#what do you guys do with all that confidence??

[thehoneybeestings]

Service Top!Sevika at Babette's 

Word Count: approx. 640

Synopsis: There's a reason the girls at Babette's fight over who gets Sevika for the night when she comes in, and you're about to find out why

Content/Warnings: nsfw, porn w no/little plot, brothel worker!reader x service top!sev, bottom!reader, oral (sev & r receiving) strap (r receiving), pillow humping, reader has female anatomy, reader referred to as girl, doll, like 75% of afabs can't cum from penetration alone so this is for us

A/N: OKAY okay since everyone is asking (no one asked girl), i guess i'll give you guys some service top!vika x brothel worker!reader while we wait for the kassandra poll results. since everyyyone is asking. service top!sevika holy fuck save me. enjoy !

Love, Bee ୨ৎ

୨ৎ Service Top!Sevika who frequents the brothel to blow off steam in a way that has the girls fighting over who gets her for the night

୨ৎ You've only been working at Babette's for a month now, so you're not really sure what the hype is all about…

୨ৎ Until, she comes in one evening and everyone else is already with a client, leaving you to take care of her

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

୨ৎ Service Top!Sevika who walks into your room through the beaded curtain that's twinkling like the grey eyes traveling up and down your figure

୨ৎ “You new?” She asks, unbuttoning her cloak to reveal a beautiful arm of bronze

୨ৎ Beautiful, but intimidating; this is made clear by the wide eyes you sport when responding with a hesitant, “Y-yes…”

୨ৎ She takes note of your weariness and makes quick work of easing your worries 

୨ৎ “Not gonna hurt ya;” she states, throwing her cloak over the wingback chair next to the door, “not what i’m here for.” 

୨ৎ “What are you here for then?” You respond; this time, more confidently 

୨ৎ She strolls over to the bar cart, and you don't miss the smirk that appears on her face before her back is to you as she pours herself a glass of whiskey

୨ৎ “That depends on you.”

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

୨ৎ Service Top!Sevika who’s got you baffled, because it’s been a long time since someone asked you what you liked

୨ৎ She's got you sprawled out on the velvet couch, her head between your legs, only coming up for air to ask if you if “You want it faster?” “You want another one of my fingers?” “You're gonna cum for me, aren't you doll?”

୨ৎ No fucking shit you're gonna cum; this is the best head you've ever gotten

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

୨ৎ Service Top!Sevika who's got you on your knees in front of her, wetting her strap so it's nice and ready for you

୨ৎ You're quick to coax every inch into your mouth, eyes watering as you try your best to breathe through the jabs to the back of your throat 

୨ৎ But then, she's cupping your jaw with her flesh hand, pulling you off of its length

୨ৎ “Slow down, doll,” she soothes, “you're gonna hurt yourself.”

୨ৎ You'd sputter out an apology, explaining that you were only doing what your other clients liked

୨ৎ “Don't care what they like. Take your time; just need my strap wet enough to make you feel good.” 

୨ৎ Of course, you show your immense appreciation for her consideration by giving her head so good she swears she can feel it through the strap

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

୨ৎ Service Top!Sevika whose got you babbling on her cock, completely drunk off of how good she's fucking you

୨ৎ She's got you in a prone bone, (because she asked what your favorite position to take strap in was) leaning down to tell you how good you're doing, how well you're taking her

୨ৎ “Can you cum like this?” She suddenly asks, slowing down 

୨ৎ “Not usually,” you pant, “need something on my clit.”

୨ৎ “Good. Want my mouth on you anyway.”

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

୨ৎ Service Top!Sevika who’s coaxing another orgasm from you, fingers massaging your walls, tongue drawing figure eights on your clit

୨ৎ Her arms are wrapped around your thighs, holding them down as you twitch and thrash with your release 

୨ৎ Only once you've ridden it out until you're reaching down to push her away does she crawl up to fall beside you on the pile of blankets, furs, and pillows 

୨ৎ Her breath is labored, eyebrows knit together, and her own thighs are twitching now 

୨ৎ “Your turn?” You ask breathlessly

୨ৎ She reaches down to grab a pillow before dropping it beside your head; and only upon seeing the dark patch on the pillow case do you realize that she'd gotten off grinding into it as she ate you out

୨ৎ “Already went. You wanna go again?”

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

୨ৎ Service Top!Sevika who is-naturally- your favorite client; and luckily for you, you're her favorite girl

End ୨ৎ

[vrystalius]

hiii there, i was wondering if we please get some more recruiter/salesman cutesy stuff?? you’re such a good writer (love your work) and we do NOT have enough fics of him being an enamoured wife guy on this app. thank you <3 😔

Secret Love Notes.

You keep slipping small love notes into all his pockets and suitcases to remind him that his wife loves him no matter what.

Pairing: Recruiter/Gong Yoo x wife!reader

Summary: You leave small love notes all over for him to find and he cherishes every single one of them.

Words: 0.7k, short and sweet!

Genre: fluff <33

Your husband never admits it out loud to you, but he notices how you slip little love notes into his pocket when folding up the laundry or when packing him a bento box. They have cute little encouragements and affirmations written on them along with some doodles of you two together, holding hands, kissing and whatnot.

You think you’re being sneaky by crouching a little when approaching his coat hung up by the entrance, stuffing a small folded note into his chest pocket.

Whenever he is about to go out the door, you hand him his leather suitcase and a colourful bento box you packed for him. Once you found out Gong Yo only plain loaves of bread or sometimes even nothing at all, you always insisted on packing some food for him so your poor husband can eat something home cooked every day.

Even if the box doesn’t match his aesthetics, he savours every bite and would never shy away from letting out a loud hum of content.

Gong Yoo sat comfortably on a wooden bench by the metro station, well aware of the two mobsters following him the whole day, but who cares?

He leisurely opened up the bento box. His face brightened up at the sight of another small love letter presented to him.

“Keep it up! You’re going great ♡ Your wife loves you ~ ☆ “

Accompanied by your sweet words was a chibi doodle of you doing a heart with your index finger and thumb and him as a chibi too, holding a pair of chopsticks and giving you a wink. He chuckled quietly to himself and folded the note to keep it in his pocket by his heart.

Once, after successfully recruiting a new player, Gong Yoo handed the confused and wounded man your love note with a confident smirk. That man was lucky to have escaped the games but was kind of confused on why a handsome looking salesman gave him a love letter that reminded him to “stay hydrated!! ☆ (drinking coffee doesn’t count >:( )”

He tries to leave behind as many love notes as you lovingly prepare for him, but his doodles were kind of wonky and presented you in a rather disturbing light.

Sticking to his trusty craft of origami your husband instead began leaving small paper roses for you to find as a way to leave his own love messages.

A paper rose in the fridge, in the pocket of your jacket, in your bag and on your pillow; they change colours based on the day too. Blue and red are the most frequent and popular ones though for some reason. Probably because those are the only kinds of coloured paper he owns.

After every day you leave letters behind for him, Gong Yoo always tries to come home on time to properly thank you for them. Pampering you is his favourite activity, meaning you get banned from the kitchen and forcibly made comfortable on your bed or couch with cushions and blankets to keep you warm and cozy.

To return the favour of you preparing bento for him, he’ll cook you a fine dinner that could rival that of high-end restaurants. Afterwards, he’ll make himself comfortable right next to you to plant well deserved kisses all over your face and body and let his hand travel over your body freely, tracing invisible patterns.

A man like him should not be holding a woman like you, that’s what he’s always thinking. You are way too good for him, too gentle, kind, loving, too much of everything good.

“I love you. More than letters or silly paper roses can convey. Allow me to demonstrate just how much I love my wife, hmm?”

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading!

The amount of smut and non-con about this man is INSANE, I just need to live my silly life as a wife with him where we snuggle on the couch like a boring cuddle every night and then go to sleep while he read a book and I knit like grandparents 🫶😭 Anyways, hope you enjoyed it anon!!

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <33

[give-grian-rights]

EVERY STRESSMONSTER101

VIDEO ARCHIVED

This is currently unfinished!!!

If something doesn't have a link, we are doing EVERYTHING WE CAN to get it out there. Everything is documented of hers, even if it's in low quality.

It just seemed important to get what we had out there so people didn't have to worry as much.

Thank you for your understanding. Please consider clicking the og post if this is a reblog to see our progress.

Hermitcraft:

Hermitcraft 5 @justahuman8 & Me

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Streams

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All YouTube Shorts @exnoh

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Special thanks to @mawofthemagnetar for being our safety net, with over 58 Gigabytes of low quality emergency downloads of nearly every video she ever made! There were a few instances where our archival fell through, and we would NOT be as thoroughly documented if not for them!!!

It is thanks to the hard work of @mawofthemagnetar that i feel confident in telling you all that every video of hers on her main channel have been archived. It's just a matter of posting it.

Thanks for your patience!

[elryuse]

My Toxic Exes

Genre : Smut

Idol : Yeji, Giselle & Julie

Tags : Ex Gf Yeji, Giselle & Julie, Dirty Talking, Secret Sex, Cheating, Lots of Kissing, Sweaty Sex,

Word : 8,838 Word

Love isn’t supposed to hurt like this.

That’s what you tell yourself as you stare at the ceiling, your body sinking into the mattress, numb. Your room is dark except for the faint glow of your phone screen, the only source of light illuminating the night.

Her last message still lingers on the screen.

"You’re overthinking."

You squeeze your eyes shut, but it doesn’t help. The images are still there. Her texts to someone else. The photo of them together. The way she denied it so easily, as if your feelings meant nothing.

Yeji.

The first girl you ever truly loved. The first girl who shattered you.

The first time you see her, she’s standing on a stage, dressed in a sharp black blazer and a white button-up shirt, her long, sleek hair tucked neatly behind her ears. She’s in the middle of a debate, her voice unwavering, her gaze sharp.

She’s stunning—not just in appearance, but in presence. She owns the room without even trying, commanding respect with every word she speaks.

You’re not supposed to be here. You only came because your friend begged you to watch their team compete, but now, all you can focus on is her.

When the debate ends, she wins—of course she does. You expect her to be cold and distant, but when she walks past you, she’s laughing with her teammates, her confidence melting into something warm and inviting.

And then, she notices you.

"Hey," she says, stopping in front of you. "Enjoy the debate?"

You blink. For a second, you think she’s talking to someone else. But no—her sharp brown eyes are locked onto yours, waiting.

"Uh, yeah," you stammer, caught off guard. "You were… really good."

She smirks, tilting her head slightly. "Thanks. I try."

And just like that, she walks away, leaving you standing there, completely entranced.

You don’t know it yet, but this is the beginning of something that will change you forever.

Getting to know Yeji is like getting close to a wildfire—intoxicating, thrilling, and impossible to control.

She’s not like anyone you’ve ever met before. She’s driven, passionate, and fiercely independent. She doesn’t need anyone, but somehow, she chooses you.

You start seeing her more often. First, it’s casual—study sessions, late-night talks about life and ambitions. Then, it becomes something more.

One night, after a long day of studying, you walk her home. It’s late, the streets nearly empty, and the cool night air makes your breath visible.

"You’re different," she says suddenly, breaking the silence.

You glance at her. "Different how?"

She shrugs, kicking a small pebble on the sidewalk. "Most guys I meet try too hard to impress me. But you… you’re just yourself."

Your heart skips a beat.

"Is that a good thing?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

She stops walking and turns to face you, her eyes searching yours. Then, without warning, she steps closer, closing the distance between you.

"It is," she murmurs.

And before you can process what’s happening, she kisses you.

It’s soft, hesitant at first, but then it deepens, her fingers curling into your hoodie as if she doesn’t want to let go.

When she finally pulls away, she grins.

"Let’s do this," she says. "Let’s see where this goes."

And just like that, you’re hers.

Being with Yeji is exhilarating. She challenges you, pushes you to be better, makes you feel like you can conquer anything.

She takes you to places you’ve never been, introduces you to people who admire her just as much as you do. She’s everything you never knew you needed—strong, fearless, and completely captivating.

But then, the cracks start to show.

It begins with small things. She gets easily frustrated when you don’t immediately understand something. She makes little comments about how you could "try harder" or "be more ambitious."

"You should be more confident," she tells you one day when you hesitate to speak in a group setting. "I can’t keep carrying the conversation for you."

It stings, but you brush it off. Maybe she just wants you to improve. Maybe she’s right.

Then, she starts getting distant.

She cancels plans more often, says she’s busy, but you start noticing the way she’s always on her phone, texting someone. You tell yourself it’s nothing. She’s popular, she has a lot of friends.

But then, one night, everything changes.

You don’t mean to see it. You’re just grabbing her phone to check the time while she’s in the shower. But the moment you pick it up, a notification pops up.

A message from someone you don’t recognize.

"Last night was amazing. Can’t wait to see you again."

Your chest tightens.

You open the conversation. There are pictures—her with another guy, laughing, leaning into him the way she used to lean into you. The texts are flirty, intimate.

Your hands shake as you set the phone back down. Your mind races, trying to make sense of what you just saw.

When she comes out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around her head, she notices your expression immediately.

"What’s wrong?" she asks.

You swallow hard. "Who is he?"

She freezes for a split second—just a moment, but it’s enough.

"Who?" she asks, too casually.

"You know who," you say, voice barely above a whisper. "I saw the messages, Yeji."

Silence.

Then, she exhales, rolling her eyes. "You’re overthinking."

Your heart cracks.

"Yeji, I saw the photos," you say, your voice trembling. "Just… tell me the truth."

She stares at you, and for the first time, you see something cold in her eyes—something detached.

"There’s nothing to tell," she says simply.

No apology. No remorse. Just a flat-out denial, as if you’re the one being unreasonable.

That’s when you realize—you could argue, you could beg for the truth, but it wouldn’t matter. She’s already decided to pretend like nothing happened.

And suddenly, you feel exhausted.

You thought love was supposed to be about trust, about believing in each other. But standing here, looking at her, you realize—this isn’t love. This is a game you’re never going to win.

So you do the only thing you can.

You leave.

You don’t cry that night. You just lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering where it all went wrong.

A part of you wants to believe she’ll call, that she’ll apologize, that she’ll tell you she made a mistake.

But deep down, you know she won’t.

Yeji never looks back.

And neither should you.

Moving on from Yeji isn’t easy.

Even after weeks pass, her absence lingers like a dull ache in your chest. You try distracting yourself—focusing on school, picking up new hobbies—but nothing fully silences the thoughts. The "what ifs" still creep in late at night, and the scars she left still sting when you least expect them.

But then, you meet Giselle.

And for the first time in a long while, you feel something different.

You don’t know much about her at first. You’ve seen her in passing, heard whispers of her name in hallways and classrooms. Giselle is popular—effortlessly so. She has that kind of energy that makes people gravitate toward her, a mix of confidence and playfulness that keeps her at the center of every social circle.

She’s the kind of girl you never thought you’d talk to, let alone date.

But fate has other plans.

It starts at a party—a rare event for you. Your friends practically drag you there, insisting you need to "get out more" after the whole Yeji situation. You don’t expect much. Just a few hours of music, drinks, and pretending to have fun.

But then, you see her.

Giselle is surrounded by people, laughing at something someone said, her presence magnetic. She’s wearing a sleek black dress, her long hair cascading over her shoulders. She looks… untouchable, like she exists in a different world.

And yet, somehow, her eyes find yours.

For a split second, your breath catches. You expect her to look away, to move on.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she smirks. Then, before you can react, she makes her way through the crowd and stops right in front of you.

"You look bored," she says, tilting her head. "Not a fan of parties?"

You chuckle, rubbing the back of your neck. "Not really my scene."

She raises an eyebrow. "Then why are you here?"

"My friends dragged me."

Her lips curve into a smile. "Mine too."

And just like that, a conversation starts.

It’s easy with her. She’s witty, teasing, but not in a mean way. She asks questions that catch you off guard, making you laugh, making you forget—if only for a moment—about everything else.

By the end of the night, you’re surprised to find yourself enjoying her company. And when she casually hands you her phone, telling you to put your number in, You don’t hesitate.

For the first time in months, something stirs in your chest.

Maybe, just maybe, this could be different.

Dating Giselle is like stepping into a dream.

Everything moves fast. One moment, you’re just getting to know her, and the next, you’re in the whirlwind of her world—late-night drives, spontaneous trips to the beach, secret rendezvous between classes.

She makes you feel special in a way you never have before.

"You’re cute when you’re flustered," she says one evening, tapping your nose playfully.

You groan. "I’m not flustered."

She laughs, leaning closer. "You totally are."

She always knows how to make you smile, how to pull you out of your shell. And for a while, you think this might actually work.

But then, the cracks begin to show.

It starts with little things.

She gets irritated when you don’t answer her texts fast enough, even if you’re busy.

"Why are you ignoring me?" she asks one day, her tone light but her eyes sharp.

"I’m not," you reply, confused. "I was in class."

She pouts. "You could’ve at least texted me back during the break."

You brush it off, thinking she just likes attention. But then, it escalates.

She starts getting jealous—of your friends, of your time, of anything that isn’t her.

"Do you really have to hang out with them?" she asks one evening when you mention plans with an old friend.

"They’re my friends, Giselle."

She crosses her arms. "I just don’t get why you need to spend time with them when you have me."

It doesn’t seem like a big deal at first. Maybe she just really likes you, you tell yourself. Maybe she just wants to feel secure.

But then, one night, everything changes.

It happens after a small argument.

You don’t even remember how it starts—something about you not paying enough attention to her, about her feeling like you don’t care.

"You don’t put in enough effort," she snaps.

You blink. "Giselle, I do my best—"

"It’s not enough!" she interrupts, her voice rising.

You’re taken aback. "What do you want from me?"

She glares at you, her jaw clenched. Then, suddenly, she throws your phone across the room.

It crashes against the wall.

You freeze.

For a long moment, there’s only silence. Then, her expression shifts. The anger melts away, replaced by something else—something almost… remorseful.

"I…" She exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. "I didn’t mean to do that."

But she did.

And you both know it.

Still, she steps forward, reaching for your hands. "I’m sorry," she murmurs. "I just… I love you so much, and I hate feeling like I’m not enough for you."

Her voice is soft, almost pleading. And for a second, your heart wavers.

But then you look at the broken phone on the floor.

And suddenly, you realize—you’ve been here before.

This isn’t love. This is control.

And you can’t do this again.

Leaving Giselle is harder than leaving Yeji.

Because she doesn’t let you go easily.

She texts, she calls, she shows up unannounced. She cries, begs, says she’ll change.

But you know better now.

And so, no matter how much it hurts, you walk away.

You think you’re done with love.

You think you’ll never let yourself fall again.

But then, you meet Julie.

And this time, you believe—just for a moment—that things will be different.

You tell yourself you won’t fall for anyone again.

Not after Yeji’s betrayal. Not after Giselle’s suffocating love. You’re tired of love—tired of opening your heart just to watch it be torn apart.

But then, Julie enters your life.

And for the first time in a long while, you start to believe again.

It happens unexpectedly, on a cold evening in a quiet café.

You’re sitting alone, scrolling through your phone, when she approaches.

"Mind if I sit here?"

You glance up, surprised. Julie is beautiful in an effortless way—long, silky hair, sharp eyes that seem to read you instantly. There’s an air of elegance about her, from the way she carries herself to the designer coat draped over her shoulders.

You hesitate. The café isn’t full; there are plenty of empty tables.

But something in her gaze tells you she’s here for a reason.

"Sure," you say.

She sits across from you, her perfume light but intoxicating.

"I’ve seen you here before," she says casually, stirring her coffee. "You always sit by yourself."

You chuckle. "I like the quiet."

She tilts her head. "Or maybe you just don’t like people?"

You blink, caught off guard. Most girls would be shy or polite, but Julie? She’s bold. Direct.

You smirk. "Maybe a little of both."

She laughs, and just like that, a conversation begins.

It’s easy with her. Too easy

She’s different from Yeji, from Giselle. She doesn’t play games, doesn’t test you. She listens. Really listens.

And for the first time in a long while, you don’t feel like you have to prove yourself.

With Julie, you can just be.

Dating Julie feels like a dream.

She’s rich—not just well-off, but the kind of wealthy that makes life effortless. Expensive dinners, surprise gifts, spontaneous weekend getaways—she showers you with things you never thought you’d have.

At first, it feels strange.

"I don’t need all this," you tell her one day when she buys you an expensive watch.

She just smiles, pressing it into your palm. "I know. That’s why I like spoiling you."

And you believe her.

Because Julie isn’t just rich—she’s caring. Understanding. She never gets jealous when you hang out with friends, never accuses you of not loving her enough.

She trusts you.

She makes you feel safe.

And after everything you’ve been through, that’s all you’ve ever wanted.

So, for the first time in forever, you let your guard down.

You let yourself love again.

And that’s when everything falls apart.

It starts with whispers.

Little things you hear in passing.

"Julie’s always hanging out with that guy."

"Did you see her at the bar last night? She was all over him."

You brush it off. Gossip means nothing. You trust her.

But then, the doubts creep in.

She cancels dates last minute.

She starts texting less, calling less.

And then, one night, you see it with your own eyes.

Julie, standing too close to another guy. Laughing. Letting him touch her waist. Acting like you don’t exist.

Your heart clenches, but you tell yourself to stay calm.

Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe there’s an explanation.

So you wait until you’re alone with her.

And you ask.

"Who was he?"

She raises an eyebrow, sipping her wine. "Who?"

"At the bar. The guy you were with."

She sighs, setting her glass down. "Just a friend."

"A friend who touches your waist?"

Her expression hardens. "Are you seriously jealous right now?"

You hesitate. "Julie, I just—"

"God, I can’t believe this," she mutters, standing up. "You’re just like every other guy. So insecure."

Your stomach twists. "I’m not—"

"Yes, you are." Her voice is sharp, cold. "I give you everything, and this is how you repay me? By accusing me?"

You feel like you’ve been punched.

"Julie," you whisper. "I just wanted the truth."

She scoffs, grabbing her coat. "The truth? Fine. Maybe I like the attention. Maybe I like feeling wanted. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you."

Her words hit harder than they should.

Because deep down, you know—love shouldn’t feel like this.

You take a shaky breath. "I can’t do this."

She stares at you. "What?"

"I can’t be with someone who makes me feel like I’m not enough."

For a moment, something flickers in her eyes. A flash of regret, maybe.

But it vanishes just as quickly.

She exhales, shaking her head. "Fine. Do whatever you want."

And just like that, she walks away.

No tears. No apologies.

Just… nothing.

Like you never meant anything at all.

You tell yourself you won’t cry.

But that night, as you lie in bed staring at the ceiling, the weight of everything crashes down on you.

Yeji. Giselle. Julie.

Three girls. Three heartbreaks.

You’ve given love everything you had. And every time, it’s been thrown back in your face.

So, you make a decision.

You’re done.

Done chasing love. Done trusting. Done believing in fairy tales.

From now on, you’ll be alone.

Because at least then, you won’t get hurt.

But then, you meet Yuna.

And suddenly, your heart isn’t so sure anymore.

You don’t believe in love anymore.

