#and then it updated like THE NEXT DAY and I lost my mind

[blacklegsanjiii]

Ooh god, I loved your Shanks x Sora post so muuuuch <3

But, can I dump a little ship here?

Bellmere x Sora. Just. These two raising Sanji, Nojiko and Nami together (and Sanji not being weird about girls bc of that). Or even ALL the 01234ji siblings + Nojiko & Nami bc Sora deserves to raise all her precious babies like she wanted. They winning against Arlong and his crew and living as a happy little family who basically is loved by all Cocoyashi. Maybe even with ZeffSora! Siblings bc him and Bellmere as in-laws would be funny as hell.

Maybe the crew meets Sanji + Nami at the same time, bc both work on the Baratie or whatever. Maybe Arlong tries, after years, to take Cocoyashi and they hear about it so Zeff sends Sanji & Nami and goes, too. The crew (Luffy, actually) goes to help too, afterall these two will join the crew/are crewmates.

Maybe Lusan and Namivivi happens. Maybe their mothers + siblings (or just sister) hear about it and can't wait to know/see again Vivi and Luffy. Maybe WCI hurts deeper, because Nami knows why her big brother is doing this, but hurts her heart all the same. Maybe, she does slaps him, but hugs him right after. Maybe, after hearing about Pudding and the cuffs, she is 10x angrier.

Maybe, their relationship is more. Something happier, just platonic from both sides. Maybe, when Luffy and Sanji start dating, Nami half threatens Luffy to take care of her brother, and Sanji does the same about Vivi and Nami.

Just, maybe.

I'm ALIVE! There's a lot going on in my life but I think I'm back on it as well as Golden being almost done, should be updating within the next couple of months but let's focus on this!

I love this and I have seen some fanart of this ship of dead Sora and Bellemere watching their kids and Bellemere just losing it for Sora. Which is valid. Sora looks like the lipstick lesbian of my dreams sometimes. Bellemere is definitely stares because hot damn, even when she was a marine she's never seen someone as pretty as that. Because this woman and a kid who looks just like her rolled up in Cocoyashi and Bellemere just stopped and Nojiko and Nami are confused about why she's staring at the woman and her son. Bellemere will bring her girls to deliver to oranges to town and collect payments and the blonde woman is now working in the bar. Bellemere will talk with her lightly and listen, she's pretty. She's so fucking pretty. Bellemere tries to keep her cool which she feels like she lost when she got her girls but the woman seems to pay it no mind. (I need oblivious Sora)

Sora introduces herself after a few trips when she realizes that hasn't happened yet and Bellemere introduces herself and her girls and Sora shakes their hands and looks around and calls for Sanji who pops out from somewhere and introduces him to the lovely ladies. Sanji is rather quiet, especially compared to Nami and Nojiko. He's helping around the bar, collecting dishes and cups and he sneaks around like he's afraid to get caught. Nami and Nojiko will come find him on the off days and try to get him to play with them as Sora will collect the extra food the bar didn't use to make something for them. Sora will call to Sanji in another language to collect him and the girls when it's time to eat. She sounds an ocean breeze to Bellemere, a language she hasn't heard since she was in the marines and Sanji starts teaching the girls and hearing her girls speak in a language not their own makes Bellemere swoon a bit as they try to talk to Sora in it with a serene smile and taking the time to help them. Sora asks Bellemere if she'd like to learn it as well and Bellemere hastily nods.

One day a grumpy man with a peg leg comes to buy out most of their oranges. Bellemere can't help but mention how he looks like the barmaid in town and her son when the chef laughs.

"Sora and her son Sanji? Aye, that'd be my baby sister and nephew. They are actually the ones who mentioned the produce here. Gotta admit it's been a while since I've seen this quality." The chef smiles.

"Oh, she hasn't mentioned a brother." Bellemere replies, slightly in shock as Nami and Nojiko look at the man.

"I'm Zeff, Sora is doing well here. Far more than where she was. I best be off though." Zeff says as he loads the crate. "And Miss Bellemere, you have to be extremely blunt with my sister. She ain't been around many normal folk." Nami and Nojiko start giggling as Bellemere gawks at the man as he leaves with the cart full of produce and just leaves. Bellemere doesn't quite believe him until she starts actively flirting and it goes over the woman's head more often than not. Bellemere looks at Sora and says something about Zeff saying she needed to be blunt but she wasn't hoping that blunt and Sora looks at her confused and Bellemere is flushed as she stutters about wanting to spend the night with Sora, alone, no kids, just the two of them.

Sora is bright red. Sanji pulls the girls out to go play in the orchard and run and climb the trees. He boosts Nami and Nojiko up into the trees and giggle with the girls he now considers his sisters and they plot to get them together. Whenever Zeff visits they'll go hide on the Baratie and Patty and Carne will laugh at the kids and Zeff will let them stow away until the morning. Zeff will teach the girls more of the language and hoist the girls to his shoulders and walk them around the restaurant. Sanji tells them what he remembers of the North Blue on the roof top of Baratie and the constellations there. Nami says she wants to go she can draw a map, Nojiko says she wants to see snow. Zeff smiles at his niblings and is proud of the new family Sora has created for herself.

I love the idea that Arlong doesn't take Cocoyashi until later so Sora and Bellemere definitely get closer over all the times the kids disappear to the Baratie until Sanji is gone more often than not because he's working and then Nami joins not long after. Sora and Sanji moved to the orchard not long after the women started dating and Sanji cooks a myriad of orange dishes as Nami and Nojiko make the peels into pinwheels like Bellemere does and Bellemere also provides protection to the town with the sheriff whenever people try to invade. Bellemere watches in awe as Sora manages to end fights quickly between the kids. Bellemere asks the woman to marry her and Sora agrees. At the wedding Zeff told Bellemere to be blunt and look where it got them. Married. Bellemere groans and says she's just so pretty and kind and nice that all she wants to do is make her happy forever. Zeff says that's why told Sora if she didn't marry Bellemere he would never let her live it down. Bellemere stares at him as he pats her shoulder and goes and dances with her daughters.

When Sanji and Nami are working on the Baratie everyone knows they are siblings and there's a third one of them. Sanji and Nami make an excellent team and Zeff constantly tells his sister and her wife that they are never getting those kids back. They're his now and when Nojiko eventually decides to come join the crew they're all his and Sora will argue with him until she's blue in the face and she's yelling in Northern and nothing makes Bellemere want to pin her down more than a pissed off Sora talking in another language. Sometimes Nami and Sanji can calm her down over the denden. Sanji's cooking has only gotten better so he treats his family to it whenever they're home. It's the best times of their lives so far because Nami's map of the East Blue is coming along really well and she and Sanji still somehow manage to share a room and pool their money together to buy gifts for their moms and Nojiko and books for themselves. It's great.

Until Sanji feeds some guy and he leads a destroyed galleon to them and some kid told Sanji he was going to be his cook and Sanji refused questioningly and then Mihawk shows up and almost kills the swordsman and Nami leaves with them to get the guy medical care. Then after they defeat the crew of the galleon, some guy called Don Krieg Sanji gets a phone call saying there's pirates attacking Cocoyashi so he takes the rubber kid with him to get home and is complaining because he's not Nami and he's not the best at navigation and Luffy is giggling saying he found his cook and navigator. Sanji is blinking at him like he's dumb as bricks but he's just so endearing Sanji gives up. Sure, he'll join the crew. He doesn't make a promise about Nami joining because she has her own choice to make. Once they arrive at the orchard he's enveloped in hugs from his moms and sisters and explaining it's a warlord's little brother, his name is Arlong and he's trying to take over the island and Luffy promises he won't let that happen. Nami says he wants the map to the grandline she bought and he took it in exchange for their lives and Luffy says he'll get it back too since she's his navigator and Nami looks incredously at him and Sanji said he already agreed to be the cook. Nami stares at her older brother as Nojiko looks at Bellemere in a 'what are we going to do about this?' way since she was a marine. Sora is losing it and laughing so hard because piracy runs in the family technically. She's losing her god damn mind over it and Zoro and Usopp are worried she might pass out.

After they beat Arlong and Sanji's still soaking wet from fighting a guy under water they go back home and are met with praise and cheers and Sanji cooks for the town and Nami does agree to be the navigator for the crew and they set off, declaring their dreams and becoming the Strawhat Pirates officially with a glorious flag. When they meet Vivi and agree to give her and Karoo passage and help take back Alabasta. Sanji notices how his sister and Vivi keep looking at each other and somehow manages to get them time alone and nicer food. They enjoy it and thank him because yeah, they're getting close and Sanji does want his sister happy. Nami on the other hand watches her brother be obliviously endeared to the captain who clearly has feelings for him and makes bets with Vivi about it. Then Nami gets sick and Vivi and Sanji are worried but luckily the next island has a doctor because she's only been getting sicker. So they make their way to a bitterly cold island that reminds Sanji of the worst times of his life. He hasn't told his moms that Nami is sick so they don't worry about them. Then he kicks his baby sister and captain out of the way and takes the full force of an avalanche. When he comes to he finds his captain staring at him and Sanji is so fucking dazed as Luffy tells him not to do that again because he loves Sanji and Sanji thinks he just loves Sanji as his cook and Sanji promises not to worry his captain again. Luffy nods and holds Sanji's hand before they end up chasing a reindeer and check on Nami. Then they help defend the jolly roger on top of the castle. When Nami finds out as they're escaping Sanji broke his fucking back she wrings his neck and threatens to call their moms because 'I don't care what your dad did, fucking fuck, Sanji!' as he's apologizing but he feels fine. Vivi kisses Nami because she's better and Luffy is laughing because they got a doctor now. And then when they meet Ace who's flirting goes straight over Sanji's head and Ace gets punched by Luffy for even thinking of taking the cook while their captain declares Sanji as his. Vivi asks Nami if this is normal and Nami's long drawn-out sigh that he's just like his mother and when their moms finally got together it's because it took forever for Sora to take the hint. It's a wonder how their moms got married. Vivi and Chopper are looking at her and Nami shrugs and says they should have seen it when he was waiting on Baratie when the other waiters quit and it just those two waiting, she saw so many people get let down by his oblivious antics. It was bad. It was so bad. Nami made so much money off betting on him though. It was great.

Sanji pulls his sneaky shit and Nami looks at him unimpressed after they free Alabasta and Luffy is clinging to him. It's actually fucking adorable and Nami takes a picture to send home, just as Sanji sneaks one of Nami and Vivi being absolutely lost in each other. They send the photo's seperately but they get one letter back with a photo of the photos hanging up and congratulations on bagging the captain and the princess respectively. They look at each other with deadened eyes and Sanji asks when he and Luffy started dating and Nami says at least Drum if not before, that's why he punched his brother over him. Sanji blinks at her before finding Luffy and asking if they're dating and Luffy says 'Duh!' with a laugh and Sanji rubs his temples. Luffy just wraps around him and plants a sloppy kiss to Sanji's cheek. It's rough, especially when everyone laughs at him. Life continues on for the crew as normal, even through Sabaody just with more letters. Bellemere and Sora constantly asking if they're okay and what they can send to help along with pictures of Cocoyashi and Nojiko and the orchard waiting for them at home. But then on Sabaody the crew with more members and more scars is ripped apart and separated. Sanji has failed his captain and his sister and his moms, Nami has failed her captain, and Luffy has failed his family, his crew, the love of his life. Vivi weeps openly at the news of Marineford and Bellemere stares at the paper as Sora screams curses and heaves sobs out of her chest for losing her son again and now losing a daughter as Nojiko shakes with anger. Two years pass.

Two whole years pass. Two years of getting stronger, of worrying about Luffy who watched his brother die. Of speaking in Northern to feel comfort to no one who understands. Nami remembers speaking in it with Sanji when they wanted to talk shit or Sanji got so excited about something he just slipped into his native tongue and accent, he used to sing to Luffy in it after they actually got together. Hearing it in person after so long as they run to each other, and she leaps into his arms and he catches her and holds onto her. The words falling from his mouth like the rain used to pour in Cocoyashi and Robin smiles sweetly at them and Franky sobs about siblings reuniting. Luffy comes barreling after a while and barrels into Sanji when he's getting groceries and kisses him so fucking hard. They depart Sabaody with allies and friends made during their time apart protecting them as Luffy begs Sanji to cook for him, which he does. Nami smiles and Sanji catches it and smiles back, it looks just like his All Blue Smile and she knows he loves with his whole heart, wears it on his sleeve Luffy holds it so kindly. Just like Vivi holds her's safe back in Alabasta. How Cocoyashi also holds segments of their hearts with their moms and sister. They make it through Fishman Island and to Punk Hazard and Law stares at the Cat Burglar and Cook who speak in Northern and when he slips into their conversations they grin at him and warn him to not let Luffy know. Law takes this warning to heart.

Nami stares in horror because her brother is a self-sacrificing idiot, it's just like when he got struck by lightning on Skypeia except he's strung up by a fucking evil moron. She's screaming for him as Law frees him and they send off. Nami's helping bandage him and Sanji gives her that shit eating grin because he would always protect his little sister. He does it all over again with that damned self sacrificing smile as he signs his death warrant basically and Nami is screaming for him as he's promising to come back, and Nami knows he's believing that he'll come back but she figured out that this would either end in him leaving the crew or dying. She screams until her voice is raw and running after them to get him back. When Luffy and them make it to Zou everyone notices the teary eyes of Nami immediately as she latches to Luffy and Chopper hurls himself into Usopp's. Sanji is gone, his father took him to marry him off and if they don't get him back he might die. Luffy is staring at her because of Sanji's promise on Drum Island is ringing through the captain's head.

Sora, Bellemere, and Nojiko are staring at Sanji's bounty poster between working and trying to find news on the siblings. When the denden in town rings and someone comes to tell them it's for them and they all but run. It's Nami, she's sobbing and apologizing because it was the Vinsmoke's that took him. She and Luffy and several others are going after him, to get him back. Sora tells her as much as she can, being locked in medical meant she wasn't privy to as much as she would like, but still, better than nothing. Nami thanks them and says she'll call when they get him back. Bellemere holds her wife and daughter as they start sobbing and when she gets them home and calmed down she decides to cash in a few favors owed from her time as a marine. Several calls later she makes sure that there's back up for her kids, whether they want it or not. Come Hell or high-water Bellemere will not lose any of them. When the rescue team makes it to the carriage. Nami watches in horror at the hold these people have over her brother but steels herself as she marches forward after her captain falls. She marches over to Sanji and his eyes only show pain and sorrow and guilt as Nami slaps him, quickly pulling him into her arms and his whispered apologies but he he has to as he shoves her off. Luffy stands and yells at him, Nami staring after them while clenching her fists, tears spilling down her face because she's so angry. Angry at his dad for taking him away, angry that Sanji feels he has no choice, angry at herself for not fighting for him. Whole Cake continues normally but after though, small group of what seem to be Marines help the Strawhat Pirates on their escape. They're all about Bellemere's age, which confuses the rescue team and Sanji because why? After they make it to calmer waters the marines yell to them to tell Bellemere they're even now and to stop being so much like their mother. Luffy laughs and plants a big old kiss on Sanji's cheek as Nami yells back for them to fuck off essentially. They can't really think of better people to emanate. They go call their moms and sister and calm them down, more or less, they're pissed and rightfully so. They don't know Zeff is standing with them until he says something like 'I'm calling everyone who owes me favors now, your exhusband is dead, little sister' causing a ruckus on both sides of the denden. Don't piss of their moms.

[lovely-showtimes]

i'm in a very vicious cycle of wanting to write more characters than just tsukasa/wxs all the time -> not feeling confident in my ability to write them in character -> not having enough motivation to go and read other events that arent just wxs ones

[augustinewrites]

“sunflowers or peonies?”

“awe, nanami! i’m flattered—”

“they’re not for you,” nanami says flatly. “you can buy your own.”

shoko squints down at the man lying on her exam table, arm held up and behind his head. “i’m quite literally stitching you back together, you know.”

the blond thinks bitterly on what had landed him in her infirmary in the first place, injured and likely having to reschedule dinner tonight. it’s already well past the time he’d planned on picking you up, and the table he’d reserved at the new restaurant in roppongi has likely been given away.

he’s dreading calling to tell you, his heart already twinging at the idea of letting you down.

shoko stitches him up neatly, cleaning and covering it up with a layer of bandages. she offers him a hand to help him sit up, but he bypasses it to plant his palm against the cot, pushing himself up with a groan.

she rolls her eyes, peeling her gloves off and pulling her mask down, tossing them both into the trash. “clean and dress it at least twice a day. no sudden movements of strenuous activity for at least a week. if you ruin my work, i’ll put you on bedrest.”

she digs through her cabinets as he awkwardly pulls his shirt back on. his mind drifts to you as he does so. he’d lost his phone in the fight, so he hadn’t been able to tell you about cancelling.

he wonders if the pout on your lips is painted your lips that shade of red you’d been wearing when he’d first met you. wonders if you’re waiting wearing the dress he’d gifted you last week.

he’d really wanted to see you in that dress.

nanami sighs heavily as he does up the buttons, prompting shoko to glance over her shoulder at him.

“what’s wrong with you?” she asks, setting a small bottle of painkillers on the tray table next to him.

“i’m missing an important dinner,” he grumbles, wondering if just a bundle sunflowers or peonies from the small stall outside is enough. he should order you a proper bouquet from a shop. perhaps he can also book you a massage or—

a knock at the door interrupts his spiralling.

“oh!” shoko suddenly gasps. she reaches up, brushing a few stray hairs from his forehead and fixing it as best she can.

“what are you doing?” he asks, genuinely confused in this moment.

“you’ll see,” she simply grins, sending him a wink. then, “come in!”

the door to the infirmary opens to reveal…you.

“kento,” you breathe, the quiet click of your heels echoing through the empty room as you quickly walk towards him.

he’s shocked, but lets you carefully wrap your arms around him, cradling his head against your chest.

but before he knows it he’s holding onto you too, breathing in the deep, sweet scent of your perfume and focusing on the steady beat of your heart.

“what are you doing here?” he asks once you finally release him, taking your hands in his.

“shoko called me,” you tell him. “apparently…apparently i’m your emergency contact.”

his face is suddenly hot with embarrassment. he’d honestly forgotten about that. he hadn’t even realized he’d done it when yaga had asked him to update his information with the school. your name had been the first and only name to pop into his mind.

“sorry,” he apologizes quickly, dropping your hands. he jumped the gun, didn’t he? you’ve only been dating for six months… “i should have asked you first but—”

but no one knows me better than you.

a soft sigh slips from your lips as you sit next to him, with a gaze so reverent that it strips him to the bone. “i love you, kento. i will be your emergency contact as long as you want me to be.”

he whispers the words back to you, suddenly shy.

sometimes nanami lets himself slip a little too far into his own head, overthinking and a little insecure. but you’re always there, ready to coax him back into the light.

“you look beautiful,” he murmurs, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. he’s seen you in a lot of dresses, each one making him weak in the knees. but this dress…this one makes it a little hard for him to breathe.

“well, you still owe me a date,” you tell him, helping him up off the cot. “we could go to the ramen place across from my apartment.”

he wraps an arm around your shoulders, and you reach up to intertwine your fingers with his. “i’d go anywhere with you.”

[obbystars]

When Light Fades

Synopsis: To strive for immortality has severe consequences.

Notes: Sebastian Solace x GN!Reader / Reader is a subject for Urbanshade / Spoilers for Sebastian’s backstory / Experimental deaths + limbs being cut off / Takes place before the events of Pressure and leads up to it / Hadal Blacksite Lockdown event (Gunfire + death) / Cursing

Credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

(Saw a few fics of a reader who was an experiment like Sebastian here, so I decided to cook up my own. Well- This was just gonna be an idea, but as I was making this, the update came out and I felt more inspired and decided to try my hand at how the lockdown went…kinda. I’m actually really proud of this one.)

A new subject had arrived a few days ago. They moved him right next to your cell, and he looked to be around your age. You spotted the number on his shirt. “Z-13.” He mostly minded his own business and you did as well, but it’s been so long since you’ve spoken to someone else. So finally, you tapped on the window that separated you to get his attention.

At first, he wasn’t interested in talking to you but he soon started to come around and (try to) listen to you. The window muffled your voice, and he couldn’t catch your name. You couldn’t either, so in your head, you only called him Z-13. Maybe he did the same with your own number.

It was strange. Despite the complications of communicating to each other properly, sitting by the window with him was oddly comforting. You wondered if he felt the same as he leaned on the window. To him, you were always smiling when your eyes met. It was like you weren’t bothered by the situation at all, or maybe it was a mask to hide your fear. Maybe it was meant to comfort him as you were here before him. Maybe you knew what was coming, and you wanted to tell him to not be afraid.

Z-13 sometimes spotted you in the corner of your cell with a saddened look on your face. Sometimes it looked like you were about to cry. He wondered what happened that led you here. Was it the same reason as him? Were you robbed of your future just like he was?

Eventually, you were taken out of your cell and Z-13 watched you leave but not without giving him a smile and waving to him. He slowly lifted up his hand and slightly waved as you left your cell with a few people in white lab coats who were accompanied by two guards.

You were gone for a few hours and Z-13 had almost fallen asleep until he heard a gentle knock. You still had that same smile as you looked at him. For a moment, he smiled too.

Two days after you were placed back into your cell, you began to lose your vision. It was getting dark and blurry. You couldn’t see Z-13’s face anymore. By the seventh day, your vision had completely faded. Despite this, you somehow knew when the lights were on and when they were off. It wasn’t because of the faint click you could hear sometimes, you just knew. You can even sense a few people nearby. Z-13 was among one of them and was the closest, meanwhile the others were a bit further away. You can sense one roaming the halls as well.

You can even feel Z-13’s gaze on you. You wondered if he gradually noticed your change.

You had a few more tests the week after, and by the third week, you lost all feeling in your arms and legs. You can’t move them, you can’t feel if someone had touched them, nothing. The researchers had to drag you up into a wheelchair every time they needed you for another test. They even had to feed you as you couldn’t do it yourself.

You can feel eyes on you once again. Was it Z-13 looking at you? You hear faint banging and a faint voice. He must’ve noticed how you haven’t moved at all for a few hours and was trying to get your attention. You turned your head towards the general direction of the noise, and the banging stopped. He says something, but you don’t quite understand. You wish you can hear him more clearly.

You sense a few people approaching and hear your cell door open. Their footsteps get louder and they discuss something amongst themselves. One of them is really close to you.

“Can you feel me here?” They would ask.

You shook your head.

“How about here?”

No.

“Here?”

Nothing.

You only feel cold. You feel so cold. Were you dying? Is this what death feels like?

The person stands up and steps away. You hear them exchange a few words. Another one approaches you.

“Can you see us?”

No. You suddenly hear a click.

“Can you see this light?”

You nodded. Nothing else was said as you hear them leave, though they remained outside your cell for a while before walking away. You faintly hear Z-13 call out your number, at least you think he did.

…What was your number again? Why can’t you remember…

One day, Z-13 watched them take your body and leave without much discussion. A few hours went by. Hours turned into days, then into weeks, then into months. You never returned. The room was left empty and the lights inside the cell had turned off. Soon enough, it was his turn. Seeing only a glimpse of what you had to endure, he was afraid. He didn’t know if you were in pain as you never showed it, but he saw how the light in your eyes faded.

Z-13 suffered the effects of the experiments done to him alone.

Ten long years had passed since then. Z-13’s body had reformed into a mix of an anglerfish, a blue whale, great white shark, sea snake, silver spinyfin, mantis shrimp, and an extra unknown creature. He got what Urbanshade wanted, but he was a deemed a failure because of what he became. He was able to breathe underwater just like they wanted, but he was just some thing, some monster they created. He could barely look at his own reflection.

He’d overhear a guardsman talking and an idea suddenly comes to him. Once he was in the place he needed to be, he did not hesitate to act on it. Ten long, torturous years… Maybe he could finally be free if all things go according to plan.

He pretended to fall under the effects of the anesthesia and remained still for a while until the time was right. He was left unguarded. He wakes up and cautiously checks around, spotting only one guardsman.

Swift, yet still painful. It was the least they deserved. He quickly checked their body for something, anything that could open the locked doors and finds a keycard. Perfect. He grinned, quietly “thanking” Urbanshade for increasing his rank to MR-P. He knows where those creatures are being kept in. He’ll hold onto the shotgun as well.

With the keycard, he opened and freed as many as he possibly could before the guardsmen eventually surround him. Chaos would spread around the facility rapidly as the creatures relentlessly slaughtered those who got too close, who were in the way, or who had angered them for what they did to them. For locking them up for their sick experiments.

It didn’t take long for Z-13 to be identified and tracked down by other guardsmen. Once he emerged from the water, there was already a squad ready to greet him. He growled, wanting a taste of sweet revenge. He was already aware he can pack a punch thanks to the mantis shrimp DNA.

He was suddenly hit with the flash of a bright light. He covered his eyes as he yelled in pain.

“Arghhh!! You-!!” He almost fell back but he quickly caught himself. He got a quick glimpse of the one responsible for that flash. Without hesitating, he aimed his gun to them and pulled the trigger, “Piece of shit!!”

The blood splattered onto the floor and walls. Before his eyes could fully readjust and could pull the trigger again, he felt a few bullets pierce through one of his arms and some in his shoulder. He dropped the shotgun as he fell into the water where he emerged from, immediately swimming to cover as they shot into the water. He was lucky enough they missed.

He cursed, gripping his bleeding arm. He’ll leave a trail like this. He needs to move. It was hard to understand what the guardsmen above were saying, but no doubt it was further orders to follow and hunt him down. Right, after the results of his experimentation, it was later refined into a much more desired state. Majority if not all of the guardsmen now can breathe underwater.

He huffs, making up his mind and swimming away to find a safer place and hopefully something to patch up his wounds. With his uninjured arm, he manages to punch a path through in an attempt to escape them.

He looks back occasionally and listens for anything coming before continuing to wherever the path is taking him. He finally finds an opening and cautiously emerges from the water. It was quiet, mostly. There’s some distant noises, but they don’t sound like guardsmen. Once confirming it was clear, he climbs out. He hisses again, gripping the arm that was shot.

One way would potentially lead to more company, while the other leads further into the facility. An area that’s been cleared out already, so that’s where he heads to. The halls were empty. He can’t hear anything close by. There has to be something he can use here, something they left behind. Searching through every drawer and every room he could get into, sometimes even knocking down a door, he found everything but a medical kit. He kept some of the things he found though, like another gun he found and a flashlight.

He comes across a hallway he never often passed by. There was one unlocked room and the door opens upon detecting his presence. Some of the lights were knocked out already, but the glow from the tube in the other side of the room was still on. It was another containment cell for a creature they captured, one he doesn’t remember. He crawled his way inside and the door shuts behind him. His anglerfish lure blinks on as he gently pulls on it.

On one of the desks, he spots a medical kit and wasted no time to disinfect and wrap up his wounds. Then he notices a document that was left on the desk beside it. His ear-fins twitched as he glanced to the tube then back to the document. Curiosity eventually got the better of him and he opens it. His eyes widen once he sees a picture of you inside and some information.

Z-8. [First Name] [Last Name].

A subject used for an experiment to achieve immortality with the turritopsis dohrnii, otherwise known as the immortal jellyfish, as well as regenerative abilities of an octopus. Z-8 went through a series of “deaths” to study how the resurrection worked, but it turned out to be very similar to the actual jellyfish itself. They’d cut off limbs while the subject was still awake to study the regenerative abilities, and due to their poor execution, the subject had died to blood loss during some of those procedures. Still, the limbs grew back and immortality was achieved along with the ability to swim and breathe underwater, but the form the subject’s body took was undesirable and grotesque.

He looked up at the creature in the tube as he closed the document. This thing is you. A strange mix of a jellyfish and an octopus… But you’re still alive. Your loss of sight was due to your head forming into the hood of a jellyfish, almost appearing to be a veil, and the tentacles had stretched out from beneath it. Losing the feeling of your arms and legs were due to them forming into oral arms. Your torso leading up to your neck and stopping just above your mouth before it formed the hood.

He wants to get you out, but he’ll need to get you underwater. With the way your body had morphed, it wasn’t one to traverse easily on dry land. He’ll have to carry you as long as you don’t accidentally sting him. That’ll be a serious issue.

The card he has should have clearance to release you. Considering the part of the facility he’s in, there has to be a place big enough for you. One that leads outside too. Once the tube is drained and you descend to the bottom of the tube, it opens and he catches you before you fell onto the floor. The texture of your skin now made it a bit difficult to keep a grip on you but he managed to find a way that wouldn’t allow you to slip.

It doesn’t take too long for him to find a hall with its ceiling collapsed and its floor leaving a hole that leads into the floor below. That room was filled to the brim with water, and no doubt the next few rooms were to be as well. One of those rooms has to have broken off, leaving an opening to escape the facility. He carefully sets you down into the water but gets startled when you suddenly gasp and panic, wiggling out of his grasp. This caused him to drop you and splash into the water.

“H-Hey! Wait!!” He calls.

The waters settles for a bit until it bubbled and you reemerge from the water. You didn’t exactly look up at him until you sensed his light. This was the first time he gets to talk to you without a glass between you two. With how your body is now, however, he won’t be too surprised if you lost your voice as well.

“[Name], right?”

You nodded. Part of him was relieved your memory was still intact, so he continued with a smile. One he hoped you could sense in his voice.

“I’m sure you probably know me as “Z-13.” You and I were placed in cells beside each other?”

You nodded again.

“My name is Sebastian,”

Beneath the hood, he saw you smile, “H..Hello… Sebastian,”

You still had your voice.

I don’t think you guys know how happy I am with how this turned out. I don’t know why but I do really like this one.

I might end up using this concept for an OC if I’m being honest…

[primofate]

You are the embodiment of fairness...

is what Neuvillette believes. There is not a single hair on your body that is selfish. Not a single thought in your mind that strays into evil thoughts.

The Chief Justice is just as fair, just as sensible. Though on you, he stays his gaze for a moment longer. Allows the slightest tug upward of his lips as you discuss the latest trial with him. The difference between the two of you? He doesn't think that he is as "well-behaved" as you are. There have definitely been times where he had thought to abandon his gentlemanly and prestigious image, just to lean in and brush his fingers on your cheek. Thankfully, so far, he hasn't done so, even though the two of you had decided to enter a romantic relationship.

The Chief Justice was very guarded, but so were you. The two of you were never seen together, only in the privacy of his home or yours did the two of you enjoy each other's company. Perhaps only his most trusted Melusines knew. Professionalism was important.

"I hope the next trial resolves to your liking, Neuvillette," you smile knowing what his answer would be.

"It isn't my thoughts that are important, Y/N-" he starts and he finishes his sentence at the same time as you chide in with him.

"It's the evidence. I know, I know,"

You bid him goodbye rather curtly, not even a kiss, just a brief pat on the arm. It's working hours, and it's not the time to do such a thing.

Working hours.

As the Chief Justice sat in court, trial in session, he locks eyes with you, the accused. He recognizes the confusion in your eyes as genuine, the hidden panic behind clear as day.

"Neuvil--Your honour," You catch yourself, voice trembling a little. "This is a mistake, it wasn't me,"

and yet all the evidence points to you. Photographs, witness accounts, the hat that you'd left behind in the crime scene. No matter which way you look, the answer was you.

"Guilty," was all he could muster, when he usually said more. His hand looked for the oratrice, hoping that the machine would give him something different, but he already knew it in his heart.

"According to the judgement of the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale, the accused, L/N Y/N is..."

One second.

Two.

Three seconds.

Four.

The crowd started to bristle a little.

