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norikuna · 2 months ago

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ACHILLES COME DOWN — ryomen sukuna

prologue. → you had given the king of curses what he had wanted the most, an heir, borne of the wife that he loves. but for one typically vicious and unshakeable, you wonder why sukuna is left so shaken by how much your daughter takes after him.

you wonder at how the vast ribcage of a demon and a cold killer, who can make the sun rise in the west if he so wished, was once the ribcage that held the beating heart of a young boy, with little space for him, or his mother, in this world.

pairing. ryomen sukuna x afab!reader

warnings. reader is sukuna's wife and they really love each other, just in their own twisted way. tried so hard to not make sukuna ooc so he comes across as an awful bitch sometimes. mentions of violence, blood, giving birth. lots of angst, hurt, comfort, mild fluff, suggestive, dubious in parts of the backstory, heavy focus on sukuna's childhood. sukuna calls reader 'woman' and 'brat.'

word count. 8.4k song inspiration. achilles come down — gang of youths

a/n. this artwork by @innaillus lives rent free in my head, it was the driving force for this fic idea...wanted to make this something different to what i usually do.

mp3 you crave the applause yet hate the attention, then miss it, your act is a ruse. it is empty, achilles, so end it all now, it's a pointless resistance for you.

for all the jujutsu and sorcery that flourished in the world, with unearthly displays of mastery over lief and death, you loathed how none had devised a technique to pluck an unborn child from the womb, and deliver it to the world without pain, without effort, and without this infernal ordeal that had left you slumped against silk cushions.

the air of your chambers hung heavy with a languid quiet, steeping in the residue of suffering, triumph, and undeniably, the light scent of iron in the air that made you wrinkle your nose.

the faint rustle of bloodied sheets reached your ears, punctuated by the rhythmic hum of the cicadas just beyond the paper screens, their song rising and falling like the tide of some ancient hymn.

summer lingered there, stubborn and sweltering on your brow, as the tremor of your hands betrayed the harrowing hours of labour behind you, though it had felt like centuries.

she was impossibly small, your daughter, her form as delicate as ceramic from the kiln, and just as luminous. her hair, peach-pink and fine as spun silk, gleamed softly in the amber glow of the lamplights, a gentler echo of her father's sharper strands.

the infant stirred in her swaddling, a tiny yawn parting her perfect, bow-shaped lips before she blinked up at you with wide, unfocused eyes.

the sight of those eyes stopped you. their hue was unmistakable — the very shade of your own, what a mirror of familiarity nestled in in the impossibly round irises of the child.

your breath hitched, and then a laugh escaped you, weak and thin from exhaustion.

the sound startled the maids, their hurried motions faltering for an instant, but you paid them no mind. your fingers simply brush over the baby's smooth cheek, marvelling at the warmth of her, at the life so newly arrived, and yet so firmly tethered to you.

"one question answered them," you murmured, the words falling from you, "two eyes."

what an absurd observation, a flicker of thought that should not have mattered in this moment. yet it did tug at you. you had wondered often during the long, sleepless night of pregnancy, whether this child would resemble their father entirely. whether this child would inherent that jagged, fearsome visage and the shadow that hung over the king of curses.

you had privately hoped that there would at least be something of you in the child, something gentler, and tethered to the world of men.

your musings were interrupted by the low murmur of voices beyond the screen, followed by the familiar sound of footsteps, deliberate and unhurried.

the servants hushed themselves immediately, and a moment later, the door slid open.

"lord sukuna," one of the accompanying nobles intoned, bowing so deeply that the hem of his crimson sokutai kissed the polished stones of the floor.

what a redundant announcement, for sukuna's presence often needed no introduction. you would swear that the chamber, warm with the glow of the lamplight, shrank beneath the weight of him.

even the cicadas outside seemed to hush their song as his shadow stretched across the tatami mats.

you felt his gaze before you saw it, — those piercing rust eyes, a force unto themselves. they lingered on you, a single breath held between one moment and the next, before shifting to the swaddled bundle cradled in your arms. you studied his face, willing yourself to decipher the mask of his granite expression.

hope tugged at you, fragile and foolish, searching for some flicker of sentiment, some crack in the marble of his countenance. yet his features remained inscrutable, as if carved from stone by a hand too cruel to grant softness.

but you knew your lord husband well. the absence of visible emotion was not the absence of feeling. his silences were not voids, but rather labyrinths, frustratingly so often. still, you watched him, not daring to speak, as sukuna moved with inhuman grace, as his steps no longer made sound on the floor.

your eyes fell on an odd object being carried in one of sukuna's four hands. dark silk was wrapped tightly around a small, irregular shape, and the bundle was unassuming at a glance. but you knew that nothing sukuna did was without purpose, without some motive.

but his eyes did not hold the indifferent glance of a man acknowledging his heir. it was something sharper, and heavier.

what did he see in the infant's tiny, sleeping form? what judgement had he already rendered in the silence that stretched unbearably to every corner of your quarters?

was this displeasure? disappointment? no, there was no anger etched into the sharp planes of his face.

but sukuna had wanted a son, he had said so, enough times that had left you running your anxious hands over your swollen belly. the thought coiled around your heart like a serpent, tightening with each second.

an heir must be strong. he had said it once, not long after you had first told him of the child growing within you. and in the quiet hours of that autumn night, you had wondered what strength had meant to him.

was it the unyielding will that had carved his name into infamous legend? the power to command, and collapse armies and legions, to bend the wills of mortals, and curses alike? a boone that could only truly be carried by a son?

you had never dared to ask the alternative.

swallowing your doubt, you finally spoke, unable to bear it any longer, "sukuna," you said, your voice quieter than you had intended, and even to your ears, it sounded raw with ragged exhaustion, "you have a daughter."

the words lingered, fragile as a spider's silk, trapped in the web of this room. it seemed that the maids, nor the nobles, dared to raise their eyes, as their breaths seemed to hang on the response.

now his shadow was cast over you, dimming the light of the world around you, but his four eyes flicked between the child at your breast, and then to your face.

"she will spill much blood on this earth," his voice as deep and steady as the foundations of the earth itself, "like her father."

the words struck you, like a hammer reverberating against a bronze bell in the quiet air. had you not braced yourself for his disappointment, for the cold practicality that so often shaped his actions?

but you were glad to see something else in his eyes, certainty, conviction, and even the faintest glimmer of traitorous pride. relief simply swept over you, filling in the spaces where paranoia and fear had coiled.

a small smile broke across your lips, though it felt fragle, as if one wrong word could shatter the moment. nevertheless, the lingering doubts that had clung to you, as heavy as a sunrise fog, began to dissolve in his searing presence.

"i am glad," you murmured, "that you are not angered. for i did not give you a son."

sukuna raised a single thin brow, his expression as unreadable as always, though the faintest trace of something akin to amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth, "any child of my blood will be strong. i am glad that my wife did not pass from blood loss during childbirth."

you melodramatically sighed but a laugh danced on your mouth, that was essentially a heartfelt confession of sukuna's love for you, in his own twisted way.

"well," you replied, doing your best to sound bolder than you felt, "if you're feeling so magnanimous, you may as well tell me what that is."

your gaze was in the silk-wrapped bundle that still rested in his lower right hand, "could i hope that it's a loving gift for me? your wife who did not pass from blood loss?"

the ghost of a droll smile quirked sukuna's lips, a rare thing that seemed to thaw away some of the cold ice on his features, "you will get your gift later," and there was the faintest flicker of heat in his tone, the sort that made your stomach twist and your cheeks burn anew.

you quickly lowered your gaze, pretending to fuss with the edges of the infant's swaddle. the maids had suddenly busied themselves with unnecessary tasks in the farthest corners of the room.

"this," sukuna continued, lifting the package, "is for her."

for a moment, his words didn't register. you blinked, surprised, and your eyes flicked from the mysterious artifact to the tiny, slumbering child in your arms.

"for her?" you echoed, and the idea of the king of curses bring an item for a child, his child, felt strange, but tender in its unfamiliarity, "what is it?"

instead of answering immediately, he sat his hulking form beside you, sinking the silk of your sheets further into the wood frame. the wrapping fell away at his touch, revealing what lay within.

a spear, small and exquisite. wickedly sharp, and glinting faintly even in the dim light. it's shaft was adorned with intricate carvings of coiling dragons and parting clouds, and it had clearly been crafted for a hand far tinier than sukuna's own.

"a...weapon?" your stomach turned faintly, blanching at the sight of something so deadly meant for someone so fragile, unease colouring your voice.

sukuna sighed at your tone, like he had already predicted your protests, "it is tradition. a blade is the first gift given to a child, in the house of a warrior. it must be a promise."

"a promise of what?" you asked, though you weren't sure you truly wanted to hear the answer.

"of strength. that a child will grow strong, regardless of blood or lineage."

you looked at your daughter, so small and so impossibly fragile, and then down at the spear, the fine metal glinting faintly in the amber lamplight. you were certain that if you were to lay a finger on the razor edge, it could split your flesh apart with blooming drops of wine-red blood.

"she is but a few hours old," you murmured, "what strength must she carry already?"

sukuna's gaze was umoved, but not unkind, "the child carries a burden whether she knows it or not. the world is not kind to those who are weak. would you not see her survive it?"

a harsh truth, but spoken without cruelty. you studied sukuna's face, bathed in the lamplight, searching for something that you couldn't quite name. for all his barbed edges, you could have sworn his words nursed an older grudge. but you knew, in your heart that he was right, your daughter had been borne of a mortal mother, but of an immortal father, of a darker thread in this world.

a father, one who did not know how to speak of love, but who offered it in the only way he knew.

to sukuna, love and violence sat hand in hand, bloodied and stained.

"still," you said, deciding to drop the serious protest, for now, "a strange world you live in, where a weapon is a fitting fit for a infant? your wisdom knows no bounds," and your voice was laced with the teasing incredulity that he would tolerate only from his wife.

his crimson eyes flicked toward you, calm and unbothered, though the faintest smirk curved the corner of his mouth, like a blade just shy of unsheathing. "admittedly," he said, his deep voice like thunder rolling across a distant plain, "i hadn’t realised that babies were so… round. and weak. and plump."

"you were a baby once."

"never. i was born with the taste of blood and flesh already in my mouth."

"you’re insufferable," you said, though there was no real heat in your words. sukuna was not as naive as he pretended to be; you knew this game too well. his dry humour was his way of stirring you, drawing you out, even now.

"well," you said with a soft sigh, gesturing toward the swaddled bundle in your arms, "set the weapon aside, my dear warlord. for now, at least. let her meet her father before she’s introduced to steel and blood."

for a moment, his gaze lingered on you, unreadable as always, though something unspoken and hesitant flickered there, like the glow of embers beneath ash. then, with a small incline of his head, he relented.

"very well, pass the brat," he muttered, his tone lower now, softer.

you extended the child toward him, her tiny form impossibly small against the vastness of his marked hands.

for a fleeting moment, you worried — fearful that his strength, so absolute, might overwhelm her delicate frame. but when his fingers brushed against the blanket, they were steady, almost reverent.

he took her into his arms, his hold firm yet astonishingly gentle. what a beautiful little thing, you thought, as she stirred faintly, her little face scrunching in a way that made your heart ache with unexpected tenderness, for her and for this rare moment of quiet from your husband.

"how...small," sukuna said, almost to himself, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. the crimson of his eyes softened as he gazed at her, no longer the gaze of the strongest jujutsu sorcerer or a fearsome curse, but something far more human, a shadow of a man he might have once been.

"infants tend to be," you replied softly, watching the way his expression flickered, but you shifted closer to him, "here, let me unwrap her."

with careful hands, you unwound the swaddling cloth, each pull of fabric careful. the delicate folds slipped away in a quiet hustle, revealing the soft, flushed skin of the newborn, her form small and fragile in the dim glow of the chamber. a scattering of fine, rosy hairs crowned her head like the first petals of a spring bloom, soft and fleeting.

but then, as the last of the cloth unraveled, the room seemed to still. beneath her, something did not quite belong.

four arms. for, just like her father, another set of limbs was stacked underneath the first.

a chill ran through you, but you kept your gaze fixed upon her. the sight was no less miraculous for its strangeness, no less wondrous, but something shifted in your chest, a flutter of uncertainty.

oh, your darling baby girl.

your breath faltered for only an instant, and then a wry chuckle escaped your lips. "no wonder it hurt so much pushing her out," you griped, the words an attempt at brief levity.

the maids behind you had stilled, their eyes wide with shock, their breaths drawn in in silence. but you scarcely noticed or cared for their reaction.

your attention was on sukuna, and the subtle change that passed across his features like a shadow moving across the face of the sun.

at first, there was nothing — no word, no sound from his tight, pursed lips. his crimson eyes flickered over her, shifting from the unexpected sight of her four arms to her face, as though searching for some other sign of familiarity. his hold on her, though gentle, became uncertain, the steady grasp of one used to absolute control now wavering in the presence of something too delicate to tame.

no one would have seen the change in your husband, but you did. you always did.

"ah, sukuna," you whispered, "it’s alright. hold her properly."

sukuna's jaw clenched, a muscle jumping in the corner of his mouth, painted with all the sweetness of rancid milk gone sour. but at last, he obeyed.

slowly, deliberately, his hands shifted, cradling the child with a kind of reverence that seemed foreign to him. the baby stirred faintly, her small hands brushing against his bare chest, and for the briefest of moments, a flicker passed across his expression — something that could have been warmth, or tenderness, or even pain, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

just as swiftly, his face returned to its usual impassive mask, the stoic countenance of a cruel warlord, implacable and untouchable. the walls of armour, built up over years of battle, of bloodshed, closed in around him once more, and you were left with the unmistakable sense that he had retreated behind them.

your brow furrowed as you watched him, "what's wrong?"

"nothing, woman." he replied curtly, and you could already sense the serrated edges of his tone, the one you would hear when his mood had gone afoul.

he placed the newborn back into your arms, and you nestled the infant close to your breast — and you blinked, taken aback by the suddenness of the gesture, your fingers stinging from the instantly cool touch of his skin.

"you have done well," and his voice was low, clipped.

a fleeting silence followed, thick with the weight of his half-hearted praise, or rather lack of his apparent love.

"done well? sukuna - " you repeated, unable to mask the incredulity in your voice, "my lord, that is all you have to say?"

his eyes rested on yours, cool and unyielding. beautiful and terrible, in the way that a soldier may have admired a temporary moment in time watching crimson shimmer and soar across the sky, before it fell down in acrid blood rain. terrible, all the same.

on any other day, his infuriating brevity and sharp demeanour might have sparked a flame of annoyance in your chest, but today...was not quite so. though the shadow that rest upon him would not reveal itself, you searched his face nevertheless for what had unnerved him so. but as always, sukuna's features were as unreadable as ancient stone.

his gaze flickered for a moment to the maids who lingered at the edges of the room, their wide eyes watching with an almost palpable curiosity. and without a single glance at you, or the baby girl nestled in your arms, he turned away in long strides, past the threshold and onto the balcony that held the evening's last fading light.

you let out a long, slow sigh — at the poison that had sunk its furled teeth into your husband once more. this was hardly the first time he had withdrawn into his own sullen, brutal thoughts, locked behind walls that you had not the key to breach. and it certainly would not be the last. you could only hope that this ill vein of his mind would not end in someone's pumping blood being spilled over the floors.

"uraume," you called softly, glancing toward your friend and confidant, who had been standing silently near the wall, having accompanied sukuna.

the short, silver-haired sorcerer turned their rosewood eyes toward you, their expression as stoic as ever, like frost that had settled over granite.

their hands were folded neatly in front of their heavy snow-robes, but you caught the faintest quirk of their brow as if to say what now?

you gestured toward sukuna's figure on the terrace, brooding and awfully solitary, "what has gotten into him?"

uraume shrugged, as unimpressed as always, "would that he has found himself in one of his moods again. you know how he is."

you frowned, not entirely satisfied with their answer, for what ill mood could have sunk its claws into sukuna after the birth of his only child. but still, uraume had known sukuna far longer than you had.

"can you hold her for a moment?"

at that, uraume hesitated, their stoicism faltering for the briefest second, "me?" they asked, their cool tone clipped but their light-teak eyes darting to the baby with thinly veiled interest.

"yes, you," you said with a wry smile, "ah, don’t pretend as though you don’t want to."

their lips pressed into a tight line, but you saw the way their hands moved almost instinctively, reaching out before they could talk themselves out of it. with practiced care, you transferred the baby into your friend's arms, watching as uraume's stern demeanor softened, just slightly, as they looked down at the tiny bundle.

"careful," you teased, adjusting the swaddle around your infant daughter, "she might charm you into smiling."

"unlikely," uraume deadpanned, but the faintest ghost of warmth touched their dulcet voice.

the evening air was cool as the breath of a shadow, brushing against your skin, and you watched as the pale pink petals of the gardens below fluttered in the winds, falling in gentle arcs around the estate.

you sighed, wrapping your robe tighter around your form, as the sheer fabric clung to your skin like the last vestiges of warmth that the day had offered. the coolness was a balm, but it did little to ease the deep ache in your legs, nor the weariness that had clung to you like a second skin now, so soon after an arduous labour.

you made your way onto the balcony, the rough floor beneath your feet cold and unyielding — and there, sukuna sat, his broad frame hunched slightly over the stone bench.

you paused, only a slight shadow behind him, unsure whether to disturb the stillness of his thoughts or let him be. the space between you was...heavy, but you broke through the silence.

"are you going to tell me what's wrong," you asked, trying to keep a lightness to your tone, "or are you planning to brood out here all night?"

you could only hope that you had not overstepped, for his moods were as tempestuous as the wild storms of summer's monsoons. although his promise of blood on skin, and guts on the table, had never been directed at you.

a flicker of irritation had brush over sukuna's face, as his gaze remained fixed on the horizon. a warning, perhaps, a retreat?

for a moment, you lingered where you stood, wondering if it would be worth your time to weather whatever tempest brewed within the king of curses. and you hesitated, fingers twitching with the urge to reach out and place a hand upon his broad shoulder. but something held you back, not tonight.

instead, you settled beside him, the cold stone of the bench biting into your thighs and abdomen through the thin fabric of your robe, a deep cramping that you wished you could settle with a steaming bath.

for a long while, sukuna said little. but you heard his small exasperated sigh, at the inconvenience that you had apparently created for him. a subtle movement in the dark silk of his robes, and without a word, he spread the folds of his garments wider so you could move closer to the searing heat of his bare skin, and rest upon the fabric, rather than the icy rock currently beneath your pelvis.

"sukuna, please. are you well?"

"why wouldn't i be, woman?" but the words fell between you, false and brittle in the warm air, betrayed by the clench of his jaw.

it must be of little standard, how you're pleased that sukuna has not blasted his beloved wife into cinders, and so you press on, undeterred now by the silence.

reaching out, you take one of his four hands, so much stronger than your own, into your grasp. your fingers weave into the thick tattoos marked on his skin, over faint scars that must stretch back to a golden age, long abandoned by the world. but here, his skin is warm and living, and solid beneath your touch. it is rough in places, like a weathered boulder, but there is no resistance in his grasp, no usual sharpness in a retreat.

"i wonder," he mutters, and you look up from studying his hands in surprise, "what mine own parents must have thought when i was born."

your breath catches, for sukuna has never spoken of family, not once in all the years that you have known him. after all, you had seen your husband in reminiscence many times, usually after a great flagon of rich drink.

about stories of battle and triumphs, of how greatly he enjoyed severing a stray general's head from the man's body, of how excellent the wine was five centuries ago, or how he found it a nuisance that it was no longer acceptable to chase after servants with a crossbow for the fun of the hunt.

but never had a word been uttered of those who came before him.

"you've never mentioned your family, sukuna," and you don't miss how his hand twitches under your hold, "never heard a single thing about the last king and queen of curses."

the sharp, razor lines of his body tighten, and sukuna does not smile, does not soften. his face is as unreadable as ever, like a mask carved from iron wood.

"i come from no such line, certainly not from kings," his tone is flat, only a mild sneer in his voice as the prospect of nobility, and you watch the handsome slope of his nose in the twilight, the stern profile that you had grown to admire in the time of your...tumultuous marriage.

he speaks the words like they are the final bookend of a story, the last page, with nothing left to say. but you tilt your head, watching the hard line of his jaw, and the way his fingers mildly tighten around your own, like an anchor.

"who were they?"

sukuna finally turns his head to face you, the faintest shift in his posture as his eyes finally meet yours. the look he gives you is cold, disinterested, and the subtle roll of his lower eyelids betray a flash of frustration and anger.

you frown at the fleeting, cutting gesture, but it is nothing new for you, "it was just a question. i've just never heard you speak on this before."

sukuna rolls his broad shoulders, half-hearted and dismissive, as though this conversation itself has suddenly become an inconvenience that he's barely willing to entertain. how typical.

"never found it relevant."

you aren't sure what is more unbearable now, the dull throb in your legs that still lingers from the birth, or the faint copper tang of the afterbirth that you're certain is now pooling on your robe, or the heavy, oppressive heat of the summer air that seems to suffocate in your throat.

but somehow, all of it combines to make your husband's behaviour just a bit too much, even for you, the one who has become so accustomed to the emotionally stunted king of curses.

"please, sukuna," and you loathe how it sounds as though you are begging once more, hoping there's no hint of the bitterness of your tone, no crack of anger, but it is hard to tie that mask in place when it seems like every part of your body is breaking, aching and exhausted, "i just gave birth to your child, our child. everything hurts, and i'm tired, and i just want to rest," you pause, and the words slip from your mouth before you can stop them, "and now you're off sitting here, and you didn't even want to hold her? what am i supposed to do?"

even you are surprised by the rawness in your own voice, the trembling that has begun to spread across your chest, until you realise with a quiet shock that your eyes are wet, and your face is streaking with tears that leave your head laden and heavy. you had not meant to lose composure like this, but now there they are, hot and clinging.

and sukuna's usual stoicism seems momentarily shattered. he's staring at you as if you have sprouted horns, as though an extra head has sprung from your neck. it is a subtle change, the faintest narrowing of his brows, the way his lips press together in an effort to tamp down whatever rude words he was going to spring forth upon his already fraying wife. but at this point in time, you do not care to read him, nor to decipher the layers of his complex, decaying heart.

but his rough hand reaches out, almost clumsily, and they brusqely brush the damp streaks from your cheeks. the gesture is far too gentle for one who only responds to strength, violence, and sometimes, decapitation.

but it is the first gesture of tenderness that he has offered in what feels like an age, "stop that, woman. this does not befit you," and the edges of his robe catch the falling droplets from your face, dampening the silk.

and sukuna's mouth is now downturned, the edges of his lips twisting in that familiar, inscrutable way. you wonder, for the thousandth time, how he ever reconciles the savage nature of the beast that he has become, with the faintest echo of what was once humanity beating in his chest, "wasn't trying to upset you, brat."

his voice pricks at you, and you wipe the last remnants of tears from your skin, but there's a sudden warmth in your cheeks, at the embarrassment of breaking like this, rather than lingering sorrow.

"if you're that desparate to know, my mother was a servant."

you blink, unsure whether you are hearing correctly, for sukuna's voice does not even falter, despite the apparent chink in his impenetrable armour. but this is no great surprise, perhaps, his mother had been a concubine to a lord, some powerful man, or the emperor himself?

sukuna had now looked away from you, his gaze turned to the darkened sky, "lived in the palace. or actually...worked there, didn't get to even live there. they had her live in some shack off on the edge of the estate," and his voice is like the wind in a sealed tomb, bitter and stale.

"with the animals," you murmur, and it is not intended to be cruel. you know better than to speak so carelessly with sukuna, and you have learnt that pity is something he cannot abide, he abhors it. has never wanted it, not from you, his wife or queen, nor any other.

but now sukuna grunts, low and gutteral, "don't even remember much of it. could only keep a stupid goat in there, at best."

you find yourself absently fiddling with the hem of your robe, the thin fabric slipping through your fingers, past your nails.

"and your father?" you wonder if he can hear the question that hangs on the edge of your words, a powerful man? even the emperor of that time had been known to dabble in jujutsu, and other forms of more foreign magic from the continental homeland.

"no name that i would waste my time mentioning," and sukuna's tone is heavy with disdain, and a sneer has spread on his face, having slipped past the mask of constant indifference, "or a name that i would have even bothered to find and learn. clearly...didn't care for the likes of mother. some lowly foot soldier she met one night, never appeared before her again."

you're not quite sure how to respond, how to fit his surprising words into a world that you're familiar with. you, born with royal blood in your veins, a lineage of kings and khans. you, who grew up in a palace with a gruff but loving father, and an overbearing but kind mother, or the warmth of a large band of siblings swarming around you.

you, who had never gone to bed cold, always had a fire on her back, had grown up with jewels draped across your neck.

"must not have been easy, sukuna."

you watch him closely, and you can tell that he's doing his utter best to wave your gaze away, to disguise this as a casual tale, one to be dismissed on the morrow. but you wonder, with a sense of sorrow, if there is a single living soul alive who has been privy to this story, aside from uraume, most likely.

but sukuna shrugs, a quick and careless motion, and the movement tousles his head of rosy hair, sharp spikes swaying, "she said i had been born in a time of famine," and you can hear him running his tongue behind his teeth, "that she had to serve the emperor fine banquets everyday, while she came home to not even two sticks of wood to put together for a fire."

and then, he turns his second pair of eyes on you, those crimson eyes that seem to see straight through the world, "said she had no idea how i even survived to birth," and your lower region pangs at the mention of your recent labours, "that it was a miracle that i had been born strong enough to live past a few hours in the cold."

you squeeze his calloused hand again, a soft press of rare reassurance to one who most likely does not care for such sentiments, and this time he allows it — a kind mercy you think, born of some unwilling guilt that lingers from having you weep.

for a fleeting moment, his hand remains, coarse over yours, but his expression hardens once more, like magma went hit with the cool wind. he pulls his hand away with a swiftness that makes your heart ache.

"sounds like she really loved you," you hum, but the words sound weak even to your own ears. unable to change anything, or stitch over whatever scars shaped the king of curses, but you say them anyway, fumbling for something to offer.

his scarlet gaze flickers to you once more, and for a moment, you think he might scoff. but instead, sukuna gives you a peculiar, twisted look, as though caught between disbelief, and a painful, begrudging acknowledgement.

"i- sure," and his voice is lower than the muted tone that you're accustomed, rough but listless, "used to sit there, putting scraps of cloth together for the winter. from the sacks used to carry feed for the horses."

you wince, unbidden, as the image cuts through you like a blade. of a faceless child draped in rough, burlap-like cloth, and a mother's raw hands working to piece together anything that might keep her son warm through the cold winters. but it is hard, hard to see that faceless child as the king of curses now, no matter how you peer up at sukuna's stern profile.

you think of your newborn daughter, her soft and downy cheeks. the way she had nestled into you with such implicit trust. you try to imagine the same tenderness in the woman who was the mother of the demon later known as ryomen sukuna, but when you close your eyes all you see is death and war, blood painting four hands as they pulled off man's head, clean at the jugular — at your wedding feast.

"how did you survive?" and the question feels intrusive, almost cruel, but he's only given you a fractured and worn story, a thread that you're dying to follow.

sukuna gives you a sharp look, his brows knitting as he takes in the mild teary hitch in your voice, "don't start getting weepy on me now," he huffs, coarse but not callously, "you asked to know. and don't think i'm going to sit here, and hold your hand through it."

you nod, chastened but affronted, as he continues, "i did what any child would have done. stole what i could from under the carts of merchants, bread from the palace, scraps from the barracks or medicine."

"medicine?" you ask, your curiosity slipping through.

sukuna's expression darkens, and for the first time, there's a flicker of something far more raw in his eyes, and you don't quite appreciate the way he's glowering at you as if it were your doing, "she was sick. sometimes."

the words are clipped, meant to cut short any sympathy you might try to offer, but they lodge deep in your heart all the same. and in a cruel corner of your mind, a thought emerges.

was it birthing him that made her sick? did it consume her spirit and body, the birth of the king of curses?

fortunately, and unbeknownst to your lord husband, shame rises to your cheeks as swiftly as the notion comes, hot and furious. you swallow it down, forcing your lips to stay shut, horrified with your own insensitive thought.

but now the silence is stretching before you, as a long yawn. you glance at him again, at the defiant set of his shoulders, and you shake your head of the ridiculous surge of protectiveness towards a beast, one such as sukuna. but you still cannot picture him as a small and gaunt boy, with quick and desparate hands, trying to survive a life that he did not ask for.

