#Hardwood Lodge | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

capuccinodoll · 5 days ago

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Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter nine ♡

Summary: You confront Travis, and with each passing day, you begin to feel more like yourself. The company of your favorite girls fills your days with warmth and laughter. Someone knocks on your door. WC: 12.0k A/N: OKAY. I had planned to post this over the weekend, but I just couldn’t waittt lol and since I didn’t post for two weeks, here’s part 9 as a little gift for you <3 Don't forget to follow me on capuccinodollupdates for updates!

Monday. Your knuckles throbbed as you hammered on the door, the echo reverberating through the hallway. Three times, then another six—or was it seven? You weren’t sure. All you knew was the sharp sting in your hand as you finally dropped it to your side. Your breath remained steady, but you could feel emotion clawing its way through your calm exterior. Your foot betrayed you, shifting restlessly against the wooden floor.

Something had shifted, something you couldn’t quite place. You’d spent the entire night staring at the ceiling, your mind racing while the hours stretched endlessly. By the time your alarm screamed to life in the morning, you felt more wired than exhausted, like your restlessness had seeped into your bones. At work, nothing held your focus. The papers on your desk blurred together, the words losing their meaning as your thoughts wandered elsewhere. You checked the clock obsessively, willing the minutes to pass, but even when the day finally crawled to an end, the unease clung to you.

What the hell was going on with Joel? His behavior had been erratic, disjointed—like he was holding something back. Every glance, every word from him felt layered, deliberate, but never enough to give you clarity. It was maddening, the sense that there was a piece of the puzzle you hadn’t been given, something vital he wasn’t saying.

“Ask him,” he had said yesterday, brushing you off with a cryptic shrug. But you weren’t someone who could just let things go.

Now, the door creaked open, and there stood Travis, his expression a mix of curiosity and something softer, almost tentative. His damp hair clung to his forehead, droplets still glistening at the edges. He looked freshly showered, the scent of soap faintly wafting in the cool air between you. His gray T-shirt was inside out, the seams and tag clearly visible, as if he’d thrown it on without much thought. He wore dark blue sweatpants that hung loose around his hips and no socks or shoes, his bare feet planted firmly on the hardwood floor.

He blinked at you, his eyebrows knitting together when he caught sight of your face.

“Hey,” he said, your name falling from his lips with a question mark at the end. “Are you okay?” His voice held genuine concern as his eyes flickered over your face, trying to decode your expression.

Your mouth felt dry, your throat tight. You couldn’t bring yourself to smile or reassure him. Instead, you stood frozen, your arms wrapped around yourself as if bracing against an invisible wind.

“Did something happen?” he asked again, stepping slightly closer. He tilted his head, his gaze searching. “Come inside. It’s freezing out here.”

But you didn’t move. Your feet were rooted to the ground, defying his invitation.

“What happened between you and Joel?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt inside.

He paused, the question clearly taking him off guard. “What?”

“You talked to Joel, didn’t you?” You tightened your arms around yourself, your tone low and deliberate, trying to keep your emotions in check. “I know you did. He told me.”

That wasn’t entirely true. Joel hadn’t told you much of anything, just enough to leave you spinning. Blurry fragments of his words had lodged themselves in your mind, their edges sharp enough to cut. Still, you had pieced together enough to confront Travis now.

Travis’s eyes narrowed slightly, his body shifting against the doorway.

“What exactly did he tell you?” he asked, his voice cautious but far from confused. He wasn’t lost—he knew exactly what you were referring to.

“Enough,” you replied, your voice hardening despite yourself. The anger that had been simmering beneath the surface was beginning to bubble over. “Don’t play dumb, Travis. What did you say to him?”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. His lips pressed together, his jaw tight. Then he exhaled through his nose, glancing briefly at the floor before meeting your gaze again.

“Look, I… I talked to him, okay? He... we had a conversation.”

“What kind of conversation?” you pressed, taking a small step forward. “Why would he tell me to ask you if nothing happened? What did you say to him?”

Travis leaned against the doorframe, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to work through the tension there.

"He showed up late Saturday night,” he admitted, his voice softer now, carryin’ a hint of regret. “While you were sleepin’, I answered the door. Didn’t wanna wake you."

Your stomach twisted at his words. You could picture it too vividly—Joel standing on the other side of the door, his face shadowed by some unspoken emotion. You swallowed hard, pushing the image away.

“What did he want?”

“He wanted to talk to you,” Travis said simply, though the hesitation in his voice suggested there was more to the story.

“And?” You tilted your head, your eyes narrowing. “What did you tell him, Travis?”

"I told him you needed some space,” he said, the words spillin’ out in a hurry. “That you didn’t wanna see him.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening. “That’s it? You expect me to believe that’s all you said?”

Travis’s gaze faltered for a fraction of a second. He straightened slightly, squaring his shoulders.

“I might have… implied some things,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Implied what?” Your voice was sharper now, your frustration cracking through. “What the hell did you say to him, Travis?”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“I told him you were movin’ on,” he said at last, his tone a bit defensive. “That you and me… that we spent the night... you know, uh—”

A sharp laugh escaped you, though there was nothing humorous about it.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head. “So you lied to him? Why? To hurt him? To make yourself feel better?”

“’Cause he deserves it!” Travis snapped, his voice risin’. “After the way he’s treated you, the way he’s acted… He don’t get to just waltz back into your life like nothin’ happened. Someone needed to put him in his place.”

You took a step back, your arms dropping to your sides.

“And you thought that someone should be you?” you asked, your voice cold. “Do you even realize what you’ve done? This isn’t your fight, Travis. It never was.”

“Why do you care so much about what that prick thinks?” Travis’s voice was tight, each word laced with frustration. “Why does it matter if he thinks somethin' happened between us? We’ve been dating for weeks, haven’t we?”

“Because even if something had happened, it would be nobody else’s business,” you shot back, your voice trembling, though whether from anger or disbelief, you weren’t sure. “You had no right to talk about us behind my back, Travis, to talk about me that way. That’s a line you don’t cross. If there’s anything between us—anything at all—it stays between us. That’s how respect works. But you… you just threw it out there like it was some weapon to hurt him.”

“Respect?” Travis repeated, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. “Joel don’t respect me, so why should I give it to him?”

"I know, you’re right," you said, your voice steady but firm. "I know Joel’s been awful to you from the start, but that's not the point!” you snapped, takin’ a step closer. “Why’d you even say it, Travis? To piss him up? To win some kind of imaginary contest? What exactly did you think you’d accomplish?”

His face darkened, the accusation hitting a nerve. “You’re really asking me that?” he said, his voice rising slightly. “Why the fuck did you agree to go out with me, anyway? I think we both know it’s not me you want to be with.”

The words hung in the air like a sudden drop in temperature. You felt your breath catch, your pulse roaring in your ears.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you demanded, but your voice lacked the sharpness you’d intended.

“It means you never stopped wantin' him,” Travis said bluntly, his jaw set. “You say you like me—liked me—but let’s be honest. That’s not enough, is it? You’re still hung up on Joel, no matter how much you try to pretend otherwise.”

“I liked you because I thought you were decent,” you countered, your voice quieter now but no less firm. “Because I thought you wouldn’t pull shit like this.”

“Decent,” he repeated bitterly, the word dripping with sarcasm. “That’s what you look for in someone? Decency?” He let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Guess that explains why Joel’s still got a hold on you.”

“Don’t turn this around on me, Travis,” you warned, your tone icy. “This isn’t about Joel. This is about you, and the fact that you dragged me into your petty grudge match with him. You told him we slept together to hurt him, didn’t you? That’s all this was to you. Some sick way of proving a point.”

“Maybe I did,” he admitted after a long pause, his voice defiant, though his eyes gave away the guilt behind his words. “Maybe I wanted to see him squirm for once. God knows he deserved it. And truth be told, I sure did enjoy watchin’ him die a little inside.”

“Deserved it?” You laughed sharply, shaking your head in disbelief. “At my expense? You really enjoyed pissing him off, didn’t you? You thought it was worth it to drag me into the middle of your shit, just so you could watch him lose it.”

“I wasn’t trying to drag you into anything,” Travis argued, though his tone lacked conviction. “I was protecting you. Standing up for you. Again, Joel doesn’t get to just walk back into your life after everything he’s done and act like nothing happened.”

“Protecting me?” you repeated, incredulous. “You think lying to him about us is protecting me? If you wanted to protect me, you would have stayed out of it completely.”

“I didn’t lie,” he shot back, his voice rising again. “Not really.”

“Oh, give me a break,” you said, throwing your hands up. “Don’t try to split hairs with me, Travis. You knew exactly what you were doing, and it had nothing to do with me. This was all about you and your bullshit rivalry with Joel. What’s next? Are you going to pull out a ruler and measure dicks with him? Honestly, If you’d just punched him square in the face, it would’ve been far more decent.”

Travis’s face fell, the anger draining from his expression in an instant. Guilt settled in its place, heavy and unmistakable. He opened his mouth to respond but then closed it again, the silence between you thick and suffocating.

You took a step back, your arms crossing over your chest again. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now,” you said quietly. “I thought I could trust you. I thought you were better than this.”

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “I screwed up. I was angry, and I let it get the best of me. I didn’t mean to—”

You let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of his words press against the knot already forming in your stomach. You shook your head, trying to hold onto the edges of your resolve.

“You had no right to meddle in my business with Joel,” you said, your gaze fixed on the floor. The words felt sharp, final, as though speaking them aloud might make them easier to believe.

When you looked up, his eyes were on you, calmer now but no less intense. The familiar shade of blue in them seemed darker, clouded with something unspoken. He stood there, silent, watching you like he was waiting for something—permission, maybe, or understanding.

“I know everything with him is… difficult,” you continued, your voice quieter now, tinged with something softer. “And I know it’s been unfair. But it’s between him and me. It always has been.”

Travis sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He pushed himself off the doorframe and took a step forward, then stopped, his hands hovering awkwardly by his sides. His lips curved into a faint, bitter smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I just don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t get why you even agreed to go out with me in the first place. Why drag me into all this? You could’ve just spared me the trouble, saved me from wastin’ my time, from wastin’ energy on somethin’ I was never gonna win.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, cutting through your carefully constructed armor. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, your voice softer now, though still firm.

“Why would you need to win anything, Travis? This isn’t a competition. It never was.”

“Really?” he asked, his voice cold, though the hurt behind it was unmistakable. He laughed quietly, shaking his head. “Doesn’t feel that way.”

You took a step closer, trying to close the gap—not just the physical space between you, but something deeper.

“I liked you, Travis,” you said, your words deliberate, each one carefully chosen. “I’ve always liked you. Don’t doubt that for a second. And don’t think I used you. That’s not what this was.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his lips pressed tightly together, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he nodded, his jaw tightening.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice softer now. The words carried something heavier than before, as though he’d just realized how little they could do to fix this.

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening.

“Me too,” you admitted. The weight of the moment hung heavy in the air between you, thick and oppressive. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you didn’t matter. Or like you were… caught in the middle of something you never signed up for. That was never my intention.”

“But?” he prompted, his voice quiet but firm, like he already knew what was coming.

You smiled faintly, though there was no humor in it. Only sadness.

“But this is as far as it goes,” you said, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “And it needs to stop here. For both of us.”

Travis nodded slowly, his lips pulling into a thin, resigned line.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice barely audible. He looked at you, his eyes heavy with something you couldn’t quite name—regret, maybe, or acceptance.

You didn’t say anything else. There was nothing left to say. Instead, you turned and walked away, your footsteps soft but deliberate. You felt his gaze linger on you as you left, heard him murmur another apology under his breath, though it did little to dull the raw discomfort still settling over you.

The walk home felt interminable. Each step dragged, your feet moved mechanically while your mind spun, heavy with the weight of what had just happened. The crisp air bit at your cheeks, and the faint hum of distant traffic filled the silence you carried. When you finally reached your home, you shut the door behind you with a soft click, leaning against it longer than you should have. The quiet of your home surrounded you, thick and expectant, as if it had been waiting for you to process everything.

You shrugged off your coat and kicked off your shoes, leaving them in a messy pile near the door. Your fingers paused on the hem of your sweater as you headed to the bathroom. The mirror caught your reflection, and you froze. You were startled by how tired you looked—your hair tousled from the wind, shadows ringing your eyes. You didn’t feel like yourself, and seeing that weariness staring back at you was jarring.

The shower’s hot spray offered a small reprieve. You stood under it longer than you probably should have, letting the water drum against your skin and the steam fill the room until it was hard to breathe. You tried to think, to pin your feelings down, but everything slipped away, as if you were trying to hold water in your hands. Anger at Travis still simmered under your skin, but there was something else, quieter and harder to name—a gnawing mix of pain and confusion.

When you finally stepped out, your skin was pink from the heat, your hair damp and sticking to your neck. You wrapped yourself in your thickest robe and walked barefoot into the kitchen. The house felt colder now, the chill seeping through the floor and nipping at your ankles. You filled the kettle and set it to boil. The small ritual of making tea steadied you. The soft whistle of steam was oddly soothing, a thread of normalcy in the chaos of your thoughts.

Back in your bedroom, you sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping your hands around the mug as if its warmth could sink into your chest. You sipped slowly, your eyes locked on a spot on the wall you weren’t really seeing. Travis’s words played on repeat in your head, each one sharp and heavy, making your chest ache. But then your thoughts drifted to Joel—his voice, his face, the way he lingered in your mind even when he wasn’t there. You tried to untangle your feelings, to make sense of them, but everything was a mess. You felt stuck, suspended between anger, regret, and an ache you didn’t want to name.

By the time your tea had cooled, you set the mug on the nightstand and crawled under the covers. You curled into yourself, as if trying to protect your body from the storm inside your mind. Sleep came in fits and starts, your dreams restless and fragmented.

When you woke, pale winter light filtered through the curtains, and the clock on your phone read 5:00 p.m. The realization sat heavy in your stomach, though you weren’t entirely sure why.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling, as a decision started to take shape. You needed to talk to Joel. You needed answers—clarity—something to cut through the fog that had settled over you. The thought filled you with both dread and determination, but you knew it was the only way forward. Avoiding this had only left you feeling more tangled.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you headed into the kitchen. The quiet of the house felt like both a comfort and a weight pressing down on you. You grabbed a glass of water, leaning against the counter as you tried to gather the resolve for the conversation you had been putting off. After a few seconds, you forced yourself to stop thinking about it.

Then, after pacing your home for what felt like hours, the walls pressing in closer with every loop around the living room, you decided you needed air. Staying inside had begun to feel suffocating.

You didn’t have a plan when you left, not really. The streetlights buzzed faintly in the cool dusk, casting a yellow haze on the cracked pavement. The air had that sharp, metallic chill of autumn, biting at your cheeks and pinching your nose. You pulled your scarf tighter as you walked, hands buried deep in your pockets, letting your feet lead without much thought.

Eventually, you found yourself standing in front of the small, unassuming cinema tucked between a bookstore and a closed bakery. The marquee flickered with a mix of indie titles and old classics. You chose something without paying too much attention, just handed over your card and took the ticket without caring about the plot or reviews. It wasn’t about the movie, really—it was about the act of sitting in the dark, of letting someone else’s story take up the space in your head that Joel’s had been occupying for too long.

The air inside was warm and thick with the scent of buttered popcorn, wrapping around you like a familiar embrace. With your snacks in hand—popcorn and chocolate, the perfect blend of sweet and salty—you found a seat near the back, where the dim glow of the screen felt like a shield from the outside world.

The movie began: 16 Candles. Molly Ringwald appeared, her face falling as her family forgot her birthday. You watched, though your focus wavered, the story blurring into the film’s grainy texture. For long stretches, you weren’t even sure what was happening, your mind slipping in and out of the narrative.

But none of that mattered. For those few moments, tucked away in the darkness, you weren’t thinking about him. And that was enough.

When the credits rolled, you stayed seated for a moment longer, watching the names scroll by in white letters against the black screen. There was something soothing about the rhythm of it, the anonymity of all those people who had come together to create something for strangers to sit and lose themselves in. Finally, you stood, stretching your legs as you shuffled out into the night.

Your stomach growled as you stepped onto the street, and you realized you hadn’t eaten since lunch. Without much deliberation, you turned toward your favorite restaurant, the one you always went to when you craved a little indulgence or comfort. It wasn’t far—just a few blocks away—and the walk, though cold, felt like a balm. The restaurant’s warm light spilled onto the sidewalk, a beacon against the deepening dark.

Inside, you slid into a familiar booth by the window, the worn leather cushioning a kind of second skin to your movements. The server greeted you by name, smiling as they handed you a menu, though you barely glanced at it before ordering your usual. The predictability of it felt steadying, a ritual that didn’t demand any extra thought.

As you waited, you let your eyes wander. The restaurant was only half-full, a quiet hum of conversation blending with the clink of silverware against plates. You imagined snippets of lives that weren’t yours—a couple arguing softly over shared appetizers, a man engrossed in his phone, a table of friends laughing too loudly. You didn’t envy or resent any of it.

When your food arrived, the first bite was a revelation, reminding you just how hungry you were. You ate slowly, savoring every forkful, letting the warmth spread through you like a kind of healing. You didn’t check your phone once, didn’t let your thoughts circle back to Joel or any of the messy, unresolved tangles waiting for you at home. Instead, you let yourself exist in this small, fleeting moment of peace.

By the time you left, your body felt heavy with contentment, your mind quieter than it had been in days. The streets were quieter now, too, the city winding down into its nighttime lull. You took the long way home, the cold air stinging your cheeks but waking you up in a way that felt good. And for the first time in what felt like ages, you felt good.

That night, you slept like a baby.

Tuesday. The afternoon found you typing away at your laptop, the steady rhythm of keys filling the otherwise quiet living room. The soft knock at the door startled you out of your focus. You paused, turning your head toward the sound, squinting as if that might help you see through walls.

