#they care that the sun is up and its breakfast time

[stuffnonsenseandotherthings]

Currently the most unrealistic part of 4 Minutes is that Great, a cat owner, is able to sleep in until 11.

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

warning: cockwarming, oviposition, breeding, mommy kink

Mother’s Day at the bee hybrid hive was… eventful.

The night before your special day, the hive was abuzz with activity. You had been in the hive for an entire year now and had already given birth to two clutches of eggs.

This meant you were a mother, and they had to celebrate all you had done for the hive and its future!

As you laid down with one of your attendants cocks inside of you as the others huddled up in your bed, the rest of your hive prepared for the upcoming day.

You awoke on your own. That was unusual, most days your attendants woke you up with their tongues playing with your cunt.

When you glanced out the window, you realized it was much later than you thought. The sun was in the sky, meaning you overslept!

Where was everyone, and why hadn’t they woken you up as per usual?

Before you could hurry out of bed, the door opened to the cutest sight you had ever seen. Your first clutch of baby bees toddled in, wearing little aprons as they walked carefully towards you.

In their fluffy hands were trays of food and your breakfast tea. They seemed absolutely determined to bring you breakfast in bed!

“Mama, happy mama day!”

Your eyes lit up with adoration as they held out the tray to you. The baby bees climbed into bed, burying their fluffy faces into your body and letting out little purrs and buzzes as you ate.

You spent most of the morning in bed, resting with your sweet babies. They took turns reading you out of their story books and patting you, trying to imitate the way you took care of them.

“Mama, comfy?” one asked, crawling up onto you and letting you bury your face into his fluffy chest. You blew raspberries there, making him giggle and squeal as he kicked his little legs.

“Very comfy, thank you. I’ve raised such sweet boys…”

You napped for a bit, and when you woke up your babies were gone. Before you could panic, you were soothed by the bee hybrids crawling into bed with you.

“Don’t worry, my queen. They’re all safe in the nursery,” one said, nibbling at your neck.

“It’s Mother’s Day, so we’re going to make you a mama all over again!”

The bee hybrids only barely understood the meaning of Mother’s Day. They knew it was a time to appreciate and spoil mothers, but also thought you needed to be bred and fucked.

You had no qualms with that.

Your legs were pried open gently, two bee hybrids taking turns devouring your sweet pussy. Another kissed you, his long tongue swirling around yours as his antennae tickled you.

“Mama…” they muttered, pussy drunk. Of course, on Mother’s Day your bee hybrid lovers would be horny and kinky.

A pair of lips latched onto your nipple while one of them began to fuck into you. Soft moans and whimpers filled the air along the smell of sex.

“M-mama, lemme fill you with eggs…”

You bit your lip, feeling your womb stretch and struggle to fit eggs from each bee hybrid. They were in a frenzy, humping you desperately to make sure they got to impregnate you as well.

In the evening, you relaxed on the couch, a hand over your swollen belly. Now, you had some alone time, and planned on catching up on that show you wanted to watch.

Mother’s Day may have been eventful, but it was clear they all loved you in their own ways. Even though they all yearned to always have your attention on them, the bee hybrids gave you the night to yourself.

Tomorrow you’d be the queen of the hive, but tonight you were a tired mother that needed some beauty rest.

———————

Note: baby bee sticker sheets available in my kofi shop, check my pinned post ^^

I have more bee hybrid fics on my Patreon and Kofi, including smut and fluff!

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @anonymouskiwi @flamefoxx @sandramalikstyles-blog @breathingstarlight

[beloveds-embrace]

Noona please I beg of you, I need more men grovelling and regretting their actions; please give us more of the angsty version of the dukedom au it’s so good, it’s so cathartic please. What happens when the boys realize they fucked up? Who wants to fight Konig upon realizing reader is definitely getting her back blown out by him? Imagine if reader ended up having his baby, or placing divorce papers on Price’s desk, god the ANGST of it all

Here’s my dog as a banana as payment

Original post

THE DOG PICCC TELL YOUR DOG I SAID THEY ARE GOODEST BOY/GIRL EVERRRR ID DIE FOR THEMMM

also thank you to everyone for all the suggestions! I couldn’t add all of them so I’m super sorry for that 😭 and also a thank you to @darkangel4121 for your replies!!

The shift in the household’s demeanor comes slowly, as if the wind has changed direction. At first, it’s little things- a hesitant glance from John, a lingering pause before he leaves a room. Kyle- as you've come to finally learn his first name despite not asking- places your breakfast tray before you with newfound care and no disdainful silence, and Johnny’s meals are cooked to perfection, also a new name you've just so recently been told of. Even Duke Riley himself begins to nod in your direction when he visits, acknowledging your presence in ways he never did before.

But it all feels hollow.

These gestures, once craved, now barely touch you. You are polite, civil, offering faint smiles that do not reach your eyes, acknowledging the changes without truly engaging. Your heart no longer waits at the threshold of their approval; it has found its sanctuary elsewhere, firmly cradled in the hands of a man who has always seen you. Your knight. Your shadow. König.

You walk through the estate, thinking of John’s efforts with a detached air. He invites you to dinners now rather than leave you alone for entire days and nights, his voice gentler, eyes searching for cracks in the walls he helped build. He asks about your day, and you respond with the measured politeness your parents taught you. The warmth he offers now is too late, a sun long set. The flicker of hope in his eyes fades each time you excuse yourself early, your presence like a ghost haunting rooms that no longer feel like home.

König waits for you just beyond the hallways, his presence like a balm to a wound. He falls in step beside you without a word, the weight of his loyalty comforting in a way no amount of decorum could be. He is everything you need- unwavering, fiercely protective, and yours.

In the gardens, beneath a gnarled oak tree, you find moments of peace with him that you could never find within the walls of the estate. You sit together in companionable silence, your shawl and his cape wrapped tightly around you against the evening chill. When you lean against him, pressing your forehead to the cool metal of his armor, you feel his breath hitch. His hand comes to rest at your back, gentle despite the strength he wields.

“I missed you today,” you whisper, your fingers tracing idle patterns over the fabric of his sleeve. It is an admission you would have once swallowed down, but with König, you have no need to hide.

His grip tightens briefly. “I am always here, mylady,” he replies, his voice soft only for you. “You need only call for me.”

“I know.” You close your eyes, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. It beats for you, and that knowledge fills the spaces that loneliness once carved. “You are all I need.”

He shifts then, kneeling before you as he often does, his hands enveloping yours. His gaze is intense, pale eyes searching your face for signs of hesitation, but there are none. “I would give you the world if I could, mylady,” he says, voice low. “But all I have is myself.”

“You are enough,” you say simply, and you mean it. “More than enough. All I could ever want.”

König bows his head, a soft exhale escaping him. “Then I will stay by your side, always.”

The men of the estate still try, fumbling in their newfound efforts to mend what they broke.

John brings you flowers, freshly cut and arranged with care, so you can decorate your drawing room where you occasionally play the harp. You accept them with a polite nod, but they are forgotten in moments, and you go back to asking Konig his opinion on the melody you are playing. Kyle offers to escort you on walks, but you refuse, choosing instead the quiet solace of the garden paths shared with König. Simon’s attempts at conversation are met with cool civility, and Johnny's food largely goes untouched. You allow none of them closer than courtesy demands.

And the gifts received from John and Duke Simon are left untouched. They aren’t much of your style anyways.

But with König, you are different. Soft. Open. You share your thoughts, your fears, the dreams you had long given up on. He listens, always.

One evening, in the safe privacy of your rooms, he rests his head in your lap, a rare moment of vulnerability. You cradle his masked face, tracing the edges of the fabric. You are unafraid of being interrupted; your new maids were quiet and nervous, likely not wanting to be dismissed after the last batch were. You still have no idea how Konig managed to do it, but he spoke to John personally and had them all removed; despite that, you don’t care for their dubious help.

You had made sure to show Konig your appreciation quite thoroughly. Even days later, you swore you could feel how big his hands on your thighs were, keeping you nice and open for his tongue. He'd kept you in that position even when a knock had sounded and someone had entered, but the knowledge of what was going on only sent a sharp thrill of excitement through you.

Still, pettily, you hoped it'd been John who had seen you in the throes of pleasure.

Not right now, Duchess. Not right now.

“Are you tired, my love?” you ask gently, the term of endearment slipping out so naturally it catches even you by surprise, earlier thoughts pushed aside. Still, you have no desire to take it back.

He stills, breath caught. “Say it again. Please.”

“My love.” You smile, leaning closer to press your forehead against his. “You are my love.”

His hands tighten around yours, trembling. “I have always been yours.”

And you believe him. In the warmth of his embrace, you find what the others could now never give- a place where you are cherished, where you are enough. The rest of the estate watches you drift further away, their regret too heavy to shift the chasm that now lies between you. You are beyond their reach, ensconced in a love that was never born out of duty but out of genuine care.

In one of those quiet moments beneath the moonlit sky, after a tiring day of going between appointments and lawyers, you ask him, “Will you take me far from here one day, König? Somewhere far away, where I am free?”

“When you are ready, Liebling,” he promises without hesitation, pale eyes earnest. “I will take you wherever you wish to go.”

The world around you may continue its attempts to pull you back in, but it is too late. Your heart belongs only to the man who has always been your refuge, your shadow, your light. And with him, you finally feel free. König, König, König- and no one else.

dukedom au masterlist

[hameesstuff]

"Ink And Ice"

Pairing: Arranged husband ceo! Jaehyun (single dad) x Wife Artist! Reader

Themes: Arranged marriage, slow burn, lots of angsttttt, fluffy end, smut.

Word Count: ~6.2k

Preview: After losing his first wife, Jaehyun swore he'd never open his heart again. After her death, Jaehyun gave all his love to his daughter, guarding his heart from anyone else. Cold and distant, he kept you at arm’s length—until your quiet warmth and love slowly brought him back to life. One argument and night changes everything.

___________________________________________

The Vows You Didn’t Write

The courthouse is silent, cold in its marble expanse. A place where deals are made in signatures, not sentiments. And that’s exactly what today is—a deal. A transaction masked as a wedding.

You're wearing a cream-colored dress, nothing extravagant, but still too soft for the man standing beside you.

Jung Jaehyun.

CEO of Jung Group. A man you’d seen on the news years ago, at charity galas with his late wife. The perfect family. Until she passed away in a tragic accident two years ago, leaving him with their daughter. Since then, he’s worn grief like armor—tailored suits, expensive watches, and a gaze colder than any winter sky.

And now, he’s your husband.

His hand brushes yours when he signs the marriage certificate. No ring. No vows. Just ink.

“You don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with,” he says, voice low, businesslike. “I’ll handle everything.”

You glance up. “Except your daughter.”

That earns the faintest flicker of something behind his eyes. Annoyance? Pain? You can’t tell. He doesn’t answer.

Soa. Five years old. A dimpled smile and big brown eyes that don’t yet understand what losing a mother means. She clung to you the first time you met like she’d known your soul in a past life. You don’t know what you did to earn it, but she loves you already.

And it terrifies you more than marrying a man who doesn’t.

The Guest Room Wife

The mansion is everything you'd expect from Jung Jaehyun—coldly beautiful. Not warm. Not welcoming. White walls, minimalist furniture, the soft hum of silence stretching through every corridor.

You’re shown to a guest room. Not the bedroom. Not his.

“This is where you’ll stay,” Jaehyun says, setting your suitcase down like he’s done it for employees at business trips. “It has a private bath. Soa’s room is just down the hall.”

You nod. “I’m not here to make things complicated.”

He pauses at the door. “Good.”

That night, you unpack in silence. You take out your paints even though he never asked what you do, what you love. You work with your hands—canvas, color, emotion. He works with numbers, walls, and contracts.

You barely see him.

But Soa? She starts appearing everywhere.

At breakfast, climbing onto your lap.

At night, asking for one more story, her tiny fingers curling around yours.

In the mornings, waiting outside your door like you’re the sun rising just for her.

And with every laugh, every question she throws your way, your heart sinks deeper. You weren’t supposed to care this much.

One night, she holds your hand and whispers, “You smell like Mommy used to.”

You don’t cry. Not then. But you do later, alone, in the dark room Jaehyun gave you.

Dinner for Three

The first time you all sit down together is a week after the wedding.

A silent dinner table. Glass and granite. A bottle of wine unopened between you. Jaehyun scrolls through something on his phone while Soa chatters about a butterfly drawing she made in school.

“I told my teacher my new mommy paints better than anyone,” she says proudly.

Jaehyun’s hand stills on the screen.

You glance at him, unsure if he’ll correct her.

He doesn’t.

“That’s sweet, Soa,” you reply softly, your voice barely breaking through the weight of the silence.

Later, as you help clean up, you ask Jaehyun quietly, “You’re uncomfortable when she calls me that, aren’t you?”

His jaw tenses. “She barely remembers her real mother. I don’t want her attaching too quickly to—”

“To me,” you finish, sharper than you intended.

He turns then. His gaze pins you to the spot. Cold. Controlled. “To anyone she could lose.”

You understand, but it still hurts.

Because no matter how kind you are, how careful, he’s already decided you’re temporary.

Ink on His Desk

You never meant to leave the painting there.

It was just a sketch—quick, raw, done late one night after Soa fell asleep on your lap. Her curled body in a blanket, one hand clinging to your shirt. You drew her in seconds, as if your hands remembered a pose from another lifetime.

You left it on the kitchen counter.

But in the morning, it’s gone.

And that afternoon, you see it on Jaehyun’s desk—framed.

He doesn’t mention it. Doesn’t look at you. Just signs documents with precise strokes as if nothing in the world has shifted.

But it has.

Because for the first time, your art is in his world. In the center of it. And that means something.

The Argument

It starts with something stupid.

You ask if he’ll be late again—Soa’s been asking for him every night, falling asleep near the front door.

He says, “My daughter is not your responsibility.”

You stare at him. “She is now. Whether you like it or not.”

Jaehyun looks up, cold. “I didn’t ask for this marriage. And neither did she.”

You step forward, voice low and shaking. “Then why marry me at all? Just to have someone warm your guest room and pretend you’re still functioning?”

That cracks something.

His voice rises—not loud, but furious. “Because my mother wouldn't stop. Because Soa needed someone. Because I needed a body beside mine to make everyone think I was still alive. Is that what you want to hear?”

You breathe in through your teeth. “You’re a coward, Jaehyun.”

“And you—” he steps closer, eyes burning, “—you’re a dreamer who walked into hell thinking you could paint over the fire.”

You whisper, “I wasn’t trying to fix you. I just wanted to be seen.”

The silence after is louder than anything.

Then, finally, he whispers back, hoarse: “I see you.”

And he walks out.

But something has changed.

Because this time, he doesn’t slam the door.

The Shift

The next week is different.

Jaehyun comes home earlier. Watches Soa paint beside you on the balcony. Asks questions about your gallery work. Not often. Just a few. But they land heavily.

One night, he stands in the doorway while you read to Soa. Doesn’t say anything. Just… stays.

When Soa is asleep, you pass him in the hall. Neither of you speak. But your hands brush.

Dinner Scene – The Breaking Point

The long dining table was filled with idle chatter, wine glasses clinking, and laughter that felt too forced to be real. You sat quietly beside Jaehyun, his expression unreadable as he scrolled through his phone between half-hearted bites.

Across the table, Minho—Jaehyun’s cousin—hadn’t stopped running his mouth since you’d arrived. His comments were laced with mockery, each one digging deeper beneath your skin.

"So," Minho began again, swirling the red wine in his glass, his eyes fixed shamelessly on you, "how’s the art world treating you? Still painting... flowers and naked women, or just your own reflection these days?”

You froze, your hand gripping the fork a little tighter.

Minho leaned forward, voice dropping to something too smooth, too smug. “Can’t lie, though. The idea of you covered in paint, messy and bare… now that’s a portrait I wouldn’t mind seeing up close.”

The table fell silent. Even the air seemed to still.

Jaehyun looked up slowly, and for a moment, no one moved. Then, without a word, he stood. The chair screeched back violently, and in two long strides, he was across the table.

“Jaehyun—” someone gasped.

He grabbed Minho by the collar and shoved him hard against the wall with a thud. Dishes clattered. Soa flinched where she sat. Shock rippled through the room.

Jaehyun’s voice was deadly low, face inches from his cousin’s. “You ever speak to her like that again, I swear to God—”

“Jae,” you said softly, standing now, your voice breaking through the haze of his fury. “Let him go. Please.”

His chest rose and fell rapidly, jaw tight, hand still fisted in Minho’s shirt. You reached him slowly, gently placing your hand on his arm. “You don’t need to do this. I’m okay. Come back.”

His eyes finally flicked to you—stormy, tormented, and wide with something unspoken. His grip loosened, and Minho slid down the wall, coughing.

Jaehyun didn’t say a word. He just turned, hand brushing against yours for a fleeting second, and walked out of the room.

The house had finally gone quiet. Soa had fallen asleep curled into her blanket, clutching the stuffed bunny you painted flowers on months ago. Jaehyun had kissed her forehead gently, lingering longer than usual, as if needing her peace to steady the storm still curling in his chest.

When he stepped into the bedroom, he found you sitting on the edge of the bed, your robe loose around you, eyes tired and pained.

“I scared you,” he said, voice hoarse. “And I scared her. I—I lost control.”

You didn’t speak, only looked up at him, your silence a gentle kind of patience that made his throat tighten.

He walked over, dropped to his knees in front of you, and pressed his forehead to your stomach.

“I hated myself tonight,” he whispered. “For letting that bastard talk about you like you were nothing. For pretending like I didn’t care, when the truth is—I can’t stand the idea of anyone looking at you the way he did. I’ve been running from this… from you. But you’re the only thing that’s felt real since her. Since everything broke.”

Your fingers slipped into his hair as his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you like he was afraid you’d vanish.

“I see you,” you whispered. “Even when you hide. Even when you push me away.”

He looked up at you, eyes shining with something vulnerable and raw. “Do you still want me? After how I’ve been?”

You leaned down, kissed him softly—an answer he didn’t deserve but one you gave anyway.

He rose, cupped your cheeks with shaking hands, and kissed you again, slower this time. With trembling reverence. It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was quiet, gentle… like worship.

“Let me love you tonight,” he said, voice breaking. “As my wife. Not a contract. Not a convenience. Just… mine.”

Clothes were discarded in silence, not in heat but in need—skin to skin, breath to breath. He held you like you were fragile and fierce all at once. His lips brushed your shoulder, your chest, your belly, lingering over every inch of you as though memorizing the story you carried beneath your skin.

When he slid inside you, it wasn’t hurried. It was a sigh, a homecoming. You gasped his name softly, hands clutching his back as he moved with you—slow, steady, grounding.

“I see you,” he whispered into your neck. “I want all of you. The stubbornness, the paint-stained fingers, the warmth you gave Soa when I was too afraid to feel. You are my family now.”

Your eyes filled with tears, and he kissed them away as he moved deeper inside you, every thrust heavy with emotion, with gratitude, with aching love he no longer knew how to contain.

When you fell apart beneath him, trembling, your eyes locked with his—and he followed with a gasp, like a man letting go of grief in the arms of someone who brought him back to life.

Later, curled against him beneath the blankets, your head on his chest, he played with your fingers in silence. Then he whispered, “You were never just someone who walked into my life.”

You looked up.

“You’re the reason it started again.”

And when you fell asleep in his arms, you felt it for the first time—not just desire. Not even just love.

You felt chosen.

Morning After

The morning sun spilled quietly through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the room. You stirred slowly, sore in the most tender way, muscles aching with the memory of how Jaehyun had held you—how he’d loved you like he was finally ready to feel again.

Your hand reached across the sheets instinctively and found him still there.

Jaehyun lay on his side, facing you, eyes already open, watching you like he still couldn’t believe you were real. His hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Didn’t sleep,” he murmured. “Just… didn’t want to miss it. Waking up like this. With you.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “You look tired.”

“I feel…” he searched for the word. “Clean. Like something broke open and I can breathe again.”

Your fingers traced the edge of his jaw, thumb brushing the faint shadows beneath his eyes. “You’re allowed to rest now, Jaehyun.”

His hand slid beneath the blanket, settling on your belly. “Soa has been calling you ‘Mom’ more lately,” he whispered. “She’s never done that with anyone else.”

You blinked, your throat tightening. “She’s… she’s everything to me.”

“I know.” He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips—soft, slow, sacred. “That’s why I love you.”

The bedroom door creaked open just then, and Soa peeked in, her bunny clutched to her chest.

“Daddy?” she whispered.

Jaehyun sat up slightly. “Come here, baby.”

She scrambled in, crawling up between you, curling into your side like she’d always belonged there. Her small hand reached for yours—and then rested gently on your belly.

“Morning, Mommy,” she said sleepily.

You didn’t correct her.

Jaehyun wrapped his arm around both of you, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head and then yours.

And in that still, sacred silence, with your family wrapped around you, nothing else in the world mattered.

Epilogue:

You watched Jaehyun play with Soa in the living room. The little girl, now six years old, was laughing as Jaehyun lifted her high into the air, her giggles filling the room and making your heart swell. Soa had grown so much in the years since she’d come into your life, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful for how seamlessly she had accepted you as her mother.

Jaehyun glanced over at you, his eyes soft with affection, before he made his way toward you. He knelt beside the couch, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple before resting his hand on your belly. "How’s our little one doing?" he asked, his voice filled with tenderness.

You smiled up at him, feeling the baby kick softly beneath your skin. "I think they’re just as excited to meet you as you are," you said with a laugh.

Soa sat beside you on the couch, her small hand gently pressed against your belly. “Hi, baby!” she whispered, her eyes wide with excitement. “I can feel you moving!”

Jaehyun chuckled from across the room, watching the heartwarming scene. “She’s already got her big sister skills down,” he said, sitting beside you.

With a laugh, you leaned against Jaehyun, watching Soa talk to the baby with all the love in her heart. It felt like the beginning of something beautiful—a new chapter, full of laughter and family. A new beginning.

The End.

Feedback is welcome ;)

___________________________________________

[dollishmehrayan]

# “I’M GONNA MARRY HER ANYWAY” ── .✦ ( how batboys marry you and propose to you )

a/n: this is a request by anon (here) but literally this is making me feel like ultra single on a spectrum, anyways I love these type of requests because I like some simple stuff like this ya know? Tags: (batboys x fem!reader)

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

The Proposal: The stars are twinkling above as Dick stands beside you on a rooftop he transformed into a wonderland of fairy lights and soft music. “You’ve given me so many reasons to smile, and now I want to give you one more,” he says, his voice trembling with emotion as he gets down on one knee. His eyes are so full of love you feel like you could drown in them. When you say yes, he lifts you into his arms and spins you around, whispering, “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life loving you.” (He’s such a mediocre man proposing 😭🌚 h/j)

The Ceremony: Dick watches you walk down the aisle, completely captivated, like he’s seeing the sun rise for the first time. His vows are filled with tender promises: “From the moment I met you, my heart knew it had found its home. You are my partner, my best friend, and the love of my life. I promise to stand by your side, to laugh with you, to cry with you, and to love you endlessly.” By the time he finishes, his voice cracks, and tears stream down his face. (You swear he cried like 6x times that day.)

Married Life: Every day with Dick is a celebration of love. He leaves you little notes that say, “You’re my greatest adventure” and brings you flowers just because. He holds your face in his hands like you’re the most precious thing in the world, telling you, “I fall more in love with you every single day.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

The Proposal: Jason plans something quiet, but the depth of his love shines through. Sitting on the couch together after dinner, he pulls out a small velvet box and says, “I’m not great at speeches, and I’ve never been the guy who gets things right the first time. But I know I got this right. You’re my home, my peace, and my everything. Marry me?” His voice is soft, almost vulnerable, and when he sees your tears, he gently wipes them away and says, “I’d spend my whole life making you happy.”

The Ceremony: Jason’s vows are raw and honest: “I’ve lived a life that didn’t always make sense, but you—you’re my clarity. You make me want to be better, to deserve the love you so freely give me. I promise to protect your heart, to cherish you every day, and to never stop fighting for us.” His hand shakes as he slides the ring onto your finger, but the love in his eyes steadies him.

Married Life: Jason doesn’t just love you—he adores you. He’ll randomly pull you into his lap just to hold you, resting his forehead against yours as he whispers, “You have no idea how lucky I feel to have you.” On lazy mornings, he cooks breakfast for you, insisting, “You’re too good for me, but I’m keeping you anyway.”

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

The Proposal: Tim’s proposal is a masterpiece of thoughtfulness. He plans an entire day filled with your favorite things—a visit to your favorite bookstore, dinner at the place you’ve been wanting to try, and finally, a quiet moment in a park under the stars. “I’ve spent so much of my life searching,” he says, taking your hands in his. “But with you, I’ve found everything I’ll ever need. Will you marry me?” His hands are shaking, but his voice is steady, full of hope and love.

The Ceremony: Tim looks at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky. His vows are deeply personal: “You are my greatest discovery, the love I didn’t know I was looking for. I promise to love you with the same care and dedication I’ve put into everything I’ve ever valued—because nothing will ever mean as much to me as you do.” He kisses your hand after slipping the ring on, his eyes misty with tears.

Married Life: Tim’s love is gentle but constant. He checks in on you throughout the day with texts like, “How’s my favorite person?” and stays up late just to watch movies with you. On nights when he’s overwhelmed, he pulls you close and whispers, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

The Proposal: Bruce’s proposal is understated but breathtaking. In a quiet corner of Wayne Manor, with a fire crackling in the background, he kneels before you. “ I’m not exactly good with words but…..I’ve faced many things in my life, but nothing has been as terrifying—or as wonderful—as loving you. You’ve changed me in ways I didn’t know were possible. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” His voice is steady, but his eyes are full of emotion. (He kinda proposes the same he did with Andrea Beaumont poor guy gets a bit of flashbacks 😭😭)

The Ceremony: Bruce’s vows are simple but deeply moving: “In my darkest moments, you were my light. In my loneliest nights, you were my solace. I vow to be your partner, your protector, and your greatest love for as long as I live.” His hands linger on yours during the ring exchange, as if he can’t believe you’re real.

Married Life: Bruce loves quietly but fiercely. He kisses your forehead every morning and holds your hand under the table during dinners. On difficult days, he pulls you into his arms and whispers, “You’re my everything. I couldn’t do this without you.”

[mononijikayu]

widower! nanami who found himself lingering by the window in the evenings, catching glimpses of you tending to your garden or sitting on your porch with a cup of tea.

nanami kento couldn't quite explain the comfort he found out he could feel just because of your presence.

ever since he moved here and met you, with your bright smile and your kindness to a grieving soul like him, it brought a quiet solace amidst the storm in his broken heart.

widower! nanami who, despite his reluctance to let anyone in, found himself knocking on your door one rainy evening to return the favor you have him when he first moved in.

he stood there, holding that it bottle of red wine and his little whisper of a quiet "thank you for the bread."

you smiled at him tenderly, not caring for his shyness or his awkwardness. "its my pleasure, neighbor. come by anytime. i'll make something good for you.we'll have a good conversation over this wine."

he blinks at you, slowly turning flustered as you nodded. "ah….yes. that would….that would be lovely."

widower! nanami who, over time, found that conversations day by day with you started to feel like a lifeline.

you always spoke with warmth and patience, never prying but always listening. you shared stories of your life, your interests, and little joys that painted the world in colors he thought he'd forgotten.

somehow, it was the good distraction he needed from the quiet. its a way to keep himself present to the world around him, when he would have let himself wallow in the loneliness. and it was because you made him feel safe. he was thankful to you for making him feel normal.

widower! nanami who caught himself smiling—truly smiling—when you laughed at one of his dry jokes. even though you knew that it wasn't that funny.

it was a small moment, one that fould have been a footnote to a day lived in this life but it reminded him of the man he used to be before grief consumed him. he was reminded that he was someone.

widower! nanami who, one night, confessed to you over tea on your porch that he hadn’t felt this kind of peace in years. that he hadn't found himself living in so long.

you didn’t respond with pity or empty reassurances. instead, you looked at him and smiled with empathy. you simply placed a gentle hand over his.

“take your time. healing isn’t a race, kento–kun.”

he nodded at you then and then he smiled, squeezing your hand with his other free hand in thanks. he was grateful that it was you who understood him best.

widower! nanami who realized that the heavy ache he had long felt in his chest was slowly being replaced by something different—something warm and hopeful. something that reminded him of life beyond loss.

widower! nanami who started looking forward to the mornings again, who started thinking about what to wear on his daily walks, knowing he might see you across the garden fence or hear your knock on his door.

little by little, he began to live, not just exist.and that was something he felt like was a gift that could only have come from someone as good as you.

widower! nanami who, for the first time in years, started waking up early not out of duty, but out of anticipation. he’d make coffee and glance out his kitchen window, hoping to catch the sight of you stepping outside to greet the day.

when you did, he’d offer a small wave, and sometimes, you’d wave back with a smile so genuine it warmed something deep within him.

"good morning, kento—kun!" you greeted cheerfully, waving from your garden, kneeling over your sunflowers.

he smiled at you, waving back shyly. he stops from his walk to make sure he sees you and you see him. "good morning to you too."

"come here, ill give you some sunflowers! oh, and come join me for breakfast. i have new bread for you to test!"

widower! nanami who found excuses to linger in his front yard when you were outside enjoying the sun and the breeze of the summer winds.

one time, he found himself pretending to fix his mailbox or tidy up the bushes—just for the chance to exchange a few words with you. sometimes he'd say he found a new cat fiend taking his produce from the garden.

he found as many excuses as he could, just to be with you. just to have a moment to see you smile. just to have those moments of connection with you, ones that no matter how brief, became a balm for his weary soul.

widower! nanami who one day noticed you struggling to carry groceries from your car and instinctively walked over to help.

he hadn’t felt the urge to extend himself in so long, but with you, it felt natural. you had joked about him being your knight in shining armor, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he laughed—really laughed.

and soon enough you followed, laughing and bellowing with joy beaming in your eyes. nanami kento was sure it was the loveliest symphony he'd ever heard.

widower! nanami who began to share little by little all those pieces of himself with you, bits of his past life that he hadn’t spoken about in years.

you were such a darling to him, listening without judgment, your eyes filled with endless empathy and care for him. and when he mentioned his late wife, you didn’t recoil or change the subject. instead you held his hand in the hardest moment in a long long while.

instead, you smiled at him kindly and said to him ever so softly, “she must have been an incredible person to have been loved by someone like you.”

nanami kento was touched. he could have sworn he had truly found the wonder of the world when he looked st you in that moment. you were all that was good and he knew it.

widower! nanami who found himself opening up more and more, slowly but surely. you didn’t push him to move faster than he was ready, but your quiet understanding made him feel safe—something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

in the world which was rough and cruel, there was only kindness when he looked in your eyes. a kindness that was made specifically for him by the warmth of your existence.

widower! nanami who, one evening, invited you over for dinner. it was the first time he’d cooked for someone since she’d passed, and though his hands shook as he prepared the meal, your smile of gratitude when you arrived made it worth it.

you both shared stories over simple dishes, the evening stretching into the night as conversation flowed effortlessly between you. you laughed, you sang, you cheered. it was something that nanami kento would not forget.

