very special. It’s the first time in over 20 years your university has made it to the national championships, but that means it’s a much, much bigger event than normal. That is why you kind of didn’t want to go, but all your girl friends are going too, and Anton had nearly begged for you to join. Reluctantly, you’d said yes.

In the end, you’re glad you decided to go, because each member of each team gets to pick one friend or family member to sit in the best seats, and Anton chooses you. His parents aren’t able to go because of their work schedules and so you get the honor. What that does mean however is that you’re sitting in the stands with a bunch of parents, so 40- and 50-year-olds, and you feel out of place to say the least. As more and more people get to the stands, you debate going up to the much worse seats just so you can be with your friends.

“How the hell did you end up here?” You hear a teasing voice, and you startle, looking up at the owner of the voice. You sigh in relief, huffing a laugh as he sits down. You believe his name is Jacob or something, and you know his brother is on the team. You’ve had a few classes with him but aren’t exactly friends, but he’s better than some middle-aged dad or over-protective mother.

“Take a guess…”

“Anton.”

“Yep.”

“How long have you two been dating?”

“Huh? We’re not dating.”

“You’re just friends?”

“Yeah?”

“Good, then he won’t punch me for talking to you.”

“He wouldn’t anyway…” You huff, shaking your head. As more and more people fill the stands, you joke back and forth with Jacob, the two teams coming out and practicing some. When you see Anton step out, you wait to see if he looks over to where you are and when he does, you smile wide, and wave. He waves back with a smile, and you don’t notice it fall into a scowl when you look at Jacob as he says something about the music playing over the loudspeaker making you laugh. You also don’t feel him glaring at the guy next to you, or see him roll his eyes before getting out onto the field. Right before the game starts, the other guy heads up to get food and he offers to get you some, so you tell him just to get you a soft pretzel or something.

“Hey.” You look down toward the field, seeing Anton leaning against the barricade, probably standing on some ledge or something, but he is still tall enough to allow him to fold his arms on the edge and his chin on his arms.

“Hey! You nervous?” You lean forward so it’s easier to hear each other over the loud music. He shrugs. You can tell by his face that he’s clearly not all that happy, but you can’t tell if it’s nerves or what.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” His tone is terse, and you wonder if he’s upset about something, but don’t even ponder if it could be at you.

“Here comes the bitch brigade…”  You mumble, seeing the cheerleaders heading out onto the field. He huffs a soft laugh, but it doesn’t reach his face.

“You still pissed at the whole team?”

“I wouldn’t be if the whole team didn’t bitch about me just because you’re my friend.”

“Yeah, well then, don’t be a bitch of a friend.” He snaps and storms off, heading back to the rest of the team. You flinch back at the harsh statement, wondering what the hell’s gotten into him. You then realize he must be upset at you, but you can’t think of even a fleck of what you could’ve done.

“Earth to (Y/N).” Jacob’s voice brings you back to reality and you take the pretzel he hands you.

“Thanks…”

“You good?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Soon, the game starts, and you manage to forget for the moment that Anton, your best friend ever, was pretty obviously pissed at you. When there’s a longer intermission between the fourth and fifth inning, you get up to find the restroom. Of course, there’s a long line out of the girls’ and so you lean against the wall to wait.

“Did you see number 17 on the other team?”

“Oh, yeah, Lee, right?”

“When the camera for the big screen zoomed in on him, I almost fainted.”

“He’s so fucking hot.”

You roll your eyes as you hear a trio of girls talking, waiting in the line in front of you. They’re clearly fans or classmen of the other team based on what they’re wearing… As if you didn’t have enough rabid girls to deal with from your own school.

“Hey, you’re here for the other school, yeah?” One of the girls catches your attention and you look up to see the three of them are looking at you. You try to casually cross your arms to hide the 17 you have on the front of the shirt you’re wearing. Anton’s bigger than you enough you’re wearing his spare uniform shirt like a dress with a ribbon-belt you braided of the school’s colors around your waist.

“Uh…yeah.” If it was a professional game, you’d be less worried, plenty of fans wear merch shirts at games, but neither school offers those types of shirts. They either don’t notice or don’t know how to read, because they don’t mention it.

“Do you know Lee then?”

“Yeah…”

“What was his first name, Anthony?”

“Nah, just Anton.”

“So you do?”

“Uh…something like that, yeah.”

“Is he single?” That question feels like a shiv in the gut, and you try to hide your wince. Why are you so upset? He’s just your friend… You have no right to be jealous.

“No idea.” You shrug. Before you can even get to the point in line you can get into the bathroom, you leave the line and head back to the stands. You sit back down right before the game starts back up again and you manage to hide that you’re upset so Jacob doesn’t notice. You two crack jokes through the whole game and you even ask if his girlfriend would mind him talking to you.

“Nah, she’s never been the jealous type. She’s pretty good at telling if a girl is actually flirting or not, too.”

Once again, you forget about your own upset as the game continues, your school’s team absolutely destroying the other team. When Anton’s team wins, it’s not even close and the people there for your school flood the field in cheers as confetti and other such things are launched and shot into the air. You decide to head down as well and see if you can find Anton and congratulate him first. As you weave through the crowd, wincing at the overwhelming smell of beer, you finally reach a break in the crowd. Looking around to try and see him, you catch a flash of a cheerleader in her uniform. Gently shoving people out of the way to see her better, guessing her and her gaggle are trying to find their “prince”, you freeze. Anton was there for sure, but with just one cheerleader, and she’s way too close. Like…close. Yeah, the crowd is dense, but there is still no reason for-

“You looked so good out there~”

“Did I?” The tone in his voice is what you’re used to him sounding like around the fangirls; bored. When he turns and catches a sight of you, you smile, ready to head closer, but you halt again. He sees you, and smirks, then looks back at the girl.

“So did you~” His voice immediately dropped to a flirty tone, and it pierces you, not just in the heart, but in the spirit. He steps even closer to her, you didn’t think it possible, and leans down. She giggles, flirty, her arms reaching up to wrap around his neck and your heart falls. While immediately you feel heartbroken, you then get horribly jealous. Anton’s eyes meet yours again, making you jerk in a flinch, and he leans down and kisses- Your entire body freezes when he kisses her, and it’s obvious it’s more tongue than anything. You see red and you turn to storm off, shoving people hard out of the way, but luckily your small stature doesn’t really do any damage. Getting off the field you head into the lower hall of the stadium and get to a private bathroom. You let the heavy door slam close and you lock the door. Huffing, you lean against the sink counter, staring down into the basin, then up into the mirror. Your face is red and blotchy, eyes even a bit bloodshot and even looking at yourself, you can’t tell if you’re more angry or hurt. He’s definitely upset with you, but why the actual fuck did he decide to tongue-fuck that girl’s mouth just because he saw you? Was he getting back at you? But for what-

“Damn it!” You realize, slamming your hand down onto the counter. He saw you with Jacob… But, even if that made him jealous, why would sucking face with a member of the bitch brigade equate to you cracking jokes with a guy?

“That stupid fucker-“ You scoff, leaving the bathroom and storming down the hall, not even thinking to use the restroom. Because you had the fancy little pass that got you the fancy little seat in the fancy little section for the friends and family of the team, they let you into the lower hall that leads to the locker rooms. Many parents and other family members were lingering around to wait for and/or are talking to other members of the team. Realizing it would be a very poor decision to go into the locker room, even if that’s what you want to do, you wait right by the door. Crossing your arms, tapping your foot, you don’t even know if he’s in there yet and so you keep looking down the hall as more players start to flow in. Finally, you see him, alone, joking around with two other team members. For a brief, fleeting moment, your ire dissipates, seeing your favorite smile on his face, clearly happy that the team won. When he sees you, his eyes harden to match yours and the air gets icy. His teammates look between the two of you then scurry into the locker room.

“She taste good?” You sneer and he scoffs.

“What?”

“I know you only did that because you saw me there. What the actual fuck?”

“Don’t be a hypocrite, (Y/N).”

“What?”

“You were slutting it up with Dylan’s brother.”