Not after Yeji, who shattered your trust.

Not after Giselle, who suffocated you with her possessiveness.

Not after Julie, who made you feel like you were nothing.

You’re tired. You’re exhausted. And most of all, you’re done.

You don’t chase love. You don’t wait for it.

Because you know, in the end, it always leaves you broken.

But then, you meet her.

And for the first time in a long while, something inside you stirs.

Something terrifying.

Something hopeful.

It happens on a rainy afternoon.

You’re in a bookstore, flipping through pages of a novel you don’t plan on buying. The rain outside taps against the windows, a soft rhythm that matches the quietness of the shop.

You like it here. It’s peaceful. A place where no one knows you.

Or so you think.

"You like that author?"

A soft voice interrupts your thoughts.

You glance up.

And that’s when you see her.

She stands a few feet away, holding a book against her chest. She’s dressed simply—sweater, jeans, sneakers—but there’s something effortlessly beautiful about her.

Her eyes, warm and curious, meet yours.

For a second, you forget how to breathe.

You clear your throat. "Uh… yeah. I guess."

She smiles. "You don’t sound so sure."

You chuckle, scratching the back of your neck. "I’ve never read their books before. Just browsing."

She nods, stepping closer. "It’s a good one. Kind of sad, though."

You raise an eyebrow. "You like sad books?"

She tilts her head. "I think sad stories are more honest."

You don’t know why, but that answer lingers in your mind.

She turns the book in her hands, then looks at you again.

"I’m Yuna, by the way."

You hesitate.

But then, for the first time in months, you say it.

You tell her your name.

And just like that, something begins.

Yuna is different.

She doesn’t demand your attention. She doesn’t try to change you.

She simply exists in your life, slowly weaving herself into the empty spaces you never realized were there.

You start seeing her more often���at the bookstore, at the café nearby, in the quiet corners of the world where you feel most at ease.

She never pushes. Never asks too many questions.

But she listens.

And somehow, that’s enough.

One evening, as you walk together under the glow of streetlights, she asks, "Have you ever been in love?"

You stiffen. The memories of Yeji, Giselle, Julie—all of them flood back at once.

You exhale. "I thought I was."

She doesn’t say anything right away. She just walks beside you, her presence steady, unshaken.

Then, after a moment, she murmurs, "It must’ve hurt a lot."

You stop in your tracks.

Because no one—not Yeji, not Giselle, not Julie—ever acknowledged your pain like that.

Your chest tightens. "Yeah," you admit quietly. "It did."

Yuna doesn’t pry. She doesn’t ask for details.

She simply reaches out, her fingers brushing against yours in the most delicate way.

You don’t pull away.

And maybe—just maybe—you start to wonder.

Could love be something else?

Could love, for once, not destroy you?

But love has never been kind to you.

And just when you think you’re ready to move on, the past comes knocking.

Because one day, you receive a message.

From Yeji.

From Giselle.

From Julie.

They miss you.

And suddenly, everything you’ve tried to bury comes rushing back.

Ghosts of the Past

You think you’ve finally moved on.

Yuna is here. She’s warm, kind, and unlike anyone you’ve ever been with.

She doesn’t lie to you like Yeji.

She doesn’t hurt you like Giselle.

She doesn’t betray you like Julie.

With Yuna, love feels different. Safer. Real.

But love has never been kind to you.

And the past refuses to stay buried.

It starts with a message.

"I miss you."

You stare at the screen, your heart tightening.

Yeji’s name glows on your phone, the same name that once made your chest ache with love.

Now, all it brings is pain.

You turn off your phone. You don’t respond.

But the past isn’t done with you yet.

Because the next day, Giselle calls.

You let it ring. You don’t pick up.

Then, Julie sends a message.

"Hey. Can we talk?"

You delete it without reading the rest.

But no matter how much you ignore them, they don’t stop.

The texts become more frequent.

The calls become more desperate.

And slowly, they start creeping back into your life.

At first, you think it’s just them trying to soothe their own regrets.

But then, they start interfering.

And that’s when everything starts to fall apart.

The first time it happens, you and Yuna are at a small café, sharing quiet laughter over coffee.

Then, your phone buzzes.

You glance down.

It’s Yeji.

Calling.

Again.

You let out a slow breath, ignoring it.

Yuna notices. "You okay?"

You force a smile. "Yeah. Just spam calls."

But your hands feel cold.

Because it’s not just one call.

It’s three.

One after another.

And the moment you step out of the café, Yeji’s voice fills the air.

"You’re ignoring me."

You freeze.

She’s here.

Standing across the street, arms crossed, staring at you like she has the right to be angry.

You don’t know what to say.

"You think you can just block me out?" she continues, stepping closer. "After everything we had?"

Yuna glances between you both, her brows furrowing. "Who is she?"

Yeji smirks, her eyes flickering toward Yuna. "So this is why you’ve been ignoring me."

Your stomach twists. "Yeji, don’t—"

"Did you tell her about us?" Yeji interrupts, her voice dripping with something dangerous. "Did you tell her how much you used to love me?"

You clench your jaw. "We’re done. You need to leave."

Yeji laughs—soft, bitter. "You say that, but I know you still think about me."

She takes another step forward, lowering her voice.

"You used to be mine," she whispers. "And you will be again."

Then, she turns and walks away.

Leaving you standing there, heart pounding.

Yuna touches your arm. "What was that about?"

You force yourself to breathe. "Nothing."

But it’s not nothing.

Because Yeji isn’t the only one who won’t let go.

And soon, things get worse.

It’s Giselle next.

She doesn’t just send messages.

She shows up.

At your work. At your apartment.

Always finding an excuse to see you, to talk to you.

And every time, she asks the same thing.

"Do you ever think about me?"

You want to say no.

You want to erase every painful memory of her.

But Giselle has always known how to push your buttons.

"You were my everything," she whispers one night, standing in front of your door. "I know I made mistakes. But you… you were different."

You grip the doorframe. "Giselle, go home."

She shakes her head, eyes glistening. "I don’t have a home without you."

You swallow hard.

And that’s when you realize—she doesn’t just want you back.

She wants to ruin you.

And the moment she realizes she can’t, she tries something worse.

She finds Yuna.

She talks to her.

She tells her things—half-truths, twisted stories.

And one day, Yuna asks, "Did she really hurt you that badly?"

Your stomach drops.

Because you know exactly where this is coming from.

You reach for her hand. "Yuna, don’t listen to them."

She bites her lip. "I trust you. But I don’t trust them."

And you know—Giselle won’t stop.

Because if she can’t have you, she’ll make sure no one else does.

But the worst is Julie.

Because Julie doesn’t just want to win.

She wants to make you suffer.

One night, she sends you a message.

"Come see me. Just once."

You don’t reply.

Then another text comes.

"I won’t stop until you do."

You sigh, running a hand through your hair.

Maybe if you go, she’ll stop. Maybe she’ll finally let go.

So, against your better judgment, you go.

You find her in a high-end bar, swirling a glass of wine in her hand.

She looks up, smiling like she’s already won.

"I knew you’d come," she murmurs.

You sit across from her, exhaling sharply. "What do you want?"

She leans forward, her perfume familiar and suffocating.

"Are you happy?" she asks.

You frown. "What?"

"With her," Julie says smoothly. "With Yuna."

You glare. "Yes."

She tilts her head. "That’s a shame."

Something about her tone makes your skin crawl.

Then, she smirks. "Because I don’t think she’ll be around for long."

A chill runs down your spine. "What did you do?"

Julie sips her wine. "Nothing. Yet."

You push your chair back, standing. "Stay away from her."

Julie just laughs. "You should know by now, baby. I don’t like losing."

You leave without another word.

But dread settles in your stomach.

Because you know this isn’t over.

Not even close.

And the worst part?

You don’t know if Yuna will stay by your side when the storm hits.

Trapped in the Past.

You’ve been trying to move on.

You tell yourself that Yuna is different. That she’s the one good thing in your life. That your past no longer has control over you.

But the past has other plans.

And today, it comes crashing back—harder than ever.

It’s just another day at work.

Your office is quiet, the usual hum of keyboards and murmured conversations filling the space. You’re buried in your work, trying to focus, when you hear it—

Gasps. Whispered voices. A sudden shift in the atmosphere.

You glance up, confused.

And then, you see them.

Yeji.

Giselle.

Julie.

Standing at the entrance of your office, looking like they walked straight out of a dream—or, in your case, a nightmare.

Your heart stops.

They shouldn’t be here. They can’t be here.

But they are.

And they look even more breathtaking than you remember.

Yeji stands tall, her confidence radiating through the room, a small smirk playing on her lips. She wears a fitted blazer over a sleek black dress, her hair pulled back in a way that makes her look both elegant and untouchable.

Giselle, on the other hand, is effortlessly stunning, dressed in a casual yet expensive-looking ensemble—like she just threw something on and still managed to turn heads. She’s scanning the room, her eyes sharp, predatory.

Julie, as expected, looks perfect. A designer outfit, flawless makeup, an aura of quiet dominance. She’s not here to plead. She’s here to claim.

The entire office is watching, mesmerized.

Because how often do three goddesses show up unannounced, asking for the same man?

And then it happens.

"Where’s Y/n?" Yeji asks, loud enough for everyone to hear.

You freeze.

Your coworkers look around, confused. Some exchange glances before one of them hesitantly points in your direction.

And just like that, the three of them turn to you.

And they grin.

Because Yuna isn’t here.

Because this is their chance.

Because they know—deep down, they still have power over you.

And they plan to use it.

Before you can react, they’re walking toward you.

Your heart pounds as they reach your desk, their presence overwhelming.

"Y/n," Yeji purrs, leaning against your desk like she belongs there. "You’ve been ignoring us."

Giselle tilts her head, feigning innocence. "That’s not very nice, you know. We just wanted to see you."

Julie sighs, a soft, disappointed sound. "You really thought we’d just let you go?"

You swallow hard. "You shouldn’t be here."

Yeji raises an eyebrow. "Oh? Why not?"

You glance around. Your coworkers are still watching, whispering amongst themselves.

You grit your teeth. "Because I don’t want to see you."

Giselle laughs. "Liar."

Julie smirks. "If that were true, why do you look so nervous?"

Because they know what they’re doing.

They know exactly how to push your buttons, how to make you uncomfortable.

And worst of all…

They’re winning.

Because a part of you—no matter how small—remembers.

Remembers Yeji’s strength. The way she used to make you feel safe, like nothing in the world could touch you.

Remembers Giselle’s charm. The way she made you feel special, like you were the only one who mattered.

Remembers Julie’s care. The way she spoiled you, made you feel like you were worth something.

And now, they’re standing in front of you, looking more beautiful than ever, acting like they still care.

And Yuna isn’t here.

Yeji leans in, her voice low. "Let’s go somewhere private."

Giselle rests a hand on your shoulder, her nails lightly scraping your skin. "Just for a little bit."

Julie exhales softly, her perfume intoxicating. "Come on, Y/n. Don’t make us beg."

Your hands tighten into fists.

Because this is exactly how it starts.

How you get pulled back in.

How you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, they’ve changed.

But you know better now.

You have to know better.

You step back. "No."

Yeji’s eyes darken. "Excuse me?"

You exhale sharply. "I said no."

Giselle blinks, her smile faltering. "You’re joking, right?"

Julie’s expression turns cold. "You’re really going to push us away like this?"

You nod. "I’ve moved on."

Yeji scoffs. "With that girl? Yuna?"

You clench your jaw. "Yes."

There’s a long pause.

And then, Giselle laughs.

A slow, mocking laugh.

"Oh, Y/n," she murmurs. "You really think she’s better than us?"

Julie tilts her head. "You think she can love you like we did?"

Yeji crosses her arms. "Do you really believe she’ll stay?"

Something in their words sends a chill down your spine.

Because you know what they’re implying.

Yuna doesn’t play games like they do.

Yuna isn’t manipulative.

Yuna isn’t them.

And that’s exactly why they want to destroy her.

Before you can respond, Yeji steps closer, her voice a whisper.

"If you’re not ours," she murmurs, "then you’re not hers either."

Your blood runs cold.

Because now, this isn’t just about you.

It’s about Yuna.

And you know—this war isn’t over.

It’s only just beginning.

The fluorescent lights of the office buzzed softly, a faint hum that matched the rhythm of my typing. My eyes flicked to the clock on the wall—5:47 PM. Just a little longer, and I could head home. Home, where Yuna would be waiting. The thought of her brought a small smile to my lips. Yuna, unlike the others, was different. She was kind, patient, and she listened. She didn’t play games, didn’t twist words, didn’t leave me second-guessing every interaction. She was… healing.

But that healing was fragile. Like a wound that had just begun to scab over, it could be ripped open with the slightest touch. And the last people I wanted touching it were them.

The soft ding of the elevator down the hall made my fingers pause mid-sentence. I glanced up, my heart skipping a beat as three familiar figures stepped out. Yeji, Giselle, and Julie.

Their heels clicked against the polished floor, a synchronized rhythm that felt like a drumroll before disaster. They were dressed to kill—Yeji in a form-fitting red blazer, Giselle in a sleek black dress, and Julie in a skirt that was far too short for the office setting. Each of them wore a smirk, their eyes locking onto me like predators circling prey.

“Well, well, look who’s still working late,” Yeji purred, her voice dripping with faux sweetness.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. “What are you three doing here?”

“Can’t we visit an old friend?” Giselle chimed in, her lips curving into a sly smile. She leaned against my desk, her perfume—a mix of vanilla and something far too intoxicating—washing over me.

“Friend?” I muttered, my voice low. “Is that what we are now?”

Julie chuckled, the sound grating against my ears. “Come on, don’t be like that. We missed you.”

Missed me. The words hit like a punch to the gut. Not because they were true—I knew better than to believe that—but because they were a reminder of all the times I’d fallen for their lies. All the times I’d let them hurt me, let them twist me into something I barely recognized.

“You don’t get to just show up here,” I said, my voice firmer now. “Not after everything.”

Yeji tilted her head, her smirk never wavering. “Everything? Oh, sweetheart, you act like we ruined you. If anything, we made you stronger.”

“Stronger?” I echoed, my voice rising. “You manipulated me. Toyed with me. Made me feel like I was nothing. That’s not strength. That’s just… cruelty.”

Giselle clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “You always were so dramatic.”

“Seriously,” Julie added, her tone dripping with mockery. “We were just having fun. If you couldn’t handle it, that’s on you.”

My hands balled into fists at my sides, my nails digging into my palms. Fun. That’s what they called it. Playing with my emotions, stringing me along, making me feel like I was losing my mind. Fun.

“Get out,” I said through gritted teeth.

Yeji’s smirk widened, and she stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor. “Make us.”

The air between us grew thick, heavy with tension. My chest tightened, my breath coming in shallow gasps. I could smell her perfume, a mix of roses and something darker, something that made my head spin.

“You’re not the same without us, you know,” Giselle murmured, her voice soft, almost… gentle. “You’re boring. Safe. Is that what she wants? Someone safe?”

Julie laughed, the sound sharp and cutting. “Please. He was never boring with us.”

I shook my head, trying to clear the fog that was settling over my thoughts. “You don’t get to do this. Not anymore.”

“Do what?” Yeji asked, her voice a low purr. “Remind you of what you’re missing?”

She was close now, so close I could feel the heat radiating off her body. Her hand reached up, her fingers brushing against my cheek. I flinched, but I didn’t pull away. Why didn’t I pull away?

“You remember, don’t you?” she whispered, her breath warm against my ear. “The way it felt when we were together.”

My heart raced, my mind a jumble of conflicting emotions. Yes, I remember. I remembered the highs, the moments of bliss that made everything else fade away. But I also remembered the lows, the crushing weight of their words, the way they tore me apart piece by piece.

“We could have that again,” Giselle said, her voice a sultry whisper. “All of us. Just like old times.”

Julie stepped forward, her hand resting on my chest. “You know you want it.”

I did. God, I did. But I also wanted to be free, to move on, to finally be happy. And yet… here they were, pulling me back into their orbit, their gravity impossible to resist.

“Just one more night,” Yeji murmured, her lips brushing against my neck. “One more chance to make it right.”

I closed my eyes, my body trembling. One more night. It would be so easy to give in, to let myself fall back into their arms, their beds. But at what cost?

“I…” I started, my voice trembling. “I can’t.”

Yeji pulled back, her eyes narrowing. “Can’t? Or won’t?”

“It’s not the same,” I said, my voice firmer now. “I’m not the same.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then Giselle laughed, the sound cold and dismissive. “You’re right. You’re not the same. You’re worse.”

Julie smirked, her hand trailing down my chest. “But maybe we can fix that.”

I shoved her hand away, my patience snapping. “I’m not something you can fix. I’m not a project, or a game, or… or…”

“A toy?” Yeji finished, her smirk returning. “Because that’s exactly what you were. And you loved it.”

“I didn’t,” I snapped, my voice rising. “I hated it. I hated you.”

“Liar,” Giselle said, her voice sharp. “You loved every second of it.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I loved the idea of you. The fantasy. But the reality… the reality was hell.”

Yeji stepped back, her smirk fading. For a moment, she looked almost… hurt. “You’re really going to throw it all away? Everything we had?”

“We didn’t have anything,” I said, my voice steady now. “It was all in my head. And I’m done pretending otherwise.”

There was a long pause, the air heavy with unspoken words. Then Julie sighed, rolling her eyes. “Fine. Be a bore. But don’t come crawling back when you realize you’re not cut out for… normal.”

They turned, their heels clicking against the floor as they walked away. I watched them go, my heart pounding in my chest. It wasn’t until the elevator doors closed behind them that I finally let out the breath I’d been holding.

But even as the tension left my body, the ache in my chest remained. Just one more night. The words echoed in my mind, taunting me. Because as much as I hated to admit it, part of me still wanted them. Still needed them.

And that scared me more than anything.

The office was quiet, the hum of fluorescent lights the only sound as I tried to focus on the report in front of me. But my mind kept drifting back to the encounter earlier. Yeji, Giselle, Julie—their faces, their words, the way they’d looked at me like I was still theirs. I shook my head, trying to push the thoughts away. They’re gone. They’re not a part of your life anymore.

But just as I was about to dive back into work, my phone buzzed. A text from Yeji: “Come outside. We’re waiting.”

I froze, my heart skipping a beat. No. Not again. I ignored it, setting the phone face down on the desk. But then it buzzed again. And again. And again. Finally, I picked it up, my fingers trembling slightly as I read the next message: “Don’t make us come back up there. You know how much we love a scene.”

I cursed under my breath, dragging a hand over my face. Why can’t they just leave me alone? But deep down, I knew they wouldn’t. Not until they got what they wanted.

Reluctantly, I grabbed my coat and headed for the elevator. The ride down felt like an eternity, my stomach twisting into knots. When the doors slid open, I saw them—Yeji leaning casually against the wall, Giselle scrolling through her phone, Julie with her arms crossed, a smirk on her lips.

“There he is,” Yeji purred, pushing off the wall and walking toward me. “We were starting to think you’d forgotten about us.”

“I haven’t,” I said, my voice firm. “But I’m not doing this. Not again.”

Julie laughed, a sharp, mocking sound. “Oh, come on. You’re not fooling anyone. We know you still want us.” She stepped closer, her eyes glinting with mischief. “You always have.”

“I’ve moved on,” I said, though the words felt hollow even as I said them. “I’m with Yuna now.”

“Yuna,” Giselle scoffed, finally looking up from her phone. “She’s sweet, yeah, but let’s be real—she’s not us.”

“She’s better than you,” I shot back, my frustration boiling over. “She actually cares about me. She respects me.”

Yeji tilted her head, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Respect is overrated. What you need is someone who knows how to make you feel alive. And that’s us.”

Before I could respond, Julie grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Enough talking. Let’s go.”

I tried to pull away, but they were already surrounding me, their presence overwhelming. They led me to a car parked just outside the building, and before I knew it, I was in the backseat, the three of them closing in around me.

The drive to their apartment was a blur, my mind racing as I tried to figure out how to get out of this. But every time I thought about making a move, one of them would touch me—a hand on my thigh, fingers brushing against my neck—and I’d feel that familiar pull, that dangerous allure that I’d spent so long trying to escape.

When we arrived, they practically dragged me inside the apartment, the door slamming shut behind us. Yeji was the first to make her move, pressing me against the wall and kissing me hard, her lips demanding and possessive. I wanted to push her away, to tell her to stop, but my body betrayed me, responding to her touch before I could think.

Giselle was next, her hands sliding under my shirt as she undressed me with practiced ease. Julie watched from a distance, a wicked grin on her face as she pulled out her phone.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice strained as Yeji moved her lips to my neck.

Julie didn’t answer, instead holding up her phone to show me the screen. She was calling Yuna. Panic surged through me, and I tried to pull away, but Yeji and Giselle held me in place, their hands roaming over my body.

“You wouldn’t,” I said, my voice pleading.

“Oh, I would,” Julie said, her grin widening as the call connected. She put it on speaker, and I heard Yuna’s voice, soft and confused, on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Yuna,” Julie said, her tone sickly sweet. “Just wanted to let you know—your boyfriend’s here with us. And he’s very happy to see us.”

“No,” I said, my voice breaking. “Yuna, it’s not what you think—”

But Yeji cut me off, her lips crashing into mine again as Giselle pulled down my pants. I could hear Yuna on the other end of the line, her voice trembling as she asked, “What’s going on? What are you doing to him?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Julie said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “We’re just giving him what he’s always wanted. What he’s always needed. Isn’t that right, baby?”

I wanted to deny it, to tell Yuna the truth, but the words caught in my throat as Giselle dropped to her knees, taking me into her mouth. I groaned, my body betraying me once again as pleasure surged through me.

Yeji pulled back, her lips curving into a wicked smile as she whispered in my ear, “He’s always wanted us. Not you.”

“Don’t listen to her, Yuna,” I managed to say, my voice strained. “Please—”

But Julie cut me off, holding the phone closer as Giselle worked her magic, driving me closer and closer to the edge. I could hear Yuna’s sobs on the other end of the line, and guilt crashed over me like a wave. But even as I tried to fight it, I knew I was losing.

“You’ll never be enough for him,” Yeji said, her voice cold and cruel. “Not like we are.”

And then, as Giselle brought me to the brink, I heard Yuna hang up, the line going dead. I wanted to scream, to break free, but my body was too far gone, too lost in the sensations they were pulling from me.

Yeji laughed, a low, wicked sound, as she undressed, her eyes locked on mine. “Face it, baby. You’re ours. You always have been.”

And as they took turns with me, their hands and mouths claiming me in ways I could never forget, I knew she was right. No matter how much I tried to convince myself I’d moved on, I was still theirs. And I always would be.

Julie’s phone buzzed again, and she picked it up, her grin widening as she read the message. “Looks like your little Yuna isn’t taking this well,” she said, holding it up for me to see. It was a text from Yuna: “I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.”

My heart sank, but before I could respond, Giselle was on me again, her lips trailing down my chest as Yeji whispered in my ear, “See? We told you. You’re ours.”