At five he opened his mouth, and closed it again, gritting his teeth in secret.

At six, he repeated his own words. "Guilty,"

Cheers erupted from the audience, he could not bring himself to look at your face, though he heard you loud and clear.

"No! NO! This is a mistake! I didn't kill anyone!" Your hysterics were comparable to a mother who had lost her child. To a hardworking man watching his hard earned house burn down.

"NEUVILLETTE PLEASE!"

The Gardes struggled, just as they always did, but you pushed forward, unable to understand nor accept what happened. At that moment you had not noticed the tears of desperation running down your cheeks.

You were going to that underwater prison forever. Dark and alone. What if the sea swallowed you? Or worse, what if the silence swallowed you? All by yourself hundreds of feet below, drowning was such an easy possibility.

Neuvillette almost grimaces, but keeps his face hard as stone. There are a thousand things running in his mind...but the Oratrice was absolute, and so was its verdict.

"Bring the accused to The Fortress of Meropide,"

The wails you let out haunted him, more than any other trial had.

Author's Note: Hello! This is just a quick update, literally wrote it in 30 minutes so excuse any pronoun slips or mistakes! I just wanted to let everyone know I am great and still playing Genshin! Just a quick reminder that The Ruthless Prince is still available on Amazon in paperback and all my previous works are still accessible in my Masterlist!

Do let me know what you think of this one though, and if you think I should turn it into a full fic!

[blackbirdie1234]

Paul's Imprint

What being Paul’s imprint would be like.

A/N: Not proofread. Hope you guys enjoy this and let me know if you would like me to do the other pack members or the Cullens(what being their mates/bloodsingers would be like). I really appreciate all of the likes and reposts! Thank you all so much and I am glad you like my fics :)

Being Paul’s imprint would require A LOT of patience.

He has a soft spot for you, so his anger wouldn’t be taken out on you or directed much toward you, but that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t see his bad side. When someone in the pack pisses him off he usually gets upset and phases. They fight it out, and then he comes home. He is either still upset or wants serious attention. If it’s the former expect some attitude and him taking it out on basically everything else but you. He might be aggressive with things, slamming things down and being loud. You would probably need to give him some time to cool off some more before trying to comfort him. If it’s the latter then you will have to have a cuddle session, his favorite position is laying in the bed or couch with his head in your chest and you playing with his hair and talking about your day. Your voice soothes him and calms him down, so he likes it when you talk to him. He could care less what you talk about, you could tell him about your day, or how much you hate that one girl in your math class because she chews gum loudly, you could literally talk about anything and he would be content. 

Being Paul’s imprint means a lot of love and affection.

When he isn’t on patrol, he is with you. He will be on you and hugging you all of the time. Now if you have trauma with affection or just don't like to be touched he would 100% respect your boundaries, but he would try and find small ways to show and get affection. Like holding your hand or even just touching his pinky against yours when you are next to each other. He would find ways that wouldn’t make you uncomfortable and was still getting his needs met. He doesn’t mind showing his affection in front of others either, he could give less of a fuck if the pack teases him. He loves you and doesn’t care who knows it. At the beginning of your relationship, he was very careful, learning what you liked and what you disliked. He was also very subtle with his affection but he still craved it just as much as he does now. He would softly play with the hair on the back of your head while talking by the fire, small and soft touches here and there, he would DEFINITELY do that thing where guys softly touch your waist while moving behind you.

Being Paul's imprint means you would spend a lot of time with the other imprints.

You would probably be close with the other imprints. Having a werewolf boyfriend isn’t exactly normal. You might feel alone or lost a bit in the beginning. Paul was one of the first to phase, which means you most likely were also one of the first imprints. Especially if you knew Paul before the transition. Emily was one of the first imprints you met, she was so sweet and welcoming to you, and your bond turned into a sibling relationship. She treated you like family right away and made sure you knew that you were always welcome. You met the others as they became a part of the family and now you spend a lot of your time with them. You do a bunch of group things together, shopping, baking, cooking, movie nights, and of course bonfires. You all enjoy each other's company. The boys are on patrol a lot and it helps everyone get their minds off of missing them. 

Being Paul’s imprint means late-night texts and calls.

Again, the boys are on patrol any time of the day or night. When Paul takes the night shift he makes sure to update you and let you know that he is safe. He is also expecting the same from you. He misses your voice, especially when your schedule gets busy and you can’t see each other as much. Sometimes he’s able to slip away for a second to see you, give you a hug and a kiss and then he is back out patrolling. He does it more often if he is patrolling near your house, mainly so he can do it quickly before Sam notices that he is missing and makes him come back.

Being Paul’s imprint means he is VERY protective of you.

He is already a protective person, it doesn’t matter if it is his friend, family, or even a stranger. He will take a bullet for someone he doesn’t know, it’s just in his nature. For you on the other hand, he would take that bullet and then hunt the person who shot it down until they beg you for forgiveness for even daring to THINK about hurting you, all the while he is still bloody and hurt. His protectiveness also correlates with his jealousy. He is a very jealous person when he is in a relationship. Even though you are his imprint he still can’t help but let the green-eyed monster loose whenever another person hits on you or checks you out. He knew you were hot, but you were for his eyes only. Being a werewolf means having to control your anger, but Paul was never really good at that, so most of the time it was you who had to calm him down. You didn’t want your boyfriend to maul someone, especially not in public. You were the only person who could calm him down fully, you would reach for him with your soft touch and everything else would fade away. Sometimes all you had to do was give him a stern look and he would cool himself off not wanting to make you upset. It bothered you sometimes how angry he would get, you tell him all the time that he is the only one for you and he has nothing to worry about but he still lets his jealousy get in the way of reasoning. 

[bloodreinasbathwater]

Xo Xo Gossip Girl

Pairing: Jack Hughes x Gossip Blogger! Reader

Part 1

a:n The way I find myself digging for the perfect chapter gif only to scroll for five minutes and save my favorites is so embarrassing. I'm gonna need his girlfriend to hand over that game card... anyway hope u like this chapter.

word count - 4k

Masterlist Link

GIF by wyattjohnston

...

HOCKEY HEARTBREAK: THE REAL REASON BEHIND THE HUGHES-DEGREGIO SPLIT

Posted by Y/N @ The Daily Whisper | 11:42 PM

Settle in, Whisper Warriors, because do I have some piping hot tea for you tonight.

You know those moments when the universe just hands you the story of the year? Well, last Saturday at Vibe, somewhere between my second cosmopolitan and watching Matt Rempe fail at dancing (yes, that's tea for another day), I quite literally bumped into none other than Serena DeGregio. And let me tell you, after a few shots of liquid courage, Hollywood's newest "it girl" was ready to spill everything about her recent split from hockey's favorite bad boy, Jack Hughes.

Now, we've all seen the headlines: "Hockey Heartthrob and Rising Star Call It Quits." But the real story? It's juicier than your mom's Thanksgiving turkey.

According to Serena, our beloved hockey star couldn't handle being the second name in the relationship. While she was booking Netflix specials and selling out concert venues, Jack was sidelined with a shoulder injury that kept him off the ice for three months. And apparently, watching your girlfriend's face on every billboard in Times Square does things to a man's ego.

"He's still stuck in that high school hockey star mentality," Serena told me, twirling the olive in her martini. "You know the type – peaked at eighteen, never had to grow up because everything came easy."

But here's where I have to play devil's advocate (and maybe it's because I've seen those ice-blue eyes up close at press events). Having covered Jack's career since his rookie year, there's more to him than Serena's bitter pill would have you swallow. This is the same guy who started a youth hockey program in underprivileged neighborhoods. The same player who spent his injury rehab volunteering at children's hospitals. And let's be real – anyone who's seen him handle a puck knows he definitely hasn't peaked.

Maybe it's the journalist in me, but something about this story feels... incomplete. There's always two sides to every breakup, isn't there?

Update coming soon... if I can track down Mr. Hughes for his side of the story 😉

...

Y/N stretched back in her purple velvet office chair, admiring her latest post on the screen. Her "lair," as she liked to call it, was her happy place – fairy lights twinkling across the ceiling, framed magazine covers featuring her biggest stories adorning the coral-painted walls, and her trusty mini-fridge humming softly in the corner, stocked with Diet Coke and chocolate-covered almonds.

The story was already gaining traction, comments pinging faster than she could read them. Her phone buzzed – Alyssa's face lighting up the screen. Y/N smiled, knowing her best friend had probably already devoured every word. As the head of corporate sponsorships at Manhattan's largest sports marketing firm, Alyssa always had the best insider information – and opinions to match.

"Y/N! Have you lost your mind?" Alyssa didn't even wait for a hello. "That post about Jack and Serena is everywhere! My entire office is buzzing about it. The PR team for the Rangers is having a field day."

"Good evening to you too, bestie." Y/N spun lazily in her chair, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips.

"Never mind pleasantries. I have information that's going to make your next post even bigger." Y/N could hear the smile in her voice. "You know that charity gala at The Plaza next weekend? The one my firm is coordinating with?"

Y/N threw her head back and groaned dramatically. The motion made her neck crack, and she absently rubbed it while whining, "Don't rub it in. I've been trying to get press credentials for weeks. Even my usual connections couldn't get me in."

"Well, guess who's not only attending but is being honored for his youth hockey program?"

Y/N shot forward so fast her chair rolled back and hit the wall, rattling her framed cover of Time Magazine. "Jack Hughes."

"Bingo. And since I'm basically running the whole event..." Alyssa paused for dramatic effect. "I happen to have an extra ticket with your name on it. Perks of being best friends with someone who has to make sure all the corporate sponsors play nice with their hockey darlings."

"Shut up!" Y/N leaped out of her chair, nearly tripping over her discarded shoes in excitement. She caught herself on the edge of her desk, sending a stack of press releases flying. "Alyssa Martinez, you beautiful genius! How did you swing that?"

"Let's just say I convinced the foundation board that having an influential blogger there would be good publicity for their youth programs." Alyssa's voice took on a more serious tone. "Though after this post, I might have some explaining to do. You better make this worth it."

Y/N's heart raced as she glanced at her blog post still glowing on the screen, her mind already spinning with possibilities. "Trust me, this is going to be the story of the year."

"I'm counting on it. My reputation is on the line here too, you know. These athletes might be my clients, but you're my best friend. Don't make me regret mixing the two."

"Have I ever let you down before?" Y/N was already opening her notes app, fingers flying across the keyboard.

"There's a first time for everything," Alyssa teased. "So, are you ready to get the other side of the story?"

...

One Week Later

Y/N stood before her full-length mirror, smoothing down the silk of her black dress. Beside her, Alyssa was applying a final coat of mascara, her own black dress a perfect complement with its off-shoulder design.

"Stop overthinking it," Alyssa said, catching Y/N's distant expression in the mirror. "I can literally see the gears turning in your head."

Y/N sighed, fiddling with her delicate silver necklace. The blog post about Jack and Serena had exploded over the past week, becoming her most viral story to date. But something about it had been nagging at her, keeping her up at night as she replayed Serena's words in her mind.

"It's just..." Y/N paused, carefully considering her words. "What if we got it wrong? What if Serena isn't the victim she's making herself out to be?"

Alyssa raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you second-guess a source?"

"Since something doesn't add up." Y/N moved to her vanity, pretending to touch up her subtle smoky eye while her thoughts raced. "I've been doing some digging. Every charity event, every hospital visit, every youth program – Jack Hughes doesn't publicize any of it. His team's PR doesn't even push it. What kind of attention-seeking bad boy does good deeds and keeps them quiet?"

"So you think Serena's lying?"

"I think..." Y/N turned to face her friend, determination settling over her features. "I think she's a scorned ex trying to control the narrative. And maybe... maybe I helped her do it."

Alyssa's lips curved into a knowing smile. "And this sudden crisis of conscience has nothing to do with those ice-blue eyes you mentioned in your post?"

"This isn't about that," Y/N protested, but she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. "This is about the truth. The real story." She grabbed her clutch, checking one last time that her phone and recorder were inside. "Every good journalist knows there are two sides to every story. It's time I found out his."

"Well then," Alyssa linked their arms together, leading them toward the door. "Let's go get your story, Lois Lane."

As they stepped into the waiting car, Y/N's mind was already racing with possibilities. She'd built her career on exposing the truth, even when it wasn't pretty. But tonight felt different. Tonight, she wasn't just chasing a story – she was chasing redemption. And maybe, just maybe, she'd find out who the real Jack Hughes was in the process.

The Plaza Hotel beckoned in the distance, its lights twinkling against the Manhattan skyline like a beacon. Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. Bad boy or misunderstood hero, she was going to find out the truth – even if it meant admitting she got it wrong the first time.

...

Jack's pov

Jack's knee wouldn't stop bouncing under the pristine white tablecloth, making the water in his parents' glasses ripple like tiny earthquakes. Luke, ever the annoying little brother, flicked his ear.

"Dude, you're making the whole table shake. What's got you so worked up?" Luke's grin was nothing short of devilish. "Could it be a certain viral blog post about your 'high school mentality'?"

Jack pinched the sensitive spot under Luke's bicep, earning a satisfying yelp. "Shut up, man. At least I didn't trip over my own skates at practice yesterday."

"Boys," Ellen Hughes' warning tone cut through their bickering. She smoothed her navy dress with one hand while giving them both the look – the one that had stopped many locker room fights in their youth. "You're at a charity gala, not the rink. Act like grown men, please?"

"Yes, Mom," they chorused in unison, sharing a quick grin that made their father Jim chuckle behind his menu.

Jack let out a heavy breath, tugging at his bow tie. It felt too tight, like everything else lately – the press, the expectations, the endless questions about Serena. His leg started bouncing again.

"That's it." He pushed back from the table, his chair scraping against the floor. "I need a drink."

"Water," his mother called after him. "You have a speech to give!"

Jack waved in acknowledgment, weaving through the sea of evening gowns and tuxedos. His shoulder twinged – phantom pain from the injury that had started this whole mess. Or maybe it was just his body's reaction to stress. The blog post had been everywhere this week, his phone blowing up with messages from teammates asking if he'd seen it.

He had. Multiple times. Each read made him want to throw his phone into the Hudson.

Reaching the bar, he slumped against the polished marble, pressing his forehead to the cool surface for just a moment. "Water, please," he groaned to the bartender. "Still, not sparkling."

"Trouble in paradise?"

The voice was unfamiliar, tinged with curiosity and something else he couldn't quite place. Jack lifted his head to find a woman in a black dress perched on the barstool next to him, stirring what looked like a cosmopolitan with delicate fingers. She wasn't looking at him directly, but he could see the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Before he could respond, a flash of red appeared in his peripheral vision, and he had to fight the urge to groan out loud.

"Jackie!" The voice was unmistakable – Rebekah Chen, Page Six's most persistent reporter. Her red dress matched her lipstick, both as bold as her personality. She latched onto his arm like a barnacle, fake nails digging into his jacket. "I've been trying to reach you all week!"

Jack threw his head back, closing his eyes as if that might make her disappear. "Not today, Rebekah," he muttered, feeling every muscle in his jaw tense. His hand curled around the water glass the bartender had just set down, knuckles white.

"Oh, come on!" She pressed closer, her voice dropping to what she probably thought was a seductive whisper. "Just a few questions. I can help you clear the air about that nasty blog post. Make that gossip guru eat her words." She batted her eyelashes. "All I need is a teensy exclusive about what really happened with Serena."

Jack's laugh was hollow as he extracted his arm from her grip. "Right, because that worked out so well the last time." He took a long drink of water, adam's apple bobbing as he tried to maintain his composure. "No comment, Rebekah. Same as yesterday, and the day before that, and—"

"But Jackie—"

"Not happening." Jack's voice was firm as steel. "There's nothing to say, Rebekah. Not to you, not to anyone."

Rebekah huffed, her red lips turning down into a pout. She opened her mouth to protest again, but something in Jack's expression must have finally gotten through. With a dramatic sigh and flip of her hair, she clicked away on her stilettos, no doubt in search of easier prey.

Jack's shoulders dropped as tension bled out of them. He turned back to the bar, catching the mystery woman in black watching him in the mirror behind the bottles. When their eyes met, she didn't look away.

"That happen often?" she asked, taking a slow sip of her cosmopolitan.

Jack let out a dry laugh, running a hand through his carefully styled hair. "More than I'd like. Apparently, 'no comment' is journalist-speak for 'try harder.'" He paused, studying her reflection. "Though you don't seem like the pushy type."

"Maybe I'm just better at playing the long game." The corner of her mouth quirked up, and she turned to face him properly. "Besides, the real story usually isn't found in ambushing someone at a bar."

"Exactly." He found himself leaning against the bar, angling toward her. There was something about her that made him want to keep talking. "Like this blog post that went viral this week. Everyone's got an opinion about who I am, what I did wrong, but—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Sorry, you probably haven't even seen it."

She hummed noncommittally, that almost-smile playing on her lips again. "I might have caught it. Though I tend to be more interested in the stories that don't make headlines."

"Like what?"

"Like why a professional hockey player spends his injury rehab teaching kids to skate in Harlem instead of lounging on some beach somewhere."

Jack blinked, caught off guard. He'd been careful about keeping that quiet. "How did you—"

"Just someone who pays attention," she said, gathering her clutch. "The real story isn't always the loudest one, is it?"

Before Jack could process what she meant, Luke's voice carried across the room. "Jack! Mom says get back here. Speech time!"

The woman in black slid off her barstool with practiced grace. "Sounds like you're needed elsewhere."

"Wait," Jack said, suddenly not wanting her to disappear into the crowd. "I didn't catch your name."

"Y/N," she offered, and for a moment, her smile was full and genuine. "Good luck with your speech, Jack.”

She moved past him, the subtle scent of her perfume lingering. Jack found himself watching her weave through the crowd, his mind replaying their conversation. There had been something different about her – the way she'd asked questions without really asking them, how she'd known about his volunteer work but hadn't tried to use it against him like Rebekah would have.

"Dude." Luke appeared at his elbow, poking him in the ribs. "Stop staring into space. Mom's going to kill us both if you're late for your own award."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming." Jack followed his brother back to their table, but his eyes kept scanning the crowd. He spotted her finally, sliding into a seat near the back beside another woman in black. As if sensing his gaze, she glanced up, raising her cosmopolitan in a small salute.

For the first time in weeks, Jack felt himself genuinely smile.

...

"...and with your continued support, we can make sure every kid who wants to play hockey has that chance, regardless of their circumstances. Thank you."

The ballroom erupted in applause. Jack's shoulders relaxed slightly – public speaking had never been his favorite part of the job, but at least this speech was about something that mattered.

Near the back of the room, Y/N leaned toward Alyssa. "We should go," she whispered, gathering her clutch. "We're not gonna get anything else tonight."

Alyssa nodded, already standing. "At least the champagne was good."

They slipped out as the crowd continued clapping, their heels clicking against the marble floors of The Plaza's ornate lobby. Y/N's mind was already spinning with how she'd write this up – not the puff piece everyone would expect, but something different. Something true.

"Y/N!"

The call echoed through the lobby, making her freeze mid-step. That voice – she'd just been listening to it give a speech about youth hockey programs and second chances.

She turned slowly, Alyssa's hand gripping her arm in surprise. Jack Hughes was jogging toward them, bow tie slightly askew, still slightly breathless from his speech. His hair was ruffled like he'd been running his hands through it, and there was a slight flush to his cheeks that hadn't been there at the bar.

"I—" he started, then seemed to realize he was still slightly out of breath. His hand came up to rest gently on her bare arm, the touch surprisingly warm. "Hey."

Y/N's eyebrows rose. "Hey yourself. Shouldn't you be back there accepting congratulations?"

He waved his free hand dismissively, though he didn't move the one on her arm. "They'll survive without me for a few minutes." His ice-blue eyes darted between her and Alyssa, a mix of nervousness and determination crossing his features. "You should come out with us. Both of you," he added quickly, offering Alyssa a genuine smile. "My teammates are headed to this bar just down the street. Nothing fancy, just... drinks. And conversation."

The way he said 'conversation' made Y/N's pulse quicken. There was weight behind it, meaning she couldn't quite decipher.

"I don't know," she started, but Alyssa cut her off.

"We'd love to," her supposed best friend said, ignoring Y/N's sharp look. "Lead the way, Hughes."

Jack's face broke into a grin that transformed his entire appearance. Gone was the serious hockey player from the podium, replaced by something younger, lighter. "Great! I just need to grab Luke and dodge my parents." He squeezed Y/N's arm gently before letting go. "Don't leave, okay? Five minutes, tops."

He was already backing away, that grin still in place. "Wait for me," he called out, just before turning.

Y/N waited until he was out of earshot before turning to Alyssa. "What are you doing?"

"Getting you the real story," Alyssa smirked, already typing on her phone. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. She thought about Jack's smile, the warmth of his hand on her arm, the way he'd said 'conversation' like he was offering something more than just drinks and small talk.

"Five minutes," she conceded, trying not to smile at Alyssa's triumphant expression. "But if this backfires, I'm blaming you."

"Honey," Alyssa linked their arms, steering them toward the bar's entrance. "Something tells me this is going to be the best story you've ever written."

...

The bass thrummed through Y/N's bones as they approached the club, the line wrapping around the building like a snake. Jack stayed close to her side, his presence warm and solid as they bypassed the queue entirely.

"Mr. Hughes," the security guard nodded, unhooking the velvet rope without hesitation. "Welcome back."

Inside, bodies packed the dance floor, but Jack navigated them through the crowd with practiced ease. His hand ghosted over Y/N's lower back, guiding her through the maze of people until they reached a raised section cordoned off with another rope. Several men Y/N recognized from hockey highlights were sprawled across the plush booths, drinks already flowing.

"Look who finally made it!" Luke called out, now free of his bow tie and jacket. "We were starting to think Mom trapped you in conversation with the Vanderbilts again."

"Barely escaped," Jack laughed, helping Y/N up the small steps before following. "Everyone, this is Y/N and Alyssa."

The team welcomed them warmly, shuffling to make space. Y/N found herself wedged between Jack and the booth's arm, hyperaware of every point where their bodies touched. Her notebook felt like it was burning a hole in her clutch.

"I'm telling you," one of the players – Miller, according to his heated gesture at his teammate – was saying, "game seven, '94 Finals. Best hockey game ever played."

"You weren't even born yet!" Another player – Thompson – argued back. "2010 Olympics, Canada versus USA. That's peak hockey right there."

"You're both wrong," Luke interjected, leaning forward. "2018 World Juniors, outdoor game. Nothing beats playing in actual snow."

"That's because you scored the winning goal, you biased little shit," Jack laughed, his arm sliding naturally along the booth behind Y/N. The movement brought him closer, his cologne mixing with the lingering scent of his aftershave.

"What about you?" he asked, turning those blue eyes on her. "You follow hockey long?"

"My dad used to play," she found herself saying truthfully. "Nothing professional, just beer league, but he loved it. Taught me to skate before I could walk."

Something in Jack's expression softened. "Mine too. Well, him and my mom..." He shifted, angling toward her more fully. "It's different now though, isn't it? The pressure. Everyone watching, waiting for you to mess up. Luke and Quinn, they get it, but we're barely home at the same time anymore. Summer's all we got, really. And even then..." He trailed off, vulnerability flickering across his features in the dim light.

Y/N's chest tightened. This wasn't the cocky player from the tabloids or the bitter ex-boyfriend from Serena's story. This was just... Jack. Raw and real and trusting her with pieces of himself she had no right to.

"I need a drink," she blurted, already sliding out of the booth. "Excuse me."

She practically fled to the bar, gripping the edge of it when she reached it. "Whiskey sour," she managed when the bartender looked her way. "Strong."

"Oh my god, Y/N!"

She turned to find Rebekah Chen stumbling slightly, clearly several drinks in. Her red dress was slightly askew, her lipstick smudged at one corner.

"Is Jack here?!" Rebekah's voice pitched high with excitement.

"No," Y/N said firmly, accepting her drink from the bartender. "He's not."

"Ugh." Rebekah deflated, then perked up again almost instantly. "But oh my god, you'll never believe what Serena told me about him." She leaned in conspiratorially, alcohol heavy on her breath. "He's a total player. Like, major cheater. She said he was always sliding into girls' DMs when they were together, coming to places like this..." She gestured around the club. "Getting with random girls behind her back."

Y/N's eyes widened despite herself. The Jack she'd just left didn't seem capable of that kind of betrayal, but...

"Yeah!" Rebekah pressed on, encouraged by Y/N's reaction. "Serena has receipts too. Screenshots, dates, everything. She's just waiting for the right moment to release them." She swayed slightly. "Guess the golden boy isn't so golden after all, right?"

Y/N's drink suddenly felt heavy in her hand. Behind her, she could hear Jack's laugh carrying over the music, warm and genuine. She thought about how carefully he'd helped her through the crowd, how softly he'd spoken about his brothers.

How absolutely screwed she was if she was starting to believe in him.

...

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[mountainsandmayhem]

Just One More, Baby

18+, Minors Do Not Interact Pairing: Pleasure!Dom Pike x Female!Reader Word Count: 2.8k Summary: Just a casual evening with your pleasure dom husband and as many as orgasm as he thinks you can handle. There is zero plot here, people. CW: so many orgasms, light bondage, temperature play, use of pet names (baby, honey, etc.) praise kink (obviously, unless you're new here. In that case; hi, welcome, I have a praise kink), aftercare AN: I need this man more than I need food or oxygen or money. I'm out of my mind over him and I curse the day I decided to watch these random ass episodes of The Mentalist. Friendy reminder that I am phasing out my tag list, so please follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates and turn on the notifications to stay up to date. Thank you so much for reading, where's my Pike Army? XO Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist

The warm oil drizzles over your mound, spreading across your hips and cunt. You let out a pained hiss when it hits your sore and overstimulated clit.

“Ouuchh,” you whine, your breathing shudders. 

“You’ve been such a good girl,” Marcus murmurs, watching the oil as it beads and rolls in every direction. “Just relax.” 

You close your eyes and try to steady your breathing. Relaxing the muscles in your arms and legs that have been pulling at the soft silk restraints for god knows how long as Marcus pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you. 

He is still dressed, he had only managed to remove his suit jacket and tie before he started. He has the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled to his elbows, still tucked into the dark blue dress pants you picked up from the dry cleaner yesterday. His belt is still on, too, shoes toed off at some point during his slow torture. 

You, on the other hand, are completely naked. A delicate, white silk tie around your wrists that is then looped through the headboard, stretching your arms above your head. Your ankles are held much in the same way, one tie on each ankle, keeping your legs spread wide.

He’s used every means available to him to make you come tonight; fingers, tongue, your small purple vibrator, a dildo, or a combination of one or two of those things. He’s done everything except fuck you. At some point you lost count of the orgasms, lost track of when one would end and the next would start. 

The oil starts to soothe the dull ache he’s caused at the apex of your thighs. Marcus’s intention is never to cause you pain, but tonight you learned that too much pleasure can feel like torture. 

You let out a content sigh, muscles going gooey and pliant. “There’s my girl,” he says proudly, his strong hands coming to your hips, his thumbs needing the muscles along the crevice of your leg and pelvis. 

He clears his throat gently. “I think I counted sixteen.” 

You smirk and let out a small giggle, eyes still closed as you relax into his touches. He kisses the plush skin along your lower belly. His soft velvety lips are gentle, granted Marcus Pike is always gentle. Yes, he’ll tie you down or make you orgasm so many times you black out, but he’s always soft and warm. Always asking for permissions. Always explaining exactly what’s going to happen before it does - not that you have an option, or want an option if you’re being honest.

“Baby girl?” He mumbles, his breath hitting the oil, warming your most sensitive spots. You shudder, an icy shiver running down your spine at the feel of him. “Think we can get you to twenty?” 

His hands move to massage the tops of your thighs, thumbs crawling closer and closer to your pussy. Your clit twitches at the promise of him giving you another orgasm, that blissful tingle causes the tired and overworked walls of your cunt to flutter. Pleasure followed by a dull painful ache waves across your center and mix of a whine and whimper fills the room.

“What’s the matter, baby?”

His thumbs come to carefully pull apart your puffy outer lips. Watching intently as the oil coats your glistening folds. A moan rumbled in his chest, “Beautiful.” 

“I’m sensitive, Marcus,” you murmur, pulling at the silk ties he has your hands bound above your head with.

“I know, this perfect little pussy has taken so much. And you’ve been so brave and submissive. I’m so proud of you, honey.” He places a light kiss on the patch of hair right above your clit. 

Your orgasm happens so quickly and without him even touching you. A lustful gasp leaves your lips as you shake under him. His voice is full of lustful admiration as he says, “Good job, baby.”

Your muscles tense, hands fisting, as the orgasm rolls through you. You whine his name, equally desperate for the orgasm to end but also for it to never stop. “Just relax, that’s my good girl.” 

“Oh god,” your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath. 

“Look at me, darling.” Marcus said sweetly, the soft pads of his thumbs running up and down the slick lips of your pussy. 

You look down at him, the soft expression of his face riddling you with emotions. You can feel the tears prickle behind your eyes. Tears of what you aren’t sure. Happiness, that’s for sure. But also a sense of overwhelm and insatiable need, it’s all mixed together. You can stop it, a hot tear runs down your flushed cheek. 

“It’s ok. I’m right here,” He says softly. “You can do this, baby. Just three more, then I’ll run you a bubble bath and give you my sweat pants and all the cuddles. Can you do that? Can you give me three more?” 

“No,” you say through a shaky breath. He’s trying to kill you, you’re sure of it. And while death by orgasm might sound like a great way to go, your pussy is aching and tired. 

His thumbs stop their ministrations. 

“Do you need to use your safe word?” 

You shake your head, “No.”

He lowers his mouth to your swollen clit, lightly feathers his tongue over the tender bundle of nerves. You pull so hard on the restraints that the delicate silk snaps and your hands card through his hair, pulling him back. He has you on that paper thin line of pain and pleasure, but the slight attention to your puffy clit slices through you. “Nonono - please stop.” 

“Do you need to use your safe word?” He asks again.

You shake your head no.

“Do you need me to go get some ice? Make my tongue nice and cold, then make your pussy feel better?” 

“Yes, please.” You pout, sticking out your bottom lip. 

Marcus stands and removes his belt. “Ok baby, but first, my naughty little girl broke her restraints. Arms up.”

You put your arms back above your head and he expertly loops the belt around your wrists. He leaves the scraps of silk that are still around your delicate wrists and then wraps the belt around the headboard.

He stands beside the bed, looking down at you hungrily. “Fuck, I could torture you for hours,” his eyes flick to the alarm clock across the from you and then back to your flushed face. Smirking a little, he corrects himself. “I already have been, so I guess I should say that I will never be sick of seeing you like this. So submissive and sweet. Listening to my every word. Teetering on the edge of pain and pleasure. You’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” 

He runs the back of his hand down your cheek, you keen into his touch and smile at him. “Yes, I’m a good girl, Marcus.” 

He bends down, kissing your forehead and then the tip of your nose before he walks out of the bedroom. You look him up and down, so sexy in his dress pants and white dress shirt, his strong, veiny forearms on display. You had no idea what you were in for when he ditched the tie and suit jacket the moment he walked in the door tonight. But you knew that look. When frustration etched his eyebrows and a hunger flashed in his eyes. You knew he needed an escape, and you knew it came in the form doing exactly as he says.  