“No I wasn’t! He has a girlfriend, first of all. Second of all, we were just dicking around, joking.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What right do you have to get upset anyway? We’re friends, just friends.”

“Then why are you so pissed if I did kiss that girl?” You can’t answer, because he’s right. So, you decide to be honest.

“I am jealous.” He clearly wasn’t expecting you to straight out admit it, because he gapes at you for a few seconds, then his gaze hardens again.

“Then you know how I felt.”

“Wait- You kissed Miss Bitch because you were jealous I was platonically joking with a guy?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s- That’s fucked. How is that equal? I was talking and so you decide to tongue-fuck her mouth in retaliation?” Your words seem to resonate with him because the anger on his face falls. It’s very obviously not close to being the same, and it’s not even just a step up. You scoff, resting your hand on your forehead, just soft enough to not be a full-on slap.

“Oh…my god… You-“ You release a shaky breath, tears pricking in your eyes and you still can’t tell what the emotion behind it is.

“Anton~!” You both flinch at the annoyingly familiar voice. You snort a dry laugh.

“Oh, here she comes, Miss Bitch. Well, have fun getting herpes or whatever.” You turn to leave, going to pull your satchel off your shoulder to get your phone and call an Uber, definitely not wanting to wait and go back to the hotel with Anton.

“(Y/N), wait!” He calls and you keep going, flipping him off.

“Damn it, (Y/N), wait a fucking second-“ His much longer legs allow him to catch up and he grabs your wrist. Not hard enough to hurt, but secure enough you know you can’t pull away. He turns you back to face him and the hurt on both of your faces is clear to the other.

“What…what room are you staying in?” He finally manages to get out.

“Why do you-“

“I need to deal with winning shit first, but then we’re dealing with this. I won’t even give that girl a second look, and don’t you dare do anything between here and the hotel.”

“Why should I listen to you?” He pauses, not sure how to answer. You wait.

“Please.” He asks softly and it pierces through you, popping your balloon of anger and you deflate, sighing.

“Fine. Room 127.” Anton lets you go, and you watch as he turns and heads straight into the locker room, up-right ignoring the cheerleader. When she notices this, she scoffs, looking at you, clearly blaming you. As she should, and you’re glad she does. You raise a brow, giving her a condescending look then turn around and head back down the hall. Sending a text to your friends, you let them know you’re heading to the hotel first, claiming to have a headache and they let you know they’re going to some after party. Like you agreed with Anton to do, you head straight back, not even stopping at a convenience store to get a snack.

~

After you get back to the hotel you just stand in the middle of the room for a good ten minutes, staring at a random spot on the carpet. You really didn’t want to have to deal with your turbulent emotions any day, but especially not now. The implication of their mere presence is enough to knock you off your feet. You know deep down why you’re jealous, but actually verbalizing it, even in your own head voice, is too much. Finally deciding to not loiter in your own hotel room, you turn to head to the restroom since you never had gotten the chance to go. After, you stare at your still somewhat blotchy face in the mirror, then sigh. The number 17 in big bold letters on the shirt you’re wearing is like a splinter in your eye. You aggressively undo the belt holding it around your waist and yeet the belt into the room, though it barely went anywhere since it was basically a ribbon. With a grunt and way more effort than it really should take, you remove the shirt-dress and drop it on the bathroom floor. Starting at yourself in the mirror again, just in a plain nude bra and a pair of purple boy-shorts undies, you feel horribly inadequate. You bet when that stupid cheerleader takes her uniform off, she has some frilly set on… Probably a sports bra, actually, but it makes you wonder if she even looks better in that than you do right now. She was a good four or five inches taller too…

You startle when there’s a knock on the door and you huff, looking around before realizing the fastest thing to put on would be the shirt. Grabbing it you go to the door and look through the peephole, and it’s not Anton, but a hotel employee.

“Uh, hold on!” You hurry to put the shirt back on and it looks significantly more suggestive without the belt somehow, like you were wearing your boyfriend’s-

“Uh, yeah?” You open the door just enough to peak your head out and the bellhop smiles.

“Are you (Y/N)?”

“Yes…”

“We were told to deliver this bouquet if the SM team won the championship?” He’s holding the bouquet of flowers you had ordered way ahead of time, if need be, of course.

“Oh, right, thanks…” You open the door enough and take it from him and he nods a bow and then leaves. Sighing you head back into the room, the bouquet dangling in your hold as your arms drop. Looking down at the flowers, the same colors of your school, you take a few deep breaths. Setting the flowers on the dresser that’s also the stand for the TV, you look again at your reflection, though its much less clear in the black screen than the bathroom mirror.

There’s another knock and you think that for sure is Anton, so you take a few breaths to psyche yourself up and go to the door. But, when you open it, it is in fact not Anton, but another hotel employee.

“We received a call to have this delivered to your room, Miss Hwang.” The concierge smiles and you take the box from her. She bows softly and then leaves. You head back into your room, brow furrowed, looking over the white box with a ribbon glued to it. Setting it down, you lift up the lid and inside is a box of chocolates with a little note. You take the note and read it, and all it’s says is “Sorry” with Anton’s name. You huff a small laugh, corner of your mouth tilted up a bit. You weren’t sure when he would show up, who knows what kind of celebration stuff he had to do, however… Four hours is very much too long and very much not okay. If he was going to be so particular about you going straight to the hotel, why the hell was he taking for-fucking-ever?

As you watch some random episode of Friends on the TV, the empty box of chocolates on the floor next to you, you brood. After waiting about an hour and a half, you took your bra off, not wanting to deal with it any longer. You’re sitting against the headboard, arms crossed, ankle crossed over the other, legs slightly rocking side to side. Then…there’s a knock, finally. Your anger flares white-hot again and you nearly throw yourself off the bed and storm to the door. Looking through the peephole, you see Anton standing there, looking a bit nervous. He’s in normal clothes and has his duffle slung over his shoulder.

Purposefully being loud with unlocking the chain and the dead bolt on the door, you through the door open, glaring up at him.

“Get in here ass-munch.”

“Excuse me?” But he does so anyway. You let the door close, not caring if it was two in the morning, and that there are in fact other people at the hotel.

“Four hours? Really?”

“I didn’t know it would be so long-“

“You get herpes?”

“What?”

“You were with Miss Bitch, yeah?” Anton sighs, dropping his duffle and closes his eyes, rubbing over his forehead.

“No. I had to deal with the after-party. I told you that.”

“No, you said you’d deal with ‘winning shit’ and then be here. I was expecting at the most an hour after I left the stadium. Was the ‘sorry’ for bailing on me or for being a dick?” I grab the box of chocolates off the floor and chuck the empty container at him. He catches it, rolling his eyes and sets it on the table.

“You’re still pissed?” You scoff, huffing in utter disbelief.

“I wasn’t. Now I’m pissed for a different reason! Because, gee, I don’t know, you lied?”

“I did not lie.” He takes a step closer, anger coming back to his normally sweet face.

“Then why couldn’t you have texted me at least?” He doesn’t answer, licking his lips. Whether he didn’t think of that, or you had caught him, you weren’t sure.

“Get out.”

“What-“

“Get. Out.”

“Damn it, (Y/N), just…take a fucking breath-“

“You douche!” You surge forward swatting at him, then you shove him, your nearly foot-shorter body not doing very much damage.

“Hey-!” He tries to grab your wrists to stop your wild swatting but you’re faster than he expected.

“I wasn’t with her!”

“Prove it!” He scoffs, wondering how the hell to do it.

“Was she any good?”

“I told you I wasn’t-“

“She suck you off?”

“What?”

“I bet she’s good at it, yeah?”

“(Y/N)-“

“Probably to ‘congratulate’ you right?”

“Would you just-“

“Did you do a little quickie in the bathroom, or did you fool around at the party?”

“(Y/N)-“

“You gonna ask her out officially?”

“Damn it, just shut the fuck up for two seconds!” You flinch back at his outburst, startled that he would be that harsh with you. Anton’s breathing a bit hard, trying to calm down.

“I was not with her. I swear to God.”

