#but it’s been like seven years and I still think about her sometimes and I hate it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sporadicbeans82 · 1 month

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Used to Be || Mapi León x Ingrid Engen x Reader

Part 2 || Part 3

Summary: You used to be in love with Mapi Leon. Maybe you still are, but now Mapi has a girlfriend... who is very, very pretty. Playing against Barcelona brings up old feelings that you're going to have to bury as you're about to transfer to Barcelona Femení.

Warnings: Maybe a swear word, brief mention of smut, it's a little bit angsty, unedited writing (done at 4am)

Word Count: 4.9k words

A/N: Hi lovelies-- I'm working on a request atm, but this came up and I got carried away. It may not make any sense and may be taken down, but could also be five parts... please let me know what you think :)

The crowd roared as the players of Real Madrid and Barcelona Femení made their way onto the field to find their positions for kickoff. The noise within Estadio Alfredo Di Stefano was absolutely cacophonous, and downright overwhelming to anyone who wasn’t used to it.

As you made your way to your position, you couldn’t help but glance up. Your eyes navigated across the stands, catching onto numerous waving flags, banners, and other collectibles and trinkets which represented either team. You also saw people wearing your jersey, which never failed to put a smile on your face, your chest alight with pride.

The smile, however, disappeared as you caught sight of someone you’d expected to see but… not so soon. Before you knew it, your thoughts were caught in those of the past. Their familiar figure sent so many memories zipping wildly through your brain that, like the noise, it was nearly overwhelming.

You remembered sharing your pre-match rituals with them, sharing the same breakfast together, and a few kisses before the two of you would set off to your match. It was your routine together, the one which made you feel confident and safe before a match.

When the two of you had separated, you also remembered how you’d struggled to find a new routine. Your entire life had been disrupted when you’d broken up with your girlfriend of two years in María Pilar León. Even now, close to seven years later, you still felt like a small piece was missing from your life… had been carved out of your chest and never quite sewed back together.

Your chest burned, and you quickly turned away from the stands in favor of going through your pre-kickoff ritual. You side-stepped to your position, working at your hips and calves as you waited for everyone else to get ready.

You performed three high jumps, making sure to tuck your knees up into your chest– or as high as they could go. As you went through your usual movements, your nerves seemed to meld away with the familiarity of the routine, and with it– the thoughts of a certain Barcelona player watching from the stands.

You’d been prepared to see Mapi, had seen her many times since you’d broken up– through matches played against each other at the international level, and then through matches played against each other at the club level. You’d seen pictures of her, too, with her partner, Ingrid Engen. Each time you saw Mapi, or Ingrid, you felt that same familiar burn in your chest.

Sometimes, that burning would become so much more, almost traveling up your throat and into your eyes, making you feel like you were choking on thoughts and memories of what used to be and what could have been. You felt like you could cry, years later, which was stupid. You’d been the one to break up with Mapi, not the other way around. You thought that you had no right to feel the way that you did, especially since it seemed that Mapi had been able to move on, while you were still stuck in the past.

Someone nudged you, and you almost startled at the contact. One of your Real Madrid teammates, Hayley Raso, placed a hand on your shoulder. Her eyes held a certain amount of concern, almost silently asking you if you were alright.

You managed to give her a small nod, and Raso rubbed up the bare skin of your arm once and then twice before pulling away. It was a comforting gesture, one that reminded you that you weren’t alone in this match. You and Mapi hadn’t been mainstream news when you’d been together– sure, there were a few rumors which had floated around the internet back in the day. However, they’d all been pushed far from the spotlight.

Few people knew that you’d actually dated, and one of those included your teammates Raso and Misa Rodríguez. Throughout your years at Real, Misa had become a close friend of yours. In the deep hours of a night spent watching old football film and hyper analyzing your own team, you’d confided in the goalkeeper. She’d sensed that you were nervous about facing a certain Barcelona team within the next week and had asked you about it, and you’d told her– albeit nervously, as you were aware that they were international teammates. As far as you knew, Misa had kept your secret safely.

Raso was an entirely different story, having taken you home when you were drunk after a win. You’d apparently let slip that you’d missed Mapi and cried into Raso’s arms. Thankfully, the Australian woman hadn’t considered you to be as pathetic as you’d felt, and you’d told her about it all.

The fact that two of your teammates knew about your past with Mapi made you feel better about facing the team. It wasn’t as if you needed a shoulder to cry on– you were over it, really… but things still felt tense between you and Mapi. The two of you had never spoken after you’d broken up, save for the occasional quick congratulatory phrase at the end of a well-fought match.

It was weird, almost– the way someone could go from the best and brightest thing in your life to a stranger.

As Hayley made her way back to her position, you rocked back and forth from your heels to your toes. You allowed yourself to take some calming breaths, closing your eyes and letting the loud crowd fade into the background as you tried to refocus once again.

As the ref blew their whistle, you rocked forward and opened your eyes, nearly missing the ball which had already been kicked your way. You strode forward a few steps before being dispossessed, the ball being cleared to the other side of the field before you had a chance to try to win it back. As you glanced up, you were nearly breathless as you realized just who had so quickly dispossessed you.

Ingrid Engen was taller in person. And prettier.

You couldn’t fault Mapi for being with her, not at all. From her long black hair which had been pulled back into an immaculate braid, to her light colored eyes– from the angle you were at, you couldn’t tell if they were green or blue, but you knew that they were gorgeous. You wondered, briefly, if Mapi ever got lost in them like you were right now-

A call of your name had you spinning, nearly stumbling over your own feet. You saw Hayley receiving the ball from another of your teammates, attempting to pass the football over to you. A Barcelona midfielder intercepted the pass, though, and sent it back over to the other side.

You didn’t have to look at Hayley to know what her eyes were saying– get your head in the game!

The next time you received the ball, you were more prepared. As Ingrid came forward to challenge you, you tipped the ball behind yourself and turned away so that your back was to Ingrid. Then, you were dashing forward once again, eyes set upward towards the Barcelona goal and the only person who now stood in your way-

Your body was flying forward before you could even attempt to kick the ball. Engen had caught up, having been at your hip when you’d made to run away. She’d slide her legs in front of yours, catching the ball and sending it out for a corner kick. She’d also caught a piece of you, judging from the way that you’d sprawled out on your face.

You rolled over slowly, tucking your knees under you as you started to climb to your feet. A hand was held out to you, and you took it without checking who was offering it. As they helped pull you to your feet, you took in their blue and red jersey, which was very unlike your white one.

Ingrid Engen gently patted your back, wiping some grass from your shoulder. Briefly, you wondered if her hands were this soft when she touched Mapi, too. They were large, and comforting, and warm against your skin– a harsh contrast to the breeze which had picked up as the game continued on.

You wondered if Mapi touched her like she’d used to touch you, and if Ingrid touched Mapi as she was touching you at that moment. You knew that you had no right to think those thoughts, but your brain prattled on and on as if morales had gone out the window as soon as you’d set eyes on the defender in the crowd.

Briefly, you remembered the first time you’d ever seen Mapi. It had been on your first day at Atletico Madrid in 2014, newly arrived from England. You didn’t know a lick of Spanish and had gotten lost on your way to the locker rooms.

As you’d wandered aimlessly around the building, you’d quite literally run into some girl with blonde hair and pretty brown eyes.

“Hola?” The girl had looked at you questioningly, confused by the way you stared wordlessly at her. You couldn’t help but admire the other girl, as if running straight into her wasn’t embarrassing enough. She was gorgeous, simply put, and you didn’t know whether you wanted to be her or… something else.

“Hi– Hola?” You’d finally managed to get out. Your accent was thick, the Spanish word unfamiliar on your tongue. A sudden shyness had overcome you, the feeling akin to feeling like a fish out of water.

Mapi didn’t know a lick of English, and so the two of you had stared at each other awkwardly, waiting for the other to extend an olive branch of sorts. Finally, Mapi pointed to the Atletico badge on her chest.

“Aqui. Football?” Mapi mouthed the two words slowly, unsure how much you’d manage to understand. You felt stupid– what kind of person came to a Spanish football team without knowing how to speak Spanish? Still, you managed to catch what Mapi was saying and nodded quickly, almost eagerly.

“Yes1 Madrid!” You said, pointing to your own chest despite the fact that it didn’t have a badge on the shirt you were wearing. Thinking quickly, you attempted to mime kicking a football, to which Mapi pretended to kick the ball back to you, complete with over dramatic sound effects that put you at ease as you laughed at the other’s theatrics.

“Ok,” Mapi said, before making a “come on” gesture with her hand, one which was universal in most- if not all, languages. You followed the other, trying to at least introduce yourself. Mapi turned towards you as you said your name, pointing at yourself.

“Es hermosa. Soy Mapi.” Mapi responded. You only caught a little bit, enough to know that her name was Mapi. You stored that information in your brain before catching a hold of the other girls’ wrist. She turned towards you, momentarily stopping and giving you yet another questioning look.

To this, you held out your hand. As Mapi went to clap her own against it in a high five.

“Nice to meet you!” You said, and Mapi smiled a little bit, nodding.

“Mucho gusto-”

You blinked the rest of that memory away, refocusing on Ingrid. You didn’t bother thanking her, instead simply walking away before you did something that you knew you’d regret. The way in which Ingrid looked at you, brushing the grass off of you apologetically, had your stomach churning in a way that reminded you of how you felt before an important match. Except now, you didn’t think that sidestepping and jumping a few times would help dispel that feeling.

As you set up for the corner, you tried to ignore the way that Engen followed you, her eyes making sure you didn’t stray too far away so that she could mark you. You’d set up between two of your teammates, and as the ball was kicked in you ran forward, jumping and tapping your head up against the ball. You thrust your neck to the side, trying arduously to direct the ball into the net, but Cata Coll hopped up and grabbed the ball between her two gloved hands.

You rubbed the spot on your head that had hit the ball as you sprinted further out into the field as the ball was kicked to one of Barcelona’s center backs. Throughout the game, Ingrid continued to mark you at each corner, staying close to you. She’d almost become your shadow, and it was becoming extremely hard for you to concentrate when thoughts of how frustrated you were with Ingrid soon turned to how hot the Norwegian was as she anticipated your every move, or when she went head to head with you and wasn’t afraid to make a challenge. Thoughts like those inevitably led to Mapi, who you knew was in the stands, eyes on her girlfriend who was guarding her ex-girlfriend.

Ex-girlfriend. The term soured in your mind, one which you rarely had to actually apply to yourself– you remembered when you’d broken up with Mapi.

You’d managed to catch a few days off at Arsenal, and had flown to Spain. You’d put this off for far too long now, and you were emotionally exhausted. So much had happened in your life since you’d transferred from Atletico Madrid to Arsenal, and since your girlfriend of two years, Mapi, had transferred to Barcelona.

The two of you had tried to make the distance work. At first, you’d manage to call each other at least twice a week, and visit each other in person at least once a month, and sometimes more. You’d made an effort to go to Mapi’s games, and Mapi had made an effort to attend yours or, at the very least, watch them on television.

After six months at Arsenal and six months of being apart, it had been almost four months since you’d seen the Spanish woman. You’d spoken to her a week ago, and had tried to call her a few times to let her know that you were coming to Spain, but your calls had gone unanswered.

You were upset, of course, feeling like you were being ignored. However, a larger part of you knew the truth– neither of you had time for the other at this point in your busy careers. The thought was painful, especially the first time that you’d realized it. The fact had been on your mind for the last few months, clutching and squeezing painfully around your chest in the darkest hours of the night, like a python around its prey.

As you and Mapi had gone on and on, you couldn’t keep the feeling at bay any longer. You felt like you were dragging your relationship on for the sake of being afraid to end it. You loved Mapi, yes, but you felt like you were… baggage, like another box to check at the end of the day.

“Call your girlfriend” right next to “Feed the Cat” and “Do the Dishes”.

You knew that that was how you felt about Mapi, at least. As if that weren’t enough, you felt ashamed about your relationship.

When you’d been in Barcelona, you hadn’t had to worry about what your parents would think about you dating a woman. Sure, you’d known that they would disapprove, as they’d always spoken negatively about “those types of people”. However, being in another country helped you keep Mapi as your secret. This secret was much harder to keep now that you were back under your parents’ clutches.

Mapi knew how your parents felt, which weighed heavily on your mind as well. You felt like it was too much for the girl, that you were too much for the girl. You didn’t want to speak to Mapi about it, for fear that the girl would dismiss her own feelings in favor of simply staying with you.

So, you’d made the decision alone.

You’d come to Mapi’s doorstep, a place that you’d only been once or twice since she’d moved there. Knocking a few times, you were greeted by your girlfriend, who looked confused by your appearance.

You’d done it then, giving Mapi a parting hug before you’d walked right back down her stairs. You had felt her gaze on your back, and had had to hold back your tears as you’d walked away and left the girl you loved behind.

You’d convinced yourself that it was for the better, had repeated that mantra as you’d paced away from her house. You’d essentially screamed it, in fact, when you’d stood in the mirror of the sketchy hotel room you’d rented for the night.

You’d wanted to go back to Mapi so badly, to cry into her arms and let her wrap her arms around you. You wanted her to tell her that it was okay, and that everything would be okay. You wanted her to tell you that the two of you could and would work, that you would try harder to talk and to visit and to love each other.

But you’d given up the right to ask for Mapi’s comfort the second you’d broken up with her. The shattered, dazed look in her pretty brown eyes had cut into you like a dagger, and served to haunt you for the next year whenever you thought of the girl.

You feel a pair of hands on your shoulders, their touch somewhat familiar from how often you’d felt them throughout the match. By now, your team was trailing Barcelona 1-3, which certainly didn’t help your quickly-souring mood.

From behind you, you heard Ingrid speak. Her voice was calm and collected, despite having played nearly 80 minutes of football. It was deeper than you’d expected too– not that it was super deep, it was just… it was nice, you mentally admitted to yourself. Calming and soothing like her touch, almost like Mapi’s but more relaxing and cool where Mapi’s was comforting and warm.

As if you weren’t torturing yourself enough, you wondered if Ingrid had used those hands and arms to comfort Mapi. You wondered if Mapi had run to Ingrid when you’d broken up with her, had been hugged and held in the way that you had so badly yearned for when you’d left her. Realistically, you knew that Ingrid hadn’t even known Mapi then, and so your thoughts trailed further.

“-okay…?”

“Huh?” You mumbled, glancing back towards Engen whilst trying to keep your eyes downfield.

“I asked, are you okay?” Ingrid repeated.

“Yes. Stop touching me.” You couldn’t help it, your tone biting and harsh. Immediately, Ingrid’s hands fell from your shoulders. Internally, you screamed for her touch again– it had been a very, very long time since you’d allowed yourself to be touched or held, and you supposed you were probably touch-starved at this point. Even still, you knew that you had no right to seek comfort in your ex-girlfriends’ current girlfriend, no matter how badly you yearned for it.

Maybe, once you moved from Real Madrid to Barcelona, you could get a cat. You’d heard that they could give good hugs.

Ingrid didn’t say anything, but throughout the match she kept her hands off of you. That is, until one of the last minutes in injury time. You’re surprised that you’re still in the match, given how badly your team is losing and that you’ve not done much for most of the match.

Ingrid had done well to silence any attempts or moves you’d made, and between the players in midfield and the center backs, you’d been muffled incredibly well throughout the match.

You knew that you had nothing left to lose by this point, and so as one of your midfielders received the ball, you called out for it and began your run.

The pass was gorgeous, rolling up through your feet and right in front of you. Indrid in front of you began to backpedal, twisting her hips so that she could gain enough momentum to keep up with your run while keeping her eyes on you.

You attempted to flick the ball ahead of her as you caught up to the Norwegian, just as Ingrid stuck out her foot. With the ball ahead of you, Ingrid clipped the side of your foot with her own instead, and you cried out in pain as you were sent sprawling once more.

It was a clear foul, and pain radiated throughout your ankle as you rolled onto your back. You didn’t think that it was too serious of an injury, but it still smarted and made its presence known. You didn’t expect for Ingrid to crouch down next to you, hand hovering over your shoulder as she went to pat your back but seemed to remember your earlier rudeness.

“Are you okay?” Ingrid asked, and you turned to glare at her.

“No, the fuck was that about, Engen. You could have broken my ankle.” Your words, like earlier, were harsh and immature. They were flat and scathing, meant to harm and dig deep into Ingrid’s chest.

A part of you hoped she’d fight back and give you a taste of her own scathing words as you’d been doing to her the entire game. Instead, she took a deep breath and shook her head.

“I certainly did not mean to do so, are you alright?” She asked again. Her words were calm and cool, just like her touch, serving almost like ice water to the flaming hot rage you felt.

You froze, before nodding slowly. You’d anticipated a verbal fight, had hoped for one, but Ingrid had given you nothing to work with. As you agreed, she held out her hand for you to take once again, and you stared at it for a moment. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw your teammates making their ways over and your captain talking to the ref, attempting to appeal for what you figured was a yellow card or a penalty kick.

You hesitated, only for a moment. The girl in front of you was an anomaly and you couldn’t, for the life of you, understand her.

It was attractive. The way that she defended was attractive, and the way that she kept a calm and level head was doubly as attractive. You battled the thoughts away as soon as they arrived, but they were already in your mind, spreading through your thoughts like the plague as you reached out and took the girls’ hand, allowing her to pull you to your feet once more.

She filled your thoughts for the rest of the game, right up until the referee whistled three times to signal the end of the match. The Barcelona players went to celebrate while you trekked over to your own teammates.

Some of them gave you comments about how good you performed, which you were surprised about. You hadn’t done much for most of the match, but you supposed that you’d done well against defenders of Ingrid’s caliber and had given a few good attempts on goal.

You praised each of your teammates in turn as well, before someone had wrapped their arms around your middle and lifted you up from behind.

“Muy bien chica bonita!” You heard someone call out, and you were familiar with them and the way they held you and spoke. You giggled.

“Gracias Misa.” You said, waiting for her to plop you back down to the ground before giving her a quick fist bump. The girl looked you up and down, as though to make sure you weren’t hurt.

“You are ok?” Misa asked, voice rising towards the end of the statement to make it into a question. You nodded.

“Sí. Estoy bien.” You responded, nodding to affirm your own statement. Misa seemed satisfied for the moment, reaching out to pat your back before she was off to converse with more of your teammates. You knew that the nosy girl would be asking for details about what had been going on with you and Ingrid, but for now the girl would just have to wonder.

As you turned away from the Real Madrid goalkeeper, you were met with the sight of Mapi and Ingrid. The two were talking quietly with each other, and you were stunned by the image of them both together. Ingrid now wore a puffy Barcelona team jacket, reminding you of the fact that you were cold.

Mapi wore a pair of black trousers with a pair of casual tennis shoes and a white jacket. It was a simple outfit, but you couldn’t help but think the girl looked absolutely gorgeous. Your heart throbbed, unable to keep the thoughts of both girls out of your mind.

You were just about to turn your back on them, too, when Ingrid caught your eye and gestured with her hand for you to come over to them. You froze, hesitant to do as she was motioning for you to do, but slowly made your way over anyway.

Mapi looked at you curiously. Once upon a time, you would have been able to read her facial expressions like a book. Now, however, you were unable to tell what she was feeling. She appeared guarded, but her lips and eyes, which were normally so expressive, gave nothing away.

Unlike her partner, Ingrid smiled warmly at you. It was the kind of smile that you couldn’t help but smile back at, and Ingrid stuck her hand out for you to take and shake.

“Congratulations, you played really well.” You were the first to speak, directing your sentence towards Ingrid.

Ingrid nodded, “You played well too.”

“Thank you…” Your voice trailed off as you were at a loss for what to say. Your mind was at odds with itself, as a part of you wanted to ask how Mapi was doing, while another part wanted to intertwine your fingers with Ingrid’s and never let go. You were so confused and conflicted, your heart and mind working overtime as you struggled to figure out where to go from there.

Ingrid seemed to realize that you were struggling and made up for it.

“I’m excited to play with you and not against you!” She said, and you swallowed nervously, your smile tentative, now.

You’d nearly forgotten about that.

You were set to join Barcelona within the week, having played your last game with Real Madrid. You were sad to see it go, but you were beyond excited to join the team of your childhood dreams.

Even still, you were terrified of joining the team which housed your ex-girlfriend and her current relationship, and your eyes strayed from Ingrid to Mapi and back again at the thought.

“I’m excited too-” You said pathetically, and you were saved from saying any more as you heard someone from your own team call your name. You gestured awkwardly behind you, towards the voice, and began to walk backwards as you waved at the two. “I’ll see you later!”

You blushed as you turned away, mentally chastising yourself for the lame way you’d managed to say goodbye.

-----

Later that day, as you spent one of your last nights in the apartment you’d lived in for four years since joining Real Madrid, you couldn’t help but allow your thoughts to stray back to Ingrid and Mapi.

You wondered what they were doing– were they holding each other and watching a movie, like you and Mapi used to do after a match when you’d used to play together? Or, perhaps, they were out dancing with each other, celebrating the win against their rivals at a club somewhere.

A part of your mind fought to imagine the sight of the two grinding up against each other, and while you were quick to turn away from the thought, you could still imagine Ingrid’s large hand cupping Mapi’s hip and directing her movements as Ingrid whispered in her ear-

What was happening to you?

You swallowed nervously, sitting down on your couch. Your elbows sat propped on your knees as you gazed straight ahead at the wall,

You were, simply said, conflicted.

The way you had felt today had been a feeling that you’d buried a long time ago, one that had been reserved for Mapi and nobody else. However, the way Ingrid had looked at you and had talked at you, and the way she’d calmly patted you or helped you– the feelings had resurfaced.

You tried not to think about what that meant. You knew what it meant, and you knew that you couldn’t feel that way– not now and not ever.

If you wanted to succeed at Barcelona and to keep your heart safe, you had to bury these feelings once more.

And so you did– mentally, you threw those thoughts into a cage and locked them up tight. You promised yourself that you would stop feeling like this towards your ex-girlfriend and her current girlfriend. No matter what, you would stop.

It was a promise you made to yourself.

A promise that you knew you would break.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #mapi leon x reader #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen x mapi leon #ingrid engen x mapi leon x reader #harper writes

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finntheehumaneater · 3 months

Note

from the prompts lists for a lil steddie sickfic 👉👈 bonus points if you can get an uncle wayne cameo in there too lmao

“I’m gonna be sick.” & “Look at me - just breathe, okay?”

hallo, liebe!!! I had way too much fun with this. I want to make this universe its own thing. Everybody send me asks about this I want to talk about my domestic steddie AU please, I love them so much.