Marcus grabs a small bowl and fills it with ice from the freezer. He grabs you a bottle of water and then pops an ice cube in his mouth, letting the frozen water melt on his tongue as he walks back up the stairs. As he re-enters the bedroom he sees you lying there - spread eagle and arms bound, eyes closed peacefully, long lashes resting on your cheeks. Your swollen tits rise and fall, nipples hard and slightly purple from the rose gold clamps he had on them earlier. You look sinful and delicious. He meant what he said, he could do this to you forever and never get sick of it. But as your pleasure dom he knows he’s going to have to stop soon. The folds of your pussy are puffy and red, he sucks the ice cube harder, making it small enough so he can speak. 

“Goddamn,” it comes out as groan. “You’re so fuckin beautiful.” 

You flutter your eyes open, “So are you.” 

You swear he blushes as a shy smile crosses his face. “I’m going to make it all better now, baby. I’m going to use my mouth to make you come again now. My tongue is nice and cool, it should help with that ache.”

He puts the water on the bench at the foot of the bed and then climbs between your legs, placing the bowl of ice on the bed beside your hip. “Are you ready, baby girl?” 

You gulp before whispering, “Yes.” 

His cold tongue licks a slow, flat, languid line from your entrance to your clit. The cooler temperature of his mouth soothes the burning heat between your thighs. 

“Mmmm - Th-thank you, Marcus,” you hum as he repeats the motion with his tongue two, three, four more times. 

He grabs a new ice cube and pops it in his mouth. As he sucks on it, he grabs a second cube and runs it down the right outer lip of your cunt. He hushes you as you cry out and then does the same thing to the left side. The cube in his mouth has melted enough now for him to continue tasting you. He places the flat of his tongue on your clit and presses down, his hand with the ice cube comes to your right nipple. Ice starts to combat the fire in your veins, and as he trails the ice cube around your nipple, his tongue mirrors the pattern on your swollen nub. 

And then it happens again. For the eighteenth time tonight, your orgasm hits you out of nowhere. Your convulse under his cold tongue and as quickly as the orgasm starts it’s over. You’d think after coming this many times in the last two hours that you’d be satisfied and exhausted, but the quickness of that last one leaves you wanting more.

He stills his tongue and lets you grind on him, the ice cube he was trailing along your body has melted. He grabs a fresh one and traces it along your body as you shamelessly hump your husband’s face.

He brings the ice cube to rest right above your mound, the cold water running down your folds, causing you to hiss as it hits your clit. 

Marcus pulls his tongue away quickly to say, “Come on, baby.” He lays his tongue out for you again and you push your hips into him harder. 

“Fuckfuckfuck - Marcus, I - I’m, oh fuuuuuck.”

He slips the ice cube between his tongue and your cunt and you shatter around him.

“Oh god, mmmmm, yes.” Your voice is hoarse, throat dry from the combination of your rapid breathing and incoherent ramblings throughout the night.

He stays still, letting you control your nineteenth orgasm. His name spills from your lips as you circle your hips. The walls of your pussy clench and release around nothing, slowly and deeply, over and over. Sparks of pleasure light behind your eyes. 

“Marcus. Yesyes - oh my god,” your legs start to tremble as you come down the other side of the most intense orgasm you’ve had so far tonight. 

“Good girl,” he whispers, kissing up your hip bone to your stomach, your navel to your sternum, the swell of your breasts to your neck, and finally your lips. “You’re doing so well, baby. Just one more. Can you do just one more for me?” 

You strain your neck to press your lips to his again. Kissing him deeply and slowly. “One more,” you mumble into his lips. 

“I’m going to untie you for this one. I want to feel your fingers tug at my hair as I suck on that perfect little clit while pushing my fingers against that little spot inside of you that drives you absolutely wild. Is that ok, little one?” 

“Mmm,” you hum. Mischievously adding, “Yes, daddy.” 

Marcus laughs flirtatiously as he releases your wrists from his belt and the torn silk ties. “Are you okay, baby?” 

You nod as he guides your arms down and then situates himself between your soft, plush thighs, sitting back on his heels.

“Do you need a drink?” He asks, grabbing the water from the foot of the bed. 

“Yes, please.”

He cracks the lid and then helps you sit, guiding the bottle to your lips. You sip a little, the cool water soothes your throat. Marcus’s brown eyes bore into you, soothing the rest of your body. “One more, baby,” he whispers. 

You hum in agreement before lying back down in the bed. Marcus leaves your ankles restrained as he unbuttons his dress shirt and then tosses it on the floor. You eye his hard chest and slightly soft belly, a line of dark hair that starts at his navel and travels down to his cock, which is rock hard under his dress pants.

He gives you a shy closed lip smile, “Do you need to use your safe word?” 

“No,” you say breathily.

Marcus grabs an ice cube and holds it in his fist, his lips coming to place lingering kisses on your clit. Making out with one of his favourite parts of you. Kissing and kissing, occasionally running his tongue along it before kissing you deeply again. 

Once the ice cube in his hand has melted, he teases at your entrance with two cold fingers. You cry out, as pushes them all the way in and then he curls them forward, turning you into a moaning mess. You wrap your fingers into his hair like he asked, holding his face against you. 

“That’s my girl,” he says between kisses. “So good for me.” 

He sucks your clit into his mouth, pumping his fingers against your g spot. A pained cry passes your lips, “aah, it hurts.” 

“I know, baby. You’re so close.” He whispers encouragingly, pausing the suckling on your clit, keeping his fingers still. 

“I - I can’t.”

“You can do it, baby. You’re almost there. I can feel you clenching me.” He curls his fingers forward slowly. “Come on, my love.” 

“M - Marcus. It hurts, baby. I can’t. I can’t.” You whimper. 

“Relax, baby.” His free hand presses on your lower belly and the pressure behind your navel becomes nearly unbearable. “That’s it, fuck baby. I can feel her fluttering for me. Can feel your orgasm building. You’re amazing, did you know that? Give me number twenty, pretty girl.”

You whimper again, willing your body to relax. Willing for the dull painful ache to blossom into pleasure.

“Good girl. Just relax,” he presses down on your stomach harder, his fingers still cold inside you as they tickle against the front wall of your pussy. 

You tighten your grip in his hair and he hisses at the pain in his scalp before bringing his lips back to your clit. He sucks it into his mouth loudly, lewd sucking noises filling the room, only interrupted by your mumbles of building pleasure. 

He releases your clit, “Let go for me.”

With a final steadying breath it hits you. Your last orgasm sashes over, erasing every thought until all you are is the pleasure Marcus gives you. Your abused pussy flutters weakly around his fingers as he pumps them inside of you. You gasp and squeal as your body breaks out in goosebumps, but simultaneously glistens with a fresh sheen of sweat. 

Marcus slows his fingers and looks up at you through his lashes. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers in awe as the involuntary full body twitching of your orgasm starts to slow.

“So…” he kisses your mound.

“...Very…” he stops his fingers and kisses your hip. 

“...Beautiful,” he starts to slowly slip his fingers out and your body goes slack. 

You lay there panting, trying to catch your breath and find your muscles. Marcus unties your ankles and climbs beside you, pulling you into him and tucking your head into his neck. 

“I love you,” he murmurs into your hairline, kissing you softly. “You did so well for me. Twenty orgasms. My good girl.” 

You roll into him tighter and wince when your thighs squeeze together. 

“Aw, baby. Is she sore?” 

You pull back to be able to look at him. “A little, yeah.” 

“Come here,” he pulls you closer. “Just let me hold you a little and then I’ll run you that bubble bath I promised.” 

“Will you come in with me?” You ask sleepily. 

Marcus laughs gently, “Of course. Whatever my baby wants.” 

You nuzzle deeper into his skin and let your eyelids close. Completely and utterly surrounded by your beautiful husband. 

[often-daydreaming]

Road Trip

It was... It was always just a fight but the last one between Jason and Bruce had been one of their worst and things only escalated after he accused Jason of having something to do with the Joker's disappearance.

It was another thing to hold against him. Another excuse to keep the Red Hood at arms length but Barbara knows Jason wasn't anywhere near Gotham when the clown went missing. Bruce checked. Tim double checked, but she knows because it wasn't like Jason was even trying to hide from any of them.

He was just traveling.

At first it was with the rest of the Outlaws for a bit and on and off after for a while afterwards with the rest of his team joining up at different points along his trip across the country.

He'd spent weeks spent on the road from New York to Pennsylvania before anyone even noticed the Joker was gone, then took a detour down to Atlanta and through Kentucky. The weekend after that was spent traveling between Michigan and Toronto and a surprising sighting in Kansas which was one of the only stops she still didn't understand since he'd have to be traveling all night just to get to that small town he'd been spotted in and Jason didn't seem to be in any hurry.

A part of her had been tempted to call Kara and see if she'd look into the matter for her but cases kept piling up and they got busy. If it wasn't the usual villain of the day causing trouble then it was the power vacuum left behind by the still missing Joker or one the guys getting into trouble. So she left it alone.

Jason didn't seem like he was in any trouble. He'd come back sooner or later. He always came back. Except he didn't. Weeks turned into months, then a full year passed them by as sightings of the Red Hood grew less and less frequent and it was only a preemptive notification she sat up so long ago that reminded her of Jason's absence as she stares down at the computer monitor playing a few seconds of footage displaying a small crowd of people, the Outlaws, some of Young Justice and the Titans along with a few other people who were cheering him on as he slipped a ring on some red haired woman's finger. The context was clear enough but she didn't find out more about the what and why until later that night when Roy sent out an update to the rest of the Titans claiming dibs on being the best man.

The above is just something that I cobbled together after reading a few Jason leaves Gotham fics and the thought of Jazz killing the Joker for (insert reasons) so my mind kind of jumped to Jason living out his best Cinderella moment, chasing after, flirting (along with getting threatened by a pair of overprotective parents) and road tripping with his team while trying to find the woman who lost her bloody baseball bat. After they meet he's just doubling down on everything with the intent of marrying her, Jazz getting her own little road trip, telling Jason where they're going next or even making a game out of if he can find her at the next stop on the Fenton family supernatural hunting/cataloging road trip cause I know they love talking about ghost but the image of Jack and Maddie fighting Bigfoot is amazing.

And the Fentons are happy for the two of them. At least he wasn't another Johnny. They had Tucker check just to be sure while everyone else just kind of assumes the rest of the bat family already knew when it was actually a mix of (we're super busy right now) and (maybe things will be a little peaceful if we give Jason some space) leaving Bruce trying to play catch up and depending on if he's reformed having to outdo Vlad who is already paying for everything.

[joelscurls]

feel it in your bones

next part

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 12.5k

summary: Two years ago, you finished your PhD and moved to Vermont. In the time since, you’ve gotten a job as a college professor, had your heart broken, and sworn off relationships entirely. Enter Joel, the father of one of your students, here for Homecoming Weekend – and too attractive to resist.

warnings: 18+, minors dni, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), alcohol consumption, fluff, smut, masturbation (f), mutual pining(?), sexual tension, grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, cumplay / cum eating, some light biting, use of pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby, etc.), reader has an asshole ex, no use of y/n

a/n: my first Joel fic! This is honestly a bit self-indulgent but I love fall and academia and Joel Miller so sue me okay. ty to my bby @caffeinated-validation for reading through this and offering your insight -- get you a partner who will beta your filthy Joel Miller smut for you lmao <3

You’ve gotten used to being alone. 

You don’t mind it as much as you had a few months ago, the breakup still fresh, every touch of your own fingers seering into your skin when you’d remembered the way he’d touched you, the sound of your voice almost unrecognizable as you’d convince yourself each day to get out of bed and go to work, where you’d inevitably run into him. It was painful then, having to come home to the quiet, always far too aware of the sound of your own thoughts drumming against the inside of your skull. 

Now though, you revel in that quiet. Sip your coffee in silence each morning. You’ve learned how to stay lost in your work, bringing home stacks of papers to grade and eating through texts to support your research while your dinner gets cold on the table in front of you. You’re well aware that this isn’t the healthiest way to cope, to just avoid it all, but it’s better than feeling. 

You’ve sworn off relationships entirely. It’s a silent promise to yourself – that you’ll remain married to your work. You will devote all of your energy to making sure your students excel and that your research is strong. That is your life’s purpose, to make use of the PhD you worked so hard to get – not to be someone’s girlfriend or wife. And you’re fine with that, really. You’ve become immune to loneliness – or numb, maybe.

Regardless, you welcome the independence. You don’t have to worry about anyone else’s thoughts or feelings when it comes to the way you spend your own time. You’re free to do whatever you want. You can draw yourself a bath, fill it with bubbles, sit in it while you drain a bottle of wine into your mouth until the water runs cold. You can eat an entire box of dry cereal in one sitting while you re-watch your favorite show for the twentieth time. You can make yourself cum at any hour of the night with your vibrator or your shower head or your hand – and then go to work the next morning without a semblance of guilt.

Really, you like being alone. 

Until you don’t.

It’s Homecoming Weekend at Sarah’s school. 

She had insisted that Joel didn’t have to come, that it was mostly an opportunity for the college to milk donations out of sentimental alumni. But he’d missed her for the month she’d been gone, the house far too quiet with just him in it. In previous years, Joel had busied himself following Sarah’s departure with home projects. Three years in, though, he’s updated just about every room in the house,  re-done the floors, built a brand new back deck. 

In other words, he’s fresh out of distractions.

So, he’d made the trek to Vermont,  with the excuse that he’d always wanted to experience a New England fall. It’s a lie, one that Sarah can probably read right through, considering he vocalizes his discomfort whenever the temperature drops below 70 degrees in Texas, but she goes along with it. 

Besides, he wants to see what his tuition money is paying for.

In truth, Joel had been nervous when Sarah announced what major she’d decided to pursue. She had just finished her freshman year, prerequisite courses all completed. When she’d said the word – anthropology – Joel hadn’t even been sure what it meant. Since then, she’s explained it to him many times and in truth, he’s still none the wiser. Really, he’s just happy that she’s happy. Her passion for it is evident on her face any time she talks to him about the courses she’s taking, how great her professors are. 

Especially you – she talks about you all the time – her mentor. 

You’re supervising her on her thesis project – a qualitative assessment on students’ views on feminism and gender politics in the classroom. This past summer, Joel swears Sarah had mentioned your name more than her own friends’. She’d told him what courses you teach, what research you’ve conducted, all the countries you’ve traveled to for fieldwork. And she gives the best advice – Sarah had said one night over dinner – she’s like, my lifeline at school. 

Joel doesn’t know you, but he’s thankful for you – for the guidance you so clearly provide Sarah.

There’s an Open House today for the Social Sciences college, which Joel tags along with Sarah to. He’s hopeful that he’ll learn something, come to understand the field and why Sarah loves it. 

A buffet table stocked with refreshments sits on one side of the lecture hall. Sarah grabs them both cups of water infused with cucumber while Joel saves them seats at the back. There’s a slideshow projected onto the white board at the front, the current slide reading: An Introduction to the Social Sciences College & Our Current Research Efforts. A group of professors gathers at the front, name tags stuck to their button-downs and blazers. Sarah spots you as she sits down, pointing you out as she hands Joel his water.

“There – that one’s my mentor – the one in the plaid pants.” 

Joel’s eyes follow her finger to the group at the front,  scanning down the line. There’s a man, short and stocky with noticeably small hands hooked by the thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. Next to him, is a woman, taller than him, wearing a bright turquoise silk shirt, gold bangles decorating both of her wrists. And next to her is you, in the plaid pants.

Sarah had told him a lot of things about you, but she’d never mentioned that you’re fucking gorgeous. You’re smiling at something Turquoise Shirt has just said to you, and it’s like your entire face is glowing. Joel has to take a sip of water to collect himself.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you for the entirety of the presentation. 

The dean of the college starts by briefly covering each department and what research efforts they have planned for the semester. Joel should be listening, he came here to listen – but he can’t get himself to focus on anything other than you.

You’re mostly focused on the presenter. Every so often, though, you distractedly toy with the buttons on your cardigan or twirl a strand of your hair between delicate fingers. And Joel is suddenly realizing how touch-starved he is after years of refusing to date – because just watching you, your hands – is about to send him into orbit.

You’re well-spoken too, he learns, when you take the microphone to discuss your current research project. 

“This semester, I’ll be delving into the presence of food deserts in Vermont, and the effects these are having on the overall health of youth in the state,” you say. “We have received a sizable grant for this research, and I am thrilled to get started in a matter of weeks. This project will span the better part of the academic year as I speak to locals and craft surveys that will provide qualitative data to support my findings from the field.”

You press down on the clicker in your hand. A new slide projects onto the whiteboard. It’s a photo of you against the backdrop of a jungle, lush, green trees stretching past the top of the frame. The wide-brimmed hat you’re wearing covers most of your face – but that damn smile radiates through the makeshift screen.

“This is me last summer, in Peru. My research here was much more self-indulgent – I studied the important role that food plays in the average family there – and ate wayyyy too many sweets.”

The crowd laughs. It’s the first reaction they’ve expressed this entire time. 

It’s entrancing, the way you command the room. You have such a calm confidence about you as you speak, words never once faltering as you stride back and forth across the front of the lecture hall.  Joel isn’t much of a talker – maybe that’s why he feels like he could listen to you for hours on end. He thinks that you could read the damn phone book and his focus would remain unwavering. That your voice, velvet-soft, could spellbind him without much effort.

When your portion of the presentation ends, he’s more than a bit disappointed.

Students and their families filter out of the lecture hall. You situate yourself in a corner of the room for the actual Open House portion of the event, at the ready to answer any questions or, more likely, offer directions to another part of campus.

You smile as familiar faces and strangers alike pass you, reach for your to-go mug on the table behind you, and take a sip. The coffee is pretty much ice-cold now, but you still gulp it down, only after the caffeine anyway.

You place the mug back down with a light thud against the tabletop. Suddenly, a voice you’ve come to know well rings in your ear. 

“Professor!” 

When you look up, Sarah Miller is bounding down the aisle, signature smile plastered across her face. And there’s a man behind her, you notice, moving much slower. 

He’s tall, broad shoulders pulling taut against the green flannel he’s wearing. He cradles a beige workwear jacket in the crook of his bicep,corded muscle visibly bulging against fabric. His other hand rubs at the scruff along his jaw, pointedly sharp in the patches where hair doesn’t grow.

He has a distinguishable nose, you notice as he gets closer,  strong – large and hooked at the center of his tan face. It’s complemented perfectly by his plush, pink lips that seem to be set in a permanent pout.  

In other words, he’s handsome – almost distractingly so, as he stands next to Sarah in front of you.

“I’m so happy to see you,” she beams – turns to the man next to her.

“Dad, this is my mentor,” She says your name. 

He nods. His eyes meet yours. They’re deep brown, almost black – and undeniably entrancing. 

“‘‘ts nice to meet you, Ma’am. I’m Joel.”

Ma’am.

It’s not like the word is foreign to you, given your profession. There’s something about the way he says it, though, that makes your head spin, his southern drawl dripping in honey-butter and bourbon. 

Joel outstretches a hand. You shake it – try to ignore the way it dwarfs yours.

“Joel,” you repeat, eyes locked firmly on the space between his eyes. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“That was a great presentation you gave up there. You’re a good, uh – talker.” His expression is unreadable. His hands fidget at his sides.

You offer him a smile. “Thank you – I think? My students probably wish I would shut up sometimes. Right, Sarah?”

“Oh please,” she scoffs, “as if you’ve never seen your rating on Rate My Professor.” 

She’s not wrong – you pride yourself on having pretty stellar reviews – but you also try your hardest not to let them get to your head. Sarah isn’t helping that, right now.

“Anyways,” she exaggerates the word, “what are you up to tonight, Professor? They’re holding an exhibition at the art center later, all student work – d’you wanna come with us?” 

Your reflex is to say no. After all, he’ll probably be there. Your ex, Quentin, works in the art history department. And even though you’re over him, you’re not exactly looking for an excuse to be in the same room as him. But you technically don’t have plans tonight, and you can’t even think of a good lie right now with Sarah staring you down. 

And then there’s Joel, standing in front of you, all broad shoulders and chiseled jaw – and you think, what a great opportunity to get to know him, you know, as the parent of your student. Definitely not as anything else, anything more. It is Homecoming, after all.

So, you say yes. 

“Cool!” Sarah smiles, “Meet you there at 7?”

You nod, tell Sarah that sounds perfect, and that you’ll see them tonight. 

Sarah starts toward the door. But Joel stands there for a moment longer. His eyes linger on yours, his wordless stare threatening to burn a hole in your head. You can feel the heat of it, beads of sweat beginning to form at the base of your neck. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying your hardest to conceal them. 

A beat passes. It looks like he might say something, his mouth opening then closing again.

He gives you a courteous nod, turns on his heels, and follows after Sarah.

Joel hadn’t remembered the food being this bad when he’d visited for orientation. He struggles to keep down a particularly rubbery bite of chicken and reaches for his water bottle, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he focuses on not vomiting. 

Sarah laughs next to him. “Hey man, at least you don’t have to eat this shit year-round.”

He grunts in agreement. “Gonna cancel your meal plan next semester and jus’ give you the money to buy groceries.” 

She hums. Cocks her head. “That means I’m gonna have to learn how to cook – do you think Student Housing has fire insurance?”

Joel wants to roll his eyes, but it’s definitely his fault – after all, he can barely fry an egg without setting off the fire alarm. Their freezer has always been well-stocked with TV dinners and tater tots. So instead, he just shrugs. 

“So what’s this art thing tonight?” He moves on to the salad on his plate, decidedly much safer. 

“I don’t really know – my roommate asked me to go, she has some pieces in it, I guess.”

He nods. “And your professor – that was nice ‘a you to invite her.”

Sarah nods, smiles. “Yeah – you like her, right? I mean, you’re sure you’re cool with me asking her to come?” She asks, a mouthful of lettuce.

“‘Course,” he says, attempting to keep his voice level, nonchalant.

“I know you’re not really one for meeting new people,” she teases.

He mock-glares at her. It quickly softens into a smile. “Nah – she seems cool.” It’s an understatement, but Sarah doesn’t need to know that.

She doesn’t need to know that her dad is attracted to her professor.

Joel thinks that he might not have been so great at hiding it, though, when a few hours later, in the middle of watching an unarguably bad student production of Macbeth, Sarah turns to him and whispers that she’s not feeling well. 

“Hm, is that right?,” he whispers back, unconvinced. 

“Yeah, must’ve been the food.”

“We ate the same thing, Sarah.”

There’s a shout on stage. The actor’s voice cracks.

“Well I dunno,” she continues, “My stomach just doesn’t feel good.”

“Yeah, and what about that thing with your professor?”

He can see her smirk even in the dim lighting. 

“Shit, you’re right. And I don’t have her phone number, so it’s not like I can text her...” 

She groans. Joel thinks she should be on that stage right now. 

“We can’t just ghost her.” Joel has no idea what that means. He doesn’t bother asking. 

“Sarah-” he starts.

“Please. She’s such a nice lady, she doesn’t deserve to be stood up.”

He could say no. It’s not like he knows you, owes you anything. But in truth, Joel does want to see you again. And he’s well aware that Sarah might be trying to set the two of you up – ever-perceptive and hell-bent on her dad being happy – but he tries not to think about how embarrassing that feels, his daughter playing matchmaker for him. Because he wants to spend more time with you, get to know more about you, if you’ll let him.

He’s barred himself from forming any kind of real relationship with a woman since Sarah’s mother left. Not because she’d broken his heart, but because he’d needed all of his energy to go to Sarah. As a single father, he had always feared that he wouldn’t be enough for his daughter – wouldn’t give enough – that growing up in a broken home would leave her half of a person. That fear had fueled him to be the best dad possible – to work overtime so that he could provide for them, to never miss one of her soccer games or dance recitals. And so, he had never even considered dating, not seriously, anyway. It would take attention away from Sarah, and he couldn’t risk that. 

He’s found it difficult to shake this principle, now that Sarah has grown up. He often grapples with the fact that Sarah doesn’t need him as much anymore – that she’s her own person living her own life. He knows he could date now, could meet someone new, open his heart to them. But he’s so used to fighting that human need for companionship, that it feels almost unnatural to let his guard down.

But now there’s you – your megawatt smile and your impressive intelligence and your care for his daughter – and suddenly he’s forgotten his own rules. 

“Okay; I’ll go.” It comes out entirely too enthusiastic.

He can practically feel Sarah’s accomplished, shit-eating grin burning into the side of his head.

You leave campus around four pm, once the last of the Open House participants have gone. 

You take a shower when you get home. Then you order sushi – stuff rolls of yellowfin and salmon into your mouth as you sit at the dining table still wrapped up in your towel, trying your best not to spill soy sauce on the half-graded essays that litter the tabletop. When you’re done, you retreat to your closet, treading on damp feet across the waxy hardwood floor.

And you definitely don’t think about Joel – not when you debate what to wear to the art exhibition, not when your fingers accidentally graze one of your nipples as you put your bra on, not when you get distracted while pulling your panties on by the pool of wetness that has formed between your thighs. 

You definitely don’t think about him – because he’s Sarah’s dad, and that would be wrong.

So it’s accidental when his name falls from your mouth, fingers pressed against your clit, visions of large, calloused hands flashing behind your closed eyelids. 

You cover your mouth with the curve of your palm to prevent it from slipping out again. Sink back into the mattress.

Then you press your fingers down harder. 

Joel feels like a first-year student, wandering aimlessly across campus in search of the art center. Sarah’s directions had been, well, brief. She’d insisted he’d be able to find it no problem. Now though, in the limited light of dusk, all the structures look the same, bleeding together like watercolors against the evening sky. 

He does find it, eventually, a three-story brick building tucked between the library and what looks to be a dormitory. Bright, artificial light seeps through the windows that line the bottom floor. The double doors at the front are propped open, people slipping in and out of them as he approaches. 

He looks for you outside, searching for a familiar head of hair, the brown cardigan you’d been wearing earlier. When he doesn’t see you, he reluctantly makes his way up the stairs and into the building.

He spots you almost immediately affixed in front of a painting, studying it intently.

You’re wearing a different outfit than the one you had on this afternoon – a merlot-colored slip dress and a cropped leather jacket. He struggles to ignore the way the satin clings to you, the curves of your body excruciatingly accentuated. He has to remind himself that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, shouldn't expect you to stick around for long once he lets you know Sarah isn’t coming. You’ll probably make an excuse to leave shortly after, and he’ll be back on Sarah’s couch within the hour. 

After all, why would you stick around just to talk to him?

You don’t see him when he sidles up next to you. He clears his throat and you startle. 

“Sorry,” he brings a hand to the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to spook ya.” 

You take a step back to face him and put a hand to your chest, your breath beginning to even. His eyes wander, for a moment, to where your fingers rest against your collarbone. 

“Shit – it’s okay. Where’s Sarah?”

“She wasn’t feeling well, but she said I should still come. Is that – uh – is that okay?” He’s suddenly worried that this was dumb, that he shouldn’t have come, should’ve just let Sarah explain to you on Monday.

But your features soften then, a small smile forming between rosy cheeks. 

“Joel, it’s fine; I appreciate you not ditching me.”

“‘Course,” he manages. He’s waiting for you to say something else – that you need to leave. But you don’t, and you both stand enveloped in the pregnant pause that lingers, bright overhead lighting and nerves giving Joel the start of a migraine he’ll have to ignore for the rest of the night.

He clears his throat. Turns to the painting in front of you. “So what’s this one, then?”

The painting in question is a mish-mash of shapes and colors. Joel can’t distinguish any one thing on the canvas. It’s all just a lot of…nothing. He knows it’s not for him when he thinks a preschooler with finger paints could’ve done this.

You bring your hand up to cradle your jaw, brows furrowed in contemplation. It looks like you’ll offer an actual, intellectual interpretation. So Joel isn’t prepared when instead, you say: 

“Looks like a bad trip.”

A laugh bubbles out of him, the corners of his eyes creasing. 

“Sorry,” you say, between giggles. “That was stupid.”

“No,” he says, swiping a hand over his jaw, trying to physically rub the embarrassing smile off his face. “You’re funny.” 

He means it. He’s not sure how it’s possible that you’re funny, when you’re also so smart and interesting and gorgeous. It’s almost unfair. He thinks, fleetingly, that you’re way out of his league – a boring, old man like him.

You continue to the next piece, Joel following closely behind. It looks like it must be by the same artist. The same variation of shapes fill the canvas, just in different colors.

“Alright Cowboy, what’s your take on this one?” 

Joel studies it for a moment – tries to find something he can pull out. Something tangible. Something funny, even. 

He comes up empty.

“‘ts interesting f’sure. Lots of…colors,” he tries. He realizes how ridiculous he sounds. Laughs. “Shit…art ain’t really my thing,” he admits, arm stretched behind his head.

“So what is your thing?” Your voice is tinged with something – Joel tries his hardest not to let himself believe that it’s flirtation. 

Your eyes are still fixed on the canvas in front of you. And Joel is thankful, because he thinks if you looked at him, let those eyes meet his, he’d break – tell you that right now, you’re his thing.

He doesn’t get a chance to answer either way, though, because he’s interrupted by a man’s voice behind the two of you. 

“Wow. Didn’t expect to see you here!”

You whip around to face him. Joel turns too. The man is taller than you, but shorter than him. He’s wearing round, wire-frame glasses that sit like a suggestion on his nose, and a full suit, with a tie that has some god-awful, ugly pattern all over it. It looks like the art here, Joel thinks.

Joel’s eyes flit back to you, and he watches as your hackles go up. You back up, bumping into the canvas behind you. You curse under your breath.

“Quentin. Hey.”

“Glad you could make it,” the man, Quentin, says. He swirls a cup of what appears to be red wine in one hand. He leans in closer, brings the other hand up at the side of his mouth to conceal his words. “I know this isn’t really your scene.” 

You shift uncomfortably. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m uh, venturing out, I guess. Trying new things.” 

He laughs. It’s an asshole laugh, Joel notes. Everything about this guy screams asshole. 

“About time!” The asshole puts a hand on your shoulder. You flinch. Joel’s hands instinctively bunch into fists at his side. 

“So proud of you,” Quentin says. “Finally letting yourself be a little cultured.”

This guy can’t be serious.

You scoff. Grab his hand and flick it off your shoulder. He looks wounded. Good, Joel thinks. 

“Yeah, because traveling the world has left me so very uncultured, Quentin.”

“Hey,” he puts his hands up. “Don’t take offense, baby. I know your little field trips are important, too.”

It’s the last straw.

In one movement, you’re pushing off the wall, shoving past Quentin, and making your way to the exit. Joel doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look at the asshole, just follows after you out the door. 

It’s gotten colder in the short time he’d been inside, he notices. A gust of wind nips at the exposed skin on his hands. He stuffs them haphazardly in the pockets of his jacket.

He finds you perched on the front steps, arms wrapped around your body protectively. He takes a few cautious strides forward. When you look up at him, you’re visibly distraught. 

You groan as he sits down next to you. “Sorry. That was embarrassing.” 

Joel wants to touch you, put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, but he knows he probably shouldn’t – not right now. 

“‘ts not embarrassin’,” he says, instead. His warm breath materializes in the cold air. “Not for you, anyway. That guy was clearly an asshole.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That was my ex-boyfriend.” You’re  both quiet, then. The two of you sit there, side by side on the stairs, in comfortable silence. A few minutes pass. Joel notices you chewing on your bottom lip, like you’re considering something. When you speak again, your voice wavers.

“Would you want to go for a drink or something? It’s just, I really don’t want to be here anymore.” 

For a moment, he can’t believe what he’s hearing – you’re asking him out? He takes a second to respond. You start to backtrack. “It’s okay if you don’t wan-”

“Hey,” he stops you. Makes sure you’re looking at him. 

“I thought you’d never ask, darlin’.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Great.” Your hand drops to your side, brushing against his. He expects you to move it. He’s thankful when you don’t.