You don’t say anything.

“First, I had to deal with the locker-room crap and the whole speech from the coach. Then we all went to shower, but by then the hot water had run out somehow and so they had us go to a different locker room, but I had to wait my turn. Then when we went to get on the bus, the tires were slashed. Probably other team or something. So, they had to get a different bus and by the time it arrived, it was already over two hours later. I made a token appearance at the after-party and then bailed. But I obviously had no way to get to the hotel, and every ride-share and taxi in town was booked to all hell so I had to walk. I came straight here after; I swear to God.”

“Then why didn’t you text me?” He still doesn’t answer the question.

“Anton.”

“I was worried what the guys would say if they saw I did.” He finally admits.

“So you care more about what your baseball-buddies might say if you text your best friend, but you don’t think for a second to care about what your best friend would think?”

“You didn’t text me.” He tries to counter. You scoff.

“I did.” You cross your arms and his face falls, and he digs in his pocket for his phone. After a few taps, a flashing battery appears on the screen. Dead.

“Oh…”

“You would’ve known it was dead if you tried to text me.” You sigh, grabbing the flowers you had delivered and hand them to him limply.

“Here, congrats on winning. Now get out.”

“What?” Anton reaches for the flowers, but hesitates.

“Get out. I really want to be alone.”

“You’re still mad?”

“Yes, I’m still mad!” You step closer, hitting him with the flowers, then again. Again-

“Damn it, (Y/N), knock it off!”

“Do you know how scared I was that you were mad at me!? But it was for something so- fucking- stupid-!” You continue to swing the flowers, some of the stems breaking, leaves and a few petals falling onto the floor. He finally grabs the bouquet and yanks it out of your hands and tosses them somewhere else. Since your weapon had been confiscated, your resort to smacking and punching his chest.

“(Y/N)- (Y/N)-“ He tries to grab onto your flailing hands to stop you but you’re relentless, angry tears welling in your eyes.

“You stupid- douche- how dare you- you’re the worst-“

“Stop for fuck’s sake!” He finally manages to grab your wrists and pins them to the wall, caging you in against it. You writhe in his hold, trying to break free.

“Why are you so damn big?!” You finally stop, breathing hard, body shaking a bit and you glare up at him.

“You and you’re stupid gorgeous face-“ You huff, and you can tell he’s gritting his teeth. His grip on your wrists tightens a bit.

“Can you please let me speak-“

“I can’t believe I like you, you stupid bastard, you’re just a huge fucking jerk-“

“(Y/N)!” Anton nearly growls, louder than he normally is and it startles you quiet. You both look at each other, breathing a bit heavy, and as if you have the same thought…

You moan a desperate whine when his lips slam into yours, arms going slack. His hand leaves one of your wrists so it can go to under your jaw, tilting your head to the right angle and he deepens the kiss. Your tongue meets his in a messy dance, little whimpers leaving your mouth as drool slips down your chin. The hand at your jaw moves to weave into your hair, tugging a bit harshly at the strands. The slight sting forces a moan out of you, and he groans in return, sucking on your tongue. Your head begins to swim, heart racing, leading you to need more air but he’s stealing it at the same time. You heave for air, panting, when he finally pulls back, lips still hovering over yours. Both of you breathe harshly, your breaths mingling and you just stare at his lips as he looks at the floor. You can tell he’s trying to calm down and you aren’t sure if it’s his anger or lust he’s trying to quell.

“I need…to calm down I don’t want… want to do anything-“ Anton’s clearly fighting some kind of internal battle but you don’t care.

“Just fuck me you pretty bastard.” You snap, still very annoyed, and if he doesn’t, you’ll get pissed again. When his eyes go back to yours, you feel a bit of the anger fizzle out, the fire transferring straight to your core, your walls clenching around nothing. You had never seen such an intense look from him and it kind of scared you a bit, but in the best possible way. Before you can think of the consequences-

“If you don’t, I’ll go find someone else-“ Anton nearly growls at that, grabbing you, lifting you, and literally tossing you onto the bed. You land with an oof on your stomach, and you don’t get the chance to roll over before his hands are on your hips, hauling you to the edge of the bed. You squeak when he shoves the shirt, his shirt, up higher, revealing just your panties on underneath. You hear a light thud as he falls to his knees and you gasp loudly, body flinching as he shoves his face against your covered cunt.

“A-Anton-!” You nearly squeak as he breathes in the scent of your arousal, his tongue swiping over your pussy through the fabric of your panties, wetting the rapidly soaking material even more.

“Fuck, you taste good…” He mutters, fingers going to the waistband. With a rough yank, he tears them at the seams to get them off, the breaking elastic snapping against your skin. The slight sting just fuels the fire in your guts he’s rapidly stoking.

“God~!” You gasp, fingers burying into the bedding for some kind of leverage as he mouths at your pussy, tongue swiping through your soaked folds, around your clit and then into your core. Anton groans obscenely as he devours you, fingers tight at the back of your thighs, very likely leaving bruises. But you don’t care, quite the opposite actually. Your orgasm is approaching at the speed of light, and your mind can’t keep up with your body.

“Anton~!” You can’t form the words to warn him, but he can feel your gummy walls clenching around his tongue and he works your through your orgasm and you cum on his tongue. But he doesn’t stop. Your lower half catches on fire from the continued stimulation but even if he knew the overstimulation stung, he probably wouldn’t stop. And you don’t want him to.

“Fuck~!” You gasp, breath leaving you as he suddenly sucks on your clit, shoving two fingers into your cunt. They curl expertly down against your weak spot and your vision spots.

“You taste so good, (Y/N), God I could do this all night…” He mumbles, his voice practically rumbling. Another squeak is forced out of you when he easily manhandles you to flip you onto your back, his arms wrap around your thighs, forcing your legs over his shoulders and he’s back on you. His face and your inner thighs are a mess, but you can barely get the air to breathe, let alone say anything. He sucks and licks at your clit, his long fingers spreading you open, pounding at the rough spot of your back wall, making your thighs and tummy twitch.

“A-Anton-!” You gasp, feeling a familiar but rare feeling rising.

“Cum for me, pretty.” He mutters and it sets you off. Your cunt makes a mess, of the bed, your thighs, his face, spurts of your release that he doesn’t catch with his tongue. You wince as his tongue swipes over your clit again, stinging. You catch your breath as he cleans your inner thighs off with his tongue. Getting the strength to move again, you prop yourself up on your elbows to see him still kneeling there, wiping his face off, then sucking your wet off his fingers.

“A-Anton-“ You blush hard, despite what he just did, the vulgarity of what he was doing and the groans he let out mortified you. When his eyes meet yours again, you feel all of the annoyance leave you and it gets replaced with desire. You obviously knew how attractive he was, you have eyes, but in this moment, he’s the hottest guy you’d ever seen. Almost as if time slows down, your mind goes blank as he finally takes his shirt off, his hands going to his belt to get his pants off too. Sure, you’ve seen him plenty of times shirtless, since he is a swimmer, but it’s different. In this moment, after what he just did to you and the promise of what else is to come, your mouth waters. He gets his belt off, making sure your eyes have moved to his hands as he undoes the button of his jeans.

“Wanna taste?” He asks lowly, his tone deep with lust, something you’ve never heard from him. You nod rapidly. He smirks. As he drops his pants, you scramble off the bed and kneel on the floor in front of him, eyeing the bulge in his boxers as if you were a puppy hungry for a treat. Enthralled, you watch as he hooks his thumbs in the waist band of his underwear, and pulls them off, his hard cock bouncing in the air. Your face falls in a gape, eyes widening.

“Why are you so damn big…?” You mutter, wiggling your jaw a bit at the thought it was going to hurt.

“Either use that pretty mouth or get on the bed.” You look up at him with big eyes, his own were nearly black, the intense expression something you’d never seen on him. It makes your pussy clench. Swallowing hard, you lick your lips and carefully wrap your hand around the base of his cock, fingers not even able to touch. Anton watches with a hooded gaze as you lean in and kiss the head of his cock. Swirling your tongue over the tip, you catch a taste of his pre, and you moan softly, vibrating your lips around him. He grunts and you start to take him into your mouth, sucking and forcing yourself to make more saliva.

