#and i always sort of had this idea that everyone had this “it's fun while it lasts but i don't really care that much” attitude towards me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

umemiyan · 3 months ago

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𝙋𝙐𝙕𝙕𝙇𝙀 𝙋𝙄𝙀𝘾𝙀𝙎.

( 𝖪𝖨𝖭𝖪𝖳𝖮𝖡𝖤𝖱 𝖶𝖤𝖤𝖪 #1 ･ 𝘖𝘔𝘌𝘎𝘈𝘝𝘌𝘙𝘚𝘌 )

𝗔𝗟𝗣𝗛𝗔!𝗪𝗥𝗜𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗦𝗟𝗘𝗬 𝗫 𝗕𝗘𝗧𝗔!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ 18+ only, mdni / omegaverse / reader has a vagina but no gendered pronouns / some imbalanced power dynamics due to wriothesley's position / very brief mentions of + allusions to: crime, prostitution, underage sex / elements of size kink / knotting / biting / a bit of blood / 4.2k words

i know what you're probably thinking: robin, why not omega reader?? well, i thought about it, but then i liked this idea better lol. one of my favorite personal omegaverse headcanons is that betas are able to somewhat hormonally shift to try and temporarily fill the role required by an individual they are in close proximity to, and if exposed long enough, can even become almost a pseudo version of an alpha or omega—at least when it comes to pheromones and maybe some slight physical and behavioral changes. so that's my inspiration, and there are definitely some elements of it in this piece. i hope you enjoy! (dividers by cafekitsune)

The Duke didn’t earn respect through fear but instead through actions that proved he deserved such esteem; however, you had become aware of the fact that he’d always been rather adept at keeping secrets, and while it was more often than not for the good of others, you couldn’t help but wonder what sorts of things he kept locked away for his own sake as well.

Wriothesley was notoriously difficult to get close to despite his knack for making connections, and after becoming more acquainted with him following your arrival at the Fortress, your curiosity was inevitably piqued. It was nigh impossible not to be intrigued by the highly competent and fiercely handsome administrator of exiles, especially when he had always treated you like something of an equal—a friend, even—yet kept himself at an emotional distance. You concluded it was silly to assume you might ever have a chance at being privy to his private thoughts, but it couldn’t hurt to daydream of the possibility once in a while. There certainly wasn’t much else for you to do down here.

But what you hadn’t really expected was for one of his secrets to be revealed like this.

Sure, he had the disposition for it; in fact, your original inclination upon meeting Wriothesley for the first time was to think that he could be nothing other than a true alpha, his burly figure and authoritative presence lending well to most of the stereotypes. But he never commented on the matter, nor was there any other indication that such was the case. Your fellow inmates held speculation on occasion, but generally came to the conclusion that the Duke was nothing more than a beta gifted with the chops to get things done.

They were wrong. Because that’s what he wanted them to think.

Wriothesley detested the thought of the masses believing his accomplishments were due to his status as an alpha. That was simply never his goal nor his motivation, for all he’d ever wanted was for everyone to be on a relatively equal playing field. In all honesty, his biology had been nothing more than a distracting irritation along the way, clouding his mind when he usually preferred clear judgment. He wasn’t a stiff without a penchant for fun, but being forced to surrender to the impulses of his body hadn’t always gone well for him in the past.

His self-control was unparalleled when assisted by the strong cocktail of hormonal suppressants that Sigewinne was able to regularly administer to him in secret. Not everything was completely erased after having been on the medication for so long, but it was usually more than enough to keep himself in check without having to go to extremes. But it seems his luck had finally run out.

Wriothesley’s office has become a prison within a prison, keeping him locked inside whilst keeping everyone else at bay.

“Please do not disturb the Duke. He is recovering from an illness,” Sigewinne had said, but even several days later, you haven’t seen a single trace of him. You wonder just how bad of an illness this actually is to have him isolated in the administrative office rather than the infirmary, and it leaves you feeling worried for the man you trust most down in this little corner of the ocean.

Perhaps it’s silly, but having a chat with him after bringing the latest edition of The Steambird to his office every day has become your most beloved routine. It makes you feel as though you’re doing something worthwhile, and it gives you an excuse to see him more regularly than most might—perhaps even have a warm cup of tea if you’re lucky. He also seems to enjoy your company well enough, or at least that’s what you’ve always hoped.

With fresh newsprint between your fingertips, you think surely it can’t be too bad of an idea to check up on him now.

You convince the guards to let you through with the promise of leaving the paper at the inside of the door along with some items you had bought at the cafeteria with your extra credit coupons. You’re sure someone had to have been bringing him regular meals, but it couldn’t hurt to have a little something extra if he had the appetite for it. Warm food could do wonders when you weren’t feeling well.

Upon entering the large doors to the office, you call out, “Wriothesley? Sir? It’s just me. I’ve come to bring you the paper and a few things to eat.”

You hate to sit the items directly on the ground, so you use one of the spare boxes in the lower lobby as a makeshift table, hoping it’ll be easier for him to reach as well.

“I know you haven’t been feeling well, but I just wanted to check in on you.”

You are met with nothing but silence and assume that perhaps you had stumbled in on Wriothesley while he was sleeping, but as you grow closer to the winding stairwell, your ears pick up on the faintest of noises; it sounds like someone huffing and groaning in discomfort, and you are immediately stricken with concern.

Taking the next few stairs upwards, you call out once more. “Your Grace? Are you alright?”

It’s really none of your business, but you simply can’t help yourself.

“I’m fine,” he rasps between heavy breaths, making you freeze in your tracks. “Just… stay down there.”

You are inclined to obey given his insistent tone and subsequent silence, but the moment another painful-sounding cry pierces the air, you can’t stop your feet from scrambling up the rest of the staircase.

As soon as you reach the top, your eyes begin scanning the room for the visual of an ill and impaired individual, expecting to find him immobilized on the office’s sofa or even the cold, hard floor, but you are met with nothing of the sort.

Wriothesley sits limp in the desk chair with an unbuttoned vest, shirt and trousers, skin drenched in a feverish sweat, and a heavy, swollen cock pulsing out the remnants of an unsatisfactory orgasm. His legs are spread wide and covered with release, chest heaving and glistening in the low light alongside the protruding knot that your gaze can’t help but fixate upon.

“I told you to stay away,” he says with breathy defeat, far too exhausted to try and cover himself up like any half-decent man might. He’s been caught and seen for the animal he truly is, so there’s no use in attempting to deny it now. He hasn’t the energy.

With wide eyes, your heart pounds. “You’re an alpha,” you state rather matter-of-factly, frozen in place, almost as if trying to convince yourself of the reality staring you straight in the face.

“What gave it away?” Wriothesley replies while wiping the sweat from his brow. He apparently still has the capacity for a touch of sarcasm.

You can smell it now—the potent pheromones circulating throughout the air, casting a thick shadow over the room, even for someone with the nose of a beta like yourself. Wriothesley is so deep in a rut that it’s impossible for anyone not to notice, which is precisely why you assume he’s been locked here in the office with no contact for days on end.

And by the look of him, isolation hasn’t provided much relief.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were—“

“Don’t,” he stops you, finally working to shove himself beneath the confines of clothing despite the perpetual aching hardness between his legs. “Just… please don’t tell anyone about this.”

You cannot begin to fathom why that is his first request, but you have no reason not to try and honor it. It seems you’ve finally gotten your glimpse into the Duke’s private life, albeit not quite in the way you had anticipated.

Searching for the right words to say, you try and open your mouth to form some sort of response before he speaks again.

“Sigewinne is the only one who knows,” he adds, sinking further into his chair, “but I wouldn’t put it past Clorinde to have some idea.”

You are able to infer from that information alone that he has been using the medical expertise of the head nurse to conceal his biological truth, but it would appear that not even her assistance is enough to keep such things indefinitely at bay. You deduce that Wriothesley has been sentenced to ride out a rut that is far overdue, judging by the iron grip it currently has on him.

You are glued to the spot, standing and staring as you sort each piece of information within your mind. Meanwhile, Wriothesley steeps in the humiliation.

He wishes you would go back down the stairs, taking the secret and your increasingly potent scent with you while leaving him to hope you might have it in your heart to keep this to yourself. He’d rather not be gawked at like an animal in a cage, but he supposes that’s more or less what he has actually come to be. Perhaps it’s what he’s always been.

But you don’t leave, and he doesn’t have the strength to make you. Even if an aggressive streak were to be triggered and brought to the surface, Wriothesley doesn’t think he’d be able to make you the subject of it. Ironically, that frightens him.

He finds your presence alluring but your silence deafening, his own heavy breaths being all that fills the air until you finally decide to make a move.

Instead of walking away, you step forward. He eyes you, almost as though you’re predator and he’s prey.

“I can help,” you say, a certain decisive tone coloring your voice.

“What?” he replies, taken aback. It’s an admittedly enticing offer given his current state, but is entirely inappropriate nonetheless. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not? I’ve done it before. Once.” It’s a half-truth—you’ve been with an alpha once in your life, but it was in exchange for mora, and certainly not during a rut. But something is compelling you to convince him of your capabilities.

Wriothesley’s cock throbs with each step you take closer to the desk, the energy in the air intensifying beyond comprehension. He can’t imagine using a beta to ease his suffering, forcing someone’s body to accommodate him when it isn’t truly meant to, but every second that passes brings him closer to seeing that he’s fighting somewhat of a losing battle.

It’s not that he hadn’t thought of it before; hell, you’d flashed through his mind several times before he’d blown a thick, wasted load all over himself to try and break the fever. But to succumb to this weakness… it would damage his pride, and the walls he’d so expertly built around himself along with it.

When you’re inches away from the front of his desk, Wriothesley uses his remaining willpower to rise to his feet and make a display that will hopefully ward you off. He plants his palms flat against the wood, leering forward with an expression that looks more pained than authentically wrathful. “You need to leave. Now.”

Were this any other situation, you might be stricken with fear that would prompt you to obey such an intimidating command, but just as he feels compelled to preserve his dignity, you feel the pull of biology and personal conviction keeping you rooted in place. The Duke’s voice does indeed cause your stomach to flip with the sting of anxiety, but it ultimately doesn’t affect your decision.

You lean forward and mimic his position, pressing your weight against the desk until you’re at eye level with him, resolve completely unwavering. “Wriothesley. Let me help you.”

You possess a determination he can’t help but respect, padded with a layer of genuine concern, and he can feel your breath like a warm breeze dancing across his skin. Mixed with the modest yet sturdy quality of your scent—an aroma that he swears only keeps getting sweeter by the minute—it dopes him up like a drug.

Neither of you is entirely sure who was the first to lean into the kiss, but Wriothesley does know that he had every intent of doing it regardless. And now that your lips are on his, coating his tongue in a layer of honey, he finds himself somehow possessing both a raging inferno of thoughts and the utmost clarity of mind.

Truthfully, he hasn’t done this in years. Not since he’d first presented as a teen and mindlessly tracked down the nearest omega in the Fortress. She had been more than willing to break him in, and Wriothesley still has yet to decide whether that was a blessing or a curse.

You’re uncertain of whether you’re driven by the physical need to ease another’s pain or your own selfish inner desires, but none of that will really matter by the time this is over with. All you can focus on in the present is the way he pushes his tongue into your mouth like he’s exploring, consuming, rectifying. There’s almost something juvenile about it.

You climb over the width of the desk to lessen the distance between you, knees dragging over wood until you can properly sit yourself in front of him. Wriothesley happily accommodates you with a couple of strong arms pulling you forward so that he may press himself between your thighs, opening them up to provide him with more access your scent.

“I could smell you coming up the stairs,” he pants between frantic kisses, bulge grinding against your center like an omen.

“You’ve been pent-up for way too long if you’re smelling betas,” you reply. It’s not untrue, but the smell of him has weaseled its way around your senses as well, stronger and with more allure. Perhaps this is what happens when you accidentally spend too much time with an alpha in hiding.

Writothesley nudges your jaw with his nose and cascades kisses down your neck like he’s been your lover for a hundred different lifetimes. “Yeah, well maybe I just really like this beta,” he says before tonguing over your scent gland with a nice, slow drag, instincts more in control than anything. You’ve broken him down like a man made of straw.

Little by little, he practically coaxes the pheromones out of you, your body working on overdrive to try and compensate for what you lack. It doesn’t hit quite the same as it might if you were an omega, but Wriothesley hardly knows this difference, and even if he did, he doesn’t care; this is the only relief he’s felt in days—years, even.

Your fingers wrap around his length, and he hisses against your throat, hips reflexively bucking forward in the search for more. He’s hot and throbbing, aching to be buried in a warm cunt that he can claim with a knot, and it’s never felt so good to be completely at the mercy of his own instinctive drive. In his compromised state of mind, Wriothesley wonders why it is that he’s been fighting it off for so long.

“I think that’s just the rut talking,” you say, breathing into his mouth as you pump his cock a few times for good measure, every inch already standing at attention for you. A fountain of pre-cum dribbles from the head and down the underside of his shaft, and you’d like to believe it’s because of the way he feels about you, but you wouldn’t be willing to bet very much on it.

However, he challenges your sentiment.

“Not a chance,” Wriothesley states rather assuredly, slamming his lips into yours for another selfish taste. You’re curious as to whether or not it’s the truth, and if it is, how long he’s been managing to keep this secret as well. But, once again, the logistics of it don’t matter, because he’s leaning you back until your spine makes contact with the desk, completely intent on sealing the deal either way.

Your shoes are pulled off with haste, as well as everything from the waist down, his brute strength hardly requiring him to fiddle with any intricacies involved in your clothing. Wriothesley is simply desperate to see your dripping slit with his own eyes and run a thumb through it, spreading the relatively meager amount of slick around your folds and sizing up the little hole that’s tucked inside.

He won’t fit. He’s not supposed to.

But it’ll be tight. So tight. He can already feel the squeeze.

With a bead of sweat racing down his temple and a rough thumb circling around your entrance, he asks for clarification. “Are you sure about this?”

You wish he’d move higher, press his fingerprint to your clit or at the very least stick the digit inside you, but he exercises more patience than your typical alpha might. How long will it last? You don’t dare try and find out, instead nodding your head with confidence. “Yes. I’m sure.” Your back arches off the surface, seeking more stimulation between your thighs. “It’ll be fine.”

Your scent swirls around his head like an aphrodisiac, and the consent is all he requires to further indulge. Wriothesley steps back and bends forward to seek the smell at its source, letting the fantastical feeling overtake him and launch a wave of desire straight down to his cock. His nervous system is ordering him to do nothing other than fuck and fill, but even so, he licks filthily up your slit with desperation, collecting you upon his tongue to get one last hit to fuel the high.

The sensation pushes a shiver through your center all the way to the tips of your fingers, and you’ve never fed off of someone’s need in a manner such as this until now. You might not offer exactly what nature dictates he requires, but the utter lust that drips from his mouth and the gaze of those icy blue eyes makes you believe for a moment that perhaps you really do. He taps the heavy head of his cock between your folds, and it somehow feels more right than most anything thing else in your life leading up to this point.

Wriothesley is captivated by the slick sensation of sliding himself along your pussy, watching the sticky fluid claim the majority of his length with its clear shine. His heart pounds from the intimacy of it until he’s pushing inside, no longer able to keep himself from being inside you.

It’s a quick coupling—pulsing tip dragging forward until it reaches your limits a second later, parting you around him with a burn that makes your nostrils flare. He doesn’t slam his hips into yours because there’s still a few spare inches he can’t quite work inside, and now that you’re stretched around him, you’re grateful for His Grace’s mercy.

Your determination had caused you to overlook the sheer size of him—or rather overestimate your own ability to receive it—because Wriothesley fills your insides to a degree with which you were hitherto unfamiliar. To turn back now, however, would be to admit cowardice and defeat, an embarrassment you should not wish to bring upon yourself were he even to allow you, and truthfully… you aren’t entirely opposed to this feeling of fullness, whether it brings discomfort or not.

Your thighs tremble at the same frequency as your lower lip, but you otherwise maintain a face of bravery as the Duke begins to move his hips, forcing you open again and again until you begin to accept his body as part of your own. He drops to hover over you with a growl that echoes along your throat before teeth graze over it, keen on sinking into flesh but still strong enough to refrain—that is, until your first moan wraps around his ear like your arms around his back, coaxing him into allowing himself to be free.

Wriothesley’s fingers anchor themselves into your hips as he moves into you with an increasing intensity, pushing a little more of his length into you each time now that your cunt has decided to receive it with a sticky, wet noise upon every thrust. He can feel your walls trying to allow him to carve a space inside them despite the lingering resistance that dizzies him, making him have to add a little more force behind each movement of his hips so that you can’t successfully shut him out.

It’s as though he’s invading your entire being—cock reaching your throat and stealing your breath, heavy rib cage weighing upon your chest until it seems as though your bones might fuse together into an anomaly. If he could speak or show you the inner workings of his mind, you’d know that he feels the same way, and while the overwhelm brings forth a sudden surge of anxiety, neither of you would alter the suffocation.

Who says your bodies weren’t meant for each other? Sometimes the wrong puzzle pieces still fit together.

Once he’s managed to nestle every inch inside of you, even down to where the knot will start to swell sooner rather than later, the force of Wriothesley’s thrusts reach a caliber that shifts the massive desk beneath you. He bruises your hips with every slam and every squeeze of his fingertips, but it all pales in comparison to the way the pleasure blooms within you each time his broad tip nudges against your favorite spot. That paired with the dark, coarse hair that grinds into your clit makes you incapable of acknowledging anything else.

Your fingers grasp at his shirt while he huffs and grunts in your ear, cock stretching out your hole and effectively making it his, even if only in his mind. He kisses you until someone’s lip is nicked open by teeth and spreading copper between your tongues until moments later, you sense an increase in his pace.

“Bite down wherever you can,” he tells you breathlessly between the groans falling from his lips, and you search his face with a confused look in your eye. “Just do it,” he insists.

Wriothesley feels the base of his cock beginning to swell, release inevitable now that he’s had his fill. He buries his face so that he can feel your pulse and push into you with all he has, and as he feels you obey his command, teeth sinking into the flesh of where his shoulder meets his neck, he can’t help but return the favor, stinging you with his own canines.

The rush of pain and the growl he emits has you spasming around his cock in an instant, vision going dark and a small gush of fluid splashing around the knot that pops into your hole immediately after. Your eyes shoot open at the feeling as Wriothesley stills himself almost entirely, cum rushing out against your womb in thick ropes until you feel completely full of fire. All you can do is bite down harder with a whimper as your entire body tenses from the pain, meanwhile Wriothesley mindlessly rocks his hips like an animal to fuck himself deeper until there’s absolutely no room left for him inside you.

Tears brim at your eyes even after the worst of the burn is over, and you didn’t think you could feel any fuller than you did before, but he has proven you wrong once again.

Wriothesley shudders and heaves for breath above you, releasing you from his bite and re-orienting himself post-euphoria. You follow suit and slowly bring your mouth away from his skin, only to see a small trickle of blood making its way down his collarbone and dropping directly onto your clothing. You hadn’t even noticed the metallic taste on your tongue until now.

He takes note of your wet lashes and feels an ache of regret deep within his chest. Although he could hardly begin to describe the heavenly experience that had just consumed him, he is unable to separate himself from the guilt of what he has done to you.

“Let me take you to the infirmary,” he pants, even as his body grows boneless while he is still locked inside you indefinitely. You find it ironic given that he is the one who drips with blood, but you wouldn’t even notice if you had been punctured as well.

Your body learns to relax around the intrusion and lets you finally release the breath you’d kept trapped high up in your lungs, granting you the faculty of speech.

“No,” you reply, knowing full well that having the Duke escort you in his arms across the Fortress, each of you doused in sweat and each other’s scent, would only mean the mass unveiling of his secret. “Just… let me rest here for a moment.” Given the way his hips are sealed against yours, rest is your only option.

Wriothesley admittedly cares little for his reputation at the moment—not when your well-being has crept into his chest and taken immediate priority. He certainly isn’t opposed to spending an inappropriate amount of time welded against you, appreciating how beautiful you look misted by sweat and bearing the imprint of his teeth, but he knows that the longer you’re here, the more he’s going to want you for good.

“I’d be happy to oblige, but…” he pauses and presses his forehead to yours, “if you stay here, I’m only gonna end up wanting to do that all over again.”

#wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #genshin x reader #kinktober 2024.#re: wriothesley #my writing.

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dantent · 2 months ago

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Day 2 of ARCANEWEEN

Prompt: FANGS AND CLAWS

Characters: Young Silco, Young Vander, Reader

Relationship: Young Silco x Reader

Timeline: Pre-Arcane

Words: 3923

Warnings: None

Sharing an apartment with Silco and Vander was not the worst idea you’ve ever had. Silco usually cooked for the three of you, while Vander took care of most of the cleaning up. Not to mention the price of living with two others. It was always split and eventually you could save up some of your money to buy some things for yourself. That came at the cost of two of you working two jobs at the same time. Vander and you had both worked hard to keep up this state of living, while Silco handled the finances at home.

But life wasn’t always easy with them either. They bickered like brothers on most days, and quite honestly it could truly get under your skin. Just this day you were lying on the couch, a book in your hand, and enjoying your leisure time before you had to get to your second job. The apartment wasn’t big, so the kitchen and the living room were opened into each other to give space to the two bedrooms and one bathroom. Which is why you heard Silco and Vander’s bickering loud and clear as they were making dinner.

“Come on, it would be fun!” Vander nagged the boy for the one hundredth time.

“More like humiliating.” Silco scoffed at him. “I’m not dressing up to your stupid Halloween party.”

“I already bought your costume!” he whined.

You sighed to yourself before closing the book. With raised brows you turned your head to the boys. Silco waved a spatula in his hand while talking to Vander, who was wearing an apron. Sometimes they looked like an old married couple who couldn’t decide if they still loved each other or wanted to poison the other one’s drink.

“What are you two arguing about again?” you yawned. “Some of us would like to rest, you know.”

“Tell that to Silco!” Vander turned around.