And as they took me again, their bodies moving in sync with mine, I knew there was no escaping them. Not now. Not ever.

The room was a blur of sweat, heat, and tangled limbs. Yeji’s nails dug into my shoulders as she rode me, her hips grinding in slow, deliberate circles that sent waves of pleasure coursing through me. Her breath was hot against my ear, her voice low and sultry. “You’re ours,” she whispered, her words dripping with possessiveness. “You always have been. You always will be.”

Giselle’s laughter rang out as she kissed me, her lips soft but demanding. Her hands roamed my chest, tracing lines of fire across my skin. She pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, her gaze intense. “You thought you could escape us?” she taunted, her voice teasing. “You’re too weak, too addicted to the way we make you feel. Admit it... you’ve missed this.”

I wanted to deny it, to push them away and reclaim some shred of dignity, but my body betrayed me. My hips moved of their own accord, thrusting deeper into Yeji as she moaned in approval. My hands reached for Giselle, pulling her closer, my fingers tangling in her hair as our lips crashed together. And then there was Julie, her tongue tracing a wet path down my neck, her hands gripping my thighs as she positioned herself to take her turn.

“You’re pathetic,” Julie purred, her voice a mix of cruelty and seduction. “But we love you anyway. Isn’t that enough?” She didn’t wait for an answer, instead straddling me and sinking down onto me with a gasp. Her movements were frenzied, desperate, as if she couldn’t get enough. I couldn’t help but respond, my hands gripping her hips as I thrust up to meet her.

The room filled with the sound of their moans, their laughter, their whispers. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, and I felt myself slipping further and further into their web. “You’re ours,” Yeji repeated, her voice a sultry chant. “Say it. Say you’re ours.”

I tried to resist, to hold onto some fragment of myself, but the words tumbled out before I could stop them. “I’m yours,” I gasped, my voice choked with need. “I’m yours.”

The trio exchanged triumphant smiles, their eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Good boy,” Giselle cooed, her fingers trailing down my chest. “Now let’s remind you why you belong to us.”

They took turns, their bodies moving over mine in a rhythm that felt both familiar and new. Yeji’s lips claimed mine, her kisses deep and hungry, while Giselle’s hands explored every inch of me, igniting fires wherever she touched. Julie’s voice whispered in my ear, her words a mix of encouragement and command, urging me to give in completely.

The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the sound of our bodies slapping together echoing in the room. My mind was a haze of pleasure and pain, desire and despair. I wanted to hate them, to push them away and reclaim my life, but my body craved them in a way I couldn’t deny.

“You’re ours,” Yeji whispered again, her voice a soothing balm against the chaos. “And we’ll never let you go.”

As if to emphasize her words, she leaned down, her lips brushing against mine in a kiss that was both tender and possessive. Giselle’s hands tightened on my hips, guiding my movements as she took her turn, her body moving in perfect sync with mine. Julie’s teeth grazed my neck, her breath hot against my skin as she moaned in pleasure.

The room seemed to spin, the boundaries between us blurring as we became a tangled mess of limbs and desires. I couldn’t tell where one of them ended and the others began. It was as if we were one, connected by something deeper than just physical need.

“You’re ours,” Giselle whispered, her voice a sultry purr. “And you always will be.”

My hands roamed their bodies, my fingers memorizing every curve, every detail. I couldn’t stop myself, couldn’t resist the pull they had on me. It was as if they had cast a spell, one that I was powerless to break.

“You’re ours,” Julie repeated, her voice a tantalizing whisper. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” I gasped, my voice trembling with need. “I’m yours.”

The words seemed to ignite something in them, their movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. Yeji’s nails dug into my skin, leaving marks that would serve as a reminder of this moment. Giselle’s hips moved with a furious pace, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Julie’s lips claimed mine, her kiss fierce and demanding.

The pleasure built, a crescendo that threatened to consume me. I could feel myself teetering on the edge, my body trembling with the effort to hold on. And then, with a shuddering gasp, I let go, surrendering completely to the sensations that crashed over me.

They didn’t let up, didn’t give me a moment to catch my breath. Instead, they continued, their bodies moving over mine in a relentless rhythm that left me gasping for air. It was as if they were determined to claim every part of me, to leave no doubt in my mind that I belonged to them.

“You’re ours,” Yeji whispered, her voice a soothing balm against the chaos. “And we’ll never let you go.”

The words echoed in my mind, a mantra that I couldn’t escape. I wanted to believe them, to believe that this was where I belonged, but a small part of me still fought, still clung to the hope of something more.

But as their bodies moved over mine, their hands and mouths claiming me in ways I could never forget, that hope began to fade, replaced by the certainty that I would never escape them. Not now. Not ever.

“You’re ours,” Giselle whispered, her voice a sultry purr. “And you always will be.”

The room was a blur of heat and desire, the boundaries between us blurring as we became one. I couldn’t tell where one of them ended and the others began. It was as if we were connected by something deeper than just physical need.

“You’re ours,” Julie whispered, her voice a tantalizing whisper. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” I gasped, my voice trembling with need. “I’m yours.”

The words seemed to ignite something in them, their movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. Yeji’s nails dug into my skin, leaving marks that would serve as a reminder of this moment. Giselle’s hips moved with a furious pace, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Julie’s lips claimed mine, her kiss fierce and demanding.

The pleasure built again, a crescendo that threatened to consume me. I could feel myself teetering on the edge, my body trembling with the effort to hold on. And then, with a shuddering gasp, I let go, surrendering completely to the sensations that crashed over me.

They didn’t let up, didn’t give me a moment to catch my breath. Instead, they continued, their bodies moving over mine in a relentless rhythm that left me gasping for air. It was as if they were determined to claim every part of me, to leave no doubt in my mind that I belonged to them.

“You’re ours,” Yeji whispered, her voice a soothing balm against the chaos. “And we’ll never let you go.”

The words echoed in my mind, a mantra that I couldn’t escape. I wanted to believe them, to believe that this was where I belonged, but a small part of me still fought, still clung to the hope of something more.

But as their bodies moved over mine, their hands and mouths claiming me in ways I could never forget, that hope began to fade, replaced by the certainty that I would never escape them. Not now. Not ever.

[thesunisatangerine]

playing for keeps – chapter four

alexia putellas x barçakeeper!childhoodfriend!reader

warning/s: coarse language; mentions of: grief, death, drowning; not proofread

(a/n in the tags) [chapters: one, two, three, four]

word count: 13.1k

[1]

‘Can you meet me at the playground?’ was Guille’s message the night after your graduation, casting a blue streak over a relatively warm summer night. The short hand of the clock hovered over eleven when you got it, and you had half a mind to ignore it–because how dared he do this now?–but you sent him a reply before heading out of the door.

The playground was less than ten minutes away but you took the corner; the one that led around the block. He could wait, you thought. After all, you’d been giving him just that: the luxury of time. But he never did anything with it did he, so why would you rush? And what could he possibly want now after months of ignoring you? Was this a final goodbye? After everything you’d been through together, was this really how it’s going to end? 

You sniffled and ran the back of your hand over your eyes as you walked the last few yards to the park.

Tap tap tap.

The distinct sound of football-to-shoe brought you back. Ahead under the yellow glow of the lone streetlamp that lit the playground, with his back turned to you, was Guille juggling a football. A breeze brushed your cheek and it carried the familiar sweetness of Guille’s body spray. You remembered when he started using it—it was around the time you’d complained to him about how you found the scent of guy’s deodorants repugnant, and that you could only stand the new scent that he bought. And after that, it was all he’d ever used. You couldn’t help but wonder if that was around the time he started liking you, and the thought made you recoil. 

The ball reached another high, this time going over Guille’s head, making him turn, but it never connected to a touch. Instead, it landed on the ground. Its momentum carried it to a stop just a few paces away from you but you made no move to kick it back. You dragged your eyes away from the ball and found his finally.

For a moment, it was as if the world stood still. You soaked in the state of him: there was a heaviness that swelled in the skin beneath his eyes which were devoid of their usual light; his arms sagged heavily by his sides, contorting the contours of his silhouette to a shape that displaced the confidence you’d seen him wear so easily growing up. Even in the low light, the jagged cut that interrupted the line of his left brow remained prominent, but it was gone from view when dark curls fell to cover it after Guille ran his fingers through his hair.

He cleared his throat before he spoke, yet his voice still broke over his words. 

“Hey. Uh–thank you for coming,” he smiled a little. “Can we talk?”

You eyed him carefully, letting a moment of silence settle in the air as you crossed your arms. Only after you noted a slight movement in Guille’s throat did you skim the sole of your foot over the ball, sending it his way. When you met his eyes again, something akin to relief shone in them––or maybe it was gratitude?––before he kicked the ball towards you again. That went on for a while; back and forth the ball went during which no one said a word. From the way Guille kept clenching and unclenching his hands, you doubted he knew what he even wanted to say, least of all how to say it.

Still, you waited. 

Another moment, he stopped the ball, wiped his hands on the sides of his shirt before stuffing them in his short pockets, his posture awkward and stiff. He opened his mouth and in the breath before he spoke his first word, your heart dropped to your stomach and you braced yourself.

This was it.

“I–I want to apologize!”

You blinked. That… was unexpected.

“I know it’s probably too late, but I don’t think I can live without saying it, you know?” He shrugged as he smiled, but it was too crooked, and his eyes shone. 

“I’m really sorry. For what I did, and what I said. Those hurt you… I hurt you.”

He released a shaky breath, bit his lower lip as he swiped a thumb at the corner of his eye.

“I’m not expecting to be forgiven and I understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore. I just–I’m sorry. And I want you to know that I had the best time with you.” 

His lips curled up to a smile but the quiver of his chin broke the curve and his tears spilled. 

He looked so young then, so much like a lost little boy who looked nothing like the boy you met when you were eight: newly-transferred Guille who became the smallest out of all the boys in your class yet, with his quiet confidence, he towered over them with his head held high. You remembered him as he was then when he first introduced himself to you, his cheeks rosy from playing too much under the sun and just a little out of breath when he asked you to be in his team during recess. He did it too without any snide remarks, something you’d gotten used to from playing with the other boys in class. He never brought your being a girl up even when your team lost, and it was the first time you were treated as an equal on the field at school. 

And he just stuck with you, and you with him; all the shared lunches, the laughter, the late night banters… there was no way you could let this friendship go. 

This was so stupid. 

“This is stupid,” you choked as you hastily wiped a tear away but it was quickly followed by another. “Come here, you idiot!” 

You surged forward and wrapped your arms around him, the force of it nearly knocking the both of you over. It took him a second but when the weight of his arms settled on you––when his comforting warmth finally seeped in––you were hit by just how much you’d missed him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” were the strained words spoken against your ear as he hugged you tighter. 

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled on his shoulder. “It’s going to take some time but we’ll be alright, I forgive you. And I want us to remain friends, under two conditions if you’re up for it.” 

He pulled away slightly to wipe his cheeks, and gave you a small smile. He was a bit breathless when he said, “Anything.” 

There was a light lilt in his tone and you understood he meant it, so you nodded, returning his smile. He followed you when you went to sit on one of the benches, situating himself so there was enough space between you for one person.

Looking him in the eye, you started, “I know it’s a lot to ask but if you have any plans to wait for me, I want you to forget about it. I love you and I care for you, but I need you to understand that a brother and a friend is all I will find in you.” 

His eyes strayed downwards and they clouded over. He closed them with a sigh and when they opened, he looked at you and you found a lightness in them that comforted you; his face bore a friendly warmth that you haven’t seen in a while.

“I understand, and you don’t have to apologise.” 

He scooted closer so he could bump his knee against yours, now grinning. His playfulness made you smile.

“And one more thing,” you added after a moment, and he nodded for you to continue. “You… you have to make amends with Alexia.” 

The grin fled from his face and you didn’t miss the way he flinched. His knuckles whitened and tension brewed in his muscles. And when his eyes darkened, you couldn’t help but frown at the change in his demeanor. You reached out to touch his shoulder.

“Guille––”

Then, like a spring, all the air of rigidness left him. He threw his head back and released a laugh that caught you off guard. When he regarded you again, the curve of his lips remained.

Then he said in a tone filled with mirth, “You know, if she hadn’t knocked some sense into me that night, I’d probably still be wallowing in self-pity like an entitled prick.”

At the reminder, your eyes wandered to the scar on his left brow but they lingered only for a second.

“And yes, done. She hates my guts,” you opened your mouth to protest otherwise but when Guille gave you a pointed look, you closed it immediately, “but I will patch things up with her. Besides, I need to thank her for straightening me out.”

You gaped at him.

“It’s that easy?”

He shrugged, still smiling.

“I mean, yeah? It’s either those or losing you, and I know I value you more than I do my pride and ego.”

There it was again, his quiet confidence. It diminished though when he brushed a finger over the bridge of his nose, eyes darting down to his feet briefly before meeting yours again. And when he spoke, there was more than a little uncertainty that bled into his tone, and maybe a little bit of hope. 

“Besides, we’re friends. Right?”

You scrunched your nose at him in answer as you grinned.

“Damn right,” you confirmed. Then you punched his shoulder for good measure. His jaw dropped open in an offended gasp. He sat there wide-eyed for a moment before he locked an arm around your neck, his free hand mussing up your hair in an instant, and you could only shriek and chortle at the action. 

In that moment, you felt as if a weight had finally been lifted off your shoulders. And there was no better way to truly feel the lightness of being than having somebody to laugh with. Then a comfortable pause washed over you both as you caught your breaths. In the silence that settled, you leaned back on your hands and kicked your feet up idly in the air. 

It was Guille who spoke first. 

“You don’t have to answer, but do you like someone?”

Your feet stilled. And then, without bidding, a series of images flashed through your mind of brown hair, freckles, hazel… Warmth coiled and gathered in your chest as if the ghost of a hand hovered over it. 

“It’s her, isn’t it?”

A distinct pop went off somewhere in your neck from the speed by which you gaped at him. Guille’s eyes remained trained ahead and his face was relaxed, void of any judgement… Surely, he didn’t say what you thought he said, right? 

You swallowed, throat dry, and choked, “What did you say?”

“Alexia.” He turned to you then, and smiled; small but not unkindly. “She’s the one, isn’t she?”

Blood thundered in your ears, and your heartbeat tripled. 

“No! I–That’s ridic–”

Warmth over your hand; Guille had taken yours into his, and the ice in your skin thawed instantly. Only when Guille tightened his grip to still your hand did you know just how badly you were shaking. 

“Hey, look at me. It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone, I swear,” his voice was soothing and he squeezed your hand for good measure. “I think, deep down, I’ve always known. Maybe that’s why I treated everything as a competition because I felt threatened by her. And I never understood why you always gravitated towards her like she’s your own Earth. But now I know. If… If I ever made it difficult to come to terms with your feelings for her, I’m sorry.” 

His words and their sincerity brought a calm with them, stopping the surge of panic in your veins. And, like a tide, it receded. Finally finding your voice again, you spoke. 

“You–you’re not angry?”

His brows rose.

“Why would I be?”

Then he gave you another smile. You understood it was meant to reassure you but you couldn’t help but notice that the corners of his lips were somewhat weighed down with sadness. Still, judgement made no home in his eyes. 

“I won’t tell anyone. I promise. And if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

A brief pause as his eyes wandered. 

“I–Maybe not for a while. It’s not that I want to, but I think some distance will do me some good. I want to respect your boundaries, and for me to do that, I need to get my feelings sorted out. I’m… I’ve made up my mind anyway. I’m leaving the city.” 

“What?” You choked. “When? Where are you going?”

Then a spark of anger went off. You jabbed at his shoulder. Guille yelped suddenly, his eyes became wide with surprise. 

“You jerk! Is that the reason why you’re finally saying sorry?!” 

“I–No, of course not! I mean, yeah, but no!” He gestured in the air. “What I’m trying to say is… I’m here because I want to make amends, not because I feel like I had to. Besides, I won’t be leaving for another two months.” 

Oh.

“Oh.” Your cheeks felt warm. 

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” He repeated with a sarcastic note but a playful spark lit up his eyes. 

You apologised sheepishly. Then, “Where are you headed? And what are you going to do?”

Guille shrugged, leaning back against his arms as he looked up at the night sky.

“I don’t know yet. I was thinking of travelling for a bit, maybe go around Europe first? Do you remember how Aunt Aloma lives in London? Yeah, she told me I could stay with her if I ever planned to go there for university.”

When he mentioned London, a lead sank into your gut. Logically, you knew it wasn’t too far away; the three-hour long flight would be a small price to pay to see Guille again. The fact that he wouldn’t be an arm’s reach away like he was right then—that childhood was departing—made your chest ache. You didn’t know you’d teared up until you felt Guille’s hand on your shoulder and the consequent squeeze there. 

“Don’t cry on me now, I haven’t even left yet.” He said lightly but his eyes were glazed over, too. “Hey, don’t worry, it won’t be for good. Before you know it, I’ll be back here to annoy you. And you know, maybe once I’ve settled in London you could even visit.”

You took his hand and squeezed it back, saying, “Just say the word and I’ll be there. 

[2]

“He’s studying what now?” 

“Sports Psychology. Pay attention.” You swatted at Alexia’s hand but she ignored you. She continued to pinch some more grass from beside where she was laying and let them get carried by the breeze as she threw them into the air. The blades of grass flew freely but some of them landed on her chest and stomach where a bunch of them had begun to pile up. Still, she continued her endeavor. She looked ridiculous but warmth filled you nonetheless, and you smiled as you leaned over to pick them off her jersey. 

Alexia hummed with a note of surprise, “He works fast. He’s only been away for four months?”

“Well, we are talking about Guille here.” 

“Hmm, I always thought Lover Boy would end up in physio–Hey!” 

Alexia yelped when you jerked your thigh that her head was resting on.

“Stop calling him that,” you reprimanded with a light flick to her forehead. At the reminder though, your cheeks warmed. 

She rubbed her forehead as she narrowed her eyes at you, then with a huff and a pout, “Fine, fine! No need to get defensive. Why is it such a big deal anyway?”

“Because, Alexia, we’re all trying to move on.”

“You make it sound like the two of you broke up or something.” She snickered before adding, “Which begs the question, why didn’t you ever go out with him? Minus the fact that he gave you a concussion, of course.” 

Her tone changed at the end, an inflection of something bitter—a bit of her protectiveness showing through—that you chose to ignore. Yet you found yourself unable to answer her anyway. 

You recalled the conversation you had with Guille that night, the way he figured out who held your heart so easily. Ever since, a question gnawed at the edge of your mind, the same one that whispered to you now: were your feelings so transparent? So obvious? 

A brush against your jaw pulled you back and, upon looking down, you were met with the question still in Alexia’s eyes. You shrugged, pulling away from her touch as nonchalantly as you could. 

“Guille is a friend and only that.”

“But you were so close,” she commented.

“Proximity doesn’t always mean intimacy, Alexia.” You were grasping for straws, you knew this. Your eyes wandered before you admitted with another shrug, “Besides, I can’t really see myself in a relationship. Not right now, anyway.”

“Oh.” The sound Alexia made was gentle, barely audible, that you thought it was the wind’s whisper. And then in a tone so soft, “Really? You don’t like anyone? Anyone at all?”

There was something in the way she asked that beckoned you to look back down at her. The scattered rays of the sun dappled her freckled cheeks with flushed amber, and her eyes that were normally a deep shade of ochre shone golden in the light. There was a softness in them that made your heart stutter, and another thing you couldn’t quite figure out, almost a plea, but about what?

You dragged your eyes away from her lips to meet her eyes.

“No, I don’t think it’s for me,” you murmured.

She stared at you for a long time. It felt like being swallowed into their depths and you could do nothing but be swept away, keep the contact somehow, lest she’d find something she shouldn’t see. So you stared right back. 

Eventually, she whispered, “Maybe you just haven’t found the right person yet.”

The lump in your throat remained even after you swallowed. Finally looking away, you hummed out in half-agreement.

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

A pause.

“Do you miss him?” 

“I do. I really do.” You admitted with a sigh. 

After another moment of silence, Alexia continued.

“Would… would you join a club in England?” 

Your gaze flicked back down to her, frowning a little.

“It’s either Barça or Bayern for me, Alexia. You know this.” 

At that, Alexia averted her eyes, picked a fallen leaf, twirled it between her fingers, and then looked at it as if it held the mysteries of the world. 

Carding a finger through her hair, you prompted softly, “Why would you ask that?” 

She shrugged, quirking the corner of her lips downwards. Then she met your eyes with barely concealed vulnerability, voice hesitant when she asked, “So, you’re staying?”

“I am,” you said firmly, smiling at her. “Besides, we’re in this together, aren’t we? Wherever you go, I’ll follow.” 

Finally, her lips broke into a grin.

“I can’t wait to play with you when we get on the first team.” She said with such certainty you couldn’t help but grin back.

“Do you really think we’ll make it?”

“Yeah. We will, you’ll see.”

And you did.

There reflected in her eyes the vision of a future. That familiar splendor of passion—that unwavering resolve—shone untarnished, and the mere sight of it filled you with an overwhelming desire to kiss her. Instead, you leaned down and pressed your forehead to hers.

Alexia accepted the contact with a sigh, and then she whispered, “Sorry to say, but you’re stuck with me, too.”

[3]

You got into Barça’s first team—the both of you did. 

There was a moment where you thought it was too good to be true, and that surely the other shoe would drop any time soon. 

And it did.

Maybe deep down, you hoped otherwise; that the universe would prove you wrong. But the universe had a wicked sense of humor, and you would’ve laughed at the cruelty of the joke if anguish had not choked your laughter tight into tears. The taste of achievement was still fresh on your tongue, still on your way to relishing it, before that same sweetness quickly soured to bitter disappointment. 

Not a year after joining Barça’s first team ranks, the news reached you. Our funds were not enough, they said, and they were sorry they had to cut the women’s team. There was no other way, the club didn’t have enough money to keep the team in the league.

The fact that you got a taste of your dream only to have the rug pulled beneath you was maddening, and it made the pain from the fall all the more worse. The news hit you hard, but Alexia took it the worst.

There was a thin line between perseverance and obsession, and some would even go so far to say that the two were opposite sides to the same coin. You know this. And you also know that Alexia had tossed that coin so many times now that she’d probably forgotten what each of those faces meant, progressively confounding one for the other until they were now one and the same.

Looking back now, the signs were all there: you were blinded by your own loss and your admiration for Alexia that you failed to see it or what it really was—a festering obsession. The signs were there in your time with Espanyol, especially during the first few months after the news of Barça’s restructuring broke; they were present in the way Alexia behaved compulsively, always seething with barely concealed hunger, her tenacity both on and off the field magnified to the tens. It waned somewhat during the season but now with the both of you facing another move—to Levante this time—her obsession resurfaced with renewed vigor, corrupting each knot of her muscle to constrict to their breaking point.

“Ale, do you want to come over to mine?” You asked, leaning against the doorframe of Alexia’s bedroom, while Alexia remained hunched over a folder filled with formations, the same one she’d been studying since last match day.

“Why?” She threw over her shoulder, not even turning to look at you.