“Fuck, (Y/N)~” He groans, fingers weaving into your hair as you take him deeper, drool already dripping down your chin. You bring your other hand up to cover the rest of his cock as he hits the back of your throat and your heart races as you come to terms with the fact he’s hung like a damn horse. You can feel your pulse in your cunt as bob your head, moving your hands to slick over the rest of him and his breathing picks up, fingers pulling at your hair gently. He opens his eyes as he hears you take in a big breath, and one of your hands falls as you take him deeper, gagging slightly as the head starts down your throat.

“Oh, fuck, pretty girl~” He sighs in bliss, grinning as he throws his head back with a nearly orgasmic groan. Your cunt pulses again and you continue to bob your head, partially burying his fat cock down your throat each time. You get just a bit deeper each time till your lips reach your hand. You swallow over and over to try and fight gagging, but do every once in a while. And you keep doing it, because the groan he lets out each time your throat flutters around his cock makes the discomfort worth it. Breathing harshly through your nose, your face and hands, and his cock, are coated in a sheen of your saliva and his pre, a drop of the mix falling to the floor every so often.

“Shit, (Y/N)-“ He grunts, fingers tightening at your hair. His head flops down to watch you suck him like he was candy, chin touching his chest. Your eyes glance up at him and that’s all he needs. You feel his cock twitch a few times before he cums down your throat. You had pulled him out just enough so you could breathe, swallowing down the hot spurts with soft moans to help him ride it out. After he’s finally finished, still half-hard, you pull back and look up at him panting, mouth open for him to see you swallowed it all.

“You okay?” He asks softly, more what you’re used to, and you shake your head, but your smirk prevents him from worrying.

“No~ I need more.” He smirks back and grabs your arm, hauling you up and tossing you on the bed, he crawls over you, looking down at you still in his spare uniform shirt. Your face is a mess and even down your throat a bit.

“Hm… As much as I love you in this shirt, I’m taking it off, because I’m not sure how to clean it if we get it messy~” He grins, the same soft playful look you’re used to from him. You smile back, no longer mad either. You both get the shirt off, leaving you bare under him and his big hand gently runs over your tummy, making you shiver.

“You’re so pretty~” He huffs a soft laugh, and you blush softly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah~” Anton looks back up at your face. Gently, he takes the edge of the sheet on the bed and wipes off your face. The dramatic shift back to his sweet self you’re so used to nearly takes your breath away.

“I’m sorry I kissed that girl… And I’m sorry I got jealous because… I’m sorry, I had no right to get so upset you were just talking to another guy…”

“And I’m sorry I yelled at you…and hit you with flowers…” He huffs a laugh at that, then cups your cheek and jaw in his hand, thumb running over your cheek.

“I love you…” He whispers and your eyes widen a bit, but then your face softens, and you smile back.

“I love you too.” His eyes meet yours and you watch in real time as they darken with lust again and he kisses you hard, tongue already in your mouth as your fingers weave into his hair, pulling him closer. He grabs your hips, hands smoothing down your legs, so he can lead you to wrap them around his waist. You do, gasping into the kiss as he grinds his hard cock against your bare pussy, and he groans. As he pulls back from the kiss, a trail of saliva connects your lips, and he grabs your hands. He weaves his fingers through yours and hold your hands up by your head, looking down as he shifts his hips so the head of his dick is pressing at your entrance.

“Do we need a-“

“Do you even have one?”

“…no.”

“I’m on the pill.”

“So I can…?”

“Anton, please, just fuck me-“ Your words are cut off by a harsh gasp, your lungs forcing the air out of you as he starts to press in. Anton’s cock carves a hot path into you, feeling like he’s searing your cunt as he enters, but in the best possible way.

“Fuck, you’re tight…” He breathes harshly too, trying to hold back and not just start to rail you, because he knows he’s big, and knows you have to get used to him. Luckily, earlier, he had fucked you open with his fingers, but you’re still small, especially compared to him.

“Fuck- fuck- fuck-“ You breathe a bit too fast, eyes watering. It stings, burns, it’s good but it’s a lot.

“Breathe, baby, breathe…” He coaches, kissing gently over your face, at the corners of your eyes to kiss away the tears.

“Y-you’re a… damn horse…” You gasp out and he can’t help but huff a laugh, knowing you couldn’t be in too much distress if you were still joking around.

“Maybe you’re just small?” Anton hums, pressing his forehead to yours. He looks down, grunting softly, seeing your slick folds stretched to accommodate his girth, his cock not even all of the way in when he hits your back wall. He’s nearly entranced as he watches your cunt struggle to hit him inside, the feel of your gummy walls twitching around him is addicting.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this…” He mutters, eyes tracing over what he’s pretty sure is a bulge on your stomach under your belly button.

“T-to split me in half…?” You huff a strained laugh.

“To make you mine…” His sincerity makes you whimper softly, and he hums as your pussy clenches him tighter.

“Tell me when you’re ready, pretty girl.”

“Go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He pulls out just an inch, and it’s like he’s sucking the air out of you, your soaked pussy making obscene noises and he grins.

“You’re so wet~”

“A-Anton, just-“ Your whole body twitches, hips jumping as he thrusts back in, a very shallow but hard thrust. He buries his fat cock all the way inside you then, and he knows for sure your stomach is bulging then, able to see it much clearer.

“You’re so tiny, pretty~” He huffs a laugh, wrapping his arm around your leg. He moves it from his waist and up over his elbow, changing the angle and he thrusts again. Your back arches, the one hand still in his gripping it harder, the other white knuckling the sheets.

“Can you handle it?”

“Y-Yes.”

“You sure?”

“Anton, just fuck me.” So he does. He pulls out a little less than halfway, and then back in with a sharp snap of his hips and you immediately feel your orgasm approach. He can feel your walls spasm, remembering the flutter from when you came around his tongue and so he picks up the pace. He barrels through your orgasm and your eyes spark with tears from the intensity, mouth hanging open, drool pooling from the corner of your mouth.

“Anton~!” Your scream is nearly a squeal and your breath heaves as you cum hard, cunt squirting all over his groin this time and he nearly rumbles a groan.

“Oh, baby girl, so good for me~” He buries his face in the crook of your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses over your skin, sucking and licking every so often. Your mind goes blank when he hitches your other leg over his elbow and picks the pace up, barreling his dick against your back wall. The sloppy sound of your slick cunt squelching and the slapping of skin, mixed with your squeaks and his grunts leave nothing to the imagination if anyone were to walk past the hotel room. Luckily it was past three in the morning, but if anyone was in the room next door, they probably can hear the bed frame knocking against the wall. Your noises start to get louder, especially as you get closer to cumming again, so he swallows your noises in a kiss. The taste and feel of his tongue on yours puts you over the edge again, and he groans at the vice of your wet core. You feel his cock twitch between waves of your orgasm, and he nearly whines as he paints your insides white, a mix of your releases spurting out from around where he’s splitting you open. Anton pulls back from the kiss so you can both catch your breaths, and he grins, pressing his forehead to yours.

“God, I love you so fucking much…” He mumbles and you hum softly, sleepy and satisfied.

“And I loved your fucking so much~” You smirk, and he pulls back to look at you with a slightly exasperated look.

Master-List

[acynicalsweetheart]

What if reader was Curlys teenage daughter and they're bathing together and he's taking his time washing her body and thinking about how much she's grown n stuff.. I think that'd be a neat fic if you have time🌚

okay after embarrassing myself majorly im just posting this. not a fic just a very long fucking drabble… sorry to disappoint anon LOL i have no idea what this is umm it sucks ass i can't lie i didn't even follow the ask LMFAO. cut it down a little bc i hated it so much . original version posted on my ao3… read cws as always!

content warning: 18+, dead dove do not eat, daddy-daughter incest, etc etc

“Wow…” dad grabs at your hips, fondling them while his eyes rake down your body, his expression looking more like awe than perversion. “It’s been a while, huh?”