“Why is this my fault?” Silco whipped around as well. “This knucklehead wants me to wear a cat costume to his boss’ Halloween party!”

You burst out laughing at the image of Silco wearing a tail and cat ears. The bar - The Last Drop - Vander worked at organized a whole party for tomorrow night and everyone attending must be wearing some sort of costume. You have been invited as well but sadly you couldn’t go, as you had to work that night.

“No, no, I wanna see that.” you managed to say.

“Well, I wanted to get three matching costumes but since you can’t come I can only match with Silco.” Vander crossed his arms.

“So if he is a cat will you be… a mouse?” you smirked.

Silco snickered under his nose, before turning back to the food they were making. The taller boy sent him a death stare before rushing to his room. You were left alone with Silco, who gently turned off the stove. Before you could go over to him to help with the food though, Vander burst from their shared bedroom with ears clipped to his hair and a short tail tucked into his pants.

“Woof.” he said with the most serious tone ever.

You and Silco stared at him for a moment before you both started to holler at how stupid he looked. Vander scoffed at your reaction, especially when you fell off the couch and continued to scream on the floor. Silco wasn’t in a much better position either, as he sat on the floor and each time he looked at the other boy, he just started laughing louder and louder.

“This isn’t funny!” Vander finally screamed at the both of you.

“Woof.” Silco wheezed. “He said woof!”

“I can’t… breathe.” you said while coughing from all the laughing.

“I fucking hate you.” He walked back to his room.

You and Silco were left alone again. After the laughing died down and you were able to stand up, you walked over to the stove and helped Silco make portions for you all. Vander soon joined you and the dinner began. After dinner, you helped Vander wash the dishes because Silco had gone to sleep early, as he had to go to the mines earlier tomorrow morning to be able to attend Vander’s party.

“Are you sure you can’t come?” the boy next to you whispered as he washed another plate.

“Nah, you know I can’t leave my job.” you sighed.

“I wish you could come.” he shook his head. “Silco really wanted to drink with you too.”

“Did he say that or are you trying to make me feel bad?” you smiled at him.

Vander chuckled. “Guilty.”

You shook your head at the boy. “I’ll see if I can get there before the party is over. But I won’t promise anything.”

“If you manage to come, you could wear the cat costume.” he shrugged.

“Vander.” you sighed. “Hell no.”

“It’s a good costume!”

That morning, right after your night shift, you went to sleep a little disappointed that you can’t spend the night with your favorite boys. As much as they could annoy you, they were the closest friends you ever made. Silco was your first friend ever, in fact. But your relationship with him was more complicated than that. You never missed the shared glances, the subtle but intimate touches and the flirty banter between you two. Alas, Silco wasn’t the type of person who wanted anything serious, and you weren’t going to ruin your friendship with your feelings, so everything between you two was left unsaid. Before you could overthink it more though, you drifted off to sleep.

You woke up sometime in the afternoon, two hours before you had to go to work. A loud crash rang through the apartment and you jumped out of your bed. It only took half a second and you were already out the door with a pocket knife in your hand, only to see Silco hunched over a broken plate to gather the pieces.

“Fuck’s sake Silco.” you sighed.

His attention turned to you. “Morning.”

Silco’s greeting only made your eyes roll as you walked over to the kitchen counter to see what you could eat before going to work. Sadly there wasn’t much left, which meant you would have to get some groceries soon. With a sigh, you went to open more cabinets. That was until you felt Silco gently press against your back. From behind you, he reached for the cabinet and opened it with those long arms of his.

“I can make some eggs for you.” he whispered against you.

You could feel your face heat up from the pressure against your back. But it didn’t last long, as Silco already stepped away to prepare your breakfast on the stove. You cleared your throat before speaking.

“Thanks.” you managed to say.

“Best I can do after I broke the plate.” he just shrugged without looking at you. “Should’ve been more careful.”

“It’s fine.” you shook your head. “I appreciate the compensation, though.”

He huffed a laugh as he broke the eggs into the pan. You all have been eating eggs for breakfast for two weeks now. It was better than nothing but you were slowly getting sick of it. Still, the memories of going to sleep without food in your childhood made you push those negative feelings away. At least you had food everyday. That’s nice.

“It's nothing.” Silco hummed.

You fell into silence as you watched him cook. His hair was put in a bun, as it so often was after work. There were still some smears of coal on his cheek that just emphasized his sunken face. No matter how much you have fed that boy, he stayed just as lean. Sometimes you wondered what he looked like under all that clothing. You have seen him naked before, but you were children back then. Since you both have reached puberty though, only the people Silco seeked out in the brothel have seen him naked. Speaking of which, that reminded you of a topic you wanted to discuss with Silco.

“I wanna find a partner.” you started. “Long term.”

Silco only looked at you from the corner of his eye.

“Why?” he asked.

“It’s just… stability, I guess.” you shrugged. “I know I have other things to worry about, but having a partner I could rely on sounds good, you know.”

“I don't think you should do it.” Silco looked away, his attention on the eggs again. “You have me and Vander anyway.”

You sighed. Of course Silco didn’t get it. In a better life, a better world, you would’ve chosen Silco. But finding truly romantic partners in Zaun was rare, which made it all the more intriguing. You also would’ve lied if you said the piltie romance books you’ve been reading lately didn’t have anything to do with your opinion.

“I know.” you nodded. “But it’s not the same! I want to go to sleep with someone on my side.”

“Pfff, I can go over to your room if you want that so much.” the boy shrugged.

“Silco, you’re not hearing me!” you groaned.

“All I’m saying is,” he fully turned to you, “that you can do all that shit with me and Vander.”

“Like kissing and sex?” you raised a brow sarcastically.

Silco’s face darkened with a hue of red before turning away from you. He just stared at the stove with furrowed brows, no doubt thinking what he could say next to change your mind. But you were faster than him.

“Maybe I could have my own place with my partner, and you could get your own room instead of sharing one with Vander.” you shrugged.

“And how do you think we would pay for this apartment without you?” Silco turned to you with anger in his eyes.

“Right, I didn’t think about that.” you nodded. “Well, I could bring them here.”

“Absolutely not.” he sounded offended. “I won’t live with someone I don’t know.”

“Well, you could meet them.” you raised a brow at his reaction.

He slammed his hands down on the counter. “Just why aren’t I enough for you? Or Vander?”

Your eyes widened at the desperation in his eyes. Silco never acted like this before. Even in the worst scenarios, he was the one with the brains who got your little group out of trouble. Were it not for his calmness in risky situations, all of you would be behind bars by now.

“It’s not that you aren’t enough for me, Silco.” you reached for his hand to calm him down. “You are the best thing that happened to me, and I will always cherish us.”

He squeezed your hand at those words. You felt like you finally understood what the problem was. Silco must’ve felt like you were replacing him with someone new, just because he couldn’t give you the romance you wished for.

“No one can come between us.” you shook your head. “If I had to choose between finding someone, or keeping you, I’ll always choose you, Silco.”

You offered him a smile and before you could react, he pulled you into a hug. As much as he tried to deny it, he was a sucker for physical affection. You hugged him back with a huff, rubbing his back.

“I know you want to have that perfect romance like in your books,” he whispered against your ear, “but it’s rare here. I’m saying all of this for your own sake.”

“I know, Sil.” you nodded.

After a few seconds passed, you broke the hug. With a smile, you reached for his face and gently caressed him. Silco softly sighed and closed his eyes while enjoying your affection. A thought crossed your mind - to kiss him. But that was quickly discarded when you remembered the eggs still left on the stove.

“The eggs will-” you started but couldn’t finish.

Silco’s eyes opened wide and he quickly turned around. “Shit!”

Thankfully he got the eggs off the stove just in time. Silco grabbed a plate and served you the eggs. You both sat down in the living room and Silco took his notebook out to calculate all that the household needed to spend in the upcoming weeks. He always tried to minimize the amount spent, so you and Vander just left this to him. That reminded you…

“Where’s Vander?” you asked between two bites.

Silco answered without looking up. “At the Drop.”

“Already?” you sighed. “He’s working too hard.”

He just hummed. Just from that, you knew he had something on his mind. Silco didn’t make eye contact, was playing with the pen in his hand and slowly bit away his lips. All of these were things he did when keeping a secret from you.

“Spit it out, Sil.” you groaned.

He finally looked up at you. “I’m quitting.”

You almost spit the eggs out. “What?”

“I got offered a job at The Last Drop to cover all the financial stuff.” he shrugged. “Payment is better and it’s less exhausting.”

You smiled at him. “I’m happy for you. Sounds like a way better job.”

“It is.” he nodded. “Thanks.”

After you ate your breakfast you got ready to leave the house. Silco wished you a good shift before you left, then went on to get ready for the Halloween party. Whereas you imagined the boys had a blast at the party tonight, you were stuck in a shop selling scraps and tools to all the lonely bastards who weren’t able to attend any parties. The customers had a way to make their bitterness known to you by all but spitting on you. So to put things simply, your shift was going horribly.

You were sitting behind the counter, playing with the lone coins in your hand. No one had stepped into the shop for about an hour now. And all your thoughts were on the Halloween party where all of your friends were currently. Vander, Silco, Benzo and all the others. You wished you could simply just leave, alas it wasn’t much of an option. Your shift still lasted for hours. If you ran fast enough though, you might be able to catch the end of the party.

After about another half hour went by, your boss appeared in the shop. His graying hair all but glowed under the neon lights of the Undercity. With a cough, he walked inside and closed the door behind him. The old man greeted you with a wave, as he walked over to the counter. You raised a brow at him, surprised to see him in the shop so late. Usually he would leave the keys with you and leave at the beginning of the shift.

“Did you forget something?” you asked on instinct.

“Just because I’m old my memory isn’t shit.” he waved his hand dismissively.

“Then what-”

“One of your friends was practically begging on his knees in front of my door to let you go tonight.” he huffed a laugh. “Slim boy he was, yes.”

“Silco?” you wondered out loud.

He shrugged. “Didn’t catch his name. He asked for you to go to a party, though.”

“Oh, yeah.” you nodded. “My roommate's boss is making one and I was invited.”

“Well, go then!” he tried to push you away from the counter.

“Really?” your eyes widened, standing up to leave.

“Before I change my mind!”

“Thank you so much!”

You all but ran out of the shop. The old man grumbled something under his nose but you were in too much of a rush to catch any of his words. Not many people were on the streets that night, but you still managed to bump into a few as you rushed to your apartment. It didn’t take a lot of time to get home, as the shop was pretty close to it, but you still coughed like crazy after all that running - a byproduct of living in constant toxic air. You dropped your keys before you could open the door so you cursed under your breath before you practically broke into your apartment.

No one was inside, just as you expected. What surprised you however, was the little note placed on the cat costume. In Silco’s handwriting you read “For tonight”. You sighed, shaking your head at the boy. Clearly he had been planning this, and you wondered whether or not Vander was in on it too. Though, their argument seemed genuine so you supposed he was just a victim of Silco’s scheming as well.

Without a spare costume, you had to comply with Silco's wishes, and put on the cat ears and tail. It looked utterly ridiculous on you, probably because it was made out of very cheap material. But there was no other thing you could wear, so you left the house in this. The Drop wasn’t too far away from the apartment either, albeit it was in the other direction. It took about the same amount of time to get to it like it took to walk to the shop.

Once there, you opened the heavy doors of the bar, only to be met with unusual neon lighting inside. Usually it was warm and welcoming, but now mostly younger folks partied to loud music. You walked inside trying to find a familiar face. Vander was behind the counter, serving drinks to everyone. He looked comical with the dog ears on, but he seemed to enjoy it so you weren’t going to judge him.

“I wasn’t aware the bar accepted strays.” a familiar voice came from behind you.

You turned around with a smile, only to be met with Silco dressed fancily, with ruffles on his shirt and a swept back hair. As he smirked at you, fake fangs became visible, that were attached to his teeth.

“And what are you dressed as?” you laughed at him. “A leech?”

He rolled his eyes. “So your boss really let you go.”

“Well, after someone begged him for it.” you walked over to him and booped his nose. “Thank you, Sil.”

Silco smiled, before he looked down on what you were wearing. That’s when he noticed you were wearing his oversized sweater.

“And wouldn’t you see.” he groaned. “I believe that’s mine, sweetheart.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” you quipped back.

“Oh, you absolutely-”

Before he could finish it, you made a run for it. There were enough people around you to blend into the crowd, and Silco’s voice started to fade. You giggled to yourself as you turned to a corridor just behind the stairs. Most people didn’t know how to navigate through this place, but you, Silco and Vander did. That’s why you knew you would have some alone time with him.

It didn’t take long for Silco to catch up to you and when he did, he pinned you against the wall. His grip was loose and if you wanted to, you could easily escape. Silco wanted to seem serious but he simply couldn’t help but smile when he heard you giggle at his antics.

“You got me.” you grinned.

“Fantastic observation.” he whispered.

“If I were you, I would look out for my claws.” with delicate movement, you scratched Silco’s hand.

“Oh no, I’m so scared.” Silco huffed a laugh. “All I wanted was to talk, and you attacked me like this.”

“Oopsie.” you shrugged. “Tell me what ails your heart, my dear vampire.”

He shook his head at your dramatic tone. “I’ve been thinking about what you said to me earlier. About a partner.”

Silco looked at you with half lidded eyes, his face inching closer as he spoke. You could feel the heat rise to your face but you didn’t let your emotions show.

“Really?” you asked.

“Mhm,” he nodded, “and I came to realize I also feel like such.”

Your heart sank for a moment. “And you have your eyes set on someone?”

It wouldn’t be too far of a stretch, after all Silco was dressed especially nicely. You weren’t even sure where he got these clothes from. The most likely answer was that he stole it from a piltie’s closet, but you still couldn’t imagine how he would’ve possibly come to know of such clothing. And it definitely wasn’t in his closet before either, you would know since you always go through both his and Vander’s stuff when your clothes aren’t clean and you don’t feel like washing them.

“I have, in fact.” he looked deeply into your eyes. “And I don’t plan to share that person with anyone else.”

“Aren’t they just the luckiest?” you chuckled.

Silco hummed as his gaze slowly traveled to your lips. All signs pointed to you. The way he acted, how he spoke, the fact that he dressed up nice; it all seemed like he wanted you. And this closeness just proved even further. You wanted him just as much.

“Well, why don’t you take your first bite then, fangs?” you whispered.

Silco’s eyes widened for just a second before leaning in. He stopped just before he could reach your lips and traveled down to your jaw. You could feel his lips press against it for a moment. Then you felt him fully at your neck. He started biting and sucking it greedily, like anyone would steal you from him. You ripped one of your hands from his grasp and grabbed his hair to hold into as Silco pressed against you. He groaned when your hand pulled on his hair and started sucking on your neck even stronger. You gulped at the sensation.

Before he could draw blood, he left your neck and came face to face with you again. His breath softly hitched as you firmly pressed your lips against his. Then he made a noise you could die for - he moaned into the kiss. That alone sent a shiver down your spine. However, this wasn’t the place for anything more than a kiss, so you soon broke it. You two were panting against each other as he planted a gentle kiss on your lips once more before fully pulling away.

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” he sighed.

“So have I.” you gently caressed his face. “I never want to leave your side again.”

He grinned at that. “That’s something I could definitely get used to.”

Silco grabbed your hand and started dragging you upstairs. You yelped at the sudden force but went with him anyway.

“Come on, I have to show you off to everyone.” he looked back at you with a grin.

“Wait.” you stopped him for just a moment.

His enthusiasm broke for a second, but he still listened to what you had to say.

“I love you, Sil.” you finally confessed what you’ve been holding in.

Silco’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to say something back. But no words came. It was okay, you knew how hard admitting his feelings were to him, and you weren’t going to push him past his limits.

“You don’t have to say it back.” you smiled. “Just being with you is enough.”

He sighed and pulled you in for a kiss. It was much more gentle than the previous one, and once he pulled away, he inched to your ear.

“I love you too.”

It was a whisper so quiet not one person could ever hear it besides you. Silco’s love wasn’t meant for anyone but you, and that made you the happiest person in the world.

#no use of y/n #arcane #silco #silco x reader #young silco #young silco x reader #silco fanfiction #silco oneshot #arcane oneshot #silco league of legends #arcane x reader #silco x you #young silco x you #im incredibly late with this one but oh well #i also wont do the other days because my inspiration is about at zero

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lizziesangel · 22 days ago

Text

SPENCER REID - christmas traditions☃︎

x FEM!reader (POC!friendly)

SUMMARY: spence doesn't have any christmas traditions, so reader helps him

WORD COUNT: 1033

GENRE: fluff

the bau office hummed with its usual busy energy, but the holiday spirit managed to creep in between cases and paperwork. it was just a few days before christmas, and the team was doing their best to enjoy a lighter day. decorations hung here and there, and small talk about holiday plans floated through the bullpen.

you were sitting on the edge of jj’s desk, sipping your coffee as she sorted through a few case files. the conversation had naturally drifted to christmas traditions.

“do you have any christmas traditions, jj?” You asked her. “like, what do you and will do with the boys?”

jj’s face lit up instantly. “oh, definitely. every christmas eve, we bake cookies with henry and michael. we always leave one out for 'santa', of course, with a glass of milk.” she smiled, lost in a sweet memory. “then, after the kids go to bed, will and i stay up and watch old christmas movies while wrapping presents. it’s something we’ve done since our first christmas together.”

you smiled fondly at that. “that sounds so nice.”

“so, what about you?” jj asked, looking up with a warm smile. “any family traditions for the holidays?”

you perked up at the question, smiling as you thought about your favorite part of the season. “yeah, we have a pretty fun one. every year, starting on christmas eve until new year’s, my family and i watch a christmas movie every night. it’s a mix of classics and some silly ones. we rotate who gets to pick the movie, and it’s always a big debate over which ones make the list.”

“it's chaotic, but i love it. it’s just… cozy, you know? it doesn’t feel like the holidays without it.”

jj chuckled, her eyes sparkling. “that sounds like a lot of fun. i bet you’ve watched Elf a thousand times, huh?”

“oh, you have no idea. and my dad is obsessed with a christmas story. we have to watch that at least twice,” you laughed.

just then, spencer walked by, carrying a stack of files and books—no surprise there. his usual composed self, he glanced curiously at the conversation.

“spence, what about you?” you asked, turning your attention to him. “do you have any christmas traditions?”

spencer paused, shifting his weight slightly as he thought about it. “uh, no, not really,” he replied, his voice casual but quiet. “we didn’t celebrate christmas much when i was growing up, so... i never had any traditions.”

you felt your heart give a small squeeze at his words. spencer’s childhood had always been different from most people’s, and you knew that his relationship with his mom added layers of complexity to things like holidays. but still, the idea of him never experiencing a christmas tradition of his own hit you harder than you expected.

there was a beat of silence as his words settled between the three of you. you, however, couldn’t help but feel a small tug in your chest, the idea of spencer not having any traditions—especially for christmas—saddening you more than you expected.

before you could say anything, though, the moment passed. he gave you both a quick, tight-lipped smile and continued on his way. jj gave you a knowing look, sensing your reaction. she offered him a sympathetic smile but quickly shifted the conversation back to your current case, sparing spencer from any further awkwardness.

the rest of the workday dragged on in a blur of paperwork and phone calls, but your thoughts kept drifting back to spencer and his lack of holiday traditions. you tried to shake the feeling, but something about it just didn’t sit right with you. everyone deserved to have something special during the holidays—a moment of joy or comfort. but spencer had never really had that.

christmas was a big thing in your family, now you were going to make it a big part of spencer’s life too.

by the end of the workday, spencer could tell something was bothering you. you were quieter than usual, distracted even. he noticed these things, especially when it came to you.

as you gathered your things, ready to leave for the day, he approached you. “hey, is everything okay?” he asked softly. “you’ve seemed… distracted all afternoon.”

you hesitated, not wanting to make a big deal out of it, but it was spencer. if anyone could understand your overthinking, it was him.

“it’s just... i guess i’ve been thinking about what you said earlier,” you admitted, glancing up at him. “about not having any christmas traditions. it just seems... sad, you know?”

spencer blinked, slightly taken aback. “sad?”

you nodded, feeling a little self-conscious now that you were saying it out loud. “yeah. i mean, traditions are such a big part of what makes this time of year special. it’s something to look forward to, a way to feel connected. and i just... i don’t know, it’s hard for me to imagine christmas without that. i don’t want you to feel like you’re missing out.”

spencer’s expression softened. he hadn’t thought about it that way before. “I guess i’ve never really felt like i was missing out because i didn’t know any different,” he said slowly.

you offered him a tentative smile, the idea forming in your head before you could second-guess it. “well… if you want, you could come over and join me. i watch christmas movies every night until new year’s, my parents won’t be here. so, i’ve got some extra space on my couch. we could make it a new tradition,” you suggested, your voice a little more hopeful than you intended.

spencer’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but then a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, soft and genuine. “you’re inviting me to be part of your tradition?”

“yeah,” you said with a small laugh. “i think you might enjoy it. besides, it’s never too late to start your own tradition, right?”

his smile grew, and for a moment, the tension you had been carrying all day lifted. “i’d like that,” he said softly. “a lot.”

“good,” you replied, feeling a warmth spread through you. “we’ll start tomorrow with one of my favorites. the holidate!”

#lizzieswrites𝜗𝜚 #lizziewrites christmas☃︎#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #doctor spencer reid #bau team #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #aaron hotch x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x y/n #poc!reader #christmas fic #bau x reader #criminal minds x reader #emily prentiss x reader

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httpsryu · 5 months ago

Text

the cc; campus crush : 2

pairing: kim minjeong x fem! reader

summary: kim minjeong feels her heart rush at the sight of the cold-hearted rich girl

category: enemies-to-lovers(in minjeong's head)

genre: this part is ANGSTY

warnings: y/n is kind of mean (ITS IN HER BLOOD)

a/n: i had no clue that cc would have this much support! thank you so much guys <3

The second the professor ended the lecture, students bombards the door. Jimin turns back to her shoulder to check up on Minjeong and see if she's going to hang with her and the others. However, seeing you still next to her gives her other ideas.