"she must have been proud of you."

sukuna sneered, but it lacked its usual edge, "proud?" he shakes his head, glancing at you with an expression you can't quite name, "would've wanted better than this."

better than what? you want to ask. better than the wealthiest man in the realm? the most powerful sorcerer in written history? the king of curses?

but what do you know? and so, the words don't come. instead, your fingers twitch in your lap, aching to reach for him again, and knowing that he would just pull away once more.

"and yet, men compose sonnets of your power. the king of all the light and shadow touches," and your voice must be laced with a quiet wonder, at what it is to be so feared, but it is not admiration.

"my mother did not want that for me," sukuna says, his tone sharp, ruminating with a hard expression, "but i did it anyway. they wouldn't take me at first, not a child with no family to present him, nor gold to weigh in his favour," and the words are low, and biting, as if speech sits bitter on his tongue, "so i took up the sword. trained until i was good enough to join the legions."

"and then?" though you know that there is little point in asking, for the tale is now one that you have heard before. written in dried blood, and throughout history. it is famous on the mainland, on the islands, on the continent, to where the horse-lord khans are now raising great empires. but hearing it from sukuna's mouth feels different, like tracing your fingers over the jagged edge of a rough wound.

"sought power in other place," and now he's looking down at you, physically, but also knowing him, quite literally, "soft thing like you has never seen the rest of the world, but there were masters who never answered to a throne."

"crushed every army of the great clans, north to south, every squad of the sun, moon and stars. brought them to their knees, one by one, and tore their throats out," and you can hear how sukuna's tongue kisses his teeth when he speaks, as if he's reminiscing the taste of beautiful iron in his mouth, "and when it was done, the emperor, the same one who ruled while my mother and i rotted on his estate...he bowed to me."

"they invited me to the harvest festival after that," he continues, his lips twisted in a bitter smirk, "in the capital. worshipped me like an idol, some ancient hero."

it's never lost on you on how sukuna's tone is the most pleased when thinking about how blood rips from ripe arteries and wounds. but his eyes are colder than the snow-capped mountains of the earlier months, and they betray no joy nor triumph. it is simply what happened, as if told from the vantage of a stranger.

you hesitate, the next question caught in your throat. but the need to know burns brighter than your fear, "your father," you say carefully, and there. the tell-tale clench of sukuna's sculpted jaw, "he was a soldier, was he not?"

his eyes remain fixed beyond the terrace, where the light faded long ago. for a moment, you think that sukuna has not heard you. but then, he speaks, his voice akin to the rumble of thunder on a faraway horizon, "my father," and his tone is entirely devoid of feeling, "could have been one of the soldiers i killed, i care not."

"what did you mother say after all that?"

for a moment, the silence stretches between you, heavy and unyielding. and privately, you have grown much tired of this brooding quiet, but you fancy not being blown to ashes alongside the rest of this estate, so you let him linger.

but sukuna has inhaled sharply, and his wandered gaze has snapped back with an edge you hadn't expected, "i wouldn't know," and now, this feels more like an open wound, "died when i was twelve winters."

there is no softness in his tone, no tremble or catch to suggest the pain of memory, for it is too old and too familiar. but the world around you seems to dim as he still speaks, "hadn't learnt reversed curse technique by then. hah, if she had lived longer..."

and sukuna closes his mouth with a snap, as if an unseen poison has dredged to the surface. for it is not within the king of curses's nature to regret. to wonder what if?

you can see it in the way sukuna's hand clenches at his side, the subtle twitch of his mouth. it is not grief that overtakes him, nor even regret. it is something darker, colder — a wound that time has turned to scar tissue but never truly healed.

and again, you try. to imagine her, a woman bent by the weight of a hard life but still fierce in her love for her son. you still cannot see a face, but you can picture frail hands threading through coarse fabric into a makeshift tunic, telling her son stories to chase away the hunger and cold of the night. and you wonder about fate's cruel hands, for her son would first grow into a man, and then something crueler and inhuman, one who could topple armies and empires, one who sung fangs into still-beating hearts. but not in time to save her.

it is a sad story, but you know better than to offer your apologies. one thing still lingers in your mind, pressing against your thoughts like a stone beneath rushing water.

"what does this have to do with your daughter?"

your husband suddenly looks at you, quizzical, and he's faintly confused. you frown, clarifying before he can twist your meaning, "it's just...you seemed upset after holding her. i thought -"

sukuna's expression shifts, a flash of irritation breaking through his impassiveness, "what? that i loathed the sight of her?" his lips curl into a smirk, laced with a drier humour, "hope she got my brains, and not yours."

you scowl at him, your indignation quick but shallow at his cheap barbs. without much thought, you jab an elbow into his bare side. but he doesn't flinch, of course he doesn't. but a mild smile breaks through, faint as dawn's first light. and for now, it's enough for you.

but then sukuna's face clouds again, and the weight of his brooding thoughts seems to settle over him once more. you sigh, and venture a guess, your voice quieter now, gentler, "you’re worried about her because she was born as you were."

sukuna scoffs, "tch! don’t make me sound so weak and weepy, like you."

"ryomen," you say, letting his name stretch out, both affectionate and exasperated, "it's alright to care about your infant daughter. no one is going to topple your throne over it."

"i'd invite them to try," he snarls, shooting you a hard look, like you were going to raise an army later that day.

"it wasn't easy for me," he adds, and the edges of his words are brittle, "didn't quite have that grasp on jujutsu when i was younger. ended up even melding flesh together to try and hide two arms out of four. or...almost crushing them together so they would break and bend."

"what a cruel strife, delivered upon a child," you're frowning, at the vivid imagery and at how sukuna delivers it in such a matter-of-fact way.

but your husband dips his chin, and you're left staring and wondering, just what it would take to have him break away from his unholy pride, "a fair exchange," he says, "wasn't a stranger to what people called me. or thought."

"you know what the difference is?" and you've paused long enough for the words to settle, to break him out of his reverie, "our daughter has a loving father," and sukuna's face twitches.

"and," now, you point at yourself, "a loving mother. i do think she will grow up strong."

you almost say that she will grow up safe, happy, content. peaceful. but you had stopped yourself, for you had pushed the king of curses enough for one night, emotionally at least, and you know that 'strong' is something that he respects, something that he can hope for without feeling lesser for it.

"she better," he grunts, and you smile at the faintest glimmer of pride slipping into his voice, pride at what he deems a worthy creation from him, and you, "i don't care if she was born today, i need to see her cursed technique."

"sukuna!" you snap fiercely, and it just draws a rich laugh from him, one that makes you sigh too, for you think that your husband is often (and ironically) like the sun. for when he blazes far too hot, and bright, you can feel the burn sting. but when sukuna glows, all tend to clamour to bask in his rare warmth.

you laugh with him, the sound light in the still of the night, and before he can pull away or grumble something sardonic, you press a soft kiss to his cheek. sukuna huffs above you, the noise low and guttural, a half-hearted complaint about how he is being suffocated, but you feel the warmth bloom under your lips.

and it is sweet, in its own odd way, at how his creamy skin flushes quickly, betraying him, and his lower set of eyes flutter close. for a brief moment, the king of curses is almost bashful, the storm clouds parting as quickly as they came.

as you rise to your feet, you feel the ache in your thighs, but you tug lightly at his hefty arms, urging him, "come, my lord," you say, your tone teasing but warmer, "come see your daughter now."

sukuna doesn’t move at first, his gaze following yours, tracing the place where you had just been sitting. his expression shifts, darkening as his eyes fall on something. "is that blood?" he asks, the words sharp and low.

you glance down, catching sight of the vivid smear on the stone—a crimson stain stark against the dimly lit fabric. your shoulders tighten, a flicker of embarrassment sweeping through you before you remember that this is not your fault, and you glower, your voice bristling. "afterbirth," you mutter, crossing your arms as if to shield yourself from the moment. "would have been nicer to pass in my own bed."

the faintest quirk touches his lips, an almost-smile that flickers and vanishes as quickly as it came. "you must be hungry," he says, his tone succint but carrying the faint edge of something softer—something close to concern, though he would never name it as such, and call you foolish if you did.

you sigh, the weight of exhaustion pressing against you like the tide, for you desperately wished to rest, "you have no idea," half a complaint, half a confession.

sukuna doesn’t reply immediately, but you catch the way his gaze softens, lingering just long enough to remind you that, despite his gruffness, he cares more than he lets on. perhaps, in his own way, he is just as raw and exposed as you are now.

again, you tug at his marked arms, insistent, and he sighs — long-suffering, as if your request were a monumental task. yet, he rises, uncoiling his tall frame until he towers over you, the shadows darkening most of what is around you.

before you can utter another word, he sweeps you close, all four of his arms encircling you with an ease that borders on reverence. his lips brush against your forehead, fleeting but gentle, a moment so tender it nearly takes your breath away.

and then, like clockwork and a theatrical grimace, sukuna pushes you away, his expression twisting into an exaggerated mask of disgust. it's his strange, unpolished way of showing affection, and you can’t help but snicker, the sound light and unburdened.

"you’re ridiculous," you tease, though your smile lingers, soft and warm, and he mutters some comment about how he doesn't even like you.

"you know,” you begin, "i asked uraume to hold our daughter in the meantime."

His eyes widen, incredulous, and for a moment, he looks genuinely doubtful, "huh, this entire time. uraume cannot have agreed to that."

"they did!" you insist, triumph lighting your voice, thinking of the petulant sorcerer probably making faces at your baby indoors.

sukuna shakes his head, muttering as if the mere notion defied all reason, he who had seen mountains turn to dust and oceans part. "unbelievable," he says, his tone caught between disbelief and faint admiration, as though uraume's rare acquiescence were an impossible feat.

you had returned indoors, arm entwined with one of sukuna's which had pulled you close with a sudden, almost possessive gesture.

and lo and behold, you found uraume still kneeling by the cradle, with their eyes fixed on the infant, who was staring back at the ice-sorcerer with curious intensity, oddly knowing for one so small.

and uraume, typically stoic and cold, leans in loser to the child, now gentle and cooing, "yes," they murmur, "and when you are all grown up, you will listen to me. i don't care if sukuna has a stroke. your father is prone to theatrics, and your mother is prone to equal dramatics. but you can learn from the best there is, me."

sukuna, ever the cynic, guffaws, "i hope you are not indoctrinating my heir," you laugh at the flicker of amusement in both sets of his eyes.

you catch the briefest glimpse of an embarrassed flush on uraume's pallid cheeks before the sorcerer quickly recovers, lips pursing in an exaggerated show of indifference.

"i do not care for this pudgy thing," uraume huffs, the words a touch too hasty as they thrusts the child back into your arms, clearly uncomfortable with the softening of their usually unyielding nature.

and when sukuna's peering down at the child, with barely veiled interest, the same set of eyes that you carry end up meeting blood-red eyes with teeth.

your daughter, promptly robbed of uraume's gentler attention and less-monstrous features, begins to wail, loud and teary, as sukuna growls, affronted.

"can't you put the child back in you?"

the linked artwork belongs to the artist. but the header and writing belong to curtins.tumblr.com. likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated, but do not repost my work!

#sukuna x reader #sukuna #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna jjk #ryomen sukuna #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk sukuna #sukuna x y/n #jjk x you #works #SHES FINALLY DONE! this took me sooooo long idk i really struggled w trying to nail sukuna right #sukuna smut #jjk smut #daphworks

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violentdelights-violentendss · 10 months ago

Text

When BSD men have to carry you.

Pairing: Fem!Reader/BSD Men

In this post: ✨Osamu Dazai, Chuuya Nakahara, Ryunosuke Akutagawa, Doppo Kunikida, Atsushi Nakajima, Yukichi Fukuzawa, Edogawa Ranpo, Fyodor Dostoyevsky✨

Synopsis; Various scenarios where the BSD men have to carry you in their arms.

Guys should I double space or single space my paragraphs? Let me know…Bro this turned out to be a BEAST! Please requests are open!! Request for bsd or any other character!

Edogawa Ranpo

You had been walking home with your boyfriend, strolling peacefully as the dying sun elongated your shadows on the empty pavement. Your hand rested in Ranpo’s right hand, his left hand holding a lollipop he was happily licking.

Your eyes were staring at your feet, but your mind was elsewhere, thinking back to day you had spent in the office, more precisely Kenji’s small cousins coming to visit him from the countryside. The very unplanned visit had obviously caused chaos in the already disorganized life the Armed Detective Agency lived (Kunikida had almost died on the spot), but soon everyone started having fun. One precise moment had remained etched to your brain, recalling memories of your childhood you yourself had forgotten: Dazai carrying the little children on his back, twirling them around as they laughed.

The last time you had been carried in someone’s arms was so long ago the memory was fuzzy, and almost non-existent in your brain. Slowly, you wondered if your genius boyfriend would maybe comply to your very childish wish. The words bubbled in your chest, quickly pressing against your lips. You tried to calm down your beating heart, slightly embarrassed, but before you could even utter the first syllable, Ranpo turned to look at you, his eyes glittering in the sunset.

“I’ll do it just because it’s you.”

“H-how did you know what I wanted to ask?” Your boyfriend’s mind never ceased to amaze you.

“I was watching you today at the agency, and I immediately knew what you were thinking when you looked at Dazai.” Your cheeks became an even darker shade of red, and you nibbled on your lip, feeling embarrassment running all over your body.

Ranpo cleared his throat, and you glanced back at him, finding him kneeling in front of you, his lollipop hanging lazily from his lips. Your heart skipped a beat, and a happy giggle flew out of your mouth before you climbed on your boyfriend’s back. He quickly adjusted his hands to hold you more comfortably. “Hold on tight.” He called to you, before standing up.

You gasped, throwing your arms around his neck, and nuzzling your lips against his neck. “Ah, (Y/N)! That tickles!” He whined, making you laugh even more.

Ranpo started walking again, heading towards your home. You were on cloud nine, happily expressing your joy by kissing every inch of Ranpo’s skin that you could reach. “I love you, I love you!” You kept repeating, an idiotic smile practically glued to your lips.

“The things I do for you!” He exclaimed, faking annoyance, even through his heart beamed with joy, knowing he was the one who had made you smile so brightly you were rivaling the sun.

Ryunosuke Akutagawa

You had been lying down on the couch in Akutagwa’s office for the past hour, patiently waiting for him to finish working on some paperwork that had to be absolutely handed in by the end of the day. You had first come in as you two had planned to walk home, but your boyfriend had quickly explained the situation. Working in the same organization, you understood, and simply pressed a kiss to his pale skin before settling down comfortably, and waiting for him to be done.

As time sluggishly went on, the cozy warmth in Akutagwa’s office and his delicate cologne that permeated everything around you, slowly started to make you drowsy. The constant scratching of his pen against the paper did not help either, and you were soon slipping in and out of consciousness.

Akutagawa finished the last report he had to write, exhaling quietly, a little bit of tension easing from his shoulders. He slipped the lid on his pen, ordering the pages on his desk, knowing his assistant would deliver them as soon as you two would leave. Akutagawa stood up, stretching his back. “(Y/N), I’m done, let’s go…” His words trailed off when he turned to face you, finding you to be adorably sleeping on his couch.

The sight almost melted his heart, before he sadly realized he had to wake you up, even though he knew you had had trouble sleeping last night. He sincerely did not want to wake you up, desiring you to get the sleep you so needed. Akutagawa brainstormed for a few moments, thinking how to solve the issue, before an idea stepped forward: quietly, and delicately, Akutagawa commended Rashomon to slither towards you, picking you up with the most care in the world to not wake you. The dark coils carried you to your boyfriend’s back, placing you vertically against him, so your chest was pressing against his back. The black tendrils wrapped around your torso, safely locking you to Alutagwa’s back, making you become an almost human backpack. Your boyfriend reached to place your limp arms around his neck, and commanded Rashomon to hold your legs against him, so they wouldn’t accidentally drag on the floor and hurt you. And finally, one more coil gently supported your neck, your cheek now pressing against Akutagawa’s shoulder.

He made sure that you were soundly asleep before he walked out of the office, non caring of the other Port Mafia members who glanced at you two, clearly confused. The only unfazed one seemed to be Chuuya, but what could surprise him after years of living with Dazai?

The whole way home, Akutagawa made sure you were always sound asleep and comfortable, timidly holding your hand when he was sure he was very very very far away from the Port Mafia headquarters. When you two were in the elevator in your apartment complex, Akutagawa looked at you through the reflection, feeling his heart flutter when he realized you had started drooling in your sleep. You were truly the most beautiful women in the world.

He quietly shut the door of your apartment. Akutagawa gently laid you down on your bed, making sure you weren’t about to fall off the edge of the bed, before he finally allowed Rashomon to retreat. Just as he turned around to go grab his phone, he felt your warm hand on his wrist. He turned around, seeing you sleepily look at him, your eyes caked in sleep and barely remembered dreams.

“Come lay in bed?” You asked sluggishly.

Akutagawa could not resist. He quickly climbed bed next to you, welcoming you in his embrace, watching as you used his chest as a pillow. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, suddenly wincing. Before Akutagawa could ask what was wrong, you mumbled, “There’s a wet spot on your back,”

Akutagawa could not help the small smile on his face, kissing your forehead. “I know. Don’t worry about it.” You complied, quickly slipping back into slumber, and Akutagawa soon followed, closing his eyes.

Osamu Dazai

You had spent the whole day walking around Yokohama with Dazai, holding his hand tightly, eating whatever your hearts desired. Your last wish for the day was to go on the Ferris wheel, offering a night view of the twinkling city, making it resemble a field of fallen stars.

The both of you were at the very top of the Ferris Wheel; you were admiring the view, and Dazai had his head resting on your shoulder, observing the view of the city as well. His dark curls tickled your shoulders. “Did you have fun today, belladonna?” Dazai asked quietly, not wanting to destroy the magic of the moment.

“I had the best time of the my life. The only thing that put a blemish on today’s perfection was this skirt.” You pointed to the short skirt you had decided to wear that today.

Dazai glanced down after hearing your words, perplexedly staring at the article of clothing he had quite enjoyed on you: the skirt was beautiful on you, accentuating your gorgeous body. “Why was it a bad choice?” He asked, playing with the hem of it.

“Well, not the skirt in itself, but I usually wear some biker shorts underneath, because my thighs rub against each other and it hurts like a bitch! And I forgot them today!” You quickly hitched it up to show Dazai the reddened skin between your thighs. “And today’s heat did not help. Every step is an agony.” You admitted, hastily shoving your skirt down when you realized the ride was coming to an end.

Dazai chivalrously helped you out of the Ferris wheel, holding onto your arm. He noticed how you subtly tried to waddle instead of walking, not wanting your thighs to brush together again. “Bella, seeing you in such a dramatic situation makes your poor boyfriend’s heart bleed!” He dramatically stated, over exaggerating every word.

You chuckled. “I, your valiant boyfriend will sacrifice my knees for you.” He called, quickly kneeling in front of you.

“Are you sure, Dazai? I don’t want to hurt you…”

“My dear, you could never hurt me.” Dazai smiled at you, looking over his shoulder. You blushed, finally deciding that you could not walk anymore, and you gratefully climbed on his back, pressing a kiss to his head and whispering a soft, “Thank you.”

Dazai adjusted his hands to hold you comfortably and started walking home. “Am I not a gentleman, (Y/N)?” Dazai asked, turning to look at you and wiggle his eyebrows.

“Well, I am not so sure.” You laughed.

“Oh! You doubt my honor? For what reason, my lady?” Dazai whined.

“Well, I don’t think a gentleman would use this opportunity to touch my ass.” Dazai’s hands had been initially supporting your thighs, but his elegant fingers had soon slid further back, deciding to hold your butt, and you were sure that had not been just to carry you better.

Dazai tsked loudly. “T’is simply the fare to pay for this unique transport system.” You laughed, letting your head rest against his broad shoulders.

The rest of the walk home was peacefully, the two of you talking about random subjects. When you got home, Dazai gently rested you on the bed. “Do you want me to apply cream on the irritated skin?” He asked, starting to unbutton his shirt.

“Yes, please.”

Dazai quickly grabbed some Aloe Vera gel from the bathroom, coming back to the bedroom. You had removed your skirt, and were now lying in bed in just one of Dazai’s old shirts and your underwear.

Dazai knelt in front of your legs, quickly and efficiently applying the cream to all the irritated areas. After finishing, you pressed a kiss to his lips to thank him.

“Hey, (Y/N),”

“Yes?”

“Since you can’t close your leg until the cream has dried, can I eat you out?”

“Dazai!” You screamed, throwing a pillow at him. Your boyfriend ducked just in time.

“Hey! It’s not my fault! You’re lying there with your legs spread so enticingly!”

You threw all the pillows you had on the bed at Dazai’s head, and yet, somehow, he managed to have his way, keeping your legs spread way long after the cream had dried.

Doppo Kunikida

The day had been spent with the rest of the Armed Detective Agency at the beach, splashing in the water, running around and chasing each other in the water. You had built a sandcastle with Atushsi and Kyouka, sun-bathed with Dazai, and had taken strolls along the shoreline with your boyfriend, Kunikida.

You were currently helping Kenji and Rampo make another sandcastle, while Kunikida held a book in his hand, sitting in the shade. He wasn’t reading the book, too focused on watching you laugh and giggle, the story in front of him long forgotten. The sun was slowly descending, disappearing behind the thin line of the horizon.

Slowly, every member of the Agency had retreated to their rooms, and now only the four of you remained, wanting to enjoy every moment left in the dying day.

Kunikida glanced down at his watch, stretching his neck, and thinking maybe it was time to head home, leaving the day at the beach to became a memory. “(Y/N)!” He called, waving his arm to catch your attention. You turned around, smiling. Kunikida gestured to his watch, and you threw a thumbs up in his direction, quickly waving goodbye to Kenji and Rampo, before sauntering over to your boyfriend. You pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, before you started helping him pack your towels and the various books the two of you had brought to the beach.

Holding one bag each, you started the walk back to the hotel, feeling the warmth of the cement underneath your flip-flops. “Today was so fun!” You squealed, sliding your hand in Kunikida’s.

“It sure was.” He answered back, threading your fingers together.

“I think my favorite part was when Dazai managed to convince the president to lie down in the sand and then made him a mermaid tail with the sand!” You giggled, also recalling Kunikida’s exasperated expression when he had caught Rampo trying to eat a snack that had fallen in the sand.

Kunikida chuckled. “It was a fun day today. We should take more holidays together.” He thought, already starting to meticulously plan the next one in his head.

You nodded, a sudden wave of exhaustion scaling your back and implanting its fangs in your head. Kunikida started mentioning other destinations that would be fun to visit, but your throat suddenly felt parched and your head boiling. You didn’t hear his words, the world starting to melt into confusing figures around you. Suddenly, the ground seemed to have been yanked away from you.

You managed to whimper Kunikida’s name before your legs gave up and you tumbled to the ground. Kunikida turned around, his smile evaporating when he realized your eyes had rolled to the back of your head and you were fainting. The bag he was carrying toppled to the ground and he dove to catch you, holding you in his arms.

“(Y/N)? What’s wrong?” He asked, fear gripping his insides.

“Don’t worry, Kunikida. I think it’s just heatstroke. I did run around underneath the blazing sun for most of the day.” You chuckled dryly, trying to not worry your perpetually panicking boyfriend.

Your words did little to help Kunikida, who started digging through the bag closest to him, trying to find a water bottle he knew was there, his mind already flooding with self-deprecating thoughts because he had not thought about making sure you wouldn’t catch heatstroke.

Knowing your boyfriend, you could read his thoughts reflected in his gorgeous eyes, and gently squeezed his hand. Kunikida turned to look at you, water bottle in hand. “My darling over-thinker, it’s fine. This is not your fault.”

Kunikda gulped, nodding curtly, before opening the bottle and helping you drink half of it, pouring the rest on your head to help you cool down.

You waited a few more moments, resting in Kunikida’s lap before nodding. “Okay, I’m fine. Let’s keep going.” You tried to stand up, but before you had even managed to place one foot perpendicular to the ground, Kunikida had wrapped one arm around your back, and the other underneath your knees, lifting you up in his arms. You gasped, holding onto his neck.

“Kunikida! What are you doing?” You asked, as you watched him start walking.

“I am not making you walk when you are in these conditions.” He said, not wanting you to get even more tired. Seeing you collapse had already made him lose thirty years of his life; he didn’t need a repeat.

“But Kunikida, darling, I’m fine! I’m not that sick! And I’m too heavy for you!” You rambled, trying to get down. Your wiggling only made Kunikida hold onto you more tightly. The moment you uttered the last sentence, Kunikida stared at you, clearly waiting for you to take back what you had just said.

You pouted, realizing you could not win this fight. You rested your head on his shoulder, letting him take care of you.

The minute you got back to the hotel, Kunikida laid you down on the bed, raiding the mini fridge for ice, and gently placing it on your wrists and ankles. Only when you were lying in bed, slowly gaining back the sparkle in your eyes did Kunikida feel his heart stop beating a thousand times a minute, and let himself collapse on the bed.

Let’s just say, for the rest of the holiday, you were basically dragged back into the shade by Kunikida every 30 minutes.

Yukichi Fukuzawa

The evening was finally over; you had spent the whole night at a charity event held by the most powerful people in all of Yokohama. Your boyfriend, being Fukuzawa, the president of the Armed Detective Agency, had to attend, and to make his evening a little bit more bearable, he had asked you to accompany him.

The night had been relatively fun, talking to various people and enjoying some expensive champagne. The only tense moment was when the two of you had stumbled on Mori, who for some reason, was there as well. Luckily, no fight erupted between the two men; they curtly nodded at one another and then moved on with their own affairs.

The best part of the evening, for you, had been when they had played some slow, romantic music, and invented everyone to dance with their partners. You had enjoyed swaying in Fukuzawa’s arms, getting lost in his eyes. But you were paying the price now, your feet aching at every step in your stiletto heels. Every step feeling like shards of glass stabbed your already aching skin.

You and Fukuzawa were heading home, but every step was torture, a grimace carving itself in your face. “My dear, what is wrong?” Fukuzawa asked, his deep voice momentarily distracting you from the pain.

You glanced at him, your heart fluttering when your eyes caught his handsome face glimmering in the moonlight. You nodded down to your feet, lifting your dress’ skirt slightly to reveal your two personal torture machines. “My heels: they’re killing me.”

“Would you like to take them off?” Fukuzawa asked, glancing down at your black heels. He had never worn any type of heeled-shoe, but could imagine what they felt like.

“I wish, but I can’t walk home barefoot.”

“I’ll carry you.”

“What? No, Yukichi, I can’t let you carry me! Our house is far.”

“(Y/N), every step you have been taking these last few minutes makes you visibly wince in pain. I cannot let the woman I love suffer so.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest, and couldn’t help but thank whichever divinity had gifted you this man. Using his shoulder for your balance, you slipped off your high heels, immediately becoming way shorter. You grimaced in pain when you noticed the shoes had managed to create various blisters on your feet. Your right foot had been more unlucky, raw skin visible in the silver light, and even a few trickles of blood.

Fukuzawa gently kneeled down in front of you, inspecting your feet. You saw concern paint his eyes, and his lips pressed a soft kiss to both your ankles. “You should have told me sooner,” he scolded gently, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You nodded shyly, knowing he was right. You bent down to retrieve your heels, holding them with the tip of your fingers.

As soon as you straightened your back, you suddenly felt Fukuzawa’s warm hands hold you, before you were hoisted into his arms, suddenly finding yourself to be almost kissing your boyfriend’s lips. You blinked, using your free hand to grasp his shoulder. “I thought you would carry me on your back,” you admitted, not complaining that Fukuzawa had decided to carry you in his arms instead. You could feel his warm, and solid chest against your body, making you feel safe and cared for.

“I already get to see you so little, I would like to spend the rest of the night with your beautiful face in my line of sight.” Fukuzawa said, glancing at you warmly. You leaned forward, pressing a fervent kiss to his lips, knowing that Fukuzawa wasn’t always the biggest fan of PDA. But this one time, your silver-haired partner, kissed you back, mirroring your passion, the moon’s inconsistent light shielding you from any unwanted attention.

You pulled back from the kiss, leaning against his shoulders, getting lulled by his rhythmic breath.

When the two of you got home, Fukuzawa immediately tended to your feet, disinfecting the wounds, and wrapping them with bandages, before the two of you cuddled underneath the blankets to fall asleep.

The next day, Fukuzawa seemed to hover around your desk more than usual, making sure you could walk without problem and did not need to be carried. You told him not to worry.

At the end of the day, Kunikida looked outside the window of the Armed Detective Agency, and quickly looked away, seeing his president pressing a soft kiss to your lips before whisking you into his arms.