“I know a place–” you continue – “one that won’t be full of drunk college kids.”

“Great,” Joel parrots you. He stands, extends a hand to help you up. You take it, letting your palm rest against his for a moment longer than necessary when you’re upright.

“Cool,” you say, clearing your throat. You pull up the Uber app on your phone. Joel watches you book a driver. Then you turn back to him with a smile. It’s different from the one he’s seen before. It’s smaller, shyer.

“Larry will be here in 4 minutes,” you say.

The bar is a twenty minutes’ drive from campus – fifteen with Larry’s lead foot.

It’s more of a lounge than a bar, really – leather armchairs accompanied by low cocktail tables arranged throughout the single large, open room. A brick fireplace sits on the back wall, currently roaring with warm orange flames. 

On either side of the fireplace are floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with vintage books, their illegible titles etched in gold along weathered spines. You can imagine that their pages are yellowed and dusty, and it’s so tempting to swipe one off the shelf to see, to smell.

The light in here is warm, a stark contrast from the bright white of the art gallery. It’s comforting, and you feel your body immediately relax when you walk through the entrance next to Joel.

The bar at the front is busy (it is Saturday night, after all), so you and Joel stand at the back of the crowd for a few moments, waiting for the people in front of you to get their drinks. When a group of men start forcing their way through right next to you, Joel immediately puts a large hand on your shoulder, turning your body towards his. He’s just being chivalrous, making sure you don’t get shoved, but it still sends a shockwave up your spine.

When a spot clears in front of the bar, Joel steps forward, bringing you with him. He orders a whiskey neat, then turns to you, asking what you want. 

It’s difficult to think with his hand still on you, so you go with the first words that come to mind. 

“Same as you.”

He stares at you for a moment, amused, like he can see right through you and the fact that you’ve never had whiskey in your life. But you hold his gaze, challenging him with your eyes, and he drops it. “Make that two,” he tells the bartender.

Once you have your drinks, Joel slaps a few bills down on the bar. You can tell he won’t let you do so much as offer to pay him back, so you don’t. You lead him through the lounge to a couple of chairs tucked away in the back corner, partially hidden behind an antique wooden partition – far enough from the main seating area, but still close enough to the fireplace that you can feel its warmth.

This is where you always sit when you come, usually with coworkers, once or twice with him. Quentin had been pretty critical of this place, like he is with everything. He’d complained that the wine selection could be larger – that they could have more French options. When you’d explained that most of their wines come from local vineyards, he’d just rolled his eyes.

You’re still reeling a bit from your interaction with him at the gallery, even as you settle into soft leather and feel a burst of warmth against your cheek. He was such an asshole, you think, taking a cautious sip of whiskey. You’re immediately repulsed by the taste of it, and you do a poor job of hiding the grimace that automatically spreads across your face in the crook of your arm.

Joe laughs across from you. “Not your thing? I can go grab ya somethin’ else,” he offers.  

“No,” you insist, “this is fine. Just need to get used to it.” It’s a lie – you both know it – but he doesn’t push it. 

Instead he leans back, swirls his own glass – which looks comically tiny in his grip – and lets out an exaggerated sigh. 

“So, your ex is a real dick, huh?”

“You can say that again,” you mumble. 

He quirks a brow at you. “Why’d you even date him?” 

It’s a fair question. Why had you dated him? Loneliness, maybe? You’d like to blame it on that, but it’s not the truth – not entirely. Quentin had been kind, at first. He had seemed so interested in you and where you came from and what you were passionate about. He was a relatively good boyfriend, all things considered – until he’d grown tired of hiding who he really was.

You’d gotten a substantial pay raise at the end of your second year at the university. When you’d told Quentin, he’d gone quiet – practically gave you the silent treatment for days on end. When you’d finally worn him down, gotten him to talk, the most he could utter was that he was happy for you; he just wasn’t sure why he hadn’t gotten a raise like that yet. 

It’s not like you were in competition – you worked for two entirely different departments, in different colleges. But it had been a constant losing battle nevertheless, to get him to stop comparing your successes. And when he’d found out you actually made more money than him – that had pretty much been the nail in the coffin. 

You tell Joel all of this. You’re not sure why you do – it’s not like you can blame the alcohol after one half-sip of whiskey. You feel comfortable with him though, here, like this. He’s a good listener, too, attentively nodding every so often as you ramble. 

When you’re done, he’s quiet. He stares at his drink, pursing his lips. 

After a beat, he looks up at you. 

“You deserve better than that, darlin’.”

You almost crumble under his gaze. His eyes are at least two shades darker than they had been a moment ago – and there’s something lingering behind them that you can’t quite place. Whatever it is has you feeling weak.

“You barely know me,” you joke. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I know enough, though. Could do much better than him, I reckon.”

You want to ask him if he has anyone in mind, if he would be better for you, but you can’t – not yet – not this sober. You take another sip of your drink, breathing through your nose as it burns its way down your throat. 

You talk for hours. He asks about your family; you tell him how you moved out here two years ago on your own after you finished your doctorate program. He’s impressed by that, says you’re brave. You tell him you’ve never felt very brave. 

It’s all so easy, talking to Joel in the dimly-lit bar you’ve been to so many times before. Sipping on whiskey as if you actually enjoy it. It’s never felt so much like home — not the bar, not this town. The thought is dizzying.

He asks about Sarah, too, how she’s doing in school. He insists that she doesn’t tell him much, and if she does, it’s about you and how great your classes are. 

“I had never even heard of anthropology before she decided to study it,” he admits. “But I’m glad she did. It’s her thing, f’sure.” 

You smile, knowingly. “Yeah, it is. She’s a great kid, Joel. You raised her well.”

He shakes his head humbly, but you don’t relent. You want him to hear this, really hear this. Because you get the feeling he hasn’t been told enough. 

“She’s not just smart, Joel. She’s good. She’s a good person. That’s kind of rare nowadays — especially among her generation.” 

Joel chuckles, his head hanging between his shoulders. 

“I mean, shit,” you continue, “she brings me pancakes from the diner just off campus whenever she knows I’m stuck in my office working late. My other students barely even ask how I’m doing most days.”

Joel hums in amusement. His eyes are locked on a wrinkle in the leather of the arm of his chair.

“Joel,” you say, pointedly. You wait for him to look at you. When he does, his gaze is uncertain. “She’s a good person —“ you repeat — “and that’s because you raised her to be.”

“‘ts just southern hospitality, is all,” he mumbles. 

“No Joel – it’s you.”

He stares for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing. His jaw twitches. And then he breaks, finally, a smile pulling at his lips. 

“Thank you.”

His voice is so soft suddenly. It throws you off. It also turns you on – like, a lot, the gravellyness of it scratching your brain and your loins. You dig your nails into leather in an attempt to steady your quickening heart rate.

“No problem,” you mutter sheepishly.

Suddenly, there’s a buzz on the table – Joel’s phone. He picks it up, squinting at the bright screen.

“Sarah?,” you ask.

“Nah, ‘ts just my brother, Tommy.”

He types out a quick response and re-locks the phone, placing it back down on the table.

“Everything alright?” 

“Yeah, jus’ asking if I think hookin’ up with a client is a bad idea,” he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.

You don’t know Tommy, but you like him already – seems like a fun guy. And clearly values his brother’s opinions. It’s telling, you think.

“That’s right – you’re a contractor. You and your brother work together?”

“Yeah, we got our own business back home.”

“And you like it?,” you ask. 

“Used to,” he laughs, “when I was more limber.”

You laugh too. You can feel the heat of slight intoxication, and something else, in your chest, your inhibitions dissolving in your bloodstream. And suddenly that horrible idea you’d had earlier to flirt with Joel doesn’t seem so bad anymore. 

“Still look plenty limber to me, Mr. Miller.” The words leave you before you have the chance to stop them.

Joel’s hands tense on either arm of his chair. Despite your buzz, you still have half a mind to worry that you’ve fucked up, that there’s a chance you’ve misread this whole thing.

But then he sinks back in the chair, the leather groaning under him. He rakes his dark eyes over you. And the way he’s looking at you is unmistakable. He looks hungry. You feel like your entire body has been set ablaze. 

Without thinking, you stand up, take a couple of steps toward him. Scan the lounge. Most of the remaining patrons are huddled by the bar, talking boisterously among themselves. Tucked in your little corner, the two of you might as well be in a different zip code.

“Whatcha doin’, darlin’?” Joel smirks up at you as you stand unmoving in front of him. He takes one of your hands in his and traces gentle, reassuring shapes along the back of it with his index finger.

Without a word, you hike your dress up to your thighs and straddle him, knees digging into the leather on either side of his legs. He hums approvingly as you sink onto his lap and cup his face in your hands. He places his own on your lower back, just above your ass. “This okay?,” you ask. It comes out breathy and wrecked.

“C’mere,” he says in that syrupy drawl, and then one of his hands is on the back of your head, pushing you gently against him, your lips slotting to his. 

It’s messy and all-encompassing. He kisses you with a fervency that confirms this hasn’t all been in your head –that he’s been wanting this too. 

The voices of bar-goers and the clinking of glassware are suddenly muted. All you can focus on is Joel — the way he tastes like whiskey and cinnamon gum, the way one of his large hands comes to rest at the nape of your neck, fingers tangled in the hair there while the other remains on your back, steadying you. The way he licks into your mouth after a few seconds with a groan, causing you to reflexively bare down on his lap.

You feel his cock swell underneath you and you grind against it, laughing low and quiet against his lips when his entire body tenses. He pulls back, blinking up at you with glazed-over eyes. Joel, all six feet of him, looks wrecked.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he pants. He looks down at where you’re hovering over his now fully-hard cock. “Gotta stop. Otherwise you’re gonna make me cum in my pants like a damn teenager.”

You pout at him, lifting your lower half off of his. You don’t stand up, though – not immediately, anyway. Instead, you take his head back in both of your hands. He lets you, blinking up at you wordlessly. 

You’d known when you’d first seen him earlier today that he was handsome, but right now, his face so close to yours – you’re seeing all of the little details – the scar indented in his forehead, just above his right eyebrow; the flush that stains his cheeks, which you can guess is partly from the alcohol, but maybe also from you. He’s biblically gorgeous, which makes it difficult to pry yourself off of him.

You do though, after a minute, smoothing down your dress once you’re back on two feet. You feel a bit breathless, suddenly. And exhausted.

What time is it? 

You retrieve your phone from where it’s been lodged in the cushion of your chair. 

You tap on the screen, waking it up. 

12:47?! When had it gotten so late?

Joel stands, adjusting himself in his pants. You can’t help but giggle at him — big, tough man looking positively ruined after just a few minutes of being under you. You feel pretty accomplished. He rolls his eyes at you. 

“Shut up — just get us an Uber.” You don’t miss the smile that sprouts between his cheeks when he thinks you aren’t looking.

You wait outside for your driver — John M.

The cold Vermont air is sobering. You feel almost normal by the time the car pulls up, save for the dull, throbbing ache between your legs. You will it away as you crouch into the back of the silver Nissan behind Joel. The sound of the radio playing soft rock hits is a poor distraction on the drive home.

“Wanna come in?,” you ask Joel when the car comes to a halt in front of your building. You watch him ponder it, eyes glued to the roof of the sedan. But ultimately, he shakes his head. “Can’t,” he says. “Gotta check on Sarah.”

You nod, try to hide your disappointment. “Right.” 

You open the door. Just as you’re about to get out, Joel stops you. 

“Wait,” he says. “Can I see your phone?” You’re confused, but you hand it over. You watch as he pulls up your contacts and clicks the ‘plus’ button in the corner, an understanding smile pulling at your lips. 

When he hands the phone back, his contact now in it, you grab his from off the seat next to him and do the same. 

“I’ll text you,” he promises as you step out. 

You turn back to him. “You better.”

He’s smiling when you shut the door.

You’re smiling when the car pulls away. 

It’s only when you’re tucked into bed, phone charging securely on the nightstand that the thought crosses your mind: you’re catching feelings for someone again. 

And then you feel sick.

Joel wakes up the next morning feeling giddy. It’s like he’s a teenager all over again – waiting by the phone for a pretty girl to call him back. Only this time, he’s waiting for a text.

He had messaged you almost as soon as he’d gotten back to Sarah’s apartment last night, asking if he could see you again before he goes back to Texas. He has no shame about it, he can’t – not when his entire mind and body are consumed by his overwhelming attraction to you. 

He’d found it difficult to sleep last night, and not because the springs in Sarah’s cheap couch were digging into his already-damaged back. It was thoughts of you, and the borderline-painful erection they caused, that had kept him up.

Now, with the sun seeping through the living room windows directly into his eyes, he doesn’t have much of a choice but to be awake. He checks his phone immediately, and tries to ignore the way his heart sinks when he sees you haven’t responded yet. You’re probably still asleep, he tells himself.

He tosses his phone aimlessly back onto the couch and stands with a groan. His legs feel worse than his back, if that’s even possible. 

Sarah still isn’t awake, so Joel meanders into her kitchen, in search of something to eat for breakfast. It’s pretty much what you would expect from a college student’s kitchen – bare bones. There are a few suspicious containers of leftovers in the fridge along with a Brita water pitcher and a package of cookie dough. In the freezer, several cartons of ice cream (all chocolate) and half a loaf of bread. And finally, in the cabinets, a few boxes of mac & cheese and an unopened jar of peanut butter. 

Toast it is, then.

Sarah appears just as he’s raiding her drawers for a butter knife. “Morning,” she announces sleepily behind him. 

“Hey, Kiddo,” he says, turning to face her. “Hungry?”

“Yeah. There’s a diner down the street. Thought we could get pancakes.” She yawns.

Joel grins. That must be the place you’d told him about – the one Sarah brings you leftovers from when you’re working late. 

“You buyin’?,” he jokes. 

“Only in exchange for the juicy deets from last night.” She pauses. “Okay, maybe not all the deets. There’s some things I don’t need to know – like why you got home so late.” 

“Sarah,” Joel warns, but she’s undeterred, smiling like a Cheshire Cat with every one of her unbrushed teeth on display.

“Just get changed,” she says, and skips out of the room.

You’ve been staring at the text for twenty minutes now.

Had a lot of fun tonight. Can I see you again before I leave? Let me know if you’re free tomorrow (today I guess). - Joel

You should say yes – you want to say yes – so why can’t you get your fingers to move? 

It’s a stupid question. You know why – it’s Quentin and your inability to shake the fear that someone  else will hurt you like he did. If you keep Joel at arm’s length – continue to ignore his message – he can’t do that. You can just take last night for what it was – a fun time, a hookup – and stop this before it goes too far, before feelings get involved.

Because it never ends well, once they do.

You get out of bed without responding, but you leave the text open on your phone. You attempt to busy yourself with housework and grading. Again and again though, you find your fingers hovering over the screen, your mind wandering to the way Joel’s lips had felt on yours, the way the bulge in his jeans had felt against your clothed heat, the sound of his southern drawl when he’d called you darlin’. 

Then you snap yourself out of it and place the phone face-down on the table.

This goes on for hours, a vicious cycle. You feel your resolve slipping more and more each time you pick the phone up.

The sun is high in the sky by the time you break, light bathing your kitchen and revealing all of the spots you’d missed when you’d dusted earlier. Your phone is heavy in the palm of your hand like a bomb – like if you don’t hit send right now, you’ll lose the motivation and it’ll detonate, taking any chance of you seeing Joel tonight and not self-sabotaging with it. 

You close your eyes when you press the button and toss your phone somewhere across the room.

Well – you think – no going back now.

Joel is sitting on cold, hard bleachers at the Homecoming football game when he sees you’ve responded, the shouts of people in the stands around him not enough to avert his attention.

Hey, yeah, that would be great! Do you want to come to my apartment later? I have a bottle of wine we can crack into if you’d like. And I can order pizza.

The announcer is saying something about player #72 over the loudspeaker. He doesn’t tune in. 

Joel types his reply and sends it:

Sounds perfect. I’ll come over around 7?

Sarah groans next to him. “You wanted to come to this game, dad. If you’re bored already, can we leave?”

His eyes shoot up. “No, uh – sorry. Just had to answer one text.”

Sarah narrows her eyes at him. They dart to the phone just as another message rolls in, your name flashing across the screen before Joel can hide it.

“Is that my professor?”

Joel doesn’t answer. His silence confirms enough. 

“I knew you guys hit it off last night! See, dad, even though you didn’t wanna tell me at breakfast, I still found out. I always find out. Because Sarah knows all.” She attempts a maniacal, Disney villain-esque laugh. 

Joel raises an eyebrow at her. 

“You done?”

“So you going out again later? Do I need to make your bed on the couch, or should I just not bother?”

He ignores her. Someone gets a touchdown and half the crowd goes wild. He doesn’t bother to check what team scored. 

He opens your latest message, instead.

Perfect. See you then, Cowboy ;)

His breath hitches at the nickname, at the thought of you calling him that again in person. The thought of kissing you again, if you’ll let him.

He doesn’t catch who wins the game.

Joel arrives at your apartment at seven o’clock on the dot. 

Punctual, you note.

He’s holding a bottle of wine, gripping the neck with long, calloused fingers. 

“Know you said you had some already,” he says as he steps over the threshold. “Just didn’t wanna come empty handed.” 

The sentiment takes you aback. You’re not exactly used to dates bringing you gifts, especially ones this expensive, if the minimalist yet fancy label is any indicator. 

“Thanks,” you say awkwardly, taking the bottle from him. You can’t quite make out the name – something foreign, etched in cursive. 

“‘ts Italian, I think,” he mumbles, as if he can read your mind. 

Your eyes shift from the bottle to Joel, standing in front of you in his Carhartt jacket, brows furrowed, gaze trained on the floor at his feet. 

“Thank you,” you say more genuinely this time. 

Joel smiles appreciatively. You motion to the space behind you.

“Come in.” 

You lead Joel to the kitchen, just off the entranceway, and place the bottle down on the counter, gently. You tuck yourself in the corner, leaning back to rest your arms on cool granite. Joel mirrors you against the adjacent island. 

“How’s Sarah?” you ask. “Feeling any better?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing at his scruff. “She was askin’ about you. Saw me textin’ you.”

“Yeah – guess you couldn’t exactly hide this from her, staying at her apartment and all.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Guess not.”

You pop open the bottle of wine. Pour glasses for both of you. Then you order pizza: one cheese, one sausage and pepper. The person on the other end of the line tells you it’ll be thirty to forty minutes. 

“Gonna be a bit of a wait,” you tell Joel when you hang up. “Busy night, I guess.” 

He nods, takes a sip of wine, and then places the glass down, his eyes unmoving from yours. 

You realize then that he’d been staring at you the entire time you were on the phone. The way he’s looking at you – gaze the same as the one from the bar last night when you’d straddled him – has you feeling suddenly nervous.

“What?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks.

Oh.

You breathe out a laugh. It’s not funny – really, the opposite – but you hadn’t been expecting him to ask that. “Joel-” you’re going to say yes – fuck yes – but he interrupts you. 

“Been dyin’ to since last night.” He’s so open, so earnest. It’s fucking hot.

“Joel,” you say again, louder this time. He freezes. His eyes widen, like he’s anticipating your answer. 

“Please.”

It’s all he needs to hear. In an instant, he crosses the distance between you. He places his hands on the counter behind you, framing your body with his. You peer up at him and, fuck – he looks ravenous. 

He kisses you – hard. His teeth crash against yours. It’s messy and hurried, but you don’t care – you want him closer, need him closer. 

Your head swims with memories of the feeling of his bulge against your clothed core. The need to feel it again is all-consuming. You’re greedy for it. And with the time constraint, you don’t want to wait another second. 

You pull back abruptly. Joel furrows his eyebrows where he looms over you, concerned.

“Joel,” you pant,  “I need you.”

It takes him a second to compute what you’re asking. And then he’s nodding furiously.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Okay, darlin’.”

You pull him back in with a hand at the back of his neck, digging your nails into the skin there. His tongue slips into your mouth with a groan. You’re minutely aware of him shrugging his jacket off, hearing the light thump it makes when it hits the linoleum. And then his hands are on you, wandering up and down your body like he needs to feel every inch of you. He tugs at the base of your t-shirt impatiently. 

“Off,” he mumbles against your lips. You pull back only to do as he’s asked, and then you’re right back on him, sucking a bruise into the skin below his ear, your body claiming him subconsciously. His head falls back momentarily, revealing his bobbing throat. You scrape your teeth lightly along the skin there, eliciting a groan from Joel. 

Your mouth continues exploring his neck as his fingers find the clasps of your bra, unhooking them quickly and tossing it aside. You don’t see where. You don’t really care – you’ll find it later.

He grabs your now-naked sides and steps back, pulling you with him. Then he turns you and pushes you back against the island. 

He slaps the countertop behind you. “Up,” he breathes against your neck. You don’t argue. You don’t want to argue. You’re so used to being the one in charge, the one in control — right now you’re happy to bend to Joel’s will.

You grip the edge of the island with both hands and hoist yourself up so that you’re perched there, legs dangling.

Joel’s fingers immediately go to the button of your jeans, popping it open before moving to tug the zipper down. And then he’s helping you lift your hips so that he can pull them down and off. He adds them to the pile at his feet.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear splayed out on your kitchen counter in front of him. You feel like you should be self conscious, maybe even embarrassed by your depravity. But you can’t find it in you to be either, not when Joel is slotted between your legs, his dark eyes scanning over you hungrily. Showing you he needs you just as bad as you need him.

He rubs his hands over your thighs and up the sides of your body, mapping your curves with great concentration. “God damn,” he whispers, what seems to be, mostly to himself. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

You whine pathetically. Your patience is growing thin.

He smirks up at you, likely seeing in your face how desperate you are for him right now. 

“‘ts okay baby, I got you,” he coos, suddenly sinking to his knees in front of you. His hands move closer to your clothed pussy, but not quite there, tracing light circles along your inner thighs. Then he replaces his fingers with his mouth, sending your hips bucking off the counter, chasing him.

The coarse hair of his mustache scratches the skin surrounding where he sucks and bites. You don’t care. You just want to feel it lower, against your dripping folds.

“Please,” you breathe, shakily. Through hooded eyes, you catch Joel’s satisfied grin. You realize then that he loves this — making you beg for it, for him. It’s a dizzying contradiction to the way he was practically begging to kiss you just moments ago.

He presses a chaste kiss against your skin, his lips infuriatingly close to where you need them most.

“Whatcha need, darlin’?” he purrs. The vibration of his voice just next to your core has you spiraling. 

“Need your mouth,” you cry. “Please.”

“Where?” He nips at you, half an inch closer to your swollen clit. You can feel his breath. Your cunt reactively clenches around nothing. 

“On my pussy, Joel” you plead. 

He pulls away from you completely, looks up at you with devilish eyes.

“Good girl.”

He dips one finger into the side of your underwear, pulling them aside to reveal your glistening core. “Damn baby, you’re soaked,” he drawls. You catch the hint of pride that tinges his voice. 

“Please,” you beg again, your voice wanton and broken.

Joel gently pets your throbbing clit with the pad of his thumb. The pressure he applies is feather-light, barely there. But still, after all the teasing, you can’t help the embarrassingly loud moan that escapes you.

He chuckles darkly. “Alright sweetheart, I know – enough teasin’.”

He hooks both index fingers in the top of your panties, pulling them down and off in one swift movement. And then his tongue is on you, exactly where you need it. 

He holds you open with fingers digging deliciously into the meat of your thighs as he licks long, languid stripes from your leaking cunt up to your clit, over and over again until you’re a whimpering mess underneath him. You struggle to hold your weight up on your elbows, watching him as he works you with his mouth.

He’s so good at this – too good at this. You tell him as much, between broken moans. 

“Sofuckinggood Joel – holy shit.”

You swear you can feel him smirk against your heat. 

He buries his face into your cunt then, nose pressed against your clit, and swivels his head back and forth, coating his mustache and beard in your arousal. He groans against you, like this is getting him off just as much as you. It’s all so obscene, so filthy.

You’ve never had a man go down on you like this – like they actually enjoy it. But then again, it doesn’t come as much of a surprise, not when it’s Joel. You’ve quickly come to learn that he’s attentive in every sense of the word. Knows just what you want, what you need – evident by the way his lips latch back onto your clit when you keen for him.

He keeps his attention there, switching between suckling on it – which is enough to make you see stars on its own – and lapping at it with short, shallow flicks of his tongue. He experiments with different angles, licking at different spots on the bundle of nerves until he finds the one that makes you cry out, your babbles of there Joel, yes, right fucking there, don’t stop, letting him know exactly where to focus. 

You feel yourself quickly hurtling toward the edge. You just need a little bit more to get you there.

“Fingers,” you pant. “Need your fingers in me.”

Two of his fingers are at your entrance before you can even blink. You’re so wet that he slides them in easily, curling them against your walls. He expertly finds your G-spot, massaging it as his tongue continues to lap at your clit.

You gasp at the combination. It’s so good – so much.  “Oh my god Joel, I’m so close,” you cry.

He doesn’t let up, doesn’t even look at you. His eyes are closed in concentration, fingers and tongue unrelenting. He’s lost in your pussy. You can tell he’s not going to come up for air until he’s given you an orgasm. 

And it doesn’t take much longer – one, two, three more strokes of his fingers and you’re cumming hard.

Your vision blurs and your ears ring in your head. You’re vaguely aware that Joel is pinning one of your thighs down with his free hand to hold you in place as you thrash against the countertop. 

He fucks you through it, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he continues to curl them against that spot, your clit throbbing against his tongue. 

It is – without a doubt – the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. 

He doesn’t stop when you’ve come down, eager to milk every last drop from your weeping cunt. The overstimulation is too much. Your grip tightens in his hair, weakly attempting to pull him off of you as you whimper nonsense above him. You manage to exhale his name, or something close to it, and he finally lifts his face.  

His eyes meet yours, dark and hooded. He looks absolutely pussydrunk.

The entire lower half of his face is soaked with your slick. His shiny, pink lips pepper kisses along your inner thighs, smoothing over the spots he’d marked with his teeth just minutes ago. You feel so sensitive – you shiver under his touch. 

His smile curves into your skin. He leaves one last light peck and stands up, grunting at the ache in his knees. You laugh, but you can tell by the darkness still looming in his gaze that he’s not done with you yet.

He helps you off the counter, steadying you with hands gripping your sides as you find your footing. Your legs feel like Jell-O, a welcomed side-effect of the earth-shattering orgasm you’ve just had. You lead Joel to your bedroom, leaving your clothes scattered across the kitchen floor.

He backs you toward the bed as soon as you’re in your room, lips latched to the side of your neck. The backs of your legs hit the mattress, and then he’s lowering both of your bodies onto it, cradling your head in his hand as you settle underneath him.

He sits back on his knees, pulling his t-shirt over his head to reveal his broad, tan torso. You’re pretty sure you’re salivating, lost in the slope of his shoulders and the wide expanse of his chest. Your eyes trail lower as he undoes his belt, followed by the button of his jeans. He shimmies them off along with his boxers, his large cock springing free, tip shiny with pre-cum, and hovers back over your eager body. 

He dips down and presses his lips to yours, prying your mouth open with his tongue. He’s remarkably patient for how hard he is, his erection pressing into your thigh as he kisses you, slow and wet.

One of his hands grips your jaw, the other pressed firmly against the mattress next to you. Minutes pass like that, you and Joel losing yourselves in each other. Then you remember that you don’t have all the time in the world – that your delivery driver could get here any minute. In truth, you’re not even fucking hungry anymore – not for pizza, anyway.

You snake your hand up to the back of Joel’s head, pulling at his roots lightly. “Joel,” you breathe when he lifts off of you, “please fuck me.”

He doesn’t have to be asked twice.

“How do you want it, baby?” he purrs in your ear, his warm breath skating over your skin. “How do you like it?”

You breathe out a moan. No man has ever asked you how you like it. They usually just give you a few sloppy, ill-timed thrusts, whatever they can muster before cumming and leaving you unsatisfied. 

But Joel isn’t just any man. 

“Hard,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me hard.”

He growls, low and dark. “‘ts right, sweetheart.”

He lines himself up with your entrance, rutting against your folds a few times to gather some of your wetness with the tip of his cock.

Then he sinks into you, slowly, stretching your walls as he notches further and further in. There’s a sweet, stinging pain, one you hope, fleetingly, that you’ll be able to feel tomorrow – like a keepsake from him. 

You sigh when he reaches the hilt, his tip nudging your cervix. He stills, letting you get used to his girth and you have to dig your nails into his back to keep from writhing under him. You don’t mind if it hurts – you just need him to move. 

“Please,” you whine, unable to stop your hips from bucking any longer. “I can take it, Joel.”

“Know you can, baby,” he coos, beginning to rock slowly inside of you. The pleasure is immediate, washing over your body like a warm wave.

He picks up the pace when he’s sure it feels good for you, dragging his cock halfway out of you and thrusting back in, over and over again. 

He grabs both of your legs, bending them so that you’re spread wide open for him, and grips the backs of your knees tightly as he slams into you. He can get so much deeper like this, his cock hitting a spot you didn’t even know you had. You let out a labored moan, fingers anchored into his delts.

“Talk to me darlin — tell me how it feels,” he pants.

“So – fuck, Joel – so fucking good.”

Joel drops his mouth to your shoulder, nips at the skin there. 

His voice is in your ear, a low snarl.

“‘Better than that fuckin ex, I bet.” 

You’d be annoyed by his cockiness – if he wasn’t so right.

But he is, and so you parrot, “So much better.” And then, because it’s the truth, you add, “the best.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hips stuttering at your words. “Can’t say that angel, you’ll make me cum.”

He pulls out and slams back into you again, setting a new, devastating pace. He fills you up just to leave you empty, over and over again. You’re a babbling mess underneath him, couldn’t string two more words together if you tried. Luckily, Joel is happy to take over and do the talking. 

“So fuckin’ pretty, babygirl. Make the most gorgeous noises, too.”

You’re so fucking close, you can only whimper in response. You feel your walls tighten around him.

He presses your foreheads together, his sweaty curls sticking to your skin. His eyes bore into yours. 

“C’mon baby, show me – show me how pretty ya are when ya cum on this cock.”

He brings one hand down to your clit, rubbing sloppy circles over it as he continues spearing into you. You hike your newly-freed leg up over his lower back.  A white heat licks at your spine. You barely have time to tell Joel you’re about to cum, your warning coming out a single cry of his name. He gets it, though, bringing you over the edge with his words. 

“I got you, baby, I got you; you can let go.”

Your orgasm barrels through you, from the tips of your toes all the way up to your ears. Joel doesn’t let up his ministrations, talking you through it as you writhe under him. 

“Thaaaats it. Good – ahh – good fuckin’ girl.” 

The only word you can think of in your state of euphoria is his name, chants of Joel, Joel, Joel spilling from the back of your throat as you cum.

You’re squeezing his cock through your aftershocks, and you can tell he’s close by the way his thrusts become more and more uneven. 

“Fuck – where do you want it?” he braces both palms against the mattress on either side of you.

“Inside – please, Joel,” you beg. “I’m on the pill.”

He curses in ecstasy,  cumming seconds later with a series of low grunts. His hips stall as he spills inside of you. There’s so much of it – he’s nearly drowning your cervix, coating your walls with rope after rope of his spend. 

He softens inside you, staying there for a long moment as you both come down from your highs. You’re sweaty, panting messes, and you can’t help but giggle at how spent you both sound. 

“Good?” he asks, nosing at the space just below your jaw. It’s so soft, so gentle. Your stomach does a backflip.

“Yeah,” you say. “Really fucking good.”