Her phone lets out a small buzz, having her look at it and she smiles while typing back an 'alright, have fun! i'll inform the others'.

"Think Minjeong is going to be with someone else today." Jimin informs Aeri and Yizhou while closing up her notebooks and putting them in her extremely large and heavy black backpack.

Aeri swears that backpack can be used as a dumbbell workout at this rate.

Both Aeri and Yizhou nods, putting two-and-two together.

"I admit, I'm surprised that Minjeong is managing this far with Hong Y/N." The Japanese amusedly turns back to look at her friend and the cold-faced rich girl. "I kind of thought they would just sit next to each other and that would be it."

The Chinese besides her throws her head back in a fit of laughter. "Come on! Give some hope in our Jeongie."

On the other hand, Minjeong patiently waits for you as you finish typing out the rest of the lecture's notes. However, she can see the slight confusion resting upon your very attractive face at some of the points given in today's lecture.

She assumes it's probably because you're not here for every class so confusion would make sense.

"Hey..um..if you always need help with anything, feel free to ask me. I can always help assist you." The short-haired offers, a bit shy, of course.

This reaction of the intriguing female sparks sort of a frenzy in you. Of course; you cannot pinpoint what it is.

"I don't need your help." A blunt yet short response comes from you.

You aren't sure if what you said was offensive, as you've always are used to that tone while growing up. However, to Minjeong, it seems a bit too honest. But then again, she understands it. You are a cold person like everyone else said. She can stand it.

"Ah." She can only respond, nodding as she doesn't want to push any boundaries on you.

With a slam from closing your laptop, you shove the device into your backpack. With no care if it breaks or not because less work for you to do. You look up after zipping up the bag.

"You should close that more gently." Minjeong suggests, seeing you raise your eyebrow at her suggestion. "Just because your hand can get hurt."

If anyone can see the way your eyes soften for a glimpse second, it would be the heavens from above.

"It's whatever." You reply, getting out of your seat.

The short-haired doesn't move, still frozen at where she is sitting. Unsure of whether you'd still want to grab coffee with her or not. It seemed like she pushed your buttons, judging from how you respond.

"Are we getting coffee or not?" You ask, sounding a little bit impatient as you couldn't help but to swing your bag in a sassy manner as you also don't forget to fix your hair with a swing of a finger.

Minjeong's eyes widens, immediately getting out of where she was sitting and rushing over to your side. "Yeah we are."

"She's like a puppy. A bit cute." You can't help but to mumble under your breath, walking ahead of her, a smile kind of crept to your mouth as you hear her following swiftly behind you.

Minjeong shoots her friends a small smile before disappearing out the classroom to catch up with you.

"You know what?" Yizhou stands up, ready for a snack break before her 12 PM class starts. "I kind of ship it."

Aeri gets what Yizhou means. "Honestly, it's like a cute love-smitten nerd and her bossy mean girlfriend."

Both Minjeong and Y/N kind of clicks well, looking good to the eyes too.

"Can we stop by the vending machines so I can get some more energy drinks?" Jimin asks, pushing her glasses up on the nose bridge.

The Japanese and Chinese look at each other, sighing before shaking their heads NO.

"PLEASE!"

"NO!" Both girls say in unison, getting up from their seat.

"Hey! Where are you guys going? Wait for me!" Jimin pushes up her glasses on her nose bridge once again before hastily putting the rest of her supplies in her very heavy backpack in a frantic.

Minjeong cannot believe she is sitting right in front of THE Hong Y/N. How does one get lucky with their campus crush? Certainly Minjeong must've been a hero in her past life because what do you mean Y/N is here having coffee with her?

Feeling a pair of eyes on you, you divert your eyes from the coffee cup in your hands to the short-haired female.

Minjeong flashes her eyes to somewhere else, not wanting you to catch her staring, enamored by you.

You hate to admit it but Minjeong is pretty cute.

Your phone rings, having you span your attention somewhere else as you grab it from your bag. With a sigh, you decline the call before stuffing it in back into your bag.

"If you have places to be, we can end the day here."

Furrowing your brows at the other sitting across from you, you shake your head. You don't want to seem rude, especially after someone treated you out. "No. It's fine."

"I understand that you're a busy person." Minjeong responds back, reaching over to take a sip of the sweet-looking frappe (you try your best to not cringe at how sweet it is).

"Minjeong-shi?" You call her name and the church bells started ringing in the other girl's head at the way you said her name. "I don't leave my appointments hanging."

Oh.

Appointments.

That's all Minjeong would ever be to you.

While she's over here thinking it was a chance to know one another, you see her as an appointment. A one-time thing. Minjeong knew it was too good to be true. Why would someone like you ever be into someone like her?

You seem to take notice of the sudden dejection of the other sitting across from you. However, you did not want to ask her if everything is alright. After all, you don't have the time to do anything yet alone, try to get to know someone else. After four years of university, you'll never see anyone from campus again.

There's no point in getting to know someone.

Just even getting coffee with this girl is a lot of time taken from you.

"I think it's best if we cut it short." You look down at the watch on your wrist, already dreading at the fact that you need to be at the department. You can already hear the scolding from both your father and sister.

Time is a limitation to you, Minjeong assumes.

"Oh. Yeah, I understand!" The red haired is about to stand up from her seat to greet you out but you stop her from doing so.

"No need for that." Disliking the idea of someone walking you out, especially if it's someone that does not work for the family. You pick up your handbag, giving the other a small half-smile. "I enjoyed this."

Minjeong can only smile back in response, unsure of what else to say. It's quite evident that you don't want to waste your time with someone like her. She takes the hint, she gets it.

She feels foolish, honestly.

"Well then, I am off now." You turn, ready to walk away with your signature Valentino heels, that make quite a presence to themselves. However, you turn back around to lock eye contact with the puppy-eyed girl. "See you around."

"Yeah. See you.." The puppy-eyed girl responds quietly to your farewell.

A sad sigh escapes from her, her shoulders falling beside her as she slumps herself in the chair. Wondering why someone as pretty as you have to be such a busy person.

Was there a need to call her your appointment though?

It's quite clear that Minjeong wants to know you better, hell, you probably already knew.

And yet; you called her an appointment.

Everyone's right.

You are a cold-hearted soul.

But why does Minjeong still like the idea of you and her? Even though it's clear you're not interested in her the same way she is in you. Why does Minjeong still want to keep trying?

Tip-toeing between the many different stores in the department, you check a quick scan-looking around for any sights of a Hong Haein. You let out a sigh of relief before running fast to another store across from you.

"Why are you late?"

Startled at the sudden voice, your heart starts wanting to leap out your chest at the voice of your older sister.

"Hi..." You force a smile, turning around to be met with Haein, her brows furrowed from frustration, pout evident on her lips and her arms are crossed as she repeatedly taps her right foot as she waits for your reasoning. "I just had an appointment."

Haein lowers her gaze, meeting with your height. "You missed the meeting for an appointment?"

"Yeah...?"

The older stares straight on, not caring if it made you feel small nor vulnerable. "An appointment isn't going to be there in the future like this department store is."

"Yes, I know that." You're tired of hearing anything to do with the department and the business that comes from it.

Haein clenches her jaw, not wanting to lose her patience in front of the customers. "If you knew that, why did you miss the meeting? Do you not care about your future?"

"I do care..." Your voice suddenly becoming quiet, blinking fast while looking away from your sister's gaze to not let the tears fall.

The older Hong can only let out a sigh. "Look, someday, I'll stop being the CEO of this department store and I want you to take my place. How can I trust you for this position when you don't even show up to these important meetings we have?"

"I'll do better."

"You always say that to get out of me nagging you." Haein tsks, her patience getting less with you. "How is Soocheol more reliable than you?"

Digging your nails into the palm of your hands from withstanding the awful and horrible words you were about to say to your sister, you can only nod.

"There was no point to even show up." Your sister looks down at her watch, staring at the time which means it was pointless to even try to talk sense into you. "Just go home or wherever you came from."

Before you could respond, the older puts up her hand to answer a phone call. You can only look away in frustration at the way she doesn't care about your feelings. Why would she try to understand?

She's the most successful out of the three of you.

Of course, she doesn't understand.

She loves being in this business, that's how much she loves the company.

Why couldn't it be the same for you?

"Grandfather wants to see us tonight for a family meeting tonight." Haein puts her phone away, looking at you with a stern look but her eyes softened for a quick glimpse at how tired you looked. "Y/N, you know I love you more than Soocheol. I don't want to nag you, but it's my job to make sure you'll do well in this business. Do you understand?"

Staring down at your heels, you can only sigh.

"Aren't you going to answer me?"

"Alright."

With a final nod and a small tight lipped smile, Haein turns around and walks away on her heels.

Knowing that you're not actually allowed to head back home until everyone else leaves, you can only gather yourself together before standing up with your back straight and face held high. Letting out another deep breath before composing yourself to continue the act you've perfected for years, you walk off towards the elevators.

Making sure each step of your heels are seen with confidence, like how your family wanted to be known as. Staring straight on, ignoring the passer-by's attention that are naturally drawn to you.

You see your secretary waiting for you at the elevators ready to give you your assigned orders given to you by both your father and sister.

"Hi Secretary Park." You open out your hand, waiting for the iPad to be given.

The older lady in front bows. "Good evening, Miss Hong." Handing you the iPad which shows the stocks, shares and information regarding of each store in the department. "The CEO wants you to write an analytical summary of each store regarding their sales."

And how in the world do you do that?

"Without Director Baek's assistance." Your secretary says with worry.

Hong Haein is doing this on purpose! What the hell?

"Got it." You look down at the screen in your hands, wanting to just throw and break the device displaying the graphs in front of your face. "Inform her that I'll try to get that at the end of next week."

Noticing the uncomfortable yet concerned expression on Secretary Park's face, you tilt your head. "What?"

"She wants this all done by tomorrow."

Fucking hell.

"Oh. Ok."

Minjeong types on her laptop in the dimly-lit library on campus, of course, with her best friends by her side because who needs girls when she has three awesome people.

But, in spite of that, the short-haired ejects a small upset sigh to where she can't even focus on her assignments. This, of course earned her three friends to turn to her, pitying the other.

"There's other of plenty pretty women on this campus, you know?" Aeri softly says, tapping her pen on her notebook as she tries to think of someone's name. "What about Ryujin?"

Minjeong stops typing, looking up from the screen and at the Japanese. "No, she's too much of a flirt and besides, her and I would clash in the worst way possible."

"Plus she's in a situation-ship with Yeji..." Yizhou mumbles, trying not to let Jimin hear.

The oldest of the four picks her head up from the medical book she's buried in. "You don't have to walk on eggshells around me when you talk about Yeji, alright? She wasn't out the closet during that time and I completely gotten over it."

The short-haired can only stare at her best friend, never forgetting the night when Jimin, the most composed and mature of the group lost her chill that night when Yeji and her ended things. Perhaps, it could be the case for you. You probably weren't into women.

Minjeong glances over at Aeri, wondering when the Japanese would just confess to Jimin already.

"Hmm..what about Yunjin?" Aeri suggests the pretty red-haired music major.

Minjeong shakes her head in agony. "I'll never find someone like Y/N."

"Obviously. She's a rich woman whose family earned their way up. She knows how to hold herself well." Yizhou points out the obvious, not surprised at all for Minjeong feeling the way she feels.

Jimin sighs, looking up from the book she's burying her face into. "Minjeong, I'm saying this to you as your best friend. It's okay to have an ideal type, but it's also alright to accept potential candidates too. Why do you seem to be interested in Hong Y/N so much?"

"I-I don't know where I should start. For starters, she's a very pretty girl. One of the most pretty girls, if not-the prettiest girl I've ever laid my eyes on. She somehow, despite being busy with her family, she's always balancing work-school life. Like yeah, she's kind of mean but I kind of like that about her. I don't mind her being mean to me at all."

"Oh." Jimin can only react with. "You're in pretty deep."

Minjeong can only sigh, putting her head into her hands with frustration. "She made it clear that she isn't interested in anything but why do I want to keep trying?"

"Good luck." Aeri snorts, dismissively going back to studying.

The puppy-like female brings her head back up at Aeri's dismissive attitude leaving Yizhou laughing. This results in Minjeong flicking a pencil at the Chinese's teasing.

"OW!"

Minjeong can only shrug. "You all think its funny that I'm pining over someone who wants nothing to do with me, right?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe."

"Let's have some faith in our Minjeong, come on."

Minjeong wants to bury herself in a hole for even being like this over a girl. But it's not just any girl...ITS you.

"Guys, I think I'm going to keep trying." Minjeong announces with full determination in her eyes.

Jimin, Aeri and Yizhou can only sigh in response.

prev. part

august 2, 2024; publishing date

hey...how is everyone doing...?

taglist: OPEN

#kpop x reader #kpop imagines #httpsryu #aespa x reader #kim minjeong x reader #minjeong x reader #winter x reader #aespa x fem reader

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capuccinodoll · 24 days ago

Text

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter seven ♡

Summary: Joel's mind is a stormy place. WC: 14.5k A/N: Hope this part finds u well <3 remember that I no longer use the tag list, and if you want to receive notifications you can activate them on this blog or on capuccinodollupdates. Thank you for your lovely messages and comments, don't forget to leave feedback, it helps and motivates me a lot! love u <3

Joel met you on the night of your your twenty-second birthday, at a small, slightly chaotic party your friend Cassie had put together in her dimly lit apartment. It was one of those nights where the air felt like it held a secret, but Joel wasn’t planning to go. He didn’t know Cassie, or you, and the idea of spending an evening with Brianna’s friends felt more like an obligation than anything resembling fun. But Brianna had that way about her, the kind of charm that made saying no feel almost impossible.

“Come on, it'll be fun,” she’d said, her fingers brushing against his cheek in that practiced, easy way of hers. Her eyes sparkled, soft but insistent. “And I want you to meet everyone.”

Everyone turned out to be Cassie, her boyfriend Freddie, Paul, Paul’s younger sister Iris, and you. He didn’t know much about you, but Brianna filled in the gaps as she rifled through her purse for something or other.

“Well, it’s her birthday,” she said, glancing up with a small smile. “I told you about her—Cassie’s best friend from way back. It’s at her place.”

Joel frowned. “I don’t even have a gift. What am I supposed to bring? What does your friend likes?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve got it covered,” Brianna said, already moving on to another task, as if his presence at this party were a foregone conclusion.

He sighed, leaning back against the couch, watching her with the sort of resignation that felt familiar by now. “I’ll feel out of place,” he murmured.

“You won’t,” she said, dismissive, like it wasn’t even a possibility. “Do it for me, Joel. Then we’ll go to that bar you like after, okay?”

And so he found himself standing, shaking his head but moving toward the bedroom anyway. He picked up the phone to call Tommy, wanting to check on Sarah. It was always like this—this invisible tether that pulled at him, the need to make sure she was safe, that she wasn’t lonely or scared. Sarah’s nanny had quit a few weeks ago, and the new one, while kind, was still a stranger in their world. Joel had made it clear to everyone he wouldn’t tolerate anything less than kindness toward his daughter, but still, worry clung to him like a second skin.

When he left the house, Sarah had been curled up on the couch with her fruit and a movie, looking happy enough. He tried to focus on that image, tried to let it soothe the part of him that always itched with concern. But the worry followed him, up the stairs and into Cassie’s apartment.

The apartment was small, warm with the low buzz of conversation and the flickering light of candles Cassie had scattered around. Brianna took his hand, leading him through introductions. Smiles, nods, the blur of names until they got to you.

You were perched on the armrest of a couch where Cassie sat, and the first thing he noticed was the way your gaze landed on him—sharp, assessing, like he wasn’t quite what you’d expected or wanted. Something tight curled in his chest, an instinct he didn’t know how to name. You didn’t say much, just offered a polite, somewhat distant smile when Brianna pulled you into a quick hug. Your eyes were tired, your posture restrained, your hands folded neatly in your lap like you were holding something in.

Joel noticed the way your shirt hugged your frame, the soft sheen of your black stockings, the way your legs crossed at the ankle like you were trying to make yourself smaller. He didn’t like how quickly he cataloged all these details—how automatic it felt, like he was breaking some unspoken rule. He nodded politely, offering a faint smile, and then stepped back, unsure how else to exist in this moment.

He stayed on the edges after that, with Brianna attached to his side, her hand slipping under his collar, her lips brushing against his temple in a way that felt like it was meant to remind him he belonged to her. But Joel couldn’t stop noticing you. The way your eyes flickered away whenever Brianna leaned into him. The barely perceptible shift in your shoulders when Cassie started recounting some story about your last birthday. Like the whole night was built on a kind of friction you were trying not to let show.

Joel wasn’t sure why, but the sight of you unsettled him. Maybe it was the way you carried your discomfort so carefully, as if you didn’t want to ruin the party. Or maybe it was because he knew that feeling so well. That ache of being somewhere you didn’t entirely want to be, surrounded by people who didn’t really see you.

At some point in the evening, Joel felt the weight of it all—Brianna’s hand on his arm, the too-loud laughter from the living room, the vague pull of unease he couldn’t shake. He shifted, leaning away from Brianna’s touch.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her tone lined with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Joel replied, a little too sharply. “I’m just gonna check on Sarah. Be back in a sec.”

He disentangled himself from her and headed for the kitchen, his hand fishing for his phone in his pocket. As he closed the door behind him, the sudden quiet felt like stepping into a different world. The party was still humming on the other side, but here, in the stillness, he could breathe.

He unlocked his phone and scrolled through the messages from Sarah’s nanny. They weren’t dire—just updates about Sarah refusing to sleep and crying because her movie had ended. Joel sighed, his stomach knotting anyway. Late nights made Sarah clingier, her emotions harder to soothe, and he hated not being there.

He typed out a hurried reply: Put the movie back on. She’ll probably drift off in a few minutes. If not, call me—I’ll go back home.

From the living room, someone shouted, karaoke. The cheer that followed was met by Joel’s quiet relief at being tucked away in the kitchen. He let out a breath, leaning against the counter, when the door creaked open.

You stepped in, freezing mid-motion when you noticed him. For a moment, you just stared, your expression shifting from surprise to something softer. The tension Joel had sensed in you earlier seemed to have dissolved in this quieter space.

He straightened instinctively, a faint warmth rising to his face.

“Oh, hi. Happy birthday,” he said, his voice a little uneven. “Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to say it earlier—”

You waved him off with a small smile, interrupting. “No worries. Thanks.”

There was something about the way you carried yourself in the quiet that Joel found disarming. The edges of your earlier wariness had softened, and for the first time, he saw you for more than a glance. You were calm, reflective, maybe a little tired—but there was something else, something Joel couldn’t quite place.

He searched your face for a hint, for the thing that had inexplicably drawn his attention from the moment he saw you. But it eluded him, like trying to name a feeling he didn’t yet understand. He liked you—he realized that much instantly. And not just for the way you looked; you were beautiful, that much was clear. It was something deeper, more intangible. Something that felt a little bit dangerous to analyze, something he could discover if he allowed himself the time... and he couldn't. What was he thinking?

Joel left that night without saying much else. Every time Brianna suggested they meet up again—usually with you in attendance—he found a reason to decline. Polite, noncommittal excuses. Work, Sarah, tiredness. It didn’t matter. The truth was, he wasn’t sure why the idea of seeing you again felt impossible, only that it did.

It wasn’t long before things with Brianna unraveled. They hadn’t been falling apart so much as they’d never truly held together. Their conversations ran on parallel tracks that never quite met; their connection relied on superficial agreements that felt thinner every time they spoke. The breakup came naturally, quietly—no grand argument or dramatic gesture, just a mutual fading. Joel knew it was for the best.

He told himself that the timing wasn’t right for anything serious. Not with Sarah so young, not with the weight of his responsibilities pulling him in every direction. Dating, he decided, wasn’t a part of his life right now. His world revolved around work and his daughter. There was no room for anything else.

That’s why he didn’t expect to see you again.

But then came that Saturday afternoon. Joel stood outside his house, his chest heavy with the tightness of panic, his breath caught in the raw edge of fear. Sarah was nowhere to be found. She had been playing hide-and-seek, though he hadn't known the game had begun... Apparently. His heart thudded in his chest as he drew closer. And then, the sun caught your face, illuminating every angle, softening the edges. You were holding a bundle of plastic flowers (why? he had no idea), their bright colors clashing with the quiet confidence in your smile.

“Joel,” you said, your voice light, like the beginning of a melody. And there it was—the unmistakable spark of recognition in your eyes. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted you to remember him until that moment, when you did.

He nodded, trying to muster an air of casual indifference, even as something in his chest shifted, calmed.

“Hey,” he said, the word almost too small to hold the sudden rush of feelings he wasn’t ready to name.

How could he name the feeling? The space between the last beat of his heart before he saw your face again and the next was a quiet, breathless eternity—because from that moment on, you would be the reason behind every quickened pulse, every ache and swell in his chest.

That afternoon passed like a blur. Sarah had invited you to stay for dinner before Joel even had a chance to think, let alone object. The meal was simple—chicken, vegetables, and bread that Sarah insisted she’d “helped cook.” You’d laughed, the sound light and warm, and Joel found himself watching you more than he should have. You didn’t seem to notice the way his eyes lingered when you reached for a plate or tucked your hair behind your ear. If you did, you didn’t let on.

Two weeks later, you had dinner again, but this time Joel introduced you to his brother. And all those things that passed you by, Tommy picked up on instantly, impossible to ignore the unmistakable attitude of his smitten brother. And after you’d left his home, he leaned back in his chair and gave Joel a look that was all knowing smirk.

“So,” Tommy drawled, leaning back with an almost smug ease, “are you finally gonna ask her out, or are we stuck with this whole pining routine forever?”

Joel exhaled sharply, running a hand over the back of his neck. The movement was unsteady, betraying the heat rising to his face despite his effort to appear unaffected.

“I dunno,” he muttered, his voice low and hesitant. “Not sure she—”

Tommy cut him off with a loud snort, shaking his head in disbelief. “She would, you idiot. Of course, she’d say yes.”