Nakahara Chuuya

Chuuya downed the remaining champagne in his glass, chuckling alongside with Koyo. The Port Mafia Christmas party was in full swing around the two of them. The buffet had been adequately raided, and Chuuya noticed quite a few people drunkenly wobbling around. Higuchi was heavily leaning on Akutagawa in the left corner of the room. He knew that you were somewhere around the room, having fun with your friends. Chuuya had only spent a few moments with you, pressing a kiss to your hand before leaving you: being an executive, he terrified the rest of your friends who were of a greatly inferior in rank. To let them enjoy their evening, he had stepped aside.

Koyo poured some more champagne in his glass, the melted, golden liquid sloshing around the delicate glass. “This champagne is real good,” Chuuya chirped happily, suddenly feeling a tap on his sleeve and turning around. Tachihara was standing in front of him, arms crossed around his chest.

“(Y/N) needs you.” He pointed his finger behind him, gesturing to your current location. “She’s shit-faced drunk and is just calling your name.” After having done his job, Tachihara walked away, joining Akutagawa.

Chuuya sighed, setting down his glass. The remaining champagne called to him, but he had to go. “Sorry, Koyo. Boyfriend duty calls.” He waved goodbye to his companion, start to head in between the crowd to find you.

As soon as people noticed that it was Chuuya, one of the most powerful executives, they quickly moved away, letting him through. But alcohol had rendered their reaction time significantly lower, and Chuuya still struggled.

“If we get attacked now, we’re fucked.” He grunted, after he had managed to push past a huddle of people who had formed a dance line and had somehow managed to run into itself, creating chaos. Chuuya adjusted his hat, scanning the purple couches that had been set around the room for the party: you had been there, the last time he saw you.

Your twinkling, beautiful laugh reached his ears over the cacophony in the room, like a siren song luring him. He followed the sound he loved so much, and finally reached you. You and your friends were sitting where he had left you. Your table was littered with empty bottles of various alcoholics, some of them open, and languidly dripping on the tabletop. Most of your friends were snoring, passed out, but a few them resisted stoically, dancing, or more wobbling clumsily, to the music. You were sitting on the couch, your cheeks red with alcohol, your hair beautifully disheveled, and singing along to the song with slurred words.

Chuuya stepped closer to you, gently placing his hand on yours. “Princess, I heard you were looking for me.” You turned around, hearing your boyfriend’s voice.

“Chuuya!” You called, your happy voice almost reaching a supersonic level. Without warning, you hooked your finger in his belt, dragging him down to the couch with you. Chuuya had only the time to blink before you climbed in his lap, straddling him. “I missed…*hic*…I missed you!” You giggled, poking his cheek continuously.

“How much have you had to drink, sweetheart?” Chuuya asked, adjusting your skirt so nothing would be revealed to anyone in the room around you.

“I don’t know!” You smiled lopsidedly at him, suddenly feeling sleepy now that your boyfriend was here. You almost fell backwards, Chuuya bringing you back against him in time.

“Okay. That’s it. We’re going home.” Chuuya decided, knowing that tomorrow’s hangover would shatter all plans he had to go ice skating with you.

You were so tired, and the room was spinning so rapidly around you that you nodded, wanting to go home. But you still had one more playful spark inside your chest. “But you have to carry me!” You whined, gripping your boyfriend tightly.

Chuuya caressed your clothed back, sighing. You were adorably cute when you were drunk. The feared port mafia executive was putty in your hands, and he adored every moment of it. Using his ability, Chuuya made you lighter in his arms, starting to walk with you clung onto him like a drunk, but beautiful koala. You giggled happily, inhaling your boyfriend’s musky cologne, and feeling lulled to sleep by his rhythmic walking. Your fingers traced heart shapes on his vest, humming a nonsensical song you were making up on the spot.

The sleepy silence of the deserted street was suddenly broken by a loud laugh that escaped you, scaring Chuuya. “What’s so funny, doll?” He asked, his heartbeat slowly calming down.

“I just realized that I love you to the moon and back!” You singsonged, smushing Chuuya’s cheeks together. Your boyfriend stared back at you, nothing but love glimmering in his eyes.

“I wuv y’too.” He managed to mumble through his squished cheeks, his heart almost on fire with joy. A gorgeous smile decorated your face, and you looked as gorgeous as an antique painting, before you suddenly collapsed against his chest, snoring loudly.

“Doll? What? You can’t just declare your love for me and then start sleeping!” Chuuya called, trying to shake your arm. But you had said what you needed to say, and was now happily in dreamland, sleeping peacefully in your boyfriend’s arms.

Chuuya realized waking you was impossible, and decided to press a kiss to your forehead, instead. He pulled you closer in his arms, enjoying the stroll through the moonlit Yokohama with his drunk koala safely in his arms.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky

You had been lying in bed for a few days now. Your throat ached, as if someone had sandpapered it, and your nose had become red from all the tissues you had used. Your body temperature was acting weird, swinging from absolute boiling to absolute freezing. Right now you were freezing, gripping the duvet around you with your trembling fingers.

Your boyfriend, Fyodor, had been staying away from you to avoid getting sick, his anemia not providing a strong enough shield for him to be there. He did come in the room a few times, wearing a mask, but bringing you food and water, and caressing your forehead.

Your teeth were chattering from how cold you felt, and with a sudden whine, you realized that the heater had accidentally gone off in your room, rendering it even more freezing. You tried to convince yourself that you could get out of bed and walk the few steps to the heater. With an inhumane effort you, you dragged yourself up to a sitting position, immediately falling into a brutal couching fit.

When you opened your watery eyes, you noticed Fyodor was sitting on the edge of the bed. You immediately covered your mouth. “Fyodor, what are you doing here?” You asked, your voice broken.

“I could hear you coughing from the other room, milaya.” He called, a cold finger caressing your cheek. You averted your gaze, feeling embarrassed that you were being a burden to your permanently busy boyfriend.

Fyodor quickly read what you were thinking in your body gestures, and decided that actions would cure your scared heart more than his words. He slowly approached you, lifting a chin and pressing a kiss to your nose. Your already flushed cheeks became even redder. Fyodor then slowly cradled you into his arms, feeling your quivers shake his body as well. He grabbed the duvet, and threw it over your body, making sure you were safely encapsulated in its warmth, before picking you up.

“No, Fyodor, I don’t want to tire you out and then make you sick,” You protested meekly, weakly trying to push yourself away from his body.

“You’re freezing, milaya.” Fyodor stated, pulling you closer to himself. He expertly avoided your question, not wanting to admit that hearing you sick, and alone, in the other room had slowly destroyed his heart. The shards had slowly blossomed into the realization that he would not mind getting sick, if he could just hold you against himself while working. But he would never admit it.

You were too weak to try and convince him, happily giving up and allowing yourself to rest in your lover’s embrace as he sat back down in his office chairs, returning to work. You adjusted yourself, trying to get comfortable, accidentally uncovering your feet. Fyodor immediately tucked you back in, not wanting you to feel an inch of the cold air on your skin.

It wasn’t rare that you slept in Fyodor’s arms while he worked, his scent lulling you into a deep slumber. Your blocked nose was preventing you from smelling anything, and you shifted around his lap helplessly.

Fyodor blocked your movements. You stared up at him, slightly afraid that he would kick you out for disturbing him. Instead, Fyodor gently pulled you against himself, making sure you were comfortable, but starting to hum a quiet, Russian lullaby.

You instantly calmed down, your eyelids becoming heavier. Your body felt at peace, the shivers no longer wrecking your body. Right before sleep dragged you under the surface, you slipped your hand in Fyodor’s and pulled it close to your chest. You snuggled against his chest, starting to snore adorably.

Fyodor could not help but gaze lovingly at you, singing the Russian lullaby till he was sure you wouldn’t wake. And only then, did he lean down and kiss your lips, murmuring a quiet, “I love you,” to your ear.

Nakajima Atsushi

Your weretiger boyfriend had thrown himself down the Armed Detective Agnecy stairs when Kunikida had told him you were coming back from a mission and had severely twisted your ankle. He was now anxiously pacing in front of the building, waiting for you.

When your taxi stopped in front of him, Atsushi almost ripped the car door off, worry sinking its claws in him. You smiled weakly at him, clearly very much in pain. “Hey darling,” you called, trying to calm Atsushi down, because he was clearly on the verge of a mental breakdown: his eyes were wide, his chest heaving, and he immediately ducked down to wrap you in his strong arms, irrationally fearing you might die from a twisted ankle.

You held him close to you, whispering that you were fine, and nothing was going to happen to you. When Atsushi’s heartbeat had steadied enough for him to not crumble on the ground crying, you pulled away from him, anchoring your left hand to the car door to slowly, and carefully slip out.

You put one foot down on the ground before Atsushi intervened. He would not let you walk on your foot, for no reason at all. He leaned down, and easily picked you up in his arms, his fingers digging into your skin, as if he were afraid you would slip out of his hold and hurt yourself even more.

As Atsushi carried you, you dragged your hands through his hair, scratching his scalp to further relax the panic that was tainting his gaze. The ironclad grip he had on you slowly loosened once he was in the elevator. “My knight in shining armor,” you giggled, caressing his chin.

“My love, please, please be careful from now on,” He whispered, looking at you with eyes that almost made you start crying. You nodded, pressing your forehead against his. And in the moment of peace, neither of you noticed the elevator door opening, signaling you had arrived to your destination.

You did, however, hear Kunikida shouting his head off because Dazai had accidentally poured coffee on his notebook. You and Atsushi giggled quietly, sharing one more chaste kiss before entering the chaos that was your office.

#bsd #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazai x reader #chuuya x reader #rampo x reader #fukuzawa x reader #fyodor x reader #kunikida x reader #atsushi x reader #akutagawa x reader

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opens-up-4-nobody · 2 years ago

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#let me express to u perhaps The frustration of my life #i like to learn. it is perhaps my favorite thing. new information. more more more constantly #but. my fucking brain is the fucking worst. because im not fucking stupid if i can focus and process the words being said i can understand #many things. i like to learn about math and physics and chemistry and biology and anatomy... ect concepts #but the focus and the processing of words is where we have problems. because i cannot focus for more than like 5min #i blink and suddenly ive been spaced out for a sec and need to reorient. i cant prioritize what to do 1st and im constantly bouncing betwee #tasks so nothing ever gets done and im too intimidated to start learning things. and when im trying to learn we habe the processing words #problem. like my reading comprehension is so fucking bad. like i will read a book on paper and maybe retain 25% of the info if im not #hardcore trying. for a class where i had to do a ton of paper reading. i had to read everything out loud to myself. highlight important #info. write myself a summary based on the highlights and then read the paper again before i could even begin to feel comfortable in #discussions. it was so fucking frustrating and miserable. ppl will give me physical books and im like thanks i cant fucking read sorry #too fucking dyslexic. read and listen they say. u have to read and listen at the same time bc i cant pay attention and i cant read #so if i do both then maybe the info gets in. thats y i have to read aloud but i hate it and still get distracted #i mean. i probably just have an attention problem. its also really annoying that my short term working memory is so awful #bc in order to make things make sense i have to draw or write them out. i cant judt go off the top of my head or i get stuck saying thr sam #thing over and over and over. its like my ability to think is extremely shallow. but thrn i read papers and recognize concepts from classes #i took years ago and im like. fucking y cant i know what i know? my head feels so empty but info is in there somewhere #its just so fucking frustrating that i love understanding systems so much. complex annoying little systems that fit together like a puzzle #and my fucking brain refuses to accept the information im trying to get in there. so i return to a remark left on my dyslexia assignment:#intelligent when not constrained by language or time. thanks. unfortunately language is how ppl communicate #also i freak out under time pressure lol. anyway ive just been reading papers for fun this weekend and remembering y i dont: bc its agony #but also i fucking love the concepts so much and i need a good understanding of photosynthesis before August when i join a photosynthesis #lab lmao. ugh. i love learning but my brain was not buildmt #built for it. if only if only someone could podcast about the obscure things im interested in while reading directly from the source #unrelated #also its like 105 degrees plus. its too fucking hot out #thats like 40 degrees C. the sun is like a death ray

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jonathansthickthighs · 9 months ago

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𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: Yandere! Choso Kamo x Reader

Description: You start receiving sweet, anonymous love notes from a secret admirer which start turning perverted over time.

Trigger Warnings: 7.4k words, nsfw, college AU, yandere, afab reader, obsessive love, virgin choso, CREEP CHOSO, pervert choso, stalker choso, masturbation, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up), choso is kinda pathetic, he calls reader princess, reader is lowkey into choso stalking her, dark themes

Not edited!

Masterlist

I wish you could grasp the exquisite beauty you hold in my eyes. ♡︎

Your eyes widened as you read the note placed in front of you on your desk, heat rushing to your cheeks. Surely this person must be mistaken, was this note really directed at you? You looked around the empty classroom wondering who could’ve possibly left this note on your desk and if they were even in this class. Even if you weren’t sure if the note was for you, suppressing the smile that was forming in your face felt impossible. Nobody had ever said anything like this to you before. Sure, people found you attractive, but the way this was written almost felt innocent— like there was no malicious intent behind it. The complete opposite of what most men that approached you were like.

You traced your hand over the neat calligraphy, feeling your heart rate speed up at the thought of someone truly thinking this about you. You couldn’t help yourself from reading it over and over, allowing your lips to curl up knowing no one was around to see you smiling at a paper like an idiot.

Unbeknownst to you, a tall, pale man with dark hair styled in space buns, stood there observing you discretely through the small window of the amphitheater door. Your reaction to his note caused his heart to leap with joy, the sight of your smile held the power to brighten even his darkest days. Your response to his message only inspired him to dedicate his time to write you more notes that would make you feel as flustered as he was by you when you spared him a single glance.

Choso stepped away from the door smoothly when he started hearing voices approaching from down the hall, pretending to be entertained by his phone. He glanced at the time on the screen, noticing it was almost time for class, but he opted to wait for everyone else to walk in before him. He always did this. Never had he been alone with you in the classroom even though he always arrived before you. He always stood behind a wall watching you stride gracefully into class earlier than everyone else. You were such a smart, punctual, responsible girl and he admired that greatly. He loathed never being capable of being alone with you, knowing he would be a blushing, horny mess— quite frankly, that’s not the first impression he wanted you to have of him.

Taking a deep breath, Choso walked in, making his way to his usual sit, two rows behind you, yet at a perfectly angle where he was able to contemplate your side profile. The moment he walked past you, your eyes locked. You offered him a small, cute smile and Choso wanted nothing more than to beam back at you, but instead he drifted his eyes away from yours, blushing in embarrassment. You exuded such kindness, always greeting him with the warmth of your pretty smile, even amidst the whispers and judgements surrounding his oddness. You kept smiling for him even when he didn’t smile back.

Choso was a very shy man. He didn’t know how to talk to girls, but that wasn’t something he was interested in doing before he met you. Dating had never been something he took interest in. Despite his brothers’ persistent attempts to orchestrate romantic encounters with women, they would always be left disheartened by Choso’s aloofness, proof of his disinterest in the affairs of the heart until he found you. None of them were like you.

The pale man proceeded his daily routine of observing you, not paying attention to what the professor was explaining. To him, this was his time to learn all your quirks and movements. His own personal course of you. Don’t you dare ask him anything on what the class is actually about because he’ll just answer with facts and observations about you. Like how you chew on the cap of your pen furiously when you don’t understand a subject or how you shift in your seat every few minutes because you just can’t seem to find a comfortable position to sit in.

He finds solace in studying your countenance, captivated by your vivid expressions, particularly your expressive eyes. The eyes are the windows of your soul, as they say. They unveil the depth of your emotions, he could tell when something was off about you by merely looking into your eyes— your feelings always danced within them. Being able to stare into your eyes without fear of rejection was one of his deepest desires in life. Feeling lost was a petrifying emotion, but losing himself to the never ending abysm that lived in your orbs was something he would never be apprehensive of.

You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. There isn’t a second in the day where you are not invading my thoughts. I wish I had the courage to speak to you.

Reading the note that was accompanied by a beautiful rose this time, you pouted, wondering why this person was so afraid to approach you. According to your own judgment, you gave off a friendly demeanor. If only you could figure out who was leaving you these notes. You weren’t afraid of approaching them first if they were too shy to do so themselves. You had been getting these notes for a month now and no matter how early you got to class this person always beat you to it. Deciding to form a plan to get this person to show themselves, you started brainstorming.

You could never begin to comprehend the depths of Choso’s love for you. That’s why you would never understand his reasoning when he followed that disgusting man that harassed you on campus. You would never understood why he had to pull the man to an empty alley and make him suffer. Choso hated that he had been at work when it all went down, he wasn’t there to save you and he would never forgive himself for it.

He was lucky you were able to scape him, but nonetheless you would’ve never went through that horrifying situation if only he had been there to protect you. He came to the conclusion that he needed to know your location at all times. That’s why he pretended to bump into you as you made your way to your other class, slipping an AirTag into one of the pockets of your bag discreetly.

He could imagine look of fear in your eyes when this man tried putting his grimy hands on you— it was enough to drive Choso to violence. He wanted to cause that scum the same fear he had caused his precious girl. The lengths he would go for you were unimaginable. What would you think of him if you knew he had stabbed that man to death that night? Even through his internal turmoil about your perception of him, he couldn’t help but feel proud at what he had done for you. From the moment he saw you, he knew he was capable of anything just to keep you safe.

One thing he felt grandly ashamed of was his perverted thoughts. To him you were much more than just a sexual object, but he couldn’t stop his cock from getting hard at the trivial thought of you. Never before had he experienced sexual desire this intense before, because of that, he was still a virgin at his age. Losing his virginity had never even crossed his mind before. Yet, after he met you, he couldn’t stop imagining how pushing his length into your wet, tight heat would feel like.

Every night he would spend it scrolling endlessly through your social media— which he didn’t dare follow— and staring at your beautiful pictures, smiling at him so sweetly. Choso would stare at them intently, thrusting his cock into his fist desperately, moaning your name, imaging you were riding him vigorously trying to make yourself orgasm on his throbbing cock. Thinking about it was enough to make him explode all over his hand and well built abs. Abs he had spent hours at the gym working on to look good just for you. He wanted— no needed you to find him attractive, if he wanted you to only see him he had to make sure he looked his best.

He had trouble containing his excitement when you were around, you simply were too beautiful for your own good. Hence the reason he stood outside the window of your apartment jerking his cock as he watched you rubbing your swollen clit through the window. He wanted nothing more than to climb through the damn window and attach his hungry lips to your clit, which was just begging for his attention. It wasn’t the first time he watched you masturbate, it was clear as day that you needed some help, his help. When you accepted to be his, he would gladly service you every day and night. It didn’t matter how many times as long as you were satisfied, he promised to put your pleasure above his always.

Choso massaged his throbbing cock thoroughly, spreading the precum that leaked from his sensitive tip all over his shaft. He covered his mouth attempting to muffled his pathetic whimpers from being heard by you. He continued watching as you inserted two fingers into your tight cunt, making Choso’s eyes roll all the way to the back of his skull. He wished he could be the one pushing his digits inside of you. He was sure they would feel better than yours, his were so much bigger, they would reach depths you’ve never reached before. Gods, your moans were the most melodious sound he’d ever heard, you were driving him insane— he wasn’t going to be able to hold it much longer. He needed you to come with him. He didn’t deserve to come if you didn’t.

Your facial expressions were the sexiest thing he has ever witnessed. You were simply godly, there was no other way to describe you. The beads of sweat forming on your forehead and coating the rest of your body gave you a breathtaking glow. He needed to taste your skin, kiss and run his tongue all over your delectable body. “Please…” Choso didn’t know what he was begging for, what he did know was how badly he wanted you. His twitching cock was proof of that.

Choso could see your face contort in pleasure. He learned by watching you so often that, when you made that expression, it meant you were close to reaching your peak. He felt relieved knowing that he wouldn’t have lasted much longer. “Let’s come together, princess. P-please, give this to me.” He uttered in a hushed tone, moaning your name lowly.

He shivered as you started fingering yourself at a quicker pace, arching your back. It was almost like you were inviting him to ogle at your heaving breasts, your nipples he so badly wanted to take in his mouth, noticeably perky through the thin fabric of your oversized shirt. Choso would make sure to provide you with a lifetime supply of his shirts, you would never feel obligated to buy an oversized shirt ever again.

Your jaw slacked open as you let it all out, making Choso undergo through a confusing sense of jealousy over your own fingers, yearning to feel you releasing your sweet nectar around his cock instead. Breath heaving, he fisted his pulsing cock a couple of more times, enjoying the sound of the lewd noises that came out of your perfect lips, before spraying an copious amount semen on the ground. He tugged on his cock a few more time, coming down from his high at the same time as you.

“Goodnight, I love you.” His voice barely a sigh as he whispered longingly. He tucked himself back into his pants swiftly before pressing a soft kiss into the tip of his fingers to then drag them it across your reflection in the window. He jumped recalling he should’ve been at his place by now, having lost track of time completely, knowing he had to prepare dinner for his brothers. So with one last look at you, he disappeared into the night.

When Choso arrived to the amphitheater he was surprised to see a note on your desk already. He quickly approached it, grabbing the note, recognizing your handwriting right away.

I want to meet you.

He stilled in place at the five words scribbled on the paper. You were actually interested in finding out who he was? Choso couldn’t decipher what your intent was, but he wasn’t so sure he wanted you to know your secret admirers identity just yet. He knew you were well aware of the swirling rumors about him, everyone painted him as nothing more than a freak. His demeanor remained reserved and he preferred solitude over companionship, which only fueled the disdain others had towards his persona. He wanted to believe you would never see him in such way, but there was always something stabbing him on the side, whispering the possibility that you, too, might harbor the same prejudices as them.

Choso opted to respond to your message briefly, accompanying it by one of your favorite treats before rushing out of the classroom, aware that you would arrive at any moment.

Just like that, exactly one minutes later you entered through the opposite door Choso exited from. You took notice of the note on your desk from afar and quickened your pace towards it in excitement. Smiling, you inspected the treat placed right next to it. How this person knew what your favorite things to snack on were, remained a mystery to you, but it didn’t bother you as long as they kept them coming. Grabbing the note and opening it, your smile disappeared only to reappear in Choso’s face as he watched your reaction. Your facial expression were just so funny to him sometimes.

No. ♡︎

“The fuck?” You exclaimed out loud in disbelief. No? Just no?! You pondered the ulterior motives of this individual. Had they just been playing a month long prank on you this whole time? Visibly frustrated, you plopped down into your seat, glancing at the note once again to make sure you were reading correctly.

Choso felt guilt wash over him when he saw you get genuinely upset, yet he couldn’t suppress the soft giggle that escaped his mouth at how cute you looked when you were mad. He despised that he made you feel this way, but he would reveal himself to you when he was ready and now, was not the right time.

Routinely, he lingered behind for everyone to enter ahead of him before making his entrance. Like he always did, he passed by your row, his eyes inevitably sought yours yearning for that connection he felt with them. This time, an impulse seized Choso, deciding to give you a tentative smile only to not be greeted by your own— mirroring the same coldness he always showed you each time you beamed at him. Bewildered and wounded, he hurried to his seat feeling like he just received a punch in the gut. Was your behavior due to your exasperation at the note or was it because you allowed everyone to taint your mind with the rumors about him?

The pain he felt by your indifference towards him lingered in his chest. Choso spent the whole lecture overthinking, anxiety building in his stomach and causing him to tremble. There was one thing he was completely certain of.

He hated when you didn’t smile for him.

Gloom filled the rest of Choso’s day ever since you decided to stab him in the heart with your frown. Today he had the evening free from his job and he decided to spend it staring at your pictures with a leaky, throbbing erection straining against his sweatpants. He didn’t deserve to ease himself after the events that transpired today. Staring at one of his favorite pictures of you smiling so prettily, he ran his thumb desirously over your face through the screen of his phone. He fantasized about the softness of your skin as he cupped your gorgeous face in his big hands before pressing his lips to yours. He ran his fingers over his chapped lips imagining how they would feel rubbing against your soft ones.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the door of his room slam open, holding his phone to his chest securely before facing whoever forced him break out of his delusions. “Yo, bro where’s the—“ Yuji cut himself off when he saw the strange position his brother was in. “You’re not watching porn are you?” He questioned, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Choso.

This caused Choso to shake his head rapidly, with widened eyes. “W-what? Of course not, Yuji! What is it that you need?” He inquired eager to usher his brother out of his room with utmost haste.

Yuji smiled slyly, sliding into his bed. “What are hiding, bro?” He curiously interrogated his older brother, wiggling his eyebrows comically.

Choso chuckled nervously, his grasp on his phone tightened against his chest. “N-nothing, just scrolling, heh.” Way to go, Choso, you can never hide anything from your prying brother. This caused Yuji to snicker, throwing himself towards Choso, fighting him for his cellphone. “Don’t think I don’t see your raging boner, bro. Let me see what you’re looking at!” He joked, attempting to force his phone out of his iron grip.

“Why are you even looking there, brother? Gross!” Choso quipped back, his voice muffled by his brothers hand on his face. With a victorious laugh, Yuji suspended his arm in the air seeing Choso’s phone in his hand.

Yuji quickly unlocked his older brother’s phone because, of course, he had no passcode. “Whoa, she’s so pretty. Who is this?” He exclaimed in astonishment, scrolling through your profile, bamboozled at the fact that his virgin brother was finally taking interest in an actual girl.

“Yuji, please just give me my phone back.” Choso sighed in defeat, not wanting to talk to his brother about his obsessive love for you.

“Is she your crush?” Yuji questioned playfully, dragging the last word. Choso furrowed his eyebrows together, before nodding awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. His younger brother erupted in a boisterous laugh, rolling on his bed like a madman. “About damn time, bro! I was staring to think you were going to die alone— wait, why aren’t you following her?” Yuji inquired, confused by what he was seeing on the phone screen.

“I— we’ve never really talked.” Choso sheepishly admitted, heat creeping up his neck in embarrassment.

“Unacceptable. Let’s talk to her now!” Immediately after that suggestion, Choso ripped his phone from Yuji’s hand.

“Are you insane? She’s gonna think I’m a creep!” Which he was, but he didn’t need his brother knowing that.

Yuji shook his head in disbelief. “Okay, so help me understand. You don’t talk to her and she doesn’t talk to you. I bet you can barely look at her in the eye. How exactly do you plan on getting your crush to evolve, bro? Are you going to pine in secret forever? Do you think one day she’ll come to our door asking for your hand in marriage out of nowhere?” I wish.

“You know what?” Yuji snatched Choso’s phone back, smirking, before pressing the follow button.

“Yuji, no!” Choso pulled his space buns in frustration, falling back on his bed. He glanced at the watch on his nightstand knowing you most likely had your phone on your hand at this hour. There was no way you would miss the notification.

“Chill, bro, it’s done. You’re welcome!” Yuji beamed as he threw Choso’s phone back to his chest, his grin radiating with accomplishment as he rose from the bed, making his way out of the room with a satisfied stride. Choso groaned, covering his face with hands as he blushed furiously. Not even a minute after Yuji walked out of the room he felt his phone vibrate and Choso’s heart almost came out through his mouth when he saw the notification.

You followed him back.

The next day you walked through the door of the amphitheater with a gleeful spring in your step— your frustrations from yesterday seemingly dissipated. You decided you weren’t going to force whoever was sending you notes to show themselves. They have the right to remain hidden if that’s what they truly desired and you weren’t one to beg anyone for anything. If something was bound to happen with your secret admirer, it would.

As per usual, a folded paper laid on your desk, but you were quick to take notice of the white paper bag that stood next to it. You furrowed your eyebrows as curiosity took over you, almost skipping towards it. The note was brief and straight to the point.

Would you wear this for me?

As you blinked, a sense of puzzlement washed over you upon reading the note. Now they’re sending you clothing items? The bag, securely sealed with tape, offered no deterrent as you swiftly tore it open. Instantly, a surge or heat flooded your cheeks at the sight of its contents. You moved your gaze around, making sure no one was around before pulling out a box that held a pair of panties, colored a deep purple, made out of lace, see through material. Oh, but they weren’t just any panties, it was one of those vibrating underwear that was controlled by someone else with a controller.

You couldn’t believe what your eyes were seeing right now. Out of all the endless note you had received from them, this was way out of the ordinary. None of them had shown anything sexual, not even innuendos. You hated to admit it, but you didn’t know wether to feel disrespected or severely turned on at the thought of your secret admirer controlling the vibrations during class. You bit you lips giving it some thought before nodding with determination. You shoved the panties back in the bag, advancing out of the classroom in direction to the restroom.