(All ask prompt lists are in my pinned posts, and sorry for any mistakes, most of this was copied and pasted from photos of notebook paper, and it does not like my handwriting lmao)

TW: throwing up

Ozzy only liked to eat if someone was watching him. Steve said it was because he wanted to feel safe and protected, but Eddie knew it was because he was an attention whore.

He was currently perched on top of the table, his black tail swiping impatiently as he meowed at Eddie—not pawing the open laptop closed yet, but it looked like he was thinking about it.

“M'doing work, babe,” Eddie muttered gently, reaching out to pet the cat but he ducked away. He rifled through his notes again, trying to remember what name he and Steve had decided for the elven lord. Steve didn’t normally help with Eddie's novel—said he didn't know enough about fantasy and the like, and he didn't want to ruin it—but he had sat down with Eddie on the couch and looked through lists of Welsh names until he found one he thought sounded fit for an elven lord.

And Eddie had agreed, it was a name fit for an elven lord, but he couldn't remember, and he just needed to find the stupid paper with the character names—

Meow!

Eddie's eyes moved back to the cat, and that added on top of the stress of writing made something inside of him snap. “Ozzy, babe. I’m working.”

The cat shied away, his ears flattening and his eyes widening. Eddie ran a hand down his face.This wasn't worth yelling at his cat over.

“Oz…” he closed the laptop and picked up the cat, carrying him to the laundry room. They kept his food on top of the dryer, because when he and Steve had moved in (what... three years ago?) Ozzy had decided that the laundry room was his room, and that people could only actually do the laundry if he liked them.

Eddie set Ozzy down in front of the food dish and pressed a kiss to his side before going to get the hampers from his and Steve's (and Wayne’s) room.

Wayne had been living with them since they had bought the house, and he had lived with them in their apartment before that. he was in charge of doing the “adult things”, even though Eddie and Steve were nearing (thirty twenty-seven for Steve and twenty-eight for Eddie, although Eddie was almost twenty-nine), because Steve's memory couldn't be trusted for things he wasn't one hundred percent in on, and Eddie just couldn't be trusted to do most things on his own. He would much rather be writing.

Wayne still worked as a mechanic, downtown, but this time he liked his job. He'd never leave if he could, but that meant that he wouldn't get to watch baseball with Steve.

Eddie swore that sometimes it felt like Wayne loved Steve more than him.

Steve was working as a teacher—middle schoolers—and he hadn't been doing it for all that long, but the kids loved him. And he loved them back. Especially one girl named Hayden, because he said she reminded him of Max (Max worked with Gareth at a bookstore a little while away. They shared an apartment, and Max didn't really "work" at the store, seeing how her eyesight fluctuated, but Gareth didn’t mind the company)

And then there was Eddie. Who wrote. The whole rockstar thing hadn't really worked out for him, but he and the guys still got together to play whenever Grant and Jeff were in town.

He was working on his hovel, and he hated every second of it. Sure, he loved writing, but writing an entire-ass-novel was hard.

"It's basically a Lord Of The Rings fanfiction!" He had sobbed to steve one night in bed after he had finally (after six months) finished the rough draft for the outline. “I hate it.”

Steve had just hummed in acknowledgment for a moment, half-curled around Eddie with the messy papers in his hands. "Isn't everything based off of something?"

Eddie had shrugged, keeping his face tucked into Steve’s neck.

“I like Ophelia.” Steve had whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of Eddie's head. "Isn't she the one that stabs the guy with the horns?"

Eddie tried to hum an “mhm” of confirmation, but it came as more of a whine of despair.

“The drawings you did of her for El were pretty,” Steve had continued, his voice gentle and patient in a way that Eddie adored as he nudged his nose into Eddie's hair a bit more. "You should show her these on Sunday when she and her friend Maya come to visit." Eddie had. And honestly? Aside from Steve and Wayne, El was the only reason the novel was even being made. He wouldn't be able to even open his laptop without her nagging and consistent support over the phone.

She lived up north near Jonathan and Argyle, somewhere near New York, and she drove out with her roommate to visit him and Steve occasionally.

Eddie blinked when Ozzy meowed again, rubbing against his flannel pajama pants he hadn't changed out of yet. "All done, bud?" Ozzy didn't answer.

Sometimes Eddie felt like he was going insane, talking to his cat.

He put in the detergent and made sure the clothes were spiraled so that they would wash better, before turning it on, the clear lid closed. He didn’t know what buttons to press, but he knew what noise they were supposed to make and in what order. Steve was normally in charge of laundry, but most of the kids had presentations to do, and the other half were doing theirs tomorrow. He’d probably be too tired to do the laundry when he got home.

Eddie heard the door open and close, and he assumed it was Steve, because Wayne wasn't supposed to be home for another hour or two.

"Stevie?" Eddie called out, and he kept talking when he didn't get an answer, because sometimes Steve got home and had what Eddie called Quiet Time, where he would just stay silent and listen to Eddie talk for a while before taking a shower and maybe having a nap." You want any apple? I had one just before you got here, but I left the peels on a bowl on the table, because I love you and things you like, even though it's weird. There’s seltzer too, but it's probably still warm because I only put them in the fridge like…fifteen minutes ago. Might be fine if you put ice in it, though.”

Eddie knew something was wrong even before Steve shuffled into the kitchen—all hunched over, his eyes rimmed red and his cheeks wet, glasses perched low on his nose, nearly slipping off of his face—because there were no arms wrapped around his waist, no face pressed into his neck, and no Robin Buckley perched on his counter.

She had been driving Steve to and from... basically everywhere since he had gotten his license taken away. The doctors—and anyone—didn't trust him to drive with his seizures. It had taken Steve a while to get used to not being everyone's personal chauffeur anymore.

"You okay, babes?" Eddie asked softly, concern seeping into his tone as Steve leaned against the doorframe.

"I feel like I'm gonna be sick,” Steve choked out, his voice strained.

“Oh, sweetheart...did one of your kids get you sick? "Eddie asked, taking Steve’s glasses off and setting them onto the kitchen counter before cupping his elbow and helping him over to the bathroom.

He gently pushed Steve down to kneel in front of the toilet, tugging his hair up and out of his face. It wouldn't have gotten in the way, but it looked adorable when all of the fringe that would normally sweep over his forehead in its coif was gathered up in a little ponytail on top of his head.

As much as Eddie would always be there for Steve, he still made a face and cringed away slightly when Steve threw up, smoothing his hand up and down Steve's spine and shoulders as Steve gagged and sobbed between painful-sounding heaves.

Eddie slipped off Steve's jacket when he went limp in his arms, reaching over to flush the toilet. “Shower?”

Steve shook his head, his face contorting into something pathetic that made Eddie’s heart tug.

"What's the matter, baby? "Eddie murmured, wrapping his arms around Steve's waist, his chin tucked over Steve's shoulder. He'd make Steve get up and brush his teeth in a bit after he had sat and rested. He was still shaking, so Eddie doubted he would be able to stand okay right then.

“I’ll have to call in sick tomorrow,” Steve gasped, shaking his head. “I won’t be able to go in.”

“You don’t want to stay home and rest? Darling, I love you and you are so beautiful, but you look like death right now. You’re more pale than me.”

“Liam has his presentation tomorrow. I have to be there! H-he has a hard time speaking, and—a-and I don’t want him to be nervous. I promised him I’d be there for him,” Steve said, his voice broken and desperate, and God, Eddie was so in love with man that it physically hurt.

Steve was so kind, and caring, and sweet, and compassionate, and the list just went on, and on, and on.

“Look at me,” Eddie whispered, his fingers brushing over Steve’s stomach. “Just breathe, okay? Liam will be okay.”

Steve shook his head again, his breath shaky and his hands gripping at Eddie’s arms like he was scared to let go. He looked like he was going to throw up again if he didn’t calm down, and didn’t want him to have to go through that anymore.

“Liam will be okay,” Eddie repeated, his voice a bit more firm as he pressed a hand gently to Steve’s chest. “Breathe.”

Steve did breathe, but his voice was still shaking, and Eddie’s hand went up and down with each movement. “I promised him…”

“I know you promised him,” Eddie whispered, pressing a kiss to Steve’s forehead. “But you can’t control these things. He’ll be alright, baby, he’s a good kid.”

Eventually, Steve’s hands loosened and slid up to Eddie’s shoulders. He pushed himself to stand, and Eddie followed after him. “I’m…I’m okay now.”

“You’re okay,” Eddie parroted back, rubbing Steve’s arm up and down as Steve got his toothbrush out of the mug Wayne had put in the bathroom shelf. It was for some fishing company in the Adirondacks that Eddie had never heard of.

The door creaked open just a bit more than it already was and in strolled Ozzy, meowing lightly. Eddie picked him up when he stood to paw at his thigh, cooing, “Aw, there’s my baby…”

He pressed a kiss to the top of Ozzy’s head, and the cat meowed in protest, now seeing it be a bit against his original plan of being cradled and snug in Eddie’s arms if it meant he had to be kissed.

The poor thing lived a very hard life.

“M’thought I was your baby,” Steve muttered around his toothbrush, and Eddie rolled his eyes, gently knocking his hip into Steve’s, kissing Ozzy’s head again as he squirmed and tried to escape the confines of Eddie’s arms.

“I can have more than one baby,” he said, and then his voice turned more serious. “Oh, shit, I have to call Nance and tell her that we can’t have Megan over tomorrow afternoon.”

Megan was Nancy’s three year old daughter, and she was lovely, but she was stubborn.

Steve’s face crumpled slightly as he washed the toothbrush off, and Eddie watched him try to hide it by pinching at his nose and sighing. “I’m so sorry, Eds, this is ruining all of our plans…”

“Hey, no,” Eddie set Ozzy down when he started to kick at his arm, biting at the sleeve of his t-shirt. “Steve, honey…”

Steve’s eyes were glassy again when Eddie finally got him to look at him. “I hate being sick,” he practically whimpered, his expression pleading, and fuck—if Eddie could make him feel better he would, but that wasn’t really an option.

“I know, sweet thing,” Eddie murmured sympathetically, pressing a kiss to Steve’s knuckles. “You wanna go and lay down? I’ll get you some Tylenol?”

Steve nodded and Eddie helped him to bed, getting him changed even though he could do it himself. He got Steve the pill and some water and told him that if he wanted to shower when he woke up he could, but the water couldn’t be hot in case he passed out again, like he had the last time he was sick. Head injuries with Steve were no joke.

He got Steve’s bag from where he had left it by the front door when he had come in, then switched the laundry over and when he was just sitting down to work again, Wayne got home.

“You’re early.”

Wayne shrugged, picking up one of the apple peels out of the bowl and popping it into his mouth. “Katie forced me to come back before I started workin’ on another car.”

“Hm,” Eddie hummed, opening the laptop. “Steve got home sick, so be nice.”

“M’always nice.”

Eddie sighed, shaking his head slightly with a smile before getting back to work.

Steve hadn’t wanted Eddie to sleep with him in case he got sick, too—offering to sleep on the couch instead so that Eddie could have the bed, but Eddie had very lovingly said “fuck no” to that. He was curled around Steve, nose pressed into the sweaty hair on the back of Steve’s neck.

Wayne was out on their neighbor’s porch smoking, and Ozzy was put away in the laundry room (his cat house had been moved there before Eddie crawled into bed, he wasn’t evil) so that he wouldn’t wake everyone up at four in the morning.

There was a trash can by the bed, because Steve had thrown up again after dinner, even though he had barely eaten anything.

“How much did you write today?” Steve whispered, voice scratchy and hoarse

“You’re supposed to be sleeping, babes,” Eddie muttered, pressing a kiss to Steve’s shoulder.

“But how much?”

“Three thousand, maybe. Maybe a bit less.”

“That’s a lot.”

“Debatable.”

Steve laughed, then coughed, wincing.

“Go to sleep,” Eddie whispered, his lips brushing against Steve’s skin.

Steve still had that ridiculous ponytail on top of his head. Either he didn’t know it was there still, or he had finally come around to realizing how adorable it was.

(More of this au, and the Doemstic!Steddie AU MasterList) Permanent taglist: @anne-bennett-cosplayer @estrellami-1 @here4thetrama @goodolefashionedloverboi @gregre369

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theemporium · 6 months

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maybe some more 🧸for Carlos and Butterfly and their second baby including Lando and toddler Esmerelda? Just wee innocence?

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

“Esme, no running!”

A series of giggles could be heard along with soft pattering of footsteps on the wooden floorboards.

“Lando, also no running!”

“Boo!”

You pressed your lips together, trying to bite back the grin that wanted to spread across your face as you walked into the kitchen. It was barely ten in the morning and the house already felt lively with the happy sounds of a two year old Esmerelda being chased around by Lando, who had been visiting for a week over the holidays, and Carlos settled in the kitchen as he prepared everyone’s breakfast.

Your heart warmed at the sight, knowing Carlos had probably been doing his best to keep the volume low so you would be able to lie in this morning. But you didn’t care. In fact, you would take a happy and lively house over some sleep any day of the week. It made you feel full and complete.

“Ah, mi tigre, you want a strawberry? Hm? They are Mama’s strawberries but I am sure she won’t mind sharing with you,” Carlos cooed at the small baby in his arms, just over seven months old and already looking like a carbon copy of his father.

Little Rafael Sainz garbled happily as his chubby fingers reached for the small strawberry chunk Carlos was holding out to him.

“I guess I can share my strawberries with a little guy as cute as him,” you commented casually, leaning against the doorframe.

Carlos whirled around, his face instantly lighting up when he saw you. In an instant, he was walking across the kitchen so he could reach out for you with the arm that wasn’t currently coddling Rafael to his chest.

“Mi mariposa,” Carlos hummed as he leaned down, pressing his lips against yours for a few seconds before pulling back. “Did we wake you up?”

You smiled, shaking your head. “You should have woken me up, though. I could have helped with breakfast.”

“Papa doesn’t need help!” A voice suddenly exclaimed as Esmerelda came to a stop by your legs, looking up with a tooth grin. “Uncle Dodo is helping.”

“Still don’t know how I feel about being nicknamed after a dead bird,” Lando grumbled as he came up to stand behind Esmerelda, his hands on her shoulders as she snickered at him.

“I think it’s cute,” you said to him with a soft smile.

“You’re too nice to say otherwise,” Lando snorted in response.

“Yes, well, your Uncle Dodo could have done more to help me,” Carlos commented, flashing the Brit a look.

Lando only grinned innocently in response. “I was doing my duties.”

Carlos raised his brows. “Which are?”

“Babysitting my favourite godchildren,” Lando answered easily before he reached for the baby in Carlos’ arms, cooing as Rafael’s hands instantly stretched out to reach for his curls. “There’s my favourite little guy.”

Esmerelda rolled her eyes.

“Aye, don’t be like that, mi oruga,” Carlos mused as he reached down, not even hesitating as he swiped his daughter into his arms and listened to her giggles echo through the kitchen. “Papa will always be here to lift you.”

She blinked up at him, her eyes holding all the adoration for her father. “What about when I get too big?”

“Your father is very strong,” you said to her, pushing some curls behind her ear and lightly tickling her neck as she squirmed in Carlos’ arms. “He will always be able to carry you.”

She smiled up at Carlos. “Really?”

“Really,” Lando answered for her. “Your dad can pick me up.”

Carlos sighed. “When will you stop bringing that up?”

“What, so Uncle Dodo can’t feel like a princess sometimes too?” Lando scoffed as little Rafael garbled happily in his arms like he understood the Brit. “Inequality in this household!”

#cece's slumblurb party #carlos sainz #formula one #f1 #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz fic #carlos sainz one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

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fickleminder · 6 months

Text

be good

AU inspired by this prompt: Humans are born with demon counterparts to protect them. The more innocent and pure a person is, the more mean, fierce, and terrifying their demon becomes.

Halloween 2023 fic 😈

It’s one of the things your parents often told you when you were growing up.

"Behave yourself."

"They won’t hurt you if you’re good."

"Say please and thank you."

"It’s okay, they’re your best friend."

"Mind your manners."

"You can always rely on them to protect you."

"Be good, now."

You’ve had multiple shadows for as long as you could remember. No one else could see them; a person’s demon was their own after all, but you quickly realized that everybody around you only had the one. Any attempts to convince your family otherwise only led them to believe yours was a shapeshifter.

But one demon or seven, they never laid a finger on you. Sometimes they kept their distance, watching over you from afar; other times they stayed within arm’s reach, readily accepting your touch should your curiosity win out. You soon became accustomed to the chilly air around them, their cool skin a familiar comfort on days when you just needed a hug.

They were brothers too, despite not looking anything alike. You talked to them of course, wanting to know more about your protectors friends, where they came from, what they did to pass the time when they weren’t watching you. The oldest one told you that they weren't like the other demons; they were more important, had other roles to fulfill and duties to tend to, which was why they had to take turns looking after you.

"I'm sorry for being a bother," five-year-old you said. You'd been left alone more often than not, your father having passed away recently while your mother worked extra jobs to keep the both of you fed. She never neglected you when she was home, but you still felt like a burden to her.

"You're not a bother," the oldest one — Lucifer — chided you gently. "Your mother loves you, and so do we. Never forget that, understand?"

You gripped his pant leg and nodded into his thigh, only relaxing when a gloved hand reached down to stroke your hair.

The wind howled outside your window and rattled the panes. Cloudy skies covered the moon, casting your room into inky blackness as you huddled under the blankets and shivered, eyes wide open and unable to sleep.

Everything seemed louder in the dark: the shrieking gusts, the creaky old floorboards, the scuttles in the walls, the scratching and rustling behind your closet door—

"It's way past your bedtime, you know."

The voice came out of nowhere, but all you felt was a sharp sense of relief knowing that you weren't alone tonight. "I'm scared," you whispered to it, clutching the sheets tighter against your body. "Can you check the closet for monsters, please?"

One of the shadows in the room seemed to grow and stretch, moving lazily towards the closet in question. You didn't dare to peek over the blankets, but you heard the door open and close as the faint noises from within fell blessedly silent.

"Better?" The voice drawled, returning to its place under your bed. "Go to sleep now. There's nothing scarier here than me."

"Thanks Belphie. Goodnight."

You let one arm dangle off the side of your bed as you finally closed your eyes. After a while, you felt a cold hand grasping yours, keeping you safe in its grip.

"I said I was sorry!"

"You think a simple 'sorry' is gonna cut it?!"

Bumping into other students in a crowded hallway was almost inevitable, but apparently this upperclassman took personal offense at it. The older boy hauled you up by your shirt and slammed you against the lockers while everybody else kept their heads low and gave the two of you a wide berth.

"I oughta teach you a lesson for—" He looked over his shoulder at someone you couldn't see, frowning with irritation. "Whaddya mean 'wrong person'? This twerp was the one who—"

Whatever his demon said must have convinced him, because he abruptly let go and stomped away without another word. Your knees buckled and you slid to the floor with a breathy exhale.

Someone squatted down beside you to check the back of your head, running gentle fingers through your hair to soothe you. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I was more startled than anything." You smiled at Satan, who still seemed somewhat troubled. "Can you walk me to my next class?"

"With pleasure."

That night, Satan got Asmo to read to you on his behalf, claiming he had a last minute errand to run. You didn't mind; Asmo had such a melodic voice that he might as well have sung you to sleep.

(You never saw that upperclassman in school again. People still said he transferred out.)

The day your mother passed, you were sitting next to her and holding her hand, doing your best to ignore the beeping of the machines that monitored her vitals.

One minute she was peaceful, halfway dozed off while you spoke to her softly, the next her entire body seized up as she began mumbling incoherently.

The machines went haywire and alerted the nurses to her side. You were forced to step back and let them do their job, your panicked gaze focused on her fearful face as she writhed on the bed, as though struggling to get away from an assailant.

"No, no... I thought... Please..." were the last words you heard before someone wrapped their arms around you and turned you away.

"Don't look," Asmo cooed in your ear, moments before the shrill beeping noises became steady.

The demon guided you to sit in the hallway outside, whispering words of comfort and rubbing your back. He told you to remember how pretty your mother was before her illness, the good times you'd spent with her after all the hardship the two of you had endured, happy memories that made every second worth it.

You knew your demons would help you to work through the grief in time, but for now, you let yourself fall apart in Asmo's arms.

"Take care on your way home."

"Thanks boss, see you tomorrow."

Closing shifts sucked, but the late hours paid well. Luckily, you had company on your walk back too, a hulking figure no one else could see but everybody still instinctively steered clear of. It made taking shortcuts through shady alleys a little safer.

Even on nights you stopped for supper at a sleazy diner, the only place still open at this godforsaken hour, nobody invited themselves into your booth or tried to strike up conversation with you. Which worked just fine, all you wanted to do was eat your food, go home, and collapse into bed.

Strangely enough, you noticed that the cook also tended to be extra generous with the portions he served you. The man was loud and gruff towards the waitstaff, but on nights you were seated at the counter, he was quiet as a mouse when setting your dish in front of you.

You could never finish it all, but you always made sure to leave a good tip anyway.

You stared at the numbers on the screen for the longest time, feeling conflicted. A part of you wished you had never approached your coworker to ask about the discrepancies you'd found in the accounts, not when he opened your eyes to some of the dealings that went under your boss's radar. He offered you a cut of the profits to keep your mouth shut of course, but you never imagined...

He was a good guy. Hardworking, funny, always willing to pitch in and offering to pick up a bite for you whenever he went on snack runs. You knew he went to church regularly too, so why?

A bat-like wing blocked your view of the screen, and you looked up to see Mammon smirking. "You're overthinking this," he said. "The answer's right in front of ya."

"I thought..." You bit your lip. "He isn't doing too well himself, and the company isn't a megacorp or anything but it's not like they'll notice. Shouldn't I just look the other way?"

"Ha! What he's offering ya is peanuts compared to the promotion you'll get by exposing his operation."

"I'm not in it for the money—"

"Maybe so, but it's the right thing to do, ain't it?"

"Still..."

"You won't have to worry about any retaliation." Mammon assured you with a ruffle of your hair. "I'll make sure of it."

"—lie! It's all a lie! Listen to me, you can't trust the devils!"

"What nonsense are you watching now?" Levi leaned over your shoulder as you tilted your phone to give him a better view.

"A video that went viral recently. Some crazy dude ranting about conspiracies and whatnot."

Levi's nose scrunched up in distaste. "Sounds like he's jealous about having a wimpy lesser demon chained to him, if you ask me. These guys are just bitter they got leftovers since they aren't good people."

"I don't know, Levi. Some folks just need a bit of help, I think. And don't get me started on the whole nature vs. nurture debate."

"Well, doesn't change the fact that you can't save everybody."

"They're cultivating us, like livestock! You have to sin, SIN I say!"