He pulls out of you with a low, guttural noise. You sigh at the loss of him, your hand coming down reflexively  to feel where he’s leaking out of you. His fingers graze yours, and he bumps them aside to scoop up some of your combined fluids. 

He brings his wet, sticky fingers to your lips, humming when you immediately take them into your mouth and suck them clean, eyes unmoving from his the entire time. You bat your eyelashes at him, innocently as he pulls them out with a wet pop.

“Fuck,” he curses, “gonna get me hard again, angel.”

He lays down next to you, letting his head thump against the pillow, and flexes his biceps behind his head. You kind of hope he does get hard again, despite the fact that your whole body feels like liquid. Like if you were to try and stand, your legs would most definitely give out on you. They’re trembling right now, where you have them half-bent, heels dug into the mattress.

Your phone rings, then, snapping you out of your post-coital bliss. Fuck – the pizza.

You answer, trying your best to hide the undeniably fucked-out lilt of your voice as you tell the delivery person that someone will be right down.

Joel laughs next to you when you hang up. “I’ll get it – hold on.”

He jumps out of bed and dresses quickly. You’re gawking at him as he does. You can’t help it. This man – probably the hottest man you’ve ever seen – was just inside of you. You want to pat yourself on the back. He notices you staring as he’s zipping up his jeans and shoots you a wink.

Joel deadbolts your front door and disappears into the hallway. He returns moments later, shutting and re-locking the door, and strides back into your bedroom with both boxes. You can see the steam coming off of them through the cardboard. 

He sets them down by your feet.

“In bed?” you ask, sitting up against the headboard. 

“Well I’m not sure you can walk to the kitchen, darlin’.”

Your face heats. He has a point. But he doesn’t have to be so smug about it. You roll your eyes at him and mumble something nonsensical under your breath as you tuck yourself in under your duvet.

“What was that?” He quirks an eyebrow.

Long gone is the shy Joel from earlier this evening. He knows your body now, knows how hard he makes you cum. He’s a whole different man post-coitus – bolder. It makes you damn near melt.

And maybe you’re different now too. Because you’re pretty sure you’d give up your vow of solitude for him, if he asked.

It’s crazy, probably. You’ve only known Joel for two days, after all. But you can’t help the way that he ( and his dick) makes you feel. Like maybe there’s a promise of something down the line, however serious that something may be. You just know you want to give yourself the opportunity to experience it, no matter how it ends.

“Nothing.” You break, grin pulling tight at the corners of your mouth. “Just get me a slice of cheese.”

He lets his gaze linger for a second longer, the faux-threat of it heating you from the inside out. And then he’s vanishing into the kitchen, returning with two plates and a stack of paper towels. 

He dishes up slices for the both of you, climbing into bed next to you and handing over yours. 

He settles in with a content sigh.

You both eat in happy silence for a few minutes, Joel giving you a satisfied nod when he finishes up his first slice. “‘ts good,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food. 

“Right?” you retort. “It’s my favorite pizza around here.”

He hums in agreement. Pulls the box of sausage and pepper onto his lap to grab another slice.

“So,” you start, “you’re heading home tomorrow?” It’s more of a statement than a question. You know he is. But still, part of you wants Joel to say no, tell you that he’s canceled his flight, that he’s decided to stick around for a bit longer. 

“Yeah,” he says. You feel your heart sink. You silently curse yourself for being delusional. 

“Are you excited?” you try. “To be home?”

He doesn’t respond right away – his forehead wrinkling and his lips falling into a small frown. You watch as he thinks on it. 

“Not really,” he admits after a few seconds. 

“I know you’ll miss Sarah,” you say, letting your head fall onto his shoulder. 

He peers down at you with a heavy sigh. “So much…” His voice trails off, like there’s something else he wants to add, but can’t. 

The air feels thick, suddenly – heavy. You try your best to lighten it.

“Can’t stay a bit longer? Let Tommy run things for a while?”

“No,” he laughs. “Pretty sure he’ll just end up screwin’ every client we got.” 

“And you’d end up screwing every one of Sarah’s professors,” you tease. 

His mouth falls open in mock-offense. He grabs at both your sides, suddenly, letting the open box of pizza slide off of his lap and onto the bed. He tickles relentlessly just under your ribs, causing you to squeal and squirm under his grip.

“Joel,” you cry in between fits of laughter. “Stop!” 

“I don’t think so, darlin’,” he tuts. He removes one of hands momentarily, to toss your plate aside, and then he’s hooking one of his legs over your body, straddling you. He looks so big like this, his body hanging over yours. You feel content – safe. His hands release you, finally, coming to settle on either side of your head on your pillow. You blink up at him. He’s staring down at you with narrowed eyes. 

“What?” 

“Nothin,” he mumbles. “‘ts just, I wouldn’t, ya know. Sleep with anyone else, I mean. If you didn’t want me to.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You know that if you respond, it’ll come out way too eager. So you just blink at him again. 

“Would you want to keep talkin’ after I get home?”

Yes, you want to say. Please. I don’t think I could go on without knowing if I’ll get to see you again – fuck you again.

You swallow. Collect yourself. 

“Yeah. I would.”

You shimmy under Joel so that you can sit up. He straightens out, shifting his weight onto his knees. Takes both of your hands in his and pulls you up.

His eyes are still locked on yours. “I know we just met this weekend,” he says. “But I had a lot’a fun with you. I like you.” 

Your cheeks warm. “I like you too, Joel.” 

He smiles. “‘m glad.”

“Doesn’t have to be anythin’ serious,” he continues. Lets his fingers trace aimlessly along the inside of your arm. “We can jus’ see where it goes.”

“Yeah,” you nod, your heart squeezing in your chest. “See where it goes. I like that.” 

And it’s the truth. You do. In the stillness, your legs tucked under the covers, Joel caressing you, you feel, for the first time in a long time, happy to not be alone. And you know you will be again, very soon, when Joel leaves to go back home. But then again, you won’t – not really. His voice will be there, a phone call away, and his body will be there, in the divot he’s left in your mattress. And you’ll have the promise of taking this slow, seeing where it goes. 

You’ve never been so excited for the future. 

end notes: tysm for reading! I may turn this into a series if people want more of these two <3 lmk hehe

[yoomiwrites]

We won³

Summary: The war is won, yet you lost too much. And well – how much can you still win?

Note: And here we go, part 3! Since I have all of it already finished, might as well make it a daily update. And THANKS a lot for every like, comment and message! I see you and I am THANKFUL. If you have more ideas, for stories or anything, hit em into my little box on my profile. I also have a Silco Story rotting on my phone since season 1, but idk if anyone would be up for that.

The rebuilding continued, and life finally found a rhythm that felt normal—or at least as close to normal as things could get. Ekko worked tirelessly with the Firelights, but the urgency of survival had faded into the background. With it, so had the moments he used to share with you.

At first, he didn’t notice the shift. You still checked in occasionally, bringing him food or teasing him about overworking. But those visits became less frequent, your easy laughter and steady presence replaced by quick smiles and polite excuses.

One evening, he sat alone in the Firelight base, absently tinkering with a small device. His thoughts drifted to you—how you used to be there, sitting across from him, filling the quiet with your chatter or just the comfort of your presence. The realization hit him suddenly: you weren’t around as much anymore.

And it scared him.

Ekko spent the next day looking for you, his mind racing with possibilities. Had something happened to you? Were you hurt? Or worse, were you pulling away because he’d taken you for granted?

When he couldn’t find you, he turned to Vi.

“Have you seen Y/N?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

Vi raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the wall. “Yeah, they’re out.”

“Out where?”

“On a date.”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. A date? He blinked, stunned. “A date?” he echoed, his voice betraying his surprise.

Vi smirked at his reaction, though her tone softened. “What, you didn’t know? They’ve been trying to move on for a while now. Guess it’s working.”

Ekko stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in. He’d known—on some level—that you’d cared about him. He wasn’t blind to the way you’d looked at him, the way you were always there when he needed you. But he’d never let himself think too hard about it, too focused on the mission, too afraid of what it might mean.

Now, the thought of you moving on left him feeling... hollow.

Vi clapped a hand on his shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Don’t screw this up, Ekko,” she said, her voice firm but not unkind. “If you don’t want to lose them, you better figure out what you actually feel.”

He nodded absently, her words ringing in his ears. For the first time, Ekko realized what he might lose if he let you drift away completely—and he wasn’t sure he could handle that.

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Saving What Was Lost Part 2: A Million Shades of Red ✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: I’m so excited to bring you chapter two! I’ve been working long and hard on this, so I hope you do enjoy it. As always, I LOVE to hear your thoughts so comments and reblogs really make my day 🩷 I loved getting to write the last half of this in Joel’s POV. No beta for this one. Happy reading! I have reached my max number of tags for this, so please go follow my updates blog if you'd like to be notified for future updates @mermaidgirl30-updates

Summary: Trying to figure out your way through grief is hard, but Joel seems to give you that first flicker of hope that you need.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 12.7k

Chapter Tags: Mentions of being trafficked, flashbacks of being abused, angst, soft and protective Joel, violence, PTSD, no use y/n, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Joel is late 40’s), pre-outbreak au, switching POVs

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The next day you don’t leave your room, can barely stand to get out of bed. So, you don’t. You just stay curled up in a ball between the twisted sheets, listening to the soft drizzle of rain and the howling wind that taps at the glass window. You tossed and turned the entire night while nightmares tore their way through your worn body, reminding you that your life was ripped from your hands more than a year and a half ago. 

   You’re not hungry, can barely even choke down a glass of water. But Joel goes out of his way to make sure you get something down, even going as far as helping you hold the glass, encouraging you the entire time. You never asked him to; he just does it.

   He brings you food to your bed. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And even when you can’t stomach anything, he leaves the plate next to your bed in case you change your mind. He checks on you every hour of the day, even if that’s just him walking by and peeking his head in the doorway to make sure you’re still breathing, alive. 

   You don’t feel alive, but maybe one day you will. Maybe one day you won’t wake up and immediately feel like dying.

   One day. It’s only been one single fucking day since you’ve been pulled from the reins of Angela and all her grimy men, saved by the hands of Joel Miller. And you still don’t understand why he picked you. Of all the girls he could’ve saved, he chose to save you…

   He saved you. And you’re eternally, forever grateful. Even if you can’t express that. Joel Miller is your hero. And even though you don’t exactly trust him yet, maybe one day you will. For now, this is enough. 

   Take it one step at a time. That’s what he keeps telling you. And you just swallow it down and stomach the pain like hot wire scalding your skin. 

   One day at a time. 

   When the night comes around, so do the nightmares. They leave you soaked in sweat, hair sticking to your damp forehead, eyes wide when they drag you from sleep. Blood curdling screams leave your lips, the raspy wails choking you as the tears pour like raindrops down your face. 

   And then there’s Joel slamming the door open, watching you with those sad brown eyes locked on yours, his soft voice calming you down from the brutal memories of the past that try to drag you back to the awful, pain-filled house. You’ll never go back. Not ever again.

   Again, he doesn’t leave until you’ve calmed down enough. He asks if you want him to stay, sit in that same chair he sat in the entire night the evening before. But you shake your head and tell him you’ll be okay. But you’re not okay. You’re far from okay. And when he nods and walks out of the room and closes his bedroom door, you let the tears soak the sheets until you’re dragged back down into darkness. 

   That’s exactly how the next three days go. You stay in bed, only dragging yourself from the cool sheets to crawl to the bathroom. You have no strength, no will to do anything. So you stay in the safety of your room and just sleep, praying the nightmares will leave you alone for just one fucking day, but they don’t. They come like creatures in the night, swallowing you whole with their sharp fangs and feasting on your misery. They bleed you dry just like all those men did. 

   And then there’s Joel and those sad doe eyes… He scares away the nightmares sometimes. But you don’t dare tell him that. You just stay silent, letting him stalk the halls day and night until you’re pulled down to sleep. 

   It’s a repeated cycle that you can’t break: wake up, get a teeth clenching migraine, cry, fall back to sleep, wake up with nightmares clouding your mind, cry, let Joel talk you back to sleep, cry. But you can’t stop, can’t shake it. It’s like it’s ingrained deep in your mind, becoming a part of your new identity. 

   You’re completely hopeless.

   And still Joel doesn’t push you, doesn’t make you do anything you don’t want to. He’s just a crutch that he’d gladly let you use, if only you’d touch him. But you don’t. You stay far far away from his tanned skin, his rough hands. You don’t want to be touched, and he doesn’t dare go there. He just stays like a lingering shadow in the hall, making sure you’re still here. Alive. He wants you alive, breathing. And you don’t know why…

   When the fourth day comes around, you make it your goal to get up. You have to try; you can’t stay in bed forever, even if your weak body is completely revolting against any sort of movement. You ignore the blinding pain of your aching bones and push yourself out of bed. And that in itself is a step in the right direction. 

   With messy hair, sweatpants, and a purple hoodie, you take a deep breath and make your way out of the room, praying you can make it all the way downstairs. Every step feels like sharp glass shards cutting the bottom of your heels, but you fight the burning pain and walk on. You have to make it downstairs. You just have to.

   Take it one step at a time. Joel’s soothing voice floats through your mind, and that alone is enough to get you down the steps and into the kitchen. 

   When you turn the corner and see him slumped against the counter, one elbow leaning against it and his other hand skimming the newspaper intently, you freeze in place. He must’ve not heard you tiptoe in because his eyes are locked tight on the folded black and white paper.

   He’s focused, jaw tense as he reaches for his cup of coffee. It’s black. No cream, no sugar. Just black. And you can smell the fresh brew lingering in the air. His green flannel hugs his broad shoulders, the rolled up sleeves leaving his tanned forearms exposed to the light. His eyes have dark shadows underneath them, and he looks like he’s gotten just as much sleep as you have these past few days. Basically none at all.

   Your eyes avert to the floor, your fingers nervously twisting into the soft fabric of the hoodie. You don’t know what to say, so you just take one more step into the lit up kitchen and clear your closed-up throat. 

   Joel’s eyes snap up, and he immediately drops the newspaper, pushing back his sturdy mug of black coffee. “Oh, hey. You’re up.” A ghost of a smile meets his lips and then those soft doe eyes appear. 

   He needs to stop looking at you like that, like you’re a lost puppy. But you won’t lie, they do make you feel a little safer. 

   Nodding your head, you push your hands inside the pockets of the hoodie, twiddling your thumbs mindlessly because you don’t know how else to act when anxiety and fright sit tucked away in the back of your mind.

   “You hungry?” he asks, tilting his head as he studies you with soft eyes. 

   Those soft brown eyes… 

   Your stomach rumbles at the thought of food. You’ve barely eaten the past few days, unable to stomach anything under than choking water down and only able to tolerate a couple pieces of toast. Anything else was left untouched, and all Joel would do was sigh when he kept seeing the full plates of food left on your nightstand. But again, he didn’t force you to eat anything, only encouraged you while he asked if you felt okay. 

   He was… too good. Why on earth did he choose to save you…

   “Mhm,” is all you can hum out. 

   “Okay then. Why don’t you sit down, sweetheart. I can fix you somethin’ up real quick,” he answers from across the lavish kitchen, pulling out various ingredients from the refrigerator. 

   You slip into one of the barstools at the kitchen island and lean your elbows against the white quartz that reflect against the bright lights displayed high in the room. Your back is as stiff as a board, and your fingers knot together like you don’t know how to act when you’re in the presence of Joel. He won’t hurt you, yet in the back of your mind there’s always that little alarm that says you can’t trust anyone. 

   You can trust him. He’s safe.

   “Apples or blueberries?” he calls out behind the open refrigerator door. 

   “What?” you ask confused as your eyes flick back up to him.

   He leans his head out and smiles softly. “Which one do you like more, sweetheart? Apples or blueberries?”

   You take a second to think on the question. He’s asking which you like more. He’s giving you a choice. Something you haven’t had in almost two years. Do you even remember how to choose anything for yourself? You doubt it.

   “Oh, ummm,” you sputter out, fingers locked tight around each other. You almost think they’ll break with how hard you have them knotted together. “Blueberries,” is what you finally decide on through your racing mind.

   He nods his head and grabs a container of fresh blueberries and sits them on the counter, pulling out other ingredients like butter and syrup. You sit there motionless while he gathers a couple of pans and glass plates out of the cabinet. And you just don’t know what to think about any of this. 

   After a couple minutes of just listening to him bustle around the kitchen, he breaks the silence. “You want some coffee? Just made a fresh batch a few minutes ago.”

   Coffee. You don’t remember the taste of it anymore or how you even liked it. “Oh, okay. Yeah, I could take some coffee,” you say shyly with your hands still shoved deep in your pockets. 

   He wastes no time and pours you a cup, sliding a spoon in as warm steam escapes from the black liquid. “How do you like it? Black, sweet, lots of creamer?”

   Your lips mold together in a tight line as you try hard to remember how you used to make it. You can’t recall anything you used to like before you were taken, and it makes you want to beat your fists on the countertop and spill the tears you’re trying so very hard to hold back. 

   “I don’t—I don’t remember how I like it,” you whisper, eyes dropped to the shiny island, legs trembling beneath you. 

   Joel takes a step in your direction and sets the steamy cup of coffee down in front of you. You can feel his body looming across the island, his large hands leaning against the quartz material, and those eyes. You feel how soft and sad and intently he’s looking at you, like he understands your pain.

   “Sweetheart, can you look at me a second?” he asks quietly, his deep voice a staccato in the heavy air. When you lift your eyes, he gently encourages you by saying, “There ya go. Attagirl.” And for some reason, that makes you want to cry even more. 

   “S’alright, sweetheart. How ‘bout I leave out the cream and sugar, and you can make it sweeter if you don’t like it plain. That alright with you?” he asks softly, his gentle brown eyes locked on yours. You sniffle out a yes, and he gives you a small smile as he turns to grab the creamer and sugar. 

   You drag the coffee cup closer to you and tap your nails against the ceramic material, thinking long and hard about everything you’ve lost. What did you even like doing anymore? You can barely remember what you liked before the last couple of years were snatched away from you. You can’t even remember your favorite color…

   When he returns and sets the bottle of creamer and a shaker of sugar down in front of you, you crack. A tear slips down your cheek, and you look up at him through glassy eyes. “I can’t remember what I loved to do before they—before they took me. My hobbies, my passions, my likes. I just don’t remember…” Your voice is barely audible as it shakes beneath your broken stature. 

   God, you’re so broken. 

   His jaw flexes and his knuckles tighten into closed fists. He seems angry, but those sad brown eyes tell a different story. He’s not mad at you; he’s furious about the ones that took your life away. The murders that tainted and destroyed your life, your mind, your heart. They took everything from you, and Joel knows this. He hates it as much as you do. 

   He takes a deep breath and relaxes his fingers against the cold material of the kitchen island, his brown eyes focused directly on you. His bottom lip twitches, and then he sighs as he speaks. “It’s gonna take a while, sweetheart. Gonna take time and work to remember what it was you loved before, what you lost. But I have no doubt that you’ll get ‘em back. You’re gonna discover new loves, new passions, new hobbies. And trust me when I say that you will thrive. One day, you’re gonna be soarin’, and all this pain and sufferin’ will be gone. Maybe not completely, but you’re gonna fly, sweetheart. Wings and all.”

   Another tear escapes your lash line, and you nod up at him slowly. “Thank you…” is all you can muster out of your highly emotional state. Thoughts are hard after he just painted a masterpiece with his words. 

   You’re gonna fly, sweetheart. The words stay sealed in a safe space deep inside your mind. No one can take what he just said away from you. Words that were spoken straight from your savior. Words meant just for you. Wings and all.

   “Why don’t you take a sip of your coffee? See how you like it.” He encourages you to try while he stands back and watches. 

   You bring the curve of the cup to your lips and take a small sip. As the warm liquid washes down your throat, your nose instantly crinkles up. Joel’s laugh floats around the room, bouncing off the stained cabinets and right back to you. You almost want to laugh back because his laugh is so infectious and light, but you don’t. 

   “Take it you’re not jus’ a plain cup of coffee type of girl,” he chuckles as he pushes back his sandy tousled hair, a couple strands of silver flashing beneath the bright lights. 

   “Guess not,” you reply as you reach for the sugar next. When you pour a large spoonful in and mix it up, you take another sip. It’s closer to your liking, but there’s still ingredients missing that you can’t recall. 

   “Not sweet enough for you yet?” he grins, taking a sip from his own coffee cup, watching you struggle with finding just the right mix. 

   “Not yet,” you sigh, annoyed with your own self from not knowing how to make your coffee anymore. 

   “S’alright. Try the creamer next. Maybe that’ll do it.” 

   As you start to pour the thick creamer into the warm liquid, he sets a shaker of cinnamon in front of you. And again, he just watches you with those warm milky-brown eyes. 

   You look at him all gawking and wordless, speechless because he’s trying to strike your memory, make you remember what you liked. He just stands there and smiles, watching you pour some cinnamon in next, like that’s what you needed. You don’t know why, but it makes your heart race just a beat faster.

   “In case that’s what you were lookin’ for,” he replies, flicking his soft eyes down to the brown cinnamon atop the now lighter-colored coffee.

   When he turns back around, a hint of a smile curls against your pink lips. In case that’s what you were looking for. He’s so… kind. You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve him.

   You take a sip of your creamy, sugared-up coffee and hum at the sweet taste. Almost there, almost how you want it. You toss in some more cinnamon, mixing it into the almost white liquid. And when the delicious flavor meets your tastebuds, you freeze. 

   Caramel. That’s the ingredient you’re missing. It’s like a lock clicked right into place. A lost piece that was missing, and Joel helped you find that piece of yourself again. 

   “Joel?” you call. His body whips around, and then those soft brown eyes are on you. Those doe-colored irises that make your mouth run dry. 

   “Yeah, sweetheart?” he asks, like he’s right at your beck and call. 

   “Do you by chance have any caramel?”

   His eyes light up at that request, and he smiles warmly. “As a matter of fact, I do,” he grins. 

   He walks over to the refrigerator and pulls it open effortlessly, digging around until a small bottle of caramel materializes and lands in front of you, his fingers brushing past your coffee cup as he takes a step back. 

   “Hope you found what you were lookin’ for.” The way his deep timbre and the meaning of his words leaves you smiling behind the hand that’s leaning against your mouth. 

   “I think I did,” you say shyly up at him.

   He chuckles and nods, knowing exactly what that means. “I’ll make sure to always have caramel stocked in the fridge from now on. Jus’ for you.”

   Just for you.

   A smile ghosts over your lips, and another tear leaks when you realize what just happened. You actually smiled. You smiled. Even just a small one is progress. Joel made that progress happen. He made you smile…

   After pouring in a glob of syrup and stirring the sugary goodness with your spoon, you almost moan from the way the savory coffee hits you like you just swallowed the best piece of cake in the world. This is how you liked your coffee. Caramel, sugar, lots of creamer, cinnamon, warm. You just unlocked a forgotten piece in your mind, and it’s all because of Joel…

   The way he’s looking at you, soft doe eyes and a big smile curled against his plush lips, makes you give him a small nod. And in that moment, you see a ghost of a tear in his clear brown eyes. He knows you just found another lost part of yourself, and he loves to see you discover it once again. 

   He ends up making you blueberry pancakes drenched in butter and syrup, and you have to admit that these are the best pancakes you’ve had in your entire life. While you indulge in the sticky, syrupy plate, Joel joins you at the kitchen island after a few minutes. He’s careful to sit one barstool away from you, knowing very well that you need your space. And that’s exactly what he does. Gives you space while also being close, present, in the moment. And you appreciate that about him. He’s respectful of your boundaries when no one else has ever been before.

   He gives you a smile every once in a while as he sips his black coffee, barely touching his own pancakes. You think he just likes watching you eat, for whatever reason that may be. You know damn well you don’t look pretty shoveling a huge forkful of pancakes in your mouth, but you let him watch anyway. Maybe it’s because you aren’t used to being fed like this, only used to being starved to death. He’s trying to give you the freedom and enjoyment back in your life, you think. And that alone almost brings tears to your eyes. 

   Another couple of minutes goes by, and that’s when you decide to break the silence. Maybe he could answer some questions that’ve been crawling under your skin since the moment you stepped foot into this house. “Joel?”

   “Hmm?” he hums, taking one more sip of his coffee and setting the mug down on the quartz island. 

   You take a second to breathe, tapping the fork nervously against the glass plate, gathering your words together. And then you ask the question that’s been eating you alive at night. “What were you doing at the auction, really?”

   He taps his thumb against the brim of his coffee cup and stares off into the blue silently, his jaw slightly clenched. “I was there for business.”

   “Business?”

   “Yes,” he answers blatantly.

   “Seems like you’ve done it more than once. Been at auctions, I mean.” You drag your fork over the syrup-filled plate, wondering what he’ll say next.

   “That’s ‘cause I have,” he says as he swallows a sip of coffee, setting it back down carefully. Like he might break the glass if he’s too loud. 

   That doesn’t answer your question, so you grit your teeth together and ask again. “Why were you there, Joel?”

   He sighs and runs his fingers back through his tousled curls, making it messy and disheveled as thick lines map across his tanned forehead. “Was tryin’ to find someone. A girl named Rebecca. Her family, they reached out. Told ‘em I would find her and bring her back home.”

   Words get lodged in the back of your throat, your mouth suddenly dry as a desert. He was looking for someone but instead found you. He could’ve left you to the awful blonde man. The nameless face that still haunts your nightmares, depriving you of adequate sleep.

   “Oh. I see…” you say quietly. “But you found me instead?”

   He nods slowly. “S’right, sweetheart. Found you instead. Got you out jus’ in time, too. Glad I did.”

   Your bottom lip quivers as tears prick the back of your eyes, threatening to spill at any moment. He should’ve left you there to die. You already feel dead, so why does he want to bring you back to life? 

   “You could’ve just left me there. You could’ve just—” Your words are smeared with guilt because he shouldn’t have wasted his time and money and efforts on you. But he did, and you still don’t think you deserved it. His kindness. Just everything he’s done for you. You don’t deserve any of it.

   “Whoa. Hold on there, sweetheart,” he says as he halts you from finishing your sentence. “I wasn’t gonna jus’ leave you. So don’t for a second think I would’ve.”

   His sad brown eyes don’t help your trembling, but you just nod and brush away any trace of tears with the sleeve of your hoodie.

   “Okay,” you choke out. 

   His fingertips brush against the edge of the kitchen island and after another minute of silence, you ask the next question that you’ve been wondering. “What exactly is it that you do for work?”

   He blows out a deep breath and answers. “I was a former CIA agent. After Sarah was taken, I did everything I could to find her and get her back. Turns out when I found her, I found ten other girls that were missin’. I decided then what my line of work was gonna be. Opened up my own private business that focuses on huntin’ down sex traffickers, shuttin’ down auctions, findin’ missing girls. A lot of families hire me to help bring their daughters home, and that’s what I do.”

   Your eyes widen as you take in the information. Joel does this sort of thing on a weekly basis? “So, you’re kind of like a bounty hunter?”

   “Something like that, I suppose,” he chuckles. “It’s almost like I never left my former position sometimes. But this seemed more important. After Sarah was taken, I made it my life’s mission to take down as many traffickers as I could. And trust me when I say I will find every single fucker that ever laid their filthy hands on you, and I will destroy them.”

   You swallow back a lump in your throat and gawk at what he just said. “I don’t know what to say, Joel. That’s uhh—that’s…”

   “Don’t gotta say anything, sweetheart. That’s a lot of information to take in.”

   “You kill people?” you ask quietly, dropping your fork as it clatters against the glass plate. You’ve suddenly lost your appetite. 

   “Unfortunately, yes,” he sighs, dragging his palm down his patchy beard in deep thought.

   “A lot?”

   He nods. “I’ve killed a lot of bad men, sweetheart. Both for the CIA and for my own business. After knowing what most of ‘em have done, that’s the only thing you can do sometimes. ‘Cause if they go to prison, they’ll jus’ get bailed out and do it all over again. I’ve witnessed it happen quite a lot, unfortunately. So, the only way is to get rid of ‘em for good.” 

   “I see…” you whisper, twiddling your thumbs together mindlessly as your eyebrows knit together in concentration.

   He kills people. Bad people.  

   “Look, if you’re uncomfortable with this topic we can—”

   You stop him right there by shaking your head, your eyes snapping up to look him intently in the eyes. “No. No, I just—that’s gotta be heavy, Joel. What you do.”

   He groans under his breath and nods, his brown eyes heavy with years of dealing with traffickers. “It is, sweetheart. But I do it to make a difference. Seein’ those girls go back to their families, watchin’ ‘em get back to living their lives is truly worth the long nights and heartache of this job.”

   Your eyes get a little foggy as you look at him like a lost puppy, admiration and sadness swirling through your irises. You don’t have a family to go back to. You don’t have anyone. But you don’t see Joel rushing to kick you out. In fact, he hasn’t even said anything on the topic yet. You don’t even know where you’d go, what you’d do. 

   How can a person get by in life if they don’t even know who they are anymore? You’d probably just wither away into burnt ashes if it wasn’t for Joel…

   After a beat of silence, Joel digs around in the pocket of his denim jeans and takes something out. “Oh, and this is for you.” A new iPhone appears on the clean counter, and then he slides it over to you. 

   Your mouth drops open as you unlock the screen, your index finger flicking through the different pages.“You really got me a phone?” you ask with disbelief in your voice.

   “Sure did, sweetheart. It’s got my contact information in there, and I put Sarah’s in there for ya. In case you wanna reach out. Or I could do it. Whatever you’re comfortable with. And Tess’s number is in there. Whenever you’re ready to talk to her, she’ll be there. Jus’ don’t push yourself. Only when you’re ready. You’ll know it when you are.”

   Your lips tremble as you swallow back fresh tears. He’s already done more than you deserve. “Thank you, Joel. This is… this is more than I could’ve asked for. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

   He holds up a palm to stop you, scoffing at the last sentence. “‘S’not necessary, sweetheart. You don’t owe me a dime.”

   “But I—.”

   “Hey, listen to me. You don’t owe me anything ever, sweetheart. Not a damn thing. The only thing you could possibly give me is the chance to see you healing from all this trauma. Learning to love life again is all I wanna see. Understand?”

   He wants to see you enjoy life again. He wants to see you healing…

   “Oh. I uhh—okay,” you stammer out quietly.

   “Go on and finish your pancakes. You want some more coffee? I could—”

   Before Joel can finish his sentence, the front door opens with a bang, and you jump in your seat, your fork going flying to the ground.

   “Joel! Hey, Joel. We need to talk. I…”

   Your eyes widen in fright as you see a tall man with slicked back dark, greasy hair standing in the hallway. The breath gets knocked from your lungs like you’ve been kicked in the chest, and adrenaline courses through your veins like lightning. Fear sets you on edge, and all you can think is that this man is here to take you away or worse, hurt you. 

   No, no, no. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening! 

   “Jesus Christ,” Joel growls as he slips off his barstool, stalking toward the man with a matching pair of dark brown eyes. But they’re much darker than Joel’s.

   “Joel, I—Oh.” The man freezes as Joel stands over him, clearly upset that he appeared out of thin air. 

   Your body tells you to run, to hide. So you slide off your stool and start to move quickly. Before you can get out of the kitchen, Joel stops you in your tracks. 

   “Hey, s’alright. He’s not gonna—” Joel coos, trying to calm you down, one arm outstretched like he’s reaching for you. 

   Your hands lock around the edge of the wall, trying to grip onto something that’ll ground you into place. 

   Calm down. He won’t hurt you. But you don’t know that. You don’t know this man. And you can’t trust any of them. Can you even fully trust Joel? You don’t know now.

