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katiemcabeswife · 4 months

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Selflessness (Leah Williamson x FosterMum!Reader)

You always put your kids first but can’t miss the return of Leah back to football.

Another 4.7k words 😮‍💨, also how gorgeous is Leah is that photo? PSA; I have not read through this as it it 1:30 in the morning so I am hoping grammaly as done it’s job 👍🏼

You had been seeing Leah for a few months now but you were still too nervous to tell her about your ‘part-time job’. Of course, she knew that you were a professional dance teacher but she didn’t know that you had a second ‘job'.

It was one that fell into your lap and you couldn’t turn it down. You had all the qualifications to look after children including medical certificates and you had always dreamed of being a mother. Being a lesbian meant that that would be harder than it was if you were straight and when you came across an article about the lack of foster parents in the London area, you decided to sign yourself up.

It took a long few months to get the remaining qualifications needed and go through the training programs but you always had your eye on the target and didn’t mind waiting a few more months if that meant that you were the safest hands a child could be in.

You had your first placement 2 years ago and ever since then your home has never been silent and your heart has always been full. Some children only stayed with you overnight, some stayed a few months, and some were more introverted than others but you always put 110% into making sure they felt comfortable when staying with you.

When you met Leah at the grocery store you were a mess. A particularly troubled child had been staying with you for about a fortnight and had just begun to open up to you when his mother came out of rehab. She had done the necessary lessons and paperwork whilst in the facility and so as soon as she was released, Theo had to move back in with his mother. He had confided in you that he was concerned about moving back in with her and that he was scared she would disappear again but there was nothing you could legally do to calm his anxiety.

The night at the grocery store was the night he went back to his mother’s and you were worried sick about the 7-year-old boy who cried in your arms. You knew you didn't look your best but you needed to restock your pantry after having a farewell feast for Theo.

You were dressed in pyjama pants and a hoodie with sleeves covered in tears and snot. Your hair was thrown into a haphazard ponytail and your eyes were red from both crying and rubbing.

You stood staring at the empty spot where the Oreos normally sit and a fresh set of tears began to roll down your cheeks. You never would have cried over something as trivial as not being able to buy a snack but your emotions were all over the place and you really wanted your comfort food.

You had fallen into a squat with your hands over your eyes, trying to hide the tears when a hand fell on your back, "Are you alright?"

You looked up to see a beautiful blond looking down at you concerned, you pointed pathetically to the empty spot and quickly realised how pathetic it was and quickly stood up, "I am so sorry," You laughed at yourself and wiped away your tears, "I am a mess right now and I really wanted some Oreos and they're out and," You tried to laugh it off again but it sounded more like a cry.

The tall blue-eyed woman reached into her basket and held out a pack of Oreos to you, "You can have mine if you'd like?" She offered kindly.

You rested your hand over your heart and looked at her like she was a miracle worker, "No, I couldn't you had them first. You keep them, I'll be fine I'm just- this is humiliating," You laughed at yourself and took a deep breath, "I am perfectly fine and you can keep the Oreos but thank you for the offer," You smiled appreciatively.

The woman was still looking at you concerningly, "Trust me it's, I shouldn't really be eating them anyways," She spoke as if it were secret and you naturally assumed she was watching her weight or something and when you noticed how fit she was you looked at her in awe.

"You are so perfect," You nodded at her and she looked even more confused, "You keep those Oreos and you eat all of them," You ordered.

The blonde laughed and seemingly caught on, "No, no, I really shouldn't I'm an athlete so I really should not eat the Oreos. Trust me you have them." She thrust them into your basket, "Seriously, take them," She used her 'captain voice' and you felt like you had no other choice.

Overcome with gratitude you thanked her sheepishly, "Thank you for being so kind. Again, I'm so sorry for being such a mess," You gestured to your hair and outfit and missed the way she looked at you as if you were dressed to the nines.

"And if I'm giving you the Oreos I think it's only fair you give me your number..." She trailed off trying to test the waters.

You examined her face to see if she was being serious, "Umm, yeah? I guess sure." You nodded and tried to convince yourself that this was actually happening.

You grabbed her phone which she presented to you and added your number and name; y/n <3. She took it back and smirked at you, "I will be sure to ask you how the Oreos taste, y/n," She teased.

You gained a bit of confidence to flirt back, "I'll be sure to respond..." You waited for her to tell you her name.

"Leah," She caught on.

"I'll be sure to tell you how delicious these Oreos are, Leah," You don't know where the confidence surged from but you winked at her before moving past her to continue your shopping.

From there on, you and Leah messaged back and forth and she joked about your emotional state at the grocery store and teased her about her attraction to you when you looked like rubbish. Now 4 months later and a shocking surprise later (finding out that Leah was in fact a world-known football star) you were trying to find the words to tell her that you wouldn't be able to attend her returning game from her ACL injury.

You had taken in two little girls a week ago, Vienna was 5 and her little sister Lilah was 2. The girls were supposed to have a visit with their father at the time of the game but their caseworker went to inspect the house and found him surrounded by bottles of alcohol therefore she had to cancel the visit.

The only other option was to bring the girls to the game and you were sure Vienna would love the atmosphere but you weren't sure how Lilah would deal. That and the fact that you would have to tell Leah the fact that you were a foster parent, not that you're embarrassed of your job but you were very aware of the fact that many people couldn't handle the inflexibility and last-minute change in plans that came with either being with or being a foster parent and you didn't want to lose what you had with Leah.

You were bought out of your thoughts by a tugging on your pant leg. Lilah was looking at you curiously, she could only speak limited words and since being in your care she limited the number of words she shared with you even further. You picked her up and put her on your hip, "Would like to go see a football game?" You asked, not expecting a response.

You were met with clapping from the toddler and a smile on her face and took that for a yes. You wandered over to where Vienna was doing Just Dance on the TV and put Lilah down to join her sister. You cheered both the girls on and laughed at Vienna's confidence in her dance moves, she had been quite the opposite of her sister and seemed to flourish in your care. The girl's social worker said that she was extremely introverted and had barely ever spoken to her but after only a day being in your hands she thrived and it seemed she almost never stopped talking.

Once the dance was finished you applauded the girls to which Vienna bowed and Lilah copied her sister, "That was fantastic! Where did you learn to dance like that?" You congratulated them and bent to a squat to be more their height.

Vienna blushed and swung her arms sheepishly, "My momma," She responded and your heart warmed, the girls had been in an accident while their mother was driving and she hadn't made it out of the car. Their father hadn't taken the news well and turned to drinking which landed the girls in your care.

"Well, I think she would be so proud of how well you dance," You complimented to which she beamed and Lilah clapped her hands, "Hey, would you like to go to a real-life football game?" You offered with your hands out.

Vienna ran over to you, slapped your hands and screamed, "YES!" She then took off running around the living room pretending to play with an imaginary ball.

"Wow! Well, we will have to get ready won't we?" You gave the girls a chance to make their own choice, "Would you like me to pick you out an outfit or would you like to pick your own out?"

Vienna seemed to think for a moment before deciding that she was going to dress herself. You encouraged her decisions and helped her get dressed before helping Lilah into her own clothes, "You girls look beautiful! I think you picked a better outfit than I ever could," You commended, "Right, I need to make a phone call and get dressed, how about your guys go and do 1 more dance and then we'll hop in the car and go, is that ok?"

Lilah clapped once again but spoke up for the first time that day, "YES!"

Your jaw dropped in shock before you clapped for the girl, "Yes!" You cheered, "Alright, I will be 4 minutes, off you go," You smiled as they ran to the living room holding hands.

You walked into your room, picked out your own outfit and rung up Leah. Once the phone was ringing you bit your thumbnail as you waited, anxious for the coming conversation.

Leah's cheerful voice came through the speaker and you found your anxiety slipping away, "Hey, y/n/n what's up?" You could hear the girls in the background and assumed that they were already in the changerooms.

"Hey Lee, umm would I be able to get 2 extra tickets to the game? I have umm a couple friends who came over unexpectedly and I can't leave them here alone and I really want to come to your game but I completely understand if it's too late but if it is, I am so sorry but I won't be able to come but I will be cheering you from here and-"

Your rambling was cut off by Leah laughing, "Of course, y/n/n I'll get it sorted. Don't worry about it," You let out a breath of relief.

"Thank god, thank you so much Leah. I will make sure to be cheering you on extra loud, and I'm sure my sidekicks will be as well," You laughed.

"Will I get to meet your sidekicks?" She teased, "It's only fair if I'm getting them free seats," She egged on.

You laughed nervously, "Umm, I'm sure they would be delighted to meet you," You noticed Lilah walking into your room, "Hey, I've gotta go, I wanna beat the traffic but I'll see you there, yeah?"

"Of course, see you soon," You bid farewell and hung up the phone, turning your attention to the little girl.

"You ready to go!" You picked Lilah up when she nodded and headed to get your things together, making sure you had enough snacks and water for the girls before herding them out the door and into your car.

The trip was spent singing various songs including Adele and Taylor Swift and the girls were buzzing by the time you reached the Emirates. Vienna forced you to skip in but you had to ask her to hold your hand, not wanting her to get lost. You made your way into the family and friends section. You were glad that Leah's mum couldn't make it to this game as you weren't overly eager to explain your situation to Leah, let alone her mum.

You had spent the time before the match running around with girls, trying to wear them out enough so they wouldn't feel the need to during the game. Once the players had started to line up in the tunnel you were just coming out of the bathroom with the girls, grateful for perfect timing and quickly made your way to your seats. Leah was only slightly worried when she didn't see you in the stands when she headed out to the bench.

You ended up having a spare chair due to Lilah wanting to be in your hold. You stood up when the teams started to walk out holding Lilah in one arm and having your other arm occupied by Vienna clinging on whilst standing on her seat. Even though Leah wasn't in the starting lineup, she was going to come on in the second half but you cheered on the girls you knew were close to her and Vienna was more than happy to help, Lilah sat in your arms confused but unbothered.

When the half-time whistle went you quickly got to your feet and walked briskly to the bathroom after Vienna told you she needed to use the toilet. After cleaning up you took the girls over to an open area and continued to let them run around and made sure Vienna knew that she would have to be stationary for another 45 minutes.

Leah's concern grew when she still couldn't find you in the crowd during half time and she became slightly pissed off that you'd told her you were coming, to get an extra 2 seats, and you weren't even there. Then she grew sad that you couldn't bother showing up to her first game in almost a year.

You had just settled Vienna again when the whistle blew for the commencement of that match and you cheered on the girls once again as the ball got kicked into play. Leah had gone over the rules of football with you a few times but you were still confused over the tackling and offside rules so you just cheered and booed when the Arsenal fans did.

However, when you saw Leah stepping up to the sideline and her number coming up on the substitution board in green, you stood up on your own and screamed as loud as you could causing a ripple effect throughout the stadium. Leah didn't turn around when she heard someone that sounded an awful lot like you cheer because she was in her head about you not being here and her being about to play the sport she loved for the first time in almost a year.

Every time Leah had the ball or made a successful tackle you and Vienna were on your feet cheering and even Lilah managed to expel something resembling a cheer, the poor girl being on the verge of sleep. Leah felt truly alive for the first time in 9 months, of course, she was alive throughout the course of the rehab but felt like she was only living so she could make it to this moment and now that she was in the moment she felt like she could run forever.

Once the game ended Leah had racked up 25 minutes of playing time, an assist and Arsenal won another 3 points for the ladder. She was elated and could feel the fans felt the same way throughout the stadium, especially through her teammates who were glad to have their teammate back on the pitch.

She took one last chance and looked over to the family and friends section to scan for your face and her elation only grew when she spotted it in the crowd. Her elation turned to confusion though when she caught sight of the toddler on your hip and the child you were dancing with. She was not aware you had any children nor any nieces and she was pretty sure she would recognise any of her teammate's kids or relatives and these children's faces were not ones she had seen before.

She started the trek over to you and once you caught sight of her you had to slightly shake your head and gesture to the tunnel. You weren't allowed to let the girls' faces be on camera and you didn't want anyone to witness the conversation you were about to endure with Leah.

You were trying to convince a security guard that you were meeting Leah in the tunnel but he was not having a bar of it, "Please sir, she'll be waiting for me. I'm already in trouble, just let me through!" You were growing frustrated and the girls were picking up on it. Vienna was tugging your hand as she wanted to go run on the pitch and Lilah was getting fussy as she was starting to get over tired.

You didn't see Leah walk in but she had spotted you a minute ago and had to take in what she was seeing for a minute. She had known you for 4 months and you had never mentioned any children in your life but it did make sense that you had kids, sometimes you would have to cancel dates very last minute but you always made sure to set another one up shortly after and apologised profusely.

"Hey, it's alright. She's with me," Leah made herself known and the guard backed off cautiously. Her attention was on your face and could see how you instantly relaxed but she could also see the toddler clinging to your shirt.

Vienna tugged on your shirt and gestured you to get down to your height and as much of a concern the conversation you had to have with Leah was, your kids came first so you bent down and waited for Vienna to speak her mind, "Was that one of the girls on the pitch?" She asked excitedly.

You stroked her arm and nodded with matching enthusiasm, "Yeah she was, she even helped them score a goal!" Vienna seemed pleased with your answer and made her way over to Leah.

You held your breath but let her do her thing. Leah looked to you when she gestured for Leah to bend down, just as you had a minute ago, and you nodded in permission, "Hello lovely, what's your name?" Leah asked.

"My name's Vienna, y/n/n is my step-in mummy!" Your heart warmed at the girl's claim, "I saw you play out on the big pitch!" She reached around to Leah's back and patted it gently, "You did a very good job, y/n/n and I cheered soo loud when you went on, even Lilah cheered!" She exclaimed pointing back towards you and her sister.

"Thank you, darling, I'm actually pretty sure I heard you cheering for me, you were very loud!" Leah complimented to which Vienna giggled.

"Hey V, why don't you take this and sit over there for a minute, I wanna talk to Leah. Is that ok?" You offered her a colouring book and some textas.

"Ok!" She took both and skipped over to where a table and chair were randomly set up.

"Hey..." You rocked slightly as Lilah had fallen asleep.

"Hi," Leah said with a tone of confusion.

"Umm so- yeah," Your free hand came out as if you were about to explain and then it dropped back to your side when you couldn't find the words.

Leah raised her eyebrows before looking between the girls and you.

"I foster kids in my spare time," You tried to joke but then heard how it sounded out loud and immediately began to backtrack, "Not in my spare time, that was stupid, I don't have spare time anymore. I foster kids! All the time, except when I'm not then I'm either working or with you but sometimes I do all three! And I didn't tell you; not because I'm embarrassed of my job but because I am so aware of the fact that many people can't handle the inflexibility and last-minute change in plans that comes with either being with or being a foster parent and I always feel so bad when I have to cancel plans but them I'm like there is a literal child who needs somewhere to stay and someone to take care of them and it makes me feel better but then I'm like, Leah! I didn't want to lose you because I know you're gonna have a busy schedule now that your back playing and I didn't want you to feel bad about calling this off because of what I do and-" You were running out of breath and were on the verge of tears when Leah bought you into a hug, keeping clear of the child perched on your hip.

Once you caught your breath and the hug broke off Leah grabbed your face between her hands, "You are a bloody amazing woman." She stated and you blushed, "I can not believe how selfless you are, you are doing something so incredible for these kids and you still take into account how I would feel? Of course, I wouldn't call this off because you chose to take in kids who need somewhere to stay! If anything it makes me love you more!" She didn't even register what she was saying until she said it. That didn't mean she regretted it.

She crashed her lips into yours and you reciprocated but broke free quickly, aware of the child in your arms and the other one not even 4 meters away from you. You were still slightly teary, her beautiful confession not helping, "I love you too," You laughed but quickly quietened when Lilah stirred in your arms, "Umm, would you like to come back to mine? I'll have to put these two down but it should only take 10 minutes,"

Leah was quick to agree and ran to get her kit from the changing room and had a fast shower. She sent off a quick message to the Arsenal girls excusing herself from post-match celebrations. She met you next to your car and noticed that you only had one kid running circles around you, "Lils was fast asleep so I've just put her in her seat, ready to go?" You asked Leah who nodded.

"Is Leah coming over to our house?" Vienna asked when you were clipping her into her car seat.

You glanced at Leah sitting in the passenger seat before nodding to Vienna, "Yeah, is that alright with you?" You were worried that she wouldn't be ok having someone else in the house with you and knew that if that was the case, you would have to once again reschedule to meet up with her.

"As long as she tells me a bedtime story!" Vienna giggled.

"I'm sure if you asked really nicely, she would be more than happy too!" She was content with your answer and broke out in humming a random tune. You laughed at her and went to the driver's side to take your girls home.

The drive home was fairly quiet as Lilah was asleep but Vienna kept humming her tune and you and Leah couldn't help but laugh when she got really passionate about her song.

"McDonald's for dinner?" You asked Leah who nodded her head. You turned your head slightly to catch the gaze of Vienna, "Hey V, do you want to get McDonald's for dinner?"

"Um yes please!" She spoke as if it were obvious, "Can I get a nugget happy meal?"

You nodded, "Umm of course?" You responded in the same tone she had before.

After teasing Leah about her bland food choices, Vienna talking Leah's ear off about nothing in particular in between eating her happy meal and Lilah having a bottle and being put to sleep, it was finally Vienna's time to go to sleep.

"Alrighty, teeth are brushed and jammies are on, what's next V?" You asked and she seemed to remember your conversation in the car and ran over to Leah who watched the scene in awe.

"Excuse me, Leah?" She patted her knee to get her attention, "Would you please tell me a bedtime story?"

Leah gasped, "I would love to have the honour!" She spoke proudly.

Vienna dragged her to her bedroom and quickly got under her sheets, "Could you please tell me a football story?" She asked politely.

"Those are my favourite stories, would you like to hear about when my team won a competition against all of the other countries in Europe?" Vienna nodded dutifully.

"Isn't there like a billion countries in Europe?" She was 5, give her a break.

Leah nodded, "Almost," She went off to tell her a shortened version of the Eruos in 2022 and Vienna was enraptured by the story but was slowly falling asleep.

"You must be really good if you beat a billion other countries, I like you, you're my favourite footballer," Vienna decided and patted Leah's hand that was resting on her leg. You watched the scene from the side with hearts in your eyes.

Once the story was over Leah bid Vienna goodnight and got up off the bed so you could say your goodnights. You made sure to tuck her in extra tight and checked under her bed for monsters and after concluding that there were none Vienna was ready to go to sleep, "Goodnight, munchkin, sweet dreams," You kissed her lightly on the forehead.

She returned the favour by kissing your nose and pulled in for another secret, "I really like Leah, she's pretty," She giggled.

You smiled at the small child and nodded, "I know," You laughed with your foster daughter and wished her goodnight once again flipping off the lights and turning on the night light, "Night night V," You waved.

"Night night y/n/n," She dozed off.

You left the door open slightly and jumped when you saw Leah waiting on the opposite side of the door, "Jesus, Lee," You pulled her into your bedroom not wanting to wake either girl, "Listen, I truly am sorry about not telling you about all this. I was just scared and didn't want to lose you is all,"

Leah took you in her arms, "I understand, love. Don't worry about it," She gave you a kiss on the side of your head and pulled away, "I loved watching you interact with them, you're so good at it. And you look beautiful while doing it," She flirted and pecked your lips.

You moved your arms to wrap around her neck, "I love watching you interact with them, didn't know you had it in you, Captain Grumpy Pants," You teased as Leah was known for her stern facial expressions.

Leah looked unimpressed, "Well at least V, thinks I'm pretty," She spoke triumphantly.

You pecked her lips, "I happen to think you are very pretty," You kissed her again but let it go even further and when you had to break apart for air, "Gorgeous really," You teased.

"Stop trying to one-up a child," She chastised sarcastically.

You smirked, "You might just have to shut me up, then," You flirted but it didn't end up going much further as the two of you ended up fast asleep within minutes exhausted from playing football, cheering and taking care of two children.

#woso x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #woso imagine #woso community #woso fanfics #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader

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necroflame · 3 months

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On the Way to a Smile (Dark!Rafe Cameron x F!Reader)

Paring: Dark!Rafe Cameron x F!Reader

Summary: On the cusp of your wedding, you are haunted by a shade from your past who just can't seem to leave you alone.

Warnings: Implied non-con, drugging, loss of virginity, original characters, wedding crashing, possessive behaviour, flashbacks, bullying, substance use, cheating, implied eating + body image issue (18+)

🦇gill – "I made a story board for this on pinterest if anyone is interested, this is my first dark fic + semi smut so any feedback would be very appreciated! I also included some linked visuals but that's only how I imagined things to look, you can follow your own destiny." 🌬 17k (buckle up ya'll)

"What's all this?"

Strewn across the Cameron's dining table was an array of objects that could only be described as a mixed blessing. Multiple binders containing silk swatches protruding from the edges, sticky notes with potential dietary requirements, and different flora species – planning a wedding was less of a journey and more of a ride.

Averting your burning eyes from your laptop screen, you acknowledged Rafe with a cordial smile, lazily gesturing to the conglomeration of wedding itinerary.

"My future."

The blonde simply hummed, eyes narrowing as he leisurely rounded the dark oak to stand beside you. He silently lingered there for a moment, ring-clad fingers dancing across the drafted invitations with an indecipherable expression.

"Where's Sarah? Ain't she supposed to be helping you with all this shit?"

You refrained from rolling your eyes. Rafe was, after all, a friend of the family, and by extension earned your respect. Even If he could be a complete dick–

"I am helping, thank you very much!"

Sarah's voice, now tinged with irritation, reverberated from the pantry before she emerged with a bag of microwave popcorn. "What do you have to offer other than giving us a headache?" A deep crease settled between her brows as she threw her flaxen locks into a low ponytail, setting the bag into the microwave.

"Well you see, Sarah, I'm a man with a fine eye for detail." He prodded his haughtily puffed chest which Sarah scoffed at, glancing towards you with disbelief.

"Says the boy who'd be leaving the house with his shoelaces undone were it not for Wheezie."

"Now you're just making shit up–"

"Both of you, please!" With an exasperated sigh, you cradled your throbbing temples in the seat of your palms. "If you're going to argue, do it somewhere else."

Ding!

A much-needed reprieve from the stifling tension in the room, the microwave beeped, signalling that the popcorn was ready. However, the pause was short-lived. As soon as the timer stopped, the silence was disrupted by Rafe's voice. His tone mocking and derisive.

"Ordering me around in my own house, hm?" His short, dirty blonde locks cascaded over his eyes as he shook his head, failing to conceal his lour. "Nah, that's not how it works sweetheart. Maybe I'd allow it if you were marrying me."

"Rafe." Sarah hissed. "Shut up and get out."

In the typical fashion of the first-born Cameron, Rafe disregarded his sister's command, instead opting to leer down at you like some voracious beast reading to trap you in its gaping maw.

"So where's the lucky man? He got to stake his claim, now he's leaving all the work for you?"

You ignored his taunts, for that was what they were. He fed off reactions like a leech. You had come to realise this over the years as he evolved into an obnoxious variant of the boy you once admired. Rather than giving him the attention he craved so dearly, you turned your focus to Sarah as she came to sit beside you.

"If you must know, he's working to pay off his student loans," You fought the urge to bite back at his spiteful remarks, ultimately losing when you added; "Maybe one day when you take care of your responsibilities, you will understand."

Sarah suppressed her snot beneath a mouthful of popcorn. As you reached for a handful of your own, a hand slid in between, suddenly pushing the bowl out of reach.

"Careful." Rafe drawled warningly, pointing to a trumpet silhouette dress advertised in a women's magazine you had circled with a red marker. "That dress is real pretty, it would be a shame if you outgrew it."

ii.

It was winter, 2006.

You were five, perched on your mother's lap in the front seat of your father's Chrysler 300C as she consoled you through hiccuping sobs. This Christmas, the esteemed Camerons were your family's special holiday destination; a far cry from the usual dinner and movie at your grandparents.

Numerous road signs were posted throughout Figure 8, warning drivers to approach the winding roads with caution due to the unusually high levels of sleet. Despite the treacherous conditions, your father traversed along as he usually would. You whimpered and pawed at your mother's blouse in a bid to be reassured, but she merely shushed you.

"Don't worry, baby. You're safe."

As you pulled up along a circular drive encompassed by large plains of neatly trimmed verdure, a house came into view… if you could even call it that.

A quadruple frontage acting as a supporting beam for the large balcony above donned with red, white and blue flags and multiple seating arrangements. On the right side of the glass entry doors was a metal plaque spelling 'Tannyhill'

You beamed up at the place in awe. "Is this a castle?"

Your father chuckled, ruffling your loose hair.

"Something like that."

A man emerged from the double doors, dressed in the typical 'low-key' Figure 8 attire: white slacks, a chequered shirt, and leather loafers. He was a splitting image of your father and all the other men on the island, carrying an aura of confidence in every sedate step.

You were urged out of the car with a gentle but firm push. The strange man’s beady eyes— like two pale corks screwed into his head— landed on you disconcertingly, as though you were a microorganism being inspected beneath a scope.

"Hello, little one." His eyes crinkled as he smiled, bending down to your level. "What's your name?"

Your young mind could not fathom why he frightened you like the animated villain in your favourite TV show. When he extended his hand to you, you instinctively retreated into your mother's skirt.

"Don't mind her, Ward." Your father emerged from the driver’s side of the vehicle. "She'll warm up real fast if you offer her something sweet."

"A sweet tooth?" The man, Ward, mused. His voice mild-mannered and pleasant to the ear. "My son is the same, I'm sure you'll get along just fine."

Inside, the house was even more impressive. Tannyhill had been the proud ancestral home of the Cameron family for generations and their wealth and prestige were evident in the sheer opulence of its interior. The walls of the hallway were draped in thick upholstery, varying in shades of crimson, indigo and gold. An ornate floral pattern embroidered in gold thread was meticulously sewn onto the walls.

Adorning the hallway to the kitchen were multiple picture frames. One in particular caught your interest; a young boy sat on Ward's lap in a velvet-lined chair, smiling and well-groomed with golden locks and a well-pressed collar.

You wondered if this was the aforementioned son.

Ward's explanation of the Plantation's historical significance fell on deaf ears as you gaped up at the towering ceilings. Your mother attempted to conceptualise it for you through the metaphor of an onion; Tannyhill was composed of multiple layers of history, each integrating to create the rich heritage value of the place.

"You came here once when you were just a little bean in my belly."

"I don't remember that."

She pulled you into her side by the shoulder as she laughed. "Of course you don't, darling."

Ward came to a halt at the staircase, raising a finger to his lips.

"Sarah's nursery is upstairs. We just got her down before you arrived but I'll let you have a peek."

"Oh, that’s alright, Ward. We wouldn't want to disturb her." Your father interjected, mirroring Ward’s hushed tone.

"That won't be an issue, my angel is a heavy sleeper," he whispered, motioning for you to follow him with a reassuring wave of his hand.

“Rafe's up there at the moment,” Confusion enveloped you as a frown settled in place of his previous jovial demeanour. When his stiffened gaze met yours, heat bloomed beneath your cheeks and you perked up. “Maybe you can keep him company, little one."

The first door on the right was painted a light, dusty rose. Above the door frame were little wooden letters decorated by fairies and flowers spelling out ‘Sarah’. The dry hinges screeched as Ward opened the door.

“Rafe, come meet our guests.”

The boy from the picture emerged, older now and taller than expected. Unlike the bright smile he wore in the photograph, there was not a trace of joy on his face. But despite his gloomy demeanour, there was a certain charm about him that you couldn't help but notice.

Beautiful, he’s beautiful.

“Hello.” He said robotically, as though the syllables were being tugged out of his mouth by an invisible wire.

Ward glared disapprovingly at his son. There was a silent exchange between the two before Rafe finally sighed as if submitting to some sort of inevitable conclusion.

“Merry Christmas, it’s nice to meet you all.”

His eyes met yours. Crystal orbs of cerulean, framed by a dark outer ring… you were transfixed by his beauty.

You sat mutely at dinner, only answering direct questions with the bare minimum of words. Mrs Cameron was a lovely and welcoming woman who did her best to include you in the conversation despite your reluctance to participate. Rafe's occasional snarky remarks seemed to anger Ward. His face would darken each time and he would glare in his son's direction with a look of disapproval. The tension between the two was thick, oozing onto you from across the table. You made eye contact with Rafe a few times. He held it with no indication of discomfort whilst you were always the one to eventually flit your attention elsewhere, unable to withstand the strange intensity.

As the maids began to clear the table, Ward suggested to both you and Rafe, “Go and play while us adults have our talk.”

With the sun making a hasty departure below the treeline in the distance, It had cooled off exponentially outside. You trailed behind Rafe as he led you to a small shed next to the pool, struggling to tug your gloves over trembling fingers.

You waited outside as Rafe disappeared beyond the frame, returning a few moments later with a black and white ball.

“Do you know how to play?”

The ball was familiar but you shook your head, unsure of the rules.

“Don’t touch the ball with your hands or make contact with me.”

“Make contact?” You tilted your head in confusion.

“You can’t kick your enemy on purpose, got it?”

You gave a nod– still unsure about why you’d want to kick anyone on purpose– and Rafe tossed the ball at you. The ground was partially frozen beneath your feet and you stumbled backwards with the sudden force of the ball, nearly toppling over.

“Good, let's play.”

At first, it felt hopeless as your feet slipped on the icy ground cartoonishly. Rafe’s size, strength and experience did not deter him from going full pelt, and it quickly became apparent that the only way you could gain any leverage over him was if you were to be sneaky– which of course, was easier said than done.

Every pivot of your foot he anticipated. His agile movements made it nearly impossible to bypass him and you found yourself huffing in frustration as he swiftly confiscated the ball from your weak stance.

“This is not fair!” You cried exasperatedly, ego depleted after numerous failures.

“You’ve got to try harder if you want to beat me.”

Rafe’s arrogant tone only stoked the flames of your wrath. Slowing down, you realised that your frantic footwork before an attack left your defences vulnerable. Watching Rafe’s strategy, you could see that he was coming head-on, anticipating that you would focus your resources on an attack.

This time rather than barreling towards him head-on, you hunkered down into a low stance, turning slightly and awaiting his arrival. Once within range, you swiftly kicked your right foot out, connecting with the ball. It shot through his legs, the suddenness of your attack delaying his reaction ever so slightly, allowing you ample opportunity to rush past him and possess the ball.

After the shock wore off and Rafe turned to face you, his face was adorned by a countenance of surprise. “Wow, not bad.”

“Got you!” You giggled, spinning around in glee.

“You’re more fun than Sarah.” Rafe earnestly remarked. “She never wants to play. All she does is sleep and cry.”

“I like playing with you.”

The corners of his lips tugged upwards, his dour demeanour melting away into a softer grin.

“Let’s try something different.” He suggested, your stomach clenching in apprehension at the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“...Ok.”

“You stand over there,” He pointed to a small clearing between two trees, “That is the goal. You have to try and protect it.”

“Ok.” You giggled, heart thumping in rhythm with your hasty steps.

“Ready?”

You gave a thumbs up and he backed up. Once he was pleased, he took an initial calculative step before thundering towards the ball, sending it soaring through the air. You were sure that it would not make contact with you as it was well above your head. However, after it had risen, it quickly descended back down with the speed and precision of a hunting eagle. It slammed into the edge of your brow, making contact with a surprising amount of force. Your legs gave way under the pressure as you clutched the spot where the ball hit, eyes tearing up from the impact.

“Ow.” Your voice wobbled as you cradled your head.

“Oh, oops.” Rafe rushed to kneel beside you, gingerly lifting your chin to inspect your face. “Are you ok?”

You didn’t respond, and when he noticed the tears welling up in your eyes, his entire body stiffened.

“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t cry, you’re ok.”

Blinking furiously, you managed to keep it together, but your voice came out as a dry croak. “Am I bleeding?”

“Nah, it’ll just be a little bruise. Nothing to worry about.”

His assurance dampened your concern, and you nodded. “Even though that really hurt, I still won. The ball didn’t pass the trees!”

Rafe began to chuckle but was abruptly disturbed by the click of the back door. Your mother called your name into the still air. Sniffling, you brushed your hair back into place when his tight grip clasped onto your shoulders, stilling your frantic movements.

“I was saving this for later,” His voice was hushed now as he removed a lollipop from his back pocket. “But it’s yours if you promise not to tell.”

Wiping the corner of your eyes, you smiled, “Alright.”

iii.

You froze in front of the mirror.

Floor length, delicately laid seams stretching taut against soft curves, the colour perfectly harmonious with your undertones– The dress was a beautiful testament to how far you've come, like a chain binding the past and the present together.

There was just one issue…it wouldn’t zip up the whole way.

You urged the seamstress to keep trying, tugging the resistant zip until it eventually gave way. It didn't, and on one particularly harsh tug, the zip got caught and pinched your flesh. You hissed, and she apologised before releasing it down and backing off.

“Your wedding is in a week?” She inquired, glancing over your frame insouciantly.

“Yes, Saturday week.”

“I should be able to add some alterations to the back in that time.”

Her attempt at assuaging you was futile – your mind could only focus on the wheel of possibilities, endlessly spinning. “What if there’s nothing you can do? Or the alteration destroys the style of the dress? Is there another alternative?”

Her smile was solemn as she met your frantic gaze in the reflection. “Well, I suppose the only other suggestion I can make is to move more and eat less.”

You pressed your lips together before stepping out of the changing room into the harshly lit waiting space. Your mother’s eyes immediately widened as she shot off the couch with a mixture of admiration and concern concocting within her irises.

“Oh, Darling. The dress is beautiful, but you don’t look happy. What’s the matter?”

“There is a slight issue…with the back.” The seamstress sighed, urging you to turn.

Your mother attempted to stifle her gasp beneath a freshly manicured hand. She skittered forward brushing delicate fingers over the fabric, prodding and pushing at the broad opening.

“Mum,” You groaned. “Just be honest with me, how bad is it?”

“Well, it’s about two inches so it’s not unnoticeable.” A crease formed in her brow as she inspected you, momentarily stuck in thought. “Have you considered styling your hair down?”

“Yes, but that's not going to fix the issue.”

She nodded, turning her attention to the seamstress, “Ma’am, I am willing to pay the price to have my daughter's dress prioritised.”

Before she could even consider the request, the familiar chime of your phone rang out, breaking your dazed stupor. As you peered at the screen, the name vibrantly lighting it up like a lighthouse beacon made you deeply exhale.

“Sorry, I’ll just answer this.”

“Is it Thomas?” Your mother’s ears piqued up in interest as you shuffled back to the changing room, her thin lips stretching into a downward crescent.

“Don’t sound more excited than me, mum.”

You swiped the accept button on the call after clicking the lock shut. “Hey sweetheart, how’s it going at the shop?”

A pit swelled within your stomach. “Things could be better.”

“Is there an issue? Last time you couldn’t have sounded happier.” Thomas’s voice was laced with concern, the image of his deep-set frown and fidgeting fingers flashing into your mind.

“I mean, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed. Just a minor issue with the beading.”

“Alright then, so it could be worse? Regardless, I’m certain you look beautiful.”

“You’re kind of required to say that, y’know, as my fiance.” You whispered timorously.

“Required or not doesn’t make a difference if I mean it all the same.”

The impressive weight of the dress’s train dragged the bodice down with it as it cascaded into a pile of limbs on the floor. A chuffed smile melded onto your face. “Was there any real purpose to this call?”

“Depends on what you count as purposeful. I wanted to hear my beautiful fiancé’s voice…and ask what other plans she has for the day?”

This time you snorted. Thomas was always vying for your attention. “I’m supposed to be meeting Edie at the club for lunch. She’s afraid you’ll hog up all my attention after the wedding and plans to get me drunk so she can find out all your dirty secrets.”

“Well she’s not wrong about the first part,” He heartily chuckled. “But try not to reveal too much, I think we’ve had enough rumours spread about us for a lifetime.”

“I’ll do my best. Anyway, I probably should get going, I’m already running late.”

“Alright, I’ll see you later then. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Your mother resumed her position on the plush white couch while she waited for you, snapping up as you beckoned for her towards the entrance. She stalked closely behind your tail, approaching warily as you headed to your car.

“We discussed options on how the dress could be altered. It seems like the quickest solution will be to make it backless.”

“Honestly at this point, I don’t really care,” A heavy and tired sigh escaped your lips as you unlocked your car. “As long as it fits, that's all that matters to me.”

“Darling,” Her cold grasp caught your arm, forcing you to face her. “I know how you get. Your mind is all over the place, I can see it in your eyes.”

“It’s fine mum. I gave up on perfection a long time ago.”

“Either way, this is your big day and I want you to enjoy it. Don’t let this small mishap ruin it for you, alright?” She sagely advised, soothingly rubbing your shoulders.

“Ok, I won’t. Promise.” Though the smile was forced, you didn’t have it in you to counter her pleading eyes. She hugged you firmly, planting a kiss on your cheek as you parted ways.

The country club was brimming with familiar faces, each passing by with a nod of the head. In all honesty, you couldn’t remember half of their names, only being acquainted through your parents. Etiquette was an expected part of the club, though, so you returned their superficial pleasantries with an equally superficial smile.

The dining hall was occupied by an elderly couple sharing hushed whispers beside the far right window and a group of young men ravenously devouring their meals after an afternoon playing golf.

However, there was no sign of Edie.

Allowing your intuition to guide you through the hive-like hallways of the facility, you eventually ended up at the outdoor bar overlooking the course green. That was where you found her; firey tresses flowing loosely over her shoulders, hunched over the bartop as she swirled a glass of glistening rosè.