"Ugh, I've had enough of this dude. Can you change the channel? We haven’t watched the latest episode about that time-traveling god yet.”

"Ooh, you’re right! Give me a sec to log into my account…"

Lucifer hummed in amusement. "Excuse me?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend." You scrambled to clarify your earlier statement. "It's just— I've known you and your brothers for so long that you don't look scary to me, not anymore. I'm not saying you guys should be monsters or anything, but... Does this mean I'm a bad person?"

"Demons have many forms not meant for mortal eyes," he explained patiently. "And you should know that humans are neither fully good nor bad, but often somewhere in-between. In any case, why would we ever wish to frighten you, hm?"

"Told you it was a silly question..." You grumbled under your breath.

Lucifer squeezed your shoulder. "You’re a good person. You always try your best to do the right thing, even without our guidance to keep you from going astray. I don't say this lightly: I’m proud of you."

You hid your warm cheeks in the demon's chest as you hugged him for all you were worth. "...Thanks Luci."

"Anytime. Now, off you go. Don't keep Beel waiting."

Lucifer watched as his younger brother filled the empty space next to you, holding your hand while walking you home. The hour was late and the streets were dark; it wouldn't do to have anything unsavory happen to you before you made it home safely.

Yes, they needed to keep you safe at all costs. A pure and innocent being like you was hard to come by, perhaps only once every millennia or so. He and his brothers had fought for the right to you, to nurture and polish your soul for when the time was right. And when it was, you would be—

"Delicious," Lucifer whispered, baring his fangs as he licked his lips.

#writing #obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor

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isagrimorie · 22 days

Text

Because the whole Tuvix wank is rearing its head every week on Trek forums, I finally decided to rewatch this episode. I mostly avoided it because I am So Tired of the wank and how it's been relitigated for YEARS.

I was over it when it first popped up and I was even more over it with the way it's used as a bludgeon to promote 'psycho Janeway'.

But what's left out in the discussions is Kes's part in all of this, from the jump, Kes was troubled with the merging of Neelix and Tuvok, and anytime Tuvix tried to make advances, she just kept getting more uncomfortable.

(When Tuvix unconsciously touched Kes's shoulder, it looked like she had to consciously not flinch.)

To Tuvix's credit, he did give Kes space and respected her wishes but she was not happy with the whole merge because her relationship with Neelix and Tuvok is different.

We don't see the other people grieve but we see Kes's grief and confusion, which was shared by Janeway. But also, the moment the EMH had a solution to separate the two people in Tuvix, Harry jumped at the chance.

And he's already spent weeks with Tuvix.

The irony is that Janeway was coming around to thinking of Tuvix as an individual but the cure presented itself, but also as the Ship's Captain she has an obligation to care for her crew and absent or not that meant advocating for the two voices who couldn't speak up: Tuvok and Neelix.

Kes was the deciding factor. Kes made her plea to separate Neelix and Tuvok.

Kes was the biggest reason why Janeway decided to separate Tuvok from Neelix.

It was such a cop-out from the Doctor that he refused to do the procedure he made and pioneered. And forced Janeway to execute it instead.

Janeway is clearly not happy about the decision and she's caught between a rock and a hard place.

In Nothing Human Janeway verbalizes it.

"Any consequences of this decision will be my responsibility. Dismissed."

Janeway's constantly put into a wheelhouse of trolley problems, as the only high-ranking Starfleet officer, she is the final authority. In Nothing Human everyone is locked in an endless debate about the morality of using the Cardassians' methods to save B'Elanna's life. Meanwhile, the clock was running down to zero and B'Elanna could have died more.

(Honestly, the story should have been more B'Elanna, Doctor, and Janeway-centric than it was. Nothing Human is a weird episode. Especially since Seven was barely in it and seems to be the Acting Chief Engineer -- amusingly enough because the writers thought they killed Joe Carey between s2 and 3. Alas, poor Vorik, he's not getting any promotions either).

TLDR: Janeway is constantly living through what the Doctor of Doctor Who is living through. Or as the 12th Doctor once said: "Sometimes the only choices you have are bad ones, but you still have to choose."

#thinky thoughts #that episode of voyager #star trek voyager #kathryn janeway #yes i wrote this because robbie mcneill's assertion #that tuvix hurt janeway's character #annoyed me so much #i like ya rob but no #this was just another building block to her character #as someone who is willing to do the hard choices #and shoulder the consequences

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luveline · 8 months

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Hii

Whenever you have time could you please do more single dad!Spencer. It’s just too cute and it really warms my heart how you write it.

tysm ♡ dad!spencer and his daughter amanda find their reunion unexpectedly interrupted when you need a place to stay the night. fem!reader, 3.4k

Spencer doesn't mind how tactile Amanda is. If anything, he loves it, content to have her sitting in his lap or on his hip, anywhere he goes and anywhere she wants to be. He tries to get in as much affectionate time with her as he can when he's home to make up for his days away.

He doesn't like missing her, but he loves coming home. Amy sits on his stomach while Spencer lays on the couch, using his thighs as a backboard while they both fail to pay attention to the kids cartoons on their TV.

"Were you good for Mrs. Gomorrah?" he asks, though he knows she was. He had to live through the agony that was teaching Mrs. Gomorrah how to text on a cell phone he bought for her years ago, but it was worth it to get those incremental updates that he relies on every day to get to the next without catching a flight home.

Amy had pizza

Amy misses you. She said she is kissing you through my phone

Wants a new dress for school party tonight, emergency money OK to use? said she loves you

Aaskkk k k o

Sorry, accidentally texted you, Amanda made dinner tonight [photo]

The text messages help being far away feel less like torture. Spencer loves his job but he wonders if he should love it less, sometimes, when Mrs. Gomorrah remembers how to send photos, or when he can make it back to the hotel before bed time and call Amy.

But here she is in the flesh. Spencer doesn't worry about work when she's holding his hand.

"I was good," she confirms, wiping hair from her face with a blue sleeve. She's in her pyjamas at three thirty. Spencer's in his matching set, blue long sleeve t-shirts with two dogs —a grown up and a puppy, seemingly a dad dog and his daughter— on the shirt and miniature dogs on the pants. "Promise. We did fruit kebabs last night."

Spencer saw photos, but he still says, "Yeah? What fruits did you have? You know, strawberries will be extra yummy again soon because they're back in season."

"We had strawberries, and bananas, and the green one, kiwi." She puts one of her feet up on his chest. He makes wide eyes at it to hear her giggle. "And with chocolate and maple syrup, it was really yummy."

"We should make Tanghulu."

This is a new word for Amy. "Tanghulu?"

"It started with a berry called Chinese hawthorn, but now people use lots of different fruits. You make a fruit kebab, but instead of chocolate, you dip the fruit into hot sugar and it goes hard as it cools like rock candy, and you have good strong teeth, so you could eat it no problem."

"It turns the fruit into candy?" she asks, wiggling her toes.

"Kind of." Spencer covers her foot with his hand unthinkingly. She looks tired already though it's only the afternoon. She gets very tired when Spencer comes home, like she'd been waiting. "Do you want to have a nap with me, sweetpea?"

"No, I don't think so."

Spencer made a mistake when she was younger. He thought leaving while she was sleeping would make it easier to say goodbye. It was for him, but Amy didn't sleep or eat right for days, and Spencer had to come home before the case was over to stop her from making herself sick. They've worked on it, Spencer never ever leaves without saying goodbye, but she still gets scared to sleep when they're together sometimes.

He ushers her forward. "Come here," he says, "quick, give me a hug." She flops forward and Spencer arranges her into a cuddle, hand against her hair, his nose pressed to her forehead. "I missed you."

"Missed you more," she says.

"Not true. I missed you so much."

"Don't go away again for a day," she says.

"I'm staying home for a whole week. Maybe longer, okay? But I promise you, seven whole days no matter what." And he means it. The only thing that could change his mind is a mass murder situation, but otherwise, they'll have to make it work without him. He hates to say that kind of thing, but he has to say it, because Amy is his first priority.

She relaxes into his arms. "Okay."

His phone rings, because of course it does. Amy frowns her displeasure with tears shining silver in her eyes. Spencer shakes his head at her, "I'm not going, Ames. I promised. I won't answer anybody, this week is just going to be me and you."

She glares at the phone and rests her chubby cheek on his chest. Spencer wonders if it's uncomfortable considering his lack of padding and sits up with an arm behind her seatbelting her to his front. "Let's go watch TV in bed."

Her hands grab at the back of his shirt. "Bring your phone, dad," she says.

Spencer kisses the side of her head. "No, I told you already, I'm not going."

"What if Mrs. Gomorrah wants to come for dinner?" she asks, her voice smaller, sleepy. She rubs her face into his front.

It's a good point. Spencer picks up his phone to check if it was her and frowns at the missed call. It's you. You've texted him too.

"It's Y/N," he says.

Amy knows you because whenever he's had to bring her with him (not often, but occasionally on regular work days when there's school reset days), you're very, very kind to her. You're not sure of yourself around kids but it doesn't matter, you let Amy sit with you if she wants to and you always talk to her with care, offer her snacks, anything that you can share.

It's why he calls you back. That, and you're a nice friend.

—

You're feeling about as ashamed and sheepish as a girl can be as you take the elevator up to Spencer's floor. You don't want to impose on anybody, but you'd rather have died than ask Hotch, JJ's taking a vacation in Santa Monica, Penelope's on a conference with Kevin, Emily chose to use her week on an undisclosed trip, and Morgan was similarly off the radar.

And you know Spencer has Amanda, you know they've been apart for longer than they've been together this month, and you hate interrupting their time together, but… you couldn't stay home no matter how badly you wanted to. Stupid landlord. Stupid cockroaches and stupid fumigation tents.

You carry your go bag with nothing but a week's worth of dirty clothes and your wallet. Your phone is about to die and you'd really wanted, more than anything, to crawl into bed and sleep the daytime away.

You've never been to Spencer's apartment despite knowing him well, and liking him more. You knock on the door, apartment 305B. You're dead on your feet at this point, exhausted by the jet ride home, the commute to your apartment, the subsequent ten minutes spent crying on the sidewalk, and the next half hour debating if you could bother Spencer. Maybe you should've got a hotel, but it was already getting late and you just needed something familiar. Selfishly, you needed someone you knew after such a shitty case.

"Hello," Spencer says, opening the door with a familiar girl held in his arms, "don't mind my jacket."

Amy's clearly sleeping, tiny snores echoing from near his neck. It's cute, but it makes you feel much worse. "I'm sorry–"

He doesn't let you apologise, "Are you kidding? What were you gonna do? We're excited to have you." He's kind of talking to you like Amy's still awake, enthusiastic whisper-shouting as he pulls you inside.

"It's just for tonight, I promise. They said I'll be able to back in by evening tomorrow," you say, holding your bag to your chest. You blink at him as you follow him to the kitchen. "Are you wearing matching pyjamas?"

"You came over last minute!" he defends with a laugh.

Spencer opens his hand for your bag and puts it behind a steaming bowl of soup. "Oh, were you guys eating dinner?" you ask.

"No, that's for you. I'm gonna put Amy in bed and then I can do your laundry. Did you need a hug?"

"What?"

Spencer smiles at you. "I thought maybe you're having a bad day." He offers his empty arm and you don't know how to say no, don't want to, careful not to bump into Amy as you curl your arm behind his back. "We're happy to have you. You could stay all week and that would be fine. Did they really give you no warning?"

"I called my landlord and he laughed and then kind of got quiet. I think he forgets that I live there."

Spencer pulls away and puts a hand on Amy's back. She's very slight like Spencer but if she were any older he'd struggle to carry her for as long as he has. You can see the fatigue trembling in his left arm. "It's not legal for him to leave you with nowhere to stay, and without any notice. You could ask Hotch–"

"It's okay." You gesture to Amy's face. "She's getting so big."

"And heavy. Be back in a few. Eat on the couch if you want to."

You wouldn't. Spencer takes Amy into one room off of the main room, and then comes back to grab your laundry before disappearing into another. His apartment is a fun but odd layout, the door leading into a living room slash kitchen with a dining table, then opening out left and right, bedrooms toward the back of the apartment and a bathroom behind. It reminds you of a flower, that central hub of life and the petals curling outward.

You pick up your spoon cautiously. He definitely said the food was for you, but it's so strange to be greeted with a meal, you can't remember the last time someone made sure you had something to eat.

Spencer doesn't attract your attention until he's pulling up a chair next to you with two glasses set on the table. "I put your pyjamas on quick wash. And your, uh, your grey bag."

Your grey bag is a little net bag full of delicates. You try to be adult about it, but it's so super awkward that you end up laughing aloud, "Oh, shit, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother you. I just put the entire bag in, like, intact."

You believe that, but you infer from the tightness of his voice that he's worried you'll think he's weird. Honestly, he's just nice, even if it's awkward. Everybody wears underwear. "That's what it's for," you say.

"Do you think they make those in a bigger size? Amy's vests get tangled sometimes because the straps are skinny, that would be useful."

"I'm sure they do," you say, toying with your spoon. "I… really don't know how to say thank you. I know we're friends, but it's different. To let me stay."

"When I was a kid I didn't have many friends. By high school I didn't have one. So I never got to have sleepovers until Amanda. And she's my best friend, but she's six, so…"

You both laugh suddenly, beaming at one another in your wrinkled, mismatched clothes.

You finish your meal through lighthearted conversation. Spencer takes your dish for the sink and you both move to the couch to watch TV.

Clifford the Big Red Dog plays on mute. "I know you're thrilled to watch something this intellectually tantalising, but maybe we should watch a movie. There's a guide under the cushion," Spencer says.

You dig for the guide but wherever he thinks it is, it isn't.

"Doesn't matter. Mrs. Gomorrah will have one, I'll take her some dinner at the same time. Would you keep your ear on Amy? She might wake up."

He makes a tray for Mrs. Gomorrah, a neighbour and good friend of his. You've met her once when she brought Amy into the office, an Italian-American woman who's black and silver hair bounced when she talked. Beside his mother living in a sanitarium in Nevada, and his small daughter, Mrs. Gomorrah is Spencer's only family. He treats her accordingly.

The washing machine starts to beep a few minutes after he's left. You spring from the couch and track down his washer and dryer, transferring your damp wash into the dryer and frowning at the machine's strange settings.

"Daddy?" a small voice calls. Sharper, unhappy, "Daddy?"

"Amy!" you say, moving from your crouch to stand in the doorway. "Hi, honey! Your dad just went to give Mrs. Gomorrah some dinner."

Amy squints at you. "Miss Y/N?"

"Hi," you say tentatively. "My house is kind of broken for a bit and I asked your dad if I can stay the night." You bend to meet her eyes properly. "Would that be okay with you?"

"Yeah," she says, smiling. "Yeah, please stay. Daddy's friends never come over."

"Did you need something, honey? I can help."

"No… You're sure he's at Mrs. Gomorrah's?"

"Definitely one hundred percent positive. He can't go to work without me, can he?"

Amy shrugs little shoulders. "I guess not."

You can't help laughing at her. With the sound of the dryer bumping behind you, you meet Amy near the dining table and touch her shoulder gently to prompt her toward the couch. She jumps up onto the seat with the most cushions and you sit beside her. You and Spencer never managed to pick a movie, so the kids channel still plays on mute.

"How do you turn it up?" you ask, offering her the remote hopelessly.

Amy sidles against your side and points. You click the small white speaker button, greeted by the barks of another episode of Clifford.

"Is this one okay?" you ask.

"I love Clifford."

It can't be two minutes before she rests her head against your arm, her hand locking over the crook of your elbow.

You're not sure what to do. She's Spencer's kid, so she probably does. "Do you want a cuddle?" you ask her. You'd be happy to give her one, but you don't know what's okay with her.

"Please."

You hang your arm across her shoulders and behind her back, stroking a tentative and short line into her arm, just once. "These are nice pyjamas, Amy. I saw your dad has the same ones." They're soft under your arm. Her hair brushes your wrist as she turns her head to crinkle her nose at you.

"Thank you. Me and dad have all matching pyjamas," she says proudly.

"All?"

"Well, maybe not all. But lots."

She hums and shuffles closer to your chest. It felt odd at first —although Amy has sat in your lap at your desk at work, and even given you a hug on her birthday to say thank you for the books and candies, you're not used to children or the things that they want. But it feels less foreign the longer she sits there, and you find yourself relaxing for the first time that day.

Spencer comes back with a shiny TV Guide Magazine and a bundle of Amy's clothes under his arm. His eyes light up as her head peeks over the back of the couch.

"Sorry, I was just at Mrs. Gomorrah's," he says, quickly putting everything down to take her into his arms.

"I know," Amy says into his shirt.

He kisses her head. You almost miss it, the affection quiet and swift. "Was your nap okay? Or do you need another one?"

"Dad! Y/N's here."

"Y/N doesn't care that you take naps, she takes naps too." Snoozing up against his shoulder with drool running down your chin.

"No, I can't sleep because we're having a slumber party!"

"We are?" he asks.

"But she needs matching jammies."

"Well, I don't have anything matching, but it won't be long for all my clothes to dry. I can wear jammies, then, at least," you assure her, sending Spencer a squinting smile that says, She's the cutest thing on planet Earth.

He smiles back, as if to say, She really is. "Maybe Y/N wants a nap."

Amy's concern lands on you. She climbs out of Spencer's arms, pressing her hand to your shoulder. "Please don't nap, I want to play games."

"I'll play games, babe," you say. "Any game you want."

"Yes! And, and maybe we can make, um–" Puzzled, Amy quirks her mouth into a frown and bounds back to Spencer. He rounds the couch and leans down at her gesturing. "What's it called, the fruit candy?" she whispers.

"From earlier?" he whispers back. "It's tanghulu. Tang-who-loo."

She whispers a sweet thank you, spinning on the spot with her hands held behind her back. "We can make tanghulu, it's fruit kebabs turned to candy! Do you want to?"

Spencer smooths her hair back from her face. "You don't have to," he mouths, already squeezing her arm like he's prepared to talk her down.

"Well, if it's okay with your dad I'd love to."

She gasps happily, jumping down off the sofa to race into the bathroom. "I'll wash my hands!"

Spencer snorts and sits on the couch arm. "Notice how she didn't even ask me?"

"You know that's a good thing." Spencer's probably read every parenting book there is. "She's so smart, Spencer. So smart, it's incredible. You're amazing."

He scratches the collar of his sleep shirt, his curls moving as though woken by a gentle breeze as he nods to one side, "She shows some signs of an eidetic memory. Not like mine, but most children who have eidetic memories don't have them like I do. I can't take the credit for that, you know, beyond genetics."

"Of course you can, someone had to teach her these things for her to remember them. You're never as nice to yourself as you should be, Spence. Everybody knows you're a great dad." You slouch back into the couch. "And I'm not just saying that because you're letting me stay for free."

"There's no version of this situation where I would ever charge you. Thank you, Y/N. Having her by myself has been hard– it's hard. She's easy and I love her and she's better for me than she probably should be." He winces, his talking rushed, like he's listing statistics. "I haven't really been by myself. Mrs. Gomorrah. The team. We've known each other for a year but you act like Amy's family whenever you see her, and that means a lot to me. That's why I'm glad you called. You can always call me if you need help."

"You can always call me," you murmur back.

Spencer bumps your thigh with his knuckles. "I'm glad we're friends. Are you sure you're not too tired? Tanghulu isn't easy if you've never made it."

"Says who?"

"East Asian Eating, issue 78. We have to find the sugar, water, glucose syrup sweet spot or the candy doesn't harden."

"We can do it. You're the smartest guy I know, and I've been known to be resourceful. Plus, we have a world class assistant."

Spencer stands up and offers you his hand to help you come with him, his fingers brushing yours for a moment that seems to stretch for minutes. "Just curious," he says softly, to your heart's clear delight, "when was your last check up at the dentist?"

Right. He isn't about to tell you something you want to hear. This is Spencer —you should've guessed an odd question was on the horizon.

"I'll have to think about it," you say.

Amy bounds out of the bathroom and paints a trail of water droplets from the table to the kitchen. "He thinks you have weak teeth!" she explains.

"That is not what I think."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #dad!spencer reid

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peachesofteal · 1 year

Text

First Sight

Chapter 1 of 2. Part five of the Sassy series. Reblogs, comments, likes, interactions, etc are cherished by me. 🖤

Simon Riley/female reader 5.9k words - AO3

Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI, pregnant reader, PTSD, thigh riding, Simon talks you through it, praise kink, explicit sex, jealousy, possessive Simon, angst, tenderness, mentions of blood and violence, nightmares, childbirth, medical procedures, Simon is bad at feelings; Simon is learning how to have his feelings. Simon has felt this before.

“And you are?”

“I’m her… I’m the baby’s father. We had her information updated two weeks ago, at the office. I’m listed as her emergency contact.” The doctor looks skeptical but taps a few keys on her laptop before she glances back to him.

“Last name?”

“Riley.”

“Sorry, Mr. Riley. She’s been my patient for nearly seven months, and I’ve never seen or heard of you.” Bloody hell. His jaw clenches together so hard he thinks his teeth might shatter.

“I’ve been overseas.” The lights and sounds are scratching under his skin, making him tense, priming him for a fight. “I came in on the ambulance with her... I have to be with her. She can’t be alone when she wakes up. She’ll be scared. She won’t… she has P-.”

“I am aware of her history.” The doctor snipes and his fist tightens, tendons curling until his hand becomes a weapon, not thing the of comfort it was a mere ten minutes ago.

“Look. I’m on her list. So you can let me back there or-“ She holds her hand up to silence him and the vein in his forehead pulses.

“I’ve already paged a tech to bring you to her room, Mr. Riley. It’s just going to be a few minutes.” She gives him a reproachful look before she says something about coming by to check on you shortly, and he lets out a long breath.

You’re somewhere else. Your eyes are trained on the e-reader in your hand, but they’re not moving across the screen. You’re not blinking. Your breathing is even, and deep, but your fingers are fisted in the blanket, and your gaze is burning a hole through the bed, through the floor, possibly right down to the core of the earth.

It makes Simon nervous.

Not because he is afraid of your PTSD.

He is afraid of you slipping away. Sometimes, you leave and come back a different girl, the guarded one, the one that hasn’t tried to forgive him, the one who is reliving the pain he caused her every second. The one who takes your place when you disappear right in front of him, who’s memories burn too bright.

He knows he may never be fully absolved in your mind, but you still show him mercy. You still let him in, still let him have you, except in the moments when you fall through his fingers like tiny grains of sand. Those moments may have been earned, but it doesn’t make their sting any less painful, and he struggles in throes of them.