You picked at your thumb. 

“I don’t know. Just come and sleep over? Mamá and Papá have been asking about you, you know?”

Finally she turned and her eyes found you. They were flat and the skin under them looked darker than they were yesterday. A slight crease was present between her brows, and her lips drooped slightly at the corners, seemingly unimpressed.

“I just saw them yesterday.” 

Okay, maybe that was a lie.

You shrugged it off, “Doesn’t matter. Come visit anyway.”

“I have other things to worry about,” Alexia grumbled with annoyance, turning around to assume her previous position.

“That’s not going to run away from you, Alexia. Come on.”

 Without letting her get another word in, you took her wrist in a gentle grip and tugged her away from her table. Although you had to admit, it was difficult not to remain unfazed when Alexia got like this, especially considering what she’s going through. Another part of your brain was saying the opposite; that it was because of what she’s going through that you had to intervene like this.

“Hey, wait! What are you doing?!” Alexia protested halfway down the stairs.

“Dragging you to my place, of course.”

“What about my things?”

“You have clothes there. Or, you can just wear my stuff.”

“But we have training!”

“It’s only a light session tomorrow.” 

“But—”

“Alexia.” 

You fixed a stern eye at her over your shoulder and she opened her mouth, as if to say something, before she shut it, sighing in defeat.

The both of you just made it down the stairs to see the front door swing open. Eli entered first, Alba trailing in after. At the sight of her family, Alexia strode to where they were to greet them; she kissed Eli on her temple, and Alba on top of her head.

“How’s Papá?”

Eli gave her daughter a small smile, but the skin around her eyes remained taut, weighed down by something inexplicably heavy. 

“He’s stable, love. The same as when you saw him this morning.” Eli’s gaze flicked to you. “Are you girls heading out?”

You nodded.

“I’ll be stealing away Alexia for the night. Is that okay?”

Eli smiled at you, “Of course.”

“We made some food for dinner. They’re on the stove top.”

“Oh, thank you, my girls.” Eli said, hugging you goodbye after you’d put on your shoes. Then she whispered in your ear, “Thank you.”

In response, you only hugged her tighter. Without meaning to, your eyes fleeted over to Alexia who was having a hushed conversation with Alba. By the end of it, Alexia embraced her little sister, placing another kiss atop her head only this time, Alexia’s brows were deeply creased. 

When you pulled away, you said, squeezing Eli’s hands. “Get some rest, Má. I’ll bring her back first thing after practice tomorrow.” 

And with that, you and Alexia headed out. 

The transit to your place was punctuated with a vacuous silence. Alexia sat beside you, less than an arm’s reach away, but her eyes were trained at somewhere far on the horizon; and she, even farther. But you let her be, there was plenty of time to talk later after all. 

By the time you got home, the lights were already off save for the small night light in the hallway so the both of you climbed the stairs on your toes, making sure to avoid that one creaky spot by the corner.

“You can clean up here, I’ll use the other shower. “ You said, jutting your chin to the direction of the shower. 

Alexia only nodded.

When you returned to your room, the bathroom was empty, a fresh glass of water stood by your night stand, and Alexia was nowhere to be seen. You were just about to head downstairs when she padded into your room with a towel draped over her head and a damp spot from her hair on a shirt you recognised to be yours. 

She must’ve seen the question in your eyes because she muttered, “Double-checked the door lock.”

You hummed as she walked past you, back into the bathroom, and you heard the tap run. 

“Thanks for the water,” you said while taking a sip from the glass she put there.

A sound of recognition came from Alexia.

When Alexia finally finished her business in the bathroom, hair slightly ruffled and almost dry, you were already settled in bed, the sheets on her side pulled off in silent invitation. But Alexia remained standing there, by the golden cast of your night lamp, looking a bit lost for reasons you understood.

Softly, you coaxed, “Hey.”

Alexia’s eyes flicked to you and your heart ached at the sight of them so dulled and weary. It took her another moment but she finally slid in next to you, the warmth of her finally arriving home and seeping into your bones. When her feet brushed over your legs as she shifted beside you, you joked with a hushed giggle to lighten the mood, “Get your cold feet away from me.” 

It worked because her lips quirked up slightly, eyes rolling in jest, but not a second later, her eyes dimmed again, and she looked away. You propped yourself up on your elbow to see her clearly but she refused to meet your eyes. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, you whispered, the words cracking under the weight of your emotion.

“Ale, talk to me.”

Silence.

A breath.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” came the hoarse reply.

Breathing deeply, you buried your fingers in her hair to try and soothe her. And again, you spoke in whispers. 

“You know, it’s okay to grieve about it, to be angry about it. You don’t have to be strong all the time, Alexia.”

Her eyes flashed with something red then and she growled.

“And what will grieving get me? The way through is forward and only forward. Do you think the world will stop to give you enough time to grieve? To be angry?”

She continued, each word exhaled with urgency. 

“No. The moment you stop, you will be left behind. And I can’t stop. Not now. Especially not now.”

“Having a moment for yourself isn’t stopping. You can’t expect yourself to go on like this forever. Sometimes, you have to do what’s good for yourself, Alexia.”

A scoff.

“It doesn’t matter what’s good for me. What I need is to get back to Barça. Then, and only then, will I feel at ease.”

“At the expense of what, then? Killing your passion for the sport by making it your duty?”

Alexia startled you when she ripped herself away from you, sitting up so abruptly that the headboard banged against the wall. And when she glared down at you, you found a look in her eyes similar to that of a desperate animal’s; a look where the distinction between fear and anger blurred into something wild. 

Then, through her teeth, she hissed in a low voice.

“It is my duty! It always has been. Don’t you see? It has always been more than a sport to me. It’s not the same for you and I don’t expect you to understand because you—”

She stopped herself, facing forward in an instant, pinching the bridge of her nose as she setted her arms over her folded knees. 

Slowly, you rose, and only the sound of sheets settling around your waist filled the air. This momentary reprieve was mainly for Alexia’s sake—she was overwhelmed, that was clear to see—but maybe you needed a moment yourself because what she said hurt you. Still, you soldiered on because this was for Alexia. 

She tensed upon your touch, her muscles rippled beneath your palm as you dragged it from the small of her back, tracing the contours of her spine to the nape of her neck, but by the time your hand finally settled on her opposite shoulder, some of the tension had melted away.

“No, you’re right, I don’t understand,” you began, voice strained. “I don’t understand why you’re so adamant in destroying yourself. This—this shutting your family out with what’s happening with you. Your mother is worried sick. She’s asking about how you are, Alexia, do you know that? Your own mother!” 

Alexia released a weary sigh and then said in an even wearier tone.

“She has no need to worry.”

You almost scoffed at that, but stopped yourself although you couldn’t help the severity that bled into your next words.

“How could she not when you’re working yourself to the bone? Tell me, how do you expect us not to worry?” 

Silence. Then the murmur of folding fabric when Alexia curled into herself, head buried in the arms folded over her knees. In that cavern of her own making, a ragged breath echoed, followed by the shuddering of muscles. You ached at the state of her, and there was a lump in your throat that you couldn’t swallow. 

And barely above a whisper, you breathed, “You cannot carry the whole weight of the world by yourself. You’re not Atlas, Alexia. Let your family in.”

“Ale,” you tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. Red eyes peered from the darkness of her arms and it broke you, but you had to plead, “Talk to me. Please…”

“I–I’m scared,” she choked out finally. “He’s getting worse. It’s the second attack this month and I—”

Her fingers dug into her arms when she tightened her grip.

“I thought winning the Copa de la Reina last year would give us enough exposure but it wasn’t enough. So, I wanted to do it again this season to prove that we belong in Barça but instead, we lost to them.” A ragged breath. “And now we’re going to Levante. I just–”

She looked up at you, lips quivering with a whimper, “I just want us to go home.”

“Oh, Alexia.” 

Without saying another word, you put your arms around her, forehead pressed close against her ear and the hitch in her breathing resounded loud and clear.

“It’s frustrating, isn’t it, how far we seem from getting back?” Alexia’s back tensed in answer but you only hugged tighter. “But that’s not true at all.”

You felt Alexia lift her head and you moved away just enough to see how she eyed you with confusion. You gave her a small smile as you grazed your knuckles over her tear-stained cheek.

“On top of your club activities, your national performance has been nothing short of exemplary. Those matter. And with all the articles they’ve been writing about you, it’s only a matter of time now.” Brightening your tone a little, you added with a playful smile, “you probably won’t finish your season with Levante before Barça gets their hands on you.”

A corner of her lips lifted up upon your remark so you pushed on.

“I know it’s not the same as being in Barça, but what you’ve achieved so far has got to count for something, Alexia. Your father… he’s so, so proud of you.” Your tone shifted, now firm. “And I doubt he’d be happy to know that his daughter is pushing her body past the point of injury to get into Barça. You know your mother and sister have been covering your ass, right? Uh-huh, yeah, I thought so.”

“You need to let yourself breathe,” you kissed her temple, then her shoulder. When your eyes met again, you found a soft look in hers that reminded you of when you were younger. Smoothing her hair again, you asked, “Can you do that, Alexia? Not for us, but for yourself?”

Alexia regarded you for a long, silent moment. Then she closed her eyes, opened them a breath later, and nodded, her lips curling up to a sincere smile. In response, you couldn’t help but grin back at her.

Sensing that her mood had elevated, you placed one last kiss on her temple before you reached over her, towards the lamp to turn it off, leaving your room illuminated by the blue glow of the moon. Alexia needed no guidance to rest her head against your chest and immediately, you wrapped your arms around her. She sighed deep in the crook of your neck and you were filled with a sense of belonging—of wholeness.

Your eyes fluttered shut to the rhythm of  Alexia’s heartbeat pressed against your side.

“I’m sorry”, came the whisper.

“What for?”

“I shouldn’t have said what I did, about you not understanding. That was wrong, and I know all of this means everything to you like the way it means everything to me.”

“I appreciate that, Alexia. Don’t worry about it.” 

“And I’m sorry for—”

“Ale,” you mumbled, pressing a kiss on her crown, “you don’t have to apologise for anything.”

A pause before a deep exhale heated up your neck.

“Thank you, then.”

You hummed, already halfway to dreaming. And with one last reassuring squeeze at her hip, you found yourself murmuring, “I got you. Good night, Ale.”

“Good night,” Alexia said with a kiss to your neck and you slept with a smile on your lips.

[4]

“Alexia! Can you please—Shit!” 

It was too late. 

The box on top of the one you were carrying slid and fell, and all you could do was cringe as it spilled all of your toiletries by the front door. 

“Oops, sorry.”

You turned to Alexia with a glare of slight annoyance, but when you saw her sheepish expression, with the corners of her mouth pulled down and an eye twisted to a flinch, you let it go. With a roll of your eyes and a slight shake of your head, you signaled for her to proceed ahead as you held the door open with your weight. Once inside, she settled her boxes down on the tiled floor, letting out a small grunt as she did so, before she took yours. 

You’d just finished picking up the toiletries when Alexia asked, “That’s the last of it, yes?”

Turning to face her, you saw her wipe the sweat off her temples before settling her hands on her hips. She scanned the would-be living room occupied by some stacks of boxes. Apart from the couch and mattresses, almost everything else needed to be unpacked and organised.

You placed the toiletries on the nearest counter and made a beeline for the couch. On your way, you patted her back and replied. 

“Yep. Just let me take five, and then we can open ‘em up.”

You face-planted on the couch with a groan, which then turned to a sigh not a second later. Those boxes took more from you than you’d anticipated, making the stiffness of the couch feel as soft as clouds to your bones. 

The strain from your eyes began to dissipate the moment your eyes fluttered shut, and you could feel the peace that awaited you in that velvet darkness when you were ripped back to wakefulness the moment a warm, crushing weight pressed onto your spine. 

Alexia had taken it upon herself to drape herself over you like you were the couch itself. 

“What—Alexia!” You yelped, “Get off me!” 

But of course, she did the exact opposite.

“Why? I was just getting comfortable,” Alexia deadpanned. 

She shifted on your back and she at least had the decency to prevent her elbows from digging into your back as she did. The next thing you knew, her front followed the curve of your back, blanketing you in her warmth, while her arms wrapped loosely around your waist.

Your heart thundered in your chest and you tried not to think too hard about it so you snorted out, “I hope you’re comfortable.”

“Since you asked, yes. I very much am, thank you.” 

“You’re so annoying.” 

“I carried those boxes for you.” 

“You didn’t have to if you didn’t make me drop the toiletries.”

“I told you to tape up the box, but you didn’t listen to me, so whose fault is it exactly?”

You rolled your eyes. She was right, but you weren’t about to tell her that. 

“You’re impossible.”

“Impossibly right, yes.”

See? You didn’t have to tell her. 

You scoffed, “Why do I even put up with you?”

“Because you love me,” Alexia said in a matter-of-fact tone that made your heart jump. “Now shush. Let’s nap for a bit and then unpack.”

Alexia yawned, snuggling closer into you. If she heard the way your heart pounded, she didn’t comment on it. As you drifted into a warm slumber, there was weight that pressed against your chest—a realization of some sort—but about what, you didn’t know. 

Only after you woke to find Alexia had unpacked the boxes containing essential items and ordered a bag-full of takeaways; only after the both of you finished dining on paper plates, crossed-legged on the tiled, living room floor, laughing with your mouths full when Alexia made a mess of her food because of her inability to use chopsticks; only after Alexia found her Polaroid camera and took photos of the two of you, her arm slung casually over your shoulder, her lips pressed against your cheek. Then, and only then, did you recognise what that weight was for what it was. 

You knew then: you were utterly and irrevocably gone.

You were in love.

And you could only pray that the heat from your cheeks wouldn’t sell you out. 

[5]

With all the changes that came with moving shelters and clubs, there was no time to think about home. Between getting used to your new club schedules, being acquainted with your new coaches and teammates, and familiarising yourself with the local area, your mind had no energy left to ruminate by the end of the day. And the difference between staying over at Alexia’s—or vice versa—for a few nights and living under the same roof together for the foreseeable future became increasingly obvious as you settled in your apartment in Buñol. 

It was all new but the both of you managed and even somehow established a sort of routine. While you did most of the cooking and half of the cleaning, Alexia did the groceries and, thanks to her natural affinity for the sun—her words, not yours—she insisted on doing the laundry. You teased her about it but more often than not, her weather predictions proved accurate to the forecast, saving the both of you the trouble of dealing with damp clothes. 

But as routine fell into place, so did the yearning for home.

The thing about missing home was that it brought on a different kind of longing. It was the kind that burrowed deep, the kind that dug a gaping hole in your chest and left you at a loss for how to fill it. It provoked the desire to turn back the hands of time, live in a memory, and step back into a moment already gone by. 

Yes, there was a sense of freedom that came with living apart from your family, and sure the distance between Buñol and Mollet was only a three-hour drive or a five-hour train ride away. All of those things are true, but you’d be lying if you said being away from home didn’t feel heavy. 

No more was the comforting presence of your parents at hand nor the jovial company of Alexia’s family nearby; it was just you and Alexia.

And the world never felt bigger than it was now. 

You were lucky, though, to have Alexia with you. She was a piece of home that you took with you, and just having her by your side helped ease the ache somehow. But you have to admit, living with her brought on a different kind of pain. 

Ever since you realized just how deep your feelings for her ran, being around her had only gotten more difficult. Everything and everywhere reminded you of her, and everything she did would send a jolt to your heart that left you breathless. Something as simple as her running her fingers through her hair, or a small smile; a brush against your cheek, a hand against the small of your back—you were sure you were this close to going mad.

The intensity and frequency of these… stutters had only seemed to increase by the day, and frankly, it was beginning to scare you. That, and the questions that had been nagging you lately.

What would Alexia do if she found out that you liked her way more than a friend should? That you liked women? Could Alexia like women? She probably didn’t. She would hate you for this, wouldn’t she? What about your parents? How would you even go about telling them? Would they still love you? What if—

The sound of the key being slotted into the lock, followed by the opening and closing of the door cut your thoughts short. And then came a soft sound, barely audible.

“Alexia?” 

You called out but there was no response so you padded over to the living room. Just before the end of the corridor a small movement caught your eye. You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips even if you tried.

“What—”

The kitten mewled softly again, rubbing itself against the beige tone of the walls as it took you in with those large, yellow eyes. Its coat looked bright and pristine, nearly as white as the petals of the tree heath flowers that bloomed at home in spring. The same flowers that filled the garden of your home with their sweetness. 

“Hey, there. How did you get in here?” You cooed, crouching slowly, before you reached out your hand towards the kitten. It took a cautious step back but you waited patiently, keeping your hand where it was. A moment later, it seemed to have found the courage, stepping forward tentatively to sniff at your finger, before it licked your knuckle. Then it ducked down, nuzzling its head against your palm, its eyes closing from the contact. 

Warmth flooded your chest and you whispered, “Oh, you’re so adorable!”

“She’s yours.”

Your eyes flicked up to find Alexia leaning her weight against the wall, her arms crossed, head tilted slightly to the side; her eyes lidded with something you couldn’t quite recognise but you felt their warmth. The soft smile on her lips made her face look radiant and beneath her gaze, you couldn’t help the heat that rushed to your cheeks.

As an excuse to hide your face, you dipped down your chin to pick the kitten who only yawned in response. 

“Mine?” You asked as you stood up and walked over to where Alexia was, stopping just an arm’s length away.

Alexia only hummed in agreement, her smile still as soft as ever.

At that, you reached and draped your free arm around her neck, whispering against her ear, “Thank you.”

She moved, finally, wrapping her arms around your waist to pull you closer.

“You’re welcome.” Her words, murmured though as they were, curled through the smile you knew she still wore and made their home in your heart. 

“What are you going to name her?” Alexia asked.

“Nona.”

“Nona?”

You hummed in confirmation. You pulled away just enough to make space to look at Nona, and you tried hard not to focus too much on how Alexia had settled her hands on your hips. 

“Mamá, Papá, me” you began, putting up a digit on your free hand as you listed each one, “You, Alba, Eli, Jaume, Guille…”

“And Nona,” Alexia finished for you, smiling down at Nona. Alexia met your eyes again.

“Your family of nine?”

“Mine,” you nodded, “And yours, too.” 

Alexia beamed down at you but then she scrunched her nose. 

“Does Guille need to be there?”

“Alexia!” 

[6]

It was raining when Alexia told you.

On a damp Monday night, a few months following your move to Levante—after the both of you found an apartment in Buñol, and after that fateful day of realisation—she said something that changed everything. 

Throughout the day, you couldn’t help but notice how strange Alexia was behaving. She’d twisted and fiddled with the hem of her jersey during today’s practice enough that she’d torn a hole through one spot. She’d twirled that loose lock of her hair so many times that you’d already lost count, and on the drive home, more than once, sped through a yellow sign. Even now, she was silent beside you as she helped cook the meal for you two tonight when usually, she would have gone over what happened at practice twice at this point. 

And at the rate she was going, she’d end up gnawing off the skin of her lower lip. 

“Why don’t you go ahead and clean up first?” You said as casually as you could, taking both of your plates off the table and moving towards the sink.

Alexia eyed you. 

“Is everything alright?” She asked. You caught a sight of her over your shoulder, sitting up, more alert than a second ago. 

“No, nothing. Why do you ask that?”

A pregnant pause.

“Because you normally let me help with the dishes.”

You shrugged, turning back to the sink. “Seriously, Alexia. It’s nothing. You just look tired. Now go so I can shower. We can put on AHS after.”

Another pause and then finally, you heard the scrape of her chair against the tiles.

“Alright,” she mumbled before her footsteps receded.

Much later, when you’d finished cleaning up and showered, the two of you wounded up on the couch, wrapped in each other with an episode of American Horror Story playing in the background. Alexia’s head was tucked in the crook of your neck while you played with a loose lock of her hair when you finally asked her.

“Are you ready to tell me what you’ve been worrying about all day, or should I keep pretending that I haven’t noticed?” 

You kept your tone light, almost teasing, because you had a feeling that whatever Alexia was about to say had weight to it. And surely enough, as soon as the question had left your mouth did Alexia stiffen against you and her breathing stilled. It took her another moment to pull away, untangling herself from you, before she reclined against the couch. 

Without so much as looking at you, she countered, “Could you hate me?”

The question jarred you and you couldn’t help but frown in confusion. What kind of question was that? You looked at her—searching for answers as to why she would ask such a thing—but Alexia kept her eyes fixed to the TV while the flashing images made shadows play on the smooth neutrality of her forehead and cheeks. You found no answer, so you replied truthfully. 

“No. Disappointed maybe, but hate? I can’t think of anything that would make me hate you.”

At that, her shoulders curled forward, arms crossing over her chest, and her chin dipped down so low it almost looked uncomfortable. 

She said softly, “Just think about it.”

Silence settled—heavily. 

You gnawed your lip, turning over everything in your head, as you tried desperately to come up with something. But nothing.

“Honestly, Alexia, unless you killed someone, I really can’t think of anything else.”

“I—” Alexia started but a choke cut off the rest of it. 

The sound came out so suddenly that it seemed to reverberate, bouncing off the walls and resounded loud in your ears. You sat up, alert, fully facing Alexia who now had her hands over her face, shielding her eyes from your view. She drew in a breath, and what she released was something shaky. 

You’d never seen her like this before, and you’d faced more than a handful of adversities together. What could possibly be making her hurt like this? Your gut twisted at the sight of her and you were filled with an overwhelming urge to take her in your arms. Instead, you settled for a light touch to her knee.

“Alexia,” you began softly, “What is it?”

Under the shield of her hand, you saw her lips quiver. Then a tear ran down her chin.

You ached at the sight but you remained silent.

“I’m—” Her lips twisted to a grimace. “I—I don’t know how it happened I just—”

Another pause.

“I like women.”

For a moment, the air stilled; almost like a vacuum had swallowed up all sounds. And then something swelled: blood rushed into your ears, and, as if life had broken a shell, a flood washed over you, filling each and every bone; and it felt a lot like hope. 

The raw sob that escaped Alexia’s throat broke you from your epiphany. She must’ve misunderstood your silence because now, she’d curled even further into herself, palms digging into her sockets. You shook yourself, mentally scolding yourself for getting distracted, before you moved closer to her.

“Oh, Alexia.” She flinched away when she felt your arms around her but you only clung tighter. “Thank you, Alexia, for trusting me with this. I want you to know that you don’t have to hide from me, that this doesn’t change anything no matter how that voice in your head might tell you otherwise. You’re still Alexia, and I—I love you all the same. I don’t hate you, I promise, and I won’t. I’ll always be here.”

When you whispered those words into her ear, she finally sagged into your embrace, turning her head so it rested, again, in the crook of your neck where she released a sob. This time, it sounded more from relief than from grief. 

There, on the couch, you held her until she fell asleep. 

“You know,” you whispered in the dark, tucking a lock of Alexia’s hair behind her ear long after she’d fallen asleep. Alexia didn’t stir, and you continued to no one in particular, “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

And there with your whole world in your arms, you finally allowed yourself the luxury to hope.