“Can we just get this over with?” 

“Alright, we can get it over with,” Curly lifts you up princess-style, carrying you in his arms like you’re his bride to the bathtub. 

“Dad!”

You’re placed in the bubble bath, dad’s taken the time to pick out your favourite sickly sweet scent even if he’s been clear about how it gives him a migraine. He enters after you, maneuvering you to sit in his lap. 

Dad leans back, makes these embarrassing sex-like noises that have your cheeks setting ablaze. The fact that you’re both butt fucking naked, stuck in a bathtub meant for one, doesn’t help the situation either. 

“This is nice,” he breathes out, pornographic in sound in the way only dad manages to be, pets you on the head and pulls you closer to his chest, “you, me, just like the old times.” 

“Yeah…” is all you can offer in reply, mainly because of the way his dick seems to be agreeing with his words—pressing uncomfortably against your hip in its heavy and floppy glory. 

He’s mostly soft, which you suppose is a good thing. 

Curly washes you like you’re still his baby, struggling to scrub your body squeaky, watery clean ‘cause of the bubbles stubbornly sticking to your skin. 

Everything is fine so you let your guard down for approximately one minute and his hands have already wandered off to where they aren’t supposed to be. 

“Look at these, baby,” he says like you haven’t been looking at them for years, cupping your breasts in his large palms and feeling up the tits he helped to make. “One day they might be as big as mine.” 

Right. Because dad has tittage enough to make Anna Nicole Smith reek out of jealousy. 

“Funny.” You click your tongue at him. Dad means well, you think. You just don’t have the heart to tell him that he’s being wildly inappropriate. 

“Lighten up, baby.” 

“I’m all grown up now, dad, it’s… kind of weird.” He’s like a puppy, if you get stern with him he’ll start pouting and near keeling. 

“All grown up? Honey, you’re my little girl. Always.”

You’ll be my little girl even when you’re fourty, you’ll be my little girl even when I’ve kicked the bucket—

“Even if you walk around with these babies” dad squeezes your tits, chuckles like it’s the most normal thing in the world when you yelp, “nowadays.”

(You’ve had them for as long as you can remember. Maybe he’s just been too busy fucking around up in the galaxy to notice.)

“I’ve been walking around with these,” you pluck his hands off your chest and he wraps them back around your waist—and much to your surprise, dad takes it, stays like that. 

“Whatever you say.”

It comes to a point where you’ve both been in the tub for so long that your fingers are starting to get pruny, wrinkling up like raisins. 

Dad’s hands drift slowly, very indiscreetly, down your tummy until his fingertips brush against your mound. You’re almost praying it’s an accident, frozen like a stone statue in his lap. 

“Are you…?” He trails off, seemingly a bit taken aback of his own question. 

“…Am I what?” 

Sick? Wet? Legal? A virgin? 

“Nothing,” he says but starts feeling around like he’s searching for something. A nagging voice in the back of your head tells you that ‘something’ might be your hymen. 

“I can—I can wash… down there myself, dad,” grabbing his hands to stop them from going any further, your heart’s beating so hard in your chest you can feel it in your throat. You swallow it.

“Right. Yeah.” Curly finally retreats, spurting out a half-assed excuse, “sorry, sweetheart.” It’s like he’s on another planet. 

Yet your stomach flares up with a heat you definitely should not be feeling at your dad’s touch—or lack thereof. 

It comes out before you can stop yourself, “why are you acting so weird?” Like you’re not the one with clenching thighs and a blanket of buzzing arousal over you as you speak. 

“Weird? Honey, I’m not—“ dad cuts himself off, sighs and starts over. “I just… missed my girl. Feel bad for spending so much time away from you,” he admits quietly, saddened as he looks down and strokes your tummy under the water. “Didn’t get to see you grow up.”

“Oh,” that does not explain things. “It’s okay, dad.” 

“No, I shouldn’t have touched you like that, baby.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck, and you wonder if he’ll start sobbing. 

Maybe you’ll let him stay like this for just a little while longer. 

“I can show you,” you take a moment before deciding to guide one of his hands back to your breast, the other to cup your mound. “How much I’ve grown up.”

A lone rubber duck floating amongst the bubbles judges you. 

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Dad!Simon "Ghost" Riley w/ a sick baby Headcanons and Imagines list

Am I back with the Dad!Ghost content? You know damn well I am, also yes the render I used is courtesy of our beloved @ave661 who's most definitely annoyed by my existence by now for constantly tagging her.

Will I ever stop writing Dad!Ghost? Fuck no, why? Daddy issues and baby fever, if you want anyone to blame, it's those two. And yes, I will be upset if this doesn't do well. (AHEM, MY SOAP POST)

Taglist of who I this would enjoy this and requested: @puff0o0, @blingblong55, @cutenote, @wise-owl and @connorsui. This last creator by far has given me the best fucking commentary on my work and I have more works on and coming about Dad!Ghost, genuinely thank you so freaking much, you made me cry 😭.

I'M BACK! Let's start, shall we?

❥ Dad!Simon who's a very nervous first time father, well there's a first for everything and so is the first time your guys' baby got sick.

❥ Dad!Simon who immediately got them a check up, it was a common flu. Naturally medication and antibiotics were prescripted.

❥ Dad!Simon whose heart melts once he hears the soft whimpers of discomfort of the little on as they stir in the crib. The soft raspy cries and flushed chubby cheeks and warm, almost burning temperature.

❥ Dad!Simon who is trying his hardest not to look back the car seat when you were on your way to the clinic, to check on the baby whose little cheeks are bouncing a bit while being entertained by their pacifier, the little cooling patch on their head making their forehead crinkle a bit.

❥ Dad!Simon who was amused by how talkative the little one still is despite being so drowsy and in pain. Babbling their little heart out while sniffling.

"Dada!" the little on calls for Simon, almost in a screaming manner if it wasn't for the poor little thing's scratchy and sore throat.

They let out incoherent babbles to Simon as if trying to tell him something, as if they're chatting like they used to, the only adjustments being the constant sniffles and coughs. Them being reduced to their clogged nose while trying so hard to communicate. (Here's your visual)

Simon took the warm baby bottle from your hands to feed the little one.

"Bee, slow down.." A new nickname picked up by Simon to give to your little one, bumblebee, trying to tell them to slow down from chugging.

❥ Dad!Simon who never thought the baby wouldn't get any more clingy, at least not until they got sick. Constantly asking for "dada" and "mama" while he goes on about his day trying to help his wife, you, to keep up with the chores around the house.

❥ Dad!Simon who feels a bit guilty because he loves the comfort he's able to provide the baby, especially that they're not comfortable and less than happy with the sickness. Having the baby on his chest, patting their fragile back gently with a hand that's almost bigger than their body as their dad's heartbeat lulls them to sleep despite being irritable the whole day.

❥ Dad!Simon who joins in when the baby entertains themselves while playing with the various rattles and teething toys.

Bumblebee shaking the tiny rattle, a bit in frustration, knocking their self back. Luckily Simon had intense reflexes and managed to slip his hand in time between the cushioned but still quite hard floor and the baby's tiny head.

Simon let out a breath of relief, "You sure know how to scare me, don't you bee?"

The baby let out a strained giggle as their dad guided them to sit back up by their head and back.

❥ Dad!Simon who slightly chuckles when the baby's breathing starts picking up, their lips trembling into a pout, little doe eyes starting to get glassy from the tears forming with a pitched whimper, only to be silenced by a kiss from both you and Simon. The toll of the sickness only ever being reduced with yours and his affection.

❥ Dad!Simon who tries his best to make the baby take the prescripted medicine, that baby did NOT like the taste of it and he had to resort to sneaking it in their food to hide the taste of the bitter syrup.

❥ Dad!Simon who makes the little one blow their tiny nose.

"Come on pumpkin, copy dada okay?" Simon whispers while exhaling loudly out his nose, careful with the baby's sensitive ears.

The sleepy eyes of the little one trailing on him, trying to observe and copy, blowing their nose on the soft wipes Simon held against their nose.