“Sass?” He calls, cautiously, reaching for where your hand is clenched. His fingers graze the sheets, the softness of the fabric much like your skin. They must be expensive, he figures, the cotton luxurious against the rough scrape of his palm. He thinks he likes the color, the soft green that matches the chair and the trim in the baby’s room. “Glacial green,” you correct him every time he calls it light green, or blue green, or pea soup. It’s a natural tone, earthy, and you seem to gravitate towards it, always telling him you think the color is ‘soothing’ or ‘calming’. You have a few shirts and sweaters in the same palette too, and an old, faded sweatshirt that you used to wear when you were with the 141, worn out lettering stitched across the chest. It was too big for you then, always drooping below the flare of your hips, the hem stretched out and curled. Now, it pulls snugly across your middle while you lay in bed beside him, where the e-reader sits in your dainty fingers. He doesn’t know how you’ve done it, keep your fingers so velvet and smooth, even after your years in the desert. “Sass.” He tries again, louder, squeezing with the lightest bit of pressure until you blink.

“I’m here.”

“I know.” You turn your face up towards him with a sleepy smile, and he reaches for you without hesitation. “Tired?” He murmurs into your hair, your nose just slightly smashed into his neck.

“Mmm. Yeah, sleep sounds nice.” He finds the light easily, pulling the room into darkness with a flick of the chain, and returns to press his face to yours before succumbing to the pull of sleep.

“I mean, did you get a good look at her?”

“Shit. I’d bury my face in that ass. EOD is air force, right? Think she’s got a landing strip?”

“Dunno but I’d be coming in for a landing all the time if she was on my squad.” The table of privates laugh to each other, and Simon’s fingers curl around the bottom of the beer bottle in front of him. He briefly considers, for a moment, if Price would dismiss him if he broke it over one of their heads and then used the shards to slit the rest of their throats. Bleed ‘em out right there on the table.

He shifts on the stool. Johnny gives him a skeptical look. One of them, says something else. Sounds a little like ‘tight’ and ‘pussy’ strung together. Another one snickers.

He’s on his feet behind them before anyone realizes. The low drone of rage pressurizes inside his skull.

“Want to share what’s so funny, private?” The table falls silent immediately, all of them staring up at him, dumbfounded.

“N-nothing’s funny, sir.”

“Ya sure about that?” Johnny chimes in before Simon can say anything.

“The bomb tech, we were just… appreciating her. Saying how nice it must be nice, having something like that to look at all the time.” Simon can feel the heat of Johnny’s gaze on the nape of his neck.

“The bomb tech outranks you, private. You will address her as Sergeant.”

“Y- yes, sir.”

When he gets back to the base and little house the 141 is crammed into, you’re already asleep in your room. Sprawled across the shitty thin mattress, your shirt rucked up around your stomach, little boyshorts riding the curve of your hips. The scar from Belize is still shiny across your ribs, peachy and puckered. The sight of you safe and sleeping soothes the raw buzzing of anger in the back of his head.

His girl. His.

He’s already got his hands all over you by the time he gets his boots off, and you shift a little when he presses his face into the top of your ass.

“Simon?” you mumble. “Y’okay?” Simon, Simon, Simon. It’s always Simon with you now. You’re constantly stripping him bare with it, and he doesn’t even know your name.

He teases a hand across your skin, over the scar and up under the peak of your breast to your nipple, where he rolls the already hardening bud between his fingers. You shudder with a moan, shoulders twisting to turn yourself on your back, but he stops you. His teeth find the swell of your ass, and he sinks them deep. You squeak.

“Can you hold still?” He says, your body answering for you with a shiver. The bite woke you sharply, and you watch him out of the corner of your eye.

He pulls the underwear down your legs until they disappear, and then sinks his fingers into your cheeks. The glisten of your cunt shimmers, already wet, already waiting for him.

“Scoot back, sweet girl. Up on your knees.” You do as he says, shimmying down until you’re pressing against his thigh, clit ghosting against the fabric of his jeans, just barely. Your hips are shifting, slowly, and he knows you’re trying to get just a little bit more friction. He leans over you, gloved hand in your hair. “Now be good for me and rub your desperate little clit on my leg until you come.” You shake your head no and he rears back, pulling off his shirt and gloves, leaving the mask and his jeans the only thing on his body. He slaps you across your ass, just hard enough to watch the skin turn under his palm, and you jolt with a moan, cunt pushing back against his leg. “Do you want me to give you my cock, Sass?” you nod frantically. “Then ride my thigh until you’re coming on it.” The curve of a smile, a smirk, pushes at your cheek, and you start to move your hips, slowly at first, and then fevered, chasing your high while he watches. “That’s my girl, just like that.”

You start to jerk erratically, your face screwing up into the little pout and he knows you’re close. “You going to come Sass?” You mewl pathetically, mouth making desperate sounds and he watches you rub yourself all over him. “Sweet girl. That’s it, just a little more. There you go.” Your gasps reach a fever pitch, and he groans. “Ride it out, good girl. Come all over me.” His jeans are smeared with you, but he praises you, telling you how good you were, how much he likes that you made a mess on him. Once you come down from it, he strips and presses himself along your back, rucking the balaclava up to his nose to pull the skin beneath your ear between his teeth. He wants to mark you, hard. Leave an impression of himself on your body, brand you down to your bones. Tomorrow, when those fuckwit privates line up for brief, he wants them to know.

He sinks into you as deep as he can, little noises coming from your mouth as he splits you open on his cock, your cunt so tight it feels like it’s choking him.

“Si-Simon.” It’s his name, again. You’re flaying him alive with it. When you say it, it feels like he’s not wearing the mask, it feels like he is Simon, and not Ghost. He’s becoming addicted to it, consumed by it. It makes his head foggy, makes him do things that he’s never done, like approach a table of infantry and scare them out of running their mouths, or mark you like you belong to him. You cloud his judgement. You make him want things, things he doesn’t deserve, things he could never have. You make him soft, and desperate, and when you turn and look over your shoulder as he slams himself to the hilt, your gaze burns into him like you’re seeing him. Like you know.

“Please, don’t.” Your voice breaks as you beg, clutching the baby to your chest. Your face is bruised, nose probably broken, and tears stream down your cheeks. You’re trembling, eyes desperate as you plead. “Simon. Simon, get up. Please, get up.” He tries, but he can’t. He is beaten. His body is broken, bones shattered, organs bleeding out slowly inside him. The cool metal kiss of a barrel presses to your temple and you scream at him, for him, he’s not sure anymore. “SIMON GET UP.” His body weighs a thousand pounds, and cannot lift himself to help you, to save either of you. The gun cocks, and you close your eyes right before the finger on the trigger moves, the bang echoing across the room and your-

He jerks awake, immediately seeking the warmth of your body next to him in bed. When he feels you, his chest loosens, and you shift onto your side, cracking an eye open.

“Hey.” Your voice is thick with sleep, but still sweet as honey, and he takes your hand in his. Your pulse flutters under his palm. Strong. Stable.

“Hey.”

“Nightmare?” He nods.

“Go back to sleep.” You roll your eyes, flicking on the light that sits at your bedside table.

“I’ve been sleeping forever, I am practically sleeping beauty at this point.” You stroke through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. “Wanna talk about it?” you whisper, and he shakes his head. Yeah, Sass. Want to hear all about how I keep dreaming of your bloody corpse? Or about how I keep seeing you and our son being murdered right in front of me, over and over and I’m powerless to stop it? That’ll do real well for your stress level. Instead, he smooths his hand over the swell of your belly, where the baby sleeps, warm and protected, safe from everything out here that might hurt him. “You promised.” You needle, and the slight push is all that’s needed to relent.

“I keep… dreaming of you dying. Or being killed, in front of me. You and the baby.” You sit up a little and he immediately pulls the second pillow down behind the small of your back for support.

“Dying how?” He swallows.

“Someone’s holdin’ a gun to your head and you’re begging me to save you, but I can’t. I’m lying on the floor, bleeding out.”

“Sounds pretty scary.” There are a lot of things, that he hasn’t found the courage to say out loud to you yet. Promises and pledges, thoughts about being grateful and feelings of adoration. He wants to tell you how much he appreciates that you listen to him, that you validate him, but the words never come out, so he presses a kiss to your forehead before sliding down so his head is resting on the side of your belly.

The memory of the dream skips across the forefront of his mind, and he can still see you lying in a pool of blood, little boy lifeless in your arms. The blood, that looks just like the blood that covered the walls and the floor of his family’s house. His mom’s blood. Tommy and Beth’s. Joseph’s. The blood, that looks just the same as it did when he found you unconscious a few weeks ago, smells the same as when it poured out of the wound in your stomach in Belize. The blood, the blood, the-

“Simon.” He doesn’t even realize he’s breathing harshly until he hears you saying his name. “Hey, Si. Simon, it’s alright.” You stroke up and down his arm, tracing a faded pattern in his sleeve. “You’re here, in my house. In my bed. With me. There is no danger.”

“With you.”

“With me. And the baby. We’re here, together. We’re safe.” He turns his head, pressing his ear to your skin. Swoosh swoosh swoosh. The heartbeat soothes the frayed edges of his nerves, and the two of you sit just like that for a while, content. “Shit.” You groan, the sound a low whisper, and anxiously rub your belly. He waits for what he knows is coming, the pure, sweet melody that you hum when you try to settle the baby. The once guilty pleasure, when he would stand just out of sight so he could hear it, is now a full indulgence, as he’s able to lay beside you and rub circles into your skin while you hum softly.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, you gasp in surprise.

“Sass? What is it?”

“I… I think I peed myself.”

“Hey!” No. How did you find him so fast? “Simon, wait.” When you say his name, it jams into his brain, scrambling the signal, and forcing his steps to falter. It’s just enough for you to catch him. “Look. I know you’re mad. I know I fucked up.” You’re breathing heavily, probably from sprinting down the row of tents that he had ducked past, and you push your hands out in front of you like you’re trying to cage him in. “But I made sure Gaz was alright, and I still had a job to do! Those charges were my priority, I wouldn’t have split up otherwise. Simon, I understand-“ He cuts you off swiftly.

“You can address me by my call sign, Sergeant.” You startle. He looks away, looks anywhere else but your face, where your gaze waits to peel him open.

“What?”

“You will address me as Ghost, or Lieutenant.”

You’re guarded now, expression wary, but there’s still something hopeful in your eyes, something that’s calling him home to you.

He has to get away. Now.

You take an uneasy step forward, hand extended like you’re going to touch him.

“Simon.” You whisper.

He steps back.

Your face falls.

He’s tactical about it. The bag, the extra pillow, your shoes. A phone charger, the collection of snacks you’ve been hoarding recently, like a dragon hoards their gold. He remembers everything.

Almost everything.

His phone rings when he’s buckling his seatbelt.

“So, should I like, call an uber or are you going to help me get in the truck?” Bloody hell. He nearly beats his head against the steering wheel before he’s unbuckling and running towards the door. You’re standing in the living room, hands on your hips, unimpressed, with a hint of a smile on your lips.

“I’m sorry, I-“ you wave him off, reaching for his arm.

“Come on, you gotta boost me up.”

His eyes dart back and forth from the road, to where you sit, stone-faced in the passenger seat. You’ve been quiet since he pulled out of the driveway, the silence an uneasy thing that rests heavily between the two of you, and he reaches for your hand that lays limp on the seat.

“How’s the pain?”

“Not too bad.” You’re chewing on your lip, still lost in thought for a moment before you speak again. “Simon. If something happens…” his blood freezes.

“Nothing is going to happen.”

“We’ve never discussed it though. What to do if something goes wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Something has already gone wrong. Everything has gone wrong. It can’t get worse. It can’t.

“Well, if there are complications and we have to choose…” He almost pulls the truck over, his heart seizing in his chest like he’s been electrocuted. A million scenarios slam through his brain at record speed, flipping open in front of him like a picture book. Everything he’s imagined before, but worse. This time, it’s not mercs, or a stray bullet, or shadowed government assassins that take you away from him, but your own body, or a doctor, or-

No. He would not be without you if there was a choice. Not again.

“There is no choice, Sass.” His voice is gruff, and you palm your belly with a gulp. “We… I, would choose you. A million times. A million and one. There is no other choice… for me.”

“Okay.” You whisper. A tear rolls down your cheek before it’s hastily wiped away, and you turn to him with wide eyes.

“Okay.” He echoes, taking your hand in his.

You almost died. You almost died, and he wasn’t there. Johnny almost died, and you almost died, and he can’t stop thinking about the two of you wandering around trying to find the 141, trying to escape without a weapon, or comms, or anything. He can’t stop thinking about how vulnerable you were, how close you came to being dead. Being gone. Like everyone else. Like his family.

The feeling fills his body with ice. It paralyzes him before panic seizes his nervous system, pouring fear into every synapse flitting through his brain.

His family. You could have been lost, like his family.

He barges through the door of the office, eyes wild behind the mask.

“I need her gone.” Price looks up at him, perplexed.

“Who?”

“Sass. Transfer her. Put her on leave. Anything.”

“What are you on about?”

“I can’t… I can’t have her here. She’s fuckin’ with my head.” His chest feels tight, like there’s a thousand pounds sitting on his ribcage. It’s terror that is pumping through his veins right now, unbridled, and raw, threatening to wreck him where he stands.

“Ghost, calm down.”

“I can’t!” It’s practically a shout. He’s losing it. The empty echo of the dead radio replays over and over in his head. The image of Johnny, bleeding out, slumped against your small frame, the panic on your face, the two of you covered in blood loops repeatedly every time he closes his eyes. It melts into the memories of finding his family dead and then twists together, over and over until he thinks he might be hallucinating.

“Tell me what’s going on.” Price is standing now, voice calm, gesturing to the other chair. He’s not a loose cannon, not anymore, but it’s been a long time since he’s raised his voice at the captain. Guilt swells inside him.

“I’m fuckin’ her.” He paces in front of Price’s desk. “And it’s… She’s messing me up. Can’t think clearly.”

“You’re what now?”

“I’ve never… I’ve never asked you for anything-”

“Simon-“

“and I know this is unfair. She’s great at her job, Price I know that. But I have the seniority. And I need ya to do this for me.”

“I can’t just dismiss her. I brought her here, asked her myself.” He grits his teeth.

“Price… she….” His lungs are screaming now, his breath coming in short gasps but there’s no oxygen in this room. “It’s not… I can’t. It’s not safe.”

“Simon, sit down.” It’s an order, and he complies, slumping into the chair and cradling his head in his hands. “Now. Start from the beginning.”

“I know you’re disappointed.”

“You said I would be able to try.” You doctor is sitting on a chair at your bedside, across from Simon. She’s wearing a very serious expression, and you’re wearing your ‘don’t fuck with me face’, the one he’s seen time and time again, before and during ops. You open your mouth to argue with her again, but a contraction steals your breath, your nails sinking into his skin like tiny razorblades.

“Just breathe.” He soothes, stroking over the crown of your head until you fall back onto your pillow, tense lines of your forehead relaxing as your eyes close.

“If the placenta separates any further from the wall of the uterus during the rest of your labor, it could be life threatening for both you and the baby.” She doesn’t handle you with kid gloves, and you lift a lid to glare at her. He swallows the chuckle in his throat. Surefire way to catch a fist in the jaw.

“Fine.” The word is hissed through clenched teeth, and she pats your hand reassuringly.

“They’ll be some paperwork to sign, and then we’ll get you prepped. Nothing to eat or drink in the last six hours, right?”

“I’ve been in labor for the last seven and a half hours, so no.” you deadpan, before looking longingly over to your bag of snacks. The doctor glances at him with a gentle smile.

“Mr. Riley, you’ll need to change, we can… hopefully, provide you with scrubs that fit. We’ll also give you a surgical mask, and a cap. Sound good?” He nods in thanks as she leaves, and he turns back to you, pulling the mask down to his chin to rest his cheek against your palm. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“You’re not gonna pass out in there, right?”

“Me?”

“Well, they are going to pull my guts out.” What? You giggle, just a little, and heave a sigh. “But seriously. Don’t faint. I don’t think they have gurneys big enough for you.”

“I’ve seen plenty of guts, Sass.”

“Yeah…but not mine.”

Price announces his presence with a knock. “Heli’s almost here.” Simon says nothing. His elbows dig into his knees, fingers rolling the elastic band between his thumb and forefinger, strands of your hair wrapping around and around the tie until they become tight, little strings that make indentations. “Ghost.” He knows what Price wants. What he wants to hear. He still says nothing. “I did this for you against my better judgement.” Price says, like he doesn’t already know. When Simon looks at him, he sees the weight of their decision. The shame. The guilt. And he feels it, too. “You should say goodbye, Simon.”

His voice is rough, on the verge of a scream, or something worse when he finally speaks.

“I can’t.”

“So, when you get in the room, you’ll notice she’s lying on a table, and there’s a drape that’s a visual barrier between her chest and the rest of her body.” The nurse, the super friendly one that you said you liked, is talking him through what’s happening while he walks down the hallway next to her. Her shoes squeak a little bit against the linoleum, and he focuses on the pattern of the sound. Step squeak, step squeak, step- “Now, she can’t feel anything, but C-sections can be nerve-wracking, and she got a little anxious when we got into the OR.” He nods. Of course you’re nervous. You’re strapped to a table where they’re about to cut a hole in your abdomen. “She’s asked for you a few times, I promised I’d deliver.” She gives him a wink and pushes open a door. “Here he is!” She calls cheerily, and you turn to look, eyes finding his within a second, like always.

“Simon.” You wiggle your fingers towards him, and he wastes no time, sitting in the chair that the nurse pointed to and bringing your hand to the mask, right where his lips are.

“Hi sweet girl. You alright?” You nod.

“I think I’m a little high.”

“She had just a bit of midazolam, for the nerves.” Your doctor says from the other side of the drape.

“That’s alright.” He smoothes some hair from your face and tries to remember to breathe. Everything about this room sets him on the edge, and there’s a live wire running through his bones, all the way down to where his hand holds yours. There are too many people, too many lights, machines, and his skin is crawling, the desire to snatch you from the table and disappear down the hall repeating in the back of his mind, again and again. He can’t stop thinking about what could go wrong, terrible scenarios that leave you dead or the baby dead, or both. They push and pull at the logical side of his brain, fighting to get through, desperate to derail him, insistent and-

You smile up at him, all sweet, a little daft from the drugs, and everything feels quiet again. The tension between his shoulder blades lets out like air from a balloon, fast and easy.

“You ready?” He thumbs at a tear escaping from the corner of your eye. You’re looking at him, looking beneath the mask, kicking and tearing past the pieces of Ghost until you strike true, until you reach Simon. You always do.

He pushes his forehead against yours, and breathes you in, the stench of sterile hospital and all.

“Yeah, Sass. I’m ready.”

He’s pulling the balaclava back over his face when you bust through the door and ram right into him. He recoils, the reaction second nature, and his eyes find yours in the little bathroom mirror immediately. You step away, the room stretching too big all the sudden, the distance between his body and yours too far, and his brain stumbles over the realization. Something stutters in his chest, his breath catching when he looks at you, watching as you flail before you look away.

“Shit! Fuck. Sorry.” You glance at the wall, then the floor, then turn to run before he figures out how to make his mouth work.

“You’re alright, Sass. I’m finished.” You’re standing half in the hall, half in the bathroom, bleeding, and something twists in his gut. Blood and injury are not uncommon in the 141, but he’s surprised at how unsettled he feels when he sees the trickle of red on your shoulder.

“Get that cleaned up.” It comes out rough, like an order, and your throat bobs with a swallow.

“Okay a little bit of pressure and then you’re going to feel a lot of relief.” The doctor says and you nod, fingers pressed into his palm.

“Simon.” Your voice wavers.

“I’m right here. I got you.” He keeps his eyes trained on yours, willing himself to get lost in the hue of your irises, tuning out everything else in the room until-

A baby cries.

“Congratulations mom and dad!” Someone calls and the room spins. Mom and dad.

“Can I see him?” your fingers are still entrenched in his, the words watery and light.

“Breath sounds are good.” A voice says, and then there’s a squalling baby next to him. A baby. Your baby. His.

“Oh. Oh.” You’re in shock, he thinks. He’s not sure, because he might be too, and he blinks rapidly as you place a few fingers on the baby’s cheek. “Hi, Theo.” You coo and cry, smiling through the tears that dot your face. The nurse says something to you, and then she places the baby on your chest, where you cradle him with your other arm, pulling Simon’s hand up towards Theo’s back for support, holding it against his skin. You glance up at him for a second, teary happiness morphing into concern, and then back before your finger lifts from Theo’s cheek to his, swiping along his cheekbone. He presses your palm to his face with his free hand, over the mask, and closes his eyes for a second.

When you pull away, your fingers shimmer under the white lights of the operating room, and the tips of them shine with something wet.

His tears.

“I don’t see cabbage. What about romaine?”

“No. It has to be cabbage. Or kale! But I really prefer cabbage, and so does your kid, you know. Romaine is totally different.” You babble, and he stares at the heads of green leafed things underneath the misters, eyes scanning for the label that says cabbage.

“I don’t see any cabbage, Sass.” A woman who’s inspecting a shiny red pepper a few feet away from him looks over, curiously.

“It’s a staple food, Si. It never sells out; it has to be there.”

“It’s not.”

“Ask someone.” Irritation is bleeding into your voice now, and the idea of approaching a store employee makes his skin itch. Maybe he can just buy the romaine and ask for forgiveness, or go to a different supermarket. It’s not quite midnight yet, something else could be open.

The woman inspecting the peppers has sidled closer to him, close enough that he can see her face turned upwards towards his, eyes studying the balaclava before she clears her throat.

“Excuse me?” He turns, eyes narrowed.

“Who is that?” your voice rings through the speaker. “Is that a woman? Ask her where the cabbage is!” He pulls the phone away from his ear and blinks down at her.

“The cabbage is up here.” She says politely, pointing to the top row of light green, rounded vegetables. Nearly in front of his face.

“Thanks.” He says roughly, but she smiles at him all the same, while you call his name over and over on the phone. “I got it.”

“Yes! Oh my god thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Bloody lucky I love you.”

The line is silent. His heart lurches, thundering into a frantic beat that thrums through his entire body. His limbs feel numb, and he doesn’t say anything else, just holds his breath. He can hear you breathing, just barely, through the phone, but it sounds like you’re trying to hold your breath, too. Like you’re listening for him.

“Simon-“

“I still gotta get the potatoes. See you in a bit.” The line goes dead.

“Okay, sit here.” The nurse instructs and he forces his legs to move, makes his knees bend so he can lower himself in the chair. He can’t look away from what she’s holding in her arms, the infant, the baby that is his and yours. His kid. “Skin to skin is very important for newborns. It helps regulate their heartbeat and breathing and can help maintain their temperature.” She continues, motioning for him to relax against the backrest.