Choso watched in disbelief as you walked out, scarcely able to believe that you were actually going to wear his gift. Today, he had woken up feeling bold and after the confidence boost he got from you the night before, he had decided to procure something a little more special for you. After you followed him back, he saw it as a signal that you didn’t see him as everyone else did. Perhaps you two would be meeting sooner than he had anticipated, yet first, he wanted to test the waters.

He needed to assess the extent of your willingness to invest in him without even knowing his identity. He would’ve never guessed this would be something that excited him at this extent, his cock was fully erect as he eagerly waited for you to come back. He wished he could see the way those panties would cling to your hips and ass— something told him he would sooner than later. He had specifically bought that color to match his hoodie, which he was wore today in hopes you would wear his gift. And you did.

By the time you were back, everyone had settled to their seats already, including Choso. The moment you stepped into the classroom, he pressed the button in its lowest setting drawing a whimper from your lips, making everyone turn their attention towards you. Your eyes widened, swiftly offering an awkward, yet apologetic smile before ushering to your seat. While you were in the restroom you were able to catch sight of what the box the panties came in said— your secret admirer had failed to notice that the box indicated that the vibrations were controlled by a close-range remote control. Now you were able to confirm that your admirer was in this very class.

Choso smirked as he watched you take a seat, nobody else noticed, but there was a slight wobble to your walk— only a person that observed you constantly could differentiate from you usual stride. He proceeded to change the vibrations to the medium setting, almost chuckling out loud when he saw you jump slightly at the sudden change of speed. He could only imagine how wet your cunt was getting. Such a dirty girl, getting off to being controlled by a man she doesn’t even know in front of everyone. Would you be able to orgasm like this?

The pale man had to contain a hiss as he palmed his throbbing cock over his pants under the table, desiring nothing more than to give it to you on the spot. He could see the noticeable embarrassment on your face from his angle. Shifting on your seat every so often, covering your mouth with your hands as you attempted to take your notes and your eyes rolling back every time he changed the speed. He simply loved watching you look around, making sure no one noticed your odd behavior. Choso never knew this could be so hot.

Choso bit his lip, cock twitching in his now too tight pants, seeing your chest heaving up and down. He could tell you were close, so he decided to change it to the highest speed. He watched you lower your head, tightly shutting your eyes closed as you came, muffling your whimpers with your hand. Unbeknownst to you, Choso was in the same exact position as you as he released in his trousers by simply observing you.

He was thankful he decided to wear dark pants today.

I know I messed up, princess. I shouldn’t have given you the panties in the box. Now you know how close I am to you. Nevertheless, I really enjoyed watching you squirm in pleasure in your seat. This is embarrassing to admit, but you were so sexy that you made me come in my pants. I hate wasting my cum that way when it could easily be inside you instead.

I’ve been thinking about it and I changed my mind about us meeting. How about we meet at the fountain in the middle of campus? Tonight at 8pm. I bought you a little something to wear for me. ♡

You hadn’t stopped re-reading the note ever since you left class. The dark, purple summer dress he had bestowed upon you lay delicately on your bed as you wished time would hasten its pace, eager to encounter this mysterious individual. Excitement bubbled up in your stomach as well as fear, what if this person turned out to be less than benevolent? There was barely anyone around campus at that hour, there no one to save you. Memories of the time that man had tried harassing you flooded your mind, not wanting the past to repeat itself. Yet your longing to meet this person persisted more than your anxieties. That’s why you opted to pack a pepper spray and a pocket knife in your bag without forgetting to share your location with your best friend.

Noticing the time to leave was approaching, you quickly dressed yourself, spritzing one of your favorite perfume on yourself before stepping out the door.

Choso was a nervous wreck, having arrived an hour too early. He had been sweating bullets the whole time as he attempted to get ready, forcing him to endure three showers. How was he supposed to look his best for you when his body wasn’t cooperating? He had wore his best outfit for you and made sure his hair was neatly styled in his usual do.

Now, he was there, struggling to regulate his breathing, trying his hardest to control his sweating. He dreaded appearing like a disheveled mess when you finally met. He kept checking the time, despising how extended each minute felt. He scrolled through your account, attempting to make time pass by faster, entertaining himself with your pictures as he always did when he felt down. He took notice of the time, seeing it was already one minute past eight. Where were you?

You were merely a minute late, yet panic took over him, entertaining thoughts of being left abandoned or worse yet, fearing that something had happened to you on the way here. Rising to his feet, he scanned the dimly lit campus and there was no sight of you. This couldn’t be happening to him. He could almost feel tears forming his eyes and just as he was about to check your location, he heard soft steps approaching through the grass.

He turned around and there you were.

He gulped when he saw you were wearing the dress he had gifted you with so much love. You were so beautiful, his heart twisted in his chest. For the first time it was just you and him— with your knowledge, obviously. He stared into your eyes and you stared right back. Your eyes were wide in astonishment. Choso attempted to open his mouth, but no words came out.

“It’s you.” You stated, your voice almost a whisper. Choso’s chest rose and fell with each heavy breath, his gaze was fixated on your pretty face and he couldn’t possibly look away. So, so pretty— he wanted to snatch you away and hide you from the world, your beauty shinning for his eyes only. He probably had a lovestruck look on his face and he didn’t even care about hiding it anymore.

“Y-yeah.” That was all Choso could manage to utter out, wishing he had left his hair down so it would at least cover part of his flushed face.

“You’re a shy little thing aren’t you?” You giggled, taking a few steps closer to him. “You can’t even look at me in the eye for more than a second.” You added as you tried to catch his golden brown eyes, surrounded by what seemed like red eyeshadow, but in reality the crimson around his eyes was brought to you by his lack of sleep. Choso kept his gaze on the ground, feeling the back of his neck starting to sweat. “You were incredibly bold the other day, not what I would expect from a man like you. Consider me pleasantly surprised.” He blushed harder at your compliment.

“Y-you liked it?” Choso inquired attempting to meet your eyes again, almost whimpering at how close you were to him. He could feel the warmth radiating from your body.

“Honestly, I found it quite disrespectful.” You started, making Choso’s eyes open up as he started apologizing profusely, but he was cut short. “But that was only at first. The more thought I gave it, the wetter I got. I fucking loved it, Choso.” His dick shot straight up the moment he heard his name leave your lips, he had longed to heart it for longer than you could muster. You drew yourself nearer to him until your soft chest was pressed against his hard one. Choso could stop his eyes from glueing themselves to your chest, being squeezed against his own. He was rock hard.

“Now it’s my turn to be bold with you, Choso. Would you like to go back to my place and show me what you can do with that, instead of a vibrator?” You suggested, biting your lip as you cupped his member in your hand. The golden eyed man couldn’t hold his whimpers when he felt your hand on him. This was not the way he visualized this night, but there was no way he would reject your offer.

“Let’s go.” Choso agreed eagerly.

You grabbed his hand as you both started hurrying towards your apartment which was only five minutes away. He was certain he would never tire of the feeling of your hand on his. He stared at you face, not believing you were truly here with him. He couldn’t stop himself from slipping your hand from his and lifting you up into his arms, carrying you the rest of the way.

“Oh? You seem to know the way to my apartment, have you been stalking me?” You questioned playfully, poking his cheek. Choso stopped on his tracks, looking at your facial expression trying to find the reassurance that you were truly playing with him right now. “Jeez, Choso! Relax a little, I’m only joking. I wouldn’t mind you stalking me, I’ve always thought you were the hottest guy in class.” You winked at him, causing a genuine smile to creep to his red face as he continued his way to your apartment.

The moment you arrived at your apartment, Choso rushed to your bedroom with you still in his arms, placing you gently on your bed. He sat next to you, feeling the sheets of your mattress, reminiscing of all the times he had been in here without your knowledge. You placed a hand on his thigh softly and he flexed it as he felt himself tense up when you got closer to him. “W-wait. I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

You stared at him in bewilderment. “You’re being serious right now?”

“Yes. I-I’m sorry. I wanted to let you know in case I wasn’t… good. We don’t have to continue if you don’t want.” Choso apologized, starting to get up and walk himself out of your apartment, only to be stopped by you.

“It’s okay, Choso. I just can’t believe a guy that looks like you has never done anything like this before.” You admitted as you cupped his face gently. The fact that you found him this attractive made his chest inflate with pride— after all, he always tried to look his best for you. “Can I kiss you?” You asked for permission and he answered with an eager nod. You closed the space between you both, massaging your lips into his surprisingly soft ones. Choso placed his hand on your thigh, giving it a squeeze, making you open your mouth ardently for him to slide his tongue in. Your wet tongue felt like heaven against his, you kiss was skyrocketing him into an abysm of serendipity. He never thought kissing could feel this good.

You slowly pulled away, a string of saliva keeping your lips connected to one another. “That was amazing, [Name]. Thank you.” Choso gratefully expressed, a lovesick smile lingering on his face.

Your lips formed into a smirk before pushing him back on your bed, climbing onto his lap and crashing your lips into his once again. He responded right away by sliding his tongue across your bottom lips, desperate for you to allow him entrance into your wet cavern and you complied enthusiastically. As you shared the reverent kiss you started grinding you hips against the tent in pants, making him grunt into the kiss. You pulled away from him momentarily to lift off his shirt, revealing his chiseled abs. “Wow, you’re so strong, Choso.” You praised him, dragging your hand over them, making him hiss at the contact.

“It’s all for you, princess.” He admitted, daring to place his hand on your ass that was half covered by the purple fabric of the dress. “Gods, I’ve wanted to grab this ass for such a long time. You’re so damn breathtaking.” He added squeezing your globs firmly.

“You can touch me wherever you want from now on.” You replied shakily, feeling your panties damped more by the minute. Having him feel you up and grope you this way was making you inexplicably horny.

Choso moved one of his hand tentatively up your thigh until he reached your crotch, looking up at you for permission to touch that sacred place. You gave a nod, understanding exactly what he was asking for. Choso wasted no time, running his fingers over your clothed pussy. You shut your eyes, quivering as you felt him graze your sensitive clit, wanting for him to pull your panties off and touch you without a barrier. “Can I taste you?” You slowly unveiled your eyes to find Choso begging you with his eyes to allow him the pleasure of eating you out. You nodded zealously, getting off his lap, standing in front of him as he remained seated.

Choso pulled your dress off, slowly exposing you to him. “I can’t belive how beautiful you are.” He ran his eyes over your body, adorned by some cute purple, lace lingerie, making him grin adoringly. It seemed that you knew by now he loved that color on you. As much as he loved the way you looked in the little piece you decided to wear for him, he needed it off. Now.

He attempted to undo your bra, needing your assistance due to his lack of experience, making you giggle. He slowly pulled the bra off, revealing your naked breasts to him. He couldn’t help himself from ogling your breasts like a pervert, he had wanted to see you fully nude for such an extended period of time— he was going to enjoy every minute of it.

The curve of your waist was inviting him run his hands through it until they reached your hips and with that he pulled you closer to him, until your breasts were close enough to his face. He took one of your perky nipples in his mouth, sucking like he was starved while he pulled gently on your other nipple. He moved his other hand down to your cunt to rub on your clit over the thin fabric, while simultaneously stimulating your sensitive nipples. It was too much for you, moans flew out of your mouth unstoppably. You were incredibly wet.

He moved on to suckle on your other nipple, enjoying the taste of your skin thoroughly. He released your nipple with a wet pop, yearning to taste your juices on his tongue. He hooked his finger on your panties before pulling them down in a swift motion. He pushed you gently onto your bed. He spread your legs apart, groaning at the sight of your sopping wet cunt. “Such a pretty little pussy. I’ve always wanted to have my mouth right here.” Choso expressed as he placed a finger on your clit, always begging for his attention. “You don’t know how many times I’ve jerked off watching you touch yourself.” He let the confession slip out before he could stop himself.

“You’ve watched me touch myself? That’s so fucking hot!” You threw your head back as he started rubbing consistent circles on you clit. He decided he had teased himself long enough and it was finally time to taste you. He started by giving you a long lick, dragging his inexperienced tongue upwards from your entrance towards your clit, his eyes rolling to the back of his skull as he delighted himself with your taste for the first time. He stilled for a moment before attacking your clit with his mouth. With your guidance he was able to lick at just the right spot, earning breathy moans from you. You chanted his name as he licked your sensitive bud with no plans on stopping until you fed him your nectar.

“Don’t stop, Choso! Put your fingers inside me!” You squeaked out as he quickly complied, your walls squeezing around his fingers and he reached places you’ve never reached with your own fingers. “I’m gonna come soon!” You whined, squeezing his head between your thighs as you arched your back in pleasure.

He speed up the movements of his tongue, delighting himself with the taste of your pussy, thrusting his digits inside you at a rapid pace. He squeezed his eyes shut, moaning into your clit, knowing he was going to make you orgasm with his mouth just like he always desired. Once he felt you clench around his finger tightly he knew it was over. A scream of his name rippled your throat as you let it all out. You shivered as you came down from your, legs trembling in ecstasy. Choso stayed attached to your pussy with his eyes closed, body quivering, lapping up your delightful juices. You had once again made him come in his pants.

Choso stood up from his knees, unfastening his trousers, kicking them off his feet, desperate to finally feel you pussy. You stared at his cum covered cock, taking in his size. “You’re huge, Choso.” You said eyeing him lustfully. The lewd look on your face made his dick stand up completely straight even after having came just now.

You shimmied yourself onto the middle of the bed encouraging him to climb in with you. Choso complied, hungrily contemplating your body. He loved absolutely every part of it. Placing himself on top of you, careful not to crush you with his weight, he pressed his lips against yours, missing the feeling of them. While you were kissing he started grinding his cock against your soaking wet heat. His erect member was in desperate need to be sheathed by your warmth.

Choso grabbed his member by the base, rubbing the tip against your entrance teasingly slow, spreading the cum that coated him all over your pussy. “Push it in, please, Choso.” You begged, voice wavering in desire. Hearing you plead for him awakened something different in him, he no longer felt embarrassed or ashamed about anything. You had accepted him. From this day on you had become officially his and he owned your pretty body. Nothing could stop him now, nobody would take you away from him.

Satisfying your plea, he pushed in, stretching out your tight cunt with his girth. He grunted in pleasure as you engulfed him in your heat, burring his head in the crook of your neck. Your jaw slacked open as you felt his immense size enter you, feeling him in your stomach as he bottomed out. “F-fuck, princess. You feel amazing, s-so tight!” Choso complimented, conscious that he wasn’t going to last at all. Your pussy clenched deliciously around him, a sensation he had never felt before. He knew you’d understand.

“Oh, Choso! You’re so deep inside my pussy!” You managed to babble out, already feeling drunk on his cock. You grabbed onto his space buns, undoing them so you could see him with his hair down and what a great decision that was. This man was gorgeous, his long raven locks falling down his face, giving him a more rugged look. You couldn’t stop the moans that escaped your lips at just the mere sight of him.

Choso whimpered your name, ramming his cock deep inside you at a steady pace. “I don’t think I’m gonna last much longer, princess. I’m s-sorry.” He uttered out shakily, caressing your face lovingly. He started pumping his cock inside you at an inhuman speed feeling his orgasm approaching faster by the second.

“L-let me feel your cum inside me, Choso. Just like you said you wanted in your note!” Your words alone made him quiver out his orgasm with a loud groan of your name. He moaned, throwing his head back as your cunt milked his semen out of him, injecting it straight in your womb. You moaned enjoying the warm feeling of his spent filling you up. He continued thrusting erratically and sloppily, stilling inside you, wanting to feel the warmth of your pussy for a little longer.

“I love you so much.” He confessed breathlessly, keeping his head buried in your neck as he caught his breath, relishing the way your body molded into his perfectly. You were meant to be his. Deciding to finally pull out, he hissed as he watched your mixed juices drip out of your hole. This had been the best night of his entire life.

All thanks to you. ♡︎

#yandere #yandere choso #yandere choso kamo #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere choso x reader #yandere choso kamo x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere jjk #yandere x reader #tw: dark content #stalker choso #dark choso #jjk smut #jjk choso #jujutsu kaisen smut #creep choso #yandere tw

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lcvclywon · 9 months ago

Text

in sickness and in health

back to masterlist

synopsis After a long fight with Jay you find yourself giving him the silent treatment. Leaving you curled up alone sick in your room, with your only comfort being the instant tteokbokki you had microwaved for yourself earlier. However it seems Jay knew where to be and what to say at exactly the right times.

warnings: mentions of food, mentions of sickness, mentions of kissing, pet names (honey), slight angst, I made YN as the 6th member of lesserafim so that the whole same building thing made sense so...js roll with it pls 😁, also not proof read!, slight fighting

genre ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ hurt to comfort

pairings: idol!jay x idol!reader, established relationship

wc ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ around 1.14k

thoughts frm yuya 💭 i know i said i was gonna go on a hiatus but i needed a serotonin boost from writing after doing a horrendous maths paper.... so semi hiatus i guess ^^ anywaysss this drabble has been rotting in the back of my mind for a while soo here u are, i'm a huge huge HUGE sucker for hurt to comfort tropes so >,<

A week. It had been a week since you and Jay had a massive argument causing the two of you to give each other the silent treatment for god knows how long. However, as if the world was out to get you, the next morning after the fight you had been plagued with a sickness that you couldn’t quite pin down, all you knew was it left you bedridden until Friday.

Due to said sickness, you obviously couldn’t join your group for schedules and barely entered the building for dance practice. You hoped Jay would at least notice your absence, send a message asking where you were or something. But to your dismay, radio silence.

“Who cares about some stupid guy anyways…” Grumbling under your breath you reached for your chopsticks to skewer another rice cake from your measly plate of instant tteokbokki and shovel it down your throat. Maybe excessive spice you couldn’t handle and soft pillowy rice cakes could solve all your problems.

Ding dong! Weird, you didn’t think the members would be back this early?

Begrudgingly ripping the covers off and placing your bowl back on your table, you went to the door. Hair still an oily mess from not showering properly and clothes stuck to your body from sweat, you clearly weren’t in pristine condition to be meeting anyone. Please don’t be a delivery man, please don’t be a delivery man.

However, after opening the door, you found yourself standing in front of the one person you’d been longing for the whole week. Park Jongseong. Your gaze softened slightly and a small smile crept onto your lips, but then you remembered that you were still mad at him. Fighting the urge to embrace him and cry out for his name, you plastered on a stoic expression of indifference.

“What are you doing here.”

“Chaewon told me you were sick,” he said before entering into your dorm, not bothering to wait for you to let him in.

Making his way over to the kitchen he placed a white takeaway bag onto the counter before emptying its contents onto the table: a warm bowl of your favourite porridge and a cup of tea from your favourite cafe.

“What’s this?” positioning yourself in front of Jay, you scanned the table to see the numerous small boxes of side dishes sprawled across.

“Porridge, it’s good for you when you’re sick.” he replied before shooting his head over to the remnants of your tteokbokki “Honey why are you eating tteokbokki, you’re sick you shouldn’t be eating instant food.” he scolded before reaching over throw your lukewarm leftovers in the trash.

“It’s not that bad…” you mumbled whilst picking at the side dishes “And why do you suddenly care, thought you weren’t talking to me” Scoffing you shot him a dirty glare.

“Correction, you weren’t talking to me; I thought you needed some space, as you usually do after a fight.” well he wasn’t wrong, you did express to him that after arguments you wanted some time to cool down by yourself, “and also, I’m not ‘suddenly’ just caring YN. Who do you think Yunjin got all those drinks, medicines, and snacks from.”

Oh… so she didn’t buy them herself. Your gaze reached his eyes as you felt your heart soften slightly, “Okay, well you could’ve sent me a text or something. You could’ve come here and given it to me yourself, why today out of all days do you decide to come huh?” meeting your glossy eyes, Jay could tell how hurt you were over his actions. He couldn’t deny that it pained him to see you this upset.

“Okay look, I’m sorry. I wanted to come over, but Sakura said whatever you caught was contagious and that you isolated yourself to make sure you got nobody else sick. As I mentioned earlier, you told me you liked to have time to cool down after fighting, but it was stupid of me not to even try to text you. Today it all just-” Jay stopped his rambling, catching his breath before sighing out, “I just really missed you YN”

That was all the confirmation you needed to run into his arms and hug him so tight he didn’t even think about leaving again. Jay was quick to reciprocate, arms wrapping around you to engulf you into his warm embrace, head buried into the crook of your neck whispering sweet nothings.

Breaking away from the embrace and tilting your head up you were graced with a warm and familiar smile painted across Jay’s face; a smile you so badly missed the entire week.

“Don’t ever do that again.” you said with a pout

“Promise I won't honey,” his hands reached to cup your face before adding, “Only if you promise to stop eating that stuff when you’re sick.”

“Hey, it’s yummy! I can’t help it that I can’t cook soup or anything, tteokbokki has never failed me.”

“Guess I’ll have to keep bringing you food then.” he replied with a smirk

“Well, I could use a personal delivery man.” giggling you reached up to mirror his actions, cupping his face with your warm hands.

“Oh really, would a delivery man do this?” and with that he pressed a playful peck onto your lips; soft and gentle, something you missed dearly.

“Jay!” you exclaimed, “You can’t do that, you’ll get sick!”

“So. What.” he said between pecks, peppering your face with kisses as you giggled and placed your hands on his chest to try and push him away. Pulling away he looked into your eyes with a warm and gentle gaze, smiling softly before leaning in to give you a proper kiss. Feeling the worry of your sickness transferring to him vanish, you melted into the kiss whilst wrapping your arms around his neck. In response, his hand found its way to the small of your back while the other reached up to cup the back of your neck. It always astonished you how easily he could pull you into his orbit, almost made you forget about the soreness of your body and the fever plaguing you.

Retreating back he giggled at your pouting face. “I’d love to continue, but I wouldn’t want the food I bought you to get cold” intertwining your fingers with his, he led you over to a chair before sitting you down. “Let’s eat okay?” he muttered before taking his spot right next to yours, hand still intertwined with your fingers. His other hand however reached over to spoon you some porridge, moving the utensil closer to your mouth.

You happily bent forward to enjoy the bite he crafted for you, an all too familiar sensation bubbling up within you—a warmth you could only describe as, home. Jay felt like home. And you hoped he would for the rest of your lives.

perm taglist ♡ (send an ask to be added!) @floweryang

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motthe · 2 months ago

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hiii !! just read like ,, a BUNCH of ur lumen au stuff ,,,, truly i am brainrotted now because i'm just thinking of so many different scenarios involving the lumens and i am just . EXCITED !!! its SUCHHHH a good concept im a big big sucker for soulmate stuff ,,,,

i was just wondering how you feel about jayvik x reader ,,,, TWO lumens ,,,,,,,, idk if you write for anything poly or not, but id love to hear your thoughts on it !!! either through headcanons or a ficlet, whichever you feel like :]

my first viktor x reader x jayce piece i’ve ever written… wait is this my first poly drabble?? it might be actually! i hope it’s fun to read ♥️

warnings: fem!reader, slight negative feelings of not being good enough, but overall fluff!!!

The scientific jargon that came with having not one but both of your fated being inventors was overwhelming. The words they tossed around became an entire other language since you’d all gotten closer. It left you feeling unbearably empty-headed, wondering why the universe would bond you to such intelligent men.

They were already changing an entire city with their ideas, and you would bet the world would soon bear their mark as well. In comparison, you were a meager artist making ends meet at festivals and street corners. Sure, maybe your work could be seen on a few shop signs or covering a wall or two in a cafe, but that was as famous as you’d ever be—a stranger to the passing eye.

“We need to widen the cylindrical chamber, maybe add an exhaust pipe to help with the cooldown.”

Jayce’s voice slipped through your head, smooth and confident and making no sense. You’d gotten rather good and tuning out the meat of the conversations, only recognizing the tones and emotions.

The heavy, warm accent of Viktor’s replied, swirling in the back of your mind as your pencil swiped over the heavy parchment against your thighs.

Recently, they’d begun inviting you to their lab to spend your free time in their company. There were two desks to choose from, though they were usually piled high with blueprints or notes. Jayce had moved a couch into the space for your comfort, placed in the corner and under a window, well away from any dangerous work they had their hands on, though they usually took anything too precarious into another portion of the building.

Their assistant, Sky, was in and out, always double-checking if you needed anything. She was a kind young woman, curly hair and glasses and a smile that made anyone feel at home. She brought you your own coffee and snacks, promising it was no trouble since she was already bringing them to Viktor and Jayce, anyway.

“You actually eat them,” she chuckled. “Jayce will if he notices they’re there, but it’s a long shot most days.”

You understood what she meant, seeing how focused the men became on their gadgets and studies. You’re sure if you got up and left they wouldn’t notice for a good, long while.

Today was one of those days, though there was peace in your private little corner as you sketched away. You squinted over the top of your sketchbook, skimming the outline of Viktor’s goggles pressed into his thick, winding hair and quickly adding the little licks of tresses to the paper before he was moving again.

You switched targets, taking in Jayce’s side profile and adding a bit more depth to his eyebrow and under eye.

Taking a moment to look between both drawings, you were hit with their beauty once more.

Jayce was deemed the academy’s “pretty boy,” with his strong jaw and perfect smile. He was a clean cut handsome, peak health and built with broad shoulders. He knew how to use those looks to his advantage.

On the other end was Viktor. He was a haunting beauty, sleek and angular. If he had the same charisma with speaking to the masses as Jayce did, that accent would gain him more than a fair share of admirers, but his confidence and skills lied elsewhere. He had a sharp eye and wore his emotions rather loudly on his face.

Where Jayce had faint lines from how much he smiled, Viktor had a feather soft crease between his brows from how often he furrowed them. Where the golden boy’s hands were always warm, his partner’s was cold. They made such gorgeous opposites, yet they held so many comparisons in mannerisms when it came to their shared hobbies and passions.

It was safe to say you adored them and their intricacies.

Taking a slow, deep breath you checked both shoulders before moving the tuft of black in your periphery into your hand. Gold shimmered between the dark mass that made up Jayce’s lumen, settling deeper into your palm as you raised your arms and stretched.

When you moved your drawing pad to the side, you spotted Viktor’s wedged between the apex of your thighs. Swallowing your gasp, you scooped it up, praying it hadn’t been smushed the entire time.

“When did you get there?” you whispered, rubbing your pointer finger into the tawny fuzz of his light. His lumen had always had a bit more give to it, leaving it to wedge itself under your leg or your shirt collar. Viktor’s preferred to be as close as possible to you, even if it left his lumen squished.

Jayce’s lumen was firmer, still soft but in a velveteen sort of sensation. It was bigger, taking up a good portion of your palm. Now your second month with it, you’d learned if it wasn’t on one of your shoulders, it was likely circling your head. His never went far either.

You wondered if you’d received Jayce’s lumen first, if it would have more of an attachment to you. As it stood, you’d had Viktor’s since you were young while he’d held Jayce’s and Jayce yours. The three of you being tied together had become quite the story as there went many outward poly fateds in Piltover, but luckily the gawking had passed after the first handful of weeks.

It was only a few days ago that Viktor confessed he’d been rather confused when he’d met Jayce and the lumens had flashed against one another.

“There were no similarities,” he’d explained, holding up one long, thin finger for your lumen to rest on as it hovered in front of him. The three of you were cozied up in your lackluster apartment—a studio more than a bedroom but it had a nice pullout couch and plenty of blankets to rest on in front of your heater. “Jayce was ecstatic, of course, but I was ruminating over your lumen when we first met.”

“I thought he hated me,” Jayce had murmured, breath warm against your ear as you laughed.

“I did not hate you,” huffed Viktor on your other side, rolling his eyes as he dropped his hand, your lumen resting within. “I wasn’t aware we had a third, yet—it was puzzling.”

“I had to explain it to him,” Jayce chuckled. “One of my old friends was in a poly.”

“And, then, he was even more ecstatic,” Viktor sighed but there was affection in it. “I thought you’d follow him home some nights.”

“And leave you all by yourself?” You laid your head on his shoulder, grinning as his eyes fled. It was still so early into the relationship, and he grew flustered with physical affection whereas Jayce sought it every chance. “I’d never.”

“It’s better now, we’re all together,” Jayce hummed, lowering to lay his head in your lap. You brushed your hand through his hair, smiling as his lumen lit up in Viktor’s lap.

“Yes,” Viktor had agreed, careful as he laid his head against yours. “It all feels…complete.”

Your chest warmed at the memory as you held both of their lumens in your hands, giving a fleeting kiss to each. Viktor’s snuggled happily into your palm while Jayce’s pulsed a happy gold before flying off, likely to check in with Viktor.

As your eyes lifted to follow its journey, you jumped when you found Jayce smiling from a few feet away by his desk. He seemed to be shuffling through some papers. Your lumen floated just nice his head, twinkling in the sunlight that shone through the windows behind you.