Resting your palms on the table, you pushed yourself up and walked to the door, curiosity flickering. Who could it be? You weren’t expecting anyone. When you opened it, a warm smile tugged at your lips before you even realized it.

“Hi,” Sarah greeted, her usual brightness dimmed slightly by a rare shyness. She stood there, clutching a paper bag against her chest, the faint rustling hinting at its contents. “I was home alone and thought… I don’t know, maybe I could come over? Hang out for a bit? They just put 13 Going on 30 back on Netflix, and I thought we could watch it. I brought snacks.” She lifted the bag slightly, a hopeful grin spreading across her face. "Just if you can, obviously."

You tilted your head, stepping aside to let her in. “Of course. That sounds perfect.”

She walked in, brushing past you with an air of quiet confidence, though her smile betrayed how pleased she was.

As she made her way to the kitchen, you asked, “Does your dad know you’re here?”

“He’s working,” Sarah replied casually, already unloading her treasures onto the counter. “I left him a note. He won’t mind.”

You followed her, leaning against the counter as she spread out an array of treats: chocolates, chips, two popcorn bags, Doritos, and a generous stash of her favorite sour gummies. She seemed so at ease in your space, like it was as much hers as it was yours.

“Wow,” you remarked, surveying the haul with mock astonishment. “This is a feast.”

Sarah grinned, shrugging like it was no big deal. “I wasn’t sure what you’d be in the mood for, so I brought everything.” She paused, holding up a bag of popcorn. “You can’t watch 13 Going on 30 without chocolate, right?”

“Absolutely not,” you agreed, reaching for the bag to help her. As you moved around the kitchen together, the air between you felt light, easy. She chattered about her day, slipping seamlessly between topics, while you found yourself laughing at her sharp, funny observations.

By the time the snacks were ready, the living room was glowing softly in the dim light of the TV. Sarah settled onto the couch, pulling a blanket over her legs, and patted the spot next to her. You joined her, the warmth of her presence a quiet comfort.

As the opening credits rolled, she glanced at you, her expression serious for a moment. “Thanks for letting me come over. I just… I didn’t feel like being alone today.”

A sharp pang settled in your chest at her words. You realized just how much you’d missed her these past few weeks. The two of you hadn’t spent much time together lately, and the thought of Sarah passing her afternoons alone tugged at you in a way you couldn’t ignore.

You remembered how it used to be. How she’d spend hours with you while Joel was at work, her chatter filling the silences in the house, her presence a comfort you’d come to treasure. You loved those afternoons—the way she’d casually sprawl on your couch, teasing you about your tea obsession or insisting on picking the music. But then, gradually, the visits stopped. She probably sensed something was wrong between you and her dad. Sarah was perceptive like that. Too perceptive.

It killed you to think she felt caught in the middle of something she didn’t fully understand. And because of that, you hadn’t pushed her to come back. You didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable or burdened.

You met her gaze, offering her a small, reassuring smile. “You’re always welcome here, honey. Always. I've missed you a lot.”

Sarah’s expression softened, but she hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the candy bar in her hand. “I missed you too,” she admitted quietly, her voice almost tentative, as if she were afraid of saying it out loud. “I wasn’t sure if… you know, if things were okay.”

“Of course they are,” you said quickly, stepping closer and resting a gentle hand on her arm. “With me and you? They’re always okay. I hope you know that.”

She looked up at you, her lips curving into a faint smile, though a flicker of uncertainty lingered in her eyes. “It’s just… I didn’t want to bother you, especially with everything going on. Dad doesn’t say much, but I can tell something’s been… weird.”

Your heart squeezed at her honesty, and you took a steadying breath.

“Things have been complicated,” you admitted, choosing your words carefully. “But none of it changes how much I care about you. You mean so much to me, and I’m glad you’re here, really.”

Her smile grew a little wider, the vulnerability giving way to a familiar brightness. “Okay,” she said softly. Then, almost teasingly, she added, “You’re stuck with me tonight, by the way. I brought enough snacks for a sleepover, just sayin'.”

You chuckled, the sound light and easy, as if a weight had lifted from the room. “Good. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The movie played on, its quick-witted humor keeping the two of you entertained. You couldn't count the number of times you'd seen it, though you'd guess it was well into double digits. One of your favorite comedies, it had been an instant hit with Sarah when you'd introduced her to it on a lazy Saturday morning. Since then, she'd occasionally tug at your sleeve, asking for another watch, usually with the promise of snacks you both knew you'd overdo.

As the credits rolled, you noticed the remnants of your indulgence: a half-eaten chocolate bar in your hand and Sarah carefully organizing the bag of sour gummies on the coffee table. She tucked the gummies away with an air of exaggerated responsibility, declaring it a strategic move to ensure there were enough left for another movie night soon.

Feeling the sugar settle uncomfortably in your stomach, you pushed off the couch, announcing, “I need water. Want some?”

Sarah stretched, her arms flopping dramatically onto the cushions. “Yeah, please. But a small glass. I don’t want to explode.”

The kitchen light felt sharp after the dim glow of the TV. You grabbed two glasses, filling one as Sarah called your name from the other room. Her tone was curious, a little tentative. Before you could answer, you heard her feet padding toward you. She appeared in the doorway, her hands fluttering slightly as though brushing off invisible crumbs from her shirt.

“Can I really sleep over?” she asked, stepping closer.

You handed her the glass of water. She accepted it but didn’t drink, her bright, questioning gaze fixed on you.

“Of course,” you said, leaning back against the counter. “But your dad has to be okay with it. Don’t you have school tomorrow?”

She shrugged one shoulder, sipping the water. “Yeah, but I’ve done it before. He won’t care.”

“Well,” you said, tilting your head, “you should still ask him.”

She tilted her head right back at you, mirroring your expression. “Why don’t you ask him? You’re the adult.”

You almost laughed at her logic. “If he’s at work, I doubt he’ll answer a call. Just text him.”

Sarah shook her head decisively, the same way she did when you suggested vegetables for dinner. “He hates texts. Besides, I don’t have my phone with me. And anyway,” she added, spinning on her heel toward the bathroom, “you’re the one who’ll need to explain it if he says no.”

Her retreat left you holding your glass of water, staring at the space where she'd stood. You glanced at the clock on the wall: just after six. Joel would probably be home soon. You could wait and let her handle it, or maybe save yourself the hassle and send him a quick text yourself.

From the bathroom, Sarah's voice floated out. “Hey! Don’t forget to ask, okay? But, like, be convincing. Say we’ve had so much fun.”

“Oh my God,” you muttered, half-laughing, Sarah’s earlier comment still replaying in your mind.

The kitchen was dim, and your eyes rested on a blank patch of wall, thoughts moving like syrup. Dinner. You needed to decide. Pasta sounded good—something carb-heavy, comforting. Maybe that spaghetti recipe you loved but hadn’t made in ages.

The refrigerator door creaked open, releasing a blast of cool air that brushed your face as you leaned in. You scanned the cluttered shelves, the faint hum of the appliance the only sound filling the quiet kitchen. Your fingers absently scratched your cheek as your eyes drifted over jars, old takeout containers, and a tangle of half-used bags of ingredients.

A bottle of soy sauce caught your attention, slumped in the door shelf, its label peeling at the edges. You stared at it for a moment, trying to recall when you’d last used it. Christmas before last? Maybe even earlier. It looked so out of place now, like a forgotten relic from some half-hearted attempt at cooking you'd long since moved on from. Had it really lasted this long? You wondered if it was still good.

You were still debating dinner options when Sarah returned, her footsteps soft against the tile. She was drying damp hands on her jeans, smearing faint water trails on the dark fabric. Sliding onto the stool at the kitchen island, she leaned forward, resting her chin in her hands.

“So?” she asked, her tone equal parts casual and sharp. “What did he say?”

“Huh?” You straightened, caught off guard.

“You called him, right?”

“I... no, I didn’t.”

Her brows lifted slightly, the edges of a smirk tugging at her lips. But when you didn’t follow up, her amusement faded. A shadow of something more serious crossed her face.

“I knew it,” she said flatly, her voice quieter now.

“Wh—”

“I knew something was wrong with you,” she interrupted, her words deliberate. “But no one ever tells me anything.” Her face scrunched into a frown, the kind that tugged at your chest because it was so distinctly hers—and so distinctly Miller.

“No, honey,” you said softly, stepping closer and leaning your elbows on the counter. Now at her eye level, you tried to hold her gaze. “It’s not that simple. What’s been going on between your dad and me... it’s just complicated.”

Her frown deepened, her lips pressing into a hard line. “It’s always complicated. That’s what you grown-ups say when you don’t want to explain anythin'.”

You sighed, your nerves making your voice tight. “It’s something between adults.”

She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms in a way that made her look older than twelve. “Yeah, but you got involved, didn’t you? And now it’s all weird.”

The directness of her words landed like a jab, though there wasn’t anger in her tone—just sharp observation. She had that way of cutting through pretenses, seeing things for what they were, or at least how they felt to her.

“I heard you guys the other day,” Sarah said, her voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.

Her words sent a cold rush up your spine, landing squarely at the nape of your neck. You froze, unsure of how to react.

“Sunday,” she clarified, her tone even but pointed. “When you came to my house. I heard you. I was on the stairs, and my dad didn’t notice. Neither did you.”

Your mouth felt dry. “What... what did you hear?” The question came out faster than you intended, betraying your nerves.

Her eyes, sharp and unblinking, stayed fixed on you.

“I heard my dad,” she began, carefully measuring each word. “He was saying a lot of... angry stuff. About Travis. About you. Accusing you of—of going off with him.” She paused, hesitating before adding, “And he said you told him you didn’t want to be friends with him anymore. He sounded hurt.”

The mention of it made your stomach twist, and your eyebrows gave away your unease before you could school your expression.

“Did you?” she asked, her face an uneasy mix of curiosity and sadness.

You took a breath, looking at her and realizing there was no point in lying.

“Yeah,” you admitted quietly.

“Why?” Her voice wasn’t accusatory, just earnest, like she truly wanted to understand. “What did he do to you?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure how to condense the mess of emotions into something a twelve-year-old could grasp without oversharing. The words churned in your head, bumping into each other, refusing to settle.

“We argued,” you said eventually, each word feeling like a step on unstable ground. “And your dad said some things. Mean things. And... I said some things too. We hurt each other.” You paused, swallowing hard. “But it hurt me a lot. Too much. And I told him that.”

Sarah studied your face for a long moment, her expression softening into something thoughtful.

In a quieter voice, she asked, “Was it because you guys like each other?”

The question caught you off guard, and a laugh bubbled up despite yourself—a small, surprised sound that you tried to stifle.

“Something like that,” you said, glancing at her with a faint smile.

She mirrored it, her lips curving up in a way that felt both hopeful and uncertain.

You exhaled, your gaze dropping to the counter.

“We’ve been friends for so long, and... it’s complicated when something else happens. Or even when you think something else might happen.” You paused, trying to find the right words. “There’s a lot to figure out. A lot to fix, I think.”

Sarah nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful, as if she were piecing together a puzzle. Then she scratched the back of her neck in a way that was both casual and deliberate, like she was working up to something.

“He’s been downright unbearable lately,” she said, her tone more matter-of-fact than annoyed. “In a bad mood most the time. And when he’s in a good mood, it’s like... I dunno, feels kinda fake or somethin’. Not real convincing.” She shot you a glance, her face lit up with that mix of mischief and sincerity. “Usually, I like teasin’ him—it’s fun. But lately, I just... I dunno, I can’t bring myself to do it. He looks so bad. I feel sorry for him.”

Your eyebrows lifted, and you tried to hide your amusement at how bluntly she was painting Joel’s misery. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance under her scrutiny.

“Well, that’s probably for the best,” you said, smiling as you reached out to rest a hand over hers. “Don’t bother him too much. Go easy on him, okay?”

“Yeah, I guess,” she muttered, her fingers tapping lightly against the counter. Then her gaze lifted to yours, her bright eyes sharp and curious. “But it all kind of makes sense now.”

You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I knew something was wrong right after his birthday,” she explained, her voice gaining momentum. “He wouldn’t tell me anything when I asked, though. So I tried Tommy. But he wouldn’t tell me anything either. He said Dad wouldn’t want him to.” She paused, looking almost shy now. “And I didn’t want to ask you. I thought you might get mad.”

“That could never happen,” you assured her gently.

She nodded, but there was still a flicker of hesitation on her face. “It’s just... it was obvious something was up. I dunno, you guys never fight. At least not like that. So I figured it had to be something big. Something... weirder.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment before she continued, her voice lighter now, like she was sharing a secret.

“Then I went to Irina’s house and told her about it. She said it was obvious—it had to be because you were in love, like in Love, Rosie.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. The thought of Sarah sitting with her friend, dissecting your tangled mess of emotions, was almost too much to process. The tenderness you felt was quickly overtaken by guilt for dragging her into something so complicated.

“I hadn’t seen the movie, though,” Sarah added quickly, shrugging like that detail was crucial to the story. “So we watched it that afternoon. Dude, I think she’s right.”

Her tone shifted, turning serious but hopeful, her eyes sparkling with a kind of naive certainty. “You have to leave Travis.”

Her sudden declaration caught you completely off guard, and a laugh burst out of you before you could stop it.

“Sarah!” you said, still laughing, covering your mouth as you tried to collect yourself.

She grinned, looking more pleased than embarrassed. “What? I’m just saying what everyone else is probably thinking.”

You shook your head, still laughing, and reached over to ruffle her hair. “You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?”

Sarah ducked away from your hand, smoothing her hair with exaggerated care, as if the ruffle had ruined her carefully curated look.

“Yeah, I know,” she said with a little shrug, her tone light but pointed. Then she glanced up at you, her eyes sharp. “So, are you gonna leave him? I mean, I’m pretty sure Dad would be thrilled.”

“Oh my God,” you gasped, caught between surprise and laughter.

She didn’t miss a beat. “He’s the obstacle, isn’t he?” she said, gesturing broadly with one hand, as if the answer were painfully obvious. “And you love my dad. It’s simple.”

“Uh—I... I think this is a bit too much to unpack,” you stammered, feeling the heat creep up your neck.

“Why?” she asked, her face falling slightly into an expression of disappointment. “What’s wrong with it? I already know everythin'. I’m not stupid. I’m not a baby.”

“It’s not that,” you said quickly, softening your tone. “It’s just... there’s a lot of stuff you don’t know, and it’s complicated.” You shifted uncomfortably, trying to find the right words. “Look, I’m not dating Travis. Not anymore. But even so, I thought your dad was dating Sienna.”

“Sienna?” Sarah repeated, tilting her head in confusion. “You mean the one from the bank?”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding.

Sarah snorted, like the idea itself was absurd. “Dad’s not dating Sienna. I overheard him and Tommy talkin' about it, like, a month ago.”

“You love spying on your dad, don’t you?” you teased, glancing at her with raised eyebrows.

“I wouldn’t have to spy if everyone didn’t keep secrets from me,” she shot back, mimicking your tone with a smirk. Then she added, “Forget about Sienna. He stopped seein' her right after his birthday.”

“Oh, really?” you said, arching an eyebrow.

“Yup,” she said, leaning forward, her expression turning mischievous. “Oh, what a coincidence, right? Right after your fight.” She reached out to poke your hand, a playful glint in her eye.

You froze for a second, smiling faintly, but your mind was racing. Joel had stopped seeing Sienna? Over a month ago? Why hadn’t he said anything? He’d had plenty of chances to mention it, plenty of openings to set things straight. But he hadn’t.

“Well,” you said finally, straightening up and brushing the thought aside. “It’s his life. And you,” you added, pointing an accusatory finger at her, “have nothing to do with this. Got it? You and me, we're okay. Always.”

“Okay, okay,” Sarah said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. She raised her glass to her lips, pausing before she added, “But you have to let him know I’m staying over. Now.”

“Fine,” you said with a sigh. “But I’m texting him, not calling him.”

Sarah rolled her eyes dramatically, like you’d just suggested the most tedious thing imaginable.

“Okay,” she said, drawing the word out. “Apparently, we’re doing this one step at a time.”

You smiled despite yourself, turning to open one of the wooden cabinets on the wall.

“One step at a time sounds about right,” you said, more to yourself than to her.

“What do you wanna eat?” you asked, your voice carrying lightly across the kitchen as you moved to open the fridge.

Sarah leaned against the counter, considering. “Anything but those frozen pizzas. You always burn the edges.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “That happened one time.”

“More than once,” she corrected, raising an eyebrow.

“Fine,” you conceded. “How about spaghetti?”

Her face brightened instantly, a flicker of excitement breaking through her otherwise composed demeanor.

“Yes! And I’ll help, right? You look like you might need it.”

You gasped in mock offense, reaching for a pot. “Excuse me, what’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugged, a playful grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

It was settled. You gathered ingredients while Sarah volunteered herself as sous-chef, which meant chopping the vegetables in the most chaotic but enthusiastic way possible. You handed her a knife with explicit instructions to please be careful.

“You sound like my dad,” she teased, carefully slicing a bell pepper.

You turned to the speaker on the counter, deciding that cooking deserved a soundtrack. Soon, music filled the small space, bright and upbeat, shifting the energy in the room. Sarah hummed along while you stirred the pot.

When she seemed distracted, her focus entirely on the bell pepper, you slipped out of the kitchen and grabbed your phone from the coffee table in the living room. Unlocking it, you scrolled through your messages until you found Joel’s name.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, the words forming and dissolving in your mind. You didn’t want it to sound too formal or hesitant. Just normal. Neutral.

Finally, you typed:

Hi Joel. Sarah’s here, spending the afternoon. She wants to know if it’s okay with you if she stays over. Let me know.

Short. Concise. Clear.

You hit send and placed the phone back on the counter when you returned to the kitchen.

“All done,” you said, gesturing toward your phone with a tilt of your head.

Sarah glanced up, a satisfied smile spreading across her face. She gave a small nod before turning back to her chopping.