“Skin to skin?”

“Yes. You’ll need to take off your shirt.” He shakes his head. He can’t do this. You should be doing this. You’re his mother. He’s… he’s not you. Theo won’t want him, he’ll want you. He- “Mr. Riley? You don’t have to, but while we wait for her to get back, it’s a good opportunity for it.”

“What do I do?” The idea of holding Theo to his scarred chest makes him feel sick.

“Once you take off your shirt, I’ll put Theo in your arms and cover you both with a blanket.”

“I don’t think…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll show you how to hold him if that’s what you’re worried about.” Theo cries out, a sharp, shrill sound that draws her attention downwards before she looks back up at him with an expectant expression. Skin to skin is very important for newborns. He knows you would want him to do this. He knows that you would understand too, if it was too much, if he felt too exposed. But it’s important. Theo needs this. He needs… his dad.

He pulls the scrub top over his head, careful to keep the mask in place, and leans back slowly against the chair.

“You’re going to support his head just like this-“ she moves him into the crook of his elbow, positioning his little legs and arms so that he’s laying flush against his chest. “and his body will just rest right here in this space… and there you go.” Simon doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t move, he can hardly think. He doesn’t even feel her place a blanket over his body, curling it beneath where he cradles the baby. All he can see is Theo in his arms, so tiny, his eyes scrunched shut and small hand curled into a fist.

The lights in the room go dim, and he looks up, realizing that the nurse is by the door. “I’m going to give you some privacy. They should be finishing up with mom soon but there’s a button right there, next to the bed. The red one. Press it if you need anything and one of us will be here right away. Okay?” She gives him another encouraging smile and he nods.

“Okay.” When the door clicks shut, he finally lets out the shakiest breath of his life and reaches up to pull the surgical mask from his face. Theo’s eyes aren’t open, but his chest rises and falls, soothing some of the fear that has a grip on his heart. He gently touches Theo’s hand, and his tiny fingers curl around Simon’s giant one. He gets lost, staring down at the small boy. Looking at every single feature, his ears, his nose, the bow of his lips. He tries to memorize it all, the way the tuft of his hair sits, the creases of his skin around his elbows and knees, the soft pant of his breath. It fills him with emotion, so much he’s afraid it might overwhelm him, bury him beneath its weight. He knows this feeling, has felt it grow inside him since the very first day he laid eyes on you. Has watched it fight through a forest of dark and snarled roots, cutting and biting away at the things that have died and festered inside him. He knows it better than he knows himself now, knows the truth, cannot deny this knowledge that he would lay down and die for you, for Theo. He understands the pure terror that has blazed within him since that day in Belize, and he knows that he would spend the rest of his life, waiting in agony with bated breath, just to kiss you once more, or hold his child in his arms.

It terrifies him, but he knows its name.

He knows it’s love.

Simon leans down and brushes his lips across his son’s forehead, gentle and light, before murmuring to him as softly as he can manage.

“Hey, Theo. I’m your dad."

The next fic in this series is here.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #female reader #sassy series #simon riley #pregnant reader #simon riley x you #cod mw22 fanfiction #cod fanfic #tw pregnancy #peaches writes #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x female reader #dad Simon Riley

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andysorbit · 1 year

Text

1 Corinthians 6:19 (M)

Church boy!Doyoung x church girl!reader Minors, fuck outta here Warnings: corruption?, some bible verses, Siwon is an asshole, unprotected sex, oral sex, fingering, light dirty talk, daddy kink, spanking, choking, overstimulation Is this blasphemy??? Idk sorry to those who are religious? I mean if you're reading this then... ya know.

Word count: 7.2k?? I know it's a lot

"He's not gonna take the bait. He's got a crucifix up his ass," Jaemin says and rolls his eyes.

The church basement is quiet and one thing you've all learned from being in this... Holy Place... is how to successfully whisper in a room so quiet that even Hellen Keller could hear a mouse piss on cotton.

Joy leans in closer but never takes her eyes away from her Bible, "Y/n, he's not interested. You need to learn to quit while you're ahead. Siwon has him on a leash," she mutters.

"No, Jesus has him on a leash," Jaemin counters.

You pretend you don't hear them and turn back to Kun, "You got his cousin to give you a chance. He can't be that much different."

Kun looks across at Joy and smirks, "Don't say it like that... you sound like I used her," he mumbles.

Joy chuckles softly, "You were using me. You just didn't bank on getting used."

"And that's why I love you," he sighs.

Joy shakes her head, "You think you love me."

Your eyes wander back over to Doyoung's face and you watch him closely.

Sunday school is over for the day and you're all left to prepare for next week's lesson.

It's the same ritualistic pattern that’s posted on a bulletin board in Pastor Siwon's obsurdly perfect writing:

Sunday Schedule

Sunday school must begin at 8 AM and end by no later than 8:50 AM.

Breakfast/refreshments to be served from 8:55 AM to 9:15 AM.

Sunday school instructors are to work on next week's lesson from 9:00 AM to 9:45 AM

Everyone must be upstairs and seated in the sanctuary by 9:55 AM

Siwon's a bitch.

He hates women, gay people, and anyone he can't use God to manipulate. He also hates his brother Doyoung.

Siwon's father wanted Doyoung to lead the church in the event that he were to suddenly die. It was a discussion that had been talked about for years.

Nobody paid it much attention until, of course, their father did suddenly die.

The entire church- including Siwon's own wife- voted for Doyoung to lead but Doyoung, being an obedient little brother, declined.

"I'm just happy to be here and serve God with you all. Siwon hyung is more equipped to lead you than I am and I'm more than happy to continue teaching Sunday school with the little ones. If leading a church is my calling, our Savior will make me ready for that day but until then, let's just praise Him and do our best to show His glory."

That day, you were more than a little disappointed to say the least. You knew he'd look good in a clergy robe but here he is, still teaching the little ones.

Doyoung instructs the preschoolers, Kun instructs grades one through three, Jaemin instructs grades four through six, Joy instructs grades seven through nine, and you teach grades ten through twelve.

You don't enjoy it but you do it. You don't enjoy this church but you still come. Not because you feel obligated but because you don't want your funds cut.

None of you do.

Doyoung is the only one who still comes to church willingly, he prays with fervency, and cries during worship.

Sometimes, you wonder if he cries because he really feels God's presence or if that's his subconscious pleading for release from the Holy sunken place.

"I have to teach the kids about abstinence. I hate that," Joy mutters and snaps you out of your trance.

"Because you're a godless whore?" Jaemin laughs quietly.

Surprisingly, she nods, "I feel like a hypocrite."

"But you're not," You tell her. She smiles at you appreciatively.

"Ask Doyoung to help you. He's read the whole fuckin' Bible cover to cover four times already." Jaemin says.

You perk up when you hear Doyoung's folding chair softly drag across the concrete floor.

"Thirsty ass," Jaemin Snickers.

"Shut the fuck up," You hiss and drop your eyes back down to your Bible.

"Ask him for me, Y/n," Joy whispers.

"Hey, Doyoung?" You say as you close your Bible.

The room feels even hotter and you lock eyes with him.

He gives you the warmest smile, "Yes, Y/n?"

"Joy has to teach about abstinence and she needs help but she's not sure how to ask you. She's awkward about it," You tell him.

He smiles and nods at you then looks over at Joy, "You're such a jelly belly, Joy," He glances at the clock behind you, "Well, we have ten minutes. I finished early so I can help you."

He sits down in the empty chair beside yours and opens his Bible,

"I really like first Corinthians chapter six verse... nineteen. It.. speaks on how our bodies are temples and how they belong to God. I think that's a good way to start the conversation. You have to remember, Joy, your job is scratch the surface. They'll have a deeper discussion with their parents. You really don't wanna cross that boundary,"

Joy nods. This is her first go round with Sunday school. Yeri used to teach it but she just disappeared one day. There were rumors that she had gotten pregnant and that's why she stopped coming with her parents.

It's none of your business, though.

You sit and listen to him explain things so happily. His eyes light up and for a moment, you wish you were God just so he could make your own name sound so beautiful.

"I hope I was able to help you with this. If you need any help, don't be scared to ask. I'm here as much as I can be. Closed mouths can't get fed," Doyoung says warmly.

Jaemin snorts and masks it with a cough, "Sorry," he whispers.

Everyone gets up and Doyoung softly touches your arm, "Can I talk to guys before we go up?" he asks. You nod and watch as your friends glance at each other with befuddled expressions.

"Why don't you guys like me?" he asks and you feel your heart break.

"What? Who said that? Doyoung, who said that to you?" You ask him softly.

"My brother did. He said that... you guys talk about me behind my back and- I just wanna know what I did. I haven't made you feel uncomfortable, have I?" he searches your face for an answer and you can't believe he thinks that.

"Doyoung, we thought you didn't like us. You never sit with us and we thought you just preferred your own company," Kun says apologetically.

"I'm sorry. I- we never meant to make you feel that way. Especially me. We would love it if you sat with us," You say eagerly.

"Oh, yeah. Especially her," Jaemin agrees. You whip your head around to glare at Jaemin and he throws his hands up in concession.

You turn back to Doyoung and he smiles, "I know I can be a little closed off sometimes. Please don't hold it against me," he chuckles.

"It's no problem. We know you mean well," Jaemin says with a tight smile.

He's always been a bit stand-offish with Doyoung. How Siwon could have such a good brother perplexes him.

Doyoung smiles, "Okay. Next Sunday, I'm with you guys."

You nod, "I'm looking forward to it!"

Your week is slow and you're actually excited to be going to church. You pick Jaemin up on your way and he smokes as you drive.

"This shit better be aired out before we get there," You tell him.

He shrugs, "You say that every Sunday. Has it ever not been aired out?"

"Got me there," You concede.

Jaemin tosses his cigarette out the window at the red light. As you turn the block and into the parking lot, you see Doyoung get out of his car.

As always, he's neat and casual; opting for his usual solid-colored slacks and polo shirt. He looks so good.

"As much as I hate to say this, you're gonna have to stop picking me up if you're gonna get him to nail you to a cross," Jaemin says as you're parking your car.

"I hope you get lung cancer," You sigh.

Jaemin laughs, "You don't mean that."

When you get out, you see Doyoung leaning against his car.

He's waiting for you.

"Good morning!" he cheers.

"Good morning," You say back.

Jaemin gives him a wave, "He's trying to figure us out," he murmurs.

"Then stop cockblocking," You mumble back.

"I'm gonna head in. I have to help the kids with a few things. Thanks for the ride, Y/n," Jaemin says.

Doyoung squeezes his Bible and looks over at you, "So you never need any help with Sunday school. How is it?" He asks.

"It's good. The kids are great. Yeri took good care of them before they graduated," You tell him.

He nods, "Hey... uh... I was wondering if you wanted to um... go with me to the church picnic next month? Siwon's been..." he trails off because he's obviously trying not to badmouth his brother.

"Nagging you?" You ask quietly.

He freezes like a startled rabbit then nods, "Yeah," he whispers.

"You don't have to be married until you're ready. Besides... I'm not marrying you," You laugh.

Doyoung laughs too, "You know how he is... why he married Taeyeon and all that," he sighs.

"He just wanted a piece of ass and didn't wanna burn in hell for it?" You blurt out.

Doyoung, surprisingly, bursts out laughing, "Is he that obvious?" he says with an exasperated smile.

He's so handsome.

"Yeah," You say, "He is."

Sunday school is mundane as usual and when it's over, Doyoung comes to sit with you. Right beside you to be specific.

Jaemin smirks.

People in the congregation tried to rally for you and Jaemin to date and prelude to marriage but that would never happen.

Jaemin's gay and he's fucking the choir director's son Renjun but that, along with everything else that's sinful in this church, is none of your business. He's your friend and you love him but he's private about his affairs.

Everyone has a level of privacy they maintain in order to cover their own asses. He trusts you with his life but he stays discreet to keep your hands clean.

"It's my week to clean the church," Doyoung sighs.

"Tough luck," Joy laughs, "I had last week."

"I'll be okay," Doyoung says, "It's my own fault for staying up so late."

"Y/n can help you. It's not like she has anything to do later," Kun pipes up.

"No, that's okay," Doyoung says softly, "If she doesn't wan-"

"I really don't have anything to do later and you look pretty tired. I don't mind helping you," You say eagerly and Jaemin stiffles a laugh.

After service, you seek out Doyoung and he pulls you to the side, "Wait for everyone to leave. It'll make more sense once they do," he whispers.

So you say your goodbyes and avoid Siwon's leering eyes.

Once the church is empty, Doyoung smiles at you, "Come with me," he says cheerfully as he leads you to the sound booth.

"This is why it always takes me so long to finish."

He tinkers with his phone and when Higher Ground by Stevie Wonder begins playing, he looks over at you, "Doesn't it sound so good in the church? The way it echoes?" he says as he leans in close enough for you to hear him.

The chill that rushes down your spine sends you into a frenzy and Doyoung notices. Your voice fails you so you nod.

He doesn't say anything but he does hold your gaze. He's hard to read but you don't worry.

You clean and enjoy his playlist. One thing that hasn't changed is his love for Motown. As you clean, you sing together and when he's feeling extra playful, he keeps his eyes trained on yours and sings to you.

For a moment, you think that he wants you too.

When Doyoung comes to pick you up for the picnic, he's dressed in a seafoam green t-shirt, blue jeans, and white Keds.

He beams at you as he leans against the car, "What are the chances?" he says as he gestures to your seafoam green knee-length midi dress and white Keds.

"I definitely look better," You chuckle as you walk towards him. He opens the passenger door for you, "You look beautiful," he says as his eyes roam over you. "Thank you, Doyoung," You say as you hold his gaze, "You look really good too."

You can't look away from him and it's obvious he's losing the battle as well.

He draws in closer to you and hesitates. You reach out to gently place your hand on his cheek,

"I'm not gonna stop you if that's what you're waiting for."

Doyoung slots his lips against yours and kisses you slowly.

His kiss is essentially who he is; warm, gentle, wholesome.

He slinks an arm around to draw you closer, "Is this okay?" he asks you.

You nod and melt against the firmness of his body. He sets your insides on fire and the subtle strength of his hold on you sends a frenzied storm straight down to the pit of your stomach.

You can already feel your panties soaking.

He breaks the kiss and smiles at you then dips back down to kiss you once more,

"We should... get going," he says into your ear and it's so obvious that he wants to press a kiss to your neck.

"Let me go first," You chuckle.

He loosens his grip on you and smiles, "Whoops," he laughs softly.

"We're gonna be late," He says and it's more to himself because he's very much aware that he's the holdup.

You slip down into the car and look up at him.

He stares back at you and you can see his mind racing. He takes a deep breath and wets his lips with his tongue before closing the passenger door.

You watch him go behind the car and stop for a moment; bowing his head and closing his eyes, he prays. You know he's asking for forgiveness and strength.

He finally moves around to the driver's seat and gets in; he seems ready to pull off but he hesitates,

"Traveling mercies," he says softly and bows his head.

You follow suit and he prays,

"Blessed Father God, thank you for giving us another opportunity to live another day in your glory. Please be with us as we travel today. We're thankful as always for your love and protection. In Jesus' name, amen."

"Amen," You whisper.

He starts the car and his motown playlist picks up from the middle of Mama’s Pearl by the Jackson 5 and you smile.

As he drives, you both chat about work and sometimes stop to sing because the music is just too good.

"You're the only person who sings with me," he says as he pulls into the church parking lot.

"Am I?" You ask incredulously, "How could anyone not wanna sing with you?"

Doyoung shrugs, "I dunno... I don't mind. I think I prefer if it's only you anyway."

You smile at him and he puts the car in park before cutting the engine.

Your mind wanders back to when you were both younger and how close you were to each other.

As if he read your mind, he pipes up,

"What happened to us?"

"I don't know, Doyoung, but I miss you," You reply.

"I think I let Siwon steer me too much. He always said you were trouble and I'd be getting myself a one-way ticket to hell if I stuck around you..." he trails off.

"Ouch," You grunt.

"I'm sorry I told you that," he says apologetically.

"Don't be... I kinda already knew... but why the sudden change? Are you just trying to spite him?" You ask.

Doyoung shakes his head, "Not at all. I just... I'm tired of trusting him so blindly... he's not a good person."

You arch your eyebrows in surprise, "It's okay that you trusted him. He's your brother and you love him. There's nothing wrong with that."

He nods and then opens his door, "I'll get your door for you. Stay put," he says.

He comes around and opens your door. As you get out, you see Siwon pull in a few spots down.

He's alone.

He gets out of comes over with a confused smile, "Sister, your dress is mighty short," he says.

"And considering there's a dresses only code for a picnic, so is my patience," You say with a tight smile.

Siwon nods and stands down, "Fair enough," he concedes before looking over at Doyoung, "Is she your date?"

Doyoung nods, "We agreed to come together so yes... she is."

Siwon smiles. "Well it is time you started seeking out a wife."

Doyoung shakes his head, "It's not a job hunt, hyung. I'll know when it's time," he says sheepishly.

"Of course," Siwon says with a smile, "I'll see you guys 'round back."

When he leaves, Doyoung looks at you, "I'll leave early if you do."

"Definitely. How long should we stay?" You ask him.

"I say we give it about an hour. Eat light. I'll cook for you," he says with a shy smile.

"You're gonna cook for me? Get outta here," You say with surprised smile.

"It's a hobby... no big deal," he says coolly.

He's pulling you in.

You watch as Siwon stands at the grill and burns a fourth burger. It's a shame that hardly anyone is eating and those who are, obviously aren't enjoying the food.

You're close enough to hear him mutter to himself about it. Renjun comes over, "Pastor, I can take it from here." he says with a sheepish smile.

Siwon turns him away just as he has the others but Renjun doesn't back down; instead, he drops all pretenses of pleasantries and gently pries the spatula out of Siwon's hand, "Nobody likes your food. Look around," he says.

"They're burgers, Renjun. Taeyeon did this all by herself last year. How hard can it be?" Siwon scoffs.

"Rocket science since nobody can tell your burgers from a hockey puck now... move. Over," Renjun says shortly.

Siwon sighs and moves over, "Everyone's so mean today. First Y/n and her dress now you and these burgers."

Renjun flips the burgers with ease and rolls his eyes, "We're only two people- not the whole world and there's nothing wrong with Y/n's dress. She looks pretty. If you're feeling some type of way about her kneecaps then that's something you should work out with God. Don't put the blame on her for it."

Renjun looks at you and winks. You smile back and fight back your laughter. You take a sip of your soda and watch Doyoung come over to you.

"Ready to go?" he asks you softly.

You nod, "Yeah... I am."

"Head into the church. I'll count to seventy and meet you by the nursery," he says.

You nod and stand up.

You head inside and wait for him.

You send Jaemin a text:

Y/n: he's gonna cook for me 😳

Jaemin: CAN I GET TO DA YAMZ??? SWEET YAAAAAAMZ!!! 😩😩😩💦💦💦💦🍑🍑🍑🍑🍆🍆🍆🍆

Y/n: Why did I even bother telling you 🙄

Doyoung comes around the corner and you slip your phone back into your bag. He takes your hand,

"Come on."

Doyoung's house is a cozy one level cottage. He's big on earth tones.

"This is your house? It suits you, Doyoung," You gush as he unlocks the front door. The aroma of clove hits you and for only a breadth of a second, you imagine waiting for him in this very foyer after he's come home from along day of work.

"Is that a good thing?" he laughs.

"Yeah. Your house is really cute."

"You think I'm cute?"

"I don't kiss ugly men."

He turns to you and smirks, "That was... my first kiss y'know."

"No," You gasp.

He nods, "Yep."

"Doyoung, be serious!" You exclaim because there is no way in hell he could've kissed you that well if it was his first time.

"I am! Why is that so hard to believe?" he laughs.

"It was too good... just too good," You say incredulously.

He gives you a smug smile, "My ego's gonna skyrocket. Be quiet."

You stare at him with bewildered eyes and he waves a hand at you, "Come on. I know you're hungry."

His kitchen is decorated in shades of terracotta. You look around at the neatness of everything.

After you take turns washing your hands, Doyoung pulls a bowl of fruit salad out of his refrigerator, "I made this for the picnic but I forgot it so eat as much as you want because I don't want it to go to waste but I'm definitely not going back to drop it off."

You laugh and pop a grape into your mouth. His eyes linger on your mouth so you take the opportunity to pick up a pineapple chunk and bite into it slowly.

The blush spreads across his cheeks but he can't look away, "I um... what are you hungry for?"

"Whatever you wanna cook. I just wanna eat," You say between bites.

Doyoung smiles at you, "Do you want... rosemary chicken? I have a really good recipe and I still have fresh rosemary left," he rings his hands out nervously.

"That sounds so good!" You exclaim.

You watch Doyoung prepare ingredients and you make small talk and of course, he plays some music; this time opting for a soft jazz playlist.

"You like carrots?" He asks as he chops up a carrot.

"Eh... not raw," You say with a frown. You watch him hold a slice out for you.

"Do it for me. It's good for your eyes. They're too pretty to not be taken care of. Say 'ah'. C'mon," he says eagerly.

You frown a little deeper and pull back.

"Ugh, I'm gonna have to scratch you off my potential wife list. You're too disobedient. Yuck," he says with mock disgust and a sassy roll of his own pretty eyes.

You both cackle and you let him ease the carrot slice into your mouth.

"That's a good girl," he hums.

You both freeze and the silence that hangs over his playlist is deafening.

"What?" You grunt.

"I'm so sorry I said that," he says just above a whisper.

"Why would you be sorry you said that?" You ask him as you pucker your lips suspiciously.

Doyoung blushes again, "I don't... know," he replies and pops his lips. He tries not to smirk but he fails and he gives you a gentle brush across your cheek with his knuckles.

You lean into his hand and he gives you a knowing look.

When the food is ready, Doyoung seats you at his breakfast nook, "Lunch is served," he says as he sets your plate down in front of you.

"Wow... Doyoung, it's almost too pretty to eat," You say as you look at the plate and then up at him.

He smiles and turns to get his own plate. He brings it to the table and sits across from you. He reaches his hands across to take yours,

"Will you lead us in saying grace, sister?"

He's definitely flirting.

"Um... dear Lord, thank you for this food we're about to eat, bless the hands of the chef, and bless us as we take privilege in enjoying this meal," You say softly.

Doyoung smiles and stands back up, "I forgot the wine," he says as he crosses the kitchen to retrieve it from the refrigerator before getting two wine glasses from the cabinet.

"So... bless the hands of the chef, huh?" he says as he pops the cork.

You watch him bring the bottle and the glasses over, "Yeah... you did a great job," You say.