“Didn’t see you there,” you said, stretching your legs out before standing. Viktor’s lumen left your hand, keeping close to your neck.

“I hope you’re not bored.” He opened an arm up and you approached. You still grew giddy with any chance to be wrapped in his embrace, quick to accept the invitation.

“I like spending time here with you both,” you assured, giggling as he bent down to kiss your forehead. “Gives me plenty of practice.”

His eyes lit up, one of those dark eyebrows lifting. “Oh?”

“I know what you’re about to ask—”

“Please?” His arm wrapped tighter around your waist. “I wanna see.”

“They’re just rough sketches!” you laughed, pushing against his chest.

“C’mon, I bet they’re great! I’m sure Viktor wants to see them, too.”

You shook your head, a mess of giggles as he wrapped both arms around you and slowly edged his way towards the couch.

“Did someone call my name?” asked Viktor, turning from the machine he was working on. A torch was in his hand but luckily still off for the time being. Jayce’s lumen was sitting on his knee.

“Viktor tell her you want to see her art!” Jayce goaded.

“Tell him he needs to wait for a real piece,” you threw back, wrinkling your nose at him as he stuck his tongue out.

“You’ve been drawing us?” Viktor’s voice seeped with awe and innocent curiosity. “May we see?”

Jayce bounced his eyebrows at you, all too smug. “Told you.”

“Fine—fine!” you sighed, throwing your hands up and wiggling out of his hold as you went to grab your canvas notebook. “Don’t gripe when you see your half-finished faces.”

The tap of Viktor’s crutch intermingled with Jayce’s footsteps as they met you by the couch. As you handed over your work, Viktor was the one to accept it as Jace stood over him. Both their eyes went wide at the current page and your hand went straight to your arm as you shuffled in place.

“Those are just warmups, so…”

“Warmups?” Jayce breathed, looking up from the notebook. “These are amazing!”

“I have to agree, the detail is astounding,” Viktor hummed, looking to turn back a page. He caught your eyes before he did. “Is this all right? Tell us if we’re overstepping.”

“No, it’s okay! I’m used to people watching me draw on the street, it’s just… I don’t know.” You shrugged, bringing a hand up as Viktor’s lumen rubbed against your neck. Jayce’s was just settling on your shoulder again. “I care about what you guys think. It’s not anything big like you do, but…”

“Big?” Jayce echoed, both of their sights set on you.

“Well, it’s not as important as what you both do is what I mean.”

“Of course it’s important,” Viktor argued, expression stern.

“But it’s art!” you laughed, waving off the sudden seriousness growing from them. “It’s helping a bunch of people like your creations do. That’s much more important.”

“Art is just as, if not more, important,” he continued, passing the notebook to Jayce. “We are helping people in different ways, but do not do yourself the disservice and think what you create is anything less than what we do.”

“He’s right,” Jayce agreed, holding up your work. “This? This speaks to people. Your work can bring life to a room and lets people save a special moment in time.”

“Okay, don’t butter me up so much or I’ll melt!” you squeaked, too embarrassed to look at them as they chuckled and continued flipping through your sketches. It wasn’t long before the three of you were on the couch, both of them pointing out their favorites.

“Is my hair truly that messy?” Viktor grumbled, raising a hand to it. “Perhaps I should cut it.”

“No, I like it,” you said, grabbing his wrist. “You twirl it when you’re thinking! It’s so sweet.”

He blinked at you. “I do?”

Jayce whistled and you turned and gasped, completely forgetting the drawing you’d done of him in the forge. It was more from memory so your imagination had left it a bit more detailed than the rest.

“Okay, that’s enough!”

You swiped for the book, shutting it as Jayce laughed. Viktor rolled his eyes, smirking as he nudged your shoulder.

“Should I be worried of any scandalous pieces of me in there?”

You pouted, holding the notebook tighter to your chest.

“Oh?” Jayce breathed. “She didn’t say no!”

“You two are the worst!” you groaned, unable to help yourself from smiling as they both laughed in tandem.

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cottonlemonade · 2 months ago

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Dating You For A Bet [Part 2]

word count: 1756 || avg. reading time: 8 mins.

pairing: University AU!Matsukawa x chubby!Reader

genre: angst

warnings: bullying

[part 1]

The following days were miserable. Between dodging Matsukawa lurking outside your dorm and having to see him in most of your seminars and lectures it was hard to pretend that you didn’t care, much to the delight of the fellow students who apparently had nothing better to do or collectively lost their WiFi and were starved for entertainment. They threw glances between the two of you as if following a tennis match, although you were stubbornly pretending to follow the lesson while Issei just listlessly stared at his closed book.

He had tried to talk to you after lectures, during lunch, or when he ran into you at the convenience store but to no avail. You remained strong, frequently reminding yourself that everything from your first kiss to the first time sleeping together was solely done to win a bet. A bet! To him, you were nothing more than some easily manipulated, naive girl from a country he probably didn’t even know how to spell. The three crumpled notes from that day were still at the bottom of your trash can, unread, and now buried under more paper scraps, gum wrappers, and empty juice boxes. Your roommate hadn’t noticed or questioned why you didn’t leave in the evenings anymore to go on dates. Chances were that she had read about the whole thing online.

You were tired of it all. The initial burst of energy you felt, fueled by nothing but spite, had finally ebbed away and at this point, Christmas was drawing nearer and nearer and you ran on fumes. Having tried to deep dive into homework and assignments had left you fatigued and vulnerable, so it came to no surprise that a month after the break up you couldn’t take it anymore. You had figured that the other students would eventually move on to the next shiny thing but not so. A small group of boys and girls stood in front of the library with coffee cups steaming in their hands. You braced yourself inwardly. You just wanted to quickly return a book and then you’d be on your way again. When you approached them they interrupted their conversation to very obviously look you up and down as if judging your post-break-up fashion choices.

“I just knew there had to be a reason for him dating her.”, one of them said, deliberately loud enough for you to hear.

“Oh my god, I know right? I can’t believe she fell for it. I mean, what would someone like him ever see in someone like her.”, another piped up.

“Honestly kudos to him, I dunno if I could have gotten it up with her in bed.” They laughed.

You stopped on your way up the stairs. Matsukawa stood in front of you just coming out of the building, a tattered, well-annotated book in hand and his bag half-hearted slung over his shoulder.

The group of friends gasped quietly and hushed each other, waiting.

“Y/n…”, Issei said softly, then snapped at the others, “Don’t you have somewhere to be?!”

They laughed again but hurried inside.

“Y/-“

He couldn’t even finish the word. You had already turned around and walked away. And he would have let you get the space you needed if he didn’t see you cry. Readjusting his bag he slowly made his way down the steps and followed you, a couple of meters behind.

Whenever you missed your family he had tried to bring a bit of home to you with a traditional dish he knew you loved - that he usually messed up - or by watching a Disney movie in your native language while snuggling up on his bed under a blanket. But what had helped you most of all when you were upset was always a simple hug. And he never let go first. He made sure that you knew he would hold you as long as you needed. When you first told him you loved him he was wracked with guilt. He had since come to realize how messed up the whole thing was and tried to get out of it. He lied when his friends asked him if he had completed the bet but his roommate had only patted him on the back and accused him of being modest. And he, Issei, had forced a smile and accepted the money feeling like the most disgusting person in the world. The money still sat untouched in his sock drawer. He didn’t want to use it. He felt ashamed of himself but whenever he spent time with you he was weirdly glad that he agreed to the bet. Otherwise, who knows if he would have walked up to you as he had. Privately, to make himself feel better, he thought, of course he would have.

He would have noticed eventually how amazing you were.

He would have eventually seen how much you two had in common, that in all actuality you were his dream girl.

He would have. Eventually. Wouldn’t he?

Probably not, he had to admit. Ever since puberty hit him like a truck he walked around with a newfound level of confidence. This must have been what it was like for Oikawa back then - girls doing a double take and smiling when they saw him, little admiring love notes tucked quickly into his workbook when he wasn’t looking. All the attention slowly rose to his head and he became arrogant, leading to agreeing to a bet he would have punched his friends for in high school.

Hands in his pockets and breath forming little clouds in front of him, Issei’s heart broke all over again when he caught a small sound from you like a sniffle or a sob. As if on reflex his hand slid into the front of his bag to check for tissues, then remembered you probably wouldn’t accept them.

You finally came to a halt at a bench near your dorm. You spun around and stared at him icily through red puffy eyes.

“Stop following me. You know this is creepy, right?”

“I prefer to see it as romantic.”

You scoffed. “It’s only romantic if feelings are reciprocated.”

He swallowed hard. “… I deserved that.” Then he reached into his bag and retrieved a water bottle, walked a little closer, and held it out.

“Here, drink something. I can see you squinting like you do when you’re about to get a massive headache, come on.”

You had a retort ready to launch but your head was starting to pound from the crying so with a scowl you took it and gulped down a few sips.

“None of this makes what you did okay.”, you said, unwavering.

He nodded. “I know. - Can I hold you anyway? Just til you stop crying.”

His question made new tears well in your eyes and he closed the gap between you. Before he hugged you, he hesitated in case you would kick and scream if he did. When you only continued to cry he wrapped his arms around you. At first, it was like hugging a mannequin. Then he felt you shiver and sob harder and he squeezed you tighter.

This, the warmth of him, smell of him, soothing murmurs in your ear, made it all too easy to forget for a moment why he wasn’t yours anymore.

You subconsciously grabbed onto his jacket and he started slowly swaying from side to side. He missed you so damn much. His eyes began to sting.

And on reflex like he always had, he pressed his lips against your temple, then against your cheek, then your lips. You stiffened for a moment, then returned the kiss. With his heart swelling in his chest, he cupped your cheeks to wipe away the tears, but you were already pushing him away.

“No! You can’t just… this is not okay. You hurt me! You … you broke my heart! I feel embarrassed! And pathetic. And betrayed! Don't you understand?!”

His vision blurred and he lowered his head to stare at your shoes again to hide that he started crying as well. He just nodded at first, then took a shallow breath to calm down a little.

“I know.”, he said, his voice thick and raspy. He cleared his throat, “What I did was horrible. And immature. And there is no way I can take it back. But I do love you.”

“Tch.”

“So much. I don’t want to be without you.”

“Would you give me another chance?”, you asked suddenly.

He looked up. “What?”

“If you were in my shoes. If I did to you what you did to me. Could you just get over that? Imagine if someone way out of your league started flirting with you because they thought it was funny. Because they wanted to see if they could make you fall in love. For fun.”

“That’s not… I’m so so sorry, Y/n.”

“Stop saying that!”

“I don’t know what else to do! Please, tell me, I’ll do anything!”

“There is nothing you can do! I told you it’s over!”

“I refuse to believe that! Let me show you how much I love you! I know that some part of you still loves me, too. And I know you’ll forgive me eventually because you’re a much better person than I am.”

“I think you severely underestimate just how petty I can be and how much I love holding grudges.”, you retorted and the smallest smile twitched on his lips.

There was a pause in which his expression turned gentler again and he used the sleeve of his jacket to mop up the tears gathering on his chin. “Tell me what I can do.”

“Actually show me that you’re sorry? - And find better friends.”

“Done.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”, he said firmly, “You’ll see.”

“Hm hm.”, you said doubtfully and held out the bottle to him, “Thanks for the water. I should get going.”

“Book club tonight, right?”, he asked. It was still set as a permanent reminder in his phone’s calendar so that he’d come to pick you up afterward to walk you to your dorm.

“Actually… I have a date.”

You waited for a moment before you dared to look at him again. His face had fallen and he seemed at a loss for words. When you brushed past him you half expected him to grab your hand again, to try to talk you out of it. But nothing. He stood exactly where you left him and so you went inside.

tags because I genuinely appreciate all your comments and reblogs: @samoankpoper21 @garouaddict @gojoscloset @multi-fandom-fanfic @crazyyanderefangirlfan

[part 3]

#matsukawa x chubby reader #mattsun x chubby reader #matsukawa issei x chubby reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #chubby reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x curvy reader #matsukawa issei x reader #issei matsukawa #matsukawa angst #hq matsukawa #matsukawa x reader #haikyuu matsukawa #matsukawa issei #matsukawa x you #mattsun angst #mattsun x reader #haikyuu angst #hq angst

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joelsrose · 1 month ago

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First Date: Part III

hi cuties, highly recommend reading part 1 and part 2 first! this might be my favourite part so far they are both stupid stubborn idiots xx

Part 1 Part 2 My masterlist

Next part

The morning light crept through the window, soft and golden, spilling across the room like a gentle caress. It bathed everything in a warm glow, turning the space into something ethereal, where even the dust drifting through the rays seemed like part of a dream. You blinked, your body still heavy with sleep, and stretched beneath the blanket that had settled lazily around you.

Your mind struggled to catch up with the present, as if the world itself was moving too fast for you to fully grasp. The night before felt like a haze, a collection of fragmented moments scattered in your memory. There had been a storm—vivid in your mind, its howl still lingering somewhere in the back of your thoughts. Joel had made you dinner, the warmth of his presence still echoing in the quiet of the room. Then you had fallen asleep on the couch, the weight of exhaustion finally pulling you under. That much was clear.

But now, you were here, lying in your bed, the morning light creeping through the window. How had you gotten here?

And then it hit you, sudden and sharp. Joel.

Joel had stayed the night.

The realization sent a foreign sensation rippling through you, a wave of warmth spreading fast and unrelenting, flooding your chest. He must’ve carried you upstairs. You could almost picture it—the hesitant strength in his arms, his shoulders stiff as he cradled you close. Maybe his breath hitched with the effort, his body groaning like old floorboards beneath the strain of the climb. But still, he carried you.

He could’ve left you on the couch. It would’ve been easier—less fuss, less risk of waking you. Yet he hadn’t. Instead, he’d brought you to your bed, his footsteps purposeful even as exhaustion must’ve weighed heavy on him. He’d laid you down gently, careful not to disturb your dreams. And then, almost reverently, he’d pulled the blanket over you, tucking the edges like it meant something. Like you meant something.

You shook your head, trying to push the thought away as your cheeks warmed. Swallowing against the rising tide of emotions, you swung your legs over the side of the bed. The cool floor met your feet as you padded softly downstairs, the familiar creak of the floorboards underfoot the only sound in the stillness of the morning.

The storm had passed, leaving the world outside blanketed in fresh snow, the kind that made everything look quiet, untouched. But inside, the house was warm, the air thick with something that made your heart race. Something delicate, like a memory that hadn’t fully formed yet.

The living room was still, bathed in the faint glow of dying embers that crackled quietly in the hearth. You scanned the room instinctively, expecting to find him there—perhaps sitting by the fire, his shoulders slouched in that weary way of his, or maybe still sprawled on the couch, lost in the kind of sleep that comes only to those who carry too much.

But the room was empty.

The stillness felt sharper in his absence, like the air had been stripped of its weight, leaving behind something hollow and cold. The quiet pressed in around you, heavy and unyielding, until you felt it—a strange ache lodged beneath your ribs, foreign yet familiar. It was the sensation of missing something you’d never really had, a fleeting presence that hadn’t even belonged to you, slipping through your fingers before you could hold onto it.

Your eyes fell on the coffee table. There, a whiskey glass sat, the faintest trace of amber liquid clinging to the bottom. You moved closer, instinctively reaching out to touch it. The cool glass felt oddly reassuring, like a connection to something real, something that hadn’t been a dream. And then, beside it, something caught your eye.

A small piece of paper, neatly folded in half. Your heart skipped a beat, your fingers trembling as you picked it up, slowly unfolding it. The words were written in rough, uneven handwriting, unmistakably Joel’s.

Storm’s over. Didn’t wanna wake you. See you at patrol.

He didn’t have to leave a note. He could’ve just slipped away into the quiet morning, leaving no trace. But he hadn’t. He’d taken the time to leave this, a small piece of himself that seemed so simple, yet meant everything.

You set the note back down gently, your eyes lingering on the words for a moment longer. A faint smile tugged at your lips, a bittersweet tug of emotion that seemed to echo in the silence around you. Despite the hollow ache in your chest, you felt a sense of warmth, something tender, like a secret shared between the two of you. He’d been there, in the stillness of the night, and even though he was gone now, his presence lingered in the quiet corners of the room.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

You had always prided yourself on being above jealousy. It simply wasn’t in your nature. Your heart had learned early on to celebrate the victories of others, to find genuine joy in their happiness as if it were your own.

Even in your past relationships, you’d carried yourself with a quiet confidence, never rattled by passing glances or the occasional flirtation from other women. It was a strength you valued—a steadfast anchor in the stormy seas of insecurity.

But here you were, clutching the back of Toby’s jacket with a grip far tighter than necessary, your knuckles blanching against the fabric as you fought to ignore the unfamiliar, unwelcome twist coiling in your chest.

This wasn’t your usual patrol. Today, they’d needed four people— three horses, one extra for hauling tools and spare parts to repair a broken generator at a far-off safe house. That’s why you found yourself riding behind Toby, and that’s why Joel rode ahead, with Tiffany seated behind him on his horse, her arms looped snugly around his waist. Her golden hair shimmered faintly in the weak winter light, the strands catching like threads of sun against the dreary gray.

Tiffany. You’d seen her name on the patrol roster often enough, always eager to volunteer. She helped in the infirmary too, a picture of competence wrapped in a prettiness that seemed almost unfair. She was younger than you, blonde, with a laugh that rang out far too easily over the frosty air, like it didn’t know the weight of silence. It wasn’t her fault, you reminded yourself. She was charming in the way that came naturally to some people.

Meanwhile, Toby—kind, affable Toby—kept up his attempts at small talk as he maneuvered your horse behind Joel. His words were soft, floating past your ears, half-heard, like snowflakes that melted before they even landed. He was pleasant enough, even handsome in a quiet way, but your attention refused to settle on him. It kept slipping ahead, tethered to the pair riding in front. To Joel. To the way his broad shoulders seemed unbothered, unmoving under Tiffany’s easy, confident hold. To the slight tilt of his head as if he might actually be listening to her, somehow engaged in the rhythm of her words.

And each time you saw it, the same unwelcome twist coiled tighter in your chest, a quiet pressure building that you couldn’t ignore.

Joel didn’t do this. Joel didn’t listen to people. He wasn’t the type to entertain idle chatter or humor someone’s need to fill the silence. That was part of what made it feel so special—so quietly significant—that you were one of the only people, perhaps the only person, he allowed to talk his ear off. There had been pride in that, a quiet warmth that bloomed in your chest whenever his usual stoicism gave way to the rare, begrudging attentiveness he reserved just for you.

Watching this unfold in front of you felt like a punch to the stomach—sharp, sudden, and utterly breathless. The sight of her leaning into him, her body angled toward his like she belonged there, was enough to twist something deep inside of you—something jagged, something you weren’t ready to name.

Her laughter reached you on the icy wind, light and careless, cutting through the quiet like a blade. You wondered bitterly what she could possibly find so funny. Joel was no comedian, after all. Sure, he had his moments—his gruff, deadpan humor slipping out in dry remarks that could catch you off guard if you weren’t careful. But it was never the sort of thing to make someone tilt their head back, the sound of their laugh ringing out like they couldn’t help themselves.

Your chest tightened as you watched her, and that bitter voice in your head whispered that maybe she was trying too hard, leaning in too close, laughing too loud. You shook your head, trying to shove the thought away, embarrassed by the weight of your own pettiness. It wasn’t fair—to her, to him, or to yourself.

But even as you forced yourself to look away, the bitter sting of jealousy lingered, coiling tight in your chest like a bruise you couldn’t stop pressing.

“Leaking faucet,” Tiffany was saying, her voice carrying that lilting, sing-song quality women sometimes used when they wanted to sound effortlessly charming. “I keep telling myself I’ll fix it, but it’s just such a pain. You think you could help me out, Joel?” You didn’t need to see her face to imagine the way she’d be batting her eyelashes, her head tilted just so, a coy smile playing at her lips.

Your grip on Toby’s jacket tightened, your knuckles blanching as you bit down hard on your tongue to keep from snapping. The fabric bunched under your fingers, and you hoped he couldn’t feel the way your nails were digging into his sides, betraying the simmering frustration you couldn’t quite swallow. Of course, she’d ask Joel. Who wouldn’t?

Joel could fix anything. Hell, he’d fixed your fireplace when it wouldn’t light properly, straightened the cabinet hinges that had been hanging crooked since the day you moved in—all without you even asking. He’d just shown up with his tools and that quiet determination of his, like helping you wasn’t a favor but a reflex. Unspoken. Natural. As if making your life a little easier was second nature to him.

You knew women found Joel handsome. It wasn’t exactly a secret. How could they not? He was steady and grounded, the kind of man who made you feel like the world couldn’t touch you when he was near. And then there was the way he looked—tall and broad-shouldered, the kind of solid presence that seemed built to weather storms. His patchy beard, somehow charming in its unevenness, softened the sharpness of his jaw, and his brown eyes, deep and warm, had a way of holding yours like he was trying to tell you something he couldn’t quite put into words.

So why shouldn’t she ask him for help? It made sense. Logical, really. But knowing that didn’t make it sit any easier, didn’t stop that bitter edge from scraping against your ribs.

You muttered under your breath, the words barely audible even to yourself, “Yeah, I bet you need help with your faucet.”

Joel’s head turned slightly, his sharp ears catching your muttered words—of course he did. His dark eyes flicked back toward you, one eyebrow arched in that familiar, infuriating way, a glimmer of something unreadable—curiosity? Amusement?—dancing in his gaze. “You say somethin’?” he drawled, his voice low and deliberate, cutting through the cold air.

Your stomach flipped, heat blooming up your neck and spreading to your cheeks, a betrayal that had nothing to do with the biting wind. “Oh, nothing,” you replied too quickly, your voice pitched with an almost exaggerated casualness, a clumsy attempt at innocence. You glanced away, focusing on the snow-dusted trail ahead, as though it might swallow your embarrassment whole.

“Uh-huh,” Joel drawled, his voice low, measured, and dripping with that maddening sense of knowing. His gaze lingered on you for a beat too long, dark eyes glinting with unspoken amusement before he turned back to the trail. But not before you caught it—the faintest twitch of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, subtle but unmistakable. The sight sent your pulse into an unsteady rhythm, a warmth curling in your chest despite the frosty air. Damn him.

Tiffany, blissfully oblivious, kept talking, her words floating on the wind, meaningless background noise. Toby didn’t notice a thing either, still trying his best to make polite conversation—something about your interests, maybe? You answered in clipped, one-word responses, barely registering his efforts. You couldn’t bring yourself to care.

It wasn’t just Tiffany’s laugh, too loud and too bright for the quiet frostbitten air, cutting through the stillness like it belonged there. It wasn’t just the way her hand lingered a second too long against Joel’s arm as she shifted in her seat, her touch easy and unthinking, like it wasn’t a privilege she should’ve been more careful with.

You kept waiting for him to scold her, to tell her she was being too loud, to mutter something about the risk of infected or raiders, his voice low and serious like it always was when he took charge. But he didn’t. Instead, he nodded along, his expression neutral, even engaged, as if whatever she had to say was worth hearing.

And it wasn’t just the way she leaned in closer, her voice dipping low and conspiratorial, like every word she spoke to him was meant to be savored, something special she couldn’t share with anyone else. No, it wasn’t just that.

It was that Joel wasn’t supposed to notice her.

He wasn’t supposed to nod at her coy requests, to respond with that gruff, reluctant “I’ll take a look,” or to let her steal fragments of his attention that, in your mind, had always felt like they belonged to you.

He was supposed to—

What? Be yours?

The thought struck like a lightning bolt, sharp and sudden, leaving you breathless and scrambling to banish it. But it lingered, stubborn and unyielding, its warmth curling into your chest, making it ache with something raw and nameless.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

By the time the safe house came into view, your nerves were strung so tight it felt like a single word might unravel you completely. Joel slowed his horse, his broad shoulders shifting as he glanced back over his shoulder, his voice cutting clean through the icy air. “You good back there?”

If you hadn’t been drowning in your own jealousy, you might have noticed the way he looked back often, his gaze lingering just long enough to make sure you two were still keeping up. You might have remembered how, back at the stables, he’d checked to see if you were dressed warmly enough, the extra scarf tucked into his supplies just in case you weren’t. Or the second canteen of coffee he’d packed, brewed the way he knew you liked it—strong and just a little sweet.

Your breath caught, a knot forming in your throat. His question was simple, almost casual, but the weight in his gaze said otherwise. You swallowed hard, forcing a stiff nod. “Yeah. Just cold.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. And from the way his eyes held yours for a moment longer than necessary, you knew he wasn’t convinced. Still, he nodded, his expression unreadable as he turned back toward the trail.

You let out a shaky exhale, trying to steady yourself as the safe house drew closer.

Joel Miller wasn’t yours.

He didn’t owe you anything.

He wasn’t supposed to mean this much.

But no matter how many times you told yourself that, it didn’t change the ache in your chest or the quiet, desperate wish that things could be different.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

As the safe house approached and the horses were tied securely, Joel’s voice cut through the biting air, sharp and commanding in a way that left no room for argument. “Alright, you two stay put,” he said, his dark gaze sweeping between you and Tiffany before flicking to Toby. “We’ll scout the area first. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to head in.”

Tiffany responded instantly, her “Yes, sir,” leaving her lips with a practiced ease that grated on you more than it should. She stood straight, eager, like she’d follow him into a blizzard if he so much as nodded in her direction.

You, on the other hand, barely registered his words, the simmering jealousy in your chest leaving little room for anything else. It gnawed at you, hot and persistent, the weight of it threatening to crack you open as your gaze drifted somewhere far past the safe house, into the snowy blur of the horizon. You weren’t even sure what you were looking at—what you were trying not to feel.

His voice broke through again, quieter this time, but closer. “Hey.” The word hung in the air, soft but unmistakable, followed by the solid warmth of his gloved hand resting on your shoulder. The calloused grip anchored you back to the present, a grounding presence that broke through the fog of your thoughts.

You snapped your gaze to his, and there it was—that steady, unreadable look that always seemed to peel back layers you weren’t ready to expose. It was the kind of gaze that made you feel like he saw more than you wanted him to, that he knew exactly what was hidden beneath the surface. His brow furrowed slightly, the faintest shadow of concern crossing his face, as if he were trying to piece together what had you so lost in thought. The stern edge in his voice softened, the hard lines of authority giving way to something genuine—concern. “You listening?”

You startled, the words pulling you sharply back to the here and now. His eyes were locked on yours, and it was clear he hadn’t missed a thing. The way your attention had wandered, how your focus had drifted without you even realizing it. He knew you.

A brief flash of guilt tightened in your chest, the weight of being caught off guard sinking in. “Yeah,” you replied quickly, straightening your posture as though that might make up for it. “Wait here until you say it’s safe. Got it.”

Joel nodded, the motion slow and deliberate, but his eyes didn’t leave you. They lingered, warm despite the cool detachment he so often wore, the hard lines of his face softening just enough to disarm you. There was something in the way he looked at you—quiet, steady, and just gentle enough to stir an ache deep in your chest, one you didn’t quite know what to do with.

His gaze searched yours, like he was trying to piece you together, trying to find the root of your distracted state in the curve of your mouth or the flicker of your eyes. He wasn’t fully convinced by whatever mask you’d put on, not yet, but he didn’t push.

“Good,” he said at last, the single word dipping lower, softer now, as if it was meant only for you. It hung in the air between you, more weighty than it should’ve been.

He turned to Toby, motioning for him to follow with a gesture that was brisk, decisive—clearly focused on the task ahead. But just before they disappeared through the door of the safe house, Joel paused, glancing back at you one last time. It wasn’t a casual look, either. His eyes lingered, heavy with something unspoken, a tension that hung in the air between you.

You didn’t notice it, though. Your gaze was already fixed elsewhere, pulled away by the weight of your own restless thoughts, the cold air settling around you like a cloak.

And then he was gone, disappearing into the building with Toby close behind, leaving you and Tiffany alone in the biting cold. The silence between you felt louder than it should have, the weight of his absence pressing on you more than you wanted to admit. You hugged your arms around yourself, trying to shake the unease settling over you, but it stayed, stubborn and unyielding, like a shadow that refused to let you go.

As soon as Joel was out of earshot, Tiffany turned to you, her cheeks flushed from the icy wind, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her entire body seemed to vibrate with barely contained excitement, her breath misting in the cold air. “Oh. My. God,” she said, her voice low but brimming with giddy energy. “He is so hot.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned, your mouth falling open in disbelief at the sheer boldness of her statement. You didn’t even know this girl that well, and yet here she was, openly fawning over Joel. Your Joel. No—not yours. He wasn’t yours. But the thought still burned, unwelcome and insistent.