Joel looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly as they met his brother’s. He searched for any trace of teasing, waiting for Tommy to give himself away. But there was none. His younger brother’s expression was steady, his confidence unshakable.

“Go ask her now,” Tommy said, his tone nudging toward playful but still earnest. “She’s probably still awake. Probably thinking about you, you know.”

Joel let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as if to brush off the suggestion. “Oh, knock it off. I’ll ask her, alright? Just… when the time’s right. Not now.”

Tommy rolled his eyes dramatically, but he didn’t press the matter further. He knew Joel well enough to understand when to let things lie.

Joel, however, wasn’t brushing it off as easily as he seemed. He would ask you. Someday. Just not yet.

But that day—the day he’d finally say something—never seemed to come.

The more time Joel spent with you, the harder it became to imagine risking the delicate balance of what you already had. You fit so seamlessly into his life, into Sarah’s life. It felt natural, effortless. You’d come over for dinner, sharing stories around the table that made Sarah giggle and Joel’s chest feel a little lighter. Sometimes, you’d sit on the porch with him as Sarah played in the yard, her laughter echoing in the quiet evenings. Joel trusted you with his daughter in a way he trusted almost no one, a rare kind of faith he didn’t extend easily.

Your presence turned ordinary days into something brighter. There was a comfort in your company, a quiet joy in the small moments you shared—your easy laughter, the way your eyes softened when you looked at him or Sarah, the unspoken understanding that passed between you. Those moments felt like tiny gifts, precious and irreplaceable.

But weeks turned into months, and every time Joel built up the nerve to say something, doubt crept in and stopped him. What if it changed everything? What if you didn’t feel the same way? Or worse—what if you did, but things didn’t work out? The thought of losing the quiet, steady friendship you’d built, the one that had come to mean more to him than he’d ever anticipated, was unbearable.

Eventually, Joel convinced himself that friendship was enough. And in a way, it wasn’t a lie. He truly was happy in your presence, content with the moments you shared. He told himself he could live with the unspoken, that he didn’t need anything more.

But sometimes, late at night, when the house was silent and the world felt still, his mind would wander. He’d think about the way your smile lingered when you thought no one was watching or the way your laugh seemed to wrap around him like a warm embrace. In those moments, he couldn’t deny the truth buried deep inside him: he wanted more.

Still, he decided it was safer to push those feelings away, to bury them deep where they couldn’t surface. And so he did. He buried them so well, smothered them so completely, that he nearly convinced himself they were gone. Until, somehow, he forgot they were even there.

Well, he’d managed to bury it—convince himself it was gone—until that night, when everything shifted.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise. Not really. Somewhere deep down, a quiet voice had always been whispering the truth to him, persistent and patient. But Joel had ignored it, pushed it aside like an overdue bill he didn’t have the energy to deal with, telling himself he’d face it another day. And yet now, there it was, no longer subtle or ignorable, staring him in the face with a weight that felt impossible to avoid.

Because deep down, Joel had always known that if the two of you crossed that invisible line—if he let himself take even one step past the boundary you’d built—nothing would ever be the same. It wasn’t the intimacy itself that gave him pause. Joel wasn’t afraid of touching you, of holding you close, or of sharing the kind of closeness he’d once told himself he didn’t need. That wasn’t it. What unsettled him, what gripped him with both exhilaration and dread, was the certainty that after that moment, he’d never be able to step back. He’d never be able to pull away from you, not in the way he had before, not in the way he’d convinced himself he could. Because once he gave in—once he let himself have you, even for a moment—Joel knew with startling clarity that he’d never recover. You wouldn’t just be part of his life anymore; you’d become part of the very center of it. And that terrified him as much as it thrilled him.

And then, he met Sienna. She entered his life at a time when he had successfully buried those feelings for you so deep that they rarely surfaced anymore, their edges dulled by time and avoidance. Her arrival was almost perfectly timed, slipping into the space he’d created in his effort to distance himself from emotions he hadn’t dared confront. And it wasn’t just convenience; he genuinely liked her. She wasn’t a substitute or a stand-in for something unresolved. She was her own person, someone who caught his attention and managed to hold it, filling his brief days with her with a kind of lightness he enjoyed. But, she wasn't you.

Sienna, with her warm smile and quick laugh, who was easy to like and even easier to spend time with. She was smart, kind, and effortlessly beautiful, the kind of woman who made you feel comfortable in your own skin. He’d met her one morning at the bank, a serendipitous encounter that had led, improbably, to him asking her out. It had surprised even him—Joel Miller, diving headfirst into something for once, emboldened by a rare flash of courage.

The first date had been pleasant. A simple dinner, unpretentious conversation, and laughter that lingered. When he got home, he’d felt good—content, even. Tommy had stayed to watch Sarah, and Joel hadn’t mentioned the date to you. It hadn’t seemed important at the time. Just one night out, nothing more. Not worth bringing up. But later, as he lay awake in bed, the quiet of the house pressing in around him, he felt it—the faint, prickling weight of guilt. It wasn’t sharp or overwhelming, just a subtle ache that settled low in his chest, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.

The second date was even better. Dinner had been just as easy as the first, and afterward, they’d gone to see a movie. Sitting in the dim theater, their shoulders brushing occasionally, Joel had felt a faint sense of familiarity, a hint of comfort that he didn’t expect. When Sienna invited him in for coffee after she’d smiled at him in that warm, open way of hers, Joel hesitated. Something inside him pulled back, and though his refusal was polite, it wasn’t just about needing to get home to Sarah. It was something else, something he couldn’t name.

On the drive back, his mind wandered. Passing your house, he noticed the soft glow of light spilling from your window and, for a moment, considered stopping by. Maybe he could sit with you for a while, let you bring some clarity to the restless thoughts swirling in his head. You always had a way of calming him, grounding him, even when you didn’t know he needed it. But he didn’t. Instead, he went home, crawled into bed, and left the lamp on as he drifted to sleep. Yet, even in those moments before sleep took him, thoughts of you tugged persistently at the edges of his mind.

By the third date, doubt had begun to creep in. Joel found himself questioning why he hadn’t told you about Sienna. Why he was keeping it to himself, why it felt so unsettling. It wasn’t as if you’d judge him, he told himself. If anything, you’d probably encourage him, tell him he deserved to be happy, that he should give it a real chance. That was who you were—supportive, unselfish.

But the thought of you knowing made something twist in his chest. It felt wrong, somehow, like it would shift the delicate balance between you. Admitting it to you felt too final, as though saying it aloud would confirm that he was searching for something else, something permanent, and he wasn’t ready for you to know that. He couldn’t untangle the knot of emotions tightening inside him, couldn’t put words to the unease that crept in whenever Sienna smiled at him or touched his arm. All he knew was that no matter how good things seemed with her, thoughts of you were never far behind.

Then came his birthday. You’d confronted him that night, quiet and firm, catching him off guard with your piercing gaze and steady voice.

“Why would you lie to me?” you’d asked, your tone a mixture of hurt and bewilderment. “We're friends. Why wouldn't you tell me you're seeing someone?”

And just like that, the truth he’d been avoiding stood between you, unspoken but undeniable.

You cornered him, and he didn’t handle it well. The anger Joel felt in that moment wasn’t just irrational—it was childish, unfair, the kind of emotion he’d scold Sarah for if it came from her. But it rose inside him, stubborn and hot, because deep down, Joel felt as though he was betraying you. The thought alone unsettled him; it was absurd. You weren’t his, and yet, the idea of you holding that kind of sway over him—being able to tilt the axis of his decisions—left him feeling exposed, furious. He knew, with unsettling clarity, that if you asked him to leave Sienna, he would. That realization burned, not just because of the power you held over him but because he was certain it wasn’t mutual. At least, he thought so.

“I know you too well to know you’re just jealous,” he spat, the words sharp and venomous, aimed more at himself than at you. He hated the way his own insecurities betrayed him, how they shaped the bitterness in his tone. The accusation was hypocritical; he knew that better than anyone.

The month before, when you casually mentioned that Travis had asked you out, Joel felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him. Your tone was so light, so unaffected, that it caught him off guard, knocking the air out of his lungs. His reaction was instant and visceral, jealousy surging like a tidal wave and gripping his chest in a vice. The mocking laugh that escaped him wasn’t intentional—it was sharp and bitter, a reflex from the worst parts of himself. Out of all the men in town, why him? The sting of it still lingered, the memory sharp and vivid.

Three years ago, Joel had first met Travis Dunn on a scorching Sunday afternoon. The kind of day where the sun bore down relentlessly, turning the air into a suffocating blanket of heat and making every movement feel sluggish. Joel was outside his house, organizing tools in the back of his truck, more out of habit than necessity, while the hours stretched long and slow.

Two houses down, across the street, Travis was in his yard, wrestling with an overgrown bush that refused to yield. Joel had noticed him before—a new face in the neighborhood—but they’d never spoken. Deciding to introduce himself, Joel grabbed a rag to wipe his hands and wandered over, his shoes crunching against the dry grass.

Travis straightened when he saw Joel approach, leaning on his shovel with an easy, welcoming smile despite the oppressive heat.

“That’s real kind of you, Joel,” Travis said after Joel offered to help, his voice friendly and conversational. “But I’m just about done here. Damn Texas sun’s brutal, though. Still tryin’ to get used to it.”

Joel chuckled, nodding in understanding as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “Yeah, it’s a killer. You get used to it after a while. Been working outside my whole life—kinda got the skin for it now. But if you ever need a hand, I’ve got the tools. Sometimes even the time.”

Travis nodded, brushing damp hair back from his forehead, and smiled sideways, an idea forming in his mind. “Actually, there is something.”

Joel tilted his head, curiosity piqued. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Travis hesitated only a moment before blurting out your name as an invocation of the terrible, and the mention of you froze Joel’s easy smile in place, turning it into something tight and forced.

“You’re close to her, aren’t you?” Travis continued, his tone almost playful. “She’s something else. So sweet, beautiful too.”

Joel forced himself to nod, his voice flat. “That she is.”

“I like her,” Travis admitted, a nervous laugh bubbling up as he spoke, oblivious to Joel’s growing tension.

"No shit." His voice was low, flat.

“I mean, I was relieved when I realized you two were just friends. For a while there, I thought you might be, y’know, together.”

Joel’s brow furrowed. “What made you think that?”

“The way you act around her, and the way she acts around you,” Travis said with a shrug. “You’re together a lot. I dunno, it just... felt like a thing.”

Joel didn’t respond, but the silence between them thickened.

Travis, either unaware or unconcerned, grinned and added, “Anyway, you might wanna watch yourself, man," he said with a smug grin. "If you're not careful enough, I might just swoop in and take her off your hands forever. And trust me, I don’t do refunds—especially not with something as gorgeous as her."

Something snapped inside Joel. The casual arrogance in Travis’s tone, the smug smile—it was too much. He stepped closer, his posture rigid. Something as gorgeous, he said? Who did he think he was, strutting up and talking to him with all the confidence in the world, like they were old friends or something?

“What did you just say?” Joel’s voice was low, the Southern drawl sharpening into something dangerous.

The grin faded from Travis’s face, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Oh, sorry—”

"Y’ain’t gonna get anywhere near her with those words, Dunn," Joel growled, his voice low and thick with anger, his strong southern accent accentuating with emotion. "You better watch your damn mouth 'fore I show you what it really means to cross a line."

"No, listen—"

"No," Joel cut him off, stepping even closer. "You listen here, boy. You think you can talk about her like she’s some kinda prize to be won? Like she’s just sittin’ ‘round waitin’ for some fool like you to come swoopin’ in and steal her away? You’re downright dumb if you think you can underestimate her like that—like she’s some kinda damn manipulable thing you can just twist ‘round your finger."

“Joel, I didn’t mean—”

“You stay away from her,” Joel warned, his voice calm but edged with steel. “You hear me?”

Travis’s hands went up in surrender, his expression wary. “Alright, alright. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Joel stared him down for another beat, his jaw tight, before turning on his heel and walking away. His fists were clenched, heat simmering in his chest long after the confrontation ended.

For a while after, Travis kept his distance, careful not to overstep again. But three years later, when he reappeared, asking you out as if that encounter had never happened, Joel was flooded with a familiar anger—and something else. The possessiveness he thought he’d buried roared back to life, impossible to ignore.

“Why don’t you like him?” you had asked Joel that afternoon, your voice laced with curiosity as you leaned against the counter, watching him with that determined look that always made him feel like there was no escape. He had just scoffed at Travis invitation, brushing it off like it was the most ridiculous idea he’d ever heard.

Joel barely paused before spinning his answer, sharp and dismissive.

“I just don’t like the guy,” he said, his tone gruff. His hand reached for the coffee mug on the table, more to occupy himself than because he needed another sip.

You didn’t let it go, of course. You crossed your arms, head tilted, waiting for something more.

“He’s... weird,” Joel added with a shrug, avoiding your gaze. “Something about him rubs me the wrong way.”

That was a lie, and he knew it. The truth was more complicated, and Joel hated complicated. He didn’t like Travis because the guy seemed too perfect, too slick, the type who could charm everyone in the neighborhood without even trying. Worse, Travis hadn’t done anything genuinely wrong, and Joel knew it. Hell, he wasn’t even all that bad of a guy—just the kind who could make you laugh, who could say the right things at the right time. And Joel? He wasn’t about to admit that every quip and joke Travis threw your way felt like a punch to his gut.

The real problem was simpler, though Joel would never say it out loud: he didn’t want Travis—or anyone—getting close to you. Because deep down, he was terrified that if someone did, you’d start to drift away from him. Slowly, naturally, like it was the most normal thing in the world. He could already picture it—the quiet evenings you two spent together fading into quick hellos and polite smiles as your life began to revolve around someone else.

And Joel wasn’t sure he could handle that.

You didn’t make it easy for him, either. You’d always talked to him about your boyfriends—there weren’t many, but enough to leave a mark. He listened like the good friend he was supposed to be, his face calm and unreadable. He even gave you advice sometimes, measured and practical, and he pretended to be relieved when things didn’t work out. But the truth? He was selfish. He couldn’t deny the ugly twist in his stomach every time you lit up talking about someone new.

The worst part was the details. You shared everything—how they made you feel, the way they looked at you, the tiny, romantic gestures that made your heart race. Joel would sit there, nodding along, while his insides churned. Sometimes, he was almost convinced you did it on purpose, like you wanted to poke at the feelings he’d buried so deep. But then he’d shake that thought away because it couldn’t be true. You didn’t see him like that.

Still, the possessiveness lingered, and it wasn’t one-sided. Whenever Joel mentioned a woman he was seeing, your posture would stiffen ever so slightly. He noticed the way your smile faltered, the way you suddenly seemed distracted. Joel kept his descriptions vague, never giving you the kind of vivid details you offered him. At first, he found a strange satisfaction in your reactions. If it bothered you that much to imagine him with someone else, maybe—just maybe—you felt the same way he did.

But then you’d start listing their flaws with pinpoint accuracy, dissecting them in a way that left him wondering if you had a secret playbook for unraveling his attempts at romance. And you were always right. Every critique you made landed, exposing cracks he’d tried to ignore, as though you saw right through his attempts to prove he had control over his feelings.

It frustrated him, how easily you could tear down the façade he worked so hard to build. Yet a small part of him—a selfish, conflicted part—was glad. Because it meant you were paying attention, and maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to lose him either.

Sienna had taken him by surprise. She was unlike anyone Joel had encountered in a long time, and that unfamiliarity left him unsure how to talk about her—especially to you. He knew you were angry, and he couldn’t blame you. You had every right to feel shut out. Still, Joel couldn’t help but dig in his heels. His life was his own, and no matter how close you two were, some things felt too personal to share.

Yet, despite his stubbornness, the guilt lingered like a low hum in the back of his mind. He couldn’t stop replaying that night, the one you had so carefully planned, the kind of evening he usually dreaded but had come to cherish since you had entered his life.

It had been just the three of you: Sarah, you, and him. Tommy had bailed last minute, caught up in some errand or chore Joel couldn’t even remember now. But Tommy’s absence hadn’t dampened the warmth of the evening. It was perfect in its simplicity. Everything Joel loved most in the world sat around that small kitchen table, the faint glow of the overhead light softening the edges of the moment.

Joel wasn’t big on birthdays. He never had been, and neither were you, which was probably one of the reasons you understood him so well. For him, it was complicated. As a kid, he’d get excited—what child wouldn’t? But as he grew older, birthdays became a cruel reminder of time slipping away, of how life only seemed to grow more complicated with each passing year.

The last time he had truly enjoyed the day was the year Sarah was born. He could still picture it vividly, like a snapshot preserved in his mind. He and Amelia had been newly married, their relationship rocky but held together by the promise of their daughter. Their apartment was small, the wallpaper peeling in the corners, but that night, none of it mattered.

Amelia had baked him a cake. It wasn’t anything fancy—a bit uneven, with frosting that leaned to one side—but Joel had loved it all the same. She had dimmed the lights and sung "Happy Birthday" softly, her voice barely above a whisper as he held Sarah in his arms. Joel blew out the single candle with a quiet wish: that this fragile moment of happiness might last forever.

After cake, he had sunk onto the couch, Sarah nestled against him, her rhythmic breathing lulling him into one of the most peaceful sleeps he’d ever had.

Joel hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the next thing he knew, Amelia was shaking him gently awake, her fingers brushing against his cheek.

“Come on, Joel,” she’d murmured. “Go to bed. You’ve got work in the morning.”

The next morning, Joel was stirred from sleep by the sound of Sarah’s crying. It was sharp and persistent, cutting through the fog of his exhaustion like a knife. His eyes fluttered open reluctantly, his body heavy with the weight of another long day ahead. He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling as the cries continued, loud and unrelenting. Something felt off, though he couldn’t quite place what it was.

“Amelia?” he called out groggily, his voice rough from sleep.

There was no response. The silence, save for Sarah’s escalating wails, gnawed at the edges of his unease. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Joel sat up, running a hand down his face as if to wipe away the lingering haze of sleep. His chest felt tight, a faint, inexplicable tension coiling there.

Pushing himself to his feet, he shuffled toward Sarah’s crib in the corner of the room. She was red-faced and wriggling, her tiny fists flailing in frustration. Joel bent down, scooping her up with the practiced ease of a man who had done this many times before.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured softly, rocking her gently against his chest. Her cries tapered off for a moment, replaced by hiccuping gasps, but it didn’t last. Soon enough, the wails returned, sharper and more insistent.

Joel recognized the sound immediately—it was hunger. The kind of cry that pierced through everything else, demanding attention. He adjusted her in his arms, cradling her close as he moved toward the kitchen.

“Amelia?” he called out again, louder this time, his voice tinged with irritation and concern.

Still no answer. His eyes scanned the dimly lit apartment, searching for any sign of his wife. That’s when he saw it—a piece of paper sitting on the kitchen table. Bright yellow, stark against the dark wood, it seemed out of place, almost glaring in the soft morning light.

Joel’s stomach twisted. A sinking feeling settled deep within him, heavy and cold. Shifting Sarah in his arms, he stepped closer, his boots creaking softly against the worn floorboards.

The note was short—just five lines scribbled hastily in Amelia’s familiar handwriting. Joel’s eyes moved over the words, his heart pounding in his chest as he read them.

She was gone.

The words blurred for a moment as the meaning sank in. She was gone. Amelia had left, abandoning both him and Sarah with nothing more than a half-hearted apology. The note was filled with excuses: This life isn’t for me. I need something more. I’m sorry. I can’t keep lying to myself. I can’t do this anymore.

Joel’s hand tightened around the paper, crumpling it as Sarah’s cries rose again, loud and demanding. The sound seemed to echo in the hollow space inside him, amplifying the storm that had begun to rage in his chest.

“Bullshit,” he muttered, his voice low and trembling with barely restrained fury. He tossed the crumpled paper onto the floor, watching it roll to a stop near the edge of the table.

The anger came fast and hard, crashing over him like a wave. It wasn’t sadness he felt—not yet. It was anger, raw and consuming. Anger that Amelia had been so cowardly, so selfish. She had left a note, five lines scrawled on a piece of paper, and walked away without looking back.

His fists clenched at his sides as his jaw tightened. She hadn’t just abandoned him—that, he could handle. Their marriage had been strained for a long time, both of them going through the motions more out of necessity than love. But Sarah? She had left their baby.

How could she walk away from their daughter, from the tiny life they had created together? Joel’s thoughts spiraled, his mind racing through every moment he had tried to make things work, every sacrifice he had made to ensure their family had a future.

Was it his fault? Had he pushed her too hard? Or had she been looking for an escape all along?

The questions churned in his mind, but Joel didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on them. Sarah needed him, her cries piercing through the fog of his thoughts. He held her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he rocked her gently.

“It’s just us now, baby girl,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “But I promise you, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll take care of you. Always.”

And in that moment, his anger hardened into resolve. He didn’t have the answers, and he didn’t have Amelia. But he had Sarah, and that was all that mattered.

From the moment Joel heard Sarah’s first cry, the sound pierced through him like a revelation, sharp and clear. In that instant, his entire world shifted. It was as though the pieces of his life, fractured and disorganized, suddenly rearranged themselves around this tiny, fragile being. Everything else fell away—the struggles, the exhaustion, even his own doubts. There was only her.

When he first held her, she felt impossibly small in his arms, her body warm and soft, her head nestled against his chest. She opened her tiny mouth, her cries quieter now but still insistent, and Joel couldn’t help but smile through the exhaustion. Her fist closed around his thumb, her fingers barely curling all the way, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat.

That was it. That was the moment he knew. Nothing else mattered. Not his job, not his own dreams or fears. Sarah was his purpose. She was everything, and he would do anything—everything—to protect her, to make sure she would always be safe and never want for anything.

He threw himself into work with a ferocity he hadn’t known he possessed. Early mornings turned into long nights, and he pushed through each shift with a singular thought in his mind: This is for Sarah. He dreamed of a better life for her, one where they wouldn’t have to struggle. He wanted her to grow up in a house with a backyard, not in the cramped apartment they currently called home.

