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kafkasmuses · 1 day

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KITTY KAT — art donaldson + reader : art has a tendency to show up late to your lessons.

tags: mdni, tennis lessons, coach!art donaldson, p in v sex, fingering, art is kind of an asshole, cheating (not on reader)

a/n: sorry to tashi… this goes out to my dear @murdrdocs

thirty minutes ago.

art donaldson was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago, your teeth grit against each other, foot tapping impatiently against the concrete floor below you.

art was a sweet guy, sure, but his time management was beyond infuriating. it almost made you feel like he thought himself above you, like you weren’t worth his time.

“one to talk,” you mumble to yourself, dragging your racket on the ground, “rich from the guy who was coached by his wife.”

ahem.

you spin around, and of course, he’s standing right there, looking the same as he always does. his dirty blonde hair was messed up and falling over his eyebrows, blue eyes, with a mix of brown, staring directly at you with an almost amused expression.

you blink at him, once, twice.

a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, “sorry for being late.”

it sounds condescending, like he would never actually mean it, especially not after what he heard, it felt like a sort of karma for what you were previously saying about him.

and he knows that, of course he does, so he masks it with a sense of sweetness, one that would typically gaslight people into thinking they’ve been forgiven, but you know better.

you’ve been coached by art for a while now, and his little habits became far too predictable. this was odd, though, you couldn’t make out the glint in his eye, especially when you mumble a, “sorry, i didn’t mean—“

“let’s get started, yeah?” art cuts in, bitter, yet his voice still sounded like it was dipped in honeysuckle.

he whisks right past you with that same, tugged up smirk, he reeked of rich cologne and mint.

your lips press together and you silently, albeit ashamed, nod in agreement.

maybe silence will earn points back from your coach.

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

silence did not earn anything.

art served hard, hit the ball hard, it was as if he wanted to make the ball break through your racket and hit you square in the face. he clearly took your miniscule words personally, and he was testing you, trying to break you down, to see how much you could take until your bones turned soft and you felt like giving up.

the first time you called a pause, art smiled, “don’t tell me you’re giving up.”

“pause,” you repeat through heaved breaths, sweat sticking to your skin underneath the relentless sun. art had that same playful look in his eyes that he always did, he knew that what he was doing was working, he knew that he was getting under your skin, and as cruel as it sounds, he really did enjoy it.

if you ever were to ask him about it, he’d just shrug and say it’s all a part of the practice, it always happens in tennis, especially professional, he’s just preparing you. but deep down, he really just wanted to say that he was doing it for those reasons but for his own personal pleasures, karma comes in many forms, but art picks the harshest form first.

he watches you drink water with a desperate urgency, stifling his own chuckles, “you sure you’re okay?”

“‘m fine,” you speak after gulping down the last drop, finally satisfied, “let’s keep going.”

art’s brows furrow ever so slightly, but as soon as you’re back to being ready, he rolls the tennis ball in his hand a little, observing it, before throwing it up in the air and sending it your way. he’s so casual with every hit, despite his grunts and the way his nose scrunches whenever ball meets racket, he makes it look like it’s nothing.

to make it even worse, he starts trying to conversate between passes, “you know—“ smack! another grunt leaves his lips, “it’s really rude to—“ smack! “speak about people behind their—“ smack! “fuck.. backs.”

you’re so busy trying to decipher his words you almost miss the next hit, but thankfully you snap out of the trance quick enough to hit it last minute, which he chuckles at and quickly sends it back.

smack! “‘m sorry, art, really—“ your shoes scratch against the concrete below, smack! “i was being very—“ smack! “childish, i apologize.”

he hums, content with your apologies, but still not outwardly saying he forgives you, instead his hits start to soften, he’s less trying to kill you with the ball and now rather trying to actually play tennis. “you’re all good—“ he confirms, smack! “just make it up to me, yeah?”

ball meets floor, his words had completely caught you off guard, and you missed your hit on the ball he sent your way. you felt almost stupid, standing there, staring at him and trying to decipher what he meant by making it up to him.

and of course, he didn’t elaborate, he never did, he simply just picked up another ball, smiled at you, and said, “ready?”

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

art said he forgave you, right?

ever since that day, he’s been acting.. off. he was more focused on your figure now, not in a crude way, but in a way where he wanted you to position yourself correctly when playing. he watches you serve the ball, then his tongue prods at the inside of his cheek and he stands, “hey, hey, wait a second— your uh… your stance is wrong.”

“it is?” it was the fifth time he’s corrected you, today, and it’s safe to say you were getting annoyed, he picked up on the bitterness of your tone as he approached you.

“‘ts not my fault, kitty cat,” he shrugged simply, noticing the way your eyes narrow in frustration at his nickname, he only smiles. he leans in behind you, “may i?” his hands are ghosting over your arms from behind.

“whatever helps,” you remark.

“good,” it’s softly spoken at the shell of your ear, making you swallow thick, his fingers wrap around your wrist, other one holding your fingers grip on the racket’s handle. his grip is tight, yet gentle at the same time, veins flexing against his flesh with every movement as he helps you move into the right position. “just gotta.. do it like this,” he’s still whispering against your ear, nearly making your knees buckle.

once he’s satisfied with your position, which is far too quick for your liking, he backs off and lets you serve the ball again. he smiles once he’s gotten what he’s wanted, “perfect.”

eventually, after a while of hitting the ball, you decided to take a break. there was a silence between you and art, a tension you couldn’t place, you had nothing to blame it on, nothing to apologize for, and he constantly looked like he was trying to say something indescribable.

“hey,” he starts, before tugging his bottom lip under his tongue for a mere second before continuing, “remember when i said you had to make it up to me?”

you stare at him, curious, “yeah, of course.”

“you know,” his hands smooth over each other, skin underneath his right eye twitching as his pupils dilate in thought, “i’ve been having a.. problem, lately.”

“with tennis?”

“nono,” he laughs nervously, moving to scratch the back of his neck, “it’s personal, y’know? well— not entirely, since ‘m telling you, but uh— actually, nevermind.”

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

you and art hadn’t discussed much after the last meet, you found yourself standing in the court yet again, whilst he was no short of an hour late at this point. you wanted to ask him what his deal is lately, what his problem is, but he wasn’t even here to be questioned. it was almost ridiculous, like he was toying with you.

“i like your skirt,” it comes out of nowhere, but it’s the same, smooth voice that art holds.

yet again, you find yourself spinning around to meet him, he’s closer, now, clearly eyeing you— but that’s.. weird, is it not? he has a wife, he shouldn’t be complimenting your obviously short skirt, or eyeing you like that, or wishing to tell you things that he had apparently not told anyone else because it’s personal. but who are you to question his relationship? maybe he’s just.. being nice, really.

“thank you,” you offer, nice, short, sweet.

he rolls his shoulder, meeting your eyes, flickering his gaze to your lips for a mere second, then saying nothing and walking by. rich cologne and mint. that’s what wafts into your senses immediately, as if it was some sort of distraction from his odd behaviors.

“do you always call people kitty cat?” you eventually ask him, it was something you’d been wondering, truly, especially since you’ve never been called that before.

“to pretty girls with an attitude, yeah,” art says it so casually.

“like your wife?”

“like you.”

art corrected you.

he corrected you, and his correction didn’t annoy you like how they always did, it made your stomach churn in a way you couldn’t decipher, you couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. you liked it, maybe, but isn’t that so sickening? art seems to think no big deal of his own words, as he doesn’t even react, so you try to be nonchalant about it as well.

the whole entire test match you play with him, he has a certain glint in his eye, his grunts are louder, his shorts look tighter, he looks like he’s having some sort of reaction to playing tennis, to playing tennis with you. your tongue runs along your lips between breaks, noticing the way his eyes linger on it, the way his pupils widen at the shine of saliva over your lips with each swipe.

at the third break, art was convinced you were doing this on purpose.

“why do you keep doing that?” he asks as he’s walking over to grab his water bottle, right where you’re sitting on the concrete floor. you blink up at him, watching him hover the bottle near his lips and squirt the water into his mouth. did he always look this good when sweaty?

gosh, maybe you’re just tired, maybe your mind is just foggy.

“what?” you frown, confused.

“licking your lips,” he speaks after swallowing the water, towering over you. his muscles were nearly bursting out of his white t-shirt with every movement, especially when he puts his water bottle down and crosses his arm, head cocking to the side. sweat causes some of his hair strands to stick to his forehead, lips puffy from how much he bites them when playing.

“my lips are dry,” you explain, so simple.

“yeah?” again, another smile, he had to be toying with you, “do you need some other help with that?”

“what do you mean?”

art hums, not explaining anything when he opens his mouth and swipes his thumb along his tongue, moving down to rub the saliva from his tongue onto your lips, memorizing the pillowy soft touch. your eyes widen, slightly, “art, this is—“

“not helping?” art tuts in faux disappointment, mumbling a small, ‘why don’t i..’ before he leans down further, licking his own lips and getting closer and closer until his lips are brushing against yours.

“wrong,” you mumble out, but you sound unsure, like you don’t really believe what you just said, you don’t think this is wrong, you’ve always thought art was attractive, it was his wife that kept your crush on him at bay. you mumble against his lips, “you have a wife, art..”

“do i?” he smirks against your lips, a near chuckle slipping out, “i must’ve forgotten.”

“art,” it sounds like a warning, but again, you wanted nothing less than for his lips to fall against yours right now.

“make it up to me, yeah? remember that?” his hand moves to hold your cheek, tipping your head up at him, eyes meeting yours in such close proximity, “i’ve got some marriage problems right now, so why don’t you play wife for me, hm?”

you nod at him, ever so slightly, he clocks it immediately, and that’s his que. his eyes flutter shut, and he’s leaning in only a mere centimeter before his lips fall against yours. the kiss is soft at first, sweet, new, but then art starts taking the lead, and it quickly becomes something on the faint lines of cannibalism, he kissed you like he wanted to eat you, like he loved you.

when he said he wanted you to play wife, he wasn’t lying.

he pries your lips open with his own before his tongue makes it’s way inside your mouth, tasting the peppermint of your gum on your own tongue, memorizing the noisy breaths that leave your mouth and move into his. your nails are quick to run along his arms, making him pull back to speak, “hold on, kitty cat.”

“you call your wife kitty cat?” you watch him peel off his sweaty shirt from his skin.

he tosses the shirt to the side, exhaling a breath that showed he hated the feeling of the wet fabric on his skin, “mm, i call you kitty cat, ‘nd you’re playing my wife, so.”

“right,” you agree, letting his cold hands brush against your skin when he takes your clothes off of you, of course looking at you for approval beforehand, which you nod to.

“did you start wearing shorter skirts on purpose?” art questions when his fingers reach the waistband of your skirt, ever so slowly dipping underneath.

“no, ‘course not,” you speak breathlessly, feeling his fingers move under your underwear as well until his fingertips meet your clit. you swallow thick, lashes fluttering as he starts moving his fingers in an almost cruel slowness.

“look at me,” he whispers a simple command, free hand holding your chin and forcing you to look at him. his fingers move further down, immediately feeling how wet you are, he chuckles in surprise, “god, you’re this wet for a married man, huh?”

“for my husband,” you mumble out, playing the part.

“that’s right,” his middle finger circles your entrance for a second before ever so slowly dipping it inside. he watches your lips fall apart, the way your eyes get glossed over, the way your hips push up against his finger. “needy.”

he doesn’t take long to push another finger in, letting go of your chin so he could guide your hand to his clothed cock, hard and pushing against his flimsy shorts. as soon as you start rubbing his dick through the fabric, his breath shudders slightly, as if he’s been waiting too long for like, as if he hasn’t had sexual pleasure in weeks.

soon enough, only a mere minute or two in of foreplay, art gets antsy and he has to have his dick inside of you, he pries his fingers from your cunt and takes your skirt off next. “lay down for me, yeah?” he smiles at the fact that you do it immediately, even spreading your legs for him.

he hisses at the feeling when his bare knees meet the concrete floor below, harsh on his skin, he tugs his shorts and boxers down ever so slightly until his cock is finally freed. you inhale sharply upon seeing it, he had a big dick. he spits in his hand, coating his dick with a grunt before he finally lines himself up with your entrance.

“ready?” he hushes out.

“yeah, yeah,” you’re barely able to finish the last yeah before his dick is moving into you, his nose scrunching from the tightness of your walls around him, it’s like you were purposefully squeezing his cock with an attempt to milk him dry already.

“fuck,” he grunts out, pulling back, then moving back in, earning a pathetic moan from your lips. it sounds like music to his ears, so he keeps going, his thrusting was slow at first, gentle, kind— but just like the test matches, or the kiss, he gets hungry, and he wants more.

his thrusts turn relentless almost immediately, maybe even like he was taking out some sorts of sexual frustrations out on your poor cunt. whimpers, whines, moans, all of those leave your lips, matching up with the grunts and the occasional whimper from his own mouth as well.

sex was intoxicating for art, and there was something so dangerous, so forbidden about this, you weren’t really his wife, he was married to another woman, he was solely your coach. some sick part of art loves that, maybe that’s why he leans down and starts nipping at your neck, sucking at the delicate skin until maroon and blackberry starts blooming on the blank canvas.

“art, oh my god,” you moan out, hands moving to scratch at his bare back, and maybe art should be smart enough to tell you not to leave marks, but he lets your nails dig in as his thrusts get harsher, surely drawing blood, or at least noticeable scratches.

in fact, the feeling of you tearing into his skin only makes his orgasm come on faster, soon enough wracking his body and making his hips stutter. he keeps going though, despite the overstimulation that makes him pathetically whine softly, just until you’ve reached your own orgasm.

he pulls out, panting, smirking down at you, “thanks, kitty cat.”

#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #mike faist #mike faist x reader #mike faist x you #art donaldson smut #art donaldson challengers #challengers #challengers smut #mike faist smut #mike faist challengers

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ginnsbaker · 3 days

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fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (9/?)

Part Summary: You get more than you bargained for on Halloween

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader, temporary Leigh x Danny | Word count for this part: 7.300+ | Warnings: Light angst, R and Leigh being obtuse | Author's Note: Longest chapter so far (and about 90% of it is just Leigh and R)! I have officially written another novel length fic with this update. From a two-shot to this? Wouldn't be possible without everyone's support. Thank you, everyone. I have a little treat for you at the end.

Despite Leigh's promise to bring Logan in for his vaccinations, she missed the appointment again for the second time. Understanding that life gets hectic, you decide that rather than seeing Logan miss another round of critical vaccinations, you'll take matters into your own hands and arrange a home visit at the Shaw’s.

On the day of the visit, you discover that Logan has gained 2.5 pounds in just two weeks. The drastic weight gain might indicate that he’s not a purebred Shih Tzu as you originally thought when you got him, or Leigh has been feeding him more than the recommended serving size. You can feel Logan’s solid back as you hold him in place while you administer the vaccine on his scruff. Leigh appears nervous, and if you weren’t determined to scold her after completing Logan’s immunizations, you might have found it adorable.

“Just a quick pinch, buddy,” you murmur soothingly to the anxious pup. Logan yelps as the needle pierces his skin, but within two seconds, it’s over. You rub his neck to distract him from the sting of the medicine, then return to your insulated bag to dispose of the syringe. Leigh watches closely as you finish with Logan, a slight frown creasing her forehead. You notice she's dressed in what you figure is her nightwear—a thin olive camisole and matching capri pants. It seems too dressed down for receiving a guest.

“Why are these vaccines so important, anyway?” she asks lightly, but you don’t miss her apprehension behind it. “I mean, he'll mostly be indoors…”

The frustration from her missing two appointments sneaks into your voice as you say, “Vaccines can mean the difference between life and death for puppies. Take the parvovirus—it's lethal and spreads quickly.”

Leigh nods, taking in the weight of your words. You notice her swallow, perhaps realizing the graveness of her oversight. “I didn't realize it was that serious,” she murmurs.

You catch yourself, realizing you might be coming across as harsher than necessary. “It's alright, Leigh. That's exactly why I came here,” you say mildly. You've dealt with many uneducated dog owners before, and Leigh is no different. You know you need to be patient with her, just as you have been with others, and you remind yourself not to let your personal feelings interfere with your professional opinions.

Logan wiggles happily at your feet, seemingly forgiving you for the shot already. “And another thing,” you add, glancing down at Logan’s round belly, “he’s put on quite a bit of weight. We need to watch his diet. Too much food isn’t good for him either.”

Leigh looks slightly embarrassed. “I guess I've been spoiling him with extra treats,” she admits. “I'll be more careful with that.”

“It’s okay. I know how hard it is to say ‘no’ to that face,” you say, smiling at Logan while you rub his chin. “Just keep to the recommended portions, and he’ll be in good shape.”

As you gather your things to leave, you remember Logan's vaccine card. After filling out the final details, you head towards the kitchen where Leigh has silently drifted off. She's busying herself with breakfast on the stove when you approach.

“Here's Logan's vaccine card,” you say, handing it to her. “He needs another dose in two weeks, so don't forget to schedule that in.”

“Thank you,” Leigh says, accepting the card with a nod. “I won't forget this time.”

The aroma of coffee wafts through the room, tickling your nose.

“I've just made some coffee. Would you like to stay for breakfast?” Leigh asks.

You hesitate, considering the offer, but you’re inclined to refuse, still irked by her missing the previous appointments. “I’m good, thanks,” you say, a bit too briskly. Leigh's face falls slightly, a look of disappointment flashing across her eyes before she gives you a small, resigned smile and turns back to the stove.

You start to leave but something stops you—the frustration from Leigh’s no-shows running over.

“Leigh, can I ask why you didn’t make it to the clinic? And not even a text,” you find yourself saying as you spin on your heels to face her. “It’s not just unprofessional—it hurts more coming from a friend.”

“If you have a problem with me, it’s perfectly okay to transfer Logan to another clinic as long as you’ll follow through with his appointments,” you suggest, noting her standing there, mouth agape, her vivid green eyes sharply focused. Getting that off your chest didn't bring the relief you expected. Instead, you're left with a sinking feeling of regret. Looking back on your words, you realize how petty they must have sounded.

Leigh on the other hand, is momentarily stunned by your outburst, her eyes wide as she absorbs your words. Then, something shifts in her expression, a flicker of intrigue crossing her features before she clears her throat and apologizes.

“I'm really sorry,” she says sincerely, turning off the stove and setting down her spatula. “I didn't handle things well, and you were right to call me out on it.” Leigh takes a careful step closer, causing you to instinctively step back until your lower back meets the edge of the dining table. You weren't expecting Leigh to be so understanding, leaving you unsure of how to react. Should you apologize for getting upset?

Fortunately, Leigh doesn't leave you to dwell on your thoughts for long. She continues, “Why don't you stay for breakfast? I can whip up something nice, and we can catch up like we used to. Please, let me make it up to you.”

Feeling like an absolute fool and still grappling with the aftertaste of your flare-up, you find yourself in a quandary. Rejecting her offer would just drag out this uncomfortable moment even longer, which is the last thing you want. Besides, your stomach is growling—you haven’t eaten anything since you got here, and the smell of brewing coffee is too good to ignore.

“Alright,” you relent, glancing down at your feet. “That sounds good.”

Leigh looks relieved. “Perfect, just give me a minute,” she says, clapping her hands together as she turns back to her cooking.

You linger awkwardly, still standing. “Need a hand with anything?” you ask.

“Just sit there, be all pretty, and relax.”

That little compliment makes your cheeks burn even hotter. If you weren’t so distracted by your hunger and embarrassment, you'd swear it’s almost as if she’s flirting with you.

Wait.

Is she?

Then, as if the universe can hear you thinking, Leigh’s phone buzzes loudly on the kitchen counter. She snatches it up, and even though you can’t see her face, you can tell she’s happy he called as she chirps, “Hey, Danny.”

Right. Danny Greer. That name shatters your brief daydream. Suzie was right—you're too close, and it's clouding your judgment. Leigh laughs into the phone, and you look away just in time for her to turn slightly and steal a glance at you.

Alright, you think, that's it. After this breakfast, it's time to really put some space between you and Leigh. You need to clear your head and let her have her space too. It's the best move, for the sake of your friendship and your sanity.

As Leigh busies herself in the kitchen, you find yourself aimlessly scrolling through your phone, not really focusing on anything. The sound of her laughter while she talks to Danny floats over to you, making you regret agreeing to stay for breakfast and blame your inability to say no to her.

She ends the call with a lingering smile and soon approaches with two plates in hand. Each has a stack of pancakes and two sunny-side-up eggs with the edges just crisped up how you like them. The fact that Leigh remembered leaves you speechless. It’s a small detail, but it makes you guilty for brooding and feeling all jealous.

“I hope you still like your eggs this way,” Leigh says as she sets the table.

“Thank you,” you say warmly as Leigh pours coffee for both of you. Recalling her preference, you offer to add two sugars to her cup, and she rewards you with a small, appreciative smile. She then grabs the syrup from the fridge, along with two sets of utensils, and places them on the table.

You take a bite of the fluffy pancakes, perfectly cooked and deliciously light. “These are amazing, Leigh,” you say enthusiastically.

Leigh beams, standing a bit taller with pride instead of dismissing the praise. “I'm glad you think so! I've been working on perfecting the recipe.”

“Seriously, Leigh, you could sell these.”

She laughs. “Keep the compliments coming and I might just make you breakfast more often.”

You almost choke at her words. You really should take a little break from Leigh until you can get this crush under control. Even simple remarks are starting to feel like a tightrope walk.

Leigh tilts her head slightly, a coy look crossing her face. “So…” she drawls, leaving the word hanging as she waits for you to look up from your plate.

You stop chewing once you sense her heavy gaze on you. “Hmm?”

Leaning in slightly, she lowers her voice as though about to share a secret. “This Sara... is she a friend of yours? Someone new around here?”

The piece of pancake suddenly feels like a mouthful of sawdust as you process her question. You grab your coffee and take a quick gulp to help wash it down. “I, uh, met her on a dating app, actually,” you say.

Leigh's eyebrow arches. “Oh?”

There’s a short, tense period where you repeatedly stab your pancake and tap your foot rapidly against the leg of the stool you’re sitting on, while Leigh twirls her hair around her finger, lost in thought.

“She’s gorgeous,” Leigh finally says. “I didn’t know you were into women.” That is, unless you and the person from her advice column are one and the same. She's chosen to approach what she's dubbed the “EspressoEyes conundrum” as a Schrödinger’s cat scenario, where you simultaneously do and do not have feelings for Leigh.

You fiddle with your coffee mug. “Yeah, I think I've mentioned that before,” you say, though your memory suddenly feels unreliable.

Leigh shakes her head, certain. “No, you definitely haven't told me that.”

“Well, yes, I'm into women, but obviously I like men too,” you say, deciding it's perhaps better to just be clear.

“We're the same then,” she says casually, as if discussing something as mundane as their taste in movies.

“Really?” You’re hoping Leigh is buying the faux surprise on your face, even though Jules had let slip about Leigh's college days.

“Yeah,” Leigh nods. “I had a serious relationship with a woman back in college. It's not something I talk about much, but it's part of who I am.”

“I see.”

Leigh takes a slow sip of her coffee, eyeing you over the rim of her mug with a slight tilt of her head.

“So, do you like her? Sara, I mean,” she asks.

“Yeah, she’s great. We get along really well.”

Leigh sets her coffee cup down with a small clink, not missing a beat. “Have you guys...you know, slept together?” she asks, more bluntly than before.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, feeling a bit like you’re under interrogation. “Um…no, we haven’t.”

A quick glint flashes in her eyes before it vanishes. Her shoulders relax as she leans back in her chair. “Sorry, that was out of line,” she mumbles with a curt, dismissive laugh. “I guess I'm just being nosy.”

The way she said it doesn't truly suggest she's sorry for crossing some lines, but you’re not focusing on that. Rather, you feel like you’ve earned the right to ask Leigh some questions about her own personal affairs.

“And you?” you start, trying to sound flippant. “How are things with you and Danny?”

Leigh matches your nonchalance as she stands up to gather the empty plates from the table. There's a smooth, practiced ease in the way she begins cleaning up, letting you know she's not about to let your questions corner her.

“Things are... going,” she replies, keeping it vague. “Danny's great. We're figuring things out as we go.”

“Where'd you meet him?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“He's Matt's brother,” Leigh says flatly, without flinching. You have to give it to her for being so straightforward about it. Not that you’re judging Leigh or anything—it’s just that moving from in-laws to lovers is quite an unconventional transition.

It’s also possible that you’re just bitter.

“Did you always find him attractive?” you ask, almost spitefully, curiosity getting the better of you. Leigh freezes, her back going rigid at your callous words. There's a moment of visible tension, but then she lets out a slow breath and lets it slide. She had been quite direct in probing about your dating life, so perhaps this levels the playing field.

“No, it wasn’t like that,” Leigh says slowly. “I—”

“Oh hey, Y/N, it's been a while!”

Neither of you heard the front door open. Jules bursts in, holding Logan who's wagging his tail wildly at the sight of familiar faces, both oblivious to the cutting atmosphere they've just entered.

“Oh hey, Y/N, it's been a while!” Jules exclaims. She looks between you and Leigh. “Am I interrupting something?” she asks, noticing the residual stiffness in the air.

“Y/N was just leaving,” Leigh says.

You don’t need to be told twice. “Hey, Jules,” you say with a short wave. “I just came to give Logan his shots.”

Jules frowns slightly as you start to leave so soon after her arrival. You reach over to give Logan a quick pat on the head. Turning to Leigh, you manage a tight smile and say, “Thanks for the breakfast.”

As soon as you're out the door, Jules turns to Leigh with a worried look. “What was all that about?” she asks softly.

Leigh shrugs, her expression inscrutable. “I don’t know what you mean,” she replies evenly, turning away to busy herself with the dishes.

You get into your car but instead of starting it, you just sit there motionless. Your hands rest aimlessly on the wheel as you lose yourself in thought.

Here’s the truth about Sara:

She's exactly your type on paper—blonde, blue-eyed, stunning. But despite all that, she hadn't managed to hold your attention. Her beauty just couldn't pull your mind away from Leigh, from her vivid green eyes that always seemed to see right through you.

The silence in the car allows you to realize what an odd question you had thrown at Leigh about Danny. You realize just how inappropriate it might have seemed, how it must have sounded coming from a place of jealousy rather than concern.

Why did you even ask that? The answer is uncomfortably clear: you can't be just friends with Leigh. Not anymore. You’ve been lying to yourself, hoping things would just sort themselves out. But they won’t. Not like this. You can’t keep doing this to yourself—or to her.

Because right now, this friendship, if you can even call it that, is doing more harm than good.

“It’s not working.”

Suzie looks up from her clipboard, startled. Her red locks tumble across her face as she tilts her head, brushing them back with a quick flick of her hand.

“Seeing other people, you mean?” she asks, already guessing the root of your distress.

You run a hand through your hair, messing up your low ponytail. Frustrated, you decide to let your hair loose from the tie altogether.

“I thought if I met someone like Sara—someone who’s practically a checklist of everything I find attractive—it would make things easier. But it’s just... not.” You massage your temples, as if trying to rub away the spell Leigh seems to have cast on you. “She's perfect, but she's not Leigh. And no matter how hard I try, I can't stop thinking about Leigh.”

“You're right about one thing though,” Suzie says, getting back to her task.

“Which is…?”

“That Sara’s perfect,” she chuckles, and you can't help but roll your eyes. “Look, you can’t force these feelings. If your heart’s not in it, it’s not in it.”

“So…Should I keep seeing her? Maybe she’ll grow on me or something.”

Suzie stops and gives you a serious look. “Maybe. But love shouldn't feel like an obligation, you know? It’s not fair to either of you if you’re just waiting to see if you’ll catch feelings.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” you acknowledge with a sigh. “She’s everything I thought I wanted. And I think she likes me.”

“Sometimes what we think we want isn’t what we really need,” Suzie answers. “Why not take a break? Give yourself some space to think. It might help you figure out what really works—whether it’s Sara, someone else, or just time to yourself.”

“You think so?”

Suzie gives a small shrug. “Look, I don’t have all the answers.”

Hearing that makes you feel a tad embarrassed. You’ve been leaning on her for advice a lot lately, and it’s probably awkward for her, especially since you're her boss. Maybe she’s just being nice because she has to be.

“Thanks, Sue,” you say, standing up from your chair to head back to your office. “I appreciate you listening to all this.”

She smiles back, and you can tell she’s relieved to move on from the subject. Suzie might not have all the answers, but maybe there’s another place you can find them.

That night, in your bedroom, you settle in front of your laptop, the cursor blinking expectantly on the blank submission form of the advice column. You type in your handle—EspressoEyes—a moniker you’d used before, thinking it would increase your chances of being noticed again. Quickly, you type out your query and hit send, watching as it disappears into the digital ether. No sooner have you shut your laptop than your phone rings. It’s your mom.