Minutes passed, filled with the clatter of knives and the soft simmering of the sauce. You reached for your phone to change the song—Sarah had requested something from her playlist, Just like heaven by The Cure—and just as you did, it vibrated in your hand.

A message popped up at the top of the screen:

Joel. Tell her I said yes, but I want her home early. She’s got school tomorrow.

You turned the phone toward Sarah so she could read it. She gave a mock salute, grinning. “Thumbs up for Dad,” she said, returning to her vegetables.

“Baby steps,” she added after a moment, a little quieter, her back turned to you.

The words hung in the air. You watched her for a beat, the ease of her movements, the way she navigated the kitchen like she belonged there. Something about the moment felt fleeting and important, though you couldn’t quite pin down why.

Wednesday. You glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall as you took your first sip of coffee, the warmth of the mug seeping into your cold fingers. 6:32 a.m. The early light was still soft, casting a pale glow through the window where you’d cracked it open just a few centimeters. The cool morning air was refreshing, carrying with it the earthy scent of dew and dawn. It was one of those little rituals you cherished—the quiet, the crispness of the day unfolding just for you.

Sarah was sitting on the stool at the kitchen island, her eyes still half-closed in that sleepy haze. She rubbed them with her left hand, the fingers of her right curled around a steaming cup of tea. The warmth of the tea contrasted with the chill in the room, and she looked small and vulnerable in that quiet moment, as if she hadn’t quite yet fully woken.

You moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, still wearing your pajamas under a soft, worn robe. You set a plate in front of her, the familiar breakfast she loved—toast, scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and strawberries, their juicy red flesh cut into generous chunks. She didn’t even need to ask; you knew she’d devour them, just like when she was little. Joel had always been the one to pile up bowls of fruit for her, and she’d always gobbled them down, leaving a trail of sticky fingers and bits of fruit on the house’s surfaces. He used to scold her lightly, but it was always with that soft tone of affection, as if he couldn’t help but love the chaos she brought. Her favorites had always been strawberries and grapes—nothing else really compared.

Sarah took a bite of bacon, chewing contentedly, and looked up at you, her expression curious despite her full mouth.

“When do we watch another movie?” she asked, the question spilling out before she’d even swallowed.

“What movie do you wanna see?” you asked, keeping the conversation light.

“I dunno, one I haven’t seen,” she replied with a shrug, her eyes flickering to her fork. “A love one, or a horror one.”

You chuckled and nodded. It seemed like Sarah’s movie preferences had always swung between the extremes—either something heart-wrenchingly romantic or something terrifying enough to make her jump. You could see the appeal in both, honestly.

You’d gone to bed early last night, after a quiet dinner. Sarah had somehow managed to wriggle her way into your bed before you even realized it, and when you’d turned off the light and whispered goodnight, she hadn’t been quiet for long. She’d started in, talking about everything on her mind. The dramas at school. The boy Irina liked. A teacher she hated, mostly because she was rude and had bad breath. Her upcoming science project, which she was convinced was going to be her masterpiece. And then came the questions—questions you knew had been lingering in her mind all evening.

“Since when do you like my dad?” was one of the first ones, and you froze, unsure of how to respond. If you were being honest, the answer was probably “since forever,” but that didn’t seem like something you could just say to a twelve-year-old.

“How do you know if you like a friend?” she had asked next. “Do you wanna get married, anyway?” and “Does anyone else know about this?” The questions had kept coming, innocent yet sharp, until your tired eyes could barely stay open. You had asked her, gently, to go to sleep. She’d needed to get up early too, after all.

Now, Sarah was hugging you tightly at the door as she left, her face still warm with sleepiness. School started in an hour, and you knew Joel was waiting for her next door, probably with a mug of coffee in hand, ready to help her get through the morning rush.

After she left, you went back upstairs to your room and found yourself standing in front of your closet longer than usual, picking out what to wear. You couldn't really explain it, but something about spending time with Sarah had recharged you. The normalcy of it—her chatter, the comfort of your shared space—it gave you a sense of balance.

Then, as you stood there with your clothes half-chosen, a thought popped into your head, and a smile tugged at your lips. It was perfect—next movie night, you’d introduce Sarah to Twilight. The whole saga. You were sure she’d love it. She adored stories like that, all angsty romance and supernatural drama.

With that thought, you finished getting ready and went off to work, feeling lighter, more cheerful. It was one of those mornings that made the whole day seem a little bit brighter. You were sure it would fly by.

Thursday. It was quiet, one of those days that seemed to pass without making much noise but still felt like it had been worthwhile. The morning was calm, and there was something almost comforting about the gentle rhythm of the hours.

At work, you moved through the usual tasks, keeping busy without feeling overwhelmed. You found yourself drifting in and out of conversations, but one particular subject caught your attention: the interns gossiping in the break room. They were whispering about one of the assistants, the one who’d caused a scene in the kitchen last time with a very public meltdown over a misdelivered order. You overheard snippets of their conversation as you nibbled on your sandwich, hearing that the assistant was apparently having an affair with her boss’s husband. You couldn’t help but listen, half-amused, half-worried for her and her boss. The way they spoke about them, with such casual cruelty, made you feel bad for the two women, but at the same time, it was hard to not be intrigued.

You chuckled to yourself as you returned to your desk, but that quiet moment of levity was soon overshadowed by something worse. Later in the afternoon, you saw the same assistant leave the office in tears, her eyes red-rimmed as she hurried past your cubicle. You heard the boss, loud enough for the entire office to hear, scream in her wake, "How ungrateful some people are!" It hung in the air long after she had gone, an uncomfortable silence settling in as everyone pretended to be busy.

When you finally got home, you decided to go for a run. The cool air outside felt refreshing as you laced up your shoes and hit the pavement. It wasn’t a long run, just enough to stretch your legs and clear your head. By the time you returned, sweat on your brow, you felt more awake than you had all day. You took a hot shower, the steam washing away the weariness from your muscles, and for a moment, you felt light.

It was around mid-afternoon when Sarah knocked on your door, her face slightly flushed from the brisk walk over. She held a notebook under her arm, her usual look of determination replacing the exhaustion from earlier in the week.

"Hey, can you help me with my lit homework?" she asked, a bit sheepish but trying to hide it with her usual confidence.

"Of course," you said, gesturing for her to come inside.

As she set up at the kitchen table, she launched into a detailed account of the latest school drama. It was the same pattern—some new gossip or rumor, something about a classmate or a teacher that she found funny or ridiculous.

"Guess what?" she asked, leaning in conspiratorially. "Irina and Julian almost kissed in the hallway today."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Irina and Justin? No way."

"Yeah, I saw them, but then they just... didn’t." Sarah smirked. "I think Julian got scared. You know, like how he does when he talks to girls."

You couldn’t help but smile at her observations. She was so sharp, so aware of everything around her. You had no idea how she’d gotten so good at reading people, but it was impressive. Once you helped her finish her homework, she packed up her things, her expression shifting from casual to slightly more serious.

“I gotta go home,” she said, glancing at the clock. “I still need to work on my project. I’m not done yet.”

“Alright, I’ll text you later,” you replied, smiling at her as she grabbed her bag. “Good luck, love you.”

“Thanks, love ya too,” she called over her shoulder as she left. "I’ll let you know if I need anything else. Bye!”

With Sarah gone, you spent the rest of the afternoon in quiet solitude. You curled up on the couch with a bowl of snacks and started watching Bridget Jones’s Diary. The jokes felt like old friends, and by the time you’d gone through half of the movie, you were feeling light and at ease, the stresses of the day melting away.

For dinner, you opted for the ease of take-out. The thought of cooking felt like too much effort after such a peaceful afternoon. You ordered your usual—Chinese food, always comforting. After the long workweek, it was exactly what you needed. You ate in silence, savoring each bite, the day’s quiet moments stretching into the evening as you let your mind wander.

Friday. “No way!” you shouted, your voice coming out louder than you’d meant, and your eyes went wide as saucers. You stepped through the doorway, disbelieving for a moment, before you saw her standing there, grinning like she hadn’t a care in the world.

Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around her neck, pulling her into a tight hug. The warmth of her body against yours felt so familiar, and the sudden surge of emotion made your chest tighten in the best way. You squeezed her just a little harder, like you were trying to absorb her energy, like she could somehow make everything else feel lighter again.

“What are you doing here?” you finally breathed, pulling back just enough to look at her face. You searched her eyes, needing some explanation, still a little stunned.

Cassie’s smile spread wider, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling with that same irrepressible energy you remembered. She still had that look—like she was always on the verge of something exciting, something unexpected.

“I ran away from home!” she declared with an enthusiasm that made her words feel even bigger. She placed her hands on your shoulders, bouncing on her heels like she couldn’t contain the rush of whatever had made her do this. “I just left. I needed to come back. I can't even begin to explain how much I've missed you!”

Her words hit you in a way that made your heart swell, the kind of feeling that caught you off guard, leaving you without a response at first. You just stared at her, as if trying to piece together what she was saying, still not quite believing it.

Without hesitation, you stepped aside and ushered her in, the familiar comfort of her presence filling the space in a way only she could. You watched her, feeling that strange mix of happiness and disbelief, as if she were an apparition you hadn’t expected to see again. It was like time hadn’t passed at all, and you were suddenly back in a world that had felt a little emptier without her.

As she settled her things around the room, Cassie started talking, filling in the blanks of her sudden arrival. She told you everything.

Bruno, her boyfriend, had been cheating on her with a coworker. Cassie had suspected it for weeks—finding a couple of odd messages on his phone was the first hint. But two days ago, she'd gotten the proof she needed when she came across a receipt for an underwear purchase. The whole thing felt so cliché, like something out of a bad rom-com, but the more she thought about it, the more she couldn’t ignore it. That’s when she started searching through his things. She rifled through his office, checking drawers, until she found a stack of small, folded notes hidden in the back. One of them had a kiss—bright pastel pink lipstick, the kind she hated. That color felt like an insult, like it was mocking her. So, in her frustration, she waited for him to come home, gathered everything up, and laid it out on the bed—evidence, neatly arranged like a cruel puzzle. Bruno denied everything at first, of course. He always did. But after a while, he cracked. She didn’t need to say much. The lies tumbled out of his mouth, and she just listened, her blood boiling. In the end, she destroyed every suit he owned—ripping them to shreds before kicking him out of the apartment they’d shared.

That night, in a mix of fury and disbelief, she impulsively booked a plane ticket, packed her things in a hurried mess, and left. Twenty hours of travel later, and now she was lying in your bed, talking a mile a minute. She had no concept of jetlag, or maybe she just didn’t care. The adrenaline was still running through her veins, and the weight of everything that had happened was only starting to sink in.

You both lay there for a while, and then, out of nowhere, Cassie asked about Joel. The question caught you off guard, and for a long moment, you didn’t answer. You tried to collect your thoughts, but when you finally spoke, your voice came out softer than you expected, almost muffled by the weight of it all. You told her about Sarah’s news, about Joel and Sienna.

Cassie’s expression didn’t shift much at first. She seemed unsurprised, but a little relieved.

“Told you she wasn’t a real threat,” she said, nodding as though confirming a private thought.

But then you mentioned Travis. His name hung in the air, and Cassie’s reaction was immediate. Her eyes widened, her lips parted slightly. She sat up in bed, her posture tense, like she hadn’t expected that at all.

“That son of a bitch,” Cassie muttered, her voice muffled by the pillow as she shook her head. “Who does he think he is, running around talking about you like that?”

You sighed, frustration bubbling up again. “I don’t know. I really don’t. It caught me off guard. I never thought he’d be that kind of person.”

Cassie sat up slightly, propping herself up on her elbow, eyes narrowing in a way that was both intense and oddly endearing.

“And why the hell didn’t Joel ask you about it? Why the hell did he believe some man he loathes?” She made a sharp gesture with her hands, as if dismissing the very idea. “Lately, his brain’s working like a mashed potato.”

You couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped your lips, but it was more out of frustration than amusement.

“That’s exactly what I thought! Why didn’t he just ask me? I asked him a million times, ‘What the fuck are you talking about, Joel?’ and he wouldn’t tell me a thing. Nothing!”

Cassie closed her eyes for a moment, a deep sigh leaving her, as if trying to pull herself together before speaking. When she opened her eyes again, her expression softened, but there was a sharpness in her gaze.

“Because he was hurt. And angry. And he clearly didn’t feel like working things out with you at that moment. The best he could come up with was to blow up at you and make you feel as bad as he felt.”

You stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in slowly, and the room seemed quieter, somehow, as if everything was still in that moment.

“But why? Why did he go that far?” you asked, almost to yourself. The silence lingered.

Cassie shrugged, a look of genuine sympathy in her eyes.

“People are dumb when they’re hurting. But that doesn’t make it any easier.”

You leaned back, exhaling slowly, your thoughts swirling in frustration and confusion. Then, as if a weight had settled in your chest, you found yourself asking, “Why didn’t you come sooner? It would’ve been so much easier to figure this out if I had you here with me.”

She looked at you, her smile softening before she hugged you tighter, her voice quiet.

“Stop, you’re gonna make me cry,” she teased, but there was a genuine warmth in the way she held you. “I was going to come for Christmas anyway, as a surprise. I didn’t plan on running away from Bruno first.”

You laughed, shaking your head, the tension easing just a little.

“I’m glad you came early, though. I missed you so much.”

Cassie grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Are you telling me it’s a good thing Bruno cheated on me? That’s why I came early?”

You playfully swatted her leg, laughing again.

“No, I’m not saying that. But I’m glad you dumped him. You deserve someone who actually knows how to treat you.”

Her grin widened, and for a moment, everything felt right again. But then she leaned in, her expression turning serious.

“And you need to patch things up with Joel,” she said bluntly, her voice just a little too firm. “Or I’m going to lock you two in a room and force you to talk. Honestly. And stop acting like kids.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, but not at you—more like she was holding herself back from giving you a motherly lecture.

“I know,” you confessed, sitting up straight and running a hand through your hair. You knew this conversation wasn’t over. “I’ll talk to him. I promise.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of endless conversation, the kind that felt both exhausting and comforting in equal measure. Cassie had so much to tell you, her words tumbling out one after the other like she couldn’t stop once she’d started. She spoke about her life in Italy—how she’d adapted to everything, how much she missed the simplicity of being back here, with you, in the same bed, talking about everything and nothing, like when you were younger. Her laugh was the same, a little higher pitched when she was genuinely happy, and it made you feel like time hadn’t passed at all.

As the hours drifted by, the conversation shifted seamlessly into memories. You both laughed and sighed as you reminisced about the time you first met, when you were both eleven, so awkward and unsure of yourselves, and how you’d ended up in Austin, drawn by your own separate pulls, yet still somehow close enough to see each other almost every day. Cassie had lived in a small downtown apartment back then. You had found a place nearby, just far enough to need a car to see each other, but close enough to drop by without any effort. You spent hours together in those days—sometimes talking, sometimes just existing in the same space. You never lived together, though.

Cassie was too social, too often hosting friends and acquaintances, always surrounded by people. You, on the other hand, had always been quieter. You preferred solitude, the peaceful comfort of being by yourself in your own space. It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy Cassie’s company—quite the opposite. But you liked the balance of your lives: hers filled with chatter and life, and yours with quiet and space.

Now, with her sitting across from you, it felt like nothing had changed. You were still as close as you’d always been, still managing to keep the balance between her vibrant energy and your calmer, quieter presence. You felt a warmth spreading in your chest, the kind that came from having the best of friends beside you when you needed them the most. The fact that you didn’t know how long she would be staying only made you happier. It was a gift, this unexpected visit.

Cassie’s voice broke through your thoughts. She’d stopped talking for a moment, her gaze softening, eyes closing briefly as she leaned back on the couch, a contented smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“I feel better here,” she said, her voice quiet, as if the weight of her words was grounding her.

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you smiled, letting the moment linger. You picked up your glass of wine and took a sip, letting the music fill the space between you before returning to the thread of your conversation. You started talking about old friends—those people you used to see all the time but had drifted away from. Faces and names from a past life, now reduced to half-remembered moments.

After a while, Cassie went to the bathroom, and for the first time in hours, you were left alone with your thoughts. The soft hum of the music seemed louder now, the words settling into your mind like an unspoken invitation.

You needed to talk to Joel. You had to.

The thought was like a knot in your stomach, tight and anxious. How could you even approach him? How could you talk to him again without feeling humiliated?

This was it. The last chance. If he treated you badly again, if he shut you out again, you wouldn’t try anymore. If he didn’t want to listen to you, then fine. You weren’t going to beg. You weren’t going to chase after someone who didn’t care enough to meet you halfway. You could feel your resolve hardening, the idea of giving up no longer feeling like a loss, but a relief. You had done everything you could. The rest was out of your hands.

If he didn’t want to listen to you... well, that was his problem. Fuck him, then.

Saturday. “I’ll get it!” Cassie shouted from downstairs, her voice carrying easily through the house.

You were in your room, towel drying your hair after the shower. Cassie had spent half the afternoon thrusting bottles of creams, serums, shampoos, and hair treatments at you, insisting with dramatic conviction that they were, and you quoted, “the best thing in the fucking world.” Reluctantly, you’d agreed to try them, and now your entire being smelled like vainilla and coco.

Downstairs, the door creaked open.

“Joel,” Cassie said, surprised but not unpleasantly so, a smile spreading across her face as she took in the figure on your doorstep.

Joel blinked, visibly startled. His brows furrowed before relaxing, his expression softening into something almost amused. A soft smile.

“Cassie? What are you doing here? When did you get back?”

She stepped aside slightly to greet him with a quick, casual hug that he received.

“Yesterday,” she said with a shrug, her eyes narrowing just enough to hint she was already gathering pieces of a puzzle Joel didn’t know existed. “Last-minute decision, you know. Want to come in?”

Joel hesitated, shifting his weight awkwardly. “No, I—uh, is she—”

“She’s here,” Cassie interrupted, her tone smooth, deliberate. She tilted her head toward the stairs and called your name in a shout. Then, turning back to Joel, she grinned. “She’ll be down in a second. How’s Sarah? She must be huge by now!”