But his hours away from home weighed heavily on Amelia. She spent most days cooped up in the apartment, caring for Sarah alone. Joel knew it wasn’t easy for her. He saw it in the lines of exhaustion etched into her face, the way her shoulders sagged by the end of the day.

One night, after a particularly grueling shift, Joel came home to find Amelia sitting on the couch, her head resting against the back of it, her eyes closed. Sarah was asleep in her crib, the faint hum of the baby monitor the only sound in the room. Joel sat down beside her, placing a hand gently on her wrist.

"You'll see," he murmured, his voice soft but firm. "Time's gonna fly by, and before we know it, she'll be runnin' around, goin' to school, talkin' our ears off. So fast, we'll wish we could turn back time and have her be a baby again."

Amelia opened her eyes, her gaze tired but sharp. “That’s easy for you to say,” she replied, her tone edged with bitterness. “You’re nobody’s barf towel, Joel. Sometimes I wish she’d grow up faster.”

Her words hit him harder than he expected, like a quiet punch to the gut. Joel felt a pang of guilt and tried to see things from her perspective. He knew she was overwhelmed. He knew his long hours left her bearing the brunt of the daily grind at home. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fully understand. For him, those fleeting moments with Sarah—feeding her, rocking her to sleep, holding her tiny hand—were treasures.

“I know it’s hard,” he said after a long silence, his voice heavy with sincerity. “But we're doing this for us, for her. So we can have more. So she can have more.”

Amelia sighed and stood up, muttering something about needing a shower. Joel stayed on the couch, his head in his hands. He was doing everything he could, wasn’t he? But the cracks in their relationship were growing deeper, and he didn’t know how to fix them.

And then, a week later, she left.

Joel didn’t care that Amelia had abandoned him—not really. Their relationship had been hanging by a thread for months, maybe longer. But the fact that she had walked away from Sarah? That was something he could never understand. How could a mother leave her own child?

Everything got harder after that. Joel had to reorganize his entire life. He adjusted his shifts at work, found a nanny he could afford, and learned to function on less than two hours of sleep. Every day was a balancing act, and every night he fell into bed completely spent, knowing he’d have to do it all over again the next day.

He was alone. Completely, utterly alone. His parents were long gone, and his friends were too busy with college and their own lives to offer more than the occasional word of encouragement. Tommy tried to help, moving in with him for a while to lend a hand. But Tommy was still just a kid himself, more often getting into trouble than out of it. Sometimes it felt like Joel was raising them both.

But no matter how hard it got, Joel never wavered. Sarah was his everything, his reason for pushing forward even when it felt impossible. And when he looked at her—her tiny smile, her bright, curious eyes—it was all worth it. For her, it would always be worth it.

Why would Joel want to celebrate his birthday? For years, the date had meant nothing to him. If anything, it was a day he preferred to forget. Even Amelia’s absence, once a source of raw pain, had dulled into something distant, like an old scar that no longer ached. He was better off without her, he often told himself. Why would he want someone in his life who could abandon her own child so easily, without a second glance?

Eight long years of birthdays came and went, each one passing without fanfare. That is, until you showed up.

It was a warm afternoon when Brenda knocked on Joel’s door, Ian trailing behind her with a small red-wrapped package in his hands. You stood next to them, your bright smile lighting up the quiet entryway as if it had been waiting for this exact moment.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?” you asked, your voice full of playful reproach. You’d only been living next door for a couple of months, but you spoke as though you’d known him far longer.

Joel shrugged, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Didn’t think it was important.” His tone was casual, almost indifferent, but the way his eyes darted to the floor betrayed the discomfort he felt about the subject.

“Well, that won’t do,” you said with a firm nod, your excitement practically radiating off you. “We have to throw you a celebration.”

Before he could protest, you’d already begun making plans, dragging Tommy—who was lounging on Joel’s couch—into your whirlwind of preparation. In what felt like record time, you had organized a small dinner in your backyard, insisting on inviting the people Joel cared about most. Brenda, Ian, and of course, Tommy, were enlisted as guests, and Sarah eagerly volunteered to help with the preparations.

The two of you spent the afternoon in your kitchen, Sarah perched on a stool as she carefully spread cream over a sponge cake. It wasn’t perfect—some spots were uneven, and the red lettering that spelled “Happy Birthday Joel” varied wildly in size—but the effort was unmistakable. You even let Sarah place the single candle right above the word “birthday,” despite her giggles about it looking “a little crooked.”

In the backyard, you strung up Christmas lights, their warm glow transforming the space into something almost magical. A flowered tablecloth adorned the table, set with colored glass plates and matching glasses. It was simple, yet charming, and as Joel stepped outside to see what you had done, he felt an unfamiliar tightness in his chest.

You stood there, watching him expectantly, your hands clasped together as if bracing for his reaction. Joel scanned the scene—the lights, the table, the cake—and then his gaze settled on you. He felt overwhelmed, unaccustomed to this kind of attention, to the idea that someone had gone out of their way to make him feel special.

“Do you like it?” you asked softly, a hint of uncertainty creeping into your voice.

Joel cleared his throat, nodding slowly. “Yeah,” he said gruffly, his voice betraying a mix of gratitude and awkwardness. “It’s… it’s nice. Real nice.”

What he couldn’t say—what he didn’t know how to say—was how much it meant to him. No one had ever done something like this for him before. Sure, Tommy would swing by with a gift and some good-natured ribbing, and Sarah always crafted him heartfelt gifts, usually paired with a movie night of her choosing. But this? This was different. It wasn’t just thoughtful; it was intentional.

You had done it simply to make him happy, without expecting anything in return. And that was what stayed with him.

A few weeks later, when your birthday rolled around, Joel found himself returning the gesture. He spent the better part of the day barbecuing in his backyard, carefully grilling your favorite dishes and picking up a cake from the bakery he’d overheard you mention. He wasn’t the most expressive man, but he wanted to show you how much your efforts had meant to him.

The party was small but warm, filled with laughter and good food. Joel watched you closely, noting the way your eyes lit up when you saw the cake, the way you laughed with Sarah and Tommy, the way you seemed lighter somehow.

It was only a few days later, during a quiet evening, that you opened up about your own complicated feelings toward birthdays.

“You know,” you began, sitting on Joel’s porch with a mug of tea in your hands, “I’ve never really liked my birthday either.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah? How come?”

Your birthday was always a delicate subject, one you rarely spoke about. The day carried a weight too heavy for celebration.

When you were fourteen, just two days before your birthday, your father passed away after a year-long decline that left him a shadow of the man he had once been. Your relationship with him had never been easy. There was a distance between you, a lack of understanding that made every interaction fraught with tension. He didn’t understand you, and you couldn’t bridge the gap to reach him. So, when his illness took hold, it wasn’t just his body that deteriorated—it was also any chance of finding common ground. Watching him grow weaker day by day, his spirit worn thin, felt like mourning someone you had never truly known.

When he finally passed, it was strange. The grief was there, sharp and biting, but layered with regret, guilt, and a strange hollowness. Your mother, shattered by the loss, withdrew into her own anguish, locking herself in a grief so consuming that it swallowed her whole. She became a ghost of herself, distant and unreachable, leaving you to navigate the loss alone.

Somehow, you were left adrift. With your father gone and your mother emotionally absent, the world seemed colder. The rest of your adolescence blurred into a haze of solitude. Nights became long and heavy, filled with tears that no one heard. Birthdays, once a day of excitement, became unbearable.

“It’s not worth celebrating,” your mother had said one year, her voice hollow. “What’s the point? It’s just a reminder of what we lost.”

And you believed her. You let the day pass quietly, pretending it didn’t matter. But deep down, it did. Every year, the ache in your chest returned, as if your father’s death had marked you in ways you couldn’t escape.

When you moved to Austin, Cassie was determined to change that. She insisted on throwing you a party, bringing her friends together and decorating her small apartment with balloons and streamers. She wanted to make the day special, to give you the joy she believed you deserved. But instead of feeling included, you felt like a stranger in the crowd. The forced laughter and cheerful chatter only amplified the loneliness you carried inside.

Joel noticed it immediately. From the first glance, he saw something in you that mirrored his own quiet pain, his own complicated relationship with birthdays and loss.

With the Millers, though, it was different.

Joel had a way of pulling you out of your own head. He didn’t ask if you wanted to celebrate; he simply turned on the music, took your hand, and pulled you into the courtyard to dance.

“C’mon, don’t make me look ridiculous all by myself,” he teased, his hand warm and steady on yours.

“I’m terrible at this,” you protested, laughing despite yourself as he spun you clumsily.

“You think I’m any better?” he shot back, making an exaggerated face of concentration that sent you into a fit of giggles.

His other hand rested lightly on your waist, tickling just enough to make you squirm.

“Stop!” you laughed, swatting at him, but Joel only grinned, spinning you again until you were both dizzy and breathless.

The weight in your chest began to ease. Slowly, the familiar sadness faded, replaced by something you hadn’t felt in years—a glimmer of happiness. The music, Sarah’s laughter in the background, and Joel’s insistence on making you smile wove together into a moment so genuine that you couldn’t help but let go, even if only for a little while.

With the Millers, you felt something you hadn’t in years: belonging. Joel, Sarah, even Tommy—they made you feel like you were part of something bigger, something that mattered. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were happy. And for once, your birthday didn’t hurt.

On the afternoon of his birthday, Joel made it a point to leave work early, a rare indulgence. The day had been grueling, his body carrying the weight of hours spent hauling, lifting, and concentrating through a persistent ache in his shoulders and arms. By the time he pulled into the driveway, fatigue clung to him like a second skin.

But the moment he stepped through the door, all of that began to melt away. The warm, savory aroma of your cooking wrapped around him like a welcoming embrace, teasing his senses and making his stomach rumble in anticipation. From the kitchen, he could hear Sarah's laughter, a sound so bright and carefree it seemed to lift the heaviness in his chest. And then there was your voice—soft and melodic, weaving effortlessly into the rhythm of his home, a sound that had come to symbolize comfort itself.

He paused in the doorway for a moment, letting it all wash over him. The tension in his shoulders began to ease, his mind quieting in a way it rarely did. Home. It wasn’t just the place—it was you, Sarah, the life you all shared within these walls.

As he stepped further inside, Joel noticed something different about you that evening. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on but felt instantly. He always noticed you—more than he liked to admit. His gaze often lingered longer than it should, studying the way your lips curved when you smiled, the way your hands moved with quiet purpose, the subtle shifts in your voice when you were excited or uncertain.

Tonight, though, it was as if the world had conspired to make you glow. You wore that dress he liked, the one that clung just enough to hint at your shape without being overdone. The warm light from the kitchen seemed to catch on your flushed cheeks, making your skin look soft, almost luminous. Your hair was tied up, exposing the graceful curve of your neck and the delicate, fine hairs at its nape.

He found himself staring, his fingers itching with the desire to reach out and touch that spot just beneath your ear, to let his thumb trace the softness of your skin. He could already imagine the way it would feel, the warmth of you under his touch. But Joel stopped himself, swallowing hard and forcing his hands into his pockets.

His tongue betrayed him then. A slip—a small comment, laced with more emotion than he intended.

The three of you sat around the table, and Joel took his first bite of the stew, eyes widening, a kind of bliss washing over his face. He tossed his head back and groaned.

“Sweet Glory,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “Thank you for this.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, though part of you couldn’t help but feel a pang of something between irritation and flattery. “You say that every time I cook for you.”

He shook his head, smiling as he chewed, then spoke softly, his gaze slipping downward.

“I’m not exaggerating—I love everything you do.” A pause, and then a quick, awkward clarification. “I mean, everything you cook.”

You didn’t seem to notice, though, your focus elsewhere. But Joel felt the heat rise in his face, a faint flush creeping over his cheeks. He turned away quickly, clearing his throat as if that could erase the moment. Joel hadn’t meant to say it aloud. The words slipped out before he could stop them, his voice soft but heavy with emotion.

I love everything you do. It wasn’t just a compliment—it was a confession, unguarded and dangerously close to exposing everything he’d tried so hard to bury.

If someone had told Joel how that night would end, he would have laughed, dismissed the thought outright. It was unthinkable, a fantasy he’d never let himself fully entertain. But as the hours unfolded, something inside him began to shift—subtle at first, like a whisper at the edge of his mind, then growing louder and more insistent.

But then came the emotions, rushing in like a storm—anger, jealousy, desire, all tangled together in a mess he couldn’t untangle. The anger was irrational, sharp and sudden, a flash of heat that burned at the thought of you smiling like that at someone else. The jealousy felt even worse, a bitter ache in his chest at the mere idea that you might one day belong to someone else, someone better than him. And the desire... it was unbearable. It had been building for so long, so quietly, that he hadn’t noticed it until it was too late to ignore.

Something broke inside him.

“Fine. I’ll leave you alone, and maybe then you can run across the street and fuck Travis Dunn, if you want it so badly,” he shot back, impatience tinging his voice as he turned toward the still-open door.

The words hit you like a slap. You froze for a moment, the anger washing over you in a wave. Before you could think twice, you rushed up to him, gripping his arm tightly to force him to turn and look at you.

“What the hell did you just say, Joel?” you hissed, grabbing his shirt, fingers bunching in the fabric as you backed him up until his shoulders hit the wall by the door. “Go on, say it again!”

Your breaths came fast, chest rising and falling as the rush of anger pushed tears to your eyes. You couldn’t believe he’d actually spoken to you like that, cutting right through to something raw and vulnerable. He’d never spoken to you like that before. Maybe he was a little drunk, or maybe he was losing his mind.

But there was no softness in his gaze, no hint of the Joel you knew. His stare was sharp, almost wild with something simmering underneath, something you didn’t understand. To you, this whole argument made no sense, at least not his reaction.

Joel’s grip on your wrist was firm, almost grounding, as he pulled you closer, pressing your palm against his chest. “I can’t stand that asshole, but go ahead and fuck him if you want,” he spat, voice laced with frustration. “Go fuck the whole neighborhood while you’re at it. I really don’t care anymore.”

His words were harsh, designed to cut, but they only drew a laugh from you—sharp and derisive. A tear slipped down your cheek, uninvited.

“What, did you ever care?” you asked, your voice trembling on the last syllable, thick with emotion.

But Joel didn’t respond, and the silence ignited a fire in you, something that swirled beneath the surface, ready to boil over.

“Do you know why we’re friends, Joel?” Your pulse quickened, each beat like a drum in your ears. “Because it just works between us. There are no ulterior motives. You know why? Because I don’t like you like that. You’re not even my type, and you never will be. And no, I’m not jealous that you’re dating some woman you’ll probably dump in less than a month, so get the fuck over it and leave me the fuck alone!”

He wasn’t your type. He wasn’t your type. He wasn’t your type? The words echoed in Joel’s mind, each repetition a fresh sting to his ego and a sharper stab to his heart. But your eyes told him a different story. They mirrored his own intensity, and that unspoken connection was undeniable.

In that moment, he surrendered to an impulse he had fought to suppress countless times before. He kissed you, a kiss laden with every restrained emotion, and carried you to your room. The world around him blurred; it felt surreal, as if he were watching himself from a distance. Every sense was heightened, every touch electric, his entire being focused solely on you.

You were perfection to him. The intoxicating scent of your skin, the soft texture of your lips, the sweet taste of you—all of it was exquisite, overwhelming. When he was finally inside you, he felt as if his heart might explode from the sheer intensity of it. The warmth, the sweetness, the way it consumed him—it was almost too much to bear, almost too beautiful to be real. Every sound you made unraveled him further, pushing him closer to a peak he had thought unattainable. The desire that coursed through you felt almost tangible, as if he could taste it on his lips with every kiss.

As you drifted off to sleep beside him, your face looked so peaceful, so heartbreakingly beautiful, that Joel couldn’t resist. He leaned in, brushing the gentlest of kisses across your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids—each kiss a whisper of affection, as though trying to capture this fleeting moment. Only when the rhythm of your breaths lulled him into calm did he finally surrender to sleep at your side.

But deep in the stillness of the night, he stirred awake. His emotions, once overwhelming, had quieted; his mind, no longer softened by the haze of passion, now felt sharp and cold. And then it struck him—a suffocating wave of fear.

What had he done? What had he done? The question echoed relentlessly in his mind, each repetition laced with dread. He had crossed a line, dragging you into his chaos, disrespecting you in a way that made his stomach twist with guilt. He had shattered the bond you shared—a friendship he had held in the highest regard. He had taken something pure and irreversibly tainted it with his own selfish desires.

Panic surged through him, relentless and unforgiving. How could you ever look at him the same way again? Surely, you wouldn’t want him in your life anymore. The thought of losing you gutted him.

A storm of thoughts battered his mind as he quietly slipped out of your house like a ghost, each step feeling heavier than the last. The walk back to his own home was a blur of regret and self-recrimination. By the time he shut the door behind him, the weight of what he had done pressed down on him completely. He knew, with a sinking finality, that he had ruined everything.

He had ruined everything.

And four days later, the dagger in his chest sank even deeper.

Swallowing hard, you tasted the salt of your tears, and it burned your throat like an unwelcome reminder of the turmoil within.

“I’m not sure I can be your friend anymore, Joel,” you confessed, your voice shaking with the weight of your admission.

He shook his head, disbelief flashing across his features as a weak smile broke through the hurt. It was as if he couldn’t quite fathom the words that had just escaped you.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do,” you asserted, each syllable a battle against the rawness in your chest.

“No, you don’t,” he countered, stepping back just inches, his tone laced with incredulity. The mocking sneer that crept onto his face felt more like a mask than a reflection of his true feelings, and yet, the moisture pooling in his eyes betrayed the battle raging within him.

You regarded him in silence, the atmosphere thickening with unspoken words as you watched his smile fade into something that was almost painful. It twisted his features, morphing into a look of discomfort that hung between you like an unsaid apology. He remained still, his gaze locked onto yours, waiting for you to break the tension with a word or a gesture. The sight of him like that burned inside you, igniting a longing to rewind time, to swallow your questions, to let him live his life free from the weight of your curiosity and the tangled feelings that had blossomed between you. But that wasn’t an option; the reality of your situation loomed large and unavoidable. You had to confront the truth: he didn’t feel the same way about you, and for him, sleeping with you felt like a transgression, a sin, a burden he couldn’t carry.

“Joel, please,” you began, your voice cracking under the pressure of your emotions. A tear slipped down your cheek, salty and bitter, tasting of the anguish that your words carried. “I can’t be your friend anymore. I can’t do this. I’m sorry, I really am, but you’re breaking my—” You hesitated, swallowing hard against the swell of grief that threatened to overwhelm you. “I think this is over.”

"She just needs time," Joel told himself, clinging to the fragile hope that things would eventually mend. But that comforting thought crumbled when he saw how easily you seemed to move on, as if he no longer existed in your world. You carried on with your life without so much as a glance in his direction, each moment of indifference cutting deeper. It felt like a deliberate erasure, and Joel's heart shrank under the weight of it, splintering all over again. Did you truly not want him in your life anymore?

His decision to break things off with Sienna had come with a strange clarity. Her warmth, her charm—things he had once appreciated—now felt hollow, like they no longer belonged in his life. Joel couldn’t pretend otherwise. He couldn’t lie to her, tell her everything was fine, and carry on as though his heart wasn’t consumed by someone else. She deserved more than being a placeholder for feelings he couldn’t shake.

In the aftermath of the breakup, Joel thought he might finally find the courage to come to you. To apologize, to face you honestly. He imagined himself laying it all out—his regret, his fear, and the possibility of something more. Perhaps, if you felt even a fraction of what he did, you could both explore the connection that had ignited that night. He had told himself he was ready to risk it all, to bare his soul if you would give him even a sliver of space to do so.

The breaking point came when Tommy casually mentioned you and Travis. The words were innocuous, but the storm they unleashed within Joel was anything but. Something dark and bitter began to fester in his chest—jealousy, anger, resentment? He couldn’t quite name it, but it clawed at him, a toxic mix that he struggled to contain. It wasn’t his proudest moment. It wasn’t even close.

“What’s this?” he asked, a note of suspicion in his voice.

Tommy leaned back, watching him with a faint smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

“Your girl next door gave it to me,” he replied, each word almost too measured. “Said it was yours.”

For a few moments, Joel just stood there, as if frozen, processing Tommy’s words. He looked down, finally lifting the lid and peering inside. There, neatly folded, was his sweatshirt—the one he’d handed you one chilly evening when he picked you up from work. Beneath that was his old Pearl Jam t-shirt, the one you’d borrowed after a swim in his pool last summer. His favorite coffee mug sat tucked in the corner, along with a few CDs, a dog-eared paperback he’d loaned you weeks ago. Each item seemed to carry its own little echo of the time he’d spent with you.

After a few seconds, Joel placed the lid back on the box, sliding it away from him with a muted thud. He kept his expression steady, but his jaw was set, and his eyes remained fixed on the counter.

“When did she give it to you?” he asked, his voice strained but steady.

“A few moments ago,” Tommy said with a shrug, holding back a smirk as he noticed the tightness in Joel’s expression. “Saw her walking back from Dunn’s house, actually.”

Joel let out a dry, sardonic laugh, a smile twisted in disbelief. "Right. Of course."

"Actually," Tommy said, savoring another spoonful of ice cream, "he walked her to the door, all sweet-like. Gave her the whole mushy goodnight routine—kiss, movie shit." His gaze stayed fixed on the bowl, though Joel could see the glint of mischief there, Tommy barely holding back a grin.

Joel’s fingers drummed on the counter, his gaze hardening. “She must be happy then,” he muttered.

Tommy didn’t look up, just continued with his ice cream, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Sure she looked that way to me.”

“Like I care,” Joel muttered, his gaze fixed hard on the box beside him, fingers curling against the edge as if steadying himself. “I can bet everything I’ve got she doesn’t even like him that much. That guy isn’t worth it, and she knows it.”

Tommy’s mouth quirked with amusement as he leaned back against the counter.