“Hey, Mom,” you answer, shifting to sit against your headboard.

“Hi, sweetheart! Are you coming home for Thanksgiving? We’re starting to plan the menu and would love to have you,” she says. Your chest tightens. Just hearing her voice makes you feel like you’re already home. You pretend to think for a second, considering your rather empty social calendar.

“Yeah, I’ll come home,” you decide, realizing it might be nice to get away for a bit.

“Oh good! It’s been too long. We’ll make sure to have all your favorites,” she chatters on, already listing the dishes that would normally make you salivate. But these days, you just don’t have the appetite for food.

“Sounds great, Mom. Really looking forward to it.”

You hang up with a promise to send your flight details soon. Setting your phone down, you feel a slight relief at the thought of escaping to a place where no one knows about the mess you’re in.

Leigh can’t sleep. She lies wide awake, staring at the ceiling while Danny's snores fill the room. The weight of his arm draped over her stomach feels stifling, trapping her in place. She can’t breathe. Carefully, so as not to wake him, she slips out from under his arm and tiptoes out of the bedroom. In the hallway, she grabs one of his shirts hanging over a chair and slips it on. It smells like sandalwood and something uniquely him—comforting yet somehow off-putting at the same time.

She pads into the kitchen to boil some water, the soft click of the stove burner igniting a comforting sound in the otherwise quiet apartment. With the kettle on, she wanders into the living room, pulling Danny's shirt closer around her. Even with the windows closed, the crisp chill of autumn seeps in.

Sitting on the couch, Leigh pulls her knees to her chest. The post-sex cocktail of oxytocin and vasopressin usually knocks her out, but tonight they fail her. Instead, her mind is filled with doubts and the urge to flee from any kind of closeness.

She remembers the last conversation with you, the disapproval on your face when you finally mentioned her relationship with Danny. It troubles her more than she expected. Were you right? Is she just scrambling to fit someone, anyone, into her life, even if it means ignoring the screams inside her head telling her to run?

The kettle whistles, snapping her out of her thoughts. She makes her tea and settles back into the couch, stirring slowly as she thinks about what it might mean to step back from everything—Danny, you, all of it.

With nothing but time until sleep takes her or the sun rises—whichever comes first—Leigh picks up her phone to distract herself. She scrolls through social media, news articles, anything to keep her mind off the spinning thoughts. Eventually, she wanders to the advice column inbox to check on the latest submissions.

Her breath catches in her throat when she sees another entry from EspressoEyes, a handle she recognizes—possibly yours. It reads:

“Is it wise to pursue other relationships if you have strong feelings for someone else? That someone is a friend, and staying just friends is becoming increasingly difficult. My feelings seem to be putting a strain on our relationship. Should I give myself some space?”

Leigh reads the message two more times. She sets her phone down, her thumb instinctively finding its way to her mouth where she nibbles at the nail, a nervous habit when she’s thinking long and hard. And the more she thinks about it, the more obvious it becomes. Of course, she's the friend you're talking about. This is you, openly struggling with your feelings for her. She had hoped things might change, might become less complicated when Sara came into the picture, but she was mistaken.

When she asked about Sara, Leigh was trying to gauge your feelings for her, wondering if Sara's presence meant she didn't need to worry about whether you were EspressoEyes or not. In her mind, if you were involved with Sara, it would imply you weren't interested in Leigh. But she surprised even herself by asking if you had slept with Sara, unsure why she needed to know that detail. Deep down, she couldn’t openly admit just how relieved she felt when you told her you hadn’t.

Leigh picks up her phone again and starts typing out a reply to the submission. When she’s done she tosses her phone somewhere on the couch and goes back to her tea. Sitting there, she watches as the sky outside shifts from dark to a wash of pastels.

A week later, Leigh’s phone vibrates incessantly on the table, the screen lighting up with Danny's name again. Finally, with a frustrated sigh, she turns it off and sets it aside. They've been cycling through breakups and makeups so often it's exhausting—a twisted routine, one that's leaving her more drained each time.

It's Halloween, and since she and Danny are off again, Leigh decides to take the night for herself. She picks Matt's favorite restaurant, which is fully decked out for the holiday, with jack-o'-lanterns lining the walls and eerie candles flickering on each table. She orders a pumpkin-spiced latte and a small plate of appetizers, settling in to enjoy her evening solo. Later, she’ll have that tiramisu that her late husband so adored.

Matt always loved this holiday because it was the one time of year Leigh would indulge him by dressing up as whatever comic book character he was into at the moment. They'd start the evening here for pre-dinner celebrations before meeting up with friends and family later on. But tonight, there are no costumes for Leigh; she's dressed simply in jeans and a cardigan, her face free of makeup, her hair tucked behind her ears to keep it out of the way while she eats.

As she waits, she watches families and couples in costumes come and go, a bittersweet creeping up at her.

Then, you walk in. You’re dressed sharply, scanning the room like you're meeting someone—on a date. Leigh catches her breath. Were you aware that this was Matt’s favorite restaurant? Moreover, it’s been almost two weeks since that awkward morning when you left in a haste. You haven’t noticed her yet. Leigh watches you for a moment, debating what to do. She’s torn between going over or staying put. The last she contributed to the advice column, she’d left a message she hoped you'd find useful if you were indeed the person she’s been advising to. From the look of things, maybe you were taking that advice after all.

Taking a deep breath, Leigh stands and walks over. As you turn and notice her, a small, tentative smile appears on her lips when your eyes meet.

“Hey.”

You return the smile, though it's imbued with a bit of wariness. She appreciates it nonetheless.

“Hey,” you say.

Leigh doesn't beat around the bush; she gets straight to the point of why she came over. “Look, I'm sorry,” she says, the words coming out almost demandingly. “About last time. I crossed a line asking about Sara.”

There's an unmistakable assertiveness to her apology, carrying the same confidence and directness with which she usually addresses any issue. She doesn’t bow her head or wring her hands; instead, she holds your gaze steadily, expecting her apology to be taken as seriously as she means it.

“It’s okay. I wasn’t exactly in line myself when I brought up Danny,” you say, looking up at her. Then, searching for something else to say, you ask, “So, are you here to meet Danny?”

Leigh seems unfazed by the mention of Danny, yet again. You feel a bit silly soon after, realizing that after just acknowledging the awkwardness of digging into each other’s romantic lives, here you are, doing it again. You just can’t help yourself, can you?

“No. I’m on my own tonight,” she replies. Then she mirrors your earlier question, a slight tilt to her head. “And you? Here with Sara?”

“No, things didn’t push through with Sara. I’m meeting someone new,” you say, the words feeling strange as they come out. It was a simple yes or no question, and you're not quite sure what compelled you to open up about the specifics of your dating life.

Leigh just nods, her face neutral, not giving away anything in reaction to your news. “I should let you get back to your, uh, date,” she says, then quietly returns to her seat.

Having a date with a stranger just a few feet away from the woman you truly care about is about as ironic as the universe can be.

You’re on your second americano, the bitter taste barely registering as you glance at your watch for the umpteenth time. It's been thirty minutes past the time your date was supposed to arrive, and there's still no sign of him.

The restaurant has filled up around you. Families are tucked into booths, laughing and sharing plates piled high with food. Groups of friends clink glasses in cheerful toasts, and couples lean close, whispering and smiling over candlelit tables. Sitting alone at a table set for two, you start to feel conspicuously isolated.

The last two texts you sent within the hour remain unanswered, their blue bubbles on the screen marking the time you spent waiting. Determined to find some explanation, you open the dating app where you met him, your fingers tapping nervously. There, his profile pops up, showing that he is currently online. Relief washes over you for a moment—maybe there's a reasonable explanation. He might still show up. But as you tap the message icon to send him a query about his whereabouts, a sudden notification stops you: you can no longer message this user.

Feeling disheartened and embarrassed, you can’t help but feel all kinds of ugly for being stood up by someone who doesn’t even mean anything to you. Did he see you waiting and decide not to meet? What about you turned him off? You find yourself scrutinizing everything about your appearance. Was it what you were wearing—perhaps not feminine enough for his taste? Your hair was pulled back, exposing your forehead; maybe he didn't like that look. Or was it your posture—too slouched or too stiff? You even wonder if he might have passed someone else on his way here, someone he found more attractive. It's unsettling to realize how quickly the self-confidence you've spent years building can be shaken in just one evening.

You signal the waiter for the check. Although your stomach is growling, the thought of eating anything seems impossible right now. You're just focused on getting out of there as quickly as you can. Just as you finish paying, Leigh appears at your table. Without a word, she slides into the seat across from you. You're surprised to see her, and although you're not really in the mood for company or conversation, her presence is somehow less intrusive than you would expect.

“I couldn't help but notice your date never arrived,” Leigh comments with an amused smile, inadvertently adding salt to the wound. You think to yourself, Way to rub it in, Leigh, but you're too drained to actually say anything confrontational, so you just mumble a small, “Yeah.”

Leigh leans in a bit closer, lowering her voice as if she's about to let you in on a secret.

“Want to get out of here?”

It’s definitely not a date. Far from it.

It’s just two friends winding up spending Halloween together by chance.

It’s what Leigh keeps telling herself.

Leigh didn’t know what came over her when she went back to your table. She hadn't thought she'd be asking you to ditch the restaurant and wander the city for the rest of the night—together. What she did know was that she had been eating unusually slowly, glancing over at you occasionally to see how your evening was unfolding. But as it became painfully obvious that your date was a no-show, she couldn’t take it; seeing you left to handle the disappointment alone was more than she could bear.

Turning to Leigh in your car, you ask, “Do you mind if we stop first at the 7-Eleven on Main? I haven't had dinner yet.”

“What kind of dinner can you get from a 7-Eleven?” she asks.

You shrug and say, “Donuts.”

At the 7-Eleven, you grab a box of assorted donuts, and on a whim, you also pick up a few cans of beer to go along with them. With snacks in hand, you drive to a spot that overlooks the city—the same one where Leigh took you after getting takeouts the first time around. It’s not secluded—there’s a small crowd, with several cars parked and groups of people lounging on their car hoods.

“I wasn’t always attracted to him,” Leigh murmurs, after finishing her first beer. You both sit side-by-side with the trunk of your car open, swinging your legs while Leigh’s are crossed over the edge of the trunk.

You glance over at her, a curious ‘Hm?’ escaping your lips, though they're still full of donuts.

Leigh chuckles at your reaction, finding the sight of your cheeks stuffed with food more endearing than she probably should.

“Danny,” she clarifies with a sigh. “I actually used to hate him. He was always such a burden on Matt. Always dragging him into trouble.”

You think about what she's said, then offer a perspective, “You know, they say hate isn't the opposite of love, it's indifference. So maybe there’s always been something there, something more than just annoyance.”

Leigh leans back, stretching her arms out behind her for support as she considers your point. You find yourself wondering what's going through her mind. Is your honesty drawing her even closer to Danny? You could have exploited her past feelings, suggesting that maybe she's always disliked Danny and is confusing her loneliness for love. But you choose not to manipulate her emotions, even if it might be easy to sway her. You won't take advantage of her vulnerability just to get what you want.

Though you can’t deny that the temptation is there.

“Leigh, can I ask you a question?” you say, watching her closely.

She nods, her face open and expectant as she pops open another can of beer.

“How did you find out about me and Matt?”

Leigh takes a sip before answering. “Didn’t I mention it before?”

You purse your lips and shake your head, maintaining a neutral expression as you encourage her to elaborate.

“Danny told me,” Leigh reveals after a brief pause.

“What exactly did he tell you?”

Leigh hesitates, her eyes flickering to the side before meeting yours again. She sets the can down, her fingers drumming against the aluminum in a slow, rhythmic pattern.

“He just flat-out told me one night. I didn't believe him at first, so he mentioned your name to prove it, and I pieced together the rest. I tried to learn everything I could about you, where you lived... and that’s how I discovered your clinic in the city. And I... well, you know the rest,” she says. From what Leigh said, you easily conclude that Danny hadn't come clean to her about his role in facilitating your relationship with Matt. He had conveniently removed himself from the narrative, leaving out his involvement entirely. Lost in thought, you don't realize you've grown quiet until Leigh's voice pulls you back.

“Why do you ask?”

If you answer that question, you don’t believe you can continue hiding the truth about Danny any longer. As you watch Leigh, relaxed in the back of your car, her hair tousled by the gentle evening breeze, you're torn. You're afraid of disrupting her peace. The truth, as it often has, seems only to bring her pain. So, you buy yourself some time to think.

“Do you ever wish he had just kept it to himself? That you never knew any of this?”

Leigh appears briefly disconcerted by the question. She takes some time to think about how to respond, and you give her the time she needs, reaching for another piece of donut from the box. At this rate, you're on track to polish off half a dozen all by yourself.

“Knowing the truth hurt—a lot. It felt like I was suddenly a stranger to my own life,” Leigh says, looking somewhere distant before her eyes return to you. “But then again, knowing has changed how I see things, how I see him—and even how I see you. It’s given me a chance to see things as they really are, not just how I want them to be.”

“You never would’ve met me,” you say with a light-hearted grin, almost suggesting that maybe it was better she hadn’t. But Leigh gives you a look, a gentle sadness in her eyes that makes it clear she doesn’t entertain the thought of not having met you.

“What about you? Do you wish things had stayed hidden?” she asks, turning the question back on you.

A part of you—a very significant part—trembles on the edge of laying bare your feelings for her.

Fiddling with the edge of the donut box, you let a small smile flicker across your lips, but it doesn't reach your eyes. “There's something to be said for not knowing everything. Sometimes, ignorance really is bliss,” you say softly. “I mean, not knowing can save you from a lot of unnecessary heartache.”

As you speak, you’re still weighing whether knowing Leigh is turning into an unnecessary heartbreak.

Leigh nods slowly, the corners of her mouth lifting in a bittersweet smile. “Well, when you put it that way, maybe not knowing some things is for the best.”

It feels like a silent agreement on that fine line between knowing everything and being happier not knowing. Perhaps what you can do for now is spare Leigh from her own unnecessary heartbreak. If what she has with Danny is working, why ruin it?

“You know what's missing here? Music,” Leigh muses, reaching for her third beer. “Oh, and you better keep up,” she adds, glancing at the single beer you’ve had.

“Or how about you pace yourself? I'd hate for the party to end too soon for you,” you quip slyly.

Leigh grins, unfazed by your warning. She leans closer, and her breath, warmed by the beers, brushes against your cheek. “Speaking of parties, I actually got invited to this Halloween bash tonight. Everyone's supposed to be in costume, and there will definitely be music. We should go. What do you say?”

You pretend to think about it, but you’re already clearing out your trunk and hopping off it as you reply, “Well, you did say you needed music.”

A party isn’t really your scene.

Leigh is already tipsy by the time you both arrive at it. People are either clad in bulky costumes or barely dressed at all. Halloween decorations dangle from the ceiling, a foot or two above the faces of the revelers as strobe lights flash in erratic bursts. You weave through a crowd of zombies and sexy nurses, the bass from the DJ's speakers vibrating under your feet.

As you're both making your way toward the bar, a co-worker spots Leigh and pulls her aside excitedly. “Leigh, over here!” they shout over the noise, grabbing her arm. She turns back to you with a slightly apologetic grin. “Just a sec, I'll catch up!” she promises, before being swallowed by the crowd, her hand slipping from your arm.

But that was half an hour ago.

Now, you're feeling dizzy from the alcohol that's been keeping you company in Leigh's absence, and the sea of masked and painted faces around you is starting to merge into a blur. You round a corridor that brings you back to the main room and finally, you spot her. Leigh is near the dance floor, laughing with a group dressed in characters you don’t recognize. She sees you and waves excitedly, her movements a bit too exaggerated. You make your way over, dodging a particularly enthusiastic witch.

“Found you,” you say, as you reach her side.

Leigh grins, her eyes bright. “Dance with me!” she yells over the music, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the throng of sweaty bodies. Too exhausted to argue, you let her lead you into the chaos. As the music takes over and you both start to dance, the rest of the party fades into the background. Leigh's hand is warm in yours, her other hand reaching up to loop around your neck. The music swells, and the crowd presses in, pushing you closer together. Her breath is sweet with the tang of alcohol, and her cheeks are flushed.

Leigh’s movements become less and less coordinated as she leans into you, her body heavenly against yours. Her lips come dangerously close to yours, barely brushing against them, and for a moment—surrounded by her warmth and scent—you're tempted. You want her, deeply, irrevocably—

But not like this.

You firm your hands on her hips, pushing her slightly away. “Hey, let's get some air, yeah?” you suggest calmly despite your heart going crazy in your chest.

She looks up at you, a bit confused but nods, her smile unfaltering. You take her hand again and guide her off the dance floor. Moving through the crowd proves to be a challenge with Leigh's unsteady steps. She stumbles, laughing as she clings to your arm for support.

“I almost ate it back there!” she exclaims, still giggling.

“Yeah, you did,” you mutter distractedly. As the festive sounds of the party fade behind the closed door, reality slaps you both with a sobering chill. Leigh is simply too drunk, and you’re almost a fool for nearly taking advantage of that. You can't concentrate on anything but what nearly happened back there.

You feel Leigh’s hand slip back into yours, slotting in place like magnets that just fit together. Her laughter has quieted, and she leans into you slightly, resting her head on your shoulder. It's then you realize that a drunken Leigh is more affectionate and less aware of physical boundaries—dangerous.

“You know, maybe we should call it a night? I can take you home,” you suggest, making an effort not to lean into her, even though the intoxicating mix of her shampoo and the faint scent of sweat beckons you closer.

Her reaction is immediate and surprisingly lucid. “I can’t go home like this,” Leigh protests, straightening up. “Jules has her own Halloween thing tonight, and I can't show up drunk and be seen like this by her. She’s been sober for a year now; I can’t just...” Her voice trails off, filled with worry.

You glance at your wrist and see it's already 2 AM. A sigh escapes you as the reality of your early morning responsibilities begins to weigh in. You have to be up in four hours to open the clinic at 8 AM, and staying out to make sure Leigh fully sobers up is far from feasible. Leigh appears exhausted, her eyes heavy, even as she tries to muster a smile.

“Listen, Leigh,” you say, eyeing a practical solution. “I have an early start tomorrow, and you look like you need some rest. How about you crash at my place tonight? You can sleep it off and head home in the morning when you’re feeling better.”

Leigh seems to consider this for a moment, her gaze drifting towards the street where groups of men glance their way as they pass by. Finally, she nods meekly, looking relieved.

“That sounds really good right now. My head feels heavy, and I just want to go to sleep,” she mumbles, letting out a weary sigh and rubbing her eyes. You help her to her feet and steady her as you both walk back to your car, which is fortunately parked nearby. Leigh curls up in the passenger seat, and you crack the windows to let in some fresh air.

Once home, you give Leigh some clothes to change into and then start setting up the couch for yourself, grabbing an extra pillow and blanket from the cupboard. As you turn back a while later, you see Leigh, in her slightly tipsy state, misinterpreting your preparations. She gives a small, tired smile and plops down onto the couch. Reacting quickly, you catch her just before she falls completely into it.

“W-What are you doing?” she whispers, surprised as she finds herself practically in your arms, half-carried in a bridal style.

You feel the heat rise from your cheeks to your chest, aware of how close she is. “This is for me,” you say, nodding towards the couch, “you’re taking the bed.”

To avoid any further confusion, you slowly lift her up, wrapping an arm securely around her waist as you guide her to your bedroom. Leigh’s head remains tucked in your neck, her body relaxed and yielding as you move.

“You really don’t have to do this,” she mumbles against your skin, though her tone suggests she’s grateful for your care. You don’t see the blush that has crept to her own cheeks, your eyes fixed straight ahead.

“It’s no trouble at all,” you assure her as you gently set her down on your bed. “Make yourself comfortable. The mattress’ much better for a good night's sleep.”

Leigh nods, pulling the covers around her. “Thank you,” she says, her voice soft and more sober now.

“Anytime,” you respond with a reassuring smile. “Good night, Leigh.” You close the bedroom door softly behind you and retreat to the couch.

“Good night, Y/N…” Leigh whispers to herself, a faint smile touching her lips as she nestles deeper into the bed.

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

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riririnnnn · 2 days

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Random things in Blue Lock I find endearing:

-> Barou looking after Nagi

This was cute, you know. I mean, Barou was the one who first scolded Nagi for swimming in that bathtub, but he is also the one taking care of him—you getting me? It's a small thing, I know, but it's really cute!

-> Rin accepting Hiori's help

With the way Rin was shown till that point, I was actually scared for Hiori because I thought Rin was going to shook off Hiori by saying, "Fuck off!" Like, it just seems very plausible for his character, but then he surprised me!

Just look at him allowing Hiori to help him up by his arms! I understand that many will think that I've gone crazy, but this is one of those things where if you know, you know.

–> Barou throwing Nagi

I snorted at this panel. Like, before this panel, we can see that Isagi literally has his hand around Barou's nape, but no, Barou has to throw Nagi only, it got to be Nagi—if that doesn't sum up their relation, I don't know what will.

–> IGA-DA-GOAT-GURI and Goatmaru

When Isagi's name was suddenly called and he got startled which cracked them up. I just absolutely loved the above panel—so adorbs‼️

-> Sae being Sae

I really haven't seen anyone talk about what he said above—even I seemed to have overlooked his words. It seems so bittersweet that when Sae gave validation to Isagi, he mentioned Rin too like, "He saw through your instincts too." Almost as if it were some kind of necessary requirement for someone to shine in his eyes.

Like, in simple words, "You looked through my little brother's instinct too? Now that's some good shit!"

It's kinda a subtle way of Sae giving Rin validation too like, "He is a solid player! How I know? Oh because he saw through your gameplay."

Sweet.

-> Ubers

Lorenzo especially. Like, just look at him! I don't need to say anything more!

-> Silly Boy

I wanna squeeze his face!!!! AAAAAA!!

And he is supposed to be the ace of the national team???? Like, look at that face, I will never be intimidated by such a cutie patootie. He deserves so many smooches!

-> Little Brother

Aww. Just, awwwwwwww.

Head pats is my own love language too, so seeing this made me melt, and to be honest, Niko is Blue Lock's little brother! It just makes sense to think like that.

#blue lock #bllk #barou shouei #nagi seishiro #itoshi rin #hiori yo #igarashi gurimu #gagamaru gin #itoshi sae #don lorenzo #sendou shuto #mikage reo #niko ikki #雪 ranting

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jinkiezzsstuff · 1 day

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Hey! I really loved your Covkwarming with Alastor Story. Would you maybe want to make one where Alastor is busy and reader wants his attention? Maybe he even snaps at her only to later search for her and make it up to her? With lots of fluff and maybe nsfw?

Hope you have a nice day

-🌸🦇

BRODI! You waited a whole month for this and I AM SO SORRY. I love and appreciate you and your request so much thank you very much for being patient, i really really loved this idea but dang april has been a crazy month for me, i hope you’re doing well and enjoy this fic it’s a longer one!

i’m actually really happy with how this turned out

warnings: SMUT 18+, angst, fluff, mean alastor, you guys fight, gaslighting girl boss alastor, established relationship (you were together before he went missing), loyal reader described, codependency kinda, some horror aspects?, descriptions of alastors dead food, alastor admits his emotions and issues in an alastor way, brief descriptions of reader having self sabotaging habits- drinking smoking/potsmoking too, GN reader although clit is used, penetrative sex, slow sex, swearing, alastor doesn’t like pillow talk lol i think that’s it but let me know not proof read

5.1K words

Alastor was locked up in his radio tower, exhausted as he sifted through various forms of media coverage from his battle. Vox, the little electronic weasel, had his entire affair with Adam recorded and broadcasted around, which was frightful for Alastors image. Not only had he been gone for seven years, but he’s helping with a hotel that endorsed goodness. Needless to say Alastor wasn’t doing okay, his ears were constantly pulled back, smile strained, and he kept blowing the lights up and down. Hell, his static was so violent it even gave him headaches.

Even his shadows at this point began causing chaos, his own anxiousness and frustration bleeding off into them. Alastors isolation caused you to be extremely worried, you weren’t there while he fought Adam, you should’ve been, because since then he’s not been the same. You saw it on TV, the one Vox had broadcasted. Try as he may, Alastor didn’t keep it away long enough for you to not see, there was always someone else putting it back out there.

You didn’t bring it up to him- not that you could; he was too overly consumed in his tower. Incessantly shutting down broadcasts, throwing out power, attacking minor demons for spreading the information. It made you feel so very many unfortunate emotions, never in your many years of being dead have you ever seen him so erratic and emotionally disturbed.

Alastor would play pretend in public but you knew him, as did Husk, the two of you could tell he was tense, strained, constantly ready to snap, his poise was harder to keep. Lucifer presence in the hotel didn’t help at either, constantly trying to get into it with Alastor, which only furthered his isolation. You began to feel extremely lonely, it was rare in hell anyone was a good shoulder to cry on, or ear to hear, but you got used to going to Al after a long day, laying your head on his lap as he caressed your face and hummed you tunes, now you were alone most the time. None of his silly jokes filled the air, no you barging into your shared room and him attempting to hide his messy eating, no soft jazz playing next to you as you slept, no shadows trying to scare you, nothing.

It was incredibly lonely and the time without him showed how emotionally dependent you were on him. You wondered if he felt the same lonesomeness without you around, or if he didn’t even want you around? Maybe he was too wrapped up in his feelings to realize you weren’t around him? Did he have the same need for you as you did him? Did he miss little things about you as you did him.

Throwing your body off the couch and standing pin straight, you cut your thoughts off by marching towards Alastors tower on the far end of the hotel. You hadn’t been up there once since the battle, so this was bound to be interesting, and anxiety inducing. You could already feel the worry prickling your finger tips, making you even more uncomfortable. Knocking at Alastors door was, well, underwhelming, there was no sound, no movement, no indication he was even in there. Even shouting out at him normally would’ve gotten him to at least respond by now, it was rare he left people hanging like that, it wasn’t how he was brought up.

So you decide to cross the boundary you knew he loathed; intrusion. You entered with your breath held tightly making your throat clench, walking in you meekly hummed out his name. “Al? It’s been a long couple of days, I was wondering if you wanted some down time?” Your eyes bounced around the dark room, papers on the floor, radio frequency buzzing harshly in your ears, the low buzz of what sounded like hospital lights, it was all very creepy

Wringing your hands you came up toward his large table connected with cables and speakers, on the table was cups of coffee empty and half drank, corpses and bones of unfinished mutilated deer, and the smell of blood was something that suddenly hit you nearly knocking you back. As you covered your nose with your wrist, you back up and bumped into something, turning around with incredible speed. Alastor was there, taller than usual with his bones looking sharp and broken in his skin, his smile was stretched gruesomely making you nearly grimace, his eyes as well, wildly glaring down at you black and soulless. “Uh, I missed you.” You squeaked curling into yourself just at the sight of him.

Alastor hasn’t ever looked like this in front of you ever, it was such an abnormal and alarming look for you to set your eyes on. Alastor let out a jagged breath, his antlers growing in size with a nasty crunching sound to accompany it. “You disturbed my work, and snuck in, all because you missed me?” Alastor bent down to grab your attention, your eyes flickering to meet his own. You nodded at him, and he only hummed in return, standing tall and walking around his desk to sit at his chair. You turned on your heel to follow his movements, biting your lip with worry. Sure you were anxious before as you typically got with anybody, you weren’t confrontational and you weren’t one to cross the boundary, although you never expected him to look so angry with you.

“Perhaps, if that’s the case, you should find yourself another demon; I cannot be surrounded by the meek and emotionally stunted. My work, my image, will always come first my dear. Now, get out.” Alastor enunciated every word with his hands rested under his chin, and his head cocked to the side. Your stomach dropped and your cheeks watered like you were about to be sick, immediately your eyes widened, noises falling out of your mouth as you attempted to grasp at the words you were trying to say. “S-You’re breaking up with me?” Your voice was a wreck, struggling to expel the words past the sob that wanted to rip out of you, the disbelief evident in your tone. Alastor stood from his seat and leaned toward your face over the table, your lip quivered as he did so, trying your hardest not to cry.

“Heavens no! I’m simply saying if you can’t handle being a secondary priority perhaps you should take some time alone, remember what it is to be your own person! I will not bend my rules for some silly relationship.” His tone dripped with condescension and he finished his sentence with a boop on your nose. The only thing your mind could conjure was ‘how dare he?’ you never felt so insulted by him before. You always put him first, you waited seven years for his return defending his role in hell, and he sees you as secondary to himself. Does that mean he would save himself before you? Was this relationship only about his own desires, his own cravings and you weren’t important? You must be too sensitive about this?