He fills your glass and then his own, "Bless the mouths that enjoy it," he counters as he holds his glass up.

You clink your glass against his as you nod in agreement, "Amen."

You can't conceive how Doyoung's meal can taste better than it looks but somehow, it's possible. As you finish off your wine, Doyoung clears the table.

"Doyoung, that was the best meal I've ever eaten," You say as you lean back and sigh.

Doyoung's face lightens up, "I'm glad you enjoyed it. Next time, I'll bake you something," he says and winks at you.

"Bake me something?" You gasp, "You're gonna bake for me too?"

Doyoung nods, "I told you, it's just a hobby."

"That's a great hobby. You're really good at it," You tell him.

"Siwon hates that I do this... he says it's menial woman's work but I like doing it and I like being useful. I don't want my wife to cook for me because she has to... I want her to cook for me because she likes me,"

You tilt your head "Because she likes you?" You ask him.

"Yeah," Doyoung nods, "Loving someone and liking someone are often two very different things. You can love someone and not like them. I love my brother but I don't like him... I want my wife to like me. I want her to smile when she thinks about me. I don't want what Siwon has with Taeyeon. I want my wife to see me as someone worthy of respect and not as someone she feels religiously obligated to respect."

You nod in agreement, "That's a good thing to want. There's nothing wrong with that." You reply.

Doyoung leans over the sink, "I don't want things to be traditional," he murmurs.

"Yeah?" You egg him on. You know the wine has him on the cusp of saying something that he normally wouldn't say.

"I- I don't... I don't wanna marry a woman who gives herself to me because the Bible says we have to reproduce. I wanna marry a woman who jumps into bed with me because she thinks I'm hot and I turn her on, I want her to... to think about me and squeeze her thighs together because I just do it for her. I don't believe that love has to be so... boring. Why would God even give us all of these feelings if we're supposed to just ignore them?" he finally says.

You sit in silence and Doyoung chuckles.

"Have I said too much?" he asks as he turns to look at you.

"No... of course not. I don't... see where you're wrong. You deserve that... Besides, if it's in us, it's meant to be enjoyed within reason," You say as you rise to your feet. You step closer to him and he reaches out for you.

"I placed bets that I'd marry you," he confesses as his lips find the corner of your mouth. He presses a light kiss to your skin there then his lips ease down to your neck.

"Yeah?" You sigh.

He hums as he kisses down to the base of your throat, "Yeah."

"Gambling is a sin." You laugh and he catches you lips with his own.

"I'm not always traditional," he sighs.

He traps you against the counter and the warmth of his body soothes you, "I won't do anything to you that you don't want me to do," he sighs as he kisses you.

"Do your worst, church boy," You whisper.

Doyoung slides his hands up your dress and cups your pussy. He moans, "Did I do that to you?" he purrs.

"Yeah... you always do," You hum.

He quirks up an eyebrow, "This is a regular occurrence for you?" he laughs against your lips.

"Uh huh... And sometimes when it gets to be too much, I touch myself."

"Y/n! No!"

You laugh, "Oh, yes!"

Doyoung tuts and dips his tongue into your mouth, "Such a dirty... dirty girl." He slips his hand into your panties and his fingers find your clit. For the first time ever, he curses,

"Fuck, you're soaked, baby,"

It sounds so hot and you whimper as he strokes your clit slowly.

"Doyoung!" You shrill.

"For what it's worth... I'm no better. You just do something to me and I... I can't control it."

He takes his free hand to bring one of your arms up to his shoulder and then the other, "Hold onto me," he says and his voice is low and steady.

You circle your arms around his neck and kiss him hungrily. His fingers massage you slowly, "Does this feel good?" he asks you.

"F-faster... please?" You plead softly. He laughs and easily obliges.

"Spread your legs a little more for me, sweetheart," he tells you softly; you quickly do as your told and he pulls back to smile at you,

"Good girl."

You moan a little bit louder and he pulls his hand out of your panties. His fingers find his way to his mouth and he sucks them clean, "Are you comfortable with coming with me to my bedroom? I can have you here next time."

"Next time?" You gawk.

"There will be a next time. You have stars in your eyes, Y/n."

He takes your hands and presses your knuckles to his lips, "Am I wrong?"

You shake your head, "No."

"Then let's go," he says and leads you out of the kitchen. Your head spins with excitement as he brings you along gently.

His bedroom is a cozy and comfortably cluttered dream. On the seat of his bow window, sits his Bible; it's opened to the book of Matthew. You try to see what chapter he was reading from but he guides you to his bed.

"Matthew, chapter five... verse twenty-eight," he says softly as his fingers begin to slowly unbutton your dress, "'But I say to you that everyone whose eyes are turned on a woman with desire has had connection with her in his heart'... I've battled with this far longer than I'd ever be proud to admit."

You smile up at him, "You're battling a sex demon?"

He laughs and covers his face with his hands, "Everyone has something that they struggle with! I mean, we're humans!" he laughs. He drops his arms down and smirks at you.

"That is true," You sigh.

Doyoung eases his shirt over his head and tosses it beside you on the bed.

It's your turn to freeze. As his hands find their way back to your dress, your eyes roam over his toned skin. He chuckles as he pushes the dress off of your shoulders,

"What demon do you fight, Y/n?"

"I have no demons... I'm a perfect vessel," You chuckle breathlessly. Doyoung pulls you to stand up and lets the dress pool at your feet, "I don't believe that for a second."

You step out of the dress and he picks it up. You watch him fold it gingerly before bringing it over to his honey colored easy chair and placing it down. He turns back to you. He's ambivalent and it's written all over his face.

"We can... put our clothes back on, Doyoung. We don't have to do this. We can just get dressed and act like this never happened," You tell him reassuringly.

He comes back over to you and pulls you into his arms, "You know neither of us wanna do that."

You nod in agreement and he kisses you. It's different. It's rough.

He eases you down onto the bed and as you scoot up to the middle, he hovers over you, "Tell me something... something wicked. Tell me something that will make me feel better about the things I'm going to do you."

Your body is somehow even hotter. He kisses your lips then licks a warm stripe across your neck before sucking on the tender flesh.

"I think about you all the time... I imagine you... bending me over in the church basement and fucking me until I can't stand," You whimper.

Doyoung groans and presses his hardness against you, "That's your fantasy? Being fucked in a church basement? Such a dirty girl... what else do you think about?" Doyoung kisses his way down to your chest before pulling you up. He reaches around behind you and unclasps your bra.

"I think about you overpowering me and- using me until you're satisfied... I just wanna be ravished by you," You whine as you both grind against each other.

He's invading all of your senses and neither of you has completely undressed yet.

"How are you even real?" he groans as he fumbles with his pants. He clumsily gets them off and kicks them off of the bed. Your bra is next to go then his briefs and then finally, your panties.

Doyoung kisses you with fervency. He pulls back and pins your arms over your head, "You wanna be ravished, huh?" he chuckles and dips down to take your bottom lip between his teeth.

"Uh huh," You sigh.

Doyoung slides down and nestles himself between your thighs. He peppers your skin with soft kisses. His mouth latches onto your clit and he sucks it softly. You cry out and buck your hips against his mouth.

He laps at you and teases you with his tongue.

"Doyoung... yes. Please... please," You gasp.

He continues his attack on you and you reach down to card your fingers through his hair and grind your hips desperately.

"Not enough, is it?" he asks as he raises his head to look at you.

"I... no... that's not it... I just want you. Come back up here... please," You whimper.

Doyoung laughs, "Do you miss me or something?"

"I do," You reply.

Doyoung comes up and presses a sloppy kiss to your lips.

You reach between your bodies and stroke him. He squeezes his eyes shut and grips the sheets.

"Want you in my mouth," You whimper and Doyoung flips you both over. He looks up you before propping himself up on his elbows,

"Have at it."

You nestle between his legs and grip his cock with both hands, "You're bigger than I expected," You say then lick from the base up to the tip.

Doyoung's tongue darts out to wet his lips, "Fuck," he sighs.

"Am I teasing you?" You ask him innocently.

"Come on... do something, baby," he sighs.

You smirk and drag your tongue back and forth over his leaking tip; collecting precum as you do, "Make me do something," You say softly.

Doyoung takes a fistful of your hair, "Don't be such a tease," he says and gently forces your head down. You moan and take him all the way into your mouth.

He slowly bucks his hips as the head of his cock repeatedly taps the back of your throat, "That's a good girl," he moans, "So fucking good."

You let him use your throat as you feel your own wetness slicking up your inner thighs.

Doyoung pulls you back up and kisses you, "Not like this... I need to be inside you," he says as he gets you back underneath him.

He teases your slit with the head of his cock and you whine desperately, "Ask me for it nicely."

"Please... give it to me," You whimper.

"You need me to fuck you?" he asks you roughly; his voice is coarse and heavy with desire.

You nod and that's all it takes for him to guide himself into you.

"Fuck!" You both cry in unison. You look at each other and laugh.

Doyoung dips down to press his forehead to yours, "You're so much better than I could ever have imagined... so fucking tight for me. We were made for each other. Don't you agree?" He says and his hips collide with yours over and over and over again.

"Y- yeah... I... I love this. Please don't stop, Doie... please," You plead. You wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, "I want you to fuck me forever."

"Forever?" he sighs and slows his pace, "You could take this forever, baby?"

You kiss him, "Uh huh," You pant.

Doyoung groans, "I'm... fuck, baby... I'm close."

You reach down to bring yourself closer to your own release.

He pushes your hand away and replaces it with his own, "No... that's what I'm here for... let me," he says as his fingers draw fervent circles into your clit.

"Doie! Yes, yes, yes! Fuck..." You moan as you both release together.

"That's it, baby. You sound so pretty when you cum for me. That's my girl," he praises you as his own orgasm rattles his body.

You cling to Doyoung and he collapses on top of you. You both tremble as you regain clarity. Once his breathing is under control, he rears up to press a chaste kiss to your temple then rolls off of you.

You turn to face each other and the air is still thick; he smiles, "I want you to know something..." he says as his eyes roam your face, "I don't want you because I just need a release... I want you because you're the only woman I've ever thought about doing this with... You're the only woman that's ever made me forget that God even matters."

You blush and bring your hand over to stroke his cheek, "I don't even think I could say anything to top how special that is but I can try," You say with a chuckle.

Doyoung smiles.

"I... I've kissed boys... maybe too many but... I waited for you. I didn't want anyone else," You tell him.

His face beams, "We waited for each other and didn't even realize it," he laughs.

Come Sunday morning, Siwon is privy to the way you and Doyoung engage each other.

"Sister, can I have a word with you?" he pipes up. Jaemin's eyes perk up and he's obviously ready to go to battle. You shake your head and smile at him before turning your attention to Siwon.

"Yes, Pastor?" You say.

"You've been very close with my brother. What exactly are your intentions?" he asks you suspiciously.

Doyoung is at your side before you even have time to react, "Her intentions are well, hyung. Better than yours were," he says coolly.

Siwon scoffs, "What?"

"Taeyeon hasn't been here in... three months now? She's not that sick. She left you and everyone knows she did," Doyoung says.

"Literally everyone knows," Renjun says in passing.

"I'm just worried about the choices you're making. You seem different," Siwon presses.

Doyoung shrugs, "My choices are fine. If I ever go astray, I'll do the work to get back on track. I think you should worry about your own affairs."

Siwon nods, "Well, if that's how you want it then that's how it'll be."

He excuses himself and Doyoung turns to you, "You're not his sin to overcome," he laughs.

That afternoon, while the sun hangs low in the sky, Doyoung tends to his garden, and you watch him as you remain on standby, ready to help him with his needs.

"Being married is gonna be a lot of fun... I like having you here to help me with the gardening," he sighs with a soft smile.

"Daddy's little helper," You mumble.

He straightens up and his eyebrows go up, "I- I- whoooo, what? What? Y/n, behave!" he gushes as he gently nudges you with his arm.

"You've never had that thought?" You ask him teasingly.

He nods, "I have but I'm busy right now and you have to behave yourself because this was supposed to be done three days ago and I don't want my garden to die so... sit there, be quiet, and don't touch me until I'm done."

"Okay, Daddy," You say sweetly.

Doyoung stands up and pulls off his gloves off, "On your feet. Come on," he says as he places his gloves in his supply box.

You stand up and follow him into the kitchen. He washes his hands and turns to you.

He's trying so hard to be firm with you but a smile shines through on his face, "You gotta... don't smile at me- you-" he laughs and pulls you into his arms, "You gotta behave yourself. You're failing the wife trial. Get it together!"

You hug him and press a kiss to his cheek, "I'll try harder tomorrow," You chuckle.

Before you know it, Doyoung is turning you around and pressing you down against the counter, "Why can't you behave yourself right now?" he asks you softly, his fingers pushing your shorts and panties down.

"Don't wanna," You sigh as his hand caresses your bare ass.

He lands a mild slap down and you gasp.

He laughs low and thick, "You like that?" he asks.

"Y- yes!" You whimper and wiggle your ass in an attempt to touch some part of his body.

"Well, you're not really supposed but... I guess that's okay for right now... I'll just have to find some other way to punish you," he says and slaps your ass again, this time a little bit harder. You moan and he slaps you once more.

"Daddy!" You whine.

Doyoung slides his hand down to your cunt and kicks your legs apart, "You're always so wet for me... no matter what's going on, I know that if I just... slide my hand between those beautiful thighs, I'm gonna get my fingers soaked."

"I always want you, Daddy... always," You sigh as he slides his middle and ring fingers into your pussy. He fucks you with his fingers and leans down to lick the shell of your ear, "Such a greedy little whore." he says softly.

You clench around his fingers and writhe. Moans pour from your mouth as he shows no signs of slowing up.

"Oh? You like that?"

"Yes, Daddy!"

"You like it when daddy talks to you like this? Huh, slut?"

You nod furiously and clench around his fingers once more.

He tuts, "Can't hear you."

"Yes, Daddy! Yes!" You scream.

"That's my girl."

Doyoung eases his fingers out of you and pulls you up by your hair, "Taste yourself, baby," he says as he pushes his fingers into your mouth.

You hum as you suck them. Doyoung drops down to his knees and helps you out of your shorts, "Hold onto the counter,"

You do as you're told and he lifts your left leg onto his shoulder before devouring your pussy. You throw your head back and cry out as he brings you close to your release.

His tongue speeds up and slows down. He gets better each time and you mentally note his progress. Your legs give out as you cum against his tongue.

"Daddy!"

He pulls back and lets you sink down onto the floor in front of him.

He kisses you, "Was that good, princess?" he asks you.

You nod, too enthralled by the throbbing of your pussy to speak. He chuckles and his hand returns to your cunt, "Then you shouldn't mind one more, right?"

Doyoung brings his other hand up to circle around your throat, "One more time, baby... I know you can do it," he purrs as he tightens his grip just enough to make your eyes roll back. He chuckles at the effect he has on you.

You grip his biceps as he massages your clit and you try in vain to squeeze your thighs shut but he doesn't slow up and you're coming undone again.

Your thighs tremble violently and he just doesn't stop.

"You have the power to stop me, Y/n... you know I'd never do anything you don't want me to do so... go ahead... stop me," he whispers against your mouth.

You don't stop him. You can't. He feels too good and he brings a level of greed to your body.

Tears prick your eyes and a third orgasm rips through your body. You whine weakly and finally, his hand ceases.

"How's my girl?" he asks softly as he moves his hand from your throat to your cheek.

You can't speak. You collapse against him and he rubs your back, "Do you need anything?"

You shake your head and cling to him a little tighter. Your body slowly relaxes and he rocks you slowly.

When you finally come down, you give him a chaste kiss and he smiles.

Doyoung pulls back to look you over, "I stopped repenting y'know... for what we do," he says softly.

"Why?" You ask him. Your voice is still hoarse and he can't help but laugh.

"How can I when I'm not sorry?"

_____

yo if you got to the end of this, thank you!!

1K notes · View notes

thesunisatangerine · 6 months

Text

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part four

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 4.3k

It didn’t stop after the first and it sure didn’t stop after the third, either.

Depending on her schedule, you saw Alexia once or twice at most a week; most of the time it was on the night after a Barcelona match and by the next morning, she’d be gone before you even woke up. But you’d noticed her visits had been increasing in frequency lately, not to mention that sometimes she’d still be in bed when you awakened. The first time you found her still asleep beside you, you were dumbfounded, thinking it was a dream image of her in front of you. And what amazed you even further was that it kept happening.

It wasn’t an unpleasant development. In fact, it was something you gratefully welcomed. And it wasn’t just that, either. Sometimes when Alexia came over, you didn’t even have sex you just… talked: about her training and her health, her teammates’ shenanigans–and hers, of course–her family and bits of her personal life. Meanwhile you told her about places you explored and showed her photos of where you’d been. Then she’d tell you about places you could check out, food to try, and even went ahead and promised to take you to some of the places herself when she had the opportunity.

These times were rare, sure, but you found yourself enjoying her company more and more to the point you noticed yourself craving for it–found yourself missing her presence despite your constant back-and-forth messages. And still you didn’t ask where this was going for fear of ruining whatever the two of you had; you were content and you just simply wanted to watch this unfold as it was. And anyway, it wasn’t like you weren’t used to fleeting relationships, situationships–whatever you’d like to call it–because who was to say this wouldn’t end up like your previous dalliances–ending before it could ever truly begin? Despite you hoping otherwise, a large part of you already convinced yourself that this wouldn’t be anything different: just another highlight to your getaway vacation that you’d look fondly back on a few years down the line.

You had a month left in Barcelona, maybe an additional few weeks depending on the client. What could possibly go wrong?

———

A knock took your attention from your work to the door. You looked at the time–it was early evening on a Saturday and you weren’t expecting anyone. Perhaps you just imagined it? But then it came again not a minute later. You were reluctant to open it seeing as it was already dark but a ping from your phone that signalled a message from Alexia asking if you were home had you flying to the door.

Upon opening it, you found Alexia there with Nala resting in the crook of her arm, phone in hand, and a paper bag in the other.

“Took you long enough.” Alexia said playfully, all cool and confident but then her brows quirked upwards almost sheepishly as she said in a more tamed tone, “is this a bad time? I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

You smiled at her consideration before you ushered her in. “No, no! It’s fine, really! Come on in. Sorry, I just wasn’t comfortable opening the door when it’s dark without knowing who it was.”

“Ah, it’s my bad. I should’ve let you know before dropping by.” She bent down and let Nala loose before she untied her shoes and left them by the door. Nala bounded to the living charged with curiosity, nose to the ground, tail wagging as she carefully examined the new space.

Alexia regarded her dog with an amused expression before she looked back at you. “I meant to bring this over after the game tomorrow but I saw the lights as I drove past so… here I am, I guess.”

You reassured her again as you locked the door behind her and you watched as she made her way to the kitchen. As you passed through the archway to the kitchen room, Alexia already situated herself by the counter taking out glass canisters from the paper bag she brought. When she took the lids off, a delicious aroma instantly filled the air, enticing your senses.

“What do you have there?” You asked as you leaned on the opposite side of the counter.

Alexia smiled at the eagerness in your tone and pride shone in her eyes as she spoke, “only the best fideuà and esqueixada in the world. Made special by my mother, of course.”

You peered into the containers and the sight made your mouth water instantly. As if it remembered that you hadn’t had any food yet, your stomach grumbled obnoxiously. Alexia definitely heard it because she fixed you with an amused smile and at that, your cheeks warmed so you tried to divert her attention. “You know what would put this all together?”

“What?”

“Wine or champagne. Wait–are you allowed to drink?”

“I’m allowed since I’m still not qualified to play yet.” Her visage became somber for a moment–it fleeted so quickly you almost didn’t catch it–before the light in them returned again. “If you have it, white wine is the best complement for this.”

You hummed and tapped your chin, turning to make your way to the cellar. “I’ll have a look. I’m sure Derek has some wine stored in here somewhere.”

You’d mumbled the last part but it seemed Alexia’d caught it because she asked, “who’s Derek?”

Something odd in her tone stopped you and made you look back at her. Her face was unreadable, almost too neutral. She didn’t think Derek was your boyfriend, did she?

“Oh, Derek’s my brother. He hasn’t been here for a while but he owns this house.”

“Ah, I see,” Alexia cleared her throat, looking away and you could just see a hint of redness in her cheeks. “Well, I’ll lay out the plates. I suppose they’re just in...?”

“The bottom drawer to your right and the utensils are in the upper one.” You instructed as you continued towards the cellar.

“Oh, yeah, I see,” came Alexia’s muffled response.

When you returned with the bottle of white wine, you found that Alexia managed to locate the glasswares by herself and were drying them with a tea towel. There was only one set of plate and utensils laid out though so you fixed her with a confused look.

“You’re not going to eat?”

Alexia shook her head. “I already had my fill with my family earlier. I’ll take the drink, though.”

“That’s nice that you visited your family today. How are they?” You sat at one of the high chairs by the counter, popped the wine open and poured each of you a glass. You noticed that Alexia’d heated up the fideuà for you from the steam that rose from its container which strengthened its aroma and made it all the more enticing. Alexia remained opposite you but she was close enough with her leaning forward on her elbows, her glass of wine in hand.

She sipped her wine and told you they were well, described little snippets of what’s been happening in her family life. She even told you about a prank she recently played on her sister, one that nearly made you choke on your wine.

You listened as she talked, liking the way her brows quirked and her shoulders move as she spoke, how each gesture became more pronounced the more passionate or interested she was on a subject. You asked questions and engaged with the conversation every now and again as you savoured the rich taste of the pasta and the freshness of the salad. You’d never had anything like it and you told her as much. In response, she said she’d give the compliment to her mother when she saw her next which made your cheeks warm up again. Once you finished, you tidied up and though you insisted she didn’t have to, Alexia helped you wash up anyway.

Afterwards, the both of you ended up in the living room with your glasses of wine. She gestured at your laptop on the couch with her glass.

“Work?”

“Yeah. Just double checking if I missed anything important and preparing for the match tomorrow.” You sat on the couch and put the laptop on your lap. Alexia opted to sit on the carpet, legs stretched and crossed, back leaned back against the couch, her head just beside your legs as Nala settled by her side.

She turned her head, looking up at you. “Can I see?”

You turned your laptop so she could see better. You flicked through the photos you were sorting through, explaining to her every now and then the thought process behind each shot. On some photos, Alexia asked you to pause so she could soak them in.

“These are great. You have a great eye.” Alexia complimented with an appraising nod as you got to the end. You thanked her as you pulled back. Then a question came to mind.

“Do you ever get used to it? The cameras, I mean.”

A pause.