“Too bad that’s not up to you,” he said, casually pushing Joel’s buttons, almost like he enjoyed watching his brother’s patience fray. “She looked happy. And for what it’s worth, in her own words, she does like him.”

Later, in the solitude of his room, Joel tucked away the box—the one filled with memories and unfinished gestures. He couldn’t bear to look at it, to confront what it represented. Instead, he tried to distract himself, but the emotions that swirled within him refused to be ignored. But he didn’t. Fear, hesitation, and the unrelenting weight of what-ifs kept him rooted in silence.

What Tommy told him shattered any remaining hope Joel had of making things right with you. Whatever fragile intentions he had to mend the rift between you dissolved in an instant, crushed under the weight of his own assumptions.

You had moved on, hadn’t you? It seemed so, as if you had turned a new page in your life without a second thought. Apparently, that night with Joel hadn’t meant as much to you as it had to him. The realization struck like a knife, twisting with every memory of that fleeting connection he had held onto so desperately. Anger bubbled up alongside the pain, a raw, bitter cocktail of emotions that left him reeling. He wanted to show you that he could move on, too—that he wasn’t as affected, that he could be indifferent.

But the act fell apart every time he saw you with Travis. The sight of the two of you together hollowed him out. You looked happy, didn’t you? The way you smiled, the ease with which you leaned into Travis—it was more than Joel could bear. Each moment of apparent joy between you and this other man chipped away at something inside him, leaving him feeling smaller, more fractured.

Still, the urge to seek your forgiveness lingered. It gnawed at him, the desire to bridge the gap and find some way to fix what had been broken. But every time he mustered the resolve to approach you, his feelings betrayed him. Anger surged to the surface, overpowering the vulnerability he had tried so hard to embrace.

Instead of mending things, he withdrew, consumed by resentment and heartache. The man he became in those moments was someone he didn’t recognize—someone fueled by a mixture of longing and bitterness, too afraid to confront the truth of what he felt, yet unable to let it go.

“That’s mine,” he said.

“What?” you managed, almost gasping, your eyes darting between his face and his hands, as if looking for something—anything—to explain this new, impossible tension.

Joel didn’t move. He was still, a presence that loomed larger by the second. His gaze was steady on you, tracing your body and your face, slow and deliberate.

“The flannel,” he repeated, his voice dropping lower, rough around the edges. “It’s mine.”

You looked down at the fabric, the soft, familiar warmth of it, and felt a sudden jolt. God. He was right. It was his. But it had been yours for years. You'd worn it so often, so comfortably, that you'd forgotten it ever belonged to anyone else. Maybe he'd lent it to you once, a lifetime ago, on one of those cold nights when you both sat under blankets. But he’d never asked for it back, had he? He never seemed to care, and you never thought to return it. It had just... stayed with you.

When you lifted your eyes back to him, Joel had moved off the wall, stepping toward you with slow, deliberate steps, closing the distance between you. Too close. He was too close, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body as his presence engulfed you.

“What happened?” His voice was soft, but there was a simmering undercurrent, a teasing tone that made your pulse quicken, though you weren’t sure why. “Did you forget to include it in your little box when you gave everything back to me?”

You felt a bitter chuckle bubble in your throat, an angry little sound that you couldn’t quite hold back. You shook your head slightly, irritated, your chest tight as you opened your mouth to speak, but he interrupted you, his words coming fast, sharper than before.

“Doesn’t your little boyfriend mind you wearing another man’s clothes?” he asked, his voice dripping with something like disdain, like he had been holding that question inside for far too long. His eyes darkened, gliding down to the fabric again, then to your body, before he reached forward, his fingers brushing the edge of the flannel as if testing the boundaries. “Or does he already know this isn’t the only thing of mine that’s wrapped around you?”

Later that night, Joel’s fingers entwined with Clara’s, but her hand was cold, and the contact felt unnatural. When she wrapped her arm around his, an almost visceral rejection welled up in him. Her touch wasn’t comforting; it was suffocating.

The pair walked in silence as they left the Hoffmans’ yard. Joel kept his eyes ahead, determined not to glance back. But he couldn’t help himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you resting your head against Travis’s chest, your body cocooned in his jacket. The sight made Joel’s stomach twist painfully.

This was his fault. He replayed the night in his mind, how he’d told you to take off his shirt, how he’d inadvertently pushed you closer to Travis. Regret pressed heavily on him, a weight he couldn’t shake.

“Do you like wine?” Clara’s voice broke the silence as they neared her house.

Joel turned to her, his gaze distant, his mind still lost elsewhere. His entire body felt stiff, as though rejecting even the possibility of being there.

“Actually, I should get home,” he said abruptly, his voice flat.

Clara blinked at him, her expression faltering. Her easy smile gave way to a confused grimace, but Joel didn’t try to read her emotions.

“Oh,” she murmured, awkwardly. Then, with a hesitant laugh, she added, “Why don’t you come in for a bit? We could… have some fun.” Her hand reached for the collar of his shirt, a playful but suggestive gesture.

Joel gently pushed her hand away, the discomfort etched across his face.

"I really don’t feel like it," Joel said, his voice sharper than he meant it to be, the irritation slipping through despite his effort to hold it back. "And if I’m bein’ honest, I don’t like the way you’re always throwin’ yourself at me, especially in front of everybody like that. It ain’t right, and it sure as hell don’t sit well with me."

The words hung heavily in the air, cutting and cruel. Joel knew his tone wasn’t fair—it came from anger that had little to do with Clara herself. But he didn’t care. If anything, it was a chance to end this farce, to kill two birds with one stone.

Clara’s face flushed, embarrassment washing over her features. She stammered, “Then… why did you invite me to come with you?”

"I wanted to tell you in private," Joel drawled, his voice low and steady, each word carrying the weight of his frustration. "I don’t like you, Clara. Not like that. It ain’t fair to either of us. So why don’t you just go on and find someone else, someone who actually wants what you’re offerin’?"

Her lips parted, as though to say something, but Joel didn’t wait to hear it. His feet were already carrying him away, his thoughts full of you. Always you.

He cursed himself silently, the same harsh words looping in his mind. He was always screwing up, always doing the wrong thing. Everything he touched seemed to fall apart, especially where you were concerned. It was as if he was wired to ruin everything.

He was screwing up, screwing up so bad that he kept hurting you. And he knew there was no turning back when that Saturday after the Halloween party, your eyes had locked onto his, sharp and unyielding, cutting through him like shards of glass. Your voice, heavy with pain, lingered in his mind, echoing with all the things he couldn’t fix.

"Do you think what you’re doing is right, Joel?" you asked, your tone sharper than before, slicing through the fragile quiet between you.

His brows knit together, confused, and he tilted his head slightly as if to ask what you meant.

"Do you think you’re accomplishing anything by sleeping with the women in this neighborhood?" you continued, your words rushing out faster now. "I mean, first you sleep with me—oh, the worst mistake of your life—then you sleep with Clara. And what about Sienna? What does she think of all this? You’re a selfish, irresponsible man, Joel Miller, so irresponsible." The words kept spilling, your voice trembling now, laced with both anger and something softer, something that felt like pain. "And as if that wasn’t enough, you’ve ruined us. Completely. And I hate you for that, Joel. I hate you because you’re not the man I thought you were. And i love you so much I—"

Your gaze dropped to the ground, unable to meet his eyes. The tears welled up before you could stop them, blurring the edges of your vision and leaving your cheeks hot.

You hated how raw it all felt. How exposed. And worse, how the alcohol that had loosened your tongue was no longer numbing enough to shield you from the reality of what you’d just said.

Before you could stop him, Joel’s hands came to rest gently on your arms. The warmth of his touch made your stomach flip, and it took everything in you to pull away.

“No,” you said firmly, shaking him off and turning on your heel. But you barely managed two steps before your foot caught awkwardly in front of the other, sending you stumbling.

You yelped as your palm scraped against the ground, but Joel caught your other arm before you could fully collapse. The heat of embarrassment rushed to your face as you stood quickly, brushing off your dress and refusing to look at him.

You marched toward your door with renewed determination, ignoring the sting in your palm and the sound of his voice calling after you.

“Wait,” he said, his tone softer now, almost pleading.

But you didn’t stop. Your trembling fingers fumbled with the key, eyes fixed on the lock as if opening the door quickly enough could make him—and everything you’d just said—disappear.

The key slid into the lock on your first try, a stroke of luck you hadn’t expected. You stumbled inside, not bothering to close the door behind you. Maybe it was unconscious, or maybe some buried, foolish part of you wanted him to follow. Whatever the reason, Joel did, shutting the door softly as he stepped in, his footsteps trailing after your clumsy, rushed ascent up the stairs. His hand found your lower back more than once, steadying you whenever your feet betrayed you and your balance faltered.

When you reached your room, his presence pressed down on you, heavy and inescapable. Your chest felt tight, emotions boiling over with an intensity you couldn’t contain. The exhaustion—of everything—clawed at your insides, raw and relentless.

“Fuck you, Joel,” you spat, spinning to face him, your palms colliding with his chest in a sharp slap. The sound echoed between you, loud and angry. You hit him again, this time harder, though he barely moved, only stepping back an inch. “Fuck you. Fuck you. You’re a complete asshole, and I hate you. I hate you so much.” Your fists clenched, pounding against him now, the blows strong but harmless.

The pain in your eyes, the tremor in your voice—it shattered Joel completely. Every crack in your expression, every unsteady word, drove home the truth he had been avoiding: he had hurt you. Deeply. Irrevocably. And in that moment, the weight of his guilt became unbearable. He felt like he deserved every ounce of hatred and anger you could muster, every harsh word or cold glance. Hell, he deserved worse. He deserved every bad thing the world could throw at him.

When you lay down on the bed, exhausted and emotionally raw, Joel felt an overwhelming urge to stay. He wanted to be near you, to watch over you, to be a steady presence even if you didn’t want him there. But your words had been clear, leaving no room for misunderstanding. Reluctantly, he obeyed, dragging his heavy feet out of your space. The weight of his body mirrored the weight in his chest as he trudged home.

Once inside the dark silence of his living room, the self-loathing consumed him entirely. He sank into a chair, burying his face in his hands as the shame and regret clawed at him. How could he have done this to you? How could he have hurt the sweetest, kindest woman he had ever known? He replayed every misstep, every moment he let his anger or fear get in the way of treating you the way you deserved.

Joel knew he had to make it right, no matter the cost. He had to apologize, to lay bare his mistakes and accept whatever consequences you chose to impose. Even if it meant watching you move on with Travis.

The thought of seeing you with another man was agonizing, like a knife twisting in his chest. But Joel couldn’t ignore the truth: despite his disdain for Travis, the man made you happy. He’d seen it in your laughter, the easy way you leaned into him, the light in your eyes that Joel himself had dimmed. And wasn’t that what you deserved? Happiness, warmth, stability—all the things Joel doubted he could give you.

He hated himself for the jealousy that still lingered, for the bitterness that coiled inside him like a serpent. But more than that, he hated himself for failing you. You deserved better. So much better. And if Travis was that for you, Joel would accept it, no matter how much it tore him apart.

But then, when you went to his house...

He would never have imagined the way your lips sought his again, desperate, hungry. Joel could hardly believe what was happening. The feel of your kiss finding him again, so warm, perfect—it was as if the world had tilted off its axis. For a moment, he thought he must be dreaming. Maybe this was all in his head, his mind playing tricks on him because he couldn’t bear the thought of you being gone. It was too perfect, too real. He convinced himself that any second now, he’d wake up and find himself alone again, lost in the hollow ache of regret.

But no, you were there. Really there. Beneath him once again. The weight of your presence was grounding, pulling him back into a reality where everything felt possible, where maybe—just maybe—he could make things right. Your head resting on his chest, the soft rise and fall of your breath against his skin—it was everything he had wanted and more. For the first time in weeks, Joel felt at peace. His heart beat so strongly in his chest it felt as though it could burst, and for a moment, he forgot all the mistakes, all the pain. Nothing could ruin this. Nothing, least of all him.

This time, he promised himself, he would do things right. He wouldn’t let fear dictate his choices. He wouldn’t push you away. He couldn’t. Not again.

But just as quickly as that fragile peace had settled—

Sarah arrived, interrupting the quiet moment with a sudden presence that jolted him awake. The sound of her voice was enough to make him freeze, the peace slipping away.

Downstairs in the living room, Joel forced himself to straighten, to steady his nerves. His hands were clammy, his pulse racing, but he masked it all. His posture was rigid, controlled, serious as always. Nothing about him would give away the chaos he felt inside.

You looked between Sarah and him, your gaze flicking back and forth, and Joel noticed the shy smile that touched your lips. His chest tightened, but he couldn’t help but notice the softness in your expression.

"C'mon, what do you wanna eat?" she asked. "You're staying, right?"

“I… sure, uh, I don’t—I have to do something first, okay?” you said, your voice a little unsteady, a little unsure, but there was a determination in your eyes that he couldn’t ignore.

Sarah, ever the curious one, tilted her head, her face full of contentment, though it quickly shifted to confusion.

“What?” she asked, a hint of innocence in her voice.

Joel, feeling the need to regain control of the situation, stood up from the doorframe. He walked over to Sarah, his hand gently resting on her shoulder, grounding himself in the familiar warmth of his daughter.

“Why don’t you help me pick out dinner in the meantime?” he suggested, keeping his voice calm and steady, just like he always did. It was the easiest way to pull Sarah away, to give you space without making it obvious.

Without another word, you left his house, your legs unsteady, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts, of questions. Joel watched you go, his chest heavy, knowing that what had just happened was different.

As he watched you leave, he knew one thing for certain: Sarah was going to wait for you for dinner. That, at least, was something he could count on.

#honey love dark eyes #capuccinodoll #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #tlou fic #joel miller smut #tlou hbo #tlou joel #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou #the last of us

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godsandmonsters505 · 2 years ago

Text

Roll Like Thunder | Negan Smith

dbf!Negan Smith (The Walking Dead) x younger fem!reader

(AU where the apocalypse never happened)

Summary: Negan is your dad's best friend and the two of you settle some tension while on your family vacation.

Warnings (18+): age gap (reader is college age, maybe 20-ish, and Negan's age is not specified but I'm feeling early 50s), smut (fem receiving oral, unprotected p in v), possibility of getting caught, edging

Notes: this actually kinda turned out sweet in a way I think, which is surprising because that's not often an outcome when I write for Negan lmao. not proofread yet because I just wanted to get it out to you all asap, but will edit if needed when I get the chance. hope you enjoy!! (also the intro is kinda long oops)

Grabbing your glass of wine you take another much needed swig, cringing at your dad and uncle. They always find some way to turn every conversation into a political argument while the rest of your family eat their meals and exchange knowing glances

Family holidays were always like this. The one time a year when everyone was together: your parents, aunt, uncle and cousins. Only this year, there was a new addition.

Negan had grown up being a close friends with both your father and uncle and they are still best friends to this day. He recently went through a messy divorce and this is his first Christmas without his wife in a long time. Your dad never was good with showing kindness or friendship, but your uncle had convinced him it would be a good idea to invite him to his cabin for your annual Christmas getaway.

And that's how you got here.

You'd always had a little bit of a crush on Negan, for as long as you could remember. Though you never saw much of him as a kid. It wasn't until you got older - old enough to be able to drink in front of your parents - that you got to spend more time with him. Drinking was a big part of their social life, so once you could join in, you got to know him better. You got on well with your parents so you'd have barbeques with them and their friends, join in with conversations in the kitchen when they'd have people over, go out to dinner. But then you went off to college and started spending less and less time with them. So now it's Christmas time, you're happy to be able to spend time with your family. And Negan, more than you'd care to admit.

"Okay fellas," your mom chimes in. "Enough of that."

Negan makes eye contact with you from across the other side of the table and you smirk at each other. You're both all too familiar with watching this from an outside perspective.

"The food's delicious, Negan," she adds, turning to Negan, who had cooked this meal for you all. Sort of as a thank you for letting him tag along. For the first few days in the cabin he felt a little out of place, like he was intruding on your family's time together. But eventually he began to find himself settling. You were lucky to have a very fun, non-judgmental family so everyone was happy to have him there.

You nodded in agreement with your mother's statement. "I'd have more if there was any left." You motion to your empty plate.

"I'm glad it's got your approval, ladies," he grins.

The meal comes to an end and alcohol starts flowing. Your cousins are all younger than you so they head off to their bedrooms to do whatever it is kids their age do.

"I'd better get these dishes cleaned," Negan declares, standing up from his seat.

"No," you say, protesting. "You cooked. I'll clean."

"It's fine, you don't have to," he says kindly.

"I want to," you smile. "Really I'm happy to."

"We'll do them together?" He suggests, coming to a compromise and you nod in agreement.

"You raised a stubborn one," he mumbles teasingly to your dad, patting his shoulder as he walks past him.

"She gets that from me," your mom chirps as the two of you pick the plates up from the table and carry them into the kitchen.

Putting the plates on the kitchen top, you head to the fridge and look inside.

"Beer?" you ask, peeking around the door to look at Negan's response. Though you already have two cans in your hand, knowing he won't turn down the offer.

He nods. "Can't do anything without a drink in hand in this family, huh?"

You close the fridge door and pass him his beer, cracking open his own.

"You should be more than aware of that," you tease. "I've heard what you and my dad used to get up to."

"I'm sure you've not even heard the most of it," he teases back.

You laugh softly under your breath at his response.

"I'll wash, you dry?" You suggest as the sink begins to fill with soapy water.

The two of you get the dishes done relatively quickly as Negan tells you a story from his college days. You have to keep yourself composed and remember who he is. Remember that these stories he's telling of him at your age took place before you were even born. A decade before, at least. But, every so often, as you pass him the plates to dry, your fingers touch his and such a small motion has you weak. You can't look him directly in the eyes as he stands so close to you. That signature grin of his spread across his face.

The two of your finish and you take a large swig of your beer, but it's no surprise that the flush of alcohol doesn't help your body heat. You can only hope and pray that your cheeks aren't beetroot red right now.

"I'm sure you've got plenty of stories, though, right?" He asks. "Being in college and all. And with your dad's genes...God."

A playful smile spreads on your face. "Sure. I'm absolutely not telling you though. My dad would have a heart attack."

"Ahh," he smiles back. "So this whole 'good girl' thing is just an act, then?"

Holy shit. Good girl? He has no clue what he is doing to you calling you things like that.

"I can be good when it suits me." You say, almost flirtatiously, and immediately kick yourself. Why the hell would you say something like that to him?

Your off-the-cuff reply has him grinning. He swipes his tongue over his teeth as he contemplates your words and you almost drop to your knees.

"Let's go see what political debate has become the talking point now," you say, changing the topic to hide your complete embarrassment. You leave the kitchen and head to the living room, Negan following.

Somehow, in the time it took you to wash the dishes, your mom and aunt have gone through a bottle and a half of wine, and they're sat on the floor with your dad and uncle playing some sort of drinking game.

You sit down on the couch and Negan sits next to you. Why? Why could he not just sit away from you? Give you some space to compose yourself? But the action is completely innocent. There is just less than a foot between the two of you, yet it still feels like he is on top of you. Like you're breathing the same air.

"What was I just saying?" Negan says, nudging your arm with his elbow. "Alcohol."

You shake your head in playful disagreement with your relatives' actions.

"Hey, mom," you say and her head whips around, as laughter escapes her lips. "Think you've had enough for tonight?"

"Oh, you're so boring," she waves her hand at you dismissively.

The four of them continue for about half an hour as you and Negan observe and laugh. The game finally comes to an end when your aunt and uncle discreetly head off to their bedroom for a reason you don't even want to think about. Your parents follow shortly after, your dad having to carry your drunk mom up the stairs.

You come back from the kitchen where you were getting another lager for you and Negan. As you do so, you look for the TV controller and find a blanket that was lying around. You sit down again next to Negan and look down at your phone to check the time.

"God, it's not even 10 o'clock yet." You laugh.

"Amateurs," he says sarcastically.

You pass him his beer which he thanks you for, then get under you blanket.

"Want some?" You ask, holding out some excess blanket towards him.

"Sure," he accepts, getting comfortable himself.

The whole situation you're in is completely innocent, but it dawns on you that you're currently alone with Negan, tucked under the same blanket. Given that fact, you make a conscious effort not to touch him at all and try to remain composed.

"Put a movie on?" You ask him, passing the TV remote to him.

He takes it from your hand, brushing his fingertips across yours.

You watch him carefully as he selects a film to put on, making sure not to get caught admiring him. He just looks so good. The salt and pepper sprinkled throughout his hair and beard. The tattoos that cover his arms. The way his white t-shirt hugs his body just right. You're brought out of your thoughts when he speaks.

"You seen Batman Returns?" He asks, looking down at you.

"Of course," you smile. "It's a classic."

"Feel like watching it again?"

You nod. You'll watch whatever he wants. Do whatever he wants.

"Absolutely," you answer. "I didn't peg you as a Batman kind of guy, to be honest."

"Like you say, it's a classic," he says. "Plus there's always Michelle Pfeiffer."

You laugh at him. "I feel you."

You polish off another beer as you watch the film. You try your best to pay attention, to keep your eyes open, but you grow increasingly tired. It must have only been fifteen minutes into the film when you finally drift off, reality slipping away.

When you wake up again, it takes a while to fully gain consciousness, You feel something under you head, under your arm, but you don't pay much attention to it.

You feel warm. Comfortable. You don't want to wake up, you could stay here forever. The smell of men's shampoo and cologne comforts you, a soft material under the touch of your hand.

All of a sudden reality dawns on you. You realise that your head is leaning on a shoulder. That your hand is draped across a torso. You shoot up, sitting upright and see Negan smiling at you softly through slightly hooded eyes.

"Oh God," you say, feeling incredibly humiliated. "I'm sorry." But he just chuckles.

You look over to the television and see a black screen.

"Did the movie finish?" You ask groggily and he nods. Fuck. You slept for the entire duration of the film and who knows how much of that time you spent laying on Negan's shoulder.