“I see you started without me.”

Without having to turn she squealed as the sound of your voice carried over to her, attracting the attention of curious onlookers. “You made it! I was starting to think you’d bailed on me…again.”

“Ed, that was months ago. I think it’s time we move on.”

She hummed and with a light giggle tapped the stool beside her. “Only if you let me buy you a drink and promise not to complain about the heat.”

“Deal.”

Nothing ever changed with Edie. Some people would describe her as immature, solidly stuck in the same old adolescent patterns of staying out late, drinking to the point of blacking out and entertaining unsuitable partners based on her attraction to them. But despite the opinion of others, her consistency came as a comfort to you. She knew how to have fun, and this energy never ceased to rub off on you.

“Now I know you’re probably sick of hearing it,” Already knowing where this was going, you rolled your eyes to emphasise how you felt about this turn in the conversation. Her voice was slightly slurred at this point, having gone through half a bottle of prosecco together. If you didn’t keep your wits about you, your tongue would soon become looser than you wished.

“But I have to ask–”

“Ed.” Your tone was firm.

“Are you sure about this?”

You sighed, leaning back in the stool like a beleaguered outpost, utterly surrendered and defenceless against her heavy onslaught.

“The amount of times you’ve asked me this is making me think you just don’t like him.”

“Babe, you know it’s more complicated than that.” She gently clasped your hand. “If you’re happy, I’m happy, promise…even with his track record.”

Your muscles stiffened, weighing you down like a heavy stone in your seat. “We put that behind us many years ago.”

“Well yeah,” She reticently continued. “I guess I’m still in the process of forgiving him, though.”

“If I can then I’m sure you have it in you.”

Her viridian eyes continued to pierce into you as she tilted her glass up to glossed lips. Sensing the finality in your tone, she nodded.

“So, are you?”

“Am I what?” You chortled incredulously.

“Happy!”

“Yes! Trust me if I wasn’t you’d be the first one to hear about it.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” She shimmied her shoulders with a giggle, the previously heavy aura dissipating and being charioted away by the breeze.

The debate over your love life has been a perpetual thorn in your side for many years. People liked to voice their opinions as though your life was paltry gossip they could pass on to their hairdresser. But not many took the time to consider your perspective, your feelings, your anguish.

Edie geared the topic of discussion to her latest rendezvous. A welcome change. Her sporadic lifestyle always kept you on your toes, considering there had been no major updates in your life for some time now... well, aside from the engagement of course. With the warm buzz pulsating through your veins, nothing could disturb the serene ambience of the club.

Almost nothing.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the two finest women on this island.” Kelce, and that could only mean–

“And if it isn’t our favourite troublesome trio. What brings y'all here this evening?”

Rafe lingered behind his posse like a shadow, his feathery locks tucked beneath a dull grey cap. Though his eyes were shielded by black-out shades, you could sense the burning heat of his gaze from a mile away– your body well attuned to it.

“Only the same as you two of course. Mind if we join you?”

“Sorry boys, but it’s kind of a girl’s night.” You quickly interjected, masking the unease in your tone with a fleeting smile.

Edie groaned your name, “Come on, the more the merrier.”

“Yeah come on,” Rafe echoed petulantly. “It’s been a while since we last hung out.” And you got the feeling he wasn’t talking about the rest of them.

Kelce and Topper occupied the two stools adjacent to Edie, leaving the last available seat directly beside you. Rafe was entirely isolated from the group, nursing a bitterly scented beer, and you had become his sole companion.

His stool made an awful scraping sound as he encroached on your personal space. The thick, solid weight of his thigh nudging into yours caused you to flinch and you could have sworn he smirked at the.

“So, how’ve you been?” He lazily drawled and you didn’t miss the way he blatantly zeroed in on your ring.

“The same as always Rafe, but I can’t say that bothers me.”

“No? Y’know that surprises me, you were always so…adventurous. Didn’t think you’d settle for the housewife lifestyle so soon.”

“You of all people should know that others can change.” You argued with a morose huff.

“Yeah, but not you.” His chuckle was merely a blank imitation of humour, shamelessly inauthentic.

“This is kind of unfair. You seem to know my whole life story while I can barely piece yours together these days.”

“You wanna know what I’ve been doing?” You nodded and he slouched back against the bar stool, taking a hefty swig of his beer and removing his shades with a flick of the wrist.

“I was at the shops recently, saw your mum,”

“...Ok?” You scoffed, struggling to see the relevance.

“She says you’ve been acting strange lately, distant, that true?”

“She always thinks I’m acting strangely.” She also apparently likes to gossip about my personal life.

“Thing is,” He paused for a moment, grimacing as if struggling to formulate the proper words. You knew better. Nothing Rafe did was without reason. “She’s under the impression it’s got something to do with the big day.”

“The big day, are you kidding me?”

Your heart synchronised with the beat of the music, drowning out all other immaterial noise as it pounded slow and steady in your ears. For the first time that evening, you dared a glimpse into Rafe’s eyes, immediately noticing his pupils dilated to the size of pennies.

“Jesus– Rafe,” You hissed, snatching his chin between your fingers. “I thought you gave up on that shit.”

“Always worryin’ about me.” A humourless laugh floated from his hollow chest. Cool silver dug into the supple flesh of your wrist as he gently pried your hand away. With a bated breath, you snatched the limb from his grasp.

“Yeah, well someone has to.” You scoffed. Remanence of snow dusted his collar and without thinking you brushed it away, watching as it fluttered into small clouds before dispersing.

“I did give up on it, by the way,” You frowned as your eyes flitted back up to him, brow raising in disbelief considering the blaring evidence that suggested otherwise. “But something’s been bothering me recently. You know what that is?”

“No.”

His grin was so juvenile you struggled to fathom how this man-child before you was in actuality a twenty-two-year-old well on the way to developing his frontal lobe.

He leant forward, resting the weight of his upper body on those muscly thighs, shallow breaths puffing hot and dewy onto your neck. There was no subtlety to his show of bravado. No attempt to hide his objective as the invisible string urged him forward, enabling his crude behaviour.

He wanted to make you suffer.

“The fact that I may have been the first man to have you, but in a week… I might not be the last.”

iv.

Brighton Grammar wasn’t any ordinary school, and it certainly wasn’t for the weak.

On your first day, you witnessed a scrawny boy with haphazard streaks of green throughout his locks get tripped in the hallway and laughed at. The next day, he returned with a full head of brown hair.

His conformity was duller, sure, but it removed a target off his back. The positive side to being different was that you stood out and the negative was that you stood out.

It was a lose-lose situation.

“I don’t see why you bother with all those clubs and shit.” Rafe dallied beside you with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He took it upon himself to chauffeur you between classes, and you didn’t miss the way the crowds parted for him like a proverbial red sea.

A sense of discomfort washed over you as Rafe’s hallowed presence had both girls and boys alike turning their heads. Then there was just you. Plain old you. It was unfair, like pitting a stone against a diamond– ultimately you stood no chance.

“I’m trying to find my passion and form connections. You should try it sometime, then maybe you won't be such a grouch.” He snarled and swerved to the side when you reached to pinch his arm. His reaction stirred a playful snicker from your lips.

“Uh-huh. You talk like my fuckin’ grandma, y’know that?”

“I guess that means, unlike some people I have manners.” He glared at you again, a growing grin nearly breaking his unbothered countenance. “Anyway, I am very capable of making my own decisions and I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“You, capable? That’s not something I ever thought I’d hear.”

“Oh screw you! Starting today I am an independent woman.”

This time he barked out a laugh. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

You came to a halt outside the locked classroom, leaning against the bulletin board frame and waving at your classmates as they mingled amongst each other. Rafe snatched the scheduling paper from your hands, snorting when you cursed him for it.

“General maths with Mr Dubra? Damn, all I can say is good luck.”

His words registered someplace in your mind, but your attention had ventured elsewhere. Rafe followed your transfixed gaze to the bulletin board; a bright-coloured poster with cursive font drew you in like a moth to a flame. In the centre of the A4 page was a picture of a small collective of students, the boy at the front particularly capturing your attention as his pointed finger directed at you.

Auditions for Brighton Grammar’s Hamlet are to be held in the auditorium during lunchtime this Thursday! Do you have what it takes thou thespian?

“I think I’ll join the theatre club.”

Rafe’s expression could only be described as utterly mortified. “Hey if you want to be labelled a fucking loser, be my guest,” He raised his hands in surrender. “I ain't gonna stop you since you’re an ‘independent woman’ now.”

Your attempt to swing at him failed miserably as he dodged your attack with ease.

Ironically enough, you had been joking. The spotlight never called to you the thought of that much attention made your skin crawl. What you were drawn to on the other hand was the underappreciated art of stage crew, the glue that binds a production together.

But the ironic part of it all was that you did end up joining. For one, pathetic and degrading reason:

Thomas Hughes. The boy on the poster.

While you would describe Rafe as universally attractive, Thomas was the kind of handsome that not everyone could appreciate; a somewhat lanky build, eyes deep set into his skull as though he were eternally sleep deprived and unkempt hair tied into a loose bun.

But most notable was his aura, one of complete self-assurance and radiating warmth. He was also in Rafe’s year level– the grade above you –and you were certain the blonde would not approve, which made it all the more thrilling.

And for the sole reason of your silly little schoolgirl crush, you found yourself itching to get out of class after fourth period on Thursday. Unbeknownst to the pack of hounds you liked to call friends.

“You coming to lunch?” Topper asked as you passed him in the hallway, heading in the opposite direction of the cafeteria.

You shook your head with an affable grin. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

“Rafe won’t be happy.”

“Remind me to give a fuck.”

The auditorium was located on the west wing of the school, an old block that had been neglected by the school's previous funding. The heavy double doors creaked as you pushed through them, eyes momentarily adjusting to the dim lighting.

At the front of the stage sat a panel. Some students, some older, presumably teachers. You took a seat a few rows behind them, intent on simply observing.

There were six others in the crowd, bouncing their knees and fidgeting with their jewellery anxiously. All apart from one girl who sat up straight, clad in a stained white gown. She caught your intrigued gaze and softly beamed in return, offering you a wave.

Thomas emerged from the right wing clasping a manila folder. “What a turnout, huh? Now as you probably all know, I will be starring as Hamlet–” The audience erupted in a fit of claps and he bent over into a small bow.

“Thank you, thank you, I am honoured. But more importantly, we are in desperate need of an Ophelia, Gertrude and a Polonius. The show can not go on without them! So I invite you all today to give it your best shot.”

He gave a cue to someone in the light box and the overhead fresnels were adjusted to a neutral glow. “Well then, I don’t see any point in keeping you all waiting. Who would like to go first?”

The girl in the white gown sprung her hand up with little hesitation. “Alright, thank you, Cindy. The stage is all yours.”

Cindy, as you now came to know her, strode up the steps, hips swaying confidently like a lioness on the prowl. She was offered a script but turned it down, “I’ve memorised this act.” Another girl in the crowd scoffed, shaking her head.

As she began, you took note of the dip in her cadence as it transitioned from her naturally firm voice to something delicate and wispy. She had an interesting way of manoeuvring across the stage, light-footed movements carrying her graciously on the wooden surface akin to a small cloud conquering the great big sky. As her performance came to an end, the panel of judges clapped and hooted, and she hid her face in the palms of her hands as it turned notably red.

Thomas offered his hand to help her off the stage, “Great job Cindy! Although I would add for you to maybe tone down on the crazy. It is only the beginning of the play, Ophelia is still fairly sane.”

The gleam in her eyes faltered slightly. “Oh–uh…ok. I’ll remember that for next time.”

“If there is a next time, don’t get too cocky,” Thomas spoke without looking up from his notes, missing the way her jaw fell open in surprise.

“Who’s next?”

The room was swept into silence, everyone glancing around with hesitation.

“You in the back!” Your head snapped upwards, heart dropping instantly, and you awkwardly gestured to confirm that he was indeed referring to you despite the burning of eyes trained on you like being under a spotlight. “Yes, you. Since no one else was brave enough to volunteer, I nominate you.”

“Oh, well I wasn’t actually going to audition. I was just interested in seeing how this all…works.” You chuckled nervously.

“Nonsense! We don’t bite, do we?” A chorus of ‘no we don'ts’’ echoed in the large space. “Besides, it’s worth a shot. Some people are naturals and you will never know if you don’t give it a go.”

It wasn’t like you couldn’t refuse. These were theatre kids not abductors with a gun held to your head. But there was an indescribable intensity radiating off of them as if they could sense the refusal on the tip of your tongue, and for the first time, you felt the agonising weight of what your mother would call peer pressure.

“Alright, why not.”

“That’s the spirit!” You were ushered up to the stage before you had the chance to reconsider, face burning and legs trembling. Thomas’s fingers scraped against yours as he handed over the script. Your breath momentarily hitched and you flinched as though a spark of electricity had been transferred between you.

“Just read what’s been highlighted, the other shit isn’t necessary.”

You nodded, mumbling in recognition as you noticed that at least two-quarters of the page had been highlighted in yellow.

Inhaling deeply, you centred your focus on the script, attempting to block out the sets of eyes trained on you. You opened your mouth…and laughed. A painstakingly timorous noise that could only be controlled by slapping a hand over your traitorous lips.

“I’m sorry, this feels so unnatural to me.”

“No need to apologise, we’ve all been there,” Thomas’s tone was earnest, void of any judgement and this quelled the pin-pricking sensation circulating through your extremities slightly. “How ‘bout we read through the scene first so you have a better understanding of it. Shakespearean language can be a real bastard if you’re not used to it.”

You giggled at his jocose attitude, relief washing over you like a damp cloth. “I think that would help, thank you.”

From what you gathered the scene went as follows: Ophelia's father Polonius and her brother Laertes say their good-byes, consecutively warning her not to trust Hamlet’s promises of love as well as ordering her not to see Hamlet again.

Although you still admired her performance, Thomas’s criticism of Cindy’s portrayal made much more sense now. Though Ophelia is famously driven to madness later on in the play– accumulating in her untimely and equally ambiguous end– at this stage of the story, she is merely a heartstruck girl observing the world through rose-tinted lenses.

“Good to go?”

“I think so.”

“Alright, everyone! Give it up for…sorry, what’s your name?”

Your voice echoed with a newfound confidence and the crowd repeated it in a cheer. Perhaps you had been wrong, maybe you did like the spotlight, only you’d never given it the proper chance.

Mimicking Cindy, you adopted a higher pitch. Not shrill like the birds that resided outside your window each morning, but a pleasant touch of feminine; soft and delicate. You ambled across the stage, not in the same floaty manner she had employed but instead surefooted, conveying Ophelia’s clear-mindedness at this stage of the play. Unlike Cindy, however, you did not have the lines down, forcing you to take a slower approach. But this seemed to work in your favour, your slowed speech giving you plenty of opportunity to focus on your facial expressions, ensuring that they matched what was being described in the cues.

As your performance wrapped up and the adrenaline steadily receded, you couldn’t resist fixating on Thomas in the crowd who gazed up at you as though you hung the moon and stars in the sky.

And for the first time at your godforsaken school, you felt seen.

The hum of silence echoed in the Cameron’s dining room, encompassing the yellow walls in a damp sheen that refused to dry. Silver cutlery clinked against delicate porcelain, and as you picked away at your food, Rose smiled at you from across the table.

“So…Rafe tells us that you’re going to be in the school’s performance, what was the name–”

“Hamlet.” The blonde blankly interrupted, and you were surprised that he even knew that. “She’s playing the girl who kills herself.”

Ward hummed in interest, passing you the salad bowl. “That's excellent news. Theatre was a thriving business in my generation but it seems to have become somewhat of a dying art. Good on you for keeping it alive.”

“Well I didn’t exactly plan on joining, it just kind of happened–”

“She’s got a thing for the main guy, Tobias or some shit, that’s why she auditioned.”

“Rafe!” He grunted as you nudged his shin, lips peeling into a provoking smirk at your scolding.

“You gonna tell me I’m wrong?” He teased with a venomous undertone only you seemed to register, and your eyes narrowed at him.

“I want to see, I want to see, who’s this guy?” Sarah wheedled with her big brown eyes.

“Shut up, Sarah–”

“Rafe! Do not speak to your sister that way.” Ward’s voice boomed like a deafening clap of thunder, and once his pulsating anger settled, a small cry erupted from Wheezie who tried to conceal her tears beneath a dotted napkin. Rose was quick to placate the young girl with promises of dessert, whisking her off into the kitchen but not before refilling her glass of chardonnay.

Once they were out of sight, Ward beckoned Sarah to clamber onto his lap, folding her small face into his broad neck before regarding his son with a scalding glare. “Look at what you’ve done.”

The interaction was unsettling, to say the least, but not uncommon. Rafe’s lips pinched shut, suppressing a whimper. In the face of his father’s wrath, he would always detract from his usual tough persona, retreating into the shell of a wounded puppy. You didn’t blame him. Ward could be cruel with no regard for the effect his words had on his son, and you loathed him for his blatant favouritism.

You reached for his hand underneath the table, intertwining the cold extremity with your own. He flinched at first, aggressively flicking his head toward you. But as you gave it a gentle squeeze he seemed to catch on to your intention and his body fell back into a relaxed state.

You tried to be there for Rafe as much as you could, but despite your efforts, the void left by an absent father was irreplaceable. You could only try your best, but sometimes you had to put yourself first, even if that meant neglecting the needs of those closest to you.

The production was a much bigger commitment than you initially thought. Rehearsals pulled you from classes multiple times a week and you began to worry that it could potentially detract from your other subjects. But as a young woman, the possibility of it reeling you from your scholarly responsibilities was not quite as concerning as it was that you felt you were failing at your duties as a friend.

It had been raining consistently for the past five days. Endless bouts of downpours during spring thickened the soil and left the air with an unpleasantly muggy tinge. You and Rafe slouched against the linoleum floors of the school gymnasium, slightly obscured from view by the red curtains of the wall-length window. He shut your concerns of being caught down by offering you a swig of whatever concoction he’d brought onto school premises.

“How about instead of getting your tits in a twist about it, you have some.”

Classic Rafe.

But you did end up having some because as soon as he began ranting you knew it was necessary for your own mental wellbeing.

“You better fucking be there ‘cause there’s no way I can deal with all those old farts on my own.”

“Am I even invited?” You grimaced as the bitter taste invaded your tastebuds, eagerly handing the flask back, to which he condescendingly snorted.

A gathering with Ward and his highly esteemed guests could only entail boredom to a deadly degree. Even thinking about it made you yawn, but on the other hand, you would feel bad if Rafe had to endure it on his own.

“Dad says you're more than welcome, he likes having you around,” He let out a small chuckle, ruffling his short bangs. “He says you keep me sane like we’re an old married couple or some shit.”

At that, you couldn’t help but barked out in laughter. “Yeah right. Say we ever did hypothetically get married, one of us would probably end up killing the other.”

“Yeahhh, probably.”

He drank again, eyeing you scrupulously, and in that moment you wished you could climb into his brain to know what he was thinking. There was a brief awkward pause before you cleared your throat and asked, “Wait, when did you say this was again?”

“Friday, afterschool…why?”

“Shit, Rafe–”

“Nah. You gotta be fucking kiddin’ me, again. They can’t keep you after school on a Friday! That’s criminal.”

“I know, trust me I agree.”

“Don’t go then.” He countered with a raised brow, testing you.

“I would If I could, you know that. But there’s two weeks till the show, there’s just too much to do.”

“Sure, whatever you say.” He lifted the silver cylinder back up to his lips, taking a long swig.

“Rafe,” You sighed, trying to reason with him. “Please don’t be mad at me, I’m sorry–”

You were cut off as the doors to the gym groaned, opening to reveal the last person you expected to see.

Thomas.

“Oh, hey. What’s up?” He seemed surprised to see you, but even more surprised to see you with Rafe, eyes flickering between you with confusion.

“Hi Thomas, we were just,” His attention flitted down to the flask, incriminating evidence that you quickly swept beneath Rafe’s folded leg, “Uh, what are you doing here? Never took you as the sporting kind of lad.”

Shit, that was bad. As if Rafe was thinking the same thing, he snorted into his fist. You wanted to crumble right then and there.

Thomas seemed to find your comment amusing, however, bowing his head as he chortled. “Damn, it’s that obvious, huh? But nah, I’m just tryna help Cindy find her phone. I would ask what you guys are up to, but…well, I don’t really wanna know.”

“Ah, well I hope she finds it. We didn’t see anything, did we, Rafe?”

“Nope.” He popped his ‘p’ when answering, and you frowned, unimpressed by his cavalier attitude. “Hey man, why don’t you join us?”

Rafe tilted his head at Thomas in what would appear to the average eye as a friendly gesture but you knew better; he was up to no good.

“I would. But as I said, I gotta–”

“Oh c'mon, I’m sure she could do with the detox.”

“Uh…”

“Is that a yes?” He gestured toward you, “She won’t mind. In fact, I think she’d much prefer to hang out with you than me–”

Classic Rafe. You desperately waved your hands at Thomas, attempting to damage control before he had the opportunity to make the situation even more awkward. “Don’t listen to him, he’s way too used to getting his way. Go if you need to.”

A brief glint of relief flashed across Thomas’s features, and like a rabbit caught in a tiff, he seized the opportunity you provided to flee. “You’re right, I really ought to go. Thanks for the offer though, man. See you both around.”

As soon as the doors clicked shut again, you wasted no time. Rafe didn’t even attempt to defend himself against your slew of attacks, simply taking your weak hits for what they were.

“What the fuck was that?” You finally hissed out once you’d calmed down.

“What was what?”

“Don’t be a moron, are you trying to embarrass me?”

“Oh, sorry for being a good wingman.” His shrug was insouciant, further frustrating you.

“What you’re being is a pain in my ass.”

He didn’t react to that in the way you expected. Generally, he found the humour in your insults, but this time a coldness you weren’t accustomed to receiving glazed over his eyes.

“You really like this guy, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the shit. You’ve only ever acted like this with that kid who proposed to you in the sandpit.” As you stood he sighed, realising you were refusing to engage in this conversation. “So will I see you on Friday or not?”

“Probably not.”

“See! I knew you’d rather hang out with him than me!” He shouted after you as you stormed off to your next class, gait regretfully swaying as the effects of Rafe’s concoction set in.

In the weeks leading up to the performance, things only became more hectic. If you were to get your cortisol levels tested the results would likely conclude abnormally high. To make matters worse, Rafe was mad at you. Topper and Kelce tried to assure you that he wasn’t, but you knew better. He didn’t respond to your texts, barely acknowledged your presence at school and hadn’t invited you over in a week. All very abnormal behaviours as, while yes, he was an inherit dickhead, you were usually exempt from this.

So naturally, you did what any normal person in such circumstances would do; gave him the same treatment in return. Only acknowledging the damage his behaviour was inflicting upon you in furious scribbles in your lavender spiral diary.

You were having your costume fitted in the small dressing room adjacent to the auditorium. Cindy was booked for her appointment afterwards and in the meantime she lazed on the tattered purple couch in the corner of the room, scrolling through her phone.

A girl from the costume department examined the logistical functioning of your costume as there were a few instances in the performance where a quick change was necessary. Her vivacious red curls bounced as she turned the room upside down in search of her pins.

“Ok then, you’re pretty much done. I’ll just have to hem the base so we adhere to theatre-safe practices and all that stupid shit they assess…” She paused and eyed you over, tugging at the loose sleeve of your dress with a hum. “You look so pretty, like a fairy.”

“Thank you.” You bashfully smiled. She returned it before turning to the other girl in the room.

“Cindy.”

“Hm?”

“Cindy.”

“What?” She snapped, tearing her gaze from her phone.

“What do you think?”

“I mean it’s alright” She shrugged, face peeling into a saccharine grin. “Not really your colour but you definitely suit rags.”

You would’ve burst out into laughter had you not been so shocked.

“Now I remember why I don’t ask for your opinion,” The redhead rolled her eyes, shoving Cindy’s garment bag into her lap. “Be useful and get changed into this. I’ll get started on you in a moment.”

Once Cindy had left the room, she bowed her head apologising.

“I’m guessing you’re not her biggest fan?”

“Not a fan, period.” She sullenly snorted. “She’s a sanctimonious bitch who can’t keep her nose out of other peoples’ business.”

“She’s pretty at least.” You tried to see the best in people, despite how difficult they made it for you.

“Well, that’s about all she has to offer. I’m Edie, by the way.”

And the rest was history.

Similarly to the majority of the cast and crew, Edie was in Rafe’s grade. And when she discovered (during your break on Friday rehearsals) that you knew the infamous blonde personally, you did not hear the end of it.

“You’re friends with Rafe Cameron?” Her jaw fell open so quickly that you worried it would pop out of alignment.

“Yeah, I mean we practically grew up together. I’ve spent half my life at his house.”

“You go to his house?! Holy fuck, you’ve been living my dream life like it’s nothing to you.”

“Trust me it’s not as good as you might think. He can be a real ass–”

“Hope you’re not talkin’ about me?” An arm suddenly snaked over your shoulder. The limb was heavy but warm– comforting –and emanated a pleasant aroma. Thomas let his hair hang loose today, long ebony strands pirouetting over the surface of your skin when you glanced up at him.

“Ah-ha not specifically, but I don’t know, maybe it applies to you too.”

In true theatrical style, he sputtered out a choking noise, clasping onto his chest to imitate immense pain. “Ouch. I think you just broke my heart.”

“Oh really? I didn’t realise Martians could feel pain.”

He gasped, and Edie chuckled at the interaction from beside you, shaking her head at your antics. “O-kay as cute as that was, can we please get back to the topic of Rafe.”

Thomas’s expression pinched in discomfort at the mention of the blonde and you recalled your last interaction with them both, inwardly cringing. “Does he have a problem with me or something? I feel like he does.”

“Wouldn’t be surprising. He’s always looking to have a problem with someone.”

“Seems to tolerate you though.”

“Barely,” He opened his mouth to respond but was beaten to it by a loud screech sounding out the syllables of his name. Cindy stood atop the stage, tapping her foot rhythmically against the solid wood with her arms crossed over her chest, not bothering to contain her lour.

“Thomas!” her voice pierced across the auditorium again like one of those pesky drillers going off on a Sunday morning. “I want to go over the cues for this scene, c’mon.”

“Hey,” Edie halted him as he begrudgingly moved to acquiesce to her demand, “Just remember you have free will.”

“Well look how far that’s gotten me.”

You weren’t sure what he meant by that, as though it were some cryptic message you’d been tasked to decode. He smiled, bidding you both goodbye with a simple wave and you paused for a moment, observing as he trudged away.

Edie cleared her throat and you were snapped out of your daze, returning to the present only to realise– with much dismay –that your face had been donned with a damning grin. Her brow quirked and you knew what was coming.

“What’s that look for?”

“Something you wanna tell me?”

“Um… I don’t think so?” Your voice came out in a pathetic squeak and you cleared it, although the damage had already been done.

“Oh come on,” She scoffed with an omniscient smirk, “You’re about as transparent as my gran’s panties…You like him.”

“Not you too.” You groaned, pivoting on your heels to take a seat in one of the rows of chairs furthest away from anyone else. If she wanted to have this conversation it was going to be out of earshot. Lest someone else managed to uncover your secret it would soon spread like wildfire. Her girlish giggle followed, and she saddled up beside you.

“There’s no shame in it, babe. Tom’s a good guy, and you seem to get along…but–”

“But what?”

Her expression soured, as though the words on the tip of her tongue were full of bile. “One thing you should know about Tom is that for many years, he had a thing for Cindy,” Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, “She rejected and rejected him, and eventually he moved on…but she didn’t like that. Not one bit. But now it seems the tables have turned. Did you know she fucking hates theatre?”

“Doesn’t seem that way to me.” You were prompted to glance up onto the stage where the two were currently rehearsing; she made it seem so effortless. How could she hate the things she was good at?

“Exactly. That’s why she’s so dangerous, she can keep up a good act.”

“I see…” This information shouldn’t have unsettled you. The past was set in stone for a reason and it was only possible for it to be resurfaced if you allowed it to. But it did unsettle you. Cindy possessed a classic kind of beauty you weren’t sure you could compete with. “So do you think if she were to ever bring it up, he would go for her again?”

“Hard to tell, with both of them. I’m pretty sure it’s just a game to her, she likes the attention. But as for Thomas, I think he’s beginning to see things clearer now.”

You tilted your head, unsure of what she meant by that.

“He’s not thinking with his dick.” She clarified bluntly, the crass wording making you gasp and then chuckle.

“Right. Good to know.”

Your phone vibrated from within your jeans pocket and you were surprised to see that it was Rafe calling you, considering you’d essentially gone with no contact for days. Assuming the worst, you excused yourself.

As you placed the phone to your ear you could only manage to make out a whooshing sound as though he were standing atop a viciously windy mountain. Then it stopped in tandem with what sounded to be like a string of expletives before he finally spoke.

“Yooo, what’s up? You coming?” Your brows furrowed at his elated tone. Last you’d checked, he was ignoring you.

“Rafe, I already told you I can't–”

“Chill, it's fine. Got dumb and dumber to come over, keep me entertained”

“The fuck you just call us?” Topper and Kelce both shouted in unison somewhere in the background. Aside from their outburst, you couldn’t make out any other noise so you imagined they’d locked themselves away from all the action with Ward and his friends. Rafe detested hanging out with the oldies.

“OK, good. Saves me from feeling bad. But are you alright, you sound a bit…” Happy. The word you were grasping for was happy because you couldn’t remember the last time he’d sounded so carefree.

“Better than ever!”

“And are we ok?”

“Yeahhh, you’re too cute to stay mad at for long.”

His response stifled you for a moment. “That’s real funny, Rafe.”

But in the coming days, something told you this may not be the case.

Instead of avoiding you, Rafe wasn’t even showing up to school anymore. You were worried he was still clinging onto the remnants of his unjust anger until you received another phone call at 2:30 am, the night before your performance.

“Rafe…” You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, voice groggy and disoriented as you checked the glaring red lines on your digital clock. “What’s wrong? Do you even know what time it is?”

“Yeah, uh I’m sorry…” He sniffed. “I’m outside, can I come– ah actually y’know what just come out front, will you?”

You paused. On any ordinary occasion, you’d have told him to piss off, too tired and frustrated to entertain his larks. But a stab of concern reared its ugly head at his shakey tone– this was very out of character.

“Yeah, yeah of course. I’ll be out in a minute.”

It was a blisteringly cold night so you shrugged on a coat before trekking downstairs quietly, praying your parents weren’t lying awake to witness you sneaking out of the house in the wee hours.

The front door scraped against the doormat as it opened. Rafe remained slumped against one of the white veranda pillars, motionless, as though he hadn’t heard you. His breaths were heavy, and upon assessing him you frowned at the fact that he was merely clad in a thin polo shirt and khaki shorts.

“...Rafe?” You brushed your fingers gingerly across the wide expanse of his shoulders. He violently flinched, whipping around as though your touch was a burning affliction upon his supple skin. But his harsh reaction quickly softened when he saw it was just you.

“Shit, don’t do that.”

“Sorry.” You whispered, dragging your eyes from his head down to his toes, assessing for any injuries. His unmarred skin left you stumped and it was only when you honed in on his frantic gaze did the issue finally dawned on you.

“Are you high?”

Your question seemed to strike a nerve. He scrunched his face within his hands, as though he were in pain.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I-it’s like I’m seeing shit and hearing shit and my head hurts so fucking bad.” He was reacting badly. “And all I could think about was seeing you.”

“Did you fight with Ward?” This time he didn’t flinch as you grabbed onto his bicep, hoping to ground him.

“Yeah, uh, yeah he’s just–”

“It’s alright, you don’t have to explain that right now. I’m here.” His burly arms engulfed you as he accepted your hug. You entangled yourself within his embrace, understanding that right now, all he desired was some comfort.

“Thanks.”

His voice was muffled by the position with his head stuffed into your shoulder. You gently tighten your hold in response, focusing on the rapid stuttering of his heartbeat which gradually slowed and levelled out into a calmer rhythm.

What came next was like an inevitable chain of events: both of you pulled back at the same time and a frisson of confusion swept over you as he remained there, content with your noses practically intertwining. Although you weren’t confused. No. You were evading the truth. The truth that had become crystallised at this moment, glistening so bright you could hardly ignore it.

One moment you were pinned to the spot by his sodden gaze, sporadically alternating between each region of your face. Mapping out each detail but notably lingering on your lips. Emotions raged within those viridian orbs like a violent coastal storm, threatening to destroy whatever stability you had left.

Then, as though it were natural to him, he met you in the middle.

You’d never experienced anything like it, and any story you’d been told was not comparable. His lips were firm and demanding in a way that surprised you and there was not a single trace of hesitation in his movement, as though he’d been waiting for this moment for a long time.

Reality came crashing into you like a truck; you were kissing your best friend. The boy you bathed with as a child, who allowed you to snot into his sleeve as you wept and who vowed to protect you from the plight of men; It felt nice, but this sentiment was so heavily outweighed by the fact that it felt wrong.

This revelation ignited your dormant reflexes. As he began to paw at your lower back, you realised this had gone too far.

The rate at which you pushed him away stunned even you, and a wave of guilt ebbed through your system as his back collided with the pillar; you didn’t mean to be so harsh, after all, he was already in a vulnerable state. He remained crumpled in that position, fingers ghosting over his lips as if he were attempting to savour the taste of your own.

“Shit, I-I’m always fucking up, I’m sorry,” He cupped your chin, the action causing you to jerk. “Sorry.”

It unnerved how contrived his apology sounded, and you wondered if he could hear it too.

“Uh-no no it’s ok,” Your body was frozen in a state of shock. “You're all over the place,” Surely he’d brush this off as a mistake by morning. “let's get you inside, yeah?”

His eyes glazed over your face once again, scrupulously this time, as though he were searching for something. He nodded when he didn’t find it, seemingly wanting to say more as he brushed the back of his neck but he chose to remain silent as you led him inside.

It wasn’t unusual for you to share a bed; you’d done so numerous times in the past. But it felt different now, like an invitation you were reluctant to hand out. You wanted to be there for Rafe, but you couldn’t let him get confused.

So you lay there, keeping an appropriate amount of distance from the snoring blonde. If you acted normal, things would remain as they always had, right? Would it be swiped under the rug? Deep down you realised the implications of what had just occurred, and the potential for your…brief mistake to alter both of your futures. It was a classic tale, one you’d heard so many times (both in reality and fiction) it had burned deep into your psyche. A slow evolution between boy and girl, from friendship to beyond. But that didn’t mean you'd end like that, you repeated it over and over again like a mantra.

You just couldn’t.

So you lay there, deciding to enjoy this peaceful moment. Naturally, your mind drifts over it all: the play, Thomas, and Rafe beside you. All share a common denominator– pumping your life full of both excitement and stress.

But as the saying goes; all good things must come to an end.

vi.

Rafe experienced what you liked to call a reverse metamorphosis during your senior year.

Why reverse? Well, instead of transforming from a raggedy moth, expanding his wings to flourish as a butterfly, he took a drastic turn for the worse; as though he’d retreated into a slimy cocoon.

Not that he’d ever been exceptionally well-behaved throughout his schooling years– busted for truancy more times than you could count, dabbling in all sorts of allusive substances among other nefarious things that you try not to dwell on –but as a recent graduate privileged with all the resources needed to pave a bright future, you had at least expected he’d try.

Unfortunately, things didn’t always pan out as you imagined they would.

If he wasn’t drunk, or at least on the brink of it, then he was under the influence of some other powdery or herbal substance. Wasting his days away under the soft confinements of his bedding, recovering from late nights and remaining slumped against the toilet for the better half of his waking hours. Then he’d repeat the cycle, with absolutely no lessons learnt.

Sometimes you’d receive a call. Incoherent slurs that reminded you of that fateful night months ago, where lines were blurred and boundaries crossed. His drunken words held no meaning, right? That’s what you would tell yourself, like a mantra, over and over until your mind believed what it heard the most.

Nonetheless, you couldn’t spend your whole life worrying about Rafe. Not when you had other, more imperative issues at hand.

Or… between your legs.

The nonsensical droning emitted from the food network on your TV fell on deaf ears as you sat perched on Thomas's lap. The weight of your knees was supported by cherry sheets and pink frilly pillows as your lips moved against his at a languid pace. It was soft, sensual…tame, but at the same time exhilarating, and you trusted Thomas to guide you through it.

He let out a low groan as your fingers absentmindedly tugged on his shiny locks. Much to your dismay, he recently cut his hair shorter than it's ever been; his new look attracted attention from those who previously dismissed him, and this stoked the flames of unease within you.

You lowered your position, leaning impossibly closer until your chest brushed against the flimsy cotton of his t-shirt. A jolt of electricity transmitted up your spine as his hands found purchase on your lower back, traversing dangerously low, and a soft whimper floated from your chest.

But as you were still discovering, the art of intimacy was much more complex than you initially believed, and you hadn’t quite learnt how to toe the line.

Without thinking, your thumbs dipped into the waistline of his pants. Just barely tickling the surface, but enough to make Thomas jerk his head back, the hasty action subsequently halting your heated movements.

“What’re you doing?” His voice was outlandishly thick as his breaths came out in heavy puffs, scented in confusion.

“I-i just thought…” You sat back, feeling suddenly unmoored. “Sorry, am I doing something wrong?”

“Of course not, just not right now, ok?” His deft fingers kneaded into your side, but their intended comforting effect did nothing to quell the pang of his rejection.

“Sure.” You halfheartedly smiled, slipping off of his warm body to settle by his side.