“So you won’t spare me a moment because some stupid TV proved you aren’t invincible? Grow up Alastor please,” You could help the rage that slipped out in between your words, fists clenching, eyes narrowing. Alastor hissed statically at you. “Don’t for a second get it twisted up in your pretty little head that you are special, you are just like every other disposable sinner, i suggest you monitor your tone with me, dear.” Alastor crackled, his voice more electric than you’ve ever heard before. Your frown was deep, the tears silently falling down your cheeks. You didn’t even know what to say, instead you just shrugged with your head low, and turned around silently leaving him behind.

The moment you existed his tower you ran, your brain screamed to get away before somebody could question what was wrong or what happened. You couldn’t stomach the idea of being seen like this, and you didn’t want Alastor to come out and catch you, so you took off. You exited out the back without a trace, wandering into the streets of the pentagram. Eventually you found yourself back at your old apartment, which you still paid for as you really don’t plan to continue living at the hotel. When you got there you were finally able to let everything settle in you, it felt like the sadness slipped into your bones and weighed you down further into your sofa.

You didn’t move for hours, and eventually you ended up falling asleep. You left without a word, without your phone and without any of your stuff. Of course Alastor was very aware he made the choice to say the things he did, but he didn’t mean them, and after a short bit of reflection he could understand it was just an emotional response to the fear of being vulnerable. As well as the anxious thought dancing in his mind about the what ifs, what if he were to die, what if his plan fails and the deal goes wayward and you’re left with the pieces of his mess? What if Vox targets you, what if others do, do the citizens of hell see him as some weak mush because he’s dating you?

It’s all what led him to exploding; insecurity. Even the thought of having such a low tier emotion made his blood boil, but as long as nobody knew about it, he would find a way to quell it. Alastor waited, not wanting to impose while you were still going through thee emotions. However things started getting worrisome by the next day, nearly thirty hours into being gone and the patrons had begun to question him. Obviously Alastor didn’t know, and instead opted to sway the topic away from you and instead to something else.

The week came and gone like a blur, Alastor hadn’t seen you since you came into his tower and the rest of the hotel had set out to look for you with no luck. Alastor kept to his tower, telling himself if you wanted to be away that was your choice; he wasn’t chasing you like some lost puppy. Though he did find himself briefly wondering if you were still alive, after all Vox was out there watching through cameras on every corner and Adam’s corpse went missing and wasn’t accounted for, there was many threats to your safety he hadn’t thought of before.

With a sigh of static frustration, Alastor flicked his hand giving the okay to his right hand shadow to go find you, he couldn’t stand his thoughts anymore. And so it did, within seconds the shadow zipped and zoomed knowing exactly where you were, not that you were trying to hide. It slinked up against the paint peeling wall of your apartment, watching you on the couch, news softly sounding out as you read a book. Your home was a wreck, looking as though you’ve had fits upon fits of rage and lacked to clean after. Dishes piled, laundry scattered all across the linoleum floors. Alcohol, pot and cigarettes were a hefty scent in the room, it didn’t accompany the damp mold smell well at all. Oh what a thing you’d become without Alastor! The shadow watched like a fly on the wall for varying moments, studying you and your state before vaporising into the floor and taking off back to its master.

Honestly, you weren’t expecting Alastor to come knocking at your apartment door, so when you swung it open expecting your usual delivery guy, you were shocked and you didn’t bother fixing your depressed appearance. “Goodness gracious my little dame it looks like you’ve been dragged through mud!” Alastor laughed boisterously using his microphone to push you aside and barge in. You stood aside speechless, watching as he stepped inside with his hands rested just above his tail, surveying the room around him. His neck cracked disgustingly, his body forward while his head faced you, his grin tamed. “What happened here?” The words were simple but his tone was confusing, you couldn’t tell if he was angry, suspicious, or worried. You sneered at him, lip twitching upward as you slammed the door and wordlessly returned to your spot on the couch.

“I didn’t expect you to search, work come first yknow.” Oh yes, you planned to milk the words he said against you to berate him and his attempts to make up, you were in hell for a reason after all. Alastor huffed- like a buck would, something uncharacteristic for him to do outside of being alone with you, which sickeningly made your heart flutter, he still trusted you in a way, did that mean you were still his? You always told him he was more deer then he’d like to admit and those huffs were one of those deer attributes. “Hm yes, but you’ve been quite the work, I hope you know.” You clenched your teeth, trying not to snap instantly, but you did send him a glare.

You muttered about how that didn’t make things any better when he snapped his fingers, all things garbage vanishing in a pinch, mold included. “Ah, much better! My mother always said the state of the house is the state of the mind!” A round of applause sounds from his microphone as he laughed, rounding the couch with a slow stride. “Tell me, would you like to talk?” It felt more condescending then genuine, the way he was bent forward with lidded eyes and an eased smile, like you were some child having a tantrum. “No, Al, you made what you said pretty fuckin clear, i don’t wanna be with you if I am some chore or job, or secondary whatever!- i wanna be your partner and you want me to be a pet? Yeah, no thanks.” You punctuated your sentence with a dramatic scoff, flopping back into the cushions with your arms folded protectively across your chest.

“Ahhh my little doudou,” Alastor chided, sitting himself flush to you, arm around the back of the couch to trap you near him. “I want you to listen to me, and listen to me closely because i will never admit this again!” Alastor exclaimed this with what sounded to be false confidence and a slight hint of exasperation. He pinched your chin in between his claws forcing you to look at him, and of course you did, what else were you to do? “I have become a fool, all across the pentagram, I’m held by ball and chain— the devil my dear! The devil is- some frazzled little nitwit with all the power and no ambition!” Alastors fist clenched at the mention of Lucifer, abandoning your chin to do so. “I was feared my dear, nobody dared to test my authority, and now i’m an assumed bellboy for the princess and her gaggle of misfits. You,” Alastor paused leaning in so close your noses touched.

“My dear, were the only one i actually wouldn’t mind being weakened for.” You couldn’t stop the comical ‘huh’ that gargled straight from your throat. “What does that even mean Alastor.” You whine throwing your head back bumping his arm as you did so, an unknowing invitation to slide it down, hand caressing your shoulder softly. “It means dear, I didn’t mean what i said, because i’ve already done those exact things in the past! I’ve missed countless radio shows from you, refrained from eating deer around you- for your sake. I’ve held you to me on every block knowing Vox could see us perfectly! You were my chosen weakness, darling, but with all these other useless sinners belittling my role in hell, i took it out on you,”

Pausing Alastors static faded in and out, you watched his eyes closely, but the real give away was the way his ear subtly tilted to the side looking like a sad puppy. “I felt what i said, I felt weak and I knew you needed me and didn’t want to feel this weakness anymore, so logically-” You scoffed with a small smirk, mockingly muttering ‘logically’ back at him. “-I had to try to appear as though I am what I originally intended to be.” He finished giving you a pointed look. Shifting your body to face him more, you analysed his body language and face. Typically- no matter how long you’ve been together- he was amazing at hiding his emotions, always seeming to be happy. It seemed like he let his guard down however, his eyebrows were furrowed and pointed upward, his smile tight, shoulders rigid and his breathing shallow. Anticipation was evident by the way his hoof tapped against the floor with beat.

You finally let you emotion reignite, the tears slipped down your face like rivers as you gently shook your head. “What did you intend to be?” You asked softly, an unattractive spit bubble forming as you opened your mouth. “A ruler of sorts, i suppose. Emotionless, cruel, untouchable. I tried to reaffirm to myself by being cruel to you my dear, that i was still a demon, not the altruist teddy bear they all dubbed me as.” Alastors form had finally slumped, sinking into the cushions alongside you, his head falling back gazing up at the ceiling. You caved just slightly at his admission, and rested your head on his chest near his armpit, your body sinking into his. Suddenly he perked up, looking down at you, you reflexively shooting your gaze up to him.

“Yknow they made a mockery of my speech as well my dear! Preposterous, darling, many sinners posted about me being ‘cringe’, my speech was ‘corny’, my dearest can you believe that?” You almost took offence to the fact he sounded more distraught over being made fun of rather than hurting you, but you reminded yourself that Alastor was trying to open up, and you weren’t gonna ruin that. “Is that why you were killing randos instead of overlords?” You asked feeling more relaxed than you had before, obviously there was many words in between you two unsaid, but you wanted to bask in the small talk you craved for so long from him just a little longer.

“Precisely. I’m proud you noticed.” You hummed with a small smile, your head resting back on his chest. “Why did it take so long for you to come?” Despite not even thinking he would, you now had the knowledge he didn’t actually hate you, and if he didn’t why’d he drag it out? “Pride,” What would’ve been a hoarse voice to any other demon, was a staticy robotic sound that crackled out of his chest. “This is way out of my comfort my dear, i didn’t and still don’t know what to say or do, and i don’t like being out of control.” You whimpered at that, curling up into him, your legs slinging over his thighs so you could cuddle up next to him. Immediately his arms engulfed you, pulling you into him with a happy hum, his neck craning to kiss your head softly.

“i missed you, you really hurt me, bad. Don’t do it again.” You state firmly though it was muffled by the fabric of his coat, the one you had your face nuzzled into. Alastor hummed out softly petting you on your head, just like he would before. “Never again doudou~, you have my word, and i promise to make it up to you.” Tiling your head upward you yanked at his colar, and he immediately ducked down meeting your lips at will. The kiss was soft and Alastor could feel the dampness from your tears on your chin against him. After a moment you both pulled away, although not far from eachother your lips were practically still touching.

“Why don’t I give you some attention my sweet doe.” Alastor cooed against your lips, you could hear the mischief in his tone as his hand pawed your hips. You blinked slowly at him, an instant twist of desire appearing low in your gut. “How?” Alastors grin widened for the first time since appearing at your door, and you feared you’d truly be in for it tonight. “Oh my, have i neglected your needs so long you need to inquire how?” Alastor question was rhetorical only furthered by the way he kissed his teeth with his index finger coming up to shake side to side. “That simply will not do!” Standing suddenly, with you in his arms, made you gasp and clutch onto him instinctively. You smacked his chest playfully, muttering to him about being too heavy, he however ignored you, walking toward your old room with his head held high.

The room in question was a mess, and a thick layer of dust coated every object that wasn’t being continually used, like the nightstand, and the lamp. Alastor didn’t care much though, he never did care whether you were messy or super clean he’d always snap his fingers to assist you, and that’s exactly what he did. Slowly around the room things cleared up, his shadows slunk into the room with strange looking candles setting a romantic tone for the room. The bed was remade neatly when he set you on it gently, watching your doe eyes stare up at him with a familiar intensity that always made him fidgety. You let him flop you down without complaint, after all it wasn’t always that Alastor seemed so interested in getting down and dirty.

Standing above you, Alastor grinned down at you with lidded eyes, letting his long fingers dance down his chest to undo his buttons. He wasn’t really a fan of trying to appear sexually appealing to those around him, he’d never admit how out of the ordinary, and awkward it felt, but he knew you. You were his. You were loyal. You waited seven years just for him, never spilling a single secret. Secretly, he was way more comfortable with trying to appear “sexy” for you, because he knew no matter what, you wouldn’t look at him any differently. Alastor shrugged off his jacket, his button down shirt open exposing his chest to you. “Y'know dear,” A bit of southern drawl slipped out, as the mask he wore slipped away with his jacket. “You give me a very special outlet i do not think i’d have with any other sinner, you’re too kind to me.” Pulling off his shirt, he folded it and set it aside, kicking off his slacks right after, leaving himself in his boxers and long socks.

You watched him undress with wide eyes, you wanted nothing more then being pressed against the warmth of him, absorbing his touch. You however stayed still, letting Alastor relax into the mood as he rid himself of clothes. Alastor sat on the edge of the bed, right beside your hips, his hand traced lightly up and down your torso, occasionally dipping down to your thighs. You felt tense at the touch, both anticipation and insecurity making you feel stiff. Suddenly his claw hooked around the band of both your undergarments and pants, his eyes flickering up to inspect you when he did so. “May I?” His voice was soft, the usual uncertainty present as he felt out of his realm. “Yes, please.” You sigh, your tone nearly whiny. “I missed you so much Alastor,” You admit hushed as his claws brushed down your thighs with your clothes. Once off, Alastor leaned down, giving soft pecks to your thighs, eyes staring up to you through his red lashes. “Yes dear, my life been painstaking without you.” He whispered against your flesh, sharp teeth dragging up past your hips, nose bumping the cloth of your shirt. Sitting up slightly, you were preparing to slid your shirt over your head when Alastors body slid between your legs, claws coming up to pinch and lift the fabric exposing your chest.

With him now face to face with you, leaned over your body, you caved. Your hands slid around his neck guiding him toward you slowly, your lips met instantly like two magnets being held just inches apart. It was a sweet kiss for the most part, your lips meshed against his as you let him control the pace, it was nice with Alastor you always had enough time for the heat to simmer and grow, making foreplay unnecessary most times because he naturally took his time. You raked your fingers through his hair, nails scratching up his scalp causing ripples of goosebumps down his arms. Alastor slipped his tongue delicately licked at your lip, brushing as soft as ever. You were a bit shocked at this, typically he wasn’t into french kissing, lamenting that the whole tongue thing was messy and disgusting feeling. However you didn’t fight him, only allowed him access, which he immediately took with ease slipping his tongue against your own.

His body collided into yours, nose bumping your cheek as he angled his head. Your hands slipped down his back, smiling against his lips at the feeling of his tail wagging back and forth making small gusts of wind against your fingertips. Alastor nipped at your lips in retaliation, hands roaming your body as he pushed his hips up to softly grind his hard on into you. You hummed at the feeling of him against you, angling your hips back and up pressing your wetness against his briefs. Your body was buzzing while Alastor slowly grinded himself down on you, his clothed head travelling between your folds and back up to poke at your clit. The kiss had broken as he continued on, your breathing shaky as you enjoyed the slow motion of him above you, his teeth scraping down the length of your neck.

Alastor couldn’t help the groan that bubbled out of him. Not only could he smell your arousal but he could smell just you. He pressed his face to the nape of your neck, kissing and inhaling, loving the smell you had naturally on your skin. He also got quite the kick out of hearing the blood rush through your veins, it made him feel feral knowing you would bare yourself to him so willingly, he had you around his finger. Alastor let his lips glide down your body, leaving bite marks down your chest and neck as he did so, hips still moving slowly against you. You had soaked his briefs making the fabric feel absent, clinging to every ridge and vein of his cock slide through your folds. “Please Al, I need you.” You whined pathetically, pressing your hips up into his. Alastors choppy breath warmed your collar bone, his forehead rested on your shoulder, eyes closed as he slipped his hand down, yanking himself out of his boxers.

Sometimes he felt like an untrained dog, he couldn’t help but want to hump into you without restraint, but that wasn’t him, that was desire, and he knew how to hold back. As he sunk into you, slowly, he breathed out the quietest of noises against you shoulder, basking in you. You could hear his quiet noises clearly since he was so close, you bite your lip at the sound of him, loving how he always let you see him so wrecked. When Alastors hips were flush with your own, your legs came up around his hips, his tail stiff, while your arms wrapped around his neck, your right hand dragging up his scalp to his ears. “I like hearing you, Alastor,” You gasped as he jolted into you, like an involuntary reaction to your praise. “It makes me feel you.” You finished breathlessly. Alastor hummed against you, setting his pace slow and deep, barely pulling away before he pushed hard back inside you.

Your eyes were wide as he continued this rhythm, to you it was incredibly overwhelming, he never left you vacant always hungry to fill you right back up with him. His pants against you were also adding to your arousal, his eyelashes fluttered against your skin ever now and again as he attempted to contain himself. You knew he was sort of embarrassed with himself feeling pleasure, so you never egged him on when he did start making noise, but lord you wanted more. You tugged Alastors hair softly, pulling him up for a sloppy opened mouth kiss. He barely opened his eyes as he mushed his lips against yours, snaking his tongue against your own, bucking up faster into you at the warmth of your mouth. “I missed you, i love you,” You cried against his lips pathetically, your body’s both rocking on the bed as Alastor hurried his pace.

Alastor let out a low guttural noise, something from the back of his throat making your toes curl, pulling at his hips with your legs. “I couldn’t- stand you being away, dear.” Alastors face was inches from your own, forehead rested on yours, lips brushing against each other as he spoke. “Never again will i be such a fool, you’re mine forever.” Alastor growled through his clenched teeth, claws ripping into the mattress as he spoke. Your mouth hung open, eyebrows raised as you tried to from some sort of praise, but now his eyes were open looking down at you with such intensity and emotion, and his pace fast hard putting your body straight into the mattress. You didn’t even feel your orgasm coming on when it did, your body arching up into his, crying out his name alongside pleas.

The display of you in front of him was so pornographic, something he wasn’t fond of seeing but now understood why people were. You were gorgeous right now, your face red, your eyes watering, your body folded up towards his, all the scars, folds marks on your body, all for his eyes only. Groaning loudly, he fell back into his favourite place, your neck, and let out a deep breathless static moan as he came. You clutched him the entire time through watery blurred eyes, enjoying the feeling of him inside you post orgasm. Pulling away, Alastor was quick to pull out and away, snapping his fingers he began to clean you with a cloth. “Disgusting of me,” He muttered, seemingly angrily. “No, it was good Al, you’re allowed to. You’re not disgusting and neither was the sex, believe me.” You coo, sitting up from your position, a dopey look on your face. In a snap, Alastor was redressed as were you, in leisure clothing. “We’re going back to the hotel to sleep my little doe.” Alastor spoke softly, lending his hand to you, humming you took his hand letting him take you through his magic, back to the hotel. You knew Alastor didn’t like to lay sticky in the remnants of sex like many others, and probably would push you to shower before getting in his bed. But that way okay, you loved him regardless, and you really missed having his attention.

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lnlightning81 · 3 days

Text

Panic - Part Four

Series Title : Younger Sister

Summary : Carlos is out ill and while Lando worries about him Ollie appears at your hotel room stressing because he now has to race

Pairing/s : Oliver Bearman x Norris!Reader

Word Count : 2.1k

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Oliver Bearman Masterlist

Lando Norris Masterlist

It had been a couple of months since the British Grand Prix, and it was now the Hungary Grand Prix. Staying in a hotel room with Lando had become normal, and you stopped bothering about it because, actually, it was nice. Having someone to talk to at all times but also knew that quiet was a good thing. Not only that, but both you and Lando had the same energy levels, which meant there was always something chaotic going on in that room.

Lando had left a little early so that he could go to the gym before coming back to get you before finally going to the paddock so you were sat scrolling on social media waiting for Lando to get back when there was a knock on the door making you wander over to it as whoever was waiting on the other side kept knocking. Looking through the peephole, Ollie was standing on the other side, so obviously, you opened the door

“Ollie are you okay?” You asked, looking him up and down for any visible injuries as he walked past you into the hotel room, obviously finding it extremely hard to stay still

“My parents' flight is delayed. I flew out with Ferrari cause I can but it’s delayed and I’m racing and there’s no one in the garage for me and I don’t know what to do cause its my first ever F1 race and I’ve only ever done practice and help” He rushed out and you looked at him taking everything in that he’d previously just flew at you

“Y/N say something” He whispered, rubbing his face as he paced the room

“Your parent’s flights are delayed, well that’s okay cause they’ll be here. Flights get delayed all the time. You race all the time without your parents there you qualified on pole yesterday” You rubbed his arm, looking up at him. Why did he have to be so tall? It made comforting him so much harder.

“Yeah but that’s F2 Y/N. This is F1” He whispered, and you looked up at him

“Wait what? You’re racing in Formula One?” You exclaimed, taking a step back as he nodded “Okay well today's practice and quali. Wait who’s out?” You asked, confused

“Carlos. Something about his appendix. He hadn’t been well all week” He explained, and you nodded

“I’ve never raced in his car, and I’ve never raced with his wheel, and I don’t know what to do Y/N” He whispered, and you wrapped your arms around him

“Well lucky for you, my brother just so happens to be a Formula One driver on the weekends” you joked, and he laughed. You smiled up at him.

“I’ll come stand in the Ferrari garage, Ollie. Please don’t worry about it. The more you worry about it, the more you stress, which leads to bad racing and crashes. Ollie, they have so many drivers they could have put you in that seat, but they picked you, which means they trust you, so you need to enjoy the fact that you’re racing in Formula One!” You smiled, and he nodded

“I’m racing in Formula One” He mumbled and you smiled watching him now enjoy the fact that he’s actually racing and he’s reached his dream even if it’s not the way he wanted to. Ollie hugged you back with a smile

“What’s going on here?” Lando’s voice came as you turned to look at him

“Ollie’s racing in Formula One” you cheered, bouncing over to Lando, who caught you very much used to the energy you have

“Hey, that's a great man. You’ll do great, just remember to breathe because I forgot to do that the first time” Lando chuckled, placing you back on the ground

“I’m gonna go shower, then we can get to the paddock” Lando walked into the bathroom, and you hugged Ollie again

“You should go get ready for the day, but if you want me there, then just give me a text, okay?” You smiled, and he nodded

“Thank you for that. I needed someone to rationalise my thoughts” You nodded, holding his hand

“Don’t worry about it. If you’ve not already had a shower today, then go take a nice cold one, drink a bottle of water, and remember to enjoy yourself” You smiled, and he nodded, walking over to the door. You followed behind him with a smile

“You’re great at the calming down thing” He smiled, and you chuckled

“I do my best” Ollie walked back to his hotel room as you sat on the bed on your phone, going back to waiting on Lando. When Lando finally walked out the bathroom dressed in his Mclaren uniform, you jumped over to him with a smile

“You’re so happy today? What have I missed?” He asked, confused

“Can’t I be happy?” You asked following him out of the hotel room

“You’re normally hyper, but you seem more hyper than normal” he shrugged

“Maybe I’m a little happy that Ollie is racing today” You shrugged

“You like him” He teased poking you in the side

“He’s just a friend” You shrugged

“We’re the same age it’s nice to hang out with someone my own age while following you about the world”

“Mhm whatever you say. I like him, by the way” He shrugged, pressing the button in the elevator, leaning against the bannister in the elevator as it moved

“I’m glad you like him” You rolled your eyes, stepping out the elevator and following him out to the Mclaren car awaiting his arrival. Oscar already sat inside, waiting for you both. Getting in the car, Lando forced you to sit in the middle of them, so with a huff, you complied.

“Y/N has a boyfriend” Lando hummed, wiggling his eyebrows

“He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just friends” you whined, shoving him away

“Ohh who?” Oscar asked

“Ollie. He showed up at our room this morning” Lando hummed

“He showed up because his parents were in England, and Ferrari just called him up” You rolled your eyes

“Wait, who's not racing, by the way?” Lando asked

“Carlos. Something to do with his appendix” you shrugged, and Lando instantly pulled his phone out of his pocket, panicking.

“Oh forgot about your boyfriend” You rolled his eyes, and he ignored your comment as Oscar laughed.

Standing in the Ferrari garage felt wrong. Surrounded by red instead of papaya, but it was for Ollie, who was pacing about the place stressed before FP3. Everyone’s eyes were on him after the announcement that he was now driving. Ollie had taken to pacing three small steps slightly in front of you as he spoke to some members of the team.

Walking over to him gently wrapping your arms around his waist as your cheek rested against his back he tensed up for a second before his hands rested on top of yours and he relaxed now standing in the one place as he spoke to the team member causing you to smile that he was no longer burning a hole in the floor.

You missed the cameras outside as you kept your arms around Ollie’s waist, but you certainly didn’t miss your phone exploding in your pocket. Charles smiled at you as he walked past back to his driver's room.

“Hey why don’t you go into the drivers room and relax Ollie” one of the trainers said, joining the small group as Ollie nodded, taking you to the drivers room with him. Sitting on the small beanbag, you smiled at him.

“You didn’t have to do that” He sat next to you, and you shrugged

“You were burning a hole in the floor, and I know that you don’t make enough to pay for that” you joked, and he chuckled.

“Thank you, though. I’m so stressed about today” You smiled softly, turning to him

“I’ll make a deal with you” you hummed, and he nodded

“Okay?” He frowned

“If you get P15 or above in Quali I’ll go on a date with you. If you get P10 or above in the actual race, then I’ll go on two” You hummed, and he turned to you

“Can I change that deal?” He asked, and you nodded slightly

“Depends on what you want to change it to” You hummed

“P15 or above in Quali a date tonight. P10 or above in the race and you become my girlfriend” You quickly turned to look at him

“What?” You asked, confused. It wasn’t that you didn’t find yourself attractive or other people didn't. It was just that you’d never had a proper boyfriend before. Just teenage boys who wanted to one up their friends in their relationships.

“Well obviously if I get that high, then I’ll ask you properly and take you on that second date, but obviously, if you don’t want to agree to my deal, then that’s okay. I don’t want to pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to and I’d hate for you to feel uncomfortable while you’re here making me feel like I’ve been racing in Formula one forever” He blurted going off on whatever he was saying with. Gently placing a hand on the side of his face to pull him back into the drivers room, he looked at you.

“Olls. Please take a deep breath with me. I’d love to agree to your deal. I just didn’t want you to feel like I was forcing you into anything and we all know that I’m not just with you for money or anything like that cause that’s what older brothers are for” You joked and he chuckled

“Well I guess I’ll be taking you on a couple of dates then” He hummed, and you chuckled

“Cocky much” you joked, and he smiled

“I’ll see you after FP3, right?” He asked, and you nodded

“Of course you will and after FP3. We’re going to get lunch together” You smiled, and he walked out of the drivers room after pressing a kiss to your head. Finally checking your phone just to see a billion texts.

Before you knew it, you were watching Quali, and it was the most stressful thing you’d ever watched. Not only was your older brother racing, but Ollie was doing his first ever F1 race and Quali. Ollie’s dad had arrived at the garage just as Ollie went out for Q1, so now he was standing next to you.

David was stressing more than Ollie was this morning. Ollie got slightly close to the wall just as the cameras turned into the Ferrari garage catching David's face as it happened although you were just as stressed except you had a lot more practice at hiding it after watching races with people from school. David, on the other hand, was new to close family members racing in formula one.

Ollie got himself through Q1 in P9 and into Q2. David walked over to Ollie’s car to say that he was here and to just focus on the race. You could see Oliver’s eyes as he pushed the visor on his helmet up. The stress that previously showed was no longer there. He looked like a kid in a sweet shop, and you couldn’t be prouder.

Q2 started, and David took his place standing at the back next to you. The fifteen minutes of Q2 was soon over and Ollie was unfortunately knocked out in P11 but he was a few hundredths of a second away from knocking Sir Lewis Hamilton out of qualifying that was something to be proud of.

Racing drivers had this thing where even when they drove exceptionally well they’d still beat themselves up even if there was nothing else they could have done and you knew by the look in Oliver’s eyes he was going to do exactly that except you now had practice and a deal you could cheer him up with.

You smiled, giving Ollie a hug as he walked over after he got out of the car. He was sweaty, but it made you happy to see the happiness on his face. Like seeing Lando doing something he loved.

“You did so well, Olls. You almost knocked Hamilton out. If you had another flying lap, you would have!” You exclaimed, and he smiled

“You should go along to Mclaren while I do post Quali interviews. I know Lando would love to have you there, and Max is here today isn’t he?” He asked, and you nodded

“The whole of Quadrant is here today. Something about Hungary being a good place for a new video? I don’t know. They tried to get me in it, but I refused” You chuckled, and he smiled

“Be ready for seven?” He asked, and you nodded

“You know where my room is” You walked along to the Mclaren garage with a smile hugging Max as you stood in hospitality with him and the rest of Quadrant. Ria smiled at you as everyone else was far too focused on Q3 that had just started.

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gingersxng · 2 days

Text

Inappropriate Touching

Pairing: f!reader x Seonghwa x Yunho x Mingi x San

Genre: smut 18+

Summary: walking down the hallways on your new exciting job you came across a group of young handsome actors.. but it soon turns out acting and reality isn’t that far away from each other.

Notes: sub!reader, rough doms! Yunho, Mingi, San, Seonghwa, reader is a virgin, the boys are big perverts!!! ,they have no self control, much inappropriate touching!!!(which is not ok irl), adult movies, pet names (sweetheart, doll, darling, love, kitten, honey), groping, kissing, some cursing, fingering, oral (f receiving), licking, spitting, cum cum cum, cum eating, threesome, foursome, mentions of masturbation, dirty comments, unprotected sex (always be safe),rough sex, public sex, big dick yungi, marking (hickeys, bite marks), breeding, double penetration, slight bulge kink, recording. forgot something? maby

Words: 3.7k

it was your first day at your new job at the movie studio. it’s been a life long dream of yours to get to work with big movie stars and now you were finally standing outside the big doors. as you looked up at the sign of the big building you took a deep breath before finally heading inside to get started.

you felt like a child in a candy store watching all the pictures on the walls of famous actors and actresses. you were soon greeted by a young woman maby a few years older than you, she was looking so professional with a black jumpsuit, black glasses and red long hair in a big bun.