"thank you for inviting me to dinner, really." you told him, smiling from ear to ear. "everything was fantastic, kento."

"you shouldn't thank me. if anything i should thank you." he says, a small smile on his lips. "im happy to thank you with something like this, even if its so simple."

you giggled. "simple is best, no?"

he nodded, his eyes fondly looking at you. "indeed it is."

widower! nanami who, after you’d left that night, stood in the doorway of his home and realized he did not feel like any place he was in was as empty as it once was. somehow, the world seemed illuminated in light.

there were still shadows of his grief, yes, but for the first time in years, he felt a flicker of something he thought he’d lost forever—and that was hope.

there was hope that there was something after the pain. that there was warmth inside of him growing for the hope of continuing to live a life with a smile on his face.

widower! nanami who began to wonder if, maybe, it was okay to let the walls he’d built around his heart start to crumble, one small piece at a time.

would you catch him if he let himself fall? or would the weight of his past be too much for you to bear? would you be the one who could stand by him despite the world weighs heavy on his shoulder?

widower! nanami who decided one quiet evening, as he watched the light in your window, as you danced to your favorite song, that he couldn’t keep waiting for the perfect moment to act. life had already shown him how fragile time could be.

he didn’t want to waste another second letting fear hold him back, no. he was still alive. and there were many colors of life he still had to know. and one of it was the color of your joy when music makes you happy.

widower! nanami who knocked on your door the next morning, uncharacteristically nervous, clutching a small bouquet of sunflowers he’d picked up on a whim.

when you opened the door, seeing him with that look of surprise. but it was easy to see the bright light in your eyes. you were truly delighted to see him before your eyes.

he cleared his throat and said softly, “i wasn’t sure what flowers you’d like, but these felt…bright. like you.”

widower! nanami who took you out on a simple walk later that day, both of your hands brushing together gently as you strolled through the neighborhood.

the silence between you wasn’t awkward, that was to be sure. but filled with an unspoken understanding, a connection neither of you needed to explain. it was contentment, in the look of love being as tender as the touch of love even in tender brushes.

widower! nanami who stopped abruptly by a quiet park bench, turning to face you with a look that was equal parts vulnerability and determination.

you smiled at him as you waited for him to say something. the way you looked at him, it was as though he was the only one in the world. it was as though he was a galaxy you marvel at each and every night. it was like he was the morning sunrise tenderly brushing against you in the fleeting echoes of dawn.

“i don’t know how to do this correctly, not anymore." he admitted. “and i don’t know if i'll ever stop grieving her. but… i know that when i’m with you, the world doesn’t feel as heavy. and i think i want to try, if you’ll have me.”

widower! nanami who felt the weight of the world lift just a little when you smiled up at him, your hand slipping into his with quiet assurance. you nodded at him.

“I’m not asking you to forget." you said gently. “but maybe we can figure this out together…..if you would have me."

he smiled at you, bright eyed. "i'd love to have you. happily."

you giggled. "then it's settled. you are stuck with me."

"i could say the same thing about you too." kento laughs.

widower! nanami who, for the first time in years, allowed himself to hope—not just for healing, but for happiness, for love, and for the possibility of a future where he didn’t have to face the world alone.

because he knew that life would be fine now, life could be worth living. and its thanks to you, you whom became his relief in this world, as long as time may allow.

[helioooss]

your song, part two

synopsis: after years apart, y/n, now a successful chef running her own restaurant in makati, finds her life briefly interrupted when sophia laforteza, her childhood best friend turned global pop star, returns home.

w/c: 10k+

warnings: swearing, slowburn, angst

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the office couch had never really been meant for sleeping, but the fold-out had done its job. two pillows borrowed from the bar’s storage room, a spare throw blanket pulled from a dusty crate. you turned off the lights around sometime around 11pm but neither of you stopped talking.

the hum of the bar fridge filled the space between stories — sophia’s recounts of rehearsals, early katseye tensions, the first time she cried after a concert when someone in the crowd held up a sign with her name on it.

the two of you had stayed up past midnight. you weren’t sure anymore. the air grew heavy with sleep, but neither of you wanted to go.

you listened, half on your side, chin propped against your arm. you didn’t interrupt much. it was easy to just watch her: eyes lit up in the half-darkness, hair falling over her cheek as she talked and talked, until her words slowed, slurred.

then, just like that, she had fallen asleep next to you, passed out halfway through a sentence about lara who kept eating takis for breakfast. on her side, facing you, her breath soft and uneven like she hadn’t let herself rest in a long time.

you hadn’t really slept. drifted in and out, conscious of her shoulder close to yours, of the faint scent of citrus shampoo and something distinctly hers; familiar in a way that tugged at your stomach. you woke properly around five.

the sun wasn’t up yet, but the street was breathing again, slow and mechanical; the sounds of early vendors pushing carts and mopeds slicing through quiet roads.

you sat up slowly, rubbed your face and padded out into the bar. the tiles were cold against your feet. it grounded you. you brewed the coffee first. hers, not yours. you remembered the way she used to complain when it wasn’t sweet enough, that dramatic gagging sound she would make before calling you a psychopath.

two and a half teaspoons brown sugar, one teaspoon coffee. you made it without thinking - muscle memory.

in the kitchen, you got to work. rice hit the pan with oil, garlic dancing in the heat. you cracked eggs and fried longganisa until the edges crisped and curled. added the chorizo de cebu she always claimed tasted different in manila. you plated it the way she liked: egg yolk whole and shiny, meat slightly charred, a slice of tomato and cucumber on the side like it meant something.

you barely heard her footsteps until she was leaning against the doorframe, hair messy, shirt hanging loose around her collarbones.

“that smells so good,” she croaked out, voice low and rough from sleep.

you turned. “coffee’s on the bar.”

“you’re a dream,” she added, padding over barefoot.

you caught her out of the corner of your eye — how she curled her hands around the mug, how her eyes fluttered shut after the first sip.

and then, like it wasn’t anything at all, she said: “i love you.”

your body locked up inside; heart caught mid-beat, hands suddenly unsure where to rest.

she said it like people say ‘thank you’ or ‘god, this is good coffee’ — easy, half-asleep, automatic. not weighted.

but your brain didn’t care about tone. or context. your brain heard i love you in her voice and it lit up like a fucking traffic accident. she didn’t mean it, she couldn’t have.

still, your stomach twisted with the ghost of what it would’ve felt like if she had. you didn’t say anything. just plated the food and set it down, sliding it across the counter toward her.

she smiled, eyes half-closed, murmured “you spoil me” and dug in. you sat across from her, picked at your own plate, letting the quiet settle again.

no one came in early on sundays. the place was still.

“when are you leaving?” you asked, the words quiet but clear.

she chewed, then shrugged. “i don’t know yet,” she replied, stuffing her face with rice. “i think i want to stay longer…i know i can.”

you looked at her. she didn’t meet your gaze, just sipped her coffee and stared at the far wall like she was still working it out.

“what about you?” she asked.

“don’t work sundays, usually. might visit my family in quezon. bring my lola some empanadas.”

she grinned. “she’ll pretend not to like them.”

“always.”

she toyed with her fork. “i’m filming a brand thing later,” she began to say, then looked up, suddenly hesitant. “but…would you wanna come? or, i don’t know, wait for me so we can go together to quezon?”

you blinked. “come to your shoot?”

“if that’s okay, i can pick you up?”

you nodded. “yeah, of course…pick me up from here.”

her shoulders relaxed. you didn’t know she had been holding tension there.

after breakfast, she helped stack dishes into the tub. she noticed the fresh burn on your forearm; angry and red, skin bubbled from a splash of oil the night before. you tried to cover it but she caught your wrist, gently.

“where’s your first aid kit?”

“it’s gross —”

“it’s not,” she argued. “always looked after your clumsy ass, trust me, i’ve seen worse injuries from you.”

“fine,” you sighed in defeat, pointing towards the white cabinet by the sink. “right over there.”

you watched her disinfect it, cut the gauze, taped it down like she had done it before. her brows drawn, tongue poking out slightly as she focused.

she was always like that — meticulous with care, even when you didn’t deserve it.

you looked down at her hands on yours and felt something press low and quiet in your chest. she was just wrapping the tape when her phone rang.

you pulled your hand back gently. she looked at the screen and sighed. “it’s mum.”

you nodded, stepping back. “take it.”

leaning back, you remained seated on the barstool as she slipped off hers and walked a few steps away, phone pressed to her ear. her voice changed immediately: softer, brighter, familiar in a way that tugged something loose inside your chest. you remembered her talking like that to tita carla on your lola’s rooftop when you were kids, pacing in bare feet, laughing about her day, whole face lighting up like she didn’t know how to dim it.

hearing that tone now…after all this time, felt like being dropped into a version of yourself that hadn’t been folded down yet.

you lowered your gaze to the bandage on your arm. it was neat. clean. it still stung, but much less now and her touch still lingered in your skin.

then, without warning, sophia was holding out the phone as you looked up; her eyes warm, mouth curved in a small smile.

“mum wants to say hi.”

you blinked. “me?”

“yes. smile.”

you took the phone. “hello, tita?”

“anak! y/n!” the joy in her voice was immediate, like nothing had changed. “thank you, ha? for looking after our baby girl last night. she never listens to me. i’ve been telling her to just drop by so you don’t run away.”

ah.

you laughed softly. “it’s nothing, tita. she’s easy to feed.”

“she told me she slept at your restaurant! you poor things, that couch must be awful. but at least you had good food. y/n, i still remember your sinigang — hay nako, my mouth is watering just thinking about it.”

you laughed, could already picture her, barefoot in the kitchen, a towel thrown over one shoulder, probably waving her hand as she spoke.

“you have to come visit,” she continued. “i want to see your mum. bring her! and your lola, if she’s not feeling too suplada. we’ll cook.”

you said yes to everything, laughed when she insisted you come over this week and promised to text her.

when you handed the phone back, sophia groaned and rolled her eyes. “she said the driver’s already outside.”

you tried to smile, but it faltered. there was something unspoken on her face, stretched thin beneath her usual calm. she didn’t want to leave. that much was obvious.

the same way you didn’t want to be the one she had to leave from. you both stood in silence for a few seconds, neither making the first move.

then she reached for her jacket and followed you through the kitchen. the staff room was still dim, quiet in that particular sunday morning way like the place knew the chaos had already passed.

the hallway to the back door felt longer than usual as you held it open for her.

the sun was out now, high enough to warm the concrete. the maroon suv was parked just beyond the alley’s end, hazard lights blinking softly. the driver stepped out and nodded once, expression unreadable.

sophia adjusted the strap on her bag but didn’t move.

you stood beside her, not sure what else to do. it felt like if you said anything, it would undo whatever peace had formed between you over breakfast. perhaps even over the night itself.

she turned to you just as the driver opened the back door. “can i ask you something you might not answer?”

you tilted your head. “what is it?”

her eyes searched yours for a second longer than they needed to. “did you ever think about us? where would we be if i hadn’t left?”

the question landed low and deep, like a stone dropping into still water.

you looked down, then back at her. something in you cracked open, gently. you looked at her properly, throat tightening. she was looking at you intensely. “…in what way, piya?”

she shook her head, not unkindly. “you know what i mean.”

your heart beat in your ears, hands suddenly feeling like they didn’t belong to you. and still, you held her gaze.

“yeah,” you admitted. “i did.”

she nodded once like she had always hoped you would say that. you didn’t say anything else. neither did she.

then she got in the car.

you stood there until it turned the corner and disappeared from view.

something old had shifted. you could feel it.

whether that was good or dangerous, you didn’t know yet but it had a name.

and it was hers.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

twenty years ago

your lola had a way of dragging you into places you didn’t belong. she said it was character-building; that brushing shoulders with the rich might remind you to stand taller, even if your slippers were patched with thread and your shirt was two sizes too big.

you were five, tired and annoyed that sunday was being stolen from you again.

“just behave,” she warned as you stood outside the gates of a house too big to be real. “and don’t touch anything.”

you kept your hands locked behind your back.

forbes park was a place you only heard about in passing: on the jeepney, in the sari-sari store, from the mouths of women who folded laundry while daydreaming out loud. mansions with proper gates and real grass, where drivers waited in parked cars and mothers had help just to hold umbrellas. your lola knew sophia’s lolo from a church thing, you didn’t know the details.

all you knew was that your school shoes still had dried mud on them and that you didn’t want to be here.

the front door opened before your lola even rang the bell. someone must’ve been watching; the housekeeper smiled and told you both to come in. your slippers squeaked against the polished floor as you followed your lola like a shadow, trying not to look at the paintings on the wall, or the glass table you were sure would shatter if you breathed too hard.

“there she is,” someone said. a voice that didn’t rush, but didn’t slow down either.

you turned.

a girl with two high ponytails and a missing front tooth was skipping down the stairs like she owned gravity. she was wearing a sundress with tiny sunflowers and had one sock up and one sock missing entirely. bright-eyed, messy, loud.

you liked her immediately…hated that you did.

“this is y/n,” your lola introduced you, nudging you forward. “say hello to piya, anak.”

“hi,” you mumbled, eyes darting to the floor.

“i’m sophia,” the girl said, walking straight up to you without hesitation. she didn’t offer a hand. she grabbed yours instead, sticky and warm from holding a half-eaten popsicle. “do you like jollibee?”

you nodded, unsure.

“my dad bought spaghetti and chickenjoy,” her grin widened. “come, we’ll eat in my room.”

you looked back at your lola for assurance, she waved you on, already being ushered to the dining area by sophia’s mother.

her room was the size of your whole house. there were shelves filled with dolls still in their boxes and a tv that actually had cable. she dragged you to the floor, offering you her jollibee spaghetti first, then pushing a plate of fries toward you like it was a peace treaty.

you ate slowly; she talked non-stop.

about how her driver always gets lost, how she’s going to be famous one day, how she wants to live in new york because they have squirrels.

you had no idea what squirrels were but you nodded anyway.

and somewhere in between her talking about her dog, peanut, and showing you how she can do a cartwheel (badly), she said:

“let’s be friends forever.”

like it was the most normal thing to promise a stranger.

you stared at her, sauce still clinging to your lips, unsure if you were supposed to say it back.

but you said it anyway.

“okay.”

because deep down, even then, some part of you already knew: if anyone could make you believe in forever, it was none other than sophia laforteza.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the studio was chaos in that specific, almost theatrical way, like someone had tried to contain a cyclone inside four white walls and called it fashion. flashes cracked in quick bursts, overlapping instructions flew across the room: hold that, chin up, yes, that’s it, softer; and assistants weaved through the mess. makeup brushes tapped against palettes, someone was yelling about missing palettes and the speakers blasted a remix of a song you half-recognised but couldn’t place.

everything smelled like hairspray and coffee and nerves.

sophia walked in with easy posture, nodding at familiar faces, flashing the kind of half-smile that made people move aside.

she held your wrist briefly, pulling you a step closer towards her. “i won’t be long,” she murmured. “just…stay close to me, yeah?”

you nodded, gave her a faint smile. “i’ll be here.”

there was nowhere to go, really, so you didn’t move far. there were clusters of people, all of whom looked like they were already doing something important. you stood near a light stand, arms crossed lightly over your chest, eyes scanning the room.

it was overwhelming, but in that detached way - like watching a party from behind a window. you kept to the edges, tried to blend in, maybe even failed a little.

your phone buzzed in your pocket, but you didn’t check it. instead, you watched sophia disappear behind the makeup screen, already mid-conversation with a stylist. she tossed a quick glance back at you, smiling for just a second and you smiled back; felt something stupid and warm settle under your skin.

“bini girls!” someone yelled. “maloi, aiah let’s go.”

you didn’t expect the shoot to involve them but when one of the stylists called out names, you heard it clearly.

your brain definitely short-circuited for a moment as you tried to keep your cool. lowkey fan didn’t even cover it: you watched their dance practice videos like they were stress therapy, recommended lagi to aira during the slow month last year.

and now they were here: in the same room, wearing crocs and no makeup and carrying iced americanos like it was the most casual thing in the world.

“come here, y/n,” sophia pulled you out of your starstruck trance, voice carrying across the noise.

you nodded once, stepping around the cables carefully and stood beside her.

the makeup artist — small-framed, sharp-browed, probably could kill with a single brush stroke, grinned as you settled in. “so, you’re the mystery guest?”

you laughed once, shaking your head. “just moral support.”

her eyes flicked up at you in the mirror and she smiled a little too quickly.

“she keeps looking for you,” he added, dabbing blush across her cheek. “i thought you were her girlfriend or something.”

“we’re not,” you answered, voice steady despite feeling awkward. “just old friends.”

“ahhh, old friends,” the artist echoed, mock-suspicious. “sure.”

sophia was grinning now, eyes shut while her eyeliner got cleaned up. “he’s always like this, ignore him.”

“don’t ‘stop’ me. you haven’t taken your eyes off her since she walked in.”

you looked down at your hands, heart thudding, pretending to focus on a bracelet you weren’t wearing.

“she’s shy,” she added, tone teasing.

you kicked her lightly under the table.

you stayed like that for a while, talking about nothing and teased each other back and forth. you kept nudging her foot with yours under the makeup chair, the moment felt light, like something you could get used to.

eventually, the stylist gestured you to move so they could get her dressed. you stood, backed off with a quiet “good luck,” and wandered toward the far end of the studio, near the coffee table cluttered with water bottles, oat milk and half-eaten croissants.

you turned to your side and there they were.

“you’re the chef, right?” maloi asked, eyes wide and a little warm. “the one from concave?”

you blinked. “hmm, yeah, that’s me.”

she grinned. “your sisig got a write-up in spot.ph, didn’t it? i’ve had it bookmarked for months. oh, i’m maloi and this is aiah.”

you felt your mouth twist into something shy. “i’m y/n, and that was more chef kristoff’s doing. but thanks.”

“maloi wants to be fed all the time,” aiah mumbled, smiling from beside her. “she saw your name on the guest sheet and hasn’t shut up about you possibly bringing a meal for the crew.”

“i did not,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

you held your hands up. “i’m flattered. really. next time, i will though.”

they were easy to talk to: normal. maloi was quick-witted, had a dry sense of humour that matched yours better than it should’ve. she teased you about bigger proportions. you told her a boy group’s sound engineer had once tried to book a table under a fake name and still got recognised by chef aira.

aiah leaned in slightly, curious. “how do you and sophia know each other?”

“we grew up together,” you replied, crossing your arms. “we’ve known each other since we were five; her lolo knows my lola.”

there was a tug in your chest as the words left your mouth — how easily the past rolled off your tongue, how strange it felt to say grew up instead of have always been…as if the closeness belonged in past tense now.

“that’s kind of sweet,” maloi said. “and now she’s this huge star and you’re —”

“a tired chef with second-degree burns and a restaurant with an aggressive rice cooker,” you offered.

“still sounds cooler than us,” aiah laughed.

you smiled and deflected, asking about their shoot instead and maloi lit up describing it; how the concept was loose, that their manager still hadn’t picked final outfits.

aiah nodded along, interjecting now and then with dry humour. it helped that maloi had that kind of energy — disarming, quick to laugh, easy to match. you found yourself leaning into the conversation, even joking a little, answering their questions without filtering too much.

from across the room, you could feel her gaze.

sophia saw the way you stood; more open now. your hands loose in your pockets and laughing effortlessly. she caught the way maloi leaned toward you slightly when she spoke, saw the little smile you gave aiah after a joke.

her stomach turned…not violently, but just enough to feel it.

when your eyes met hers, her hair was pinned back and her expression unreadable. she looked…irritated. or maybe not that. she wasn’t talking to anyone; just watching you.

when she finally joined the other two for the shoot, the difference was immediate. she flipped back into performer mode so fast it made you feel like you were watching someone else entirely. her posture shifted. her face reset.

the camera loved her. and still, your eyes didn’t leave her.

she looked unreal, as if she lit from the inside, almost. every time she turned her head, your chest seized up a little. the sound of the shutter seemed to match your pulse.

at the end of it, the four of you gathered near the props table, sharing snacks and wiping off the stickiness of set lighting.

“so,” maloi began. “what do you feed her to make her skin glow like that?”

you chuckled. “sinigang. three-day-old reheated kind; the secret is neglect.”

aiah laughed with you. “we’ll take two.”

sophia didn’t smile, not really. she nudged a biscuit around on a napkin. when maloi turned to offer her a joke, sophia grinned, but her tone shifted.

you noticed the change immediately. the way she looked at you without really looking.

“you okay?” you asked her under your breath.

“fine,” she mumbled, eyes flicking back toward the food.

she was still friendly to the others; complimenting aiah’s earrings, laughing at something maloi said about posing like a tita at a reunion, but when she spoke to you again, it was clipped.

the conversation kept rolling, but you felt the dip in temperature. the little shift. you caught the way sophia kept talking to the other girls, laughing more now, but not looking your way.

you didn’t say anything. not until the goodbyes were done and you had promised everyone a free table at concave.

the drive back was slow, caught in the usual saturday night crawl along edsa, headlights flickering through rain-streaked windows.

the city was winding down, but the car wasn’t quiet in a peaceful way. it was the kind of quiet that pressed into your chest, made you conscious of every breath you took, of the space between your leg and hers.

sophia had barely said a word since you left the studio, just scrolled through her phone in silence; screen lighting her face in bursts.

you glanced at her briefly. she refused to look your way. hadn’t, since earlier. “you good?”

“what did you think of maloi?” she deflected your question, voice too casual to be casual.

you blinked, pulling yourself out of your thoughts. “she’s great,” you answered, keeping your voice even. “really easy to talk to — just like aiah.”

there was a beat of silence and then she gave a little huff, almost a scoff. “yeah, both seem like your type.”

you frowned, turning your head to face her properly. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“nothing.”

“you’re literally saying it means something,” you frowned, trying not to let your tone rise. “you brought maloi up.”

“i just noticed you two were getting along,” she replied, still not meeting your eye. “it’s not a crime.”

you exhaled through your nose, felt the burn of frustration settle in your throat. “you jealous or something?”

that made her laugh, dry and small. “of course not, why would i be?”

“don’t know, piya. you’re acting weird and short.”

she finally turned to you then. her expression was unreadable, but her jaw was tense. “you were different with her.”

you stared at her. “i was polite.”

“you were smiling and laughing and she was inching closer to you every single time.”

“am i not allowed to laugh around other people now?” you asked, tiredness creeping into your voice. “she made a joke. i laughed. you know what that’s like, right?”

she didn’t respond. she just looked away again, out the window, fingers twitching against her thigh.

you leaned your head back against the seat, stared up at the roof of the car like it could anchor you. you weren’t sure why this felt so loaded; why it mattered so much to her.

and yet — her words kept needling at you. the sharpness of her tone tucked under the soft. it made your chest ache in ways you had tried to outgrow.

“are you seriously upset about her?” you added, trying not to sound defensive, but already failing.

“no,” she said, too fast.

you turned your body slightly toward her, fingers curling into your thigh. “you are. you’re acting so cold.”

she scoffed under her breath. “i’m not.”

“okay,” you murmured, eyes narrowing as you turned back to the window. “right.”

the tension thickened. there was a time when you knew exactly how to reach her, how to read her mood with one glance, a shift in her jaw, a clipped breath. but now…after all these years; she felt like a puzzle you only half-remembered how to solve.

“it’s just…” she started, then trailed off.

you waited, nothing came. “just what, soph?”

she inhaled slowly, still refusing to look at you. “you don’t even realise when someone’s flirting with you. it’s kind of frustrating.”

you bit back a laugh, not because it was funny, but because it caught you off guard. “my god, it wasn’t flirting. we were literally at a coffee station talking about my restaurant.”

“sure,” she muttered.

“maloi has a boyfriend.”

“doesn’t make it any better.”

you sighed, long and low, before leaning back into the seat and closing your eyes for a beat. “this is ridiculous.”

“you’re ridiculous.”

you turned to look at her again, and this time, her eyes met yours. sharp and tired. there was something else behind them too: something raw, maybe even a little embarrassed.

you remembered that look: she used to wear it when you were kids, whenever she said something she didn’t mean and didn’t know how to take it back.

she would get defensive, go quiet, pick at her fingernails. you saw all of that now, right in front of you, like nothing had changed.

you turned your head slowly to look at her. her eyes were down now, lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, fingers playing with the frayed hem of her sleeve.

the silence this time was worse.

so you reached out without thinking. your hand found hers, warm and unsure in your palm. then you slid it over gently, placed it on top of hers the way you used to when you were kids. a quiet offering. a wordless ‘tahan na’ in the middle of everything that wouldn’t come out right.

she froze, breath hitching.

you didn’t look at her but you kept your eyes on your joined hands, the way her fingers curled slightly under yours, like they remembered.

“i’m sorry,” she spoke after a while, voice lower now. “i didn’t mean to get weird. i just…”

“i know.”

the streets rolled by outside, a slow blur of taillights and neon. and in the dimness of the car, something shifted back into place.

perhaps, you could both live with this thing between you, whatever it was. even if neither of you had the words for it yet.

you kept your hand there the rest of the ride. and she didn’t let go.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

tonight, concave belonged to people who knew how to take their time. you had forgotten how warm a restaurant could feel when it wasn’t just a job, when the air wasn’t heavy with orders and wait times and burnt pots.

the long table had been set earlier in the afternoon under low-hanging lights strung along the ceiling beams, soft shadows stretched across white linen and mismatched cutlery. there were extra chairs lined up just in case someone brought someone else last minute.

sophia and diana had planned it all; something about old friends and new chapters. you didn’t argue, just happy to cook.

in the bar, yohan looked more alive than he had all week. he stood behind the counter like it was his stage, lazily tossing lemons in the air while aira’s portable speaker blared old r&b. a playlist from the group chat titled “for the soul.”

one of the katseye girls, lara, maybe, was already perched on a stool with a glass of something bright and citrusy, her laugh carrying over to the kitchen.

yohan still couldn’t look at her.

in the kitchen, it was hell but the good kind. you were sweating through your shirt, wrists sore from all the chopping and ladling. the air was thick with the smell of sinigang, tamarind sharp in your nose and somewhere behind you, liempo sizzled against hot grill bars. herbs and spices clung to the counters and lumpia oil popped loudly in the corner fryer.

someone’s empty beer bottle clinked on the prep table, probably kristoff’s. he and leo were hovering near the turon like they hadn’t eaten in weeks and aira kept swatting their hands away with a spatula.

you stirred the sinigang, tasted it quickly off the back of the ladle and added a little more fish sauce. everything else could burn as long as the broth hit the right spot.

then, through the steam and haze, she appeared.

sophia…black dress, hair down, neckline low. she looked like she didn’t belong in this kind of heat; like the sweat, the fish sauce, the clatter of a dozen moving parts couldn’t touch her. she walked in quietly, barefoot now, heels probably left under the table. you didn’t notice her at first, not until she stood beside you and reached for the paper towel roll, tearing a piece off in one slow motion.

“you’re drenched,” she murmured and gently dabbed your forehead. “you’re gonna get sick if you don’t wipe it off - let me wipe your back.”

“what?”

your hand stopped mid-stir, her touch was soft. too soft. her fingers near your hairline, warm and clean and steady. you didn’t look at her. you couldn’t, not when your chest had just betrayed you by clenching up so fast.

she rolled her eyes. “lift the back of your shirt up.”

“i can do it,” you insisted, reaching for more paper towels but her hand stopped you. “piya…”

“what? you’re suddenly too grown for me to do it?” she clicked her tongue as she shook her head, lifting your shirt up to dab paper towels on your back. “now, wasn’t so hard hey?”

“ayieeeee!” kristoff’s voice cracked through the kitchen like a slap. followed by laughter, loud and terrible and echoing. you heard the clang of something dropped.

you finally turned your head, saw her smiling. lips pressed together like she was trying not to make it worse.

“ignore them,” she said, handing you the scrunched-up towel.

you blinked. “this is a kitchen. you can’t be in here with your untied hair.”

“then hurry up and feed us so i can be soft somewhere else, chef.”

you snorted, eyes darting toward the sinigang pot again, your pulse still uneven. “just sit back and wait for the best meal of your life.”

“always is,” she chuckled and walked out.

the second the door swung closed behind her, aira’s panic returned at full volume.

“oh my god,” she whisper-yelled, pacing near the fryer. “i cannot do this. that was sophia laforteza. she was here, again, in this kitchen. and now we have to plate food for her. and for katseye. literal katseye members!”

leo, ever useless, dramatically picked up a serving tray and bowed like a butler. “madam manon, may i present your steaming hot garlic rice and humble peasant lumpia.”

kristoff followed suit. “miss yoonchae, your turon awaits on a bed of banana leaf — harvested from davao’s finest plantation.”

she looked like she might faint; pale-faced and terrified. “can you both shut the fuck up? i’m having a crisis.”

“just act normal,” you muttered, laughing as you wiped your hands on your apron. “they’re regular people.”

“regular people with millions of followers and abs sculpted by the divine.”

“aira, breathe,” leo said, flinging a turon piece into his mouth. “you’re sweating more than the sinigang and y/n.”

before she could throw something at him, diana’s voice called from the hallway. “babe, where’s the leche flan?”

kristoff looked up, startled; he wore the face of someone who knew he fucked up. “uhhh, i thought i heard you say you were taking it.”