What you're only just realising now, though, is how close you're still sat to him. How even though you're sat up, Negan's shoulder is casually draped across the back of the sofa, dangerously close to your shoulder blades.

"Why didn't you just wake me up?" You ask, feeling flushed.

"You looked peaceful." He answers, honestly. "Didn't want to disrupt you."

"I'm sorry," you apologize again. "You should've woken me up."

"I didn't mind, sweetheart." He insists. "Honestly."

The pet name drives you utterly insane. As if this whole thing wasn't already enough. Your body feels so hot. What with the blanket, his body heat, your arousal.

"I will say though, you do talk quite a bit in your sleep," he smiles coyly and dread shoots through your entire body.

"Wh-what-" you can't even get a full sentence out. "What did I-"

A flash of a dream comes back to you in that moment. Oh God. Oh God, no. You can't remember the details, but you remember the feeling. Negan on top of you. His body weight on you. The ecstasy you felt. His hands on your body. His name slipping from your lips.

You had a sex dream about Negan while you were laying on his Goddamn shoulder. You're lost for words, but Negan is enjoying watching this play out. He bites his lip, trying to suppress his smug grin as he watches you realise the possibilities of what you might have said.

His arm slowly slips off the back of the sofa and creeps around to touch you, the movement making you flinch a little. What is he doing?

He takes his other hand and places two fingers just under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. The two of you make eye contact and you can't even contemplate what is happening - still a little groggy from your nap - before his lips are coming down gently on yours.

You kiss him back almost immediately. It's a surprising delicate and intimate kiss, and you daringly bring your hand up to his neck to pull him in deeper, but he pulls back.

You worry that he is having second thoughts, but the look in his eyes says the complete opposite. He just wants to get a good look at you before he tears you apart. You feel vulnerable under his hungry eyes but you love how it makes you feel.

The two of you take a moment to catch your breath before your lips join again, this time the kiss rougher. More passionate. His arms wrap around your back to pull your body snug to his and you intwine your fingers into his hair, tugging ever so slightly. His large hands snake further down and grab your hips, pulling you onto his lap. As you get comfortable you shift along his length and gasp, feeling that he is already hard.

"You were practically fucking dry humping me in your sleep," he chuckles. "You can't blame me."

"So that's why you didn't want to wake me up, then?" You're barely able to mumble, teasing him.

"Hmm, maybe." You can feel him smile into the kiss and it makes you want him more. Everything about him is so endearing. He just radiates this warmth, this aura, and it's radiating.

Even now, however, you're nervous to move things along. You know what you want but this is still so surreal, and it would be an understatement to say you feel a little intimidated in this moment. You have enough sexual experience, but this is Negan. This is different. So you're glad when he takes control and begins to lift up your top, pulling it over your head to expose your bra.

His mouth makes contact with the flesh of your chest, sucking and nipping while he reaches around to unhook your bra. He feels his cock twitch when he sees your bare breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth immediately as his warm hands roam and caress your back, travelling over your smooth skin.

As you start to subconsciously grind into his bulge, Negan continues to explore your breasts. You're looking for any kind of relief and you begin to find some as he presses up into you, but both of your pants are restricting you.

You feel yourself crumbling further and further as Negan's hands come around to aid him with his attention to your breasts, squeezing and practically groaning as he does so. The noise changes something inside you, and makes you realise that you need him stripped of his clothes right this second.

You grasp the bottom of his shirt and he briefly pulls away from you to allow you to move it, but the second you're done, his lips are back on your skin, leaving marks on your collarbone and neck. Next, you move onto the buckle of his belt but he swats your hand away.

Pulling back from the kiss, you look to him with wide eyes full of confusion. That look alone is nearly enough to cause him to fold and fuck you right then and there. But he has other plans.

"Be patient for me, honey," he says sweetly, and as badly as you want him, you trust him.

He pulls your body flush to his, so that your breasts are pressed entirely against the heat of his chest. Then he grips your lower back and stands up, holding you tightly.

"We can't do this here," he says, carrying you towards the stairs. You grind up against him playfully as he does so and he stops momentarily half way up the stairs, clearly affected by the action. In retaliation he gently swats your ass and you giggle at his response.

"Shh," he hushes, but he can't hide the grin that spreads across his face as you bury your face in his shoulder to muffle the sound.

Being as quiet as possible, he takes you into his bedroom which - awkwardly - is across the hall from your parents' room.

He puts you down on the bed, barely allowing himself to be away from you for a second, climbing on top of you hastily. He goes back to kissing you, the taste of him intoxicating. The way he kisses are gentle yet so hot and passionate at the same time, becoming increasingly sloppy as they shift from your lips to your jaw, neck, chest, abdomen, until you're a writhing mess beneath him.

Once he has kissed so far that he reaches the waist line of your trousers, he unbuttons them and pulls them all the way down. He throws them onto the floor, leaving you just in your lace black panties. He nudges your legs open and moves his kisses to your thigh. He's slowly breaking you and you're not sure how much more you can take. Painstakingly slow, he trails his tongue up your inner thigh until he reaches the edge of your panties.

Eventually he slips your panties off and you tremble as you feel the cool air of his room against your hot, aching core. He places his hands on your inner thighs to push them open further, mouth watering at the sight of you. The delicate touch of his fingers send shivers up your spine and you're in desperate need of more.

"Please, Negan," you say, barely a croak.

"Shh, let me take care of you," he soothes, his voice low and gravelly as he tries his best to stay quiet. "Wanted to taste this sweet pussy for so long."

As if to affirm his words, he lowers his head and licks a stripe straight through your folds, groaning as he feels how wet you are.

He then moves his mouth to make contact with your clit, your hips raising at the action. He starts off by sucking gently, leaving you aching for more as you reach down to grab his hair, not knowing what else to do. He chuckles as you do so and sends vibrations straight through your core. Unable to control yourself, a moan escapes you lips and he squeezes your thighs warningly, wordlessly telling you to be quiet.

He takes his time to precisely pull you apart, but then his motions begins to get harsher, faster. You feel that rising feeling in the pit of your stomach begin to spread after waiting for what feels like so long. He alternates between kissing, sucking, licking, nipping until you're desperate for more. Sensing this, he teases one finger at your entrance.

"Please," you whimper, legs trembling. He answers your pleading by pushing his single digit inside you in one long push, as deep as he can go, and keeping it there momentarily. As he continues to eat you out, he begins moving his finger, fucking you gently. When he adds a second finger you have to clasp your hand over your own mouth to stop yourself from calling out his name. Your legs wrap around his head, wanting to pull him closer to you in any way possible.

Closing your eyes, you feel that white hot feeling flooding through your veins, but right as you're about to reach your peak, he pulls his fingers out and his mouth away from you.

You let out a guttural sound, one of desperation which causes Negan to laugh under his breath.

"Negan, God, please," you whine, putting both your hands on his head and pushing him back down.

"So bossy," he mumbles with a smile on his face, but he obliges.

He doesn't use his fingers on you again, but it makes no difference. You're already pent up enough as it is that it won't take a lot to make you reach your peak. Plus, you don't doubt that Negan's skillful mouth is more than enough for you.

He circles his tongue around your clit, going back to sucking while using his free fingers to absentmindedly trace little patterns into your thighs. The only noises are your heavy pants and the wetness of his mouth against you, and it fills the otherwise deadly silent bedroom.

He's starting to become more familiar with your body and your reactions and he can tell you're getting close again. To which he stops and pulls away yet again.

"Negan," you almost cry. Tears prick in the corners of your eyes as you throb for him. "Please, I need to-"

"I got you baby," he assures you, stroking the flesh of your thighs comfortingly.

You can't bare it. You almost despise him for doing this to you, but you can't. It's all so surreal: having this man between your thighs. So often you have fantasized of it and though it's so wrong, it's now happening.

Before you can beg again, his lips make contact with you. This time he's a man on a mission. His tongue flicks against your clit as two of his fingers slip back inside you. You're so wet that it's an easy motion, but you still feel the tight, delicious stretch. He allows you to get used to it, building you up until he adds a third finger and you have to use all your power not to yell out his name. You try your hardest not to hurt Negan by squeezing your thighs too much or pulling his hair too hard, but he loves it. He loves driving you crazy, seeing you unwind for him. The noises you make. The taste of you.

Relentlessly, he penetrates you with his fingers, pushing and curling his fingers deep inside you, hitting a spot that eventually brings you your release. One last push, one last flick of his tongue and you're falling over the edge. You squeeze your eyes shut and you can't help the animalistic sound that leaves you as white flashes behind your eyelids. He continues eating you out through your orgasm and it hits you that you think you're doing something you never have before.

Once you manage to come around again, you let your legs relax and look down to Negan who looks up at you. He smiles smugly, your wetness remaining in his beard and it causes you to go weak in the knees.

"Did I just-?" Squirt, you want to say. But somehow it doesn't seem like the nicest word to describe what just happened between of the two.

He nods with a glimmer in his eyes as he makes his way up the bed, his body above yours.

"I've never-" you croak. "I've never done that before."

"You just needed a man, that's all," he gloats and you roll your eyes. "It was hot as fuck, for what it's worth."

He leans down and places a soft kiss on your lips. You can taste yourself on him.

You're still shaking a little, but you manage to pull back a little to look him in his eyes.

"Are we really doing this?" You ask, bordering on timid.

"Do you want to?" He counters.

"Yes," you say, quickly, not wanting him to think you're having doubts. Because there is absolutely no doubt in your mind that you want the man above him. Hell, you need him. But somehow you find yourself feeling a little insecure and needing reassurance. "Do you?"

"Darling," he laughs. "Not to be crude, but you just came all over my face. I want this more than you know."

You nod and smile, feeling more confident. "I'm sorry, I just-"

He interrupts your babbling with a long kiss to your lips, silencing you.

"You need to worry less," he says, bringing his hand to stroke your cheek sweetly.

"Make me." You propose flirtingly, smiling up at him.

"That I can do." His lips crash down on yours and his tongue intertwines with yours.

Reaching down to his pants you fumble with his zip, which he helps your shaky hands undo. He shifts both his pants and boxers down off his ankles, and though you can't see his length fully from this angle, you can feel its hardness press against your lower stomach and he feels big.

"You ready, baby?" He raises his brow at you as he grips his member and teases it through your folds.

"Yes, please Negan," you pant, even after having the best orgasm of your life, you still need more. "Need you inside me."

He groans as he slips inside of you and the way you practically beg for him drives him crazy.

"So fucking tight, holy shit," he mumbles into your ear, his head dropping down to bite and suck on the crook of your neck. "Oh, baby, fuck."

Hearing him say such obscene things affects you in an indescribable way. His voice has always been massively attractive to you, but now...you're done for. The deep rumble, smooth like honey, even lower in an attempt to remain quiet to your family in the surrounding bedrooms. It's like dark magic. It has you hooked. He could say the right thing to you with that voice and you'd cum right there and then.

His movements are slow, savoring the sensation of you around him. He wants to take his time with you. He never wants it to be over.

Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his back and lift your hips up wanting more from you. He maintains his pace, but does start pushing deeper inside you like you wanted.

"I've wanted you for so long," you say, not even in control of your words anymore. It's like he's fucking them right out of you. He moans into your neck at your admission and starts thrusting a little faster, as if in response to your statement.

"Do you know-" he stops speaking for a moment to breathe and compose himself, clearly enjoying this as much as you, "how often I get myself off thinking about you?" He punctuates his point with a particularly hard thrust and that - in combination with the idea of him masturbating to the thought of you - causes you to cry out. You thought he would shush you, but he seems too far gone at this point.

"A fucking pretty little thing like you," he says, his hands groping at your tits, his touch rougher than before, "it'd be hard not to."

"Oh god," you whimper. "Harder, please."

His movements get harsher gradually, following your command and getting you closer and closer every second.

He lifts his head up and the way he looks at you makes your insides collapse. To be the sole object of his attention. How he looks at you like you're all that ever mattered.

"I'm so close, Negan," you tell him.

"Taking me so fucking well, darling," he praises, reaching one hand down to lazily play with your clit. That's all it takes and he can feel it coming as you begin to squeeze around him. He takes your lips in a long, sensual kiss as you climax, trying to muffle your moans as he fucks you through your orgasm. Your hands are wrapped around his back, squeezing into his shoulders as you try your hardest to be quiet. Pure pleasure surges through your veins as he presses his entire body weight into you: suffocating in the most beautiful way possible.

Gradually, Negan's movements come to a halt and he stops moving inside you briefly, letting go of you come down from your high.

"You're gonna be the fucking death of me," he declares and before you can reply, he suddenly starts moving inside you again, faster than the last time, placing a quick peck on the tip of your nose as he does so.

He soon reaches a pace much faster than before and you're rendered speechless.

Your attention is grabbed, however, by the open and shut of a door somewhere. You gasp and your eyes widen at the sound. The possibilities of who it could be and if they'd heard you start to race through your mind but your thoughts are cut off when Negan clasps a hand firmly over your mouth to keep you quiet. He presses you further into the mattress as he fucks you even harder than before, enjoying tormenting you.

You listen closely to the footsteps. They're quite loud - that of a man - probably your dad or uncle. The pitter patter grows closer and your heard races, both from the fear of getting caught and from the sensation of Negan deep inside you. Hitting places you're sure no other man ever has or ever could. You relax a little as you hear the footsteps pass Negan's bedroom and head into the shared bathroom, the door closing afterwards.

Negan takes his hand off your mouth and you gasp for air.

"Oh my god, please don't stop," you beg as he sets a pace and sticks with it, snaking his slender fingers back down to your clit and circling it gently.

"I don't plan on," he chimes. "You're taking me so well."

You've never felt anything like this. Your entire body is numb and slick with sweat. All you can do is grab onto his hair and try your best to lift your hips to meet his thrusts.

To help you out, he grabs your body and switches positions slightly. He lifts himself up then clutches your thighs, lifting them onto his shoulders. Then his hands grip onto your hips and he has access to you in a way that allows him to go much deeper. You know you can't take much more. You're close to crying just from how much you want to scream his name.

Your eyes keep fluttering shut but you force them opening, wanting to keep them on the man doing this to you. His tousled hair, his flexed biceps, his tattooed chest.

"Harder, please," you whisper. "I'm nearly there."

Thrusting harder, he also adds his fingers back to your clit, rubbing harshly. It's almost painful on your sensitive nerves but it feels unreal and it's enough to build you up to near-ecstasy.

Your mouth hangs open but you refrain from making any noise. In one unexpected motion, he lands a slap to your clit and it sends your orgasm rushing.

"Good girl, that's it," he guides you through as your body starts to spasm.

He continually pounds into you and turns his head to the side to place soft kisses to your inner thigh, contrasting the way he now ruthlessly moves inside of you.

You contract around him as you cum and you can tell he is trying his hardest to hold on as he visibly hesitates, not knowing where to release.

"Cum inside me, Negan," you give permission. "Want it so bad."

Those words were all he needed as he spills inside you, the warm liquid filling you.

Gradually, his movements slow down as he fucks you through the both of your orgasms, fucking his cum deeper inside you, and then pulls out and collapses next to you.

You rest your head on his shoulder and to your surprise, he pulls you closer to him, placing a kiss to your forehead.

"Holy shit," you giggle, the whole situation setting in.

Negan's about to speak but his sentence stops forming when the bathroom door opens and closes again. You'd completely forgot about that.

The two of you exchange a glance as you wait for the footsteps to disappear down the hallway. Once they're gone, you relax back into his embrace.

Absentmindedly, you place your hand on Negan's warm chest, tracing the ink of his tattoos. Its surprisingly comforting having him this close, to be held by him. You're entranced by the smell of his cologne and the way his chest heaves up and down, catching his breath. He smiles as he watches you, equally as entranced by you. He can't quite believe that the daydreams he thought were exactly that - daydreams - have come to life.

"We'll have to do this again," he grins coyly, "some place where you can scream my name as loud as you need to." His hands run over your body, cupping your breasts as if to appreciate as much of you as possible.

"I'd like that," you smile back, snuggling into his arms. You know you can't stay here all night, but you'll appreciate it for as long as possible.

#negan fic #negan x reader #negan twd #negan smut #negan smith #the walking dead fanfiction #jeffrey dean morgan smut #jeffrey dean morgan #negan smith smut

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cursedcatvibes · 2 months ago

Text

KILLSHOT!

re4r!fuckboy leon x fuckgirl reader

word count: 5.9k

summary: Leon is only really a fuckboy because of some sort of childhood trauma thing. He doesn’t want to be forgotten, growing up ugly isn’t something he wanted to be remembered by so when he got his glow up he obviously used his looks to his advantage. But what happens when he starts to hear another name other than his own making rounds, everyone is raving about this person and Leon doesn’t like this. Is he jealous of them? Or is he actually jealous he hadn’t gotten to experience it yet?

tags/warnings: Minors DNI! Smut, 18+. Complicated emotions, slight mask kink, using of drugs, drugs mentioned, alcohol slightly mentioned, college ditzy bimbo talking, fingering, cowgirl, praise, characters from other franchises mentioned, halloween party, stalking-ish.. not proof read

A/N: hello! i have not been active in a few months oh my gosh.. literally sickening but life is literally sickening in itself? so.. but anyways, i had this idea strike me and it’s taken so long for me to punch it out because i kept changing the plot and rewriting and deleting shit because i didn’t like it. sue me! but yeah i forced myself to sit and write all day, so if some of the plot is not consistent i apologize! i actually got slight inspiration from pawgleon.. like the way the characters speak. i think she portrays bimbo and ditzy talk very well! (this is me partaking in kinktober)

Songs! ^^

Killshot (Slowed + Reverb) - Magdalena Bay

Rehab - Brent Faiyaz

Yummy - Ayesha Erotica

Like a Dream - Thomas LaRosa

Poison- Brent Faiyaz

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Leon’s always made a name for himself ever since Junior year in highschool. He had been considered ugly up until that point, had a bunch of acne (just like a normal growing teenager would), wore glasses, and his voice was still a little high-pitched because his balls had yet to drop. So what? Most boys are late bloomers! Definitely nothing to be insecure about.

He got picked on a lot and all the girls he liked never liked him back, always made fun of him whenever they could and called him a weird freak. But that all changed one summer when he got back to school for the new year.

He had gained a skincare routine, traded his glasses for contact lenses, and even started working out. It made him feel good about himself and it gave him the confidence to say fuck you to everyone else.

When he strolled into school however, it proved to be different almost immediately.

Here he was thinking he would have to defend himself again this year but people actually seemed to like him, girls he had never spoken to in his life started coming up to him. All pretty and perky too.

Now all of the sudden everyone wanted to fuck him and he was overjoyed. He quickly lost his virginity not even a month into starting the new school year, it took him a long while to perfect his craft but soon he got pretty good at knowing a woman’s body, men too.

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A few years later and now he’s in college with a reputation of being a fuckboy. It wasn’t a bad thing for him, considering the fact that he was able to get out the pent up stress college applied onto him.

Leon always got to pick his fruit of the night daily, sometimes even more than once a day. He didn’t have to worry about girls trying to get into relationships with him because of his reputation, one, and two, he was always up front about how he didn’t want to date anyone.

He was 1000% sure that if someone could be labeled as best fuck/hookup he would qualify for first every single time.

Well that’s what he originally thought until he started hearing another name going around, almost as often as his own. He was curious about who this person was, he wondered if they were as good as him for this many people to be buzzing about them.

It only took him a couple of minutes asking around before he found out the full name of the person and what class they were in. Surprisingly they were in the morning class of the same lesson that Leon took except his was more in the afternoon.

No wonder they haven’t crossed paths. No worries, he’s sure that a person like him must be cool enough to become friends with.

Oh how wrong he was.

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You had a decent up bringing growing up, didn’t struggle academically and you weren’t bad looking but you weren’t good looking either. Just plain. No one paid much mind to you in middle school.

It was completely fine with you, no drama, no names to remember, and no one to pick on you. You could honestly say you enjoyed it.

No one bothered you up until you hit puberty, you noticed almost immediately that people started treating you differently. It was strange at first, getting used to everyone trying to butter you up for one thing only.

You didn’t see much of an issue because you didn’t care, you didn’t see virginity as a big deal either. Now you weren’t a hoe or passed around, you just had sexual relations with whomever.

You were pretty ecstatic about going to college you had aspirations and dreams, that dream job wasn’t going to be easy. You needed to have a proper education and a little experience in that field before you even tried.

It was also well known in college that you get to sleep around with whoever you want and receive no consequences.

But never raw, you definitely weren’t trying to get pregnant before your life properly started. You applauded the women who did have babies this early in life and still make something of themselves but you could barely take care of yourself on a daily let alone a whole other little human.

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You sat there in the middle row of the lecture, bored out of your mind. You stared at the chalkboard and occasionally glanced down at your notebook to doodle or something to make it appear you were paying attention. It was just an extra class you were forced to do for extra credits before the end of the semester.

Leon on the other hand was sat in the back row of that same class, he somehow managed to weasel his way into the same extracurricular as you so he could spy on you, a feeling of unease brewing in his belly as he watched you.

He didn’t trust you, he didn’t think you were a whore. That’s kinda hypocritical of him but he was put off by your presence. Maybe a little bit jealous of you and how you managed to make a name for yourself. It was almost like he was challenging you mentally. A challenge you yourself wasn’t even aware of.

He glanced up at the clock when he noticed people getting up, he collected his stuff immediately and quietly followed behind you. Leon felt like he was being a bit stalker ish but he wanted answers. Plus it’s not like he was doing it to be a pervert.

He watched as you met up with some friends to go study in the library, obviously he was still shadowing you from afar. His nose shoved inside a book in the far corner in the library but close enough to spy on you from a distance.

He didn’t gain much information, you were hard working with a flirtatious personality, it was kind of hard for him to gather anything from this. But he overheard you and your friends talking about going to a party, his head perked up a bit like a dog smelling a delicious treat.

He wasn’t sure why but he felt this strange feeling wash over him, could he confront you there? But why was he trying to confront you? In all honesty he wasn’t sure, he just knew that he was jealous and scared that he would become a nobody again.