Had you been as stiff as a board this entire time? And why was your bedroom becoming increasingly suffocating? As though the walls unanimously decided to close in and focus every second of awkwardness into one concentrated area.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Thomas eventually broke the heavy silence, refusing to broach the elephant in the room– which you were thankful for.

Clearing your throat, you rolled out of your bed, pulling on a pair of fuzzy socks. “Yeah, I’ll-uh get us something to eat. You choose the movie.”

Your relationship with Thomas had been smooth sailing…until it wasn't.

As you busied yourself slicing up a platter of fruit in the kitchen, you couldn’t resist analysing each possibility as to why. Thomas was acting strangely. This wasn’t an assumption, and it couldn’t have been a coincidence that his change in demeanour always seemed to occur in your presence. So then what were you doing wrong? And why did he insist on keeping you in the dark?

Your train of thought came to an abrupt halt as you noticed an onslaught of notifications popping up on your phone. With an exasperated groan, you leaned over the bench to see who dared to disrupt your moment's peace.

Rafe. Could you get a break?

To: Princess Rafe 🙄👑 Piss off I’m busy.

You left it there, praying to any deity willing to lend you an ear that that would suffice. But clearly, you’d also managed to vex the higher beings, as his response was immediate:

From: Princess Rafe 🙄👑 I’m going 74 mph yet I take the time to talk to you 🖕

Yep. No break for you.

To: Princess Rafe 🙄👑 ???? Dude get off your fucking phone.

From: Princess Rafe 🙄👑 Since you asked so nicely.

And if his cavalier regard for the law wasn’t bad enough, his next message sent your jaw straight to the floor.

“Nope. Not dealing with this.” You shoved your phone into your pocket, ignoring the buzz of a new notification, both for your sanity and Rafe’s safety.

When you returned to your room, Thomas had migrated to the carpet, perched atop a pile of decorative pillows you’d previously discarded onto the floor as he flicked through the pages of a familiar lavender spiral notebook.

You gasped, the realisation of what he was rifling through and slapping you right across the face.

“Oh, hey.” He smirked– that sick, condescending bastard!

“STOP!” You screeched, and his laughter verged on hysterical. “Put. That. Down.”

He swiftly dogged the stuffed animals you pelted in his direction, pouting derisively as you proceeded to storm towards him. “Aw, why would I do that? I was just getting to the part where you’ve described my scent. Lemon myrtle? That’s pretty specific, it’s actually musk–”

“Thomas.” Your tone acquired a sharp edge, but clearly, he hadn’t tortured you enough as he teasingly flicked to the newer entries.

“Oh, and what’s this…” His posture went lax, abruptly pausing. His wide eyes darted in between the lines as though the words were a mirage he was reluctant to put his trust in. Then his lips pulled down into a small frown, and your stomach clenched.

“What? Where the hell are you up to?” Your attempt to snatch at the book was fruitless as he kept it raised well above your reach. “Wha–”

“Alright, I’ve had enough of this game for one night. Let’s watch the movie.” You stumbled to catch the book as he carelessly discarded it, pivoting around you as he flopped back onto the bed.

“Okay…but don’t make a habit of breaching my privacy.” Your laugh was intended to lighten the mood, but it seemed to have the opposite effect.

“Why, got something to hide?” He sullenly spoke, staring at the ceiling. Again, the inexplicable tension had wormed its back into your room. It was like a stubborn parasite that adapted to its surroundings, never completely disappearing.

“Nothing too damning I’d imagine.”

The movie Thomas chose was a 20th-century romantic tragedy featuring many themes typical of that era such as misogyny and class which made your eyes roll. Your attention to the plot was continually hijacked as Rafe continued to flood your phone with messages, making it difficult to follow along with the plot. You’d been in the middle of responding to one of his many texts (complaining about how some guy at a party was getting on his nerves) when the movie suddenly paused.

“Mm, why'd you pause it?” You peeled your eyes from the screen to be met by Thomas’s blank ones.

“Can I ask you something? And I want you to just be honest with me, don’t tell me what I want to hear.”

“Uh, sure.” His quick transition into seriousness caught you by surprise, and your body tensed like a coiled spring.

“Alright look, I hate to be this guy,” His face scrunched into a grimace as he glanced anywhere but your eyes. “But you’d tell me if there was someone else, wouldn’t you?”

“Someone else? What do you mean?”

He sighed, clearly frustrated. “Let me be more clear then. If you liked someone else, would you string me along…or would you break things off?”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, now twisting your body to face him with a scoff. “Who do you think I am, Thomas? I was the one who asked you out, remember? That wasn’t on a whim, I did that because I liked you.”

“Liked?”

You groaned. Why was he making this so complicated?

“Liked, like. What difference does it make? To me, this seems like you are trying to come to the conclusion you want to hear?”

“I’m not jumping to conclusions, just tryna test my hypothesis.”

“Okay, and what’s that?” Probing information out of him was like bribing a kid with vegetables; fucking tedious.

“That you care about Rafe more than you’re letting on, maybe more than you even realise.”

“What?” You almost laughed in disbelief. Where was this even coming from? “He’s one of my best friends, wouldn’t it be more concerning if I didn’t care for him?”

“I never said you couldn’t care about him to a normal degree, but he may as well be in the room with us! It’s never just me and you, he’s always occupying your mind. Do you not stop to think about how that makes me feel?”

He did have a point. Rafe was like a dog, constantly demanding your attention, and it had been that way since the day you met him. Still, you sat there in shock, realising he must’ve been bottling this up for some time now.

“I didn’t mean- well alright if we’re suddenly being honest, half the time I’m with you it feels like you don’t even want me there.”

“What does that mean?” Now it was his turn to sound confused, offended even.

“You confuse me! One moment you’re all over me and the next you’re pushing me away as though I make your skin crawl.”

He paused, contemplatively digesting your words before his pretty features twisted into an indignant scowl. “So does that excuse what you did? Because I don’t show you enough attention?”

“What did I do?” You were at your wit’s end.

“Oh stop pretending like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I saw it, written in your pretty fucking handwritten; you kissed him.”

Oh. Shit. Of all entries, it was that one he had to have read; which did not paint the clearest picture of that night. You got halfway through documenting what had happened before stopping right at the point when you realised it was wrong, no longer feeling in the mood to relive the moment…no wonder he was furious.

“It’s not what you think.” You internally cursed yourself for how cliche that sounded.

“No? Enlighten me then.” He sat up straight like a judge awaiting your testimony from a convicted criminal.

“Rafe has issues…okay. Stuff at home, and he’s never known how to cope on his own–”

“Oh right, so that’s where you come into play. Are your lips like some magical cure for interpersonal issues?” He queried cynically.

“Would you shut up and listen!” This time, he reared back at your outburst, “That night he was really out of it. I’m talking delirious, like some rabid dog. He kissed me, not the other way round, and I stopped it because it didn't feel right… and because I liked you.”

You could see the cogs churning in Thomas's mind as he absorbed your words, taking the time to process each one. With a gentle gaze, he met your eyes, his expression softening into an apologetic smile.

“I see. This all happened before we got together?”

“Yes, of course it was before. I would never do something like that to you,” His drop in hostility spurred you to lean forward, dragging his warm limbs into your embrace, “I promise.”

Surely this would be the end of it. It had to be. Everything was out in the open, and miscommunications cleared. But when you pulled back, his guilty grimace told you otherwise.

“There’s something else I have to tell you.”

vii.

Ring.

Another fervid sob was ripped from your maw. You burned from within, rife with malice clawing up your raw oesophagus till it was raw and prying through your lips in ugly bated breaths. You allowed a moment to pass before trying again.

Ring.

…

“You ignore my fuckin’ texts and now you wanna talk.”

“Rafe,” Your cracked voice butchered the syllables of his name, sounding almost unrecognisable. Pathetic. “Can I see you?”

Not even 10 seconds later a notification appeared on your phone. He’d shared his location, some vaguely familiar residence on the outskirts of your neighbourhood.

“What–”

“I’ll see you soon.”

Being vulnerable wasn’t your forte, nor was it Rafe’s, and there was no doubt he was currently perplexed by your sudden change of heart. But tonight, you needed someone. And that’s how you found yourself stepping into a stranger's house at 12:45 am, scouring the misty rooms in search of a familiar burly figure.

A low whistle piqued your attention. Topper emerged from the kitchen as you were passing by, two red solo cups in his possession. “Didn’t expect to see you here, not that I’m complaining.”

His eyes quickly swept over your frame, the respectful gentleman he was. You couldn’t contain your scoff. Even in black track pants and a muted pink top… guys really could be attracted to anything as long as it walked on two hind legs.

“Bit cliche, don’t you think, Top.” You retorted with a halfhearted snort, gesturing to the cups. What was this, a freshman's first house party?

He rolled his eyes, extending one to you. The nefarious liquid sloshed over the rim and you shook your head. “Uh, no I’m good, thanks.”

He fixed you with a pointed look. “It looks like you could use it.”

With a huff, you snatched the cup from him, to which he chuckled. “I hate how you’re always right.”

He began to ferry you toward Kelce and their gaggle of friends who huddled around a small coffee table in the living room, passing a clumsily rolled joint between them. When Kelce’s wide-set brown eyes landed on you, he abruptly stood, knocking the table's contents in doing so as he manhandled you into his side.

“How’s my favourite girl doing?”

He balanced the joint between two fingers, residual smoke clung to his body in a damp sheen. Your eyes watered as you suppressed a cough, “Fine, until I caught a whiff of you.”

“C’mon, nothing takes the edge off like a good toke.” He waved it in front of your face, an offer, snorting as your face contorted into a grimace.

“As great as that sounds,” You pushed his arm off its perch on your shoulder with a bitter smile. “Is Rafe here?”

“Yeah, pretty sure he went upstairs.” His hand absentmindedly flicked toward the staircase and you quickly excused yourself before they could become too attached to your presence.

The ambience upstairs was much more quaint than below, mainly consisting of couples who split off from their respective groups. A few were making out, some others collapsed asleep on the furnished floorboards; typical party antics reminding you as to why you generally avoided these places.

The walk from your house had cooled your system, remedying your flighty instincts ever so slightly. This you were thankful for, as upon opening the final door along the lengthy hallway, you were met with Rafe’s determined gaze, and you knew he would demand answers.

“Been messaging you.” The mattress creaked as he lifted his weight off its surface. His gait was straight and steady, and this was perhaps the closest to sober you’d seen him in a long time.

“I know, I just wanted to see you in person.” Despite your best efforts, the burning of your eyes became so overbearing and you fought to hold back the overwhelming emotions coursing through your veins. It was like the moment someone asks if you're okay when it's obvious you're not, the floodgates open and emotions come crashing down around you in an unrelenting wave.

“Hey hey hey, what the fuck happened to you?” He rushed over, forcing you to face him with a firm grip on your shoulders.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“The fuck it does,” His hands rubbed over his face exasperatedly as though he were controlling the urge to be rougher with you and extract an answer forcefully. “You can’t call me all hysterically crying and shit then give me nothing. Did someone hurt you? Did Thomas do something?”

The mere mention of his name sent you spiralling even further. “Alright, come on, sit down.” Rafe didn’t give you much of an option, dragging you to the bed in an iron grip and then forcing you onto the black sheets as he sat beside you.

“What happened?”

“It’s Thomas.” You affirmed solemnly.

“I’ll kill him.” He seethed through his teeth and your head violently shook.

“No, no I won’t tell you if that’s how you’re gonna respond.” He went to ark up but you interrupted him before he had the chance. “Rafe, I'm serious.”

“I’ll decide for myself once you tell me.”

With a heavy sigh, you finally conceded. “Do you remember that one girl from my theatre club? The diva one?”

“Who?”

“Cindy! Blonde hair, beautiful. She was in your year level.”

Rafe’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I seriously don’t know who the fuck that is.”

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Anyway, before me and Thomas started…dating, I found out he had a thing for her for quite some time.”

“So?”

“Jesus- just let me finish!” He reluctantly relented, nodding for you to continue. “Since you’re so impatient, I’ll tell you the short version: Thomas stopped liking her then me and him started dating. He thought we had something going on secretly and confided in Cindy…then he used that to justify sleeping with her.”

The silence that followed was like dust settling back onto the road; static but still very much disturbed.

“What.”

“There’s nothing else to say.” You croaked, dabbing your sodden eyes on your sleeve.

Not a moment later he shot up, pacing back and forth a few times before submitting to the battle raging in his head and storming toward the door. “Rafe, no you promised me–”

“I didn’t promise you shit!” He whipped back around to face you, face wild with fury. “That motherfucker is gonna get what’s coming for him!”

“RAFE.” His cheeks were ablaze as you cupped them in your hands, eyes darting around sporadically as though he were high on adrenaline. “Please, I need you right now. What happens next is for another time. Let it rest.”

His nostrils flared as he finally met your eyes. You pulled him closer, sensing your words were having an effect, softly whispering another plea– and it was like deja vu when his lips met yours for the second time. Only it wasn’t. As he pressed himself firmly against you, unyielding in his advance, you realised this was truly happening again… and to your horror, it felt nice.

In fact, you didn’t want it to stop.

In the time you’d been together with…Thomas…the intimate experiences you shared allowed you to act with heightened confidence, no longer feeling the need to skittishly paw at his chest like a bunny caught by the big bad wolf. Now you moved with your own validity, placing your hands upon his taut chest and following the pace he set.

His palm suddenly clamped down on your ass and you gasped into his mouth, surprised. Thomas was a respectful lover, never so daring, but Rafe’s impulsivity stirred a concoction of excitement and nervousness within your belly.

He took this window of opportunity to dip the tip of his tongue into your mouth. Testing the waters at first, and when you showed no signs of disapproval, delving full throttle. “Shit,” He groaned, using his grip on your lower half as leverage to guide you backwards.

Your libidinous scrambled brain only registered his intention when the backs of your knees came into contact with the bed, instigating your loss of balance. A pathetic squeak floated from your throat as you fell onto the soft confinements of whoever's sheets these were.

Rafe didn’t hesitate to slot himself between your parted knees, crawling over your limp body like a predator readying itself to ravage a meal. His head dipped into the crevice of your neck, planting strategically placed kisses and sucking on the tender flesh, subsequently sowing the seeds of your growing excitement.

But as he remained in that position– feverish palms exploring your clothed body, hot enough to burn through the fabric –your heart began to race. Why did you feel a shudder of anticipation run down your spine? What if he were to stop and really look at you? Why were you scared?

It wasn't until he gained the confidence to explore the curve of your body beneath the fabric that you jolted back into reality, your heart racing and breath catching in your throat.

“Wait!” He peeled himself off of you with an expectant look, blown pupils peeved by your interruption. “I’ve, uh-... never done this before.”

You whispered it, timorously, ashamed even.

You were expecting rejection, after all, that was the only response you ever received from Thomas. What you weren’t expecting, however, was his lips to twitch up in a haughty smirk, his desire for you not faltering whatsoever. You would even go as far as to say that the gleam that appeared in his eyes indicated that he found this revelation rather pleasing.

“You trust me?”

Your nod was automatic like a reflex, saving you from mulling over the question too deeply. In response he sat back on his thighs, swatting away your hands which had fallen to your stomach (perhaps subconsciously attempting to create a separation between the two of you) allowing him to slide your loose shirt above your navel and then over your chest, the material bunching around your neck. He marvelled at the exposed skin, tentatively brushing over your stomach causing you to squirm at the new sensation.

“Then lay back and relax, sweetheart.”

From then on, the sequence of events was a blur; a tangle of limbs and a symphony of noises all coming together to form an incoherent memory.

Your shirt was the first to come off, followed shortly by his. Rafe’s bare chest was nothing you hadn’t seen before, but in this context, your vision was obscured by a rose tint. His sculpted biceps flexed as he worked on tugging your pants down and you couldn’t help but notice the way he tucked his lower lip between his teeth in concentration or the dewy sheen covering his skin.

It was akin to looking into a kaleidoscope for the first time and not knowing where to cast your gaze.

“If he thinks he can hurt you like this,” His firm lips danced across your throat.“Then he’s got another thing coming.”

He spoke in a harsh growl, hooking his fingers beneath the straps of your bra and dragging them down in one sweeping motion.

You squeaked in shock, heat blossoming beneath your cheeks at the abrupt exposure of your tits. Your tingling nipples quickly began to harden, and you weren’t sure if this was due to the draft slipping through the slightly ajar window or the firm attention Rafe was paying to your flesh.

Nonetheless, your arms instinctively twitched upwards, preparing to cover yourself from his prying eyes. He anticipated this, however, promptly collecting your wrists and pinning them beside your head.

“Don’t, don’t do that.” His voice exploded into a vehement tone. “I don’t even remember who that bitch is, let alone what she looks like…think that’s saying something.”

Before your short-circuiting brain could formulate a response, his lips descended upon your chest, laving at one of the sensitive buds before sucking on it harshly. Your body reacted viscerally, flailing at the newfound stimulation. You mewled, squirming, as he pulled away with a breathless chuckle.

“See what a girl like you does to a man.” He forced one of your hands down to his boxers. Your eyes widened as you felt how hard he was, and you let out a soft gasp as he throbbed around your palm.

“Feel that? Yeah, that’s all you baby.”

“Rafe, ple–” Your breath hitched as his knee drove forward, the delicious pressure nudging into your clothed core.

“Go on, I want to hear you say it.”

“Please…”

“Already speechless? That’s cute.” His words had you shrinking in on yourself, trying to flee from the heat radiating off his body. “It’s alright, I know what you need.”

While your racing thoughts kept you occupied (as well as demanding lips), you were oblivious to the fact that Rafe had removed his knee from between your legs, opting to slink his deft fingers inside the flimsy cotton of your underwear. That was, of course, until you felt something foreign swiping against your most sensitive area, teasingly prodding at the tight entrance. You flinched, shuddering beneath the unfamiliarity of his touch.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, is that okay?”

Your head bobbed up and down ardently, voice tiny and breathless and he grinned. “Ok.”

“Okay then.”

Your body fell in and out of consciousness, wrecked from a night filled with both pleasure and anguish. When you finally woke up, it was well into the night. The heavy breaths falling onto you from behind drowned out the eerie silence of the house. A gust of wind howled through the night sky, and your naked form shivered as the cold managed to slither beneath the sheets.

Rafe’s arm laid heavy across your waist. Anchoring you down as though— even in sleep —he was paranoid you’d slip away. You carefully lifted his arm, halting as his breathing accelerated before replacing your warmth with a pillow.

The first step went surprisingly smoothly… but that must’ve been a fluke as what came next was nearly debilitating.

An aching pang shot up between your legs, sharp and sudden. You gasped, clutching onto the bed frame for support. The sensation wasn’t extremely painful, rather unpleasant and even worse it acted as a punishing reminder of the choices you’d made tonight.

What you just did.

Fumbling around the floor on all fours was equally deplorable and you now understood what others meant when they described the after-fact as a ‘walk of shame.’

You eventually located your pants, desperately patting them down to find your phone. The screen flashed on when you pulled it out of the pocket and you hissed as the harsh light penetrated your retinas, a dull throb settling between your eyes.

There was a flurry of texts from Thomas. Apologies, explanations, and pleas for a response. He’d left your house without much resistance earlier in the evening as you cried for him to do so, but it seemed he wasn’t giving up on you so easily.

Your heart clenched painfully, and it was as though all of the synapses in your brain fired at once; What have you done?

A pool of saliva formed within your mouth, stomach suddenly churned. You stumbled across the floor, making a beeline for the ensuite as your throat heaved. In a matter of seconds after collapsing on the floor before the toilet, you were vomiting into the bowl. Violent hurls that only subsided once you were completely empty.

Could you be any more putrid?

The facet rasped as you turned it, a steady flow of water filling the bathtub as you rinsed out the vile taste in your mouth. It was bitingly cold as you slowly lowered each aching limb into the water, sighing in relief as your body acclimatised and began to relax.

When you were on the cusp of sleep once again, you started cleaning yourself. Scrubbing your skin raw with soapy suds until the water turned a sickening pink and you felt sick for the second time that night.

You dipped below the water and watched as bubbles rose to the surface.

viii.

Everything was becoming surreal.

In half an hour your given moniker would be permanently altered. It was the ‘essence of your identity’ your mother would say, but you’d never been particularly sentimental about it. This likely stemmed from your childhood, as in the mind of a little girl, it was only a means to an end. You used to long for a prince mounted upon a dark stallion to come and sweep you off your feet with promises of a perfect future; all that was required in exchange was a simple change of your name.

Of course, reality hit like a truck when you learnt that there weren’t enough princes around for each little girl in the world. But still, perhaps your expectations had been too high.

Mrs. Hughes.

There was a certain ring to it that you couldn’t quite pinpoint, similar to when you found a puzzle piece that looks right, but it isn’t the exact fit.

After kicking everyone out of the room, you’d spent the last fifteen minutes distracting yourself by mulling over your appearance. The seamstress did everything she could to preserve the original cut of the dress but was ultimately forced to make it backless due to the inflexible time constraint.

Despite the reassuring gushes you’d received from the bridesmaids, you couldn’t help but feel exposed. The material that once clung taut against your curves now flowed freely in all its feathered glory, displaying the tender expanse of your back to all those who cared to witness.

A firm knock reverberated off the oak door and your lips pinched down in a small frown; you’d been explicit in your desire to be alone.

You cracked the door ajar, bewildered to be met with the familiar blue orbs of the eldest Cameron upon peeking out into the hallway. His pale blue suit was neatly pressed and tailored to his body, a black bow tie complimenting the look, making him appear youthful.

“...What are you doing?” You whispered incredulously, glancing to each side of the empty corridor.

He flashed you a grin, holding up a long-neck bottle with a pretty red ribbon wrapped around it like a noose. “Wanted to say my congratulations. I’m guessing you’ll be a bit tied up later on.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” His head tilted to the left in confusion and you sighed, “It’s bad luck.”

He hummed, smirk grew patronising as he deadpanned; “I thought that rule only applied to the groom?”

“Is this for me?” You chose to ignore his previous remark, gesturing to the bottle he still held in his possession.

“Yeah. Rose wanted to give it to you herself but she was more than happy to let me do so when I offered.” You knew what he was hinting at; she missed having you around to keep her stepson in line. You didn’t know why you were surprised, it was in the Cameron's DNA to stoop to sly tactics.

"Mind if I come in?" Your reluctance must’ve been evident by your unwavering grip on the door. He rolled his eyes, voice now tinged with a touch of condescension. "C’mon. One last hurrah, that’s all I ask for."

What can five minutes hurt? Then hopefully he’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night. “Alright, fine, but make it quick.”

You clicked the door shut, aimlessly lingering by the window as he lined up two of the clean champagne glasses left over from the earlier celebrations. The side seams of his suit tapered around his shoulders, extenuating the strain of his muscles and they rippled beneath the fabric. You averted your gaze, choosing to fix it on a lone swan floating out on the lake instead.

“Thought I should say,” He turned to face you as he removed the cork with surprising ease, the stopper not even popping as it was released. “You look beautiful.”

You snorted, brushing over a crease in the thick curtain. “That’s just custom speaking.”

He seemed genuinely miffed by your comment, mouth hanging open with a small huff. “That right there is proof that no one takes me seriously, I mean it.”

“Well thanks, I appreciate it. I did end up fitting into the dress so, guess I proved you wrong.”

His brows furrowed as the cardinal liquid poured into the glass. “Don’t tell me you took that to heart? I was just fuckin’ with you.”

“Yeahhhh, I know.”

He brought the two glasses over by the stem, passing the one which was filled exceptionally fuller to you.

“Going easy?”

“Designated driver.” He affirmed, leaning against the opposite side of the window frame.

Your mouth opened, a soft ‘ah’ flicking off your tongue. “I must say I’m surprised and impressed.”

With a humoured scoff, his eyes rolled to the back of his head. “Alright, it’s your special day, what are we toasting to?”

You stilled for a moment, scouring your mind for something appropriate to say. When it came to you, you grinned: “May you be in heaven a full half-hour before the devil knows you’re dead.”

He hummed in approval before extending his arm to meet your glass somewhere in the middle.

“Cheers to that.” You said in unison, falling silent as you downed the entirety of your drink– it was your day after all, so fuck it, you were going to need some liquid courage to make it through the coming hours.

The drink was shockingly sweet, oozing down your throat like a hot teaspoon of honey and you grimaced. “What is this?”

Rafe shrugged, placing his untouched glass down. “Some guy who distils it himself. Disgusting, right?”

“That’s an understatement.”

Words died in the air between you, lost and forgotten as a thick silence surrounded you both. The energy within the room grew dense, tensions steadily simmering and only increasing in intensity. You squirmed in your position, noticing as Rafe grew fidgety; something was dancing on the tip of his tongue, ready to be released.

“Remember when I told you that your mum was worried ‘bout you?”

“...Yeah.” How could you forget, his drunken induced admission which soon followed still haunted your psyche.

“Was-uh…was any of that true about you acting strangely?”

“Your timing is truly impeccable.” Any of the previous lightness was sponged from your tone, replaced by defensive shrill which was painful to your own ears.

“I’m just sayin’, it’s good to get this shit out in the open before everything is finalised, don’t you think?” He began to gesticulate with his hands, flapping motions which were distracting.

“There’s nothing to ‘get out.’ I’ve had my doubts, but that’s normal. My mind is clear now.” You stated firmly, struggling to believe that he would have the audacity to question your decision just as it was about to come to fruition.

“Is it?” His words carried a soft almost sympathetic note, as though you were a child and he was trying not to upset you.

“Is it what?”

“Is it normal to have doubts? I mean that reaction before didn’t seem very convincing to me.”He let his breath out in a soft sigh as your gaze remained defensive, backed into a corner like pitiful prey. “You see what this is telling me? That you don’t know how to make a decision that’s good for you.”

Your head was reeling, throbbing as the lights intensified, the artificial brightness causing you to squint. You were struggling to think, let alone formulate a sentence. All you could conjure up was a childish response: “Shut up, shut up.”

The room tilted as you abruptly stood, staggering forward like a limp doll. You were on a rollercoaster, extremities weighed down by the impressive force of gravity. Rafe caught you before you could collapse, supporting your nape against his chest. Confusion ebbed through your veins as you clung to him, a delicate whimper falling from your lips.

“Steady now.”

“Wha…” Your heart thumped realising how slurred your speech had become.

His hand drummed along the exposed skin, shushing your protests. “It's okay,” a soft and hungry whisper. He drew the zipper down. An expanse of naked, supple skin awaited. A fresh carcass, ready for the taking.

“I'm prepared to make that decision for you.”

335 notes · View notes

lyriumcoloredskies · 5 months

Text

Shaken Up Hearts

Pairing: Sanji x Reader, Zoro x Reader, Zoro x Sanji, Zoro x Reader x Sanji WC: 10k Summary: Sanji's brain short-circuits. What? Did he hear that correctly? You both wanted him? “Don’t over think this.” Zoro murmurs into his ear, hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin. CW: 18+ MDNI, alcohol consumption, misunderstanding, idiots in love, porn with way too many feelings, angst, jealousy, pining, PIV, anal sex, oral, threesome, guy on guy, girl on guy, bisexual sanji, bisexual zoro, reader is described as AFAB, polyamory, happy ending AN: *taps cigarette on the ashtray* look idk what to say, this was supposed to be a 5k word mindless smut but it turned into this because I am incapable of writing smut without feels it seems.

Faithfulness and resoluteness.

You and Zoro.

The two of you are held in high regard as the oldest crew members, with you joining only a few days after Zoro. Dependable and resilient, should any troubles find them on the seas, the crew knew they could always rely on you two. The sentiment is shared between you and Zoro. Time and time again, Zoro proved himself worthy of the mantle of first mate, making agonizing decisions for the betterment of the crew when even Luffy couldn’t. He was a surprising voice of pragmatism in the hardest of times, something you appreciated him for.

Zoro’s opinion of you ran deep as well. Steadfast, you were a beacon in the darkest times, an outstretched hand always offered to any nakama in need. Without hesitation, you always had the right words to breathe new life into the resolves of those around you.

It’s a deep respect that’s built off watching each other defeat every obstacle to persevere despite the difficult nature of having such large dreams in a vast ocean that only knows to crush the people that enter its waters. It’s something primal as you watch in titillation as Zoro dominates his adversaries with his iron will, something Zoro reciprocates with a voracious gleam in his eyes any time he fought alongside you.

That respect for each other would sometimes turn into something mischievous. Two tigers testing the limits of each other’s boundaries, teeth bared at the anticipation of gaining ground. Friendly competition the two of you called it – the crew called it anything but. The two of you were people who, once you set your mind to something, would chase the ends of the world for it. This included winning childish competitions. It was impossible to break the two of you apart when you decided to sink your teethes into each other like snarling pups. The point was proven early into your journey, during the banquet at Vivi’s castle, an incident that would aptly be named the Drinking Contest Incident of Alabasta, where the two of you were goaded by Usopp into seeing how many barrels of alcohol each of you could consume.

'Surely they won’t go too far' Usopp thought.

He was proven wrong when both you and Zoro neared the bottom of the second barrels, only taking a break to puke in the Royal Alabastan Gardens before going back to drinking – health be damned. The night ended in you and Zoro out cold, laid out on your sides as to not choke on your own vomit while Chopper flittered about, panicking that the two morons might actually die in his care. After seeing Chopper’s visage overcome hysterics, face streaked with tears and snot, Nami beat the both of you over the head the next day. She sternly put her foot down on any future y/n and Zoro competitions. The rest of the crew dutifully agreed that you and Zoro were not to be trusted. It only took two more incidents for you and Zoro to admit they were right. It was purely out of self-preservation, lest the two of you not even survive to see your dreams fulfilled. Occasionally the competitiveness would rear up, but time had tempered the two of you. The both of you found less and less things worth fighting over, no longer did you fight over bottles of wine and sake, instead choosing to share.

Life was funny in that way.

****

You were on your 5th bottle of wine and Zoro on his 7th, not that you were counting.

Of course not.

The warm embrace of alcohol has long since settled in your flesh, the balmy air adding to the flush of your cheeks. You found yourself swaying to the beat of the Shandorian drums, beat thrumming in your veins. Drunken eyes watched as your crewmates and the Skypeians dance around the bonfire, care thrown to the wind. You glaze over the figure of Usopp surrounded by a group of children, no doubt enthralling them with a legendary tale of Captain Usopp, commander of 8000 troops.

A mixture of the wine and altitude have you searching for a place to sit, wanting to not fall on your ass in spectacular fashion. Your head swivels about, you see Robin in deep discussion with Gan Fall and rule that out. Another turn a few degrees to the left and you spy Zoro sitting alone. Fueled by bad ideas and Skypeian wine, you grab another bottle before settling on the log next to Zoro, leaving a comfortable distance in between. The rich tannins of the wine dance delightfully on your tongue, and you decide to take another pull before you offer the bottle to Zoro. He accepts, your fingers minutely brushing against each other at the pass. He takes a moment to read the label before taking a swig, throwing his head back, the prominent veins of his neck highlighted by the firelight. Traitorous eyes linger for too long at the bob of his adams apple. The two of you sit in comfortable silence, passing the bottle back and forth, watching the silly antics of your crew as they celebrate this hard earned win.

Zoro is the first to break the lazy pattern of back and forth with the wine. Your outstretched arm aches as you hold the bottle out for a mite too long. The confused look you offer him goes unanswered as well, the swordsman a million miles away. Your eyes follow his gaze and you can’t help the feeling that settles into your stomach with the wine.

It’s Sanji.

He’s staring at Sanji.

Sanji, who is bathed in orange glow from the bonfire, his porcelain skin flushed with pink like an angel dusted it over his cheeks. Emotions well inside of you, flooding into an ugly feeling that you found yourself wadding in. Not wanting to bother with the messiness of it all, you brashly decide to down the rest of the bottle, hoping that the burn of the alcohol would drown everything out. To hell with feeling bad on a night as good as this.

Unfortunately, like a whore on the day that the rent is due, the feelings don’t stop bothering you, nagging constantly in the inner cogs of your mind. Inhibited by the mind meddling nature of wine, your mouth opens and words you don’t recognize tumble out.

“Got a crush?”

Your fishing attempt snags you a gaping, sputtering Zoro. Fuck, now you wish you hadn’t said anything at all. Zoro’s hilarious dumbfounded expression only soothes your heart a tiny bit.

Unrestrained, a loud cackle rips out of you, another cheap cover to hide the hurt radiating through you. It seems to further Zoro’s embarrassment, the man’s cheeks flushing a pretty red. In an attempt to get even, he snatches the bottle from you only to realize it was empty.

“Asshole.”

The only response he gets from you is another cackle. It takes a few moments for you to settle down, letting the silence envelope the two of you again.

“If you like him so much, why don’t you tell him?”

You pick at the skin near your nails, an ugly habit.

“Tch. It’s not that simple.”

You roll your eyes, of course it was simple. Zoro was just an idiot. Irritation lingers like a fog in your mind as the wine fails to numb your pesky feelings. Quickly, you lose yourself, letting various fleeting thoughts pull you in every direction. Zoro doesn’t comment on your sudden silence, keeping you company while you think.

“What if I like him too?”

Two heads turn and eyes lock. Zoro’s eyes are dark and indecipherable to you as the firelight danced on them. Seconds tick by but neither of you drop your gaze.

“Marimo! Y/n-swan! Try these!”

Two pairs of eyes break their battle, swinging over to catch the sight of Sanji walking over, an excited wide grin gracing his delicate features. His signature cigarette firmly between his white teeth and in each hand he holds a skewers of meat and vegetables.

The blond thrusts a skewer to the both of you before sitting between the two of you. You examine the skewer, it’s comprised of some sort of marinated red meat and vegetables that look like mushrooms and leeks. Steam wafts upward and with it the smell of something peppery and tangy.

“The flavors are something I’ve never tried before! I asked them and they say that they use a combination of pink peppercorns and a citrus called the hand of god” Sanji prattles on, his enthusiasm palpable. You and Zoro watch him, engrossed in the boyish wonder on his face. Pairs of eyes meet again in a fragile moment. You have no words for Zoro and he has none for you, yet you know that the two of you understand each other. He studies you intensely before offering you a solid nod, one that you reciprocate. The cook chatters on, inhibitions lowered by the alcohol, oblivious to what was happening only a few inches from him.

****

The next few islands pass by uneventfully, both you and Zoro hesitant to make a move. It ends up an awkward dance around each other and Sanji, a weird tango of frustration whose steps involve having enough nerve to track down the blond but suffering from cold feet when it came to talking with him. It’s only after the events of Water 7 that you decide to muster up the gumption to try. Life was too short for you to shy away from the things you wanted, and you could tell Zoro decided the same.

“Sanji-”

The cook’s ears perk up at the melodic notes of your voice, heart stirring. He turns his attention from the prep work in front of him, meeting your face with a playboy smile.

“Yes, my sweet angel?”

“Do you mind if I watch you cook lunch?” you ask, the innocent tilt of your head making Sanji’s heart palpate. You wanted to watch him cook?

“O-of course my angel!”

You beam and it makes his heart beat rapidly. With gentle footsteps you pad into the kitchen. The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the sounds of Sanji’s knifework taking over the small space. After a few minutes, his curiosity picks up and he peeks out of his periphery to see you standing a mere few inches from him, leaning close enough to touch his arm. He works on autopilot, hands relying on muscle memory as he prepped the vegetables for lunch. Your hands are clasped behind your back in your usual pose. For anyone else, Sanji would preen like a peacock, ready to show off his honed skills, but under the lens of your inscrutable eye, he feels so exposed. Trying to stave off sudden uncomfortableness of the silence his mouth opens, and he finds himself rambling about cooking techniques. Ever patient, you nod and comment in all the right places.

While Sanji loved every lady on the ship, in the deepest crevices of his heart, he would readily admit that you were his favorite. Your soft smiles of encouragement, the way you entertained his foolish notions, all of it made Sanji’s heart turn into goo in his chest.

Gods, you had managed to carve out your place in his heart so early, the memory often rewinding and replaying in his head. It hadn’t been long since he left Baratie to make his home on Merry Go, back when Luffy still had the habit of picking out the vegetables in all his dishes. You chided the boyish captain on his behalf. The first bits of kindness he received from someone who wasn’t Zeff or the Baratie cooks.

“Luffy, Sanji worked hard to cook us this food. Don’t disrespect his efforts by being picky.”

After dinner that you offered him an earnest smile, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“In case anyone hasn’t told you yet, you’re doing a wonderful job Sanji. Dinner was lovely.”

It made him feel like the same little boy stuck in the North Blue watching his mother eat his food for the first time. The grip you had on him had only tightened since then.

“You know Sanji, every time you cook, I find myself understanding you a bit more.”

Hands plating an intricate dish pause.

“A-ah why do you say that y/n-swan?”

Sanji’s heart seizes as you take one of his hands into yours, fingertips running over callouses and burn scars. An action so tender that for just a moment, Sanji could fool himself into thinking it was the touch of a lover. Your heated gaze focuses on his hands with a look of fondness, it causes him to reel, mind spinning with possibilities of what this could all mean. Did you want this just as much as he did? Did you spend your nights staring at the ceiling and thinking of him like he did with you?

“I understand why you don’t want to fight with your hands. When you cook it’s like a symphony, every movement you take, every dish you make, it’s all meant to nourish and heal. You’re built to love Sanji, not destroy.”

The lump in his throat grows until it’s too painful for him to swallow, edges of his vision blur with tears, threatening to fall. Was he so transparent that you could read him so well? A few words and you had flayed open his very existence, his heart and soul. The words you say mean more than you’ll ever know. His ocean eyes search yours hoping to find an answer to his lingering questions.