“excuse me?” she leaned halfway into the kitchen, fully done up in a green satin dress and gold hoops that caught the light. “do you think i’m stupid? i clearly remember our conversation, stop gaslighting me!”

he put his hands up in defeat. “you told me you had it covered. i asked! remember? i said, ‘babe, do i need to grab the leche flan from the fridge’ and you said ‘no, it’s sorted.’ sorted! those were your words.”

“don’t you try to gaslight me, kristoff, you fucking had one job,” she groaned in frustration. “next thing i know, it’s going to be our kids you’ll be forgetting to pick up.”

their back-and-forth spiralled quickly into a domestic episode while the rest of you watched in muted horror and amusement. you shook your head, heart full. it shouldn’t have felt this easy, but it did.

this kitchen, the mess, the arguing, the way diana rolled her eyes at kristoff like she has been doing it since she was fourteen; it reminded you of afternoons when you were still in high school, squeezing into godfrey’s car with takeaway wrappers at your feet and anthony’s guitar neck digging into your ribs.

it was all of you, all together again…for the first time in years. and this time, no one was leaving. not yet.

when the food finally made its way out, it spread across the long table like a painting you didn’t know you were capable of. it was almost overwhelming.

banana leaves ran the length of the wooden table, their glossy green catching the candlelight. the sinigang sat in clay pots at both ends, the steam curling in lazy spirals. grilled liempo, slightly charred and glistening, was laid across the centre beside the golden lumpia, fresh from the fryer.

small ceramic bowls of spicy patis and vinegar, each one glowing with floating chillies, were scattered in between. garlic rice was heaped into giant mounds and turon drizzled with coconut caramel waited for their moment.

it wasn’t exactly a traditional boodle fight; there were plates and forks involved, people here were too pretty and too moisturised for the usual rules — but it had the same spirit.

loud, messy, communal.

and the drinks didn’t stop. yohan was on his 20th shaker (had to be), pouring cocktails into anything that could hold liquid. beers clinked aira was screaming about how her eyeliner hadn’t even smudged despite all the oil she had inhaled and kyle turned the speaker louder.

you had barely sat down when a hand tugged you into a space between manon and lara.

“chef,” lara grinned, already halfway through her plate, “this sinigang is life-changing. like…actually life-changing. i think i saw god.”

you laughed awkwardly, trying not to trip over your chair. “it’s just sinigang.”

“just?” she gasped, turning to sophia with mock betrayal. “you never told me she was this good. baby, you’re lucky.”

sophia only raised her cocktail and gave her a look that didn’t say much, but it didn’t need to.

manon tilted her head at you, eyes sharp but not unkind. “did you train abroad?”

“uh — no,” you said, swallowing the sudden nervous tightness in your throat. “i studied here. ust.”

“classic,” she nodded in approval. “it’s always the ones who stay home who get it right.”

megan nudged daniela, chewing on a lumpia. “we’ve been following concave for a while. sophia talks about it so much, i had to see what the hype was. it’s unreal.”

your heart did a stupid skip. you tried to downplay it with a small nod. “i didn’t know she…talked about it that much.”

“yes! she showed me photos of the recent tasting menu like it was her baby.”

you glanced at sophia across the table. she was eating quietly, smiling to herself.

“so,” daniela piped up, chopsticks in hand, “are you always this quiet? or just because our sophia’s here?”

you choked on your beer, coughed once. “no, i — i mean yes. i mean…i’m just bad with new people.”

lara snorted into her rice. “you’re doing fine.”

yoonchae had been sitting across, quiet but observant, smiled softly and said, “can i help clear plates later?”

you shook your head. “no, no, just enjoy.”

“okay,” she replied, still smiling. “but really…are you single?”

your laugh came out caught somewhere between real and choked. “uhh, yeah.”

megan sipped her cocktail. “so is sophia.”

sophia rolled her eyes, but said nothing. manon threw her head back. “can you get a girlfriend already?” she said to her. “someone who cooks like this, preferably.”

lara leaned in again. “you two have real chemistry; just saying.”

“y/n’s only ever emotionally available for sophia,” leo laughed when you glared at him. “it’ll work.”

you wanted to slide under the table and disappear. your hands and chest were hot. even your knees felt like they’d been caught in a lie.

it was surreal, the way they all just made room for you. these women, so famous they didn’t need surnames, so beautiful it hurt to look at them sometimes. but they weren’t difficult. not at all intimidating once the food hit the table. they teased and asked questions and passed plates around like they had known you longer than an hour.

it was easy in a way that surprised you.

“so kyle,” diana was saying. “you’re going back on the ships?”

“as soon as that damn contract gets finalised,” he sighed, picking at the liempo. “they’ve been dragging it out, but i miss the ocean and getting paid to disappear.”

aira clinked her fork against his plate. “you miss not paying rent to your brother.”

“same thing.”

somewhere down the table, kristoff was explaining how he proposed by hiding the ring in diana’s karaoke mic. aira had everyone wheezing with her rant about her ‘stupid’ boyfriend who refused to learn how to use gcash.

then, just when the buzz had started to mellow into comfort, anthony leaned back in his chair, a smirk curling at his lips. “let me tell you girls something —” he pointed his fork between you and sophia. “— we all used to think these two would end up together.”

sophia’s face went red, ducking behind her glass like it could save her from god.

you glared at him, face burning. “here we go.“

“what? we did!” he declared. “ask diana.”

the way sophia looked now, pretending not to hear. you knew what he meant. and it wasn’t the first time someone had said it, but it was the first time it made you ache.

“best friends,” you corrected, eyes fixed on your drink but something shifted. it hit you with more force than you expected, a note played too loud in an otherwise gentle song.

did you think about it? of course you did. sometimes in the quiet and in your dreams.

and maybe even in all the things you never dared say.

kyle added. “nah, y/n was a wreck after you left, soph. she crashed out hard. wasn’t herself for a while.”

you groaned, already reaching for the turon. “i’m fine now.”

“she really wasn’t,” diana agreed. “barely spoke.”

sophia turned to you, pouty. she rubbed your back in slow circles. “i’m here now.”

you nodded, avoiding her eyes. “it was a long time ago.”

but it didn’t feel that way, not tonight.

by the time the meal was over, the night had softened into something else, more subdued. the drinks had been flowing for hours and most plates were empty or licked clean.

katseye had to fly back to los angeles in the morning, but sophia wasn’t going. she said it casually over dessert, told the girls she extended her stay by a week…just like that.

megan hugged you first. “thanks for dinner, chef,” she whispered. “she really likes being here.”

lara kissed your cheek. “take care of her, yeah?”

daniela gave you a once-over. “you’re kind of cool once you loosen up.”

manon just nodded and said, “we’ll come back. sooner than later.”

“please make sure you feed her,” yoonchae hugged you quietly, arms warm and light. “she forgets sometimes.”

you stood beside sophia as they climbed into their car, waving through the window, their hair slightly tousled from the manila humidity. they were loud even as the door shut. then the engine started and they were gone.

it wasn’t dramatic. no confessions, no big moment. just that strange, terrifying feeling of something unspoken.

something that never really left.

and then, of course, anthony had to ruin it. “more red horse for you lovebirds, eh?”

you groaned. “please shut up.”

but you were smiling. god help you, you were smiling.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

anthony was on his second bottle of red horse, red in the face and singing like he was on a stage somewhere deep in quezon. slightly swaying as the soft strum of bawat piyesa by munimuni crackled out from yohan’s old bluetooth speaker.

“to y/n and sophia,” he announced grandly, almost falling off his chair as he lifted his redhorse to raise a toast.

“stupid drunk,” you mumbled next to sophia.

she looked at you, grinning. “and you’re a sleepy one.”

god, you could get used to this.

the melody was tender, almost too tender for the thick beer haze they were all swimming in, but no one said a word. beside him, leo joined in, eyes half-closed as if it helped him find the right note.

you were humming gently to the rhythm, seated back in your chair, bottle cold in your hand. your head felt warm; tipsy. sophia kept stealing glances at you, that stupid fond expression on her face every time you accidentally caught her looking.

there was too much noise, too much singing, too much beer — but none of it felt overwhelming. just pretty fucking good.

and sophia…god, she was laughing like she hadn’t done it in years, hand to her chest, head tilted back slightly. she leaned toward you, brushing shoulders and that warmth lingered even after she shifted back.

kristoff had left with diana earlier, his arm slung over her shoulder as she threatened to make him sleep on the couch in hushed frustration. out the front, kyle and yohan were sharing a cigarette, their murmurs leaking through the gaps in the doors.

and aira, bless her, was still circling the table with her phone, snapping blurry photos of you and sophia together.

“for the kitchen wall,” she insisted before taking another shot from the worst angle possible.

you didn’t notice when sophia got up, only when she stood beside you, hand brushing the top of your shoulder. “come with me?” she asked.

you blinked. “what, now?”

“yeah,” her tone was softer than her laugh, careful. “just for a bit.”

no one said anything when you pushed your chair back. aira gave you a little wink, but you ignored it. sophia was already walking ahead, down the short path that led out to the side, the gravel crunching beneath her flats. you followed, the night shifting around you like the tide pulling back.

makati had stilled outside the roads were empty. someone’s tv was playing faintly in a nearby building, and the warm glow of the corner streetlight bled across the side steps of the restaurant.

it had cooled too. your cheeks were warm from the drink but the air was crisp, a reminder that it was well past midnight and the city had gone to bed.

there was a tree just beside the gate; old, overgrown and knotted in the middle like it had something to say. she looked back at you, then sat down on the low concrete edge. her hair was a little windswept, long dark strands catching in the breezeand the light hit her in a way that made her eyes seem darker, more open.

straight out of a magazine.

you hovered awkwardly until she patted the space beside her.

“just wanted to be alone with you for a bit,” she said quietly. you sat, not too close, your knees angled away from hers. the concrete was still warm from the day. she looked at you for a second, then murmured, “closer.”

you shifted, barely a few inches, but it was enough.

there wasn’t a rush to speak. silence settled easily. you listened to it, the crickets somewhere in the dark, the occasional honk from a jeep turning a corner blocks away. you looked sideways — she had her chin tilted up, staring at the leaves above her like she was waiting for the words to arrive there first.

then sophia turned to you, voice quieter. “do you remember the letter i mentioned?”

you nodded slowly.

“i wrote everything,” she continued. “poured it all out. what you meant to me. what i wished i’d said sooner. but there was a condition…i wrote that if you didn’t feel the same, then just pretend it never happened. don’t bring it up, don’t respond. i didn’t want to lose you completely and make it awkward.”

you turned to her. “what do you mean?”

she looked back at you then, properly. the lights from concave filtered across her face, a faint gold around her lashes.

she let out a breath that felt like it had been held for years. “i wrote that i was in love with you.”

your stomach dropped. for a moment, everything else vanished. the music, the beer, the laughter inside. you were a kid again, watching her through a window at the airport, your heart in your throat.

you swallowed, mouth dry. “sophia…”

“i didn’t consider you getting robbed,” she laughed weakly. “god, of all days. of course it would happen on the day i tried to say something real.”

“i didn’t know,” you began, almost to yourself, and your voice came out smaller than you meant.

“it was my fault,” she whisper, almost laughing, but there was no humour in it. “of course you didn’t. i didn’t even tell you i wrote anything before i left.”

you didn’t know what to say. all the moments rushed back — when you held her hand under the stars, how she brought gifts to your lola’s house, hugged you for too long and never said why.

“did you?” she asked. “feel the same?”

you turned to her, really looked. her eyes were glassy but open. ready.

“yeah,” you admitted, like weight off your shoulders. “i always have. maybe not in a loud way. but it was there. loving you felt like…breathing — didn’t have to think about it. it was enough for me just to see you happy.”

she blinked hard. then looked away, like it hurt to hear. “and now?”

you breathed in slow. “i don’t know, i’m still figuring it out.”

she nodded like she understood. she wasn’t expecting anything from you, not yet.

you looked at her, properly this time. “what are we doing?”

she let the question hang there, just for a second. “i don’t know either, i just know i like being near you. i like knowing who you are now. and i’m really glad i came back…even if it’s just for a little while.”

you weren’t sure who reached first, but your fingers found each other again, her thumb rubbing circles on your skin.

then, she leaned against your shoulder; the same way she used to when her mum picked her up late from dance class and she was too tired to speak.

you closed your eyes for a second, let the silence wrap around both of you. the streetlight buzzed overhead, someone inside laughed too loudly.

and still, the world outside held still for just a bit longer.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the laforteza family parties had always been loud. they weren’t wild in the traditional sense, but they carried a kind of well-fed chaos — every table heavy with food, every tita’s voice louder than necessary, every cousin appearing out of nowhere like they never left.

it had been held at their private residence in forbes park, a manicured lawn and a stone path lined with garden lights that looked like they were imported from europe.

you and sophia had arrived together in her manager’s van, sophia fixing her hair in the mirror while you adjusted the sleeve of the button-down she swore looked good on you. you hadn’t argued. you rarely did…not when she looked at you like that.

when she leaned over to get a taste of the mango float on your plate, her perfume brushed past you. vanilla and jasmine. something soft and expensive.

“you okay?” she asked, voice easy.

you nodded, giving her a small smile. “just nervous.”

she reached over and squeezed your hand, if only she knew how you could barely breathe whenever she did that. “you’ll be fine; they know and love you.”

and for a while, it felt like that might be true.

but somewhere between entering the gate and the fourth glass of wine being passed around, sophia got swept away. old friends, mostly from high school. the girls she cheered with; the boys whose names made her laugh in a way that said history.

you sat there, close enough to be part of the scene but distant enough to be forgotten by it. the chatter blurred into a high-pitched hum, broken by bursts of laughter you weren’t part of.

your plate stayed empty longer than it should’ve. you picked at the lumpia and finished your drink too quickly.

when you glanced over to the gazebo area, sophia was already standing alone with leon. they looked like a still from a glossy magazine, it was almost unfair how photogenic they were.

the sound of distant karaoke buzzed softly from a backroom. you were left in a sea of relatives and strangers, your name forgotten halfway through most introductions. you sat with godfrey and tita carla after a while, just to give your hands something to do — stirring the condensation on your glass of lemon, lime & bitters with a paper straw.

“how’s your mum doing, hija?” carla asked kindly, adjusting the pearls on her wrist. “she still makes your baon?”

you smiled politely. “every day. even if i say no. she’ll guilt trip me with her arthritis.”

godfrey laughed. “same old, huh.”

“same old,” you echoed, nodding.

the conversation drifted easily enough. he asked about concave. you gave him numbers — soft ones. told him about the new bookings for next week, how you were thinking of repainting the kitchen wall. he nodded, but you caught the way his eyes flicked towards your face, like he was measuring your answers against something else.

something quieter.

because you weren’t really there, not entirely. your eyes kept returning to the centre of the garden. sophia was with leon again, crouched by the sangria station, talking to a group of their old classmates.

leon handed her a glass and she laughed at something he said; head thrown back, hand brushing his arm as if by accident. the titas nearby were already whispering loud enough for you to hear.

“ay, they really look good together.”

“those two should — leon is a great guy.”

your ears started ringing, heard the soft clatter of a spoon fall into a bowl behind you.

they looked like a story that had kept going, even when you weren’t there to see it. there was ease in how they stood close and comfort in how the people around them saw them. and you?

you were just the friend she brought.

you forced a smile at godfrey’s next question — something about restaurant rent and local suppliers but your voice didn’t come. it stuck in your throat like something you had forgotten to chew. so you excused yourself instead; something about getting a refill.

the kitchen was quieter and the air smelled like grilled eggplant and sugar syrup. you poured yourself water, trying to cool down whatever you were feeling inside.

that’s when you heard it — muffled but clear. a girl’s voice, drifting from the hallway by the pantry. “…they tried dating after high school, right? i remember that. leon was so in love, i thought they would end up together.”

another voice chimed in, giggling. “same, they made such a good couple. it was such a bummer when it didn’t work — wait, didn’t sophia bring someone else to the party?”

“oh, that’s just her childhood friend; the chef from concave.”

you stood there with the glass half-full in your hand, staring at the tiles. something small curled and collapsed inside your chest and you felt it break without sound.

you didn’t know why that hurt more.

maybe you were always going to be the friend from childhood. the one who cooked, who people said kind things about, not the one people chose.

you were never going to belong in that world, either. it wasn’t about being intimidated; it was more about knowing you were the type of person who left parties early because small talk wore you out, who bought secondhand clothes, who used to split rent with four housemates and who grew up thinking happiness was only real when it was earned.

you walked out the side gate, didn’t say goodbye. but you barely made it to the end of the driveway when godfrey caught up.

“y/n,” he called out, breath caught between steps. “hey, what’s going on?”

you turned, tried to smile. “i’m just tired, tito. that’s all.”

he frowned, looked like he wanted to say more. but he didn’t stop you…just gave a small nod, one of those slow, uncertain ones men like him reserved for things they didn’t quite understand.

that night, your phone buzzed five, six, seven times. all her.

sophia: where are you?

sophia: are you okay?

sophia: please just tell me you’re safe.

you stared at the screen in your room, face lit blue by the light. you were in your worn out clothes now — your old high school shirt and some loose shorts. you kept the lights off and listened to the fridge hum.

told yourself to breathe through it but your chest wouldn’t settle.

because it wasn’t just about leon.

it was how easily she could forget you.

how easy it was for her to float through this world where everything was soft, familiar, and waiting…and how foreign it all still felt to you. you, who had to work for everything. still counted coins when the month stretched too long, didn’t wear sundresses or get handed glasses of sangria by boys that everyone liked.

your world was different; always had been. it worked when you were kids — barefoot and dreaming.

but now? she belonged to a different one. and maybe loving her was always going to feel like this. like almost and not enough.

you didn’t cry that night even though you thought you would. maybe the weight of it would crack somewhere soft inside your chest, but it didn’t. it just sat there, dull and unmoving, like a stone wedged into the lining of your ribs.

there was a dull ache in your lower back and a dry taste on your tongue when you woke up the next morning. it was barely seven. your phone was still off. you didn’t turn it back on; didn’t want to.

you didn’t want to see her name on your lock screen or read a paragraph that might explain things too late or worse: make you want to forgive her for something you couldn’t even name.

concave didn’t have you that day; you called aira and told her to run the kitchen. she joked that she was ready to burn the sinigang but her voice softened when she asked if you were okay. you said you were fine and she didn’t believe you, but she let it go.

you watered your plants, played the same bon iver record three times in a row, took a bath with the lights off. everything felt somehow muted like heartbreak repackaged into daily routine.

by mid-afternoon, the phone rang. the landline, surprisingly. it was your mum.

“anak,” she greeted, gently. “sophia came here. are you two okay?”

your stomach pulled in on itself. “what?”

“this morning. she looked like she hadn’t slept. said she just wanted to talk to you, but you weren’t answering any of her calls.”

you didn’t say anything.

“i didn’t ask questions. but she was holding something. a box of gifts, i think. and flowers. oh, and she gave me a really expensive chanel perfume and your lola a new set of china plates…that girl.”

you rubbed your eyes, felt that strange tightness creeping into your throat. “that’s good, ma, but what did you tell her?”

“that i don’t know where you are, even if i did. that if she really wants to talk, she should wait until you’re ready to listen.”

there was a long pause. you swallowed it down. “thanks, ma.”

“you okay?”

“not really.”

“you want me to cook?”

“maybe not.”

the day passed quietly. you cleaned your fridge out, cried for five minutes while slicing onions and threw out a tupperware that had gone grey. you almost turned your phone on at sunset; your thumb hovering over the button like it weighed more than your entire arm.

but you didn’t.

because the truth was, you didn’t know what would hurt more; knowing she meant everything or realising she didn’t know how to hold you when it counted.

and wasn’t that the thing about her?

sophia could light up a room, charm a crowd, make you feel like the only person on earth when she looked at you. but sometimes, when the lights dimmed and the music stopped, she forgot where she left you standing.

and you were tired of being forgotten.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the hours blurred together in the kitchen, one dish after another, the rhythm of prep and plating the only thing you could stand to follow. you had stopped replying days ago.

not just to the messages. to everything. to the world, really.

sophia had come by twice already this week. three, if you counted the morning yohan swore he saw her waiting outside in sunglasses and a jacket like a celebrity hiding from a scandal.

each time, you made them tell her you weren’t there.

“she asked if we could just tell you she stopped by,” leo muttered yesterday, drying spoons while stealing glances at you.

you didn’t reply, kept your head down, slicing eggplants into even strips until your fingers went numb from the chill of the cool room.

and today — today was the day she was leaving. you were aware for three days now since you started counting it down. plus, she had texted: intramuros. today. 11am. please just come. i don’t know what i did but i really miss you.

you didn’t answer.

instead, you buried yourself in prep. you had taken two 14-hour shifts back to back. didn’t let yourself sit for more than ten minutes at a time. it was easier, in here. surrounded by the steam of broth and the snap of fresh chillies hitting oil. it was was easy to convince yourself that numbness could pass for peace.

but everyone knew something was off.

you were talking less; the jokes you usually cracked over boiling sinigang broth had dried up. the sarcasm, the sharp but harmless way you used to scold the boys, gone. there was just you, hunched over the chopping board, sleeves rolled up, knife dancing across red onions like you were trying to make them cry first.

across the kitchen, kristoff watched you. you didn’t see it, but leo noticed him about to speak and shook his head. no.

aira, standing next to him, wiped her hands and mouthed go.

so he went.

“how long are you gonna do this?” he asked, leaning against the prep table with arms crossed, eyes calm but fixed. “she called diana. for the fourth time. asking if you’re okay, asking what she did. or if you hate her.”

you didn’t stop chopping. “i don’t hate her.”

“then what the fuck is this?”

you shrugged, feeling the heat crawl up your neck. not from the stove.

kristoff’s voice softened. “she’s leaving today, y/n.”

you placed the knife down and looked at him. “it’s better this way.”

“for who?”

you didn’t have an answer for that. or perhaps you did, but you were too tired to give it voice.

“you haven’t even responded to her last message, have you?” he continued. “the one she sent about today?”

your silence was enough of an answer.

he sighed, pushed off the table. “you don’t have to explain anything to me. but maybe you should ask yourself why you’re so afraid to see her. is it her? or is it you?”

then he left you there, the smell of chopped onions clinging to your hands, eyes stinging even though you hadn’t cried.

he quickly turned around, scoffing. “she came by again. yesterday, asking if you’d be in. you know what i said?”

you looked up at him.

“that you’re the most stubborn person i’ve ever met. and that if you didn’t get your shit together soon, you would end up losing something that could’ve been really fucking good.”

the kitchen fell quiet. even aira stopped pretending to sort cutlery. no one moved.

you didn’t say anything. you couldn’t. you kept hearing sophia’s voice in that last message.

your mind was spinning toward a future you couldn’t see clearly. five years from now. would you still be here, running the same station, pretending you hadn’t let something important slip through your fingers again? would sophia be in los angeles, too far gone to reach, too famous to touch?

you stared at the cutting board like it held answers. it didn’t. the thought of seeing her…having to explain that quiet ache sitting behind your ribs; it made you feel hollow.

not long after, you were snapped out of your trance by aira, who tapped your arm lightly.

“we need to tweak the ube recipe,” she began, a clipboard in hand. “thinking we should thicken the syrup? add edible flowers to the dish? for aesthetics?”

“sure,” you looked up, eyes glazed, and caught the clock above the fridge.

10:16 am.

a sudden jolt of panic pushed up your throat like bile. sophia. she would be waiting right now. maybe standing in the middle of intramuros, checking her phone every few seconds, hoping.

stupidly hoping.

your chest tightened.

without saying a word, you wiped your hands on your apron, untied it and tossed it onto the nearest hook.

kristoff looked up from the sink as you passed him on the way out. “where are you going?”

“to see her,” you replied, already halfway to the back door.

“finally,” he muttered under his breath.

aira just beamed, softly said: “go get your girl!”

the sky was greying by the time you made it out to the street. rain was threatening to fall but not quite yet. your steps were quick, head low, the jeepney ride from makati to manila a blur of dust and diesel and every reason you have ever had for leaving things unsaid.

you held onto the rail tightly as the jeep lurched over potholes. every time your phone buzzed in your pocket, your stomach clenched.

you didn’t check.

because your heart was in your mouth. you hated yourself for this; for running out in the middle of lunch, for possibly being too late, for the fact that a part of you still wanted her to be there.

but more than anything, you hated that you couldn’t keep her out. not really…even now, even still, you were chasing the same hope that always broke you.

you just wanted to see her.

if only for a moment.

if only to say goodbye.

if only to stop wondering what could’ve been.

what if this is it: what if this is the last time?

your heart thudded hard in your chest. you tried to slow it down. reminded yourself of the facts: she was leaving, she always going to leave. it was her thing now. planes, performances, exits. you could never follow.

but still, she asked to see you. begged. please.

you owed her that.

you owed yourself that.

the rain started halfway through buendia, light enough to blur the glass but heavy enough to make the roads smell like dust and wet pavement. you wiped your palms against your jeans and counted the stops. your stomach felt tight, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

intramuros felt further than ever.

you had to…see her one last time, properly. not like the last time; where her voice was buried under laughter that wasn’t meant for you. you deserved a goodbye that didn’t feel like punishment. and maybe, probably, she deserved one too.

the streets of intramuros were slick with rain, cobblestones reflecting dim morning light that slipped through the low clouds. a few umbrellas dotted the plaza, mostly locals moving slowly, already resigned to the weather. the drizzle had started soft but steady, soaking through your hoodie as you stepped off the jeepney, heart thudding against your ribs like it didn’t want to be there.

you spotted her instantly.

sophia, sat on one of the stone benches just by the fountain, her head bent low like she wasn’t sure how long she could keep waiting. you paused, let yourself watch her for a second, like you haven’t in days. she looked tired, drenched in something heavier than just the weather, and still so unfairly beautiful that it ached.

you didn’t say anything as you approached. your shoes hit puddles with dull slaps. the sky was all steel above. sophia looked up and blinked, startled, then immediately stood.

you walked closer but didn’t reach for her. she stepped forward and hugged you tightly, arms wrapping around your shoulders like a reflex. damp warmth, all clove perfume and the shape of someone who had once been almost yours.

her voice was right at your ear. “can you talk to me, please?”

when she pulled back, her brows furrowed. she tried to catch your eyes, but you wouldn’t give them to her.

“why won’t you look at me?” she ask, stepping away. “why won’t you look at me, y/n?”

you stayed quiet. then her hands came up, cupping your face — not softly, just desperate. “do i mean nothing to you now?”

that hit you in the chest. not because it was true, but because it wasn’t. the truth was she meant too much, too deeply.

you finally looked her in the eye. and she flinched like she saw something in your expression that hurt her more than silence.

“say something,” she continued, voice cracking. thunder rolled somewhere in the distance and she flinched again, eyes darting to the clouds before coming back to you. “please.”

your gaze dropped to the cobblestone beneath your feet, blurred now with the beginnings of rainfall. “i’m sorry,” you said quietly. “for disappearing. it was just…easier.”

“easier?”

her eyes were so brown it almost hurt to look at; so filled with all the things you didn’t know how to hold.

you cleared your throat as she waited for you to continue. “there’s always going to be someone better for you,” you murmured. “someone who can give you the world.”

her brows pulled together, eyes narrowing. “why do you always do this?” her voice cracked. “why do you always make that choice for me?”

“because it’s true.”

“you’re a fucking coward.”

you flinched.

“you think pushing me away makes you noble?” she asked, frustration crawling out of her voice. “you think it makes you selfless? you’re just scared. scared of letting someone love you.”

you looked away again, watching the rain start to pepper the stone around you.

“we should leave. it’s about to come down harder,” you said, already trying to step back. “we should say our goodbyes.”

she laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and shaking. “you’re unbelievable,” her eyes were glassy now. “you think this was just some sweet reunion for me? a little nostalgia? god — y/n, i have been in love with you for years. and i thought maybe, just maybe, you felt the same way.”

your stomach dropped.

she continued, each word landing heavy.

“i can’t meet anyone else without thinking about you. i can’t even look at someone for longer than a minute without worrying if you’ll think i’ve moved on,” she took a shaky breath, tears pooling now. “because part of me is always waiting…just waiting for you to see me. really see me. and not push me away.”

she stepped closer.

“i love you,” she confessed, her voice softer. “and you don’t even have the decency to look me in the eye and say anything.”

the words repeated inside your head: i love you. but what good does love ever do?

she shoved you, lightly, like the words weren’t enough to carry the weight. “say something.”

your hands found her face before your mind caught up, warm skin under wet fingertips. her cheeks flushed with cold and hurt and heartbreak. her tears were silent now, mixing with the rain as it began to fall heavier.

you held her gently.

you told her not to look back.

“find someone who can give you the things i can’t,” you answered, voice softer now. “go chase your dreams. you’re more than this. more than me; there’s someone who’s not afraid of how much they love you.”

but sophia only looked at you, soaked now, cheeks slick, jaw clenched like she was trying not to break in half. she shook her head, wet hair flying. “fuck, y/n.”

“i’ve always been okay just loving you quietly. you don’t have to give me anything, piya.”

“i want to,” she cried. “i love you. i choose you. why can’t you just — why can’t you choose me too?”

“i’m scared,” you whispered.

“i am too,” she shot back. “but i’m here.”

you shook your head. “you’ll leave again. your life’s out there, soph. not here.”

“then i’ll come back,” her voice was rising now. “again and again and again if that’s what it takes, but you keep pushing me away like i don’t matter!”

you stared at her, voice hollow. “you matter too much.”

“then tell me, why can’t you choose me?”

you swallowed. “because one day you won’t choose me back and i don’t know if i can survive that.”

you didn’t know what else to say - your mind was a spiral of everything you ever wanted and all the reasons you told yourself you didn’t deserve it. your thoughts kept folding in on themselves: memories of childhood, of her hand in yours, of the letter you never got to read, of the years you spent loving her quietly and alone.

she stepped back, rain dripping from her lashes.

“you think i forgot you when leon was around?” she snapped. “do you really think i ever looked at anyone the way i look at you?”

you didn’t answer.

“i was never with him. we tried once, years ago. it didn’t work because he wasn’t you.”