[7]

When you were seven, just a few months before you met Alexia, an idea dawned on you. Sick and tired of the kid’s pool, with its small and, if you were being honest, slightly unkempt water, the large one next door offered freedom—a tantalizing concept for a child. You stood at one end of that pool and found a face of determination reflected back at you. You were going to do it; you would swim across the length of the pool and make it to the other side. 

And then, you jumped in.

It took about a minute or two before your muscles started burning, hardening to a cramp with every stroke, and yet the other side didn’t look any closer. That was when it sank in; the pool was far too large. There was a brief moment when you gasped for air and remembered to swim towards the nearest edge, just like your father taught you, but by that point it was already too late.

Water rushed into your nose and mouth, bringing stinging hopelessness in their wake, clogging your throat with a muffling silence that stifled your scream.

Your father barely caught you in time.

Yes, you remembered all too well that burn in your lungs. 

If that pool was a frozen lake, what would drowning feel like? 

In Barcelona, the lakes never froze in winter. Even the westerly winds that brought the Atlantic squalls slithering under each door in the city in cold February weren’t enough to make the chill settle in. The only time your bones truly felt the bitter meaning of winter was when you’d gone to Norway to attend a relative’s funeral, and the occasion did nothing to lessen the cold. It was also the first time you’d ever stepped foot on ice, and the fear that lanced through you at the sound of the first crack—seemingly almost like a thunder out of the blue—left you rooted to the spot, fearful that a breath could put you under.

Waiting for death felt just like that; like walking on a slate of ice. 

And the aftermath? 

A drowning of a different kind.

Every phone call was a step on that thin slate of ice; every step a space closer to certainty, each one a crack on that fragile surface, another moment closer to a falling in. The thing was, death was as true as the ice giving way but no matter how inevitable the end may be, or how slow the unfurling of that mortal coil may seem, the force of the fall was no less devastating. The ice would shatter and there would be a split-second when you’d feel suspended, held by a single thread of hope for one last miracle—the only miracle that mattered—but there was no saving you from the freezing waters. 

And nobody ever told you about how quickly you would sink under; about how the cold would bite their way down to the bones while your blood sang that familiar rhythm of life, a bitter reminder of the clear division between past and present—the antecedent and the aftermath; and just how painful it would be to be stuck in-between remembering what once was and what could have been.

In that space, in that frigid depth, no amount of screaming nor air could prevent you from drowning. Without the arms of a father to save you, how could you not drown?

And the worst part?

There was no bottom to grief; you either float or sink in that frozen lake.

And Alexia sank. 

[8]

Days passed, weeks, then months; the world kept turning. Life demanded you to be present and compelled you to move forward like everyone else. And yet still, even after changing everything in its wake, grief lingered as it always did. 

There were still times when you’d catch Alexia turn from every mirror, eyes casted down almost out of fear of what she’d see. How could you look at your reflection when every bit of skin there held the reminders of what you’d lost? Every reminder brought with it a memory, and what were memories if not a mouth full of teeth? It was a mouth that took every opportunity to bare its teeth, to gnaw at that hole in your chest until the edges were raw again—like they never healed to begin with. Again and again, it bit; its teeth, painting themselves red.

But if anything could transcend time itself, it was the resilience of the human spirit. Even if her father was never far from her mind, Alexia pressed forward; now for two hearts instead of one. 

Winter ended finally, and the sun rose again. And when summer arrived, so did the news. 

“Llorens spoke with me today,” Alexia spoke over the running of the tap. You looked at her over your shoulder, she was leaning against the frame of the kitchen door. She said the next part in a tone so soft that you barely caught it.

“He said… They asked me to rejoin Barça.”

Your eyes widened and it only took you a moment before you ran to her, wrapping your arms around Alexia’s neck, while Alexia returned the embrace by putting her arms around your waist. 

“Holy shit, Alexia! That’s amazing!” You practically screamed into her ear. Pulling away to look at her, you found pride shining in her eyes but for reasons you couldn’t quite understand, there was a weight that burdened the corners of her lips. You knew just how much this meant to her, getting back into Barça, and it worried you that she wasn’t celebrating like you’d expected her to.

You asked gently, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

At that, she sighed heavily, tightening her hold around your waist as she did. She gnawed at her lower lip, brows creasing.

“You haven’t heard anything from them?”

“No,” you admitted, ignoring the twinge in your chest. “It doesn’t matter, Alexia. This is your opportunity to go back. When are you due to leave?”

“I—I told them I’d get back to them tomorrow.”

Your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.

“What! Alexia, what’s gotten into you?”

“I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Finally, you recognised what it was that was casting its familiar shadows in her eyes: worry. Although you were grateful that she was, it was completely unnecessary and borderline irrational. She shouldn’t throw away what she worked hard for because you couldn’t perform at the same level, and no way in hell would you let her feel bad for your own inadequacy. 

You took her face into your hands, looking into her eyes as you enunciated each word slowly.

“Alexia, listen to me. You will meet with Llorens first thing tomorrow, and you will put that pen to paper, do you hear me? And then you will leave Levante without me—” when she opened her mouth, as if to protest, you pressed a finger to her lips. “You will leave Levante without me, and you will play for Barça come this season. There are no ‘buts’ here, Alexia. You have to do this. You owe yourself that much.”

Alexia remained quiet but she looked at you with large eyes that made your heart ache the way it always did for her. 

And then, “What about you?”

“I will work twice as hard. And I will meet you there,” you whispered, losing yourself in the depth of her eyes. “I promise.”

Alexia nodded and slowly, a smile made its way onto her lips.

“You better.” She mumbled. Then she added playfully, “Now get your hands off of my face, you’ve made it all wet.”

You flashed her a devilish grin before you wiped one of your hands down her face. 

[9]

It wasn’t until a month after your first game with Barça that you saw Diana again. 

With her line of work, it was no surprise that she was an incredibly busy person. That meant her stays in Barcelona were brief enough that she couldn’t make it to any friendly hangouts the way your other friends’ partners could, only ever having the time for Alexia which was the most important thing. So when Alexia messaged the group chat last night that she and Diana would be lunching with you, Patri, Tori, and Mapi today, everyone received the news with barely hidden enthusiasm. 

And this was how you found yourself sitting at the head of the table with Patri sitting on the other end, Alexia and Diana to your left with Alexia’s arm draped casually over the back of Diana’s chair, while Mapi and Tori sat to your right. As you all waited for your food to arrive, you engaged in a light and friendly conversation. Mapi and Tori were a lethal duo when it came to jokes, almost having all of you keel over from laughter, causing the eyes of the other patrons in the restaurant to flit to your table, and you were sure you saw barely hidden amusement on the face of the waiter that served you. 

Lunch was going well—for your part especially—with all things considered. So you took this time to appreciate Alexia and Diana together just like this because you never got the chance to. And it was clear that the both of them made quite the pair; so beautiful that they almost looked untouchable. They kept their displays of affection sparse and yet the smallest of gestures held a thousand words. In Diana’s presence, Alexia seemed so happy and she had an air about her so light she was almost like the sun. 

You couldn’t help it, you smiled at the sight. Seeing Alexia like this was enough for you, and you knew this. She deserved this. If only Patri could stop eyeing you with worry, you could keep pretending that twinge in your chest didn’t exist. 

Everything was going well, but the universe—as it seemed to become accustomed to lately—was adamant to prove you wrong. Or, maybe you should’ve just crushed your feelings under foot once and for all. It was when the food arrived that things took a turn for the worse. 

When the last dish was delivered by the waiter, Tori, Patri, and Diana fell in a conversation. Mapi, you spied, was not so subtly texting someone beneath the table—Ingrid, you guessed, by the way her eyes shone and her nose crinkled in delight. Alexia on the other hand was left to fend for herself… against her food. 

After all this time, Alexia still couldn’t eat properly with chopsticks. It was definitely the bulkness of her hands that made her clumsy with the delicate tools; you’d told her as much before. You bit your tongue before you could tell her that again. Instead, you teased her.

“Are you playing with your food?”

Alexia glared at you but still, color rose to her cheeks as she grumbled. 

“Shut up. You know using these things is difficult for me.”

“Stop sulking. Besides, I already taught you before.” You rolled your eyes. Then you instructed, “Open your palm.”

She pouted but she did what you asked anyway.

“Your hands are too big so you have to hold them at the very end. Let the bottom one rest in the crook of your thumb, yes, that’s it. And hold the top like you’re writing with a pen. Loosen up a bit, you’re too tense.”

You adjusted the placement of the chopsticks slightly, “Just close your thumb over the sticks and move your—That’s it! You got it, you got it.”

With a triumphant smile, Alexia finally succeeded at her attempt to pick up her food. And when her smile curled over the food she put in her mouth, a warmth flooded the cavity of your chest. The sparkle in her eyes just then somehow made you feel like a teenager again. 

You didn’t know what it was that drew your attention to her, but your gaze flitted over to Diana. You weren’t sure what you expected; maybe that she was still talking with Patri or Tori… only she wasn’t. She was staring at you with a face set in a stoicism so neutral—her lips drawn to a careful line—that you had this unsettling feeling that she was everything but impassive. Her eyes betrayed her the most: they were sharp, barely narrowed, and there was an attentiveness in them that made you feel transparent—exposed—as if she could see right through you; as if she’d found something. 

A chill ran through you, and you shuddered internally.

Quickly, you averted your eyes back down to your meal. Developing an excessive interest in your food, you receded into yourself and tried to school your face to what you hope was impartial nonchalance. A little later when you finally felt brave enough to chance a look at Diana, you saw her talking to Patri and Tori again, laughing and smiling as if the moment between the two of you never happened.

You relaxed and you found breathing easy again. 

Maybe you were just being paranoid.

But really, you should’ve known better.

[10]

Time, with its infamous predisposition to fly, had snuck up on you. 

A blink of an eye found you stepping out of a plane in the middle of August and the next thing you knew, December only had days to breathe. Ending the year at the top of La Liga, together with your clean sheets, was nothing short of a relief. It was a testament to how you’ve integrated yourself with the team so far, but you knew enough that this shouldn’t call for complacency. In fact, it demanded the opposite; you needed to work harder especially with the match against Lyon looming closer in the horizon. 

For now though, rest was due. 

Most of your teammates had either flown themselves home or somewhere far warmer than Barcelona’s dropping temperature. For those who stayed, like you, you needed to find a way to amuse yourselves without freezing. Tonight, it seemed that the club was the unanimous choice: what better way to stay warm and have fun than to get drunk and dance? 

That was how you found yourself under flashing lights nursing your own glass while you watched the rest of your team get their freaks on from the bar. You knew Patri was already four shots down—you all had only been here an hour; Mapi and Ingrid were getting a little too cozy in a secluded corner, which you couldn’t fault them for since it was Ingrid’s last day in the city before she had to go home; Alexia had vanished with Diana to do who knew what, while Aitana and Ona were losing it on the dance floor. 

Aitana and Ona spotted you hanging out at the bar so they began to wave you over with enthusiasm. You shook your head at the display, smiling, and made to move off the counter you were leaning on when a tap on your shoulder caught your attention. But before you could turn to see who it was, a familiar voice pierced through the music. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Standing behind you was a woman; the stewardess that ushered you off your plane. Out of her work clothes and the dull setting of a plane, her beauty shone through untarnished. Gone was the sleek hairdo and instead, she’d opted to leave her hair down. Her short hair barely grazed her collarbones, you noted, and as you traced their outline, you found the piercing in her sternum glinting in silent invitation. She was wearing a simple black dress that revealed just enough of her chest to entice, the thin fabric of it accentuating the curves of her waist, and it stopped just halfway down the length of her thighs to reveal the intricate lines of floral tattoos on her side. 

Finally catching yourself, you tore your eyes away and found her gaze. What you found reflected in them was amusement and you tried to stop your cheeks from burning. 

As casually as you could, you said, “Oh, hey, it’s you. I… actually never caught your name.”

“Micah,” she replied, extending out a hand. You took it as you told her yours. She leaned on the bar, waved the bartender over who gave her the drink she asked for, and took a sip. Then she turned back to you. 

“You know, I never expected to see you again. And in a gay club, of all places.”

“Why not a gay club?” You asked with a small laugh.

She shrugged, one corner of her mouth quirking up almost sheepishly.

“I may have searched your name up after I met you. No history of relationships, just multiple pictures of you with the same guy. I thought he’s your boyfriend, so.”

“Is it a guy with curly hair?”

“Yeah.”

At that you let out another small laugh.

“That’s Guille, my best friend. He’s like a brother.”

“Oh.” Micah’s cheeks flushed. 

You gave her a grin, “Yeah. But just to clarify, I am, in fact, into women. Exclusively.”

As if a switch has been flipped, Micah’s demeanour shifted, eyes now smouldering. The change affected you in ways you didn’t anticipate and with your slight height over her, it became difficult to keep your eyes where they should be, especially when the silver glint of her piercing tempted your eyes downwards. But just as the alcohol had thinned your blood, your self-control frayed all the same; your eyes roamed down to her cleavage which you admired briefly, before you met her gaze again.

That seemed to be the signal Micah was looking for because she stepped into your space, her drink now sitting forgotten on the counter. She dragged her fingers up your arm, all the way to your exposed collarbone where she traced the skin there while she watched you with dark eyes, her plump lip between her teeth. 

You shivered; she was so close now that the heat of her body washed over you. 

“Really? Prove it, then.” Micah whispered, ghosting her lips over yours.

You leaned forward when she pulled back slightly, as if magnetized to her lips. Then you asked, “How?”

“Dance with me.”

She dragged you to the dancefloor and you let yourself be swept away in the sea of bodies moving to the same rhythm. And then the both of you danced, her body against yours, your hands tracing her outlines as you pulled her closer as she did the same to you. 

Time blurred into a singularity after that but it existed again when, at one point, Micah took your cheek into her palm to pull you down for a kiss. Her lips were searing hot when they branded yours that you couldn’t help but gasp and moan into them, a sound which Micah gladly swallowed. 

It had been a while since you’d been touched and you didn’t realise just how much you missed it: the skim of skin over skin, the languidness of your blood turning to molten rush; how you missed the deprivation of air from your lungs and the delicious ache that came with it. And how you missed touching another. Your hands sought the exposed skin of her back, relishing the softness beneath your palms as you settled them there, respectfully just above her ass, to pull her in, flushed to your body.

She sighed and she looped her arms around your neck; deeper, hotter.

And in the heat, you lost yourself. 

You couldn’t remember how the both of you made it to your apartment, only that she ended up on top of you, head between your legs as you gasped out her name in the dark. And when she braced herself against her elbow, her other hand working you over the edge once more, you couldn’t help but note how beautiful she was with her curtain of brown hair, her lips slightly parted, eyes shining in the dark.

And when you came on her fingers with her lips on yours, you had a nagging feeling that this felt a lot like when you were nineteen. 

[11]

Clutching your head, you tried to soothe the remnants of your hangover as you headed over the door. You squinted at the light that shone through when you opened it and when the blob in front of you assumed a semblance of familiarity, you croaked out a question.

“Alexia? What’re you doing here?”

“Wow, you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.” Alexia teased but when you glared at her, she finally answered your question. She lifted her hand and that was when you noticed what she was holding. “Got your jacket. You left it at the club last night.”

You blinked at her, eyes still squinted, and enunciated each word slowly. “You drove all the way here. To drop off my jacket.”

She nodded.

“And you couldn’t have waited until dinner tonight?”

“Nope. The jacket was of utmost priority, obviously. Second priority, of course, is to check that you haven’t dropped dead yet. Third, to make sure you show up at dinner on time.” Alexia stepped back and gave you a once-over. “And by the looks of it, you need more than just a check up.” 

“Fuck you.” 

At that, her brows only creased as she threw her head back to laugh. 

“Rough morning, huh?” 

“I’m glad you find my hangover amusing.” You grunted, turning to shuffle back into the kitchen to make the coffee you were about to prepare before a clown interrupted you. “Close the door, you’re letting all the heat out.”

“Okay, Grumpy.” Alexia said behind you and you heard the door close. A rustle of fabric, and then, “Go drink some water and maybe then you can actually hold a conversation.”

You rolled your eyes even though she couldn’t see your face. 

“Shut up. I’ve only been awake for an hour.” 

“Sure.” Alexia dragged out her answer like she believed what you just said—she didn’t.

You turned on the coffee machine and pressed the button for a double shot. The sound of whirring filled the air.

“You want some coffee?” You asked, looking at Alexia over your shoulder who you found was not-so-subtly craning her neck to look down the hall. When she saw you looking at her, Alexia flashed you a questioning look.

“Are we alone or… ?” Alexia trailed off but before she could finish the question, you nodded. She walked to the counter and picked an apple from the fruit bowl.

“Oh, okay, good. And no, thanks, I already had a shot before I left home this morning.” 

You returned to your coffee, placing the cup aside so you could prepare the milk. 

Beside you, you heard the running of the tap and then a rustling of clothes followed by a slight thump. From the corner of your eye, you spied Alexia leaning against the counter. 

You just finished pouring the milk into your cup when you heard Alexia hum before the unmistakable bite to the flesh of an apple. Lifting the cup, you took a sip and welcomed the bitterness of caffeine on your tongue. 

“You know,” Alexia started, “you never told me you liked women.”

You froze. 

The lingering euphoria from last night—along with the excitement from Micah’s proposal for a next time when she left early this morning—immediately vanished. There was something about the nonchalant way that Alexia got you; it cut you deep. And the wounds you thought were long healed now bled through their stitches. A dot of coffee stained the white countertop, followed by another, and before your cup slipped from your grip, you put it down and pressed your shaking hands flat on the countertop. 

“What?” Your tone was tame but you were everything but. Pressure rose in your veins because how dared she. How dared she.

“I’m not mad or anything, I’m just surprised that’s all.” Alexia laughed lightly but the sound grated at your ears. 

“Was that a recent development? Did you find that out in the States?” Then she continued with a bit of guilt seeping through her voice. “If you found out before you moved to Angel City, I hope I never made you feel as though you couldn’t share that with me. And if I did, then I’m—”

“Please, don’t insult me, Alexia.”

As if finally detecting the ice in your tone, you saw her head turn towards you from the corner of your eye, but you made no move to look at her. 

 “I’m not insulting you. It’s just–I’m a terrible friend for never seeing the signs and that I couldn’t be there for you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You scoffed but it sounded more like a choked sob than anything. The world blurred before you and you watched as your tears mixed with the coffee stains on the counter. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Came Alexia’s concerned voice before you heard a rustling of clothes, and then the touch to your shoulder. The reaction of your body was visceral: you stumbled back as you slapped her hand away as if she’d burnt you.

“Don’t touch me!” Heat pricked around the skin where she’d touch you, and you felt as if something was crawling beneath. “Get out.”

“What?”

Finally, you looked her in the eye and the force of the movement made your tears fall. Alexia stood there frozen, mouth agape, eyes wide and brows knotted in horror. You couldn’t care less; looking at her hurt and you wanted her out of your apartment—now. 

“I said leave.”

Alexia ran a frustrated hand through her hair and she pleaded, “Tell me what I did!”

“Get out, Alexia!” 

She opened her mouth, stopped midway, and finally shook her head. With one last look at you, she turned for the door but before she stepped out, she turned back to you. She sighed then said in a small voice.

“I don’t know what happened but I’m sorry anyway. I… I’ll see you tonight.”

With that, the door closed. At the click of the lock, you slid down to the floor; your back against the surface of the cabinets with Alexia’s half-eaten apple by your feet. 

She really did forget, didn’t she? And you were the only one who remembered because between the two of you, it was only you who cared enough to latch onto the memory. She didn’t care, and you doubted she ever did to begin with. Why did you think otherwise? Why?

Your face fell into your hands, and you sobbed. 

Stupid.

You were so fucking stupid. 

[pixiexdusts-world]

Min Ho’s unexpected plus-one

Min Ho Moon x girlfriend!reader

Summary: Min Ho surprises his friends with a girlfriend, and they can’t believe she’s real.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

If my heart beats any faster, I might actually pass out.

I smooth down my sweater for the hundredth time as Min Ho leads me toward the table where his friends—Dae, Q, and Kitty—are sitting. They’re deep in conversation, laughing at something I can’t hear, but the moment Min Ho clears his throat, all three heads turn in our direction.

“Guys,” Min Ho says, his voice casual but confident. “This is my girlfriend.”

Three pairs of eyes widen simultaneously.

“Girlfriend?!” Kitty is the first to react, nearly choking on her drink. She looks between us with the kind of shock I imagine she’d reserve for a major K-drama plot twist. “Did I miss something? Since when do you date?”

Min Ho sighs dramatically, placing a protective arm around my waist. “You all act like I was destined to be alone forever.”

Dae, who has been quiet up until now, finally blinks out of his stunned state. “I mean… kinda?” He looks at me with an apologetic smile. “Not because there’s anything wrong with you! Just, you know, because Min Ho’s… Min Ho.”

I laugh, and Min Ho groans. “Wow. Amazing. So much faith in me.”

Q leans forward, resting his chin on his hand as he studies me. “Okay, but seriously. We need details. How did this happen?”

“Yeah, and how are you putting up with him?” Kitty chimes in, narrowing her eyes at Min Ho like she’s waiting for me to expose all his flaws.

Min Ho scoffs, pressing a hand to his chest. “You know, a normal reaction would be ‘Congratulations, Min Ho! We’re happy for you, Min Ho!’”

Dae shrugs. “We’re still processing.”

I decide to take pity on him. “Honestly, he just kind of grew on me.” I glance up at him with a teasing smile. “Like an expensive, annoyingly charming fungus.”

Kitty gasps in delight. “Oh, I love her.”

Q grins. “Yeah, she’s definitely keeping him humble.”

Dae finally smiles. “Okay, okay, I approve.” He looks at Min Ho. “But if you mess this up, you know we’re all taking her side, right?”

Min Ho sighs. “Obviously.”

I can’t help but laugh as Kitty gestures excitedly for me to sit next to her, already launching into a million questions. Min Ho might have been nervous about this introduction, but honestly? I think I just found my new favorite people.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

As the night goes on, I settle into the group’s dynamic faster than I expected. Kitty is relentless with her questions, grilling me on everything from my favorite K-drama to my most embarrassing childhood story. Q is effortlessly charming, throwing in sarcastic quips that make Min Ho roll his eyes every five minutes. Dae, despite being the most reserved, gives me reassuring smiles that make it clear he’s warming up to me.

Min Ho stays close the whole time, his arm slung casually across the back of my chair, his fingers occasionally brushing against my shoulder. It’s subtle, but I can tell he’s still a little nervous, like he needs to make sure I’m okay. It’s sweet, really.

At one point, Kitty leans over and whispers, “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this.”

“Like what?” I whisper back.

She glances at Min Ho, who’s currently bickering with Q over something ridiculous, then back at me with a knowing smile. “Soft.”

I feel my face warm, but before I can respond, Min Ho turns back to us. “What are you two conspiring about?”

Kitty just winks. “Nothing. Just girl talk.”

Min Ho narrows his eyes at her suspiciously, but before he can press further, Dae checks his phone and sighs. “I should probably head out. My dad’s expecting me home soon.”