“hi are you the new assistant?” she asked softly. “yes i am, I’m y/n” you said as you shaked her hand. “I’m Joanne, I’m gonna show you around a bit to make it a little easier for you” a smile formed on your face. she showed you all different sets from both new and old movies, you had also met many movie stars and staff while you walked around the big halls. you were coming to your final part of your little “tour” when Joanne stopped dragging you to the side.

“we have to be quiet cause they’re in the middle of rehearsals”. she whispered, didn’t sound as she cared to much. you didn’t really understand what kind of movie they were making but there were four men dressed roughly in suits, black ties and some of them had smeared lipstick on their mouths. a woman later appeared around the men and you finally got an answer on your early movie question. you felt yourself blush as you observed what they did to that woman, eyes wide. “c’mon let’s go, I’ll show you your room” she grabbed your arm and dragged you with her. it was kinda quiet down the hallways to your room and so were you. Joanne finally broke the ice. “I probably should give you a small warning but you have to keep this to yourself, okay?” she said with a half worried look on her face. “alright I promise” you suddenly got anxious.

you stopped outside the door to your room. “don’t be too sweet towards those guys back there, they can get a little too friendly if you know what I mean” she whispered so no one but you could hear her. your eyes widened not believing what she was saying, they were just acting.. wasn’t they? “I don’t wanna scare you or anything but it’s better to warn you if you would bump into one of them”. you found yourself speechless and your thoughts went all over the place, first day at your new job and now you should watch out for creeps?

“they didn’t look old tho” you suddenly said. “no, as I saw on your CV they’re two and three years older than you” your eyes widened once again. she was about to say something but were interrupted by footsteps coming your way and by the sound of the voices it was them, well two of them. your heart pumped hard in your chest watching as they came closer.

“looking good today Jo” one of them blurted out giving Joanne a wink. the taller guy got very close to her while a smirk appeared on his face “your ass looks great in this suit too” he said as he gave her ass a squeeze. you literally couldn’t believe what you were witnessing and she just let them do this to her. they were soon turning their attention to you, fuck.

“what do we have here huh?” the tall one said looking you up and down. he was so tall but actually very good looking, you started to blush and that’s just what they wanted you to.. “it’s our new assistant y/n and it’s her first day so keep your hands to yourself Yunho!” Joanne snapped. he guided his hand through his hair and let out a deep chuckle, omg! “nice to meet you y/n” both of them greeted you. you gave them a small smile and crossed your arms so your cleavage got more visible and that was a big mistake. their eyes acted like magnets, getting dragged to your breasts. you knew she’d given you a warning but there was something about them giving you all this attention that made you excited.

“damn looks like a juicy one” the other guy laughed as he eyed his tall friend. Yunho let out a quiet laugh as he looked you straight into your eyes, his smile dropping fast. he took a step closer to you and got interrupted by your friend. “alright, she’s not interested in you two” she said trying to get them to leave. actually you were beginning to get a little bit interested in them but maby it was best to keep that to yourself. Yunho gave your ass a light slap as he passed you with a smirking grin on his face. the other man reached out his hand brushing it against your stomach and up to your breasts, he stuck his tongue out and gave you a wink. “Seonghwa!! you pervert!” Jo slapped him on the shoulder.

they had finally got out of sight and you could finally let out a deep breath trying to take in everything that happened in the last 10 minutes. “I’m so sorry y/n but this is something you should get used to if you’re gonna work here” she told you looking really pissed off by the boy’s behaviour against you. you couldn’t help but smile a little, “it’s alright”. she finally left you alone and you got into your room to get some rest. it didn’t take many minutes before you were interrupted by a knock on your door, you got up and peeped out trough the little window to see another tall guy standing outside. you opened and were greeted with a smile from the big guy. “hey sweetheart, I’m Mingi” his voice were deep and vibrated right through you. you didn’t get a chance to introduce yourself before he grabbed your arms and pushed you further into your room. his actions took you by surprise and you let out a scream. Mingi hurried to put his hand on your mouth to drown your screams, when you finally got quiet he pulled his hand away letting out a chuckle when he saw the scared expression on your face.

“what are you doing!!” you almost cried out looking up at the big boy. he pushed you down onto your desk and grabbed your chin. “my friends told me about the new sexy assistant and I thought I should see if it was true.. and fuck you are gorgeous” he said squeezing your cheeks. you could feel how your thighs began to push together and how your cheeks started to heat up. Mingi brought his head to your neck starting to place sloppy kisses along it up to your ear, his hands working their way to your ass. you really hoped no one would walk in on you making out with one of the “creeps”, even if this was very wrong you didn’t do anything to stop it.

Mingi slipped his hands inside your pants grabbing a handful of your naked ass. small moans left your mouth, your hands went straight to his hair and he let out a deep groan. “you like this huh?” Mingi whispered as he pulled your jeans off you. “yes” you whispered back. he pushed you down onto your back and separated your legs exposing your clothed core to him, your panties were off you in a flash and your hole were stuffed with two of his fingers. Mingi put his mouth on your clit rolling his tongue over the sensitive nub, your back arched at the new pleasure. “you taste so good” he growled against your clit. he added a third finger and fastened his pace on your clit making a moaning mess out of you.

“here you are!!” Seonghwa bursted into your room, his eyes darkened as soon as he saw the position you were in. you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed having your bare pussy on display in front of the new man. “I see you’ve met the pussy eater” Seonghwa pushed Mingis head down harder on your pussy receiving moans from both of you. Mingi pulled away his slime covered face from your core. “says the guy who puts his hands down women’s tops” Mingi glared at the older man. “I can’t help it” Seonghwa threw a bitter look at him, he walked over to you and slid his hands inside your top and bra grabbing your firm breasts. he looked down at your pleasure filled face, he got closer to your face and attacked your lips kissing you upside down. it was messy and hot and you could feel how you got closer to your release. Seonghwa broke the kiss and squeezed your boobs hard making you squeak. “open your mouth kitten” you did as he said and watched as he gathered some saliva that he spit down into your mouth, you swallowed it and once again he was back kissing you.

Mingi was biting your clit sending electric waves up to your brain. he felt how your pussy clenched around his fingers and he curved them to hit the spongy spot inside you making you see white. your breath hitched in your throat and you moaned into Seonghwas mouth when you came onto Mingis fingers. both of them laughed at you when they saw how fucked out you looked. Mingi licked up all the cum from your hole. “sorry but we have to go back to the set kitten, believe me I’d rather fuck you than that bitch” Seonghwa grunted pushing his face in between your breasts licking a stripe along your cleavage. Mingi stole your panties sneaking them into his pocket and gave your pussy a quick kiss before they left.

- next day -

you had some free time so you were strolling through the building sneaking in to watch some movies in the making. a hand brushed against your ass and you quickly turned around to see yet another new face. the man scanned your body taking you all in, he leaned forward and brushed his thumb over your bottom lip. “enjoying yourself kitten?” you gulped and straightened yourself up feeling how your legs began to weaken. “y-yes I do” you fumbled not knowing were to look. an amusing look painted his face when he saw the affect he had on you. he took your hand and brought you with him to their movie set, the grip he had on your hand were firm to keep you from running away if you wanted to.

they were in the middle of a break so they had some time for you. the three other men sat down in a big round sofa that was down in a dark corner, the handsome muscular man pulled you with him. their eyes lit up as soon as you got in their sight, you blushed hard and began to bite the nail on your thumb, it really made you look innocent.

“look who I found standing all alone in the halls” the man pushed you forward so you stood in front of the other three. you could see how they were undressing you with their eyes and by the tents in their pants, they really liked what they saw. Yunho grabbed your wrist and pulled you down on his lap, you shivered at the feeling of his erection poking at your ass. he tugged at your skirt and caressed your soft thighs watching as goosebumps appeared. he put his mouth to your ear and whispered “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since yesterday, maby I could get a pic of that sweet ass if yours huh?”. his words went straight to your pussy, feeling how you got wetter by the second. “why would you want that?” you said innocently looking him in the eyes knowing exactly why he wanted it. Yunho raised an eyebrow and dug his fingers into the flesh of your ass “so I have something to watch as I’m playing with my dick” the guy chuckled. the other guys laughed at his comment. you were stuck between these four men and your mind started to run wild the more they showed how much they wanted to use you.

“do you have a boyfriend doll?” Mingi slipped out. you shook your head and the look on his face turned devilish, you pushed your thighs together more. “are you a virgin?” Yunho asked pulling your skirt up slowly waiting for an answer. you stayed quiet for a few seconds looking around at the men. “yeah, I am” your voice dropped and you felt so embarrassed. something in them snapped and suddenly they seemed hornier than ever. Seonghwa stuck his hand down your top to… dang he got interrupted. you got company by a known friend, it was Jo. she was looking for you and couldn’t believe she would find you here of all places. “what are you doing here y/n?” she was surprised to see you sitting in Yunhos lap with Seonghwas hand down your top. “I’m working..” was the first thing you could think of. Seonghwa fought the urge to pull out your breasts from your top, he usually didn’t have much self control but for your sake he made an exception. “you guys are sick” she said before she finally left.

Seonghwa couldn’t hold it in anymore and pulled out your boobs from your bra, his mouth watered at the sight of your hardened red nipples, he brushed his thumb over them and you let out a small whimper. Yunho lifted you up and handed you over to San, the big man squeezed you against his chest. “don’t move doll, my grip will only get tighter” he bucked his hips up against your ass, his clothed hardness poking you right between your cheeks. Yunho unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants enough for his massive cock to spring free standing up against his stomach. the sight was making your arousal drip down your inner thighs and you crossed your legs standing in Sans embrace. Yunho patted his thigh signaling San to release you. “come sit love” he held a hand out to you. you walked over to the tall man, he turned you around back facing him while pulling up your skirt. the lack of underwear made him groan “no panties huh? what a good girl, all ready for us to abuse” his deep voice almost breaking you.

San slid his fingers through your folds, your arousal was smeared out on your inner thighs and he could slip in two fingers with ease, after feeling how tight you were he pulled them out again turning to the tall guy. “she’s so tight you’re gonna split her in half with your monster cock” Sans words brought a worried look to your face. Yunho slapped your ass “we don’t use condoms btw, hope that’s alright with you love?” you nodded and with that he sunk you down on his big cock, the wetness made it almost too easy for him to bottom out. it was a long moan that left your lips as you felt your pussy being stretched to the max. as Yunho were bouncing you up and down his dick San was attacking your lips and Seonghwa had got dibs on your breasts marking them as his own. it felt like you were in some kind of erotic dream, they dragged out moans and whimpers out of you leaving you a fucking mess.

Mingi had pulled out his cock too, he spat in his hand and pumped his length a few times. he got up from the sofa and pushed the other two out of the way, he pushed your back against Yunhos chest and positioned himself onto you bringing his cock to your already stuffed hole. “it won’t fit idiot” San mocked the man. “I’ll make it fit” Mingi pushed the tip into your pussy making you scream, tears falling down your cheeks. Yunho pulled out a bit for Mingi to fit better, he then dried your tears with his thumb. Yunho and Mingi occupied each side of your neck while they pumped their massive dicks into your gushy hole. “fuck I swear it feels a thousand times better when she’s a virgin” Mingi groaned into your ear. a familiar feeling appeared in your stomach and it got worse with each of their thrusts. Mingi pushed your knees up to your chest getting better and deeper access, the bulge on your stomach drove him crazy. “I’m gonna cum” Yunho warned. “are you gonna let us breed you honey? let us knock you up” he growled as his thrusts got faster. being all over the place you couldn’t get a single word out but you nodded and moaned in response, your mouth hung open.

“knock her up already we’re getting impatient here” Seonghwa whined as he palmed his cock through his pants. a couple more thrusts and both men released their big loads deep inside you, their hair had gotten more messy and they had beads of sweat dripping down their foreheads. the cum were seeping out between their cocks, they pulled out and laid you down onto your back. Yunho pushed the cum back inside your abused pussy, a proud smirk forming on his face. “in a few months we want to see this pretty belly of yours grow darling” Mingi teased you, he took a handful of your little belly fat and squeezed it.

San was quick to swap places with Yunho, impatiently he pulled out his leaking cock and towered over your half naked form. he slid the tip in slowly until he was fully seated pushing both Mingis and Yunhos cum further inside you, his pace quickened fast and his hold onto your sides grew harder. “fuuck, this little pussy of yours is driving me insane” San growled, his feline eyes pierced holes through you. his mouth assaulted your sore nipples while he slammed his hips against yours with all the strength he had. you began to cry and your whole body started to hurt. Seonghwa kissed you harshly and wiped your tears away, he moved down to your neck sucking on the flesh leaving purple marks. “don’t cry honey we’ll take care of you” he purred.

you could feel Sans cock twitch, he buried his dick deep inside you letting his release paint your walls white, he stayed like that for a while not wanting any cum to go to waste. the thought of knocking you up made his brain malfunction. San pushed down his hand on your lower stomach to feel how deep he was, with a groan he finally pulled out.

Seonghwa helped you up and sunk you down on his dick. you swung your arms around his neck and buried your face in it, he helped moving your hips up and down his length since your body started to give out. each time his cock brushed against your cervix you were one step closer to your awaited orgasm. “mmh it feels so good” you whispered softly in his pierced ear. Seonghwa took his time with you and wasn’t as rough as the others, not yet anyway. he stilled his movements, you looked him in the eyes with a questioning look wondering why he stopped. a smirk appeared on his face and he turned his gaze to someone else. a pair of strong arms lifted you up on your wobbly legs and Seonghwa followed. “ready to get double stuffed again kitten?” you heard Sans voice behind you, his breath tingled against your ear and it almost made you cum on the spot. you were now sandwiched between the two men, uplifted in their arms. they both placed their tips to your entrance, it was no problem to slide in their hard cocks from all the cum and your insane amount of arousal, plus you got stretched out good a couple minutes ago by two monster cocks. they synced their thrusts as they slammed up into your sensitive core, your high pitched moans was music to their ears. the knot was building up in your stomach and you were so close now, Sans hand toyed with your swollen clit whilst Seonghwa had his fun with your nipples making your eyes turn white.

Seonghwa kissed your collarbone and cooed “cum for us now love”. San bucked up his hips and groped your ass hard, he left a bite mark on your shoulder making you cry out quietly. a few seconds later your orgasm hit you and your whole body turned to jelly, not long after you felt a hot big wave of cum entering you. deep groans left their filthy mouths as they emptied themselves deep inside you. “good girl” San said huskily as he pulled out.

after they’d both pulled out Mingi gave you your panties back that he stole from you yesterday on his little visit. you gave him a tired smile and put them on you. “I should probably go and get some rest” you said as you put your boobs inside your top again. “need some company?” Mingi asked with a nasty smirk on his face. Yunho slapped the big man on his arm “as tempting as it sounds I actually think we should let her rest for a while, she’ll need it” he smiled at you. they gave you small kisses on your face before you headed back to your room.

“she’s a keeper” Mingi said watching as your ass bounced with every step you took. Yunho groaned and placed himself on the sofa again, he took out his phone and let out a light chuckle. “did you get it all?” San asked. “oh yeah I did”

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez smut #kpop smut #ateez scenarios #mingi x reader #mingi #yunho x reader #yunho #choi san #san x reader #seonghwa #seonghwa x reader

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qveerthe0ry · 18 hours

Text

Your Ride, Best Trip

Summary: You sleep with your boyfriend Marcus for the first time Word Count: 9,001 Pairing: Marcus Pike x f! afab! reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, first time, vaginal fingering, oral (m! and f! receiving), unprotected PIV, squirting, creampie, dirty talk, so much fluff, so much kissing Betas: @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar as ALWAYS. Love you homies I'm kissing u both <3 A/N: I have nothing to say for myself this time

Marcus Pike is perfect.

He’s your dream man.

He’s sweet. He brings you flowers just because, and he’s remembered your go-to coffee order, and he never goes to bed without texting you goodnight.

He’s effortlessly kind. He offers to walk your dog for you when you aren’t feeling well enough to get out of bed, and he always does the dishes when you cook for him, and he makes sure his bathroom is stocked with all the personal products you use at your own place.

He’s fucking handsome. His smile is straight and pearly white, and his big brown eyes warm you up, and the way his broad shoulders fill out those suits he wears to work never fails to make you weak in the knees.

He’s so smart, and he’s so funny, and he’s all yours… finally.

See, when he hadn’t so much as kissed you by your third date, you wigged out a bit.

How could you not? He’d been so thoughtful and caring and all you wanted was to feel those pillowy, soft lips against your own.

So you asked him what was up, and he told you.

Divorced. Broken engagement. A whole year of therapy to pinpoint what went wrong, what he could change, and how he could do better, how he could feel better. And then, he said, he found you— like fate— when he wasn’t even looking, when he least expected it.

You had no problem taking it slow. You’re still convinced you’d wait forever for him, as perfect as he is.

After too many little dates to count, he told you he wanted to be your boyfriend, if you’d have him.

You told him you’d love for him to be your boyfriend, of course. You’d be crazy not too.

And then he finally kissed you.

It was slow and hesitant, but it still made your heart race, made your stomach do flips. He cut it off before it could become anything more than chaste, and left your front door with a sheepish goodnight.

You’ve kissed a lot since then. You never really enjoyed kissing that much, before. It always just seemed like a means to and end, a formality before moving on to other things.

But now it’s one of your favorite ways to pass the time with him. Waiting for an Uber to take you downtown, finally getting to his place on Friday after a long work week, cuddling in bed together with an old movie playing.

You haven’t made out with anyone this much since high school. And you enjoy it, you do, but Jesus Christ, he’s been your boyfriend for three weeks now and you need him.

It doesn’t help that he touches you like you’re the last person on earth. His hands are so big and they’re gentle and electric when they find the bit of skin just under the hem of your shirt.

You think it’s going to happen, this time. Friday night takeout has long been abandoned in the living room. You’re in his bed, in his clothes, and his pinky is teasing at the waistband of his sweats that you’re wearing.

His tongue in your mouth is making you dizzy, and there’s no more blood in your brain with all of it rushing between your legs. You whimper, and you arch against him, and you want him so bad but you can’t say it. You’d feel bad, making him rush when he’s made it clear he wants to take things slow.

When his lips leave yours, you open your eyes, and find his pupils obstructing all the deep, dark brown you adore.

You have to squeeze your thighs together for a miniscule amount of relief. He notices. Of course he does. Damn that Quantico training.

“Sweetheart—”

His eyes flicker down to your lips. You’re sure they look obscene, red and slick from nearly an hour of him sucking and nibbling on them.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

You don’t know why you say it, but you are sorry. You feel so bad for wanting him like this, desperate and aching in his bed, over eager.

“Don’t be,” he shakes his head and gives you a reluctant smile, a smile that tells you you’re going to fall asleep extremely sexually frustrated.

But it’s fine. He’s so worth it.

You give him a soft smile back, and lean in to peck his lips. But he pulls away with his brow furrowed.

“What do you want?”

His voice is gentle when he asks. So is his hand on your back, under his shirt you’ve claimed. But it doesn’t stop that fight or flight response from kicking in.

“Nothing! Nothing, Marcus, I’m okay— I’m great. Just wanna cuddle.”

But the creases in his forehead don’t smooth out, and his hand ceases the soothing circles across your spine.

“You’re lying.”

You sigh and close your eyes.

“I’m not lying, I’m just— I don’t want to push you to move too fast.”

You expect him to be angry. But when you open your eyes again, his own have taken on that puppy-like quality you usually love. Right now, it just makes you feel guilty.

“I’ve been lying, too,” Marcus whispers.

It’s your turn to scrunch your face up. Your blood runs cold, waiting for him to elaborate. A million scenarios run through your head at lighting speed— all worse and worse until your breathing picks up and you beg him with your eyes to just get on with it—

“I have a small dick.”

His face is so flushed. He can’t meet your gaze.

He’s staring at the bedsheets between you, and you’re both just silent for a long, awkward moment.

“I mean— the divorce and all that, it’s all true. And I did want to keep from moving too fast. But— the last few weeks I guess I’ve just been… stalling?”

He finally looks up from the threads to gauge your reaction.

“Marcus…”

“I get it, okay? If you wanna go. I know I lied, and you didn’t sign up for—“

“Marcus.”

You watch his shoulders raise and his mouth snap shut, and he looks terrified.

“I don’t want to leave. You didn’t lie. It’s just— you really think that would bother me?”

He lets out a big breath, and the tension in his body eases up a little.

“I don’t know. Most people were… bothered. I guess,” he shrugs.

You cradle his jaw in your hand, let the day-old stubble tickle the pad of your thumb as you think about how to best navigate this conversation.

Because saying ‘I don’t care’ seems too dismissive. But you don’t. You couldn’t possibly care less about what’s in his pants, when everything else about him has made you fall so, so deep already. But you don’t want to make it sound like it’s something you have to even bargain with, like the pros outweigh the cons, like it even is a con. Because it’s not.

“I’m not bothered,” you finally tell him.

He still doesn’t meet your eyes, in fact, he rolls his.

“You don’t have to lie to me. It’s okay, I’ve heard it all. I know I’ve lead you on—”

“Jesus,” you cut him off, “what did— who made you feel this way?”

He finally looks at you. His eyes are wide and he looks vulnerable and hesitant. You swipe away some hair that’s fallen flat across his scrunched forehead.

“Everyone?”

You sigh his name, and you’re tentative when you lean forward to kiss him, softly, when he lets you.

He looks less terrified when you pull back. You try to smile, but this whole interaction has left such a bad taste in your mouth that it feels more like a grimace when your lips turn up.

“That’s— Fucking awful, to be frank. Pardon my French.”

He chuckles, but his gaze falls away from your face again. His sheets are not that interesting to look at.

“Really, Marcus. I mean— maybe if someone’s just looking for a hookup, then I get it. You want something specific, whatever. But why would you ever think you were leading me on?

All you’ve done is be sweet to me, and shown interest in me, and taken care of me. Unless you’re like, secretly an ax murderer, or committing some kind of major tax fraud, you haven’t led me on at all.”

He’s still not looking at you. Why won’t he look at you, and believe you?

“I don’t want to sound dismissive. I understand you’re insecure about it. I’m insecure about some things too. I don’t want to invalidate that. But I need you to know that the last thing I care about is how big your dick is.”

There. He’s looking at you. He looks a little mortified, but he’s finally meeting your gaze.

“Really?”

You scoff.

“Really really.”

A reluctant smile tugs on the corner of his pretty mouth.

“Why?”

“Because— now, don’t go getting a big head about this— you’re perfect. Like, everything about you. You’re sweet and you make me laugh and you’re gorgeous.”

His face flushes, but he lets you continue.

“And I’m in this, with you. I want this to go somewhere. And I think we’re super compatible.”

“Me too,” he whispers.

“Good, so… we’re on the same page then.”

You watch him lick his lips, and his hand that’s been loosely draped over your waist finally starts back up, drawing little circles across the base of your spine.

“And… There’s other reasons,” you mumble, voice low with a hint of mischief.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah… For one, your hands.”

“My hands?”

He emphasizes his question with a squeeze of your hip, and you giggle at the way it tickles, and also with a bit of embarrassment.

“Yeah… They’re uh… big. I look at them a lot. Honestly surprised you haven’t noticed.”

He huffs, lets his big hand travel further up the shirt on your back.

“Your nails are always trimmed, and— your fingers are long and thick. I’ve thought about them a lot.”

He breathes your name, and now you realize you’re the one avoiding eye contact. When you look back, his pupils are all blown out again, and it spurs you on.

“And I love to give head.”

“Jesus.”

“And the bigger it is, the quicker I get tired. I could stay down there all night, if my jaw didn’t get sore.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Really, it’s one of my favorite things, making someone fall apart under my mouth. But I hate gagging and choking my way through it. It’s tedious.”

He says your name again, this time with a warning tone.

You bite your lip to keep anything from tumbling from your mouth unwarranted.

“You’re not lying.”

His eyes dart back and forth across your face, and you shake your head in lieu of opening your mouth again.

“Fuck.”

It’s the first time Marcus has cursed in front of you. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and your clit throbs.

“I’ve thought about you so much. Your lips, you have to know, right? How plump and full they are… I think about them at night, when I’m touching myself.”

That’s convincing enough, apparently. Before you can embarrass yourself any further with your confessions, he surges forward to press those plush lips against yours and groans into your mouth.

His hand flattens against your back and pulls, manhandling you closer to him. Your fingers find his silky hair and tangle in the strands, holding on for dear life at this shift between the two of you.

You can’t muster up an ounce of shame. Finally, you have Marcus where you want him, pressed against you. You hike a leg over one of his, getting it between your thighs for even the smallest amount of friction.

You feel him gasp, chest inflating to press even closer against yours. It’s a rush, finally getting this after waiting so long.

Your hands scramble to get under his white t-shirt. His skin is hot, even against your sweaty palms. There’s so much to feel, the slight swell of his stomach, and the muscle of his flank, the soft but firm pecs.

You whine when he pulls away from your lips. He shushes you gently, and you open your eyes to watch his slick lips and his hooded eyes and flushed face disappear briefly, just quick enough to shed his shirt.

Smooth, is the first thing that comes to mind. His tan skin has no hair above his belly button, just the errant freckle here and there. His nipples are peaked, and you reach out to press your thumb against one before your mind catches up to the action, before you realize you’re gawking.

But when your hand stutters against his skin and you look up at him, he’s smirking, amused and turned on. You falter a bit, mouth open while you search for something to say, some sort of excuse as to why you’re devouring him like you’re starved.

He saves you though, with his low, grumbled voice.

“I think about you, too. All the time.”

You dig your nails into his soft skin at his admission, scraping against his chest.

“You know that? You think I haven’t had you a million different ways in my head?”

Your heart stops beating, and you stop breathing, and the heat between your legs only gets heavier and wetter.

“You want me to show you, sweetheart?”

Your heartbeat comes back as a rush in your ears, and you squeeze the meat of his pec as you nod.

He kisses you again, licks at your lips until you suck his tongue into your mouth, and now it’s just filthy. No more pretense, it’s been months of pretense, and neither of you have any more patience.

His fingers seek out your own nipple, a tight bud protruding through cloth, and he rolls it between his fingers gently over the material of his shirt.

“You come over and wear my clothes like this, and you think you don’t drive me crazy?”

The words are grumbled into your mouth, against your cheek, then your jaw and your neck as he seeks out more of you to kiss.

“I don’t wash them when you leave. I wear them and I smell you all day and it makes me feel insane.”

You mewl at his admission. Everything he says now is so fucking raw, now that you’ve broken down his walls. He shushes you again, grabs the hem of his shirt to help you pull it over your head.

He curses when he sees you. It’s the first time. You’ve both been toeing this line of modesty, and maybe you’d be more nervous if you weren’t careening toward the pleasure he’s promised you.

He coaxes you to lie on your back beside him, and his mouth works a slow trail down the side of your neck, nipping and suckling until he finally gets your nipple in his mouth. You arch into it, encouraging him with a hand tangled in his thick hair. You feel his groan reverberating around your rib cage when you scrape your nails back and forth across his scalp. You need him, like nothing you’ve ever craved before.

“Marcus—”

“I know, I know.”

His syrupy voice isn’t as soothing as his lips, though, when he cranes his neck back up to kiss you again. He nips there, a sneaky distraction from the way his fingers trail down to circle your navel, and then even farther, teasing the hem of his sweatpants you’re wearing. His featherlight touch makes you jolt when it finally registers, your stomach jumping under his fingers.

“Can I?”

You’re nodding against his lips, into the kiss, and then whining when his hand breaches the waistband. Those thick, long fingers flutter across your mound. Your breath catches on every wiggle. But when his fingers splay out, half on one side of your slit and half on the other, teasing your lips, you exhale hard and press up into his touch.

“Oh, are you that sensitive?”

His voice is half-teasing, half-shocked, as he mumbles into the tingling skin of your neck.

“It’s just you.”

And it’s true. There’s no ego-stroking here. You’ve waited too long to get this and now you’re fiending, any touch is a relief.

And he’s huffing into that skin under your ear, like you’re playing it up too much, but he bites down on the skin anyway and groans.

“So sweet, huh?”

You make a disgruntled noise but there’s not enough blood in your brain to get your point across. Instead, you wrap your hand around his meaty forearm and force his fingers lower, where you know your underwear is a soaking, sticky mess.

He curses and pulls away from his assault on your neck to look at you. You’re certain you know what he sees, blown out pupils and sweat-slick forehead and bitten, shiny lips.

“That’s all for me?”

There’s a sly smile tugging at one side of his mouth, just barely there, but you see it in the way one dimple grows more than the other. You nod in answer, scrape your nails up the hair on his arm and watch him shudder.