Joel’s face lit up at the mention of his daughter, the tension in his shoulders loosening.

“She’s great. Yeah, she’s huge—almost taller than you,” he teased, lifting a hand to indicate Cassie’s height.

Cassie rolled her eyes but laughed. “I want to see her. We should steal her for a girls’ night soon.”

“Anytime,” Joel replied with a small smile, genuine now. “She’d love that.”

Cassie zipped her coat with theatrical precision.

“Perfect. Let’s plan it.” She reached for her beret and adjusted it snugly, her gaze flicking briefly toward the stairs.

You appeared at the landing, one foot on the top step, dressed in black pajama pants and an oversized sweater that hung loose on your frame. Your hair was dry, neat, and slightly glossy—courtesy of Cassie’s insistence.

“Who is it?” you asked, taking another step before freezing halfway down.

Your eyes landed on Joel. He stood stiffly, his posture uncertain. The smile he’d worn moments ago dissolved into something more unreadable, almost guarded. You felt a small knot tighten in your stomach.

“I’m going for a walk,” Cassie declared suddenly, breezing past Joel with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Nice seeing ya, Joel.”

He nodded, but his attention stayed fixed on you.

In less than a moment, Cassie was gone. The silence she left behind felt sharp, almost heavy. You forced yourself to move, descending the final steps slowly, deliberately, until you were close enough to meet Joel’s gaze without leaning forward.

He looked different somehow. The dark jeans and heavy green flannel shirt he wore felt familiar, but his expression didn’t. His face was etched with something hard to place—nervousness, maybe, or regret.

His eyes - oh my God, his eyes.

You crossed your arms, leaning slightly against the doorframe, forcing yourself to sound steadier than you felt. “Joel, what happened?” you asked, your voice almost a whisper, though the question felt louder than anything you could have said. "Need somethin'?"

He exhaled, a sharp, controlled breath, his gaze flicking briefly to the floor, as if searching for something to say, then back to you. His brows flickered with indecision before he spoke, his voice low and careful, like each word was a step he wasn’t sure he could take.

“I... I know you probably don’t wanna see me,” he said, his voice low, almost strained, his eyes dark and heavy with something blue. “But I... I... can we talk? Please?”

199 notes · View notes

inumakis-boo · 7 months ago

Text

TOGE INUMAKI ⟢. ݁₊⋆.˚ ༘♡˚

fanfiction synopsis ␥ you and toge inumaki are both in your third year of jujustu high, but youve barely spent a moment alone yet. when you do on a saturday night, you realize exactly why you need to "hang out" more // aka, the first step to being friends with benefits.. hooking up the first time.

word count - 4,629 // hope you enjoy! tw obviously.

You would have never guessed how this night would end, compared to its beginning. Like something you would have read in a terrible booktok novel with its cliches and tropes- but you could have never understood how even cliches, imitate life.

It was finally Saturday night, and all of the second and third years sat in Itadori’s room, with the dim blue LED lights circling them, and posters of clad women on the wall to give off the perfect teenage boy aesthetic. Some game was going on the TV and both Itadori and Nobara had been occupying everyone's attention with their shouting and cheers as they fought on screen.

You didn’t know exactly how or why or when, someone had swiped a bottle of something, and now it lay on the mats on the floor, empty with a broken seal. At least everyone had gotten more than a few sips of the fire in the bottle, and you struggled to swallow it, but you still smiled after and laughed. It made the stress of training on the body at least feel a little better as your fingertips buzzed.

Nobody checked the time, and everyone laid out on his bed, on the floor, on the desk and chair. It wouldn’t be too much of a problem- all the teachers would be gone for the weekend. After all, they were all old enough that Satoru Gojo wouldn’t have to babysit constantly, right?

They sat, comfortably then, letting the TV be loud and the shouting obnoxious.

It had taken you awhile to notice, but one member had been missing for the last few minutes with no explanation. You double-checked the room and did not see the violet-eyed boy sitting anywhere. He had last taken a few sips of the bottle and beat Itadori in a game, before at some point dipping for.. whatever reason.

Perhaps he had gotten sick or was fetching something? You decided to go check it out. You silently got up off the floor and didn’t pay much attention as everyone laughed at Itadori dying for the 7th time tonight.

The hallway was darker than usual, but it was probably too late anyway. Moonlight shone through the panes of the window, their crossed shapes decorating the hardwood down the hall, each window revealing the silky glow from the outside. Your eyes followed down and caught to one pattern disturbed.

You follow it up and see the one you were checking on, leaning on the window sill, soaking up the moonlight. It glimmered against the pale skin of his face but did not fade the marks around his mouth.

You slowly walk over, and he tears his eyes from the scene towards you and smiles a little. Instinctually, he pulls out his phone.

“You look happy.” You remark, and his smile grows as he types into the notes app.

// Just felt like walking around, but seeing you here is better. //

You were familiar with his real personality beyond the curse lodged in his throat, the silly and rather typical teenage boy attitude in everything he did. But for some odd reason, it was seeing it face to face was a difference. You had only maybe a few conversations with him before over text, and while you trained together in class, didn’t mean you were used to him yet.

// Something happen? //

“Nah.” You lean on the sill with your body, feeling the open breeze come in. “You're not missing anything.”

He just smirks with a little head shake, and his eyes that had met yours look back to the sill.

// I won’t keep you here, // He types as you look over. // I should be back soon. //

“I’m not in a rush to watch Megumi and Itadori argue about the game rules again.” You smile and snicker. “Out here is nice.”

// Not surprised about that at all // He snickers aloud, // I would like company. //

The moonlight and the random liquor someone brought must have been messing with your senses- He felt welcoming and charming, and in this space, it was more private than anywhere else.

“You had plenty of company in there.” You bring it up, but he just shrugs. Perhaps he wasn’t asking for that kind of head-ache-inducing company.

He scrolled up again to the first note.

// ..it is better seeing you here.//

What was happening with your stomach? It was like something was bubbling up, in a good way. He gazed with an interested eye. and you tried to hold back a dopey grin.

He turns to face away from the window and stretches. You watch him turn back to you, his face now in the dark of the hall. He types-

//I am going to go back to my room, wanna me to walk you back to everyone else?//

“W-What?” You stutter embarrassingly, then clear your throat- “Nono, you don’t have to. It is only down the hall. Let me walk you instead.”

Ah, his smile was so genuine, and he brushed back his hair for a moment before shrugging. A visual okay.

You begin to walk with Him down the silver halls, cusping your hands in yours, watching as you walk in step, his dorm slippers on with his casual sweatpants and navy t-shirt. He wanted to be comfortable- it wasn’t even the first time you had seen him in casual clothes.. although it was more of a rare sight to not see his mouth covered.

You blindly follow him to his room, your eyes catching peeks of his face. He still looked like he did last year according to school photos, but his jaw was more defined, and of course, his inky markings had always made themselves apparent. You thought they were interesting, like any tattoo or scar.

His eyes look at you curiously, and you realize you're just staring at him and look away. You don’t look back, even though he brushes his arm against yours. He had little words to say, yet had better social skills than anybody here. It didn’t feel awkward though, it was just a little new. You hadn’t really noticed him before.. nor had you noticed him noticing you.

Both of you arrived at his dorm room, a little wood plaque around his doorknob that was a gift, a salmon emoji that had been painted for him hung there. It was cute, and you watched it as the door opened.

Toge stepped into his room and didn’t bother to flick on the lights, the full moon shining right through his windows. You couldn’t see much but you could smell him from outside of the room, a mix of his shampoo and cologne- fresh and warm. It almost pulled you in.

He turned after he kicked off his slippers, coming back to the door with his notes presented still.

// We should hang out more often. I think you're fun. //

You shake your head with a laugh. How did he come to that conclusion?

“We didn’t even do anything..!” You laugh, rubbing your arms. Toge returns to his phone. “How would you know?”

// Yeah but, I have my reasons, don’t I? Maybe I have a feeling. //

Okay, maybe your knees had good reason to be weak. Was he flirting? His face seemed to say so.

And.. what could happen if you tested the waters? You hadn’t ever flirted with many people before but.. he was just a friend, right?

You look down the hall and bite your lower lip with a smile. “What kind of feeling?”

It is his turn to look away, leaning against the door frame. He is trying to not smile too hard, you can see.

“Are you feeling like.. we should hang out sooner than later?"

You were wondering if others had drunk more than you had, and according to his eyes, sizing you up, you had an inkling that he might've had just enough to not fear with his expressions. If he was truly cautious, he would be covering his mouth, right?

And according to the feeling between your legs, you had little filter to worry about.

He took a step once, then twice until your chests were practically meeting, and he looked like he had already decided what he wanted, and was bold about it. While your heart was still beating, even if rapidly, you wouldn’t stop until you figured him out.

Of course, he typed with one hand by your side, then presented.

// I am feeling like you are curious about me like I am curious about you, and I wanna see more. Only if you wanna. //

He had read you like a book. You licked your lips and sighed, looking up at him. His hair had been pushed back some since he arrived at his dorm, and the warmth from his body mixed with his cologne was driving you nuts. You wondered how toned he was under these clothes- and wondered if he thought about you the same way.

“If you're so curious..” Your hand slipped onto his pec- firm and warm. “How about you come find out?”

That would do it- one smirk and another step and his lips were pressing against yours. So softly at first, but once your hand had slowly crept up his neck and pulled him just a tad closer, you could feel the intensity rise, his tongue running across your lips and into your open mouth, hands running up and down your hips, never pulling you further but always closer.

Then you could feel him moving back and pulling you with him. You were still in the hallway outside of his dorm, after all. You accepted it- and had no room to even protest. He was too good of a kisser and knew exactly how to take control, not much of a surprise there.

By the time you had started paying attention again, you heard the decoration on his door tap on the door as it closed shut, and realized vaguely you were in a dark room with his boy that just moments ago, considered nothing more than friendly with.

How far this was going to go or fear of being caught was honestly the last thing on your mind. He had reiled you up and at this point, he could have anything he asked for. He wanted to know, he needed to know.

You let his tongue slip into your mouth as his hands run underneath your shirt, his hands on your skin sending you even more haywire. It was addictive, and you were determined to make the same reaction out of him- if not better.

You let your fingers curl in his hair, pushing him forward more, his warm sigh against your cheek telling you how much he was enjoying this. He deserved it, for being so nice to you, and coming onto you like that, making you feel so nervous and witty. You let him guide you to somewhere in his room, and suddenly you can feel the edge of something behind your ass. You were slightly pinned to the end of his bed frame, just enough to keep you from running away.

His knee slowly dragged between the gap of your legs, and the proximity made you sigh in appreciation. He hummed, yet didn’t dare leave your lips. He was being so explorative, passionately involved in every toss of your tongue in your mouth and every patch of skin he touched. His fingertips were dragging across your flesh, and the entire time you could barely keep yourself sane enough to touch him back.

But you did- starting at his navel, just to make him sigh through his nose as his kisses traveled from your mouth to your neck and ear, the brush of his face and lips making you want to squirm with delight. Then, the palm of your hand, just teasing enough, palmed his firm abs, defined so perfectly that you could imagine them in your dreams just by touch alone- but here you were, touching his so wantingly. Your fingertips, like his, grazed so temptingly across his obliques, feeling their tightness and the rumble in his chest easily.

At this point, his shirt was bunching at your wrists, and as a final act of teasing, simply made a motion to pull it up, and meeting violet eyes as he did could’ve made you sink to your knees at a moment. His eyes were lidded and needy, and his lips were pinker with friction, and you could only imagine if he was the type to leave marks behind.

The white shirt had been tossed, maybe on his desk chair, he clearly hadn’t cared where it ended up, because he was too busy doing the exact same to you. You wouldn’t even break eye contact, wouldn’t dare, as his hands sat right below your bra, and could feel the urge in his grip to just take it off right then and there.

Maybe helping his urges wouldn’t be so bad, right?

You took his hand, and encouraged the back of his, allowing him to sneak under the wire and squeeze your perky tits, watching his eyes return to yours as he squeezed on his own.

There was no way you were returning to your dorm room tonight.

Next thing you knew, your bra wire was sitting right near the top of your breasts as he had leaned down, holding his head as he licked and sucked on the hard nipples, rolling one in the other hand. It was erotic, watching his tongue, marked with the scar of his curse, flicking your cute buds to make your body jello in his hands. It was extremely hot, and you knew that these panties were going to be ruined by the time you let him tear them off of you.

Speaking of underwear, you forced his head to lay next to your neck, returning his lower half to be in your grasp, and immediately got to work palming at the other. He sure was enjoying that attention, letting you fondle your smaller hand against his clothed thickness, shuttering at the idea of sitting right on it. The lewd thoughts were going a mile a minute, and you weren’t planning on stopping.

He continued to pull at your sensitive little buds as you fondled him, his breath becoming heavy against your neck as you thoroughly got an idea of what to expect- but hands wandered on his side, and you knew that his long fingers were not going to be idle much longer. His entire hand curled around your mound over your sweatpants, and the pressure in his fingertips along your pantied slit was driving you nuts.

But, with bra abandoned on the floor, he moved you with his hand still on your crotch to the side of the bed, his forehead against yours as he switched places and sat down first, then brought you into his lap.

You could tell he was not going to be rough in manhandling you, just simply moving you just to better fit his need to touch you, and the touch alone was enough to make it obvious how wet you were- and he became very aware the moment he dragged down the band of your sweatpants to reveal the heat of your pussy, throbbing with need for any kind of friction, by anything.

You could hear the hum in his throat, the holding back of a groan as he touched the lace of your underwear and found it moist, clearly satisfied with all that had been hidden before. You could feel the grind of his cock against your ass as he leaned back more into the headboard and pillows, making your torso almost barely sit up, while your legs were pulled apart so easily by setting them on opposite sides of his own knees. You were so bare, and his fingers trailing around your clit, throbbing with need, was enough to make you moan into the air, your chest rising with the lighting going through you.

“Be quiet.” The command shot through you instantly, and your mouth closed, only faint whimpers lodged in your throat managing to make any noise- anyone could hear, of course, it was late.

But no- that was only one half of the coin. The other half was being able to hear the gushing noises as he softly slapped your wet folds, just enough to hear it, and being forced to hear how needy you had become. His other hand held your jaw close to his neck, and let you cover your whimpers there. You moved your ass against his length just below, but he wasn’t done here.

One finger had slipped in so easily with all the lubrication gushing out of you, but the second dreadful finger had entered so achingly slow, pushing your insides slowly apart as he made a few experimental pumps before sinking them deep and curling, slow at first then faster and faster.

You weren’t going to make it like this. You were bound to cum, splayed out like a breeding slut for him, taking his fingers as he fucks you so earnestly, and sighs and grunts like he is fucking you, all the while not even having the pleasure to groan out yourself- only forced to hear how much your pussy needed his cock soon, and by soon, you meant thirty minutes ago, out in the hall way in the moonlight outside of Itadoris bedroom.

“Haah..” He grazed your ridges so slowly that you almost came, his thumb flicking your swollen clit too many times to count. He was too good at this.

You couldn’t handle it anymore- it was either you were going to cum here, or he would fuck you. Or both. Hopefully both.

Your fingertips grab onto his waist band and try to pull it down, but the angle is hard and you almost grow frustrated. He only bites his lip, forces your head so he can kiss you, and drags his own pants down, lifting both of you up to do so briefly.

Your first contact with his cock is when it slaps against your wet folds, the tip of his dick just brush so teasingly against your slit that you can barely imagine how you would somehow fit it in your throat eventually (hopefully, eventually, if she made it out alive.)

Now he was gasping, the mix of the delicate heat on his shaft, the wetness leaking from your needy hole, and his tiphead rubbing against your clit was even driving him insane. His hands were bruisingly gripping your waist, keeping you still as he slides up and down, shifting his hips to graze his tip all around your folds.

“P-Please, Toge-” You manage out when he gets weaker, your watery eyes and whimpering tone catching his ear immediately. “I want y-you to fuck me.”

He wouldn’t resist that kind of plea, not when he himself wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to last- fuck it, he would use his curse to go longer if he needed too, as long as he was buried inside your cunt when it happened.

You felt it, instantly as the tip of his cock buried slowly into your hole, finally, stretching so good you were ready to about give up and let him take you anyway he wished. He was not going to let that happen though, you had to witness it all, how good he was laying it down.

The shaft went deeper and deeper until you felt the tip graze your delicate cervix, even with this much preparation, you still knew it was going to be bruised tomorrow morning. Fuck it, what did you care. Toge Inumaki was going to fuck you, and hearing his whimpering as he finally hit his base against your folds was like music to your ears.

He pumped it in, slowly and surely, until the pumps couldn't be timed anymore as he was, becoming steady thrusts into your creaming cunt that the hand on your jaw moved to your lips to block any noise from escaping.

God, his cock was so perfectly heavy just enough to burn your entrance as he entered over and over again, and perfectly long to make you groan into the palm of his hand as he slams it into you. It was too erotic the noise, what was the point of even covering your voice? Between his huffing and the squelching, it would be instantly noticeable to anyone outside the door.

Yet, he fucked your pussy until you could feel all the wetness gather at the base, dripping down his shaft. He didn’t even care beyond holding your mouth in his palm to conceal the noise.

But, he wasn’t done yet. No.. one final trick.

“Sit up and face me.” He whispered, and thank goodness you did not resist whatsoever to spare his voice, already so weak, you found yourself slipping his fat cock out of your needy cunt, and turning around, watching him readjust himself to look at you.

Yep, as expected. Face nothing more than a filthy reaction, dimmed and teary eyes, bitten lips, and red-got ears and cheeks, followed by cute red marks all along your neck, just enough to match your pink, toyed nipples against your pale skin, and finally, hand marks to go right along with glistening folds, already drooling all over the cock in his hand, directed right at your hole.

His hair had long since been pushed back, and his cheeks and lips were the same hue of red, his chest sweaty from bearing your heat on it as he fucked you on your back against it, and finally, silvery hair trimmed right at the base of his hard cock which throbbing and beading with precum.