Q stretches. “Yeah, me too. But this was fun. You’re officially part of the group now,” he says, giving me an approving nod.

Kitty grins. “Yeah, and don’t worry, we’ll make sure Min Ho treats you right.”

Min Ho scoffs. “She doesn’t need you guys for that. I’m an amazing boyfriend.”

I hum thoughtfully. “Debatable.”

Kitty bursts into laughter. “Oh yeah, I definitely like her.”

As we all say our goodbyes, Min Ho laces his fingers through mine and pulls me a little closer. “See? Told you they’d love you.”

I smile up at him. “Yeah, I think I love them too.”

He smirks. “Not more than you love me, though. Right?”

I roll my eyes, but there’s no denying the warmth spreading through my chest. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Min Ho grins. “I knew it.”

And just like that, I realize—being with him, being part of this? It feels exactly right.

[wordsmeetwbb]

Not Just Friends

Word count: 1.8k

Content: fluff

Pairing: Pazzi

Notes: I needed a break from writing smut so here's a little something about Paige and Azzi figuring out they're gay! Obviously we don't know how this happened (if it happened, but let's be honest. they play women's basketball. the odds are high.), but this is just my take on how I think those realizations would have gone. Enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think!

________

Paige was 16 when she realized that what she felt for Azzi was more than just friendship. It was August, just over a year after they had met during USA basketball. They had settled into a routine over the summer. Although they were separated by half the country, they were closer than ever.

Every evening around eight o’clock, Paige Facetimed Azzi. More often than not, Azzi picked up on the first ring and they stayed on the call until one of them (Azzi) fell asleep. Paige missed Azzi with every fiber of her being, but she knew she was lucky to talk to Azzi as much as she did. She felt lucky that Azzi wanted to talk to her as much as she did.

On one of those Facetime calls, late into the night, Paige was yapping to Azzi while the brunette struggled to keep her eyes open. Really, it wasn’t Azzi’s fault. It was nearly two in the morning and Paige hadn’t stopped talking since midnight. She had tried to annoy Azzi into staying awake for a while, but then she felt bad and let the tired girl drift off, content to provide background noise with the endless amount of stories she wanted to tell Azzi.

“And then she like, she just fuckin’ chopped it! All of it! Like a foot of hair, Az. And I was like, ‘That’s crazy,’ and she was like ‘Not all of us have emotional attachments to our hair, Paige,’ but that’s not fair. I’m not emotionally attached, I’m just picky about my gameday hair, y’know?” Paige rambled to a mostly unconscious Azzi.

“Mhm,” Azzi mumbled. Through the screen, Paige could see the way the younger girl was nestled into the pile of blankets on her bed, clutching a unicorn stuffed animal. She smiled softly.

“Anyway, she tried to tell me I should cut my hair. And obviously, I said no, because how am I gonna do gameday braids with a fucking pixie cut, right? But she just wouldn’t let up so-” Paige cut herself off when she saw Azzi’s face relax. If she really thought about it, the reason she talked so much on these calls was because she knew Azzi fell asleep easier with background noise. And if she was extra motivated by the way the younger girl looked so peaceful in her sleep, well, that was her business and no one else’s.

Paige’s eyes traced every curve, line, and crease of Azzi’s face. Her skin glowed even in the dim room, the color darker than usual from the time she’d spent in the summer sun. Paige was confident that if she had any artistic ability whatsoever she’d be able to draw Azzi perfectly from memory. The way her eyelashes rested on her cheeks with her eyes closed, the light pink tint to her nose from a little too much time outside, the curve of her plump lips- Paige had it all memorized.

Paige hated ruining these soft moments where she just got to look at Azzi without the younger girl complaining about it, but as her eyes wandered around her face a thought popped into her head.

I’ve never looked at a guy like this. Paige paused, gaze stuck on Azzi’s perfectly curved eyebrows. What an odd thing to notice. A second thought. Paige wasn’t used to thinking during these Facetimes. She didn’t think she liked it, but the ideas seemed to have opened some kind of floodgates. More observations came pouring into her subconscious.

Her lips look so soft. I wonder what they feel like. Her eyes are such a pretty shade of brown, I wish I could see them right now. I’ve never felt like this about a friend.

Paige took a deep breath, startled by her train of thought. None of the thoughts surprised her. That was the whole problem. Azzi’s eyes were pretty, and her lips did look soft, and Paige did wonder what they felt like. She just hadn’t realized she thought any of those things.

Paige thought back to a few weeks ago when one of the girls on her team had been talking about her crush on some guy in the grade above them. The things her teammate had said about that guy had sounded a lot like everything Paige was thinking about Azzi.

Oh, Paige thought. I like Azzi.

It wasn’t anything revolutionary. Paige was pretty sure she had always liked Azzi. She just hadn’t known it. It wasn’t until nearly a year later when she and Azzi finally confessed their feelings to each other that Paige thought about what liking Azzi meant for herself.

“You never came out to me!” Azzi had exclaimed. Paige had frozen, staring at Azzi and really, truly not understanding.

“Come out to you?” she repeated. Azzi nodded, eyebrows drawing together.

“Yeah, like, are you bi? Lesbian? I came out to you months ago and I’ve been thinking you’re straight since we met, P,” she explained, looking at Paige like this was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh,” Paige said dumbly. Azzi just stared at her. “Uh, I guess I didn’t really think about it. Like, the whole not being straight thing. I just know I like you,” Paige shrugged. Azzi had blushed, the color intoxicating on her skin.

“You’re an idiot,” she said, pushing Paige’s shoulder gently. Paige just grinned.

“As long as I can be your idiot.”

________

Azzi learned she was gay at three in the morning on a Thursday when she was 16. It had, in a very cliche fashion, been a dream that sparked the realization.

She had woken up, breathing hard, the blankets feeling far too hot, with memories of soft lips on hers taking up far too much space in her mind. She threw the blankets off, sitting straight up in bed, and had a full-blown gay panic.

The longer she sat there, the more pieces of the dream came back to her. At first, it was just gentle lips on her own, and then soft blonde hair running through her fingers, and then it progressed to memories of warm pale skin under her hands. Azzi squeezed her eyes shut.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” she demanded to her brain. The clock was creeping closer to four in the morning, she had to be up for school in two hours, and she was being terrorized by completely non-platonic thoughts of her best friend. Azzi flopped face-down onto her bed and let out a scream into her pillow, realizing too late that the rest of her household was still sleeping and might have heard it.

Feeling frustratingly awake and completely insane, Azzi grabbed her phone off her nightstand and navigated into a new Google tab. “What does a dream about kissing someone mean?” she searched first. The results were straightforward, bluntly informing Azzi that dreams of kissing someone usually meant that you had romantic feelings for that person. That brought up new questions.

“How to know if I like girls?” was her next search. It was a ridiculous idea to Azzi. She had had crushes on boys before. Hell, she’d dated a boy in middle school, and as much as that wasn’t a real relationship, it definitely proved that she liked guys. So why the hell was she having a dream about kissing her best friend who was a girl? It didn’t make any sense.

“Why do I want to kiss a girl if I like guys?” Azzi tried, hoping that somebody on Reddit had the same problem as she did. Shockingly, there was a result. That’s how Azzi Fudd learned about bisexuality, and suddenly things made a lot more sense.

She tried to bring it up to Paige on their nightly Facetime that day, but Paige was being frustratingly dense.

“Hey, Paige? Have you ever thought about, like, dating somebody?” Azzi started. Paige startled, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

“Uh, yeah. But not like, for real. Don’t really wanna date people because like, ew, right? Anyway, I was thinking that next year-” Azzi, feeling disproportionately upset, ended the call. Mere seconds later, her phone was ringing with another Facetime from Paige. She let it ring for a while, wanting Paige to know that she hung up on purpose. Finally, she clicked to accept the call.

“What the hell, Az? I was telling you a story,” Paige complained. Azzi glared at her.

“And I was trying to tell you something, too.” Paige looked confused.

“But you asked me a question.”

“Yeah. Have you ever heard of a leading question, dumbass? I was using it as an intro to something,” Azzi grumbled. Paige had the decency to look at least a little bit sorry.

“That’s my bad, Az. It was just kind of a weird topic. Sorry, you can tell me whatever you were going to. I won’t even interrupt this time,” Paige apologized. Azzi swallowed, losing her nerve now that the moment had been drawn out so much.

“I just… uh. I wanted to tell you that I learned about something,” she said, mouth unbearably dry. Paige nodded, prompting her to go on. “You know that people can like guys and girls?” Azzi blurted out. Paige’s eyebrows shot up, surprise coloring her face, but she nodded slowly. Azzi could feel her hands shaking. She knew Paige was religious, but she was suddenly considering that this could end negatively. She didn’t give herself time to consider that outcome.

“I’m bisexual,” Azzi said quickly. She felt like her heart might beat right out of her chest. Paige looked at her for a moment, studying her through the phone. Azzi shifted uncomfortably. “Can you say something?” She asked, tone unsure. Paige cleared her throat, expression softening. Azzi felt her body relax immediately, just from noticing the change in Paige’s body language.

“You know I’m proud of you for telling me, right?” Paige asked. Azzi blinked. That was not the response she was expecting.

“You’re… proud of me?” she repeated. Paige nodded, the movement jerky through the screen. A smile spread across Azzi’s face.

“Thanks, Paige.” Paige just nodded again, a small smile on her face now.

So, from the time Azzi had the dream of kissing Paige (the first of many) to the time she came out to the blonde, her gay crisis lasted about 16 hours. When she thought about it later, years down the road, she thought it made complete sense. Azzi overthought every single thing in her life except Paige. Realizing she was bisexual was easy because it was Paige. The girl who talked her ear off on calls every night, who sent her iMessage games at ungodly hours, who always knew how to comfort her. Just Paige. Liking Paige made perfect sense.

[insidekatmind]

Bar~Kwon Jae-Sung

Request: yes!

The dim light of the bar cast a warm glow over the polished wood of the tables. You and Kwon stepped inside, weaving through the small crowd to find a quiet spot in the corner. You slid into the booth, feeling the weight of the day pressing on you.

Kwon, ever the charmer, dropped down beside you with a casual grin. You noticed his presence was commanding, confident, yet maddeningly laid-back a combination you both admired and resented at times.

Your gaze drifted across the room, and there he was. Robby. Your boyfriend or, at least, he was before things got complicated. He was sitting at the bar, his fingers drumming idly on his glass, his expression unreadable. The sight of him made your chest tighten.

Kwon followed your gaze, his smile curving into something more mischievous. His arm found its way around your shoulders, and you stiffened at the gesture. Before you could pull away, he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear.

"Is your boyfriend better at kissing than he is at fighting?" he teased, his voice low and taunting.

You scoffed, a sharp exhale of disbelief, and shoved his arm off your shoulders. "Stop doing that," you snapped, glaring at him.

Kwon chuckled softly, the sound light and teasing. "What? I’m just being friendly," he muttered, raising his hands in mock surrender, though the glint in his eye betrayed his amusement.

Your eyes darted back to Robby. He hadn’t looked your way, but you could tell he’d noticed. His jaw was set, his gaze fixed on the bar as though it were the most interesting thing in the world.

Your heart sank. You didn’t know if it was guilt, frustration, or something else entirely that made you want to call out to him, to explain. But the truth was, things between you and Robby had been a mess lately too much history, too many unspoken words.

Kwon shifted beside you, his tone softening slightly. "You sure you’re okay? You seem... distracted," he said, his teasing demeanor slipping away for a moment.

You glanced at him, the sincerity in his question catching you off guard."I’m fine," you replied, though the words felt hollow.But as you looked back at Robby, your mind raced with everything unsaid, and you couldn’t help but wonder if "fine" was a lie you’d been telling yourself for too long.

Kwon's attention was suddenly fixated on a lock of your hair, his fingers toying with it gently. There was an almost tender touch to the action, his smile warm and a bit more genuine than his usual teasing smirk. The movement sent a small shiver down your spine, your heart rate quickening despite yourself."You know," he muttered, his gaze still on the lock of your hair between his fingers, "it's a shame you're with that guy over there. He doesn't appreciate the real you."

His words hung in the air, each syllable sending a little flutter through your chest. It was strange, hearing something like that from Kwon, of all people.You couldn't tear your eyes away from Robby at the bar, your mind racing with conflicting thoughts and feelings. But Kwon's touch demanded attention, his fingers leaving your hair but trailing down the side of your face, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

You break your gaze from Robby and look at Kwon. The sight of him so close is a bit startling, his face mere inches from yours. The touch of his fingers on your face had an electric effect on your senses, sending shivers of heat through your body.

His gaze is locked onto yours, a smug smile playing on his lips. He leans in even closer, his breath warm against your skin, "You're not thinking of that guy anymore, are you, sweetheart?"

You sigh as you look at him. “What game are you playing?” There's a flicker in Kwon's eyes at your question, a subtle change, and his smile becomes just a touch more crooked.

His fingers continue their trail down your jaw, his touch still gentle, almost tender. His reply is a soft murmur, "No game here, sweetheart. Just enjoying the view."He moves his hand to your chin, tilting it up slightly so that your face is angled towards his, "And right now, the view is pretty damn good."

You blush at his words and a smile breaks out. The sight of you blushing sends a new wave of satisfaction through Kwon's veins. It's a reaction he relishes, a hint of vulnerability that he can't help but tease. His fingers lightly trace the contour of your chin as he speaks, "Ah, look who's blushing now. It suits you, you know, all flustered and cute."

There's a pause, his gaze fixed on yours, a silent moment pregnant with meaning as his fingers linger on your chin. It's as though he's caught in the moment, savoring the sight of your flushed face, the way your composure falters just a bit.Then, with a subtle movement, he brings his lips to your ear, his voice dropping to a whisper, "You know, I've been dying to taste that blush on your lips..."

Hearing his words let out a small gasp as I breathed more heavily. Kwon smirks. He notices the slight gasp and the change in your breathing. It's a subtle shift, but one he doesn't miss. Your response is like fuel to the fire, fanning the flames of his growing desire.He moves his lips even closer to your ear, speaking in a seductive murmur. "Ah, that's it. Your little gasps are like music to my ears. Makes me wonder what other sounds you can make..."

His fingers slide to the back of your neck, the touch firm and possessive. Kwon's lips brush against the sensitive skin behind your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. He whispers, "You're so responsive. It's driving me crazy."You can feel his breath, hot against your skin, and his touch is electric, igniting a slow fire within you. A fire that you don't entirely want to resist.

“Kwon,” you whispered softly as your mind clouded at his closeness. Kwon hums, pleased by the sound of his name on your lips. The way you whisper it, breathless and soft, is like a drug to him. He can feel the effect he's having on you, and it fuels his desire even further.

His lips trace a path from behind your ear down to your exposed neck, leaving a trail of tingling heat. He murmurs against your skin, "Say it again, sweetheart." Your breath hitches, a response to the combination of his warm breath against your skin and his teasing words. Something inside you is struggling to surface, fighting against the logical part of your brain.

Kwon's hands are still roaming your body, his fingers trailing over your collarbone, your shoulders, every touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. And his lips, his lips keep moving against your neck, his kiss turning into a gentle bite.

He mutters against your skin, his voice hoarse with need, "You taste even better than I imagined. I can't get enough of you."Kwon moves his hands to your hips, pulling you closer until your body is flush against his. The contact causes a jolt of electricity to shoot through you, sending a rush of heat straight to your core.

You gasp softly. “Kwon we are in a bar full of people” you whisper. Kwon smirks against your neck. Your words about the public setting only seem to excite him further. He tightens his grip on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer.

"So? Let them watch," he whispers back, his voice laced with a hint of challenge. "I don't care who sees us, as long as you keep making those little gasps." His teeth graze your skin again, the sensation mixing with his words to create a potent combination that makes your head spin. Your body responds to him, betraying your attempts at resistance, and you can't deny the growing desire that pulses through you.

But there's that nagging voice in the back of your mind, reminding you of Robby sitting just a few meters away. You try to regain composure. “I can't,” you whisper.

Kwon can sense the struggle in your voice. Your attempt to regain control, a struggle against the pull of desire that he instigates within you.He lets out a small, frustrated sigh against your neck. "Why not? You're so tense... let go, sweetheart. You know you want to."

His hands are still on your hips, holding you in a firm grip as he trails his lips back up towards your ear, his voice dropping to a low whisper, "Just give in to me. Just for one night."

You moan at his words closing your eyes feeling your mind clouded by his presence, his voice, his touch. The sound of your moan sends a rush of heat through Kwon. It's a confirmation of your surrender, a sign that he's winning this game. He knows he's got you now, caught in his web of desire and need.

His lips find their way back to your neck, nibbling and sucking at the sensitive skin. His breath is hot against your ear, his words coming out in a low drawl as he whispers, "That's it, sweetheart. Stop thinking. Just feel."

You moan softly leaning into him. “Let's go back to the hotel,” you whisper. Kwon grins against your neck, his hands still firm on your hips. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, the smirk on his face wider now.

"Impatient, aren't you? I like that," he murmurs, his voice laced with playful satisfaction. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's get out of here."

He takes your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours, and leads you out of the bar. The sound of the door closing behind you feels like a threshold being crossed, leaving behind the familiar for an uncharted territory. The cool night air hits your skin, a stark contrast to the heated atmosphere of the bar. But even outside, the tension between you and Kwon remains charged, the air practically humming with need and anticipation.

Kwon's fingers tighten around yours, the touch firm and possessive. He leads you towards the hotel, each step bringing you closer to what you know is about to happen.

"Now you're mine and you won't run away from me" he whispers, dragging you into his room

[marzshin]

confident!fem reader x various

characters- leona, vil, ruggie, kalim, idia

this was really fun to think abt, i hope you all like it!

leona

so he’s used to it in a sense. sunset savanna has no shortage of strong feminine people so when you two meet he doesn’t think much of it. you’re just another herbivore to him. it’s not until you start hanging out more that he begins to admire it. you walk with purpose, strong elegant strides seems to be all you know, and the stern tone you use when you’re talking with others? whew does that get his mind running wild… especially if you’re using it on him😼 if you’re looking for a hype man that keeps it lowkey, leona is your man. he loves it😋

Vil

power couple who? heads jerk to ogle at you two, it’s as if you’ve lured everyone into a trance. vil loves how confident you are because it translates onto him; when he’s with you he feels just as confident. (which is needed bc we know he can get pretty insecure at times) regardless of your modeling experience, you better believe he’s doing a shoot with you, and by the SEVEN is it one of the best shoots he’s ever done. your energy’s just mix soooo well, it’s so unbelievably encapsulating. everyone is envious of you all. they want what you guys have fr.

ruggie

oh he’s crazy intimidated. like he cannot for the life of him bring himself to start a conversation with you. i mean he’s used to it with the female hyena beastmen at his home town yeah, but unlike with them, he actually wants to talk to you… it eats away at him until you take notice and send him a wave. what?! oh my seven… he could faint, he’s never been more attractive to anyone ever. as you guys begin to talk, he falls deeper and deeper in love with you. i’m kind of getting a jessica rabbit and roger vibe goin, sort of🤷‍♀️ but just know that with him you’ll always have love right around the corner.

kalim

he’s allll for it. honestly he can’t take his eyes off you, taking in every feature of your body and face, finding more and more ways to love you every time he takes a glance at you… very lover boy but he’d be that way even if you weren’t confident. if you like dressing up, he’s so buying you outfits and jewelry just to see you model them. if not, that’s fine too! he just likes basking in your glory. another power couple i fear. his peppy, happy-go-lucky vibes paired with your more mature, sexy one is like the final puzzle pieces finally being put together. classmates love the energy you two radiate when you’re together and he loves it too.

idia

he’s shaking like a wet chihuahua… utterly hopeless, pathetic, etc. no idea what would’ve kickstarted your relationship but it’s literally the loser x baddie trope, it’s great lolz. it’s even better if you’re also a secret nerd, especially for him. now don’t expect much eye contact with him, he tries okay, you’re just too gorgeous😔 while he’s geekin’ out over a new character he pulled in one of his games, you just sit there next to him, listening and watching him with a loving passion. he accidentally makes eye contact and freezes. blue screens if you will, it’s funny but worrisome at times. like he’s yapping your ears off one moment then an eruption of pink fire fills your view and he’s stuck there stammering. all in all, he’s got no clue how he could’ve pulled you but sevens is he in love.

[voulezloux]

“it’s just an album you don’t have to celebrate its birthday it’s not that big of a deal” okay but it’s not just an album and it is actually a big deal and i don’t think you understand how much walls (2020) by louis tomlinson is not just “an album.” walls is the reason for everything that louis has been able to do in the past five years. walls proved to louis that people did want to hear him, just him. he wasn’t just “that guy from that one band” like he had built up in his head. the success it brought him personally proved that people wanted his music. and ltwt? the one where they kept having to upgrade different venues because of the demand for him? the demand that he created because of his music? the man that started ltwt is not the same man that ended it, where you can just see how confident hearing people scream his lyrics back at him from songs he wrote for himself, not the band or someone else, for him. walls is the reason we got faith in the future. walls is the reason we keep seeing this man who was beaten down time and time again by anything and everything and he still somehow manages to come out with a smile. walls is the reason he’s still writing new songs to share with his fans. walls is the reason for what we have created all this time for the last five years. walls is the reason why he needs us just as much as we need him.

so. yeah. happy fifth birthday walls and i’m so proud of you, louis

[butchdiaz]

ok ive worked out my ideal buddie getting together timeline. 1. explicit feelings realization from one/both sides, maybe a confession to a third person. 2. pining. so much pining and pretending everything is the same but it's not. gimme a whole season of this fr. bonus points if buck confides in bobby and eddie confides in hen and ravi figures it out so everyone knows except chimney. for the comedy. 3. nde!!!!!!!! trap those guys in a life threatening situation. buck tries to be self-sacrificing to save eddie. maybe. probably. eddie says You Can't. You Need to Stay Alive. buck, pissed, invokes the will For Christopher, Right? Cause I'm The Backup? eddie, even more pissed No. For Me. Because I Love You. and then love confession interruptus they are rescued yay!!!!! the rest of the shift is so weird and they're not talking to each other and eddie takes it as a rejection from buck but buck is over here freaking out and just trying to Process it All. eddie books it out of there asap and buck chases after him. he uses his key to come through the backdoor where eddie is sitting at the kitchen table head in hands thinks he just ruined his whole life. and is like Buck? What Are You Doing Here. and the sun is rising, and the light is golden and they're in the kitchen and buck kisses him.

[woozinhos]

Vernon Minghao one night stand or threesome?

Notes: hi anon I decided to go with Vernon one night stand hope you enjoyyy <33

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.

It's a warm, sultry night as you make your way down the street, the sounds of the city humming around you. You're on your way home from a party, the effects of the alcohol still buzzing through your system. Suddenly, you feel someone brush past you in the crowd, their touch lingering a little longer than necessary. You glance over your shoulder to see who it is, and lock eyes with a handsome stranger.