After wiping it, Simon noticed how their nose now unclogged helped they sleep far more easier and with less frustration from them.

Shout out to a very consistent person who has been liking all the things I post despite them not being actual content @poohkie90 <3

Also I had no idea @simp4konig and I were mutuals, I'M FANGIRLING SO HARD WHEN I SAW THE LIKED POST NOTIF.

Sidenote: I'm sick rn y'all, like it just kept on coming. First was my period, then next thing I knew my nose is clogged and I'm sniffling, then the next I'm coughing and sneezing. There's so much blood rn I can't even. I don't feel good at all but I'm pushing through. Apologies if this was shorter than most if you expected from me, I wanted to elaborate on this prompt however I don't have much ideas so I'm sorry to disappoint.

[hollandsfavbabe]

Wonderstruck

pairing: peter parker x stark!reader

synopsis: in which peter wants to liz to homecoming and not you … or so you assume

warnings: single use of y/n (shout out to the old me), villainized liz, dramatic teenager moments, descriptions of physical injuries, very happy ending!

word count: 4.9k

masterlist

I'm back! Starting off 2025 by clearing out my drafts including this beauty that is heavily inspired by Enchanted by Taylor Swift. Thanks for being so patient. It’s kind of bad because I’m so rusty, but practice makes perfect! To everyone who had sent me a request, I promise I am getting to them/ already started! Right now I'm adjusting to a lot of changes in my personal life, but everything is starting to get easier so I hope I can post more often. Love you guys 💜

The air was cold as you stepped out from your rented limo and onto the yellow stripped concrete of Midtown’s parking lot. It was quiet where you stood as the limo pulled away. If you hadn’t been able to see the flashing multicolored disco lights from inside the school building, you never would’ve known there was a dance at all. Maybe it wasn’t too late. You could have a terrible cold as far as your friends knew, all it would take is a quick apology text. If you ran fast enough, you could be out of sight and back home within the hour. You sighed as your spool heels carried you towards the door, arches aching. Stupid high heels. You wish your dad had let you wear your Converse or at least stopped hovering over you for even a second. You could’ve snuck them if he hadn’t been so smothering.

You picked up the sides of your pastry shaped purple dress as you walked to the back door of your school. Low vibrations tingled your hand as you reached for the handle, courtesy of the blaring 80s ballad inside. The melody greeted you as you stepped inside.

People were dancing and laughing all around the gym which was adorned by bright party streamers. It was quite the festive prom, one that you would’ve enjoyed under different circumstances. But as you neared the middle of the gym, the sight you feared most was suddenly dancing right in front of you, a painful reminder of why you didn’t want to be there in the first place. Your best friend, Peter Parker, and his smug chosen date: Liz Allen.

The news broke only days before the date of the dance. You had been hoping Peter would ask you to the dance, seeing as you two were close as close as could be and your mutual friend, Ned, had constantly assured you each moment you were alone that Peter had to feel the same. And you trusted him for there was no one in the whole of Midtown Tech who knew Peter better than Ned. They were the best of friends, how could he be wrong.

“You know how he is,” he would say. “He’s probably just waiting for the right moment. There’s no way he isn’t totally in love with you.”

Three days ago you might have agreed that waiting was indeed worth it. In your daydreams he would ask you during your weekly study dates, some of the only moments where it was just the two of you at his place. Your delusion had grown so strong that when Ned informed you that he had asked someone else last minute, you almost didn’t believe it at first.

“Good one,” you had laughed, only for your amusement to turn sour as you realized that Ned was in fact not joking. As if it couldn't get any worse, you felt sick when he revealed the name of the girl who stole away the only boy you would ever want for the rest of time. Of course it had to be Liz.

It wasn’t her attraction to Peter that made you dislike Liz Allen, or her intelligence, or even how flawless she managed to look when all you could muster up was piled leggings and crewnecks. You couldn’t stand how she treated you, lording her popularity over you like it was a key to the city. She got everything she wanted, popular friends that would help her throw parties at her huge house whenever her perfect, loving parents weren’t around and rumor had it, she was most well known for the things that she does on the mattress. And now she had Peter, even after countless years of teasing and enabling his bullies, she still managed to keep him wrapped around her finger and bind him under her curse. After all she had done to him, how could she steal your happy ending? The wicked witch had stolen your prince. 

The sight of them together, standing huddled as one, stung worse than the loss of a good friend, sure to be burned in the back of your mind for all eternity. You knew you would be forever haunted by it. You blinked through glassy eyes as you fought the tears that started to well, stiffening as they turned to look at you and Peter’s brown eyed gaze met yours in a solemn greeting.

“Y/n.” he said, taking in the sight of you in your dress. The very same dress you had chosen hoping to wear it on his arm. He didn’t light up like he usually did when you two were together, as the match that ignited the spark between you had been rained out by Liz’s presence. His lips parted slowly as he tried to speak once more. “You look-”

“Y/n!” Liz interrupted, breaking her hold of Peter’s hand to open her arms wide for you. “You made it!” she leaned in for a hug and without anywhere to run, you let her, your hands loosely holding the emerald, jeweled fabric of her  perfect homecoming dress.

“Yep,” you affirmed with a strained breath so as to not inhale any of her sickeningly sweet perfume. It lingered even after she stepped back, like a never fading gut feeling that hung around even after the danger had passed. “I thought I’d drop by to say hi.”

“You’re not leaving early are you?” she raised a brow. You could feel the judgment radiating off of her from the way she looked down upon you as her stilettos made her slightly taller. “What about your date? You should at least stay for them.”

You looked over at Peter who remained silent, unwilling to break up whatever Liz had begun between the two of you. It seemed as if he understood for a moment just by the way you looked at him, that he was supposed to be your date. But then he turned his head.

“I don’t have a date.” you admitted, gazing up at Liz with a lifeless stare.

“Oh,” she reared back in smugly, rejoining arms with her precious Peter. “No one asked you? Really?”

“A few people did,” you corrected, trying your best to ignore the pang of jealousy in your gut as you stared down at the homemade corsage on her wrist, undoubtedly constructed by Aunt May. Lilac roses and Baby’s-breath, two of your favorite flowers. “But I turned them all down. I was kind of waiting for someone special to ask me.”

You could’ve sworn you saw Peter tilt his head toward you for a second, but Liz blocked your view of him as she stepped over.

“I’m sure you can find someone here,” she smiled, her perfectly whitened teeth glimmering as she pointed to a boy standing by himself in a corner, but he was exactly the wrong person to match you up with. “Flash is just over there. I think he came with a date, but honestly he’s desperate for an upgrade. He had to beg her to go with him. I’m sure he’d leave her in a heartbeat if you asked.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?” you glowered at her, ready to counter anymore of her quick remarks until you felt two pairs of hands pulling you away as each restrained one of your arms. Ned and MJ appeared at your side, bystanders to the whole conversation.

“We’re gonna get some punch.” MJ stated.

“You’re pretty thirsty after your ride right?” Ned asked in your direction, though you could tell his question was more than an explanation of anything as he helped MJ drag you away. “She needs to, uhh, hydrate.” 

“No kidding.” MJ remarked humorously, though she never broke from her usual monotone.

“Yeah so we're just going to go over the punch bowl. We’ll be right back.” Ned grimaced, trying his best to gain control of the situation as he and MJ lead you away to a more remote corner of the gym, far away from Peter and Liz and all of the loud hustle and bustle of the dance. 

“I can-” Peter tried, reaching out to follow you, but his offer went unheard as Liz quickly shot him down.

“C’mon Peter. Dance with me!”

From across the gym, you sighed as they released you, falling back into the filled up bleachers behind you. You blinked a few times as you still refused to let the tears fall. You really didn’t want to give Liz anymore fuel.

“Are you okay?” Ned asked, noticing the way your face scrunched up as you tried your best not to cry.

“Not really,” your voice broke as you held in a sob. “Of all the girls he could’ve asked. Why did it have to be her?”

“You want me to knock some sense into him?” MJ offered, entirely serious as she clenched a fist.