“Sit on it, like a good girl.”

You had no inclination to do otherwise, feeling the tip enter you again, but this time, so much deeper than you knew another could go. It spreaded you out perfectly, watching as he got a perfect view of your hole, stretched around his dick while your tits sat prettily on your chest, hands stabilizing you on his hips.

You sat fully on it, your insides spazzing as it throbbed inside you, and you watched his face as he relished in the feeling, so completely trying to hold back from the display in front of him.

You wanted him to tell you exactly what to do- you were going to be his plaything tonight, no matter how much embarrassment you would feel in the morning, you were addicted to the idea of this man find every weak spot inside you, and letting him do exactly what he wanted.

He got the memo very fast.

“Bounce up and down, baby.” He whispered again, and your thighs moved, allowing you up and down on his shaft with ease. Even the burning in your thighs had disappeared, thanks to his order. You let his cock pump into your the first few time, watching as he tilted his head back to feel the bare heat, the friction of your ridges inside of you dragging across his head and shaft constantly.

You didn’t tire of watching him, not of him holding your hips and guiding you even though his words had done enough, not tiring of watching his eyes roll back, his mouth opening to moan aloud, his abs squeezing as he control his abdomen from reacting. It was your turn to watch him fall apart, and with all the foreplay with your tits and clit, you thought it well-deserved, if not vengeful.

You gained confidence as you rode him, hearing the slickness coat your thighs then meeting his, creating a sound so erotic it would get you both kicked out of jujutsu high, but you didn’t care when you grabbed his hands from your waist and let them grope at your tits, watching his eyes dilate with the motion of them moving in his hands. It went right to your abdomen as you felt his fingers pull at your already tender nipples.

You weren’t ever going to be the same after this- of course, you fooled around briefly before you joined the third years before Jujustu High, being a late bloomer, but this was going to be part of every wet dream, every shower spent with your fingers deep in your holes, would be about this moment, with his eyes grazing over you like he had a million things to say and command, and you're expected (and will) obey every single one, simply because he could fuck you to the point that you hoped he cummed right inside of you.

The very thought was going to make you explode, right on the base of his cock, you were going to lose all control, and nothing but his words were going to stop it.

But he was waiting for the perfect time- no, he wanted to cum with you, at the same moment, wanted you to cream right inside you as you creamed on him. He was going to make you remember this night, when you discovered all of him.

The sickening slaps had increased, and the effect of his words had worn off, but you didn’t care. The feeling of your g-spot being constantly rubbed into, fucked into, was all that mattered. His hands abandoned your tits for now, and instead, settled right on your face, and brought you down to kiss him. Now, it was his turn.

He trusted his hips deep in your cunt, and if nobody knew you two were fucking, somebody probably knew now. The dick was simply too good to even speak, feeling your lips wet with drool as he kissed you, your tongue being eagerly played with as he entered your mouth. He wanted you to go insane- he refused to be the only one.

Finally, he pressed your forehead against his, with both of your sweaty bodies rubbing together as he fucked your cunt easily with a flick of his hips, your moans and breath sharing the same space between your faces, he couldn’t resist any more. Not any longer could he hold out, now when you looked so prettily drunk on sex.

“I want you to cum.” He managed in a guttural demand. “Right now.”

The squeeze of your walls finally killed him as your racked out a deliciously loud moan turned whine, his hot cum shooting right into your clenching pussy as you leaked all over him, twitching and stuttering and faltering, head meeting his chest and neck as she came hard, right where she wanted to the most.

He holds you with both arms around your back, giving slowing thrusts into your sensitive cunt, tits and chest heaving against his as your whimper and whine, until he finally comes to a stop, and with the missing of friction, comes out his hard cock, and the load dripping onto his navel that he had buried deep inside you.

You were delirious with sex, completely and utterly spent as you panted against his chest, feeling his breath match yours so perfectly it was calming your brain down. You couldn’t stop twitching though, and you didn’t know if and when you would stop.

“Breathe..” He whispered, using probably the last of his energy to calm you down. Of course, it works, and you can feel yourself take a deep breath and release it with a shuttering take.

“Is it okay.. if I stay?”

You could hear the soft noise of him tapping a screen.

// To hang out? //

You smiled weakly, and lifted up a finger to type back.

// yes pls. //

Thank you all for reading! I had rewritten this, it was supposed to much more vague but.. i like this better.

anyways, @inumakisser and @nectardaddy this is for you pookies, i promised fr to deliver.

see ya later!

1K notes · View notes

hoe4hotchner · 18 days ago

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Used to it | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader | WC: 7k | CW: Christmas, loneliness, angst

This is part of #Teddy-ber hosted by @angellsell

The soft scent of pine needles filled the living room, mingling with the faint warmth of cinnamon from the candle you had lit hours earlier. Strings of lights twinkled, twisted around the branches of the tree. The snow outside had slowed to a gentle fall, blanketing the streets. It would’ve been the perfect Christmas Eve, the perfect white Christmas — if Aaron were here.

Instead, you stood in the kitchen, mechanically stirring the batter for cookies you weren’t sure you’d even bake. The sound of a suitcase zipping shut echoed from the bedroom, each metallic rasp twisting the knife lodged in your chest. You told yourself it didn’t hurt, not anymore.

Not after so many other nights just like this one.

Aaron appeared in the doorway, dressed in his usual dark suit and button-down, his go-bag slung over one shoulder. His tie hung loose around his neck, as though he’d tried to soften the departure. He looked at you with that familiar sense of guilt, the same look he always gave when the job called him away.

“I’ll call as soon as we land,” he said, his voice quiet, careful, like he was trying not to disturb the fragile peace you’d crafted for yourself in his absence.

You didn’t look up from the bowl in your hands, keeping your focus on the rhythmic motion of the whisk. “Sure. No rush,” you replied, the words sharp even as you tried to keep your tone flat.

He hesitated, the silence stretching between you. “You know I wouldn’t go if it weren’t important.”

“I know,” you said quickly, too quickly, still not meeting his eyes. “I’m used to it.”

The words hung heavy in the air, their weight unmistakable. Aaron stepped closer, his shoes soft against the hardwood floor. “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt,” he said gently.

You set the whisk down with more force than necessary, gripping the edge of the counter as you finally looked at him. His face was tired, lined with stress and sleepless nights, but there was something else there too— something raw — he didn't want to leave.

“It’s Christmas, Aaron,” you said, your voice breaking despite your best efforts. “Do you know how many years I’ve spent pretending it doesn’t matter? How many times I’ve told myself I’m okay with you leaving because I know the job is important? But tonight, it just… it feels harder.”

He sighed, dropping his bag by the door. “I’m sorry,” he said, stepping closer. His hand brushed over yours. “I don’t want to leave you, especially not tonight.”

“But you are,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. “And I’ll tell myself I’m fine, that I’m used to it, but I’m not. Not really.”

His other hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that slipped free. “You don’t have to pretend for me. I know this isn’t easy, and I hate that I’m the reason you feel this way.”

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as the weight of the moment pressed down on you. “I just miss you,” you admitted.

“I miss you too,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. “Every time I walk out that door, I’m counting the minutes until I can come back to you.”

The sound of his phone vibrating broke the moment, and he pulled away reluctantly. “That’s my ride,” he said, his voice heavy.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as you stepped back. “Go save the world,” you said, forcing a smile you didn’t feel.

Aaron hesitated again, then pulled you into a tight hug, his lips brushing against your temple. “I’ll be home as soon as I can,” he promised.

And just like that, he was gone. The sound of the door closing echoed through the house, leaving you alone with the twinkling lights and the quiet hum of the heater.

You walked to the couch, curling up beneath the blanket you’d meant to share with him. The cookie batter sat forgotten on the counter, and the snow continued to fall outside. You stared at the tree, trying to find comfort in its soft glow, but all you could feel was the ache of his absence.

You told yourself you were used to it.

But the truth was, you never would be.

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a-leg-without-fear · 3 months ago

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Nightmare🌧️

angst babes!!!

Ship: Worst!Logan Howlett x f!Reader

Rating: 16+

Wordcount: 986

Warnings: experimentation, allusions to drowning, needles, nightmares, PTSD struggles, cursing, self-doubt

Series: Leg's Tuna Tober

Clear water surrounded him on all sides. Burying him in a freezing, liquid tomb. He was completely submerged. Frigid liquid would be slithering into his lungs if it wasn't for the rebreather firmly lodged between his teeth. Artificial air pumped into his mouth in quick bursts. Opening his eyes resulted in them stinging from the chemicals in the water, so he remained in darkness.

The sounds of the world around him were muffled. Faint discussion filtered through the water like raindrops on a car roof. Snatches of "pulse at 82," "body temperature nominal," "preparing the adamantium now," reached his strained ears. Fists clenched around the metal table beneath him. What was taking so long?

Mechanical whirring buzzed in the water. Like a swarm of angry wasps submerged in a pond. It was hard to tell where the sound was coming from. Waves of harsh droning sped through the water at high velocity. He would have covered his ears if it weren't for the metal restraints firmly holding his wrists to the table.

Dozens of spinning needles stabbed into his skin. Hot poker after hot poker spearing into his flesh and making him cry out into the rebreather. Sparks of absolute agony swirled in the blood leaking from his new wounds. He thrashed against his restraints, desperate to escape from this new torture.

Logan's eyes snapped open as a harsh breath filled his lungs. His pulsed raced in his ears like a galloping horse. Sweat covered his skin in a thin coat. The cotton sheets flew from his body in fistfuls of cloth as he threw them from himself, scrambling to sit at the edge of the bed.

As his bare feet touched the hardwood, chest heaving, he took in his surroundings. Framed pictures of his new life in this universe decorated every available wall and flat surface. Images of parties at Wade and Althea's apartment, Mary Puppins graduating from dog-training, Laura with her new girlfriend. The group of framed pictures on his nightstand were singled out, the photos containing someone he held so dearly the frames were more expensive than the rest.

You.

Stills of you and Logan at a bar getting drinks, you asleep on the couch with Mary Puppins in your lap, you and Wade playing cards when you know he cheats. Your bright smile decorated every frame in a cheerful glow. Always one to make people happy without ever really trying.

A deep, revitalizing breath filled Logan's chest as he scooped up one of the pictures. It was a selfie he had taken a few months ago. You and Logan were on the beach somewhere in California. Teals and greens flowed over your shoulders from the two-piece bathing suit you'd decided to wear that day. Your sunburned arms were wrapped around Logan's shoulders, lips pressed to his cheek as you gave him a laughter-filled kiss. A content smile was stretched across his weathered face.

Logan looked over his bare shoulder to see you. Cuddled under the blankets, mouth slightly parted, deep in sleep. Your hair was lightly tousled from your usual tossing and turning.

How did he ever land himself here? After everything he'd done, or didn't do? How in the fuck did he manage to build this perfect life with you? How did he earn the right to wake up next to you every morning, a sleepy smile playing at your lips as you kissed his forehead, with pure adoration flooding his senses?

The frame glinted in the moonlight as he set it back on his nightstand. Logan's touch lingered on the glass. Wind had blown your hair from the bun you'd secured it in earlier that day. Wisps blew across your closed eyes and had tickled Logan's nose.

"Logan?" came your mumbled whisper. He shifted on the bed until he was facing you. Tired eyes blinked up at him from your place amongst the sheets. Your eyebrows were furrowed, confusion etching into your sleep-addled features.

"Sorry, doll. Nightmare," he cooed quietly. He smoothed his palm along your cheek. Your skin was warm, plush, comfortable. Like holding a peach on a summer's day.

You nuzzled deeper into his hand. A small smile pulled at your lips, "It's okay. Wanna talk about it?"

The question hung heavily around his head. Smoke curled in his mind from where his nightmares originated. Clouded, a monstrous fog that Logan could never quite focus on. It lingered in his mind like storm clouds over a choppy sea. He'd tried to direct his ship toward the tempest, to access his memories, but he'd always sink beneath the waves before he'd reach it.

Doomed to repeat his past every night and to not remember a single thing.

"Nah, I'm alright, sugar. Go back to sleep," he soothed as he brushed a stray hair away from your face. Your hands unburied themselves from the sheets and gripped at his forearm.

"At least hold me until then?" you asked, so damn sweetly. Like the only shelter in the wilderness was in Logan's arms. Like he was safe, someone worth being near when times got tough.

"Of course," he breathed with a sigh. You tugged the sheets down to offer Logan space to envelop you. He dutifully obeyed, sliding under the covers and cradling you to his chest. A content sigh puffed from your lips. He felt your eyes flutter closed as you buried your nose against his neck.

"Love ya, Lo," you slurred into his skin. It was only a few moments before your breathing mellowed out, sleep taking you under its soft wings.

Logan ran his hand up and down your spine. Soft skin ran past his fingertips in fields of heated velvet. The repetitive motion grounded him, reminded him that you were his. He pressed a kiss into the crown of your head.

"I love you, too," he whispered. He knew, unequivocally, that he was yours. Nightmares and all.

i might cry

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chvoswxtch · 2 months ago

Text

part two: the secret

[series masterlist] | [part one] | [part three]

pairing: billy russo x fem!reader

summary: if the police can't help, who can you turn to?

warnings: swearing, heavy angst, mentions of murder, conversation about past domestic abuse, mentions of alcohol, billy once again being a cocky lil shit

word count: 3.8k

a/n: y'all never fail to blow me away with how lovely & kind y'all are. i'm so happy you're all enjoying spooky slutty season so far. it's getting heavier in this chapter, but we're one step closer to the goods. ;) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

Annie was looking at you in a mixture of concern and apprehension. When she heard your scream piercing through the silence of the apartment, she’d immediately rushed into your bedroom, where she’d found you on your knees on the floor, hyperventilating as panicked tears rushed down your cheeks. She had desperately begged you to tell her what happened, but you couldn’t speak through your choked sobs. You just kept pointing to your phone that was face down on the hardwood, but when she picked it up, she didn’t see anything except your lock screen.

For the past twenty minutes, you’d been sitting on the edge of your bed, almost completely catatonic. It felt as though your body had gone into shock and just completely shut down. Your brain seemed to slip into a mental panic room, locking itself away behind steel soundproof walls those traumatic memories couldn’t break through. But you knew you couldn’t stay there, as badly as you wanted to. You had to come out, and you had to come clean.

Annie slowly reached out and placed her hand on top of one of yours that was in your lap, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Honey, I need you to tell me what’s going on. You’re scaring me.”

A fresh wave of helplessness built up along your bottom lash line, and your voice was weakened with defeat when you finally spoke.

“He found me.”

Annie tilted her head to the side slightly as she looked at you, a crease of confusion forming between her dark brows.

“Who found you Y/N?”

Closing your eyes, stray tears slipped down your damp cheeks. You had hoped this day would never come. The fear of your past catching up to you had been in the back of your mind for the last three years, but you never thought it would rear its ugly head in such a horrific way. Letting out a shaky breath, you opened your glossy eyes and turned to look at Annie in despondency.

“I need to tell you something.”

You hadn’t told a soul the truth about who you were since you moved to New York. No one here knew that you’d come here to completely start over with a brand new identity. No one knew what you had run from. You thought it was safer that way.

Annie looked at you warily, her dark brown eyes searching your own as she waited for you to speak.

“My real name is Cassia. I’m not from New York, I was born in California. I grew up there. I…I do have a family. I lied about that. But I haven’t seen or spoken to them in three years.”

“I don’t understand-”

“I had a boyfriend. He-”

Closing your eyes, you felt your anxiety start to crest again. For the past three years, you tried so hard to push it out of your head. You told yourself that was someone else, that those memories belonged to someone else. You weren’t her anymore. That girl…she was gone. You’d burned every trace of her and rose from the ashes someone new. Those painful memories, those emotional scars, you’d buried them in the deepest, darkest part of your mind, but they wouldn’t stay dead.

Annie’s puzzlement broke apart into sympathy as she heard the grief in your voice. She could see it in your eyes, the reason behind your painful secret. She gave your hand a light and reassuring squeeze, speaking in a gentle voice.

“Was he…?”

Swallowing the lump that had lodged in your throat, you nodded slowly.

“Yeah.”

Letting out a shuddering breath, a few more tears slipped down your face as you ripped open your own wounds that had never seemed to heal, letting all the lingering shame and sorrow bleed out.

“I should’ve left the first time it happened. I knew it then. I just…I didn’t want to believe it had happened. I didn’t want to believe that I was like those other women…that I was like my mother. I knew what an angry man looked like. I knew how he spoke, and how he acted, and what his footsteps sounded like. I told myself that was never going to be me, you know? It wasn’t supposed to happen to me. I…I knew better. I watched my mom go through so many of them, I knew what the signs looked like, and I just…I missed them somehow…and then I ignored it. I made excuses, I tried so hard to convince myself…that it was different…that I was different.”

You never wanted to be a victim, and you never thought you would be. For the first nine months, Roman had been an almost perfect boyfriend. He was sweet, and funny, and he always looked at you like you were the only person in the room, even from the beginning. He always knew exactly what to say, and what to do, and you had thought you’d found someone that just…understood you, in a way no one else ever had. He was just so incredibly goddamn charming.

But most psychopaths are.

He’d lured you into a false sense of security, manipulated you into letting your guard down, and you’d foolishly gifted him your trust. He didn’t just break that, he broke you.

Roman’s apologies were always so sincere, and you got trapped in the cycle. He would confess to his problems, promise to get help and stop drinking, and swore things would change. And it would, for a while. The calm before the storm was so peaceful, you couldn’t see the ominous clouds darkening over your head. He swore that he loved you, but his version of love was controlling and manipulative, and it was intense. It became obsessive and violent, and his volatile temper left your heart and spirit maimed and your body bruised. He said that he loved hard, but he hit harder.

The night you finally decided to leave him was the night that permanently altered everything. It didn’t just change your life, it changed you.