The stranger gives you a casual nod, a sly grin on his face as he looks you up and down. He's tall and lean, with messy dark hair and eyes that seem to sparkle with mischief. You can tell from the way he carries himself that he's confident and carefree, the kind of guy who knows he looks good and has no problem using it to his advantage. He falls into step beside you, his long legs easily keeping pace with your own.

"Nice night," he comments, his voice smooth and deep. You can't help but feel a little flustered under his intense gaze, your heartbeat quickening slightly as he continues to walk alongside you.

"Yeah, it is," you manage to reply, trying to sound nonchalant despite the butterflies in your stomach.

"I'm Vernon, by the way," he says, extending a hand towards you. "And you are?" You take his hand, feeling a jolt of electricity shoot through you at his touch.

"I'm [your name]," you reply, hoping he doesn't notice the slight tremor in your voice. Vernon's handshake is firm, his grip lingering for a moment longer than necessary before he lets go.

"Nice to meet you, [your name]," he says, a smirk playing on his lips. "You going home alone tonight?" You can feel a flush rising to your cheeks at his question, and you struggle to come up with a response.

"Um, yeah, I guess so," you say, avoiding his gaze. Vernon notices your discomfort and grins, clearly enjoying your reaction.

"You don't sound too thrilled about that," he teases, his eyes glinting with amusement. You can feel your cheeks burning even hotter as he continues to tease you, but you try to keep your cool.

"Well, I just didn't really have any plans tonight," you reply, trying to sound casual. Vernon takes a step closer to you, his body mere inches from yours now.

"So you're saying you don't have anyone to keep you company tonight?" he asks, his voice low and seductive. As he gazes down at you, his eyes dark with desire, you realize that this is a side of him that he doesn't usually show. There's a hunger in his expression, a raw and primal need that he's clearly struggling to control. He takes another step closer, closing the gap between you completely.

"And what about you?" you manage to ask, trying to regain some of your composure. "Don't you have someone waiting for you?" Vernon chuckles, his breath hot against your ear.

"No, I'm all alone tonight," he replies, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "And I'm feeling a little...lonely." His hand comes up to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face, his touch sending sparks through your body.

"Maybe we could keep each other company," he suggests, his eyes burning with intensity. You can feel your heart racing in your chest as you stand there, trapped between the wall and Vernon's body. He leans in even closer, his lips hovering just millimeters from your ear.

"What do you say?" he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. Your breath hitches in your throat as his lips brush against your ear, the softness of his touch sending tingles down your spine.

"I...I say yes," you stammer, your body betraying your desire for him. A satisfied smirk appears on Vernon's face as he hears your response, his eyes gleaming with triumph.

"Good," he murmurs, his hands coming to rest on your hips. "I was hoping you'd say that." He pulls you through the city streets, his long strides eating up the distance between you and his apartment. The whole time, his hand is wrapped tightly around yours, as if he's afraid you'll slip away from him. Finally, you arrive at his apartment building. He leads you inside and up the stairs, his grip on your hand never loosening.

As you walk down the hallway, the tension between you seems to thicken, the air almost electric with anticipation. You reach his apartment door, and he fumbles with his keys for a moment before finally getting it unlocked. He pushes the door open and ushers you inside, his eyes never leaving your body as he does so. He flashes you a cocky grin as he walks towards his bedroom, his voice dripping with innuendo.

"Make yourself comfortable," he says over his shoulder. "I'll be right back." You watch as he disappears into the bedroom, your heart pounding in your chest. You look around the apartment, taking in the sparsely furnished but cozy space. It's clear that Vernon doesn't spend a lot of time here, but there's something about it that feels warm and inviting.

"Come on in, babe," you hear Vernon call from the bedroom. "I'm ready." You step into the bedroom, your eyes immediately drawn to Vernon who is sitting on the edge of the bed, a sly grin on his face. He pats the spot next to him, beckoning you closer. You sit down next to him, your body tingling with anticipation and a hint of nervousness. He turns to face you, his gaze roaming over your body with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

"What's going on?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. Vernon chuckles softly, reaching out to brush his fingers along your jawline.

"Just trying to get you in the mood," he replies, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His lips find yours in a searing kiss, his hands moving to grip your shoulders as he pushes you down onto the bed. He follows you down, his body pressing against yours as he deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth. He breaks the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he hovers above you.

"God, you're so damn beautiful," he growls, his hands sliding down your body. "This was the best idea I've ever had." His fingers dance over your skin, sending waves of pleasure through your body. He moves his mouth to your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive flesh there as his hands continue to explore. His hands move with purpose now, expertly undoing the buttons on your shirt and pushing it off your shoulders. He pulls back for a moment to take in the sight of you, his eyes raking over your exposed skin hungrily. He reaches for the waistband of your pants, his fingers hooking into the fabric and tugging them down slowly.

He can't seem to take his eyes off of you, his gaze filled with a mixture of desire and possessiveness. He sits up and begins to undress himself, his muscles rippling with each movement. His shirt comes off first, revealing a chiseled chest and toned abs that make your mouth water. You can't help but admire the way his body looks, your eyes drinking in every inch of him. He notices you staring and smirks, flexing his muscles playfully.

"See something you like?" he teases, his voice low and seductive. He finishes undressing and stands there, completely naked and shameless. His eyes never leave yours as he moves closer to the bed, his body a perfect specimen of masculine beauty. He crawls onto the bed, his movements predatory and graceful. He hovers over you once more, his hands pinning your wrists above your head as he gazes down at you.

"You're beautiful," you whisper, your voice filled with awe. He chuckles softly, leaning down to nuzzle your neck.

"Not as beautiful as you," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. He reaches for the bedside table and grabs a condom, his fingers expertly ripping the package open. He looks down at you with a smirk, his eyes dark with desire. He rolls the condom onto himself, his movements slow and deliberate.

He positions himself between your legs, his body poised and ready to take you. He leans down to kiss you again, his lips moving against yours in a passionate dance. As he kisses you, he slowly pushes himself inside you, filling you up completely. He groans into your mouth as he bottoms out, his body shuddering with pleasure. He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed in bliss.

"You feel amazing," he whispers, his voice rough with desire.

"So do you," you manage to gasp out, your body trembling with need. He begins to move, his hips rolling against yours in a slow, steady rhythm. His movements become more forceful, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breaths sending shivers down your spine as he murmurs words of praise and desire into your ear.

"Oh god, Vernon... harder," you moan, your fingers digging into his back as you cling to him. He growls at your words, his pace quickening as he pounds into you with increasing intensity. He grips your hips tightly, using them as leverage to drive himself deeper inside you. He can feel your body tightening around him, signaling that you're close to the edge. He grits his teeth, his own climax rapidly approaching as he continues to pound into you relentlessly.

"Come for me," he whispers, his voice strained with need. He reaches down between your bodies and finds your clit, his fingers rubbing and teasing it in time with his thrusts. Your body trembles as you reach your peak, your back arching off the bed as you cry out his name. The sound of your release pushes him over the edge, and he buries his face in your shoulder as he comes with a low, guttural moan. He collapses on top of you, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as he tries to catch his breath. He rolls onto his side, pulling you with him so that you're cuddled up against his chest. He runs his fingers through your hair, his touch gentle and soothing as he holds you close. He looks down at you with a sly grin, his eyes glinting mischievously.

"So what do you do for a living?" he asks, his voice low and playful.

[daryltwdixon]

Joel Miller x Reader Just Coffee

fluffy Joel drabble to help clear my head. I was a barista for 8+ years and loved my regulars, so this is like a little slice of my life when I worked for a family owned coffee shop in the downtown of a city. Hope you enjoy! lmk if you want a ptII cause im thinking hot car sex w these two after their first date.

Inspired by that tlou (game) scene where Ellie asks if Joel used to go to coffee shops, and he admits, ‘All the time.’ And when she asks what he would order, he says, ‘Coffee, just coffee’ 

Vanilla latte, iced—extra pump of vanilla, three pumps of caramel, swirl, whipped cream. Chai latte, soy milk—hot, extra hot. Cold brew with sweet cream, shot of peppermint. London Fog—extra foamy, not too hot.

"Coffee. Just coffee."

You could’ve kissed him right then and there. And he was handsome enough that you wouldn’t even have to close your eyes. He must’ve caught the way your shoulders relaxed, how the sigh left your body like a weight lifted.

“Comin’ right up,” you smiled, ringing him up as he slid a few ones into your very, very empty tip jar.

‘Just Coffee’ guy settled at the small bar along the window, joining the usual morning stragglers—people who took their time with their warm mugs, occasionally ordering a bagel or a scone to go with it. He sat next to your crossword regular, an older gentleman who always had a puzzle in front of him, filling in the blanks with unwavering confidence. Always pen, never pencil.

You left them to it, but your eyes drifted toward ‘Just Coffee’ now and then, making sure his mug wasn’t too low, wasn’t getting too cold.

The morning flew by in a blur of orders and chatter, the shop filling and emptying in waves. By the time you checked back on ‘Just Coffee’ guy, he was gone.

A pang of disappointment sat low in your stomach. You wished you would’ve gotten him talking—he had that air about him, the kind of presence that carried stories. The people who sat at your bar top, the ones who weren’t rushing in and out for their nine-to-five caffeine fix, were always the most interesting.

You were surprised to see him the next day. A smile lifted at his lips as he stepped up in line, cash at the ready in his large, dirt-greased hands. A man who worked manual labor, clearly.

"Coffee," he said, his twang deep and velvety. "Just coffee, miss."

"You got it," you said with a smile, handing him a warm mug of your house roast as he took his new usual seat at the bar.

"Dammit—" the man next to him muttered, scratching his chin with the tip of his pen. Steve, your crossword regular. Under his nose, the day’s puzzle sat partially filled in, his brow furrowed in frustration. “What in the hell is the ‘process of leveling or smoothing wet concrete’? Seven letters?" He called your name, exasperated. "You got any idea?”

"Steve, if I knew anything about construction, I’d be way further along on my home improvement projects," you called over the hiss of the milk frother.

"Screedin’ is the word you’re lookin’ for, I think."

‘Just Coffee’ spoke casually, like it was second nature, his voice rolling low behind the lip of his mug. Steve blinked at him, like he hadn’t even realized the man was there, his wide eyes darting between him and the crossword.

"I think that might just work! How do ya spell that now? S-C-R-E—"

"S-C-R-E-E-D-I-N-G," ‘Just Coffee’ said slowly, the drawl thick and steady as the letters tumbled off his tongue.

You smiled to yourself, glancing his way. Knew he had to be manual labor. But before you could turn and ask him about it, he was already stepping off the stool, giving a quick nod of thanks, and heading for the door.

A couple of ones landed next to his empty mug—more than the cost of his coffee.

He didn’t come the next day.

Or the day after that.

By the fourth morning, you caught yourself lingering by the bar, staring at the empty stool where he sat. The coffee shop was just as busy, orders coming in waves, regulars dropping their change into the tip jar, Steve grumbling over his crossword. But something was missing.

You’d gotten used to those hazel eyes meeting yours across the counter, the quiet weight of his presence. The way his dark, unruly hair framed his face, always a little windswept, a little messy, like he’d rolled straight out of bed and into a long shift. His hands—rough, calloused, dirt still lingering in the creases—wrapped steady around a warm coffee mug.

It had only been a handful of mornings, but somehow, he’d settled into your routine like he belonged there.

And now, the absence of him gnawed at you in a way that surprised you.

You should’ve asked him his damn name.

By the sixth day, you convinced yourself it didn’t matter. He was just another customer, just a passing figure who needed a caffeine fix before moving on. Maybe he found a different coffee spot. Maybe he’d never been the type to stick around anyway.

But on the seventh morning, as you wiped down the counter, movement by the door caught your eye.

You turned, heart kicking up against your ribs.

There he was.

Another worn flannel, same dirt-streaked hands, same heavy-lidded gaze scanning the shop like he hadn’t been gone for a week. And when those hazel eyes finally landed on you, a flicker of something warm and familiar crossed his face.

You pushed off the counter before you could stop yourself.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” you said, trying to sound casual, but you knew he could hear the lilt of amusement in your voice.

“How are ya, miss?” he drawled, stepping up to the counter, cash already in hand. “Been busy.”

You nodded, trying not to stare too long at the way his fingers curled around the worn bills. “Let me guess—coffee, just coffee?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “You got it.”

As you poured, you finally asked the question that had been itching at you since the first day he walked in.

“You got a name, or am I just supposed to keep callin’ you ‘Just Coffee’ forever?”

He smirked, tilting his head slightly as he watched you.

“Joel,” he said.

You smiled, setting his mug down in front of him. “Well, Joel—hope you don’t disappear on me again.”

His fingers brushed the warm ceramic as he settled onto his usual stool. “Jobs come and go, just depends on the day, hunny.”

Hunny. It was damn near like honey dripping from his tongue in that slow drawl, thick and warm. The way it rolled off his lips curled low in your belly, heating your cheeks as you turned to the next customer, hoping to God he didn’t notice.

The middle of the week was always slow, which worked in your favor today. By the time the morning rush faded, you found yourself wiping down the counters, clearing dishes near the bar, and finally getting the chance to ask Joel about his life.

You rinsed out a mug, letting the warm water run over your fingers as you glanced toward him. He was nursing his coffee slow, one hand wrapped around the mug, the other resting loose on the bar. His posture was easy, relaxed, but you could tell there was something there, something deep in his bones that he carried.

"So, what kinda jobs come and go?" you asked, keeping your tone light.

Joel glanced up from his mug, considering you for a moment. “Construction, mostly," he said, rolling his shoulders like the very word made them ache. "Been a contractor for years—fixin' up places, layin’ concrete, buildin’ what needs buildin'.”

Figures. Those arms—strong, steady—the kind that looked like they knew the weight of real work. His hands were large, rough and calloused, the kind you’d feel long after they touched you. But, Joel was a customer. You weren’t thinking that, of course not.

"Guess that explains why you knew the crossword answer last week," you teased, tossing the rag over your shoulder. "Steve still talks about it like you pulled magic outta thin air."

Joel huffed, shaking his head. "Man’s usin’ a pen for a crossword, and I’m the one impressin’ him?"

You grinned, leaning against the bar. "Hey, knowledge is power around here, Joel."

He let out a quiet hmm and took another sip of his coffee.

Before you could press further, the bell above the door jingled, and you got up hastily to take the newcomer’s order.

“Don’t worry about him,” Joel called over, sitting up straighter, setting down his coffee mug as his gaze flicked toward the man.

He stepped inside, his dark hair long, face clean-shaven, dimples deepening as he took in the scene. Something unspoken passed between the two of them—something that made it hard to tell if they were coworkers, friends, or something else entirely.

Then the man clapped Joel on the shoulder, grinning wide, “So this is what you’ve been ditchin’ the mornin’ crew for, huh, big brother?”

Your brows lifted. Brother.

Joel exhaled hard through his nose, eyes narrowing with obvious irritation, but his posture remained loose—like he was used to this, used to him.

“What ya got for me, Tommy?” he asked.

You barely had a second to process before Tommy’s attention shifted to you. His gaze swept over you, warm and playful, before he leaned a little too comfortably against the bar, ignoring his brother.

“Well now,” he drawled, flashing you a grin that could probably talk its way out of a speeding ticket, “if I knew this was the kinda place Joel was sneakin’ off to, I would’ve tagged along a whole lot sooner.”

Joel muttered something under his breath and rubbed his forehead.

You crossed your arms, biting back a smile. “And here I thought he just liked my coffee.”

Tommy let out a low chuckle, tilting his head. “Can’t say I blame him, darlin’.”

Joel let out a long, long sigh, already done with whatever this was turning into. He stood, tugging his jacket over his broad shoulders before clapping a firm hand on Tommy’s back—firm like a warning.

“C’mon,” Joel muttered, steering him toward the door.

Tommy let himself be dragged, but not without a final wink in your direction. “I’ll be seein’ you around, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that slipped past your lips as Joel shoved him out the door with far more force than necessary, the bell jingling wildly as they disappeared outside.

Joel glanced back once, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe the last two minutes of his life before heading off into the distance.

You just smiled, shrugging as you wiped down the counter.

But things changed after that morning.

Tommy only needed to step through the damn door before Joel was tensing at the bar, a muscle twitching in his jaw, his coffee suddenly the least interesting thing in the room. He continued to show up every morning, still ordered just coffee, still sat in his usual spot—but now, his eyes lingered on you more.

And now, he stayed just a little longer.

Not by much, not enough for anyone else to notice, but you did.

You noticed how his gaze flicked toward you between sips, how his fingers tapped idly against his mug whenever you laughed at something a customer said.

His brother joined him more too. You noticed the way he cut Tommy off real quick anytime his brother got a little too comfortable leaning against the counter, that exasperated “Tommy” carrying a warning underneath it.

And you noticed how his tips got just a little bigger after that morning, a couple extra bills tucked under his mug like an unspoken thank you.

So when a week passed—no sign of Tommy this time, no interruptions, just Joel sitting at your bar—you wondered if today might be different.

And it was.

Because today, as you cleared a dish from the counter, Joel cleared his throat. Not the casual kind, not the I’m just readjusting in my seat kind.

The nervous kind.

You glanced up, brows lifting. “What’s eatin’ ya, Joel?”

Joel exhaled sharply, shifting in his seat. “Yeah. Just—uh.” He scratched at the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes. “You, uh… ever eat anywhere that ain’t this place?”

Your lips twitched. “You askin’ if I leave my own coffee shop, Joel?”

His jaw tightened, clearly close to regretting whatever he was doing, but he powered through.

“I’m askin’ if you’d wanna get somethin’ to eat. When your shift is done.” He finally met your gaze, voice a little gruffer than usual, but there was something hesitant in his expression—like he was braced for you to shut him down, “With me.”

You leaned back against the counter, arms crossing as you took your time, letting him sit in it for a second. Watching the way his fingers curled around his coffee mug, how he resisted the urge to shift under your gaze.

Then you smiled. “Are you asking me out?”

His eyes flicked away, like he really hated how direct you were, but you could see the tips of his ears turning pink.

“Yeah,” he muttered. Then, after a pause—“That…a problem?”

You bit your lip, shaking your head. “Not at all.”

Joel’s fingers flexed against his mug. “Good.”

You grabbed a napkin and a pen, scribbling something before sliding it across the counter. “Then you’re gonna need my number.”

He eyed it, then you, something unreadable in his gaze before he finally, finally reached for it. His fingers brushed yours as he folded the napkin, tucking it into his pocket without another word.But you swore—swore—you saw the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he took another slow sip of his coffee.

[left4gospels]

“UNTOUCHABLE”

Short story

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(Drawing by me, I hated the full version but i liked how I drew Ellis so this is what you get.)

First time writing something and posting it publicly so uh i hope you guys like it. Was just an idea I had. I dont like this it could be better.

TW: Death, violence, Keith is sort of a douche, mid story.

╔══•●•══╗

“Ellis and his best buddy Keith were driving on the road, heading to the nearest evacuation station with no idea what would happen to them. With rumors of an apocalypse, neither of them were taking it seriously. Keith always had that invincible energy that nothing could touch either of them when they were together, so why would Ellis doubt him? They were fine, everything would work out in the end.

That is, until they run out of gas. Then everything starts to get a little too serious for Ellis.”

╚══•●•══╝

The chevy sped down the empty backroad, gravel crunching under the tires and trees blurring by. Ellis kept one hand on the wheel and the other draped over the shifter, his fingers tapping to the rhythm of ‘Don't fear the reaper’. Keith sat in the passenger seat, his worn boots propped up on the dash like he owned the damn thing, tearing into a stick of jerky he randomly found in his pocket. They’d taken one of the many backroads of Georgia to avoid the crowd towards the evacuation station– a hotel Ellis hadn’t been to since he was a kid– leaving the road clear for him to step on the gas.

“Man, this don’t feel real, does it?” Keith said, his mouth half-full, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk as he looked out the window. Ellis turned down the radio to hear him. “Remember that ramp off of White Bluff? I was drivin’, and I hit that shit goin’ like 120! Dave nearly shit his fuckin’ pants. You puked all over my dash, I was fuckin’ pissed.”

Ellis glanced at him, laughing at the memory. “Dude I know! I was just thinkin’ about that! Oh man, that was so funny. I’d do it again, ‘except last time we weren’t dodgin’ zombies n’ shit.”

“Hey, we ain’t seen no zombies yet? If we do, just run them fuckers over. Nothin’ but a speed bump.” Keith grinned, the kind of grin that made him look like a kid trying to get away with something. It was that grin that normally got Ellis into trouble. Keith had a way of turning bad ideas into brilliant ones, and Ellis had a bad habit of going along with them. Like the time Keith got it in his head to make homemade fireworks, or the bumper cars, or the gators. Keith always liked the thrill of having one foot in the grave.

Even when Keith’s ideas blew up in their faces—literally, in the case of the fireworks—Ellis always trusted him. Keith just had this way about him, this dumb kinda confidence that made you believe nothing could ever touch you in his presence. And until that day, Ellis believed him.

“Man, that would be so cool. Use em’ as a ramp, oh– like the Dukes of hazzard!” Ellis cheered with a gleaming smile, both of them laughing.

“Just the good ol’ boys…” Keith sang the tune to the opening. “That used to come on every mornin’ after the news. You remember as a kid, playin’ as them? Man, we were stupid. I’d watch it again though.”

Ellis smiled and swallowed hard, his throat suddenly tight. He didn’t want to think about the news– how all those people died in Macon, or how they might never see another tv show again. Now that the evacuation was mandatory, it all seemed different. He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. Ellis didn’t like to think about shit like that. So he avoided those thoughts for as long as he could.

“Y’think this hotel’s gonna be as fancy as it used to be? Hell, I ain’t been to The Vannah in a fuckin’ dogs age. Last time I was there, I think I was with Cindy,” Keith asked, breaking the silence. “That bitch that left me at the tunnel of’ love'?”

“Ha! Yeah, I remember that.” Ellis snorted, adjusting his hat. Who’s he kidding? They’re gonna be fine. “Oughta be paradise with all this shit goin’ on. Bet there’s gonna be a shit ton a’ people. Hope they ain’t zombies like on the TV.”

Keith laughed, that wheezy, half-choked sound that always got Ellis laughing too, and for a moment, the world didn’t seem so bad. “Pft, I wasn't payin’ attention to that. That news lady they got on channel 7 is a fine piece, I can tell ya that.”

Then the fuel light dinged, Ellis groaned. They should’ve fueled up before, but everyone was in such a rush to leave, they figured they might as well be too.

“Goddamn, already outta gas,” he muttered, hitting his steering wheel. “This is some bullshit. I told you we should’a gassed ‘er up.”

The gas station came into view a mile or so down the road, a lonely convenience store from when people worried about gas prices and not whether they’d live long enough to pay for it. Ellis pulled the truck into the lot, the tires crunching over broken glass and debris.

“Where the hell are the people? They already left? Man, I better not get a flat from all this glass, I'm serious.” Ellis said, shaking his head as he turned into one of the pumps.