BANG

He jumps, the two of you breaking apart at the loud noise, any tension in the room dissipating.

“OIII SANJIII!! LUUUUNCH!!!”

Luffy catapult himself at Sanji, wrapping his limbs around him like an unruly octopus, much to the ire of the chef. Sanji tries to wrestle himself out of Luffy’s grasp, angrily yelling at him.

The loud noise startles you, your heart pounding a mile a minute in your chest. You marinate in the sudden surge of adrenaline for too long before you feel a hand on your wrist. Eyes trace it back to its owner – Zoro. He assesses you for a few seconds.

“You alright?”

Thud. Thud. Thud. Your pulse pounds in every inch of you and your lungs greedily swallow air and hold it in an attempt to calm down. Your thoughts race and you feel the distinct feeling of regret. Regret that you didn’t make a bolder move.

A wobbly smile is the answer Zoro gets, one that makes him frown ever so slightly. The sight makes him rub circles on your wrist with his thumb. The contact soothes you and you’re grateful that you had the swordsman as such an understanding friend. You settle a free hand on his, offering him a brighter smile, hoping to lessen his worries.

“I am.”

The two of you unaware of the pair of eyes that witnessed the scene.

****

Sanji stares from the railing of the Thousand Sunny, the light of the setting sun casts an ethereal rosy light over the glimmering ocean. Pinks, reds, and blues mashing into a myriad of colors that all swirl like glittering gems.

From the upper deck, it isn’t the sun or the ocean that Zoro admires. It’s the glow of the sun on Sanji’s face. His eyes trace the elegant slope of his nose, drinking up the way the sun dyes his fair hair into a strawberry blond. His mouth goes dry, his palms becoming sweatier by the minute. Plucking up some courage, Zoro crosses the distance of the Sunny, stopping next to the object of his desires.

“The sunset is beautiful isn’t it.”

Zoro wants to cut out his tongue. What a lame comment. Sanji deserved better. Someone who could weave him a beautiful tapestry of words, words which don’t even exist in Zoro. After all he is a man of action and not platitudes.

Sanji hums out in agreement, never moving his eyes from the beauty of the scene in front of them.

They don’t talk much, but there’s an easiness to the quiet between them as they watch the sun inch closer into the horizon. The Sunny lurches at a particularly big wave and Sanji is caught off guard, wobbling a little. He’s steadied by a hand on the small of his back.

“Ah, thanks Marimo.”

“No problem, Sanji.”

His name on the swordsman’s lips gives him pause. Zoro almost never calls him by his name. Then he becomes acutely aware that Zoro hasn’t moved his hand, his palm is large and warm on Sanji’s clothed back. The contact is like lightning in his spine and for reasons unknown his heart stutters. He mildly wonders if he should say something, unsure of what the contact means for the two of them.

Deciding his brain feels too stuffed with cotton, Sanji fishes out his lighter and cigarette from his suit jacket pocket, hoping for some clarity in the nicotine. Stupidly, he holds the pack out for Zoro offering him a cigarette, despite knowing the swordsman doesn’t smoke. Before he can rescind the gesture, Zoro’s free hand takes a cigarette from him. Their eyes meet and he finds Zoro’s are unreadable as always. The other man brings the cigarette closer to his face, rolling it in his fingers as he examines the tobacco stick. A laugh huffs out of Sanji’s mouth as he lights his cigarette. He inhales precious smoke, and in the haze of his exhale, his eyes linger a little too long at the sight of the cigarette loosely held in between Zoro’s chapped lips.

“Here let me light it for you.”

Sanji holds the lit lighter out, only for the wind to snuff it. He tries again, flicking the flint a few more times. Each time the wind picks up, extinguishing the flame. A scowl overcomes Sanji’s face.

“Here, we can just-”

Sanji looks up from the lighter at the sound of Zoro’s voice. The other man pulls his hand from Sanji’s lower back and Sanji becomes conscious of the fact that the action leaves him sad at the loss of contact. That’s when he feels the green haired man’s large palm on the back of his neck, searing into his skin as he steadies him. Zoro leans in closer bringing his cigarette to the tip of Sanji’s.

A cigarette kiss.

Sanji’s brain is a mess. ‘It’s just the damn Marimo’ he tries to reason with himself, but he feels heat lick at the apples of his cheeks.

He’s blushing. At Zoro.

The man’s actions have flustered him to his core, tongue too heavy to form words. His eyes soak in the sight of Zoro slowly sucking in – ‘holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, what the fuck?!’ his mind screams at him.

The man offers Sanji no reprieve, continuing his hold on Sanji as he made sure the of his cigarette is lit before breaking apart. Sanji’s world is tilted on its axis, heart pounding so furiously he feels it in his fingertips. He half expects it to burst through his sternum.

Zoro gives an experimental breath before hacking out a loud cough, sound reminiscent of a dying walrus. The scene is so jarring, how the man could go from turning Sanji’s brain into mush to coughing out a lung. It makes him laugh so hard he’s clutching his stomach, abs cramping as he tries to greedily swallow in more air.

It was so Zoro.

Through the tears of laughter, Sanji can see pink dusting Zoro’s face, clearly embarrassed by his lack of experience.

“Take slow inhales, mix it in with some fresh air, it gets easier after a while.”

Sanji’s smile is so wide it hurts his cheeks. He watches Zoro attempt again, the man’s body tensing in an effort to not cough out all the smoke.

“This is horrible Sanji. I don’t know how you do this every day.”

All Sanji can offer the man is a chuckle. He takes in the sight of the swordsman, bathed in the dying light of the sunset, shadows accentuating the strong lines of his face. He’s about to respond when he hears Nami’s voice calling for him.

“Sanji, the bathroom is free if you want to shower!”

He turns, giving her his undivided attention.

“Thank you Nami-chwan! You look especially beautiful after your bath!”

When Sanji turns back, Zoro is no longer facing him instead looking out into the ocean where the last glimmers of the sun fade into the horizon.

“Go ahead and take your bath, cook.”

Sanji manages a nod, feeling odd at the sudden change in attitude. Things had felt so great between them, so what happened? His feet feel heavy as he walks towards the bathroom. Halfway, he doesn’t know why but he spins on his heel, wanting to confront the man.

He wishes he didn’t.

He sees you with Zoro, again.

The two of you huddled close, your hand caressing the swordsman’s cheek. The both of you bathed in the beginnings of moonlight. Sanji’s heart clenches painfully.

It was just like before – Vinsmoke Sanji always comes in last.

****

Things progress at a snail’s pace. Both you and Zoro are seemingly thwarted at every turn whether it be Sanji rejecting your advances or being interrupted in the most inopportune times. A silver lining for Zoro comes in the form of you. Despite being his rival in love, you’re there to pick up the pieces of him, little pep talks flowing from your lips. He hopes that he’s done the same for you. The best of his efforts goes into repairing the shaky smiles on your face, splitting bottles of wine with you as the two of you gripe about love. It’s an odd routine, but one that Zoro finds himself not minding. There is comfort and familiarity in your company.

That was until the crew step foot on Sabaody Archipelago. Everything came to a grinding halt at Sabaody. It was an utter disaster. Not even a foot into the New World and the Grand Line had chewed the crew up and spat them back out.

Panic sets Zoro’s bones the minute he wakes up. Thoughts of his nakama rushing through his brain at breakneck speed. Were you all safe? Did you guys make it off Sabaody? Zoro keenly feels the loss of his crew, guilt seeping into every crack in his heart. If only he had been stronger - strong enough to defeat Bartholomew Kuma on Thriller Bark, strong enough to carry everyone’s dreams on his back.

He spends two days lost in the maze of a castle that weird Ghost Girl brought him to, trying desperately to find his swords. He squashes down the invasive thoughts attempting to claw its way into his mind – were you all even still alive? It doesn’t help that the girl, Perona he finds out is her name, keeps giving him directions that seem to get him lost even further. Frustration bubbles under his skin. He is wholly useless, a feeling that is reaffirmed when he is defeated by the humandrills, his only hope of reaching his friends dashed by his own inadequacy.

When he feels like things couldn’t get worse, he hears about Ace. Zoro wants to scream, to dig his fingers into his chest and rip out his own beating heart. Frustration, fury, despair – it all whirls inside of him for Luffy. How could things have gone so wrong?

Zoro tries hard not to wallow in his sadness. He beats down his pride and grovels to Mihawk, begging the man he wants to defeat one day to teach him, to make him into a man worthy of being called Luffy’s nakama.

Time flows, and slowly but surely, Zoro adapts to his life on the deserted island. Mihawk is a fair teacher and his brutal teaching methods have Zoro progressing faster than even he could admit. Although the lack of alcohol grates on his nerves. Though he would never admit it out loud, Perona isn’t too bad either when she isn’t annoying him.

He spends his days training, eating, and sleeping, a routine that isn’t unfamiliar to him, but his mind remains plagued by the brewing thoughts of you and Sanji.

His mind goes in cycles, starting with hopes that you two are alright. Surely you’re safe, Zoro’s mind doesn’t want to can’t think of the alternative. He wonders if Sanji has found himself on an island with enough food, cold fear nestled in his heart at the idea of the cook going without. He hopes you have extra blankets at night, his mind supplying him images of your shivering body on Drum Island, lips tinged blue.

The months gruel onward and late at night, when the world is silent and his body aches from the brutal beatings from Mihawk, Zoro imagines your soft touches, a comforting hand on his shoulder when things went wrong. He dreams of the bottle of sake he desperately wants to split between you two, talking about any and everything. He wants to see your smile.

On days where the sun blisters in the sky and Mihawk forces him to help with the farming, Zoro wonders if Sanji would be impressed. Would he give Zoro that smug grin of his, telling him to till the farm with appreciation for the food it grew? Would he be brave enough to commandeer Mihawk’s kitchen, lecturing to Zoro the entire time he cooks about how he needs to eat the right macronutrients to gain muscle. Zoro luxuriates in what-if’s and could-be’s, day in and day out.

He spends the hours of sundown to sunrise, staring at the cold grey stone ceiling of the castle pondering in a mire of his own doing. He wanted both of you but was desperate to hold onto what you and him had together, while craving every potential what-if with Sanji.

He stews in his feelings for months, unable to take himself out of his own head.

On a day where Mihawk is away on business, Zoro finds himself in the dining room, sun barely rising into the sky. Perona was nice enough to fix breakfast for the two of them but it only puts Zoro in a worse mood. His body is gripped in nostalgia, heart aching to wake up to the sound of Luffy and Chopper’s chatter in the morning, to pass by a sleep drunk Usopp and Franky grumbling out good mornings, and to make his way to the kitchen and have a plate be handed to him by the star of half his dreams. Increasingly lost in his own thoughts, he’s oblivious to Perona’s pouting.

“Ugh! You’re such a jerk!”

Perona waits a few seconds, giving the mosshead time to come to his senses and apologize but minutes tick by and she finds herself empty handed. In childish anger, her hands slam on the table.

“What the hell? Aren’t you going to thank me for breakfast??”

She is only given a wave, the gesture vaguely dismissal.

“Okay you idiot, what is it? What could possibly be so important that you forget to thank the person who saved your life?”

The question gives Zoro pause. He deliberates in his head a bit, uneasiness mashing in the pit of his stomach. To let someone know about his problems felt too vulnerable, but against his will the words of his dilemma spill out of him like an ugly fountain with fat babies on it, like the ones he saw plastered all over Water 7.

Perona regards him for a few minutes before rolling her eyes.

“You’re not very smart, are you?”

“The fuck?”

“You’re a pirate idiot. Being a pirate means you take what you want, you don’t need to share. So have both, duh. Who says you can’t have a boyfriend and a girlfriend?”

Whiplash. His brain rattles in his skull at Perona’s words. How ridiculous. This is what he gets for telling her his problems. He opens his mouth to tell her off but then the words sink into him.

Both? He could have both?

They were both strong enough to protect themselves, their bounties reflecting their skill, determined enough to pursue their own goals. They, more than anyone on the ship, knew the stakes of his dreams, not once had they ever discouraged him. Plus, the thought of the two of them tangled in a mess of naked limbs beckoning Zoro to join was a particularly tasty thought.

Perona shoots him a smug smile.

“You’re welcome~”

****

Nerves rattle through your body as you disembark from the small sailboat, steered by the kind martial arts master that found you two years ago. The elderly woman pats your hand in reassurance.

“Don’t worry dearie, I’m sure your boys are waiting for you. Now you make sure you stay safe and don’t forget to always pack a scarf.”

You give her a bright smile.

“Thank you so much, for everything. I’ve learned so much! Please make sure you tell everyone I got here alright.”

The woman matches your smile before waving you off. Excited feet don’t hesitate to quickly wander down Sabaody, taking you down semi familiar paths. You count the grove numbers in your head, excitement gripping your stomach as you finally arrive.

Grove 13.

The sight of the wooden sign of Shakky’s Rip-Off Bar shoots fresh nerves into your veins, anticipation ripe in your head. You take a deep breath, steeling your nerves before you push open the door to the bar.

Your eyes skim over the empty chairs and booths, finally settling on a green clad figure at the bar. Time slows and your heart threatens to burst out of your sternum, you can feel your pulse in your ear, not even hearing his name tumble out of your lips. The sight of him makes tears sting the corners of your eyes.

Zoro.

His signature three swords are still affixed to his side, hilts glinting in the low light of the establishment. A head turn makes the three golden strands of his earrings collide into each other. He stands tall and proud, two years of effort reflected in his new silhouette. You run to him, finding half of everything you had missed in the last two years in his hug. Tears run down your cheeks, absorbed by the green of his outfit, staining the fabric dark. You can’t bring yourself to care.

He still smells like steel and sea salt.

He presses a kiss to your hair, his large hands rubbing circles on your back as he pulls you closer to his chest. After seconds that feel too short, you part from him. You soak in the sight of his familiar features. Your eyes trace over the new scar over his eye, the strong line of his jaw, the slight bump in his nose. Hands wander up his biceps and you can’t help but ghost your fingertips over the newly acquired scars present on exposed skin. Fingers smooth over every part of him, his wide chest, his corded arms, all of it – desperate to memorize him after these years apart.

Lost in the moment, you miss the way Rayleigh and Shakky sharing a knowing smile.

Fingers interlaced, you let Zoro lead you to his room at a small bed and breakfast in Grove 17. You aren’t even mad when he gets lost twice, taking you down a winding path to Grove 7 instead. You missed this, the idiosyncrasies that come with living with someone, spending every waking hour together.

Once in the room you let your small bucket bag tumble to the floor. You wait patiently until Zoro has a chance to take off his katanas before you throw yourself into his arms again, the two of you tumbling into the small bed. His entire presence offers you a familiar comfort. He felt like home. You can tell he feels the same, the way he holds you tightly, as if you would disappear from his arms at any moment. He buries his nose into your hair and his chest moves from under you as he inhales. The two of you stay like that for several minutes, the silence finally being broken by Zoro.

“Y/n, I don’t want to be without you.”

Shivers shoot down your spine.

“What about Sanji?”

“Him too. We’re pirates y/n, we take what we want.”

You bury your face deeper into his muscular chest, heart fluttering in your own chest.

“Good, I don’t know what I’d do without my two boy toys.”, your words come out muffled and you can feel the vibrations as Zoro chuckles.

Lifting your head, you give him a lascivious grin. His eyes are as intense as ever, but you find that this time around you can pin down the emotions within because they’re the same as yours.

Your lips meet his in a kiss that he doesn’t hesitate to accept. His lips are warm and chapped, a combination you quickly find yourself addicted to. Your arms move on their own, snaking around his neck as his wrap around your waist, bringing you in closer to him. The both of you move feverishly, desperate to make sure this moment didn’t evaporate into the ether. His kiss is hungry, ferocity over taking you before he seems to rein it back in. He coaxes out a whimper from you as his hands wander to your bottom before pulling your hips in close to his, letting you straddle his waist. You let out a gasp as you feel his hardness grinding on the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. Utilizing the last braincell that isn’t drenched in hormones, you place a placating hand on his chest.

“Patience. Not without Sanji.”

To your surprise he is in agreeance with you, but he gives you a devilish grin all the same.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t get to kiss what’s mine.”

Laughter peels out of you, as Zoro smashes his lips into the crook of your neck, biting and sucking the sensitive flesh in a manner that was both ticklish and sensual.

“You’re right, it doesn’t.”

****

Sanji doesn’t know what to think. Reality was, he saw this was coming, the signs glaring at him two years ago.

You and Zoro were together.

The whole crew seemed to know it too.

“Yohohoho! They’re quite a handsome couple, don’t you agree Miss. Robin?”

“They do complement each other quite well.”

Everyone has seen the two of you look at each other, shooting puppy eyes at the dinner table, and of course Sanji is distinctly aware of the way Zoro takes your small hands into his, a rogue thumb tracing idle circles into your smooth skin. It’s all too intimate for two people who are “just crewmates”.

Sanji’s heart is broken, shattered into a million tiny pieces and he doesn’t know where to begin to put it all back together. He was an utter fool for having clung onto hope for two years, spending his days daydreaming about how the pieces would all fall into place, the two of you accepting his confessions of undying love.

Stupid, stupid Sanji.

The voices of his past mock him. How could anyone love stupid Sanji. How silly of you to even dream. Nestled in the sicker part of his brain, he wonders who he’s more jealous of – you or Zoro.

It should be him, his jealousy addled self whispers to him in the dead of night but Sanji knows it’s his fault for even daring to dream. The two of you were better off together. So, every day, he wakes up, chokes down the feelings that threaten to well up inside of him, and continue as if nothing was wrong.

He had been doing it well enough for the last twenty odd years, what’s the harm in a few more?

****

It doesn’t take long for an opportunity to present itself to you and Zoro.

The Sunny docks on a small island to restock on basic supplies and through divine intervention the stars align. Zoro catches the last vestiges of Sanji’s conversation with Nami, picking up the tidbit that he would come back to the ship immediately after he procured fresh meat and produce. Taking his chance, he offers himself and you up for guard duty, a move that garners no protest or suspicion.

After the crew clears out, the anxiety builds in your chest, your head spins and your palms feel clammy as the minutes pass by. Zoro doesn’t say it, but you could tell he felt the same, his rough fingers constantly flitting over the hilt of his katanas. You and Zoro split a bottle of sake for liquid courage, downing it like teenagers instead of passing it along at your usual leisurely pace. The sake helps a bit, dulling down the feelings.

The two of you are on the upper deck when you hear the click of expensive dress shoes on wood. Peeking, you spy Sanji’s golden hair as he reboards the ship. You signal Zoro with a nod of your head. The two of you break, Zoro to the kitchen to fetch Sanji and you to the women’s dormitory. Long strides quickly lead you to where you need to be, settling down on the blue comforter of your bed.

In the midst of fiddling with a loose thread on one of your sheets, you hear the door open. Nerves tingle through your body as you see Sanji’s figure enter.

“A-ah y/n-swan! Marimo said you needed help with something?”

He takes a few strides, standing at the foot of the bed you were sitting on. The door clicks as Zoro shuts it behind him. Sanji sucks in a breath, suddenly feeling trapped in this confined space, anxiety pooling in his stomach.

“O-oh! Well Sanji you see… Um, w-well we..”

You bite your lips, fingers picking at the skin near your nails, something Sanji picks up on. He can’t help the prickling of curiosity in the back of his brain. What got you, the very definition of calm and collected, so nervous?

“We want you, Sanji.”

It’s Zoro this time, the timber of his voice nearly reverberating in his bones as he becomes aware of how close the man stands behind him. You nod in agreeance.

Sanji’s brain short-circuits.

What?

Did he hear that right? You both wanted him?

Sanji searches your face for any inkling of deception but your cheeks are flush and you avoid his eyes out of nervousness.

“Don’t over think this.” Zoro murmurs into his ear, hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin. The other man’s large hands come from behind him and roam on his chest, going over the silky fabric of his suit. The action pulls him in closer to Zoro, sending shivers up his spine. It doesn’t take long for Sanji to make up his mind.

So be it.

He’ll take whatever scraps you have to offer him. Maybe if he gets a taste, it’ll be out of his system, and he’ll be free to pursue all the beautiful men and women he encounters in his travels. Maybe if he closes his eyes, he can imagine that this is something more than just sex.

He continues to feed himself the shallow lies.

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

At his affirmation, Sanji feels hand on his head, turning him into a hungry kiss. Chapped lips meet his and Sanji can faintly taste the sweetness of sake on Zoro’s breath. It’s everything Sanji has dreamed of. In the midst of their kiss, Sanji feels your hands undoing his tie, and unbuttoning his jacket and dress shirt. An impatient tongue spears into his mouth, coaxing his own tongue into a dance, drawing a moan from the blond man. A hot tongue presses into his neck and he can’t help the gasp that rises to his lips. In contrast to Zoro, your lips are soft and silky. You stamp fire into his skin with every kiss, setting his body into flames.

Breathless, he breaks the kiss with Zoro only to have you pull him into another one, gentler but no less voracious.

He’s aware of Zoro helping him shed his shirt and jacket, but his head feels stuffed with cotton, not quite to registering any of it. A soft tongue mingles with Sanji’s and delicate hands caress the bare skin of his chest, each movement leaving gooseflesh in its wake. The light flicks to his nipples have him groaning into your mouth. The kiss breaks with a soft sigh from you, and Zoro surges forward to capture you a playful kiss, sandwiching Sanji between the two of you. The friction of the two bodies, one soft and one sturdy, melts his mind, his pants feeling tighter by the moment.

A larger rougher set of hands replace the soft ones on his chest as you kneel in front of Sanji, making quick work of his belt. You lavish his abs with floaty kisses and occasional playful nibbles, following down the trail of soft downy hair until you reach his boxers. You make quick work of that too, freeing his erection.

You nearly drool of the sight Sanji’s cock slapping against his belly, marking a spot on his belly with shiny precum. His cock is picturesque, like the men of the dirty magazines you used to buy as a teenager, a few shades darker than his porcelain skin leading into a dusky pink tip oozing slick. You give an experimental lick up the shaft before engulfing the tip in your mouth, making circles over it with your tongue. Sanji throws his head back, gracing you with a breathy pretty groan.

The salty taste of his precum ignites a fire deep in you, a need to taste more overcomes every sense. Driven by your baser instincts, you press down further, taking as much as you could until you feel him hit the back of your throat, eyes welling with tears as you try to stave off your gag reflex. His delicate fingers tangle into your hair, hands resting on your head. Pressed so close to Sanji his pubic hair tickles your lips and you can smell the clean rich sandalwood of his soap. You set a slow pace, looking up through dark lashes to observe Sanji’s expressions as he loses himself in the feeling of your mouth. Each circle of your tongue over the tip has him whimpering, his cheeks and chest flushed pink.

Not to be left out, Zoro joins you, kneeling in front of the blond man. You release his cock with a pop and stroke it lightly.

“Want a taste?”

Zoro gives a devilish smirk, coming in closer. He gives the tip kitten licks before slowly taking more of the length in his mouth.

“Tastes good doesn’t it?”

A muffled response has you grinning. You take a few moments take your own clothes off, only stopping to appreciate the sight of Zoro pouring his attention to Sanji’s cock. The contrast of the two men bubbles excitement in you, a longing finally quenched. Zoro is all muscle, posture and stance reflecting power and brutality, but Sanji’s is refined elegance, fluid even while motionless, muscles seemingly sculpted by a maestro.

Kneeling back down, you throw yourself into the fray of saliva and skin, taking one of Sanji’s balls into your mouth, earning a loud groan from the man. The two males’ intermingling musk cloying in your head, fogging up any thought you could muster. Sanji’s hips buck and Zoro gags, pulling another moan from the blond. You slowly suckle, running circles on the surface of his ball sack with your tongue before releasing it to lick up the shaft. Zoro meets you in a messy kiss with Sanji’s cock in the middle of two pairs of lips. Your tongues dance over the veiny surface of Sanji’s dick, occasionally skimming each other.

Sanji wants to throw his head back, to lose himself in the sensation of two mouths lavishing him with attention but he’s caught up in the sight of you and Zoro, your tongues fighting on his cock, hoping to find more skin to lick and suck at. The two of you work in synch, soon moving upward to suckle at the reddened tip of his cock.

“S-stop or I’ll cum” Sanji whines out, making you and Zoro share a laugh, shifting away from his sensitive cock to find each other in a kiss.

Feeling emboldened by the sexually charged energy, you saunter over to the bed, sitting and spreading your legs wide open. Sanji practically drools at the sight, stumbling over the clothes on the floor to get in closer.

Sanji slots himself between your legs, moving closer to kiss you. His lips are soft, and the hints of lingering tobacco pull you in for more. Sanji’s tender affection is a deluge you drown in, heart full you reciprocate keenly. He peppers kisses down your jawline before interspersing tender open mouth kisses on your neck. A hot tongue trails down further before capturing a nipple between his teeth. His actions are delicate, but they draw whimpers out of you, heat pooling between your thighs at the teasing. Sanji’s strong hands cup your breasts, massaging softly as his tongue runs circles around your hard nipples, dousing them in messy suckles.

He offers the same treatment to your other breast before trailing more kisses down until his head is settled between your thighs. You can feel his hot breath, a gossamer on your sensitive skin. The flat of his tongue licks a stripe through your folds and your back arches at the contact.

“Fuck angel, you’re so wet” he murmurs before diving back in, tongue working through your folds before encircling your clit.

“Mm fuck Sanji”, moans pour out of you endlessly, your hands tangling themselves in the golden silk of his hair.

His strong hands hold your hips steady as he begins to suckle at your clit, giving occasional kitten licks, as anticipated, the action has you bucking your hips, thighs tightening around his head as he tightens the coil in your loins, nerves dancing on fire.

Zoro’s calloused hands run over Sanji’s torso, earning a shiver from the man. His fingertips take time to appreciate the valley of muscles before moving to his hips, propping them up into position. Sanji is a mess of gooseflesh as rough fingers part his cheeks, exposing him to the other man. A hot tongue presses on his hole and Sanji lets out a gasp that’s muffled in your skin. The sensation is foreign as the tongue wriggles against his tight hole, but pleasure quickly finds him. Zoro’s tongue circles around his puckered hole, massaging and working the muscle, each move deliberate in driving Sanji further into a chasm of pleasure until he’s relaxed. Zoro intersperses it with licks from the flat of his tongue, the contrast drawing out whimpering moans from the blond. When he pulls away, Sanji whines.

“Get these wet for me.”

Sanji complies, taking his head out from your cunt to take Zoro’s digits in his mouth, tongue running over each individual one. Zoro grins at the sight of Sanji desperately sucking on his fingers while his goatee shines with your slick.

A whine from you has Zoro withdrawing his fingers from the other man’s hot mouth, allowing him to return to your needy hole.

Sanji returns to lavishing your clit with licks, before plunging a tongue deep in you hoping to taste more of your essence. Pressure against his puckered hole pauses him in the middle of his pussy eating. Your thighs tighten around him as you buck desperately against his mouth, hoping to find more friction despite his lack of action.

The breech of a large finger pulls a sound out of him, a mixture of a moan and a scream. You offer your own moan at the vibrations of Sanji’s on your clit.

Zoro presses kisses onto the skin of his buttocks, rubbing soothing circles on his skin as Sanji adjusts to the foreign intrusion. Slowly, he begins to rock his finger back and forth, occasionally stopping to spit on Sanji’s hole, an action that has the man’s dick twitching.

“Don’t worry Sanji he’ll be gentle. Won’t you marimo?” you tease, tone breathy from your own arousal at seeing Zoro knuckle deep in Sanji.

“We’ll see about that.”

Sanji turns to tell Zoro off, but the aforementioned man’s free hand grabs his head, shoving him back into your cunt, earning a squeal from you.

“Focus Sanji” Zoro gravels out, voice thick with lust. You snake your legs around Sanji’s head, heels resting on his mid back.

“He’s right Sanji, wanna cum so bad”

As if to demonstrate your need, your hips buck into his open mouth, hoping to find a tongue to grind into. Ever the gentleman, Sanji grants your request, eating you out with renewed vigor.

Zoro continues to work his fingers into him, one finger becomes two, pumping becomes scissoring, and soon Sanji feels more stretched out than possible. Sanji lets out loud moan after moan into your clit when he feels the man continuously brush his prostate. His mouth is messy with saliva and your slick, jaw aching as he continues to devour you. You reward him with looks from dark lashes glimmering with tears, your soft skin flushed by his ministrations. Pretty whines of his name spill out from your lips, urging him on as you chase your high. Your fingers clench onto his hair, the pain from the pulling mixing with the shockwaves that Zoro’s fingers provide him.

“A-ah right there S-sanji!”

Your tighten your legs around Sanji, a loud wail escaping you, hands fisting the blankets underneath as the coil in your belly snaps. Your orgasm wracks your body, vision going dark and heartbeat in your ear. Sanji’s tongue doesn’t stop, sending pins and needles through your nerves. Tears dot the corners of your eyes as he eats your overstimulated pussy out until you’re crying his name, begging him to stop. When he relents, you pull him into a kiss, tasting your own salty juices on his lips. You swipe your fingers over his messy slick shined lips and chin, offering them to Zoro who sucks on them with enthusiasm before letting go with a pop of his mouth.

You shimmy out from under Sanji, the blond pushing himself to all fours to offer you more space. Moving off to the side, you take in the sight of Zoro greedily pumping three fingers into Sanji who’s offering himself up like a dog in heat, whimpers pouring out of his mouth. Sanji’s dick is standing tall, precum dribbling out from the tip and onto the bedsheets where you can already spy a dark wet stain forming. You wrap a hand around his cock, thumb smearing the precum as you begin to pump up and down at a torturous pace. Sanji’s head buries into the bed as he lets out a string of expletives. You and Zoro share a naughty grin.

It doesn’t take long for Sanji to start moving his hips, desperately fucking himself into Zoro’s fingers trying to plunge deeper.

Zoro pulls out of him, and you take your hand off of his cock, Sanji is left whining at the loss of contact.

He isn’t left alone for long as Zoro pushes him into the bed before flipping him around so he’s on his back. Zoro devours the sight of Sanji’s hair pooling around him in a radiant halo, his cheeks flushed pink and dick twitching for attention. You come back and pass Zoro a bottle, lowering yourself to take the man’s dick in your mouth. Sanji’s eyes are glued to the sight of you bobbing your head along the impressive length of the swordsman. He watches as Zoro’s eye closes, clearly enjoying the way you’re taking all of him in. It isn’t long before the swordsman pulls you up and into a kiss.

Jealousy grips Sanji’s heart. Brook was right, the two of you were a beautiful couple.

You take the bottle from Zoro and pour out a viscous liquid onto your fingers, soaking them in it before wrapping it around Zoro’s cock, wetting him with long strokes.

“Fuc-k babe that feels good”

You offer Zoro one final kiss, a mischievous hand coming to smack the swordsman’s bottom sending him on his way to Sanji.

Zoro slots himself between Sanji’s legs, wrapping his hands around his ankles before yanking him, moving him closer to the edge of the bed. For the first time Sanji’s cock presses into Zoro’s and it twitches in excitement, the blond shudders at the contact. Zoro captures his lips into a kiss and Sanji loses himself in it. Sea salt and steel invade his senses, wiping his mind blank of every thought. Rough hands find their way to his slender hips, rubbing circles along the bone. Slim smaller fingers press against his hole, taking time to slather him in the same viscous liquid.

When Zoro breaks the kiss, Sanji opens his eyes, taking in the sight of the swordsman on top of him.

“You ready?”

He isn’t, but Sanji nods.

The blunt tip of Zoro’s cock on his hole startles him, and for the first time he begins to wonder how in the fuck he’s supposed to take all of it inside of him.

Then the push comes, a groan is ripped from his chest as Zoro breaches his tight hole for the first time. Sanji feels panic well inside of him. He’s going to be torn in two, there’s no doubt about it. The blond squirms in discomfort, and you’re quick to notice, kissing his tears away, interlacing your fingers with his.

“Shhh, it’s okay baby. You’re doing so good, such a good boy for us”

Zoro takes it at Sanji’s pace, allowing the blond to adjust to the stretch. One hand steadies his hip and the other strokes his calf, bringing it closer so the green haired man can press kisses into the pale skin.

Through the pain and panic, Sanji finds himself delusional. With his eyes closed and brain shut off, he imagines this is what it would be like to be loved by the both of you, drowning him in sweet nothings, soft kisses, and praises of what a good boy he is.

It takes a deliberate amount of self-control for Zoro to inch in slowly, the sight of Sanji’s greedy hole swallowing his shaft has anticipation pumping through his veins. He finds himself resisting the urge to pin the blond down and ravage him right there, to stretch his hole out so fully that it molds itself to the shape of Zoro’s cock and his alone. It isn’t long before he finds himself full sheathed, Sanji clenching around his dick, sending mind numbing pleasure into Zoro.

He holds him there, offering more time to adjust as he holds the blond’s hips steady. Letting go of Sanji’s hand, you happily move into the mix of bodies, sitting on top of Sanji, a hand guiding his length into you. As the tip of his dick enters you, Sanji throws his head back, wailing into his fist as he tries to quiet himself. Slowly, you sink into his length, engulfing him with tight searing heat. You’re tighter than he expected. You lean back, pressing your back into Zoro’s muscle bound chest as you turn to give him a kiss. He moans into your mouth as your tongues meld into each other.

In need of friction, you start a slow pace, moving up and down on Sanji’s length.

“F-fuck, oh my fucking g-god, feels ‘sgood” Sanji slurs out, tongue lolling and mind blank.

Zoro pulls from your kiss to start pumping into Sanji, ever impatient he fucks the blond with aggression. Unabashedly, the swordsman lets out a groan at the feeling, Sanji gripping his cock like a vise.

“Yer so fucking tight for me babe”

The blond isn’t shy about making noises, screams and moans mixing together as they leave his mouth. Zoro’s finger’s dig into the man’s hips to gain more purchase as he thrusts particularly deep, punching the air out of Sanji’s lungs, his legs spasming as Zoro jabs into his prostate. His body seizes, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he babbles out nonsense.

Sanji can’t think, he can barely breath with Zoro’s cock bullying him out of air only for your tight pussy to greedily clench, only allowing him short gasps of breath. He loses himself entirely in the feeling of being thoroughly used by the two of you, drool leaking out of the side of his mouth as eyes stare unfocused.

Sanji’s dick curves and hits the most sensitive parts of you, brushing along your g-spot as you bounce up and down on him, desperately chasing your own high.

“S-sanji, your cock f-feels so good baby”

Your words begin to slur as you feel the beginnings of an orgasm gather in your loins.

Sanji is the first to cum, letting out a loud wail as he bucks his hips upward, shooting his cum deep inside of you. The feeling of his warm cum flooding you makes your eyes roll to the back of your head, you keep riding him through his orgasm, oversensitive cock still hard as you grind down on it, losing yourself in the pleasure of his spongy dick tip grinding into your cervix. Zoro’s hand snakes around your hips, fingers pinching and rolling your clit, sending fireworks of pleasure into your spine, you hold onto Sanji, nails digging deep. Zoro’s thrusts get deeper, rocking you and Sanji. His breathing is choppy, moans spilling out of his lips as Zoro chases his own high.

Fireworks burst behind your eyelids as you feel the orgasm wrack your body, tears gathering in your eyes as your moan stutters in your throat. Sanji whimpers as your pussy milks his oversensitive cock for more cum. Zoro’s arm wraps around your waist and the other on Sanji’s thigh as he pulls both of you closer, the coil buried deep in his belly threatening to snap. He picks up the pace, relentlessly hammering inside of Sanji, the movement causing Sanji’s dick to rub the sensitive tissue of your cervix, gushing out the cum deep inside of you. The tight friction of Sanji’s hole is delicious as Zoro gives the last few pumps before burying himself as deep as possible in the blond, head resting on the crook of your neck as he came. His loud groan is muffled in your skin, stars shoot across his vision as he paints Sanji’s walls white, belly clenching as he slowly rocks the last vestiges of his orgasm out.

The three of you fall on the bed in a mess of limbs, sweat, and body fluids. You’re out of it until you feel an arm wrapping around you, hazily recognizing it as Zoro’s, bringing you and Sanji closer to him. You press yourself into his side, craving the comfort of his embrace. Your head rests on his wide chest listening to the pounding heartbeat as he presses a kiss into your sweaty hairline.

Zoro’s heart feels full as he watches his two lovers, fully sated and thoroughly fucked, resting in his arms, the trust they put in him is implicit.

The peace is broken when Sanji breaks out of the embrace, getting out of the bed picking up pieces of various strewn about clothing. The action startles you and Zoro out of your post orgasm glow, the two of you sharing a confused look.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

Zoro’s voice cuts through Sanji’s soul. Steeling himself, he looks up at the two of you, still wrapped around each other, clearly comfortable - a comfort Sanji can’t indulge in lest he lose more of his heart.

“Ah. Well, I figured you guys had your fun, right?” he weakly chuckles.

The silence is deafening.

“No need for me to linger while you tw-“

“Sanji when we said we wanted you we meant all of you. You mean more to us than just sex, we adore you.”

His body tenses in surprise, the shock written all over his face.

Zoro leans forward, grabbing Sanji’s hand to pull him back into the mess of limbs.

“C’mere and cuddle us Sanji.”

Sanji sinks into the cuddle, hungry heart full for the first time in a long time.

#fanfic #one piece #vinsmoke sanji #one piece sanji #sanji x reader #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro #one piece zoro #zoro x reader x sanji

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xxoolii · 6 months

Note

hope you are well

Can you do something with Hiccup Haddock

argh i'm such a hiccup whore, i mean who isn't?