“The last time I saw him, he almost killed me. Our neighbors had heard me screaming. They were the ones that called the police. I had already blacked out when they arrived. I woke up in the hospital with a concussion and a crushed windpipe. And you know what’s fucking crazy? He only did two months in jail, because it was his ‘first offense’.”

A bitter and dry laugh left your lips that sounded more like a scoff. You’d been too terrified to feel anger back then. At that time, all you could feel was immense relief that he was locked away somewhere that he couldn’t get to you. But now, anger was all that you felt. The more you thought about the situation, the more white hot searing rage had the blood in your veins sizzling.

“I got a restraining order, but it didn’t stop him. The only reason I was even able to get it was because the cops walked in on him choking me to death. As soon as he got out of jail, he was back. And he didn’t just threaten me, he threatened everyone around me. I was scared. I didn’t know what else to do, so I ran. I ran as far away as I could get. I changed my name, I changed everything about myself, and I started over. I had to cut everyone out from my old life in Woodsboro, to keep them safe.”

Three years ago, you’d just vanished. The terror he instilled in your bones had run deep into the marrow. You couldn’t even say goodbye to anyone. All you’d been able to part with was a hastily written note containing a heartfelt apology to your mother, and you’d fled to sanctuary across the country. New York was home to millions of people, and you thought you’d be safe as a ghost in the bustling streets. You thought you could be invisible.

“I just…I don’t even know how he found me. I’ve been careful, I haven’t told anyone about this. I just…I don’t understand. And now Adam’s dead-”

“Wait, you think he killed Adam?”

“He told me he did. He was the one who called me on the phone. I know it was him. His voice was different…but he said my name, Annie. My real name.”

Annie was staring at you in a mixture of shock, fear, and a hint of pity. You hated that look. You hated being on the receiving end of it. And you hated that you were now a dangerous burden, a liability to her otherwise peaceful life. If you weren’t safe, that meant she wasn’t safe, and you could see in her eyes that she knew that. As she glanced down at your phone, you could see her swallow thickly.

“We need to go to the police.”

»»———　　———««

“What do you mean you can’t do anything? Did you hear any of what I just said?”

“Miss Y/L/N, the restraining order is in California, and it’s not under your current name.”

Detective Craven met your incredulous gaze with an expression of pity. His partner, however, did not share his condolences.

“Why didn’t you mention this two days ago?”

Turning your attention to Detective Williamson, the outrage you felt at his underlying accusation was clear on your face and in your sharp tone.

“Because it’s not your fucking business. You told me Adam got mugged-”

“We theorized it was a robbery gone wrong-”

“Theorized, confirmed, what fucking difference does it make? Those were your words. You said that’s what happened, so I had no reason to think it was connected to my psychotic ex boyfriend, who now not only knows where I am, but fucking called me to confess to murdering Adam. And now, you’re telling me you can’t do a goddamn thing about it because of, what? Red fucking tape?”

Detective Craven raised both of his worn hands in a placating gesture as he looked between you and his partner.

“Okay, okay. Let’s just take it down a notch.”

He shot his partner a warning glare, and Detective Williamson held his hands up in a show of surrender as he let out an irritated exhale through his nose. Turning his attention back to you, Detective Craven placed his hands on his hips.

“Miss Y/L/N, listen to me. I don’t want you to think we’re not taking this seriously, alright? Unfortunately, our hands are tied though. We don’t have any evidence from the crime scene, and the call on your phone came from an unknown number. We don’t have anything concrete to link this to Roman Walker.”

Just hearing his name out loud for the first time in three years was enough to make you feel like someone had just pressed the steel tip of a cold blade to the back of your neck. Detective Craven could see the raw paranoia in your eyes and the way you physically reacted to Roman’s name. Letting out a deep sigh, he reached out and placed both of his hands on your shoulders and spoke in a calming voice.

“Y/N, you did the right thing coming to us. You gave us a suspect with a motive, that gives us a lot to work with now, alright? Just because we don’t have any evidence right now doesn’t mean we won’t find any. Now we know who we’re potentially looking for, and that’s a step in the right direction. So please, trust me when I say that I will do everything I can to keep you safe. Until then, please just be careful.”

You rubbed both of your palms down your face in a stressful manner, a deep exhale of frustration blowing through your flared nostrils. Throwing your hands up in exasperation, they both dropped to your sides with a light smack against your jeans as your body physically deflated.

“So what am I supposed to do? Wait for another threatening phone call? Another person near me to get killed?”

“Just take some precautions. Be vigilant, don’t go anywhere alone, maybe look into a security system in the meantime.”

A light scoff left your lips at his suggestions and you shook your head in complete disbelief. As you stormed out of Detective Craven’s office, you slammed the door shut behind you with a little more force than necessary at your exit. Annie quickly jumped up from where she’d been sitting outside, looking at you warily.

“What did they say?”

“To go fuck myself, essentially.”

Meeting Annie’s disapproving look, you sighed and placed one of your hands on your hip while your other ran through your hair stressfully.

“There’s no evidence, they can’t trace an unknown call, and the restraining order isn’t in my name or in this state.”

“You’re fucking kidding me. So that’s it?”

“Yeah, their advice was pretty much to do everything I already do as a woman just existing.”

Annie let out a frustrated exhale of her own, glaring at the door of the detective’s office before brushing her golden blonde hair away from her shoulder and crossing her arms over her chest.

“No, fuck that. We’re gonna figure something out.”

In the midst of your outrage at the situation, one of Detective Craven’s suggestions suddenly stood out in your head.

“Maybe look into a security system in the meantime.”

You didn’t know anything about security or even where to start, but you knew someone who did.

“Actually, I think I know who can help.”

»»———　　———««

“You know, four months is a hell of a long time to make a guy wait for a second date.”

Glancing up from your drink, you watched as Billy took a seat at the bar next to you, flashing you his signature charming smirk. Rolling your eyes, you fought to contain your amusement as you lifted the beer bottle to your lips.

“That was not a date, and this isn’t one either.”

Billy let out a deep chuckle, signaling the bartender over with a wave of his hand.

“Hey, you called me. And, you brought me back to the place we first met. That’s pretty romantic, even if this is a shitty dive bar. ”

Billy turned on the bar stool to face you, a glint of mischief in his dark brown eyes as the edge of his lips curled into a smirk. Giving him a quick once over, you noticed he was dressed a lot more casually. You almost swore it was the exact same outfit he’d worn the night you met him.

“I thought someone as high maintenance as you would be a lot harder to please.”

Shaking his head at your quip, Billy grinned as he brought his own beer to his lips.

“Careful, you keep sweet talkin’ me like that, I might think you actually like me.”

“Oh well we can’t have that.”

Your lips were spread in a faint teasing smirk as you took another sip of your beer. Billy set the bottle down on the bar, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. He eyed you curiously as he gave you his full attention.

“Alright, so if this isn’t a date, what is it then?”

Your eyes flickered towards Billy’s before glancing down at the green glass bottle in your hand. The edge of the gold label was peeling on the top right corner, and you gently smoothed it down with your thumb, spreading a drop of condensation over the cold glass.

“What kind of security does Anvil do? I mean, I know it’s mostly military stuff, but…what about private protection for civilians?”

Billy’s amusement quickly faded into a more serious expression at your question. He didn’t miss the way your voice had become quieter, no trace of your usual dry sarcasm or sharp wit. He cocked his head to the side slightly, noticing that you wouldn’t look at him.

“What’s going on, Y/N?”

“I was just curious-”

“C’mon, sweetheart. You’ve never spared my feelin’s before, don’t start now. Talk to me.”

Turning your head to look at Billy reluctantly, you got a glimpse of the Marine that lingered dormant within him, hidden beneath the designer clothes and CEO title. Serious Billy was a completely different Billy. The intensity of his stare was almost unsettling. You weren’t sure what to do with this version of him. A part of you secretly longed for the cocky smartass side in this moment, wishing he’d slip another flirty quip into the conversation to bring levity to the heaviness settling in your chest.

He had a point though, you’d always been blunt with him, and if he was going to help you, you were going to have to tell him everything.

Glancing down at the bottle in your hands again, you let out a deep sigh of resignation. At least with Billy, you didn’t have to pull your punches. You didn’t have to dance around your words and take caution with how you laid this all out, not like you had to with Annie. Lifting your head, you turned to look at him again.

“No bullshit?”

Billy gave you a faint nod of his head, confirming that he wanted nothing but the raw, honest truth.

“No bullshit.”

Waving over the bartender, you ordered two double shots of tequila. You needed a little liquid courage to ease your nerves, and to ease the shake of anxiety in your voice. Billy watched you in curiosity tinged with concern as you downed the first with unnerving ease and set the empty shot glass down on the bar before turning to look at him again. The burn flowing down your throat and into the pit of your stomach like molten lava was a welcome distraction from the chilled fear that made your hands tremble.

“Alright. Adam was murdered by my ex boyfriend, who’s the sole reason I moved across the country three years ago and changed my whole identity. He called me last night and confessed, but the police can’t do anything, because apparently they can’t trace an unknown call. Oh, and they can’t do anything about my obsessive stalker turned murderer ex boyfriend, because New York’s finest doesn’t have any fucking evidence, and my restraining order, which only ever seemed to be a really goddamn expensive piece of paper that meant nothing, can’t be enforced because we’re not in California, and it’s filed under my real name. So basically, I’m fucked.”

Downing the second shot, your face scrunched slightly as the clear alcohol started to burn in your lower stomach, the heat rising to flush in your cheeks. It made you feel a little lighter, melting that solid block of terror that had been weighing you down. Setting the glass down harshly on the bar, you licked the remaining tequila off your lips and turned to look at Billy, arching one of your brows.

“Questions? Comments? Concerns? More tequila?”

Billy’s dark brows rose slightly up his forehead as he stared at you silently for a moment. Whatever he was thinking or feeling, you couldn’t tell.

“So, just to…make sure we’re on the same page here…you have a psychotic ex that forced you to move across the country, change your name, and he’s the reason the guy you went out with is dead. And you think you’re next.”

Blinking a few times, you opened your mouth to correct him, but there was nothing to correct.

“That’s…a gross oversimplification, but yes.”

Taking a swig of your beer, your dark brows furrowed slightly as you set it back down and glanced at him with a faint scowl.

“I didn’t say I thought I was next though, asshole.”

“Oh, so the rant about NYPD being unhelpful and askin’ me about security for civilians is just small talk, then?”

Billy arched one of his dark brows, and the barely concealed sass in his voice made you want to slap him. As if sensing your thoughts, Billy let out a deep exhale through his nose as he regarded you with a more sympathetic expression.

“C’mon sweetheart. We agreed, no bullshit. You’re scared, and you got every reason to be. You need help, and you ain’t gettin’ it from the police.”

You had expected Billy to be far more smug about this. To bask in the fact that you needed his help, to hold it over your head, maybe even barter it for a date. It was almost a little unnerving that he was being so sincere and caring. You were just so used to him being an arrogant dick.

“I’m not gonna get on my knees and beg.”

Billy let out a light chuckle at that, giving a shake of his head before glancing at you with a familiar smirk.

“I’d never expect you to, sweetheart.”

Taking another swig of his beer, a look of contemplation crossed Billy’s sharp features.

“I guess it’s a good thing this isn’t a date then.”

Glancing at him in puzzlement, a crease formed between your brows as you set the green glass bottle down on the sticky wooden bar top.

“Why?”

Without missing a beat, Billy raised the bottle to his lips and shrugged casually.

“I’d hate to end up gutted in some alley.”

Billy had said those words so nonchalantly, with a deadpan expression on his face, that for a moment you were in shock. You should’ve been incredibly offended, or horrified by that crass comment, but instead, you were holding back a surprised laugh that threatened to escape. Your lips were puckered in an attempt to scowl as you slightly narrowed your eyes. Billy turned his head to look at you with faux innocence on his face and in his voice.

“Too soon?”

Seeing the way you were trying so hard to conceal your amusement, Billy’s lips slowly spread into a wolfish grin. Shaking your head, you brought your beer bottle to your lips to hide the way you were trying not to laugh or smile.

“You are such an asshole.”

Billy’s shoulders subtly shook as he snickered. His dark brown eyes flickered down to the green glass bottle in his left hand, and then he lifted his head to wave the bartender over again.

“Whiskey, neat.”

Turning his attention back to you, Billy could see the lingering look in your eyes that gave away how worried you truly were despite the front you were attempting to put up. He cleared his throat and leaned in a little closer, resting his arms on the bar as he gave a nod of his head in your direction and spoke calmly.

“Alright, alright. I’ll behave. Start from the beginning, tell me everything.”

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @ferns-fics @danzer8705 @to-thelakes @simonsgirl @sweetserendipity65 @zomtart @day-dreaming-goddess @caroblogsthings @thomasshelbyswife @snowkestrel @hallowedtangerine @ameliaswife @dreadfulxives18 @ebsmind @lllla717 @slumnit @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @nolita-fairytale @oliviaewl @r1kk @unlikelystarlightcowboy @imperihoe-writes

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mayolive-writes · 1 year ago

Text

The Love Plaza | Jungkook

Pairing: Jungkook x AFAB Reader

Summary: Needing to take a break from the long trip to college, you and Jungkook are forced to stay at the only lodging available within 70 miles, a love motel. And much to Jungkook’s dismay, there’s only one bed.

Wordcount: 4102

Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Smut, Best Friends to lovers, Oneshot(?)

Warnings: Dry humping, mild awkwardness (these poor virgins), no penetration (this time), They’re so cute and down bad

Minors DNI

A/N: thought this would be a fun writing prompt to exercise my humor muscle. I often feel that my writing lacks comedic relief, so this was good practice! I wanted this to be goofy as shit, because friends to lovers is just that much sweeter when it’s goofy. I do have a couple other WIPs with this couple though!! One that’s fluffy and another that is significantly spicier.

Enjoy!!

The Love Plaza | Moonlight Trampoline Adventure | Labret

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

You must be shitting me.

Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable. Jungkook reads the sign in disbelief. The only lodging in 70 miles was a damned love motel. The bright red neon “18+” sign mocks him.

Unbelievable.

"Hell no, I can keep driving," Jungkook turns to you, there's no way you'd be okay with this.

"Jeon Jungkook, we've been driving on and off for 14 hours in a cramped truck with enough leg room for a toddler. We're both exhausted." You flash him a stern look, "we were honked at five times because we were going off the road!" With a light smack of his chest, you giggle, "besides, maybe they have a room with separate beds!" Your voice drips with sarcasm, calm about the entire situation.

Except you weren't. Inside, you were screaming. A fucking love hotel in the middle of nowhere? This is a sick joke. But despite your inner turmoil, you keep a humored face.

"You're sure?" Jungkook asks again, just to make sure.

Cocking your eyebrow, you give him an incredulous look, "the other option is getting into a crash. I don’t think coffee and 5-hour-energy can't help us now, bun."

He sighs. With every passing second, he can feel his heart losing years of life. This definitely isn’t healthy.

A bell sounds as you and Jungkook enter, catching the eye of a desk clerk. The shabby motel is surprisingly chic inside, with modern hardwood tile, and wallpaper patterned with soft wisteria, giving the space a fresh feeling.

"Hey there! Do you have a reservation?" The smile on the clerk's face is practiced, but falters when he sees the both of you in sweatpants and t-shirts.

He concludes on his own, no, you don't have a reservation.

As you both walk awkwardly up to the desk, the clerk continues, "just the two of you?"

Jungkook answers, "uh--yeah." You spot a basket on the counter and tap Jungkook on the shoulder, pointing.

It's full of different sized condoms in every bright color imaginable. Pink, blue, orange, yellow, purple, green.

You both hold back silly smiles, doing your utmost to keep cool.

"And do you perhaps--" you pick up a condom out of the basket and Jungkook chokes. He takes a moment before looking at the smiley clerk again, "have a room with separate beds?"

The clerk simply stares at Jungkook. Separate beds? In a love motel?

There's been very few moments in Jungkook's life when he was truly Flustered.

1. Confessing to Sandy Morrison in second grade.

2. His first kiss in 11th grade.

3. Figuring out that maybe he wasn’t totally straight.

4. Seeing you, his best friend and crush of at least 6 years, pick up a large condom, neatly packed in bright neon orange wrapping, and pocketing it for some ungodly reason.

Shit.

What are you doing?

You yourself don't know what the hell you're doing. There’s zero intention in your mind of using the condom, of course--not that you wouldn't like to. But you're just trying to have fun. What else do you do in a love hotel? With this thought, you promptly lose your shit when you sight a shelf near the clerk desk that displays a variety of items.

Lube, lace garters (neatly packed in plastic packaging, fancy!), satin blindfolds, fuzzy handcuffs (red, pink, blue, black, and orange!), and the cherry on top--a brochure of "The Best Positions For A Night of Passion!"

The cackle you hold in makes you shake. You hop over to the shelf and ask the clerk, "how much for these?" Pointing to the handcuffs.

The clerk is now thoroughly confused at the contrasting interests in both you and Jungkook, who is flushed in the face--both from embarrassment and holding his laughter in. "Um... They're all a dollar, the pamphlet is free."

The clerk looks back to Jungkook, "and, sir, I'm sorry, but we don't have rooms with separate beds," leaning forward to whisper, he continues, "if you guys are fighting, take the couch."

Well, it was worth a shot.

Once you're both checked in, Jungkook is about to walk away. That is, before he sees you go up to the desk clerk with one of each item that was displayed on the shelf.

Oh.

My.

God.

The clerk looks at Jungkook, his expression screaming, "dude, I can't believe you wanted separate beds!"

You happily stride beside Jungkook through the motel hallway, kinky bag in hand while he carries the luggage. You must be insane. Having finally reached room 40, you both realize that Jungkook’s hands are full of your bags. Awkwardly, you dig into his front pocket, feeling for the card.

"Um..." you look up when he speaks up, "it's in the other pocket.”

Oh. Oops.

You dig through his other pocket.

why are these damn things so dee--

What. Was. That.

Jungkook gasps.