   “Tommy, I told you to call first. Don’t jus’ show up. You knew she was here! The hell’s the matter with you?” Joel growls, shoving him hard in the shoulder.

   “Shit, Joel. I wasn’t even thinkin’. Sorry, I just assumed you talked to her already,” he apologizes, brushing off the spot on his leather jacket that Joel moved out of place. 

   You watch the banter between them, not knowing what to do or where to run. 

   “Well, I was ‘bout to. I said four in the afternoon, Tommy. Not the fuckin’ mornin’. Christ,” he scoffs, hands on his hips while his lips form into a tight line. “Now you apologize to her.”

   “Darlin’, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Tommy sighs, taking a step forward in your direction.

   “Stay back,” you warn, trying your best to sound brave, but you’re anything but that. 

   “Hey, s’alright, sweetheart. He’s not gonna hurt ya,” Joel soothes slowly, stepping forward as his brown eyes soften when he looks at you. “This is Tommy. He’s my brother. He works with me. Actually helped me the night I got you out.”

   Your eyes flick quickly between the two of them. Your mouth feels like sandpaper when you realize what he just said. He was there too? “He… helped you?”

   Joel nods, keeping his distance to make you feel more comfortable. “S’right, sweetheart. Helped me get you out safely.”

   “What…” you whisper, your eyes wide as you look at Tommy. He looks like he doesn’t know what to do right now as he stands between you and Joel, trying to figure out if he’s too close.

   “It’s true, darlin’.” Tommy has the same mannerisms and Southern drawl as Joel. They really must be brothers. 

   “Th—thank you,” you say directly at Tommy, your hand dropping from the wall as your guard drops.

   He smiles and stuffs his hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket. “Don’t mention it, darlin’. Glad you were able to get out of that hell hole.”

   “Me too…” you answer back in a whisper.

   “Joel, I need to speak with you for a minute.” Tommy nods his head toward the living room, and Joel looks between you and his brother, brows furrowed together undecidedly. He obviously knows how uncomfortable and uncertain you are with a strange man in the house. But this isn’t your house. It’s Joel’s.

   “Is it alright if he comes in, sweetheart?” Joel looks over at you with soft brown eyes. And God, those fucking eyes will be the death of you.

   “Why are you asking me? It’s your house. Why are you—.”

   He rakes a palm down his thick beard and sighs. “‘Cause I don’t want you scared, sweetheart.”

   You just stand there like an idiot looking between him and Tommy, deciding how this will go. Your body screams for him to leave, but half of you trusts Joel. And if he says he won’t hurt you then you know he’s not lying. 

   “It’s okay, Joel. He can come in,” you say hesitantly, your fingers curling in, making half crescent moons against your skin.

   Tommy smiles while you just stand there silently, watching like a hawk. “Thank you, darlin’. You know you’re a brave girl, don’t you?”

   You give Tommy a bewildered look and just shake your head while Joel watches the interactions between the two of you. “I don’t feel like one,” you half whisper out. 

   “Well, ya are,” he confirms.

   Again, you stand and stare. Fingernails embedded into your palms. You might as well be drawing blood now.

   “C’mon, Tommy.” Joel leads him into the living room, leaving you to an empty kitchen with half-eaten pancakes on the countertop. But your appetite has sailed away. And suddenly, you can’t even catch your breath.

   You make your way over to the barstool, knocking the knife to the floor with a loud clatter. There you go again making messes. When will you ever learn? 

   You twirl a piece of hair anxiously, awaiting whatever the conversation is to be over. You don’t like not knowing what’s being said, especially when it’s two large men that could take you down in a matter of seconds. 

   Joel would never. At least you don’t think. It’s weird, the thing between you two. He saved you, continuously tries to comfort you in a way that you’ll accept, tries to take care of you. And you haven’t even been here a fucking week yet. 

   He’s… different. He wouldn’t hurt you. Not ever. At least that’s what you keep telling yourself. But his actions match his words. And he feels safe. But are you ever really safe anymore? Your body thinks not, and it makes you sick to your stomach. 

   You saunter over to the edge of the kitchen, leaning your ear against the edge of the wall, hoping to get a glimpse into their conversation. You have to know what’s being discussed. For your safety and the comfort of your mind. They could be discussing anything.

   Leaning a little closer, you get a drift of their conversation.

   “You sure, Tommy?”

   “Positive. We got ‘em, brother. We found ‘em. And they’re not gettin’ away this time.”

   Blood pumps like a fountain through your ears, and your nails dig in deeper into the painted wall. Who did they possibly find?

   “You found ‘em. Shit.”

   “That’s right. Now it’s time to give them what they deserve.”

   You whip around the corner in a whirl and stomp into the room, arms crossed and on guard. Joel and Tommy snap their heads up, and Joel meets your eyes that are swirled with a look of desperation. A plea for him to trust you enough with whatever this is.

   “You found who?” Your bottom lip trembles and your hands shake. You’re so fucking worked up over nothing. 

   “Oh—uhh.” Tommy looks from you and back to Joel, not able to make a decision. 

   “Tell me.” It isn’t a question but a demand. Not like you’re in a place to be demanding answers, but you deserve them. All the secrets Angela and her men kept left you vulnerable and in a dark place. And for fuck’s sake, you deserve to be told things. 

   Joel steps in and saves Tommy from the decision. “S’okay, Tommy. She has a right to know.” His dark eyes flick over Tommy and then back up at you, and they look a little softer when he’s specifically looking at you. “Some of the buyers. Tommy was able to track ‘em down. He was able to help shut down another auction last night, and some of the same men that were at yours were there.”

   You stand there stunned and wide-eyed like you’re frozen to the wooden floor. Even… the blonde one?

   Before you can ask, Tommy steps in. “Wasn’t jus’ me. My brother here helped. And some of our other men.”

   Joel helped. But he was here? How could he…

   “What umm—what happened?” you choke out. You can barely speak. Too stunned to barely even blink.

   “Was able to take some of ‘em into custody. Got some of our other workers watchin’ ‘em. Makin’ sure they don’t see daylight again. Not until Joel—well, steps in.”

   You drag your tongue gut wrenchingly slow over your bottom teeth and just stare with a locked jaw ahead at Joel. His eyes are the color of honey, fluorescent onyx swirling in those stormy eyes. But they’re still so fucking soft. Even though his jaw is clenched and his dark eyebrows are knit together. 

   He always looks at you so fucking soft. It’s hard not to just sink to the floor even though your heart is in your throat thinking about those filthy men.

   “What guys exactly?” you grind out through your teeth.

   Joel’s jaw clenches, his broad body becoming stiff and upright in the leather chair, palm raking heavily over his mouth. His dark, sad eyes tell you enough. He doesn’t even have to say anything for you to know who exactly he’s talking about. But you hold your breath nonetheless.

   “The blonde…” he whispers out, his deep voice barely making a sound. But you hear it like a loud, booming crash of thunder as he nearly knocks you back two steps. 

   The blonde… the man that couldn’t fucking keep his hands off you. And those piercing blue eyes that dragged scars down your body. 

   Fright. Pain. Memories. You feel everything all at once. Suddenly, you don’t feel brave at all.

   And then there’s Joel who’s looking at you like the lost kitten that you are. 

   “What about Angela or Garrett?” you spit out quickly, your hands trembling as every syllable scratches the surface. Their names feel like fire on the tip of your tongue.

   “Haven’t been able to track ‘em down yet, sweetheart,” Joel sighs, his palm skimming over his patchy beard, brown eyes in a far away place.

   “You mean they’re still out there somewhere…” you mutter, tears pricking at the back of your eyes just threatening to spill.

   “S’alright. We’re gonna find ‘em. And when we do, you’ll be the first to know,” Joel confirms; Tommy nods beside him.

   You and Joel continue watching each other, eyes never leaving one another. He looks like someone just stole the last piece of pizza from a box and tossed his dog out in the street. He looks just as wrecked as you do. 

   Lost. Abandoned. Betrayed.

   You can’t seem to keep your footing, so you grab onto the railing of the staircase to keep yourself up. “I’m just—I’m going to go lay back down again.”

   Joel gives you a nod, understanding hitting his dark brown eyes. He doesn’t want you to go back up just yet. “You gonna finish your pancakes?”

   “Lost my appetite,” you shrug, your grip tightening against the smooth railing so you don’t fall back and crumble to the floor.

   He looks at you for a good five seconds and nods, his jaw flexing slightly like he wants to reach out, but he doesn’t. “Alright, sweetheart. Let me know if you need anything.”

   “Okay,” you shutter as you start to climb the marble steps.

   “It was nice to meet you, darlin’. Take care now,” Tommy yells, but you don’t even stop to say goodbye to him because the tears come swimming in your vision.

   By the time you get to your room, your eyes are heavy and blurry as tears stream down, tunneling your vision. You throw yourself against the sheets and get lost in the memories all over again. 

   There you are like a pretty diamond on display, men drooling and catcalling you as you cross the polished stage. And then the blonde’s hands are on you, his hot breath blowing down your breasts, hand sliding up the skirt of your dress, dipping underneath your lace. But Joel stopped him before he could go any further. 

   Joel stopped him. 

   You cry all over again from the night of the auction, the past hundreds of days you’ve been trafficked from state to state, not even knowing where you were most of the time. And then there was that house. That fucking rundown house where you were used and abused with the rest of the girls. Some didn’t even make it out alive…

   You stay in the room the rest of the day. Mostly in bed. Except when you drag yourself up and force yourself to brush your teeth, wash your face, run the brush through your messy tangles. You need to do something other than rot in that big, comfy bed but for now, that’s exactly what you’ll do.

   When 9:00 p.m. rolls around and the full moon is high in the sky, twinkling lights shining through the open window, Joel materializes in your doorway. Blue flannel buttoned up, hands deep in the pockets of his denim jeans, his greying curls disheveled, a concerned look on his tanned face. But the thing you notice is the jangle of keys in his pocket.

   Why does it look like he’s leaving?

   “Joel?” You yawn, rubbing the sleep from your tired eyes as you sit up. 

   “Hey, sweetheart. You still up?” Joel leans against the doorway, biceps flexing beneath his flannel, the black Rolex on his left wrist glistening under the dim hall lights. 

   “Mhm. Still up. Barely.” You yawn and push yourself up to where you’re leaning against the intricate headboard with gold flecks splashed into the dark wood.

   “Listen, there’s somethin’ I gotta take care of tonight. Should only be gone for a few hours but—”

   You flinch at his words and swallow the lump that’s forming in the back of your throat. He can’t just leave. Not in the state you’re in. “You’re leaving me here? All alone? What if—”

   He shifts his weight and takes a step forward, barely breaching inside your room. “S’alright. Maria, Tommy’s wife, is gonna come over while I’m gone. Didn’t think you’d be comfortable bein’ alone, and she was my next best thing. If you’re okay with that.”

   You sit there tumbling his words over again in your head, repeating what he said. He’s not leaving you alone with a man but a woman. He thought you’d be more comfortable that way. Even though you don’t know her, Tommy was nice enough, or so it seemed. And if Joel trusts Tommy enough to be around you, then you think you’d be okay with Maria.

   “I think so,” you muster out.

   His chocolate eyes soften, and the crow’s feet pull tighter as a small smile spreads across his mouth. “Good. That’s good.”

   “Where are you going?” you ask, cocking your head to the side as you watch him stiffen up at the question. 

   “Jus’ ‘bout forty minutes south of here. Shouldn’t take me too long.” He doesn’t answer specifically what he’s doing, but you have a feeling that it involves the blonde man that haunts your dreams.

   “Is it dangerous?” You shift in the sheets and pull the velvety blanket tighter under your chin.

   “Not tonight it ain’t.” He hesitates a little, and that makes you wonder if he’s not telling you everything because he doesn’t want to set you off again.

   “Only a few hours?” you ask softer, voice low as your stomach twists and turns. 

   “Only a few,” he confirms.

   “Okay.”

   He hooks his thumb around one of his belt loops and pushes his other hand through his tousled curls, his brown eyes never leaving yours. There’s something heavy in his stare, but you can’t quite place what it is.

   “Well, go on and get some rest, sweetheart. Shouldn’t be much longer until Maria gets here. I’ll introduce you before I leave for the night. But for now, I’ll let you sleep.”

   You sink back under the sheets and get comfortable, the nightlight plugged into the wall the only thing glowing except the dim lights in the hall. As he turns to walk out, you stop him. “Joel?”

   “Yeah?” He turns and smiles, and you can’t help but to feel a little flutter in your heart. He really has a beautiful smile. 

   “Promise me you’ll come back.” Your eyebrows thread together in concern, fingers curled firmly under the sheets. 

   “I promise,” he nods, flashing you another smile. There’s no lie in those brown eyes of his.

   “Okay.” You give him a tight-lipped grin and let out another yawn, sleep about to take hold of you once again.

   “Goodnight, sweetheart.” He pulls the door closed and when it shuts with a soft click, you call out goodnight too.

   In another half hour Maria gets to the house, and you get a brief introduction with her. But sleep is all you can think about, except for Joel leaving. You don’t want to think about that, so you fall back into bed and force yourself to succumb to the darkness. Maybe when you wake up then Joel will be back home.

   Please, come back. 

   Joel makes his way into the private warehouse, one that’s small and tucked away north of Austin. No one ever lurks around these parts. If they did, Joel would know instantly because there’s cameras all around the perimeters.

   The metal door slams closed as he stalks in, pushing past empty boxes and wooden crates that sit scattered next to dusty shelves. He pushes himself forward deep into the warehouse, close to the back where he knows the fucker is at. He’s going to fucking rip his icy blonde hair from the scalp and kill him for what he did to you and every other girl he’s gotten his filthy hands on. 

   Blood boils like lava in his veins and his hands are fisted at his sides, ready to finish what he should’ve that night of the auction. One punch wasn’t enough. Not when he was defiling you like a dog. 

   Joel hates him and everything he stands for. But tonight, Carter Williams wouldn’t get away with what he’s done. No. Joel would end him. 

   The dim lights overhead pop and flicker, anger brimming in his blood-red eyes. When’s the last time he got a full night’s rest? Not since he rescued you. No. He’s been too worried sick over you. 

   God. He’s never going to get the memory of how absolutely terrified you looked that first night. Won’t ever get the image of your pretty eyes filled with tears, blood running down your soft skin all because he wouldn’t call you a whore and wouldn’t dare ask you to get on your knees. 

   Goddamn it. He won’t ever forget that. He wants to strangle every single fucking person that ever gave you that mindset. Wants to completely ruin them for making you feel like all you were worth was for getting used and abused by disgusting men. 

   You’re not any of those things they made you believe. You’re a beautiful, broken woman that needs time to heal and fall in love with life again. He’ll help you get there as much as he can. He thinks he’d do just about anything for you and those big doe eyes. 

   Fuck. He’s going to break every single one of them. Starting with Carter.

   As Joel rounds the corner and kicks a metal pole forcefully, he comes face to face with Carter. The fucker that’s going to die tonight. 

   His hands sit bound behind him tightly. Wrists, ankles, and chest restrained around the cold metal chair with sharp-edged rope. Blonde hair is slicked back with a tinge of blood perspiring down his sweat-drenched forehead. His stormy eyes widen when he sees Joel appear before him like a dark shadow. 

   “You!” Carter accuses, glowering at Joel who lives a double life night after night. “You were the one at the auction!”

   Joel crosses his arms across his broad chest and smirks, eyes darkening as he focuses on the man that caused you pain. It makes his fingers twitch from anger. “I was.”

   “Let me go, man! I didn’t do anything wrong. You’ve got the wrong guy,” Carter shouts, twisting in his confines, thinking he can escape his restraints. He’s not getting that lucky tonight. 

   “Didn’t do anything wrong, huh?” Joel asks, raking his fingers slowly through his patchy beard, trying to hold on for just one more second before he explodes with rage. He chuckles and shakes his head in unbelief, and then he throws a punch against Carter’s jaw. Blood spews from his mouth and lands across Joel’s button-up, but he could care less at the moment.

   “Shit! What was that for?” Carter chokes out, a purplish, red tinge bruising his now swollen face. 

   “That’s for touchin’ what doesn’t belong to you,” he scowls, jaw locked tight like a hidden safe. 

   “Oh, I see. This is about that bitch you bought,” Carter spits.

   Joel jumps as fast as lightning and grabs Carter by the throat, his hold firm as he squeezes just enough to get his point across. “Call her that one more time and see what happens,” he warns, glaring at the pathetic man who got caught. 

   Carter gasps for air the second Joel releases his hold and howls out a raspy laugh that sounds like poison to Joel’s ears. When he finds his voice again, he smirks like the bad guy that he is. “Go on then. Do your worst. I’ve already seen her on video. Legs spread, tight pussy being fucked by some—”

   Joel takes the back of his hand and smacks him across the cheek so hard that blood spews from his mouth. “I said shut the fuck up!” he screams, his angry words echoing around the walls of the stuffy warehouse. 

   He’s going to fucking kill Carter. One more word and he’ll end it with the snap of his finger. He just needs that tiny push over the edge. One more revolting comment about you and his life is over. 

   Hell, it is already over. 

   Joel paces back and forth uncontrollably in front of the man whose face looks like it’s been through a bar fight. His hands clenched into tight fists at his side, jaw locked, narrowed eyes that could kill with a single stare. He’s livid, way over the edge of being angry. He could kill a whole goddamn room of traffickers and buyers at this rate. If more were here, they’d be finished.

   Carter rudely interrupts Joel’s chaotic thoughts and murmurs lowly. “Is she really worth the trouble, man? What? You gonna beat me to death because of her? She’s not worth it.”

   “She’s worth everything!” he shouts, his deep growl echoing around the room. He can almost feel his blood boiling beneath him like he’s already on fucking fire. 

   “So, this is what it’s about? You want to ruin me because I tried ruining her,” he chuckles darkly, like he has no remorse in any stiff bone in his body. 

   Fucking bastard. 

   “It’s part of it,” Joel says with a clipped tone, his fingernails digging into the denim of his pockets like he’s about to rip them clear off. 

   He needs to calm down, but he can’t. Not when he’s in the presence of a beast who tried to dig his claws into your delicate skin. So, he won’t be calm. He’ll be chaotic instead.

   “Don’t act like you know me,” Carter shakes his head, tendrils of smeared red strands falling over his cloudy eyes. 

   “Oh, I fuckin’ know you alright. Read up on your filthy past,” he growls. “How many women have you taken? How many have you kidnapped, raped, murdered? How many did you fuckin’ wreck? More than ten, you son of a bitch,” he storms, kicking over an empty bucket and cursing under his breath when he walks off the pain that spreads like wildfire through his foot.

   “Was worth it, and I’d do it all over again,” Carter replies with a smirk.

   That does it. Something snaps inside Joel. Hard. A feral growl leaves his throat and then he’s jumping in front of Carter, his hand wrapping tightly around his neck until he sees red flash in Carter’s dead eyes.

   “You sick fuck. You know what I do to men like you?” he screams, wrath swirling off his tongue and making his fingers curl extremely tight around Carter’s pale skin.

   Carter hacks violently under Joel’s grip. He’s only able to get dry coughs and garbled words out until Joel backs off just enough to where he can speak. “What, kill them? Go ahead. Fucking kill me. It won’t make a goddamn difference because there’s one of me all over these states. And the trafficking isn’t going to stop with me. The buying isn’t going to stop. It’ll keep happening over and over and over again.”

   Joel fists Carter’s short locks until he’s cringing in pain, snarling a pit bull glare into his piercing blue eyes that are laced with pain. 

   “Well, it ain’t gonna hurt when you’re dead and buried six feet under the ground!” Joel says with bared teeth, blowing hot air into Carter’s clenched face.

   “You can’t save all of them, you know. You can’t save her.”

   That strikes a nerve in Joel, a sharp ache stabbing him directly in the middle of the chest. He drops his tight hold on Carter and takes a step back, eyes blown wide with guilt. 

   He couldn’t save them all. He didn’t… he couldn’t. He couldn’t save her. But through all the pain that’s flaring in his body, all the lost souls that he’ll never be able to avenge, one thing still rings clear. He saved you… when he couldn’t even save himself. But he still saved you.

   He takes a deep breath and lets out a long sigh, holding back tears he refuses to shed. He’s not a weak man, but he’s so weak for you. 

   “I have to try…” he whispers, his voice broken and muddled against the slight echo and dripping sounds from the leak in the ceiling.

   For a moment it’s silent, only the screaming voices in his head breaking the stillness. He almost forgets that Carter’s there, until he hears his choppy voice gritting against his eardrums.

   “You’re going to fail, you know,” Carter whispers, taunting him again with the rasp of his throat.

   “What did you say?” Joel asks, whipping around to face the blue eyes of a killer. A killer he’ll surely strangle to death.

   “You’re going to fail her. You’re going to fail her so hard that she goes running when you try to fix her. She’s beyond repair, and you know it,” he spits out, smirking like a madman who’s lying through his bloody teeth.

   “No, she ain’t,” Joel snaps, eyes narrowed and fists clenched at his sides.

   “Yeah, she fucking is. You know how many men fucked and abused her? Do you know what her handlers put her through? Do you know how many women she’s seen murdered right in front of her eyes?”

   “I fuckin’ know enough! So jus’ stop! Jus’ shut your fuckin’ mouth!” He’s way past angry. He feels feral with the need to choke this man out just to silence him enough to where he won’t hear how broken you really are. Joel knows this. He knows the unimaginable pain you’ve been through. The abuse, the torture. They tried to fucking destroy you, and this fucker was one of them. 

   “I was going to give her a nice home, you know. Yeah. Was going to treat her real nice. Like a brand new dog. Maybe teach her some table manners. Bitches always get on their knees before their meal is served,” Carter chortles with wicked eyes. Eyes that could burn icy flames out of those hellish blue pits. But Joel would burn them out first. Maybe jab a knife through his skull. He wasn’t about to let Carter win this war. 

   “Fuckin’ stop,” Joel warns with a deep scowl, teeth clenched as he fists the front of Carter’s blood-soaked shirt.

   He slips the semi-automatic handgun from the back pocket of his jeans and triggers the safety off. His arm darts out as he shoves the barrel of the gun to Carter’s sweat-soaked forehead, daring him to say one more goddamn thing about you. He swears he’ll shoot. He won’t even flinch. Not when it comes to protecting you. 

   He only needs one fucking reason to blow Carter’s head off, but he has more than enough reasons now. “I swear to God if you don’t stop—.”

   Carter gives Joel a devious smirk as he watches Joel’s finger hover over the trigger. He knows Joel won’t hesitate. He’s just pushing him to the edge until he snaps. 

   “You want me to stop? Not until you hear all the filthy ways I was going to fuck—”

   “I said enough!” Joel seethes, anger taking over every single nerve ending in his body until he completely snaps. He pulls the trigger and watches the bullet fly through Carter’s forehead, spewing blood all over the front of Joel’s button-up, sloshing droplets of crimson on his wrinkled forehead. He’s too worked up and furious to even care. 

   He’s fucking wrecked. 

   He steps away from the pool of blood at his feet, teeth bared as he clicks the safety on, sliding the gun into his back pocket once again. But this time, blood is smeared across the metal barrel, reminding him of the mess he just made. 

   His head is fuzzy, shapes foggy, and he’s got a raging migraine that could take him to his knees in an instant. He needs sleep, needs to wash off the blood of the day, bask in the darkness where he lingers most sleepless nights. He needs to get a handle on this grief that eats him alive night after night. But he can’t. And ever since he took one look at you, his mind has barely thought of anything else.

   Scared. You were so fucking scared. The way you walked sheepishly across that stage, high heels dragging while you held back muted tears. And in that moment, he wanted to kill every goddamn man in that room of sinners. 

   Isn’t that what he’s doing now? Avenging you and every other girl those vile men did unspeakable things to. He’s going to fucking…

   “Joel?” 

   Joel’s name pulls him out of the fog just long enough to realize Jimmy, one of his workers, was calling his name.

   “Clean up this mess. I can’t be here right now. Gotta get home,” Joel replies quickly, voice strained as he clenches his jaw tight.

   “Sir, you good?” Jimmy tries again, dark eyes trying to read Joel.

   “I’m fine. Call me when you’re done here. Make sure no trace is left.” He walks out of the room, passing a few of his other workers until he’s making his way out of the stuffy building, letting the door slam behind him with a bang. 

   Once he’s in his truck and turning the key in the ignition, he slams on the gas and makes a run for it, leaving behind the giant mess he just caused. Carter was going to end up dead either way. Joel just decided he couldn’t stand another fucking word out of that bastard’s mouth. 

   He clenches the leather steering wheel so tightly that he leaves claw marks in the black material. A hand rakes slowly down his patchy beard, trying his best to alleviate some of the rage, but nothing helps. Maybe seeing that you’re sleeping peacefully tonight might help him calm down a bit. Maybe just maybe you’d be the cure to his never-ending suffering. 

   When he pulls up in the long driveway and kills the gas, he hops out and rushes to the front door, barely stopping at the bottom of the stairs to even say hi to Maria. Right now he just needs to see you. Needs to make sure you’re still breathing, still in one piece, still alive. 

   “Whoa there. Everything go okay?” Maria asks as she shoots off the leather couch and paces toward Joel, a look of worry flashing across her wide eyes.

   “As good as it could’ve,” Joel rasps, wiping the dried blood from his forehead. 

   Maria looks him up and down, taking in the stained flannel and tendrils of messy curls that stick to his sweaty skin. “By the looks of your shirt and your face, guess you got him.”

   He nods, letting the ice settle deep in his bones. “I got the son of a bitch alright,” he growls.

   Maria stares at him with concern swirling in her dark eyes, her body stiff as she folds her arms over her chest to take a good look at him. As if she’s just seen death in his hazy eyes. “Hey. You alright? You look—”

   “Tired? That’s ’cause I am,” he sighs, lacing his fingers back through his dark locks.

   But the wavering stare she gives him makes it seem like tired isn’t the word she was going for. Defeated might’ve been a better word. Because right now that’s exactly how he feels. 

   Destroyed. 

   “I’ll just get out of your hair,” she murmurs, leaving him with a light pat to the back of his shoulder. But before she can grab her keys off the coffee table, he stops her.

   “Maria, wait. Thank you. For watchin’ her for a few hours.” He gives her a tight-lipped smile, and she nods back in return. 

   “It was no trouble, Joel.”

   “How is she?” he asks, letting the stuffy air settle while she shifts her weight on the wooden floor.

   “She’s sleeping. She’s fine,” she confirms with a smile. 

   He lets a puff of air leave his lungs, thankful you’re safe and sleeping.

   “Good. That’s good. Thank you, again. I really appreciate it, Maria. I know it was last minute and all.”

   She presses a palm into his bicep, giving it a light squeeze, letting him know it’s all fine. “It was really no problem, Joel. Whenever you need me to come back over, I won’t even hesitate.” 

   Joel nods in thanks, letting her walk toward the front door. But before she decides to leave, she turns and leaves him with one more thing. “She’s a lovely girl, Joel. Nice, sweet, a little shy. She’s lucky you found her.”

   His spine goes stiff, a lingering sensation crawling up his skin, bubbling its way into his brain. She’s lucky you found her. 

   “Yeah… she is.”

   “Well, goodnight. I’m going to head back home to Tommy. I’ll see you later.” She makes her way out the door, the lock clicking in place once she’s gone. 

   “Night, Maria…” he finally croaks out, throat suddenly tight as he hears the creak of bed springs and a tiny whimper float down the end of the hallway upstairs. 

   He rakes a hand slowly down his patchy beard, sighing as he climbs the marble staircase. He’s prepared for another restless night, knowing you’ve been having nightmares every single night since you’ve been here. Every single time he makes sure to check on you, wake you from your violent nightmares. And every fucking time you wake up with bloodshot and tear-soaked eyes, it makes him want to wrap you in his arms until he can soothe the nightmares away. But he can’t. He just can’t. 

   When he makes it up the staircase and down the hall, his foot hits a particularly creaky spot in the floor, and he curses under his breath when he hears you shift in the bed and stir awake. 

   “Joel?”

   Fuck. He didn’t want to wake you. He didn’t want you to see him like this. Looking just as much of a monster as Carter did. 

   The blood. It’s going to fucking terrify you. And that’s the last thing he wants. You to be scared of him. He doesn’t want you to fear him because he’d never ever hurt you. Never dare lay his fingers on you without your consent. He’d rather chop his own hand off with a dull blade.

   But you’d still be scared either way. Blood or not. 

   He takes a deep breath and spins around, hovering in your open doorway and giving you a strained smile. “Hey, sweetheart. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

   “It’s fine. I was just…” You gasp, eyes wide and wild as you take in his bloodied flannel and disheveled hair. “Your shirt. The blood. Are you hurt?” You look scared, worried, and it makes his heart clench at the sight. You don’t need another thing to worry about. He’ll be fine, even if he doesn’t feel fine.

   “Nah. It’s—not mine,” he stills, fingers clenched around the stained material. 

   You knit your brows together, studying him closely as you analyze the splattered blood stains on his cotton material. “Whose is it then?” 

   He flinches, not wanting to tell you what he did. Even if Carter deserved a thousand deaths, each one worse than the other, he doesn’t know how you’ll respond to this. He doesn’t want you afraid. 

   He takes another deep breath, inhaling as much oxygen as his lungs can take in. Because in the next moment, he might not have any left.

   Carefully, hesitantly he lets his raspy voice choke out. “Oh. It’s ummm. It’s the blonde’s blood…”

   You still, eyes blown wide, mouth dropped open like you’ve just been shocked by lightning. Your body becomes stiff, as stiff as a wooden board, fingers curling nervously against the lavender comforter. You look lost, wading off into the distant sea, waves carrying you far far away until he can’t reach you anymore. Until the sea swallows you whole.

   Damn it. 

   “Oh. Oh… I see,” you whisper out, jaw tight as your eyes travel up to his.

   Jesus. Those fucking sad eyes. It could bring a man to their knees. They’d bring him to his knees.

    “What was his name?” you ask hesitantly.

   “Sweetheart. I don’t think—”

   “Tell me,” you plead adamantly. “Please...” Your voice is a breath of a whisper, just loud enough to stir a hurricane inside his hollow chest. 

   And then he breaks as a wave of grief washes over his slack jaw.

   “His name was Carter,” he finally says, breath shaky as his eyes momentarily fall to the dark wood, until he’s looking right back at you and those fucking eyes that are full of fear and hurt. 

   “So he’s dead?” you ask muffledly, your features frayed as you contemplate his answer.

   “Yes,” he confirms, his blood-stained shirt suddenly feeling too suffocating and tight, like someone is trying to strangle him to death. 

   Another beat of silence falls over the dark room casted in shadows, ghosts of green trees swaying in the moonlight behind the glass window that overlooks the slumbering forest. 

   You lick your bottom lip slowly, fingers twisted against the sheets, your eyes looking vacant and lost as you contemplate. “How many—how many women.”

   He knows exactly what you’re asking. How many women has he hurt, killed, mutilated to shreds.

   “More than a dozen…” he says calmly, his fists tight at his sides as the flash of a bullet and blood invade his thoughts. 

   You slowly nod and curl in on yourself, your knees folding into your chest, blanket tucked up under your chin, your eyes vacant as he sees your trembling form relive the past all over again. 

   He can’t see you like this. Like you’re being tortured all over again. Like there’s not a single thing he can do right at this moment to make you feel better. He wants to wrap you in his arms, tell you it’ll be okay, that no one will ever hurt you again. He wants to take the pain away from you; suck it all out so he can carry the burden instead of you. 