“but it’s so easy for you,” you mumbled, chest tight. “to laugh with him. to disappear into that world. i don’t belong there, i never did. you and i both know that.”

she stared at you like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. then something shifted in her face — something cracked.

she clenched her jaw, her eyes flashed. and she stepped forward.

you turned away. and that was when she grabbed you. fists balled in your shirt, mouth trembling, voice raw: “why won’t you let me love you?”

then she slammed her lips against yours.

it was angry and messy and soaked through with years of almosts. her lips collided into yours like a storm as everything she hadn’t said was stored in her mouth and now you were finally allowed to taste it.

your hands found her waist, pulling her in, your body betraying every fear you had ever held. her hands cupped your face again like she needed to hold you steady.

if she didn’t, she would fall apart.

you felt everything all at once: how long she had waited, how much she had wanted, how deeply she was willing to ache just to be loved by you.

and you hadn’t kissed anyone like that before. not in your entire life.

when you finally pulled apart, breathless, soaked, the air thick with everything unsaid…you didn’t know what to say.

the rain slowed into a drizzle, the kind that lingered like fog on your skin, soft and silver under the overcast light. you hadn’t let go of her yet, neither had she. your fingers were still curled around the hem of her hoodie, her forehead pressed against yours. every part of her was damp and trembling, but warm in the places where your bodies met.

you could still feel the echo of her kiss; bruised and tender and honest.

she exhaled against your lips like it hurt to breathe without touching you. “i have a flight tonight,” she began, voice low and careful, as if saying it too loud might shatter the moment between you.

your stomach turned at the thought. not because she was leaving — because she might not come back.

but then she cupped your jaw again, steady this time, her thumb brushing the edge of your cheekbone. “but before i go, i need to know something.”

you stared at her, giving you the look she always used to give: certain and full of questions. it had never left, just grown quieter over the years.

“do i still have something to come home to?” she asked, not blinking. “to you?”

your mouth parted, but nothing came out. it took a breath, then another. your thoughts scrambled around all the reasons you had built up to keep her out: the distance, the history, the fear, the ache that never quite stopped.

but she was here. and suddenly, all of it felt so small compared to this.

you nodded, slowly at first, then with certainty. “yeah,” you said, voice breaking just enough to be real. “yeah, you do.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end (for now)

[pearlessance]

Our Little Secret [part two]

[PART ONE]

Summary - Joel Miller has commited an act of sin with the girl next door and seeks out penance.

Pairing - dbf!Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings - explicit sexual content MDNI, angst, infidelity (not against reader or Joel), heavy on the breeding kink towards the end, jealousy, oral sex, unprotected sex

[crossposted on AO3]

Joel’s fears return with the sun and are amplified tenfold when he wakes up alone. 

You must have come to your senses, he thinks. Must have finally seen him for the terrible man he truly is and escaped while you still could. Like fleeing from a predator's clutches; because that’s what he was, wasn’t it? A predator? A man who exploits young girls for his own benefit, who takes advantage of them in an act of personal desire. His stomach turns. 

Except that isn’t the whole truth. It isn’t the plural form of girls, it’s just one. Just you. You, who he wants to nurture, to protect, to take care of in the way a man is supposed to take care of a woman. You, who entices him with short skirts and soft touches and tempting words about keeping you all to himself. They must have been words said in the afterglow of sex, Joel tells himself. They didn’t mean anything. Right? Endorphins were high because all of that long laid, pent up sexual tension finally came to fruition. But it was over now, and Joel was alone. Again. 

The abrupt shattering of glass slashes through his bleak thoughts. He wrenches himself out of bed, takes the stairs two at a time, and stops in the kitchen. 

You’re still here, and Joel can breathe a little easier, but there’s glass at your bare feet, and that’s a problem. “Don’t move,” he says. He turns to grab the broom, but out of the corner of his eye he sees movement and repeats a little harsher this time, “Don’t. Move.”

“I wanted to bring you breakfast in bed,” you say, your lips pushed out into the cutest little pout. 

He sweeps the glass away from you, careful to get every last piece, and dumps the shards into the trash can. It’s only then, when he knows for certain the risk of harm has well and truly passed and he’s the only threat to you left in the room, that Joel can appreciate the sight before him. There’s a heaping plate full of pancakes on the counter, a mug of steaming coffee, and the orange juice carton, unopened, is sitting beside two forks. The pancake on the top of the stack has chocolate chips in it. 

Maybe its because he never thought you’d actually do it, or maybe it’s because of the grim mood he’d just been in, but Joel finds himself feeling appreciative for more than just breakfast. It reminds him of that morning all those years ago, when you’d been in his kitchen wearing his flannel. He wonders if you still have it, if you still wear it, if you still put it on and think of him late at night. You’re wearing something new this time. It’s just an old, faded t-shirt Joel had forgotten about at the back of his closet, one he hadn’t worn in years. It swallows you up. It’s long enough to cover all of your most intimate parts, and yet somehow you still make it look sexy and erotic and slutty.

He knows it's wrong. He knows its a terrible, awful idea…but it’s the next morning and you’re still here and Joel just cant’t help himself. He smiles softly at you. “It’s okay,” he promises. He closes the distance between you, crowding you against the counter. He puts his hands on your hips and you look up at him with parted lips. “I won’t make it back upstairs anyway. I’m too hungry.”

You put your hands on his bare chest, delicate, red painted nails scratching softly against his skin. “Is that right?”

Joel nods, and decides to soak up the moment. Your hair is tangled around your shoulders, and you smell like him, and your makeup is smeared around your eyes, and he thinks you’re beautiful. He never wants to forget the way you look right now, in his clothes, in his kitchen, in his hands. He can’t help himself from leaning his head against your shoulder and kissing the juncture of your collar bone. He can’t help himself from tasting you, from using his teeth, from leaving a bruise to make certain he’s in your head for a few more days. He wants the sound of your breathy moan embedded in his fucking brain, wants it stamped in his skin. “Yes,” he answers, lifting you up with his big arms around your waist and setting you on the counter. “I’m starving, actually.”

Starved is such a perfect term for it, he thinks. Because Joel lowers himself to his knees before you, and his mouth waters like he hasn’t eaten in days. He massages the supple flesh of your thighs, presses his mouth to the inside, and leaves marks there, too. He has suffered for so, so long without you. And if you come to your senses, he wants you to think of him every time you look in a mirror. 

He wants you to think of him and the way he makes you feel, wants you to think of the way your legs part for him on instinct, like your body knows him. If you come to your senses, Joel wants you to remember for the rest of your fucking life how it feels to have his tongue inside of you, to have your clit between his lips, to have your hands in his hair. 

He wants you to remember what it’s like to grind your pretty pussy on his face, what it’s like to have his fingers inside of you, what it’s like to shake and tremble at his touch and whine when he pulls away moments before you cum. He wants you to remember the lingering taste of yourself in his mouth when he kisses you, wants you to remember how fucking perfect it feels when he pulls his cock out of his sweatpants and buries it deep inside you. You like it when he pushes in so far there’s no telling where you end and he begins, Joel knows. You make the prettiest sounds, and your hands grip his shoulders a little tighter. You’re so needy for him it’s unreal, so reactive, so perfect. He wants you to remember what it feels like when he kisses you with all the love he has left in him, hoping you can hear the words in his movements. He wants you to remember what it feels like to cum on his cock and leave a mess on the counter.

Joel wants you to remember what it’s like to be so desperate for him you call out for God.

When the two of you finally get around to eating the breakfast you spent all morning making, the pancakes are cold and the coffee is tepid. Joel wonders why it’s still the best cup he’s ever had.

After breakfast, your cell phone buzzes. It’s a voicemail from campus housing, and Joel realizes you can’t stay here in his kitchen forever. You help him clean up the dishes, and the counter where he made a mess of you, and then you abandon his old, faded t-shirt and pull your dress back on. He helps you find your shoes (and conveniently fails to mention the pink panties still stuck between the couch cushions. Joel is a terrible, sordid man, and stealing a bit of lace is the least of his recent transgressions). You pick up the Evil Dead DVD, and start to leave. 

But just as your fingers touch the handle, the door is swinging open and Sarah is standing in the threshold.

Joel doesn’t know what to do. His heart is stuck in his throat, and he sort of feels like a kid again, being caught by Tommy while sneaking back in through his window. He doesn’t know how to explain, doesn’t know where to begin, is terrified his daughter will begin to see him differently, or— 

“Perfect timing,” you say, and Joel is more confused than he’s ever been in his life. “Here.” You hand the DVD to Sarah, who’s face splits into a grin the moment she reads the title. “I have to head back to campus today, but wanted to give this to you before I go. Figured you’d get more use out of it than I would.”

“Oh, fuck yeah!”

“Language,” Joel chastises. 

You and Sarah both turn your heads to him simultaneously, and shoot him mirrored dismissive looks. Joel knows his only child is older now, growing into a young woman with a colorful vocabulary, but that doesn’t mean he wants to hear it.

Sarah turns to you, cheery demeanor falling away. “I wish you could stay,” she says. “I miss having you around.”

Joel does too, but he keeps his mouth sealed firmly shut. 

When you’re gone, he feels empty. He falls back into his normal routine of work and beer and pool, and you leave town to finish up your school year, and the only time he ever hears about you is when your dad drinks a couple too many and talks about you over the football game on TV. Joel hears about how you finish your junior year of college, still with those straight A's, and he feels the need to express how proud he is of you. Because he really, really is…but it’s your dad’s job to gush about what an extraordinary woman you’ve become. Not Joel’s. So, he keeps his mouth shut about that, too. 

He thinks about the saying distance makes the heart grow fonder, and thinks it’s such bullshit. Because the longer you’re away, the more he realizes how stupid he’s been. How dispicable and sleazy he’s been, how he could have potentially fucked up not only his relationship with his very best friend but with his own daughter, too. You deserve more than what he can offer, Joel knows. You deserve someone to experience being a young adult with, someone who you can relate to, someone who can take care of you for the rest of your life. You deserve someone better than Joel, and even though it hurts to admit, he does it. Distance has made his heart grow smarter.

Sarah graduates, and you stay in town for only two days to attend her graduation party. Your dad offers to host the celebration in his backyard, and Joel reminisces about your graduation party. He remembers how pretty you looked, how happy you were that day. And when you come back to town to celebrate his daughter, he loves that you’re still so bubbly and airy and carefree. He loves that you spend an entire day with Sarah picking out decorations and hanging up streamers and ordering cupcakes and making a poster board filled with Sarah’s favorite pictures.

During the party, you’re leaning your shoulder against the fence, red solo cup in hand, talking to Tommy. You’re wearing a black skirt that’s too short, too tight, and you have a pretty pink blouse tucked into it. When you cross one leg casually over the other, Joel realizes you have a run in your sheer, black tights. How did that get there, he wonders? He wonders too, why you’re giggling like that when Tommy just isn’t that fucking funny. 

Joel crosses the yard and twists off the top of his beer. “You two enjoying yourselves?”

“Yeah! It’s been a great turn out, and she seems happy,” you say, nodding to Sarah on the other side of the yard. She’s talking to a group of girls in her class.

“You did great with her yesterday, you know,” Tommy tells you. “You’d be a great mom. When’s it your turn to have babies?”

“Oh, God,” you say. Joel hears the echo of a very, very different sounding ‘oh, god,’ and takes a hefty sip of beer. “Probably not anytime soon.”

“No? Why not? Finish college first, of course, but after that?”

You only have one year left of school. There’s no rush. Why is his brother so interested in your contribution to procreation, anyway? It’s fucking weird, Joel thinks. 

“Maybe one day. I’d have to find the right man first,” you say. “You know, do it real traditional.”

“Any prospects lined up?”

“Christ, Tommy,” Joel sneers. “Leave the poor girl alone, would you?” He has no room to talk, Joel knows…but he can’t help himself. Not around you, anyway. His self control goes out of the window. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “And…no. No prospects.”

Tommy shakes his head in disbelief. “Now I know you’ve got all those big city boys up there waiting on you to give them a little attention. A girl like you?” He sucks in an exaggerated breath. “You’d get scooped up real fast.”

“That’s the problem though, isn’t it,” you say dismally. “They’re all boys. I said I want a man.” 

Joel can’t believe the words he’s hearing. Can’t believe how you could be so obvious, but how Tommy could still manage to look completely oblivious. He’s relieved when Sarah steals you away to introduce you to a friend. 

Joel helps your dad prepare the grill, and they talk about how crazy it is that both of their girls are grown up now. They talk about how old they’re getting, and how fast time flies, but Joel can’t pay attention because he can feel you. Can sense when you steal a glance at him from across the yard, because goosebumps break out across the back of his neck. He watches you disappear into the house, and excuses himself to follow you. 

He shouldn’t. Joel knows this. But, Christ, is he bad at following his instincts. He finds you on the tips of your toes, hands in the liquor cabinet, and wants to laugh at the irony. History repeats itself, it seems. He stands behind you with a hand on your hip and reaches for the half empty bottle of tequila. He sets it on the counter and when you don’t even turn to look at him he says indignantly, “You’re welcome.”

You wiggle the cork free and take a swig straight from the bottle. “You want me to thank you? For what, exactly?”

Truthfully, Joel doesn’t understand your bad attitude. He doesn’t understand why you’re so happy and bubbly to everyone else, but for some reason seem so… dissapointed with him. Joel might be a pervert when it comes to you, but he’s never, ever done anything you didn’t ask him for first. And it’s not fair, he thinks, that you get whatever you want. You get to go off to college and fuck boys that leave you unsatisfied. Because Joel knows Tommy was right — he knows they’re lined the fuck up for you. He’s not stupid. You get to leave him, and live your life, while Joel is forced to stay right where he is and think of you. You, you, you, all the fucking time. It’s not fair. If anyone should be angry, it’s him. “Oh, I dont know,” he says sarcastically. “Maybe for keeping all of your secrets.”

You turn to face him and lean your back against the counter. You’re in the same exact spot you were the first time you kissed his cheek, except this time you’re narrowing your eyes at him instead. “They’re your secrets now, Joel,” you tell him. “Not mine.”

“How are they not yours?”

“Because I don’t give a shit if the whole world knows them,” you say. “I don’t care if everyone here finds out what a slut I am. I don’t care if my dad finds out I fucked his best friend. But you do. Which makes them your secrets.” 

He doesn’t understand. “Are you saying you want him to find out?” The thought alone chokes him with anxiety. It would change everything — everything. No one would ever look at him the same. His perversion would be loudly on display. “Are you insane?”

“No, Joel,” you say. “I’m not insane. I just don’t lie to myself.”

“I don’t—”

“Then tell me right now you don’t want to be with me.” 

He’s in way over his head, Joel thinks. He doesn’t know how to navigate this, doesn’t know how to explain to you that it has nothing to do with what he wants and everything to do with what he is. He can’t lie, not to you, so he says nothing. Not yes or no, just nothing.

It’s answer enough, though, and when you speak again your voice is a whisper, a breath of life into a brand new secret. “You can have me,” you say. “I want to be yours. I think I always have been. Please, Joel… please.”

He hates the way you sound. He wants to fix it, but doesn’t know how. So, he does what he’s good at, he does what he knows makes you feel good. Joel kisses you hard, and savors the taste of cherry because something tells him this might be the last time. Your mouth opens, and your tongue is so soft against his, and he can’t get enough. Does it make him a bad person to want you so badly? Twenty-one-almost-twenty-two is a fair bit of life lived, isn’t it? Maybe it could work. Maybe he wouldn’t drag you down or keep you in Texas when you’re meant for far bigger things.

Joel slips his hand between your thighs and lets out a ragged moan when he realizes that you’re wearing nothing beneath your skirt. It’s just the nylon fabric of your tights, and he can feel the wetness gathering, can taste you on the tip of his tongue like a word he can’t quite remember. Joel wants a refresher. “Fuck, baby,” he sighs, forehead resting against yours. “I need you to be real quiet for me, okay? Can you do that?”

You nod frantically, and Joel gets on his knees. He pushes the fabric of your skirt up your legs and it bunches around your hips. He rips the nylon tights apart, giving him a perfect, unobstructed view of your pussy, shiny with desire. Desire he created, desire that belongs to him and him alone. Pride fills him when he thinks about it for too long. 

He doesn’t waste a second. Joel worships you like a man starved, and wonders if he’ll ever be satisfied. Wonders if he’ll ever get his fill of the sweetness between your thighs, wonders if he’ll ever tire of hearing you whimper. He licks at your clit, leaving no part of you untouched, and his cock strains in the confines of his jeans. Just tasting you has him teetering on the edge of release, but he wants this to be about you. He wants to show you how much you mean to him, wants you to know that just because he can’t be with you doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to be. He slips two fingers into you and curls them upward, and you have to cover your mouth with your hand because you promised to be quiet. 

Joel makes you cum in his mouth, and feels like maybe his place in the world is right fucking here, on his knees for you, because its the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. Better than cherry, he thinks. But not as good as it feels to be inside of you. 

He turns you around and shoves your chest down against the counter. As he unbuckles his belt, he presses a kiss to your spine and says, “You want a real man, is that right?”

“Yes,” you sigh, “Yes. I want you.”

Joel slides the tip of his cock through your slick, lips turning up at the corners as you roll your hips back towards him. “I know you do, sweetheart,” he says. “Slutty girls need a little bit more, don’t they?”

You nod, a desperate whine coming from your chest. “Yes, yes—please, Joel, please.”

His name in your mouth is the end of his restraint. He eases into you, memorizing how it feels to stretch you out, memorizing how tight your pussy is, how fucking perfect it feels wrapped around him. Joel kisses your cheek softly and buries himself inside of you completely. “I want you to think about me,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, hips rolling against yours slowly. “When you go back to school and do this with all those other boys, I want you to think about me.”

He pulls out at an agaonizingly slow pace, and slams into you without warning. Your hand over your mouth barely muffles the sound. “Fuck.”

“They can’t make you feel like this, can they, baby?”

“Mm’no,” you answer, and Joel rewards you with another hard, deep stroke. “Just you, Joel, just you, just you, just you.”

It’s a prayer, he knows. He can feel the devotion in your words, and the piety makes him ache. Is this how it’s supposed to be? Is it supposed to feel like this? Like pain, like loss, like finality? Like intensity, like consumption, like religion? Joel wants to say it. He wants to say it so fucking bad. He says something disgusting instead. “This pussy was made for me, you understand?” He reaches beneath you, and his fingers swipe over your clit, and your legs start to shake. “It’s all me, pretty girl. It’s all fucking mine.”

You clench around him, and he has to hold you up to keep you from falling. Your eyes are squeezed tightly shut, and Joel wants to stay inside of you forever. “Yours,” you say softly. “I’m yours, Joel.”

Oh, how pretty you sound, he thinks. He’s going to miss this. He’s going to miss you so fucking bad. And because he may never get another chance to say it, Joel decides to make one more really fucked up, awful decision. 

He decides to tell the truth. 

When he spills his cum inside of you, he buries himself as deep as he can. He kisses your forehead and murmurs, “I love you, baby.”

He feels lighter, now that the words are no longer trapped in his chest cavity. You don’t say anything, and he’s not sure what that means, but Joel knows it’s not smart to stay like this. So he pulls out of you, tucks himself back into his jeans, and fixes your skirt.

The door flys open, and Joel is absolutely fucking mortified to see your father and Tommy walk into the kitchen. 

You uncork the tequila and raise the bottle to the air, cheeks flushed but easily passable as a buzz. “To growing up,” you say proudly. You take a swig and gimace at the taste.

Joel pulls the whiskey from the cupboard and pours shots for himself, your dad, and Tommy. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you pulling at the ends of your skirt, barely covering the rip in your tights. 

“To graduations,” your dad says. “Sarah’s today, and another one of yours next year.” He tilts the shot glass toward you before tossing the liquid back. 

Tommy raises his glass. “To hopefully getting little nieces or nephews soon!” 

Joel thinks his brother is drunk on shitty beer. Joel also thinks about his cum between your legs. He raises his glass. “To getting old,” he says, though he’s not particularly happy about it. The whiskey feels good going down. It acts as a buffer to shield him temporarily against the truth that gnaws at his psyche; he’s going to lose you. 

Sarah decides to attend college at the same university as you, and Joel can’t help but be a little nervous. It’s your senior year, and Sarah’s only a freshman, and Joel knows she’s going to cling to you, and you’re going to let her, and he isn’t sure how he feels about Sarah hanging out with people older than her. 

It turns out okay, from what he can tell, though. It’s weird to have an empty home, but he fills his time with work and helping your dad renovate your house. Joel doesn’t hear from you. Even when you visit during Christmas break, you barely manage to look at him. He doesn’t force the conversation, either. He knows it’s for the best. And that deep, aching feeling in his chest is just something he’ll have to find a way to get over. 

Sarah drones on and on about how much she loves college, about how many friends she has, about how you’re tutoring her in English and how thankful she is when you help get her a job as a barista.

And when the holiday is over, you’re standing outside beside your car, saying goodbye to your dad while Sarah hugs Tommy beside you. Joel approaches, holds his daughter tight, and reminds her to let him know if she needs anything. 

There’s a weird, uncomfortable moment when your eyes meet for the first time all week. It would be weird if he didn’t say goodbye to you, wouldn’t it? It would prompt questions from both Tommy and your father, because the two of you had once been so close. 

You move first. You plaster an awkward smile on your face and wrap your arms around his neck. Joel’s shoulders relax for the first time in months. 

It feels so right to hold you, as easy and painless as breathing. He puts his hands on the small of your back, and his fingers twitch with the urge to slide them down and grab a fistful of your ass. Instead, he holds you tightly and relishes in the feeling of your head on his chest. He lays his cheek against your hair and breathes the sweet scent of vanilla deep into his lungs. “You too,” he says. “Call if you need anything, alright? Anything at all.”

You nod and pull away, and Joel wonders if you know how much he means it. A single phone call and he’d be on the other side of Texas in an hour, because that’s what you mean to him. You’re not his, but he wants to love you like you are.

And he’s given the chance to prove himself just a few short days later. 

He’s watching the soft flakes of snow fall from the sky through his bedroom window when Joel’s phone rings. It’s an unknown number, which he’d normally ignore and block in the morning, but something tells him to answer it. Just this once. So he does, and he’s getting ready to tell the telemarketer to fuck off, but then he hears your voice. 

“Joel? Are you there?”

“What’s wrong?”

You sniffle, and he’s throwing the blanket back and searching for his jeans on the floor. “Nothing,” you say. “It’s…it’s nothing. I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“If it’s nothing, then why are you crying? And why are you calling from an unknown number?”

“My phone’s dead,” you explain. “There’s, uhm—there’s a pay phone outside of my dorm. I didn’t want to wait for my phone to charge.”

Something is off, Joel can feel it in his bones. He holds his phone with his shoulder and pulls on his leather boots. “Talk to me,” he says. 

“Actually, I—I’m sorry. It’s late. This is stupid. I don’t know why I called. I’m sorry. Have a good night, Jo—”

“Baby,” he interrupts. “Baby, baby—don’t hang up. Talk to me. Please talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it, yeah? Tell me.”

You don’t say anything, but Joel can hear you breathing on the other end of the phone, can hear you teetering on the edge of a decision you’ve spent a lot of time thinking about. He understands. He really, really does.

Finally, you sigh heavily and say, “You told me you loved me Joel. You said…you said that and then you just let me leave. You just—you—you…God!”

The hands of guilt wind themselves around his neck and squeeze as realization hits. He is the reason you’re upset, the reason you’re crying, the reason you’re hurting. He hates it more than he’s ever hated anything in his life.

He doesn’t speak. He lets you get it all out, lets you purge your anger and disdain, your disappointment. It’s all rightfully placed, Joel thinks. “You asshole! Why would you do that? How could you say that and then go back to acting like it changed nothing? I’ve tried to get past it but I can’t, Joel! You never should have let me leave or—or you never should have said it if you didn’t mean it! It’s just—I don’t…it hurts! It’s mean! You’re being so—!” 

“I’m sorry,” he interrupts. Rightfully placed or not, he’s not strong enough to hear the sorrow in your voice, not strong enough to hate himself more than he already does. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. He’s not apologizing for it. Joel’s not sorry at all for that overwhelming feeling you elicit in his chest. He’s only sorry he said it, sorry it’s caused you so much pain. If he’d known it would hurt you this much, he would’ve swallowed those words and kept them locked up for the remainder of his life.

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” you say. “I want you to say it again and mean it this time.”

Joel doesn’t understand. It’s cruel, isn’t it, to ask him to do something knowing it will hurt you? He can’t. He’s already done enough damage. He can’t.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please, Joel.”

He runs an exasperated hand down his face, and pressure builds behind his eyes. He can’t. He can’t. How is he supposed to live with himself? How is he supposed to hurt you, this little girl whose life has been made miserable because he couldn’t resist your temptation? 

Joel knows he loves you. And he thinks you know it, too. But saying it opens a wound better off sealed, and he wants to watch you flourish. He wants to watch you become your own person, wants to watch you live a full, satisfied life. And you can’t do that with him. He doesn’t think it’s possible. 

You let out a breath. “It’s snowing,” you say, voice thick with emotion. “It’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful, he wants to say. Instead he says, “You deserve someone better.”

“I don’t want someone be—”

“You deserve someone you can relate to, someone you can grow old with.”

“I can grow old with you, J—”

“I’m already old, god dammit. Listen to me. You deserve something that doesn’t hurt,” he interrupts. “You deserve someone who’s good to you, someone your own age who doesn’t make you cry in the middle of the night. You deserve—”

“I don’t care about any of that, okay? All I’ve ever wanted was you.”

You’re making this impossible, he thinks. He drags a hand down his face. The forbidden fruit is in his hands, begging him to take a bite, and he nearly does it. He opens his mouth to say it, to damn all of the consequences and succumb to whatever hellish fate awaits him in the afterlife all to have you for himself, and then—

“Please insert twenty-five cents for an additional three minutes.”

“I have to go,” you say, voice cracking. “I guess I only wanted to say that I love you more, Joel Miller. Because I would have never let you walk away.”

The line goes dead, and Joel’s sitting there in complete silence with one boot laced, and for the first time in all his life he feels himself swell with grief. The loss is so heavy, so final—and he can’t breathe. His lungs are filling up with all the words left unsaid, and he’s afraid that if he digs out the roots you’ve grown in his chest that nothing will ever feel quite the same again.

The pain is there, and it’s smothering, but if not the pain then what else would he have left of you? 

He doesn’t sleep that night. Or the night after that, or the one after that. It takes less than a week of canceling plans and insisting he just has a cold before Tommy is pulling into the driveway and slamming his fists against the door, demanding to know what the hell is going on. 

Joel tells him. Over six shots of whiskey and a panic attack, he confesses all of his sins at the kitchen table to his little brother. He expects Tommy to be angry, or disgusted—but he isn’t even surprised. He says, “Well, shit, Joel,” and runs his hands through his hair. “Now what are you going to do?”

A million dollar question, it seems. He wants to drive up to that big university of yours and knock on every door until he finds your dorm room. He wants to exhale all those words trapped inside his chest cavity and keep you for himself like he’s always wanted. But that’s such a selfish thing to do, Joel thinks. It’s not what’s best for you, or him, or anyone. 

So he does nothing. Even on his fortieth birthday, when he gets a text message that reads Happy Birthday. I still love you more. He doesn’t reply, because he doesn’t know what to say. 

Well, that’s not entirely true—he knows exactly what he wants to say, but chooses to say nothing because if he does it would change his life, your life, the lives of those around you. So Joel suffers in silence and dreams of you instead, repeating the same old habits. 

You and Sarah come home for spring break together. And a boy your age gets out of the passenger seat. You introduce him to your dad, and Joel doesn’t catch his name but doesn’t really want to know, anyway. 

He tries to swallow the anger in his chest. He can’t expect you to live an empty life that mirrors his. That’s not what he wants for you. The whole point of his avoidance was to make sure you were able to live fully, happily, with someone your own age. Even though his brain is calm enough to rationalize this, it doesn’t change the fact that Joel thinks the boy is a terrible match for you. 

Joel’s helping your dad renovate the kitchen, and he’s waited a month so he could get your opinion on a couple things. At the hardware store, the four— five —of you are debating between three different backsplashes. Joel and Sarah stand a foot behind, watching the scene unfold. 

Your dad has a single white, porcelain tile in his hand. “It’s nice and bright,” he says. 

“But you painted the cabinets white,” you argue, holding up the sage green ceramic piece. “Change it up a little. The green would look better, I swear.”

The boy at your side holds a piece of sand colored masonry, and says, “You’re crazy. White on white is no good but neither is green. What is this, a soup kitchen?”

From a contractor’s standpoint, Joel agrees that the  warm toned green would look far better than the cool toned masonry—but it’s not his place for input. He’s only here to help haul the tiles home and grab the tools they need. And even though the way your little boyfriend speaks to you grates against his nerves, Joel says nothing. 

Your dad ends up going with the masonry, calling it a happy medium, but Joel can tell that you're the least happy out of the three. He doesn’t mention it.

Everyone decides on pizza for dinner, and Joel teaches Sarah how to grout tile, and for a single moment everything feels good and normal. Tommy comes over to help with the project, and you’re laughing at something he’s saying with your hands covered in masonry dust, and you seem content—but then your eyes meet from across the room, and Joel feels the Earth tilt on its axis. 

Your smile falters, and your jaw feathers, and you quickly look away but not before he catches the flash of hurt in your pretty eyes. It makes him feel nauseous. Joel abandons his tools and heads for the front door. Sarah asks if he’s alright, and he says he just needs some fresh air. 

Joel can feel the panic attack coming from a mile away. His palms begin to perspire, his chest constricts, he can’t suck in air fast enough. He reminds himself that you’re here—here, and safe, and happy if not for him. You’re fine. Even if he’s not, you are and that’s all that matters. That thought combined with the cold night air helps a little, abates the fingers of grief around his neck, but then he hears it. 

“I know, babe. I’ll be back in town soon. I just need to get through this week and then I’ll take you out to make up for it, alright?” 

Joel freezes. He strains his ears, trying to pick up the rest of the words as his anxiety hones itself into fury. 

“You know I love you more than her. Of course I do.”