“Who?” you asked, feigning ignorance as you busied yourself with Winnie’s reins. Your fingers betrayed you, fumbling clumsily with the stiff leather.

Tiffany let out a laugh, light and almost musical, as if your question were ridiculous. “Um, Joel,” she said, her eyes narrowing in playful exasperation. “Obviously.”

You stared at her, forcing your expression into something neutral, though the words caught in your throat, stuck like a splinter you couldn’t dislodge. Tiffany tilted her head, her sharp gaze narrowing as if she were piecing together a puzzle. Then, like a lightbulb flicking on, her eyes widened in realization.

“Oh, shit,” she said, drawing out the word with theatrical flair, a spark of mischief lighting up her face. “Wait. Are you two—?”

“No,” you cut her off, the word flying out of your mouth before you could stop it—too quick, too defensive, and far too loud. “No. Never. Absolutely not.” You shook your head so vehemently you half-expected it to detach and roll into the snow.

Tiffany’s shoulders relaxed, and a sly, knowing smile curled across her lips. “Thank God,” she said with a dramatic exhale of relief. “Because, girl, he is something else.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Too stunned, too caught off guard to even formulate a coherent reply. She was still talking, though, completely oblivious to your silence.

“His voice? So commanding and deep. And don’t get me started on his arms.” She sighed dreamily, her voice laced with admiration, before smirking, eyes glinting with shameless confidence. “I bet he’s got a big—”

“Oh my god,” you snapped, cutting her off sharply, your voice sharp and cutting enough to make her blink in surprise.

She laughed, raising her hands in mock surrender, her lips twitching with amusement. “Alright, alright. But you’ve gotta admit…” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “You see it too, don’t you?”

You didn’t respond—couldn’t respond. Your heart was pounding too loudly, drowning out any coherent thought. The idea of Tiffany—or anyone else—seeing Joel the way you did, noticing the little things that had etched themselves into your heart, made your chest tighten, your teeth clench.

But Joel wasn’t yours. The reminder echoed in your mind, firm and unrelenting, no matter how much you wished otherwise. You had no claim to him. No right to feel this twisting, burning knot of jealousy tightening in your chest. And yet, it was there, clawing at the edges of your composure.

You shifted your weight as you did your best to avoid answering her loaded question. “Don’t you think he’s…” you started, your gaze fixed on the snow below. You shoved your hands deep into your pockets, your shoulders curling inward. “…I don’t know, a little too old for you?”

Tiffany’s brows shot up before furrowing, her expression a mix of disbelief and defiance. “No way,” she said, shaking her head like the idea was absurd. “He’s older, sure, but that’s what makes him so… ugh.” She let out a dreamy sigh, glancing in the direction Joel had gone, as though the mere thought of him deserved its own reverence. “That just means he knows what he’s doing, you know? He’d take care of me.”

Her words sank into your chest like stones, their weight heavy and unwelcome. You nodded absently, your throat tight as you forced a small, noncommittal sound of agreement. But inside, you couldn’t shake the image of Tiffany’s words wrapping around Joel, claiming something that didn’t belong to her—or anyone else.

Tiffany grinned, utterly oblivious to the turmoil simmering just beneath your surface.

But Joel? Joel was never oblivious when it came to you. He noticed things—things no one else ever seemed to.

The way your fingers drummed a restless rhythm against your thigh when anxiety crept up on you, the tapping growing quicker the harder you tried to stop it.

Or how you bit the inside of your cheek when words pressed against the back of your teeth, ones you couldn’t quite bring yourself to say. Your eyes would dart away, searching for an escape, but Joel always caught the struggle in them.

He even noticed the little things—like how you could never quite manage Winnie’s saddle buckle in the biting cold, your gloved fingers clumsy against the frozen leather. At some point, he’d started fixing it for you beforehand, tightening the strap just enough, leaving it ready without saying a word. He’d never draw attention to it, either, just let you think it had been fine all along.

So, when Joel stepped out of the safe house, his broad shoulders framed by the doorway as he motioned for you and Tiffany to come inside, it was no surprise that his dark eyes immediately flicked between the two of you, scanning with that same sharp attentiveness.

But his gaze lingered longer when it landed on you.

For a fleeting moment, as his eyes met yours, something shifted. It wasn’t loud or obvious—just a subtle change, like the faintest crack in the ice on a frozen river. But it was enough. Enough to make your breath hitch, to make the storm brewing inside you feel seen, felt, understood.

It was as though, in that brief heartbeat, he saw past the walls you’d hastily built around yourself, past the quiet bitterness and the effort to bury it. Like he felt it too—the unspoken undercurrent that had been pulling at both of you for weeks now.

And then, just as quickly as it came, the moment was gone.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

The four of you took turns unloading the supplies from the horses, hauling them into the safe house in strained silence broken only by the occasional creak of floorboards or muffled clank of tools. Once everything was settled, you all gathered around the broken generator, its rusted, hulking form looming like an unspoken challenge in the small, dimly lit room.

The conversation quickly turned to mechanics, the others exchanging jargon and ideas about what needed fixing, which parts could be salvaged, and how to rig together a temporary solution. Even Tiffany crouched beside the machine, sleeves rolled up, poking at wires and bolts with a confidence that made your stomach twist. She spoke up, offering suggestions like she’d built the thing herself, her voice bright and assured.

You stood off to the side, shifting uncomfortably, arms crossed against the weight of your own awkwardness. When did everyone else get their degrees in engineering? you thought bitterly, watching their easy back-and-forth. You weren’t an expert on generators, sure, but standing there, silent and aimless, you couldn’t help but feel useless. The twinge of inadequacy gnawed at you, sharp and insistent, and no amount of repositioning your weight could shake the heaviness pressing down on your chest.

Joel’s sharp eyes flicked toward you, narrowing slightly as he caught the tension in your posture, the way you hovered at the edges of the group. “Hey,” he said, his voice low and steady, cutting through the hum of conversation. It felt like the millionth time he’d asked today, but this time, there was an edge of something softer, quieter, in his tone. “You alright?”

You forced a quick smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes, and nodded. “Yeah, uh… what can I do to help?”

For a moment, Joel just looked at you, and then there it was—that Joel smile. The one he seemed to reserve just for you, though you didn’t know that. Small, fleeting, barely curving the edges of his lips, but warm in a way that made your chest ache. “Uh, there’s coffee in my canteen,” he said, his tone light.

Your brow furrowed, confusion flickering into irritation. “You want me to get you coffee?” you asked, your voice sharper than intended. What were you, his assistant?

Joel let out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and genuine, as if the thought amused him. “No,” he said, shaking his head. His hand gestured toward the old couch shoved up against the far wall. “I’m tellin’ you to sit down. Get warm. Take a break.”

You blinked, his words catching you off guard. “Oh,” you said slowly, the pieces clicking into place. Then the irritation flared again, sharper this time. “Right. Because I’m too incompetent to actually do any work, so you’re just gonna sideline me with coffee?”

Joel’s expression shifted instantly, the warmth draining from his face as his brow furrowed deeply. “What?” he said, his voice low, confused, and tinged with something you couldn’t quite place.

But you didn’t let him finish. Turning on your heel, you headed toward the couch, your boots thudding against the floor as you plopped down with a frustrated huff, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“Whatever,” you muttered, refusing to meet his gaze. You could feel his eyes on you, heavy with an unspoken question, but you stared straight ahead, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the unwelcome sting of emotion at bay.

Joel stood there, dumbfounded, his hand dragging briefly over the back of his neck, a gesture that betrayed his frustration and uncertainty. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, the word heavy with a weight he didn’t know how to put down.

He hadn’t meant it like that—not even close. If anything, this was Joel taking care of you in the only way he knew how. Quietly. Thoughtfully. If you had seen the look in his eyes, you might have known that. But you didn’t, because your insecurities had already twisted his words into something they weren’t. To you, this was Joel’s way of letting you down easy, of reminding you that you weren’t capable enough, that you didn’t belong in this space. The distance between his intentions and your perception only seemed to grow, and the weight of it settled heavily on your chest, suffocating any hope of clarity.

Toby and Tiffany exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them as they stood awkwardly by the generator. Toby shrugged, bending back over the wires and bolts like nothing had happened, while Tiffany hesitated, her gaze flicking between Joel and you, perched stiffly on the couch across the room.

Leaning closer to Joel, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Is she… okay?”

Joel’s jaw tightened, his shoulders stiffening for a moment before he let out a low, almost imperceptible sigh. “She’s fine,” he said gruffly, but there was a softness beneath the words.

Tiffany raised a skeptical brow, but Joel didn’t elaborate, instead turning his attention back to the generator. Still, his hands hovered over the tools without moving, his focus clearly elsewhere. His gaze flicked toward you for a fraction of a second, lingering on the back of your head as you sat on the couch, facing away from the others—just long enough to reveal what he wouldn’t say.

And though he forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand, a part of him remained tethered to you, as if trying to figure out how to bridge the distance you had just placed between you.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

The muffled sounds of tinkering and low conversation from inside faded as you slipped out quietly, the cold biting at your cheeks as your boots sank into the snow. The horses stood where they were tied, their breaths visible in soft puffs against the growing storm. Snow was falling harder now, swirling in the wind and settling in uneven patches along the ground.

“Take a break,” you muttered under your breath, mocking Joel’s earlier words as you tugged your scarf tighter around your neck. The bitterness in your tone lingered in the cold air, sharp and unwelcome. You knew it was petty—childish, even. You shook your head at yourself, frustration simmering just below the surface. Acting like this wasn’t going to fix anything, but your moral compass was hazy with unresolved feelings.

Winnie greeted you with a soft nicker, her warm breath puffing against your chilled hands as you reached for her. Each snowflake bit at your cheeks, but you found solace in the gentle rhythm of her breathing and the softness of her mane beneath your fingers.

At least Winnie didn’t make you feel small. Out here, with her, you had a reason to linger—an excuse to stand watch for threats, even if the cold gnawed at your bones. Leaning forward, you pressed a kiss to her forehead, the gesture as much for your comfort as hers.

You didn’t hear him until his voice cut through the icy air, sharp and unmistakable.

“The hell’s gotten into you?” Joel’s tone was low, rough around the edges, carrying frustration laced with something softer—something almost like worry. His boots crunched steadily against the snow as he approached, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets, his shoulders hunched against the cold. Even in the dim light, you could see the familiar crease of concern etched across his brow, shadowing the sharp angles of his face.

“What?” you muttered, barely bothering to glance his way. The word came out colder than you meant, but Joel didn’t let it slide.

His hand came up, firm but careful, gripping your shoulder just enough to turn you toward him. His touch was steady, grounding, and you felt the warmth of it even through the thick layers of your jacket.

“I said,” he repeated, quieter now but no less insistent, “what’s gotten into you?” His dark eyes bore into yours, unflinching, searching for something beneath the ice you were so determined to hold in place.

“Nothing,” you snapped, the sharpness of your tone surprising even you. It hung in the space between you like a shard of glass, but Joel didn’t flinch. He didn’t back away.

You shifted on your feet, your boots scraping against the packed snow as you dropped your gaze to the ground. Maybe if you didn’t meet his eyes, you could shake the feeling that he saw too much, that he could pull apart the knot inside you with just a look. “Are you guys done yet?” you asked, the words clipped and distant.

“Almost,” he replied, his voice softer now, a steady patience beneath the gruffness. “They’re finishing up. But I came out to check on you.”

The words hit like a stone dropping into still water, rippling outward, unsettling. He came to check on you. Not because someone asked him to, not because it was his job, but because he noticed. Because he always noticed.

Because he knew you.

And that made it worse.

Even when you tried your hardest to disappear, to bury whatever storm was churning inside you, Joel saw straight through it. It wasn’t fair—the way he always noticed, the way he cared. Why couldn’t he keep you at arm’s length, like he did with everyone else? Why did he have to make it so damn hard to keep your guard up?

“What’re you doin’ out here in the cold?” he asked, his voice quieter now, laced with a thread of concern that made something in your chest tighten.

“Hanging with Winnie,” you replied, your tone sharp, deflective. You ran your hand along the horse’s neck, your fingers brushing through her mane more to avoid his gaze than anything else.

Joel sighed, a sound low and rough, like he was already tired of whatever battle you were picking with him. He shifted his weight, his eyes narrowing as he studied you, his expression unreadable. Then, just under his breath, he murmured your name. Not sharp, not scolding—just your name, quiet and raw, like it had slipped out before he could stop it. “Jesus,” he added, shaking his head, his voice softer now. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Your breath hitched, your hand freezing mid-stroke against Winnie’s neck. His words hung in the icy air, wrapping around you with a weight you didn’t know how to carry. There was frustration in his tone, sure, but there was something else beneath it—something warmer, deeper. It wasn’t anger; it was something softer, and it dug into you in a way you weren’t ready to face.

“Come back inside,” Joel said, his voice steady and firm, the kind of tone that didn’t leave room for argument.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, but the edge in your voice had dulled. It came out quieter, fragile even, though you still couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“Please.” The word wasn’t loud, but it cut through everything else. His voice softened, almost pleading, and the sound of it struck somewhere deep inside you. “Come inside. You’re gonna freeze to death out here.”

Something about the quiet desperation in his tone broke through your defenses, like a sharp wind slipping through a crack in the walls you’d built. You hesitated, your teeth catching your bottom lip as you finally, reluctantly, met his gaze.

Joel’s face was hard, his jaw set like he was bracing for a fight. But his eyes—God, his eyes—were raw. They held so much, too much. Concern, guilt, and maybe even something else, something that made your stomach twist and your chest ache all at once. Whatever it was, it rooted you in place, the tension between you taut and crackling with everything neither of you would say.

“Okay,” you breathed, the word barely audible, softer than the snow crunching beneath your boots as you took a tentative step forward.

Joel waited for you to move first, his presence steady and unyielding against the biting cold. The harsh wind tousled his hair, his muttered curse words barely audible, slipping through the frigid air. You glanced back at Winnie, her dark, liquid eyes following your movement, her breath rising in soft, rhythmic clouds that disappeared into the night.

“I feel bad for her, out in the snow,” you murmured, the words escaping before you could stop them. It was a silly thing to say, really—she was a horse, built for weather like this—but the thought tugged at your chest all the same.

Joel exhaled long and slow, his breath hanging in the frosty air as he spoke with quiet reassurance. “She’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

But he could see it, the hesitation still flickering in your eyes, the way your gaze lingered on Winnie like you weren’t entirely convinced. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just stood there, watching you, his dark eyes weighing something unspoken.

“I don’t know…” you mumbled, almost too quietly to hear.

Joel let out a barely audible sigh, his expression softening in a way that felt rare, almost sacred. Without a word, he moved toward Winnie. Each step was deliberate, almost reluctant, as though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. Slowly, his hand brushed over her mane, his fingers steady and careful, before he bent down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

It was a gesture so small, so out of character, that it stopped you in your tracks. Joel Miller didn’t do sweet things. He didn’t fuss, didn’t coddle, didn’t waste time on gestures that didn’t need doing. And yet, for you, he did.

“There,” he muttered, straightening back up with a grunt, his tone gruff like the act hadn’t meant anything at all. “Happy now? She got her kiss. She’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

But there was something in his voice—something unspoken that gave away more than his words ever could.

His attention shifted back to you then, his eyes flickering with something warm, steady. His hand hovered near your elbow, close enough to catch you if you stumbled, though he didn’t touch you. Not yet. “C’mon,” he said, softer this time, his voice carrying the kind of gentleness that wasn’t meant for just anyone.

As you started walking, his muttered grumble followed you, “Gonna catch a damn cold out here.”

You couldn’t help it—your lips curved into a small smile, your chest tightening at the tenderness of it all. Joel Miller, the man who kept everyone at a distance, who never showed softness, had just let you see something no one else got to see. A fleeting glimpse of something raw, unguarded.

And for a moment, the cold didn’t seem so sharp, and the world felt just a little warmer.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

Once inside, you made a beeline for the couch, your body moving on autopilot, determined to avoid the curious glances from Toby and Tiffany. Your fingers fumbled with the scarf wrapped around your neck, tugging it loose as the warmth of the safe house began to seep into your chilled skin. You kept your head down, your focus on the worn floorboards, irritation still simmering beneath the surface.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’, young lady?”

Joel’s voice sliced through the quiet, low and deliberate, with an edge of calm authority that made your steps falter. It wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be—the weight of it, the command in it, was enough to bring the room to a standstill.

Your hand froze mid-motion, the scarf slipping from your fingers as you turned your head slightly, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. He stood near the generator, his broad shoulders squared, one hand resting casually on his belt, the other hanging loose at his side. But his eyes—they were locked on you, steady and unwavering, pinning you in place like he had all the time in the world to wait for you to answer.

You gestured vaguely toward the couch, barely lifting your hand, refusing to meet his gaze for more than a fleeting second. “Back to the couch,” you muttered, your voice quiet, almost defiant.

Joel tilted his head just slightly, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the way he moved—slow, deliberate, like he already knew he’d won this exchange before it even began. “Nah-uh,” he said, shaking his head with a finality that sent a shiver down your spine. His voice dipped lower, calm but firm, the kind of tone that made your pulse quicken against your will. “Over here.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It wasn’t even a request. It was a command, plain and simple, and the way he said it left no room for argument.

Your breath hitched, your fingers curling into fists at your sides as you hesitated, his presence tugging at something inside you that you couldn’t quite place. Joel didn’t move, didn’t press, just stood there with his gaze fixed on you, patient but unyielding.

“Now,” he added, and the single word, spoken low and rough, sent heat curling low in your stomach despite the stubborn irritation you clung to.

A soft groan escaped your lips, but you turned on your heel, trudging reluctantly toward the group. The warmth in the room felt stifling now, crawling up your neck as you crossed the space. Joel’s eyes stayed locked on you, steady and unyielding, his hand lifting in a subtle motion to beckon you closer.

“Alright, step back for a sec,” Joel said, his tone firm but not unkind as he glanced at Toby. Toby gave a good-natured shrug and moved aside, leaving Joel with a clear path to the generator. Joel turned to you then, gesturing for you to come closer. “C’mere.”

You hesitated, crossing your arms defensively. “What is this, Joel?” you asked, annoyance still coloring your voice. “You’re gonna put me to work now?”

“Yeah,” Joel replied without missing a beat, his tone matter-of-fact as he crouched beside the generator. “You wanted to help, so here’s your shot.”

You blinked at him, your irritation faltering as you stared at his calm, steady expression. He wasn’t mocking you—if anything, he looked entirely serious. “What am I even supposed to do?”

“Alright,” he said, motioning for you to kneel next to him. “See this here?” He pointed to a cable dangling loosely from the side of the generator, its end frayed and useless. “This needs replacin’. I’ve got the spare part, but you’re gonna hook it up.”

Your eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” he said, his tone laced with patience, though his steady gaze left no room for argument. “It ain’t brain surgery. I’ll walk you through it.”

You hesitated, glancing between him and the generator. “And what if I screw it up?”

Joel didn’t miss a beat. “Then I’ll fix it,” he said, his voice calm, but the steadiness of it hit like a promise. As he handed you the new cable, his fingers brushed yours for a fleeting second, his gaze holding yours. “I’ve got you. Just listen,” he added, his tone steady, before that familiar mischievous glint lit his eyes. “Which I know is sometimes difficult for you.”

Your head shot up, a sharp “Hey!” slipping from your lips, though you couldn’t keep the grin from tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Joel huffed out a quiet chuckle, his voice dipping lower. “Kidding. Mostly.”

Still, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes as he handed you a small wire stripper. “Alright, fine. What do I do?”

“Strip the end of that wire,” he instructed, his voice calm and patient. When you hesitated, his hand came up to guide yours, warm and steady as he adjusted your grip. “Like this,” he said softly, before stepping back to let you try on your own.

With a shaky exhale, you worked the tool, fumbling at first but managing to peel back the rubber to reveal the copper beneath.

“Good,” Joel murmured, his voice quieter now, carrying a subtle hint of approval. “Now, take this.” He handed you the replacement cable, his fingers brushing yours again. “Line it up, and use the crimper to lock it in place.”

You glanced at him, still unsure. “And if I—”

“You won’t,” he interrupted, his gaze steady, grounding. “Just trust me.”

The words settled something inside you, and you followed his instructions, slowly crimping the wire until the connection clicked into place.

“Now tighten it with the wrench,” he said, his tone lighter now, gesturing to the tool beside you. “You’re doin’ fine.” For all his teasing, he was there, steady and close, watching you with the kind of patience he rarely showed anyone else.

Your hands moved more confidently this time, the task less intimidating under his quiet guidance. When the connection was secure, Joel flipped the switch. The generator sputtered before settling into a steady hum, filling the room with its soft, rhythmic whir.

Your lips parted in surprise. “I did it?”

Joel straightened, crossing his arms as a rare, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Told ya you could,” he said, his voice low, filled with quiet pride.

For a moment, you just stared at him, the warmth in his expression catching you off guard. “Alright,” you muttered, brushing your hands against your pants. “Maybe I’m not completely useless.”

Joel chuckled, a deep, warm sound that sent a flush creeping up your neck. “Never said you were,” he replied, his voice softer now, his eyes lingering on you for just a moment too long.

You glanced away quickly, your eyes darting to the floor as you tried to steady your breathing. Your hands fidgeted nervously, brushing against your thighs, but the telltale heat creeping up your neck betrayed you. You prayed he wouldn’t notice.

But Joel always noticed.

His gaze lingered, steady and sharp, like he could see straight through the layers you worked so hard to keep intact.

After all—He knew you.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

The supplies had been sorted, divvied up neatly between the group, and the preparations to head back to Jackson were nearly complete. With one less load to carry, the four of you now had three horses. The arrangement seemed obvious: you’d take Winnie, Toby would ride the spare, and Tiffany—of course—would ride back with Joel.

Without hesitation, you made your way to Winnie, your hand brushing her mane as you placed a boot in the stirrup and began to climb. You barely had a chance to settle before Joel’s voice cut through the air, firm and commanding.

“Nuh-uh,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You froze, your hands tightening instinctively on the reins as you glanced over your shoulder. His gaze was fixed on you, sharp and unwavering, the same look he always gave when he was about to insist on something that would, undoubtedly, irritate you.

“What?” you asked, frowning as you slid halfway out of the saddle, your voice tinged with confusion and just a touch of annoyance.

“You’re with me,” Joel said casually, already adjusting the stirrups and swinging onto his horse with a practiced ease that made your stomach twist. He settled in, one hand gripping the reins, the other resting comfortably on the saddle horn, as though this arrangement had been decided long before you’d even thought to protest.

Your heart stuttered, the weight of his words hanging heavily between you. “Why?” you asked, though the word came out softer than you intended, your irritation unraveling under the quiet intensity of his gaze.

“Because I said so,” Joel replied, his tone carrying that familiar, no-nonsense finality. But there was more to it—something unspoken in the way he looked at you, something quieter and deeper. He wasn’t offering an explanation, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that his reasons had nothing to do with logic or practicality.

You blinked, confused, your eyes darting from Winnie to Tiffany, who stood frozen, her gaze bouncing between you and Joel. Her shock was almost palpable, her wide-eyed expression practically begging you to do something—anything—but the words lodged in your throat.

“What about—?” you started, gesturing toward Tiffany.

“Oh,” Joel interrupted smoothly. His voice was as nonchalant as ever, his gaze not even meeting hers as he adjusted the reins. “Tiffany, you can take Winnie back. Be good practice for you. She’s a steady horse—solid as they come. You’ll manage just fine.”

Tiffany’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, like a fish gasping for air. Clearly flustered, she blinked at Joel, then at Winnie, as though trying to process what she’d just been told. “Uh… sure,” she finally stammered, her voice weak, her steps hesitant as she moved toward Winnie. Her fingers fumbled with the reins, and for a fleeting second, you thought she might actually refuse. But Joel’s attention had already shifted.

His gaze was back on you, steady and unyielding, as though he had all the time in the world but wasn’t planning on letting you waste any of it. One hand rested on the saddle horn, his other loosely gripping the reins, his posture impossibly calm. Then he tilted his head, motioning toward the empty spot behind him.

“Any day now,” Joel drawled, his tone light but carrying an edge of insistence that made your cheeks flush. It wasn’t impatience—it was something else. Something that said he expected you to listen, and not just because he’d asked.

You stood there, caught between confusion and something deeper, something warm and disorienting that made your heart race. The cold air seemed to fade into the background as you hesitated, but Joel’s steady gaze didn’t waver, as if willing you to close the distance. Reluctantly, you stepped toward his horse, feeling every inch of his attention follow your movements.

When you reached him, he extended a hand, his grip firm and effortless as he helped you up onto the saddle behind him. The ease with which he did it—like it was second nature—only made your pulse quicken.

“There ya go,” he murmured, his voice dipping low, “Good girl.” It was rough around the edges, the kind of tone that sent a shiver racing down your spine. Soft, almost intimate, like the words were meant for you alone. They lingered in the air, carried on the quiet hum of his breath, settling warm against the cold, like a secret shared between the two of you in the stillness of the moment.

You swallowed hard, the world narrowing to the feel of him, the scent of leather and pine and something unmistakably Joel. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his middle as the horse shifted beneath you, the motion jarring enough to force you closer. The heat of him pressed against you, steady and solid, the rise and fall of his breath grounding you in a way you weren’t prepared for.

Behind you, Tiffany’s silence was deafening, the weight of her unspoken words hanging in the frosty air. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care—not when Joel clicked his tongue softly, urging the horse forward, his body shifting ever so slightly against yours with each step.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

The snow crunched beneath the hooves, the wind tugged at your scarf, but none of it mattered. The steady rhythm of the ride, the warmth of Joel’s presence, and the quiet between you felt louder than anything else.

“Hold on tighter,” Joel said gruffly, his voice cutting through the quiet, tinged with that dry humor he always used to mask his concern. “If you fall off, I’m leavin’ ya here.”

A small huff of laughter escaped you, but you didn’t argue. Instead, you tightened your grip around his middle, your fingers curling into the thick fabric of his coat. He was warm—so warm—and it was impossible to ignore the way his steady presence seemed to anchor you against the sway of the horse.

“You comfy?” he asked after a moment, his voice softer now, carrying a gentleness that made your breath hitch.

“Yeah,” you managed, your voice barely a whisper, nearly drowned out by the rhythmic hoofbeats and the wind weaving through the trees.

Your heart thudded wildly against your ribs, the steady rhythm betraying your attempt to appear unaffected. It wasn’t just the ride or the chill of the air—it was Joel. The way his solid frame seemed to fit perfectly against yours, the rise and fall of his breath syncing with yours like a quiet, unspoken conversation. You pressed your cheek lightly against his back, pretending it was to shield yourself from the cold, but the truth sat heavy in your chest.

Your thoughts churned, tangled in the events of the day, each memory looping back to him. Joel. The way he always seemed to look out for you, in ways so quiet, so understated, that you often didn’t realize until later. How he’d noticed when you were off, and without a word, had come out to check on you—always in the background, always with that steady, unwavering presence. His quiet insistence that you help with the generator, his subtle pull to bring you back into the fold when you had been so tempted to retreat.

And now, here you were—riding behind him. Not Tiffany. Not anyone else. Just you, just him, the steady rhythm of his horse beneath you, the cold wind brushing against your skin. You weren’t sure what had changed, but something between you two felt different now, heavier in a way that made your chest tighten.

“You alive back there?” Joel’s voice broke through your thoughts, low and gruff,

You blinked, jolted from your reverie, your fingers tightening instinctively against the fabric of his coat. “Alive and well,” you replied, your voice quiet but steady as it carried over the sound of the wind. The way he always seemed to notice your silences made your chest ache in ways you weren’t ready to name.

“Good,” he said, his tone a little lighter now, almost teasing. “Ain’t ever heard you this quiet. Started to get worried.”

You laughed faintly, the sound barely escaping your lips, but it felt hollow even to your own ears.

“Hey,” Joel said again, softer this time, his voice a low rumble that seemed to cut straight through the cold air and settle deep in your chest. Before you could respond, you felt his hand leave the reins briefly, reaching back to rest gently against the outside of your leg, just above your knee. His touch was warm, steady, and it sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the chill in the air.

“You’ve been off all day,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your pants in a way that was almost absentminded, but undeniably grounding. “What’s eatin’ at you?”

You cursed him silently—for knowing you so well, for noticing the cracks in your armor even when you tried to keep everything bottled up tight. Joel always had a way of seeing straight through you, no matter how hard you worked to hide it. It was maddening, the way he seemed to sense when something was wrong without you having to say a word. You clenched your jaw, resisting the urge to let out a sigh. How could he always be so damn right about everything?