   You… how could they ever hurt you? You’re too… special. They took everything from you. Took every last fucking piece until you were left on the floor like a broken vase, glass shards unrecognizable until all the glitter and shine was scraped off and covered in dirt. They wrecked you, and he fucking hates them for it. 

   Diamonds aren’t supposed to break or lose their shine. They’re meant to be treasured, taken care of, meant to never be broken. But you… you’re so very broken. And all he knows at this moment is that he’d do anything to see you smile again. He’d do anything to put all the shattered pieces together until you’re sparkling like glitter even in the darkness. 

   “Are you… okay?” he asks hesitantly, like he might crack you like the spine of a new book if he talks too loudly.

   “I’m… yeah. I’m okay,” you reply with a muted response, lips quivering, tears licking at the edges of your waterline. You’re not okay. You’re far from okay, but you put on a brave face anyway. Even if you’re lying through your teeth. You want to be okay, so that’s what you say. Maybe if you let the words fall off your quivering lips then you’ll believe them. 

   But he knows the truth. You’re fragmented and defeated. This much he does know. 

   When you look up with tears welling in your eyes, he freezes, jaw clenched as he stares at the face of a woman who had her entire life ripped from her own hands. Hands that were never meant to be ripped open and scarred from filth and grime. Your life was never theirs to take, but they took it anyway. 

   Your big doe eyes sear into him, splitting him in two until he feels pain radiate down his chest, suffocating his insides like oxygen is being stolen from his lungs.

   Stop that. Stop looking at me like you want me to fix you. Like you want me to wrap you up in my arms until all the pain is gone. That’s what he sees when you look at him like that. Like you want him to make it all just stop. Drown the noise out until you can’t hear the world tilt on its axis anymore. Until you just feel peace.

   He wishes you wouldn’t look at him with those beautiful doe eyes, your held back tears making them glitter in the moonlight. God, he’s never seen such big sad eyes. Eyes that could make a grown man crumble into tiny pieces by both heartbreak and awe. 

   He can’t fix you, can’t make the pain stop, can’t wipe your memories from the hell you’ve managed to survive the past almost two years. He can’t even… fuck. He can’t even hold you the way you should be held. Gentle, tender, affectionate. That’s what you deserve. And he can’t fucking do that because you’re so traumatized and fragile that even one light caress would send you into an unbreakable panic attack. 

   He just… cares. He cares a lot. And there’s nothing much he can do except slowly show you how good life can be again. He just wants to see you smile. And that’d be enough. That’s honestly all he wants — you happy again. He knows you can bloom. And one day you will. Just like a pretty sunflower that thrives in the giant Texas fields. 

   One day you’re going to be that sunflower. And he’ll be there to see you blossom and sprout. 

   They might have cut down your stems, ripped out your strong roots, destroyed your green leaves, crushed your beautiful bright petals. Making sure to kill everything that was good inside you, but Joel would replant you. He’d watch you grow until you bloomed into the most lavish garden he’s ever seen in his entire life. 

   You’re going to thrive. One day at a time, you will get your petals back. He’ll put his life on that promise.

   The weight of your heavy stare and the thick fog that hangs in your room makes him dizzy, makes him a little off kilter every time you flash your teary eyes his way. He can’t see you cry. Not right now. Because then he’d want to wrap you so tight in his arms that all your pain would fade away. But he can’t do that, and he knows it. So, he’ll do the only thing he can before he breaks in two himself. 

   Leave. Not the perimeters of the house, just your stifling room.

   “I’m gonna jus’—go lay down. You know where to find me if you need me,” he mutters under his breath, his hand finding the edge of your solid door until your shaky breath stops him cold.

   “Joel?”

   He can barely turn his head, too afraid that if he looks at you one more time tonight that he’ll finally crack. “Yeah?” he chokes out. 

   “Thank you…”

   One more look at your starry doe eyes and he’s gone. 

   His hand finds the cold doorknob while he gives you a tight-lipped smile and gently closes the door behind him. Your wide doe eyes will surely haunt his dreams tonight. If he even gets any sleep. He thinks he won’t, even if his body is screaming at him, wanting to drag him down until he sees nothing but the backs of his dark eyes. 

   When he finally releases his hand from the doorknob, he stops in his tracks, back suddenly rigid when he hears the faint sounds of your voice cracking, finally letting the tears shed from your eyes. The sound nearly takes him to his knees. 

   He slides down to the ground, back flush to the closed door, sinking lower until he’s sitting against the hard floor feeling completely defeated. He feels as if a large anchor got thrown down on him, chaining him to the cold wood, imprisoning him to hear your muffled cries through the cracks in the walls. 

   He’s so fucking weak. Every part of him is telling him to run into your room, take the pad of his thumb and wipe the tears from your eyes, hold you against his firm chest until you’re quiet and calm, until he can rock you to sleep and take every ounce of pain you feel. 

   But instead, he sits there like a fool with his head hanging low between his thighs, elbows resting on his aching knees, fingers lacing roughly through his mess of greying curls. He needs to get a grip on himself, needs to find just one speck of courage to drag himself to his room. But he finds none, letting the grief and despair chain him right against your door. 

   He can’t stay like this forever. Can’t stay glued to this spot where he can hear you cry yourself to sleep. But he just can’t shake how scared and vulnerable you looked the moment he told you about Carter. Or yet, even just the look on your face when he walked over and you asked if he was hurt. 

   He is hurt and he feels a sharp blade slicing straight down his spine, opening him up and cutting out his nerve endings until he can’t feel the weight of those sad fucking doe eyes. 

   Your pain is now his because he feels everything that you keep bottled up inside. Just like spilled perfume, he’ll soak you up until your pain is no more. He’ll swallow all of it like a spoonful of cough syrup until every last drop is gone. 

   After half an hour of sulking on the floor, your cries die out, and then you’re sound asleep, escaping your pain for just a little while. Until the nightmares run rampant. So, he drags himself to his room, doesn’t even bother shedding his clothes, too tired to do anything but sleep. And when he falls into his bed, he instantly passes out and lets the pain swallow him whole. 

   The last words he hears echoing in his head are ear splitting. You can’t save all of them, you know. You can’t save her. 

   But he’ll try. One way or another, he promises to save you. 

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@valkyreally @northennlights

[satoruhour]

LESSON NO. 1

a/n: bassist!geto teaching you how to play the guitar. loosely based off this but not really connected. as requested by @alcospray 💟 i dont play bass so i just watched a whole bunch of videos for just one song - any bass players wanna correct me feel free to do so ;"). only if u look like geto tho /j. they havent say the three words to each other yet, read it with that in mind :3

wc: 2.1k

“any update from your fan?” gojo nudges him playfully as they wait for the principle of the university to introduce their band for the freshmen orientation, which, weirdly, something that the four of them never thought would happen. they sang about topics that wouldn’t normally get talked about or were shunned — politics, capitalism, authoritarianism — and yet being introduced by the principle of their place of education was quite ironic.

the bassist doesn’t hear gojo at all, not even when his best friend tries to tease him by calling you his fan. there were too many things in geto’s mind way even before this whole performance: his finals, a rival band that sought out to create false rumours about them, you.

always, you, the unexpected distracting thing that infiltrates his mind without fail. from the first night you trodded over to his dorms, opening up to him and letting him take care of you, to the many dates after. he’s taken you to cafés, watched you study way too many times, or simply let you sit through one of his song formation days.

a conscious effort to keep his distance and everything is just you, you, you, and geto is terrified. he’s never liked the kind of love with strings attached, with those mushy, complicated feelings, but no one-night stand, no quick fuck has ever made him feel the way you do.

but lately, he’s seen less of you, unwillingly accepting the principle’s offer to perform for the freshmen because he knew you were one of the group leaders ushering in the new students. at least he could try to search for you in the crowds, even getting a cheeky little text about where your group was meant to sit a week ago. he could be granted at least that when you both have been working so hard for final exams that you two could hardly see each other.

although, throughout their whole set, he sees everyone but you. he loses the bass line often, looks lost on the stage, needs to be cued in, something that never happens to the geto suguru. he’s always been a natural, and yet when it comes to you, you ruin him in the best way possible.

“hey— hey! man, what was that?” gojo slaps him on the back but it doesn’t even register in geto’s head, not really bothered by how he messed up the performance if it wasn’t for gojo’s vocals and shoko adding in her own improvisations for her parts. nanami can only shrug as he comes around to geto’s front.

“she wasn’t there, i looked, too,” nanami mumbled, tapping his drumsticks on his shoulder, “but you’re the most passionate guy i know who loves his guitars and bass lines.”

gojo has to chime in, “he’s the only bass guitarist you know, nanamiii!” and shoko pulls him back with a smack to the back of his head.

the dark-haired guy only clicks his tongue, “sorry ’bout him.”

nanami waves his drumsticks before pointing them at his face, “i know you’re obsessed with her, but i don’t wanna be a drummer if i can’t work with my bassist. sort this out before our next gig. she’s a sweet girl . . just, not when it’s at the expense of the band.”

geto only sighs in relief, landing a hand on his drummer’s shoulder.

“thank you, nanami.” the two exchange smiles before he gives a salute to his other two friends (“do you think he finally loves someone enough for him to be distracted on stage?” shoko says, and gojo gasps dramatically), heading out from the wings and down the stairs at the front of the stage where people look confused at the recent performer looking high and low for where your group was meant to be seated.

he sees not you, but rather your group leader mates who he’s at least seen pictures of, so he has no qualms about heading over to ask about your whereabouts — “the last thing she told our head group leader was that she was down with a nasty flu . . terrible fever and all. our main group leader went to her dorms to check on her and she’s unfit for doing orientations activities. we just sent her loads of soup packets and pei pa koa’s.”

geto laughs at the last part, knowing your need for sweet things. when it’s combined with a soothing coating for your throat, it’s pretty much the only thing you take when you’re sick. with a quick thanks, geto races for the campus bus straight to your dorm, the bass carried on his back rattling with his capo, chord sheets and mute nosily.

at least your annoying roommate’s gone home before school starts so it’s only you when geto knocks on the door. his knuckles rap against the wood, heart breaking when he hears your hoarse voice answer from the other side. soon, he can hear your feet moving towards the door, but it takes a while from how your body is, knocking over some things in the process.

“c-coming!” you groan out, wrapped in layers of clothing and feeling so hot you feel like you were in hell. but you aren’t expecting the sight when you open the door: your boyfriend panting, the guitar case behind him only telling you he’s come straight from the freshmen gig, the expression on his face.

“s-su!” you exclaim, both excitedly and a little worried because you didn’t want to get him sick, something you regret immediately when you go to clutch your throat.

“oh, baby,” geto brushes the hoodie off your head and brushes away the mess of your hair, “you look so pale, i— i would’ve come sooner if i knew—!”

“that’s why i didn’t tell you,” you pout, pushing away his hand gently and stepping back. it hurts to speak, but you feel like you at least need to explain your absence to him, “i was afraid you’d ditch the performance. also— don’t want you to get sick.”

suguru’s expression softens, “don’t worry about me, doll. come,” he takes one more step towards you and you feel so safe with him you don’t take a step away, “let me take care of you.”

the next hours are full of geto, a revered bassist in an upcoming band who dons long hair, piercings and has a menacing dragon down his arm alongside some boots, taking care of you. he runs back and forth between the pantry to make sure you have enough hot water, boiling hot soup to drink, enough layers to keep you warm and even calling gojo to get some tylenol from the supermarket.

“take a breather, sugu, i’m not gonna die,” you laugh slightly with a rasp to your voice, squeezing his hand as you rest against his shoulder. he’s made sure you at least have something in your stomach and enough hot water to power a hot spring, worry showing through his heartbeat when the hand he holds is still so warm.

“you’re heating up loads, baby,” geto frowns, turning his head to plant a kiss on the top of your head. he rolls his eyes when he hears it’s because you’re here. “do you want me to put cool towels on your head?”

you giggle again and cough, sniffling the mucus back up your nose, “no, it’s okay — you’d have to go to the pantry again to get water and i just want . . you here.”

suguru only hums, something akin to a melody that you don’t quite know but you’re happy to listen to his gruff voice anyway. the way he vibrates as he hums sends a calming feeling right to your body, and how he looks and feels so different from the very first time you were alone together.

he seemed so cool, passing the blunt to you and blowing his smoke into your mouth, kissing you like you’re just another girl in his roster; but right now, you were far from it.

now, not only is he still cool, but he’s also the most caring person you know and is something so far from his appearance and band: this is just one in many instances of how much he takes care of you. from the same fingers that strum upon the stainless steel, they travel miles over your body, your face like the first songs he learned on the guitar, weaving a melody and language so intricate only the two of you speak it.

silently, you feel him push you forward while he slots his legs on the other side of your body, letting you naturally rest with your back to his chest. “wanna learn?”

“i am in the most terrible state, suguru,” you whisper, reaching over to take a tissue. there, you blow your nose and clear out your nostrils until the next round, groaning softly at the grossness of the tissue.

“ohh . . but wasn’t someone saying that she isn’t dying?”

your jaw drops, “i can’t believe you would use that against me.”

the corners of your boyfriend’s lips turn up in a sly smile, “just quoting my girl. but—”

this time, he’s the one reaching over much further than you, hand clutching the neck of the guitar through the bag. gently, he settles it on both your laps, laughing when a small oof leaves your lips at just how heavy his bass was.

“i’ll do all the playing, you just mirror my movements.” with one more kiss to your temple, geto reaches around easily to play the starting notes of psycho killer. while there’s a clear layering of the lead, vocals and drums in his head, you’re just left confused by the repetitive bass.

but soon, you’re able to catch the notes that repeat over eight counts, hypnotised by the other’s longer fingers as they transition into the chorus line. it’s a little more complicated, now, descending into chords that you frankly don’t have any grasp on. one look at your face is enough to send him into soft laughter.

“okay, okay, let’s just focus on the verse.” if you weren’t feeling lightheaded from the fever before, you are now when geto curls his hands around yours, placing your finger easily on the fifth fret of the first string.

“so here . . we have the first bar of A notes, easy? then . .” he demonstrates the first four notes, plucking the strings for you before moving it down to the third fret to play the G note. a small smile spreads across his face when you slowly get the hang of it: six notes of A, two eighth notes, and then a G on the same string. geto slowly releases his left, letting you play on the melody while he helps you to pluck.

“that’s it,” still natural, it doesn’t faze geto at all to nuzzle his head into your neck from behind and to start kissing up your shoulder to your jaw, fingers still expertly plucking the string. the both of you repeat the bass line until he’s grabbing your awkward right hand and quietly, he angles your fingers so you’re following him, “you’re a fast learner.”

“i have a great teacher,” you mumble, and suguru doesn’t tell you that you just willingly kissed his jaw out of habit — because he knows you’d freak out at the possibility of getting him sick. it’s sweet, that in your delirious state you’re still acting out of admiration at the back of your mind. like the bass, loving geto feels as natural as the repetitiveness of psycho killer.

the bass notes reverberates through your bodies, just almost acting like a trance that makes your fingers falter upon the steel strings. he goes on to slowly play the chorus, stretching his fingers into weird shapes. he plays various chords, voice cracking just a bit when he tries to sing the vocals and you laugh softly.

“i just don’t have satoru’s higher register.” geto jokes, knowing you’re close to falling asleep from the way you hum and give one worded answers, so he easily takes over from you, changing it to an easy song. you let the low notes of the bass serenade you to sleep as you curl more into your boyfriend, but not before you hear a glimpse of geto’s harmonised singing to yellow.

it’s not often you hear him sing, being a bassist and all, but there is a nice edge to his voice — not quite made for vocals but you know he can do it if he tries. and even if you don’t voice it out, geto thinks the same thing. it’s similar to this stupid love thing that’s got him all tangled up and distracted, too, and he realises so many new things about himself through you.

you give love a fresh breath of life, nothing like the things suguru sings about in his unfinished demos and notebooks — multitude of things that involved you and his fucked-up perceptions and the foolishness of his parents telling him he’d find the same. you are all he thinks about when he sees the black cough syrup and he can’t stop craving the feel of your body against his.

the moment your breathing turns even and you sag against his embrace is when the strings stops and his breathing escalates. in geto suguru’s arms is the personification of something he never thought he would let into his life, yet you carry the choirs of love and acceptance so effortlessly like heath’s bass guitar solos and atsushi sakurai’s spotless vocals.

suguru’s head simply falls onto your unknowing shoulder, a small fuck that leaves his lips and a smile that he can’t contain is all he needs to know.

@mysugu @suget @slttygeto @na-t0 💟

[clementinegreye]

the sweetest sin of all

aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader ||

summary: in the midst of investigating a serial killer who chooses victims based on the seven deadly sins, aaron hotchner finds himself entangled in more than just the case (inspired by hozier's new song 'too sweet'):

word count: 3.4k

warnings: heavy tension, hurt comfort, crossing professional boundaries and general talks of CM violence and murder (nothing graphic):

a/n: hi! i wrote this entire thing for a friend, but maybe you might enjoy it too! this is my first piece of writing on this new blog so if you like feel free to like, reblog or even just let me know! and hopefully if it goes well there'll be more soon!

a/n update: it went well, here's part two!)

From the dim lighting of the office it was almost impossible to tell the exact lateness of the night. His watch consistently ticking, remained a steady rhythm. He ran a hand across his face, his tie undone and lying, long discarded on his desk. The first few buttons of his shirt undone, unbuttoned and an almost vulnerable step away from his usual armour. Papers containing violence were spread haphazardly and with chaos across his desk. A nearly forgotten glass of strong neat whiskey sat in place of his usual bitter coffee.

His team had been on the case for nearly a week, and Hotch felt they were no closer to catching the Unsub. The whole team was feeling the pressure. The profile told him they were dealing with a moral enforcer, a highly organised, violent offender with a clear mission. It should have been easy for them but bodies seemed to be continuously appearing and everyone was feeling uneasy and frustrated.

He was drowning in the details of this case, the Unsub's pattern ever-present in his mind. He thought of the remaining sins - envy, wrath, and lust - and something burned deep within his chest. It was a dangerous game they played, one where the stakes were higher than any case he'd ever worked on.

Being head of the team he felt the responsibility more vehemently than the rest, and he was doing something he’d promised the team he wouldn’t. He was letting it get to him.

There’d been four victims so far, each killed to match one of the seven deadly sins. So far his victims had been; gluttony - an overzealous upscale restaurant critic who binged food that he slated publicly, greed - a high-profile stock broker with the inability to control his obsession with obtaining more of his client's money, sloth - a wealthy trust fund baby who squandered their university scholarship out of laziness and pride - a wealthy woman with a shopping addiction who frequented beauty salons and had an intense social media presence flaunting herself.

Each victim came from a different geographical area of the city and Garcia hadn’t been able to uncover any crossover between their lives where it might have been somewhere they could have met the Unsub. There were no leads and the team felt at a loss. 

Knowing the Unsub was three victims away from the end of his mission, Hotch knew they were close to losing him if they didn’t catch a break soon. He’d sent the team home to get some sleep and told them to be ready bright and early the next day. Yet Hotch couldn't bring himself to leave the office, hoping the crime scene photos might uncover something he'd missed. He thought everyone had listened to his orders until he was drawn away from the graphic images in front of him by a gentle knock at the door.

"Come in." He croaked harshly, the hours of not speaking catching up to his vocal chords.

It was her. Of course, it was her.

She always had a way of pulling him from the edge, of grounding him when the world became too much. In the chaos and uncertainty of their work, she was his constant, his unwavering beacon of light. She was his solace, his calm in the storm, and in that moment, he allowed himself to get lost in her.

She was like honey, dripping out and pooling where flies could get stuck on the intoxication and drown. He could feel it, the danger she could be. If he’d been a man less controlled he could see how she could be his every downfall and triumph. In her, he saw a reflection of all his desires and fears. She was every strength and weakness. In the moment, he couldn't help but want to drown in the intoxicating allure of her, his deadly and dangerous, yet irresistibly sweet sin.

‘I’m heading home for the night…’ Her voice trailed off in a quiet hush to match the silence of the office. 

The creases in his forehead from pouring over crime scenes and endless theories seemed to smooth out. He breathed out hours' worth of tension in a single breath, allowing the corners of his mouth to turn upwards so quickly that unless she’d been a profiler paying attention she might not have noticed. The way his body language shifted was subtle enough to the untrained eye, but not to her. He couldn’t conceal himself in his controlled, cold-edged front as well as he usually could when she was around.

"I gave those orders hours ago." He mused, leaning back in his chair, the breath of a sigh dying on his lips.

She gently shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her. "I thought you might be used to me defying your orders by now, Hotch. You should take your own advice, didn’t you promise to stop working so late," she replied, a glint in her eyes that held an irresistible challenge. Their playful banter was a welcome change from the dark seriousness that he’d been so consumed by moments ago.

She smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief waiting for his retort.

"I didn’t promise anything." He huffed.

She didn’t wait for an invitation, she didn’t need to. Crossing the threshold of his office and making her way to the imposing desk of the Unit Chief.

She’d not seen her boss look so troubled by a case in a long time. Her gaze was drawn to him as his elbows leaned against the desk, his usually impeccable suit dishevelled. She noted the way the top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a hint of the man beneath the stoic FBI Unit Chief. It was a stark contrast to the man who was always put together, always in control. Yet, in that moment, he looked anything but. Not yet unravelled, but on the edge of it.

She moved further into the office, she was not someone who second-guessed her decisions. She walked with confidence, and perched herself on the edge of his desk, letting her legs dangle over the edge her black work trousers tight across her thighs. She rested her hand on the desk, dangerously close to her Hotch’s, mere centimetres.

His gaze shifted from the papers in front of him and followed the contours of her face, lingering a moment too long on her lips. He swallowed hard, his mind flickering with thoughts he'd held at bay for far too long. But he was Unit Chief, and professionalism might as well have been his middle name. He lightly shook his head, feeling the back of his eyes burn from the focus he’d had all day.

Hotch wasn’t one to open up, he was always controlled but around her, there was a tug at the stitches of his personality.

‘I have a bad feeling about this case.’ He hummed, the night breeze catching against the window. He could smell her perfume, mixing with the scent of burnt coffee and paper. He dare not think about it too long.

He reached across his desk and grabbed his near-forgotten whiskey, downing it in one drag. He bent towards where her legs were hanging over his desk, motioning for her to lift them. She drew them up towards her chest and he opened the drawer beneath her pulling an expensive-looking bottle from it and refilling the glass, this time handing it to her. Their fingers grazed slightly with the exchange. His warm, hers icy cold - meeting to form the perfect temperature.

‘We have no leads. I always trust the profile, but this case… We’ve got nothing.’ His eyes watched her as she swirled the liquid around the glass, her eyes watching it splash against the sides. He sighed in defeat, rubbing his eyes with both of his hands before leaning his head back, a deep exhale exiting his thin lips.

‘We’ll get him.’ She said confidently, something shifted in her tone. It was like a dagger's sharp edge, certainty dripping off it like blood. He almost believed her, but she could see the already dim light dissipating from his dark eyes. She felt sympathy pooling in the tips of her fingers. If she didn’t hadn’t been holding their shared glass she might have reached out and touched him so that it could bleed from her into him, so that he would feel less alone.

She leaned back slightly, her eyes searching his. It was unclear what she was searching for in them. He couldn’t read her entirely, even with all his years of profiling. When she smiled, he felt his heart catch in his throat. It was like looking directly at the sun. Burning and bright hot.

‘You should follow your own orders… And for once so should I. Go home. Get some rest.’ She downed the liquid with a swift tip of her head. Hotch watched the curve of her neck as she moved and the way she licked her lips catching a fallen drop of liquor. She laid the glass down on the desk, allowing her hand to brush over his. His skin crackled with electricity.

She moved with grace as she climbed down from his desk. That one moment shared more intimate than she’d expected it to feel, with their proximity, the lateness of the hour and the unusually undone Aaron sitting at his desk.

His eyes followed her every movement, skin stinging as if he’d been burned. She was halfway to the door before he heard himself call out to her. It almost didn’t sound like his own voice.

‘Wait. Don’t go yet. Come here.’ His voice was firm like it always was, but there was a depth to it that she hadn’t heard before. One she’d always longed for. His eyes glinted with dark hues as he watched her turn from the door. He almost breathed out in relief.

She had an unreadable expression. One that set the blood in his veins on fire. She lowered her head, and with it, her eyes darkened. He stood from his desk, making his way over to her with steps that felt dreamlike. Their eyes met with an energy never shared before and once in front of her he reached out, gently tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear so that he had an unobscured view of her whole face. The same face that had the power to completely undo him.

Her eyes widened slightly as if surprised by his gentle touch, but at the same time, there was a knowing in them as if she’d been waiting for it all along. She remained still, and his heart pounded in his chest as he looked into his eyes, an unspoken conversation passing between them. It felt like any words would have made the moment less intimate.

His hand lingered against her cheek, the warmth radiating from his touch was a stark contrast to the cold, sterile environment of his office. Her skin felt like it was burning under him. The silence between them was palpable, filled with the yet unspoken words and emotions that threatened to bubble to the surface. Hotch, usually so controlled in his feelings suddenly felt so unsteady. His heart beat suspiciously with the feeling that perhaps he’d crossed a line.

‘How do you know?’ He whispered, eyes scanning hers as if he were a detective trying to uncover the evidence that gave her certainty. In the light of the office, she looked like she’d been hand carved, art that he’d been lucky enough to be in the presence of. He traced his thumb over her lips, eyes heavy with a mixture of desire and something else she couldn't quite place. It was a dangerous gesture, one that could endanger his whole career.

'I trust you, and that’s all I need to know that we’ll get him.' she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, eyes glazed with a devotion that almost made him groan. The conviction of her words pierced his wavering confidence. He’d gone from feeling almost hopeless to buzzing with determination.

He let his hand fall away from her face, but the warmth lingered, an almost promise that what she’d been sure she’d felt moments ago had indeed been real. Reality swarmed his brain, aware of the situation he’d almost found himself in. He straightened up, posture contrasting his relatively dishevelled exterior.

"You’re right, you should follow my orders. Go home, get some rest. I told the team we’d start fresh in the morning," he instructed, a softness in his voice that was rarely displayed. But she didn’t move, and he didn’t either.

He watched her eyes for any sign of discomfort, the tension in the room was palpable, an electrifying current that Hotch didn’t dare to break. Silence blanketed them, only broken by the ticking of his watch. It was a solitary reminder of the passing time, yet the urgency of their case had fallen to the back of his mind.

‘Close the door.’ She instructed, using the same authority that Hotch usually spoke with. The change in dynamic almost made him falter, but with a small smirk, he moved towards the door. He’d been aware of the power imbalance he held in his position but with the tone of her voice, there was a subtle shift in the air between them. She moved back towards his desk with certainty. Moving his name tag so she could perch to face the dark space of the office.

Their eyes met across the room. She tilted her head to the side, examining his body language. As he locked the door behind him, the air seemed to constrict around them, the room becoming a world of its own where only they existed. The only sound in the room was the soft click of the lock and their breathing. It echoed throughout the office, bouncing off the walls and settling into their bones. The tension escalated, but it was different now, charged with an anticipation that neither of them could ignore.

He might have been unit chief, but right here, right now, she was in charge. The line between professional and personal blurred dangerously as their eyes locked, a promise of something more hanging in the balance. The air was charged now, they were poised, daring each other to make the first move. They both knew that they were on the precipice of something dangerous, something that could have dire consequences professionally.

Yet, the pull was too strong to ignore, and for the first time, Hotch allowed himself to teeter on the edge, his resolve tested by the powerful undercurrent of desire that crackled between them. Tonight, they were not just colleagues, they were two individuals drawn together by an irresistible force. In the room, the undeniable chemistry that had been simmering under the surface for far too long had nowhere to hide.

On the desk, she rested each hand palm down to the side of her thighs and opened her legs wider to create space for his body to fit. She moved her head in a motion for him to step forward. Hotch couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, pupils were blown wide from more than just the darkness of the room. How long had he craved something so forbidden, how long had he denied himself the idea that this could ever happen?

As he moved closer to her, he couldn't help but think about the deadly sin of lust, a strong passion or longing that was deemed sinful. Here he was, teetering on the edge of crossing professional boundaries, something he’d never done. The balance of energy in the room was no longer solely from the stress of the case, it was about them - about her. He could have tried to argue that it was, but no jury in the state would believe him. If this were a trial, he was about to be found guilty.

The Unsub's deadly pattern echoed in his mind - the three sins he’d yet to kill for; envy, jealousy over another's life or possessions, wrath, a violent anger driven by hatred, and finally, lust, a powerful desire that can become all-consuming, much like the craving he was experiencing in that very moment. Looking upon her he felt envious of anyone who had ever been allowed to touch her, he felt wrath for anyone who had ever wronged or hurt her, and most of all he felt lust. He definitely felt lust, his desire for her taking over all his senses.

Was he caught between duty and desire? No, he had no doubt in his mind. The sheer intensity of her shared gaze and the way she was beckoning him forward smashed the boundaries of their relationship. He’d never seen her in this light, never dared to allow himself to think of her like this. But now she was in front of him how could he ever deny himself something so sweet?

Hotch had always been a man of control, a man who kept his emotions in check. But in this room, with the charged atmosphere heavy between them, he felt his resolve wavering. He was caught in the powerful current of the desire for her that he’d managed to keep at bay. He didn’t want to be in control anymore. 

He closed the distance between them, fitting himself between her legs, his hands landing on her hips as he looked down at her, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She brought one hand off the desk to hold the waistband of his suit trousers, tugging lightly.

“Are you finally going to kiss me, Agent Hotchner?” She asked, voice dripping with honey. Sweetness laced with danger that hit him right in the chest like a bullet.

She was an intoxicating mix of all seven, a deadly sin in her own right. She was his lust, his unending desire. She was his gluttony, the one he wanted to consume endlessly. She was his greed, the one he wanted all for himself. She was his sloth, his reason for inertia. She was his wrath, the one who could ignite a fire in him like no other. She was his envy, the one he admired and coveted. And she was his pride, the one who made him feel like he was on top of the world.

‘You will be the ruin of me.’ He breathed, his eyes almost black. He looked down at her taking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and the way her eyes sparkled with a mixture of mischief and satisfaction. He was entirely wrapped around her finger. Tonight, he decided, he would willingly drown in this sweet sin, consequences be damned.

‘That is entirely my intention.’ She chuckled and he groaned, a guttural sound that felt foreign to him.

"Only if you promise not to tell the team," he murmured, a playful undertone to his voice.

As he leaned down to capture her lips with his, he knew without a doubt that this was a deadly sin he was willing to commit. It was both sweet and intense, a perfect reflection of their now complicated relationship.

Her lips tasted of the whiskey they'd shared, sweet with a hint of burn that left him wanting more. She tasted like a curse, sickeningly sweet as if to cause him decay. He deepened the kiss, pulling her impossibly closer. He was standing on the cliff of the unknown, and he was more than willing to jump and fall headfirst.

As he pulled away, he couldn't help but study her face. He’d come face to face with endless serial killers, and been in the presence of pure evil. But he’d never been so close to something so dangerous. She was a temptation he couldn't resist. Sweeter than any apple in the Garden of Eden. He traced the contours of her face with his fingers, his gaze never leaving hers.

He could still taste her on the back of his tongue, sugar and shared whiskey burning. He’d never been so certain that he’d been willing to trade his control for the intoxicating sweetness that was her. She was a forbidden fruit that was too alluring to resist, and Aaron Hotchner had no more resistance left in him. Not now he’d tasted something so delicious.