He’s off the porch before he can think better of it. The boy you brought home is standing on the side of the house, cell phone pressed to his ear, and his eyes widen when he sees Joel. “I’ve gotta go,” he says quickly, but before he gets a chance to hang up the phone Joel grabs him by his shirt collar and slams him up against the side of the house.

The words come out slow, even—despite the seething rage that fills him. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t knock your teeth down your throat.”

He laughs, actually laughs in Joel’s face and says, “Cause I’ll air out all those dirty little secrets our girl keeps.”

Joel’s grip tightens. The word our grates against his spine.

“What? You don’t like it when people refuse to mind their fucking business? Me either,” he says. “So let me go, or I’ll tell them everything.”

“Let me tell you what’s actually gonna happen,” Joel says, slamming him against the siding, relishing in the gasp of pain he makes in response. “You’re going to go in there and apologize for being such a scumbag. You’re going to come clean, beg her forgiveness, and if she forgives you maybe—maybe then, I’ll let you walk out of here with no broken bones. Do you understand me?”

“And why would I do that? You think she deserves an apology? We’ve been together for over a year, you know that? When was the last time she spread her legs for you, huh?” The timeline slots together in Joel’s brain, and his jaw ticks. “I’m not apologizing for cheating on a slut.”

Joel’s fist flies across his face, leaving a split lip and blood in its wake.

He doesn’t understand what the fuck you even see in this guy. You obviously care about him enough to bring him home, to let him meet your dad, to stay with him for so long, but God —this is the worst person you could’ve ever picked. 

“Ooh—good one! Does it make you feel better to hit me ‘cause I can have her and you can’t? Wanna know another one of those dirty little secrets, Joel?” He tilts his head forward and whispers. “She can’t get off unless I let her call me daddy. And ya know, feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think her daddy issues come from her real father, do they?”

Joel hits him again, an elbow to the jaw this time. 

“Dad!” Sarah’s panic stricken voice cuts through the fog of Joel’s rage.

He just doesn’t get it. You’re smarter than this. You deserve way fucking better than a half-assed relationship with a boy who—Joel stops.

In the dim glow of the porch light, he sees it. He finally fucking sees it. The boy has dark hair, has messy curls on top of his head, has tanned skin and calloused hands and warm eyes. It’s all vaguely familiar.

He looks like Joel. Or, what he looked like twenty years ago, anyway. 

Tommy grabs his brother by the shoulders and hauls him away, giving you just enough room to swoop in and coddle your little boyfriend, dabbing at his split lip. Tommy’s shoving Joel backwards, away from you and towards his house next door, but the force isn’t necessary. Because now he knows your newest secret, a real one. He knows you don’t care about this boy—you only care that he looks like Joel, and it brings him a strange satisfaction. 

“What the hell is going on?” Your dad asks, standing between the two families.

For a moment, he thinks about outing the bleeding boy to your father. Thinks about telling him how, at the hardware store, he sided with a boy who cheats on you, betrays you, disrespects you. Your father would be just as furious, Joel knows. 

But then he thinks about last summer in the kitchen, less than a year ago. He thinks about your phone call in December, he thinks about the look you shared inside moments ago and how deeply that pensive sadness seemed to run. And then he decides he’s already caused enough suffering, and so Joel shrugs and says, “Honest mistake. I thought he was an intruder.”

It’s a shitty lie, and no one believes it, but Sarah has her arm around Joel’s elbow and leads him home before anyone can ask any questions. Tommy says he’ll come over tomorrow to finish the backsplash, and Joel is thankful because he won’t be able to look at you and see that sad look again without crumbling. 

Joel’s sitting at the kitchen table with a beer in one hand and a bag of frozen peas on the other when Sarah sits beside him with a scolding look on her face. “You don’t get to fuck this up for her.”

“But I didn’t mean to—”

She holds up her pointer finger. “Stop talking. I’m not finished.” Sarah waits until Joel sighs and shrugs his shoulders before continuing. She leans on the table with her elbows and says, “She told me everything.”

His brows pinch together as he searches his daughter's face for something, for anything—but it’s completely blank. “What do you mean?”

“Cat’s out of the bag, dad,” she says. “I know about all of it. The night she brought over that DVD, the night of her grad party, the night of my grad party, the phone call. I know all of it.”

Joel doesn’t know what to say. He isn’t angry with you for telling Sarah. You should have someone to turn to, after all. He doesn’t fault you for that, but Joel also understands how it likely appears. He doesn’t know where to begin, how to apologize and explain that what you mean to him is so much more than attraction. “Sarah…Sarah, I—”

“Stop. Talking,” she repeats, and Joel silences. “I honestly was hoping you would tell me before I felt the need to do this,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “But you’re a typical man so I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”

He opens his mouth to defend himself, to offer an explanation, but promptly closes it when she narrows her eyes. 

“I can get over the fact that you’re…I don’t know, involved or whatever with my best friend. I can get over that. What I can’t get over is you being a dick to her.”

Joel doesn’t get it. He’s never, ever been disrespectful towards you. He doesn’t have it in him. And the pain he has caused you has always been for your own good— never out of malicious intent. If anything, he’s been nothing but selfless with you. He’s suffered in your place, and he’d do it a hundred times over if it meant you’d end up happy in the end. He gnaws on his bottom lip as Sarah continues. 

“She has spent half the semester crying over you and just decided recently that she’s ready to leave the past in the past. She likes him.”

He can’t stay silent any longer. “He’s not good enough for her. You didn’t hear—”

“I don’t care what he did or didn’t do,” she interrupts, holding up a hand. “Right now, we’re talking about you. If you don’t want to be with her, if you don’t love her, then let her have this. Even if he breaks her heart, let it be her decision to be with him. Not yours.”

Joel picks at the peeling label on the glass bottle. He stares at it as if the answer to all his problems lies underneath. Quietly, he asks, “And if I do?”

“Do what?”

He swallows, and asks a little clearer this time, “If I do love her, what do I do then?”

“Then you man the fuck up and put your money where your mouth is.”

Joel can’t even be mad about the crude language, because it sounds like advice he would give. There’s so much of his stubborn, loyal attitude in his daughter, and he can’t help but be proud of the woman she’s become. He nods stiffly. “I get what you’re saying. I really do, but—”

“But nothing. If you love her, then love her, dad. It’s not complicated.”

She makes it sound simple, Joel thinks. He wishes so badly that it was. 

“What are you so afraid of?”

He’s afraid of losing the friendship with your father, worried about tarnishing the relationship you have with him, terrified of getting old while you continue to exist in your youth. There’s a million things he’s afraid of, but he settles on the biggest one, the fear that sits like a brick in his stomach. “I’m not good enough for her, either.”

Sarah snorts. “You can’t be serious.” When Joel says nothing, she shakes her head in annoyance and says, “Honestly, dad, I don’t understand how you can be so blind. Let me put it in a way you can understand; you love her, and she loves you. Everything else? Get rid of it. It doesn’t matter. Her dad, her boyfriend, Tommy, me—none of us have anything to do with it. You’re both adults, and you’re doing nothing but hurting the both of you trying to be the good guy. Get it now?” 

He still doesn’t think it’s so simple, so black and white. But it doesn’t matter what Joel thinks, because there’s a knock at the door and you’re standing on the other side when Sarah answers it. She invites you in, but you insist it isn’t necessary. 

“It’s alright,” you say. “I just came to say goodbye.” There’s a sadness in your voice, a familiar sound of longing. “We’re leaving first thing tomorrow morning.”

Joel clenches his teeth and looks away when Sarah glances back at him. He can’t see you, and wants to steal one last sinful glance, but thinks better of it.

“You’re leaving already?”

“Yeah, yeah—I know it’s early, but I don’t…I don’t know. I thought I was ready but now I’m not…I’m not so sure.” You sniffle, and Joel feels his chest crack wide open. “I’ll come back at the end of the week to drive you back to campus. But you’ll call me every day, yeah? So I won’t miss you so much?”

Sarah laughs softly, and disappears from sight. Joel can hear your soft sigh of relief, and finds himself thankful that it’s his daughter you seek comfort in. He’s thankful Sarah is able to provide that for you, even if he can’t. 

Because he can’t.

When you leave after promising Sarah you’ll let her know when you’re back to your dorm, safe and sound, she returns to the kitchen with her arms crossed over her chest. 

Joel can feel the irritation, the disappointment. Sarah goes up to her room and slams the door, and Joel feels the reverberation of the wood in every disc of his spine. 

He sits there, in the deafening silence, and wonders where the hell he went wrong. He wonders why doing the selfless thing feels so awful, wonders if he’s destined to live an empty life and die an empty death. 

It isn’t until three hours later that Joel gets up from the kitchen table. It’s after midnight, and he drags his weary body upstairs. He has every intention of crawling into bed and slipping into a peaceful oblivion for as long as his body will allow. 

Except, Joel finds himself hovering in the hallway just outside his bedroom. He’s afraid to move, because if he walks through the door he’ll never be able to go back. He knows it, can feel the truth of it in his bones. But if he doesn’t…if he doesn’t, everything changes. And it might turn out bad—it might end up being the biggest, most selfish mistake of his life. 

But one aching, terrifying thought nags at him; what if it doesn’t?

“Joel?”

It’s as clear a sign from the universe as he’s ever seen. He makes his decision, and begins to feel at home within his own body after feeling so displaced for so long, and Joel’s so grateful for it. He’s even more grateful he never moved the spare key from under the welcome mat. 

This feels familiar. It feels like an echo of a time years ago, when he thought he ached for you but had no clue how deep his longing would one day be, a time when the scent of vanilla perfume wasn't a shock to his heart. It feels like an opportunity to do things right. It feels like a second chance. 

And he’s not going to fucking waste it. 

It’s his turn to confess his mistakes, though they’re not tequila induced and instead made completely of his own stupidity. 

“I just came to get my phone charger from Sarah,” you say. “I’ll just be a sec—”

“I mean it,” he blurts, swallowing his nerves. He repeats it again, clearer and more precise because it’s the truest thing he’s ever said. “I mean it.”

You wringing your hands around one another in front of you. And he can sense the buzzing of nervous energy, and even though you both know exactly what he means you still ask timidly, “Mean what?”

His heart is pounding in his ears. “All of it. Everything. You might not see it, Sarah might not see it, but you…you deserve better than anything I can ever give you,” he says. “I’m old and I’m tired and I don’t have anything but this house to my name. I can’t give you anything you can’t find a better version of after ten seconds of looking.”

“Joel…I—”

“Hold on. I need you to hear me right now, baby, okay?” His hands are shaking. When you nod, he continues. “I mean it when I say I’m no good for you. I never have been. I’ll just drag you down and hold you back from better things. All of that is true. You and I both know it, but god dammit, I mean it when I say I love you, too. I love your laugh and I love your smile and I love your heart. I love everything about you, and it makes me an awful person because I’m not supposed to feel those things for a girl half my age. But I do, I do—and fuck, baby, I know I’m a bad man, but I’m…I’m yours.”

The words are out. He’s said them, and there’s no going back. Everything he’s held inside for so long is sitting on the floor between you—the entirety of Joel’s perverted heart. Your eyes are glassy, and you're breathing slowly like it’s suddenly a task, but you’re saying nothing and he starts to fill with fear. 

Joel is seconds away from begging you to say something, to say anything—but then you’re there, you’re there, in his arms with your hands in his hair and your lips against his. Your body slots perfectly against him, and Joel thinks that if this is his greatest sin then God can cast him out of the heavens for all eternity and he’d say thank you on his knees. 

Your tongue is so soft, and Joel bites at your bottom lip, savoring the sweet and sugary taste of cherry. He lets his hands roam down your back, allows himself to grab hold of your curves and squeeze the supple flesh. Nothing has ever felt this good, he thinks. You pull away first, and you’re panting hard, and you whisper, “Prove it. Show me, Joel. Show me how much you love me.”

It’s the easiest request he’s ever wanted to fulfill. He grips the backs of your thighs and lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He uses one hand on the small of your back to hold you close, to press his lips to yours again, to moan into your mouth. He uses the other to open his bedroom door, the prospect of closing it behind him much less daunting now that your limbs are wrapped around his.

Joel lays you gently on the mattress, and straightens his spine to look at you. He soaks it up, memorizes the sight of your hair splayed out around you, your thighs parted for him, the pink flush on your chest. Nothing has ever been so beautiful, he thinks. Nothing and no one will ever, ever compare to you. He sighs blithely, licks his lips and says, “Fuck, baby.”

Through a soft giggle you ask, “Do you think I’m pretty, Joel?”

He pulls the collar of his shirt over his head and discards the fabric on the floor, leaving him in nothing but his jeans. He crawls between your legs and leans on his elbows, placing them on either side of your head. “Yes,” Joel says, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. “I think you’re the prettiest.” He kisses your forehead, and then your cheek. “D’you wanna know what else I think?”

You can feel him smirk against your skin as you run your hands along the cords of taut muscle in his abdomen. “Yes,” you answer breathlessly, resisting the urge to lift your pelvis against his. “Tell me everything.”

Joel obliges. He kisses the tip of your nose. “I think you were made for me.” His kisses grow hotter, wetter, as his mouth graces your jaw, your neck. “I think I’ve loved you since you were eighteen, since the first moment I saw you.” He tugs at the seam of your t-shirt, and you lift your spine slightly so he can pull it off. You’re not wearing a bra, and seeing you bare again after so long makes his mouth water. 

He kisses your sternum, the soft tissue of your breast, and then sucks your nipple between his lips. He doesn’t realize until now how much he craves the taste of you—how much he’s missed it. 

“I think I’m gonna marry you one day, baby,” he says, pressing his mouth to your other nipple. He can feel the vibration of your laughter in his mouth, and his heart constricts at the sudden happiness it brings him. 

“Marry me?” Your hands are in his hair, giving him the slightest direction in the form of light pressure, and Joel is all too happy to follow it. But he does it slowly, giving himself enough time to drink you in.

“Mmhm,” he says, peppering kisses down your belly, across the plane between your hips. He hooks his finger into the waistband of your sleep shorts and pulls them down your hips. “I think I’ve wasted enough of our time. Don’t you?” Gently, he runs his fingertips over your panties. They’re pink, of course, with red polka dots—and Joel groans at the sight. It’s a ghostly touch, but enough to pull a strained gasp from your throat. Your hips buck towards his hand, and Joel reminds himself to take his time even though his cock is throbbing painfully in his jeans and every instinct in him begs to ravish you. 

“Yes,” you agree. “But…maybe we go slow.”

There’s a slight hint of unease in your voice, and Joel rushes to fix it. He reaches up and wraps his big hands around your ribcage, stroking the skin softly with his thumbs. He presses a kiss to your panties, right above your clit, and says, “Relax, baby. I don’t mean right now. Soon though, yeah?”

Your body loosens beneath his touch, and a pretty smile breaks out across your face. “Soon,” you breathe. “But right now, I need you to touch me. Please, Joel.

The sound of desperation in your mouth is so pretty, he thinks. And you deserve anything you want, and Joel intends to give it to you. He pulls your panties down your legs,  pushes your thighs apart, and keeps his eyes trained on yours as he slides his tongue through your slit. You’re so wet, and the sound you make in response to the feel of his hot, wet tongue is the most heavenly sound he’s ever heard. He licks and sucks at your clit until you’re a trembling mess beneath him. And when your breaths turn shorter and more labored, Joel slips two fingers inside you and curls them to meet the sweet spot that makes you writhe. 

One hand is in his hair, pulling at the strands desperately, while your other is twisted in the sheets. In his sheets. Joel can’t keep his hips from rolling against the side of the mattress at the sight of you, at the taste of you, at the feel of you in his hands. Because you’re here, in his bed, and he can taste your cum in his mouth, and fuck he’s so in love with you it fucking hurts.

When your body falls limp, only then does he come up for air. He cleans you up with his tongue, not wasting any of the sweet nectar you’ve cleansed his sins with. Joel stands up slowly, raking his nails across your sensitive flesh. “Does that prove my love, pretty girl?”

He can see the wicked gleam in your eye, and he knows it wasn’t enough. Of course it’s not. You prop yourself up on your elbows and confess timidly, “Maybe I need a little more,” you say. “Some more proof.”

Joel unbottons his jeans. “Hmm, I guess I should’ve known better.” He pulls the denim off and kicks it aside, delighting in the slight parting of your lips as you take in his cock, heavy and hard between his legs. “Slutty little girls always need more, don’t they?” 

You nod, and Joel returns to his rightful spot between your legs. He’s so close—so, so close to home, to resting his weary heart…but your body is his confessional, and Joel isn’t done repenting. 

He rests his calloused palm against your throat gently, a caress. “You wanna know what else I think about?”

You’re squirming beneath him, hips lifting desperately. “Please, Joel,” you beg. 

And he knows you’re not begging for his thoughts, but he gives them to you anyway. “I think about putting a baby in you,” he confesses, laying his free hand flat against your abdomen. He smirks when you let out a shallow breath and your hips start to move faster, seeking him out. 

“Oh—God, fuck,” you whimper. 

“Aw, I’ve hardly touched you yet,” he teases through a soft laugh, drawing his fingers against your ribcage delicately. “You like that idea? Hm? Want me to fill you up with my cum ��til your belly’s swollen with my baby?” 

You’re nodding, and he can feel your quickened pulse beneath his hand, and Joel decides he’s put you through enough. “Yes,” you tell him. “Yes, yes—please, Joel, please please please.”

He reaches down and guides his cock into you, and your pussy takes him so eagerly that he can’t help but mirror your low moan. “Fuck, baby—you feel so good,” he murmurs. 

Slowly, he rolls his hips against yours. Your legs are wrapped around his waist, your arms are around his neck, and he kisses your bruised lips until all the air has left your lungs. “Oh, God—!”

“Shh,” he coos, moving his hand around your neck and instead using it to grasp your jaw. “Look at me. Look at me. Quiet now, sweetheart.” 

Your eyes are glassy and wide and beautiful, and Joel picks up his pace. His cock slams into you, filling you up, and it’s impossible to keep quiet. “I can’t,” you whine. “I can’t, Joel—it feels too good, it’s too much, I—!”

He kisses you hard, swallowing up your cry of bliss when he reaches down to circle your clit with the pad of his middle finger. “I know, baby, I know,” he soothes. “It’s okay, you can take it.” 

The prettiest sounds are falling from your mouth with each deep thrust of his hips, sending shivers down his spine. Joel wishes he could be here, be inside of you forever. He wonders how he’s ever going to get his fill, wonders if it’s even possible. You’re so fucking perfect and you’re his and God—he wants to eat you the fuck up. 

He can feel your pussy constrict around him, and he lets out a probably-too-loud-moan that mirrors yours in response. He knows you're close, can feel the rush of heat, can feel you tremble around him. “You gonna cum for me? Hm?” 

Joel slams into you relentlessly, obscene sounds filling the space of his room. Your second orgasm is impossibly stronger, sending electricity dancing across your skin.

You open your mouth to tell him, but Joel seems to know your body better than you do and before the words are out of your mouth he’s whispering in your ear. “There you go,” he says. “I love you so fuckin’ much baby, my good little girl. Give it to me. Thaaat’s it.”

His hips slow just slightly as you come down, but his thrusts are no less punishing. You press kisses to his collarbone, his neck, his chin—every place you can reach. Your mouth is desperate and needy and shameless, and there’s no better sin than the divinity of your lips, he thinks. 

Joel’s pace falters and becomes frantic, and he groans into the crook of your neck as he fills you up. You whisper, “I love you, Joel,”  and it does him in completely. 

He collapses on top of you, unable to move, but you don’t seem to mind. You stroke his spine lazily, tracing soft patterns into his flushed skin. He could sleep just like this, he thinks—but it can’t be as comfortable for you. So he pulls himself out of you wistfully and helps you crawl under the blankets. 

With a blissful sigh, he pulls you close and holds you against his chest. 

“What now?” 

Joel doesn’t know, if he’s honest. He knows he wants you, knows he has you, knows he’s unable to go on without you by his side any longer. But the rest? It’s all uncharted territory. “You go back to school,” he says. “You only have a few months left. Get that fancy degree of yours.”

You let out a soft groan. “I have to leave in the morning. I promised.”

He should feel bad for your boyfriend, most likely sleeping in the spare bedroom in your dad’s house that Joel just refurbished two months ago, but he doesn’t. There’s not an ounce of sympathy for him. But he does have sympathy for you, which is why he asks, “You want me to take care of it?”

“Like you did earlier tonight?” You snort, and the sound is light and airy and carefree and Joel is so happy to hear it. “No, I got it.”

“You gonna break up with him?”

“Mm. Haven’t decided yet,” you say. The sarcasm is thick in your tone, but Joel can’t help the slight panic that erupts in his chest. But the second you notice he isn’t laughing with you, you quickly amend, “I’m kidding. Of course I’m going to. First thing, okay? I promise.”

He nods and kisses your temple. “Okay. And while you’re gone, I’ll talk to your dad.”

You prop yourself up on an elbow. “Alone?”

“I’ll probably use Tommy as a buffer,” he says. “But you shouldn’t have to deal with it. He’s going to be upset with me—not with you. You’re not the bad guy here.”

“I don’t think you are either, Joel,” you say. 

But he doesn’t agree. And he never will, no matter how many sweet words and even sweeter touches you offer. “I’ll take care of it.”

You lay your head back on his chest, and his panic eases until it withers away into nothing. “Okay,” you say. “And…and after? After I finish school, will you still be here?”

Joel can sense the hesitation in your voice, can feel the sudden rigidity in your limbs. He caresses your face and promises, “Yes, baby. I’ll be here.”

“I’m scared,” you whisper.

“Of what?”

He’s not sure what he expects your answer to be, but he definitely doesn’t expect the stab to the chest when you say, “Whenever I leave, you change your mind about me. How do I know you won’t do it again?”

“Look at me,” he says. When you do, his eyes are molten with affection. “I will be here,” he repeats. “I will be here, and I will still love you. Do you understand me?”

You nod let out a long, sleepy breath. “Good.”

That night, Joel sleeps better than he has in years. So much so that he’s up before you, and this time it’s his turn to make the pancakes. He doesn’t do nearly as good as you, burning half of them and undercooking the other half, but he doesn’t worry about it because he realizes he has so much time to perfect it. Time he never had before. 

You pad barefoot down the stairs wearing your sleep shorts and the t-shirt he discarded last night. Joel wonders if he’ll ever grow tired of seeing you in his clothes.

When you notice Sarah and Tommy sitting at the kitchen table with plates pooled with syrup, your eyes widen and your cheeks grow crimson. “Uhm—morning,” you murmur, sliding into the seat at Sarah’s side. 

“Morning,” Joel responds, sitting a plate of pancakes in front of you. “Coffee or orange juice?”

“Uhm…orange juice,” you reply timidly. 

Joel pours you a glass, and joins you at the table, and doesn’t know how to break the weird silence that’s settled over the room. 

Thankfully, though—his daughter volunteers to do just that. “It’s gonna take me a second to get used to this,” she says. “And I will, I swear—but I’m just telling you now that I’m never gonna call you mom.”

Laughter breaks out in the kitchen, and the smile on your face brings Joel so much joy he can hardly contain himself. 

“That would be so weird,” you say. “God—could you imagine?”

“Fuck that—can you imagine living together, dude? It’s going to be amazing! I’ll always have someone to hang out with. Plus I won’t be the only one in this house with decent film taste anymore,” Sarah says. 

“Don’t you dare throw me in with this guy,” Tommy says, pointing a finger at Joel from across the table. 

“No, no—you like terrible movies too,” you argue. 

It sparks a heated debate, and pancakes get flicked from a fork across the table, and there’s a giant mess to clean up afterwards, but Joel Miller has never been so content, so at peace, so happy.

When you take your little boyfriend back to the city, Joel reminds you to call him if you need anything. He uses the opportunity of your absence to do the scariest thing of his life. 

He’s playing a game of pool in your dad’s garage, and Tommy is leaning against the wall with a beer in his hand, and Joel decides there’s no time like the present. “I have to tell you something,” he says. 

Your dad doesn’t look up at him. He lines up his cue and lets out a heavy sigh that sounds so similar to the ones of your frustration that it’s startling. “This about my daughter?”

Joel and Tommy exchange a look of uncertainty. “Uh—yeah,” Joel prods carefully. “Yeah, it is.” He doesn’t know where to begin, so he decides to only say what he needs to say, to say it firmly and without room for question. “I’m, uh—I’m in love with her. And after she graduates she’ll be coming home and we’re…we’re going to be together.”

He doesn’t say anything and at first, it unnerves Joel. He simply draws his cue back, shoots, and waits until the ball falls perfectly into the table’s pocket. He calmly lays his cue at his side, picks up the black eight ball from the table, and chucks it at Joel’s head. 

It misses him by an inch, and something shatters behind him, but Joel is too busy running from your father to look back and assess the damage. 

“You motherfucker! I should kill you! That’s my fucking kid—!”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Tommy is stepping between them, shoving your dad back. “Just hear him out, man! It’s not what you think!”

A warmth erupts in Joel’s chest to hear his brother’s words, to hear him defend his atrocities so easily. Joel knows exactly what thoughts are going through your fathers head, because they went through Joel’s first. He knows it looks like he’s just an old man trying to get his rocks off with the first pretty, young thing that ever looks his way, and maybe there’s some truth to that, but it’s also so, so much more. Still, Joel has a daughter, too, so he understands. “I swear I love her,” he says as if it’s some sort of consolation. “I really do.”

The vein in your dad’s temple protrudes as he shoves past Tommy and gets in one good punch, splitting the skin of Joel’s cheek. “Get the fuck out! Get out of my house before I break your fucking jaw!”

Joel listens. He slips through the half-opened garage door and goes home, adrenaline coursing through him. There wasn’t a lot of blood, and he considers that a win. He cleans out the cut on his cheek, orders a pizza, calls you to tell you how it went. You’re angry at first, when he tells you about his small injury, but Joel assures you that it’s the least he deserves. He says he’d do it a hundred times over if it meant you’d be coming home to him.

Tommy comes through the door a couple hours later with a weary look on his face. He flops down on the couch beside his brother, grabs a slice of cold peperoni pizza and says, “Fuck you for that, by the way.”

“How is he?”

“Fine for now. I think he’ll come around. Just give him a bit of time.”

They polish off the pizza, Tommy crashes on the couch, and Joel sleeps well with the scent of vanilla still lingering in his sheets. Several days later, he’s mowing the front yard with his t-shirt tucked into his back pocket when your dad gets home from work. 

When he crosses the yard and approaches him, Joel turns off the mower and prepares himself for another swing. Except, your dad only raises a hand and says, “I don’t want to hear about it. I don’t want to see it. We’re neighbors, Joel—keep the fucking windows closed or so help me God.”

“Done,” he agrees quickly with a shrug of his shoulders.

“And I swear to Christ, if you break her heart—”

“I won’t.” It’s the truth, and Joel thinks your dad knows it, too. He shakes his head and says it again, firmer this time. “I won’t.” 

There’s a second of silence, and it’s thick and heavy while your dad debates on whether he should hurt Joel again just for good measure. But he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “There’s a Longhorns game tonight. Tommy’s coming. You can…you know, you’re welcome to come too.”

“I’ll be there,” Joel promises. 

It takes a few weeks, but the comfortable energy between the three men returns, and one night your father even tells Joel, “Better you than that asshole she brought home for spring break. Kid was a cunt.”

Joel agrees, and all that’s left for him to do is wait for you. It’s only a few months until graduation, but it feels like a lifetime when he’s wasted so many years already. He calls you every night and his thoughts never stray far and for a little while, it’s enough.

He busies himself by finishing the renovations in your dad’s house, and then turns to his own to do the same. 

Joel starts with the kitchen, painting the cabinets and switching out the hardware. He clears out half of his closet for you, buys pink hangers to sit beside his black ones, buys a two pack of toothbrushes and sticks yours in the cup on the sink right next to his. Your dad offers to help when Joel says he wants to build a deck for the backyard, and they use Tommy’s truck to bring home new lawn chairs that recline so you can tan in those tiny bikinis comfortably.

He puts cherry chapstick on your nightstand. He buys pancake mix and orange juice and a bottle of top shelf tequila. And when you finally graduate and walk across the stage to receive your fancy degree, Joel is the second loudest person in the crowd. (The first is Sarah, who greets you with a flower bouquet bigger than your head.)

When you finally, finally come home to him, your eyes turn glassy when you discover what he’s spent his time doing in your absence. You say, thank you, Joel and throw your arms around his neck and drown him in kisses and he feels religion stir in his chest.

He asks you later that night what your favorite thing is, asks you whether it’s the deck or the tequila or the pink hangers. Your favorite part is him, of course it’s him, but you say instead that it’s the remodel in the kitchen. 

The backsplash is sage green.

[masterlist]

divider by @thecutestgrotto <3

a/n; i seriously cannot thank you guys enough for the unending support on this, i love you all so much <3

taglist; @aamatis-blog1 @goldenispunk @storytimeblog @locaparapedrito @bluesweaters15 @ace-27749 @joelmillerlover123 @shivkillian @bbyplutosblog @tiredbuthappy @samsamsantos @elegantduckturtle @pinkiec6-rubi @pascaltesfaye @pedropascalsbbg @heheheilovepedro

[flux1563]

Something New ft tzuyu

Tags : NTR, first time squirting, creampie, male reader

Words : 8K

On a quiet morning, Tzuyu could be found in her garden, tending to her blossoming flowers with meticulous care. The warmth of the sun and the gentle hum of bees painted a serene picture of suburban tranquility. The scent of lavender and roses filled the air, creating a soothing melody that seemed to resonate with her soul. As she plucked a stray weed, a sudden rustle in the bushes by the fence snapped her out of her reverie.

Her neighbor, y/n, emerged, looking slightly flustered. Tzuyu offered a friendly smile, but his eyes lingered on her in a way that made her feel uncomfortable. She had noticed his glances before, but had always brushed them off as harmless admiration for her gardening skills. However, today there was something different about his gaze, something more intense, almost hungry.

Tzuyu's husband was often away for work, leaving her alone in the house during the week. Their marriage was a bastion of love and trust, a bond that had only grown stronger with the passing of time. Whenever she felt lonely, she would take solace in the company of her plants, the only confidants that truly understood the silent poetry of her heart.