I would absolutely love to do that for you!!

MDNI, im serious, i literally don't like you babe

warnings: jealousy(the green-eyed monster), praise, degrading, 18+ content, cream pie, not edited in the slightest, the idea is kinda over used but idc, angry sex

author notes: reposts are greatly appreciated! also finished exams so im able to write now, very excited to get into this!!

what you want?

uh oh, you had undoubtedly done it this time. at first, it had seemed like a totally innocent idea, but it had gotten out of hand, it wasn't your fault that the skirt you were wearing rode up every time you bent down in front of hiccup. there was something in his eye. Every time you bent down, a look that you almost couldn't place, it was almost primal, in the kind of way a hunter would look at its prey.

you loved it. you wanted more of it, and then a thought came to your mind. you gave him a polite smile, making your way in slow strides. Over to Snot lout, you crouch down next to him, and place your hand on his thigh. "wow your so smart I never noticed" him being totally oblivious, didn't understand the false nature of your compliment. But hiccup did, he knew that it was to riel him up and make him jealous. he stood up abruptly rushing towards you and snatching your hand off his thigh, yanking you away yelling some nonsense about you feeling sick and needing to go home.

he drags you out the door, throwing you over his shoulder as he makes his way to your house, the walk wasn't far and you were kicking and complaining the entire time, as if you hadn't caused this, as if this wasn't your desired reaction. he reached the threshold of your house and barged through the door making his way to your shared bedroom. you continue to wriggle, grabbing onto beams and doorways as he makes his way through the house. a futile effort on your behalf . he reaches his final destination, and gently throws you on the bed.

he looks at you with a predatory look in his eyes "What was that about huh?" he says this as he makes his way across the bed, hand snaking its way up your thigh. you decide in that moment that your going to play dumb, you've already committed to this act so you may as go all in. "what act?" you ask dumbly. he grabs your thigh roughly, other hand grabbing your chin and pulling you towards him. "you know exactly what i mean. or would you rather i just teach you a lesson?" he smirks knowingly at you, he wasn't dumb he knew you'd done it all for attention.

--------------------------------------------

and thats how you gotten here. your arms and legs ached as you felt him roughly pounding into you, moans echoing throughout the whole house. he was unrelenting and he was taking all of his frustrations out on you. his hands gripped tighter on your hips, pulling you to meet his thrusts.

your arms give out due to the speed and force he's fucking you with, your face meets the mattress, moans lost in the fabric. he's not slowing down, his groans and small moans show just how lost in your pussy he is. he spews out sweet praise, contrasting it with the perfect amount of degrading.

"your so pretty like this" "Wish I could have you like this all day honey" "You're doing so so good for me baby, just a little longer im almost there" Sweet pet names and sweet nothings running through your veins as he fucks you better than he ever has. once he gets closer his sweet praise switches to taunts and degradation. "aww poor baby cant take it anymore?" "isnt this what you wanted, pathetic whore"

his thrusts speed up, showing how close he is. you orgasm not too far behind you, the burning pleasure almost too much to bear. your moans and his groans make a beautiful symphony as you both grow closer, the way he strokes against your velvet walls drives you crazy. your body could only ever feel like this for him. white flashes over your eyes as you reach your release. squirting all over him. the sweet feeling of your pussy clamping on him sends him over the edge as he groans and presses his hips flush against yours releasing his seed deep inside you.

he pulls away, his cock covered in a mix of both of your juices. he flips you onto your back momentarily in awe of the way his cum rolls out of your clenching hole. then he speaks.

"hope your little game was worth it honey"

_________________________________

and thats it for today ladies, gents and non-binary pals! this is a little low effort because i started it during exams but im glad to finally be getting it done now!

#smut #xxoolii #new to this #hiccup x reader smut #hiccup haddock #httyd hiccup #httyd smut #x reader #hiccup how to train your dragon

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matchavellichor · 6 months

Note

hello !! This idea is a bit basic, but I was wondering if you could write an ominis x fmc fic where the mc is coddling an animal with all sorts of affection and ominis, who has a crush on the mc, is jealous. It’s a pretty fluffy request, but perhaps the ending could be a bit suggestive? Anyway, regardless of whether you take this request or not, thank you for all your work! I have had such a struggle finding good ominis pieces lately

A Peculiar Pet

Ominis Gaunt x f!MC - Fluff - 2.2k words

A/N: hiii, ty for the request. this was sooo cute and i had a lot of fun writing it! the ending isn't suggestive and maybe a bit too platonic/unrequited, but i might make a part two if that's something you guys would like (:

Summary: After MC rescues a strange cat on her latest trip to Hogsmeade, her friendship with Ominis becomes strained by his sudden jealousy.

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Banter, Unrequited Love, Jealous Ominis, MC is a Cat Person, Ominis is Not

“What the hell is that?”

She scowled, looking up at Sebastian who was staring down at the purring carpet in her lap.

“That is my familiar,” she informed, stroking gently under what—presumably—was supposed to be a chin. “Poor thing was nearly starving to death just outside of the Hog’s Head. I rescued him.”

Sebastian eyed the creature warily. “Are you sure? By the looks of it, you were too late.”

“Oh, shut up, will you?” she wrapped her arms around the cat protectively and it gave a little grunt of approval. “He just needs a bit of a bath. Isn’t that right, Snuggles? My beautiful baby boy, yes, yes you are. Oh, mummy loves you so much—”

“You’ve given birth?” Ominis suddenly emerged beside Sebastian, looking just as appalled.

“Yes. To an abomination,” he grimaced. “Clawed its way out of her womb straight from the depths of Hell.”

“I didn’t ask for the opinion of either of you,” she seethed, standing up abruptly and clutching the mass of fur protectively to her chest. “If you’ll excuse me, Snuggles and I will be finding more pleasant company.”

She stormed past the two and Ominis blinked confusedly after her. Sebastian simply raised his brows.

“What was that all about?”

Sebastian shrugged. “Motherhood, I suppose.”

“Is that…normal?”

Ominis clenched his jaw as he listened to her start on what must have been the eighth bedtime story just that evening. She had been planting kisses all over the creature for the past hour, fawning over him and drowning him in all kinds of affection. Snuggles showed little more than a periodical snot-nosed snuffle in appreciation.

Sebastian shrugged, glancing over. “Beats me. Maybe it’s hormones or something.”

“She’s obsessed with it! That can’t be healthy. Shouldn’t we do something?”

Sebastian laughed. “Relax, Ominis. It’s a cat. The thing’s a hundred years old anyway, let her care for the critter while it’s on its last legs.”

“I suppose so,” Ominis relented, still slightly acerbic.

He listened to her voice taper out, words becoming slurred as exhaustion seeped into her. He rose from his seat with a sigh, trying his best to be open-minded about the ordeal.

“Here, let me watch over him,” he said, reaching a hand towards her shoulder to gently rouse her. “You should really get some sleep.”

As soon as his hand touched her, the creature immediately shot up and hissed at him, its abnormally sharp teeth viciously bared. He jerked back in surprise and she blinked awake, shushing the feline with soothing coos. “It’s alright, Snuggles, he’s a friend.”

The furball from Hell did not look convinced.

“I’m fine, Ominis,” she murmured through a yawn, sitting up to stretch. “He’s had a fever all day, I have to keep an eye on him.”

“You have to keep an eye on yourself,” he grumbled.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, already beginning her coddling again. “And you will be too, won’t you, angel? Yes, you will! Mummy will make sure of it.”

Ominis heaved a long-suffering sigh and retreated back to his armchair. Sebastian eyed the defeated expression on the blonde’s face for a moment, looking starkly amused.

That following weekend, Ominis retreated to the common room for his usual plans of afternoon reading, hoping that this time she wouldn’t bail on him like she’d been doing all week.

“Oh, my, look at you! Aren’t you handsome?”

He froze at the bottom of the stairs, hand gripping the railing. He was suddenly aware of an unbidden heat rising to his cheeks. “I’m–I’m sorry?”

“Oh, yes you are,” she cooed, ignoring him. “My precious boy.”

Ominis frowned, shoulders sinking at the realization of who she was actually speaking to. He tried to suppress his sour mood as best as he could as he stalked past her towards his usual seat in front of the fireplace.

He opened his book and lasted about two pages before the sounds of her fawning over the little monster ground his patience down to the bones.

“Do you mind?” he bit out tersely. “I’m allergic,” he lied.

“I’m not even near you.”

That’s precisely the problem, he wanted to say, bitter about how distanced she’d been ever since she’d brought the creature home. As woe as Ominis was to admit he was jealous of a cat, it was hard not to be when he’d seemingly been completely replaced.

Before, he had been her reading partner. They’d share one of the loveseats in an isolated corner of the common room and trade tidbits of whatever novel they were consumed in. Now, his spot was occupied by the matted ball of fur she called her baby.

He shut his book abruptly, not even bothering to conceal his sneer. “Must you spend every waking minute with that thing?”

She glanced up at him, surprised by his sudden hostility. “What’s the matter with you, Ominis?”

“What’s the matter with me? You’re the one obsessing over a cat. It’s ridiculous.”

“He needs me. Must you be so inconsiderate?”

Ominis’ fists clenched in frustration at his sides. “Well, he isn’t the only one who needs you!”

There was a long silence in which she stared at him perplexed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He reddened, staring down at his shoes. “I…just mean that you’re…that…”

“Go on,” she spat, tone lacking all patience. “Say what you mean.”

He glanced up sharply. “You’re neglecting all of your friends to care for that dreadful monster.”

She gasped, covering what was presumably the furball’s ears, but looked more like shriveled horns covered in hair. “Well, maybe it’s because I can’t bear to be around friends who are all so heartless.”

Ominis looked like she might as well have slapped him.

She stormed off with the cat in her arms for the second time that week, leaving Ominis to contemplate with an admittedly inappropriate sense of possessiveness when he’d ever get her back for himself.

Following their fight, Ominis had resigned himself to wallowing over the tattered remains of their friendship for the next few days when his melancholic reverie was shattered by a Gryffindor storming into the Slytherin common room.

Sebastian glanced up, looking as appalled as he would if a ten-foot troll had broken in. “How did you get in here?”

Garreth snorted. “It’s not like you lot are particularly creative with your passwords. Aspiration, really? What’s next, cunning?”

“That was last month’s…” Sebastian sighed under his breath, sounding defeated.

She appeared making her way down the common room steps a few moments later, pointedly ignoring Sebastian and Ominis’ presence and presenting Garreth with the feral throw-rug.

“Godric’s saggy bollocks, where the hell did you get that?” Garreth shrieked, nearly dropping all the Potions supplies in his hands.

She scowled. “Don’t tell me you lack all empathy as well, Weasley.”

He blinked at the creature in her arms warily. “I thought you said you needed a fever relief potion for a cat.”

“I do,” she frowned. “Snuffles has been sick all week.”

“That is not a cat.”

“Told you,” Sebastian muttered from his place beside Ominis, eliciting a swat to his arm.

Her tone immediately grew tense with defensive indignation. “So what if he’s a bit…unconventional looking? That doesn’t make him any less deserving of love and affection!”

“No, you misunderstand me,” Garreth said gravely, eyes still wide. He stalked towards her slowly with his hands outstretched, as if she were holding a grenade with its pin pulled out. “That is not a cat. That… is a bloody manticore.”

Ominis blanched. Sebastian dropped all pretenses of feigning he wasn’t eavesdropping and burst out laughing. “Oh, Merlin, that’s just too good.”

Her face fell. “What?”

She glanced down at Snuggles perched happily in her arms, brows furrowed as she studied him more intently.

“Oh dear Circe, put it down!” Garreth gasped when the creature moved, stretching lazily. It seemed hardly phased by the commotion around it. “You’re lucky it’s only a few weeks old and its poison glands haven’t matured yet. Although, even this young its bite is still strong enough to cut clean through bone.”

She seemed hardly deterred by the revelation. Cautiously, she pulled back the matted fur covering its head and gasped when an infantile, almost human-looking face was revealed. One thing was certain, it was positively not a cat.

Snuggles blinked back lazily at her, still purring while he rubbed himself affectionately on her arm. She frowned and glanced up at her friends, looking starkly heartbroken.

“I…I suppose…you all were right.”

Something in Ominis’ chest seized at how defeated she sounded.

She stared tearfully down at the manticore in her arms. “I’m sorry, Snuffles.”

“Let’s get it to Professor Howin,” Garreth spoke up, attempting to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, though he looked too wary of Snuffles to actually touch her. “She’ll know what to do.”

She nodded reluctantly.

Professor Howin contacted the Ministry and successfully turned in the manticore to magizoologists by the following morning.

Despite Howin’s repeated insistence that it was the safest option for Snuggles, its departure was no easy cross to bear for its former guardian.

Nearly a week later she was still mourning its loss as if her own kin had been ripped away from her. She was utterly inconsolable, and after walking in on her crying quietly in the late hours of the evening far too many times, Ominis decided he couldn’t bear her grief any longer.

The following day, he devised a plan. Come evening, he approached her usual lonely spot tucked away in the Undercroft, his hands tucked surreptitiously behind his robes.

She glanced up and frowned. “Are you here to rub it in?”

He sighed. “Of course not. I’m here to see if you’re alright.”

She sniffled, eyes lighting up. “Are you really?”

He nodded, kneeling down beside her. “I feel guilty for being so inconsiderate,” he said. “It’s silly to admit but…I suppose I just felt a little left out.”

She giggled then, the last vestiges of sadness steadily dissipating from her voice. “You’re lying.”

He shook his head, looking conflicted as if he were contemplating actually coming clean about how he had felt. He let out a long-suffering groan. “Oh gods, it’s humiliating. I was jealous of a cat—or well, what I thought was a cat, at least.”

She grinned, looking amused. “Oh, I understand. It’s because I didn’t give you belly rubs as well, is that it?”

He rolled his eyes, biting back his own smile. “No, no. It was the lack of bedtime stories that really stung.”

She laughed then, and the sound warmed him to his very core, reminding him of hot tea and the warmth of a fireplace with a good book curled in his lap.

He was broken out of his admiration by a jostling in his hands. He cleared his throat, remembering that an apology wasn’t the only thing he had met her there for.

“I…have something for you.”

She looked at him expectantly and he carefully untucked a small box from behind his robes, various holes cut around the sides. As soon as he held it in his lap, the box gave another little jolt. She looked at it bewildered.

He took a deep breath as he slipped off the lid, and the first tiny meow escaped. She gasped in delight, eyes glittering with disbelief as she stared down at the little animal.

“Is that…”

He nodded. “She’s yours.”

“Oh, Ominis!”

He was nearly toppled over by the force of which she threw her arms around him, squeezing him so tightly he could barely breathe. His hands found her waist to brace himself, his thumb brushing softly under her ribs as he reciprocated her embrace.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she gushed, peppering his face with kisses. He flushed so red he was surely the same color of the little ginger kitten in his lap by the time she stopped her attack.

“Don’t…don’t mention it,” he laughed sheepishly, voice sounding terribly dazed.

The kitten gave a petulant little mewl and she finally detached herself, pulling back with a departing peck to his cheek. She picked up the cat, pressing a soft kiss under its scruffy chin and acquiescing its whines.

“Oh, aren’t you just so precious?” she cooed. “Your mummy and daddy will take such good care of you— oh yes, yes we will!”

Ominis managed to flush even more. “Oh, am I included in this now?”

“Well, of course. You rescued her, after all,” she smiled brightly, suddenly entwining her fingers with his. “We’ll care for her together.”

Ominis felt that warm sensation bloom in his chest again at the feeling of her hand in his. He stroked his thumb over her knuckles reverently, unsure of what to do with so much permission to touch her. The contact was so tender, his heart felt like it might just burst out of his chest.

As if it could sense his acceptance, the kitten suddenly jumped from its place in the crook of her arm onto Ominis’ shoulder, purring contentedly in his ear and rubbing itself against his neck.

She gasped. “Oh, look, she likes you!”

Ominis couldn’t help the smile pulling at his lips, bringing a hand to pet tentatively at the small thing. The kitten leaned into his touch, preening under his affection as he rubbed an index against its soft underbelly.

“Yes,” he said softly, squeezing her hand, still tucked snugly in his. “I suppose she does."

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis x mc #hogwarts legacy imagine #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #garreth weasley #ominis gaunt fanfiction #ominis gaunt x mc #hogwarts legacy ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy ominis #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fan fiction #fanfic #fluff

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causeitsagame · 9 months

Text

Some good old-fashioned h/c

For @hajihiko, since there was nothing to read <3

"No, we cannot tell Makoto," Sonia insisted, and coughed up a wad of phlegm. "He puts himself at great risk with every visit."

"I know that," Hajime said, and traded the phlegm-y handful of palm fronds she'd grabbed along the way in favor of an actual tissue. After some time spent on the real islands, Makoto had asked them what else was needed for their recovery. The list was fortunately brief, but did have some small but critical items, like a pressure control valve for surgical anesthesia. Somehow, he'd managed to find the whole requested collection in the broken world out there.

"And so we cannot appear to be ungrateful," Sonia continued. She snorted, drawing a drooping bit of snot back up into her reddened nose. "Accepting necessary trade-offs without complaint is a part of negotiations and aid."

"It's Makoto," Hajime patiently countered as he led her back into her room. Other nearby doors were also closed, but she'd decided that she felt well enough to help prepare some broth for the others. It hadn't gone well; he'd found her slumped over in the kitchen. "He's not going to get mad if I clarify exactly what he brought to the island with him."

"No, we mustn't blame him," Sonia said weakly as Hajime steered her toward her bed.

"It's not blame. I just want to know."

"You mustn't," she insisted again as she let herself be maneuvered under a light blanket. Though the day was typically warm outside, she shook.

"…Fine," Hajime lied. "I won't call Makoto."

Sonia smiled gratefully up at him through reddened, watery features.

"Feel better. I'll check on you soon, all right?"

She nodded, coughed again, and curled up on her side.

With a reassuring smile, Hajime walked off to call Makoto.

"Sorry, I didn't realize," Makoto said on the video screen, and wiped roughly at his nose. Now into recovery, he had the pale, desaturated color scheme of a heavy illness draped over his otherwise sunny demeanor. "I didn't feel bad until I was already leaving. How are people doing? Do you need more medicine?"

"No, we're good." Hajime gestured over his shoulder, and coughed. "There's plenty of medicine in the clinics around the islands."

Makoto hesitated at Hajime's deep, rough cough. "Is it expired, though?"

"On the packages? Sure. In reality? Slightly reduced efficacy, easily adjusted for with a larger dose." Hajime coughed again against the back of his hand. "We're good."

"Okay," Makoto said uncertainly. "Call me again if you need to, all right?"

"We're fine." Hajime waved him off. "I should be able to toss this off pretty easily, and I can look after everyone else."

"Well. Okay. But seriously, you can call me."

"And we always appreciate it," Hajime assured him, and with a grateful nod, cut the call. Okay. Time to check on everyone else.

Akane complained, which was a good sign; she'd been the first to succumb, and her laying so still and quiet in bed had unpleasantly reminded everyone of the Despair Disease. "I've gotta have something more than just water," she griped as Hajime handed her a bowl, filled from the pot Sonia had left simmering.

"Broth," Hajime corrected. "And do your eyes feel all weird and prickly?"

"Yeah."

"Right. We need to get more fluids into you, first thing. That'll help you recover as quickly as possible. And if you need fluids, this is better than just water, right?"

"Yeah," she admitted, and drank some. "I guess."

"Okay. Drink some more of that until you feel better, and then real food is on the way." That encouraged her enough to treat the broth as an actual meal, and after a quick temperature check, Hajime moved on.

"I feel gross," Kazuichi whined.

Hajime turned to cough into his shoulder, heavy and deeper in his chest than when he'd talked to Makoto. It felt like it echoed inside him like a timpani, and Kazuichi had an eyebrow raised when he turned back to the man.

"You sound gross," Kazuichi added.

"I'm fine," Hajime insisted, and held up a stethoscope. "I want to listen to your chest."

Breathing was hindered by the sputum that this illness had brought to their respiratory tracts, but fortunately, it didn't sound any worse than yesterday. Kazuichi must be currently going through the worst of it, which meant that recovery was right ahead. "Cough for me into this," Hajime instructed, handing over a tissue.

Kazuichi did, and made a face as Hajime inspected what he'd coughed up. "And that is gross."

"The infection is on the mend," Hajime dryly confirmed as he tossed the tissue in a nearby bin. "And you're welcome. I'll bring soup."

"…Did you make the soup, or…"

"Sonia."

Kazuichi's grimace deepened as much as his illness-exhausted muscles would allow.

"She knows how to make a decent vegetable broth, by now. It tastes fine. Really. Be back in a sec."

Outside Kazuichi's cottage, Hajime felt a deep, insistent pressure build up in his chest. He hurried away from the open window, far enough that the noises he was about to make would blend into the rush of waves on the shore.

The cough ripped out of him painfully hard. He could feel it dislodge substances inside him that shouldn't be there; the illness everyone else was dealing with had also settled into his own respiratory tract. With another few deep coughs, Hajime cleared his throat and stood. His immune system was part of his generally improved body. That, along with his medical knowledge, meant that he was the best-suited person on this island to look after everyone else. And so he'd do exactly that.

"Hey," Hajime quietly called out as he entered the last cottage. He'd stopped by the kitchen for Kazuichi's broth, and another bowl of it was still in hand. "How are you doing?"

While Hajime was the best-suited to throw off an illness, Fuyuhiko was expectedly having the roughest time of it. He'd succumbed soon after Akane, but while she'd rebounded enough to complain and regain her appetite, Fuyuhiko remained a quiet, pliant lump under his blankets.

Silence in return to his question twisted an anxious knife in Hajime's chest. Suddenly fearful, he leaned over Fuyuhiko's still form.

And then he coughed on him, deep and loud.

Grimacing, Fuyuhiko stirred and looked up at Hajime with an accusing eye. "What?" The question was deep, raspy. Between damage from days of coughing and the illness his body still fought, his voice had dropped half an octave and most of its volume.

"Just checking on you," Hajime said. "I brought this. Can you sit up?"

Fuyuhiko flicked his gaze to the bowl Hajime held, then away. It was a silent but clear 'no thanks.'

"You need to eat," Hajime insisted.

Illness weakened people, and Fuyuhiko apparently dealt with illness about as well as he did with anything that made him feel weak: it pissed him off.

He'd been even more uncooperative than Akane. Although she'd fortunately rebounded quite a bit after the pods, giving her some physical reserves, Fuyuhiko had been an easy target for the disease clawing through everyone's system. He'd been left nearly motionless, only able to manage the short trip to the bathroom without exhausting himself. He relied on Hajime for food, medical attention, and anything else, and it infuriated him.

"The faster you recover, the faster you can get out of this room," Hajime pointed out. "And you're not going to recover if you starve yourself."

Fuyuhiko didn't want to agree with that, clearly. Fortunately for his pride, he could simply stay silent.

Hajime sighed. "Would you just—"

He barely set the bowl down in time before another cough ripped through him, doubling him over. He felt his abdominal muscles clench hard, almost like he was vomiting, as his airway was forcefully cleared. He gasped when he regained control of his breathing, felt his throat catch again on some of the mucus coating it, and fell into a second helpless round of coughing.

"One second," Hajime wheezed, and wiped his teary, bloodshot eyes.

In Fuyuhiko's bathroom, Hajime wiped down his face with one tissue and coughed hard into a second. The sputum had tinges of color just like what he'd inspected on Kazuichi: the infection was finally settling into Hajime's lungs, too. But it was mild, only there in small streaks, and so there wasn't any need to worry. Certainly, he was in much better shape than any of the rest of them, especially Fuyuhiko.

When Hajime exited back into the main room, Fuyuhiko was making an awkward attempt at the soup left next to him.

"Oh," Hajime said in pleased surprise, and cleared his throat again. "Need any help?"

Fuyuhiko eyed him speculatively. "No. Hey. Is there any medicine I should be taking?"

Hajime's eyebrows further rose. Fuyuhiko had rejected most of his suggestions before this, saying he didn't need it. "Yeah, there are a few different things I'd like to put you on."

"Go get 'em."

Not about to argue with a patient suddenly cooperating, Hajime did so. On the way, he stopped twice more to double over, hacking and coughing until tears squeezed out of his eyes.

Two days later, he tried to get out of bed to monitor everyone's recovery, and… couldn't. Hajime's muscles were tired like he couldn't remember, and every breath was thin and labored. He could feel the heat and humidity of the islands laying across his skin like a slimy, stifling weight, and yet the core of his body felt chilled and vulnerable. Hajime pulled a blanket over his shoulders and curled inward on himself.

Ten minutes passed, and his door opened under Sonia's mostly-steady hand. "We knew it," she sighed. "Yesterday, you were clearly on a steep decline."

"How's everyone doing?" Hajime asked. Or tried to, anyway; the words came out all mumbled.

"Good enough to check in on you!" Kazuichi promised, walking in with a bowl of soup. Behind him, Akane carried three thermoses, presumably full of the same.

"No," Hajime protested, seeing them all up and walking around. "You need to." His medical assessments weren't coming together like they had, and so he struggled with finding the instructions to issue. "Cough. Tissue."

"We're all clear," Kazuichi promised with a big thumbs-up. "Just normal snot, no infections."

Sonia smiled awkwardly. It was a curious mixture between celebration of their improved health and not wanting to have physical matters mentioned. Princesses weren't raised to acknowledge bodily issues, presumably.

"Oh." Well, that was good. Hajime let out a few rough, hacking coughs again, then found the next words he'd been struggling for. "Where's Fuyuhiko?"

As if cued, the man brushed past Kazuichi. Unlike everyone else, who appeared well on the path to recovery by now, Fuyuhiko was clearly still in the grips of the illness. He at least looked better than he had, though, even as he had a light blanket clutched around him and would probably go straight back to bed. "You probably know which one of these to take, yeah?"

Hajime managed a faint smile as more than a dozen different medications were deposited on his nightstand. The pile included every medicine he'd pulled for Fuyuhiko, along with what must be every other medicine that Fuyuhiko had decided looked even remotely related when he made his own visit to the nearest clinic. "Yeah. I see what I need."

"Good." Fuyuhiko found a small smile of his own, though it was an odd-looking expression after their collective illness had torn so deeply into him. "When I saw you acting like a dumbass, I figured I'd better heal up fast."

"M'not a dumbass," Hajime protested.

"You will stay in bed for the next three days," Sonia proclaimed, bringing the full weight of her lifelong training to bear. "We will not permit you to further exert yourself, Hajime, and will look after you as you have looked after us."

Hajime opened his mouth, took in everyone's visibly improved states, and closed it. That… that didn't sound too bad. "Okay," he relented. "But Fuyuhiko'd better do the same." Fuyuhiko had improved, yes, but 'can stand and walk, only with great effort' wasn't exactly reassuring.

Instinctive stubbornness slammed into Fuyuhiko's expression, and he opened his mouth to argue.

"Get back into bed," Hajime said, mostly into his pillow, "or I'll get up to check on you."

"…One more day," Fuyuhiko accepted, clearly with great reluctance.

"Fine." Hajime coughed. "Someone get me three pills from the. Bottle with the uh. Uh. Green cap." Sonia stepped forward toward the bottles, and Hajime admitted to her, "I called Makoto."

"I assumed as much," she sighed, though it came with a smile. "Will you need help with these pills?"

"Yeah, I'll need help sitting up," Hajime said, and saw Akane head his way to do so as Sonia disappeared into the bathroom for a glass of water. At the doorway, Fuyuhiko actually let himself be led off by Kazuichi.

As he felt Akane carefully tilt him up from the bed, Hajime sighed and let his eyes fall closed. Her grip was steady and sure, and Sonia sounded confident as she rattled off the (expected) name on the requested bottle, wanting confirmation before she administered it.

Obediently, Hajime opened his mouth for the first pill, and swallowed it down with the mouthful of water she then offered. And then again, and again. Sonia's voice next promised that she'd check on Fuyuhiko as the day went on, too, and so there was no need for him to worry.

Reassured, Hajime nodded as Akane arranged him back under his blanket. "Thanks."

His instincts began to rattle off all of the checklist items he should tackle, but for once, Hajime ignored them.

For now, he'd let someone else be in charge.

#my fic #why yes this IS the trope distilled bc sometimes you want that

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a-midnight-smoke · 10 months

Text

Keep him from breaking

___

Miguel O'Hara x m!reader

___

content: angst, hurt/comfort, a bit of fluff

trigger warnings: panic attack (not overly described but it's there), self-harm connected with said panic attack (scratching, pulling hair), mention of skipping meals

words: ~1 800

___

So, I finally wrote something again, and who would have thought that the thing breaking my 2 year writer's block would be fucking Miguel O'hara (it was predictable).

I don't agree with writers who characterize him as this suave flirt. Like, that is a broken, emotionally constipated, traumatized man, he would NOT make you call him papi, but then again, to each their own, write and read what you want, idc that much.

Miguel is a pathetic, wet cat, and so I wrote him breaking down in tears because he thought something happened to you. Call it emotional diarrhea after weeks of constipation. And that's my truth.

It's my first time posting a fic anywhere, I wrote this in one evening and then kept tweaking it for like 2 months and debating if I should post this cause I'm an anxious bitch, but finally said fuck it we ball.

Also, I'm a trans guy, and so my reader character will also be. I may write a gender-neutral reader, but not a female one. It's not really important in this particular story, but just so you know.

Also, also, english isn't my first language, so sorry for any mistakes. I appreciate feedback !

Anyway, if you like it you should like and reblog !! Thanks and have fun reading !!

___

Miguel's lungs were burning, but he couldn't stop. Not when he didn't know if you were safe. He needed to get to you. Make sure you're fine.

He crashed into your bedroom window, almost breaking it in the process. His red eyes darted to your bed, where you were not. You weren't in your bed. He called out your name but was only met with deafening silence.

He ran to the door, yanking it off the hinges in the process. Miguel could feel panic building in his chest, heart hammering in his ears.

He was in a trance, looking in every empty space in your apartment, calling for you, begging for you, and thrashing it when he didn't find you. He was breathing faster and harder by the seconds, his hands flying to his head to grab and pull at the strands harshly. Where were you? Someone must have kidnapped you, right? Why else would the apartment be empty?

The slight burn in his scalp didn't help to ease his rising panic, so he started clawing at his arms with his talons as he tried to think of what to do. He couldn't lose you, he couldn't. He needed you, more than life itself. He would tear the city apart to find you and had half a mind to do it already. He was heading for the window when-

The quiet janking of keys stopped him in place, staring at the front door, holding his breath. When he saw you enter, safe, sound and humming to yourself, something broke in him. Weeks of tension and stress finally catching up with him.

He pulled you into his arms, hiding his face in your neck as he started crying and hyperventilating, broken sobs escaping him, interrupted with occasional coughs as you stood still, stunned. His broad body enveloping yours, feeling you. He had to make sure he hadn't completely lost his mind, that you were really here.

As you got over your initial shock, you brought one hand to cradle Miguel's head, scratching slightly at his scalp and the other to trace soothing circles across his back, muttering soft reassurances.

But he couldn't stop hyperventilating, so you gently tried to pry him off of yourself, to no avail.

"Miguel? I need you to look at me, sweetheart." You cooed at him, and after some more coaxing, he pulled away, making sure you were holding his hands. Sobs wrecked through his body, face covered in tears and snot, bloodshot eyes accentuating the redness of his irises. He couldn't look away from you, couldn't stop touching you, afraid that you would disappear if he did.

You brought his hands to your chest, making it a point to breathe deeply and evenly.

"Breathe with me, Mig. Can you do that for me?" you spoke softly and slowly, trying to calm him down. He took a shaky breath that was interrupted by a coughing fit.

"Take it easy, sweetie. Just breathe with me."

It took some time, but his breathing started to finally even out, his sobs now just hiccups. His legs gave out, and you both tumbled to the floor, Miguel quickly wrapping you in his arms once again, listening and feeling your heartbeat. You hugged him back, resuming your earlier ministrations until he stopped crying completely. You stayed like that, on the floor of your trashed apartment, until Miguel spoke in a shaky, raspy from crying voice.

"I thought something… that something happened to you. When I couldn't find you here. That somebody took you from me." He grabbed onto you harder, digging his talonless fingers into your waist when you started to pull away, but you persisted, wanting to see his face. He reluctantly pulled away again, still holding your waist.

"Why would something happen to me? Why would somebody take me?" You would be lying if you said that seeing your, normally emotionally constipated, boyfriend in such a state of disarray didn't make you feel a bit anxious.

"T'was just this guy I was interrogating, let 'im get into my head." he mumbled. In hindsight, the guy was just a pawn, probably didn't know anything and was bluffing to get a rise out of Miguel. Which, combined with his high stress levels and deteriorating mental health, led to the situation at hand.

He tensed when he heard you sigh. Were you annoyed with him? Were you mad at him? You should be, he destroyed your apartment. You should just throw him out, really. He was good for nothing and did not deserve you. It would be better for everyone if he-

"Hey," your voice was still so soft, "get out of your head, Miguel." he slowly looked up to see you staring at him with a worried, but not angry, expression. You cradled his face, Miguel leaning into it instinctively and closing his eyes. You looked over him, over his bruised face, bloody lips and bloodshot eyes with dark bags underneath. He looked thinner than the last time you saw him, with his sunken cheeks. You scrunched your eyebrows.

"When was the last time you slept? And ate?" Well, that's embarrassing. Miguel looked away, feeling his cheeks heat up.

"Miguel..."

"Like four days ago? " He wished he hadn't said anything, he usually didn't, he would insist he was fine, but he was just so tired the words slipped from him without much thought. "Food's making me feel nauseas, so I started skipping meals."

The look on your face was something he didn't want to see ever again.

"Miguel, you can't keep doing this. You should have told me, or Gabriel, or anyone really. It's not healthy," you tried to catch his eyes, which he was expertly avoiding. He grimaced.

"You all have enough on your plate as it is. I make sure the multiverse won't collapse in on itself, I should be able to take care of myself. I'm a grown man." He withdrew his hands completely, ignoring the part of his brain screaming at him to not let go of you, going back to scratching at himself, which caused you to look down. Your breath caught in your throat. His forearms were completely covered in blood, which was still seeping from some of the deeper wounds where he tore his suit. You tried to take his hands into yours, but he crossed his arms over his chest, continuing to avoid your gaze.

"Miguel," you started, voice firm, but with a soft note, "you are not a burden. You never could be, not to me. I love you so much, it pains me to see you hurt yourself like this. It doesn't matter that you're a grown man, you shouldn't feel like you have to keep everything to yourself, like you can't reach out to me, or anybody, for help. Let me take care of you. You deserve to be taken care of, no matter what you brain is telling you." You sighed, calming your racing heart.

"I'm sorry, Miguel," he snapped his eyes to you.

"Why are you sorry?" His voice was quiet and hoarse.

"I'm sorry that I didn't see you struggling sooner, that you felt like you couldn't talk with me about it. Four days? Without sleep and food? You have to be exhausted, even with your mutations. How are you even thinking clearly right now?" He doesn't, that's why your apartment is trashed. He looks around the destroyed room, feeling his anxiety creep back up. He opened his mouth to talk, but you beat him to it.

"Don't worry, you'll help me clean up after you get some sleep and eat." You pulled both of you up, struggling a little with Miguel, who had gone quiet again. He let himself be guided to the bathroom, just now starting to feel the burning from his arms.

You undress the bigger man and move him around, all fight having completely sucked out of him. You wash his wounds carefully before stitching the deeper ones and starting to prepare a bath. Now, in the space of your bathroom, the only room that wasn't a complete mess, Miguel realized how exhausted he really was. Guess you really can't sustain yourself on pure spite and adrenaline.

When the water is ready, you guide him into the tub before getting in yourself. You were never more grateful for the big bathtub, fitting Miguel's bruised and tired body, and you straddling him. The water is amazingly hot, already working magic on his tense muscles. You start washing his face with a soft washcloth, careful of his split lip, cleaning him of snot and leftover tears and Miguel's cheeks are heating up, his hands gripping your waist harder at being handled so delicately. He still couldn't get used to your attentiveness. Your hands are gentle on his skin, moving down to his neck and chest, washing away the sweat and grime, mindful of his bruises and leaving soft pecks after washing them and working through the knots in his muscles.

He's finally starting to relax as you move yourself to wash his hair. Your fingers carding through tangled hair, starting to unknot it. You're humming a calming tune, while Miguel sits with closed eyes. Finally letting himself be taken care of. Letting himself be vulnerable. He makes a noise low in his throat, making his chest vibrate a bit before stopping abruptly. You don't pay it any mind, not wanting to draw him out of his relaxed state.

You finish washing Miguel, drain the water, and dry him off, wrapping the towel around his waist and grabbing another to dry his hair. You wrap up all remaining cuts and then guide him to your bedroom, thankful that he at least didn't flip the whole bed upside down. Among the chaos, you find his clothes that he left, helping him dress, since he was practically already asleep, and laying him down on the bed. After getting him under the covers picked up from the floor, you pull away to get ready for bed when he grabs your wrist and looks at you sleepily, but still a little panicked.

"I'll just get ready for bed quickly and get back, okay, sweetheart?" After a moment, he nods slightly and lets go of you, still reluctantly, but he doesn't let himself fall asleep while you're not with him.

When you come back, Miguel is laying with his eyes barely open, fighting off sleep. You smile at the sight and go lay down beside him. He immediately brings you closer, pulling you on top of him, but you just tangle your hand into his locks and listen to his slowing heartbeat.