After all, wasn't life about balancing the deadly sins and virtues? Tonight, he chose to sin.

(you can now read part two here!)

[diaphamin]

frequent — mark lee 𝜗𝜚

genre: fluff

boyfriendmark, this feels a bit sappy, obviously in the stranger universe because who would i be if i didn’t mourn the loss of that fic everyday. i love boyfriend mark so much it makes me want to curl into a little ball and sob violently.

i’m not sure if this proofread well enough, sorry for errors it’s 5 in the morning

here you were again, sitting down at your usual table the baristas already knew to reserve for you. the table you were sitting at when you first locked eyes with mark. you both came here often, the sense of longing after each other coming back with each visit. it felt like yesterday you were both cluelessly in love with one another, texting at random hours of the night about his problems mostly, but it’s something you grew to enjoy.

mark talked to you always, he updated you about every detail in his life. he always encouraged you to do the same, he loved to hear you talk, he loved to listen. you two came here every morning for what you both lamely called a morning coffee debrief— only so you could talk to each other about the unspoken words of yesterday.

mark made it his mission for you both to go to that café every single day. his routine was simple, café with you in the morning, following you around like a lost puppy in the afternoons, and clinging to you in the evening. sure he had other things to worry about like work and all that boring stuff, but you were his top priority. he cared about you and you only. he puts you before himself, even if he shouldn’t. he’s had mistakes with pasts partners, mistakes he’s dead-set on never repeating with you. he loves you, and he loves your routine. he thinks if everything is exactly the way it was yesterday, what could go wrong tomorrow?

you already knew how mark’s mind worked, and how he was afraid of any conflict with you. you knew how scared he was of ever losing you, the only person he felt true connection with. you always met him half way. you sometimes grew tired of sitting here every morning, but once you walked through the door and sat down at that table you were reminded of the feelings that rushed through your veins, the lumps in your throat, the pits in your stomach— you loved mark, and you loved the feeling this place gave you.

every time you walk in here, no matter what happens the previous day, you’re reminded of the day you began to long for mark. that’s why you never argued about coming here, never put up a fight, never asking to skip a day. this café was just as much apart of your routine as it was mark’s.

and there it was— the sound of the door swinging swinging open. he was standing there with his usual dopey smile, a flower he shamelessly took from the display outside. your heart raced just the same as it did before. he stood there for a moment, taking in your entire presence, as if he’s never seen you before. he never broke his gaze, and his smiled never dropped as he walked over to you.

“how’s my girl doing today?” he smiled as he sat down next to you, his arm resting on the back of your chair, as he leaned in to hand you the stolen flower, his eyes still admiring your face, “i love you, mark.” you quietly spoke, your eyes never leaving his. he laughed, placing a quick peck to your lips, “i love you more.”

[lenaswritingandstuff]

Your Teddy ~ Theodore Nott x f!reader (PART 3 & END)

Requested: No

Pairing: Theodore Nott x f!reader (+ SPOILER x f!reader - secret and non-reciprocal.)

Summary: y/n gets adjusted at her new life with Theo's help.

Word count: 6.2K

Warnings: swearing, English is not my first language

A/N: Thank God one of my classes on Wednesday was online and the other was cancelled otherwise I don't know when I could have written it lmaooo. ANYWAY. Thank you guys so much for +270 followers, love y'all!! Comments and feedback are always appreciated. Sorry for the typos. Hope you enjoy it! xx

Tag list: @helendeath @im-jesus @wolfyychan @blocked-zombieartist

Tag list for this story: @veryberryjelly @revesephemeres @mgchaser @nojamsonmytoast @cometmultiverse

PART TWO

“Darling?” your mother calls from downstairs. “Dinner is ready!”

Putting your book away, you rose from your bed and let out a silent sigh. The day after your conversation with Theo, your parents insisted you get home to rest, and, while you didn’t want to leave Hogwarts, they seemed to want you with them so bad that you had reluctantly accepted. You had now been home for over two weeks, two weeks spent reading books to learn some things and reading letters from Pansy and Theo. While Pansy’s letters were enjoyable and kept you updated on classes and the current gossip at school, you had to admit you awaited for Theo’s letters the most. He wrote to you about his daily life, sometimes making you laugh with a joke or when he told you about what funny thing one of his friends had done or said, and always ended the letter with the same sentence: I miss you. Those words shouldn’t make you feel the way they did, but they did; and you shouldn’t be missing Theo that much, but you were. 

From the moment you saw him, Theo had captivated your mind. You didn’t know if it was the way he had hugged you when he stormed in the hospital wing, the way he looked at you with those blue eyes of his, or just him, but ever since you had seen him in the hospital wing, you had a hard time not thinking about him. When you had realised what having lost all your memory meant, you were scared some people would lie to you or pretend to be someone they weren’t, but for some reason you knew Theo hadn’t lied. You had felt incredibly guilty when you saw how hurt he was when he learnt you didn’t know who he was - and still felt that way. But now, you also wanted to get to know him, and to spend time with him. There was something about him that just drew you towards him. It was partly physical, because, well, he was gorgeous, but also in his personality, how soft his voice was when he was talking to you, how patient and understanding he was, and how he made you feel safe without even trying. And now, after three weeks of only writing to each other, you couldn’t wait to see him again - but never dared to say it. I’ll try to tell him I miss him in my next letter.  

Leaving your room, you went downstairs to find your parents around the table, your mother bringing dinner to the table and your father finishing to set the table. They immediately smiled at you, and you smiled back. Your parents had been nothing but kind and understanding during your stay, but they constantly tried to make you remember things, so much so that you started to feel a bit overwhelmed after a while - which was another reason you couldn’t wait to go back to Hogwarts. 

“Got some rest, darling?” your father asked, sitting on the other side of the table.

“I hope you don’t overwork yourself, sweetie,” your mother continued. “You’re here to get rest and recover.” 

“I’m fine,” you assured them with a smile, sitting down.

“Are you sure, darling? I have to say, you look a bit tired.”

Your mother was right, and there was a reason for that fatigue. Each night, you had terrible dreams about your abduction - dreams or memories, who knew? - and you were now almost afraid to sleep. Like you had told Theo, you were thankful you didn’t remember anything about your kidnapping, but having those dreams brought you a bit of anxiety. You hadn’t told anyone, because you were scared that your parents would freak out, and didn’t tell Theo in order not to bother him. You ate your plate, not saying a word as your parents talked about everything and anything. Once you were done, there was a moment of comfortable silence, and you cleared your throat. 

“I have something to ask you guys,” you said. 

“What is it, dear?” 

“I’d like to go back to Hogwarts,” you answered, not beating around the bush. “I think I’m fully recovered now. It was nice being here, and I appreciate everything you did for me, but I think it would be good for me to go back to school.” 

Your parents shared a look, and for a second you thought they were gonna insist you stayed here.

“If that’s what you want, y/n,” your mother said, “then we support you.”

“We’ll write to Professor Dumbledore tomorrow,” your father nodded. “It will be good for you to be with your friends again.” 

“And Theodore,” your mother added with a wink. 

You felt your cheeks becoming pink and looked at your plate.

“He’s a good lad,” your father smiled.

“I hope you guys will…find a way to get back to the relationship you had,” your mother said gently. “You loved him a lot.” 

You nodded, and after a long moment of your parents telling you stories about your childhood, you decided to bid your parents goodnight - which always included a hug - and went back upstairs to your room. You lit a candle, as it was dark outside, and sat down at your desk before grabbing a piece of parchment, a quill and some ink. 

Dear Teddy, 

I was supposed to stay a little longer with my parents, but I really want to go back to Hogwarts now. My parents will write to Professor Dumbledore tomorrow, and I hope to be at school in the next few days. 

I miss you.

y/n

You then turned to your owl, who apparently had the habit of going to sleep at the same time as you, who made a small noise as if to greet you as you opened its cage. 

“Can you take it to Theo?” you asked your pet. 

You gently stroked its feathers, and then your owl took the letter and flew across the opened window. 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

You stepped out of the chimney, and, as expected, found yourself in Professor Snape’s office. He was sitting on his desk, apparently grading students’ work, and barely raised his eyes to look at you.

“Good evening, Professor.”

“Miss y/l/n. I hope you’re fully recovered.”

His last words surprised you, as you had found him cold and severe during the few minutes you saw him in the hospital wing. 

“Yes, thank you, sir.”

“Then I shall see you in class.”

“Yes, sir.”

Carrying your luggage, you left his office, and, as you expected, you found Pansy waiting for you in the corridor. She immediately opened her arms and almost ran to give you a hug, which you gladly accepted.

“Aw, darling, I’m so happy you’re back! How do you feel?”

“I’m good.”

But your attention was on the person behind her. Theo was leant against the wall, his hands in his pockets. You detached yourself from Pansy, and Theo and you started to walk towards each other. You felt your heart beat faster, and it even beat faster when Theo gave you a small, shy, smile. Did I feel that way before?

“Hey.”

“Hey. It’s nice to see you.”

“You too.”

It was a bit awkward, as neither of you knew what to do - a hug? A kiss? - but Theo stared at you for a second before stepping closer, gently cupping your face in his hands and kissing your forehead. You closed your eyes, enjoying his touch and his lips on your skin much more than you thought. After the kiss, his hands remained on both sides of his face before he took them away, and you felt disappointed and sad.

“Thank you for your letters,” you said. “I really enjoyed receiving them.” 

“I liked your answers, too,” he said. 

You smiled at him, and suddenly Pansy chuckled.

“Come on, you bloody lovebirds, let’s go.”

You and Theo shared an amused look before you all went to the Slytherin common room, which was near. 

“We should go get dinner,” Pansy said. “y/n, dear, how about you put that luggage in your bag and you’ll unpack after dinner?”

“Alright,” you nodded.

After all, you were hungry too. Pansy led to your dorm, as you honestly didn’t remember where it was, and you put your luggage inside before going to the Great Hall alongside Pansy and Theo. On the way, Pansy kept talking about all that happened while you were gone, but only heard half of it as your hand kept touching Theo’s, which made you somehow want to hold it - or at least to have some physical contact with him. I’m going crazy, you thought. Why do I want to touch someone who’s still a stranger? 

Once in the Great Hall, you sat between Pansy and Theo, who introduced you to his friends, who all greeted you warmly. You looked around, trying to familiarise yourself with the large, beautiful crowded room. As you had lived in a quiet house for weeks, all the noise around made you feel uneasy and comfortable. Only Theo seemed to notice, as he grabbed your hand under the table. You turned to him, and found him giving you a reassuring, warm look. You squeezed his hand, both to show thankfulness and affection, and he gently stroked the top of your hand. You started to feel better, and focused on the conversations the boys were having. You didn’t participate in it, as you had ho idea what they were talking about half the time, but you laughed at their jokes - and, with each laugh, Theo and you shared a look. Once you were done eating, Pansy and you decided to go back to the common room - as it was still too early to go to bed -, and the boys followed. After sitting on one of the green couches, again next to Theo, for two hours spent listening to the boys, sometimes talking to Pansy and again feeling the push to touch Theo’s hand. As it was now getting late, the boys started to go to bed, as they started classes early tomorrow, but unlike earlier, Theo didn’t hesitate to once again cup your face in his warm hands and kiss your forehead, but this time, you got on your tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. 

“Good night, Teddy.”

“Good night, cara mia.”

You blushed at the nickname, before following Pansy - whose dorm was not far away from yours. 

“I promised to spend the night with Daphne,” Pansy said, apparently feeling guilty. “Her dorm is the one next to yours, so I won’t be very far if you need me, okay? You got along very well with Daphne before your…um, departure. She won’t mind at all.”

“Don’t worry about me,” you said. “I’m actually tired, so I don’t think I’ll have a hard time falling asleep.” 

“Alright.” Pansy hugged you, “Sleep well, dear.”

She gave you one last hug before entering Daphne’s dorm, leaving you alone in the silent corridor. You went into your dorm, closing the door behind you. You looked at the unfamiliar room full of unfamiliar objects. It felt as if it all belonged to someone else. Trying to ignore the feeling, you unpacked your bag, went to take a shower and then went to bed. Tomorrow, Pansy would give you a list of all the things they saw in class while you were gone and it was going to take you a while to catch up on everything - and if you didn’t manage to, it was going to be even harder to pass your exams at the end of the year. 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“y/n, wake up! Come on, wake up!”

You jolted awake, trying to catch your breath. The dark, cold room and the unfamiliar voices that had been plaguing your sleep were still fresh in your mind, and your first reflex when you felt two hands on your shoulders was to try to pull away.

“Amore, it’s me!” 

It took you half a second to realise you were in your dorm, safe, and that it was Theo in front of you. 

“Teddy?” 

He nodded, and sat on the bed. “I had the feeling I needed to check up on you, and when I came you were having a nightmare.” 

He started stroking your shoulders with all the tenderness in the world, and, almost without realising it, you put your head in his chest, and he immediately wrapped his arms around you, holding you as close as he could, and put his chin on the top of your head.

“It’s okay, baby, I’m here.” 

He pressed a light yet tender kiss on your temple and your heart, which had been beating very fast from waking up so abruptly, starting beating normally. After a while, you felt better, and not once did Theo move. 

“Thank you, Teddy,” you whispered.

“Of course, tesoro.”

Despite wanting to stay in the comfort of his arms, you detached yourself from him, but he kept one of his arms around you. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, his thumb stroking your skin.

You shook your head, and he gave you a nod. 

“I don’t remember much,” you said. “But… Teddy?”

“Hum?”

“Would you…Would you mind staying here with me?” you asked more shyly than you thought.

Theo looked at you and had a soft half smile. 

“I’d like nothing more, love.” 

He bent to press a kiss on your temple and you moved to the side of the bed to give him as much space as you could. Once he was ready, he gently brought your head to his chest before putting one arm around your waist and the other in your hair. Instinctively, you put one hand on the side of his neck, and after a short moment, you felt your whole body relax. You closed your eyes, and suddenly realised Theo smelt amazing.

“You smell good,” you whispered without thinking.

He had a chuckle, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“You used to tell me that often,” he said. “But thank you, cara mia, you smell good too.”

He started playing with your hair, and you fell asleep to the beating of his heart and his warmth.

When you woke up the next morning, your head was in the crook of Theo’s neck, and one of your legs was over one of his. His arms were still tightly wrapped around you, and, looking at him, you couldn’t help but smile at how adorable he looked when he was sleeping. You put your head back, wanting to enjoy the comfort of his warm embrace for a moment, but you realised it was time to wake up. You pressed some kisses on his cheek, and after a while he started slowly moving. 

“Wake up, sleeping beauty.”

He groaned before he finally opened his eyes, and his lips immediately turned into a smile. He looked at you for a moment, and brought his hand to your cheek.

“I almost forgot how good it felt,” he said almost to himself.

“What?” you frowned. 

“To wake up with you in my arms.” 

“It feels good too,” you whispered, caressing his hair. “And I know it felt good before my abduction.” 

There was no way it didn’t feel like that before. If only I could remember…

“We should get up,” you said.

He nodded and had a small sigh, “Yeah, we should.” But then he smiled, “But five more minutes, please?” 

You laughed and nodded.

“Alright, five more minutes.” 

But, as you should have expected, five minutes into ten, then twenty, and finally thirty before you managed to have him let you get out of bed. You rose from the bed, which made him groan in annoyance, and as you went to the bathroom to get your school uniform, you turned to the bed, where Teddy hadn’t moved.  

“Teddy, come on!” you laughed.

“You know, cara mia, no one would mind if you only started class tomorrow.”

You know he was likely to be right, but you shook your head.

“Maybe, but I have enough to catch on already. I can’t afford to be even further behind.”

“I’ll help you,” he said, sitting. “You were always a very good student, why shouldn’t you be now?”

“Maybe I was, but now it’s different.” 

Teddy stared at you, and you immediately knew what he thought. Yes, it is different now.

“I can still help you,” he said.

You nodded, “I’d love that, Teddy.” 

He finally got up, and agreed to go dress up in his dorm when you asked him.

“We’ll meet in the common room in five minutes,” you assured him. 

And as promised, you met there five minutes later, both all ready for the day. It felt a bit weird to be in a uniform, but you did your best to ignore it. After all, everyone was wearing it. Theo and you sat again with his friends and Pansy, who immediately asked you how was your night.

“Oh, really good.”

You and Theo shared a look and you felt yourself blush. 

After breakfast, you walked with Theo to class, with him sometimes giving you information about the castle, or something you saw. On the way, some students came to you to tell you they were happy to see you again, and each time, you felt thankful but awkward. But thankfully, Theo didn’t leave your side once, and always let you know who the person was - friends for the most part. They were Slytherins for most, but as you came closer to class, it was a Gryffindor boy, with dark hair, green eyes and glasses, who approached you.

“y/n? Hi, how are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” 

You noticed the strange scar he had on his forehead, but it felt impolite to ask him about it. 

“Back off, Potter,” Theo said coldly. “We don’t have time for you.”

“Teddy, don’t be rude,” you frowned.

“I was just asking how she was,” the Gryffindor boy said calmly. “I wasn’t talking to you.” He turned to you with a kind look, “I’m glad to see that you’re alright. But…You really don’t remember anything?”

Theo opened his mouth to answer but you were faster.

“No, unfortunately. If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your name?” 

“Harry,” he simply answered. “I’m Harry. We…” 

This time, Theo sighed.

“It is really kind of you to ask how my girl was, Potter, but if the Chosen One will excuse us, we’re gonna be late for Potions.”

He put an arm around your waist, and before you could say anything, led you to the end of the corridor. You gave Harry a look of excuse, but he only stared at you.

“Teddy, that was rude,” you said as you entered the Potions room. “He was nice.”

“Not all people are as nice as they look, love,” he simply said and you rolled your eyes. 

“But, if he asked me how I was, he must have been a friend, no?”

Theo had a small, annoyed sigh. “That’s a big word. But your closest friend is Pansy. And also Daphne, I guess. If you need more friends, ask Pansy to introduce you to girls from our house. Or at least, who aren’t in Gryffindor.” 

Theo indicated you a seat in the middle of the class, and sat next to you.

“By the way,” you asked, “what is that strange scar he has?”

Theo sneered, “Long story.”

You were about to ask him when Professor Snape came in, and all conversations faded at once. He gave instructions for the rest of the lesson, and you and Theo worked on the potion. You laughed a few times because Theo couldn’t stop making jokes. Snape eventually noticed and came over.

“Mr Nott, do focus on the potion. Miss y/l/n needs to concentrate if she wishes to get back to the same level as the rest of the class, and I think your immature foolishness will make it harder.”

“We’re sorry, professor,” you apologised. “I was a bit nervous, as it is my first class since I got back, and Teddy was only trying to help…in his own way.”

Snape stared at you both and left without a word. Theo and you looked at each other and had a hard time not laughing.

“Dumbledore must have asked him to be nicer to you,” he whispered as he stirred the potion. “Usually, we would have got detention. Or at least a threat of it.” 

The rest of the class went smoothly, and so did the rest of the day, with all the teachers telling you they were there if you needed anything, and helping you if needed. As the last class of the day ended,  you put your book in your bag and rose from your seat. Theo did the same, and you started walking to the door, but Theo didn’t move. 

“Pansy and I need to talk to Professor McGonnagall,” he said. “It’s gonna take a while,” he sighed. “Hey, how about you go to my dorm - it’s the first one after the serpent symbol - and eat the snacks I left there? You used to like them.”

You were a bit surprised, but nodded. You left the class, and walked down the corridor when you heard a voice from your left side.

“y/n!”

You turned your head and saw Harry in a smaller, darker corridor. 

“Harry?”

“Can we talk?” 

Your eyes went to the door of the class, where Theo still was.

“Sure.”

You walked to place yourself in front of Harry, and you noticed he looked at you strangely. 

“I’m sure you’ve been asked this several times, but you don’t really remember anything about your abduction?”

“No,” you shook your head. “Nothing.”

You could have talked to him about the nightmares, but if you didn’t tell Theo, the person you were the closest to at the moment, why would you talk to a stranger about it?

“And,” Harry continued, “what did they tell you about it?”

You frowned, trying to remember the first conversation you had with Professor Dumbledore. “Well, they said I went to, um, Hogsmeade, I think, alone, and that’s where I was last seen. Apparently I was kidnapped because my parents work at the Ministry. They also don’t know where I was being held or how I escaped.” 

Harry thought for a second. “And what did tell you about the Death Eaters?”

You frowned again, “Not much, only that they worked for someone with bad intentions. But I’m aware I was likely interrogated and tortured, though. Why?”

“Nott,” Harry said. “His father used to work for that ‘someone with bad intentions’. Malfoy’s father too. Oh, and, Nott’s best mate Riddle, he’s the son of that someone.”

You tried to register his words. Theo’s father? You knew Theo did not see him much, and never thought much about it. Draco? Who has been nothing but polite and kind to you? And Mattheo, the funny Mattheo who constantly teased Theo like a brother, and was friendly and warm? After all, you didn’t know any of them. For all you knew, they might have lied all along. 

“You…think they know something?” 

Harry shrugged, “Who knows. All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t trust anyone. I…just want you to be safe, okay?” 

He opened his mouth to say something else but kept silent. 

“I’ll be fine,” you assured him. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m here if you need anything.”

You nodded and after giving him a polite smile, you went back to the corridor, and walking down it, you ran into Professor Snape.

“Miss y/l/n.”

“Sir?”

“The Headmaster wishes to see you in his office at once. Please follow me.”

You nodded and followed him through numerous corridors. He made you enter a beautiful room with several windows, where the Headmaster was waiting for you. 

“Professor, Miss y/l/n.”

“Thank you, Severus. Please, Miss, take a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

You approached his desk, and sat on one of the large grey armchairs - which were far more comfortable than they looked.

“If you allow me, Miss, how do you feel?”

“I’m well, thank you, sir.” 

“And how was your first day here?”

“Very good, sir. I’m glad to be back in class with my classmates.”

 “Good, good. And, one last question, did any of your memories come back?”

You shook your head, “No, sir. I tried to remember anything, even small things, but in vain so far.”

Dumbledore nodded. “I expected it, do not worry. However, if I made you come here today, it’s not only to make sure you are well, but also, giving your answer to my last question, to tell you there is maybe a way to find your memory back.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, “Really?”

“Yes. Please, come”

You rose from the armchair and followed him to a small, beautiful basin you hadn’t noticed. 

“This is a Pensieve,” Dumbledore said kindly. "If I put a memory inside, I can watch it. Even the details I don’t remember will be there. However, in your case, I have a bit of hope that, if you put your head inside, you might find your memory again, or at least some of it.” He paused before continuing in an even kinder voice, “But if you do not wish to try, I will not force you. All you have to do is to say ‘no’ and I walk you to the door and wish you a good evening.”

“I want to try.”

For me, and for Teddy. He deserves it. 

And also to see if they’re all lying. 

Dumbledore smiled, “I’ll admit I’m happy to hear it, young lady. So, whenever you’re ready…You will just need to hold your breath for a moment…"

You nodded and walked to the basin, putting both your hands on it. You held your breath, and, having the reflex of closing your eyes, put your forehead forward in the liquid. Your eyes opened by themselves, but no memory came. No scene with your parents when you were a child,, or here at school with Pansy or Theo. The liquid seemed to move a little, as it was being stirred, but eventually, all you saw was white. You waited for a moment, before going back to the surface. You breathed again, and realised, stupidly, that you weren’t even wet. 

“Nothing, sir,” you said, feeling ashamed as if you had failed an exam or didn’t understand something that even a five year old got. “There was only white.”

The Headmaster nodded, “Yes, so I thought. Trust that I’m sorry, Miss. But I will continue looking for a remedy. In the meantime, if your friends or Mr Nott want to show you a memory they have, my door is always open.” 

“Thank you, sir.”

“I believe it is now time for me to wish you a good rest of your evening.”

“Good night, sir.”

You left the office and, after getting lost a few times, managed to finally find your way to the Slytherin’s common room. You heard familiar voices as you came in, and several faces immediately turned to you.

“y/n!” 

Theo and Pansy rose from the green couches and almost ran to you.

“Where the hell were you?” Theo asked in an angry voice. “We searched for you everywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, not expecting him to behave like that, “I was with Professor Dumbledore, he wanted to see how I was doing.” 

“Oh,” Pansy said. “That explains why we couldn't find you. Well, I have to go to the library to do some homework, so I'll see you both later.”

After Pansy left, Theo took your hand and gave you a large smile.

“I have a surprise for you, amore. In your dorm.”

“A surprise?” you said with a smile. 

“Yes,” he laughed. “Pansy and I actually didn’t have anything to tell McGonagall, we just needed to make sure everything was ready. That’s why I asked you to leave. Come on.”

His hand in yours, he led you to your dorm, where he slightly opened the door. 

“Close your eyes, love.”

A smile on your face, you closed them, and Theo put his hands on your shoulders to lead you in, and once you were inside, he put them around your waist. 

“You can look, baby,” he whispered in your ear.

You opened them, and saw the room had completely been transformed. There were flowers and at least thirty small lights in the air (A/N: Like in Disney’s “Tangled”, except it’s not lanterns) all arranged in a precise manner alongside shooting stars, and on your bed were several snacks and several presents. 

“Teddy! It’s so beautiful!” you said, and, without thinking, kissed him on the cheek.

“I’m glad you like it, cara mia. Come.”

The both of you sat on the bed, and he presented all the snacks - and the drinks - he had brought.

“I only took your favourite,” he smiled. “I can’t wait for you to try them.”

The feeling of guiltiness you had when the Pensieve didn’t work came back and you sighed. Maybe I can at least tell him that I tried somehow… 

“I tried,” you said. “In Dumbledore’s office. He…tried to make me remember, but…nothing came. I’m sorry, Teddy. I really want to remember, I promise you.”

“Amore, don’t be sorry,” he cupped one of your cheeks and pressed a kiss on it. “I know you would do anything to remember. And I know it’s not your fault.” 

You nodded before clearing your throat. “Teddy, I…I have a question.”

“Go ahead, amore.”

“Is it true your father used to be a Death Eater?”

Theo looked at you for a while, with both surprise and confusion.

“What? Who told you?” 

You hesitated, but decided to be honest. “Harry. He came to talk to me after class, and…”

“God damn it!” he said, angry now. “This little fucker always have to ruin things. Ever since we got together, he always tried to put ideas into your head.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “y/n, look, it’s true my father used to work for You-Know-Who, but I don’t know if he went back to him after his return, and I don’t care! He could die and I wouldn’t care! I don’t care about him, what he does or what he believes in. All I care about is us and, well, my friends, but I don’t give a damn about anything else!” 

“Teddy,” you said, “I know you care! I’m not saying you’re like him, but maybe through your father and Draco’s, we could find a way to find out who abducted me.”

Theo looked at you, apparently thinking. “We could try…But even if my father or Draco’s father or even his aunt know something, I don’t see them telling us anything unless we use Veritaserum. And we would have to wait for the next school break to ask them.” 

“I can wait,” you say. 

Theo sighed, “If that’s what you want, we’ll make a plan. But, tonight, can we just celebrate being together?” 

Both his voice and eyes were pleading, and all you could do was nod.

“Of course, Teddy.”

He seemed to relax, and, one by one, handed you the presents. There were books, an album filled with pictures of you and Theo, a small book where Theo had written all your memories together, and, to finish, some jewellery - a gorgeous necklace with a heart-shaped diamond, a ring with a small white flower on it - and you thought there was no more gifts and was about to give him a “thank you” kiss on the cheek but Theo took a small grey bag from his back. 

“This one is special,” he said before handing it to you.

You took it with a smile, and opened it. There was a beautiful, small bracelet inside. You took it out and was about to put it on when Theo reached a hand out.

“Do you mind if I put it on your wrist?”

“Sure.

You gave him your wrist and he put the bracelet, but he didn’t let go of your wrist, looking instead at it and caressing it with his thumb. 

“This bracelet is different from the other gifts,” he said. “I gifted it to you on our first anniversary. It has never left your wrist ever since, except once.” You frowned and he looked at you, “when you got abducted, you lost it. I found it on the ground when I was looking for you, and I knew something was wrong.” 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing, “Your absence was killing me, cara mia. We were never separated since we got together, you know. Even during school breaks, you invited me to your home. Not only that, I didn’t know where you were and could only imagine what you were going through. Even my dreams were filled with nightmares of you facing unspeakable things alone. I couldn’t think of anything but you and how I missed you. I stopped going to class and going down for meals. I would have done anything to get you back, you know? I know I’m still a stranger to you, y/n, and it’s probably too early, but I love you. More than anything, more than my life. You’re all I have, you know? My mother is dead, my father doesn’t give a damn about me. Sure, I have my friends but you…God, y/n, you’re…everything. All the joy and happiness I have, I owe it to you. You taught me to be kinder with others but also with myself, and to have faith in me and what we had. I never took you for granted, and it hasn’t changed. But now, I can’t stand to be apart from you. I totally understand if you want to take things slow, and I will earn your trust and love again, but, please, just…just give a chance, amore. A chance to show you why I’m your Teddy and why you’re my y/n, and to make up for the time we lost. That, even if you don’t remember it, there is a reason why we were together. If you never get your memory back, it’s fine, I’ll spend hours telling you about every moment we had together in detail, and we’ll create new happy ones. I…love you, y/n.” 

After his last words, there was a silence and you could almost feel the weight of his words sinking in, going straight to your heart. That’s when you realised the attraction and the pull you had felt towards him from the moment you saw him was completely normal because Theo, with his large blue eyes and his adorable accent, was your soulmate. There was no doubt why you had loved him. Unable to say a word, you brought your hands to his cheeks and kissed him. The surprise caused him to not kiss you back immediately, but once he did, it was with all the longing he had felt ever since you had disappeared. One of his hands found your waist while the other was on one side of your neck. Your heart started beating faster and you felt something in your stomach before, all of a sudden, you felt as if you were struck by lighting. Your eyes opened by themselves, and images came rushing into your head. 

You playing with your parents as a child, buying your wand, being sorted into Slytherin, your first conversation with Theo and Pansy, all the classes and exams, your time spent with Theo before you guys dated, the moment you realised you were madly in love with him, your first date and first kiss, all the times you guys cuddled, the first time you spent the night loving each other, and, finally the last time you saw him before your abduction. Then, memories of a dark, dirty room and people wearing black pointing their wands at you, screaming in pain as you swore you didn’t know anything, and then, finally managing to escape and run back to the forest where you passed out. You felt tears coming out of your eyes, and broke the kiss.

“I love you too, Teddy. More than anything,” you whispered. 

He frowned, full of confusion, and you stroked his cheeks. 

“I…I don’t know why, but the kiss, it brought back all my memories back. Our first date was a picnic near the lake, right? That’s when we had our first kiss.”

He didn’t say anything but nodded. “You…You remember.”

It was your turn to nod before hugging him, stroking his hair and inhaling his comforting scent. 

“It’s the bracelet,” he suddenly said before breaking the hug. “When I bought it, the man at the shop told me it had magical properties, but I didn’t listen. I was late for class and wanted to have time to create a surprise for our evening. Maybe it remembers its owner?”

“Maybe,” you agreed. “But whatever it did, I’m glad you decided to give it to me that day. I always saw it as a symbol of our love, and now I truly believe it is.”

Theo nodded and you stared at him, admiring how gorgeous he was.

“I love you,” you said, “my Teddy.”

He kissed you again, this time with passion, and you knew this night was the first of many beautiful new memories together. 

(A/N: The bracelet, as Theo said, was magic. When y/n was abducted, a tear fell from her eye to bracelet, and we know memories can be found in tears. So the bracelet basically saved the memories and when she put it on, her memories came back.)

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