He cleared his throat, interrupting the symphony of her thoughts. "Your flowers are looking beautiful, as always," he said, his voice thick with unspoken intentions. Tzuyu felt a knot form in her stomach, her smile stiffening as she replied, "Thank you, y/n. I enjoy taking care of them." She tried to keep her tone light, hoping that her unease wasn't too apparent.

"Where is your husband?" he asked, his eyes never leaving hers. The question was simple, yet it hung in the air, loaded with a meaning that made her heart race. Tzuyu swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his gaze. "Oh, he's at work," she replied, her voice a little too high-pitched. "He won't be back until this night."

The invitation came suddenly, as unexpected as the first drops of rain in a storm. "Would you want to have breakfast with me inside my house?" His smile was charming, but it didn't reach his eyes, which remained focused on her with an intensity that made her feel like a butterfly pinned to a board. "Thank you, y/n," she began, her mind racing to find the right words. "But I've already had my breakfast. Maybe another time?"

He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But it's just a simple meal, I promise. Nothing too heavy. I just baked some cookies. They're your favorite, aren't they?" His words were sweet, but they left a bitter taste in her mouth. Tzuyu felt a bead of sweat form on her forehead as she tried to find a polite way to decline. "That's very kind of you," she said, her voice steady despite her racing thoughts.

After a moment of tension, she relented. "Alright, I'll have a quick bite." She hoped that by accepting, she could put an end to the persistent tension that had been building between them. As she followed him into his house, the air grew heavier, the scent of his cologne suffocating the floral notes she had carried with her from the garden. The walls of his kitchen were lined with pictures of his family, and she felt a pang of guilt for even considering his offer. Yet, she couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that had wrapped around her like a tightening noose.

The kitchen was meticulously clean, but it was the sight of the cookies on the table that made her pause. They were indeed her favorite, a recipe she had shared with him during one of their casual chats over the fence. The buttery aroma filled the room, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself to be swayed by the gesture. They sat across from each other, the silence thick enough to cut with a knife. She picked one up, its warmth seeping into her fingertips, and took a bite. The sweetness exploded on her tongue, a stark contrast to the bitter taste that still lingered from their interaction.

"Where is your family?" she asked, her eyes lingering on the smiling faces in the photos. She needed to remind herself that she was just being neighborly, that she had nothing to fear from a man who was, after all, just lonely.

"I haven't married, Tzuyu," he replied with a sad smile, his eyes never leaving hers. "It's just me here, alone."

The simple statement sent a chill down her spine. She had always assumed that his flirtatiousness was harmless, a way to pass the time, but now she wasn't so sure. He leaned back in his chair, watching her intently as she nibbled on the cookie. The click of the lock echoed through the house like a gunshot in the stillness of the night, and she looked up to see him close the kitchen door, a smug expression on his face.

Tzuyu felt the room close in around her. She had made a mistake coming here, she realized with a sinking feeling. The walls of his house suddenly seemed like the bars of a cage, and she was the unsuspecting animal trapped within. The photos of happy families now seemed like taunts, a stark contrast to the reality she found herself in.

With the cookie still in her hand, she tried to keep her voice calm. "What are you doing?" she asked, her eyes flicking to the locked door.

He's smile grew wider, revealing a hint of something darker. "I just wanted some privacy, Tzuyu," he said, his tone casual.

Before she could react, y/n leaned across the table, his hand snaking around her waist. His lips met hers, and she felt his desperation in the way he kissed her, a desperation that made her stomach churn. She pushed against him with all her might, but his grip was like steel, his mouth unyielding. Panic flooded her, and she fought back with all the strength she could muster.

"U can't escape from here, Tzuyu," he murmured against her lips, his breath hot and heavy. "My house is soundproof." His voice was low, a dark promise that sent a cold shiver down her spine. She could hear the triumph in his tone, and it fueled her struggle. Tzuyu's hands flew to his face, her nails digging into his skin as she tried to push him away. His eyes narrowed at the resistance, but his smile remained, twisted and sinister.

"Just accept what I'm going to give you, so you'll feel good instead of hurt," he said, his voice a slick whisper that made her skin crawl. Tzuyu's mind raced, her heart hammering in her chest. "I can't," she said firmly, pushing against him again. "I'm married, y/n."

He pulled back slightly, his grip loosening. "But you're so beautiful," he murmured, his eyes tracing the contours of her face. "I've watched you for so long, and I can't help but want to be close to you." His words were a seduction, but they held no charm for Tzuyu. She felt the weight of his desire like a leaden cloak, suffocating her.

"I promise, only this time," he said, his voice a sweet lie that made her stomach clench. "Let me show you how much I care for you." His hand slid up to cup her cheek, and she flinched at his touch.

She took a deep breath and nodded, playing along for the moment. "Okay," she whispered, her voice shaking. "After this, I can come back to my home, and we will keep it as a secret."

Y/n's eyes lit up at her submission, his smile widening. He leaned back in his chair, releasing her waist. "Of course," he said, his voice dripping with sweetness. "It will be our little secret."

He was speaking to himself "When I start using Tzuyu, she will crave for my 10 inches BWC. Then she'll come back to me willingly.".

He leaned in for another kiss, and this time, Tzuyu didn't resist. Instead, she wrapped her hand around his neck, drawing him closer. His eyes searched hers, looking for any sign of hesitation, but all he saw was a quiet determination. He took her acceptance as a victory and deepened the kiss, his hands moving to encircle her waist.

"Ahh," she gasped, when he start to kiss her neck.

Her heart was racing, but not with fear anymore. An unexpected warmth spread through her body, and she found herself leaning into his touch. His kisses grew more insistent, and she felt a strange thrill at his passion. His hands roamed over her, igniting a fire within her that she had not felt in a long time. She closed her eyes, letting the moment wash over her, trying to drown out the voice of doubt that whispered in the back of her mind.

The sound of fabric ripping brought her back to reality with a jolt. She opened her eyes to find y/n tearing her clothes off, his eyes gleaming with a hunger that was both terrifying and exhilarating. He had her pinned against the kitchen counter, his hands moving with a surprising gentleness that belied the desperation of his actions.

Tzuyu's shirt lay in shreds at her feet, and she felt the cool air kiss her bare skin as he revealed her lacy bra. He traced the outline of her breasts with his thumbs, his eyes never leaving hers. With a flick of his wrists, he unclipped the clasp, and her breasts spilled out, her hard pink nipples standing at attention.

Y/n leaned in, his breath hot against her chest as he took in the sight before him. His mouth watered, and without any further preamble, he captured one of her nipples between his teeth, giving it a gentle tug before flicking his tongue across it. Tzuyu couldn't help but let out a soft moan, the sensation sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. His hands were everywhere, cupping and squeezing, his touch both firm and tender.

Her own hands found his belt, fumbling with the buckle as she felt the pressure building inside her. His eyes grew darker, and she could feel his arousal pressing against her thigh. He groaned, the sound deep and primal, and she knew that he was as lost in the moment as she was. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her pants, and with a swift movement, pulled them down along with her underwear. She stepped out of them, leaving a pool of fabric at her feet.

Tzuyu was now fully exposed to y/n's gaze, her shaved pink pussy glistening with arousal. He stood before her, his eyes feasting on every inch of her body as if it were the most exquisite work of art he had ever seen.

"Don't stare at me like that," she murmured, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of red.

But y/n couldn't help it. He had never seen a woman more beautiful than Tzuyu, especially not when she was naked and trembling with desire. He stood up from the chair, his eyes never leaving hers, and began to strip away his own clothes. His shirt came off first, revealing the taut muscles of his chest and abs, each one sculpted from years of hard work and discipline. Tzuyu's eyes widened as she took in the sight, her breath hitching in her throat. He knew she liked what she saw. His pants followed, revealing the bulge that had been straining against the fabric for what felt like an eternity. He stepped out of them, his boxers the last barrier to fall. His cock sprang free, long and thick, standing proud and erect.

"I didn't know you have a very big white dick," Tzuyu murmured, her voice a mix of awe and trepidation. The words slipped out before she could stop them, and she felt her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. But y/n didn't seem to mind. If anything, the admission only made him more aroused.

He stepped closer to her, his cock swaying with each step. "It's 10 inches long," he said with a smug smile. "And the girth is 3 inches." His hand wrapped around it, giving it a slow stroke. "Even your husband's doesn't come close, does it?"

Tzuyu nodded, unable to take her eyes off the monstrous cock before her. It was true, her husband was not this big. But she had never felt the need for anything more than what they shared. Until now. The thought of his thick member sliding into her made her pussy throb with need. She nodded again, more to herself than to him. "You are right," she murmured, her voice a mere whisper.

Without another word, y/n scooped her into his arms, her naked body fitting against his like they were two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as he carried her through the hallway, her bare skin brushing against his, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. She could feel his heart beating against her chest, the rhythm matching the tempo of her own.

The couch in the living room beckoned, and he laid her down upon it with surprising care. The plush cushions molded to her body, the cool fabric a stark contrast to the heat that radiated from within her. His hands remained on her hips, holding her in place as he stepped back to admire her. Tzuyu felt vulnerable, exposed under his gaze, but she couldn't deny the thrill that coursed through her veins.

"Now," his voice low and commanding. "Take me inside your mouth."

Tzuyu stared at the massive cock standing before her, the tip glistening with precum. She felt a mix of fear and excitement, the thought of his size making her mouth water and her pussy clench. "I don't know if I can take it," she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation.

"Don't worry," y/n said with a smirk, his grip on her hips tightening. "You'll get used to it. Just open your mouth and let me guide you."

Tzuyu swallowed hard and leaned forward, her eyes locked on the tip of his cock. She parted her lips and felt the heat of his erection against her skin. He leaned in closer, his hand guiding her head to take him in. His cock slid into her mouth, and she tasted the saltiness of his precum. It was strange, but not entirely unpleasant. He began to move, pushing deeper with each stroke, and she had to fight the urge to gag.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through her entire body. "Take it all."

Her cheeks hollowed as she took more and more of him, his hand gently pressing the back of her head. He was so thick that she could feel herself stretching around him, and the sensation was both terrifying and thrilling. She had never been with a man this size before, and she had no idea how she would handle it when the time came for him to enter her.

"Just relax, Tzuyu," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm to her nerves. "Breath through your nose, baby."

Tzuyu did as he said, her eyes watering slightly as she took him deeper. Her tongue danced around his shaft, tasting every inch of his manhood.

Suddenly, y/n's gentle guidance turned to a firm grip, and he started to thrust his hips, his dick sliding in and out of her mouth with increasing roughness. She gagged, but he didn't stop, his eyes locked on hers, the pleasure etched on his face unmistakable. She could feel her throat stretching, the sensation of being filled so completely both overwhelming and exhilarating.

"Fuck, you're so tight and warm," he grunted, his grip on her hair tightening. The words sent a jolt of pleasure through Tzuyu's body, and she felt her pussy clench around the emptiness. Despite the fear and the guilt, she found herself getting wetter, her body responding to the raw power and dominance he exuded.

Tzuyu's eyes watered as he pushed himself further into her mouth, the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat. She gagged, but he didn't relent. His eyes were closed, his face a mask of pure ecstasy as he fucked her mouth.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he groaned, his hips jerking erratically. "Your throat is so fucking good."

Tzuyu braced herself, her eyes wide as he pulled out of her mouth, the tip of his cock pulsing with the promise of release. He didn't give her time to react as he painted her face with ropes of white hot cum, the thick liquid spurting over her cheeks and nose, landing in her eyes and mouth. She squealed in surprise and pleasure, the sensation of his warm seed on her skin sending a shiver down her spine.

He stared down at her, his eyes dark with desire as she sat there, panting and covered in his cum. His chest heaved with the effort of his orgasm, his cock still twitching in his hand. The sight of her like this, vulnerable and debased, made him feel more powerful than he had ever felt before.

Tzuyu's eyes fluttered closed as she felt the warmth spread over her face, the sticky liquid clinging to her lashes and trickling down her neck. She licked her lips, tasting the saltiness of his seed, and felt an unexpected surge of arousal. She had never been treated this way before, never been so thoroughly claimed, and it was intoxicating.

"Open your eyes," he said, his voice a low growl. "I want you to see what you do to me."

Tzuyu's eyes snapped open, her vision blurred by the cum that had spattered across her face. She watched as y/n's gaze fell to her chest, his eyes lingering on her breasts, which were heaving with every shallow breath she took. His hand moved down to her stomach, tracing the soft curves before coming to rest between her thighs.

"Now it's my time to make you feel good," he murmured, his voice a dark promise that sent a shiver down her spine. Without waiting for a response, he knelt before her, his mouth descending to her shaved pink pussy. The first touch of his tongue was like a bolt of lightning, sending a shock of pleasure through her core. He licked her slowly, savoring the taste of her arousal, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Ahhh... So good," Tzuyu gasped, her body arching off the couch. She had never felt anything quite like this before. His tongue was a masterful tool, tracing her folds and teasing her clit in a way that had her toes curling. Her hands found his hair, tangling in the soft strands as she held him to her, urging him on. She could feel the tension building, the coil of desire tightening with each flick and suck.

"Fuck," she moaned, the word slipping from her lips without thought. Her eyes rolled back in her head as he added a finger, pushing into her wetness with ease. "Keep it going," she begged, the need for release a physical ache. His pace didn't falter, the steady rhythm of his tongue and finger driving her closer and closer to the edge.

The world around them disappeared, leaving only the sound of their ragged breaths and the slick wetness of their intimate dance. Tzuyu's hips began to buck, her body moving of its own accord to meet his touch. The pressure grew, a delicious agony that made her nails dig into the couch cushions.

"Fuck, y/n, I'm gonna cum," she panted, her voice a desperate plea. His eyes never left hers as he increased his pace, his two fingers curling inside her, hitting a spot that had her back bowing off the couch. His tongue danced around her clit, the sensation so intense she could feel her orgasm building like a wave ready to crest.

Her leg shot up, trembling in the air as her toes curled. The muscles in her thigh quivered with the effort of holding herself in place, her whole body tightening with each pulse of pleasure that shot through her. Her breathing grew heavier, her chest heaving as she chased the release that was just out of reach.

Then, it hit her. Like a tidal wave, her orgasm crashed over her, sending her body into spasms of pleasure. "Fuck, y/n, I'm cumming so hard!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the quiet house. Her back arched off the couch, her nails digging into the fabric as she rode the wave of ecstasy. Her pussy clamped down on his fingers, her walls pulsing as she came, her juices spilling onto his hand.

Y/n watched with a smug smile, his own arousal reaching new heights as he felt her tighten around his digits. He didn't stop, his tongue flicking and licking, eager to taste every drop of her sweetness. He knew she couldn't squirt, but the way her body responded to him, the way she writhed and screamed, was more than enough. It was power, pure and simple, and he reveled in it.

Her climax seemed to go on forever, her body shaking and quivering as the pleasure consumed her. Tzuyu had never felt anything so intense before, and she was both scared and exhilarated by it. Her eyes squeezed shut, she focused on the feeling of his mouth on her, the pressure of his fingers inside her.

Y/n was relentless, his tongue swirling and flicking against her sensitive clit, even as she bucked and thrashed beneath him. He could feel her pussy tighten around his digits, her juices flowing more freely with each wave of pleasure that crashed over her. Despite her protests, he didn't stop, eager to test her limits and push her further than she had ever been before.

"I want to know if you can squirt," he murmured against her clit, his voice muffled by her flesh. His words were a challenge, a declaration of his intent to claim her in every way possible. His fingers curled inside her, hitting that special spot that made her eyes roll back in her head.

"I'm not a squirter," she gasped, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm.

Y/n paused, his fingers still buried inside her, his tongue lingering against her sensitive bud. He studied her flushed face, the sheen of sweat glistening on her skin. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breaths coming in pants. He knew she was telling the truth, but that didn't deter him. If he couldn't make her squirt, he would settle for something else. He wanted to hear her scream his name in pleasure, to see the look of utter abandon on her face when she climaxed again.

"If you say so, Tzuyu," he murmured, his voice a dark promise. He withdrew his fingers, watching the way she shivered with the loss of his touch.

Tzuyu's voice was barely above a whisper as she spoke. "Is okay, y/n," she said, her voice trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. "You've already given me the best orgasms I've ever had." Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotion.

Y/n's eyes darkened, his pupils dilating at the admission. He knew he had her now, and he was eager to show her just how much more he could give her. He stood, his cock still rock hard from her mouth and her tight pussy. "You're so sweet, Tzuyu," he murmured, his voice a caress. "But we're not done yet."

With surprising agility, he turned her over, her ass in the air, her breasts pressed against the couch. He positioned himself behind her, his cock nudging against her wetness. She tensed, feeling the sheer size of him, but she didn't protest. She wanted this, she wanted him to fill her completely, to stretch her in ways she had never been stretched before.

"Now," she whispered, her voice shaking with anticipation. "Fuck me, y/n. I want to feel your 10 inches inside me."

His eyes glinted with excitement as he positioned himself at her entrance. He knew she was ready for him, her pussy slick and inviting, begging to be filled. But instead of pushing into her, he decided to tease her a little more. He rubbed the tip of his cock up and down her slit, watching as she squirmed and gasped beneath him.

"Beg for it, Tzuyu," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through her entire body. "Tell me you need more."

"Please," she whispered, the word barely audible. "Fuck me already." "Fuck me like a dirty whore who craving for big dick, just wrecked my little pussy"

He's grin grew wider as he listened to her desperate pleas. He could feel his cock throb at the sound of her voice, the way she begged for it. He positioned himself at her entrance, the tip of his cock nudging against her swollen folds. She was so wet, so ready for him, and he could feel her pussy quivering with anticipation.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he pushed forward, watching as her eyes went wide with shock and pleasure. Her tight walls stretched around his girth, the feeling of her warmth enveloping him almost too much to bear. He groaned as he sank deeper, feeling every inch of her, the heat of her body surrounding him like a velvet vice.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he grunted, his voice strained with the effort of not giving in to his own desires. He held still for a moment, letting her adjust to his size. He could feel her muscles tense around him, and he knew that she was fighting the urge to push him out. But she didn't. Instead, she took a deep breath and pushed back, taking him in even further.

Tzuyu's eyes squeezed shut as he began to move, his hips thrusting in a steady rhythm that had her panting and gripping the couch. She could feel the pressure of his cock against her stomach with each deep stroke, and she knew that he was holding back. He was too big for her to handle all at once.

"Fuckk," she screamed, the sound echoing through the room. "I can feel it, it's bulging under my stomach."

He didn't respond with words, instead, his hips picked up the pace, driving into her with a ferocity that made her toes curl. She was so tight, so warm, and the way she was taking him, inch by inch, was driving him wild. He gripped her hips, his knuckles white with the effort of holding back. He knew he could take her harder, faster, but he didn't want to hurt her.

"Just fuck me as hard as you can," Tzuyu begged again, her voice raw with need.

He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back, his cock still buried deep inside her. "Are you sure?" he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "Once I start, I won't be able to stop."

"Yes," she panted, her voice urgent. "Fuck me, y/n. Make me scream."

With a low growl, y/n gave in to her pleas. His grip on her hips tightened, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he began to pound into her with everything he had. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through her body, her pussy stretching to accommodate his massive girth. Her cries filled the room, a mix of pain and pleasure as he claimed her completely. She could feel her walls stretching around him, the sensation so intense it was almost too much to bear.

"Yes, yes, yes," she chanted, her voice growing louder with each thrust. The couch beneath her creaked with the force of their lovemaking, the fabric scratching at her bare skin. Her hands clutched at the cushions, her nails leaving little half-moons in the fabric. The world around her narrowed to the feeling of his cock filling her, the sound of their bodies slapping together.

Y/n's grip on her hips grew bruising, his breath hot and ragged against her neck. "Fuck, Tzuyu," he groaned, his hips pumping harder. "You're so tight. So wet." His words only served to spur her on, her pussy clenching around him like a vice. She could feel the orgasm building, the pressure growing with each stroke.

"Yeah, don't you dare to stop," she gasped, her voice a desperate whine. "I'm gonna cum, y/n. Make me cum with your big white cock." The words sent him over the edge, and he picked up the pace, driving into her with a ferocity that had her seeing stars. She was so close, so close to that sweet release. Her nails dug into the couch, the fabric tearing under the force of her grip.

"Fuck, yes," she screamed as her orgasm hit her like a freight train, her body convulsing around his cock. Her pussy clamped down on him, pulsing with the intensity of her climax. Y/n felt her tighten around him and knew she was close, so close to the edge.

He gripped her hips harder, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he felt his own release approaching. "Come for me, Tzuyu," he grunted, his voice thick with lust. "I want to feel you come all over my cock."

Her walls tightened around him, the sensation like nothing he had ever felt before. "I'm cumming," she screamed, her voice raw and unbridled. "I'm cumming so much!" Her orgasm washed over her, her entire body shaking with the intensity of it. Her pussy clamped down on him, her juices flooding out and soaking the couch beneath her.

For a moment, he stilled, his cock buried deep inside her as he watched her come apart. He could feel the tremors of her release, the way her body spasmed around him. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and he felt a strange mix of pride and possessiveness. She was his, now and forever.

"U have a stamina of a monster, y/n," Tzuyu panted, her voice filled with amazement and a hint of challenge.

Y/n chuckled, his strokes never faltering as he continued to pound into her. "I've had plenty of practice," he said, his voice filled with a dark amusement that sent shivers down her spine. "But you, my dear, are something special."

Tzuyu's body was a maelstrom of sensation, each of her nerve endings singing with pleasure. She had never felt so alive, so consumed by the need for another's touch. Each time he filled her completely, she felt herself shattering into a million little pieces, only to be reassembled by the next stroke.

The couch groaned beneath them, a testament to their frenzied passion. She could feel the fabric of the couch cushions digging into her knees as she was pushed further and further into the furniture, her body taking all of him with surprising ease. Her breasts bounced with every thrust, and she bit her bottom lip to muffle the cries that kept escaping her mouth.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, a rhythmic crescendo that seemed to crescendo with each pulse of her heart. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she could feel her body tighten around him once more. He was relentless, his hips never stopping as he fucked her with a passion that seemed to be fueled by an endless well of desire.

Y/n's grunts grew louder, his breaths ragged in her ear as he whispered dark promises of never-ending pleasure. His hand snaked around her waist to play with her clit, the added sensation making her toes curl. "I'm going to fill you up, Tzuyu," he groaned, his voice a mix of pleasure and possessiveness. "You're going to feel me deep inside you, my seed claiming you."

Tzuyu's eyes snapped open, the reality of his words hitting her like a sledgehammer. But instead of fear, she felt a strange thrill, a yearning to be claimed by this man who had so thoroughly taken her over. "Do it,"

she whispered, her voice hoarse with need. "Make a baby to me."

Y/n's eyes widened with shock at her words, but the desire in her voice was unmistakable. He didn't need any more encouragement. He slammed into her one last time, his cock reaching depths she never knew existed. With a roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the house, he came deep inside her, filling her womb with his hot, thick seed.

Tzuyu's body tensed around him, her own orgasm hitting her like a tsunami. Her pussy clenched and spasmed, milking him for every last drop. She felt the warmth of his cum filling her up, the sensation so intense it was almost painful. But she didn't care. She wanted this, needed this, to feel alive in a way she never had before.

As their bodies stilled, he collapsed on top of her, his weight a comforting warmth against her back. He could feel her heart racing beneath his chest, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. He kissed the back of her neck, his tongue tracing a slow, lazy pattern along her skin.

"Are you sure?" he whispered in her ear, his voice filled with a hint of doubt. "Just this one time?"

Tzuyu turned her head to look at him, her eyes glazed over with lust. "I think I can't get enough of you," she said, her voice a seductive purr that sent a shiver down his spine. Her hand reached back to cup his cheek, pulling his face closer to hers. "I want you to fuck me every day, y/n. Make me scream your name until I can't even remember my own."

He's cock twitched at her words, his desire for her still raging like a wildfire. He pulled out slowly, watching as her pussy clung to him, desperate to keep him inside. Her juices coated his shaft, making it slick and shiny with need. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, but he wasn't about to argue with a goddess in the throes of passion. He kissed her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

As he pulled away, she gasped, the sudden emptiness making her pussy spasm. He watched with fascination as a geyser of squirt shot out, drenching the floor beneath them. Her body trembled with the force of it, her legs shaking as she tried to remain upright. Tzuyu's eyes were wide with shock, her cheeks flushed a deep crimson.

"Fuck," she whimpered, her voice a mix of amazement and need. "I've never done that before."

Y/n's eyes widened, his cock jumping in response to the sight. "You're a natural," he said, his voice filled with awe. "Now, let's see how much more you can take."

Without warning, he slammed back into her, his cock hitting her G-spot with precision. Tzuyu screamed, her body bucking against his. She could feel the pressure building again, a pressure that was unlike anything she had ever felt before. It was as if her pussy had a mind of its own, demanding more of him, more of his thick cock filling her to the brim.

His strokes grew shorter, faster, his hips snapping against her ass as he pounded into her. The sound of their skin slapping together filled the room, a symphony of passion that seemed to crescendo with each thrust. She could feel herself tightening around him, her body preparing for another explosive release.

"I'm going to make you squirt again," he growled, his hands gripping her hips with a bruising force. "You're going to soak this couch with your cum, and I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk straight."

Tzuyu's eyes rolled back in her head, the pleasure overwhelming her senses. She had never felt so alive, so consumed by desire. Her pussy clenched around him, her walls spasming as another orgasm built. She could feel the warmth spreading through her, the pressure growing more intense with each stroke.

"Oh, god," she moaned, her voice a desperate plea. "I'm gonna cum again."

Y/n's eyes blazed with triumph as he watched her come undone before him. He increased his pace, his cock plunging in and out of her with a ferocity that seemed to defy human endurance. He knew she was close, could feel her pussy fluttering around him like a trapped bird.

Her climax hit her like a freight train, her pussy spurting out a torrent of cum that soaked the couch and the floor. She screamed his name, her body shaking with the force of it. Her nails dug into the cushions, leaving deep gouges in the fabric as she tried to hold on to something, anything, to ground herself in the face of such intense pleasure.

Y/n didn't let up, his hips moving faster, his cock hitting deeper with each thrust. He could feel his own orgasm approaching, the pressure in his balls becoming unbearable. He reached around her, his thumb circling her clit, and she screamed, her body tightening around him. He watched in amazement as another gush of squirt spurted from her pussy, soaking the couch and pooling on the floor.

"You're so fucking perfect," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "So wet, so tight." He could feel himself growing even harder, the sight and feel of her squirting pushing him closer to the edge. His hand moved to her hip, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he held her in place.

The sensation was indescribable, the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of her, the sound of her wetness filling the room. He knew she was close again, could see it in the way her back arched, her breasts jiggling with each thrust. He leaned down, his mouth claiming hers in a bruising kiss as he pushed into her one last time.

Her body convulsed around him, her pussy clenching down so tight he could feel the head of his cock pulsing inside her. With a final grunt, he pulled out, watching as her pussy spasmed, desperately trying to keep him inside. He stroked himself, his cock a blur as he watched the last of her squirt spurt out, painting the floor with her desire.

Tzuyu's eyes rolled back in her head, her body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. She had never felt so alive, so wanted, so...used. And she loved every second of it. She could feel the sticky wetness on her thighs, her pussy still pulsing with need. She opened her legs wider, inviting him back in, her voice a desperate plea.

"More," she begged, her voice a whimper. "I need more."

He didn't need any further encouragement. He plunged back into her, his cock sinking into her warm depths with ease. He could feel her tightening around him once more, her pussy greedy for his cum. His strokes grew more urgent, his hips slapping against her ass with a wet sound that seemed to echo through the room.

"I'm gonna fill you up, Tzuyu," he groaned, his voice a harsh whisper. "You're going to feel me deep inside you once more."

The pressure grew, the room spinning as she felt herself climbing towards another peak. Her walls tightened around him, her body begging for release. "Do it," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I want to feel it again."

With a roar that seemed to shake the house, y/n erupted, his cock pumping ropes of hot cum into her waiting pussy. Tzuyu's body tightened around him, her own orgasm hitting like a tidal wave. She could feel him filling her, his warmth spreading through her body as she came one final time.

Their bodies remained connected for a moment, both panting and trembling with the aftermath of their passion. He kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her skin as he pulled out. She whimpered at the loss, but the feeling of his cum spilling out of her was almost as delicious as the sensation of him being inside her.

"How many times did I make you cum?" he asked, his voice a smug whisper against her ear.

"Countless," Tzuyu murmured, her body still trembling from the intensity of their encounter. She felt both satisfied and insatiable, her pussy still throbbing from the pounding he had given her.

"How many times did your husband make you orgasm?" y/n questioned, his tone playful yet possessive. He knew he had taken her to heights she had never experienced before, and it filled him with a dark sense of pride.

Tzuyu's voice was a breathless whisper as she replied, "Around five, usually." Her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and arousal as she admitted it. Despite the bliss she felt in the aftermath of her recent orgasms, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. Her husband had always been attentive and loving in bed, but there was something primal and overwhelming about the way y/n had claimed her body.

"So I win," He said proudly, his chest puffing out with triumph. His eyes gleamed with victory as he looked down at her, his cock still semi-erect and glistening with their combined juices. He knew he had taken her to heights she had never experienced before, and it filled him with a dark, possessive satisfaction.

Tzuyu could only nod, her body still quivering with the aftershocks of her last orgasm. The guilt was there, but it was overshadowed by the intensity of the pleasure he had given her. She had never felt so alive, so desired. His words echoed in her mind: "How many squirt is your husband's gift? Zero." The truth of it stung, but in that moment, she didn't care. She had never been able to achieve a squirting orgasm with her husband, and the fact that y/n had brought it out of her so easily was intoxicating.

Her pussy was still quivering when she felt a new sensation, a wetness that seemed to come from within. She looked down, eyes widening in amazement as another gush of squirt spurted from her, soaking the already drenched couch cushion beneath her. "What's happening?" she gasped, her voice filled with a mix of shock and arousal.

Y/n chuckled darkly, a knowing smile playing on his lips. He reached down, his fingers tracing the line of her soaking slit. "Looks like you enjoyed that," he said, his voice filled with a smug satisfaction. "Your body can't get enough of me."