“I’m not and I don’t think I ever will. I’m more comfortable with it now but if it’s possible to avoid, I’d do it. I know it’s a part of football and god knows how much more exposure women’s football needs,” Alexia released a heavy sigh, “but sometimes it just gets too much, you know? I mean, I really should be grateful, right? To have gotten to this point? But the media side of it is… not without its own set of miseries.”

There was an inflection in her tone upon her admittance–guilt. You gently carded your fingers through her hair, Alexia leaned into your touch in response, and you replied just as softly, “it must’ve been difficult. It still is and for you, especially. And I don’t know if anyone’s told you lately but you have to know: you’ve given so much of yourself already. It’s not a sin to want a little peace, Alexia, and it doesn’t make you ungrateful for wanting it, it just makes you human.”

Alexia took a deep breathe before she rested her temple against your knee. Then you heard her whisper, “thank you.”

A silence fell upon the both of you after that but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. She remained that way for the majority of the night, head against your knee as she watched a game of football on the TV.

By the time you finished up your work, it was already late evening and Alexia’d dozed off beside you. You felt bad as you gently woke her up and groggy hazel eyes found yours when you did. The sight made your heart ache from how much Alexia looked younger and more at peace this way, and you told her to wash up so she could stay the night.

And she did.

Now, your cheek felt warm against her chest despite the slight dampness of her borrowed shirt from her hair. Her skin smelt faintly of the soap you were using and with her arm around your waist, you fell asleep content, lulled to a deep slumber by the steady rhythm of her heart.

———

“Hey, please don’t wear that, it’s dirty,” came Alexia’s reprimand from behind you.

You glanced at her reflection in the mirror: Alexia was propped up on the pillows against the headboard, an arm behind her head, nude except for the bundle of sheets that covered one of her thighs, the marks you’d left on her neck and chest last night and this morning generously displayed for you to behold.

She was nothing short of glorious, you thought, looking relaxed and content like this.

You turned your attention back to your own reflection: Alexia’s Barcelona jersey draped over your smaller frame and fell just partway down your bare thighs. It felt comfortable against your skin and the fact that it smelt just like Alexia made it feel all the more special.

When you looked at her reflection again, you found her with an affectionate smile, eyes lidded and brows inflected slightly upwards, and suddenly the attention warmed your cheeks.

“But you only wore it for a shoot, right?”

“I mean, yeah, but you know what I mean.”

You hummed, “do you need it?”

“No, I have spares,” she replied before she raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“That means I have time to wash it before I give it back since you insists that it’s dirty.” You said drily as you turned away from the mirror and padded your way to the bed, crawling on the sheets on your knees once you got there.

As soon as you got close enough, Alexia’s hands were immediately on you, guiding you to straddle her lap before she embraced you fully, resting her chin between the valley of your breasts as she looked up at you. You carded your fingers through her hair to see those fair, hazel eyes that never failed to make you shiver.

“I didn’t say you have to hurry. Plus… I kinda like seeing my number on you.” And then she was kissing your neck and you felt one of her hand creeping its way down to cup your ass. You gasped when you felt the heat of her fingers brushing against your core and you buried your own in her hair as she traced a path from your throat to your ear with her tongue, nipping at your lobe when she got there.

“Fuck… Alexia…” You moaned, “you’re insatiable.”

She kissed your shoulder and then she whispered, “only for you.”

———

Something flashed from the corner of your eye followed immediately by a string of whispered curses and a familiar whirring sound. You put your thumb over the line you were just reading so you wouldn’t lose your place before you looked over your bare shoulder to the corner of the room you knew Alexia was who you found, as expected, holding one of your Polaroid cameras.

She was only wearing a pair of grey sweats which left her torso bare and–like all the time you saw her nude–you couldn’t help but appreciate the soft curves of her breasts and the carved muscles of her stomach. When she met your gaze, she smiled almost sheepishly at you not dissimilar to a child being caught stealing cookies from the jar.

You raised a playful eyebrow at her but instead of answering, she placed her eye over the viewfinder, aimed the camera at you, then pressed the shutter again.

The film came out with a whir and Alexia immediately tucked it into the pocket of her sweats. She then began to make her way towards you and at every other step, she’d stop to take a photo of you, carefully manoeuvring the camera to get the right angle as she did so. It was an endearing sight, really, and it was one that filled your chest full of warmth.

Eventually, she ended up on you, turning you over on your back as she straddled your waist, leaving you at the mercy of Alexia and her camera. From this position, you couldn’t help but feel extremely vulnerable and exposed not because of your bareness, but because you knew with the way your chest surged with warmth from how Alexia gazed down at you with a satisfied grin, the dimple on her cheek showing as her tongue peeked out between her teeth at the corner of her mouth, seemingly focused on getting the right shot, that this was a woman who had the power to completely and utterly unravel you.

As a photographer, you were well acquainted with how cameras had the capacity to capture the essence of a moment–to display in raw details the emotions of its subject and freeze them in time, readying them for the dissection and scrutiny of the viewer. You wondered then what Alexia would see written in the shadow, the light, and the colours in the photos she just took of you once she looked at them, and the thought both elated and frightened you.

Alexia brushed away hair from your temple but as she was about to pull away, you put yours atop of hers and turned your cheek into her palm, looking directly at her behind the camera. You heard her breath catch and then she stuttered out a breath, and the flash barely registered in your mind because you were too focused on the strength and the warmth of Alexia’s hand as you pressed butterfly kisses on the inside of her palm.

The next thing you knew, the camera was abandoned completely and you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out from your throat when you finally felt Alexia’s lips on yours.

———

Alexia sat on one of the high chairs in the kitchen room, hair damp, a game of football on the mounted TV that was left forgotten in place of… something that you couldn’t quite see from this distance. Alexia’s shoulders were hunched over in concentration and you didn’t have the heart to interrupt whatever she was doing so you leaned on the archway, content with just observing her do her work.

“Are you just gonna stand there or would you care to join me?” You rolled your eyes and you didn’t fight the smile that graced your lips. So much for being sneaky–the fact that Alexia was an accomplished footballer who had crazy spatial awareness occasionally slipped your mind.

“Okay, Gwen Stacy, calm down.” Alexia looked over her shoulder then and stuck her tongue out at you, grinning. “How did you even know I was here?”

“Your reflection on the microwave.” She gestured to it with her chin and sure enough from this angle you were instantly visible especially with the white shirt you had on. The dark glossy surface almost made you look like a ghost.

Standing on your toes, you draped yourself over her broad back, arms wrapping loosely around her neck as you peered down. “So, what are we working on?”

“This.”

A bracelet made of a dark-blue and red string that looped into itself with a singular, small gold diamond-shaped charm right in the middle, a vertical bar at the two corner points of the long edge of the diamond, dangled between Alexia’s fingers. She took your right hand and placed it in your palm so you could look at it: the bracelet was simple but it’s delicate nature made it all the more beautiful and elegant.

“Oh, wow, this is so pretty.”

“It’s for you.” At that you looked at her, half-afraid that she’d feel the way your heart raced at her words against her back.

You were so busy trying to find the right thing to say that you didn’t realise that she took the bracelet back until you felt the warmth of her fingers on your palm as she turned your hand over. You watched her as she wrapped it around your wrist, securing the tie. You turned your right wrist over and looked at the delicate bracelet, and something in your heart soared at the small gift. The fact that Alexia made it herself made it all the more special to you.

“Thank you, Alexia. I love it.”

“You’re welcome.”

That night while you were sufficiently warm nestled by Alexia’s side, naked except for the sheets, your head on her chest, a realisation hit you.

“It represents FC Barcelona, isn’t it?”

Alexia hummed in answer, the rumble from the sound a pleasant sensation on your cheek. Then she held your wrist in the space between her thumb and index finger, the width of her palm supporting your hand as she turned your hand just so so the gold of the diamond could catch the light.

“And what else?”

At that, you looked at the bracelet intently. The two bars: one and one–Alexia’s number. So she really was serious when she said she liked seeing her number on you.

You let out a small laugh, then you nuzzled her jaw as you spoke, “you little sneak.”

———

Minding her bad knee, you flipped the both of you over with a strength that even surprised yourself and with how Alexia’s brows raised high, you supposed it took her off guard, too. You settled your weight on her stomach and you bit your lip when you felt her abs tense against your core, and the desire in you blazed into a raging inferno that threatened to burn you inside out.

She grabbed your ass in both hands with a firm grip, making you gasp when her hold made you grind against her stomach, her eyes smouldering as she looked up at you.

That look was your last straw; you couldn’t stop fighting your desire anymore so you let it swallow you whole. You fell forward, bracing your weight against your elbows as you craned your neck to kiss Alexia, rough and desperate, her lower lip between your teeth. The action rewarded you with a low moan, a delicious sound that shot heat straight down to your core.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Alexia gasped out between your relentless kisses.

“I like being on top,” was your simple answer whispered hotly against her ear, nipping gently at the soft skin there–teasing.

Then it was your turn to gasp.

Her fingers dug delightfully into your flesh, kneading your ass roughly before easing them apart with equal force. The harsh treatment caught you by surprise and the effect of it even more unexpected as you immediately melted against her, moaning her name helplessly against the crook of her neck.

She knew just how to make a mess of you.

“Hmm, do you?” She asked coyly and then proceeded in a deliciously low voice that oozed seduction, smugness, and sex. “Too bad I’m still in control.”

“Fuck.” Your body answered for you in a full-body shiver. Her words turned you on to the brink of falling and you found no purchase as you slipped from the ledge.

It should be embarrassing how you could come without Alexia even fucking you, and it should scare you that she had this much power over your body but in this moment, when her hands were everywhere but your pussy and her filthy words were whispered hotly in your ear, you could care less. So you fell apart, shaking and weak, as you sank on top of Alexia’s firm and soft body, her name barely coherent from the sobs that came out of your lips. Euphoria lit every nerve in your body as you came, the fabric of your underwear latched deliciously on your pussy like a second skin and you were sure that you’d made a mess on Alexia’s bare stomach.

You only realised Alexia had stopped her teasing ministrations until you heard her thick voice through the haze of the afterglow which you barely caught.

“You came.”

It wasn’t a question, really, but you let out a small affirmative moan because what else could you do? You were mush–the intensity of your orgasm caught you off guard and left you floundering that no thoughts formed in your mind, just pure bliss and ecstacy. But as the veil of euphoria began to lift, embarrassment bled into the edges of your consciousness and with it the instinct to apologise. The words were poised at the tip of your tongue when Alexia moaned.

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” she breathed out and when you found the strength to lift your head to look at her, her eyes were lidded, pupils blown so wide they were almost all black.

And then she was pulling you in for a kiss, and then the wet heat of her tongue traced the edge of your ear, and she was nipping at your jaw while she dragged her palms from your ass to the side of your ribs. Your skin burnt at her touch and you could do nothing but surrender, to moan and whimper as your heat blazed anew despite having just been swept away.

“But this time, you’re going to come with my fingers in you.”

She didn’t even let the words sink in. Instead she wasted no time to slip her hand between your bodies and to push aside the fabric of your ruined underwear. Usually, Alexia liked to tease you and ease her fingers in you slowly as she sought as much reaction from you as she could, but the slick she found there must had been enough to satisfy her because she pushed two fingers in as soon as she found you. The thickness of her fingers slid in easily and you nearly screamed her name from the pleasure.

She was relentless in her endeavour to make her words true with the way she gripped your hip steady with her free hand so you didn’t stray too far from her touch when you moved to meet her thrusts, the pace at which she worked her fingers in you left you lightheaded the same way her teeth on your neck worked to drive you insane.

“Alexia, Alexia, Alexia–” You chanted her name like a holy litany, burying your face into her hair that was now slightly damp with sweat and breathed her in: her scent of sun and freshly cut grass, of faint wintergreen, and an essence that was uniquely hers. The moment left you full with something heavy and warm, something that spoke of and hoped for forever, and clarity washed over you: this wasn’t like one of your previous dalliances anymore because you wanted more with her.

The realisation hit you hard, the gravity of it left your mind in a momentary stasis that when you came back to yourself, the shock of your orgasm knocked the breath from your lungs and you felt yourself being pulled by the tide. So strong was it that you could do nothing but pray the flood wouldn’t take you–that Alexia wouldn’t let you drown.

#ap11 #not proofread #mine #my writing #a/n: i think this is the halfway point guys for this one #ik alexia mentioned somewhere that she has dinner with her family on fridays but for this fic's sake i made it to saturdays lol #also i have a backlog of ideas i wanna start writing but i really wanna finish this one first #just a side note this part is 4.3k #so on aggregate this is officially the longest fanfic id written so far.#hope you guys like this and would love to know what you think about the story so far #just a reminder: im tweaking minor details as i go so the most accurate copy of all the parts will be on my ao3 (@thesunisatangerine)#apologies for any grammar and spelling mistakes ill work on em later #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader

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mellowsadistic · 18 days

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Couples Therapy - Part 1

After Angela cheats on her husband, she agrees to go to couples therapy with him, but each session with the therapist leaves her feeling less and less like a grown-up.

***

Angela tapped her foot impatiently while her husband spoke with the therapist privately, probably whining about how angry and betrayed he felt. They were both supposed to go in together in a moment, but for now she was stuck waiting in reception.

Really, she couldn’t understand why Eric was being so dramatic. It was only sex! It wasn’t as though she didn’t love him anymore. She just needed to have a little fun sometimes, that was all. They weren’t even thirty yet! He was twenty-eight and she was twenty-seven. Did he really expect her to settle down and stick to a single sexual partner when she was still so young?

But he’d insisted on seeing a marriage counsellor and she’d eventually agreed, albeit reluctantly. Their therapist was a man. How was he supposed to understand what it was like for a woman in her situation? And her first impressions of the office hadn’t been great either. The receptionist was a total bimbo!

Angela glanced over at her. She was dressed up like some bizarre fetish fantasy. Her long blonde hair was tied up in a pair of high pigtails, and her stripper-sized tits were crammed into a sparkly Disney princess top. Didn’t this place have a uniform? She looked like an overgrown six-year-old for goodness sake! And she’d been acting like one too when she’d tried to match their names to their booking. Her husband had been very patient with her stupid lisping voice and barely passable ability to read, but Angela had wanted to turn around and leave straight away. What kind of serious therapist’s office employed a woman like that?

At last the door opened, and the therapist stood in the doorway. He smiled kindly and gestured her to come inside.

“He’s weady for you now!” the bimbo receptionist chirped happily, looking up from what looked like a fashion magazine for tweens.

Angela rolled her eyes. “Thanks.”

She went into the office and the therapist closed the door behind her. Eric was lounged on a sofa facing a hard-backed wooden chair, looking perfectly relaxed. Angela sat down next to her husband, leaving a few inches of space in between them.

The therapist didn’t take a seat in the wooden chair, however. He took a tablet from his desk in the corner and stood in front of Angela.

“Here,” he said, handing it to her. She looked down at the screen in her lap in confusion. What was this for? Some sort of presentation?

“I find that girls always get a bit nervous in my office,” he said, talking to her in a light, overly friendly tone, as if he was talking to a nursery-schooler. “This will help you relax, okay sweetie?”

Angela scowled. She was about to launch into a furious tirade. She couldn’t stand being talked down to! Who the hell did this man think he was? If he assumed most women were like his ditzy receptionist then he had another thing coming. But before she could say a word, the tablet in her lap came to life. Brilliant pastel colours swirled and spiralled on the screen, sinking into a single spot in the centre, and her complaints died in her throat. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. It was just so pretty…

“There we go,” said the therapist in that same sweet tone. “That always takes care of fussy little girls.”

“Is there anything I have to do?” Eric asked.

Angela felt strange. She was vaguely aware of the men’s words, but it was as though they were coming to her from the end of a very long tunnel. Her attention was focused on the dazzling lights on the screen.

“Not a thing. Let me do all the talking. Did you hear that, Angela? We’re going to have a little talk, okay sweetie? Nothing to be nervous about. I’m a trained professional, after all. We need to have a little talk about how you betrayed your husband. About how he found out you were cheating on him. Because that wasn’t very clever of you, was it Angela? Getting caught.”

Angela shook her head, not taking her eyes off the screen. “Not clever,” she echoed. It was true. She shouldn’t have been caught. She should have been more careful not to let him find out. Because even though there was nothing wrong with what she’d done, even though she was completely in the right, Eric wouldn’t understand.

“That’s right, Angela,” said the therapist. “You’ve been a very dumb bitch, haven’t you?”

Angela frowned. That didn’t sound right. Dumb bitch. Was it okay for the therapist to call her that?

“Look at the pretty sparkles, sweetie,” he encouraged, and Angela sank back into the swirling lights. “That’s right. You’re just a dumb bitch, Angela. All women are, but you especially. That’s okay though. You don’t know any better – you’re just girls.”

Angela knew vaguely that there was something she didn’t like about what the man was saying, but she was too engrossed in the swirling colours to care. His words were like background noise. She could understand them if she concentrated, but it was so hard to focus with the wonderful patterns in front of her.

“Yes, you’re just a girl, Angela. Just a silly little girl. A big child. It doesn’t matter if you do something wrong, because you can’t be held accountable for your actions, can you? You’re sweet and innocent.”

Angela nodded eagerly, a dim smile spreading across her face. She hadn’t done anything wrong. If she wasn’t so distracted by her tablet, she’d have smirked at Eric. His stupid attempt to guilt-trip her with marriage counselling was backfiring on him. The therapist was on her side.

“Besides,” the therapist continued. “You didn’t cheat on your husband anyway, did you Angela?”

Angela was confused. She had cheated on Eric. Was the therapist going to help her cover it up? But Eric already knew, didn’t he? Surely that wouldn’t work! The lights on the screen grew brighter. They were so, so pretty…

“You didn’t,” the therapist said again. “In fact, it’s completely impossible for you to have cheated on your husband. You know why, I’m sure. It’s because of your embarrassing bedwetting habit.”

Angela wrinkled her nose and started trying to shake her head in disgust. She didn’t wet the bed! The therapist must be confused. He must be mixing her up with some little girl. Maybe one of his other clients was some silly little bedwetter who needed to be reassured that everyone had accidents now and again, but that certainly wasn’t her.

“Don’t… I don’t wet the bed…” she mumbled. Her words felt heavy in her mouth. It was hard to think. She just wanted to watch the pretty swirling lights.

“Look at the colours, sweetie,” the therapist told her. “That’s a good girl. You are a bedwetter, Angela. You wet the bed every night. You have done for quite a few weeks now. And what man would want to sleep with a woman who still pisses herself in her sleep like a dumb toddler? You’re very lucky your husband puts up with your babyish behaviour, young lady.”

Angela’s face slackened as the spirals spun faster and faster. Lucky. She was a lucky girl. She was lucky to have a husband who put up with her bedwetting. Another man might leave his wife if she started peeing herself every night. Especially if she’d cheated on him too. But Eric didn’t know about that. Did he? It was strange. For a while Angela had been sure he did. And the therapist didn’t seem to know either. In fact, he thought it was impossible for a bedwetter like her to cheat on her husband! She blushed even more brightly. How had she done it? Angela frowned slightly. She didn’t know. She couldn’t remember clearly. But the therapist was right – who’d want to have sex with some stupid, bedwetting baby-woman? Why would anyone sleep with her when it meant waking up in piss-soaked sheets, or next to someone in a sopping wet diaper. Her special protection. Her baby pants. Was the therapist still talking? She tried to pay attention.

“…because your husband puts up with you in other ways too, doesn’t he?” he was saying. “It’s not just the bedwetting. You actually have quite a few silly, childish behaviours that no adult woman should reasonably be expected to have. You…”

Angela tuned out again. She could feel his words entering her ears, but her attention was focused entirely on the lights in her lap. So pretty. Such pretty lights…

When she came to, the tablet was gone, Eric was standing up and putting his coat on, and the therapist was looking at her with a satisfied expression on his face. Had she fallen asleep?

“Ready to go home?” Eric asked her brightly.

Angela smiled back, a little hesitantly. She’d thought she was in trouble, but maybe she’d just been confused. She was such a silly girl sometimes. Such a dumb bitch.

Eric held out his hand, and she took it. It felt nice to be holding onto him. It felt reassuring. He held her hand all the way back to their house, and while he walked, she couldn’t help herself from skipping along beside him.

#mellowsadistic

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obsessedwrhys · 19 days

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ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ The Seven x Deadpool!Reader

t/w: loooots of dark humour/jokes, reader is insensitive and an asshole since they're also a supe working at vought, your powers are the exact same as Deadpool (even the skin condition), mention about killing, death, gore, r-pe, n@zis?!?!, alcohol, some intimacy (?). Also reader is gn!!

ᯓ★ here's a version with the boys <3

HOMELANDER

This man hates you so fking much

Has tried to kill you multiple times, he tried lasering you, tearing you in half and even throwing you into the sky but you just always manage to come back like the damn plague

Eventually he gives up trying to kill you and just had to deal with the fact you'll be kept alive... just temporarily though... he's still looking for ways to kill you

However, your powers gave you dozens of advantages when around Homelander.

He can be having a meeting about something serious and everyone would be listening to him due to their fear towards him, then there's you who'd be doing your own thing and just shout out unrelated things like "Donald Trump just blocked me on Twitter!! HAH!! SUCK IT CORNFLACKS!!"

Everyone turning to you with startled expressions while Homelander simply rolls his eyes before continuing his presentation.

You are a complete nightmare to the PR team, that's why for interviews or any events, you'll always be paired up with Homelander so he can keep you under control and stop you from saying weird shit that could ruin the company's image.

"So Deadpool, how does it feel being in the Seven working alongside Homelander? You've been working together for almost 3 years now" A reporter would ask as you two are surrounded by screaming fans.

"Like I'm in the twilight series, not because of the fantasy but because I'm still waiting for the part where he impregnates me—"

"O-kay! That's enough, just silly ol' Deadpool with those inside jokes"

"You can tell in this eyes that he wants to fuck me right now. HE'S GONNA FUCK ME!!" You shouted as you're being dragged away by him.

Obviously when you had found out about his relationship with Stormfront, especially her background, you had to say some shit about it. Not giving the slightest care about the fact he could be grieving over her death.

He'll be in his room standing in front of the window and you'd just storm in, being as loud as possible.

"I can't believe you dated a N@zi!! Is it because I'm Jewish?!" Which may or may not be true, nobody knows your origin.

He may hate your guts but if he ever needs someone to help him do some dirty work, you're the person for the job, you never ask why or how, which could be the only thing he likes about you.

"Y'know, maybe if you didn't have such a big mouth, you'd be tolerable"

"All the people I've slept with have said otherwise"

Compatibility? 50%

STARLIGHT

Before she joined the Seven, she had an image of what kind of person you were, she just didn't know it was this worse.

When you found out she used to work at this Sunday School Church, you just haaaaad to say something about it.