“Nothing,” you replied quickly, but the tremble in your voice betrayed you. It didn’t sound convincing, even to your own ears, and Joel wasn’t the kind of man to let something like that slide.

He hummed softly, a deep, unconvinced sound that made your heart skip a beat. “It’s not nothing if it’s got you upset,” he said, his voice low and steady, but carrying a weight that made it impossible to brush off.

“Who said I was upset?” you countered, your tone sharper than you intended, laced with a defensiveness that felt as transparent as glass.

Joel didn’t respond immediately. He let the silence stretch out, his patience steady and deliberate, matching the slow rhythm of the horse beneath you. It wasn’t the kind of silence that felt like surrender—it was the kind that made you squirm, made you feel like he was giving you enough rope to hang yourself with your own words.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but firm, each word measured and deliberate. “You’re always talkin’ my ear off, crackin’ jokes,” he said, the faintest hint of a drawl softening the edges of his tone. “Today? You’re quiet. Somethin’s wrong.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even an accusation. It was a statement—plain, simple, and as unyielding as the man himself. The matter-of-factness in his voice left no room for argument, no space for you to twist your way out of the conversation.

You stared at the back of his head, your jaw tightening as his words settled in. The worst part wasn’t that he was calling you out—it was that he was right. He always was, and that fact chipped away at the wall you were trying so hard to keep standing.

You sighed heavily, your breath rising in soft clouds and disappearing into the cold air. Without thinking, you rested your forehead against Joel’s back for a brief moment, the worn fabric of his jacket grounding you as you struggled to find the words.

“I just…” You hesitated, the sentence catching in your throat. The weight in your chest felt too big, too complicated to explain, so you grasped for something simpler. Something safer. “I didn’t feel good not being able to help back there.”

It wasn’t the whole truth. Not even close. The tangled knot of jealousy twisting deep inside you wasn’t something you were ready to touch, let alone untangle—not here, not now. This was easier. A deflection you hoped he’d accept.

Joel shifted slightly in the saddle, the motion subtle but enough to make you feel the steady strength of him. His hand left the reins for just a second, reaching back to your leg. His fingers pressed firm and reassuring, a brief squeeze before returning to their place, as if to say, I’m here. I’ve got you.

“You did help,” Joel said, his voice calm, steady, but with that unshakable certainty that made it clear he wasn’t just humoring you. “You figured out that generator, didn’t you?”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling to the surface as you sat up straighter. “No, Joel. You told me what to do. That’s not the same thing.”

Joel let out a huff, somewhere between exasperation and amusement, the sound rough but carrying a warmth that softened its edge. “So what? You’re the one who actually did it. Doesn’t matter how it got done, just that it did.”

“Joel…” you began, your voice quiet, but he cut you off before the words could form.

“Hey,” he said, firm but not harsh, the kind of tone that didn’t leave room for argument. His gaze flicked over his shoulder, catching yours for a fleeting second before settling back ahead. “No one’s perfect at everything. You think I was born knowin’ how to fix a damn generator? Someone taught me, same as I just taught you. And now, next time? You’ll know what to do.”

His words hung in the air, steady and grounding, wrapping around you like the warmth of a fire after hours in the biting cold. You hated that he was right—how easily his logic chipped away at your frustration—but you couldn’t deny the comfort it brought. The knot of doubt in your chest loosened, and for the first time all day, you felt yourself exhale fully.

“You gotta stop doubting yourself,” Joel added after a pause, his voice quieter now, almost tender in a way that made your throat tighten. “First your shootin’, now this.”

He turned his head slightly, just enough for you to catch the edge of his gaze, those dark eyes softened with something that looked like quiet insistence. “Why can’t you see what I see?”

The question hung in the air, soft and startling in its honesty. It wasn’t just about the generator or shooting—it was about everything. Every hesitation, every moment you second-guessed yourself, every time doubt crept in and clouded your own view of who you were. Joel saw through it all. He always did. And somehow, he saw something in you that you struggled to see in yourself.

Your heart stuttered, his words cutting through defenses you hadn’t even realized you’d built. They sank into the quiet, guarded parts of you, the parts too afraid to hope for anything more. You swallowed hard, the question slipping from your lips before you could stop it, barely more than a whisper.

“What do you see?”

Joel exhaled slowly, the sound heavy, deliberate, like he was weighing every word before letting them free. “I see a smart girl,” he said, his voice low and rough, carrying that familiar steadiness that never failed to settle something inside you. “Someone who believes in werewolves and damn near caught pneumonia because she couldn’t be bothered to fix her fireplace.”

His tone lightened just enough to coax a faint laugh from your chest, the smallest flicker of humor breaking the tension. But just as quickly as it came, it faded, replaced by something deeper, something more grounded. His gaze lingered on the horizon, the line of his shoulders unwavering as he spoke again.

“But I also see a strong woman. Someone who gives a damn about people, about her horse, about things most folks don’t even notice.” His voice softened, dipping lower, the words like a steady drumbeat, calm and sure. “Someone who doesn’t give herself near enough credit for all the good she’s done.”

The air seemed to still, his words settling over you like a weight—steady, grounding, but not suffocating. You blinked, swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat, his words cutting through every self-doubt you’d held onto for so long.

For a moment, you couldn’t respond. The truth in his voice was too much, too raw, too unflinching. And yet, it was exactly what you needed. Joel had a way of making you feel seen, even when you didn’t want to be. Especially when you didn’t want to be.

You blinked, your chest tightening as his words hit like a slow-burning flame, warming and terrifying all at once. They wrapped themselves around your heart, tugging in ways you weren’t ready to admit. He hesitated for a moment, his hands tightening on the reins as though grounding himself before continuing.

“Someone I’d trust to have my back any day,” Joel said, his voice quieter now, almost reverent, like the weight of the words cost him something to say. His tone was steady, but there was a fragility beneath it, as though he was laying bare something he rarely allowed anyone to see.

And then, his words faltered.

You held your breath, the space between you thickening with tension, so heavy it felt like it might collapse in on itself. Joel’s jaw tightened, his shoulders stiffening as his hand gripped the reins a little harder than necessary. For a fleeting second, it felt as if the world had gone silent, holding its breath with you, caught in the moment between what was being said and what wasn’t.

“Someone I…” His voice broke off, the words caught somewhere in his chest, as if there was something else, something he wasn’t sure he could say yet. His eyes stayed forward, distant, but you felt the shift in the air around you—like the world was teetering on the edge of something that might change everything between you.

The pause stretched just long enough to steal the breath from your lungs, long enough for your heart to thunder in your chest, half in anticipation, half in disbelief.

Joel exhaled sharply, a sound full of frustration and resignation, before the words came rushing out, quick and clipped. “Someone I trust.”

His tone was rough, almost harsh in its delivery, but it didn’t quite mask the emotion beneath it—the quiet vulnerability that came with saying something so simple, yet so much more than it seemed.

He kept his gaze fixed forward, his shoulders tense and unmoving, but the heat radiating from him told a different story. It was an intensity you could feel, like the storm brewing inside him was threatening to spill over, and he was holding onto his control by a thread.

Your hand tightened instinctively in the fabric of his coat, fingers curling into the worn material as if anchoring yourself to him could steady the whirlwind of emotions threatening to spill over. Your cheek brushed against his back, the warmth of him seeping through your layers, grounding you in a way words never could.

“I trust you too,” you said softly, the words barely louder than a whisper, but in the stillness of the moment, they felt as loud as thunder.

Joel stiffened for a beat, his shoulders going taut beneath your touch. Then, slowly, you felt the tension ease, like the weight of your words had sunk in, like they’d settled something inside him he hadn’t realized needed settling.

“Good,” he murmured after a moment, his voice low and rough, carrying that unspoken warmth only Joel could manage. “’Cause you should.”

The ache in your chest felt sharper now, edged with something you couldn’t name but knew you didn’t want to lose. It wasn’t fleeting—it was steady, insistent, rising in you like the calm before a storm. A quiet thing, both grounding and overwhelming, wrapping around your heart in a way you couldn’t shake.

You didn’t press him, didn’t dare to push further, afraid that if you did, the fragile thread stretched between you might snap. But the unfinished sentence—Someone I…—lingered in the space between you, like a ghost of what he couldn’t quite bring himself to say. It haunted you, impossibly sweet and maddeningly incomplete, yet somehow you knew. You felt it.

The way Joel’s voice had faltered, the stiffness in his shoulders as though he’d fought the words even as they clawed their way to the surface—it wasn’t hesitation. It was restraint. Careful, deliberate restraint. He hadn’t said it, but it was there, just beneath the surface, written in the rough edges of his voice, in the way his hand lingered, warm and steady against your leg.

For now, it was enough. It had to be.

The silence that settled wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy—thick with everything neither of you could quite bring yourselves to say. Trust, longing, and that quiet, undeniable pull that had been building between you, so subtle yet so unrelenting. It hung there, unspoken but certain, a feeling neither of you acknowledged but both of you knew was there.

And in that moment, you realized something that made your breath hitch: Joel felt it too. The same aching, restless longing that had been twisting inside you for months now—it wasn’t just yours to bear. It was his, too. He carried it in the way he looked at you a second too long, in the soft scrape of his thumb brushing against your leg, in the unspoken words he couldn’t quite bring himself to say but didn’t need to.

Sometimes, the words left unsaid carried more weight than anything spoken aloud. You didn’t need him to finish the sentence. You already knew how it ended.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

The rest of the ride passed in a quiet companionship that didn’t need filling, the kind of silence that felt intentional, almost sacred. Your cheek rested against Joel’s back, his steady warmth radiating through your layers of clothing.

You could’ve fallen asleep if it weren’t for the adrenaline still coursing through you, your pulse thrumming with a restless energy that refused to settle. It wasn’t the ride, or the cold, or even the events of the day—it was him. Joel. His voice, his words, the things he’d said to you, quiet and deliberate, in a way he wouldn’t have said to anyone else.

They echoed in your mind, soft and sharp all at once, replaying in fragments that left your chest tight and your thoughts tangled. Every word he’d spoken felt like it had been pulled from some part of him he rarely let anyone see, as if they’d been meant for you and you alone.

And they had been. You knew that.

You stared ahead into the darkness, the steady rhythm of the horse beneath you doing little to quiet the storm inside. He hadn’t said much, not outright, but Joel didn’t have to. Everything he did, every glance, every touch, every unspoken word was loud enough if you knew how to listen.

And yet, there was still that lingering thought, the one that tugged at the corner of your mind with quiet disbelief: You’d managed to turn Joel Miller soft.

It left you breathless, unmoored, and entirely unsure of what to do with the way your heart kept leaping at the memory of him saying, “Why can’t you see what I see?”

When you reached Jackson, the warm, golden glow of the stables cut through the icy night, casting flickering shadows against the snow. The sight was familiar, comforting, but it did little to steady the adrenaline still humming beneath your skin. Joel dismounted first, his movements efficient and deliberate, every motion controlled in that quiet way of his.

He turned toward you without a word, his hand extending. You hesitated for only a second before placing your gloved hand in his, the firmness of his grip grounding you. As he guided you down, his hands settled at your waist, strong and steady—but they lingered.

It was subtle, barely more than a heartbeat, but it was enough. Enough to send a rush of heat crawling up your neck, enough to make your breath hitch. When your boots hit the ground, you looked up, startled by the intensity of his gaze. His dark eyes met yours, holding them with a weight that made the air between you feel thick and electric.

Joel didn’t move, didn’t speak. His hands dropped slowly from your waist, but not before his thumb brushed against you—just barely, just enough to leave a ghost of his touch behind. There was something in his expression, something unspoken that flickered in the shadows of his face. It was soft, but it wasn’t weak. It was raw, searching—something he wasn’t ready to name but couldn’t seem to hide.

The warmth of the barn enveloped you as you turned toward Winnie, the steady rhythm of her breathing a small comfort against the quiet storm raging inside you. She watched you with those calm, knowing eyes, her presence grounding you in a way you desperately needed.

Leaning in, you pressed your lips softly to her muzzle, the coarse texture of her coat grounding you further. Your fingers brushed against her fur, your voice low and reverent as you whispered, “Thank you.” The words felt heavier than they should, like they carried the weight of everything you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

Once the horses were cared for and the supplies unloaded, the four of you stepped out into the crisp evening air, forming a loose circle near the stable doors. Without realizing it, you and Joel had gravitated toward each other, standing shoulder to shoulder as though drawn by some invisible thread. The connection felt instinctive, unspoken, as if some subconscious part of you couldn’t bear the thought of being too far from him.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky a deep, velvety blue speckled with faint stars that were just beginning to peek through. The chill in the air nipped at your cheeks, sharp but invigorating, though the warmth of Joel’s presence beside you seemed to soften its edge.

Toby shifted, turning to face the group, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets as his breath curled into soft clouds of condensation. His grin spread wide, mischievous and full of suggestion, the kind that made you instantly wary of whatever he was about to say.

“I think,” he began, his tone playful, dragging the words out for effect, “we deserve to celebrate. Drinks, anyone?”

Tiffany lit up at the suggestion, clapping her hands together despite the cold. “Yes, please,” she said, her voice bright and eager, like she’d been waiting for someone to say it. “We’ve definitely earned it.”

You hesitated, the thought of heading to the Tipsy Bison pulling at your frayed nerves. The day had left you raw, every emotion worn thin and exposed, stirring feelings you weren’t ready to confront—let alone share in a room filled with people. The idea of it seemed overwhelming, too loud, too much.

Before you could summon the words to decline, your gaze flicked to Joel. He stood beside you, his hands resting loosely at his sides, his posture casual, but his eyes—his eyes—were locked on you. Steady and searching, they seemed to hold a kind of quiet understanding, as if he already knew exactly what you were thinking but was waiting to hear it anyway. He wasn’t looking at the others, wasn’t waiting on anyone else’s answer. Just yours.

For a moment, the cold evening air seemed to pause around you, the rest of the world fading into the periphery until it was just him, just the space between you. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you searched his expression, looking for answers you weren’t sure you were ready to find.

And then you saw it. The flicker of something in his gaze—soft, unspoken, but so certain it made your chest tighten. A question that mirrored the one twisting in your own heart.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t grand. But it was there.

Only if you go.

It was in the way his gaze softened, in the subtle shift of his shoulders like he was already prepared to follow wherever you led. It was a pull you couldn’t ignore, a quiet promise that wrapped itself around you and settled in your chest.

Your breath caught, and for a fleeting second, the decision felt impossibly simple. You didn’t want the noise, the crowd, the chaos. But if Joel was there—if he stayed close, if he was by your side—suddenly, it didn’t seem so unbearable.

“Why not?” you heard yourself say, the words slipping out before you had time to second-guess them. They surprised even you, but as they hung in the crisp air, the idea settled somewhere between distraction and quiet surrender. Maybe a drink—or two—was exactly what you needed to take the edge off the rawness of the day.

You turned back to Toby, a small, reluctant smile forming despite yourself. “Alright.”

Toby’s face lit up instantly, his enthusiasm almost infectious as he clapped his hands together. “Let’s go, then!” he said, already heading toward the glow of the Tipsy Bison, his breath puffing in soft clouds in the cold night air.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

The boys walked ahead, their conversation already dipping into something mundane—probably the generator, judging by Toby’s animated hand gestures. You trailed behind, your steps slower, your thoughts heavier, the cold air tugging at your coat and weaving its way through the cracks in your defenses.

Your gaze drifted toward Joel, his stride steady and sure, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets. Even without seeing his face, you knew how he’d look: his brows drawn together in that familiar furrow, his cheeks tinged pink from the cold, the rough edge of his jawline catching the faint light of the stable lanterns. Your eyes followed the line of his neck, lingering on the way his curls wrapped loosely around the nape, slightly tousled by the evening chill. You wondered, almost absently, what they might feel like under your fingers—soft or coarse, maybe both.

But even as Joel walked beside Toby, you didn’t miss it: the way his head turned back, a quick, deliberate glance over his shoulder. It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t meaningless. He wasn’t just looking—he was checking. Making sure you were still there, still close, his dark eyes searching the space between you with a kind of quiet vigilance that made something in your chest ache.

The gesture was subtle, but it spoke louder than words ever could. Joel Miller, with his guarded heart and gruff demeanor, was always watching for you, always attuned in a way that felt both protective and deeply, undeniably personal.

Before you could fully unpack the strange warmth flickering in your chest, Tiffany slipped her arm through yours, her cheerful presence cutting through your reverie like sunlight through frost. She pulled you closer, her steps light and bouncy, her tone a little too bright for the quiet weight that had settled over you.

“This is good,” she said, practically humming with optimism. “Maybe he’ll loosen up after a few drinks.”

Her words stopped you cold, your steps faltering as the implication hit like a rock in the pit of your stomach. For a moment, you’d forgotten Tiffany’s obvious interest in Joel—forgotten the way she leaned into him earlier, her laugh lingering in the air like an unwelcome echo. But now, it landed with uncomfortable weight, stirring a sharp, uneasy ache deep inside.

You glanced at her, her face lit with a kind of hopeful mischief that made your stomach twist. Her eyes sparkled with the kind of intent that sent your thoughts spiraling, an unwelcome reminder of what she wanted, of what she might be hoping for tonight.

You sighed, the sound barely audible, as the weight of her words settled heavily in your chest, pressing against that fragile warmth Joel’s glance had sparked. “Yeah, maybe,” you said, forcing the words out carefully, your tone deliberately neutral. But even as they left your lips, they felt hollow, brittle, like a lie you were trying too hard to believe.

And yet, the sharp ache lingered, twisting inside you with a quiet persistence that you couldn’t quite ignore. The idea of Joel loosening up for anyone but you—for Tiffany, of all people—was a thought you didn’t want to touch, didn’t want to examine too closely.

You ached for it—to be only you, only you, only you.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

The Tipsy Bison enveloped you in its warmth the moment you stepped inside, the air alive with the low hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, and the faint crackle of a fire in the corner. It was a stark contrast to the biting cold outside, the warmth sinking into your skin and loosening the tension in your shoulders.

Joel held the door open for you and Tiffany, his broad frame silhouetted against the chilly night beyond. He didn’t say a word, just gave a gruff nod when you murmured your thanks, his eyes flicking to the room ahead as though cataloging every face, every movement.

As you wove your way through the crowded space, Joel stayed close, his presence a quiet, protective force at your side. His hand brushed yours briefly—not intentional, just the result of navigating the narrow space between tables—but it sent a jolt through you nonetheless. You couldn’t help but notice the way he positioned himself just slightly ahead of you, his body instinctively shielding you from the lingering gazes of a few too-drunk men slouched near the bar.

When you reached a booth at the back of the room, Toby slid in first, his grin wide as he made himself comfortable across from you. Tiffany slipped in beside you, her shoulder brushing yours as she adjusted her coat. Joel stayed standing for a moment longer, his gaze sweeping the room once more before he turned to you.

“What’s everyone havin’?” he asked, his voice low but carrying enough weight to cut through the noise.

Toby rattled off his drink of choice with the same enthusiasm he approached everything, while Tiffany leaned forward slightly, her tone bright as she added hers. You hesitated, the noise of the room making it hard to focus, but Joel’s eyes found yours, steady and waiting.

“I’ll just have—uh, whiskey,” you managed, your voice quieter than you intended. Joel gave a small nod, then stepped away toward the bar without another word.

When he returned, he slid into the seat across from Tiffany, his broad shoulders cutting an imposing silhouette in the dim light. The flicker of the firelight caught the edge of his jaw, casting shadows across his face as he set the drinks on the table. His eyes flicked briefly to you, a silent check-in, before he leaned back, one arm draped casually over the back of the booth.

You wished you were sitting next to him. The thought was quiet, almost shameful, but it burned all the same, stubborn and unrelenting. You wished you could feel his warmth—not just the kind that wrapped around you when he glanced your way, but the literal heat of him, the inexplicable way he always seemed so warm even in the coldest rooms. Instead, you were pressed against Tiffany, who shifted closer with an air of practiced ease, her presence a sharp reminder of just how far away Joel felt.

Across the table, the men had fallen into an easy rhythm, their voices low and steady. Joel was explaining something about perimeter checks, his tone calm and deliberate, completely unbothered by the din of the bar around you. Toby nodded along eagerly, his enthusiasm almost boyish, leaning forward like every word Joel said held the weight of a lesson he couldn’t afford to miss.

Joel, on the other hand, looked perfectly at ease, one arm draped over the back of the booth, his broad frame filling the space with that quiet authority that was just him. He spoke in that deliberate, grounded way of his, the rough timbre of his voice cutting through the chatter in the room like it was meant for you to hear, even if it wasn’t.

Tiffany let out a quiet sigh beside you, rolling her eyes dramatically as she leaned back in her seat, her lips quirking in mock annoyance. “Men can be so boring,” she muttered, her voice just loud enough for you to catch.

You barely glanced at her, your gaze flicking back to Joel—at his steady presence, his calm focus, at the way his brow furrowed slightly as he gestured toward Toby with the faintest hint of impatience.

Tiffany shifted closer, leaning into you as her voice dropped, her tone suddenly conspiratorial. “Let’s make this a bit more interesting,” she murmured, her words laced with mischief. Her smile widened as though she’d just decided to stir the pot, her eyes darting toward Joel with a spark of intent that made something sharp and uneasy twist in your chest.

The glint in her eye made your stomach tighten, a warning bell you couldn’t quite ignore. “What do you mean?” you murmured, hesitant, but before you could get an answer, she straightened in her seat, her expression shifting in an instant.

“Joel,” she said, her voice taking on a saccharine lilt that set your teeth on edge. The single word dripped with calculated sweetness, pointed in a way that made you tense. Whatever she was about to say, you knew it wasn’t good—not for you.

Joel glanced at her, his brow raising slightly, his posture shifting just enough to show that he’d heard her. The low rumble of his attention settling on Tiffany made your stomach twist, and you braced yourself, wishing you’d found an excuse to sit somewhere else, anywhere else.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Tiffany asked, her tone light and casual, as if she weren’t dropping a conversational grenade right in the middle of the table.

Your drink nearly went down the wrong pipe. You coughed, hurriedly setting your glass down as heat crept up your neck. Joel’s gaze snapped to yours immediately, sharp and searching. For a moment, his expression was unreadable, but his hand moved to the back of his neck, his fingers rubbing there awkwardly—a tell you’d come to recognize when he felt cornered.

“Uh,” Joel started, clearly caught off guard. “No. No, I don’t.”

Tiffany’s eyebrows lifted, her curiosity far from sated. “Are you seeing anyone?” she pressed, her voice teetering between casual curiosity and something more pointed, something that made your stomach twist.

Joel’s lips pressed into a thin line, his brows furrowing as though the question itself was so foreign it didn’t make sense to him. “Seeing anyone?” he echoed, his tone incredulous. “No.”

You stared down at the table, willing yourself to focus on the worn grain of the wood instead of the tension stretching across the booth. Your chest tightened, nausea creeping into your stomach as Tiffany leaned in slightly, her persistence unrelenting.

“So, you’re single?” Tiffany pressed, the words dripping with a coy curiosity that made your stomach twist. She already had her answer—everyone at the table did—but the way she lingered on it felt pointed, deliberate.

Joel let out a heavy sigh, his jaw tightening as he glanced between her and you. His gaze lingered on you, just for a moment, but it was enough to send a ripple of something sharp and unspoken through the space between you. “Yeah,” he said finally, his voice gruff, clipped, almost reluctant. “I guess.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and uncomfortably final, the kind of answer that felt more like a line drawn than a simple admission. Joel shifted in his seat, his movements restless, his broad shoulders stiff with an unease you knew he was trying to suppress. But his eyes flicked toward you again, catching yours in a way that felt like he was trying to gauge your reaction—or maybe bracing himself for it.

For a fleeting second, you saw something there. Something quiet and fleeting, like a crack in his otherwise impenetrable exterior. Regret, maybe. Or hesitation. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it left you reeling all the same, your chest tightening under the weight of emotions you couldn’t untangle.

Tiffany smiled faintly, her satisfaction evident as she leaned back in her seat. The grin tugging at her lips was far too pleased, the way her gaze flicked briefly to you far too calculating. She didn’t press further, content to let her words linger like a mark she’d just left on the conversation.

“Good to know,” she said, her tone light but pointed, as though she’d just tucked away something she planned to use later. She picked up her drink, taking a long, slow sip, her attention sliding back to Joel as though you weren’t even there.

You weren’t sure what to feel. You knew Joel wasn’t seeing anyone—not like you’d asked outright, like Tiffany had, but because you just knew. He kept himself too guarded, too closed off to let anyone in. And a part of you was relieved, a quiet reassurance settling in your chest. But alongside that relief came a sharper, more insistent pang of disappointment.

Whatever you had with Joel, whatever this was, it wasn’t enough to be labeled. Not enough to be classified. Not enough to be his.

The thought sent your mind spiraling, a whirl of feelings you couldn’t untangle. The whiskey only muddled things further, the warmth of it spreading through your chest, making it harder to focus, harder to keep the storm in your head from spilling over.

Joel cleared his throat suddenly, the sound breaking through your haze. His hand curled tightly around his glass, his fingers flexing against the smooth surface before he took a deliberate sip. His expression was unreadable, but his shoulders were rigid, the tension rolling off him in waves that even the dim light couldn’t hide.

The conversation stumbled forward awkwardly, Toby and Tiffany exchanging light banter as though nothing had happened, their words brushing over the jagged edges left behind. You barely registered them, your focus caught on Joel—on the way his jaw tightened, on the way his gaze flicked downward, avoiding the weight of the moment like he could somehow will it away.

His answer had been so simple, so clear—and yet, it left your chest aching in a way you couldn’t explain. As if the truth of it, the finality of it, only underscored the gap between you, the unspoken space that stretched like a chasm no words could bridge.

You stared down at your drink, your fingers tightening around the glass, the room suddenly feeling unbearably hot. The whiskey wasn’t helping, its heat mingling with the tension pressing down on you, suffocating and unrelenting. You debated excusing yourself to the bathroom just to escape, to breathe, or maybe claiming you were sick—any excuse to get the hell out of there before you unraveled completely.

But before you could make a move, Toby’s voice cut through the din.

“What about you?” he asked, his tone softer now, shy in a way that caught you completely off guard.

Your head snapped up, your thoughts scattering. “Huh?”

“What?” Joel’s voice joined yours, sharp and immediate, cutting through the noise with startling precision.

The suddenness of his reaction startled you, your brows knitting together as you glanced toward him. Joel’s head was turned, his gaze fixed on Toby, and there was something in his expression—something hard, unrelenting—that sent a faint ripple through the tension already gripping the booth.

“Sorry,” Toby stammered, his cheeks flushing crimson as he stumbled over his words. “I mean… uh… do you have a boyfriend?” He glanced at you sheepishly, his gaze darting between you and the table like he wasn’t sure where to land.

You barely had time to process his question before your attention was pulled back to Joel.

He didn’t say anything, but his reaction was immediate and impossible to miss. His broad shoulders, which had been leaning back against the booth in an uncharacteristic moment of relaxation, stiffened. His entire frame went taut, coiled with a tension that radiated through the air like a live wire. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he straightened, his jaw tightening until the muscle there ticked with the effort.

His hand, still wrapped around his glass, tightened visibly, the faint sound of the glass creaking under the pressure cutting through the muffled chatter of the bar.

The intensity of his reaction wasn’t lost on you—or anyone else at the table. Tiffany’s gaze flicked between you and Joel, her brows arching in mild curiosity, while Toby seemed to shrink under the weight of Joel’s sudden, silent focus.

“Oh,” you breathed, the word soft, caught somewhere between surprise and discomfort. You hadn’t realized Toby was interested in you—though, now that you thought about it, maybe you should have. The signs had been there, subtle but undeniable: the glances, the way he always made sure to include you in conversations, the warmth in his tone whenever he spoke to you. It had probably been obvious to everyone but you.

All day, Toby had made an effort, his kindness impossible to ignore despite the heaviness of your mood. When you’d ridden together, he’d kept the conversation light, asking questions to fill the silence, his laugh lingering a little too long at things you hadn’t meant to be funny. He’d gone out of his way to grab your pack when you stopped to dismount at the safe house, his actions quiet but deliberate, his presence steady in a way that had felt, at the time, more comforting than intrusive.

At the generator, when you’d fumbled through Joel’s instructions, Toby had stood off to the side, patient and smiling, offering soft reassurances with every mistake. He’d been there, consistently and reliably, as though he’d been waiting for a moment like this one—to ask outright.