Tzuyu's cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she couldn't deny the truth in his words. She had squirted again, a sensation that was both foreign and incredibly arousing. Her pussy was still quivering, her walls clenching and unclenching around the emptiness left by his departure. "What... what did you do to me?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Ask your pussy, not me," he said with a smirk, watching as she squirmed on the couch. He knew he had pushed her to new limits, and the power rush was intoxicating. Her hair was a tangled mess, her makeup smeared from their earlier kisses, and her body was covered in a sheen of sweat. She had never looked more beautiful.

"I need to go to my house before my husband comes," Tzuyu said again, her voice stronger this time.

Y/n chuckled and stood up, his cock still hard and covered in their mixed fluids. He walked to the door and unlocked it, swinging it open with a flourish. "Fine," he said with a wicked smirk. "But do it naked."

Tzuyu's eyes went wide with horror, but she knew arguing would be futile. She slowly rose from the couch, her legs wobbly from the intensity of her orgasms. Her body was covered in sweat, her breasts heaving with each breath she took. She felt more exposed than she ever had before, but there was also a strange sense of liberation in her nakedness.

Her first attempt to stand was a failure, her legs giving out beneath her. She stumbled, catching herself on the arm of the couch. Y/n chuckled, watching her with a predatory gaze. "Looks like my little slut can't even walk straight," he teased, his cock twitching with renewed interest.

With a grimace of determination, Tzuyu pushed herself off the couch, her legs trembling as she took one step and then another. She felt like she was walking on jelly, each step sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. She was a mess, her hair in disarray and her makeup smeared, but she walked with a strange sense of pride. Each step was a declaration of the power she had found in her own sexuality.

As she approached the door, she felt the cool breeze from outside caress her sweat-drenched body, sending goosebumps across her skin. The stark contrast from the heat of their passion made her even more aware of her nakedness, her nipples tightening with every gust of wind. The reality of her situation slammed into her, but instead of fear, she felt excitement. The thrill of the forbidden was like a drug, and she was utterly addicted.

"Just walk slowly," he said with a laugh, his eyes never leaving her. She knew he enjoyed her vulnerability, the way she was forced to move with careful steps to avoid stumbling. Each movement was a testament to his dominance over her, and she found it oddly thrilling. Her legs felt like jelly, but she managed to make it to the door, her hand shaking as she gripped the handle.

The moment she stepped out into the sunlight, the reality of what had just happened hit her like a slap in the face. She was naked, her body a canvas of sweat and sperm, and her pussy was still pulsing with the aftermath of her intense orgasms. The breeze outside was cool against her skin, making her nipples tighten even further. She looked around nervously, hoping that no one would see her in this state of utter exposure.

Her house was indeed close, a mere few steps away, but it felt like an eternity as she forced her trembling legs to carry her across the short expanse of lawn that separated them. Her pussy was still flooding with a mix of his cum and her squirt, leaving a trail of wetness behind her. She felt like a slut, used and discarded, but the feeling only served to excite her further. Her mind was racing with thoughts of what her husband would say if he knew, but she pushed them aside. For now, all that mattered was getting back to the safety of her own home.

As she reached her doorstep, she fumbled with the lock, her hands slippery with their combined fluids. The key slipped from her grasp, and she had to bend over to retrieve it, giving him a clear view of her dripping pussy, which was still red from his relentless pounding. She could feel his eyes on her, and the knowledge that he was watching made her even wetter. She managed to get the key in the lock and stumbled inside, her legs giving way beneath her.

Her heart was racing as she collapsed onto the floor, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. She looked down at herself, at the mess that was her body, and couldn't believe what she had just done. But even as the guilt began to set in, she couldn't deny the thrill of it all. The way he had made her feel, the power he had over her, it was like nothing she had ever experienced before.

With shaking hands, she made her way to the shower, the warm water washing away the evidence of her infidelity. She stood there for what felt like hours, her mind racing with thoughts of y/n, his touch, his cock, his dominance. She knew she shouldn't want him, that it was wrong, but she couldn't help the way her body responded to the memory of their encounter. Her pussy clenched around the emptiness, and she found herself reaching down to touch herself, the water mixing with her arousal.

As she cleaned herself off, she felt a strange mix of emotions: guilt, fear, excitement, and desire. She knew she had to keep this a secret, that she couldn't let anyone know about her neighbor's dark gift. But as she stepped out of the shower, the scent of him still lingering on her skin, she couldn't help but wonder if she would ever be able to resist the temptation to feel his cock inside her again, to let him claim her in the most primal way possible. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and she realized with a start that she was already planning their next rendezvous.

The sound of the door opening snapped her out of her reverie, and she rushed to dry off and put on her robe. Her husband's footsteps grew louder as he made his way to the living room, where she was hastily trying to clean up the evidence of her tryst. "Tzuyu, why is the floor wet?" he called out, his voice filled with confusion.

"I'm so sorry," she replied, her voice a mix of embarrassment and arousal as she stepped into the room. "I spilled some water from the garden hose when I was watering the plants." She hoped her lie was convincing enough to cover the reality of the situation.

Her husband looked at her with concern, noticing the flustered state she was in. "Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes scanning her from head to toe.

Tzuyu forced a smile, her heart racing. "Yes, I'm fine," she lied, her voice quivering slightly. She bent down to wipe the floor, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. The wetness she had hoped was just water was unmistakable. It was y/n's cum, mixed with her squirt, a glaring reminder of the passionate encounter she had just experienced. She had to think quickly.

Ready for part 2? Just share ur ideas to me

[loveushijima]

morning schedule | ushijima wakatoshi x reader

where you disrupt ushijima wakatoshi’s morning schedule, but he was okay with that.

fluff !! | reader is gender neutral

Ushijima Wakatoshi had a schedule he followed.

Everyday at exactly 5:30 in the morning, he would wake up, toast two slices of bread to a golden-brown hue for his breakfast, be out of the dormitory building by 6am for his morning run, and be back by 7am, sometimes 7:05 if he felt like taking an extra lap but never after that. He then gets ready for a full day of classes and a full night of volleyball training.

Ushijima Wakatoshi followed his schedule to a T. It became routine and he never found himself straying away from his repeated morning schedule.

That was, until he saw you.

You, with your tired eyes and homemade onigiri in hand, sitting on the bench along the path Ushijima takes for his daily morning run. You, still in your sleepwear and slightly tangled hair — Ushijima wonders, how could anyone come out into public view looking like that?

Ushijima pondered that thought to himself the first morning he saw you sleepily drag yourself to the bench, back facing him and eyes looking upwards toward the sky.

The second morning Ushijima saw you at the bench, he followed your eyes up to the morning sky; that was when he saw something different. Your half-opened eyes turned into ones that gleamed of wonder and delight, a beam formed on your lips and you stare at the sunrise.

Ushijima had never noticed the colours of the sky before. He had never noticed how the sky was a beautiful blend of orange, pink and yellow and how it painted the entire sky above the Shiratorizawa campus. But most importantly, he had never noticed how beautiful you looked — with the colours of the sunrise giving you a soft, orange tint and how if he looked close enough, he could see the sunrise swimming around in your eyes.

Ushijima did not understand why you looked so happy and content by the mere sight of the sunrise. After all, the sun rises everyday, it’s nothing special. Ushijima did not understand the smile that crossed your features as you looked up into the colourful horizon — but how could he blame you when he himself was rendered speechless just by the mere sight of looking at you too?

From that day forward, Ushijima slowed his pace and took his time when he approached your bench. He would, without fail, find you there everyday at 7 in the morning, staring up into the sky with your messy hair and wrinkled sleepwear. Ushijima would often take multiple laps around the area just so he could come running past you at your bench.

Ushijima started to arrive back to his dormitory late after his morning runs. 7:10, 7:20, some days even 7:30.

Ushijima Wakatoshi had a schedule he followed, but he couldn’t care less if that meant he could spend an extra 15 minutes or so running past you looking at you.

He started to notice the small things around him after knowing you. Ushijima noticed how the colours of the sky started to fade into its average periwinkle blue at 7:28am because that’s when you started to leave your bench. Ushijima noticed you in school, taking mental notes of your class and which side of the campus you and your friends frequent to the most. Ushijima noticed how after a month or so of you two seeing each other every morning, you started to smile at him — the same beautiful smile you always wore on your face whenever you stared up into the sky. Ushijima never smiled back, but he had grown a fondness for you even though you two had never spoken to each other once.

But Ushijima knew he was too quiet, too stoic, too introverted. He told himself that the smile you offered him was one out of courtesy, not because you actually see him the way he saw you, every morning.

“Is this going to be an everyday thing or what?”

Ushijima slowed down, head turning to see whether he heard that correctly.

It was his first lap around your bench for that morning and it was exactly 7 in the morning at that very moment.

There you were, in all your glory. You sat criss-crossed on your bench, holding a bento box and with your signature smile plastered on your face.

“Pardon?” Ushijima deadpanned, a surprised glint in his eyes.

You smile even wider, scooting over so that there’d be extra room on the bench. “I see you everyday, here, running past me as the sunset plays in the background. Would you like to join me today?”

Ushijima thought you never noticed him. He thought wrong.

Everyday with no fail, at exactly 7am you would see the captain of the Shiratorizawa volleyball team run by you. At first, you barely noticed him, paying all your attention to the sunrise you wake so early to catch. But after awhile, you take notice of the way things changed. He passes by the bench more. He tries to act like he’s looking past you and at the sunrise everytime he runs by, but he’s not great at acting.

After awhile, you don’t come for the sunrise anymore. You come to the bench every morning just to be with Ushijima Wakatoshi. You come to hear his breathing as he runs by, taking notice of how he starts a slow jog when he approaches your area. You come to be in his presence as you assume he comes to be in yours as well.

A light blush dusts Ushijima’s cheeks as he accepts your invitation and sits down beside you. You offer him an onigiri from your bento box and he replies that he already ate two slices of toast earlier that morning. You raise an eyebrow at his rejection of your onigiri. Ushijima gets the hint and takes the onigiri anyway despite being slightly full from his breakfast at 5:30 that morning.

As he took a bite into his second breakfast that morning and listened to you start to talk about something else, Ushijima Wakatoshi felt okay with not following his schedule anymore if it meant more mornings like this with you.

[nezuswritingdesk]

good mornings with you (sylus x f!reader)

tags: reader is not MC , slightly proofread established relationship, 2nd POV, fluff, soft and domestic sylus , loverboy sylus, he might not be an early bird but he WILL wake up early and make breakfast for you!, possibly ooc sylus (idk this is my first time writing him lol), use of nicknames (sweetie, baby, love, thank you to everyone who suggested nicknames on my other acc fr), HES WEARING NOTHING BUT A PINK APRON (based on this)

wc: 481 words

a/n: the people (polls) have spoken. The first fic i'll be writing here is a sylus fic, because ofc its sylus and that they are correct. I hope you get to enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it. Also thank you to the people here who suggested pet names for sylus they made my day and helped me out.

taglist (feel free to comment if you want to be added!) : @deusfoundry

Sylus wasn’t a morning person.

The daytime disagrees with his lifestyles and choice of work. He sleeps before sunrise, and wakes up when the sun has reached its highest or was setting. He couldn’t care less, the curtains were too thick in his bedroom to notice the changes anyways. 

But here he was.  Making breakfast in your kitchen at six in the morning. 

Never in a billion years would he find himself awake this early, the sun shining down on him with a gentle gaze that softens his sharp features. He hums an off-key tune from a song you made him listen to last night, the pink apron you used was on his body, covering the front and little to nothing at the back except for a nicely done bow. 

He cooks up a few eggs, grabbing some vegetables to add to the omelette before it finishes cooking. He grabs remaining left-overs from last night’s dinner, heating it up once the eggs are cooked.  He continues to hum as the vegetables sizzled with the egg, creating a peaceful and quiet morning. 

An absolute rarity in his life, prior to meeting you. 

He looks up, staring at the window that poured light inside the kitchen space. He smiles, realizing you were there, leaning against the kitchen divider. There was a pleasant and satisfied smile on your face, your hand propped up against the wall. 

“Enjoying the view, sweetie?” He asks, his voice still hoarse and husky from the events of the night before.  You laugh, staring at him from behind, your eyes darting downwards as you let out a satisfied hum. 

“Of course you’re enjoying the view. Come here.” 

You went over to him, closing the distance between you both, your arms wrapping around his waist. He laughs, lowering his lips to kiss your forehead before cupping your cheeks and placing a kiss on your lips.  You closed your eyes and stood up on your toes, trying to reach his lips. Sylus chuckles beneath his breath, seeing your efforts.

“What are you making, love?” You ask, glancing at the frying pan and the plate with an omelette on top. 

“Breakfast.” He replies, heating up the leftovers he saw. You smiled at the pan, hearing the oil sizzle. Your hand wrapped around his hip. 

“ For both of us? This early?” You mused, leaning against his hip as you stared down at the pan, nuzzling your face against the side of his chest,  “This isn’t you, baby.” 

“And waking up this early isn’t like me either,” He laughs, a rich and deep tone escaping his lips like running wine. He kisses the side of your head once more, “But for you? I’d do anything. Even if it means waking up at six in the morning to make you breakfast.” 

“Now be a good sweetheart for me and set the table. The food’s almost done.” 

[aninipanin1]

CUPID'S ARROW HIT

100 Followers Special!

Part 1, Part 2 Coming Soon

Cupid's arrow hit ISAGI YOICHI in a normal and supposed miscellaneous interaction. It was supposed to be another day in Blue Lock, one filled with training and the usual schedule, but unbeknownst to his past self, it will become an unforgettable day. A day where he saw you struggling, the schedule and pressure of being the manager of more than 200 players, all with differing personalities, playstyles, and characteristics, meaning, different approaches, perspective, and techniques. Yet, you were not phased. In fact, you seemed to enjoy it, as evident by the sparkle in your eyes that was vacant of any regrets or tiredness, especially when you interacted with the players, did chores and gave tips to them. It was like you loved the challenge and the fact that you can help him and the others. He confirmed this every time he sees the beautiful and genuine smile on your face when he and anyone else succeeds, a showing of happiness that others are succeeding because of you with no trace of even taking any credit even if you deserved it.

"You seem to enjoy the tons of work given to you, Y/n-chan."

"It isn't that I enjoy work. I enjoy it because I get to help the people whom I love."

"...Thanks. I- No, I meant...we love you too. As long as it continues, making you happy and not stressed.

Timeline: First Selection

Cupid's arrow hit BACHIRA MEGURU the moment you looked at him. It was not love at first sight, far from it. What he meant is when you first looked at him with your real eyes, with the real emotions and experience all embedded in your irises, the eyes without faux overpolitedness and professionalism. Instead, you allowed the eyes of an egoist, a dreamer, and a worker to finally take its place as you stood in front of him in that field as he did a solo practice. Your eyes, your expression, the way you quipped your mouth in thought, it all was like a beautiful story to him, a spectacle that should only be seen by those who would appreciate your hidden and true self. He always believed in the saying: "The eyes are the windows to the soul," and when he saw yours, never did he believe he will ever see a soul as beautiful and exhilirating as yours. It glowed, almost like it reflected the sun itself, full of hidden fire that you sadly cannot see yourself, which never fails to disappoint the blonde. If only you can see your own beauty, there would be many maybes that would be answered and fulfilled.

"So, you believe your ego can be achieved by helping us succeed?"

"Uhuh. I believe that someone like me is more fitting of being the mechanic than the engine."

"I like that! Did anyone ever tell you that you have the prettiest eyes ever, Y/n-chan?"

Timeline: First Selection

Cupid's arrow hit CHIGIRI HYOMA when he got a whole box to himself just for his knee care. It was not that you gave it to him because he did ask for it. However, he did remember the tone and words he used to ask you for one was not the most ideal or polite way to ask for a favour. He knew deep down that he had a not so desirable personality. He was sassy, sarcastic, and blunt to a fault, characteristics that led to a lot of people not really liking him in the past years. But, he was not a monster! He did feel really bad for how he said what he said, probably because he just woke up and did not have his breakfast at that time yet, but he knew it was no excuse. But, to his surprise, you did not seem to be offended. Quite the opposite, you were beaming the moment you gave him the box and excitedly showed him everything that was in the said box. Your patience and kindness made his heart beat up a little faster than usual.

"And then I added a few more cooling packs just in case...and um that's all!"

"You really outdid yourself, huh? Sorry, I was being a little rude when I asked you for this."

"Rude? You were..?"

"Pfft- hahahaha, you're the most clueless person I know when it comes to tones and emotions, Y/n-chan. That's why I think being with you is really calming and pleasant, you know? You rarely stress yourself over something, it's amazing."

Timeline: Second Selection (Still with Kunigami and Reo)

Cupid's arrow hit KUNIGAMI RENSUKE the moment he saw you happily and cutely eating and enjoying your lunch time. It was a rather tame and boring display if you asked any other person. But, in his eyes, it was quite adorably how your cheeks inflated to accommodate the food you kept inserting in your mouth. It showed him a much more vulnerable side to your usual professional and intellectual approach to your work around them and the facility. It also eases his chest up when he sees you rest and have time for yourself, he loves your help and is always thankful for it, but he also knew how important it is to have time for oneself to rest and rethink about everything. Besides, cozy and comfortable you is quite adorable in his eyes, especially when you are all small and swallowed up in your seat, mindlessly eating in a ball, hugging your legs.

"Never change, Y/n-chan."

"Huh? What are you talking about, Kunigami-san?"

"Heh, I meant, to not change your habits. Youre really cute this way, Y/n-chan."

"Hmm...I'll take that as a compliment I guess."

Timeline: First Selection

Cupid's arrow hit BAROU SHOEI the moment you offered to help him clean up the room, his teammates left behind (ahem Nagi and Chigiri ahem). It was not just because he deemed your cleaning skills worthy or impressive (it was one of the reasons, yes), but the main reason was definitely the calm look on your face as you picked up the dirty socks and scattered shoes around the room. Your face screamed the opposite of annoyance, an expression he expected but was proven wrong. Most don't really like the notion of cleaning up others' mess, but your patience and thoughtfulness definitely made him raise an eyebrow. After all, if he was in your position, having to take care of guys your age who could not even care for their own space, he would be ready to throw all their things at their faces. But, he was not you, and he was a little curious about what goes inside your mind for you to act the way you do.

"You're too patient. Let them clean the mess they made."

"It's nothing, Barou-san. Besides, I know you all are tired from training, this is the least I can do."

"Tsk, you're too kind. People are going to use that, you know?"

"Hmm, I'd let them be. Its their loss and conscience when they decide to use my goodwill. I'm the one who'll get the points for staying kind anyway."

"...Whatever." (He was secretly blown away by your answer, though)

Second Selection (4 man team with Isagi, Chigiri and Nagi)

Cupid's arrow hit NIKO IKKI when the barriers of the awkward stage finally let itself down between the two of you, creating moments where you two would talk for hours on end when it came to similar likes and dislikes. The moment you started to talk about his favourite mangas or praise all his favourite ice cream flavours, Niko was convinced you were his soulmate of sort. Cringy, most would say, but to him, it was more than natural, like it was meant to be. And just as he thought that you could not win his heart even more, you had the audacity to comment that you found his messy bangs and eyes adorable when you managed to get a peek of them? The eyes he was insecure about and thought too intense due to him listening and taking in the words from his bully from the past? Those eyes...?

"I have pretty eyes? Me...?"

"Yeah! Why do you sound unsure?"

"Well, because it's really ugl- nevermind...its nothing."

2 week break after the U-20 match

Cupid's arrow hit NAGI SEISHIRO in such a mundane yet intimate moment, a window in time where domesticity felt something akin that of a melancholic nostalgia as he looked at you, watching your cute and miniscule frustration at a simple game that you were currently playing on his switch. The current look of concentration mixed with frustration, a look that he had not seen on your face before, made the organ in his chest agitated. Why? Was it because of the beautiful contrast the lighting of the gadget gave to your face, making you look like a celestial being? Or maybe even the way you trusted him enough to lay your weight on his arm and shoulder as your full attention was on the game? He did not care. He thought it was too much of a hassle to even find the reason. After all, he liked the feeling, so the meaning was pretty much irrelevant, right?

"Nagi-san, how do you do this level?"

"..."

"Nagi-san?"

"...Huh? What did you say?"

2 week break after the U-20 Match

Cupid's arrow hit MIKAGE REO more and more every time he hears or sees your responsible and patient personality shine. Yes, you were indeed beautiful, but so were other girls, but with your mix of kindness, beauty, intelligence, and the ay you carried your responsibilities both professionally and emotionally was the reason why his head will turn your way again and again with no fail. Specifically, your kindness. It was a different type of kindness, one that he had never felt before due to how its roots are just your innocent desire to help everyone around you, with nothing in return. In this dog-eat-dog world, nothing is for free anymore. It is either you pay or return the favour, which was fair, but you, your presence, and gentleness were unconditional which was a breath of fresh air, especially towards someone like him who was used to conditionings.

"Y/n-chan! Let me help you with that!"

"Eh? It's fine Mikage-san-"

"I insist, for once, let me repay your kindness, even if it's unconditional."

Neo Egoist League

Cupid's arrow hit ITOSHI RIN the moment you approached him after the long break of the players from the facility, expressing to him that you found his play in the end of the U-20 match his most mesmerising play compared to his usual elegant ones. That you loved his original playstyle, his original ego, much more beautiful, much more him, like he was free from the clutches of anything in the world. He did not understand it. His brother looked at him in that certain moment like he was a disgusting monster, to which he did not care, but he did believe that. He was ready to play the villain as long as he got to beat his rivals. However, you embraced that monstrosity, that horrific, mangled ego of his just because it was him, compared to his once elegant playstyle that tried to copy his elder brother's ways. And for once, the princess embraced the big, bad, and ugly monster instead of the powerful hero, finding its fangs and horns beautiful.

"Why?"

"Huh?"

"I know its disgusting. You don't have to hide it, I don't care if you find it that. Victory is all that matters to me anyways."

"No. It's not disgusting. To me, it's your statement to the world that you're not Itoshi Sae's little brother, but Itoshi Rin. It's who you are, Rin-san, and whoever finds it hideous or disgusting is boring for wanting someone to just fit in their box of expectations."

Neo-Egoist League.

Cupid's arrow hit ITOSHI SAE in one normal, albeit chilly Thursday evening in Spain. He just got home from his practice as he cosied up on his bed, typing away on his phone, eyes waiting patiently for you to send a reply on each question and input he asked. He had friends before, even as a young kid, although scarce, he was not exactly a loner. However, due to his cold responses and dry knowledge about anything other than football made him a victim of being the odd one out in his friend group most of the time, with all of his so-called 'friends' not putting any effort to include or even try to understand what he says or does, just continuing on with whatever they were saying or doing, making it feel like a secret code where he was the only not included in. To which the redhead did not have any problem with, used to being alone and independent, but to see you actively try to understand his points of view and to even teach him the silliest things you knew just so he would not be lost in whatever conversations you both may have made his cold heart feel somewhat warmer, especially in the middle of the cold night he was currently feeling.

"Are you done explaining what that guy's power is now? You didn't have to type out a whole 500 word essay for me to understand who he is."

"Sorry, Sae-san T_T, but now that you know, I can continue my story!"

"Whatever. Go on."

Neo-Egoist League

Had to cut it in half since there are like 20 plus of them I will write but then my phone started lagging lmao, next part wil be up soon! Thank you again for more than 100 followers!

Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.

[wileys-russo]

before the void sisters, the zoo, ‘fresa’s very committed to this tiger bit… who knows, could be permanent’

part of the fresaverse (wrote this in a bit of a different pov, hope it makes sense!) tigers II a.putellas

"alexiaaa, despertarse! despertarse!"

the brunette sighed tiredly as sunlight suddenly bathed her face from the curtains being tugged open, the sound of footsteps racing around her room causing the footballer to groan and tug the covers up and over her head knowing exactly who they belonged to.

"hermana look the sun is up, you told me i had to wait until the sun was up!" a small weight landed on top of her, hands grabbing at the covers alexia held firmly over her head, chuckling at the frustrated grunts sounding from her sister when she couldn't pull them off.

"despertarse ale its fresa day." the girl huffed, resorting to poking and prodding her repeatedly when she couldn't get the covers off. "the sun is up. usted lo dijo!" fresa scowled when there was still no signs of life from the older girl, having to take a different route.

"do you not love me anymore?" fresa asked quietly, scowl turning into a pout as within milliseconds the covers were thrown off and her sister sat right up, pulling fresa into a tight hug who grinned victoriously, face buried in her shoulder.

"te quiero muchísimo fresita." alexia chuckled, sensing the cheeky smile and hating that so easily could she be manipulated, but not for a second would she ever let fresa think she didn't care, or that she wasn't one of the most important things in her life.

"feliz cumpleaños diablito." alexia smiled, smoothing down the girls wild mane of bed hair with a snicker, little toothy grin shining up at her, the two missing teeth making it even more adorable than usual.

"six years old ah? soon you will be kicked out onto the street!" alexia teased, a laugh of delight leaving her sisters lips as she was tossed over her shoulder, the footballer swinging out of bed and standing to her feet.

"will not!" "will too, you need to get a job!" alexia smirked, carrying fresa out of her room and headed down the hallway, the smell of pancakes leading her to the kitchen where both eli and alba were already awake.

"jobs are for losers." fresa chirped, the latter her new favourite word since she'd learned it at school the other day, and now suddenly everyone and everything was a loser.

"playing football is my job. are you saying i am a loser pequeña?" her eldest sister asked with a sarcastic gasp, grabbing fresa's ankles and hanging her upside down, swinging her around as giggles filled the room.

"alexia." eli warned, trying to hide the smile on her face but knowing if the blood rushed to fresa's head right before breakfast she'd hardly be able to keep anything down, and there was a big day of birthday plans ahead.

"i agree with el bebé, you are a loser." alba snickered, unfazed by the withering side eye sent her way as alexia set fresa down properly, a hand on her shoulder steadying her as the six year old shook her head side to side to try and fight the dizziness.

"you can't call me that anymore. i'm six! not a baby." fresa finally retorted, blinking a few times and shrugging off alexia's hands, practically diving into eli who bent down for a hug, kissing all over her youngest daughters face despite her complaints.

"vamos monstruito, these will not eat themselves." alba set down a large stack of strawberry pancakes at the table, all three putellas women chuckling as fresa sprinted over and climbed up onto a chair, too impatient to even wait for cutlery.

"fresa!" alba winced as the girl grabbed a fistful of pancake and shoved it into her mouth with a content sigh, mumbling with a mouthful that they needed syrup as alba set it down with a roll of her eyes.

"its her birthday hija, let her do what she likes." eli chuckled as alexia sat down at the table, just able to snag an untouched pancake from the stack before her sister bore her teeth at her unimpressed at having to share.

"thats easy for you to say mami, you don't have to deal with her sugar rush at the zoo all day!" alba huffed, that being the main part of the six year olds birthday plans, the following a huge dinner with the whole family.

"don't forget about the other nenas. hopefully their parents gave them eggs for breakfast!" alexia chuckled, holding a hand over fresa's eyes and stealing another half a pancake which was gone by the time fresa could complain about it.

"mami why aren't you coming? they listen to you!" alba complained, three of fresa's classmates and friends accompanying everyone to the zoo today alongside alexias girlfriend jenni who fresa insisted had to come as well.

their tio dannys dog angel was also on the list however it had to be explained to fresa a few times that just because the zoo houses animals didn't mean you could bring in animals of your own.

"i have to cook! and your hermana is very excited to spend the day with you and ale, so be nice to her. ella te ama!" eli warned, pinching her middle daughters cheeks.

"mami do tigers eat pancakes?" fresa asked, her fascination for the orange striped creatures the main reason behind these birthday plans, learning all about them in school had sent them to the forefront of the young putellas's interest.

"no hija, tigers do not eat pancakes. but niñitas do if they want lots of energy for their gran día!" eli warned playfully, sipping on her coffee. "what do tigers eat? i want to be a tiger!" fresa perked up, practically vibrating in her chair with wide eyes.

"raw meat. aquí fresa you give me the pancakes and you can have thes-" alba started to grab out a pack of raw steaks, whining as alexias hand connected with the back of her head with a firm glare.

"mami! can we have raw meat for my special dinner tonight?"

~

"can we see the tigers now?" fresa asked for the tenth time since they'd entered the gates of the zoo, hanging off jenni's back who chuckled as alba dragged her hands down her face with a sigh.

"no fresa. again, the tigers are on the other side. you will see them later hermana!" alexia repeated, jenni quickly taking charge of the conversation to try and keep the topic away from the same questions.

"mira! allí!" fresa wriggled down off jenni's back, taking off toward the galapogas tortoises as her friends sprinted after her, alba racing after them trying to keep everyone together as a group while alexia and jenni hung back.

this seemed to be how most of the day went, fresa and her friends sprinting from animal to animal as the three older girls scrambled not to lose anyone, holding hands and giving piggy back and shoulder rides and rocket ships till their bodies ached.

until alexia had the genius idea to make them a little harder to lose, so then fresa with a tiger balloon she'd begged for tied tightly to her wrist, and matching big cats in the forms of lions and cheetahs all also attached to her friends, the four were much easier to track around the enormous zoo.

then finally, they reached what fresa had been asking for all day, her face pressed up against the glass causing her sisters to wince with disgust at how many germs were on the screen, and jenni to laugh at her obvious enthusiasm.

though it had seemed as if maybe they were dragging their feet to get to the tigers, it had been perfectly timed by alexia so that by the time they arrived it was near feeding time, the group of seven all taking front row seats to the show.

"ale mira! mira! mira!" fresa chanted with pupils blown out with joy, fingers pinching alexia's cheeks whose lap she was stood up on, pointing excitedly as the tigers all demonstrated how high they could jump.

"sí, puedo verlos fresita." alexia chuckled, kissing her sisters cheeks and holding onto her a little tighter as she leaned forward, jenni doing the same with two of fresa's peers who were climbing over her to get the best view.