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You and your friends spoke happily about the most random stuff, like who got who pregnant, followed by did you see this new show? The topics never truly stayed on one solid one unless the whole group had a deep connection to it.

So it didn’t surprise you that a party happening later that night was mentioned. “It’s a costume party?” You asked curiously and your friend chuckled and nudged you with her elbow. “Oh my god, like yeah. Obviously. It’s halloween.” Ashley giggled and the rest of them did too.

“That’s so lame.” You murmured, twirling your pencil around in your hand. “Like.. this is the start of a bad hallmark movie or something.” You said as your lips pulled up into a thin line.

Your friends shrugged and they obviously knew you would go anyways, you glanced around the library per usual. Something you did just as a random habit and you spotted someone looking at you.

You frowned a bit as you watched the guy look away and bury his face back in his book. How strange? “What a weirdo.” Your friend, Jill, spoke up and it startled you a bit. “Huh?” You turned back to her and she stared at the guy before looking back at you.

“Do you know him?” She asked and you shook your head no. “Yeah.. I thought so. He kept glancing over here and I thought it was all in my head.” Jill mumbled softly as if to keep it between the both of you. With a nod of agreement from you Jill joined back into the conversation.

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Leon on the other hand was burning red in embarrassment, you had looked right at him and made a face. Now he looked creepy. He should just leave the library now or something, anything! But he stayed glued to his seat, straining his ears to eavesdrop on your table.

After a while he watched you all get up and leave, he sighed softly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nice going, Kennedy. You’ve outdone yourself and now you look like a creep.” He muttered in annoyance.

He quickly packed his stuff up and exited the library, shooting his friends a quick text before heading towards his dorm. He needed a Halloween costume now.

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Halloween shopping didn’t take long for your group of friends. All of you got ready in Claire’s dorm because it was spacious and she was the one who got the best one because rumor had it her brother fucked one of the deans for special privileges and Claire used it as blackmail for herself.

Everyone in that dorm knew it was far from the truth, she was just a good student and because of that she got special treatment alongside Chris.

Ashley was busy doing her makeup when she looked over at you who was staring at the costume you had got. “You okay?” She asked and you turned around to look at her. It was obvious to everyone she would go as Harley Quinn. It suited her. Is what you thought before responding.

“I’m questioning if this is too much.” You responded and Jill perked up. “Definitely not. It’s actually beneficial because it’ll probably be super hot at that party so the less clothes the better.” She murmured mindlessly as she put on her realistic wig..

Ashley and Claire glanced over at Jill before bursting out in a fit of giggles. “This is why we keep Jill on a high pedestal. She’s like super smart and pretty. It’s a two for one.” Ashley grinned and you chuckled softly.

Claire slung her arm over your shoulder and tugged you close. “Besides you’ll be matching with me, and y’know if someone bothers you and you don’t want them Chris will stand up for us.” She pinched your cheek gently and you swatted her hand away with a whine.

“Fine, you have a point.” You relented with raised hands as if you surrender. Claire smiled and grabbed her costume to change into.

Ashley put her hair up into two pigtails and grabbed the spray of temporary hair dye. “So.. Luis is going to be there.” She beamed, and everyone in the room rolled their eyes. “Ashley, you are such a simp for him.” Claire huffed and you and Jill nodded in agreement.

“Okay well it’s not my fault okay! It’s gotta be his stupid accent.” Ashley grumbled softly, pouting as she did so. When she turned around after staring at the vanity mirror for so long she smiled seeing everyone in their costumes.

Jill is Tiffany Valentine from the Chucky franchise, Ashley is Harley Quinn from the DC franchise, Claire is Starfire, and you are Raven.

You purse your lips as you hold the cape up between your fingertips. “You know for the longest time I had no idea what she was saying.” You admitted and everyone but Jill agreed. “You didn’t watch it with subtitles?” She laughed and you shook your head no with a grin.

“I thought she was just speaking gibberish.” You said and it just made everyone laugh harder as they gathered their things to get ready to leave. “Yeah because they would make one of their main characters speak gibberish everytime she used her powers.” Claire teased and you turned red with embarrassment but also laughter as you all walked out the door.

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Leon on the other hand was pre gaming in his dorm room with his friends, Carlos, Chris, and Luis. “Dude you know how many hot chicks are going to be there?” Chris murmured as he slipped into a brown jacket, pulling gloves onto his hands while searching for his Jason Vorhees mask.

“I'm definitely scoring tonight.” Carlos said as he messed with his hair, a soft hum leaving his lips. Leon shrugged, not very interested in hooking up with anybody. He was more interested in trying to one up you.

Luis sat next to Leon on the couch and stared at him for a second. “¿Qué pasa, Sancho?” He asked, tilting his head at the blonde who seemed to be anxious. “Nothing. Just.. thinking. I guess.” He replied, rubbing his nape.

Luis cocked his eyebrow up and narrowed his eyes at Leon suspiciously. “Well, whatever it is. I’m here if you wanna talk.” He assured, placing his hand on Leon’s shoulder. Leon nodded and grabbed his Ghostface mask.

“Are we all ready?” Chris asked as Carlos was putting on his gloves with fake claws on them. He had the signature Freddy Krueger colors on while Luis had the iconic blue jumpsuit and Michael Myers mask. Once everyone was ready they set off to the party, Leon swallowed anxiously under his mask.

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The first thing you were met with when you entered the frat house was a mess, a mess of drunk and high people. You made a face at the smell of sweat and sex filling the air. Have some decorum people. You grimaced as you were dragged through the party.

Somehow ending up in the living room with everyone in your friend group. “They have coke! Oh my gosh, I’ve like totally wanted to try it.” Ashley beamed and grabbed you. “C’mon let’s all do a line, when’s the next time you’ll be offered coke or something. We’ll be all old with wrinkles.” Ashley whined, trying to convince Claire and Jill who sighed and reluctantly agreed.

“Okay but doesn’t this like burn?” You questioned.

“What? Like Molly?” Ashley raised her eyebrow.

“No—Like doesn’t it burn your nostrils?” You raised an eyebrow back at her.

Jill sighed and picked up a straw that was on the table along with random lines of coke on the glass surface while you and Ashley argued over something as tedious as whether it’ll go down smoothly.

Claire followed in pursuit of Jill and did a line too, squeezing her eyes shut as she sniffled. “Jeez, that shit is strong..” She muttered as she pinched her nostrils, Jill nodded heavily in agreement.

“I forgot you’re the fucking coke queen of America. That’s my bad.” You huffed softly.

Ashley rolled her eyes and went to reach for a straw for you only to see Claire and Jill holding them. “You guys did it without us!!” She complained and you just sighed.

“Ash, we can just do a line right now.” You murmured which seemed to calm her down enough to keep her tantrum at bay. She holds your hand and leans down in sync with you as you both snorted a line.

At the same time you both did, Leon and his goon squad arrived at the party and everyone started cheering. Garnering the attention of all of you kneeled at the table.

You wiped away the residue on your nose and sniffled, narrowing your eyes at Leon for a second as he put on his Ghostface mask and his face was hidden again. He looked.. familiar.

You tried to ponder where you saw him at, but you just shrugged it off. Whatever. Probably nowhere.

Jill glanced over at Chris a few times while Claire was eyeing Carlos. Ashley immediately bounced up and was about to scurry over to Luis. You grabbed onto her wrist before she could run off.

“Ashley! Are you seriously ditching us for Luis?” You stared at her, trying to gauge her reaction.

“What? Noo—I would definitely not. ‘M just being friendly. I’ll totally come back.” She replied in her usual manner, which gave away that she was lying. You reluctantly let her go and she scurried off.

You sighed heavily as you watched Claire and Jill give each other a knowing look. “You guys too?!” You groaned out and they gave you a sheepish smile. “We’ll come back, we have our phones on sound and we’ll all go home together.” Jill assured, placing her hand on your thigh.

“You guys hate me.” You frowned with a slight pout and Claire pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Pinky promise we’ll come back.” She whispered and you took her pinky in your own. “Okay. Promise.” You sighed out.

Then you watched Claire and Jill disappear, probably to go curl up with Chris and Carlos. You weren’t very amused, the only reason you came was to hang out with them but Leon and his stupid friends came and ruined it.

Whatever. Least you had some entertainment, the coke on the table and the promise of alcohol.

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Leon smirked as he entered the party, he knew he was hot shit. But that lingering fear that he would be some name in the past still brewed within him. Which is why he agreed to tag along. The only question was where were you?

He sauntered deeper into the party with his friends until one by one they were plucked away by girls he recognized from your friend group. He pursed his lips beneath his mask, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips as he glanced around.

It’s as if fate itself had its way of showing itself as you stumbled into the kitchen, not dressed in much. His eyes widened in surprise as you walked to the punch bowl that was probably spiked by now and got yourself a cup of juice.

He watched from the corner of his eye in awe as you licked the rim of the cup to clean the few drops of juice you got on the side of the cup. He gulped and chastised himself, no he wasn’t supposed to be staring at you like some lovesick maniac. He was trying to prove himself tonight.

He would plow through so much pussy tonight it would leave you behind in the dust. Or at least that’s what he hoped.

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As the night lingered on you got more wasted to forget about the fact you got ditched for some dick. You couldn’t say you were surprised and honestly you were contemplating getting laid. But there was something uneasy about tonight.

Every room you slowly made your way into you saw some guy in the Ghostface costume making out with some girl, borderline groping each other over their clothes. At first you thought it was different guys until you got a good look at the face of the man behind the mask twice to realize it was the same guy with different girls each time. Weirdo. Is all you thought but you were smart enough to remember some guys have a game to see who can get the most kisses, hook ups, blowjobs in one night.

Leon on one hand was shocked each time you walked past him like it was nothing, like you just didn’t care. He was sure he could fuck some girl in front of everyone and you wouldn’t pay them any mind. What the hell?

With a growl he was determined to get your attention somehow, it didn’t even register that he was doing all this for your attention. His body reacting on pure instinct as he broke away from the kiss with the girl. A brief apology as he excused himself. Chasing after you as you drunkenly stumbled back to the kitchen.

He stood at a distance watching you rummage through the fridge. “All my friends hate me, oh my god.” You mumbled under your breath as you found nothing to satisfy your hungry belly. A soft pout on your expression until some guy pressed up against you from behind.

You paused for a second before you stood up straight and turned around to see some random guy in a batman costume staring down at you. “Uhm, hello.” You say as he leans down to inspect your costume. “Oh okay. Just go on ahead—“

“Raven? From Teen Titans?” He asked as his eyes met your own again.

“Oh yeah, my friend and I dressed as Raven and Starfire.” You slurred a bit as he rubbed his thumb over your chin. “Oh—Hellooo.” You giggled as the guy placed his other hand on your hip.

“We’re from the same franchise. I think your costume looks really cool.. I’m Brandon” He uttered softly, leaning down to brush his lips against yours and you eagerly reciprocated, whispering your own name into the kiss. You had plans starting to form in your head to go back with this guy to his dorm and hook up with him.

Well, you did at least plan to leave with him. But no way in hell was Leon going to let that happen. He stormed over, his angry expression hidden behind the Ghostface mask, he cleared his throat and tugged you away from the guy.

He glanced between you and the guy in his stupid batman costume. When he realized what he had done he immediately lied on the spot, blurting the first name of your friend that came to mind. “Ashley! Erm—Ashley asked if you could come help her with something.”

You blinked a few times as you processed what was said, realizing that the guy behind the Ghostface costume must know Ashley, which didn’t surprise you. “Oh.”

You bit on your bottom lip and glanced at Brandon. “Sorry. My friend needs me.” You replied and latched onto Leon’s arm. “Lead the way.” You hiccuped.

Leon immediately walked off with you, feeling a sense of pride at the knowledge he ruined that moment for you. Yet when he looked down at your face you didn’t seem to mind, in fact you seemed more worried about your friend.

Leon guided you out the party, letting the fresh air overcome him and you. He didn’t realize how hot it was inside until he stepped outside with you.

“Wait. She left the party?” You stopped in your tracks and gently tugged on Leon’s arm.

“What?” He said, confusion laced in his tone before he remembered the lie he uttered. “Oh yeah—yeah. She uhm, left to go with him but she told him to tell me you needed her.”

You didn’t seem to question him any further, which was a relief for him because he wasn’t sure how much more he could lie as he guided you back to the dorms. More specifically his.

What the fuck am I doing?

Why did I care so much that she was going to kiss some random dude?

Why am I taking her back to my dorm?

I should’ve been on my fourth hook up tonight and yet I haven’t touched any naked body yet.

Leon’s mind raced as he unlocked the door and guided you inside, closing the door behind him and locking it as you called out for Ashley.

“Ashley! Ugh I swear if it’s not something important and you made me miss out on the opportunity to get laid I’m gonna murder you!” You groaned out as you stumbled in your platformed boots; which in theory are horrible to wear while being wasted.

Leon pulled his mask off and tossed it onto his couch, wiping the sweat from his brow before he followed after you, grabbing hold of your wrist to turn you around towards him gently.

“Ew your hands are like.. gross and sweaty.” You made a face of disgust and his nose scrunched up in annoyance.

“Okay that’s a bit rude.” He huffed and looked at you, he would finally be able to see you for you at this moment. It suddenly hit him.

You’re not competition, obviously not if you’re not bragging about your hook up to him, rather your friend who definitely isn’t here.

Hell, you’re just a girl. A girl who he’s jealous of for no reason.

A girl who’s.. really fucking pretty?

His eyes widened as he came to the realization that it wasn’t anger at being replaced, it wasn’t jealousy of hearing your name being uttered time and time again instead of his.

No, that's stupid. I’ll see if she’s really as good as everyone says she is. He was determined to see what was so special about you.

Your nose scrunched up as if mimicking his own expression as you could see different emotions ran across his face. “Uhm hello?—“ You went to wave your hand in front of his eyes when he tightened his grip on you and pulled you in for a kiss with force. Such force that you stumbled.

A quick lie running out of his mouth smoothly as he cupped your face in his hands. “I lied, Ashley didn’t call you here.. I just have such a big crush on you and didn’t know how to express it.” He breathed out as your tongue ran over his bottom lip.

You, to his surprise, didn’t fight back or protest the kiss. You seemed to encourage it more than anything.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s kinda sly of you..” You remarked as you pulled back from the kiss, your lipstick smeared on his soft plump ones. You brought your thumb up to his bottom lip and wiped away as much as you could.

“So what’s your name you big stud.” You teased in a drunken tone, Leon bit his bottom lip and ducked down to capture your lips again. “Leon.” He muttered into the kiss, slowly guiding you to his room with careful steps.

He could tell you were getting tired of how slow he was moving so he patted your thigh to encourage you to hop up. Once you did he grabbed the back of your legs and held you firmly against him, your lips not parting from his own as he stumbled into his bedroom.

He dropped you down onto the bed and finally pulled away. “I have to turn on the lamp..” He mumbled quietly as he reached off to the side to flick the light on. The moonlight helped to illuminate the parts of the room the light didn’t reach fully.

When he looked down at you he felt his heart rate increase. “Fuck.” He cursed and you just smiled at the sight above you.

You reached your hand up to move his hair out of his face. “What? Think I’m pretty or something?” You asked and he nodded, a soft giggle leaving your precious lips.

So precious. He thought as he pressed his left palm above your head against the bed while his other hand came up to cup and fondle your breast above your costume.

You managed to kick your boots off somehow, leaning back against the bed comfortably. “Well that’s sweet of you. I think you’re quite handsome.” You replied as your hair laid spread out behind you.

Leon hesitated for a second, what does he do now? He’s been hooking up with people for awhile now and for once in his life he’s stunned on what to do next. He opens his mouth to speak but all that comes out is a soft moan as you drag his hand up to your mouth to suck on his thumb.

“Hah.. you’re good at that hm?” He cooed, pressing his thumb down against your tongue. With a soft hum from you he adjusted the way he was hovering above you so he could use both hands instead of one.

He dragged his left hand down your torso right down to your pussy, he could feel the heat radiating off of such an intimate part of you. This made his cock throb with want as he pushed the crotch of your costume to the side.

“I guess this costume is pretty much easy access..” He spoke his inner thoughts aloud, watching you blush beneath his watchful gaze before his fingertip brushed against your clit.

You mewled softly and brought your hands up to paw at his chest, wanting his costume off but he clicked his tongue. “Patience. Good things come to those who wait.” He scolded you lightly and gave you a shit eating grin as you frowned.

“You’re like a delicacy.” He explained, rubbing his middle and ring finger through your folds before prodding them against your hole. “You must be handled with care.” He punctuated his words by shoving his fingers inside of you.

You gasped and your back arched off the bed a little. “O-Oh fuck. That feels good.. your fingers are so thick.” You whimpered around his thumb, he snickered softly and pulled his thumb away from your mouth, pressing the wet digit against your clit to rub hard and fast circles against the sensitive little bud while his other hand moved in tandem by fucking his fingers in and out of you.

A slick squelching sound resounding through the room followed by lewd moans coming from you. Who would’ve thought having sex while being high on coke made everything feel ten times better?

“Leon.” You whined softly as your walls clenched down tightly around his fingers. “You’re g’nna make me cum..”

Leon just shrugged and leaned down to nip at your neck. “And? That’s what you want, right baby?” He whispered directly in your ear, sucking on your earlobe. He let out a low chuckle as you cried out a soft yes.

He doubled down on his efforts and you swore you saw stars, definitely. You squealed softly as your orgasm crashed down onto your body like a truck, your cheeks and the tips of your ears turning red and hot with arousal.

“There’s we go. That’s my girl.” He lapped at the pulse point on your neck as you settled down from your high, he took the opportunity to strip himself of his clothes but not before getting a taste of what he was going to be indulging in.

He brought his fingers up to his mouth and swirled his tongue around his own digits, sighing softly as he tasted the sweet essence that he had coaxed out of you.

“God. That shits perfect.” Leon bit his bottom lip as he began to remove his clothes, eyeing you hungrily as his cock sprung up into view.

You mumbled something before sitting up on your elbows, your mouth almost instantly watering at the sight of his dick. “Woah.” You blinked a few times before reaching out to touch.

Accidentally grabbing it too hard made Leon hiss in pleasure. “God damn. Easy baby.” He groaned out, and you winced out a soft apology, letting him guide your hand to be the perfect pressure and pace for him to get off on.

“Wait..” You said suddenly which made Leon pause, staring down at you questioningly. “Can you get your uh.. the mask.” You asked coyly, twirling a strand of your hair around your finger slyly as it registered what you wanted in his head.

“Sure thing.” He chuckled and patted your cheek, disappearing for a second before returning with the mask on his head. You grinned wickedly as he stood near the edge of his bed.

“How do I look—“ He was cut off by you yanking him down onto the bed, straddling him as you smirked. “I’m gonna absolutely ravish you.” You sighed out softly, having already removed your clothes when he stepped out the room.

Leon was quite stunned at the 360 shift in attitude. You were just crying on his fingers a few seconds ago and now you’re practically pinning him down. He placed his hands on your thighs, gently rubbing his thumbs against your soft skin.

“Yeah? What if I want to ravish you?” He retorted and you leaned down to press your bare chest against his own, “You could try.” You slurred quietly, but as the hours went on the more you slightly sobered up.

“Guess I’ll have to try super hard then.” He whispered softly as he grabbed his cock, rubbing the tip of it through your folds with a soft hum. You bit your bottom lip as you eventually sank down on him, the two releasing a soft moan in sync with each other.

It didn’t take long for Leon to start bouncing you on his cock as you rode him with an eager pace, it seems the mask was doing things for you that you yourself weren’t even aware would do.

The wet sounds between the two resounding through the room as skin on skin slapping against each other blended into the mix. “Fuck, you’re so tight.. ‘n wet.. ‘n warm.” He whined, fingers digging into your plush thighs as he bucked his hips up into you.

You nodded in acknowledgment. Your eyes fluttered shut as you could feel that coil in your gut tightening with each thrust and bounce. You knew you were close and so did Leon. “I’m almost there.” He panted out, gulping beneath the mask which was starting to prove to be extremely hot. He was sure he had sweat all over his face and head, if he was to remove the mask he was 99% sure that his hair would be thoroughly damp.

Yet if he could get girls to ride him as crazy and as good as you do he would wear it for every hookup encounter he ever had.

You reached your hands up to start punching and twisting your nipples, fondling your tits to tease him. He grunted loudly as he watched you with bated breath. “Fuck, keep playing with yourself like that. Touch that pretty little clit of yours too.” He gritted out as you did so, causing your walls to clamp down tightly around his cock.

Your jaw dropped as his cock brushed against that spongy spot inside of you that never failed to give you chills. “I-I can’t hold it..” You cried out, hand still moving quickly against your clit. Leon could see your chest rising and falling quickly and he was just a few seconds away from spilling his own seed.

“I know. W-Where do you want it?” He uttered aloud, squeezing his eyes shut and throwing his head back against his bed. “Mm. Inside, please.” You whined, bucking your hips eagerly.

Leon's eyes shot open and his head shot up to stare at you. “Fuck.. that’s so hot. Are you sure?” He was a bit nervous and didn’t want to cum inside of you if you weren’t 100% sure.

With an eager nod you spoke once more. “Yes! God, please! Inside of me, Leon.” You insisted, throwing your head back in pleasure as he thrusted a couple more times before pulling your hips flush against his own, he came before you did and it only took a few quick rubs from you before your orgasm hit you once more.

You practically collapsed on top of him with a heavy breath, resting your head on his chest as he moved his hands up to pull the mask off, finally being free of the sweaty contraption. He wrapped both his arms around you as his cock started to soften within your warm wet walls.

Fuck. He had to admit that the people were right about you being a good fuck.

Especially when you looked up at him with that soft smile but your eyes told a different story as you wiggled your hips a bit, it’s as if he didn’t even start to soften to begin with as he was fully hard within seconds.

Guess he was in for a long night, just as long as you don’t hear the incessant buzzing coming from your phone that was discarded on his nightstand haphazardly from your friends.

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