But he retreats from between your legs, and chuckles when you squeeze his forearm tighter in protest. The sound makes you shiver, all low and gruff and teasing. But he softens the blow with another one of his kisses, heated and sloppy and needy. His hands, always so gentle and careful and big, find the creases between your hips and thighs. It makes you arch up into the touch and whimper again, and you wonder briefly if you’ll ever not be desperate for him again.

He watches your face twist up when he pulls away from you, watches the way your breasts move with every heave of your lungs. His dark eyes travel lower, where his thumbs sear circles into your hips, and his tongue swipes across his lower lip.

“Can I take these off, sweetheart?”

The tenderness in his voice fills you with a completely different warmth, white hot flames simmering into a blaze of feelings you aren’t sure you’ve ever truly experienced before. You let it consume you.

“Yes, please.”

He hums a satisfied little noise as his fingers hook under the waistband. He takes his time, making sure to catch your underwear as well. It’s a sight, his huge hands working your only remaining cover down, down, until you’re bare to him and he’s gently cradling each of your calves to fully remove the last of your clothes.

Those hands work their way back up, attentive, memorizing the valleys and peaks of your flesh, the nuances of your skin, the way it bends over your joints. Before you know it, he’s propped himself up beside you once again, one arm supporting his weight so his other hand can work its way between your thighs.

You drag your eyes away from his fingers to look at him, only to find him focused on your face.

It’s a few long moments before either of you move or speak or breathe. It’s you who breaks the spell, only because you know you’re at the very edge of control.

“You sure you’re ready?”

You reach up to cradle his neck in your hand. It’s hot to the touch, and so are his ears, the tips of them burning a cute pink where your thumb grazes them. His eyes get softer and crinkle even more around the edges.

“I’m positive… can’t believe I psyched myself out for so long.”

He huffs and shakes his head at himself. You’re ready to kiss that apprehension away again, but his hand on your thigh pulls, as gentle as everything else he’s done, to spread yourself open for him.

The cool air makes your breath catch in your throat. Or maybe it’s the anticipation. So close to what you’ve thought about every single night for weeks. Months– since the day you first met, if you’re being honest.

He keeps his eyes on you, and you hold his gaze even though it burns. But only until his fingers brush you. Your eyelids flutter shut at the feeling, mouth open wide in shock at how electric just one simple touch feels.

His finger glides so easily around your opening, and you hear him gasp as he explores all the slick.

“You’re soaked.”

His voice is thick with awe, as another finger joins in on the fun, gathering up your arousal. But they don’t breach, and you feel like he’s teasing, readying a whine in protest.

The noise gets stuck in your throat when they trail up, gliding through your swollen folds. They find your clit, full and begging for attention, and circle with hardly any pressure.

Oh, he’s fucking good at this.

There’s no apprehension in his movements. It’s like he’s read a fucking manual on how to press all your buttons. The light, slick touches are building up that heat in your gut quicker than you can ever remember with anyone else.

You’re stunned silent, eyes pinched shut and your head tilted back into the mattress, digging in for even an ounce of grounding.

“That feel good, sweetheart?”

Your vocal chords come back to life, finally, as you whimper from the gentle drag of his fingers.

“You have no idea.”

He chuckles, and you open your eyes to see his own still trained on your face.

“I think I do,” he mumbles.

He shifts, presses his hips into you, and the hard line of him digs into your side.

You clench around nothing, and your clit pulses under the pads of his fingers. He curses and responds to the needy little bud, applying more pressure and speeding up those little circles.

All the while he grinds his hips into you, soft little movements that sync up with his hand, and you want him so bad. You’re losing patience by the second, the only thing keeping you from pouncing is the way his fingers work you over so perfectly it’s like you’re touching yourself.

You’re not, though, and that becomes perfectly clear when one thick, long finger presses lower and slips into you. It slides so easily, despite how much girth it has on one of your own. You both make stuttered noises at the feeling, and Marcus’ lips capture your own to let them mingle together.

Your hips egg him on, lifting and shifting, but he is teasing now. It’s a slow drag in and out, his finger pin straight, and if he hadn’t been so diligent this entire time you’d think he didn’t know what he was doing.

But you whine, a soft plea of his name into his mouth, and he obliges. That thick finger crooks up, just as the heel of his hand flattens against your clit, and stars bloom behind your eyelids.

You groan, and he laps it up before his lips leave yours.

“That’s it. This what you needed?”

A pathetic whimper comes out in response as you nod your head. His finger presses harder into that perfect spot, and his palm slides over your wet clit. You’re clenching around him, savoring the feeling of being filled by him, working your hips down and back to meet his motions. It grows and grows, that feeling in your gut, so close that you can’t be bothered to worry about what needy noises you’re making.

He mutters another frantic curse, and his hips jump to press his cock into you harder.

“I gotta taste you, sweetheart. Can I? Will you let me?”

You nod so fast you’re surprised your head doesn’t detach from your neck. He soothes that frenzied part of your brain with another kiss, slips his finger out of you, and moves to get between your legs.

You thread your fingers through his hair to keep him still, even if it’s just for a moment. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and the drag of his sweatpants across your sensitive center makes you arch up into him for more, to seek out more friction.

He just huffs a laugh against your lips and angles his hips away, denying you the simple pleasure of grinding against the tent in his pants.

“Not yet. Let me take my time with you. You’ve waited so long, right? I’ll make it up to you, you just gotta let me.”

You huff.

You should’ve known Marcus would be just as much of an infuriating tease in the bedroom as he is outside of it. The trivia dates and the cocky smirk he always sported when he won, the little bets he’d make on how a movie’s plot was going to twist, the refusal to ever let you pay for dinner— it’s all adding up now, and you can’t believe you didn’t expect it.

Marcus Pike is a smug little prick underneath the humble, sheepish grins, and it’s hot and it’s yours.

“Put your money where your mouth is,” you breathe.

He chuckles and trails said mouth down the length of your naked body. You watch his plump lips explore your skin and leave wet patches littered in their wake, shiny little stakes claiming you. His five o’clock shadow is just long enough to abrade your skin a bit, delightful little pricks that make your muscles jump involuntarily.

He makes it to your mound before looking up at you. His brown eyes are mostly obstructed by his pupils, but they shine all glassy in the dim lamplight of his bedroom. His shitty grin has faded and he looks determined, and it steals the breath from your lungs.

He teases some more, of course he does. His lips peck and tickle the creases of your thighs, the skin of your outer lips, and the very tip of your hood before you finally see his pink tongue slip out.

All of a sudden you can’t watch, can only let your head fall back and close your eyes and drown in the anticipation.

The pointed tip of his tongue just barely grazes you, tracing a razor-thin line from your dripping hole all the way to your mound. It tickles, and your breath comes in faster as he does it again, and again, and again.

Just before you can beg for more, he flattens his tongue and drags it up your slit. He laps at your folds, slow and calculated, and the satisfied noises tumble out of you as you feel his taste buds glide against you.

All you can think to do is find his hair and use it to hang on. Your legs spread wider, and he takes the encouragement. His tongue finds your clit, so swollen and sensitive with need by now. He circles it, then wiggles his tongue back and forth, playing with it, playing with you. He shakes his head from side to side to give you more, presses even more firmly, and the heavy feeling in your gut tightens tenfold.

Your hips start to move on their own, rocking up into his face, helping his motions along. He groans with it, muffled and wet between your legs.

A delirious thought gets stuck in your horny brain. You don’t know how you’ll ever let him leave this spot between your legs now that you’ve finally got him here. It’s so wet and warm and incredible, and your nails dig into his scalp to drive the point home, to try and lock him here forever.

His voice snaps you from your reverent thoughts, thick and deep.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You taste so good, looks so fucking pretty.”

You brave a glance down at him, his red soaked mouth and his dark eyes that are boring holes into your pussy. One of his hands releases its grip on your thigh to glide across the dripping mess of your center. He toys with you, spreading you open with splayed fingers, watching the way your folds bend to his whim. With it exposed and protruding and aching for his touch, he leans down to wrap his plush lips around your clit and suckle. Curses fly from your lips at the concentrated attention, and it’s so so so fucking good you’re sure you’re going combust.

His hand slips lower, and his mouth doesn’t stop, and you’re dangerously close to tipping over the edge. And then two thick fingers slip easily into you, immediately seeking out that spot inside you and tapping there.

It’s blinding pressure overwhelming the two places you need him most. He drums up a rhythm that would remind you of a dance, maybe, if your brain were cognitive enough to form a coherent thought. Down with his head, engulfing your clit, and up with his fingers, squeezing that spongy spot inside you. Over and over, he works you with soft grunts against your cunt until your fingers lock up in his hair and your hips start to shake.

“Please don’t stop,” you pant, “I’m so close.”

To his credit, and this is more than you can say for the majority of men you’ve been with, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down, nor does he speed up. He keeps at you exactly how you need it, moaning strung-out little noises into your center until you’re dropping.

All the wind is knocked out of you. Your hips jolt into his face and he takes it in stride, lapping at your clit when the seal of his lips is broken from your erratic movements. You tremble through it, clench around his fingers, and squeeze his head between your thighs as you ride it out on his tongue.

As the shivers roll through you, Marcus’ fingers slow, and though he can’t remove his tongue from you because of how your legs have him in a headlock, he stills his tongue so you can take the last bit of what you need from him.

His breathing is just as heavy as yours, wheezing out moans and muffled words of encouragement. When you feel yourself slipping down from your peak, you let go of the death grip on his hair, and open your legs, and grant yourself a few deep breaths before you dare to look down at him.

He carefully, cautiously pulls his fingers out of you. A comforting ‘shhh’ is cooed into the sweaty skin of your thigh when you make a strangled sound. Both of his hands splay out on either hip, a light and grounding touch accompanied by the kisses he’s dropping all over the skin he can reach.

Finally, you grant yourself a peek down at him. The first thing you notice is how his broad shoulders are, heaving with baited breath. Then, his normally pristine hair, sticking out every which way and then some from your frantic fingers.

His face is red, you guess from exertion. Or maybe you really did restrict some blood flow. Christ. That’s what he gets, being so goddamn good at that.

And then his lips. His lips. Those lips that up until now you’ve only ever kissed or dreamed of. They’re even more plump, swollen and slick with you, shining just like his chin is.

You don’t know what to say. You know you want to kiss him. Funny, considering that’s how all this started, but you’re dying to see what you taste like on him.

Luckily, he breaks the silence, after licking those delectable lips and clearing his throat.

“So… How’d it compare?”

Your face contorts on its own, surprised at the sudden and intrusive question.

“Pardon?”

But then he laughs, pressing those wet dimples into your heated skin to hide them.

“To all those thoughts you told me about. How’d I do?”

You laugh too then, a weary huff of breath as you sit up.

“Don’t go fishing for compliments,” you tease, though there’s not much heat behind it with how out of breath you still are.

He goes to respond, but you get a hand in his hair again and coax him up. You meet him halfway, swallowing his surprised noise when you finally get those pillowy lips against yours and lick at them, his tongue, his teeth, until you aren’t sure what taste is you and what is him. Until you realize you’re flat on your back again as he hovers over you, still between your thighs.

You both hum when the kiss breaks, and you rest your forehead against his, nuzzle his nose and sigh at the floaty feeling in your limbs.

“Better,” you whisper.

You feel his grin bump into your own. You nip at it, playful and languid as you finally begin to get some of your bearings back.

And then you’re shocked back into the realization that there’s all this smooth skin right in front of you, this hunk of a man hovering above, the one who just melted your brain into a fuzzy little mold of itself. You grab his hips as he licks into your mouth and scrape your nails up his flanks, unhurried, while the touch makes him shiver.

You feel out the strength in his pecs, those broad shoulders you often daydream about, and then you push. Catching him off guard, he gasps as he loses his balance and tumbles to the side, and then laughs when you press him into the mattress and straddle his hips.

You laugh along with him, but it slowly tapers off as his hands find your naked skin— your stomach and hips and back and then your ass, where it hovers just above that bulge in his sweatpants.

He’s looking up at you with what you can only describe as horny apprehension.

His eyelids droop over his dilated pupils, but his brow is all pinched up in the middle. His mouth hangs open, like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out.

So you kiss him, soft and gentle, as gentle as he’s been with you all night. His sigh washes heat across your cheeks, and you feel him relax under you just a little.

But then you shift in his grasp, lower your ass, and press your soaking center to his crotch. You whimper at the feeling of his sweatpants dragging across your sensitive, wet cunt. He moans and bites at your bottom lip maybe a little too hard.

But it’s okay. He pulls away and pants your name and you settle there, your weight pressed down on his cock. Your lips find that smooth patch in his stubble, biting that chiseled jaw, licking down the curve of his neck, his shoulder, up to his ear. You delight in every goosebump you draw, and breathe in his scent before you speak up.

“Will you let me suck it?”

All his breath rushes out in a big gust. His fingertips dig into your naked sides, and he nods.

“Please.”

It’s a barely-there whisper. You pull away from that silky soft skin where his pulse is hammering to check his reaction.

He’s begging with his eyes. It makes you smirk, sitting up straighter, trailing your fingers down the front of his body until you reach the drawstring of his sweatpants.

You’re still sitting on his groin, though. You give a little playful wiggle, and his hips rock up to grind harder. But you don’t want to tease any more. Every moment spent teasing him, you’re also denying yourself, and you’ve been patient for long enough.

So you shift down the bed, nestled between his legs, and get to work on the tie of his pants. Every time your fingertips brush the hair below his belly button, he sucks in a breath. You finally get the thing untied, and look up one last time for permission before you start to drag the material down, grabbing his boxers as you go.

Your eyes stay trained on his face instead of staring at his crotch, especially as he wiggles a bit and lifts his legs to remove his pants. You don’t want to stare, and you also don’t want to not look, you don’t want him to be uncomfortable at all with you.

You want it to be perfect. You want to make him feel the way he makes you feel.

He nods his head, and you cease averting your eyes to trail down his body, the bushy happy trail and the neatly trimmed hair above his cock and his cock.

His little cock.

It is, indeed, on the smaller side. Probably one of the smallest you’ve seen in real life. Three and half or four inches long, if you had to guess.

And it’s so pretty, cut and on the thicker side, the slightest upward curve that makes your pussy tighten around nothing.

You dive right in, press your nose to all the hair while you kiss at the base of him, humming when his cock twitches against the side of your face. He smells so good and clean, like always, but down here there’s even more of that Marcus smell that always lingers beneath his soap and cologne, salty and warm.

When you drag your eyes up to him, his head’s thrown back against the pillows, not looking at you. You want him to look, you want him to see how much you’re going to enjoy this.

You’ll make him look, one way or another.

For now, you just lathe your tongue up the underside of him, then back down to tickle his balls, all the while enjoying how his prick jerks under the attention.

He’s making little noises, mostly puffs of breath and gasps, and his hands twist up in the sheets beside you. You grab one of them, slow and steady, and lead it to the back of your head.

And then, you finally get your lips wrapped around the head of his dick, and you slowly sink down until he’s entirely in your mouth.

It’s not until your nose presses against the flatness above his cock do you hear him release a strangled groan. That’s when you look back up at him and find him staring down, mouth agape, locked on your mouthful of him.

You pull back up, wiggling your tongue as you go, memorizing the ridges and hairs and veins. Your eyes are locked on his, and his are locked on your lips, so you try to give him a show.

You open your mouth and stick out your tongue, nod your head up and down to let his cockhead tickle your tastebuds. A gruff noise leaves him, hearty and hoarse, and you want to smile but you’re not in a position to.

Instead, you flick your tongue against that little band of tissue just under his slit, and his hips stutter as his grip on the back of your head tightens.

“Fuck, sweetheart.”

Now you do smile, your lips upturned against the head of his cock, and it jerks against your mouth while you kiss it, until you envelop it once more.

You hum around him, at the weighted feeling of him occupying your mouth, how smooth it feels against your tongue and how nice it is to take him all the way in and not gag or choke or drool.

It makes your cunt ache, makes you crave him even more, makes you want to be full of him everywhere.

You reach a hand down to touch yourself. You’re still dripping, can feel it all slipping from your entrance and cooling your skin in the air conditioning. You’ve had just enough time to recover from the mess Marcus made of you. You’re sensitive but not too sensitive, when you trace your clit with your fingertips and moan around the mouthful of cock.

“Oh fuck, are you touching yourself?”

Your eyes flicker open and look up to him. He’s clenching his jaw, grinding his teeth as his nostrils flare. You hum and nod your head to answer, his cock slipping back and forth through the ring of your lips. He whimpers, and his head tips back against the mattress again, and it makes you speed up the efforts on both him and yourself.

He curses, soft little chants, kneading the back of your neck in his big hand as you suck him in over and over. You close your eyes and lose yourself in it for a bit, the way he slips so easily in and out, the way his hips move just a little, like he’s trying not to but he can’t help it. The sounds, his grunts and your sloppy mouth and your fingers working over your slick folds.

He says your name.

You hum, use your free hand to play with the fuzzy skin of his balls.

He says your name again, and this time it’s urgent, almost panicked.

“Sweetheart, stop, please.”

You do, immediately. You open your mouth wide and let him fall from your lips and unhand him while you look at his exerted face.

“Are you okay?”

He huffs, and his cock bobs beside your face.

“I’m so okay. I just— did you want me to…? It’s okay if you don’t, I just didn’t want it to be over—”

“Marcus.”

His heated babbling stops as he clamps his mouth shut. His broad shoulders lift and drop with his heading breath.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

You smooth your hands across the scattered hair on his thighs when you ask. His prick twitches again at your question.

“I— Yeah. Yes. I do.”

He looks almost guilty about it, with his wide eyes and the bashful expression spreading across his face.

“I want you to fuck me so bad,” you tell him, “I’ve wanted it for way too long.”

His breath leaves him in a shuddery exhale, something like relief or awe.

“Yeah? You still want it?”

His hand skates from the back of your neck to your jaw, his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek.

“Please, Marcus. Give it to me.”

You turn your head to kiss his thumb, a sloppy little peck before you take it into your mouth. You smile around it when he groans, and bite it before it slips away.

“Can you get on the edge of the bed for me?”

You can, but not without throwing a cheeky ‘yes sir’ his way. You’re not sure if the noise he makes is from arousal or a lack of amusement, but there will be plenty of time to explore that later.

For now, you do as he says. You scoot so your ass is just about to fall off the side of his bed. The wooden bed frame is the perfect height to rest your heels on, and as Marcus slips a pillow under your head, you’re as comfortable as ever.

The mattress dips when he gets up to stand in front of you. The lamplight from the nightstand is really doing things for him. The slight sheen of sweat on his chest glistens, as does the wetness at his temples where his hair is starting to curl up. All those lean muscles have never been more apparent than they are now, the golden glow creating beautiful shadows across his naked body.

He’s so hot.

It doesn’t help that his big, warm hands snake up your bare thighs as he gets between them. His small dick stands at attention, pointing toward the ceiling, and you feel your pussy spasm with anticipation.

“Please,” you whisper.

He nods, steps closer as you spread your legs wider and wiggle even further off the bed.

“Perfect, sweetheart.”

He leans over you with one hand on the bed to brace himself. The other is wrapped firmly around the base of his cock, and he looks down to watch it as he glides it through your slit.

“Are you ready?”

You nod and hum your affirmative. He takes the go-ahead and his cockhead slides across your clit, down, so slowly, until it catches on the rim of your hole and you both gasp at the feeling.

You look down to watch too, lifting up on your elbows to see the moment your pussy lets him sink inside, fluttering around him, engulfing his prick one inch at a time.

You knew it. You fucking knew his cock was perfect but still you’re shocked at the way the curve makes him drag across your upper wall. And when his hips are flush with yours, all that pressure is concentrated at that bundle of nerve endings inside of you, and you’re going to lose your mind if he doesn’t move.

“Oh fuck.”

You let yourself flop back in the bed, but reach for his hand that’s supporting his weight. Your nails scrabble for purchase against the skin of his wrist as you curse again, your walls contracting around him as you tense.

“Fuck, Marcus, please.”

You’re so far past caring about how desperate you sound. You need him, the textbook definition of it; it’s an absolute necessity that he fucks you.

He curses, and you realize you’ve closed your eyes. When you open them, his jaw is hanging and he’s looking at you, your face, like it’s something he’s never seen before. Like he’s shocked you’re here in front of him.

But his hips are still, and you’re helpless to the way your own cant up to urge him, and finally he’s pulling back out. The slow drag against the most tender spot inside you rips a noise from your throat, involuntary. He pulls almost all the way out, until the head of his dick is kissing your opening and you can feel how he stretches the tight ring of muscles.

And then in again, almost as slowly, and you’re already out of breath. The feeling steals all the wind from your lungs. It’s setting you on fire, perfect friction against just the right spot, the one that’s still tender and alight from your previous orgasm.

“It’s so fucking good,” you manage to choke out.

Marcus moans above you, and his hips snap into you, and his free hand finds your waist so he can dig his nails into your flesh.

“It is, fuck, sweetheart, you’re so fucking good.”

A bead of sweat drips from his nose and lands on your belly, and that seems to make you snap out of it.

“Fuck me. Fuck me hard, please, make me come.”

You watch his mouth quirk up into a pretty smirk, dimples on full display.

“Yes ma’am.”

Your giggles only last for a moment, dissolving into a high whine when he slides out of you and back in, a harsh thrust of his hips that doesn’t let up.

He fucks you. You try to watch; it’s too hot not to. His biceps flex respectively, one with his effort to hold himself above you, and the other where he holds you in place by your waist.

His neck, the one vein there that’s protruding as he bares his teeth. The way his chest is rapidly rising and falling as he drives into you. His big brown eyes, even darker now as he succumbs to the feeling of you.

But you just can’t keep your eyes open for long. It feels too good, you’re too close to the edge. Your insides are so tender and alight from the first time you came. Every single thrust inside you is taking you apart and building your second so quickly. Your eyelids droop closed and there’s already stars blooming behind them.

His little noises are louder, like this. Grunts and gasps and moans, falling over you, all for you.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you warn him.

Your back arches to encourage his pace. His skin slaps into yours faster as he groans.

“Thank god, me too. What do you need, sweetheart?”

Without a verbal answer to his strained question, you slip your hand down to press against your throbbing clit.

“Shit, yeah, play with your pussy for me. I wanna— fuck— let me see you come. Looks so gorgeous.”

His voice is thick in his throat, and you work your fingers over yourself faster. You’re clenching wildly around him, you can’t help it. Every thrust in sets your nerves on fire, almost too much, but not quite. His grunts are turning into growls, uninhibited and primal. You feel the mattress shift and open your eyes to find him standing up straight.

Both hands grab your hips now, and that little angle change makes him grind even harder into your g-spot, and you’re tumbling over the edge. It’s been building under the surface for so long that when it hits, it’s blinding. There’s static in your toes that washes over you, up, up, dragging a fiery heat with it that consumes your center and makes your head fuzzy.

There’s screaming.

You’re screaming. Your eyes are clenched so tight, as are your fingers, all your joints, your pussy, around Marcus as he fucks you through it with sloppy thrusts.

“That’s it, oh my god, sweetheart, you— fuck. I’m gonna come, I’m— where?”

“In me.”

Your throat is scratchy when you answer, and you don’t have any time to elaborate on why that’s not a bad idea. You’re still coming, wave after wave of warmth rolling across your body, and you’re vaguely aware of how wet everything is, the sound of him fucking you even more obscene.

His shout doesn’t quite rival yours, but you feel it when he empties inside of you. His cock jerks and and twitches, wringing out every little bit of pleasure from you, and you think you’re still coming, the pinpricks of pleasure are still too intense to be aftershocks.

He stays pressed as deep as he can be as his stomach convulses and his thighs shake, just like yours do where they’ve somehow wrapped around him. Your eyes open again, and the lamplight is so bright now, his breathing is so loud. He grunts and pulls out a bit, then presses back in, and again, until it falters and his whole body slumps.

His top half collapses onto you, his little breaths huff and tickle the tingling skin of your belly. Your own breath comes out in a weak moan, and it takes all the strength you can muster just to run your fingers through his sweaty hair.

“Jesus,” he says.

Your name cascading off his lips in such a strung out voice that it makes you clench around him again.

“Huh?”

God, how are you ever going to move again?

“You uh… Is that a common occurrence?”

Christ, why is he using such big words?

“What are you talking about?”

He clears his throat.

“You like— You squirted?”

You laugh, one delirious huff. It makes his head rock on your jiggling belly.

“I what?”

You gather the will to look down at him. His mouth is open, surprised and amused, and his eyes are shiny and bright.

“Yeah, like, a lot.”

He’s still inside you but softening, and his own chuckles make him slip out.

You lift up on your elbows as he stands up straight and the evidence is clear. The hair above his dick and high on his thighs is all dark and soaked.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

The sheets on the edge of the bed are absolutely ruined, and you pray he’s one of those men that has a mattress protector. You’re more than a little mortified, and the way he’s staring at you, silent, is beginning to make you squirmy.

“What?”

“Why do you seem so surprised?”

His fingertips are feather-light across your thighs, and you shiver.

“I’ve never actually… done that? I would have warned you.”

He makes a pained sound, and those fingertips turn into a tight grip just above your knees.

He doesn’t speak up. Instead, he lies on the bed beside you. He holds himself by his elbow, but that hand strokes your scalp while the other traces up and down your thigh, your hips, your breasts, anything he can reach. You avoid the topic at hand to relax into it, and you think you’re finally coming down as that boneless feeling washes over you.

You’re vaguely aware of his cum dripping out of you, but the sheets are a lost cause anyway. You just watch his lax face, the way the wrinkles in his brow are all smoothed out, the way his eyes follow the patterns he’s drawing on your body.

He catches you staring. His gaze meets yours and he smiles and it’s sunny. It warms you through, despite all the sweat that’s cooling on your body.

“Hi,” he whispers.

You giggle, and he does too. He tries to hold it in by biting his lip, but it’s no use. You will your exhausted bones to shift and face him, and he presses his lips to yours and they meld together.

It’s languid, unhurried, just reacquainting after too long apart. It feels a little goofy, with how you’re both smiling so wide, but it calms you into settling down after such a high.

Both of your breathing seems even, when you part.

“That was—”

“It’s never—”

You both chuckle.

“Ladies first.”

You feel shy now. You can’t imagine why, but a fluttery feeling overtakes your stomach.

“I was just gonna say… That was better than all those times I imagined it.”

You didn’t think it was possible, but his smile grows even wider. His eyes flicker from yours to the sheets between you, and you think maybe he feels as bashful as you do.

“It’s never been that good.”

A sigh escapes him when he speaks, and his nervous gaze lands on you when his face falls into something more earnest.

It takes your breath away. Because it’s never been that good for you either, and isn’t that such a perfect coincidence?

You tug him to you by the back of his neck, eat up the surprised little sound he makes against your mouth.

“When can we go again?”

#Pedro pascal #Pedro pascal x reader #Pedro pascal smut #Pedro pascal fanfiction #Pedro pascal characters #x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike smut #the mentalist

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getitoutofmymindwrites · 22 hours

Text

The landing | joel miller x f!reader, 13.2k

Summary: You feel him before you see him. He’s still taking up space in your micro-universe. His sole presence creates ripples through the atmosphere as he walks towards you, softly nudging you to turn your head from your spot to look behind you. Or The one where your orbits finally collide for the final showdown.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, NO SPOILER (read A/N), ANGST, cheater!joel, discussions of infidelity, mention of food consumption, yelling, crying, the briefest mention of smut thoughts, sprinkle of fluff (blink and you'll miss it), as always let me know if I missed anything 👀

A/N: Ok, *deep breath* I know I can't make everyone happy unless I write alternate endings 😅 and I understand that infidelity can be a very triggering concept. I gave them the ending I felt they both deserved, but if you're looking for a story where they are at each other's throats for 13k words, maybe this is not for you and you are more than welcome to kindly move on. I won't spoil the ending in the Warnings, so proceed with caution, you know what the main theme is all about. All I can tell you is that this part of the story is divided into two main scenes because I didn't want to drag it out with one little scene after another. *she says after spilling 13k words🙄sorry about that👀* As always, I would love to read your thoughts on the last part and please keep in mind that writing is almost always self-indulgent.

P.S. I want to thank each and every one of you for the love I received for this mini-series, I never thought it would engage so many people. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You've all been so kind and sweet to me, so this journey filled my heart with joy! I love you all, take care of yourselves and I'll see you -hopefully- in the comments! Oh! My asks are always open if you want to know more about their story. I could even write drabbles or one-shots about anything you'd like to know in particular. Ily, bye 😘

P.S. I deliberately left the last two lines without clarification of who says what, I leave that up to you. 🤍

Dividers by @cafekitsune @saradika-graphics @plum98

previous |

FOUR YEARS AFTER THE FALL

Are you still falling?