"You okay, now?" You whisper into the dark but are only met with Miguel's quiet snores. You press one more kiss to his chest, right over his heart.

Sleep never came as easy as tonight.

___

Yes, Miguel stopped himself from purring.

I'm thinking of making a second part that's just pure domesticity and fluff, we'll see.

Anyway, my dog puked on my carpet while I was making final edits to this just now.

#miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #x reader #x male reader #trans male reader #male reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x male reader #atsv x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #noir-writes :3

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 11 months

Text

Home At Last (141 Members x Reader)

Summary: You and your boyfriend spend some time together after an extended mission. Preference for what has changed in each of the 141 men after a long mission abroad, including Simon “Ghost” Riley, John “Soap” MacTavish, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, and John Price.

AN: It’s hard writing preferences so kudos to all the writers who specialise in them! I’ve found that I really like writing fics where you share a bed with the COD boys and/or they’re vulnerable with you lmaoo.

Content warnings: Some allusions to smut (Minors DNI), Reader is GN and some use of Y/N, a mixture of soldier!reader and civilian!reader

Masterlist // AO3

Your name: submit What is this?

Simon “Ghost” Riley

“Can you fix it?”

Ghost was slowly but surely making his way out and allowing room for Simon to come back, one of the eye sockets sliced apart. Part of that process was removing the mask when he was sure he was absolutely safe: in his room, door locked, preferably with you. But this part had been altered.

In his hands, he held his balaclava with the skull faceplate splintered diagonally down the middle. As he stared back at what he usually stared with, he winced. The snot green marks, mottled with violet, framed his face where the mask had crunched into him, beneath the butt of a gun. His ears were still ringing from where his brain struggled to process this attack. Vaguely he remembered an enemy soldier standing above him, raising his empty weapon to strike Ghost in the face again, to match his mask, his skull, and his moniker as truly one. Then blood spurted out the enemy’s gut, his clothes tearing in two spots, and the enemy collapsed alongside him.

Your question echoed around in his head, a sign he was failing to ground himself as well as he usually did. He tossed the mask away from him. He wasn’t sure where it landed and he didn’t care either.

“No.”

“I’m sorry.”

Your voice was closer now, and reverberating less. Good. Simon was coming back.

“It’s just a mask,” He replied.

It would be easy make another one. He could darn and mend clothes well enough, and making a new mask would only refine his oft-abandoned stitching skills. Plenty of spares lined his top drawer

Somewhere in his inner monologue, you’d changing into your post-shower lazy gear.

“Nightcap?” You offered.

“Fuck,” He sagged at the suggestion, “Please.

Through lazy eyelids, he watched you collect the decanter, pouring two fingers worth of whiskey into glasses. You mixed yourself a drink too. Clinking his glass against yours in the smallest celebration of the mission’s end, Simon knocked half the whiskey back. He enjoyed the burn a lot more than the bruises.

Swallowing, he heard you sniff and gag, “Oh my god, it reeks.”

In your hand was the abandoned mask. Sitting down beside him on the cot, you began unpicking the stitches that held the broken faceplate against the fabric, whilst Simon poured himself another glass then sipped and swirled at it.

With the plate removed, you held the balaclava up in front of you both, “Just needs a scrub. Save you buying a replacement.”

Good thing about the fabric being black: in the dark, you couldn’t see the dried blood.

“Thanks,” Simon knocked his head lightly against yours, groaning a curse word in instant regret. He held the cool glass against his bruise.

“How’s the rest of you?” You asked tentatively.

“Fine,” Simon closed his eyes, “Not broken.”

The next thing he felt was your hand touching his that held his glass, the gentle contact tracing up his arm until you reached his ropey shoulders. There, you began to squeeze out the first knots your thumbs found. Simon grunted appreciatively, soaking up the touch he’d missed these last few weeks.

After a few minutes, he tilted his head back to see you, knelt behind him and smiling away at your handiwork. He couldn’t help but grace over your cheek with the backs of his calloused fingers.

“You ok, sweetie?” You leant against his touch.

Simon blinked languidly up at you, “Mm, it’s good to be home.”

John “Soap” MacTavish

AN: Genuinely wrote this before Neil decided to drop his Soap in the bubble bath checklist.

John “Soap” MacTavish really knew how to brighten a doorway. His broad shoulders carried bulky arms and a body to boot, almost entirely blocking out the hall light when he opened your bedroom door and sheepishly smiled at you.

“Hey love.”

Never before had you left your bed with such speed. It was like you could fly, fairy dust and the happiest thought of your husband’s return after three months radio silence spurring you across the room. Your arms wrapped around him to prove he was really hear. There was a thunk of his bag falling to the floor, and you were swept up in his embrace.

You only realised something was off when no stubble rubbed against your neck as Johnny nudged his cheek there. Drawing back to take in his face, you gasped at the sight of several strips of white tape holding his chin together.

Your hand traced over his cheek, avoiding the injury by several inches, “What happened?”

“Razor wire, it’s fine. Healing,” dismissed Johnny, pecking your lips between his answers. You were too concerned to respond at first but then you realised he was trying not to react every time his lips pursed, tugging on his fragile skin.

“You’ll fuck up your cuts,” You tried to lean back away from his kisses, as tempting as they were.

But Johnny had you in a boa constrictor’s grip and he wasn’t about to let you go, “Don’t care. Missed you.”

“Johnny,” You said in an attempt to warn him.

“Baby,” He mocked and managed to get the one more kiss on the corner of your mouth that caused you to cave.

“Missed you too,” You said, sheepish under his fond gaze. Fingers brushing through his overgrown Mohawk, you kissed him thrice more, the final lasting until you couldn’t hold your breath any longer.

With his lips brushing yours, Johnny whispered with a smirk, “I stink.”

“I know you do.” Your hands slid down to his shoulders. “I can run you a nice hot bath.”

You thought his pupils couldn’t dilate any more, but his iris was now barely a ring around his pupil at the mention of his second greatest weakness.

Swaying from side to side, Johnny tucked his thumbs into the waistband of your pyjama pants, “Will you join me in there?”

“Scrub you down?” You raised an eyebrow. Fluttering his eyelashes, Johnny nodded with a pouting bottom lip, and you snorted at how ridiculously charming he was acting.

Despite the comedy routine, Johnny was clearly more interested in the simple pleasures that were hot water and your presence against his war-torn body. The groan that released from his throat as he sank beneath the bubbles made your cheeks warm as you removed your sleepwear.

Before he wrapped himself around you, Johnny splashed you – which you claimed was unfair since his stitches prevented you from splashing back. But he made it up to you by settling you against his chest, heart beating strong within it, arms returning to cuddle you close. You stroked over his forearms, letting the water soak his fluffy dark hairs while the pair of you flirted with each other. With the Sandman lingering over you after your extended day, you almost drifted off beneath the bathwater - twice.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

When Kyle Garrick sloped into medical, you were in your office with no idea that he was there. Being buried up to your eyes in paperwork worked wonders for preventing distractions. He was hovering by your office door and watching you in your official habitat with that dopey smile on his face, lovesick after two months away from you, and you hadn’t even noticed. Your pen continued scribbling down details of the latest entrant to the med-bay, your eyebrows creased in the centre of your forehead – the picture of intense concentration.

Unable to stand being in your presence without acknowledgement any longer, Kyle cleared his throat. Your head shot up, eyes wide to take him in, and you gasped.

“Oh my god,” You shot out of your chair, leaving a line of ink at the end of whatever insignificant word you’d just written. You didn’t care about anything else as your arms squeezed around your boyfriend and all his tac gear.

But then he grunted, restrained rather than relieved, and you pulled away, assessing his entire body as you asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Need a change on bandages.” He gave you a wry smile as he gestured to his shoulder. It was then that you caught sight, beneath his vest and jacket, of a bandage that did not look as sterile as it had presumably been when it was first dressed on him.

“I swear to God, if you went for debrief before you came here…” You trailed off when Kyle dropped his gaze, looking a little sheepish, and you couldn’t keep a wrangle on your volume as annoyance filled your body: “That idiot! Did you tell Price you needed them changed?”

No time for an answer, you dragged Kyle (by his good shoulder) to a bed in the bay. He watched with affectionate exhaustion whilst you worked and rambled about the “bloody paperwork” being nothing compared to “potential for infection, did you even have access to anti-biotics on this mission?” Even as you ranted, your touch against Kyle’s wound was as gentle as ever. The reunion with softness made the soldier shiver. You mistook it for feeling the chill of the evening and sped up your healing – and your tirade on Price’s priorities.

“Next time Price comes here, I’m not using anaesthetic. Don’t even care how much it hurts,” You grumbled as you tucked in the end of the gauze and surveyed your handiwork. Content with this conclusion, you let out a sigh like it was the first breath you’d taken since Kyle came back.

“Feel better?” Kyle raised an eyebrow with fond irony.

Peeling off your rubber gloves, you dumped them in the disposal, “No. You’re still hurt.”

“Barely a scrape. Come here.” His good arm raised to make way for you, and he kissed your forehead to welcome you back. “I missed you.”

“Me too.” You allowed yourself a little break in his embrace, before resuming your role, “I’ll get you some painkillers then we can head to bed.”

“Got all the medicine I need right,” He pecked you quickly on the lips, “Here.”

“I’m not kissing your bandages.” You proved this by kissing his cheek, “And you’re still taking some painkillers so I can cuddle you.”

Kyle sat up a little straighter. Ah yes, the most potent medicine, often best paired with kisses: cuddles in bed with a loved one after prolonged absence. It meant swapping sides on the bed so that you weren’t leaning on Kyle’s injury, but that was hardly a sacrifice.

And if there were a few more kisses on places that didn’t risk medical attention, that was between you and your beloved boyfriend.

John Price

It was an easy rule to agree to: no PDA on a mission or on base. Only in the privacy on his quarters – unofficially yours too –permitted you both to let your real feelings show. Therefore, a mission two months long had deprived you of the affection John often shared with you.

You’d gotten creative over the years: the occasional tap if his knee against yours if you were sat beside one another, or a hand touching the small of your back as he passed you by during the watch changeover if you were really lucky. But it was nothing compared to what you could get up to when you were off-duty. More than anything, the mission had been a real exercise of self-restraint, one you both took with the utmost seriousness.

Two weeks prior, when your hearing took a knock from a grenade exploding close by, John had almost given in. He was the one to cup your face, getting Ghost to shine a torch whilst he checked your eyes for signs of a concussion. He took your watch that night too.

But now, with steam curling about the small bathroom, he was able to rest his hands on your waist, pouting and pulling faces as you sliced the foam from his cheeks.

The fully-fledged beard that had grown across the mission had been hidden mostly in a balaclava, to protect against the cruel snow and ice that had battered you day in, day out. It did suit him well, as did the waves that curled in his longer tresses beneath his hat – in a sort of gruff recluse kinda way. But he had his image and reputation, and the SAS was hardly a place to be sporting untamed hair. Hence why you were carefully trimming at his beard until the floor of his private bathroom was littered with brown (and the occasional grey) hairs.

“I’ll shave it properly in the morning” he had said when, upon entering his quarters, he’d embraced you tightly and tickled your neck with his unruly facial hair.

You replied, “You could go to a barber’s, treat yourself to a hot towel.”

“You’re cruel for teasing a soldier with the prospect of hot towels.”

“Or I could do it?”

That suggestion struck a chord with the Captain, and he realised later that it was a nice way to ease himself back into the comforts of your relationship.

You were half tempted – in your post-mission mania – to shave his cheeks bare like when he was a Lieutenant and bask in the baby-face he’d suffer from for the three weeks it’d take to get his mutton chops back to their original glory. Nonetheless, as you followed the grooves of his chin, you decided that treating this act of trust as sacred was better than the split second of devilish delight you’d get from that. Maybe when you were both retired though.

Patting down his cheeks with a fluffy towel that’d been hanging on the radiator, you revealed him unto you, “Hello handsome.”

At last you could show your love for him and without worrying about getting his facial hair trapped between your teeth like dental floss. Still holding his chin up, you pressed a smiling kiss to his already pursed lips.

“Thank you, gorgeous,” He hummed against you, and you both giggled at how his appreciation – and his freshly trimmed beard – tickled the small space between you.

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geekgirles · 30 days

Text

Slipping Through My Fingers

Read on AO3

Word Count: 12241

Summary: Of all the ways Alibert expected his day to go, a visit from his son and his girlfriend was not one of them. Especially when said son suddenly looked like a grown man instead of a 12-year-old like last time he saw him, barely a few weeks ago. But the more time passes and the more Yugo shares the events leading up to that moment, the more Alibert is sure of one thing:

You're never too old to need your dad.

“Do you think they’ll recognise me?”

Even now, it was so weird to listen to his voice. Somehow, it managed to be both completely foreign and deeply familiar at the same time. It definitely sounded older, deeper, a man’s voice. But it was also undeniably sweet and soft, with a velvety quality that caused shivers to run down her spine, especially when he focused his attention solely on her and the two of them tuned out the rest of the world around them. It was still the voice of the man she loved.

A voice tinged with genuine doubt and even a hint of fear.

Smiling sweetly up at him—another thing that would take some getting used to—, she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Of course they will, Yugo. You haven’t changed that much.”

“Um, I have grown about a metre and a half, developed muscles that were definitely not there last time I saw them, and now I wear a bodysuit and a cloak.” He deadpanned, using his free hand to gesture at himself from head to toe—and blushed slightly when the Sadida’s eyes still shone appreciatively even now. “Pretty sure anyone would have a hard time recognising me, Amalia.”

Amalia only rolled her eyes, though there was no malice behind the action. “The people who know you best will immediately be able to tell it’s you, Yugo.”

“Dally, Élely and Goultard were convinced I was Oropo.” He groused. “Their first instinct was to beat the living snot out of me!”

She huffed. “Okay, I’ll rephrase that: the people who know you best and aren’t Iops will immediately be able to tell it’s you, Yugo.”

“How can you be so sure? Only Adamaï can sense my wakfu.”

“Precisely because only Adamaï can sense your wakfu and yet, Ruel, Eva and I had no trouble figuring out it was you.” Amalia said with a self-satisfied smirk, knowing it’d be impossible for Yugo to argue against her logic.

When she chanced a glance his way and noticed he had averted his gaze, however, her own brow furrowed in concern for her love. He was clearly worried about encountering his adoptive father and little brothers again, especially once they took notice of the obvious physical changes he had undergone during his time away and he’d be forced to relive the events that took place just a few weeks ago.

But there was something else, something the newly-crowned Sadida Queen—a title that, although she would wear with pride for as long as she lived, still brought a painful pang to her chest with the implications behind it—couldn’t quite put her finger on. There was something else on Yugo’s mind. Something he didn’t feel like he could confide in her, at least not just yet. She just hoped he would be able to talk about it with his father. After all, they were heading his way precisely because Yugo suggested they visit him just a few days ago.

Truth be told, Amalia expected Yugo to rejoin his family much earlier, once they were done picking up the pieces from their war against the Nécromes. Of course, the process was easier said than done. Everyone deserved some much-needed rest after such an unforgiving battle, as well as quality time with their families to let them know the nightmare was finally over. They had won, the Sadida Kingdom would live to see another day.

The young queen almost broke down in tears when her friends promised to remain by her side until her kingdom was back up and running again. Had they all left shortly after their victory, Amalia didn’t know what she would have done once it truly sunk in the fact that, for the first time in her life, she would be all alone in the palace. With no family to keep her company.

Fortunately, even though she was the last Sheran Sharm, the family she found within the Brotherhood of the Tofu was still there.

Following some days of celebrations and respite—which included her brother’s funeral, followed shortly after by her coronation ceremony—, it was finally time to rebuild their lives before Toross Mordal drew a target on her people’s backs. They cleared away the remnants of their battle, except for Rotalström’s encased form, which would forever remain as a monument to Armand’s sacrifice and love for his people. They entered their forests once more, using every ounce of their power to determine if there was any way to heal their trees, an ongoing investigation, while planting new ones to symbolise the Sadida still had a future to look forward to.

Everyone made sure to do their part in helping the kingdom get back up again, even the Eliatropes. Amalia and Yugo found themselves sharing meaningful, touched looks when her people all sincerely thanked and celebrated his people for their bravery during the war, saying they would never be able to repay their kindness. It was a little sad to watch the way the young Eliatropes’ eyes widened and shock was plastered across their faces at the genuine kindness and acceptance they were being treated with by the Sadida.

Their brief experience overseeing the World of Twelve and dealing with everyone’s prejudices had been enough to make them realise they might never be welcomed. Which made the fact that at least one kingdom was appreciative and welcoming of them all the more overwhelming.

That was all Amalia needed to assure Yugo that his people could remain in the Sadida Kingdom for as long as they wanted. If there was anything she’d learned recently, it was that both their peoples were practically outcasts among the other races, and the only ones willing to help each other out. The least she could do was ensure both races remained together.

And so, in the midst of bringing her kingdom back to its former glory and bidding the Percedal family goodbye, at least for the time being, as well as finally being able to navigate her and Yugo’s budding relationship, the Sadida was taken aback when her beloved suggested it was time they went pay his adoptive father a visit.

That was two days ago. Knowing how important Alibert and Yugo were to each other, the Sadida Queen immediately understood he should be in the know of what had been of his son’s life in the last few weeks since they last saw each other. And thus, after making sure Chamberlain Toufdru would be able to handle everything for a day or two—with the help of Canar, Renate, and Adamaï—, the two finally entered the portal leading them to Emelka.

And Yugo had been uneasy the whole time. The fact that whenever they crossed paths with one of his neighbours they all gaped at the ‘handsome stranger walking alongside Yugo’s Sadida friend’ certainly didn’t help matters. Still, Amalia did her best to be there for the Eliatrope just like he always did for her.

Although the pensive frown stretched over his brow wasn’t all that reassuring to her either. They would be arriving at Alibert’s inn shortly, and the generous Enutrof was sure to worry if he sensed something was wrong with his son… If he didn’t have a heart attack at the sight of his youthful-looking son suddenly looking his age, that is.

No matter how you looked at it, Yugo acting like this just wouldn’t do. So, right as they finally reached their destination, Amalia did as any good queen and girlfriend should do and she took charge of the situation.

Yugo was about to push open the door to the inn and welcome them inside, when he felt his queen stop, practically digging her heels into the ground. He perked up at her sudden action and turned his head to look down at her questioningly, only for his eyes to widen as Amalia reached out her free hand to him and cupped his cheek. He could already feel himself melting at her touch, his worries being washed away by that gentleness she reserved for a select few.

Oh, how lucky he was to be part of that exclusive group.

He was so engrossed by the warmth emanating from her skin, by the time he registered the sound of rustling fabric and the breeze weaving through his hair, it was already too late.

Amalia had taken advantage of his distracted state to pull his hood down, exposing his wings.

“Amalia!” He screeched as he hastily put his hood back in its rightful place, mortified, and for a moment he could have sworn he sounded like he used to before Toross and Efrim harvested his wakfu. “You know I don’t mind you seeing my wings, but I still feel uncomfortable showing them to just everyone!”

To his immense consternation, she just chuckled. “Yugo, look around; there’s no one eating out today.”

A quick swipe with his eyes was all he needed to realise she was right. There was no one outside. Just then, his ears picked up the sound of loud, animated chatter coming from inside the building.

“Come on, you know I’d never pull your hood down if I thought it might make you uncomfortable. Especially not after it took you so long to reveal what was underneath your hat the first time.” Amalia reasoned.

The Eliatrope sighed, knowing she was right, again. “Yeah, I know. Sorry, Amalia…” Then he turned sheepish, raising his free hand to rub the back of his neck, feeling a blush coming to his cheeks. “But…um…why exactly did you pull it down? I mean, you know I really don’t mind when you touch them but, um, that seems hardly appropriate right now?”

Luckily for him, he wasn’t the only one feeling a little flushed at the moment.

Her own cheeks gaining a reddish tinge, the Sadida Queen had to clear her throat before speaking. “For your information, I just meant to illustrate how you could always just show your wings to Alibert, Chibi, and Grougal if they don’t recognise you.” Shifting her weight and placing her hand on her hip, she sent him a pointed look. “Or do you know many other people with wakfu wings on their heads?”

“The entirety of the Eliotropes and Eliatropes…” He muttered to himself, thankful she didn’t seem to have heard him. Given how horrified she’d been after learning how Oropo had manipulated her on such a personal level due to his own twisted ‘love’ for her, the less Amalia knew about his melding with the Eliotropes, the better. Louder, he admitted defeat with a sigh. “I suppose you have a point, though.”

Once again, his mind skidded to a halt at the feeling of her hand lovingly cupping his cheek. When he looked down at her in surprise, it was all he could do not to drown in her warm, chocolate eyes staring deep into his soul.

“They’re your family, Yugo. They’ll know it’s you.” Then, she added with a giggle. “At the very least, the sight of the two of us together should tip them off, don’t you think?”

For the first time since they left her kingdom, the Eliatrope allowed a small smile to grace his features. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Their eyes remained locked on each other, neither daring to move an inch. Actually, that wasn’t true. They did move, only they both moved forward and towards each other, glazing down at each other’s lips fleetingly. They were about to close the distance when—

“Oh, get a room, you two! Some of us just want to get a bite to eat, not a full show!” A grouchy Enutrof scolded them, rudely pushing them aside and letting himself into the building. Even from the other side of the wall, Yugo and Amalia could still hear him grumbling obscenities about ‘damned young people and their damned hormones; always getting in the way…’

They exchanged one last confused look before bursting out laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of it all, their cheeks on fire. Once his laughter had finally subsided, Yugo stared at a still giggling Amalia for a minute, smiling fondly at the sound of her laughter. Now that he thought about it, she hadn’t been laughing much ever since the battle against the Nécromes. Not like he would ever blame her, given everything she lost, but it was still nice to see the fun-loving, smiling princess he met all those years ago, even if now she had blossomed into the most beautiful queen in the World of Twelve.

When Amalia’s giggles dissolved into nothing, she found Yugo’s offered hand before her. Trailing her eyes towards his smiling face and feeling her own grin tugging at the corner of her lips, she took it.

“Are you ready?” She asked him, just to be sure.

With one last deep breath, he nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”

And so, he finally turned the doorknob of the inn and the two lovers took their first few steps inside the restaurant he grew up in.

The atmosphere inside the restaurant was the same as always. Bustling with customers talking about everything under the sun while they enjoyed Alibert’s dishes, the sound of utensils clinking as they devoured their meals filled up the room. And the few customers who had yet to eat would immediately shut up and start salivating the moment they got their own serving of gobball stew delivered to them. The chef and mayor in question must have been busy in the kitchen, for he was nowhere in sight, not even behind the bar, tending to the customers who just wanted some bamboo milk to wash away the day’s heat.

Everyone seemed to be engrossed in their own conversations, and yet, it felt as if they all quieted down and turned to look at the new arrivals in unison. Scrutinising them.

Logically speaking, Yugo knew they were just curious as it wasn’t every day you saw a Sadida in Emelka—let alone one as well-dressed and regal as the actual queen; not like they needed to know that. The fact that her companion was a young man of no discernable race, wearing a cloak and a battlesuit must have only added to their curiosity.

He knew this, he really did, and yet, he still felt observed. Even though for the first time in years he felt right when he saw himself in the mirror, even though he finally felt like his body was his and not an old husk he should have long outgrown, people’s reactions to his appearance still upset him. He knew he looked different, and sometimes, he felt different, too. As if in spite of his mind never ceasing to mature even as his ageing slowed down, he had still become wiser upon growing, somehow.

Before his thoughts could spiral down any further or Amalia could try to shake him off of his current spell, they were interrupted by the sound of childish, excited voices.

“Amalia! Dad, look, Amalia’s here!” a little white-haired boy with a black hat bigger than his body exclaimed before throwing himself into the arms of the Sadida, an equally small but quite feisty black dragon following close behind.

At the sight of the little Eliatrope and his dragon brother, Amalia wasted no time crouching down on the floor with one leg to welcome them in her arms. As she and Chibi hugged, with Grougaloragran hovering over them, the queen remembered, not for the first time, how adorable Yugo was as a child, too.

“Chibi! By Sadida’s trees, you’ve grown so much!” Breaking the hug slightly, she carefully scratched Grougaloragran under his chin, knowing how volatile he could be. “You too, Grougal.”

The little black dragon simply grunted in contentment in response. Privately, Yugo couldn’t help but wonder if it had taken Adamaï as long to learn how to speak back when he lived with his mentor in Oma.

With his tiny arms still wrapped around her, Chibi giggled. “What are you doing here, Amalia? Yugo’s not home.”

Sneaking a glance her boyfriend’s way, knowing he might be worrying over his baby brother not recognising him already, the queen replied, “Oh, we’re just here to talk to your dad, that’s all.”

“‘We’?” Chibi echoed, arching an eyebrow and sharing a confused look with Grougal. For the first time since he first spotted the girl his big brother loved (even if he kept trying to deny it), he noticed the Sadida girl wasn’t alone. Tilting their little heads up, they finally took a good, long look at the boy her age standing by her side and smiling awkwardly, though not any less fondly, down at them.

“Hey, Chibi. Grougal.” He gave them a little wave with his hand.

As his two baby siblings kept staring blankly back at him, Yugo feared for the worst. It looked like Amalia had been wrong and not even his own family would be able to tell it was him. Which, coupled with the fact that he had come hand-in-hand with the woman they knew he was in love with, promised they would act from polite but distant (in Alibert’s case) to downright devious (in Chibi and Grougal’s case) towards him.

He still remembered how supportive they’d been of him when he retold how he almost lost Amalia forever to Count Harebourg. Alibert had heaved an evident sigh of relief, saying how, even though he understood why Amalia accepted his proposal and even praised her for putting her people first, she had definitely dodged a Rogue’s bullet. Chibi and Grougal weren’t anywhere as diplomatic, however; they outright blew a disgusted raspberry at the idea of the then Sadida Princess marrying anyone else.

However, just as he was mentally preparing himself to endure their tricks until he got them to believe it was him, instead of another ‘girlfriend stealer’ (as they had not-so-lovingly dubbed Harebourg), his eyes widened in surprise at the two’s reactions. Their dark eyes shimmered in delight and awe, a pair of matching smiles stretching over their lips as they stared up at him, almost as if he had lowered the moon for them.

“Yugo!” The white-haired Eliatrope exclaimed happily, throwing himself into his big brother’s arms. Meanwhile, Grougal kept chirping and flying around the older Eliatrope just as enthused, clearly as happy as his twin to see him.

While Yugo was momentarily frozen from shock, looking at his little brother in awe, Chibi simply nuzzled his face against the nook of his neck, enjoying his cloak’s softness. “Yugo, we missed you!”

In his dazed state, the Eliatrope King chanced a look his love’s way, who was smiling warmly at the scene and limited herself to mouthing an ‘I told you so’ to him. Returning her smile with one of his own, Yugo had never been happier to be wrong.

It wasn’t long until Chibi broke the hug, though. “What happened? You look so old now! And your cape’s so cool!”

Yugo let out an awkward laugh. “Thanks, Chibi. I’m glad you like it.” There was an even more awkward pause. “Um…about the other thing, uh, it’s a bit of a long story.” He said simply. While he knew he definitely needed to talk to their father about what he’d been through, he’d much rather spare his little brothers the gruesome details until they were older. Making a show of looking around, he asked, “Say, where’s Dad?”

The twins shared an unimpressed look, knowing their big brother was purposely avoiding the question, but ultimately just shrugged. They’d go along with it for a little while longer; they could always just eavesdrop when he inevitably spilled the beans to their father, after all.

Just as Chibi was about to answer, however, Alibert’s booming yet warm voice echoed from the kitchen, “Alright! What can I get you, Tristan? The usual?” Followed shortly after by the kindly Enutrof peeking his head from behind the counter as he addressed the customer in question.

“Ya know it, Alibert!” The customer, an Ouginak named Tristan, replied, joviantly slapping his knee as he let out an uproarious laugh. “Oh! And do keep ‘em bamboo milk glasses comin’, will ya?”

“But of course, though, only if you keep your promise and actually pay your tab this time…” The innkeeper sent his guilty-looking customer a pointed look. His eyes only narrowed further when Tristan avoided his gaze while whistling with forced nonchalance. Nevertheless, though not without some heavy sighing, the Enutrof reluctantly served him yet another glass.

“Ruel is right, this is no way to run a business.” Alibert grumbled to himself, before adding, “Although it’s not like he has much room to talk; he’s the one who owes me the most around here…”

“Dad, look who’s here!”

Perking up at his young son’s excited cries, the smile returned to his face as he laid his eyes where he was. A flash of forest green coupled with mahogany skin from behind Chibi’s black hat alerted him of their visitor. Locking eyes with the beautiful Sadida Princess he’s oldest son cared so much about, the old Enutrof’s smile only widened…only for his whole visage to freeze in shock at the sight of her companion.

The figure—a handsome young man with dirty blond hair and deep brown eyes clad in a body-tight suit with golden lining and a long blue hooded cape who was tall enough to dwarf even the Sadida girl—took a step forward. And another. And another. In less than a minute, he had crossed the distance between himself and the restaurant’s counter and he was looking straight at the old innkeeper, albeit a little uneasily.

His face contorted into a timid yet oddly endearing expression as he offered him a small smile. “Hi, Dad.”

Amalia watched the interaction with bated breath, worried for how Alibert might react and how that might affect Yugo in turn. Her worries were unfounded, however, for after a beat had passed, Alibert joyfully cried out, “My little piwii!” right before engulfing a flushed Yugo into a bone-crushing hug. The Eliatrope sent her a death glare when she giggled at the cute scene, his face on fire at having his father call him by his childhood nickname even when he finally looked like the adult he was, but it soon softened as he returned the hug with as much vigour.

Soon after that, a good chunk of the people gathered at the inn crowded around Yugo, marvelling at his new grown-up body—in particular, a few young ladies couldn’t help but ogle at him hungrily, causing a miffed Amalia to discreetly use her vines to get them to tear their eyes off her man—, while others observed from afar.

After a while of Yugo doing his best to answer their many questions and politely declining anything that felt too personal to reveal (like the reason he had hit such a complete growth spurt out of the blue, for starters), Alibert had finally had enough. Sensing his son’s unease, he loudly stomped his shovel on the floor, drawing everyone’s attention to him.

“Well, that’s about enough, don’t you think?!” He grumbled. “Come on, people, give him some space! He’s barely just arrived and you’re all bombarding him with questions; let him have something to eat while he catches up with his old man first, at least!”

With a few more grumbles and muttered apologies, the other patrons finally returned to their seats, giving Alibert and his newly-arrived guests some privacy at last. As the last of his customers focused back on their food, the Enutrof smiled at the two.

“I’m so glad to see you, you two.” He smiled, before turning around and beginning to rummage through the kitchen in search of ingredients. “Can I get you anything to eat?”

“You know I can never say no to your famous gobball stew, Dad.” Yugo chuckled as he sat down on the stool in front of the counter, though not before moving Amalia’s own stool for her under her expectant gaze and receiving an appreciative nod for his troubles.

“I expected as much, my boy. The day you tell me you don’t want some, it’ll be the end of the world!” Albert laughed with his back still turned to them, his hands busy gathering all the ingredients he would need. As he began with his son’s meal, turning back around, he focused on Amalia. “And what will it be, my dear? Another serving of stew?”

Amalia just shook her head politely. “No, thank you, Alibert. I’ll be happy with just a serving of your cawwot soup.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.” He chuckled fondly. Then, he sighed wistfully. “You Sadidas and your love for vegetables and fruit. Had it been your father, he certainly wouldn’t have refused some meat, let me tell you.”

Since Alibert’s back was once again turned as he began to peel and chop down the cawwots he would be using for the girl’s dish, he failed to notice how Amalia’s expression clouded over at the reminder of her late father, nor did he see the worried look Yugo regarded her with before placing his hand over hers comfortingly. He did turn around, however, just in time to catch them sharing a meaningful, loving look.

His smile widening at the sight, the innkeeper winked at his youngest sons knowingly, the three of them having a silent conversation regarding the two lovebirds. Usually, Alibert knew better than to push Yugo’s buttons when it came to his feelings for Amalia, for he knew it could be a very painful topic for him, but even he wasn’t above some teasing when the two made how head over heels they were for each other this obvious.

“It has certainly been a while since I last saw you, Amalia.” He began nonchalantly. He had to stifle a laugh at the dazed expressions on their faces, as if they had completely forgotten they weren’t alone. “If you permit me, Your Highness, I must say you get more beautiful each time I see you. You have grown into a true vision of loveliness, as I’m sure Yugo can testify.” He added that last part with a wink his eldest son’s way, whose face immediately erupted like Brakmar’s volcanoes at his father's not-so-subtle insinuations.

Meanwhile, the Sadida practically glowed at the compliment. “Thank you so much, Alibert. That means a lot.”

“I only speak the truth, my dear princess.”

“And again, thank you. Growing up, I was always somehow overshadowed by Evangelyne in the beauty department. So I guess I sort of got used to never being as pretty as her.” Amalia admitted, acting uncharacteristically bashful about it. “Even Yugo can tell you how many people used to be more interested in capturing or winning Eva over than me, the actual princess.”

“But that was only because back then you were still growing while Eva was almost a woman already.” Yugo protested, not liking it whenever Amalia looked down on her appearance. So what if growing up Evangelyne was always turning heads or her chest was more, ehrm, developed? To him, Amalia had always been gorgeous, and she only got prettier in his eyes each passing day, as his dad said.

“The moment you were a little older, you soon became one of the most beautiful royals in the entirety of the World of Twelve.” He blushed sheepishly at his own admission, even though he meant every word.

Amalia just waved him off, but the grateful smile she gifted Yugo with was genuine, as well as the small blush dusting her cheeks. “I know, I know. Even back when we were children and Eva was first blossoming into a beautiful girl while I was still a child, my mother used to assure me that one day I would be the most beautiful flower in Sadida’s garden.”

“And she was right.” Alibert nodded along to the late queen’s assessment. “But I can understand it must have been difficult for you, princess. Watching Evangelyne grow and become the centre of attention while you still had a long way to go.” As he said that, father and son shared a meaningful look, understanding the true hidden meaning behind his words.

“Well, I did blossom into quite the beautiful young lady, didn’t I?” Amalia winked mischievously before giggling. Although her impish expression didn’t last long, since she then sighed heavily and let her head rest against her open palm. “Although, looking back, I really had it good back then, too. I had no idea how taxing it could be to become the object of someone’s affections, especially when they’re more ‘psychotic’ than ‘charming’.”

“Yeah, tell me about it…” Yugo agreed with a hint of bitterness in his voice. Even now, there were times when he couldn’t help the residual jealousy he still felt towards Count Harebourg and Oropo for almost bringing Amalia to their side and away from him.

“Now, now. Let’s let bygones be bygones.” Alibert said placatingly as the gobball meat sizzled on the pan. He distinctly remembered Yugo’s heartache over almost losing the princess to that Xelor count, and from what his son had told him, discovering he never intended to keep his end of the deal to her people must have deeply hurt the Sadida as well.

“After all,” the Enutrof continued, his voice carrying a certain cadence Yugo couldn’t help but feel suspicious about, his stomach churning with dread. “I’d say everything worked out in the end, didn’t it?” Just as he said that, he looked down at their still intertwined hands meaningfully, laughing uproariously when the young couple broke away as quickly as if they’d been burned. They might as well have; their faces were redder than Brakmar’s soil!

Shyly tucking a strand of forest green hair behind her ear, Amalia was the first to recover. “Is it really that obvious?”

“I’m afraid so, my dear.” Alibert smiled kindly back at her. “You two haven’t been as openly affectionate with each other since you were both kids.”

Neither commented on that, since they all knew exactly the reason why that changed as they grew up—or rather, as Amalia grew up while Yugo remained physically the same. While the Sadida Princess would have loved nothing more than to remain as close with the Eliatrope as they were in their late childhood to early teens, the latter always made sure to keep a safe distance between them, always too afraid of his child-like body hampering his crush’s social standing.

“I suppose that’s true.” Yugo admitted calmly, staring back at his love while their hands found each other again under the counter. “A lot has changed since then…”

“You’d better believe a lot has changed, young man!” Alibert wagged a scolding finger at his son with one hand while he stirred Amalia’s soup with the other. “Although I am particularly interested in learning what brought on this particular change exactly,” he gestured at the two of them with his ladle, bits of cawwot soup flying around with the movement.

While Amalia giggled, her cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink, Yugo simply used his free hand to gesture down at himself as way of answer. “Let’s just say that once I finally looked my age, all the lingering barriers between us came crumbling down.” He turned slightly in his stool and reached out for his girlfriend’s free hand, coming to hold both of hers in his. “I had way too many close calls already, I don’t want to waste any more time now that we can finally be together.”

Her heartbeat was beating so loud at his words, Amalia honestly couldn’t believe nobody heard it over the restaurant’s animated chatter. She must have looked like a lovesick fool, she knew it. And even though such behaviour was usually unbecoming of a queen, she couldn't care less; she had waited far too long to be able to call Yugo hers. To listen to him admit he couldn’t live without her any more than she could live without him.

Her already elated expression softening even further, no doubt showing her adoration for this wonderful man, the Sadida Queen decided actions spoke louder than words anyway and, without saying anything, leaned forward to plant a sweet kiss on his cheek. Relishing how that could get him to blush slightly even now.

While Chibi and Grougal made a show of rolling their eyes and pretending to gag at the public display of affection, respectively; good old Alibert was at the verge of breaking down in happy tears at the sight of his little piwii finally getting together with the woman he loved.