"vale. who is hungry?" alexia clapped, having allowed them all to stay an extra twenty minutes after feeding, but still with a lot of ground to cover to see everything else before needing to get them all home.

luckily despite her dissapointment with having to leave, fresa having named all of the tigers and been shot down several times now that she could not bring one home as a pet, if there was any way to distract her, it was the promise of food.

"vamos tigrecitos, time to eat." alexia ushered them all out back toward the main path of the zoo, knowing there was a food court just up ahead which they all hurried away from.

"no pequeña it has to be cooked." alexia warned as again fresa requested her patty be raw. "why!" the six year old stomped with a scowl.

"because you will get sick nena." her sister answered a little sterner this time as fresa grunted unhappily, trudging back off toward the table alba had gotten them as jenni chuckled and ordered her a well done cheeseburger.

fully cooked lunches all downed, of course followed by ice creams and yet another sugar rush, the group continued on, at least easier to see now with their ballons still tied securely to them like homing beacons.

"ale! can we get our faces painted? por favor?" alexia felt a tug on her shirt, looking down to be hit with a full force puppy dog face from all four children in front of her, jenni laughing beside her at the group effort.

"sí fresita, go get in line with alba and jenni." alexia nodded, needing to use the bathroom, smiling as the six year old hugged her leg happily and took off.

as alexia returned from the bathroom she diverted into one of the gift shops nearby, hunting around for a perfect gift for fresa, putting a few things into a mental shopping cart as backups for if she couldn't find anything better.

but then, she found it, eagerly hurrying to the front to purchase it and tucking it away in a bag, stashed in her backpack for later tonight for the grand reveal.

returning to the others, alexia was surprised to see fresa was still with a clean face, the six year old perking up at her return and racing over to grab her hand. "what happened to the face paint eh?" alexia pinched her cheek teasingly.

"i let mis amigos go first. thats what being kind is, right?" fresa swung their intertwined hands with a smile that made alexia melt, nodding proudly and running a hand fondly through her mess of hair fresa had refused to let anyone tie back for her, even when alba tried to negotiate lions had manes, not tigers.

"sí hermanita, very kind."

~

it wasn't until later that evening that alexia revealed her hidden gift shop purchase, fresa with a face painted like a tiger and hopped up on a combination of paella, (not raw) steak and far too many sweets, bouncing around on the couch impatiently.

"ojos cerrados." alexia ordered, jenni taking over and covering fresa's eyes with her hands when she wouldn't follow through, their family all scattered around the house but still there was a small audience who watched on as alexia carefully placed her present in fresa's awaiting hands.

"now you can be un auténtico tigre nena." alexia smiled as jenni removed her hand and fresa gasped, the tiger onesie held to her chest as she launched herself off the couch and at her sister in a bear hug.

"go on pequeña, put it on." alexia set her down and shooed her off, fresa detouring to show every single family member she could find her new present, rattling off tiger fact after tiger fact as she did.

a few moments later with a ferocious roar the six year old reappeared, face still painted like a tiger and now clad in the bright orange and black striped oneside, she truly embodied her favourite animal and alexia was overjoyed at the grin on her face.

until maybe fresa took it one step too far, sharply biting alba on the hand causing her sister to take off after her and one of their cousins to hurry off to try and break it up.

jennis arm settling over alexias shoulder with a chuckle alba tackled fresa to the ground outside, eli hurrying off now yelling for them to get off one another.

"fresa's very commited to this tiger bit." jenni mumbled in her girlfriends ear, pressing a kiss to her cheek as alexia snickered, watching her mami carry the scowling six year old inside again by the hood of her onesie.

"who knows...could be permanent."

[hivemuthur]

Okay okay okay,

Viktor x Reader emotional smut/hurt comfort

Viktor spends all night in his lab and he forgets you guys planned a dinner because you had a fight because he missed dinner for working in his lab just a week prior. So you’re all dressed up waiting for him to walk through the door to go to dinner and he just… never shows. You wait as long as you can until you give up and go to bed, leaving your shoes and outfit you were wearing crumpled on the floor. He comes home and he sees the outfit and he’s like ah… shit.

Then it’s angry fight over not feeling like he cares enough, feeling second to his work, not feeling enough for him etc all the insecurities coming out.

And then smut eventually when he comforts reader

Pls 🧎🏽‍♀️

Hi Anon! I have to say, this scene gave me a lot more trouble than I thought it would, but I hope the fight is believable.

Once more, we have been blessed with my smut fairy's benediction (who has already helped me flesh out the scenes in What was that? that are yet to come) - @rennethen has written a beautiful skeleton for a sex scene in this fic, that we edited together AND she also did a thorough research around position that we used here AND recommends for you to put on Start a Fire by Ryan Star. So everyone say thank you! I love writing with you, thank you so much! ♡ Here we go:

Lover, You Should've Come Over

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! angst/comfort/smut

word count: 3,7K

—

His eyelids felt gritty, like there was painful sand beneath them, while the clock announced another passing hour. Viktor sighed and felt that his frown would not loosen on its own, so he pressed a hand to his forehead in an attempt to iron it out. The relief was brief, fleeting, and another sigh followed.

He glanced at the notes scattered across his desk—unfinished sketches and equations scrawled hastily in chalk, bits of which flaked off the blackboard like flour. Blinking a few times, he turned his gaze to the window. Dawn was approaching. For a moment, he considered collapsing onto the tiny, worn-out couch in the corner of the lab, a relic from late nights and lost time shared with Jayce. It had been set up precisely for moments like this, when the concept of time slipped through their fingers.

But the thought of crawling into a warm bed next to you tugged at him, finally winning the battle against exhaustion.

Slowly, he rose, his joints cracking audibly in protest. The sound echoed around the empty lab, a dry reminder of how long he’d been hunched over the desk. He considered tidying up but quickly abandoned the idea, his fatigue winning over perfectionism. Instead, he stacked the notes into a precarious tower on his desk and shoved a handful of loose papers into his bag haphazardly.

He was used to this feeling— an odd drunkenness of the body that didn’t see a drop of alcohol, fuel running out after more than twenty hours without sleep. His limbs felt stiff, his muscles sluggish and uncooperative, resulting in a wobbly trot and a certain alienation from one’s own hands. Dry throat, dry eyes, sensation of faint nausea lingering somewhere below his larynx, everything easily meltable in a cup of tea and the embrace of a properly soft mattress.

In some strange way, this was his favourite part of the day. The academy was silent, the streets of Piltover almost deserted, save for a few early risers starting their work at dawn. He stopped by the bakery to pick up fresh bread and pastries for breakfast, savouring the slow, solitary stroll home. Soon enough, he would wrap himself around you, breathing in the comforting scent of your hair as he drifted into a few blissful hours of sleep.

Quietly, he slipped his key into the lock and turned it, careful not to make a sound. He hesitated before setting the keys in the bowl by the door, opting instead to hold onto them to avoid clatter.

He stepped further into the apartment, orange morning sun already breaching the curtains, as motes of dust danced around, suspended in the still air. The scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the lingering warmth. He slipped off his shoes, careful not to make noise, and padded towards the bedroom with a soft groan.

It was then he saw them—your clothes and shoes discarded on the floor, right in the hallway. The sight made him pause. The shoes were still upright, as if you’d stepped out of them, resigned. The dress, crumpled, was draped across the chair near the door. Slowly, his tired mind pulled the pieces from the deep well of memory.

Dinner. He’d forgotten. Zatraceně.

His face crunched itself painfully at the thought of what awaited him. Fully deserved, yet, far away from pleasant. He swallowed it down and pushed the bedroom door open with a soft creak.

“Lásko,” he murmured, his voice low and hesitant, guilt clinging to the edges of the pet name. “Are you asleep?”

A long, unhappy sigh came from the bed. “No.” Silence, for a moment. “Now that I know you’re alive—” you croaked quietly, your voice muffled by the pillow. “Where have you been?”

If it hadn’t been clear until then, the sound of your voice betrayed just how much crying you had done in the last few hours. It was raw and hoarse, thick with exhaustion, a sniffle caught at the back of your throat.

“I—” Viktor started, faltering before quickly trying to correct himself. “I forgot. I am so, so sorry.”

Nothing, just a stare, as you lifted yourself up from the pillows and crossed your arms on your chest. Eyebrows pinched together in a fake pity.

“Work. I swear, it completely slipped my mind, and I am so, so sorry,” Viktor pleaded, making a few wobbly steps toward the bed, only to stop at your scoff.

“That’s… good to know. Well, if you ever decide I am worthy of your time, you know where to find me,” you retorted and slumped back into the pillow, stubborn tears already pushing themselves past your eyelids.

“Please don’t be like that, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Few more steps, unsure, as Viktor leaned heavily on his cane. His voice exasperated, as he had absolutely no energy to fight now. He would do anything for forgiveness and a place in bed, his muscles screaming for rest.

“Viktor I frankly don’t care what you’ve meant or didn’t mean to do, it is what it is,” you said sharply, narrowing the space for discussion. “For someone who fights so fiercely to not be forgotten, you sure forget about others easily.”

“Was that necessary?” A hot feeling washed over him, not yet anger, but irritation that glued his feet to the floor and made him adjust his stance. “Do you really want to fight at 4 a.am.?”

“Yes, that is my deepest desire to have a fight with you at dawn. What do you think? Is it my fault that we are having this conversation?” You rose again, facing him from the stronghold of your shared bed, Viktor dangerously close to losing his residence rights.

“No, it’s my fault, as you’ve made it very clear. And I am sorry, and it will never happen again. I don’t know what else I can say, really.” Seeing your deadly glare, he added, “And I don’t forget you. I just forgot about dinner. I’m sorry.” The last apology weaker than the others, as he run out of options.

“I somehow fail to see the difference between forgetting me and forgetting dinner—twice— as the result of both is identical,” you huffed dangerously, kicking the duvet off yourself. Anger surging through you, mixing with disbelief at his complete lack of willingness to own his sins.

“Lásko, please. I am so infinitely tired, please let’s not do this now,” Viktor pleaded again, his voice straining, the undercurrent of upset making your skin crawl. He spread his hands apart, making another step toward the bed to find himself stood at the edge of it. And it was too close.

You swung your legs over the mattress, tears of anger burning your cheeks. “As you wish. Bed’s all yours.” Another spit and you stood up, ready to run away and press yourself into the couch to muffle your sobs, when Viktor’s hand stopped you.

“Please don’t go. Please. This is the last thing I want.” This time his voice more sincere. Sadness in his eyes. A real lingering guilt. But if you were to give in, nothing would change.

“No, Viktor. Should’ve thought about this before you decided to marry yourself to work.”

“And what do you mean by this?” he asked in a confused tone, his hand leaving your arm. 

“I mean… I don’t know what I mean, I’m tired. And what I also mean, maybe you should reconsider if there is truly a space for someone else in your life. Or maybe you need someone more memorable, I really don’t know,” you mumbled, all your insecurities gnawing at you simultaneously. All the times when Viktor forgot about something you had asked for, all the times he was late or didn’t show up at all, all the times when you had to ignore young assistants giggling around him, when you would finally decide to pick him up from work.

“Please, you cannot be serious right now.” Viktor felt his ribs clenching around his heart, a very unpleasant kind of tightness settling in his chest. Or maybe just his heart swelled up in his chest, pumped with anger and disbelief. Either way, it ached. “How dare you throw such an accusation at me.”

“How dare I? Have you, I don’t know, tried to take a walk in my shoes? You can take a stroll, they are in the corridor, ready for the dinner.” This very finite, very spiteful remark made you momentarily proud of yourself, until you saw the shift in Viktor’s eyes.

“I haven’t. I didn’t think I should. Because I trust you, when you say you love me, and I was hoping you trusted me as well, despite the slip ups,” he said quietly, his gaze low. “You knew who I was before we stepped into this, I’ve told you that I am not good at this kind of maintenance.”

“Maintenance?” You were fuming. Absolutely, completely furious. Courtship and basic human decency to not leave someone hanging for hours reduced to such a soulless, technical term. “You cannot wipe your face with the excuse of being broken every time you fuck something up, Viktor.”

And that was it. It was enough. Enough to rip through Viktor’s chest with a cold blade. He took a sharp inhale, but before anything could fall out from his mouth you realised what you had just said. Stumbling over your own words, you retreated quickly, “Viktor, I’m so sorry, I—”

“No. No,” he whispered, his tone icy as he shrugged your hand off his arm. “It is you who doesn’t get the right to wipe your face with something I have bared in front of you in trust.” And you saw his eyes welling up and you felt your own heart swelling in fear. Your hand shot back where it was rejected, again, and Viktor pushed it off, again.

“Please, Viktor, I didn’t mean to say it.”

“Yes, you did. And what is worse—I haven’t ignored you on purpose. I forgot. Which is in its definition an unintentional act. Whereas, you have gone for the kill. Intentionally.” His tone measured, calculated, walls raising up as he turned his face away from you.

You stood there, struck. Looking blankly into space, regretting not taking Viktor up on that ‘let’s not fight now’ option from a few moments ago. After a few very loud, very echoey breaths your resolve finally broke and a long suppressed sob pushed itself out of you with full force. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, falling back into the mattress. “I just… miss you—” An undignified hick escaped you. “I miss you so much Viktor, I really didn’t mean to say it, I’m so sorry…” After that, an incomprehensive wave of words mixed with gasps and cries followed.

Viktor stood there for a minute, chewing at the inside of his cheek, clearly still wounded, he just didn’t know what wounded him more. The fact that his love called him broken in a spiteful retort, or the fact that she was now crying at the crack of dawn, because of him.

Tentatively, he shifted closer to you, a featherlight touch of his hands to your shoulder startling you. You felt the mattress dip next to you and your head being pulled to his chest, which made you fall apart completely.

Viktor hugged you tightly, your tears dampening his jumper, his own throat working very hard to suppress emotion bubbling to the surface. “Please forgive me,” he whispered softly between soothing sounds he was humming to you. “Please, I can’t bear it.”

“I don’t work myself to the bone, lose sleep, lose time, because I want to be far from you. I am doing this for something greater, for a chance to fix what I can. To… to matter. And I… miss you as well,” he said calmly, holding you close to his chest.

“Do you?” you quipped sheepishly, trying to muster whatever composure was left within you. Cradled in Viktor’s arms, you found yourself at a loss of other words. The argument suddenly dissolved into something softer as you began tracing your fingers idly along the beauty marks on his neck.

Viktor nodded a few times too many and placed his hand on your neck. “I will be more mindful,” he said simply. “And you can visit me at work more often and pull me out of there by the ear. How does that sound?”

It was your turn to nod, spreading dampness across your face. You swung your legs over his lap and nuzzled your face into his hair. Viktor shifted slightly, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek.

“Will you let me make it all up to you?” he asked softly, his voice low and reverent. His thumb lingered on your skin, tracing the faintest curve of your cheekbone.

You swallowed, your skin getting warmer under a blush. “Well, what do you have in mind?” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Something you might like,” Viktor replied, leaning closer, his forehead resting against yours. “Let me show you how much I’ve missed you.”

You didn’t respond right away, your breath catching as his fingers grazed your jaw, sliding down to cradle your chin. His touch was featherlight, almost hesitant, but his gaze never wavered, holding you captive.

“Okay,” you breathed, the word escaping before you could stop it.

His lips quivered into the faintest smile—playful, yet soft. He shifted again, his hands trailing down your arms until he caught your hands in his, threading his fingers through yours. He brought them to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, slow and deliberate.

“Děkuji,” he murmured, the gratitude in his voice making your heart ache.

His movements were careful as he guided you to lay down and took a moment to unclip his leg brace. He then scrambled up beside you, your knees touching, each move soft and lazy, giving away how tired his body was after another sleepless night. You let him pull you closer, his arms wrapping securely around you, his touch steady and grounding.

You took a long, audible inhale, as your fingertips traced the lines of his face. The faint circles beneath his eyes, the curve of his jaw, the slight harshness of stubble that rasped under your touch. Viktor closed his eyes briefly, a soft sigh escaping him as if your touch alone was enough to undo him.

“You’re so tired,” you said softly, your thumb brushing over the shadow on his cheek.

“We can take this slow,” he murmured, his lips quivering into a smile. His hand found your waist, his touch firm yet gentle. “I like taking my time with you.”

He dipped his head, his lips grazing the side of your neck. The warmth of his breath sent a shiver down your spine as he whispered, “I am really sorry, lásko. I hope you believe me.”

Your breath hitched as his words bounced off your skin. “I do. And I am sorry too,” you whispered back, trying to will the blush away from your cheeks.

He gave you a tentative kiss, barely a press of his lips to yours. For a moment, lips were just touching, mouths slightly open as you both breathed each other in. He smelled of ink and chalk, a powdery scent lingering in your nose. His hands pressed firmer on your sides as he pulled you closer, your stomachs pressed together. 

One of his legs snaked in between yours and he pressed his knee to your core, warmth already pooling in your lower belly. Your kissing deepened, tongues got involved and you could feel your teeth clacking against each other. Noses pressed together, as your hands travelled under the layers of his clothing to ghost over his stomach and his hips bucked into yours, making you gasp. 

“Tickles,” he chuckled into your mouth, his breath growing heavier and quiet moans escaped him with each kiss. You let your hands wander, finding an easy rhythm as you glided your touch onto his hips and thighs.

Feeling him grow harder beneath you, you palmed his length through the trousers and ground your hand on it. Viktor gasped at the sudden attention to his cock, the fabric adding a delicious friction to the movement.

He reciprocated easily with the knee between your legs. Lazily, he moved it back and forth, testing the pressure to see where it made you squirm. One of his hands traversed the plane of your back downwards to your ass to fondle it gently, his fingers dancing on it, tracing words before allowing himself a leisurely squeeze.

Your kissing grew hungrier and you added some pressure to your hand to finally grip his now fully hard cock through the cloth. Viktor’s body wordlessly asked for more, bucking needily into your touch, his brows pinched together, his panting breaths fanning your face.

He retreated his knee from between yours and before you could whine, his cock and your cunt met in a long, sloppy drag of your bodies against each other. He ground himself against you with a desperate want, as if his brain suddenly remembered what was missing when spent long hours at work.

The material of his pants became unbearably tight against the almost nonexistent layer of your knickers. His hand abandoned your ass in favour of snaking under your soft, frilly nightdress to cup your bare breast, while the other cradled your cheek. He tilted your head to nip at your neck and you whined at the sudden attention to all the sensitive spots on your body—his hand groping your chest, thumb brushing against your nipple, his cock against you, the feeling of his teeth on your neck, followed by soothing kisses, love marks already blooming on your skin.

“You are doing so well, lásko,” he murmured into your neck, the honeyed sound melting something inside you. “You have no idea how you make me feel.” A low whisper followed by the feeling of his hands shifting you onto your stomach, as he pulled himself up to sit. He grabbed a pillow to stabilize his knee and pulled your skirts up to your shoulder blades.

He took a moment to take in the view, tracing your skin with his fingertips, to finally press his face to your ass cheek, his lips leaving a trail of kisses up your spine, his hands gently beckoning your hips up. He guided your left knee to bend, mirroring his own, when he caged himself on top of you, his chest splayed flat against your back. 

His left arm cradled around your chest, palm cupping your cheek as you intertwined your fingers with his. You could feel his length ghosting between your legs, but even the sharp press of your hips against him wasn’t enough. “Viktor, please,” you let out an undignified huff and Viktor chuckled into the nape of your neck, snaking his free hand between your front and the mattress.

He cupped your cunt, material sticky against his fingers and you could feel his mouth blooming into a smug smile as he teased, “Missed me so much, have you?”

His clothed cock poked at the wet membrane of your knickers as his fingers began their precise work on your clit, the friction of the fabric becoming unbearable and you couldn’t help another mewl, “Viktor, please, I can’t—”

You got cut off by your own sob, when Viktor murmured into your ear, “Oh, but I like you so much like this.” He placed an infuriatingly sloppy kiss on your pulse point, your hips bucking against your will. You didn’t know which was worse, the teasing or the absence of his fingers, because the whine that escaped you when he retreated his hand made your breath catch in your throat.

He freed his cock from the confinement of the fly, not bothering with the rest. Then, he slid the gusset of your underwear to the side and dragged his fingers along your seam, coating them with your slick, before inserting one inside. Gently adding another, he hummed appreciatively, your clit mercilessly teased with his thumb.

When you were ready, he wrapped himself back around you, took his cock to wet it at your entrance and sunk into you slowly, drawing a long, breathy moan from your lips. Once fully sheathed, he pulled his hips back to give you a snappy thrust, before finding a rhythm. His free hand wandered back to your clit, his attention unwavering, as he worked you in small, steady circles.

Your breathing grew heavier, and Viktor slid the fingers of his other hand from your cheek into your mouth, teasing your tongue. Completely trapped underneath him, you were at the mercy of his hips and his fingers, as he murmured sweet nothings into your ear.

Sinking deeper and deeper into you he hit a spot that drew a wail from the bottom of your throat, your hips bucked in the tight space between him and the bed, his fingers unwavering between your legs and you could feel yourself tightening, your core tied into a knot close to a release.

His movements grew more sloppy and needy, his mouth close to your ear, murmuring, “You are doing so well, I love you so much,” in a hushed tone between kisses pressed to your temple and the back of your neck. With your walls tightening around him, he came with a loud groan, flexing on top of you, bringing you with him with a couple precise flicks of his fingers. You came as he was spilling inside you, the feeling of damp warmth spreading around your underbelly.

He drew a couple of hot breaths, still splayed on your back, before rolling to the side and dragging you close with your back to his chest. He combed your hair away from your neck and placed a lingering kiss on the spot where it met your shoulders.

You took his hand into yours and brought it to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckles. He chuckled warmly and asked, “Am I forgiven?”

“The judge and the jury agree the atonement was sufficient,” you teased, though your voice was barely there. You shifted around to face him and nuzzled your face into his neck. “I now would like to prove a theory that this would be equally enjoyable if provided upon a shorter hiatus.”

“Oh you know me,” he murmured into your hair. “I would do anything for science.”

[madhattervanessa]

Care

Summary: A bad day.

Warnings: uhm, depression naps, loss and regaining of appetite, excessive sleeping, Simon lets himself in, fluff

Words: 1169

A/N: This is very self-indulgent but I felt like posting it anyways. Sending love to anyone who can relate.

Requests are open as always.

Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

-

You let your water glass clink against the sink and move back towards the sofa. The morning sun is barely peeking through the curtains but you feel tired.

The walking pad you had gotten remains unused as you lie down.

Everything hurts. There are days like this, where it just does and a bone-deep tiredness just blinds you, pulling you to sleep, even though you had already slept for 10 hours.

It’s no use trying to resist.

So you sleep, again, curled up on the couch under your blanket.

It’s already enough that you don’t go to work but when Simon texts you, asking where you are, it makes you hide underneath the blanket even more.

You don’t want to bother anyone with your sudden, overwhelming sadness, is what you text back. You really don’t.

Another text.

You ignore it.

When you wake up again, it’s well into the afternoon, almost approaching evening.

At least you feel comfortable now, still tired and sad, but comfortable.

The creak of your front door makes you freeze, going completely stiff, as the door falls back into its lock.

The heavy footsteps are familiar and you tug your blanket away from your face just in time to see Simon appearing in the kitchen.

He doesn’t say anything, just stands in the door frame for a moment.

He approaches with care. It's like you can feel his heavy gaze on you as he rounds the couch and comes to another halt right in front of you.

And then he produces a paper bag and puts down a steaming paper cup (a little cardboard sleeve already wrapped around it), right in your eye sight, on the coffee table.

You furrow your brows and already feel tears gathering in your eyes. So you ruck the blankets a little higher. The dull sound of your water bottle hitting the wood of the table follows.

He puts the paper bag down, too.

Then, he just turns on his heel and leaves again, locking the door behind himself.

You fall into an uneasy slumber after that, but manage to take a few sips of the drink he had brought you, before hiding underneath the blanket again.

The next time the door opens, he locks it behind him.

The warm, savoury smell of food wafts through the air but this time, Simon’s footsteps are so quiet, you wouldn’t know he was inside if you hadn’t heard the lock turn, moving through your kitchen like a ghost.

You sigh and push your nose deeper into the cushions.

You jump when you feel Simon sitting down on the couch, already having nodded off again.

He wordlessly checks how full the water bottle and the paper cup are, before gently pushing them to your side and setting down the crinkly, white plastic bag in his hand. It clinks metallically as it hits the table and your eyes automatically follow the movement of his hands.

He unpacks a plethora of black boxes, some of them steaming, some seeming cold.

You recognize the packaging immediately- your favorite sushi place.

You can feel your mouth salivate a little, a sudden ache pulsing behind your eyes that reminds you that you had barely had breakfast before you had slept for another eternity.

He puts down two beers and one of those yuzu lemonades you like to get sometimes, before he eventually leans back. He glances at you before demonstratively patting the cushions, obviously searching for the remote.

You huff and carefully extend an arm out of your cocoon to reach for it. 

He hums when you give it to him.

When he opens his beer with one hand, you instantly realize that you desperately need to go pee.

Simon’s gaze follows you, as you get up and quickly retreat to the bathroom.

As soon as you are back, you stop in your tracks.

Simon has spread out all of the food on the table, containers opened.

Additionally, he has put a blanket on himself, his legs spread invitingly.

You chew on your lip and hesitate for a moment.

He wordlessly flips the blanket open and meets your eyes.

You keep chewing on your lip but you are cold and you know Simon is a walking heater. 

So you cave and crawl into the offered space.

Simon manhandles you until you are comfortably sitting back against his chest.

He is quick to positively swaddle you in the blanket, making sure to fold the edges down underneath your feet. On screen, a trashy dating show is already on, running on low volume.

He grabs one of the boxes and wordlessly deposits it on your lap. You quickly notice a second pair of chopsticks lie in the box as he starts to eat.

It takes him getting through just one of the takeout boxes for you to grab hold of the chopsticks and start getting into a few of the side dishes, before you eventually start picking out your favorites from the other boxes. Behind the armrest of the couch, Simon carefully collects them in another bag as soon as you are both done with them.

As the show goes on, you eventually come back to doing your little quips, commenting on who you think is a toxic asshole and how the women deserve better. Simon grunts his approval or murmurs something about those bloody idiots, while steadily making you eat up the rest of the food.

With your belly full and your mind busy with the trashy tv show, you don’t even notice the time passing. Simon keeps you warm, his hands constantly rubbing over your skin, petting at your waist, wrapping his arm over you, rubbing his cheek against your temple.

When the last episode finally wraps up, Simon turns you in his arms until you can nuzzle into his neck.

He lets his hand stroke over your back as you try your best not to let the weight of the day get to you again, the aching emptiness.

He just holds you, silently. Providing you with the steady up and down of his breathing and the blissful absence of any questions.

Eventually, his hand wanders up to gently wrap around the nape of your neck, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb in slow circles over your scalp.

“D’you want me to stay over?”

You don’t answer.

You do, you desperately do, but this already feels like you have required too much of him. All of your thoughts are circling around being a burden, not even being able to open your fucking mouth-

“Tell you what”, he mutters, “‘m gonna watch a few episodes of a show I wanna see. Finish my beer. You just stay there and keep me warm and comfortable, yeah?”

You make a non-committal sound.

He switches on some sort of moody, crime focused show and keeps petting you. His thumb strays from your hair to your pulse every now and then, gently stroking over it, until your eyes eventually fall shut and you drift off.

-

[channiesbakery]

lazy weekend —

prompt / request — slow morning routine with jeonghan

pairing — reader + boyfriend!jeonghan

word count — 589

genre — fluff

author’s note — i miss jeonghan 💔

lazy weekends with your boyfriend were your favorite types of weekends. ones where you have nothing planned so you can sleep in, waking up from the sun shining through your windows and not from an alarm blaring at you.

and if it’s not the sun waking you up, it’s your boyfriend’s lips, peppering kisses all over your face until you wake up.

“i thought we agreed to sleep in this weekend?” you mumble sleepily to him. “we did. it’s almost 11, sweetheart,” jeonghan whispers against your cheek. “besides, i’m bored,” he adds, making you huff. “so you wake me up because you’re bored?” you ask and he just grins.

“well, i was just giving you some sweet kisses, you woke up on your own. but since you’re up… let’s get our day started,” he says, pulling you out of bed.

your day fully starts in the kitchen, both of you working together to prep your breakfast. jeonghan mixes the pancake batter while you cut up fruit.

when you glance over, you see him meticulously shaping each pancake.

“you’re so extra, you know that?” you tease, watching as he made bunny shaped pancakes. “only the best for you sweetheart,” he grins.

you eat in a comfortable silence, only occasionally giggling at a stupid joke jeonghan makes or nudging his side playfully.

jeonghan takes care of cleaning up and washing the dishes, sending you to the living room to get your activity for the day set up: a new lego set for your growing collection.

you hear him connecting his phone to the speakers, a soft song playing before he joins you on the living room floor.

“i can’t believe you bought three lego sets at once,” you sigh at him as you sort the pieces from the first baggie.

“well I couldn’t decide which flower set i liked most! besides, now i get to give you flowers that last forever,” jeonghan smiles, pressing a kiss to your temple.

you begin building, each of you building small pieces then connecting them. when you got to steps where you couldn’t work ahead, you’d settle for handing him the pieces he needed.

but as relaxing as this was, doing anything with jeonghan always had its chaotic moments.

“we’re missing a piece– oh god, how did we lose one–” “hannie–” “we can’t continue without it–” “jeonghan!”

you finally cut off his panicked rambling with a kiss to his lips. “sweetheart, we’re missing a piece–” “you were sitting on it,” you tell him, holding up the tiny green piece.

this happens at least 3 more times before you finally finish building.

before you bring the finished orchid bouquet to add to the shelf filled with all his other lego builds, jeonghan makes you pose with the flowers.

“do we really need to do this every time we build something?” you ask but hold the flowers, smiling as his snaps the photo.

“of course. i need a new lockscreen. besides, i like to document my favorite memories with my favorite girl,” he grins before taking the legos from you, setting it on the shelf.

“i think you need to be put on a buying ban for now. we’re out of space,” you say, looking over all his other legos.

“aw, but i just saw that they came out with the home alone lego set!” he exclaims. “hannie, where on earth would we even put that?” you give him a look.

“looks like we’ll just have to convert the guest room into a lego museum.”