“No, don’t hurt him.”

MJ settled for a subtle flip of the bird as she raised her clenched fist and pointed her finger in the air in Peter’s direction, though it went unnoticed as he spun around with Liz.

“I just don’t get it,” you exasperated. “She’s always subtly degrading him. What exactly does he think she has that I don’t?”

“Money?” Ned suggested before MJ whacked in square in the chest, forcing a pained whine out of him.

“That was rhetorical.”

“Sorry.” Ned wheezed.

You sighed, looking past your friends to stare at unconventional couple again.

“She is much prettier than me. And she’s good on Decathlon, as much as I hate to admit it. Maybe this is for the best.”

“Stop it.” MJ shook her head.

“Yeah, don’t talk like that,” Ned agreed. “She’s nothing compared to you. Peter’s been wanting you for way longer, I’m sure of it.”

“Then why is he dancing with her?”

“I-” Ned cut himself short, looking down towards the ground. “I don’t know. I was so sure, I swear he was going to ask you.”

“Maybe I should just go, the only reason I came was to see him, but Liz won’t even let me do that. Now that she's got him, she’ll never let him go.”

“No, you deserve to be here just as much as she does. Don’t let her win…”

“Ned,” MJ warned, sending him a warning look. “She’s miserable here. If she wants to go, let her go.”

As much as she herself wanted you to stay, she understood what it was like to be in your position and she couldn’t want you to be tortured anymore.

“Come check on you later?” MJ offered.

“No that’s okay,” you declined. “I just want to be alone. I’ll see you guys at school on Monday.”

When you arrived home, you weren't sure how to break it to your father that you had retired from the dance so early so you snuck up to your room using the service elevator.

Tony Stark hadn’t put virtually any effort into getting ready for his own dances. His routine was always the same as a teen. He’d put on a nice outfit and maybe a tie if he was feeling really fancy and go dance with his buddies for about five minutes before moving to the parking lot to break open a new bottle of whatever he could steal from his parent’s liquor cabinet.

But when it was time for you, his only daughter, to attend your first Homecoming? He didn’t spare any expense (as long as you didn’t protest).

You had your dress picked out weeks before, custom-made from some international designer brand that owed your father a favor, flown in from Milan along with your matching shoes. He’d spent hours researching the right products and equipment needed to fix up the perfect hairstyle (which was executed flawlessly). And even when he failed to figure out how to do your makeup, he enlisted Pepper who made you look more exquisite than a Vogue model.

You didn’t want him to think all his hard work had been for nothing and Stark Tower was so big that if you memorized the layout and avoided the outdated surveillance systems (Tony didn’t see a point in updating them with the recent construction of the compound), you could move anywhere undetected.

You knew he had scheduled the moving team for tonight specifically because you would be gone so it wouldn’t be suspicious if the service elevator was in use and your room was an easy distance away, just down the hall and around a corner.

When you arrived, the weight of your decision started to feel heavier by the second.

Even though none of your classmates would ever know that Tony Stark was your father (besides Peter of course since he was your best friend), now no one would get to see all the work out into your night.

You slid off your heels, but you couldn’t bring yourself to change out of your deep purple dress or wipe off your face. All you could do was flip on your bed and turn on a mindless movie channel to quiet the screaming voices in your head. All your thoughts echoed his name. You would never understand why he chose her. The lingering question kept you up.

Hours later, you were wiping the snot and tears off your face with the back of your hand and turning off your television. You wouldn’t have watched the ‘mindless’ channel if you had known they were showing Dead Poets Society and you definitely wouldn’t have watched Dead Poets Society if you had known how tragic it was. Now you were a miserable mess of ruined mascara.

At least it had distracted you from your own problems, enough that you had stopped checking Liz’s Instagram story for snippets of Peter. Even when you did check, her page hadn’t been updated since you left the dance, which was more confusing than the EPR Paradox. Liz loved nothing more than rubbing her success in the face of all of her followers and dangling Peter in front of you like a carrot to a donkey.

Suddenly, there was a knock at your window, slow and uniform and so concise that you wouldn’t have heard it had you been asleep. 

You shrieked from the sudden noise that contrasted the melancholy quiet of your room. Carefully, you rose from your bed and peered out your window, surveying the thick glass pane with the utmost caution.

You pulled back your curtains, expecting to find some sort of bird or other city creature that you would have to scare off, only to reveal the face of the boy who broke your heart only a few hours prior. Peter Parker crouched on the rackety stairwell outside your window and beamed like a drunk man when he saw your face. Though hesitant, you reached for the latch locking your window and pushed it open wide enough to stick your head through, cold wind kissing your damp face.

“Peter? What are you doing here?”

“Hey,” Peter smiled, his voice shaky and out of breath as if he had just ran an entire marathon to get to your floor. “I had to see you.”

“How did you even get out there? We don’t have a fire escape!”

“Yeah I know. And your building is like 3,000 floors up.” he chuckled lightly, though you were having a hard time finding the humor of the situation.

“What are you talking about? How did you-”

You stopped when you noticed the circle of purple surrounding his left eye. And then his split lips that were still dripping blood. Then several dirty, shallow cuts all over his face and neck. So clear and prevalent, you were shocked you hadn’t noticed them when you first saw him. Perhaps it was the shock that he was there at all.

“Oh my god, what the hell happened to you?”

“Yeah, that’s kinda what I want to talk to you about…”

That’s when you noticed the biggest change of them all. Peter’s classy suit you had last seen him in was a long time, now replaced by a red sweat shirt and blue sweat pants that were all too familiar. Suddenly, it all clicked into place. Why he was all beaten up, exhausted, and easily hoisting himself up thousands of feet above busy New York streets.

“Holy shit, Peter!” you exclaimed as you came to your senses. He had to get out of the cold. “You-you’re Spider-Man?”

Peter nodded, his smile fading as his injuries caught up to him.

“Yeah and it’d be really nice to get out of the cold now, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh shit, yeah. Here-”

You reached to pull him in by his biceps, helping him through the opening of your window and into your room. He leaned against the wall once he was finally safe inside, sliding down to the floor. The metal squealed as you shut your window to cut off the cold and hurried over to turn the lights on as before you had been lonely in the dark. Peter’s dirt ridden face went wry as they flickered on.

“Oh, are you okay?!” you cried as you hurried back over to him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter assured you. “Just bruised is all. And … I might’ve broken, uh, a couple ribs….”

“Oh Peter,” you frowned. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Throwing one of his sturdy arms over your shoulder, you helped him cross your room to the connecting bathroom. You set him down to sit on the rim of the tub while you pulled out anything you had from the sink vanity that could help him.

“I don’t have much, most of the first aid is in my dad’s bathroom.” you explained, running warm water over a washcloth.

You kneeled before him, your dress bulging around you like the underside of a blooming purple rose.

Peter’s coffee eyes bore into yours and you reached out a hand to his cheek. He winced when you brushed a thumb over his black eye and once more when you held the wet cloth up to his temple with your other hand.

“Sorry,” you murmured. “It’s gonna sting a little.”

You started off slow, gently wiping up all of the dirt and debris from his cuts in soothing strokes. Peter seemed to adjust as his breathing slowed and the pained expression on his face faded into tranquility. He looked like he was exactly where he wanted to be. But you knew better. He was no longer yours to hold.

“How did this even happen?” you asked out of curiosity and a need to be distracted from your thoughts.

“I fought the Vulture. Took him down, finally.”

“The Vulture…” you repeated, having heard the name before from eavesdropping on your father. It all made sense now why Spider-Man was the only hero he refused to talk to you about. He was always up for answering all your queries on the other Avengers, be it the Black Widow’s childhood or Captain America’s most recent cultural slip up (common for the man from another time). But whenever you wanted to know anything about Spider-Man, even if you were sure it wouldn't compromise his anonymity, Tony Stark was radio silent. The habit annoyed you as Spider-Man was the only hero you ever wanted to know something about.

“I’ve been fighting him for weeks -” Peter paused as you cleaned up one of his ugliest cuts, grimacing before diving back into his explanation. “- he runs this crazy illegal weapons business.”