Fanning himself with his hands, for he had promised himself he wouldn’t cry, he forced himself to appear far more nonchalant than he felt and said, “By Enutrof, King Oakheart must be beside himself with joy at this development, isn’t he? While we never openly talked about you two ending up together, I know for a fact all your father ever wanted for you, princess, is that you got to marry for love just like he did with your mother.”

Immediately after saying those words, Alibert realised something was wrong. The warm, joyful atmosphere had changed considerably, now feeling cold and stuffy. A dark cloud had settled over Amalia, even when her smile remained in place, not helped at all by Yugo’s own heartbroken expression, his dark brown eyes reflecting waves of sympathy for his beloved before settling back on his father’s as he motioned for him to cut it off.

And that’s what he remembered what Yugo told him the last time he came to visit.

Oh, Enutrof, take me now… He mentally bemoaned after realising his terrible faux pas. Outwardly, however, he was flusteredly fussing over Amalia. “Oh my, I am so sorry, my dear. Yugo told me, but I had completely forgotten. Oh, me and my big mouth…” He moaned, wishing to be anywhere but right there at that moment.

Amalia just shook her head, although her beautiful brown eyes had turned glassy from unshed tears. “It’s fine, Alibert. You didn’t mean to…”

Despite having already put his foot in his mouth, the innkeeper knew there was something else going on under the surface. Of course, losing your father was always a heart-wrenching experience, but something else seemed to weigh heavily over the princess’ shoulders.

The old Enutrof knew he was walking on a Rogue’s minefield. He knew it, but he wouldn’t be able to figure out what was wrong unless he asked. “Uh, princess? What’s the matter?”

“You see, Alibert,” Amalia started, her voice was soft and kind, yet it belied the kind of evenness a monarch should reserve solely for diplomacy, not light conversation with her demi-father-in-law. “I’m not a princess anymore.”

The old Enutrof’s bushy eyebrows shot up to the ceiling. “What do you mean by that, my dear? Did something happen? Have you lost your title, by any chance?”

But Amalia simply raised her palms up as she shook her head vehemently. “No, no. None of that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I’m just not a princess anymore because…” A pregnant pause. The effort of swallowing the lump in her throat. “I’m the new Queen of the Sadidas.” She admitted at last.

Alibert just stared blankly at her, shooting Yugo a quick glance asking him for confirmation. After a solemn nod from his eldest son, the innkeeper’s shocked expression slowly morphed into cautious elation. “But that’s just wonderful, Amalia! You’ve always taken great care of your people! I suppose you were crowned after your father’s passing?” Then, amidst the myriad of questions, he added, almost as an afterthought, “But, wait a minute, didn’t you have an older brother…?”

Seeing the Sadida Queen flinch painfully at the mention of her family, realisation finally dawned on him. Again. He wanted nothing more than to smack himself with his shovel for his complete lack of tact. The smile didn't disappear from Amalia's face, but it became more strained, sadder. So much hid behind that smile, and yet Alibert could tell exactly what had happened from a single look.

“Oh, my dear. I am so sorry…”

“It's alright, Alibert. You didn't know.” Amalia was quick to silence him by raising her hand, though not unkindly. She turned to Yugo and her smile became more genuine. “I should leave you two alone. I'm sure you have a lot of catching up to do.”

“What about your soup?” Yugo asked as he squeezed her hand tighter, pouring every single ounce of love and support he could into that small gesture.

“I trust Alibert to let me know when it’s done.” She sent the cook a wink, and although father and son could tell it was meant to be playful, the cheeriness behind it just felt forced. Wincing slightly at their reactions, the young queen forced herself to act as natural as possible. Peeking from behind her boyfriend, she locked eyes with Chibi and Grougal; even they looked worried for her. Willing her smile to become as reassuring as possible in her bittersweet state, she told them, “Yugo told me you guys built a brand new home for Az and his family. Care to show it to me?”

Their expressions brightened up at that. It was clear from their engineering skills their talents as inventors in their past lives lived on with them, a fact that while they still didn’t know the full scope of, they were very proud of. So with matching grins and a nod, Chibi and Grougal jumped from their stools and, grabbing Amalia’s hand, dragged her to where Az had been watching the entire exchange with his family.

And with a wink her boyfriend’s way, the Sadida Queen let herself be dragged by the enthusiastic twins. For their part, the little ones were more than happy to spend some time with their new playmate. As she sat down and marvelled at Chibi and Grougal’s ingenuity, gracefully accepting some happy nuzzles from Az and his chicks, a heavy silence settled over father and son. For the time being, it looked as if both of them preferred to just watch the green-haired beauty enjoying herself after revisiting such painful memories.

“King Oakheart died while Amalia was busy helping us save Eva and Flopin from the demigods.” Yugo eventually spoke up, reminding his father of their last conversation, his brow furrowed in regret at the painful reminder it was because of him she couldn't bid her father goodbye. With a heavy sigh and a heavier heart, he looked his father in the eye. “Her brother, King Armand, died defending their kingdom from the Nécromes. She was crowned because her sister-in-law abandoned them mid-battle.”

Alibert shook his head regretfully. “My poor child... I can't imagine how difficult it must have been for her.”

Yugo couldn't argue there. It killed him inside whenever Amalia excused herself to visit her family's tomb trees, as she would spend hours mourning their loss. The only thing more painful was when he learned what happened to Armand upon returning from the Necroworld and how he, once again, couldn't be there to console his love when she needed him most.

“At least she's 22. It's not the same as when she lost her mother.” He tried to be optimistic, but it sounded hollow even to his ears.

“You're never the right age for seeing your loved ones die, Yugo." Alibert surmised. “It would have hurt just as badly had she been in her old age.”

At his father’s words, the Eliatrope couldn’t help thinking back to Qilby and what he’d explained about his and Shinonomé’s ‘gift’ once the truth was out about his true nature all those years ago. Qilby was thousands of years old and, what’s more, remembered every single lifetime. And yet, it was clear the loss of his loved ones over the years had greatly contributed to his deteriorating mental state, never becoming easier to overcome. It was funny, in a way; not that long ago thoughts of Qilby were filled with nothing but resentment for what their people had gone through because of his selfishness; rage for being manipulated into giving him exactly what he needed to do it all over again, with no remorse whatsoever over destroying the World of Twelve; and guilt because, despite his many terrible deeds, the idea of sealing him once again in the White Dimension, while a necessary evil, still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

It would be safe to say Yugo tried to avoid thinking about his brother as much as he could. And yet, ever since their reunion and being saved from Toross and Efrim by him, the young king found himself thinking about the eldest Eliatrope more than ever. And to think both his people and the World of Twelve had suffered so much only because their divine heritage made them different… Maybe the Twelvian monarchs had ample reason to fear them and want them gone. He did come to realise they were right in refusing his mother’s help, he thought with a sneer. After all, it wasn’t like she’d actually been much help when they needed her most.

Maybe he was putting Amalia and her people in danger by accepting their generosity. Maybe it would be for the best if he and his people left. Maybe he was a fool for thinking they could ever—.

“I’m guessing Amalia didn’t just leave because the conversation was turning difficult for her, so I’ll be here to listen whenever you feel ready to talk, Yugo.”

His father’s kind words cut through his thoughts like a knife, grounding him in the here and now before he could spiral down his own concerns and fears. Before he could dwell on what he believed was best but might end up hurting Amalia—his beloved flower, blooming beautifully as she laughed in the presence of his little siblings, praising them for the wonderful home they made for Az and his family—, even after vowing to himself to never put her through the same kind of emotional torture she went through while they were stuck in Oropo’s dimension.

Despite himself, Yugo chuckled. “How can you always tell when I need someone to talk to?”

“I raised you, Yugo. I was there before the portals, and Nox, and the Brotherhood of the Tofu… And I always tried to be there for everything that followed.” His father sent him a knowing smirk from over the pot where he was stirring the rice. “What kind of father would I be if I weren’t able to tell when something’s troubling you?”

The Eliatrope’s laugh was more genuine now, causing his shoulders to shake. “Fair enough.”

“So, what is it, Yugo? What’s on your mind?”

Alibert could only raise an eyebrow in confusion when, at first, it looked like Yugo just turned around in his stool instead of answering. A beat passed where the two remained in silence, his eldest son just observing the restaurant, its patrons and, more importantly, his girlfriend.

Even as he finally spoke up—just when the Enutrof was about to repeat his question—, he never took his eyes off of her. “I suppose you must be wondering why I suddenly look my age.”

Allowing a reassuring smile to curl at his lips, Alibert just shrugged nonchalantly. “Can’t say I’m not curious. It’s a little bit hard to believe you got a sudden growth-spurt from drinking your milk every day. Calcium is important, but it doesn’t do miracles!” He joked.

“Oh, don’t I know it?” Yugo played along, smirking in amusement, “I used to try all kinds of tricks to grow up sooner before Adamaï explained to me we just aged more slowly!”

“As if I could forget!” Alibert roared with laughter, Yugo following shortly after. “There was a time I half-expected you to start wearing heels!”

“Psh, as if!” Yugo waved the mere notion off with his hand. “Eva almost broke her spine wearing those things back when we were trying to pass off as ugly princesses. That’s about the last thing I need!”

Father and son burst out laughing at the memories, feeling nostalgic at how what once was a life-threatening mission could now feel like simpler times, unburdened by the struggles and fears tied with growing up—or not growing up properly, in Yugo’s case.

And with that sobering reminder, as soon as his laughter quieted down, he said, “Remember those things that attacked the town a few weeks back?”

Although his voice was perfectly even and casual, the practised calm imbued to it gave Alibert pause. Whatever Yugo said next would be of utmost importance.

“The ones immune to your wakfu-based attacks, you mean?”

“Nécromes.” Yugo confirmed with a nod of his head. “They came from the Necroworld, a twisted reflection of the World of Twelve. Once, they were just like you and me, until their leader, Toross Mordal, misused his Dofus to the point he completely ravaged his people and their world, turning them into monsters obsessed with draining wakfu to sate their hunger.”

“‘Obsessed with draining wakfu’?” Alibert echoed, incredulous yet bracing himself for the worst. “I don’t understand, my boy. What does that have to do with how you look?”

Deep down, the worried father knew he would not like the answer. His fears were only confirmed when Yugo went on explaining.

“They set their sights on the Sadida Kingdom—because of course they did.” He scoffed. Why was everything wrong in this world always happening to the peaceful tree people the woman he loved just happened to rule over? “But we couldn’t understand how they even made it to our world, at least, not until it was too late. We investigated the Sadida Kingdom and found a giant portal leading to their world.”

Alibert didn’t like where this story was going. He didn’t like it one bit, but knew he had to listen to his son until the end.

“So, we arrived there and met Toross for the very first time.” He paused, clearly reliving that agonising battle and everything that followed. “We barely made it out alive.”

“But that’s not all that happened, is it, Yugo?”

The innkeeper’s heart sank when his son could only shake his head.

“Just as we were about to make it, Efrim, Nora’s dragon brother who had been turned into a Nécrome when they freed our mother, prevented me from escaping. Then, they chained me to a tower and began to drain my wakfu to feed themselves. Just thinking about it is excruciating.” As he heard his father’s horrified gasp at the revelation, Yugo couldn’t bring himself to look him in the eye, too tragically engrossed in the memories haunting him. Too afraid of what he might find if he met his gaze. “I don’t know how long I was there; could have been hours, could have been days… All I know is it felt like years had passed. And, in a way, they had. When I could finally take a good, long look at myself, I realised I had suddenly aged significantly; before I even knew it, I looked like a young man in his twenties, instead of a kid.”

As he retold those horrific events, Yugo’s eyes never strayed from where Amalia sat down with Chibi and Grougal, playing with Az’s chicks and laughing at his family’s antics. Now more than ever he needed her to ground him like only she could. Reliving the torture Toross put him through caused a fresh wave of memories to wash over him. Namely, how even as he battled Oropo and Bouillon to keep his mind sharp and focused on anything other than the agonising pain, his thoughts still strayed back to Amalia, to the terrifying prospect that he might never see her again. By the time he escaped and began recruiting their friends, he was so busy riding on adrenaline he forgot he would actually get to reunite with her after all; the possibility only becoming a reality when she took his hand after his mother left and, once again, reminded him she was there.

She was with him. She would always be by his side when he needed it most. Just like he swore he would always be there by her side. No matter what.

“I’m going to ask Amalia to marry me, Dad.” He said out of the blue, causing his adoptive father to almost choke on his own spit out of sheer mood whiplash.

Still, the tone his son used was not the one you’d expect from what was usually such joyous news. “Then why does it sound like you might never see her again?”

“Because maybe that’s what I should do instead.”

“Now, Yugo—”

“The World of Twelve has been terrified of my people ever since Qilby revealed his true colours.” He interrupted, too absorbed in his own demons to register what his father was trying to say. “And the more time passes, the more I’m beginning to think they’re right to fear us. I mean, our technology doesn’t work without copious amounts of wakfu, enough to either completely ravage entire kingdoms or even planets!

“Same thing with our Dofus, in fact.” As Yugo rambled, his voice dripping with frustration, Alibert didn’t miss the way he absentmindedly toyed with the golden button on his chest. “I almost destroyed the world using them, just like Toross did with his. And then there’s our mother! Of course, I know what happened. The other gods sealed her away in the Necroworld to feed the Nécromes all this time until Nora and Efrim rescued her. But try looking at things from everyone else’s point of view:

“The goddess of the one non-native race to their world not only appears out of nowhere, but uses her powers to constantly spy on the World of Twelve in order to ensure it’s safe for her children. And even though she promises all she wants is a peaceful world, the second things get too hard, she loses all composure and the best solution she can come up with is to abandon this world and its inhabitants, leaving them all to suffer a fate that’s her fault in the first place!”

Yugo was breathing heavily by the time he was done with his anguished spiel, his volume rising with each word he uttered drawing the patrons’ eyes to him. But even as his hands were nestled in his dishevelled hair and his eyes fixated on the counter, he could see a concerned Amalia rising from her seat with the clear intention of consoling him from the corner of his eyes. Locking eyes with her, he simply shook his head, silently telling her to remain where she was.

While normally he would love nothing more than to let Amalia melt all his sorrows away, right now he couldn’t bear the thought. Not when she was partly related to said sorrows.

Seeing the pitiful state his son was in and knowing the last thing he needed was to feel as observed as an Iop on a game show, Alibert shot a withering glare at his customers, silently forbidding them from saying a word. His brow softening as he looked down at Yugo, he tried patting his shoulder reassuringly to offer some comfort.

“I understand how you might feel that way, my boy.” Adding the rice and vegetables to the pan with the gobball steak, he began to stir-fry it all together. “You’d expect the inhabitants of such a multiethnic world to be more tolerant, but alas, that is just not the case.”

All Yugo could offer from his position against the wooden counter was a muffled sound of agreement.

“Even so, I’m sure people will learn to accept Eliatropes soon enough. After all, you’re the Eliatrope King and one of the greatest heroes this world has ever known!”

“You don’t understand, Dad…” Yugo protested with a defeated sigh. “They hate us! Despise us, even! When Nora and I tried to warn them about the Nécromes, they blamed it all on us; Queen Astra from Bonta wouldn’t even let Nora rise from her bowed down position!”

“Oh, that’s bad…” Alibert muttered uneasily, wincing.

“And the worst part,” Yugo continued, bringing a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose in irritation, “they were right. It was our fault.”

“Now, Yugo. You don’t know that—” Alibert tried to say, only for his words to die in his throat at the defeated shake of his son’s head.

“No, Dad. I do know that. Remember Efrim?”

“He was Nora’s dragon brother, right? The one that got turned into a Nécrome?”

The Eliatrope nodded. “Turns out, the reason the Nécromes ever made it to our world was because of his and Nora’s efforts to locate our mother. In sacrificing himself so she and Nora could escape, Efrim unwittingly provided Toross with exactly what he needed to feed his people: Nora and her portals.”

Horror flooded the Enutrof’s face as realisation dawned on him.

“He’d been using her since the very beginning to reach the World of Twelve.” Yugo stated somberly. He gritted his teeth at the memory of his sister, encased in stone, helpless against that monster taking advantage of her all over again upon locating his next target. “So, there you have it. Even though it was an accident, it was because of our people that the Nécromes ever made it here.

“It was because of me Amalia lost her brother.” He choked out, his voice breaking under the weight of the guilt he carried. “If it weren’t for us, Eliatropes, the Nécromes would have never arrived, the Sadida’s trees would have never been drained of their wakfu, and the kingdom would have never been under attack. If it wasn’t for my people, we never would have had to use the Eliasphere and Amalia wouldn’t have had to lose her entire family in quick succession.”

Alibert’s heart broke at the sheer pain laced with Yugo’s voice, all the regrets he carried and how, deep down, that was holding him back from fully enjoying the special bond he shared with Amalia. Even now that his physical appearance was no longer a problem, Yugo’s psyche was still playing tricks against him. As the tortured Eliatrope went on with his retelling, the old innkeeper chanced a glance the Sadida Queen’s way. When their eyes met, he could see Amalia was just as torn up about Yugo as he was. But, more importantly, he could see how, much like him, she would never be able to forgive herself if she knew how much he was hurting for her sake.

“Tell me, Dad. How could I possibly be so selfish as to ask her to marry me after all she’s lost because of me?!” Even though he was asking his father, his question seemed to actually be addressed at the Gods Themselves, begging them for a solution.

For a moment, Alibert said nothing, just stared back at his son and saw him, although not for the first time, as the man he truly was. Even though his desire to always put others before himself had turned against him more than once, his adoptive father couldn’t help but be proud of the man he raised.

However, despite Yugo no longer being a child, not even physically, it was clear he still needed his old man’s guidance now and then. And Alibert just knew he would never be able to forgive himself if he let Amalia go. After all, no matter how much he tried to deny it, the heartbreak in his face whenever it looked as if the Sadida would slip through his fingers was unmistakable.

So he did what a father did best. He tried to be there for his son.

“I imagine that’s also how Amalia must have felt, too.” He said simply, checking in on Amalia’s soup. Five more minutes and it’d be ready.

That gave Yugo pause. “What do you mean?”

He made a show of shrugging. “You said you got captured just as you were about to escape the Necroworld. Tell me, was Amalia with you?” After a speechless nod from Yugo, he went on. “Then, knowing her and how much she’s always cared for you, I’m willing to bet my chef’s hat she must have felt horrible for not being able to save you.”

“But that’s ridiculous!” Yugo protested, scandalised. “It wasn’t her fault! She couldn’t have predicted Efrim would capture me!”

“Just like you and your family couldn’t have predicted that freeing your mother from those things would lead them straight to our world.” Alibert looked at him pointedly even as he poured his stew onto a plate. “Just like you couldn’t have predicted her brother would die protecting his people.”

The young king visibly deflated at that. “But I did. Qilby died from overusing the Eliasphere, that’s why I told them not to overdo it when drawing power from it, because it would cost them their lives.”

“All I’m hearing is further confirmation none of this is your fault.”

“But—!”

“No, Yugo. Listen to me!” He told him sternly, making good use of his Authoritative Dad Voice. Even now, it still worked like a charm, for Yugo could only squirm in his seat under his gaze. His expression softened into a small smile. “Yugo, don’t you see? You didn’t even know where the Great Goddess was for most of your life. You couldn’t have known your siblings were trying to free her, nor how that would play out. But once you were fully aware of the situation, you did everything in your power to remedy it.

“Same thing with Armand. This time you were aware of the risks and told your friends as much. But Armand was a king, and a good one, I gather. Even at the risk of his own life, he was more than willing to go down fighting as long as his people got to live another day. His death wasn’t your fault, Yugo, Armand made his choice. There’s no doubt in my mind Amalia will agree with me.”

Even though his father’s words brought some peace to him, Yugo couldn’t help but laugh mirthlessly. “Amalia’s too good for me. Always has been.”

“Even when she was still a bit of spoiled brat?” Alibert couldn’t help but raise an amused eyebrow. Though, a part of him hoped beyond hope the Sadida Queen didn’t hear him. She was a sweet girl, no wonder his boy fell so hard for her, but she was a force to be reckoned with when angry.

Yugo chuckled. “Yes, even then.” Despite himself, his haunted expression softened, giving way to a lovesick smile and a fond glimmer in his eyes as he talked about his beloved. “She’s amazing. After being crowned queen, her first course of action—besides dealing with the aftermath of the battle, of course— was preparing her kingdom to serve as residence for the Eliatropes as well. She’s been doing everything in her power to ensure we have a place to stay.

“She’s always saying, ‘You and your people have done more for us than any other kingdom, Yugo; the least I could do is welcome you into our home!’ And she means that.” He chuckled at the memory. “In fact, whenever I try to tell her we’ll find something, she always brings up how her own people already see both races as one. Apparently, the fact that our goddess chose their kingdom to build her shrine, where the Eliasphere is now guarded, is a great honour for them.”

“Sounds to me like she’s ready to butt heads with the other nations just to ensure the Eliatropes and Twelvians can finally coexist.” Alibert noted with a fond smile.

“Sometimes I fear that’s exactly what she would do.” Yugo sighed, though the smile didn’t leave his face.

“And much like her brother, she would be making her own choice, Yugo. You’re not strong-arming her into anything. Judging from what you’ve told me, you’re not even her consort yet and she’s already looking for ways to welcome your people—with her people’s full support, might I add.” Alibert pointed out.

Even as he tried to remain as firm as possible, the furious blush on the Eliatrope’s face caused by being described as Amalia’s ‘consort’ still caused him to lose some authority. “But I don’t want her to have the entirety of the World of Twelve against the Sadida Kingdom!”

“Except they more or less already are.”

Father and son were so engrossed in their conversation, they completely failed to notice the Sadida Queen in question approaching them. Therefore, the sound of her voice intervening in the conversation was so sudden they both almost jumped right out of their skins, never mind they were both grown men who’d been on their fair share of adventures.

“Amalia!” Yugo exclaimed, looking as flushed as a hormonal teenager caught staring at his crush. How much did she hear?! “W-what are you doing here? I-I thought you wanted to give us some privacy… What about Chibi and Grougal?”

“It was their nap time.” She replied simply. “And I do want to give you some privacy, but I also had the feeling you were beating yourself up about something out of your control and I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“I-I see…” He answered timidly.

“Also, I’m pretty sure my soup is about done anyway.” The queen shrugged.

“I see.” He replied flatly.

“And you would be right, Amalia.” Alibert agreed, amused by the scene. Excusing himself for a moment, he poured the cawwot soup on a plate before taking Yugo’s already served gobball stew and placing both dishes down on the table and in front of his guests.

With a quick ‘thank you’ sent the Enutrof’s way, Amalia turned her attention back to her boyfriend. “So, what’s that about the World of Twelve turning against the Sadida Kingdom?”

Noticing the serious look on her face and knowing she would not let the matter go until he gave her a satisfying answer, all Yugo could do was admit defeat, his shoulders shagging slightly.

“I was just telling Dad about your efforts to welcome my people…and how that might cause trouble for you with the rest of the rulers.”

“I see.” Amalia said simply. After taking a spoonful of soup and marvelling at its richness, which baffled the Eliatrope, since it felt as if she couldn’t care less about the topic at hand, she finally continued. “In that case, yeah, I was right. They’re pretty much against us anyway.”

“Amalia!” Yugo screeched, scandalised. Noticing everyone’s eyes on him yet again, he shrank back down on his seat, embarrassed. “How can you say that?! Except for Bonta and Brakmar’s weird rivalry, the Twelve Nations are allies!”

“And we all are. On paper.” She made sure to empathise. “The last thing I want is to go to war against anyone, and as long as it’s possible, I still plan on fostering positive relationships with the other kingdoms—.”

“Then how can you say you’re only allies on paper?”

“I was getting to that.” She flashed him a pointed look, though the smile remained on her face. “The thing is… Well, you saw it yourself! The Council of Twelve is supposed to work together as one, especially in times of crisis. And yet, in recent years, whenever my people needed their help, the only ones willing to come to our aid were the Brotherhood of the Tofu—in other words, my dearest friends— and Master Joris!

“When the Nécromes attacked, both Armand and I explicitly asked the Osamodas King for help; we asked him to alert the other nations! And what did he do? He neglected to even send some troops of his own to aid the allied kingdom his own daughter was queen of.” Amalia sheethed through gritted teeth, it was clear what happened with the animal taming race was still a sore spot for her. Not like he could ever blame her. “Is it any wonder I say we’re allies only on paper? As much as it pains me to admit it, Armand was right; the other nations just don’t care about the Sadida.”

“Amalia, you know that’s not true.” Yugo tried to console her, to make her see reason before her heartbreak over what happened caused her to do anything she might regret in the future. “Even if it wasn’t the overwhelming support your kingdom rightfully needed, you still got so many people from different races helping you.” He grinned at the cute little pout on her face, knowing he was slowly winning her over. “Remember? You had some Iops by your side—including their god and his current vassal—; your best friend is a Cra who’ll always be in your corner; an old Enutrof thought it was more important to help you than earn a quick kama; then, there’s Master Joris—who, to be honest, I’m not even sure what he is…”

“And I got the one and only Eliatrope King rallying up his army and dragon brother to help us.” Amalia finished for him, looking up at him adoringly but with a mischievous glint that told the Eliatrope King in question he had been had.

With a soft chuckle, he finally relented. “Yeah, I suppose that too.”

“Do you see now why we Sadidas don’t mind things becoming a little tense between the other kingdoms and us for your people’s sake, Yugo?” She took his hands in hers. What she was about to say was of utmost importance and she wanted him to hang onto her every word. “Even when everyone made it very clear we didn’t want you here, you and your people stayed and helped us in our hour of need when no one else would. We are immensely grateful for that and want to repay you.”

“I know, Amalia, I do. It’s just…” He trailed off, averting his eyes, not trusting himself to speak.

“It’s just what, Yugo?” She urged him to continue, placing her hand on his cheek to get him to look at her again.

He sighed. “I just don’t want you suffering the consequences for my sake.” He confessed.

“It’s not suffering the consequences if I want this. And trust me, I desperately want this. If you ask me, for all intents and purposes, Eliatropes and Sadidas are already one.” The young queen admitted, bringing his hands to her cheeks to feel his warmth. “Besides, if we’re really going to get in trouble for keeping your people near, then all the more reason to do it.”

“What does that even mean?!” The Eliatrope laughed at her enigmatic choice of words, his heart feeling lighter than it had for weeks.

“We outcasts must stick together, don’t you think?” She winked at him with a smirk, causing him to laugh even harder. Only this time, the Sadida beauty soon followed in on the laughter.

Alibert, who had remained quiet while they talked, knowing they needed to get some things out in the open, smiled broadly at the scene. Watching them be this openly affectionate and in love was such a turn of events from when he would catch his then 17-year-old son staring after the Sadida Princess like a lovesick puppy, only to immediately backtrack and deny he harboured any romantic feelings. And now, even if he understood his son’s concerns, he was glad his little flower managed to knock some sense into him. She was right, of course, Eliatrope and Sadida had become one the very day the two lovers first crossed paths. It was only natural they remained together.

After a few more minutes where he just allowed the couple to flirt shamelessly, as they had probably forgotten he was there in the first place, he finally decided it was about time he reminded them of his presence.

Clearing his throat, he tried to hide the amused smile creeping on his lips at the way they just seemed to freeze at the same time as their faces turned crimson at his interruption. “While I’m sure you still have much to talk about, as Yugo can attest, I’ve always believed it’s just not right to discuss heavy topics on an empty stomach. So, come on! Dig in! Before your food gets cold!”

Not needing to be told twice, the couple finally dug in with much gusto, the conversation between the three eventually drifting off to much more pleasant and varied topics.

............................................................................................................................

A few hours had passed and Yugo and Amalia were getting ready to go back. There was still much to be done in the Sadida Kingdom, especially in preparation for sharing their living spaces with the Eliatropes. While Amalia was busy saying goodbye to Chibi and Grougal, promising to come back soon, Alibert took the chance to talk some more with his eldest son before he left.

“So, tell me, my boy.” He began, looping an arm around his suddenly much taller son and not liking one bit how old that made him feel. “Are you still having second thoughts about popping the question?”

Yugo smiled down at his father, his cheeks colouring slightly at the reminder. “I’m doing better. I mean, I suppose I’ll always worry about Amalia and what’s best for her, but at least now I know we’re pivotal in each other’s happiness. I really can’t imagine my life without her.”

Alibert couldn't help but grin. “Is that why you came all the way here, to tell me about your plans to propose?”

“Pretty much, yeah. I at least wanted to let you know you might have to prepare yourself for a wedding.” Although the smile didn’t fall from his face, it became a little strained. “I really wanted to talk to somebody about this, especially since now I can’t even ask King Oakheart for his blessing…” Then, he added, almost as an afterthought. “Thinking back, I’m not even sure Armand would have given me his blessing. I never could figure him out…”

“Please.” The old Enutrof just scoffed, rolling his eyes in amusement. “As if Armand would’ve been able to tame his sister. She’s just as beautiful as she is wild, you know?”

“Believe me, I know.” He nodded with the dopiest, most lovesick smile Alibert had ever seen on a person. He had to stifle a laugh; his pretty flower had him wrapped around her little finger…

“For all it’s worth, she has my blessing.” Alibert joked, smacking his shoulder so hard, Yugo almost toppled over despite his new body mass.

After that, father and son just looked each other in the eye, their gazes reflecting the deep love and care they shared, and closed the distance between them with one big hug. It was so weird, in a way, that despite no longer engulfing the entirety of his son’s body like he used to, he still felt like he had more to hug now. More to love.

He knew it the moment his little piwii was entrusted to him. He would only come to love Yugo more each passing day.

Now that they were in such close proximity, however, he whispered in his ear. “Whenever you feel ready to talk about what you went through in the Necroworld, son, I’ll be there.”

Instead of saying anything, he just felt Yugo hug him tighter.

“Well, ready when you are.” Amalia made her presence known, staring at the scene lovingly but with the smallest tinge of sadness for what she would no longer be able to do with her own father.

“Right.” Yugo said, breaking the hug yet not being able to resist squeezing his father affectionately one last time. “I’ll be back soon to keep you posted, Dad. I promise.”

“You’d better!” Alibert laughed jovially. Then, he turned to Amalia, offering her a kind smile. “Please, take care of him for me, will you, Your Majesty? You know the kind of trouble he tends to get into.” He winked at her conspiratorially.

Amalia just giggled cutely in response. “Don’t worry, Alibert. You can count on me.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He clapped his hands loudly. “Well, what are you waiting for? Don’t let this old Enutrof keep you for much longer; I’m sure you’re very busy back home. Oh! And tell Adamaï he’d better come visit, too!” He called after them.

“Will do, Dad!” Yugo replied, waving him goodbye as they made their way out of Emelka.

As Alibert watched his son and his, hopefully, soon-to-be fiancée walk away hand-in-hand, smiling widely and laughing as they grew smaller against the horizon, the old innkeeper couldn’t help but lay his eyes on Yugo.

The way he now dwarfed his beloved, albeit only by a head. His broad shoulders. The confidence with which he carried himself now. The sheer power he radiated. The maturity of his decisions. The immense adoration he regarded his girlfriend with. His willingness to finally take the reins of his own life and remain by her side after so long of denying himself that simple wish.

He saw it all and couldn’t help but think, not for the first time, that old saying was right:

They really did grow up very fast.

#wakfu #wakfu season 4 #wakfu spoilers #wakfu season 4 spoilers #wakfu fanfiction #my fanfic #yugo the eliatrope #amalia sheran sharm #yumalia #wakfu alibert #chibi #wakfu grougaloragran #ankama #dofus #fluff #hurt/comfort

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ceruleancattail · 6 months

Note

dbfjfndn buttler riddle is rotting my brain ceru ceru and I'm so delusional and I love him so much sjrksmndkdnfbskdndbdj

so I come bearing a gift,,,, forbidden love with butter riddle were readers like royalty or smth and although not in an arranged marriage they will be at one point i saw Romeo and julliet inspired fanart and the idea of forbidden romance is rotting my brain and I just djfjmsbdkamsbd

YOU DPNT UNDERSTAND CERU I WANT TO KISS HIM I NEED TO KISS BOYS OR I MIGJT DIE JDKSNFJSKDFV♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Necessary Deeds

Butler Riddle x reader

Riddle serves you.

That’s all he needs to do.

Impeccable uniform, not a crease in sight. Posture straight as a ruler, standing at attention. Always right by your side, ready to answer to your every order. At your beck and call, your every wish a request to be fulfilled at once.

Riddle followed every rule in the book. He made servitude an art to be performed, never a single toe out of line. Always attentive, ready to rush to your side if you even show the slightest tinge of discomfort.

He was never far from you.

Which was probably why he stood there now, just across of you.

Hands held behind him, back tensed like a spring. He scans your face, brows pinched in concern. You could see a million questions dancing on the very tip of his tongue, yet he held it. Waiting for you to speak.

You did always appreciate this from Riddle. He always listened to you. Well, he was paid to, honestly. You could have dragged any old servant to your room to hear to you gripe, but there’s a stark difference between hearing and actually listening.

Listening to you. The person behind all the ranks and statuses, the head beneath the crown. Not all that glitters is gold. Sometimes they’re tears, slipping out of the corners of your eyes. Shining like pearls, until they fall.

Sometimes, you just felt like a mannequin. Forced to throw up fine fabric, posed to be regal with every move calculated. Scripted, playing a part in a play you had no say in. Watching it spiral out of control, dragging you along with it.

You were a good to be traded, a peace offering. Traded for peace, standing on that altar with someone you never knew. Choking out vow after vow, feeling the rope tighten over your neck with every letter.

A sob slipped out of your lips, a tortured, guttural sound that had your chest aching. Hands tightening into fists, nails digging deep into the plush of your palms. An brave effort to constrain the emotions swirling deep in your gut. A stormy sea, pain and sadness trashing against each other.

A hesitant hand pressed against your back. Riddle pats you slowly, with a slight tremble in his fingers. Running slow, shaky circles onto your back, a gesture meant to calm. A nervous reassurance, but a reassurance nonetheless.

You felt the mattress shift underneath you, dipping more to the side. You slid along with it, hip bumping against Riddle’s. There was a silent pause, before Riddle stretched his arms out. Carefully wrapping his arms around your torso, tugging you closer. Guiding your face to the crook of his shoulder, allowing you to burry yourself in him, tears and all.

All you could do was cling to him. Hands creasing the shirt he worked so painstakingly hard to iron, tears and snot staining his spotless uniform. Riddle never said a word. He only continued those soft strokes, rubbing your back. Almost as if he was comforting a scared animal of some sort.

It worked. Somewhat. Your sobs died down into sniffles, the pain in your chest dull and muted. Riddle held you through the aftermath, muttering sweet nothings under his breath. An attempt to console.

After awhile, you release your grip ever so slightly, the tension melting from your shoulders. Yet you stayed there, curled up against Riddle’s chest. His heartbeat beating in time with yours, a unison of two souls.

He was warm. Warm like a childhood blanket, thrown around your shoulders. A little awkward at times, yet when push comes to shove, there’s where you hide. In his arms.

You scoot a little closer.

Riddle doesn’t attempt to push you away. His arms stay wrapped around your torso, a tender embrace. Both of you stay there, silent. Wrapped up in each other.

Almost like lovers.

That thought drifted across your mind briefly, tinging your cheeks red. The red of his hair, the scarlet of his lovely eyes….

The crimson that bloomed onto his cheeks, spreading like wildfire.

Riddle serves you.

He’ll do anything, for an eternity with you.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle #riddle x reader #butler au #lucky potion🔷

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jesterwriting · 6 months

Text

pairing: crocodile x gn!reader

contains: awkward!reader, passing mentions of masturbation, second hand embarrassment, mentioned sexual fantasies, crocodile thinks you’re amusing, probably kind of ooc

word count: 1.6k words

playlist: off to the races by lana del rey

Crocodile stared down his nose at you, a cigar hanging from his lips. Your throat bobbed as you followed the lit end to his face — knit brows, hard eyes, and a frown, all tell tale signs that he was in a sour mood. You cursed whoever put him in one to begin with. They could have at least waited until you were out of the crossfire. The rings that adorned the fingers of his flesh hand glinted in the low light, nearly outshining his hook. Even now, with your heart pounding and sweat dripping down your temples, you couldn’t help but admire your boss.

“Do you know why I called you in here?”

You assumed to reprimand you for your shoddy work, though you kept your guesswork to yourself. There was no need to dig yourself an even deeper hole with the most terrifying man you’ve ever met. You had barely been working under him for a few months, only ever catching glimpses of him from afar. Yesterday, you dreamed of your chance to finally talk to him. Today, you wanted to throw yourself down the closest fire escape.

You shook your head and fidgeted with your fingers behind your back. “No, sir.”

Crocodile hummed as he uncrossed his legs. His cigar bounced, a bit of ash dribbling from the end as he straightened. Your knees shook slightly. Despite sitting while you stood, Crocodile towered over you. He was made to seem even larger by the ostentatious desk and plush chair that was surely worth more than a year's worth of paychecks combined. He could break you with one hand if he wanted to. It wouldn’t take much. Maybe a twitch of his fingers, a flick of his wrist, and you’d be snapped in two. You felt nervous — and a little hot under the collar, though you tried not to focus on that part — just thinking about it.

“I see.” He exhaled smoke and you fought the urge to cough. Crocodile slowly tilted his head to the side as he eyed you, like a predator staring down its prey. “You can’t think of any reason I would call you in here?”