“Shit, this place looks like a scene outta a horror movie,” Keith said, leaning out the window to get a better look. “Betcha there’s bodies in the back.”

“Shut up,” Ellis grinned, slapping him on the shoulder. “Ain’t funny.” He said, despite his smile.

He killed the engine and stepped out, the heat slamming into him like a wall. Goddamn the Georgia heat was relentless. It was quiet. No birds, no wind, just the sound of his boots on the pavement as he walked to the pump. He glanced around—two empty cars, both with busted windows, but not a soul in sight. I mean damn, he didn’t think it would be all peaches and cream, but he definitely didn’t expect nothing like this.

“Hey, you think they got snacks inside?” Keith called from the truck, stepping out and shutting the door.

Ellis smiled and looked over his shoulder, Keith’s words distracting him from reality– like they always did. “Oh, that’s a good idea right there. Man, I could go for a slurpee– or a beer.” He shook his head. “You think they make beer slurpees?”

Keith didn’t answer, and Ellis figured he ran off somewhere to find some food. He was silently wondering if he still had to pay or not, gripping the pump handle, his fingers trembling just a little. He hated how quiet it was. Hated how weird this whole thing felt. He started getting wrapped up in his head again, something he never does. Maybe this whole flu thing was a bigger deal than he thought.

“El,” Keith called again, catching Ellis’s attention.“You see that?”

Ellis turned, following Keith’s gaze to the corner of the lot. A shadow darted between two cars, quick and low, like an animal.

“Prolly just a dog or some shit,” Ellis said, though he didn’t believe it himself. Just ignore it, he told himself, get the gas and go.

Keith snorted. “Yeah, a dog the size of a goddamn linebacker.”

Ellis laughed at that, setting the pump back in its cradle and turned toward the truck. “C’mon, we’re leavin’. Not a man here, so I ain’t payin’. And I sure as hell ain’t killin’ no dog.”

But Keith wasn’t in the truck. He was a good twenty feet away, crouched beside an overturned box, squinting at something on the ground.

“What'd ya find? Hurry your ass up, man.” Ellis smiled, approaching him. Ellis usually didn’t mind the way Keith treated all this like it was just another story they’d laugh about later, it kept his mind from wandering to the parts of this whole mess he wasn’t ready to think about. He didn’t know if he ever would be. Now, Ellis was starting to get a little worried. But he’d never let Keith know that.

Keith looked up, grinning like an idiot, waving the yellow cylinder in the air. “Found me a box of Twinkies! They ain’t even opened!”

“Awh, yeah! Get some and let’s go man, cmon. Move your ass.” Ellis said, beckoning him with a little more insistence in his words. The hairs on his neck stood up, watching as Keith shoved a couple more in his pocket.

“Alright alright. Damn, don’t get your panties in a twist–”

And then it happened.

The “dog” from before launched itself at Keith, moving faster than Ellis blink. Keith barely had time to scream before the thing was on him, its claws ripping into his chest, its weight slamming him to the ground. This wasn’t a dog, this was a human– or it was at one point– as wild as an animal

“Keith!” Ellis yelled, his voice cracking, pulse skyrocketing. “Holy shit!”

The thing snarled with gritted teeth, blood already dripping from its mouth from God knows what. Keith thrashed and yelled, using all the force he could to push the thing off, but it was no use. It’s hands– almost clawed, tore into Keith's ribs, jabbing into his organs again and again and again. This thing wasn’t like the zombies in movies. It wasn’t looking for brains or running on hunger– it was looking to kill.

Ellis grabbed the crowbar he kept in bed of his truck and ran, his legs moving on instinct. The first hit connected with a sickening crunch, sending blood and bits of bone flying. The Hunter reeled, its claws twitching, but Ellis didn't stop. He brought the crowbar down against its skill– feeling every hit– until the thing was a lifeless heap of infected flesh on the ground. Ellis stared in disbelief for a second, panting with burning lungs, before he heard a babbling cough beneath him.

“Keith!” Ellis gasped, forgetting the crowbar and dropping to his knees beside him. Blood pooled on the asphalt under Keith's body– his shirt and flesh shredded to pieces. Keith’s eyes were wide, his chest heaving, blood pouring from the gaping wound in his side, coughing up more of the red liquid from all the internal damage. Ellis reckoned it must’ve hurt something fierce, but the sheer shock and adrenaline must’ve kept Keith from feeling a thing.

“Ellis,” he choked out, his voice weak, looking down at himself in complete disbelief. “Holy fuck, man– holy fuck!” He repeated, his mouth gaping open in surprise. “What the fuck was that thing?!”

“Shit!” Ellis yells, shaking his head. “Holy shit, man! No, it's alright. You’re always fine. Remember the fireworks? The gator?” He tried to chuckle, but it just came out as a choked sob. “Keith, c’mon man, get up! You’re alright…”

Keith tried to smile weakly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Man, this ain’t the same, Ellis! I’m all– I'm everywhere…” The corners of his lips turned downwards. His hands trembled as he attempted to sit up, he couldn’t seem to look at anything but his organs pooling out of his body. Keith gurgled, more blood rising from his throat and out of his teeth. His breath was ragged and thick, the thing must’ve hit one of his lungs.

Pressing his palms to the wound, Ellis tried to stop the red stream from spurting out as best he could, but it only stained the back of his hands. Keith began to choke, and cough out another gush of blood onto his shirt. His wide eyes settled onto Ellis’s face, tears streaming slowly down them. Keith never cried.

“I think I'm gonna die, man…” He whispered, voice quivering as his hand reached for Ellis, fingers weakly gripping his shirt. “That thing knocked the life outta me.”

“No,” Ellis whispered, his voice breaking, shaking his head in denial. “Shut up, man. No, no, no. No, man you’re not gonna die.” He pleaded, silently praying, repenting for every sin they’ve ever committed. Not Keith man, he couldn’t lose his best buddy.

“Shit, Ellis man.. I don’t wanna die…” Keith said, his panicked voice dropping low, words slurring. “I’m– You’re my best friend, man…” His eyes grew big for a few seconds, so full of fear, looking up to the sky at something Ellis couldn’t see. Ellis shook his head, his lips beginning to move, begging for him to keep holding on. Begging for God not to do this to either of them. Keith took a few more ragged breaths, and one last sticky heave, before his eyes shut. His body went slack, head lolling to the side.

“KEITH!” Ellis yelled, shaking him now. “No, no no no. Man, c’mon man!” He said, gripping hard on his shoulders. It was then when he realised he was crying himself. Keith was dead. Keith just died in front of him, in his arms. “Shit!”

Ellis abruptly stumbled to his feet, sticky with his best friend's blood. He studied his muddy hands, palms up, palms down. He could feel his pulse in the tips of his fingers, his hands sore from gripping the crowbar so hard. Staring at Keith and the zombie's lifeless body, a numbing despair settled over him. It all happened so fast… so fuckin’ fast.

He had to get out of here.

Ellis climbed into the driver’s seat, fumbling with the keys and staring at his hands. He found a grease rag in the compartment of his truck, desperately scrubbing his best friend’s DNA off his skin, though it didn’t do much but dry them. His blood was in the beds of his fingernails. He started the engine and pulled onto the road, hands trembling on the wheel. He didn’t look in the mirror, he didn’t dare look back.

He was going to the evac station– he’ll meet Keith there.

Keith wasn’t dead. That wasn’t his body dying in Ellis’s arms. He was back in the truck, laughing about Twinkies or pools or something stupid. Or better yet, somewhere at home with a beer and a shotgun, safe as can be. Yeah. He’s alright.

Keith was fine. Ellis never saw anyone die.

He had never seen a zombie before.

Nothing could ever touch him.

✟ ✟ ✟

[intoanotherworld23]

A Royal Throne

Summary: There’s no throne more worthy to sit on than Lucius’s face

Warnings: explicit content, mature content, smut, oral sex female receiving, face sitting, face grinding, mention of virgin reader, inexperienced reader, horny Lucius

A/N: hi my loves I know it’s been a couple months since I’ve been on here I’ve just been going through some stuff but I am back. I hope you guys enjoy this one and I encourage all of you to reblog and comment I would like to hear what everyone thinks! Appreciate everyone who’s supported me and continues to support me! If you wish to be added to a tag list it’s fully open so please don’t hesitate to ask! Thanks everyone! XOXO

Hall of Hunks

Tag list for everything: @iam-laiya @rosie-posie08 @madzleigh01 @alwaysclassyeagle @mytbel0st @shanimallina87 @marvelstarker-mha98 @powellssugarbaby @lora21 @kmc1989

Tag list for Paul Mescal/Lucius: OPEN

“Come here my little dove.” Lucius waving you over to him as he sat on the bed his legs spread prompting you to step between them. This position felt so intimate and warm it was very foreign to you. “Don’t be shy with me now.”

Lifting your silk dress and placing your legs on either side of his hips to sit on his lap. To your surprise though, he lays back and wraps his arms under your thighs pulling you upward. "What are you doing?"

"I am starving." He responds back, guiding your body up towards his face. Panic ensues and your inexperience starts to show when you have no idea what he’s about to do, or if you were gonna be able to do what he wanted. Pushing your body up so you were using the stone wall to hold yourself up.

“How can you be starving when you’ve eaten enough to feed an entire army?” Confused when he starts kissing along your inner thighs his facial hair tickling against your skin. Lucius could already smell your arousal, and was even more eager to dive in.

“Do you trust me?” He questions sensing your hesitation and nervousness. Judging by the look on your face you’ve never done this, and to be honest he was excited to be your first.

The first time you and Lucius laid eyes on each other the two of you have become inseparable. Even though he was a simple gladiator, and you were of royalty. That still didn’t stop the two of you from sneaking off into the dead of night. Knowing the risk if you two were caught, but something told you Lucius would always protect you.

“Of course I do Lucius.” Staring down at his face trying to sound confident, but you know he could hear your shaky voice.

“Then just follow my lead.” His head now positioned directly above your cunt. Licking his lips as he stared so intensely between your legs you felt like you could pass out. It just now hitting you what he was wanting you to do.

Nodding with him really doubting yourself, and just hoping whatever you were about to do was going to bring him immense pleasure. Holding your dress around your waist so you could watch what he was about to do. His thick hands holding onto your hips, and guiding you to sit on his face. His tongue right up against your cunt. A heat rising to your cheeks being in such a vulnerable position.

“I don’t want to suffocate you.” Anxiety bubbling over trying to lift yourself back up, and all he could do was smirk up at you.

“Then I shall die a true gladiators death.” He says before slamming you back down on his face. A gasp slipping past your lips at the sudden movement.

His tongue working furiously inside of you thrusting and swirling in all the right places. Finding yourself shamelessly riding his face without even realizing it. Gasps and whimpers leaving your lips echoing around the room hoping none of the servants heard. Lucius’s thumbs soothingly rubbing your already sweaty skin.

“Sweet as honeyed wine.” Muffling more to himself than you, but his words still held a grip on you.

“Oh gods.” Crying out as you looked down watching as he hungrily lapped at your cunt like he was a starved wild animal. One hand keeping your dress up while the other attached to his head a tight grip on his hair. All he could do was groan which vibrated against your clit.

Your orgasm was quickly approaching, and your entire body felt like it was on fire. You’ve never ever felt anything like this before. Lucius looked up at your remarkable expression, and it had him hard as stone. He loved holding your pleasure in his grasp, and made him feel like he had unlimited power.

“I’m close.” Rotating your hips as he thrusted his tongue as deep as he could the bridge of his nose brushing against your puffy clit. It was overwhelming as it felt like the room was spinning, and the walls were closing around you.

“Let go I am right here.” He encouraged as he started to suck on your clit. Holding you down refusing to let you go, and he just keeps going. It was everything that you never knew you needed. Throwing your head back as a cry of pleasure left your lips, and your thighs squeezing the sides of his head.

Listening as his tongue lapped up your juices, your legs shaking as he eased you through your orgasm. Using his chest to lift yourself off his face your legs feeling like noodles. Lucius adjusting his position so he was sitting upright his hands never leaving your hips as he made you sit back down on his lap. Watching in awe as he wiped his mouth his beard glistening under the blaze of the candles.

“My sweet little dove.” A hand reaching up to caress your cheek with a soft smile. Hands down by his hips as you mindlessly played with the fabric of his pants. “Now tell me, are you a virgin?”

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 10 - From Makarov With Love

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic.

CW: Cannon typical violence, death, suicide bomber, it's a war drama what can I say.

Previous parts - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

People silently move into positions, they look between each other, their eyes darting between each other. There’s hand signals you’ve seen people use before but you don’t know what any of them mean. Soap grabs your arm pulling you over to the sofa, you turn frowning at him as there’s another knock at the door.

“Hello? I was told to come here. I could really use some help.” A voice calls in Arabic. Price turns to look at you.

“They’re asking for help.” You say, your heart is thumping in your chest. They sound young, you feel sick. Price and Ghost stack up on the door. When it opens there's a boy standing there, he’s older than a boy, a teen maybe 17, 18. He has an Al Qatala headband on. He’s holding his hands up.

Price reaches forward, gripping his arm and pulling him in. Ghost closes the door then lets go of his weapon letting it swing down next to him. His hands run up and down his legs. His eyes are locked on to you, you feel guilt. Maybe you smuggled this guy for Al Qatala, maybe he knows you, you don’t remember everyone.

You doubt it. It doesn’t take long before Ghost’s hands stop. He pulls the coat on the person open. Your breath catches in your throat, you gasp. He’s got a bomb vest on. Ghost backs up.

“Christ.” Soap’s voice is almost angry as he walks past you over to man. You don’t know what to do or what to say. Al Qatala do this, you’ve never seen someone with one on before. You’ve seen them on tables, you’ve smuggled C4 and over explosives for Al Qatala before.

This is real though, now you’re seeing it in person.

“What’s going to happen?” he asks, he sounds scared. You swallow the lump forming in your throat.

“You’re the one with the bomb.” You reply. It’s all you can think to say. Price comes to stand next to you.

“What’s he saying?”

“He wants to know what’s going to happen.” You say looking up at him.

“Soap?” Price calls.

“It’s on a timer, it’s not pretty but it shouldn’t be too hard.” He says he sounds confident. Gaz moves over to help him. You feel sick, you’ve helped cause this. He looks young, he probably had no idea what he was signing up for, like most of the people Al Qatala or the ULF recruit.

“Who sent you?” You ask him. It’s a stupid question but you don’t care, talking keeps you calm, it’ll probably keep him calm too.

“The Butcher. He said it was my time.”

“I thought he was in Russia?” You say, he doesn’t say anything. You take another step towards him trying not to spook him.

“Did you blow up the car?”

“The ULF are traitors!” he snaps putting his arms down.

“Woah woah, eazy.” Soap says as he and Gaz stand back, your eyes flick over to Ghost who still has his weapon trained on him.

“Tell him to keep still.” Price says.

“Keep still or they’ll shoot you.” You say to him. He stops moving, turning to look at Ghost.

“Good then I will take you all with me.”

“We’re not ULF.” You snap at him. He looks back over at you frowning.

“You blew up the base, you’re in a ULF safehouse.”

“This is a ULF safehouse?” You ask, trying to play dumb. He doesn’t say anything, his hands come black up as Soap and Gaz approach him again.

“The ULF killed my father and my brother.” He says, you sigh sympathetically.

“Mine too.” You say. There, that's how they do it. When you’re young and vulnerable looking for someone to blame. You tried to run and leave the country you called home all your life. Some people, the unlucky ones end up like him, scared, following orders they probably don’t even agree with. All they need is the promise of a better afterlife, one where they don’t have to worry about war, the loss of their family, everything is better in Jannah.

In another world you might have ended up like him. Married of to an Al Qatala general helping the cause to take down the people you blame for both your parents death. Maybe it was a good thing you were too scared to stay, war scared you as much as the next person. You weren’t exactly willing to die for a country being torn apart by terrorists.

“What’s going on?” Price asks, leaning in closer to you.

“He was sent by Al Qatala, he thinks we’re ULF. They killed his father. He planted the bomb on the car.” You explain, you feel sorry for him, he thinks killing you is going to bring him and his father piece. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Alone?” Price asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you alone?” You ask him.

“No.” He says, that makes your stomach drop. He’s being watched, someone making sure he completes the job. Making sure there are no lose ends.

“He’s not alone.” You say. You hear Price sigh. You take another step towards him watching Soap and Gaz mutter cutting wires.

“How old are you?”

“17.”

“You look older for your age.” You say, you see a little smile from on his lips.

“I was the tallest boy in my village.” He says.

“I bet you were-”

“Shit.” Soap’s voice cutting through the air makes you stop. He stands up straight looking at the boy before walking over to you and Price.

“I can’t stop it. If I cut anymore it could go off.” Soap says, he looks serious, his face dark eyes sullen. It’s the first time you’ve seen him like this. Price lets out a long sigh.

“Can’t we just take it off him?” You ask.

“It’s hardwired into the clips, pull them and it’ll go off.” Soap says.

“What do we do then?” You ask, you know you’re not going to like the answer.

“I managed to disconnect the shrapnel, when it goes it’ll be contained.” Soap says. When, When it goes. It makes you feel sick. You look back over at him.

“There has to be something you can do?” You ask urgently. You can feel your heart pick up speed.

“We can make sure we survive.” Price says. “How long do we have?”

“Five minutes,” Soap says. You look up at him shaking your head, you can’t believe what you’re hearing. You can’t believe you kissed him.

“What do I tell him?” You ask Price as Soap goes over to Ghost.

“Tell him he’s going to be okay.” Price says darkly. You look at the boy, he’s frowning watching Soap and Ghost talk.

“He’s just a kid.” You whisper, you don’t mean for Price to hear you just hate it. You hate what’s happening right now.

“They always are.” He breathes, crossing his arms.

“Are you sure they know what they’re doing?” He asks.

“Of course, they’re experts.” You say, you force a smile. He nods the frown leaving his face. You can’t see the timer from here. Soap said 5 minutes, you’re trying to count in your head.

“Where are you from?” You ask him.

“Sakhra. What about you?”

“A little town in the south, it was destroyed when the fighting started.” You say swallowing the tears back. You need to keep your cool. You watch as Ghost moves ever so slightly, his weapon dipped in his arms. Soap opens the front door.

“What’s going on?” He asks, suddenly straightening up.

“Nothing, it’s going to be okay.” You lie, why does lying come so easily even now. You’re not sure how long is left, you stopped trying to count. Soap and Ghost move, getting into position to pull him out the door and leave him out their until the inevitable happens.

It’s cold and calculated, self preservation. He would be dead anyway, at least this way only he will get hurt. You hope there's an afterlife, Jannah or heaven, even just some kind of limbo, you hope he can see his father again.

You see Soap nod. It happens fast. Gaz steps out the way and Soap grabs him from behind. You don’t mean for a yelp to leave your throat as his screams breaks the silence in the air. You feel Price grab your arm pulling you across the room and into the kitchen. You stumble letting him pull you, pushing you behind a wall, Gaz joins you next.

You can hear him shouting, shouting for help, banging on the door that has been locked in his face.

Soap and Ghost come round the corner next. There’s a few seconds of silence then an explosion. It shakes the house, the smell of gunpowder and sulfur fills the air. Everyone walks out the kitchen. You take a second to collect yourself. Price letting go of his tight grip on your arm.

When you make it out the front door has been blown open and the window smashed in. There’s surprisingly still a body, you can’t look at it for too long.

You feel ill, he was just a kid, 17 years old. You never even asked his name.

…

You’re laid in bed staring up at the ceiling of the house. After what happened no one had the stomach to eat. Ghost and Gaz cleaned up the body, putting it in the shed. You wanted to bury it but Price said it was a waste of time, he promised the ULF would come by and deal with it. You didn’t believe him.

You were worried someone was watching the house but after Price and Soap did a sweep of the area he’s convinced whoever was watching had gone. Regardless he still said someone should be on guard just in case. He didn’t try talking about his plan to go to Russia again, he just ordered everyone to get some rest.

You can’t sleep though, your mind is plagued, you can’t get his shouting out of your head. You just threw him out in the cold to die. He must have been terrified. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe you’re not built for this type of job. Soldiers kill people, so do the ULF and Al Qatala, maybe you wouldn't mind being stuck in a war room right now. It’s easier to hear about these things then witness them first hand.

You get out of bed, you can’t sleep. You might as well see if Price is still awake, maybe he’ll let you keep watch and then he can get some rest. Besides he probably sleeps better after these kind of things then you.

When you make it out into the hall every door but the bathroom is closed, you can hear snoring coming through one of them. At least someone is sleeping. You make it down the stairs and see Price leaning back on the sofa with a bottle of something on the table and a half filled glass. He doesn’t have a hat on, he’s almost always wearing one. He watches you walk and sit next to him on the sofa.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asks. You lean back, shaking your head. “Want one?” He asks leaning forward to pick up his glass.

“I don’t drink.” You say, he hums finishing his glass and putting it back down on the table.

“You should get some sleep. I can keep watch.” You say pulling your legs up onto the sofa.

“It’s okay, we’ll be leaving in a few hours anyway. You look over at the window you helped Soap board up with some wood you found out back. There’s a chill in the building now.

“Do you still plan on going to Russia?” You ask. He nods.

“We have intel Jamal and Khaled are still in Volgograd.”

“How?” You ask frowning.

“CIA contact, they were able to do some snooping for us.”

“What about Al Qatala?”

“They’re still moving south, it looks like they’re going to be targeting ULF bases, Farah and Alex will have their hands full.” Price says as he reaches over to refill his glass.

“How did they know we were going to attack the base, they blew the car and sent a suicide bomber after us.” You say. He sighs again bringing the glass to his lips.

“Konni has more info than we think. Makarov is normally smarter, this isn’t like him.”

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“Sending Al Qatala after us, something’s changed. Why Al Qatala and not Konni, people he trusts. He’s desperate.” He talks sounds like he’s talking to himself a stream of unbroken thoughts, you almost don’t want to interrupt him.

“Or maybe he just really wants you dead.” You sigh.

“Then he would have done a better job.” He looks over at you.

“You did good today.” He says, you shake your head looking away.

“I wish we could have saved him.”

“We can’t save everyone.” He finishes his drink off, putting the glass back on the table. “A Lot of the time it's us or them, we don’t always have the luxury of a choice.”

“So I guess you still want me and Soap to go back to Farah tomorrow.” You ask changing the subject. He nods. “We’ll be in contact let you know when you should come up.”

You don't say anything turning away and looking back over at the stairs, you’re not in the mood to fight with him.

“If you’re still willing to work with us?” He asks, you turn back to look at him. He's got blue eyes like Soap, his look darker, the circles under them deeper. You nod, he smiles, his hand comes to lay on your thigh. You freeze at the contact, his hand is warm, he squeezes it then gets up.

“You should try and get some rest, you have a long trip tomorrow.”

“So do you.” You say swallowing the saliva that’s built up in your mouth. You can feel heat rushing to your cheeks, he smiles at you then heads into the kitchen. You close your eyes, squeezing the bridge of your nose. You’re emotional, you’ve had a long day. There’s no way you’re crushing on Price too.

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