You gasp.

Realizing what you’ve just done, you flinch away, “Oh my god! I’m so fucking sorry--" Jungkook is utterly speechless. This night just keeps getting more and more inconceivable. He says nothing as you dig more cautiously and finally yank out the godforsaken key.

One minute later you're finally in the room, with yours and Jungkook’s cheeks throbbing red.

Nice one, y/n.

As you both walk further in, you gasp. All other thoughts vanish at the sight.

Jesus Christ, what a night.

"Oh my god, Koo!" You drag him in faster and he sees you fall into a burst of laughter, and once he sees it too, promptly loses his composure at the ridiculous sight.

The bed is obviously heart-shaped, the sheets are red satin, and the blankets are pink velvet. The mattress is adorned with frilly heart pillows and lacy detailing, with a black headboard screwed into the wall (which is probably for the best).

You both share gazes of utter astonishment, only to fall over yourselves once more. The sheer ridiculousness of it all hitting you full force. Jungkook’s laughter only falters when he notices that there isn't a couch.

This leaves him with two options. Share the bed with you and sacrifice a sleepless night resulting in another 10 hours of hell tomorrow, or sleep on the plush black carpeted floor and spend the next week with achy muscles and a crick in the neck.

He's gonna have to sleep on the fucking floor.

Quietly, Jungkook goes into the bathroom, leaving you to your own devices.

One bed. God, what a cliché. Jeon Jungkook will not be brought down by some fanfic writer’s wet dream.

Despite the inconvenience of the motel, Jungkook is relieved as the hot water spews from the showerhead. He’s needed this all day. Each muscle becomes looser, and Jungkook finds himself relaxing as the sound of water hitting the floor puddles in his mind.

6 long years.

Jungkook was twelve when he realized he had a big, fat, disgusting crush on you. But he knew it wasn’t a big deal. Crushes pass and fade. It’s impossible not to have a crush at that age.

Jungkook was 16 when he realized it wasn’t just a crush anymore. The poor bastard was head over heels. Down for the count. Your smile made his heart burn—he’d do anything to see it. He’d pull up pictures of you on his phone on the rare occasion he couldn’t see you, just to make sure he could at least see your smile every day. He recalls feeling stupid for feeling so fuzzy about you all the time, but what’s shameful about wanting to see someone you love happy and smiling? Nothing.

At some point, it turned physical. Absolute hell. He felt complete and utter shame the first time he touched himself while thinking about you. It was deplorable how badly and how often he yearned for your lips on his body.

Throughout high school, Jungkook could barely look at anyone else other than you. Others could tell, most didn’t even try making a move on him. Except for his first kiss, taking place after prom in the parking lot. He remembers apologizing profusely to his date the next day, admitting that he just didn’t feel that way about them.

During graduation, he almost slipped. Almost confessed that he wanted to give it a shot. The longing was becoming too much. But no matter how close he came to finally spitting it out he’d always chicken out. You meant too much. And it felt… wrong to spring it on you.

But this? He might break in two. He’s insane, he knows, but that millisecond where you accidentally touched him through his pants almost made him hydroplane, losing all traction on reality.

A knock on the door yanks Jungkook out of his murky thoughts. “If you use up all the hot water, I’ll personally annihilate you, Kookie.”

He can’t hold back a smirk, “yeah, yeah, I’m almost done.”

If hot showers were personified, you’d marry them. Specifically, the ones taken after your best friend, with his scent still lingering. This night has been one hell of a rollercoaster, and you take your time washing away the 14 hours of uncomfortable driving and cleanse your airways. Jungkook has always smelled like home to you. Years of friendship will do that to a person. Not even your own family can make you feel at ease like he does, with the way he shines. Bright enough to feel warm, but not so bright as to scare anyone away.

7 long years.

You were 11 when you realized you had a big, fat, disgusting crush on Jungkook. But you’d had countless meaningless crushes at that age, he was just a crush out of convenience, right?

Wrong.

You were 16 when you realized it wasn’t just a crush anymore. Something about Jungkook’s demeanor with you changed. He was always nice to you, but as Jungkook matured, his rough-and-tumble attitude crumbled away into something softer, cushier, and sweeter. It was unbearable. Whenever he put a secure arm around your shoulder, your heart would squeeze, and then release. First yearning, then comfort.

You wanted him. In more than one way. Never in a million years would you live down the shame from the first time you let him invade your thoughts alone at night. It wasn’t that long ago, really. Jungkook had turned 18, and He wasted little to no time in getting a lip piercing. You nonchalantly said it looked cool, but it kept you up that night.

It was becoming too much, but with graduation fast approaching you thought you’d finally have your out. You’d go off to college, and as much as you’d miss your best friend, you knew you needed to get away, and hopefully the love would fade with time.

Well, that was before you found out that Jungkook was going to the same college as you.

It was pure coincidence.

So here you are. Desperately trying to wash away your increasing desire on both fronts, romantically and sexually.

Regretfully, you step out of the shower into the cold bathroom air. In an instant you’re pulling Jungkook’s stolen hoodie over your head.

The room is dead silent when you leave the bathroom, and you spot Jungkook resting peacefully on the heart-shaped bed. His eyes are closed. It’s moments like these that make you want to give in and just tell him. So what if he doesn’t feel the same way? So what if he doesn’t fight back the urge to kiss you every day? So. Fucking. What.

He’s your best friend. That’s fucking what.

Losing him is not an option.

“Gook?” Jungkook is lightly startled, and you almost feel bad for waking him. “Hey, can you move over?”

“Huh?” He groggily looks around, then realizes, “Oh—yeah, yeah, just a sec.”

With sloth-like movements, Jungkook grabs a pillow and a blanket from the bed and lays them on the floor, but before he can slip down onto the carpet you stop him, “woah, woah, woah. What’re you doing?”

“Uhhh, going to sleep?”

“On the floor? We’ve shared a bed before, doofus.”

“yeah, when we were like, nine.” Jungkook retorts. Please, God. Don’t do this to him.

You know it’ll be hell sharing a bed with him, but you’d feel like shit making him sleep on the floor. “What’re you afraid of, catching cooties? Come on, bun, it’s not a big deal.” It is a big deal. It is such a stupidly big deal.

Jungkook takes a moment to read your eyes, only a feeling a twinge of awkwardness. With reluctance, he moves the blanket and pillow back onto the bed and climbs in first. He can do this.

You climb in behind him, settling in quickly. His back is to you, thank God, but warmth is radiating from his body. You can’t do this.

Deep breaths, deep breaths. Focus.

Focus on the patter of the rain outside. Focus on the whirring of the ceiling fan above. Focus on the softness of the sheets. Focus on the warmth of the blankets. Focus on the smell of the detergent. Focus on the smell of Jungkook’s shampoo.

Wait, no. Don’t focus on that.

Hell freezes over in the time it takes for you to get comfortable.

It feels like infinity has passed by as Jungkook lays deathly still. One movement and he’ll shatter. The bed feels smaller than it looks. The proximity is too much. He can hear your deep breaths, can feel them in how your back lightly hits his with every intake of air. His body feels like it’ll start vibrating. His chest feels like it might implode. His thoughts are spiraling. He just wants you.

Eyes. Closed. Mouth. Closed. Mind. A work in progress. Sheep, count sheep.

1…

2…

3…

Just fall asleep. Please. You tell yourself.

Closing your eyes, you count the seconds as they pass by into minutes. You’re on minute 28 when a haze finally begins to ease you. But some prick outside of your room drops something heavy and you hear them giggling and walking away. You hope they have a terrible night’s sleep. Even if they weren’t planning on sleeping anyway.

Being conscious again, it’s impossible to ignore it. You can’t take it. You can’t. His warmth, his smell. His smile, his laugh.

Him.

Something possesses you. Chest aching painfully, heart beating mercilessly.

You whisper.

“Jungkook,”

“Yeah?” He curses the waver in his voice as your body shifts around to face his back. It takes him a moment before he has enough courage to turn around.

Your eyes.

Your eyes are big and wide, you look scared and excited all at once. “Jungkook, I…”

What are you doing?

You must be insane.

Just forget it.

But there’s no going back.

Do it.

Just say it.

Say it.

Fucking say it.

You like—

No.

He gently reaches for your hand beneath the blanket. The mingling of your fingers calms your mind, eases your breathing. “Thanks,” a whisper is sent across the small distance that separates the two of you. “How do you feel about me?”

Jungkook stares. Huh? That’s all? He chuckles, “We’ve been friends since we were like, four. It’s a good bet that I like you.”

You blink. What an absolute dunce. “No, you stupid asshat, how do you feel about me?” All this courage makes your mouth keep moving, “I mean… I feel something, and sometimes it seems like you feel something too. Can you like, tell me if it’s just me?”

Jungkook’s eyes go wide, his warm hand slipping away.

Oh. You’ve made a huge mistake.

Or so you think before he’s crawling to hover over you, hands beside your head. “You like me?”

It’s your turn for your eyes to bulge, your face burning at the position, one that you’ve imagined at least a million times. Head turning away, you reiterate, “Unfortunately.”

His head falls to your shoulder, “Oh my god. Holy shit, oh my God. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this shit, holy fucking shit.” You patiently wait for his rambling to stop, but you’re confused now. He’s on top of you. This man is on top of you but hasn’t said anything about how he feels yet.

The only natural response is to flick his forehead, of course.

“Hey, ouch!”

You exaggerate the clearing of your throat, “’holy shit, I can’t believe this shit.’ Isn’t a super direct answer, Jeon Jungkook.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re mean?”

“Aww did I hurt you fee—” His lips touch yours softly, but it doesn’t last long enough before he falls back to his side of the bed.

“It’s not just you,” Your hands find each other again.

A thick silence rests over you, despite your staggering heart. You want him to kiss you again, desperately. You push yourself to ask, “kiss me again? Maybe longer this time?”

Jungkook obliges wordlessly, leaning over to press his lips against yours once more. It’s slow, cautious, unsure. Your body feels tense, making it difficult to feel excited. Not sure what to do, you pull him closer by his sweatshirt, forcing your bodies to touch.

It feels like he’s melting into you. His lips are still shaky, but he pushes forward, placing his hand on your hip as you wrap a leg over his body. Creating even less distance between you. There’s a heavy breath.

“Um… okay, pause.” Your eyes meet. He nods and his fingers brush through your hair, playing with it casually and awaiting your next request. In this wide expanse of time, the tingle of him playing with your hair lulls your mind and heart.

“Again?”

Third time’s the charm, right?

With less hesitance than before, Jungkook finds your lips again, keeping his hand buried in your hair. This time, it’s more comfortable, and your lips tingle. Unsure of what to do with yourself, your hands grip his sweatshirt even tighter, and you find it in yourself to lean in closer, breath quickening less from nerves and more from pleasure.

How many times had you thought of this? Each scenario being different, passionate and fiery. And yet of the hundreds of daydreams, none of them were accurate. Despite the underlying awkwardness, you wouldn’t want it any other way.

All thoughts drift away when Jungkook’s lips leave your own, and before you can protest, they fall upon your neck. Far more astonishing is when he drags you on top of him, changing your positions.

A quiet gasp escapes. Woah, woah woah, buddy.

But your surprise doesn’t stop him from dragging his lips to the other side of your neck. You feel your legs go numb. With his stupid lips on your neck still, he asks, “Is this okay?”

There’s a lot of fumbling in your brain before you can answer, “mhm… I’ve thought about this a lot.”

“Oh really? How much of it?” This stupid bitch.

“Shut up before you ruin it, just keep going.” You have no clue, but to Jungkook, the breathlessness in your voice feels like kryptonite.

Slipping a hand beneath your hoodie, you jolt at his touch. “How far do you want me to go?”

You squirm, “Um… I don’t know yet, is that okay?”

“Good, cuz’ I don’t know either. We can stop at any point.” Becoming impatient, you only give him a nod before you guide his hand to slip further into your hoodie. The trail of his touch his tingly, unpredictable, exciting. The gentle nature in the way he feels you causes your body to take on a mind of its own as your hips sink into Jungkook, forcing a groan from his lips. “Fuck, do that again.” You follow his instruction, and he lets out another noise of pleasure. It sends a spark coursing through you, leaning in to kiss him again. It’s messier this time, the caress of his hand on your skin making the simple task of breathing complicated. Your hips push down again, and the bulge you feel beneath you makes you gasp. In quick succession, Jungkook’s fingers brush over the tip of your breast, and to your utter shock a whine flows out of your lips. Your legs lose more strength, and you follow instinct. One hand slips beneath Jungkook’s shirt, and the jerk has the audacity to cup your breast in retaliation, dragging another whine out of you. Your head falls to his neck, partially because you feel like jelly, and partially because you want to leave a string of kisses to match what he so generously left on you prior.

With each kiss your hands keep exploring his torso and chest. If he can play dirty, so can you.

Or so you thought.

He pulls the neckline of your hoodie down to gain access to your collarbone before leaning up and licking a bold stripe from your clavicle up to your neck, dragging your body closer all the while. And when he latches on to the crook of your neck, sucking hard and meeting your hips as they subconsciously grind into him, you release a moan.

“There you go.”

You see through hazy vision the smirk on his face. Different from any that you’ve seen in your countless years of friendship.

He does it again, latching onto a spot along your collarbone and sucking, harsh but loving. Easing the sting with another swipe of his tongue.

The room is soon a quiet orchestra of heavy breaths and stifled groans, whines, and moans.

Time feels nonexistent.

“I think I want you to touch me, koo--”

“You think?”

You whine, “God, I don’t know—I just need more.”

He groans, “Fuck, babe.”

His hands securely grip your hips, and guide them to grind down onto him, hard. His sweatpants barely getting in the way.

You gasp at first, but as he keeps guiding your hips you let out a moan, louder than the one before. You cover your lips, not wanting to be heard by anyone outside.

“shit babe, please don’t be quiet, please—”

As the rhythm of your hips continue, you lean down, resting your head beside Jungkook’s ear, hoping that the muffle of the pillows will prevent anyone other than Jungkook hearing you. You let go, letting your moans flow, as his hips meet yours. Each sound you let out into his ear brings Jungkook closer to his breaking point.

“Keep going Koo, I’m close.” You whisper, and the sounds Jungkook lets out sound almost painful.

“Fuck, I love you.” He whines. And with barley another thrust of his hips, he comes undone beneath you. He keeps his grip on your hips, continuing to bring your hips down onto him.

You can barely manage “I love you too, Koo” before you find release.

The butterflies haven’t subsided yet. You’re clean and warm in bed again with Jungkook, hands and hearts intertwined. This time sleep feels more possible, but you can’t help but want to talk.

“Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“some of that felt awkward, right?”

“Well, I don’t think anything is more awkward than when we were forced to take a bath together when we were toddlers just cuz’ we got all muddy in the rain.”

You giggle as Jungkook pulls you in closer against his chest. “Yeah, sex ain’t shit compared to that.”

The warmth lulled you into a comfortable silence. You can’t remember the last time you felt this content, and you never want it to end. Every night this is what you want. Hands fit together loosely, blanket tangled between your bodies.

Jungkook will process with time that this is his new reality. His new reality in which you fall asleep in his arms, in which he can pull you closer, hold you tighter, and play with your fingers as he drifts off into a dreamland that couldn’t possibly match what he has with you. No one knows what the future holds, but Jungkook sure as hell hopes that you’re a part of it.

This shaggy love motel did more good than he thought it would.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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ushiwhacka · 2 years ago

Text

IT'S A KINDNESS, HIGHNESS | gojo satoru + fem! reader | 4,500 words | mdni | royalty au, gojo is the most obnoxious, annoying, charming prince ever <3

⇥ summary: your betrothed is unlike anything you ever imagined. he's improper and brash and delights in embarrassing you - but he wants you. and he always gets whatever he wants. ⇥ warnings: corruption, oral (f! receiving), spit, pussy job, food play (just a tiny little bit), reader is a virgin, satoru is so impatient

for my most beloved char <3 thank you for being so patient and for this super cute request (and also for reading but shh)

You were bred to marry royalty. It’s what you’ve been told since you were old enough to know the meaning of it. You were raised to marry royalty. To sit with your legs flawlessly tilted. To sing like a delicate bird. To speak low and curtsey even lower still. A perfect daughter destined to become a perfect wife.

A resounding click as you close the locket once more. The intricate flowers are warm under your skin, worn out with how many times you’ve run your fingers over them. Clutching it to your chest, giddy with thoughts about the man who looks back at you through the heart-shaped frame. The many nights it has spent tucked under your pillow as you dream of chaste hand kisses and dancing with your betrothed as everyone else looks on.

“Do you think he’s as handsome as his portrait?” You peer down at the now opened heart again, sighing wistfully as you think of looking into those shining eyes.

“Keep your head straight.” A sharp reprimand before you feel another pin scrape at your scalp. And you do your best to swallow an audible wince. “It does not matter if he’s handsome, he’s a prince. And one day, he will be king and you will be queen.”

“But, mother —”

“And you will provide him with as many heirs as he wishes.” Her thumbs press into your bare shoulder blades as she regards you in the mirror. A familiar expression on her face, her mouth taut in a thin line, she levels you with steely eyes. “This will do.” You swallow your questions. “Now go.”

There is a whirlwind of kitchen maids and footmen carrying silver trays overflowing with food, dusting the railing, adding wood to the already roaring fireplace. It all comes to a sobering still at the sound of galloping horses and wheels rolling over gravel and the clamour turns into concealed whispers and feet scurrying away.

Two years since your betrothal. Two years of waiting and wondering. Two years worth of daydreams and fantasies of saccharine words and stolen glances and promises made tucked away behind secret corners. The air lodges in your lungs.

The silence in the room is so heavy that you can hear your heart thumping in your chest, faster and louder as the steps in front of the door grow nearer. A click. Then the thumping stops.

He is just as beautiful as his portrait. And yet, he looks nothing like it. There’s something so brazen about him, how strands of messy, white hair fall over his eyes. How his shirt is too loose and untied, the deep opening showing the pale skin of his chest.