You’re not sure anymore. Maybe you’re just used to it. Or maybe you just learned how to fly. It certainly feels like everything has slowed down. Sometimes it feels like floating. As if you’re a feather, so lightweight, swirling around aimlessly. But you can never touch the ground. Gravity can’t quite pull you down. Every time you feel like you’re finally landing, a force of nature pulls you back up.

Maybe it is a soft, warm, summer breeze, a memory of Joel.

Maybe it is a whirlwind, a contact from the lawyers.

Maybe it is a snowstorm, sign the papers, please.

Maybe it is the whispering of a gentle wind, the possibilities of what might have been, or the lack of real closure.

But it’s nice here. Even between the earth and the sky.

You never thought you’d enjoy leaving the big city and making a home for yourself on a ranch. But you loved it. You loved the peace and quiet, you loved this new community of people, you loved taking care of the horses, riding them, being around them. And then there was the house. A place you could almost call home. It was beautiful, rustic, warm, inviting, lacking none of the comforts a modern house needs, because you can’t quite get the big city girl out of you. The entire land had a soft, yellow-golden light enveloping every tree and every rock, everywhere your eyes reached, as if the sun shone differently here.

The days are easy. The chores are more than enough to keep you focused, there’s always something to do around here. It feels good to be busy, to keep your mind from dwelling on the past. You welcome the exhaustion of a full day’s work that accompanies your body when night comes.

Evenings are mostly good. You shower the day off, you cook, you chill on the couch with a good book or a film and more often than not, as the time passes and you feel more comfortable sharing the privacy of your home, you have friends over for dinner and drinks.

Nights though, nights are hard. At night, you pray that you are tired to the point of exhaustion so that you can sleep through it peacefully. Sometimes it works, but most of the time, not so much.

Time has intensified and lessened your emotional burden simultaneously.

The sharp pain that feels like thick acid being poured into you mellows in an inexplicable way. It still hurts, the pain oozing out of your every single pore even in a physical way. Only now, it has transformed into a sweet, slow poison conquering every hollow of your body, every vein leading from your heart to the ends of your limbs.

It’s almost a welcoming feeling, this pain, reminding you that you’re still alive, that he was real, that everything that happened was real. Because sometimes, sometimes, when you let yourself relax, when you let your guard down, all of this feels like a dream. Sometimes, you wake up in the middle of the night, confused, reaching with your hand for the other side of the bed and finding it empty. And for a split second you get that feeling. The feeling of how it used to be with him next to you.

Then you remember.

You know why this is happening and who’s responsible for it. This is a mix-up. This is what your treacherous brain does to mess with your resolve. It blends the bad stuff into the good, creating the strangest of concoctions. The clear image of black and white, neatly and perfectly hung in the center of the walls of your mind is now splashed with colorful memories from your life together, like a Pollock painting. You do your best to resist, to bring back scenes from all the vivid recollections of the night your life changed forever but your uncooperative brain pops another memory up, a good fuckin’ memory, like a projector, illuminating those bare imaginary walls with laughter and touches and whispers and scents and warmth. It’s relentless.

This dichotomy creates an uneasiness inside you, you choose to reject and pretend not to notice. Which in turn leads to self-contempt because, as always you can’t lie to yourself. You may lie to others but deep in your core you have to be honest with yourself. That is something you’re owed. To be aware, present in the reality of your life. So, you know, you know, you just sweep things under the carpet as a copy mechanism. You know what you should do.

You should confront him. You should demand answers and then finally say what you need to say to him. Not for him, not for his sake, but for yours. But you can’t. You've lost count of how many times you've picked up the phone and your thumb hovered over his contact to call him but you just can’t bring yourself to do it. And every time you tried to text him, to start a conversation, it felt too awkward. The only acceptable subject of discussion initiated by you was the progress of the divorce papers. You were unable to even remotely insinuate a more meaningful encounter. And he didn’t make any advances either. Not that you gave him any room to try and talk to you, but still, he seemed more settled with that, rather than not.

Maybe that fact itself was your cue to let it all go. He’s probably moved on. You don’t cheat on someone so blatantly and then want them back. Obviously, this whole delaying of the divorce is a power play, like everything else, it seems.

Good, yeah, that’s it. That’s it.

Now, let go. Move on. You solved it. Let go.

But this annoying little voice is scratching the walls of your weary brain, nudging the limits of the carefully made up serenity that’s hanging by a thread.

You should confront him. For your peace of mind, for your equilibrium.

But it’s nice here. Even between the earth and the sky.

Joel, will you please sign the papers?

It’s early in the evening and you’re in the garden in front of the house near the porch, on your knees, plucking a few weeds from the ground. The fatigue of the day’s work has begun to take its toll on you, your shoulder is slightly trembling as you rest your weight on one palm to dig around with the other. Sweat covers your torso, rolling down between the valley of your breasts and the hollow between your spine, leaving your t-shirt clinging to your skin, your hair sticking to your forehead, which is lightly covered in a thin layer of dirt at some places as you keep wiping your forearm over the little beads of salty water that concentrate over your brows.

You feel him before you see him. He’s still taking up space in your micro-universe. His sole presence creates ripples through the atmosphere as he walks towards you, softly nudging you to turn your head from your spot to look behind you.

There's an overload of sensations before you shift your body around to confirm what you already know in your bones. You can smell him, taste him, feel him on your suddenly tingling skin, all at the same time.

You turn slowly and your breath hitches on your throat. You just stay in place, frozen, time infinitely stretching as you take him in from where you kneel on the ground. He stops abruptly the second his eyes meet yours and you could swear he’s holding his breath, his face completely unreadable.

He looks.. he looks like your Joel and nothing like him simultaneously. Soft yet imposing. Handsome yet battered. Determined yet lost. His clothing is simpler, dark jeans, green flannel over a black t-shirt and laced boots, as if he just returned from a working site. His curls are longer, framing his handsome face in a ridiculously good way, more white hairs nestle in his beard that is not that trimmed. Neither of you speak quite yet, taking each other in.

Your mind, your bizarre, ridiculous mind is working on figuring out what day it is. Why does it matter? Did you have an appointment? This is unexpected and a long time coming all at once, regardless of the day of the week. What comes next? Do you draw up an astrological map to determine if it's a compatible date for you to meet? Get it together.

Your facial expression must be pretty funny because Joel smiles awkwardly while scratching one side of his bearded cheek; hey, it’s me.

No, shit, you mentally respond, as if you could ever forget him. Furious is the word that best describes you because these are his first words? Hey, it’s me? And that feeling escalates into an explosive retort because you now realize that you had expectations. His first words? Who cares what his first words are? Were you expecting a tearful reunion, masterfully staged and executed like a romantic film? The guy betrayed you in your own house, sorry, his house. Wake the fuck up.

“Did you sign the papers?” you spit as you rise from your spot and he reacts as if you have punched him in the stomach. His face falls; you see a series of micro-expressions pass over his features before he settles on the last one. Has he been hurt? Did you hurt his feelings? Did he also have expectations?

“Uh-”, Joel raises his brows in genuine surprise, things probably not going the way he expected or hoped.

“It’s nice to see you, too.”, he replies with mild mockery.

Your eyes snap shut and you laugh in anger, lowering your chin to your chest and then looking back up at him, your eyes blazing, your brows mimicking his previously surprised expression, “Are you serious right now?” you cross your hands defensively over your chest.

You stare at each other for a good minute, both of you taking a moment to compose yourselves and regain your balance.

You break first, dropping your head back to your chest, looking down at the heel of your shoe scraping the ground beneath you, exhaling audibly.

“Hey,” Joel tries again, after speaking your name tenderly, your name on his lips, his head dipping down and to the side to try and get your attention back to him, his gaze filled with a mixture of warmth, regret and fear, “hi.”

You shake your head from side to side in repentance, what a great start this is, you keep thinking, “Hi.” is all you give him, still not looking at him.

“Hi,” he repeats, “it’s really nice to see you, bab-, shit, sorry.”, he winces, covering his mouth with his palm, embarrassment creeping into his features. You let out a quiet laugh, exhaling through your nose. You don’t comment on the slip of endearment that leaves his mouth, you don’t correct him, accepting privately that you liked it, you missed it, you longed for it.

Joel studies your face, but makes no comment on your silence. “You look...” he pauses for a split second before deciding to continue, “you look really good.” He hesitates, he doesn't want his compliment to come across as a feeble attempt to patronize you, because he really means it. You do look good, all sweaty and muddy and human and real. You are real. If he took a few steps forward, he could actually reach out and touch you, feel your skin under his fingertips, smell your heady scent, perhaps discreetly lick the remnants of your sweat from his thumb after carefully removing the strands of hair sticking on your forehead. But he doesn’t do that. He doesn’t do any of that.

You don’t quite know how to respond to that, any answer crossing your mind seems stupid or cheesy or dismissive. How do you respond to a compliment from the man who made you worship in his altar, only to have your faith ripped out of your heart?

His eyes keep roaming over your face, your figure, memorizing everything he can, like a blind man who has finally found his light, while he fidgets with an envelope in his hand which reminds you-

“Did you sign the papers, Joel?”, is what escapes your lips before you can think twice.

“No.” and now it’s his turn to lower his head, his eyes avoiding your gaze, as he looks down at his feet.

“Joel!”, you exclaim infuriated, rolling your eyes at him, knitting your brows together in a sign of frustration.

“No, no, it’s not like that. I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want.”, Joel raises a hand in your direction to stop you from what seems to be a fair assumption, his palm up, facing you in an unspoken surrender. “I thought that- me, not signing, was a way of showing you how deeply sorry I am, how much I wanted to fix our marriage, but I understand now,” his voice wavers slightly, “that I need to respect your wishes. It’s the right thing to do. If this is still what you want, I’m gonna sign it.”

You don’t reply to that last part, only pointing out that “You didn’t have to come all this way to tell me that.”

“No, I didn’t.” Joel agrees.

“Then why are you here?” you insist, reluctant to entertain the idea that he has actually come all this way to apologize.

“Because I owe you an explanation.” is his honest and direct answer, sending little jolts of electricity through your nerves.

“Joel..” you sigh in exasperation. Not in warning or frustration, not really, but in something else. A feeling you can’t really put a name to, the closest you can come to describing it is that of a burden, woven deep into your heart, blossoming rapidly with each beat. There are so many things left unsaid; it makes you feel helpless, like you’re drowning. You want the dam you’ve built around your soul over the years to break so everything you've been holding back can finally pour out of you, but there’s just so much of it, of everything, that you’re terrified. Will the overflowing tank of emotions be completely empty? Will there be anything left unsaid? Untouched? What if the remnants left behind keep licking around your wounds, their waves pushing, shaping what’s left of you into something new, unrecognizable?

And what if, the tank will indeed be completely empty? What you’ll be left with, then? Nothing? Just.. empty? Will you remain empty? What, if anything, will take its place? Will you recognize your new self? Will you like yourself? Will you be able to live in harmony with this shell of a person? This you; you know. You hated and pitied and caressed and comforted and forgave and nurtured you into some version of a new you. But this? Everything will be torn apart, the wounds will be freshly opened, accessible to be examined in detail, plucked and bled and bruised in an all-too-familiar way.

Joel’s voice snaps you out of your trance, “No, I do. I owe you more than that, actually, but that’s the least I can do. And I wanna do that while I’m still your husband. I want to explain myself as your husband. Apologize to my wife, as her husband. Then I’m gonna sign anything you want me to.”

“And if I don’t wanna hear what you have to say?”

“Then I’ll just sign the papers and leave you in peace.” Joel confesses in all his honesty.

You just nod, looking down on the ground. You take a deep breath to ground yourself. You can do this. You want to do this. You need to do this.

You walk towards the house and sit down on the steps of the porch, as he looks at you awkwardly, not knowing where to stand. You gesture with a tilt of your head for him to come sit next to you. You can do this. You realize that you didn’t invite him into the house and you feel a bit rude for that, but it's beyond your empathetic capacity to deal with him being here and to let him into the house as well. “I just like it out here, it’s calm and-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, whatever makes you feel comfortable; I know you don’t want me here any longer than I have to be..” he interrupts you as he sits down next to you, his one side pressing against the end of the stairs, where the railing begins. He places the contract between your bodies, on the wooden floor.

It makes you uncomfortable, his statement, you always want people to feel welcome and relaxed around you. You internally chastise yourself for worrying about his feelings instead of yours, but you can’t help it, it’s embedded in your DNA. “It’s OK, Joel, I don’t mind, we can talk.”

Joel nods, but he remains silent. You don’t break the silence, giving him time to collect his thoughts. He chuckles defeated, shaking his head while rubbing his hand over his face.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, you don’t look that mighty to me anymore.” you blurt out before you can stop yourself and you immediately regret it. It didn’t sound so insulting in your head. You only meant to say that he doesn’t intimidate you anymore. Which is sort of a lie and a truth at the same time. You used to find him imposing, even his mere presence had the ability to make your skin crawl, your heart flutter and your words get catch in your dry throat, you were in awe of him. Every time you laid your eyes at him, even when you were straddling his lap or gazing at his profile as he slept beside you, you always felt as if you were looking up. You admired him.

His heart loses several beats to that. He can read between your lines now. He has lost your respect. Your admiration. The time when you looked up to him in awe is long gone.

“You know, my therapist warned me about this.”, he chuckles bitterly.

“Your-” you can’t hide your shocked expression from him as you search his eyes for any sign of him joking around, but you find none. “You’ve been in therapy?”

“Yeah, I-, I spent two years hating myself,” he chuckles deprecatingly, “and then I realized it was time for me to stop being an arrogant prick, so I spent another two doing it all over again with the help of my therapist.”

You laugh wholeheartedly at that and it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen in his entire life. “OK, somebody’s off to a good start. Go on.”

“You mean about the therapy?”

“I mean about you admitting you are an arrogant prick”, you say playfully.

He really laughs now, his eyes crinkle up at the sides. You used to love that. You feel your heart warming up. “You can thank Maria for that.”

“For what?”

“For kicking my ass and pushing me to help myself.” Joel admits. “She’s a good friend.”

“Yeah, she is.” you agree through your laughter, the image of Maria actually kicking Joel’s ass is priceless.

“I missed that sound.” Joel is looking at you softly, as if his gaze could break you.

“Hm.” you simply smile at him, not finding it in you to respond with a snide remark. The time for that feels like it has passed, like it’s irrelevant at this point. All you really want is to have an honest conversation, irony be damned.

You both look at your feet in silent consideration for a minute or two. “I thought you’d be mad at me.” Joel reveals.

You exhale through your nose, the edges of your mouth turning up in a gentle smile. “Four years is a long time to be mad at anyone, Joel. Even you don’t have that kind of power over me.”

“Good. I have enough burden on my shoulders as it is..”, he mumbles and you decide to change the subject.

How do you admit that you are still mad at him but in a different way? How do you describe the deep scar his existence has carved into your soul making it almost unbearable to even exist without him? How do you explain that you’ll always carry him with you, no matter what? How do you instill in him that you still believe in the best version of him, the best version you know he can be, the best version of him you once lived with. Yes, you’re not mad at him for the reasons he thinks you are. You’re mad at him because the way he made you love him is stronger than any hurt he’s ever caused you.

“So, what did your therapist warn you about?”

“She, uh- she tried to prepare me for this.”

“Oh? What did she say?”

“That I should not be prepared.”, he laughs in earnest. “That I should not obsess about what I want to say and just be open and have an honest interaction.”

“I like her, already.” you say with a straight face.

He smiles softly, looking down at his boots, while he rests his elbows on his knees, one palm encircling the other. “Yeah… I had some digging to do; I still do for that matter and will be for a long time it seems.”

“Anything you wanna share?” you reply, raising an eyebrow as if you had no idea why he was here.

“Oh, boy-” he squirms in his seat, already overwhelmed by the turn of the conversation, his chest almost vibrating with anxiety, he can barely swallow, small beads of sweat starting to form around his temples. You reluctantly reach for his forearm, trying to calm him down. “Hey, Joel?”

His whole body stiffens at your touch and he wishes his clothes would evaporate so he could feel your skin against his. He fixes his eyes on your delicate fingers lightly squeezing his tight muscles underneath the fabric. “The worst part has already happened four years ago, so-” you shrug, “just breathe.” Joel keeps his eyes on your hand, his heart rate dropping slightly; you ground him. You retract your arm and keep your hands to yourself in an effort to maintain a respectable distance between you. You shouldn’t have touched him at all.

“I think- I think I understand now.” he begins, still feeling the ghost of your touch on his forearm. “How I made you feel, what your words meant. You always did that, you know. And I found it so fascinating and so exhausting at the same time.”

You look at him, confused. Joel continues, “You always chose your words carefully. You had a reason for every single thing you said. In retrospect, I realized that you were handing me everything on a silver platter, but I was too self-absorbed to see it at the time.”

You nod in agreement, gesturing with your head for him to keep going.

Joel takes a deep breath, holding it inside his lungs for a while. His exhalation is controlled, measured. “Fuck. Okay. It was not just the fact itself. It was not just the cheatin’.”

Your stomach clenches violently at his words. The time has finally come and although you know what happened, you where there, when the words come out of Joel’s mouth it's as if you're pulled back to that threshold all over again. It really happened. You feel your hands sweating. “Go on.”, you pronounce carefully, already anxious your voice is going to betray you. You can do this.

“I don’t want to sound all full of myself-” Joel hesitates.

“You won’t.” you interrupt him with conviction. The truth has never frightened you. You welcome it. It feels like a form of catharsis, it feels like you’re finally being seen. Every nerve in your body is on fire. You’re ready for this, for the truth, if only he gives it to you. Please, set me free.

“I was your everything.” he whispers, almost embarrassed, his eyes not meeting yours. You don’t respond to that, not until he looks at you, although the admission shoots straight through your heart. You stare at the side of his face, almost forcing him to turn to you. He does.

“You were.” Simple. True. Clear as the light of day.

“And I ripped that from you.”

“You did.”

“In the worst possible way.”

“Hmhm.”, you don’t trust the stability of your voice.

“And no matter what I say, I can never take back what I did. I humiliated you, our home, our relationship, everything. I-” his brows furrow in an expression of disgust, “I disrespected myself. I burned everything down. I left nothing for you to hold on to, nothing for me to hope for, nothing.”

His chin trembles and his voice wavers as he continues. “The words to describe how sorry I am have not yet been invented. And even if they had, they still couldn’t take the pain away; what’s done, is done.”

He closes his eyes and rests his head on the railing. “I don’t know what I wish for anymore. That you had never met me, so you could be spared all this pain? But I can’t. I can’t wish that, because I’m so grateful to have met you. I married you, I had you. That is what has comforted me all these years, what has got me through all those sleepless nights.” He looks absolutely devastated, desperate.

It feels genuine, because he’s not directing it at you, he’s not trying to convince you, he’s not trying at all. “I have not thought about my pain or what I want from all this for a long time. All I pray for is-” his glistening eyes are searching frantically on the ground, his brows knitted together in a painful grimace. You rest your head on the palm of your hand, your elbow on your knee. Watching this moment like an outside observer, you realize that he's trying to live up to your standards, reminding you of a child trying to impress his parents, only to fail regardless of the outcome.

“Look, Joel, couples break up, divorce, all over the world, all the time. And I guess, they all thought their partners were their everything until they finally weren’t.”, you rationalize, putting everything that has happened into some kind of perspective. It is not the end of the world. It is the end of your world. He doesn’t have to carry this burden on his shoulders for eternity. All you need from him is to understand, to acknowledge what he's done to you, how broken you’ve been.

But if he acknowledges that, if he truly comprehends the tremendous pain he’s put you through, won’t all that anguish be transferred to him? Isn't it unbearable for a truly repentant man to know that he has deliberately caused so much pain?

“But, you see; I wanted that, I needed to be your everything.”

“It certainly fed your ego..” you grin at him.

“No, no- I craved that- that look on your face when your eyes were on me, like there was nothing else, no one else around you, but me. You drove me to be better, to move forward; I felt I had a purpose. You were my purpose.”

“Well I didn’t do much of a job then, did I?” you smile defeated.

“No, honey, this-” he’s determined to make you understand that it wasn't your fault, even if it is the last thing he is going to do. He licks his lips trying to formulate his thoughts, “-what happened, had nothing to do with you, I- I was just- I got in my head..”

You shake your head dismissively, “It’s a terrible burden to put people on a pedestal and expect them to-”

“But you see, baby, that’s the thing. You didn’t.”Joel dismisses your comment and if a bucket of ice-cold water was thrown over your head you wouldn’t feel so frozen. You search his eyes for meaning, because deep down it stings to hear that you could give more. Is that what he’s saying? You didn’t love him enough? Joel catches on and rushes to explain. “You-” god this is so hard, he’s struggling, can’t he just rip his heart open and let you examine it? “You loved me so much, baby and you never asked for anything in return. You let me be who I was. You accepted me completely. You set me free.” His eyes are blown wide, burning into yours with intensity. You look so lost, how does all this fit in with what he did then?

“Darlin’,” he expands further, “we live in a competitive world. Everyone aims to control each other, from business partners to lovers and spouses; everyone manipulates, everyone tries to tell you where to look, what to do, how to act, how to fuck, how to love. Except for you. You let me be. You put your heart in my hands and you set me free. And I took advantage of that and I am truly sorry. I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know. That’s how fucked up I am.” you look at him dumbfounded.

“I can’t connect the dots; I don’t get it, Joel, I’m sorry, I-” you run your fingers through your hair, scratching your scalp in frustration. What does he mean?

Joel winces mid-sentence because he can’t escape what’s coming. This is his last resort. And he knows it is going to sound cruel and he doesn’t even mean the first part the way you're going to perceive it, but for lack of better words, for lack of the better person he could have been, a person who should have never put you in this position in the first place, here goes.

“She made me feel wanted; you made me feel free.”,

he spits out in a hurry, praying to whatever god is listening, that you won’t even catch it, knowing full well that these may be the last words you'll ever let him speak to you.

You are utterly, completely, perfectly shocked.

Then you feel it for the first time in what feels like ages. That old friend consuming you. Rage. It burns your lungs, twists your guts and pierces your heart like a thousand needles. Everything becomes crystal clear. You’re so infuriated, that your mind goes blank. A million words and nothing at all come to your mind simultaneously.

“Let me- let me rephrase that, because actually it was never even about her, I just-” Joel begins, in a vain attempt to stop the tide from crushing you both.

Your palms become clenched fists in front of your mouth, pressing against it, crushing the velvety skin of the inside of your lips against your teeth until you draw blood, in an effort to control yourself. You inhale sharply, keeping your eyes fixed on the land in front of you, blurred by the tears gathering in your waterline.

“She- what?” are the only words you manage to choke out.

“Baby, it doesn’t matter, it was never about her, she was a means to an end and-” your eyes bulge out of your sockets at the statement, “I know- I know how that sounds- just-” his palms come together in a prayerful gesture, begging you to give him a chance to explain.

“A means to an- what the fuck are you talking about, Joel?” the veins on your forehead swell under your skin, creating a map of the river of wrath flowing aggressively through your body.

“It was never an affair sweetheart, but a transaction; one I initiated. She was only a boost to my ego.”

..she made me feel wanted..

..a boost to my ego..

It's all starting to make sense now, and it's the last thing you expect to be confronted with. You've always imagined either a heated affair, a secret love story, him realizing he had found his soul mate in someone else, or him getting bored with you, finding you too much or too emotional or too unlovable. It turns out that you were accused of the one thing you never were.

“Are you-, oh god,” you can hear your heart pounding in your ears now and it takes every ounce of strength not to vomit, “are you saying that you fucked someone else; you fucked your secretary for fuck’s sake, you fuckin’ cliché of a man, because I wasn’t jealous of you?”. Your throat is so swollen, you try to scream your words at him but they only come out in wrenched whispers.

You stand up abruptly, dizziness causing you to close your eyes tightly as you see a million white dots behind the blackness of your eyelids. Your whole body vibrates with rage. You steady yourself on the railing and then begin to pace back and forth, your hands unable to stay motionless, but moving over your face, through your hair, lowering and squeezing the sides of your waist as you lean slightly forward in a subconscious way to soothe yourself.

“Oh my god, oh my fucking god,” you laugh hysterically now, as angry tears run down your cheeks, as if you've been let in on an inside joke. “It’s my fault, everything is my fault-”

Joel is frozen in place, he’s not sure if he should get up and try to reason with you or stay where he is.. or run for the hills. He’s witnessing the unleashing of a caged animal. His tongue feels heavy and numb in the cavern of his mouth but he dares to speak again, “That’s the exact opposite of what I said, sweetheart,” he tries to explain in vain, “I’m sorry if that’s what I-” but you’re not listening to a single word he utters.

“People kept telling me, urging me on, all my life;” and you slap your palms on the sides of your thighs, looking at his direction, but not really looking, “I should be more controlling, more pushy, more..” your voice begins to fade, muttering to yourself through your teeth. “They warned me, you know, that the lack of pressure in any kind of relationship would be perceived as a lack of interest.”

Don't trust completely; hold something back; men like the illusion of power; show them you need them; make them jealous; be jealous, like a manual to a pre-installed setting.

Do you agree to the Terms & Conditions?

Press ‘Enter.’

“But I didn’t listen. I never listened. Because in what world do we choose a leash over freedom?” You turn to look at him now, addressing him as if you were talking to a third party, an outsider, asking for advise or affirmation.

Maria’s words come back to Joel’s mind, words that he had long forgotten about, finally fitting like missing pieces of a puzzle to the bigger picture.

“Maybe the wrong Miller is on a leash..”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means that freedom is for those who can bear it.”

“I was really stupid, was I not? What on earth made me think that this time would be any different, what made me think that you’d be any different? You’re just- you’re just another man-” you spit your vile angrily as your eyes sweep over him. The look in his eyes is devastated, he feels shuttered, reduced to nothing.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid little girl. When the fuck will I learn? When the fuck am I going to accept that I don't really belong? When?”

Joel is staring at you bewildered, he never felt more helpless in his life. A thousand new thoughts and questions form in your head, things you didn’t even begin to imagine would cross your mind.

“Did you use her?” you ask with renewed vigor, a surge of energy running through your body.

Joel’s cheeks burn with humiliation but he has already admitted it once, what will it do to him to say it one more time? “Yes, I never had any feelings f-”

“No,” you interrupt impatiently, you don't care about his feelings right fuckin' now, “that night, did you use her? On purpose?”

Joel looks lost for a second but the cogs in his head finally turn and “NO! No baby, I wasn’t even aware of you coming home earlier than expected, no. Don’t even entertain this idea; it wasn’t intentional, I swear to god.”

Oh. There’s a new question for Joel. Why did you leave your business trip early? He had never thought about it before, solely focused on everything else that had happened, which now made him wonder, “Did you- did you know?”

“What?” you frown, lost in your own thoughts, not following his line of logic.

“Did you know? Is that why you came back early from your trip?”

You’re still a bit too far gone in your head to think clearly and try to prevent the next question from coming, “Of course I didn’t know, Joel, did it look like I did?” is all you say with a bite, annoyed.

“Then why-” Joel insists, pressuring you for an answer, but he doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

“I- fuck- I need a minute.” you declare and start to walk towards the house.

Joel waited on that porch for almost an hour, watching the sun set behind the mountain, afraid to move, barely breathing in case you stormed out and threw him back where he came from as if him standing still would somehow make him part of the landscape; as if he belonged.

And you certainly delivered.

He hears the screen door open, his back still to the house. You are standing behind him, your arms crossed stiffly over your chest, your face tilted down, to avoid his gaze. He could see the red-rimmed and swollen eyes of yours, despite your efforts to hide them.

“I can’t do this-”

“Please,” his whole face contorts in agony, “please, hear me-” you both speak at the same time.

“-tonight.”

“What?” his voice matching the look of confusion on his face.

“Maybe another time, but not tonight.”

“I-” he doesn’t know how to articulate his thoughts without sounding like an idiot. He drove all this way, four hours straight, to finally get things straight. His brain has short-circuited, unable to put a plan into action. Should he check into a hotel or a motel or whatever the fuck is around here in the middle of nowhere? Should he go back to his place? Do you really want to talk again? You sort of said you did. You said maybe. Fuck. What does he do?

But honestly, what did he expect? That this would be over in the course of one evening? Of course he would have to come back. His eyes are fixed on yours like a deer caught in the headlights. “I came all this way-” he mumbles, choking on the last part, already regretting the words that came out of his mouth.

“Well, too bad.” you spit emotionless as you turn and head for the safety of your house, leaving him stunned on the goddamn porch.

Joel returned the next evening, but you weren't there. He made the four hour journey and came back empty-handed. And you weren't there the next evening, or the evening after that. But he kept on driving the miles, hot wheels under the Texas sun. He didn’t check in anywhere near your small town. He went back home and then back to you again.

The last time he found nothing but a closed door, he finally got the message, so the next time he left the house, before he turned on the ignition, he texted you, as a sign of respect for your boundaries.