"So like, you say that prayer always works, but every night I pray for my hair to grow and it never does. Do you think God has me blocked? How do I get unblock?"

"Uh..."

You two surprisingly get along without one wanting to slice the other's throat, except sometimes the things you say can really piss her off. Which is why when the company assigned her a new costume, she was trying her hardest to avoid you, but you found out anyways.

"Holy shit Starlight! Nice costume, is this your Miley Cyrus breakthrough? Girl power!"

Insert her groaning out of annoyance.

Again, the second you discovered she was dating a guy behind the death of Translucent, you were heartbroken :(

"Of course this happens right when my therapist gives up on me!"

Despite your behaviour, you pitied her when it was revealed that she was taken advantage of by The Deep, so like any good friend, you took revenge by cooking his friend octopus and eating it happily in front of him.

"Revenge does taste sweet" You'd say happily while Starlight just watches by the side, both grateful and horrified at your actions.

In my opinion, you would definitely be the person she goes to once she starts working with the boys, you'll always be providing whatever information that happens in the company for her to use.

It helps her worry less about getting anyone killed 'cause you literally can't die.

Compatibility? 60%

QUEEN MAEVE

You're half the reason why she rethinks about her life choices when she wakes up in the morning

Not because you're a handful (which you are) but because you're always paired together on missions

"Deadpool! The hostages!"

"OKAY! God... you act just like my drunk uncle"

Which is a joke/nickname you like to address her by because of her alcoholism (yikes)

Whenever the company needs you for something, half of the time she's the one assigned to search for you.

There was this one time she caught you trying to have Anika track down Kanye West's location, nobody knows what shenanigans you were up to.

Another thing to mention was that you two were chosen by the company to sing a Christmas song for the year's Christmas ceremony.

Just imagine during the bridge of the song, she's singing normally while you're completely going off, your high note so high you were sure you had Mariah Carey a run for her money.

Even though she finds you a lot to deal with, you're actually her buddy to train with.

Since you're very skilled with Katanas, she likes to practice her swordsmanship with you.

You like to tease or make fun of her everytime she fails to strike you which is good motivation for her to get better. Maybe you guys bring out the best of each other?

Last thing I'd like to add is when she was found out by the public that she was a lesbian (She's bi but you get the running joke), you had gifted her a t-shirt that says, 'Biggest Dick in Town'

Compatibility? 80%

THE DEEP

Your human punching bag

If Vought was a high school instead of a company, you'd be the bully and he'd be the nerd getting stuffed inside the locker room.

For example, Homelander could be confronting Starlight about her relationship with Hughie and everyone would just start raising their voices til you come in yelling "SHUT UP!" to the Deep who had not said a single thing during the entire time.

Just imagine him staring at you like 😐

To be honest you also ate his friend octopus so you guys are actually never getting the chance to make up.

"Look dude, I don't appreciate your tone"

"I don't appreciate your haircut either but we can't all get what we want"

You may be a crazy person but you weren't going to be okay with the fact he violates every woman he sees, so not only did you cook the octopus but you also called in a male stripper disguised as a woman just for him to celebrate on his birthday.

Just imagine him all happy when you tell him the news and later that night he'll run inside your room, completely pissed off at your act after finding out but you just laughed and said.

"Happy April Fools 😚!"

"That's next month dipshit!"

Also, you never understood his weird fantasies. He has a thing for sea animals??You've caught him multiple times either flirting or getting off to one. It was concerning even for you.

"From how many animals you've fucked, you might just turn from the ocean's 'Seaman' to 'Semen'." You joked which he did not find funny.

Maybe you messing with him could just be your way of getting along with him since you're the same with everybody else, it's just he has more flaws to poke fun of and he's sensitive about them.

Compatibility? 5%

A-Train

He thinks you're fucked up in the head.

Half of the shit that comes out of your mouth just has him reacting like in the GIF

Buuuuuut you're the one he always brings to the club because you always know ways to give the party life.

You've somehow even got on the wall of fame, a lovely portrait of you with your hands making out a heart.

Also, you know about his business with Compound V waaaaay before anyone else did. He's still grateful you didn't tell anyone.

Just like everyone else, you also enjoy messing with him except he's fast and constantly avoiding you.

"Hey A-Train, how much do you wanna bet that I can die faster than you?"

"Dude... seriously?"

You guys rarely get sent on missions together because you're always slowing him down, not basing off the fact he's fast but because you get easily sidetracked with other things.

"Alright, we're here now, how much C4 do we use?"

"Fuck math! Let's use all of 'em!"

You ended up detonating all of the C4 on you before he could object the idea, he was able to run out in time, your action nearly getting him killed while you ended up dead.

But it's fine you'll just grow back.

You know that race he has against Shockwave? You'd be at the VIP section standing near where Homelander and Queen Maeve is, waving your huge banner that has a picture of A-Train's face and yours pasted over a figure carrying the other in bridal style.

Compatibility? 55%

TRANSLUCENT

He makes people paranoid but you make him disgusted.

There was this one time he was bored so he snuck in your room to see what you were doing.

At first he was confused why you had so many cute plushies but then the more he explored your room, he realised your room is basically every collector's dream.

You even had a huge teddy bear in the corner of your dressing room.

The reason why he doesn't like to spy on you is because the last time he did, he saw you putting your hand in the blender, then proceeding to put your private part into it.

Never again, he thought, never again.

He doesn't need to witness you carry out your intrusive thoughts.

Surprising enough, you're close with his son, I'd like to think that after his death, you practically became the kid's godparent. Though you can be sort of a bad influence, leading up to how he is in Gen V.

You always tell him you hate kids but he thinks otherwise.

After all, he can read people well.

You guys like to pull pranks on each other since you guys like competing on who's more sneaky

There was this one time, you woke up to find your suit gone so you ended up walking around the building, completely naked and unfazed by people's stares.

It was when you walked around the corner that you found your suit worn by someone else, turns out it was Translucent under it.

"Why is it so fucking tight dude? How do you stay in this shit all day?"

"You get used to it"

Compatibility? 85%

BLACK NOIR

Lovers.

He doesn't mind your attitude because he actually can't say anything about it.

No seriously... he can't talk.

But hey he's got a good shoulder to cry on.

"I just... hffgh... I can't believe my album didn't surpass lady gaga's... She doesn't even know how to use Katanas like I do!" You'd let out a loud sob while he just stares at you for a while before placing a hand on your shoulder, patting you gently.

You know the scene where he's playing the piano for one of the company's party? You'll be laying down on top of it and singing in your usual overdramatic high pitched voice.

He finds your humour amusing so he always does this little head tilt like in the GIF when you say some weird shit while waiting for his response.

Since both of you are the only members of the Seven that wears a full body suit, obviously you had to try on his but since it was impossible to achieve that, you just had the company make a copy for you.

He'll be walking down the hallway doing his normal routine until he notises another person in his suit, the moment you speak and he realises its just you is when he let's his guard down.

"I just got some transplants done to my ass, that's why I look different"

You both are never sent on missions together 'cause you guys don't work well, pretty much nobody works well with him since he's the silent type.

Example, you two were hiding behind some crates ready to jump on the bad guys who were snucking in illegal drugs. He gestured for you to wait as he went to check again, only to turn back to see you gone.

"Marry Christmas motherfuckers!"

He heard your voice shout and he found you standing on top of the stacked crates, machine gun in hand and began shooting aimlessly.

He didn't even do anything but just watch until you ran out of bullets. However, multiple survived and began shooting at you so you ended running towards where he's hiding at.

"Yankee yankee!" You yelped.

You know the video of the two girls taking off their wigs to reveal that they're bald and they start bonding over it? I'd like to imagine that's you and Black Noir with the skin condition under the suits.

One more scenario I wanna add, you guys could be having a meeting but since you were bored and you always hated meetings, you'd draw a big heart on a piece of paper and show it to Black Noir from across the table. Surprisingly he'd draw a heart back to you.

You were overjoyed so you began to draw you and him doing it, doggy style. He stares at your doodle for a while before choosing to just focus on the meeting instead.

Compatibility? 90%

(This took a while cause I was on vacation)

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darlingmbappe · 1 year

Text

Family Man | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

Summary: Your husband is feeling a bit nervous about staying home alone with your daughter for the first time. When you ease his worries, he thanks you the best way he can, but then surprises you with a big request.

Warnings: SMUT! Oral (female receiving), romantic sex, breeding kink, Kylian being a simp kinda, cussing, not checked for spelling/grammar errors. Let me know if I missed anything! — English is not my first language —

“Charlotte is finally down.” Kylian sighed from the doorway of your bedroom, trudging over to his side of the bed.

You smiled up from your novel as you watched him crawl on top of the comforter, laying his head on your arm and cuddling at your side. “She’s a piece of work, that girl.” You chuckle.

Kylian breaks out a grin, thinking about his wonderful three year old baby girl. “Wonder who she got it from…”

“Ha!” You set your book down on your lap, tilting your head down to look at him. “You’re joking. Kylian, You’re the biggest piece of work there is.”

He chucked into your shoulder and flipped on his stomach to be face to face with you, heavy leg comfortably draped over your thigh. “But you love us both.”

“So much.” You leaned over and kiss him sweetly, setting aside the now bookmarked novel on your nightstand. “Don’t know how I put up with you, though.”

“Well, you’re gonna get a little break from us this week.” He spoke and glances over at your packed suitcase sitting by the door. You sensed the tinge of nervousness in his sentence and put a reassuring hand on the back of his head.

“I’ll only be gone a week, Ky.” You comfort, tracing the structure of his brow bones gently with your forefinger. He leans into your touch, humming softly before burying his head in your neck. Clearly somethings on his mind.

“I know. It’s just…” he turns, wrapping an insecure arm around your waist to hold you closer, “I’ve never been alone with her for that long. Not for a week straight.” You scratched his back softly, allowing him to melt into you more. “I mean, what if she gets bored and I run out of things to do? Or what if she doesn’t like the activities I have planned for us? What if she breaks a leg or something on my watch?”

“Baby…” you coo, grabbing his chin between your thumb and knuckle so he’s look up at you. His big brown eyes showed his apprehensiveness, almost begging for you not to leave in the morning. “You know you’re an amazing dad, right?” He nods sheepishly, but you understood where this insecurity came from.

When Charlotte was born, it was at the beginning of the season. He did his best to take as many days off as he could, wanting nothing more than to be with you and his newborn baby girl. Though his efforts were much appreciated, you were still left alone with her many times, sometimes for days on end. It’s was through no fault of his own and you knew that, always reassuring him that you understood his responsibilities as a major world renowned athlete. Of course you’d love for him to be there with both of you 24/7, but it’s not something you would ever hold against him.

He was deep in thought and you could practically hear him overthinking the next seven days, coming up with every worst-case-scenario possible. “I was nervous the first time I was alone with Char, too.” You said softly. “It’s scary, I get it. But, I know you two will have the best time. Whatever you have planned, she’ll love it because she’ll get to do it with you.”

His lips curled up, staring back in adoration. “You think?”

You nod enthusiastically. “Of course. She’s so excited to be with just you. When I told her, it actually kind of hurt how happy she was.”

This made Kylians whole face break out in a wrinkled smile. “Yeah?”

Of course he loved that, his competitive nature trumping his sense of humility. “Oh yeah.” You grin. “She’s dying for some alone time with daddy.”

“And you?”

You furrow your brows. “Me?”

“Mhm.” He shifts to hover over you lazily. “You need some alone time with daddy?” The smirk he gave you sent a rush through your body.

Your arms wrap around his neck as he puts his legs on either side of you, nudging your nose with his. God, this man just has a way about him. The way he looks at you consistently makes your stomach erupt in butterflies, even after all these years.

“Cheeky, cheeky boy.” You tusk, leaning up only slightly, teasing a kiss on his wanting lips. “What does daddy have to offer?”

“Whatever you want. I’m yours.” He touched his forehead to yours, you slowly lifted your chin to touch your lips to his.

Starting off gently, he breathed in deep through his nose, savoring this moment. Having a toddler, it’s hard to find time to be intimate when they’re always around. Always.

But, it kind of makes the sex way hotter… way more anticipated.

He pokes his tongue in and you opened up immediately, suddenly desperate for some action. He began moving his hips over the thick duvet you laid under, giving himself some relief, but you needed that layer gone. You began tugging at it desperately, Kylian got the hint. He sat up, tossing aside the blanket and stared down at your sleep attire, humming to himself and licking his lips.

“You’re so sexy.” He grumbled, now looking at you with nothing except love and lust. Your hardened nipples poked through your white scrunched up shirt, displaying your lower half for Kylians pleasure. The pink cotton panties you wore had a little rose engraved on the front, sending your husbands brain into a spiral as he started crawling down your body involuntarily. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

He made it down to where you needed him, a gentle touch on you thighs opening your legs. You didn’t need much coercion from him, knowing the usual rhythm of this sort of thing. Being with him for so long meant you knew each other patterns and needs.

“I get a goodbye gift?” You teased once he situated himself between your legs, big hands moving your knees upward toward your chest.

Instead of responding, he placed a meaningful kiss to your covered core, looking up at you, wanting to watch every reaction he persuaded out of you. He stiffened his tongue, poking at your clit methodically before biting the fabric and clipping his thumbs underneath the seams. Slowly, he slid them over your legs, his eyes glued to how your pussy reveled himself to him, already glistening.

“I already told you, bébé. I’ll give you whatever you want.” He mumbled in a trance, only looking up when you whined at his lack of movement. “You gotta tell me, bébé. What do you want?”

“Don’t be a dick.” You poked with a pouty giggle, jutting your needy hips toward his mouth. He splayed his hands over your middle, holding you down. “Just eat me out, Mbappé.”

“Always so bossy.” He jeered, but lined his mouth up anyways, purposely blowing out a sigh on your pulsing core before flattening his tongue on you. Your eyes rolled back, keeping your moan quiet with a hard lips bite as he continued to work his muscle, lapping up and down, focusing on the bundle of nerves at the peak.

“Always taste so sweet, bébé.” He praised, dragging his fingers down your hips, feeling the goosebumps he’s creating on your soft familiar skin. The feeling of his lips moving against your cunt made you grip the sheets until your knuckles turned white.

You looked down at your husband between your legs, eyes closed, seemingly hypnotized and focused solely on pleasuring you.

Without warning, he poked his tongue in and out of your needy hole, making you gasp at the sensation. “Shit, oh god.” You gasp. A quick hand made it’s way behind his head, pressing him further into you. He stuck it in as far as it would go out of his mouth, circling and wiggling around, feeling your pulsating walls. He moved a hand from your hip and dragged his forefinger agonizingly slowly on your clit.

“Let me show you how much I’ll miss you.” He muffled, the vibration of his voice making you moan out.

“Please.” You begged, watching him with hooded eyes. His finger dipped lower and lower, tapping on your sensitive nub to make you jolt. It made him laugh, obsessed with the sight of you squirming under his touch.

He teased his middle finger in before inserting two inside of you. Kylian was always one for foreplay, eager to make it the best experience for the both of you. That’s so hot.

You were a moaning mess, hot and bothered as he curled his fingers up, his mouth attached to your pussy like a man starved. His eyes were now wide open and gazing up at you, your chest heaving, your back arching, your quiet moans singing in his ears like a melody. It was all too much for him as he began humping the bed in desperation. Getting to see what he can turn you into could have made him cum on the spot, but he wanted to cum inside of you. He needed to cum inside of you.

You whimpered when he detached his mouth, wiping his glistening face with the back of his hand. “You’re fucking amazing, mon amour. I love you so much.”

You’d gone off the pill years ago before you got pregnant with Charlotte and hadn’t gone back, relying on condoms and quick reflexes. You’d talked about having more kids in the future, but not recently enough to prepare you for what your husband said next.

“Let me put another baby in you.”

Your breathing was heavy, but it stopped for a moment out of shock. The look on his face was completely serious as he crawled up on top of you, lifting your shirt enough to reveal your boobs, tweaking your nipples between his fingers.

You swallowed the noises threatening to spill out of you throat, staring into the eyes of the man you’ve adored for so many years — the eyes that were practically heart shaped whenever he caught even a glance at you.

“Let me get you pregnant.” He repeated and dipped his head in your neck, trailing a soft path of kisses upward until he reached your mouth, lingering there a little longer. He leaned into your ear, giving it the gentlest bite before whispering. “Remember how I couldn’t keep my hands off of you?” His hands roamed down to your stomach, caressing it like he used to do. “You looked so fucking hot with my baby inside of you.”

You couldnt help but smile, feeling your heart beat faster for him. “What about the mood swings?” He kissed behind your ear.

“Don’t mind them.” He kissed your jaw.

“My feet swell pretty bad.”

He kissed your cheek. “I give great foot rubs.”

“Cravings?”

“I’ll get you anything you want.” He placed the last kiss on the corner of your mouth, pulling back to stare into your eyes, wiping away any stray hairs that fell onto your face.

You sighed up at him. “You think we’re ready?”

He finally landed his kiss on your lips, breathing you in like you were a drug. “I know I am. So, what do you say, bébé?”

Kylian was the worlds best dad and even had three Father’s Day mugs to prove it. He was attentive and loving and caring and wanted nothing but the absolute best for his family. For your family.

“Let’s make a baby.” As soon as those words left your lips he kissed you deeply. You both smiled into the kiss, attempting to pucker but failing, eventually just giggling into each other, hugging tightly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”He hummed, standing up and shedding his joggers and boxers, revealing the main attraction.

God, the way you salivated at the sight of him was almost embarrassing. You’d worried about what marriage would do to your sex life, especially after having a baby, but Kylian always made you feel so sexy. He flirted with you constantly, found every possible way to make you squirm. You found that the longer your with him, the more things you discover about him that make you adore him more. Want him more.

You adjusted yourself as he slotted above you, your legs wrapped around his middle as you traced his collarbone. The shift from how the night started to now made your head spin. You couldn’t believe that you’d decided to start trying again out of the blue like this, but knew in your heart that you wanted this too.

He lined himself up, prodding you open slowly to let you adjust to his massive size.

“Oh, fuck Kylian.” You breathe, grabbing his face sweetly as your eyebrows knit together. He loved the faces you made when he was inside you — missionary being his favorite position.

He moved his hips until he was all the way in, waiting for your cue for him to continue. It didn’t take long, it never did. When you nodded at him, he began thrusting, his pace slow as if every movement was personal and meaningful. You loved the stretch he gave you, feeling every ridge, every curve.

This type of sex is Kylians favorite. Sure, he’ll take you roughly, spank you until he can see a mark. He loved the feeling of having his hand wrapped around your throat, or thrusting into you with such speed and force that it makes your legs wobble the next day. But something about the steady pace, the perfect rhythm, the eye contact, holding your hand, getting to kiss you like it would transfer the love he kept in his heart to yours... getting to take you in piece by piece was the most thrilling thing he’s found in his lifetime. Having the pleasure of holding your hand, listening to your whimpers and quiet “ah, ah”s was like a drug. He was undeniably addicted to you. Obsessed with every inch of your being. He couldn’t think of a more personal way to show the woman he loved how much he means to him. No amount of money could buy this type of intimacy.

“You’re so beautiful.” He mumbles, reaching down to intertwine your hands, in need of feeling more of you. “I can’t imagine my life without you.” Your heart was melting at his words, his dilated pupils absorbing every inch of your face. His rhythm was hypnotic. Your needs begged for him to go faster, harder, to take you roughly… but your heart outweighed those thoughts. Though slow, it was the most romantic sex you’ve had in a while. “Cant believe I got you. I can’t believe I get to love you forever.”

He spoke sweetly, his breath fanning your face with his words and pants. The knot in your stomach tightened, making you squeeze your legs around his middle. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.” You whimpered, somehow forming coherent sentences through the intense pleasure. “I love you, Kylian.”

He slotted his face in your neck, breathing heavier than before, hoping your skin would muffle the sinful moan that erupted from his mouth. His thrusts kept the same speed, but faltered slightly. “God, bébé. I’m gonna cum.”

You hugged him tightly against you. “Me too.” The feeling of his pelvic bone continuously rubbing against your clit and the slight tug and push of his member inside of you was consuming your every sense. “Fuck, Kylian.”

You dig your teeth into the skin of his shoulder or else you’d have screamed in pleasure, waking up the innocent little toddler just a few rooms down. The knot popped, making your toes curl, the bliss of it all creating spots in your vision. You came hard as Kylians thrusts continued at a slightly faster pace.

He kissed your cheek, seeking his own release — it didn’t take long to find it upon feeling your walls quivering around him. “Ah, dieu.” He moaned. “I’m cumming.” He panted, hissing and squeezing your hand as he looked into your hooded eyes. He bit his lip hard to keep quiet, breathing harshly through his flared nostrils.

He came down, his arms giving way as he laid on top of you to catch his breath. He hugged you so close, kissing your lips sweetly. He lifted himself to stop crushing you, matching your smile before he began to slowly thrust again.

“Shit, Ky!” You whisper yell, gasping at the overstimulation.

He hissed but continued his movements. “Gotta make sure it sticks, bébé.”

After three more thrusts, he stops and pulls out of you gently, laying his exhausted body next to you. He dipped his hand down and held yours, bringing it to his face to kiss it and kept it held at his lips. He looked at you as if you were a queen, a goddess.

“You think Char will be happy if we give her a baby brother or sister?” You wonder, laying on your back because you read that staying there for fifteen minutes after sex heightens your chances of getting pregnant.

“I don’t know… eventually. I think she loves being spoiled.” He grinned. It was true, Charlotte squealed every-time Kylian got home with something for her. Whether it was cupcake or a a tiny Tiffany necklace, she loved getting gifts.

“And who’s fault is that?”

Kylian made a guilty whatever face. His favorite thing in the world was getting to spoil his petite princesse.

Kylian places your hand on his chest, just above his heart. The stare he gave you was weakening, dibilitating, so full of raw emotion. You felt it thumping under your palm, knowing he meant that his heart was in your hands. You leaned over and snuggled into his side, kissing his cheek and keeping your hand on his heart. His heart rate picked up instantly, earning an earth shattering, lovey dovey grin from you.

Whatever the future holds, the family you’ve created with Kylian stands on strong pillars of love and loyalty. Having someone who you can trust blindly is the key to a life full of wonderful moments, and Kylian takes on that role with pride — absolutely devoted to creating the happiest life for his two princesses. You and Charlotte really are the luckiest girls alive… and with the possible addition of another family member, you might just get even luckier.

A/N: wrote this between classes today to give y’all a little something because my school is nearing midterms so I gotta crack down with studying. Thanks for reading! Also I didn’t spell check or grammar check this very thoroughly so I apologize for any mistakes <3

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