If this was a romance novel, you would saunter over and sit on the edge of his desk, allowing your shirt to untuck and reveal the small of your back. With a sultry smile, you would pluck the cigar from his lips and bring it to your own. Obviously, you would exhale smoothly and not hack up one of your virgin lungs. Crocodile would be impressed by your boldness and invite you to sit in his lap, where you would eventually spend the rest of the evening with his cock down your throat. Expertly swirling your tongue around the head and definitely not gagging through snot and tears.

But this wasn’t a romance novel and you weren’t the hot secretary you always dreamed of being. You were quiet, woefully inexperienced, and, most egregiously, kind of awkward.

When a bead of sweat dribbled from your forehead and off your chin, Crocodile pinched the bridge of his nose. He heaved a sigh as his gaze softened ever so slightly. It was still hard enough to cut steel, but you no longer felt like he was going to cross the room stomp on you like a bug. That wasn’t to say you would complain if he stepped on you, you would simply rather survive the ordeal.

“In comparison to your colleagues, your work has been exemplary. I’d like to offer you a promotion.”

You blinked, unsure if your ears were working correctly. While you completed every task given to you on time, it wasn’t with vigor, nor did you go ‘above and beyond.’ To be frank, you did the bare minimum. How badly were your coworkers fucking up that you were being praised like this?

Crocodile studied your reaction. “You seem surprised.”

“Well, sir, I’m no model employee.”

You watched as he took another drag off of his cigar. “I need a secretary. Will you do it?”

Frank and straight to the point, you appreciated it, if only because you felt your stomach drop to the floor. This was a dream come true. Literally. You had dreamed about being Crocodile’s secretary before, except instead of fearing for your life, you were far sexier and he was fucking you dumb. Now, with a golden opportunity laid down at your feet, all you could manage was a coarse, “Wuh?”

“Yes or no.”

With a hesitant nod, you straightened your back and met Crocodile’s eyes for the first time the entire meeting. If you weren’t mistaken, you caught a glint of amusement in them before it was promptly snuffed out. “Yes, sir.”

“You start tomorrow.”

And thus began your life as assistant and secretary to the warlord Crocodile. It was easier than you expected. While your workload doubled overnight, your work ethic tripled under the watchful gaze of your boss. When Crocodile said jump, you asked how high. When Crocodile said to run, you sprinted. When Crocodile wanted papers on his desk in an hour, you got them there within thirty minutes. All of it, just to hear a clipped ‘thank you,’ or, on the rare occasion, watch his expression soften for a split second before he dismissed you.

Nights, however, were rough. Your head was clogged with thoughts of how Crocodile’s rings would feel pressing into your windpipe, or how much his dick would split you open while he fucked you. No matter how many times you made yourself cum, you couldn’t get thoughts of your boss out of your head. It was like he crawled in your ear and set up a tent in your brain. A tent full of lit cigars and the smell of expensive cologne.

You started to work yourself to the bone. Both out of fear of what Crocodile would do if you failed him and desperation for the small nuggets of praise he would give you. Sleep was tossed to the wayside. All that mattered was setting up Crocodile’s appointments, organizing his paperwork, and trying to keep yourself somewhat sane in the awkward situation you found yourself in.

You could hardly look at him during the work day. He was too attractive and you were too embarrassing. The sexy secretary schtick from your dreams seemed farther and farther away each day that passed. Now that you were in close quarters, he caught you, more than once, tripping on your own two feet. You still cringed when you remembered how Crocodile walked in on you threatening to throw the copy machine out of the window. In response, he merely looked you up and down before he walked away, leaving you to bang your head against the wall until your embarrassment was gone. Until he caught you doing that too, and you wanted nothing more than to die on the spot.

“Boss,” You called, poking your head through the door. Crocodile spared you a glance before he beckoned you into his office. Papers in hand, you trotted in and prayed your sweaty palms didn’t dampen them. “I need your signature on these.”

Without a word, Crocodile plucked them from your fingers and set them on his desk. He leaned back in his chair, and you fought the urge to trace the tendons of his neck with your eyes. Instead, you trained your gaze on his desk.

“Y/N,” Crocodile said.

Your head spun from how fast you looked up. “Yes?”

“How do you like the new copy machine?”

“The what?”

Crocodile’s lips twitched upward. “You brought it to my attention that the old one was broken so I bought a new one.” He paused as he mulled over his next words, and, if you weren’t mistaken, it almost looked like his eyes were dancing. “Any urge to throw this one out of the window?”

You felt your face blaze. With a sharp intake of breath, you covered your face with your hands. If you were alone, you would scream into your palms. But, you weren’t. You were standing in the middle of Crocodile’s office, praying that by some miracle, you would melt into sludge and slink away to find some dark corner to rot.

Prying one hand from your cheeks, you gave your boss a thumbs up. “It’s great, thanks.”

“Is there any more broken equipment I should know about?”

Was this a test? If you complained, would he fire you? Was that why he seemed so amused at your distress? You shuffled your feet and glanced around the room for any hidden cameras. “Well, the coffee machine is pretty banged up.”

“Put in an order for a new one.” Crocodile’s eyes roamed your body, studying your reaction. You shivered under his gaze. Your blush, instead of dissipating like you wanted, only darkened as Crocodile’s frown turned into a smirk. “Come here.”

“Uh?” Words caught in your throat and refused to come out. It was almost as if you were in one of your dreams, but instead of adopting the confident persona you always wanted, you were still bumbling old you. Your hand raised of your own accord to point at yourself. Casting a glance over your shoulder to make sure Crocodile wasn’t talking to someone else, you muttered, “Me?”

He furrowed his brows and gestured for you to come closer with his index and middle finger. “Who else?”

Nervous, you shuffled over to Crocodile until you were right next to him. Using his hook, he tapped the metal under your chin. You shivered. Crocodile watched your expression for a few more moments before he rumbled, “Keep up the good work.”

With that, you were dismissed. You stumbled out of his office with a blush on your face and way too wet underwear.

Good God, how were you going to survive this?

#one piece x reader #sir crocodile x reader #crocodile x reader #one piece imagines #sir crocodile imagines #crocodile imagines #.jesterwrites #this is the first one poece thing id ever written its just taken a while to get around to posting it

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millerscoffee · 8 months

Text

soft spot for trouble | part two | hbf!javi

my celluloid scenes are torn at the seams.

6.8k | javier peña x f!reader

part one | masterlist

rating: 18+ MDNI

warnings: husband's best friend, infidelity, hangover, confiding in ur bff, a lot of tears - like a lot, guilt, shame, nauseating truths, phone sex, mutual masturbation, lots of dirty talk, edging for a second, hints of subspace and papí!javi, pet names & degrading names (slut, bebita, cariño), javi would do anything to have reader and kind of says it tbh. no use of y/n.

summary: after waking up in javi– peña's house, guilt rushes you. after discovering another truth about your husband, you wonder if your marriage is salvageable.

A/N: just wanted to say thank you for all of your support and encouragement. i really appreciate the response part one received, and hope to continue loving these two as much as i do. enjoy! ♡

When you wake up, your mouth is a desert. Cigarettes, whiskey, and the faint taste of someone who wasn’t your husband coats your tongue. Head pounding, there are parts of your body you didn’t realise could even get dry. Your eyes aren’t open yet, as if you need the world to calibrate with you before you adjust to it, and when you do – you know where you are immediately.

Guilt hits you like a thousand stones to your chest.

“Fuck,” you sit up all to fast, it dizzies you, only adding to your heart palpitations. “Fuck,” you choke a sob. Fearful, panicked. What the fuck have you done?

Javi– Peña wasn’t in his bed. You weren’t sure where he was, and you didn’t want to find out. Not a single part of you could bring yourself to look at him. The two of you held a secret that shouldn’t have seen the light of day– or, the light of neon. You get flashbacks of the bar, of his hands on you. It’s all too much, rebelling up your throat as your eyes dart around in a dire need for the bathroom.

You make your way out of bed enough to hit your knees in front of the toilet bowl, the rest of your regret becoming a tangible entity residing with you in Javier's bathroom. Couldn’t get any worse. At least that’s what you think, until you come to the sinking realisation that Julian doesn’t know where you are. You place your forehead over your forearm and cry into the toilet: vomit, snot, and tears taking over your face. The prettiest sight. A hangover’s dream.

You give yourself time to be here. You knew if your husband would wait on you this long, he’d continue to be patient until you got yourself together. This truth makes your howling worse, shaking from how royally messed up your life has become within a matter of hours. It takes about five more minutes for you to regulate your nervous system enough to stand up, but everything equally feels like it’s spinning and that makes things difficult.

You groan on your way upright, letting out a heavy sigh before rising to your feet and flushing. You wash your mouth out, wash your face, try to cleanse yourself from the night before. You redirect any thought that may suggest otherwise. It wasn’t meant to happen, and Javier would know that soon.

It doesn’t take you too much longer to feel suitable in exiting the bathroom when you realise just how naked you are – completely, even. And he was right, you had a limp you couldn’t ignore. That truth, you couldn’t help but bite a grin back at. He was everywhere if you focused: you could still feel him inside you, your hips sore all the way to the apex of your thighs and down. He was everywhere. God, you were fucked up for finding it sexy.

A shirt you never really saw him in was on the bed… did he leave that for you? You slip the larger t-shirt over your frame and ignore the way it smelled innately like Javi. Peña, you remind yourself.

After the worn fabric touches your skin, you’re brave enough to tiptoe out into his living room. Your eyes scan the kitchen where he ate you out. Where he made you squirt. It all looks cleaned now, as if nothing happened. A part of you hopes it’s true, and it fights with the other side of you begging for a round two. All of the quiet giving signs of one truth: Javier is not at home. No note, no instructions if you should lock up. Just gone.

Maybe it was better that way. Loneliness didn’t creep around you in the way it would if Julian did this to you. It didn’t cause any disruption in your day, or alter it dramatically. If anything, you felt relieved you didn’t have to talk to him. To excavate an already awkward and dead situation. You took what you wanted, that was all.

You decide to utilise his shower, going back to the hellscape that was where you threw up and undressed again. You turn the dials to a steamy, hot shower – he wouldn’t mind right? You’d send him a bill. When it’s time, the water feels like a blessing as your sinuses open. Your head, less bogged down, yet a cloud of shame resides in the shower with you. You were careful not to use his products, not to smell like him if you could help it and definitely remove the scent of cigarettes from your skin… if it were possible. Regardless, you stay in the shower a little longer before it’s time to remove yourself.

Being in Peña’s space when he wasn’t here was nice. Although, it looks new… because it was. Furniture littering the living room when you’re dried and dressed. He was back from Colombia, and that’s really as much as he was willing to share. He didn’t know for how long, and it was tinged with rushed embarrassment about the issue.

But, most of his work was like that, from what you could tell. A lot of secrecy, inability to talk about his work out in the open.

He knew how to keep a secret.

No, don’t go there.

The skirt’s zipper is popped open from last night and when you try to pull it up, you resign to tie your jacket around the fabric. It’s not long before you’re out.

That was that.

But you can’t go home. You lean back against Peña’s front door when the palpitations come back in full force, as if the fresh air held truths about what you did than you could even comprehend. Fucked, you’re fucked.

Your hair is wet, you’re kind of cold even though the Texan heat surrounds you. You feel lost and scared and disgusting. And as if your mind maps your route for you, you walk to Gabbie’s instead of your own house. Knuckles graze over the door, you don’t even really know what time it is, but there’s a possibility she’s at work unle– “...Are you okay?” Gabbie looks concerned when she opens the door to find you on the other side: hungover, mascara still seemingly down your face even after the shower, your clothes reeking. She sees you for who you are, unable to stop the floodgates from lifting. Your face screws up in a weep you can’t stop, and she ushers you inside – looking behind her before closing the door.

“I… I…,” you hiccup, burying your face in your best friend’s shoulder, you feel it when she lets you give in to her. A worry comes over you, would she still support you like this after she finds out the truth? After she finds out who you really are? Repulsion grips your throat again, unable to form it. But Gabbie is tolerant, you always appreciated it about her. You needed the space to think, and she was always good at giving that to you. Something Julian was more impatient about, but it wasn’t the time to point out his shortcomings. God, your head hurt.

“C’mon, let’s get you some tea,” she whispers, curling her nose at the scent of smoke on the fabric, “and some new clothes.” You sniffle and nod, following her into the kitchen while she goes to grab some comfortable clothes for you to replace.

“What happened, honey?”

With your arms curled at the kitchen counter, you rest your head in them, “I fucked everything up.” It feels like you did, feels like you couldn’t undo this if you tried – if you even wanted to. Your voice sounds meek, whiny, you can’t believe it’s you who’s saying the words. You could and wanted to be better than you were.

“What do you mean?” Gabbie pulls a couple of cups from the cupboard before turning on the kettle, your mind not registering the irony of having hot tea for where you are in the world, but her air conditioning made the experience understandable. Really, any thought to take you out of your narrative aided in not completely fainting from the inertia of reality that stuck to the pit of your stomach.

“Julian and I,” you start. An attempt. A purchase. Something to make it less bad than how you felt, anything to take the sting away. “We-we had this big fight last night, and I-I went down to the bar and I ran into someone and…,” tears soak your face again, you choke on the sobs before you can get anything else out. You couldn’t utter it, the guilt weaves a vice grip around your voice. You couldn’t tell her it was Peña, and you couldn’t tell her you fucked anyone else but your husband. Those two truths pinned your eyes down, disabling you to look up from the granite tops.

You weren’t looking for sympathy, and Gabbie knew that. But fuck, when you look up, pity is coating her face. She mutters your name when she walks around the side and grips you in a hug. “You love him, honey. You made a mistake. What matters now is making it right.”

You’re not sure what hurt worse, the prospect of making it right or the fact that when Gabbie calls what you had with Peña a mistake, it twists a knife inside you – one you weren’t sure you could take out now.

You pull away when the kettle begins to sing and you’re able to snort a laugh at her curled nose. The scent of cigarettes, equally from Javi– Peña and the bar, circulates you. “Seriously. You need a shower.” “And those clothes, could I borrow some?”

After finishing your cup – and having a long talk, you utilise your friends shower and slip on a fresh pair of clothes – and you’re grateful for the guest bathroom stocked with unused toothbrushes. You look more presentable, and feel a little better. Albeit, feeling more indebted than before you came through the threshold of her place. “Listen, I can’t and won’t tell you to hold this secret for me. It’s too much to bear, you shouldn’t be responsible for holding this.” Your hand brushes over your face, but she’s quick to interject.

“You’re my friend. My best friend. You don’t owe me anything. I’m not going to leave you or rat you out. I don’t judge you. Just make this right, okay? I hate to see you like this.”

She’s a good friend. Makes you wonder if Julian is a friend like this to Peña. Fuck, it never ends.

You don’t know what you did to deserve Gabbie, but you hug her anyway. Your clothes in your bag, you’re on your way. You thank her, you kiss her cheek, and you look intently into her eyes before leaving.

You had to make this right.

Julian, I had an affair, you think. That’s how you’ll tell him. No. Listen, Julian – last night I got drunk. God, no. It was all wrong.

You had to tell him, but one thing was for certain: you weren’t going to say who. You just couldn’t bring yourself to split up their friendship, no matter how mutually involved Javier was. And you couldn’t bear the thought of Julian’s borderline smug expression at how correct he was in assuming the worst of you.

How he did one thing wrong and you made a dumpster fire of it.

The pounding in your head was more from tension and stress by the time you made it to your front door.

And nervous couldn’t even begin to describe how you felt. Nauseous, heart pounding, sweat prickles your skin.

When you unlock the door, a new sense of silence fills the air of your home. It’s eerie, being here after doing what you did. Like your past self is slapping you in the face as soon as you close the door behind you. ‘How could you ruin this home? How could you throw away every second of time and love you poured into this relationship?’. You close your eyes, dizzy as you press the back of your head against the frame of your house – finding support, finding breath. But not finding your husband.

“Julian?” you call out, toeing your shoes off before putting your purse away; keys in the pot. Nothing. No where.

You make your way to the kitchen when you find a note.

Out with Peña. Be back soon. I miss you. – J

Fuck. Holy fucking shit. What? What?! Your mouth slacks open in shock. Followed by fear, followed by rage. Did Javier invite him out? While you were fucking asleep? You felt as though you were going to faint when you heard the phone ring. Throat dry, you cling to the edge of the tabletop before taking the phone off the hook – you shakily press the receiver to your ear. “H-hello?”

“Wow, you sound guilty,” your breath hitches and hotness washes over your skin.

“Peña, I–”

“Who’s Peña, huh? Not necessarily what you were saying last n–”

“Stop. Just stop. Where’s Julian? He left a note, said he was with you. Did you? God, I can’t even say it.”

You can hear the drag of a cigarette on the other line and it forms flashbacks you did your best to deny you enjoyed. You were so logical, so level-headed before his voice filtered through the microphone – the moment you hear the slip of nectarous syllables, you want to fold. You hated this. Pressing your forehead to the adjacent wall, the phone hangs loosely in your fist when you listen.

“I didn’t tell him anything, querida,” tears form in your eyes from your lack of control; the pet name panging you. It shouldn’t have, but goddammit. Goddammit. Your hand braces against the pillar-lengthed frame, “he’s at work now. He came by looking for you. I told him you were with me last night–”

“What the fuck, Javier.”

“People saw you leave with me last night,” your name fits in his mouth better than it should and you swallow hard, knowing he’s right. “He would have found out.”

“This has to stop, we have to stop,” you can hear it – the strain on your throat, the knife inside, that ever present hum of your doom. Your clammy palm touches your jaw as you will yourself to stand up straighter. Instantly queasy, bad idea. You sink down the wall, sitting down as the cord of the phone follows you.

“I know,” Javier whispers now, a bit pained.

“Did it hurt seeing him?” Your own voice bruised.

“Not as much as I anticipated. That hurt more, probably.”

It’s quiet for a long time. Your knees curled up to your chest, hands curled until your chin.

“I know that we have to stop,” Javi– fuck, Peña, starts, “I don’t know if I can.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, “we have to.” and it’s there. It’s right there in how you say it. How your words draw out rather than cut sharp. More beseeching than a strong boundary. An obvious sign of how you bend for him like kinetic energy’s effect on tree limbs from wind. It is all in motion, too close to stop. Your barrier is already washing away, and you cling closely to its threads. You must keep your wits about you. “We have to,” you repeat, your voice soaked in tears this time.

On the other line, Javier squeezes his eyes shut. The cigarette burns between his fingers as he presses his index and thumb where the bridge of his nose meets. And the thing with Javi, is that he doesn’t beg, but you’ve got him so wrapped up – so enthralled in what could be, maybe the chase, that he can’t see anything else. “What will it take?”

That is when you hear the doorknob turn. “I have to go,” you hush, rising to your feet and wiping your face, “can I call you later?” but he’s already hung up, so you do the same. It knocks the air out of you, but you don’t have time to dwell.

Julian turns the corner to where you are: almost hidden between the kitchen and laundry room. And if you were crying more, you’re doubled in tears now.

“Julian,” you cry, rushing to him. Your arms wrap around him and although he wraps back around you, you’re left with a sinking feeling: guilt, shame, a veracity that this touch you were feeling wasn’t half as electric as the one you felt last night. “Julian, I’m so sorry.” you snivel in his shoulder, feeling his arms wrap around you tighter. The nose against your temple doesn’t feel as strong as Javier’s, and it all stings. It feels a new sense of wrong when you pull away, and he’s thumbing under your eyes.

“No, I’m sorry,” his voice is soft, beckoning you to be close, and you want to – you really want to.

But you don’t know if you can.

That rush of why this shatter exists in the first place comes in waves as it crashes into your skin – leaving a film of betrayal over every cell. Because it wasn’t just his lying that led you to the bar last night, it was the repetitious behaviour. Julian’s demanding a different treatment than what he gave. Your arms slip from him and hang by your sides, giving yourself some space.

“I guess you know where I was last night,” you bite the corner of your lip, leaning against the wall for some stability, arms crossed.

“Yeah, I went to see Peña. Was worried sick about you, you know. You couldn’t have called?” you suppose you deserved that. You nod swiftly, “I should have, I’m really sorry. I just, I needed to clear my head.”

“Well, since you stayed at his place, I hope you realise how silly this all is. How miniscule it all is. Just because I slept with Veronica–”

“Excuse me?” your eyes widen, “Veronica… Veronica… The same Veronica who you told me not to worry about?” you remember the party – a holiday party with Julian’s coworkers, one of which, Veronica. Red lipstick is easy to trace: cups, forks, your husband’s cheek.

He promised it was nothing, promised it was only a friendly kiss under the mistletoe and now, a year later, you’re in your kitchen being told that only was it something, it was something that went on for years. “How fucking long have you known her, Julian?”

When your eyes cut to him, he looks frozen. Like he didn’t mean for it to come out, and now he has unraveled such a can of worms he doesn’t know where to begin, but you sure do. He doesn’t deserve to waste another second of your time today. You felt so guilty, so wrong for every second of your day only to be lied to for who knows how long. Your mind reels at the possibilities. The double-dealing.

“I-I can’t have you in this house. I need you out. I need you out, get out. Pack a fucking bag, I need space.”

You had no room to talk, you knew that, but after a whole day of worrying yourself to the bone, and this was how it really was? The details he neglected to inform you for how long? You brush past him before he can respond, and it hurts more that he doesn’t put up a fight. Packs a bag, tells you he’s going to stay with Javier, and leaves within fifteen minutes. Your knees buckle the second the door closes behind him, heavy wails rattling your ribcage.

---

You’re not sure your face has ever been so puffy. You pour a glass of water, and you just barely remember to eat, but you do. You don’t open the blinds, though. At least you’re trying. Keeping the house dark, it’s surprising when you don’t reach for alcohol or something to numb this, but a part of you wonders if he’ll call.

And you don’t mean Julian.

The sun sets, leaving inky blue in the sky when you get ready for bed. It’s been such a long day that you couldn’t imagine staying up for a second longer. After a long bath, you change into your silk pyjamas. You’re not sure you’ve taken so many showers or baths in one day, either. That makes the stranger of an amused grin grace your features. You were washing away every memory you could from today.

Getting under the blankets, you look over to Julian’s side of the bed. How empty it was, how you missed him. You couldn’t help it. The two of you built a life together, but one that you were coming to understand was built on more lies than one and god, you just couldn’t cry about it any more tonight.

But it was lonely like this.

You wondered what the two of them were doing. If Peña– fuck it– Javi was listening to him, if Julian was lying to him. Thoughts flooded you so much the sound of the phone on your nightstand is background noise until you realise it. A gasp flutters your lungs, turning your head to it. Shit.

Picking up the phone, you place it to your ear, but you don’t say anything immediately. A nauseating twelve seconds.

“Cariño?” your breath hitches when you hear him. Sinking further down in the bed, your legs brush against the sheets and your eyes slip shut. It’s a relief where earlier in the day it was a curse.

“Javi–,” you start, tears pricking your eyes, and he’s already catching you.

“I know, baby, I know.”

And you want so bitterly to scream I’m not your baby, you don’t want anyone near you in this way after the day you had – after the deception that coated your marriage from both you and your husband lies in wait for you both to get back to. But you don’t tell him that, you don’t contest.

Instead you sniff softly and wipe your eyes. You focus on your inhales, you settle yourself down.

You are there for yourself more than anyone else could ever be.

“Is he there?” a part of you worries Javi won’t like what you asked, that he will feel slighted, but you’re relieved when he answers you without a passing judgment.

“He is, I think he’s asleep now. I’m not sure what you told him, but he was a mess. He, uh, called you crazy, though…,”

“He what?” your jaw tightens, clenching the sheets with your free hand, “He’s the fucking crazy one–”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Javi’s voice hushes you in his smooth, but matter-of-fact way, and you close your mouth. “I know. I was there, remember? We all went to college together.”

“Who was the other woman? Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I’m not sure, I think she was from out of town. And I didn’t know that you didn’t know, remember? What happened?” So you explain. Tell Javi all about the way Julian assured you not to worry about her at the company party, or any time thereafter. Peña curses under his breath, “What a fucking idiot, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah,” your jaw ticks, tempting to pull your tears back in. No more tonight.

“Seriously. You don’t deserve this. You deserve… someone who’s honest with you. For better or for worse.”

For better, for worse. You weren’t sure if Javi did that intentionally, but the vow makes you feel sick now on what was a beautiful wedding day. It’s simultaneous, the remembering of it. But you shove it down, deep. You want to forget.

So you sigh. Occiput at the headboard, and you close your eyes – just wanting some peace. A distraction, maybe? It was just so present, and it burned as strong as your desire for Javier that couldn’t be contained for a second longer. Especially not now with yet another thing on your plate pulled you away from who you thought was the love of your life.

“Where are you?” you ask, and you think it’s unassuming enough, but the slight exhale of laughter from the other end calls you out, “I’m in bed. I assume you’re the same?”

“Shocked you wouldn’t be out all night.”

“You know, I wanted to go to this girl’s place tonight, but she’s kinda going through a lot right now. Seemed a little too much,” he’s hushed now and the transition of his voice stirs your middle. It shouldn’t, but it does.

Worse, it makes you smile.

“She sounds like a bore,” you swipe a thumb over your grin, but there was some truth to that. Despite the adventurous couple days, you didn’t necessarily feel like you were an exciting person. You had a 9-5 (lucky to be off today), you had a husband. You did your activities, and you came home. This was the most excitement you’ve experienced in, well, maybe since you met Julian. There were areas you were passionate about that either got abandoned due to it not meshing with his schedule, or him not approving of it.

Was he ever good for you?

“She sounds like she needs to relax.”

“What are you suggesting?” you respond. The tension cuts like a knife even through the phone, and you can hear his own smile form. If you close your eyes, you can see it.

“It’s cute when you play dumb.”

“What? Phone sex?” you question as if your words are twisting a lock of your hair, ripe for the picking.

“Is that what this is?” Javi questions, giving you the same fake-innocence that’s being thrown at him.

“Is that what you want?”

There’s a pause, contemplative and feverish. The sound of fabric plays in the background until ultimately stillness.

“You would get off while your husband is in my apartment across the hall?” Javi’s quiet, but his words cause your legs to spread, a bitten noise in the back of your throat greets you on this hellish day on earth. “Mierda. You’re so dirty, you know that? Willing to do anything for me.”

“I’m not sure I should do anything you tell me,” you start with a flash of amusement, you’re unable to think about anything but the slick gathering between your legs, “but I want to.”

“You need it, bebita? You need me to take care of you? Because I can, but only if you tell me.”

You bite your bottom lip, slipping your head over your pillow as you get comfortable in the dark.

“Take care of me, Javi. Make me feel good.”

And it was working already, your other hand skates over your abdomen as a shiver sends through you.

“Do you think it’s that easy?” a growl behind his voice, you gasp quietly at the sound. “Beg me.”

“God, after today? Seriously, Javi?”

“Beg.”

And there’s something about the way he barks an order that makes your hole clench around nothing. Like last night when he pulled back because you weren’t giving him what he wanted right away. Makes you want to do as he says, and you can’t explain why.

“Javi,” clouded in arousal, your legs squeeze together to feel friction – 180° turn around from your protests, “I need you, I want to cum for you. Want to know how good you make me feel. Please, Javi.”

You hear Javi’s jeans unzip. Jeans in bed, the mad man.

“We’re going slow, bebita. Understand? Go ahead, slip your hand down. You'll do as I say, sí?”

Instinctively, your free hand slips down, gasping at the pool of wetness there. More than what you thought, something comes over you. The heat of pleasure washes over any other thought.

“Yes – yes, Javier. I’ll do as you say. Tell me what to do, Javi – fuck – please! Tell me how to get myself off,” your tongue darts out of your lips, brain swimming as the swell of your sex pulses in crashing undulations demanding to be touched.

And Javi fucking loves that. The desperation in your voice, wrecked with desire, and you’re so sober compared to last night. All of this is true. Your eagerness drives him to his own cliff, abandoning any remorse he has for his friend. The focus shifts on you and Javi alone.

“Take your index finger and ring finger. Are you paying attention?” you hum, focusing on those two fingers. “Yes or no, hermosa? Use your words.”

And you waste no time in humming again, spreading your wetness across your folds from the shift of your thighs. “Yes, I’m paying attention,” orbs already glossy, the lost sound of you is initiative for Javi.

“Spread your lips apart with them and lightly — I mean it, cariño,” he warns briefly, “lightly press your middle finger against your clit.”

So you do as you’re told. Your fingers are natural as they spread your lips, and you let out a heady sigh when your middle finger grazes over your clit. “S’sensitive,” you slur, biting a sob as your head rocks to the side against the plushness of pillow. “Javi…,”

“You feel that, babygirl? That's good. Keep my cunt pried open. Roll your middle finger against your clit, harder this time. That clit your husband neglects, but I found day one. Bounce the pad of your finger against it, up and down just like that. Good girl. I bet you look like a dream, princesa. Wish I could taste you…,” he trails off and you can hear the faint sound of his skin. You imagine him hard while he talks to you, the cherry of his head beading with precum as he smears it down the shaft. It sends you to whine, bouncing the pad of your middle finger – up and down, just like he instructs. You’re being so good for him, and you know it. Following what he says, word for word. Your folds feel so soft like this, you wonder if he’s telling you to touch yourself this way to absorb just how good you feel.

“Jav– I,” you swallow, the sparkle of pleasure hitting you with each pass, you need more. Need a depth to take you under more than the shallowness of this teasing. “Please,” you whisper, and you’re not sure you could elaborate. You’re so gone. It doesn’t land on you, the trust you’re placing in him and how willing he is to hold it. But it is there without putting words to it. And Javi? He is fully aware of the space you’re taking yourself to. Just for him.

“Yeah? Is that not enough? But you’re such a depraved slut I bet you could get off just by doing that, I know you could. I'll be kind, you’re welcome,” god he’s so cocky, and it’s still so sexy – how can he manage it? “Press your clit between your index and middle finger. Are you doing it?”

“Mmn’doing it,” you manage, eyes slipping shut – even in the dark, you can only focus on the way his words spill – viscous and sweet – into the telephone. “Oh, you like being called that, yeah? Are you my slut?” “Javi, Javi,” you whimper, pressure at your clit between your fingers you know you’re soaked now, “M’your slut! Fuck!” you’re panting, sweat forming at the nape of your neck.

“Good girl, princesa. Squeeze your clit – un poco, just a little. Can you do that for papí?” and fuck, you haven’t heard him say that, either. Two firsts in one phone call. Your body is in overdrive, you can feel wetness slip from your hole over the crease of your ass, against your thighs, “Flick your clit between those two fingers. Back and forth. Do it now. God, listen to you. Dirty girl wants to cum with her husband snoring in the other room. Bet that’s the first time you’ve cum in your bed in a long time.”

And you’re pathetic, whimpering like crazy as you flick your fingers back and forth around your clit. You can feel the swell, how hard the nub of nerves feels – shocks of electricity run through you, you’re so close like this. The fast motions taking you until–

“Hands off — now.” you gasp, panting against the ledge, not so silently begging for your release.

“I want to hear her. Middle finger. Don’t go all the way in.”

So you do as you’re told, your throat dry and rough. You lean the receiver to your sopping cunt so he can hear the tapping of your hole that’s so soaked it almost hurts. When you bring your phone back to your ear, you tighten it between your ear and shoulder and Javi is busy singing praises to her before he realises you’re back. He sounds different. Possessive. Just like you wanted him to be last night.

“That fucking cunt. That’s mine. That's for me. Julian called you crazy, but he ate dinner exactly where I made you cream on my fucking kitchen counter last night. He won’t say shit about you and get away with it.” He sounds hushed, but rough like this. Like you can hear him snarl those words at the base of your ear while he takes you from behind. Your heart picks up at the imagery he’s given you. The symbolism of his protection of you, and you let the flames take you.

There is no going back.

“Touch yourself. Two fingers in your cunt, roll that gorgeous clit. Perfect, messy pussy,” and you can hear it now— the slapping of his skin more intentional than before.

Your two fingers tease your hole, groaning without holding back from the touch and how wet you feel. And he was right, you were so… messy. It spreads over your outer labia, your thighs, up to your clit. All from the sound of his voice, all from his claim over you – how protected you felt. Desired. You bite your lip as you work your fingers inside, rolling your sensitive clit in lazy strokes – doing your best to keep the phone close. Moans drip easily from your wanton mouth.

“Tell me what you’re doing,” you mewl, head spinning from the way his hand is around your throat without even being there to touch you.

“Fuck. Got my fist around my cock, right at the base before bringing it up. Stroking at my head. You have it twitching, bebita. You make me so fucking hard. You’d love it. That slutty mouth would lap up every bit of precum – mierda, fuck.”

Even his muttering sounds sinful, leaving your bottom lip tucked into your mouth, sucking hard at the skin. Your hole tightens around your fingers and you work yourself to peaks, massaging your clit in deep circles that work in tandem with the repetitious tapping against that spot inside you.

“Faster,” you finally purr, unsure if you’ll find it together – but god, do you want it so bad. You’re not even sure if it’s a plea or a demand to him, but you leave it.

And he’s secure enough to let you boss him, if only for a moment.

“Fuck. You too. Now. Are you a good girl?”

“Hmmpnh,” you uselessly whimper, nodding to no one. “I’m a good girl, I’m a good girl–” whining praises over and over, Javi’s grunts got more deliberate, more in time with your puling sounds. You’re shaking, needing to be sent to your climax, you beg to him in the broken words between exhalations.

“That’s it, bebita – be a good little slut. Give it up to me – mierda, got my cock throbbing for it. Wish I was cumming in your perfect little cunt – fuck. Let go, let me fucking hear it,” there’s a pause as he huffs into your ear, his attempt to find composure, as he grits through his teeth.

“Make my fucking pussy come, now.”

That demand, that ownership is what sends you. Your body responding to it instantly, you moan – hips lifting off of the bed as you nod. Nipples standing to attention as your body rolls through waves of pleasure, cunt fluttering around your fingers so tight and rhythmically the phone drops for a moment and you can hear a loud grunt on the other line – one that was dangerously foolish, your name falling from his mouth when you both knew just who was in his house. You didn’t even care. Not one part of you was cautious in this moment as you both fell into the throes of this affair.

Your body convulses before its inevitable release. Your muscles, tense, now relax into a puddle. You sigh, pulling away from your core and skillfully avoid getting the phone sticky as you put it back to your ear.

As you’re both just a pair of lungs battling breath between the phone connection, you shift in bed, rolling onto your side, the receiver slipping to your other ear. Savouring the seconds, the feelings of connection. You realise you lack this with Julian now. You didn’t notice it before. All a feeling, and not intellectualised, but it’s palpable, like a looming presence at the bottom of this ocean.

Your thoughts come and go as a yawn finally leaves Javi, and it’s kind of sweet to hear him be soft. To hear his humanity.

“When will I see you again?” you break the silence timidly, and honestly, despite the quite literal affair happening, you’re surprised the question slips by your lips.

Who was this person Javi brought out in you?

You can recall the times the two of you shared glances in silence before this. Not so many words were shared, and back then you thought it was due to lack of interest in each other’s lives, but now… now you’re realising it’s because of the volcano bubbling underneath the surface. The potential you both share.

It was fucked, you’re fucked, and you’re scared.

But you still poke the bear because if you didn’t you knew you would spend the rest of your life curious about the cave it resides in.

Hibernation had to come to an end eventually.

“It can’t be soon,” this upsets him, you can tell, but he is nothing if not observant. How odd this would look if the two of you started to hang out. “A week or two, cariño. We can make phone calls often. But we have to wait. Can you wait?”

And you want to tell him you’d wait ages for him, but you don’t. You force the words back down your throat, and instead offer him a nod even though he cannot see it.

“I can wait, Javi. I can wait for you.”

“That’s my good girl,” his words make your heart swell with pride, “I’ll call you.” he promises and you want to believe him so you do.

“I’ll call you, too,” fast to say it back. And you don’t feel an ounce of desperation. You feel renewed. Empowered by this. Confident.

“You should get some sleep, cariño. Got a husband to fight with tomorrow. He is not staying here.”

You both laugh as it simmers into comfortable silence.

“Okay…,” you’re reluctant, but you do agree to hang up.

“Goodnight, Javi.”

“Goodnight, ángel.”

You cling to the phone, and he hangs up first. You’re left with yourself just as you were when you woke up this morning. Surprised that you feel less guilty than you did earlier in the day, how swiftly your perception has changed of Julian, of your stance with Javier. All of it. You knew that you couldn’t just leave your husband at the drop of a hat, not after this much time had been put into the relationship. But you knew nothing or no one could light you on fire the way Javier Peña did.

Finally latching the phone to the hook, you close your eyes. The stickiness of your cunt peels your lips apart when you shift, and it’s a reminder of him. Your skin grows hot, your fingers exploring yourself again – if only to touch, if only to bring him back to life just as he was speaking into your ear moments ago. “Javi,” you whisper to yourself, nipples still erect from arousal.

And so you go again, with yourself, to make yourself feel good. Not for Julian, and not for Javier.

For you.

Until your core is shaking, your spent body spreading over the bed when sleep finally takes you.

When was the last time you did that? When was the last time you spent time on yourself rather than making sure your husband’s pleasure was prioritised? You weren’t sure, but you didn’t have time to dwell. Not with your eyelids getting heavy, drowned in your self-gratification. This was the start of something new. A new version of yourself actualised.

If anything, you were grateful for Javi’s presence. Whether he was doing this selfishly or not, this shook you to the core. He was waking you up.

And you had so much more to learn about yourself.

taglist: @cool-iguana @livingdeadmaria @sinfulrock @jasminedragoon @alloftheboysivelovedbefore @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin - comment to be added! if i missed you, please remind me!

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