“I know,” you admitted. “I’ve heard my dad talk about him. I’m just trying to wrap my head around this whole Spider-Man thing.”

“Yeah, sorry I sprung it on you like this. I really meant to tell you.”

“It’s okay. It makes sense.” you assured him, though the energy between you was off.

Normally when you two were together, it was as if everything about you both moved in sync. You were so similar with nearly the same interests and motivations, revolving around each other like stars before a solar nebula. But now you felt like the two of you had finally crashed together, wrecking havoc upon each other and it hurt to see him knowing he was in love with someone else.

“Have you been crying?” Peter asked, noticing the streaks of dark mascara that stretched across your plump cheeks.

You rose from your position on the tiled floor and returned to the sink to rinse all of the collected dirt from your washcloth and wash away some of the product from your face.

“It’s just been a rough night,” you tried, hoping he would drop the subject. “I’m glad you got to have fun at the dance though. Before your big fight.”

You awaited his confirmation, but instead of affirming your worst nightmare, Peter’s reply sparked a glimmer of hope.

“Actually, I didn’t really get to enjoy it much either. I left right after you did,” he admitted.

Your fingers worked carefully as you thought of a reply, delicately unscrewing the cap to the only ointment you kept in your bathroom and squeezing a pinkie sized dollop onto the back of your hand.

“I thought you asked Liz.” you kneeled before Peter once again and smoothed the ointment onto the worst of his cuts.

“I did,” Peter asserted, his face softening under your touch. “But only because I was too scared to ask my first choice.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks under the makeup that caked them as you felt the first semblance of a smile you’d had in days.

“Your first choice?”

Though you had been avoiding his pitiful gaze, you felt a sudden braveness to meet it now.

He nodded.

“I’ve wanted to ask you since they announced the theme.”

“Student council decided on making it the 80s months ago.” you unpuzzled aloud.

“I know.”

Shocked, you rose suddenly as your heart beat wildly as if to escape from its cavity. How was it that all your wildest dreams were coming true on the worst night of your life. You were having a hard time believing him, but Peter had never lied to you before. Why would he now?

Peter wanted to meet you where you were, but as he tried to stand, something twisted in his broken chest and he sank back down in anguish, clutching his abdomen.

“Oh Peter,” you fussed, quick to return to his side. “I should really take you to a hospital.”

“No, no hospitals,” he refused. Bringing his injuries to the attention of professionals was too dangerous. Too many people would ask questions he couldn’t answer. “I’ll be okay with some ice. I heal fast.”

“At least let me take a look then, so we know what we’re dealing with.” you urged.

Peter unzipped his hoodie at your request and you aided him as he struggled to get the thick fabric off his arms. Mud stained and discarded to the side of the tub, you suddenly became very aware of the fact that you had never seen Peter in any kind of naked capacity once he was before you with a bare chest. It would’ve made it easier if he wasn’t a superhero and hiding the immaculate tapestry of musculature beneath his flannels and plain t-shirts. But he was, and now you were fighting to narrow your gaze on the dark bruises on the left side of his lower rib cage instead of taking in the whole view. You failed.

“It hurts the most here,” Peter pointed to the purple swirls of skin that were far too large for him to be so calm about it. He made no mention of your ogling, if he had even noticed at all.

You snapped back into caretaker mode, searching every drawer and cabinet for something that could work.

“I don’t have any actual ice, but I think I have - oh where is it?” you searched frantically. “Aha! Found it.”

You pulled a plastic circle of brightly colored water from the depths of one of your drawers, an adequate size to cover up the worst portion of Peter’s bruise. You knocked it against the nearest counter too, watching as the liquid inside froze instantaneously.

“Here, this should help with the swelling.” you stated, gently covering Peter’s bruise with the ice pack. He shivered when the cold made contact with his bare skin, but after some time to adjust, the pain was clearly relieved.

“Thanks,” he smiled, reaching a hand up to take over your job of holding the pack. “I really appreciate you taking care of me.”

“Anytime,” you promised, and if what he said was true, perhaps Peter Parker would be around a lot more often. “But maybe you shouldn’t make a habit of fighting off giant metal birds.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be an issue. He’s the Fed’s problem now.”

There was a beat of silence as you took a seat beside Peter and the sight of your dress reminded you of the impending question that stuck in your throat. Only this time, there was no interruption to stop it from coming out.

“Why didn’t you ask me to the dance?”

“God, it sounds so stupid now,” Peter cringed. “I want to say it was mostly because I wasn’t sure how you would respond, but in all honesty, I was scared of your dad.”

“I thought you liked him.” you questioned, recalling the bewildered look on Peter’s face when he found out your father was Tony Stark. Back then you assumed he had been a fan, but now you surmised it was much deeper.

“I do, so much. But after the ferry incident, I couldn’t risk screwing up again.”

From the bits and pieces you had overheard about Spider-Man from your dad, you already knew much about the split ferry. Though no one got hurt, you knew your father still fumed when thinking about it.

“Oh,” you realized, connecting all the pieces like shards of a broken vase fusing back into one. For the first time since you found out about Liz, you started to feel whole again. Whole and so stupid for ever doubting Peter. And it was all thanks to the dramatic antics of your father. “Oh, I’m gonna kill him.”

Peter shared your amusement, giggling quieter than normal so as to not upset his broken ribs. A comforting silence followed and you were no longer hesitant as you returned his lingering gaze.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter confessed. “I thought I was protecting our friendship, but when I saw you at the dance, looking so gorgeous in your dress, I knew I was wrong. It’s so stupid now, but I didn’t want to risk losing what we already have. I see now how wrong I was and how I almost lost the very person I need the most.”

“You really mean that?” you questioned, touched by his honesty.

“I do.”

Peter always stared at you as if you were the most beautiful person to ever walk the face of the Earth and the occasion was no different. Even with tear stained cheeks and a wrinkled purple dress, you could still see the same affection in his expression. You were exactly who he wanted.

He muttered your name, reaching a hand over to grasp one of yours. “I like you so much. I can’t even tell you how sorry I am that I made you think any differently.”

Squeezing his hand, you shifted closer to him.

“I like you too.”

Peter leaned into you, his hand fluttering to cup your cheek as his thumb traced the line curve of your bottom lip.

“Can I-” he whispered, sweet enough to ask for your permission. However, you had been waiting on this day for years and you couldn’t waste another minute. So you brought your lips to his.

Slow and soft, the kiss didn’t last too long. You were forced to stop before it grew too intense on a count of Peter’s poor ribs.

“Wanna sleep over?” you offered, unwilling to let Peter go in such condition and for your own reasons.

“Will your dad even let me?”

“He doesn’t have to know…” you grinned. “- besides, I’ve been so depressed the past few days that he’ll pretty much let me do whatever I want. I could kill someone and he wouldn’t bat an eye.”

“I hope I can fix it all.” Peter’s regret shone through his voice. His apologies weren’t sufficient and you could tell he would carry this guilt for another decade or so. But he didn’t need to. You two had figured it out after all.

“I already feel a million times better because of you.”

You helped Peter into a set of clean clothes, a shirt he’d left behind once when the two of you went swimming and some shorts you stole from your dad’s closet (though you didn’t let Peter know that to ease his conscience).

Once you were in your own pajamas, the two of you huddled together under the warmth of your duvet, wrapped up in each other.

“This is so nice,” Peter mumbled groggily into your skin, his face close to yours and his eyes nearly shut. You gave a hum of agreement, too comfortable to let any real reply out. Peter’s arms around you seemed to have that effect. “I was so wrong before. I’d much prefer to deal with your dad’s temper over Liz’s any day if it meant getting to hold you again. Tony’s temper is much more manageable than the Vulture.”

“What?!” you exclaimed, jumping up from his comfort.

Peter groaned, reaching a hand for his bruised ribs as he started to retreat mentioning it at all. He forgot you weren’t used to his Spidery habits yet.

“Peter, you can’t just say things like that and not explain.”

“Can’t it wait until morning?” he moaned.

“Nope.”