Is it all right if I come and see you?

Backspacebackspacebackspace

Is it OK if I come and talk?

And the answer was

Not today.

So, every day he texted you. He didn’t mean to be intrusive, he just wanted to remind you that you were never far from his thoughts, that he was always ready and eager to finish what he started.

You denied him for quite some time. You couldn’t bring yourself to face him again. The confessions he made have knocked you off your axis. Just when you finally felt like everything was falling into place, he dropped this bombshell, making you rethink everything you thought you knew and had sorted out in your mind. You just couldn’t wrap your head around what you’d heard coming out of his mouth. How could he think like that? Why couldn’t he just talk to you? You used to talk about everything; what the fuck happened? How did you not see that coming?

You were sure that he would give up, that he would stop bothering to contact you at all. Was it the monster of self-deprecation? Was it a deep disappointment in human beings and their general lack of persistence in trying to nurture and repair a relationship, or at least trying to give it a proper closure? You didn’t give it much thought afraid of the answer you might get. But you kept saying Not today, until one day, for some reason-

Can we talk?

Yes.

Joel’s heart is beating through his chest so rapidly, he has to cough to regain some of his composure. He almost drops his phone, trying to confirm the most convenient time for you before you change your mind.

That was the first Yes after the day you saw him again. You weren’t sure what you wanted to talk about; if you could pick up exactly where you left off. You weren’t even sure you could look him in the eye again, but you had to see this through.

When you hear the sound of his engine and tires on the dirt road, you take a deep breath and walk out of the house to wait for him on the porch.

“Come on in, I’m cooking dinner.” you announce as you open the screen door for him to enter the house.

“Are you sure?”, Joel is taken aback, he thought the inside of your house was strictly off-limits to him. You were also cooking dinner as if he was an old friend visiting you. He couldn’t help but wonder if he should lower his defenses or not but with the way you looked tonight you didn’t give him much of a choice.

You’re wearing a pair of warm cream jeans, paired with a white front tie shirt, the first few buttons left open, giving him a glimpse of your tanned sternum. It almost looks like a man’s shirt, just messily tied up over your soft skin, revealing bits of your stomach. Could it be another man’s shirt?

You are barefoot. The nails of your toes are painted in a fresh glossy black color. Your hair is casually tied up in a messy bun, loose strands falling around your beaming face. Joel has to restrain himself from pushing you against the wall and fucking you on the spot, by clenching and unclenching his fists. His mouth is salivating at the sight of you, excitement building in his groin. It's been so long since he's felt this way, a different kind of hunger is growing in him at a rapid pace, as if something buried deep inside his masculinity has just awakened from hibernation.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you quirk back at him, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, what you’re both doing. “I’m starving. Coming?” you leave him at the entrance and go back into the house.

“You have a beautiful home.”, Joel admits as he takes in his surroundings, thinking that this is going better than he expected. He also can't help but prepare himself for the fact that this might not end the same way.

“Thank you.” you laugh nervously.

“What?”, he catches the note of disbelief in your voice. “I'm serious, the light is just right, it’s open and warm; it actually reminds me of you.” he says matter-of-factly.

“No, no, I know you mean it, it’s just- I guess it’s high praise, coming from you.” you admit. You always admired what he did for a living and how good he was at it and him seeing your place for the first time gave you another reason to feel kind of nervous.

“Oh, come on, none of that now.” he dismisses the compliment, his voice wavering slightly at the praise.

“Well it’s true, you are excellent at what you do, I mean, the house you built is a work of art and that’s a fact.”

“Which one?”, although he knows exactly which one, he presses on.

“The one we used to live in, together.” You can’t call it your house. You cannot. The mere thought of it makes your tongue feel like it’s on fire.

“Oh.”, Joel smiles as he presses his lips together in a thin line, “You mean our house. It was built out of love, that's why. It's the one I'm most proud of.”

“Hm.”, is all you give him. Déjà vu brings back memories out of the closet -pun intended- for both of you.

“Ok, now you really have to tell me. What is it?”, Joel crosses his forearms over his chest. He has to know.

“What do you mean?”, you try to buy some more time, cause you’re not so sure you want to go in there.

“You had the exact same reaction when I mentioned that, four years ago.”

“Ah, that.”

“Yeah, that.”

“It’s just- it always felt like it reflected your personality rather than mine. Or at least ours.”

Joel looks at you perplexed.

“I’m not complaining, I mean, how many people can claim that their husband built them a house the size of a small hotel as a wedding present?” you chuckle while you continue as nonchalantly as you can muster, “I would have lived in a cave with you, Joel, you didn’t have to go to these lengths to house two people. If you want my honest opinion, this was an ego project. I let it slide because it made you happy. And I liked you happy.” Joel looks stunned, his eyes darting back and forth between yours.

“Baby, I- I wanted to make you happy, to give you the best I could-”

“Joel, I’m not judging you. I am not. But you didn’t show me a single blueprint while you were designing the damn thing. You didn’t ask me what I wanted or how I imagined it. Sure, you equipped it with all the best stuff money could buy, but you never asked me what I thought about it. Not really.”, you see the hurt in his eyes and it unsettles you, but now the rabbit is out of the hat. “Again, I’m not judging you and I’m not being ungrateful, all I’m saying is that for some reason you needed your shinny new wife to live in a shinny new castle. It was a prestige thing. Just think about it.”

“Jesus..” Joel mutters, pinching the sides of his forehead with one hand, feeling defeated.

“Hey,” you give him a wry look, “I tried to avoid answering that question for four years. You were the one who insisted.” you defend yourself, clearly amused by his reaction.

“What else do I need to know?”, Joel wonders in a desperate manner.

“Well.. for how long can you keep coming back?” you joke absentmindedly.

“For the rest of my life..” Joel answers a little too quickly, not a hint of playfulness in his voice.

Your heart tightens at his eagerness, forcing you to admit a consideration that you have had more than a few times before. “You know,” you look over at him, lost in thought, almost like reminiscing, “sometimes I wish I had met you before your company took off.” You snap out of your daydream and consciously look at him and he looks pained as if some kind of realization has hit him. You change the subject for the sake of both of you. “Anyway, speaking of which, how is work? I heard you closed that deal, after all.” you grin mischievously.

“Yeah, I did.”, his voice takes on a strange timbre, almost like regret. But you’re not so sure about anything these days, so you let it pass. He puts the envelope with the contract on the counter in the kitchen and sits down in the chair next to the table already set for dinner.

“Good, that’s good. Let me guess, you’re all over it? First in, last out? Is it almost done?” you word vomit to cover your nervousness.

“Uh,” Joel rubs the back of his neck, “I wouldn’t know.” is all he gives you, clearly trying to avoid getting involved in the discussion.

“Um, you don’t know?”, you laugh lightly in confusion. “How is that possible?”, you ask stirring the vegetables in the pan.

“I’m not involved in the project and I have no idea about the status of the construction;” Joel answers your question and continues, revealing, “I quit. Sold my shares and got out.”

“Yeah,” you draw the vowels, still not looking in his direction, “right. Big, mighty Joel Miller left his enterprise-” you laugh mockingly, but you are met with silence. “You’re joking, right?” You turn to look at him, not believing what you have just heard. You feel your blood freeze in your veins.

Joel shakes his head in denial, “I’ve actually left the city and the only reason I haven’t sold every asset in my name is in case you want to claim any of them. They’re all yours if you want ‘em.” Your mouth is slightly agape, as you try to process what has just been delivered to you.

You open your mouth to protest but he beats you to it, by raising his hand to stop you. “I know you don’t want anything from me, but that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want them either. Not without you. Just take them. Burn them for all I care, liquidate them and use the money as you see fit.”, Joel insists, trying to find ways to convince you.

“You can do that yourself, Joel.” is all you say; you don’t give a damn about his money. Joel nods and leaves it at that, he knows better than to talk about money right now.

You’re curious where he lives now, but you’re not sure it’s appropriate to ask, so you don’t. You prepare dinner and make small talk about simple things like your lives over the past four years. Joel asks you about the ranch, the horses, the chores; you ask him about Tommy and Maria, their newborn son, whom you haven't had a chance to meet yet. None of you dare to break the bubble of normality in which you have effortlessly found yourselves.

It feels like coming home after a long day, the way you both fall into a comfortable silence. Joel speaks your name softly, drawing your attention and your gaze back to him. “What are we doing here?”

“We’re eating?” Just a little longer, let me have it just a little longer.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “no, I mean, what are we doing?” he gestures with his fingers between him and you.

You look at him and then at your plate, playing around with your food, lost in thought. How do you acknowledge that? How do you confess that you’re trying to stretch time? How do you admit that you’re scared out of your mind of how it's all going to end? How do you even come to terms with the fact that you’re not sure you want any of this to end? How do you accept how natural it feels to have him back in your life? How do you admit that after four years the pain has never stopped, but the force, the roughness of it has changed into something softer, yet persistent; never quite going away, lingering.

How do you admit that all the good memories are emerging, because that’s what the mind does, that’s how it protects you, that’s how it helps you survive another day, that’s how it tricks you into falling back into a comfortable routine with him. Even if what binds you together now is his betrayal. How do you admit that you’re afraid of what will become of you once you've finished confessing your truths?

Will he cease to exist for you? Will you cease to exist for him? Will he ever bother to contact you again? Do you really want him to? Will you matter to him or will he move on, start again and shake off the last vestiges of your life together?

Or maybe- maybe he has moved on with his life and that's why he's doing all this, putting all this effort into it. Maybe he is preparing a new, clear path for himself and whoever is in his life right now. Is it her? Is it still, her?

You’re spiraling, lost in your thoughts, biting your lower lip anxiously, like a snake eating its own tail. “Baby?” his baritone voice snaps you out of it, he must have called you several times before you heard him, suddenly aware of hot, fat tears streaming down your face, his thumbs gently brushing them from your cheeks.

You let out a shuddering breath; it’s the first time he’s touched you, in so, so long. And here he is again. The familiar, old friend. He’s pounding on your door now, relentless as he is, screaming for you to let him in, lead the way, take charge, take care of you. You can almost feel his maniacal banging, vibrating through your chest, let me in, let me in, let me in.

Let me in, better angry than scared.

Better angry than scared.

Your shoulders slump, your head feels unbearably heavy. The world has stopped moving. The world is moving too fast. You savor his features as he leans further in, his intoxicating scent filling your nostrils, his eyes pleading, the brown of his irises inviting you to let him in. Joel’s face is that of a man still in love as he continues to caress your skin and you let him.

You let him, because you are a weak person.

You let him because you have been deprived of his touch, of any touch really, for far too long.

You let him because you want to have something for yourself, selfishly.

You let him, because for once you just want to take. Take, take, take.

You let him because you just want to be held and touched and loved.

And even though your mind knows that you shouldn’t want all that from him, your heart allows you that little moment.

“Joel, I’m tired.” you begin, your voice breaking as fresh tears run down your face and onto his thumbs. “Tired to my bones. All I want is to be honest with each other. Do you think we can do that? Can we talk like two adults with nothing left to lose? Can we just be truthful to each other? I know there’s too much history between us, too much hurt and resentment but we both have to try and put it all behind us. I can’t go on like this.”

There’s a stillness in him, realization and clarity dawning on him. He thinks he understands now and it shocks him somehow, as a fact, that there are still things to uncover, to revel in, to acknowledge. Every time he thinks he’s reached the end of this journey, a new sun rises over the horizon.

You don’t need the specifics of his action, at least not right now, or not anymore. What you need is closure. True, honest closure. And that can only come from him baring himself to you. “Yeah, yeah, we can do that. We can do anything you want, baby.”, he squeezes his eyes shut, knowing where to begin, but resisting the thought. He leans back in his seat, dropping his hands from your face as he lets out the breath he seems to be holding in and begins.

“Remember that night before your business trip when you came to my office?”

“Uh, yeah? I guess.”, what a strange thing to mention, you think confused. “What about it?”

“You came to me for sex.”, Joel says bluntly, no need to beat around the bush. This is it. This is how he loses you. Once again.

You stare at him and then, for some reason, look down in embarrassment. You’ve fucked him in almost every way you can think of and now the very admission of that fact makes you feel like an exposed nerve. It dawns on you, how far away this era has slipped away. You feel vulnerable as if you’re talking to a total stranger about your most intimate moments. At the same time, you still know exactly how to touch him, how to please him and a light warmth begins to shimmer inside you.

“Well, that’s one way of putting it, but- yeah..”, you admit, still nervously picking at your food with your fork.

Joel sees your apprehension but he presses on. This is what you asked for. “And I refused you.” The look on your face betrays your confusion. Where is he going with this? Only now, he sees more. He can finally see more. The hurt. The disappointment. “What happened next?” is his next question and does he really think that you can remember all these years later? Does he honestly believe that you can recall yourself leaving his office defeated and crying yourself to sleep? “I don’t remember.” you lie, shrugging your shoulders as convincingly as you can muster.

“You said you loved me and then you left.”, Joel reminds you.

“You- you remember all that?”, your eyes are wide and the look on your face vulnerable, Joel wants to pause it all and hold you in his arms.

“I can’t seem to forget anything about you,” he reveals, “believe me, I’ve tried.”

“What’s your point?”

“Why did you do that?”

“Uh.. why did I do what?”, you narrow your eyes in confusion.

His eyes are piercing yours, provoking you to figure it out on your own.

“Loved you?” He shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

Your eyes widen again, in surprise this time, as you finally see what he means.

“Walked away?” You’re fucking shocked to the core, your voice choked, you’re not sure you spoke out loud.

“Why didn’t you insist?”

Your mouth is wide open, you’re speechless, you flatter your eyelids in search of the right words. This is your second encounter and once again he says what you least expect him to say.

“You refused” you remind him now, “and I respected that.”, your hand moves to rest on your chest, palm open, to calm your racing heart.

“I didn’t want you to.”

“You know how that sounds, don’t you?”, you mock with a nervous laugh.

“Oh, please,” Joel is quick to respond, his brows knitted in a dismissive frown, “like you could ever force yourself on me.”

You genuinely are at a loss for words, your gaze unable to stay in one place, your mind running a million miles an hour.

Apparently you both are, because Joel is no better at explaining how he feels. “I wanted you to-”, he stops, his eyes still searching yours for the right words, pleading with you to feel him.

Oh my god. Oh. My. God.

It dawns on you. All at once. You see it all playing out. You know exactly how this conversation is going to go. “-claim you? You wanted me to claim you?”, your voice rises, as does your tone. You feel the presence of your abandoned friend again. You don’t want him here. But he creeps in through your veins, nonetheless. He is not giving up. If the pounding doesn’t work then he’ll poison you, slowly and persistently.

“From who? You were supposed to be mine!”, you exclaim exasperated, immediately correcting yourself “-not that I owned you, you know what-”

“That! That’s what I’m talking about!” Joel points his finger at you, “That’s what I needed. To be yours!”

“But you were! Are we really haggling over semantics? Of course you were mine! I just never wanted you to feel suffocated by me. You were not my possession Joel, you were my partner!”

“I swear to you, I would die a happy man, baby.”

“I- I tried so hard to control myself-” you mutter to yourself, rolling your eyes back to your head as you shake it in denial, “-all that hunger inside of me, eating me up-”

“What?” is Joel’s turn to look like a lost puppy. What the fuck is going on here?

“You,” you point a finger at him, “you were my first and last thought every passing day, it wasn’t even healthy anymore, Joel. But- I saw that look in your eyes sometimes, a hunger, one I thought mirrored mine and then it was gone in the blink of an eye and I thought that something was holding you back; I- I was holding you back. I thought- maybe I was undeserving..” you divert your eyes from him, embarrassed at your feeling of inadequacy, “So, I accepted what you gave me if it meant I could have any part of you.”

“Oh, baby..” Joel’s hiding his face in his palms and his heart breaks as he realizes where you both stand. How did the two of you get to this point? How could his judgment be so clouded, how could he be so blind to what was happening under his own roof? How could he be so arrogant as to seek validation, one he didn't even need, from someone else? Someone whose validation he didn't even care about. It didn't matter to him. She didn’t matter to him. How could he not sense the insecurity tantalizing your very core to the point of feeling inadequate? If only you had told him sooner.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you mirror his thoughts with your voice.

“What should I say to you? I couldn’t put it into words, even now I'm not sure I can. It was an all-consuming feeling, an absolute necessity, an overwhelming need that was impossible to handle. I wasn’t mentally or emotionally prepared to deal with it. I loved you with such force that it became an obsession. I couldn’t even entertain the idea that you might not want me back in the same way. I felt helpless, vulnerable. How could I come to terms with this? With the realization that I had fucked someone else just to get a rise out of you or to prove to myself that I didn't need you that much after all?”

Joel’s palms are clenched into fists on his thighs, trying to keep himself from pressing his lips against yours. Feelings and desires that had been buried in his subconscious for too long came back as he tried to make you understand.

“A r- so, you did fuck her on our bed on purpose.”

“You asked me that before, darlin’, I promise you I did not.”

“Then how would you provoke me if you didn’t mean for me to find out?” you look at him incredulously.

“I-” Joel winces, “it wasn’t a conscious thought, I just kept fantasizing about you finding out and burning the house down for me and that single image made me so h-” Joel shuts his mouth abruptly, not the best idea to describe to you how fuckin’ hard he got, fantasizing about you while fucking someone else. You, bursting into the bedroom all raging and furious, turning the whole place upside down reclaiming what was rightfully yours.

Him.

What a sick fuck he was. “I swear to you, no. I’m not that fucked up. It was a gigantic lack of judgment, I was fuckin’ drunk, my mind was a mess at that point. That whole week was-” he’s biting his tongue hard to stop himself while rubbing his forehead with his fingers, “I was just being an idiot.”

“The week I was gone?”

“Yes.”

“What about it?”

“Nothing, ‘snothing.” and he doesn’t elaborate. “Just a bad fuckin’ week.”

The atmosphere suddenly feels suffocating, as if all the words that have spilled out of both your mouths are hovering over your heads like a black cloud. You need some air to clear your mind, so you make your way out of the kitchen without looking back and walk slowly to the porch, sitting on the steps at the bottom of the stairs. You know he will follow. Your bare feet touch the soft soil beneath you and you try to ground yourself through the little patch of earth you call your own. It doesn’t quite work. There’s a beautiful golden glow, a last gift from the parting sun, warming your soul. Everything is going to be all right.

“Strange fantasies we both had.” you say as Joel seats down next to you, the contract once again a barrier between you. “You kept fantasizing about me finding out about your affair-”.

“It wasn’t an affair-” Joel corrects you. “Fine, fine. You imagined that, while I kept fantasizing me holding you so tightly while we fucked that our flesh became one; that’s how deep I needed you inside me, that’s how obsessively I wanted to carry you with me all the time, isn’t that totally fucked up?” you laugh dejectedly.

“I guess we are the same kind of fucked up. If only we could admit it to each other..”

“Did you really feel that I didn’t love you enough?” you whisper, almost too scared to be heard and to get an answer.

“I think we loved each other too much. I think we were both too afraid of losing each other. I think,” Joel pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts and calm his voice, “in our efforts to keep each other we did the exact opposite. More me than you, for sure. I have handled things badly and badly is an understatement.”

“You were always so patient with me. You’d always wait for me to come to you, to take my time. I needed the savage in you, or I thought I did at the time. That desperate thing I felt creeping out of you in stolen glances or bitten lips between your teeth, or when we fucked; no one has ever fucked me like you did. I did see all of you then, you know. And I think you saw all of me. If I made you feel confident or safe enough, you would have talked to me. And if I wasn’t so self-absorbed I would have asked.”

You never thought you’d hear these words from Joel, but all this time of self-reflection has changed him in a way that reminds you of the Joel you fell in love with. The one you could see behind all those layers of self-protection, the one you’d always hoped would emerge for you. And then he goes on, and you wish you knew what was coming so you could protect your heart from being torn to shreds.

“Maybe-” he closes his eyes looking pained, “maybe I was a narcissist. Maybe you gave me all you had and I kept wanting more, maybe I needed every part of you for myself. Maybe I needed you on your knees, on a leash, at my mercy, just to have the illusion of the certainty that you would never leave me. Maybe freedom is for those who can bear it, after all. Hell, maybe I was the one who needed the leash in the end. Maybe you gave me too much credit, my love, when you deemed me worthy of freedom.”

His words are earth-shuttering, obliterating, final. There’s nothing left to be said, at least nothing of substance. Final. The fucking word plays over and over in your head. Final. This is final. You could swear that you have felt every possible kind of pain during these four long years but new depths of agony are being discovered right now. The acid in your stomach makes your throat constrict. You feel petrified.

Joel can sense your distress, his words have been of no comfort to you. Your skin looks pale, covered with a thin layer of cold sweat; you look physically ill. Your forearms rest on your knees and he gently cups your elbow to check in on you. Are you OK? You smile weakly at him, the expression not reaching the corners of your eyes.

“You know I would give anything to take it all back, right?”

Your laughter is more lively now, not with malice or sarcasm, but with a sense of humor.

“Yeah, yeah, I think I do.”, you shake your head in twisted amusement, tilting your head up, to let the last rays of the sun warm your face, maybe bring back some of your lost color. It's getting dark now, the day is coming to an end, the curtains of the last sunlight are almost closed. Your eyes are closed too, your head still tilted back as you laugh to yourself, “You did that backwards, too, you know.”

“What?”

“You have burned everything to the ground, only to realize that you want to get it all back in one piece. I mean it’s- it’s-” you struggle to find the right words but Joel offers one of his own.

“Ridiculous..”

“I was gonna say pointless.. But that’s the thing, Joel. Choosing to be with someone is like faith. You believe because you just know. You don't have to find evidence to prove your choice at every turn, otherwise it’s just exhausting. You choose to trust yourself.”

“Trust me as your partner, you mean, not yourself.”

“Joel, it was never about trusting you..”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand..”

“I’m not sure how to explain it- uh..”, you raise your shoulders and your brows in unison as you shake your head slightly, searching for the words. “Trust is a personal journey. ‘Trust’ doesn't mean ‘trust in you’, I’m not trusting you. No one can be sure of anyone. ‘Trust’ means that I have faith in myself, that even if you hurt me, even if you abandon me, I will not fall apart. And..” you shrug your shoulders, hugging yourself with your hands, “look at me, Joel..”, you finish, suggesting that you’re still here, still standing.

“I am, baby; I am..” Joel replies, taking in the sight of you as if it were the last time he’ll ever have the chance to, utterly compelled by your inner glow.

“I’m not mad at you Joel, not anymore. And I believe you, I really do. But I can’t get that scene out of my head. I just can’t. I can still hear the sounds, I can even recall the way you smelled when you were standing next to me.”

His hands are shaking.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, really.”

“I know.”, his voice is barely audible.

“I think you’ve done enough of that yourself. Maybe it’s time to forgive yourself?”

“Do you?” Do you, really? Do you forgive him after all that has been said? Do all these confessions illuminate the facts from a different perspective? Does it change what he did and what you went through? And if so, does that mean you're letting him go? Are you leaving him behind? Is he leaving you behind? Why is it so hard to let go? Why do you choose the safety of the known, even when it hurts you?

You choose not to answer and instead firmly insist, “You have to forgive yourself, Joel, it’s okay.” Be the better person. If not for him, then for yourself. Let him go.

“I can’t do that.”, Joel is adamant, shaking his head while he rejects your request.

“Yes, you can.” you urge him again. “As I can and do.” Let him go.

Joel never thought he would listen to those words coming out of your mouth. He doesn’t deserve them. He hasn’t earned them. “You forgive me?”, he repeats in utter shock and disbelief.

“Yes.” Loud and clear as daylight.

“I- You can’t- I don’t- I don’t deserve that.” Joel feels like he’s drowning in your so graciously offered Holy Grail, desperately trying to keep his head above the waters of your absolution.

“I can’t be the judge of that, Joel, hell, I can’t be the judge of anyone. The way I see it, you chose your actions and I chose mine. You chose to hurt me and I chose to walk away. We both lost something. Have we not suffered enough, Joel?” you ask him honestly.

“I don’t want to presume, but- isn’t it a great burden to carry on your shoulders when you try to move on? All this anger, all that bitterness?” you search his eyes for an answer but he doesn’t give you one.

You continue, hoping to get through to him. “Your feelings are your burden Joel and it doesn’t matter if I forgive you. That’s why it is you who needs to forgive yourself.”

His eyes still refuse to meet yours, stubbornly glued to the ground. “I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing this for me. We need to move forward, both of us.” is the last thing you say to him, not knowing if he even listened to half of what you just said.

You both fall into a thoughtful silence, but something you said is bugging him. He can’t quite figure it out, so he turns to look at you, to savor you while he still has the chance. He knows that his time is limited.

You’re just sitting there with him, trying to comfort him, you of all people. You seem lighter now, fidgeting absentmindedly with your fingers as if some of your burden has already been lifted. And as his gaze sweeps over you, he sees it again. He sees the white shirt hugging your body and he knows what’s troubling him.

I don’t want to presume, I don’t want to presume, I don’t want to presume.

His heart beats rapidly in his chest, panic rising inside him.

“I’ve been with you for the last four years.”

“Excuse me?” your hands freeze as you turn to face him, clearly confused.

“You said you didn’t want to presume anything and I need to set the record straight. There was and is no other woman in my life except you.”

“Joel,” you blush shyly, “this is none of my business, you are free-”

“No. No. I need you to know this, it’s important to me. I meant everything I said. You have done nothing wrong. My feelings for you have never changed-”

“Joel, please..” you beg him to stop, you can’t have this conversation now, it’s too soon. No, you’re wrong. It’s too late; too soon means there’s a future ahead of you. A future where you both fit in the same universe.

“I don’t want you to think that I came all the way out here just to tie up some loose ends and move on. That is not what this is about.”

“If you expect me to tell you about my personal life..” your what now?

“No, I don’t. And I don’t think I could handle it, anyway. You are a free woman and you deserve the world. Unlike me; I don’t deserve anything and I’ll never be free of you.”

Your chin is now trembling and you bite your lower lip to stop the involuntary muscle contraction. You can’t decipher if it’s from anger for the way things came to be or from deep, excruciating sadness for how Joel feels. For how he makes you feel.

“Free woman, huh?”, you whisper bitterly, looking down at your feet, willing yourself not to cry.

“Yes, free, as you should always have been and I’m sorry I couldn’t see it sooner.”

Joel then picks up the divorce papers from the floor next to him as he’s fishing a pen out of his pocket. He stares at you and then at the blank space where his signature should be, next to yours. He splays his palm over the last page as if to straighten it out, but it almost looks like he’s caressing it. He brings the ball of the pen to the white surface and for a moment his hand lingers over it. He doesn’t dare look at you again, his resolve is not that strong. Finally, finally he signs, filling the empty spot and he hands you the contract. It’s a strange moment, the one before the signature and the one after it.

Everything seems to be the same; it is just a signature.

Everything feels completely different; it is not just a signature.

Your fingertips brush his as you reach out to take it, the touch sending shivers down your spine. Your slightly trembling hands hold the papers gently, not sure you wanna hold on to them or scatter them on the ground. Your thumb swipes softly over his signature.

You feel it, now. You feel the ground beneath your bare feet, the warmth of the earth, the weight of your footing. The falling has stopped. The feather finally rests. You have landed.

Joel moves to stand on his feet, as you keep staring at the drying ink, when you feel something fall from above onto your thumb; but you can’t see anything as it is immediately absorbed by the hungry pores of the paper, slightly smudging his signature. You look up to catch him as he dries his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

“Free as a bird, baby, ready to fly over the world.”, Joel smiles at you with a look of reverence and devotion in his eyes.

You picture the floating feather in your head and smile back at him with a serenity he hasn’t seen in a long time.

“I think I just want to walk for a while. One step at a time.”

He nods, his eyes still full of emotion and you watch as he begins to walk slowly towards his truck, when suddenly he turns his body to face you but continues to walk backward in the same direction.

“Hey!” he calls to you with a mischievous smile, raising his chin to you.

“Yeah?” you answer, your voice wavering slightly as you try to hide your smile.

“Can I take you to dinner sometime?” he asks as he reaches for his driver’s door and opens it, waiting for your answer, which never comes because you think he’s joking. But he continues to stare at you, with no expectations, quietly, earnestly, sincerely, with a soft, shy smile on his lips. Oh.

Oh.

“Joel..” is all you breathe out, closing your eyes for a moment before you look at him again, because his name is all that is left in your very being right now. Joel.

He seems lighter, too.

“Maybe, one day..?”

“Yeah.. Maybe, one day..”

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fieldofdaisiies · 2 days

Text

Whispers of the Forgotten | pt. 7

pairing: azriel x reader | type: angst | words: 2k words | warnings: mentions of trauma | masterlist

Your neck is aching when you throw it back and release a loud groan. Your eyes are already burning from staring into books the whole day. Outside Velaris has already entered the night – many hours ago–, but you are still sitting here, your back sore from being bent over the books for hours.