You follow the contour of it. Wide eyes taking in the dip of his throat, the swell of muscle just underneath. It feels forbidden, something you shouldn’t be allowed to see. And still you cannot peel your eyes away. Watching as he draws closer with every long step. Your feet feel like lead sinking into the hardwood floors.

Curtsey. You’re supposed to curtsey, low and steady. You’re supposed to bow your head before the prince.

“Ah, my future wife.” It’s too late. “You look ravishing.”

Before you know it, your hand is in his hand and you can barely breathe. Your chest straining against the fabric of your dress. He looks at you in a way no one has before, like a predator who’s about to devour his prey. Then he brings your hand to his mouth, his lips warm against your skin.

And he looks at you. Impudent eyes burnt into yours for too long. It’s lewd. It makes your stomach flutter and your cheeks heat in embarrassment.

Your head is reeling, hand clutched into fists as you follow the group into the dining hall. You had only read of such behaviour in forbidden books hidden in the depths of your family library. It was inappropriate, a stolen moment of intimacy. Still, you can feel the shape of his lips on the back of your hand, stinging like a brand. Thumb pressing into it as you sit on the table with your hands in your lap and head hanging low.

He sits with his chin propped on his fist, looking around with lidded eyes, the very picture of boredom painted on his fair face. Every word out of his mouth comes drawn out and lazy. But you can still feel his gaze following you, the bob of your throat as you swallow, the tiny drop of red wine sauce on your lips, the nervous fidgeting of your fingers.

The rest of the world feels like noise, blurs, falls away under the weight of his curious eyes until it’s just you and him. And there’s nothing else to feel but how he drinks you in, how he lingers in all the forbidden crooks of your body. Like you’re already his and his alone.

You’re almost afraid to look at him. The way he stretches in the chair, legs spread wide and slouching over the armrests. Every attempt of your father’s to make polite conversation is thwarted with a disinterest that is almost insulting. Current affairs, politics, and tomorrow’s hunt pale in comparison to the way your hands trembles around the fork. How it clatters against your plate when you feel his hand brush the side of your thigh under the table.

“Are you feeling unwell, My Lady?” The conversation halts when the prince speaks, heads turn to focus their attention on you.

“I — I am quite alright.” You feel as though you might choke on the very air you breathe. “You are kind to ask, Your Highness.”

It must have been an accident. You try to reason with yourself that it was an accident. But you suspect it wasn’t. Not when his companion turns to glare at him. Not when his mouth quirks up ever so slightly in satisfaction.

Not when he looks at you as a child looks at a new toy. His new toy. There for his amusement.

Feet patter softly against the floor as you pace around your chambers, watching the sky turn black then lighten again. The pillows feel too warm and your bedding is scratching against the skin of your legs. And every time you close your eyes, you see him, you feel the warmth of his hand on yours, his plush lips on your knuckles.

You press your mouth to the patch of your skin he kissed, you wonder what it would feel like if he kissed you. Would he be loving and tender? Or would he simply take and take some more, leaving you breathless and trembling?

It is your duty to give, give him whatever he asks for. That’s the purpose of a wife. You had heard the same lecture nearly daily for over two decades of your life. But there was never an explanation. What must you give? Which part of you would he want for himself?

There’s a fluttering feeling in your belly. Like a sense of frustration that builds and grows with each new thought. Spreads lower still and your whole body comes alight. Like you might not mind giving as many parts of yourself to him as he may want, even if it’s all of you. It makes your chest heave and sweat bead at your hairline. Persists until you succumb to the mercy of exhaustion.

You spend the next morning avoiding anyone with a pulse — the gossiping servants, your mother, and especially him. Walking softly and peeking around corners until you find refuge in the library. The tips of your fingers grazing across dusty books as you read the titles. None of them particularly exciting. And either way, none of them have answers to the questions swirling through your mind. So you resign yourself to your thoughts, fingers dancing over the spines of dusty tomes.

“There.” Before you even know you are no longer alone, your body is pressed forward into the shelves, a chest flush against your back. “Just what I was I was searching for.”

The sound of his melodic voice makes the blood simmer in your veins. He’s toying with you. You know he has no interest in any book your library could offer. And you’re angry. Angry because you know none of it is an accident. Angry because he is not the man you had imagined.

And all that rage turns to ice in your veins when you turn around to face him, neck craned upwards only to be met with his bare chest peeking out of the crisp white shirt and a wolfish grin.

“Your Highness, you —”

“Did you like my portrait?” His fingers inch towards you, rest on your collar bone as he examines the little silver heart that hangs around your neck. “I sat for it just for you.”

“It is in your likeness.”

“You wound me.” His face is much too close to yours, so close that his breath fans over your skin when he breathes out a laugh. You’ve never felt smaller. “Do you think I’m handsome?”

“Your Highness —”

“Satoru.” He interrupts you again. His lips brushing against your ear. “If you are to be my wife I want to hear you say my name.” Your skin prickles up as he whispers, raw where his words fall over your neck.

There’s an eerie quiet wrapping you together. Like anything beyond those towering shelves falls away. And all that’s left is the sound of his calm breaths and your heart pummelling against your ribs.

“Satoru.” It feels foreign in your mouth, fills it up. Sits heavy on your tongue.

“Good girl.”

Then he leaves you. He walks out of the grand room with a spring in his step and a wave. And you’re gasping for air, one hand splayed over your chest where he had touched you, the other digging into the wooden shelves as a means to keep you upright.

You feel watched, his shining eyes follow your every step. He finds you in the library again even when you’ve tucked yourself away in the most private of nooks. He finds you in the kitchens late at night, sneaking a few bites of cake and milk before bed. He finds you in the garden too as you sit on a bench overlooking the pond, tucked in the thick shade of a weeping willow.

You’ve grown used to his presence in a way. Used to the quickening of your heart at the mere sight of him, at the sound of his voice. Used to the way your tummy coils when he touches you with near unbearable familiarity.

Satoru sits next to you and puts the tray of lemon cakes on his lap. He’s too close again, his knee touching yours. And you allow it. Again.

He shuffles in his seat, taps his fingers on the bench, then sighs deeply — making his presence known, waiting for you to acknowledge it.

You don’t.

The silence only lasts for one brief moment. “Have a taste.” He brings the sweet to your mouth and nudges your hand away when you try to take it. “No, no. Open wide for me.”

That feeling that sits low in your belly comes back, twists your insides. But you do as you’re told and part your lips. You’ve learned by now that he enjoys watching your face twist with embarrassment. Just loves that you will disregard every lesson in proper behaviour you’ve been taught for him.

The pad of his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, lingers there too long. The cake crumbles on your tongue, tangy and sweet. And his mouth hangs slightly open as he watches the way the cream sticks to your teeth, his lithe fingers resting on your chin. It’s suffocating, like the air has thickened in the space between you. Like you cannot breathe until he tells you to.

“Why are you squirming?”

The question catches you off guard. “I’m not.”

“Do you like it when I touch you? Does it make you feel strange between your legs?” He leans into you as he speaks. “Is your cunt all wet?”

Your eyes widen in shock. He’s not supposed to say that word. So filthy and unbecoming. And it makes you feel all… wrong. Too aware of how your body preens for him.

“That is not an appropriate way to speak to a lady.” It takes every drop of strength you possess to not trample over your words. To ignore how he looks at you, barely surpassing his amusement. To stand on your feet and stomp away from him.

But still, when you slam the heavy doors to your chambers closed, all you can hear is his voice, deep and sanguine. And all you can think about is how it feels to be so close to him, to breathe in his scent and feel the warmth of his skin on yours. How you sink into every touch and every brush of his knuckles. How you feel dazed and light-headed when he speaks words he shouldn’t.

How you wish to know more.

He finds you again that same night. Walks into your bedchambers wearing a shirt pulled further apart than usual. Feigns innocence as you regard him with stern eyes and your mouth pressed into a disapproving line.

“You really cannot be here.” You fold into yourself, suddenly aware of how he can see you, see all parts of you through the nightgown that’s turned translucent in the candlelight.

“I must have lost my way.” His voice hushed, but you can still hear the insincerity in it. “It’s a big house.”

“I’m certain you’re used to bigger.” You pull your arms closer to your chest. “Now go.”

He doesn’t. You can feel how his eyes rake over you, take in every detail as you stand almost bare before him — how your hair looks when it’s not neatly arranged and adorned with pearls, how your fingers dip into your shoulders, how the tops of your breasts peek from behind your forearms with every heavy breath.

“You’re beautiful.” He takes a step toward you, long fingers brushing over your hair. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Satoru, please.”

“Tell me you want me to leave.”

You swallow thickly, throat tight around your words, swallowing them. Your eyes dart away from him as embarrassment climbs up your legs, warms your cheeks.

He reaches out, holds your chin between his thumb and index finger. Tilts your head so that you have to look at his face, so that he can see up close the quiver of your lips as you succumb to him. “I’m waiting.” Because you will succumb to him.

The air between you feels suffocating, sticks to you. You turn your head, desperate to breathe, to escape what feels inevitable. But you’re met with the palm of his hand, searing in its tenderness as it pulls you closer to him.

His lips hover above your own, impatient but still waiting for your resolve to fracture and crumble in his grip. The flicker of your eyes brimming with anticipation is enough of an answer. A shared breath and the distance between you dissipates as he kisses you.

You’re standing on the tips of your toes, your body extending to dissolve into his. Like it knows its place. He’s gentle, his lips plush and soft and oh so warm as they press on yours. And you feel like you might lose yourself to this feeling, to his touch, consumed by his hunger. And when he pulls away you chase after him.

But he stops you with a hand around your jaw. “Don’t be greedy, now.” His thumb swipes across your lips. “You’re such a good girl, yes?” A dazed nod and his finger pushes inside your mouth, runs over your teeth and pushes onto your tongue. He stakes his claim on you. You’re his. Every last part of you. All of you. His to touch as he pleases. To have as he pleases. His and his alone. “And did they teach you what husbands and wives do together?”

You shake your head.

He swipes over the plump of your lips again, coating them in warm spit as you struggle to keep upright, light-headed, feet tingling with trepidation and something unfamiliar. “Would you like me to show you?”

“Y-yes.” It comes out shaky and breathless, like it should have remained in your throat, died there. Like you should have said no. But there’s that feeling in your belly again, starved and growing, and it wants him. And everything that may entail.

He kisses you again. This time it’s different, firmer, he forces you to open yourself up to him, his tongue licking inside your mouth. Holds you in place with a hand wrapped around the back of your neck. Devours you. Your every sense is alight with the feeling of him, forbidden and yet there in between your eager fingers.

There’s drool dripping down the sides of your chin, so unbecoming, so embarrassing. Yet it doesn’t compare to the sting that spreads to your cheeks when his tongue darts out to lap it up, lick you clean. Then he kisses you once more, even deeper than before and no drop of himself he has so graciously given you goes to waste.

You can’t escape the scrutiny of his crystal eyes, shining with pride at the result of his efforts as they take in the sight of you. From your swollen lips, down your neck, to your chest heaving with every laboured breath, and your arms folded together in a feeble attempt to protect your modesty.

“Let me see you.” His voice trembles just for a moment. As if he, too, is being held together by delicate seams, bursting with want, with the need to have you.

His fingers snake around your wrists and your breath hitches. But you still let him peel your arms off your body, let his knuckles ghost over the thin material, let him undo the bow that holds your nightgown together.

You can hear how hard he swallows, see how his throat bobs with the effort, how his mouth goes slack at the sight of your perky nipples peeking out from underneath the white cotton. “Are you nervous?”

“A little.”

Knuckles ghost over your clavicle as he hooks a finger around each strap of your nightgown. He looks into your eyes as he pulls them over your shoulder. “Don’t be.” And the dress falls around your feet in a rustle.

The look on his face is unlike anything you have ever seen before. Something primal and fierce. Like a starved animal, a wolf about to devour the lamb caught in his paws. He will take everything, carve it out of your core and grind it between his molars. And you will let him. And you will ask for more.

Feverish lips leave a trail down the column of your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. You hold onto him, nails digging into the base of his neck as he moves further down, watching in awe as he licks a stripe in between your breasts. He’s watching you too, eager to see how your eyes squeeze shut in pleasure, how you try to bite back the moans that tumble out anyways.

His hands move to cup your tits and he takes his time watching how the fat spills from in between his fingers. Touches your nipples so lightly it tickles, then latches his mouth onto one. It’s obscene, the prince on his knees, your skin glistening with a thin layer of his spit. And oh the noises he makes, whining as he sucks on the hardened buds, the pop as he releases one, only to move to the other side and do it all over again.

The blissful smile on his face as he looks at you coming undone in his arms.

But it’s not enough. Not nearly enough to fill the emptiness that’s spreading inside out you. “Please, Satoru —” Your voice weak and desperate, begging for something, anything that will make you feel whole again.

“What’s wrong, My Lady?” He stands to his feet, curving into you. “What do you want?”

“Satoru…” You say his name like a prayer, like it’s your only salvation.

“Do you want me to touch you —” His fingers dip between the fat of your thighs “— here?”

And you gasp oh so sweetly as his middle finger presses into your folds. Your legs buckle, nails digging deeper into his skin. You want more. And you squeeze around his hand like your body knows what you need when even you don’t. But it’s too late. He’s already holding his finger in between you, dripping with your slick. Then he pops it in his mouth, looks into your eyes as he swirls his tongue around it.

“Mmm, sweet.” It’s like he delights in embarrassing you even now. “I want more.”

He carries you to the bed, sets you down gently before pulling the shirt off his back. He can see you and, at last, you can see him too. The peaks of his chest, drops of sweat running down between the ripples of his abdomen. So broad. Not even marble statues, perfectly carved works of art, can compare to him.

His hands are smoothing over your legs, firm, like he’s trying to commit every dip and curve of them to memory. His kisses start chaste, airy over the bone of your ankles, tickle the back of your knee. Slowly, they turn hungry, demanding as he buries his head between your thighs. He sucks on your soft flesh there, his mouth hot and needy. Then his tongue laves over the teeth marks imprinted into your skin, soothing the sting of it.

He stops for a moment. Desperate eyes taking in the sight of your pussy, wet and sticky with arousal. He runs his fingers over the sensitive skin, listens to you sharply inhale at the contact.

“You’re mine.” The world stops. “Say it.”

You can only manage a strangled whisper. “I’m yours.”

Then you feel it, the warmth of his breath as his mouth hangs just above your core, how wet and thick and hot his tongue is when it licks between your folds. How it curls around that spot that makes you whimper and call out his name. And he wraps his lips around it, sucks on it and you cannot stop the cry that erupts out of your mouth.

Your belly tightens. And you have to hide your face behind trembling hands, hide your panting and the way your cheeks could burst with shame. But you cannot stop how your body leans into him, how your legs wrap tightly around his head, pulling him closer still.

“You’re doing so well.” His voice vibrates against your centre and you moan, high-pitched and strained. “Just let go for me.”

You can feel the sheets grow wetter beneath you, him cursing under his breath about how perfect you are, his tongue all over you, lapping up your slick and dipping into all the perfect places. And that feeling snaps, spreads until your legs are shaking and you can do nothing but wail and scratch your nails across his scalp.

Lips move across your tummy, sloppy wet kisses mix withe the damp of your skin. He kisses you again, cradles your neck, holds you in place. It’s forceful and his mouth is so hot on yours, dripping, covers you in a taste that’s salty and sweet and intoxicating.

His hair is tussled, face shiny with you. And he looks at you with some kind of twisted pride in his eyes. “Have I won My Lady’s favour?”

A weak nod.

“Then —” He starts as nimble hands undo the ties on his breeches, “— I should show you what you have done to me.”

It’s a sight unlike any other. His cock, with soft white tufts of hair at the base, thin veins curving around his length and a blush pink tip leaking something clear and thick. And when he rests it on top of your tummy it feels heavy and it goes all the way up to your belly button.

“When we’re married I intend to have you like this every day.” His eyes are glued to where your bodies connect. “Perhaps more than once. We need heirs, don’t we?” Excitement tingles in your fingertips.

He runs the fleshy tip over your slit so agonisingly slowly. Follows every little movement with such intensity. And he feels like velvet against you, warm and throbbing over your core. Each buck oh his hips catches that sensitive peak between your folds and you feel your insides coil again. Writhe with want, with need to feel that release again.

You reach out to touch him, feel how he ruts into you. And he moans at the contact, a little choked out and whiny. You run your hand over his length, encouraged by how his lips part so prettily. And he feels so thick, so firm in your grasp.

“You’re a fast learner.” His mouth stretches, a picture of satisfaction.

But his tip catches against your entrance, and his eyebrows knot uncomfortably and he grinds his teeth. Knuckles white around the crumpled sheets as he tries to ground himself. Resist. Just for now. But never again.

His thrusts become more erratic, reckless as he surrenders to the tenderness of your flesh. And you follow closely along, hips bucking into him, looking for more friction, more of him. Your name falling from his lips, and his from yours. Like a sacred choir chant, or a cry for mercy, or something no words could ever convey.

He finds his release with his head hung and a low grunt. Spilling all over your belly, white and sticky and hot. He’s spent, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, chest heaving. You like the way he looks at you, bright eyes dimmed and hazy. Softer. And you think you must have taken a part out of him too.

He clings to you, lets you lay your head on his chest, your ear just above his heart. Its steady beat is oddly soothing. And so is the way he gently rubs little circles into your back, grounds you, binds you to him. Unexpected but not unwanted.

“Do you want to marry me?” He looks so different. Vulnerable and entirely too human, gaze locked onto the carved wood of your ceiling. As if he’s afraid of your answer, the truth in your eyes.

“Hm.”

“Hm?” His chest tightens.

“Only if you promise to sleep in my bed for as long as we both shall live.”

He turns to you with a click of his tongue. “I think they will have to drag me out by my arms and legs.” A wistful sigh. “There might even be casualties.”

thank you for reading! interaction is very much appreciated! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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