The orange candle on the table, the only light source in the living room of the house of wind at this point, has almost burnt down to nothing, but you need it just a few more minutes.

You are so close, you know it. The solution is right there, you just need to grasp it.

Reaching forward, you place your hand on the onyx box, sharp nails piercing into it. With the index finger of your other hand you trail over some ancient spells written in lettering that is now longer used. The spells are most likely witches runes, you are not familiar with them, but with the help of Nesta and maybe also Amren, you will be able to open the box.

You can feel it. You can feel how the small casket reacts to your touch, to the idea of being opened. It is burning with emotion, so hot your palm heats.

You are so close – so close to opening this damn box. And so close to freedom. You will be allowed to roam freely when this is over, no one will ever lock you away again. Once the box is open you will demand your amulet back. With it your powers will return and then you are gone. To the continent or wherever the wind takes you.

Gone…involuntarily your thoughts wander to the shadowsinger. He is also gone. Has been gone for a few days now. Gone just like back then. When he left you behind, broken and bloody. He did not even check to see if you are alright. If your wounds are too deep. If you will survive.

Rhysand’s words hollow in your mind, loud, strong, and you force your eyes closed, fighting against the tears.

“My father…he threatened the other female in Azriel’s life. The only other female he would have given his life for. This was the only way to protect you both.”

All those years, you have wondered what Azriel’s reasons were. Why he betrayed you like this. Why he never came to see you. You don’t know if you will ever be able to forgive him, but what you know is that you want to give him another chance to talk. You want to hear it from him. Everything. Every little thing he has to say. You want him to talk about his mother, about how he locked you in the Prison, the moments after it, the moment when he found out what the Harp was capable of. He owes you all the explanations and you owe him your time to listen.

You shake your head, directing every thought that threatens to stray into Azriel’s direction at matter at hand again – Koschei’s onyx box. You need to open it and you are so close. You flip over to the next page, finding more cryptic lettering. Your eyes are closed when your fingers trail over the words, the runes, the pictures and you feel it. This is it.

Jumping up, the chair scratches over the ground with a loud noise. You need to find Nesta, and you need to find her now. You really hope she is not currently otherwise occupied with a certain general of the Illyrian armies because you really need to talk to her.

Blowing out the candle, you turn swiftly and head for the corridor, running as fast as your feet can take you, your thin, silken gown swishing around your legs. You head up the stairs, towards Nesta and Cassian’s main bedroom, but stop dead in your tracks when your eyes land on him. When his moan of agony pierces through your mind.

The door to his bathroom is open, his bloody chest exposed, large wings draped on the ground, his hands braced on the edges of the sink.

You can’t tear your eyes away and fully on your own accord your feet start to walk, no longer moving you towards Nesta’s room, but to him. You can’t stop yourself, it is like something is pulling you to him. And you know what it is – the tug on your chest. Before his betrayal you had loved the idea of it. Then everything came crashing down, and you hated it. You have been clamping down on the feeling of it for centuries, pushing it away, but now seeing him bloody and wounded –seeing your mate bloody and wounded– fire ignites deep within your soul, the bond once more coming alive inside of you.

“Azriel.” Your voice trembles, heart squeezing at the gaping wounds marring his entire torso, dripping with blood and puss. It looks awful and painful. Your fingers curl towards your palms.

He whips his head into your direction, and with a crooked smile, he says, “It isn’t as bad as it looks.”

“Bullshit,” you answer and step into the bathroom. “You look like you have been attacked by a beast, those wounds are deep. You need a healer to look over them.” When your eyes lifts, they clash with his.

“Don’t act like you care,” he mumbles, holding your gaze.

“You have no right to snap at me, Azriel,” you answer in a stern voice, “not after everything that has happened between us, not after everything you did to me.”

“I am sorry.”

“I know.” You close the door behind you and fully move into the room, reaching for the cloth on the sink that is no longer white, but has no a pinkish colour, stained from all the blood. You clasp it tightly in your hand, and without saying a word, attach the cloth to Azriel’s wounded skin. He sucks in a sharp intake of air, then holds his breath and lets you do your work. “I am ready to talk, Azriel.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his fingers curl around the edge of the sink, scarred knuckles turning white. “I needed time, I needed time to adapt, to understand, to progress, but I am ready to talk now.” You tip your head back and meet his hazel eyes, a flicker of hope within them now that you revealed that you are ready to talk to him.

“Rhysand told me about your mother.”

“His father threatened to execute her. I needed to protect her, but I need you to know that I didn’t choose her over you. I was…torn. I only had a few people in my life that I loved, and risking one’s life for that of another…I only tried to–”

“Keep us both safe. I know this now.” Your hand moves lower, brushing over a wound on his lower belly that disappears behind the pants of his Illyrian leathers.

“I was trying to get you out. I was looking for ways once all threats were gone, but…only when we found the Harp I had a solution on how to do it. I knew how I was going to get you.”

You nod slowly, and put the cloth aside. “Let’s patch you up and then we talk properly, yes?”

It is a big step you are taking, but you know you have to do it. You finally have to talk to him. Your heart is racing both with panic about being so close to the person that has hurt you most in your life, but also with relief that you can finally be near him without feeling like the air to breathe has been stolen from you. He still unnerves you, but now that you have learned more about why he acted like this, talking to him seems easier.

You have to talk to him. For yourself. You need to know everything. Find out what really were his reasons.

“In my room?” Azriel asks in a calm voice.

You nod again and set out to do exactly what you said – patching him up.

───── ⋆⋅ ☽☾ ⋅⋆ ─────

“He showed me what he would do to her. All the cruel things. And all the cruel things he would do to you. He invaded my mind and showed it to me.”

You find yourself nodding again, tears lining your eyes. You sit next to him on the bed, Azriel’s head resting on the pillow, close to your hips, his chest now bandaged, his body covered by the thin bed sheet. “I had no choice.”

You want to tell him that everyone always has a choice, but in this case, this was truly the only way to do it. You have been listening to him for the past hour or even longer, soft moonlight filtering in through the curtain-framed windows. It is the only lightsource, but you don’t need more. You close your eyes, your soul for the first time calm and at ease in his presence. Azriel has been talking the whole time, a rarity you think, because centuries ago when you were together he was always rather calm.

“Did it really hurt you to put me in the Prison?”

You feel the bed shift next to you, and a moment later his scarred digits brush your hand. “What a question…” You can hear how he draws in a deep inhale and his hand closes tightly around yours. “It tore me apart. It felt like someone ripped out my heart, and tore it into pieces. Like my soul lost its life, like it was diminished and I could never ever feel happiness again. All the years, the centuries that passed, where I couldn’t free you, destroyed more parts of my soul.”

You slide down on the pillow, not letting go of his hand, until you are on eye-level with him. His head is turned to you, and he is already looking at you when you open your lids.

“I knew the first moment I could find a way to free you, to get you out, I would do it. You were bound to the Prison by the High Lord’s magic, you couldn’t get out alone, not even if I had tried to. It was only possible through the Harp – the Dead Trove’s magic is stronger than any High Lord’s.”

You deep your chin, nodding slowly, the back of your mouth aching. “I thought you hated me, you loathed and feared me just like everyone else. That our whole relationship was a false-pretence.”

His throat bobs. “I didn’t fake a single thing – every I love you, every kiss, every hug, whenever we made love, I meant it all. And I meant when I said that I would protect you…I never meant to hurt you. To destroy you.”

You shift closer on the bed. “Do you know why your soul hurt after you put me into the Prison?”

“Because I lost the love of my life.” He pushes up on his elbows, groaning due to the wounds on his chest that have not yet healed. He shifts onto his side, now looking directly at you, but you shake your head.

“No, Azriel,” you say, “your soul hurt because we were mates and the bond broke the moment you closed the gates to my cell.”

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22 @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @azrielsmate2 @callmeblaire @lilah-asteria

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar x reader #acotar #azriel

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miratastic · 3 days

Note

Feyd spanking-

yes. oh my god yes. went a little bit overboard with this one, hope u enjoy !

feyd has rules. rules that he expects you to follow. he needs you to listen, to be obedient and good. he likes it when you’re soft, and floaty and treat him like he’s the only thing you need (which let’s be honest, he is). he likes having control over you. likes to tell you what you can wear, who you can talk to, what you can and can’t do around geidi prime. if you obey him, he treats you. spoils you with gifts exported from other planets, takes you to his favourite childhood hideouts, lets you cum as many times as you want. if you’re really good he uses his mouth on you and makes you cum so hard you black out.

feyd doesn’t give second chances. the second you start acting up, say your outfit is more low cut than usual, or you’re being bratty and saying no to him, he will waste no time. discipline is very important to feyd. he would drag you by the wrist, ignoring your shocked outburst at his sudden aggression, to his private chambers. you think you’re so smart by telling him that he’s overreacting, and that you’re not doing anything wrong. feyd would snarl in response, veins in his forehead ticking. he would be fuming, you’d be able to hear his teeth gritting together as he throws you over his lap. this entire time he hasn’t said an entire word and you’re starting to get worried. you realise that maybe trying to rile him up was a bad idea. “feyd,” you’d say uncertainly, wriggling in his strong hold. “let me go.”

the sharp sound of fabric tearing is his response. he’s ripped a gaping hole in your clothes, giving him full access to your ass and upper thighs.

“here i thought you were good. here i thought i had taught you manners.” his voice is gravelly, fury barely contained as he strokes your skin.

“feyd-feyd m’sorry okay? i won’t do it again, i promise!” he’d reduced you down to a whimpering, pathetic, mess and he hadn’t even started yet. “please let me go.”

feyd laughs at you. it’s menacing and scary and you tremble where you lay. “it’s too late for you. if you were my pretty pet we wouldn’t be here right now. if you were the good pet i know, you’d be cumming on my cock tonight. but you aren’t good are you? no, good pets fucking listen to their owners. you deserve this.”

the first spank against your ass hurts. he wasn’t starting off soft or giving you a chance to get used to it. feyd puts all his power into it, years of warrior training being obvious with how the pain radiates through you. you cry out, tears immediately running down your face. “f-feyd!”

“count.”

you whimper out a quiet ‘one,’ and he hums, “maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

he spanks you again, this time it hits the thin skin just under your left cheek, and you jerk up his lap from the impact. feyd doesn’t offer comfort through his punishment; doesn’t soothe the reddened skin with his large hands. he doesn’t even wait long enough for you to catch up before he’s doing it again.

feyd makes you count all of them. he keeps going until he’s satisfied he’s erased the badness from you. if you lose count or take to long to answer, he starts again from the top. he keeps going until you’re just a sniffling, drooly wreck with a bruised and battered ass.

when he’s done he would pick you up and seat you over his hardened cock, not caring if it hurts you. your head would find itself burrowing into his chest, wet faced and snotty nosed. “m’sorry, m’really really sorry. m’gonna be good for you, m’gonna be a good pet for you, won’t make you mad ‘nymore. won’t be a brat, i’ll listen and be good.”

feyd’s palm would come up and rub your head, and you’d start crying again from how good it felt to finally have comforting touch from him. he’d bring his other arm across your waist, hugging you tight into him, continuing to stroke your hair.

“c’mere sweet thing. you took your punishment well, pretty. did good for me didn’t you? yes, that’s right, did so good for me baby. you’ve learnt your lesson haven’t you? perfect pet, i’ll take care of you now.”

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kykyonthemoon · 23 hours

Text

Nightmares

When nightmares strike, you are the sole source of warmth that could help him overcome his inner turmoil.

ಇ. Character x Reader/MC

(Caleb, Rafayel, Zayne and Dawnbreaker, Xavier and Glitch!Xavier)

ಇ. Tags: hurt/comfort, angst with a little fluff, emotional hurt, comfort

ಇ. Word count: 3k7

ಇ. Requested anonymously.

ಇ. Masterlist

ಇ. Request - will be reopened around late May.

Pic from X

𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃

It was a sunny afternoon when he returned to his old house.

That place still had a modest beauty, the kind of beauty that made family members feel sad every time they left. It was so deeply engraved in his mind that with every breath, he knew he was closer and closer to returning home.

There, would be someone always waiting for him.

The door creaked when opened. Caleb walked inside. The familiar smell of food and the sound of cooking in the kitchen were always the things that impressed him the most. He continued in that direction till he noticed a familiar figure sitting at the dining table, back to the aisle.

Caleb grinned and spoke your name. You did not reply. He went forward, putting one hand on your shoulder to turn you around.

Your lifeless eyes glanced up at him.

"Pipsqueak? What's wrong?"

You did not respond. You slowly rose up and entered the kitchen. Why was this place so dark and cold? Caleb failed to recall the house being this vast and gloomy.

"Where are you going? I'm back now, pipsqueak?

You halted. The warm sunlight poured down on him through the window, but where you stood just a few steps away from him, everything was in darkness.

Even you.

“You only came home now…” You spoke, but your voice didn't contain any emotion. You were always the one who ran into his arms when he came home after long journeys away! Why were you being so distant then?

“Pipsqueak…”

Caleb reached out to you. How he wanted to touch you! He wanted to hold you in his arms and if he had to beg your forgiveness for leaving you, he would definitely do so.

He had been gone for too long.

You looked at him. Tears began to fall and your face showed little emotion. Not joy, but resentment. You became distorted and writhed as if fire surrounded your body.

“You've been gone for too long!”

You screamed out in pain. Caleb quickly rushed towards you, but it seemed like a force was holding him back, making him unable to move. Just like that, he could only open his eyes and watch you burn. The kitchen was on fire. The house was on fire. Everything was on fire.

“You've been gone too long, Caleb!” You shouted. Your tears turned into blood as your body burnt in the flames. “You left me alone! You abandoned our home!”

The walls cracked, the windows exploded and debris flew all around, cutting you, cutting him. The ceiling began to collapse. But there was nothing Caleb could do. He just cried.

“Pipsqueak… Please…”

“You… left me… here...”

Your plaintive screams were swallowed by fire. When he finally was able to reach out and touch you, there was nothing left there but a burned corpse.

The fire disappeared. The cozy house in Caleb's memory had become ruins. He clutched your corpse, which was scorched black and was disintegrating into dust. The sobbing inside him turned into a protest against himself.

He left, because he thought it was the best thing for you.

When it all came back, to this place, many years ago, he had caused the house to explode. To you, he had been dead since then. He didn't have time to say goodbye. But he only had to do it to ensure your safety.

In the end, he could not save you. He could not save himself.

Still, you left this world. Still, you turned into ashes. Who did this to you; it was not the matter. Not when you had already died the day he left.

Caleb yelled with anguish. He lost you, he lost his home. The one thing that kept him going was gradually vanishing, soaring with the wind and never returning to him.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“Pipsqueak!”

Caleb shouted. He opened his eyes to see the familiar bedroom ceiling, which was dimly lit by street lights outside the window and visible through the curtains.

Beside him, you turned over. With your eyes still closed, one hand struck his chest.

“What now?… Waking me up in the middle of the night…” You said in a sleepy voice. Caleb grabbed your hand and turned around to hug you. Only when he felt your warmth and buried his face in the scent of your hair could he calm down.

“It's nothing, pipsqueak…” He whispered. “It was just a nightmare… Sorry for waking you…”

You breathed evenly in a straight position on the bed. Your mouth grumbled something like: "Idiot... You're a grown-up now, and you're still afraid of nightmares..."

Caleb smiled softly. He gave you an even tighter embrace. "Yes. I'm such an idiot. I'm so terrified of nightmares every time I have to leave you."

“But I'm right here. Now will you let me go back to sleep?”

“Just let me hold you a little longer…” He whispered as he put his hand beneath the pillow and softly drew you into his loving arms.

You were real in front of his eyes.

And he had no intention of allowing you to vanish like in that dream again.

𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍

Waves crashed onto the shore in regular rhythms. The twisted moon overhead sent a feeble light into the sea, engulfing the two little figures standing by it. The water had reached their knees, and the two were leisurely dancing together.

Spinning. Around and around. Magically shimmering water droplets continued to soar high with each stride. You smiled pleasantly at him. That night, you became his bride.

The celebration was over. Only the two of you remained together, from now until eternity. You were so beautiful, so perfect. Your love for him was as pure as your smile.

And he should have felt happy.

He should have, because after all, he had got you and this perfect ending. But was this really the end?

He gazed at you with melancholy eyes. You smiled heartily as you whirled around. Sea water surged up high, bathing your entire body in a vivid crimson color. The entire water surface became the color of blood.

You were still dancing, as if the pungent odor of death gave you delight. You were immersed in blood when he gazed at you. Hatred was the only thing burning in his heart at that time.

You swayed a little farther, then turned towards him. Your arms stretched out as you called affectionately:

“Rafayel! Hurry. Come with me!”

He moved closer. He was strolling through a pool of blood from his own kind. Lemurian blood was dispersed over the waters.

Unbeknownst to you, as you turned your back on Rafayel, one of his hands was wrapped around your waist, the other brandishing a knife.

“I like this place. Can we stay here forever?” You said, as if you didn't care about the blood gushing at your feet.

"Alright." Rafayel replied in a cold voice. “If you like it here, we'll stay.”

You leaned your head back with joy, resting on his chest. You were so little, yet you had a powerful heart. So gorgeous. He only wanted to strangle it, tear it out of your chest, and toss it into the deep sea.

He wanted you to pay the price.

You closed your eyes and hummed the melody he once sang for you. How foolish of him! He had given you everything—his love, his life, his whole kingdom... Everything was ruined by your hands.

Now, he shall take it all back.

Rafayel raised your chin and let you stare at him for a long while. You were smiling still. But he swung the sharp blade high, plunging into your heart.

In your eyes was terror and agony. Tears streamed from the corners of your eyes, but he still held your chin in his palm, making you unable to look away as his other hand forced the hilt of the dagger, deeper into your heart.

“Rafayel… Why… Why?…”

That was all you could say before the vivid red blood from your heart spread to his palm, spilling into the sea and merging with the blood of the Lemurians.

He should have been satisfied. He should have been thrilled since he carried out his vengeance.

But he simply felt broken.

When he tossed your lifeless corpse into the water, it seemed like he had died too that very moment.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“Rafayel!!!… Stop… I can't… breathe… Rafayel!…”

You pinched Rafayel's cheek hard; he was sleeping on your chest. His weight prevented you from breathing normally. The ache awoke him. White pearls dropped from the corners of his eyes.

“Rafayel?…”

You frowned and watched him slowly rose up, both hands resting on your pillow. When he lowered his head, the radiant pearls continued to rain on your face and the bed.

“Hey… What's wrong?” You lifted your hands to caress his cheeks. “Why are you crying?”

“I… just had a nightmare…”

Rafayel gasped. It must have been a really horrific nightmare to make him this way. He fell asleep, his body was all over you, and then he started weeping. You had never seen him like this, and it concerned you.

"What did you dream about?" Your arms curled around Rafayel's neck, bringing him closer. He hesitated, as if he didn't want you to know, then revealed:

“In my dream, I had to kill the person I loved.”

Silence filled the room. The sky over your head was twinkling with stars. Rafayel's bedroom was filled with the lovely sound of the sea. You rubbed your face into the crook of his neck and murmured:

“I trust Rafayel will never harm me.”

“Are you sure? Even I don't know... The person in the dream... It's not me..."

"That's right." You rubbed his sweaty back. “That person is definitely not you. You know, people say dreams are the opposite of reality. What you saw will not happen.”

Rafayel was calmer, however, you still felt his body trembling in your arms.

“I won't allow that to happen…” He replied. “Having to end the life of the person I love… It is far more painful than being stabbed in the heart by that same person…”

“Rafayel.” You said in a serious tone. You held Rafayel's face with both hands, forcing him to look at you. His hair was tangled, and pearls were no longer pouring from his eyes, but they remained red. “I don't know what will happen in the future, but as long as I still breathe, I will never hurt you.”

Rafayel gazed at you for a time before gently smiling. “That's a promise between the two of us then.”

𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆

“Zayne… So cold… I'm… so cold…”

Zayne helped you up, quickly wrapping his thick coat around you. His hands stroked your body repeatedly to keep you warm. But you were growing colder. Your breath slowly escaped your body as the sorrow smothered his heart

“No… Wake up… Don't sleep! Please!… Don't sleep now…”

Zayne's scarred and bloody hand clumsily held on to you. So tight. He wanted to give you all his warmth. But did he even have any warmth left?

“It's useless.”

The voice sounded as if it had just escaped his mind. Zayne turned around. Behind him stood Grim Reaper, another Zayne dressed in a cloak as black as the night. Cold and cruel.

“You know you can't save her.”

"Shut up!" Zayne's shouts resonated across the wind and snow. He would never leave you alone in this cold.

Yet Grim Reaper's voice still echoed:

“You know why she died.”

Trembling, Zayne gradually dropped his gaze to the girl in his arms. In the center of your chest, bright, sharp pieces of ice were developing more and more.

"No… NO!" Zayne screamed. His palm touched the shards, causing them to tear into his skin. Bleeding. “I will save her! I must save her!”

He breathed into your numbed hand. But the more he touched you, the greater the ice formed around your body.

“Give up.” Grim Reaper spoke again. Zayne ignored him, despite the fact that they looked absolutely the same.

Nightmare. He had always been his nightmare. Perhaps in another universe, he was the Grim Reaper. And he felt like he was progressively becoming the Grim Reaper as you left this life, leaving him behind.

“Stay with me, please… Open your eyes and look at me….” Zayne begged over her corpse. His tears turned into drops of ice. They fell onto your body and shattered.

You could no longer hear his cries.

"You cannot save her." Grim Reaper said. He was bending down on one knee beside you, on the other side of Zayne. His hand in the black glove brushed across your frost-covered face, as if he, too, was in grief. "After all, you cannot save yourself."

"Get lost!" Zayne yelled in rage and suffering. His embrace of you became more intense, as if he wanted to take you away from Grim Reaper's reach. He grinned with bitterness.

"Remember. You are the one who killed her.”

Zayne shook his head, repeatedly. Everything in front of his eyes drifted away. Grim Reaper also vanished. There were only you and him remaining.

He had murdered you.

You and he promised to get through this together. He would save your dying heart, and you would help him in his escape from the curse of his Evol. It was a curse. He was unable to control it, and there came calamity.

Help you? No, he was not your savior. He was your death.

Zayne heard Grim Reaper's laugh - his own laugh - echoing in his thoughts. Cruel yet full of bitterness.

The snowstorm came, but it could not bury his sin and regrets.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

When you came into Dr. Zayne's office during lunch break, you noticed the temperature was unusually low.

You discovered Zayne asleep on the sofa. His body trembled, he broke out in a cold sweat, and his mouth moved without any word heard. You even caught a tear falling from the corner of his eye.

“Zayne? Are you having a nightmare?” You shook him by the shoulders. His entire body felt freezing. The nearest window was covered in frost. You started to panic. But no matter how you attempted to rouse him up, he failed to hear you.

You had to sit on the sofa, placing his head on your lap. You caressed his hair, patted his shoulders and head while comforting him:

"It's alright. I'm here with you… You will be fine…”

After a while, his quiver stopped. His eyes opened slowly. He found you.

“…”

Zayne's hand reached out towards you and then stopped halfway. He was about to touch you but hesitated. Seeing that, you clasped your hand with his.

"What's wrong? Doctor Zayne is experiencing nightmares from overwork, isn't he?"

You smiled. So gentle. That warm beam seemed to calm him down. Zayne's respiration and pulse rate eventually returned to normal. He replied:

“Yeah… My apologies for causing you to worry again.”

When he recognized your cold hand, he became fully awake. He rapidly gained control of his Evol, and the room warmed up to some extent.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes. Much better now.”

Zayne's eyes were still red. He wanted to sit up, but you kept him in your lap for a while longer.

“Lunch break is still long. You can sleep for a bit longer. I will stay here to watch over your sleep.” You declared out loud, as if you were his little defender.

This made Zayne quite happier. He grinned and replied:

“You are always the one who guides me out of nightmares. No matter how bad it gets, I know you will come to my rescue.”

"That's right. Now you can sleep soundly.”

Zayne slowly closed his eyes. He was unsure if he could sleep again after that nightmare. But having you by his side made him feel more at peace. Your fingers squeezed his hand. Your warmth enveloped him. You were alive and well. He still had time to save you, to save himself.

Knowing that made him feel a lot more assured. When you placed a kiss on his forehead, he was ready to face all of the nightmares to come.

𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓

When Xavier returned to Philos, he did so as a traitor.

He gambled with fate, and lost everything. Honor. Freedom. Love. There was nothing left for him when he returned.

His fleet had crossed countless light years, to innumerable realms out there. But what he was looking for was just an illusion.

And suddenly his entire existence became a curse.

To lose his freedom, to lose the love of his life for eternity. Was that the price to pay for opposing destiny?

In the dark corner of the room, Xavier knelt on the cold stone floor. He could not move, nor speak unless granted permission.

He quietly observed the girl he loved in the garden on the other side of the door. The warm sunshine tenderly casted a lovely aura over your body. Your grin shone brighter than the myriad of flowers in the yard. How many times did Xavier want to approach you, call your name, and touch you? But he could not.

Every time he came close to you, the crimson chain around his neck tightened. It did not murder him, but it was painful and debilitating enough. All he could do was stare at you holding hands with an unknown person. Someone with a physique similar to his.

That man was the King, you were his Queen. And Xavier was nothing but a sinner, a tool to be used, a killing machine. All for you. He would do everything for you, but you were no longer his lover.

You failed to recognize him. You were no longer the same as before. Since the person he truly loved was dead.

She was once a Queen. He had vowed to be the Knight standing beside her. But he left her alone on the cold throne. She died and was reborn, again and again. How many times had his love died before he came back?

The girl in front of him now had no memory of those lives anymore. It was a blessing. For you would no longer have to cry over the treachery you believed he had committed on you.

His only wish was to save you; to save the girl he loved from the spiral of death and rebirth. But when he tried to cut off your chains, he, too, was bound by another curse.

He watched you die and come back in another life. As many times as you sat on that throne, he became a slave at your feet, and as many times as he witnessed your death. He could not do anything else, not even scream and weep.

For, he had been cursed since the day he left you alone.

“Xavier… Save me… I don't want… to die…”

He stared down at your body, which was securely tied to the stone table. Trembling. His Queen begged him. Xavier was shrouded in black. The chain around his neck became tighter.

“Do it, Xavier! Stop wasting time!”

The crowd behind urged him. Xavier's palm clenched on the shiny hilt of his sword.

“No… Xavier… Please!…”

“The sacrifice must be completed! Do not forget your duty as Philos' royalty, Xavier! Do not forget how you betrayed us and what punishment you must endure!”

Xavier closed his eyes tightly. You and him, you could never escape this fate. He raised his sword, once more. He ended your torment, for another life.

Yet, his suffering would never cease.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Xavier awoke with tight agony in his neck and chest. His pillow was drenched from weeping. He heard your frightened voice repeating in his ears:

"Oh dear! You have a high fever!”

Through tears, he watched you climb out of bed. You were going to go fetch him a damp towel and medication. But he pulled you back. He wrapped you securely in his arms.

“X-Xavier? How are you feeling? You scared me?…”

“Sorry… I'm really sorry…”

He continued muttering like that. You began to suspect that his apology was not for waking you up in the middle of the night screaming, or that he was hugging you so tightly that you were suffocating. Was there anything else going on?

"Did you have a nightmare?" You questioned as you wrapped your arms around him, rubbing his neck and back.

Xavier responded with a gentle "yeah". He eased his hold slightly to allow you to breathe. But seeing his condition, you couldn't help but worry.

"You have a fever." You mentioned it again. "Let me get medicine for you…"

“Stay with me!” Xavier spoke, almost like a grumble. It startled you. His arm was draped around your torso, and his other hand gripped your wrist firmly. Xavier dropped his voice, recognizing he was becoming overly emotional: "Please... Just stay here a little longer..."

“Alright… I'm here…” You comforted Xavier. You cared about nothing other than his mental turmoil. But you believed he would feel better, and when he was ready, he would tell you everything.

A moment later, when he had calmed down, Xavier said:

“I'm sorry… I didn't mean to make you sad or worried…”

"It's fine. I just want you to know that I will always be by your side… Besides, we also have Galaxy Kid, Bunbun and these plushies..."

Both Xavier and you gazed at your plushie-filled bed. He grinned faintly, as if he was finally at ease. You added

“We'll get through everything together, okay?”

For a moment, Xavier said nothing. He just tilted his head slightly to look at you closely. His hand caressed your face as if you were a treasure he once lost, then found.

“Of course. We will get through everything together. Definitely…” His voice trailed off as he fell into a hazy condition caused by the fever in the middle of the night. “This time… I won't let you face it… alone…”

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