You looked at him now, his cheeks still tinged with color, his eyes flicking nervously between you and the table. He wasn’t pressuring you, wasn’t pushing for an answer, but the vulnerability in his question hung there, quiet and earnest.

“No,” you said finally, the word slipping from your lips like a quiet sigh. Your gaze dropped to your drink as you spoke, unable to meet his eyes. “There’s no one.”

Why did those words burn in Joel’s chest? There’s no one. They echoed in his mind, sharper each time, digging in like barbs he couldn’t pull free. He kept his eyes downcast, his gaze fixed on the scuff marks on his boots, the grain of the table—on anything but you. But he couldn’t shut out the sound of your voice, soft and steady, carrying a truth that shouldn’t have hit him the way it did.

No one.

Not even him.

The thought scraped against him, raw and unrelenting. His grip on his glass tightened imperceptibly, his knuckles brushing the rough wood of the table. He hated the way those words settled inside him, heavy and unwelcome, pulling at something he’d locked away for so long he’d convinced himself it wasn’t there.

He didn’t know why it bothered him—not in a way he could explain, at least. But deep down, in the part of him he never let anyone see, he knew. He knew exactly why those words had knocked the air from his lungs. And it wasn’t something he could afford to think about—not here, not now.

Across from you, Toby nodded, his expression softening into something that made Joel’s jaw tighten. That quiet hope, the kind that only seemed to grow with your answer, set Joel on edge. He could see it—the way Toby leaned forward slightly, his lips parting, already building the courage to say something else.

But you moved first.

“I, uh…” Your voice wavered, just enough to betray the turmoil swirling beneath your carefully composed exterior. Your hands fidgeted in your lap, and you glanced toward Tiffany, a polite but forced smile flickering across your face. “Mind letting me out? I need to use the bathroom.”

Tiffany blinked, surprised by your sudden shift, but she didn’t question it. Sliding out of the booth with a quick, “Sure,” she gave you just enough room to slip free.

You needed to get away—needed air, space to think, to pull yourself together before you unraveled entirely. The hum of the crowded bar pressed in from all sides as you weaved toward the back, the warmth of bodies and chatter brushing against you like a tide, but your mind was elsewhere. Stuck on Joel. On the way he hadn’t looked at you—or, worse, the way he had.

The knot in your chest tightened, sharp and unrelenting, as you slipped out of sight.

Joel’s eyes stayed on you until the last possible second, tracking your movement through the crowd like it was second nature, like he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to. His hand tightened around his glass, the condensation biting into his skin as he forced himself to look away. He dragged his gaze back to the table, and it landed on Toby.

The younger man’s face was a mix of nerves and quiet hope as he watched you disappear toward the back, his expression so open, so transparent it made Joel’s stomach churn.

Something sharp twisted deep in Joel’s chest, hot and unwanted. He swallowed hard, the tension in his jaw spreading like wildfire through his shoulders. His knuckles whitened against the glass, his grip unrelenting, like holding onto it might keep the rest of him steady.

“Damn it,” Joel muttered, the words low, barely audible, swallowed by the hum of the bar.

He hated this.

Hated the way his chest ached with every second you were gone. Hated the way Toby’s poorly concealed interest made his blood run cold, a visceral reaction he couldn’t suppress no matter how much he told himself it didn’t matter.

He regretted coming, regretted letting the night drag on when he should’ve found some excuse to leave. But you had said yes—and that was the only reason he was in this room right now.

Joel knew he had no right to act this way, no right to feel the sharp ache twisting in his chest every time Toby glanced at you, every time you spoke, your voice quiet but steady, a voice Joel had grown far too attached to hearing. He knew it. Knew he should be better than this, stronger than this. He was a man, after all—he should have the courage to make his intentions known.

Because you deserved that.

Hell, you deserved better than that. Better than someone too afraid to speak up, too scared to say the things that had been clawing at him for months. Better than drunken words and lingering stares. Better than half-formed sentences where he revealed only fragments of his true feelings, leaving you to piece together the rest like a puzzle. Better than someone who could only show their care by fixing things in your house or cooking you dinner because words felt too heavy to say out loud.

You deserved more than his gazes—those heavy, unguarded looks that carried everything he wished he had the courage to say but never did. Better than someone like him—a man worn down by the weight of his past, by the things he’d lost and the things he was too scared to want again. A man who couldn’t even admit what he felt, not even to himself.

The truth? Joel wasn’t sure he even knew how to do it anymore.

He was broken in ways he hadn’t expected, fractured in ways that made the thought of claiming someone—of making you his—feel both impossible and inevitable.

The idea of letting someone in again, of letting you in—God, it terrified him more than anything else ever had. Not the cold, not the infected, not the countless threats he’d faced over the years. None of it came close to the fear that gripped him now.

And yet, sitting here, watching Toby try to step into a place Joel didn’t even have the courage to admit he wanted to fill, made him feel worse than any fear ever could.

Because deep down, Joel knew.

No matter how hard he fought it, no matter how much he tried to convince himself it wasn’t smart, wasn’t safe—he wanted you. Needed you. And that truth, unspoken and fragile, burned hotter than anything he’d felt in a long, long time.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

You stood in the bathroom, gripping the edges of the sink as cold water dripped from your face, an attempt to clear your mind. “Snap out of it,” you whispered, staring at your reflection. The water cooled your skin, but it did nothing to extinguish the heat lingering in your cheeks or the tightness in your chest.

You were single. Joel was single.

There was no reason for this knot twisting inside you. None at all. Whatever this feeling was—this ache, this ridiculous yearning—you needed to shake it off. You were a big girl. You’d faced down men and infected alike. You could deal with this.

But as you stepped out of the bathroom and made your way back to the booth, a flicker of dread sparked in your chest. You prayed the earlier tension had dissolved into the hum of the bar’s chatter, prayed the conversation had moved on.

It hadn’t.

The moment you slid back into your seat, Toby’s hopeful eyes locked onto you, bright and unwavering, the same way they’d been all night. It was clear he hadn’t let it go, and your stomach twisted uncomfortably as his next words spilled into the space between you.

“You wanna maybe go fishing with me one day?” he asked, his voice hesitant but carrying just enough optimism to make you want to curl into yourself.

The question caught you off guard. You froze, the words forming on your tongue but refusing to come out, unsure of how to let him down gently.

You didn’t have to.

“She doesn’t like fishin’.”

Joel’s voice cut through the air, low and deliberate, a statement delivered with the kind of certainty that left no room for argument. His gaze stayed fixed on the glass in his hand, his thumb brushing absently along the rim as though he hadn’t just claimed something that only someone close to you would know.

It wasn’t a suggestion.

It was a fact.

He knew you.

And Joel said it like it was as obvious as the sky being blue, as though the thought of you sitting on the edge of some lake with a fishing rod in hand was laughable.

Your breath caught, and you turned to glance at him, but he didn’t meet your eyes. His focus stayed stubbornly on his drink, his shoulders tense, his posture casual but betraying none of the calm he was trying to project.

You forced a laugh, thin and strained, trying to dissolve the tension that had thickened in the air. “Yeah, too slimy for me,” you said, your voice a touch too bright, the kind of tone that begged the conversation to move on. But it didn’t. You couldn’t ignore the weight of Joel’s words, the way they lingered, heavy and unspoken, loud in the space between you all.

Toby chuckled lightly, shifting in his seat as he clearly tried to salvage the moment. “Alright, then,” he said, his tone turning curious, his gaze warm as he leaned forward slightly. “What do you like?”

Joel’s hand tightened around his glass, the faint creak of condensation against wood almost audible in the pause that followed. His knuckles whitened, his grip unrelenting as his jaw clenched just slightly, his body stiffening like he was bracing for something he didn’t want to hear.

He didn’t need to ask. Joel already knew.

“Um… movies,” you replied finally, your voice quieter now, softer, as if trying not to stir the delicate balance.

Toby’s face lit up immediately, his boyish enthusiasm shining through. “Well,” he said, leaning a little closer, “next movie night’s what, three days away? You, uh, wanna go with me?”

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening at the question. The silence that followed felt deafening, pressing in from all sides as the weight of Toby’s words settled between you. You didn’t answer—not immediately. Instead, your eyes flicked toward Joel, searching for something, anything.

Hoping.

Hoping for some kind of reaction, some sign that he’d heard, that he cared. Hoping for the impossible—that Joel, so steady and guarded, might do something completely unlike himself. That he might surprise you, surprise everyone in the room, with some grand declaration.

Something that said, back off, she’s mine.

But Joel didn’t look up. His gaze remained firmly fixed on his glass, his fingers gripping the curve of it so tightly you thought it might shatter. His knuckles were pale, his jaw clenched, but his expression was maddeningly unreadable.

The weight of Joel’s silence pressed hard against your chest, making it almost impossible to breathe. Toby waited, his eyes wide with nervous hope, and beside you, Tiffany poked your leg under the table, her gaze practically screaming, Say yes.

Finally, with a soft sigh, you shook your head at yourself, forcing a smile onto your lips, even as your heart twisted painfully. “Yeah,” you said, the word falling like a stone in the heavy, suffocating air. “I’d like that.”

You didn’t have to add the last sentence. You could have left it at that, but bitterness rose in your throat, sharp and unrelenting, and you felt a surge of anger you didn’t know how to contain. Over the last few months, Joel had fooled you—fooled you into thinking he cared, in his own quiet, guarded way. The way he fixed things in your home without you asking, the way his voice softened when he said your name, the way his eyes lingered on you just a second longer than necessary.

It had all made you believe there was something there, something unspoken but tangible, fragile and real. And now? Now, Joel sat there like it all meant nothing.

He couldn’t even meet your eyes.

You turned your gaze to Toby, offering him the kind of polite smile you knew wouldn’t reach your eyes. Your chest burned with a mix of anger and hurt, the ache twisting deeper as Joel’s silence echoed louder than the words he refused to say.

If this was how Joel wanted to play it, then fine. You could play along too. Even as your heart fractured, even as your pulse betrayed the sharp longing still buried deep inside, you could pretend none of it mattered.

Tiffany squealed beside you, her hand squeezing your leg in excitement, completely oblivious to the storm brewing across the table. “Why don’t we go together?” she chirped, her voice bright and eager as she turned to Joel. “Like a double date!”

The words hung in the air like a slap, the tension snapping taut as though an invisible wire had been pulled too tight.

Joel’s gaze snapped up instantly, his dark eyes sharp and cutting as they locked onto Tiffany. The flicker of something raw crossed his face—anger, disbelief, or maybe something deeper, something he was trying and failing to bury.

Your head whipped around to look at him too, your pulse roaring in your ears. Joel’s jaw worked, the muscle in his cheek ticking like he was physically holding back the flood of words teetering on the edge of release. His knuckles were stark white against the glass in his hand, and for a moment, you thought he might crush it in his grip.

“I’m not much for movies,” Joel said finally, his voice low and rough, each word clipped like it had been dragged out of him against his will.

His eyes flicked to yours for the briefest second, and the intensity there—sharp, unguarded, and fleeting—stole your breath.

The statement echoed in your chest, hollow and biting. Not much for movies.

The words clashed violently with a memory so vivid it still felt warm: Joel, saving you a seat at movie night, his thigh pressed firmly against yours in the crammed room. The quiet weight of his presence had grounded you in a way you hadn’t even realized you needed. He hadn’t cared about the film—not even a little—but he’d stayed. He’d endured the crowded room, the flickering screen, the buzz of voices, not for himself but for you.

And now?

Now he was saying this. Throwing out a statement that felt too final, too deliberate, as if he was trying to rewrite the kind of man he was when he was with you. You couldn’t decide if it was a feeble attempt to escape the night ahead, an excuse to sidestep the tension in the room, or something else entirely. Something sharper. Something that felt like he was trying to carve out distance between you, to create space where there hadn’t been any before.

Your chest tightened painfully, the ache sharp and unrelenting. You weren’t sure what hurt more: the possibility that he meant it or the fact that he was saying it at all.

For a moment, you thought about calling him out. The words hovered on the edge of your tongue, ready to push back against the quiet wall he was trying to build between you. But you stayed silent, the weight of the room pressing against your resolve, and let the ache settle quietly inside you instead.

Your eyes flicked to him again, searching, needing to find something—anything—that might make sense of this. But Joel’s gaze was firmly fixed on his glass, his hand tightening around it like it was the only thing keeping him steady.

“Aw, c’mon, Joel,” Toby said, his laugh nervous but attempting to sound easygoing. “Could be fun. Loosen up a little.”

You couldn’t help but think how foolish Toby was—pressing Joel when his silence wasn’t indifference but a storm brewing just beneath the surface. You knew that rage, knew it by the hard set of Joel’s jaw, the slight flare of his nostrils, and the way his words came clipped and measured, each one carrying a weight that didn’t invite a challenge.

Joel’s rage wasn’t loud or explosive; it was the quiet, simmering kind, like the heat of a blade just before it burned. You’d seen it before. You’d seen what it looked like when it boiled over—the ruthless precision with which he’d ended men without hesitation, his movements sharp, controlled, but brimming with fury.

And now, though his attention stayed fixed on his drink, his fingers still curled tight around the glass, you could feel the same tension radiating off him in waves. Toby, oblivious, was pressing where he shouldn’t, nudging a sleeping bear with nothing more than nervous laughter and misplaced optimism.

Joel didn’t reply, but his silence was louder than words, a force that seemed to thicken the air around the table. His grip on the glass tightened just slightly, his knuckles stark against the dim light.

You bit the inside of your cheek, torn between stepping in to defuse the moment and letting Toby figure out his mistake on his own. Joel wouldn’t lose control—not here, not now. But the storm brewing in him was unmistakable, and you couldn’t help but feel the undercurrent of it dragging you under too.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

As you all stepped out of the Tipsy Bison, the night air bit sharply at your cheeks, wrapping itself around you like a second skin. Your breath rose in soft clouds, vanishing into the dark sky as the group lingered in an awkward silence. Toby and Tiffany filled the void with their chatter, their voices light and carefree, but their words barely registered in your mind, lost in the din of your own thoughts.

Your gaze drifted to Joel, standing a few paces away. It was strange—almost surreal—how just a few hours ago, he had poured his heart out to you in his own quiet, reserved way. His words had been understated, simple, but they had carried the weight of trust, something you knew didn’t come easily for him. Now, that connection felt miles away, the distance between you unbearable.

Joel stood with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, his shoulders drawn up against the cold. His head was tilted slightly downward, his gaze fixed on the ground like it held all the answers he couldn’t face in you. His jaw was set, the faint movement of muscle betraying the storm he was holding at bay.

But what stung the most was the absence of his attention. Joel didn’t look at you—didn’t even glance your way. His avoidance felt deliberate, each second of his silence cutting deeper than any sharp remark or cold shoulder could have.

You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, the chill biting at your skin, but it couldn’t compare to the ache swelling in your chest. You had dealt with Joel’s silences before—they were almost as much a part of him as the way he carried a rifle or the way he fixed things in your house without you asking. His silences were familiar. But this? This was different.

This was him shutting you out entirely, retreating behind walls so high and impenetrable you weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to reach him again.

And the worst part? It made you feel like the last few months had dissipated into thin air, like the fragile progress you’d built between you had crumbled under the weight of his silence.

It felt like you weren’t partners anymore. Weren’t friends. Weren’t something more than friends. You weren’t anything. Just two strangers standing in the cold.

Your eyes burned, the sting sharp as you stood there, biting the inside of your cheeks to stop the tears threatening to spill.

You ached—for him to just look at you. Just once. For the barest flicker of acknowledgment, a sign that the moments you’d shared hadn’t been a figment of your imagination. That the trust he’d spoken of, the way he’d stayed close, the unspoken pull between you, had been real.

But Joel didn’t move. His gaze remained fixed on the ground, his posture rigid, like even looking at you would be too much.

And it broke something inside you, something you weren’t sure would ever heal.

“Well,” Toby started, his voice tentative but hopeful, “I can walk you home?” His shy, earnest smile met your gaze, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets against the cold.

It wasn’t that Toby wasn’t sweet—he was. But he wasn’t Joel. No one was.

The words stuck in your throat, heavy and impossible to force out. How were you supposed to say no to that? If you refused, you’d look rude, ungrateful. Toby was only trying to be kind, but the thought of him walking you home felt unbearable.

Because what you wanted—desperately, achingly—was for everyone to leave. For the night to thin out and for it to be just you and Joel, standing in the cold and unraveling whatever the hell this tension between you was.

But you couldn’t say that. You couldn’t find a way to cut through the polite veneer Toby’s question was wrapped in, couldn’t put into words the weight of what you truly wanted.

You wanted Joel.

The realization clawed at your chest, sharp and undeniable, as you stood there frozen, the words you should say trapped beneath the ones you wanted to say.

Before you could respond, Tiffany’s voice cut through the tension like a blade, bright and pointed. “Hey, Joel,” she said, her tone deceptively light, though the slight curl of her lips gave away her intentions. “Don’t forget about my faucet. Whenever you’re free.”

The words seemed harmless, casual to anyone else, but to you, they landed like a punch in the gut.

Joel’s jaw shifted slightly, the muscle flexing under his stubble in that restrained way you’d come to recognize. He swallowed once, the movement subtle but telling, and for the briefest moment, his gaze flicked toward you.

But those eyes—they weren’t Joel’s eyes.

They weren’t the dark, steady eyes that had grounded you through the hardest days, the eyes that had softened when he spoke of trust, the ones that lingered too long in moments neither of you dared to name. These were distant, cold, guarded. It was like he’d already decided to shut the door—to leave you standing on the other side before you’d even had the chance to reach it.

The warmth you’d caught glimpses of before, the softness that had made your chest ache—it was gone. He was somewhere else entirely now, and the sting of that realization stole the breath from your lungs.

“Actually,” Joel said, his voice gruff and deliberate, cutting cleanly through the cold air. “Why don’t we go now?”

The words were like a knife to your chest, sharp and unrelenting. Now? It was almost midnight. The insinuation—that this might be more than a leaking faucet—settled heavily in your chest, the ache spreading hot and fast.

Your heart clenched as Tiffany’s face lit up, her victorious gleam unmistakable and unashamed. She didn’t even bother to hide it, her laugh light and saccharine as she nodded enthusiastically. “Really? That’d be great.”

Joel’s reply was curt, clipped, the rough edge to his tone cutting as much as the words themselves. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low and almost harsh. “Not doin’ anything else.”

You froze, your breath catching as his words twisted the knife, each syllable heavy with something unspoken but unkind. Not doin’ anything else. Like the night—like you—had already been written off.

Your pulse hammered in your ears as Joel turned, his movements brisk and deliberate, his goodnight nod sharp, impersonal. And what hurt the most—he didn’t even look at you. Not once.

“Bye, guys,” Tiffany said, her voice bright and breezy as she waved back at you.

You opened your mouth, the beginnings of a question—Why?—clinging to the edge of your tongue, desperate to be spoken. But before you could say anything, stop him, anything, Joel moved. His hand reached out, brushing against Tiffany’s lower back, a light, easy touch to guide her forward.

Their steps carried them into the cold night, away from you.

Your breath caught in your throat, sharp and uneven, the air freezing in your lungs as you watched them walk away. The sight of his hand on her, of the way he didn’t hesitate, didn’t look back—it hollowed you out completely. The weight of it was unbearable, pressing against your ribs, crushing every ounce of composure you had left.

Everything else dimmed, muted, as your gaze stayed locked on Joel’s retreating figure. His shoulders were stiff, his head bowed slightly, as if the night pressed heavily on him too. But he didn’t falter, didn’t stop. And you stood frozen, the knot in your chest tightening unbearably as you realized you’d never felt further from him than you did at that moment.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

As you walked away with Toby, his voice a soft murmur beside you, you couldn’t help but glance back—just once. Your heart twisted painfully, an ache you couldn’t quite name tightening in your chest as your eyes found Joel’s silhouette still visible under the faint glow of the streetlights. His frame was as sturdy and unyielding as ever, his posture impossibly rigid, but Tiffany’s laugh carried through the cold air, sharp and unwelcome.

It made you whip your head back quickly, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat as Toby asked you something—something about your favorite movie, his tone light and kind. You forced yourself to focus on the sound of your boots crunching against the frozen ground, each step feeling heavier than the last.

What you didn’t see—what you couldn’t see—was that Joel looked back, too. Not once, but twice.

The first time, his steps faltered slightly, his jaw tightening as his eyes found you walking away. He caught the sway of your shoulders, the way you leaned just slightly away from Toby, as if instinctively creating space. His shoulders hunched, bracing against the weight of his own decisions, the words he hadn’t said, the actions he already regretted. He told himself to keep going, to let you go, to stick to the silence he’d wrapped himself in for so long.

But the pull of you was too strong.

His feet disobeyed him again, halting mid-step, and his head turned slower this time, his eyes lingering on you as if hoping—praying—you’d stop. That you’d turn around. That your gaze would meet his, and in that fleeting moment, he might find the courage to say something. Anything.

But you didn’t.

He knew he shouldn’t have agreed to Tiffany’s request—not now, not like this. The regret had hit him the moment he’d caught the way your face fell, the way your shoulders slumped ever so slightly before you masked it with a forced smile. That look—it was seared into his mind, burning hot and bitter, a reminder of the mess he’d made.

He knew he’d fucked this up.

His chest tightened, a heavy sigh escaping him and fogging the cold night air. He set his shoulders, trying to force his gaze forward, to focus on the path ahead, but it didn’t help. Tiffany’s chatter barely registered, her words a dull hum of white noise against the roar of thoughts pounding in his mind—all of them stuck on you.

On the way you’d looked at him, your eyes full of a hurt he hadn’t been able to face.

On the way you hadn’t looked back.

That stung the most. That you’d left without so much as a second glance, like you’d finally decided you’d had enough of his silence, his distance, his inability to be what you needed. And maybe you had.

Joel’s grip on the strap of his pack tightened, his knuckles white as he tried to swallow down the ache clawing at his chest. But it was no use. His thoughts kept looping back to the same thing—the unbearable image of your retreating figure, Toby by your side, his presence there filling the space Joel was too damn afraid to claim.

And it killed him.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

You hadn’t seen Joel in three days—not since the Tipsy Bison, not since he walked home with Tiffany. And every one of those days felt heavier than the last, the silence stretching taut and unyielding, leaving too much space for your thoughts to spiral. Your chest tightened every time you let yourself think about it, the memory clawing at you with sharp edges: Joel, guiding Tiffany home, her laugh echoing in the cold night air as if it belonged there, as if it belonged to him.

The idea of them together gnawed at you, twisting like a knife in your gut. Alone at her house—her warm smile filling the quiet spaces you’d once let yourself believe were his and yours alone. She was beautiful, undeniably so, with her easy laugh and golden hair that seemed to catch every sliver of light. And she was interested in him. That much had been painfully obvious.

And Joel—at the end of the day, he was just a man. Who wouldn’t find her beautiful? Who wouldn’t be drawn to her warmth, her charm? The thought clawed at you, bitter and relentless, planting seeds of doubt you couldn’t seem to shake no matter how hard you tried.

Your mind betrayed you with vivid, unwelcome images: Tiffany’s hands brushing against his, lingering just long enough to spark something between them. Her laughter, soft and close, drawing out a rare smile you’d thought might’ve been meant only for you. And worse—so much worse—the possibility of her feeling what you longed for but couldn’t admit.

The warmth of his skin beneath her fingers. You wondered if she’d notice the roughness of his callouses, the way they scraped gently over skin, leaving a ghost of his touch behind. The weight of his body, steady and solid, grounding her in ways you imagined too often but never dared to reach for.

And his lips—God, his lips—brushing against hers, trailing lower. The thought was suffocating, unbearable, the sharp edge of your imagination turning against you as you pictured her being the one to feel the prickle of his moustache, sharp and brittle, the way you’d imagined it too many times to count.

Your breath caught painfully in your chest, the ache spreading deep and fast as you forced the thought away. But it lingered, bitter and raw, filling the cracks that had already begun to form inside you.

The ache in your chest didn’t ease as you walked into movie night with Toby, his arm draped casually around your shoulders. It felt wrong, forced, like you were playing a role you hadn’t auditioned for. Toby was sweet, sure, but his presence didn’t settle you. Instead, it only made you hyperaware of everything that was missing—everything that wasn’t Joel.

“Over here, guys!” Tiffany’s voice rang out across the room, bright and sharp like a bell, cutting through the low hum of conversation. You spotted her instantly, her hand raised in a cheerful wave, her golden hair catching the dim light. She was sitting beside Joel, her entire body angled toward him in a way that made your stomach twist painfully. Her legs were crossed, her arm resting casually on the back of the seat, as if she belonged there.

There were two open seats beside them, unmistakably meant for you and Toby.

Your chest tightened, a sinking feeling dragging you down. You had hoped—foolishly, desperately—that they’d forgotten, or that Joel had made up some excuse to avoid coming altogether. Maybe Tiffany, too embarrassed to show up alone, would’ve stayed home. But no. They were both here. Together. And Joel—solid, unbothered Joel—sat there like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t tearing you apart from the inside out.

When you reached the seats, Tiffany’s smile widened, her expression radiant with a charm that felt too calculated to be real. “So good to see you guys,” she said warmly, her gaze flicking between you and Joel before settling on you.

You slid into the seat beside Joel, your movements stiff and awkward, your body hyperaware of his presence beside you. He didn’t acknowledge you—didn’t even glance your way. His eyes stayed fixed on the blank screen ahead, his jaw tight, the faint clench of muscle in his temple betraying the tension simmering beneath his calm exterior.

Tiffany’s arm brushed against Joel’s as she shifted closer, her laugh light and melodic as she leaned toward him again. “Joel fixed my faucet,” she gushed, her tone laced with admiration. Her hand drifted to rest lightly on his forearm, her fingers brushing against his jacket as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “It was so easy for him—he’s got magic hands.”

The laugh that followed was soft and tinkling, perfectly timed, and you hated how easily it seemed to fill the space between them. You forced a small smile, though it felt tight and hollow, your voice quieter than usual. “Oh,” you murmured, your gaze shifting to Joel, hoping for some kind of reaction.

But he still wouldn’t look at you. His jaw remained tight, his eyes staring straight ahead as though you weren’t even there. Why wouldn’t he look at you? Why couldn’t he?

“How are you two?” Tiffany asked suddenly, her tone shifting to something playful and teasing. Her eyebrows wiggled, her grin wide and knowing as she looked between you and Toby like she was in on some secret.

“We’re good,” Toby answered quickly, his voice a touch too eager as his hand slid over yours. He gave it a squeeze, his palm warm and steady against your own.

The gesture startled you, and for a moment, you couldn’t respond. The claim hung in the air like a flag planted on foreign ground. Your heart sank further, a sick twist of emotions tangling in your chest. Was this what everyone thought? That you and Toby were a thing now?

The weight of Toby’s hand on yours felt wrong, the warmth clashing sharply with the icy pit that had taken root in your stomach. You sat rigidly, the pressure of his fingers a constant reminder of the disconnect between your heart and the situation. Your chest tightened as you glanced sideways at Joel, a quiet, desperate hope flickering in you—Say something. Do something.

But he didn’t. Joel remained silent, his broad shoulders stiff, his jaw locked as his eyes stayed firmly ahead. He wouldn’t look at you, wouldn’t acknowledge the unspoken chaos swirling between you.

Except for one thing—his gaze flicked, just once, to the way Toby’s hand wrapped around yours. It was fleeting, almost imperceptible, but you caught it. The hard set of his jaw deepened, and his fingers curled into a fist against his knee. Then, just as quickly, his focus snapped back to the screen, as if it hadn’t happened at all.

“That’s so cute!” Tiffany cooed, her voice saccharine and pointed. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, a teasing smile tugging at her lips as she glanced between you and Toby, clearly enjoying herself far too much.

You tried to muster a response, something polite and dismissive, but the lump in your throat wouldn’t budge. Instead, you swallowed hard and turned your gaze to the screen as the lights dimmed, the room sinking into shadows. The opening credits began to roll, the flickering glow casting faint reflections across Joel’s profile beside you.

You told yourself to focus on the movie, to let the dialogue and music pull you out of the tangle of emotions knotting in your chest. Toby’s hand remained in yours, steady and warm, but it felt foreign—like something that didn’t belong to you. No matter how hard you tried to redirect your thoughts, your focus kept drifting back to Joel. To the tension in his shoulders, the unrelenting stillness of his posture, and the sharp edge of his silence.

Your fingers twitched, tempted to pull away from Toby’s grasp, to reclaim something of yourself, but the weight of the moment pinned you in place. All the while, Joel sat just inches away, close enough that you could feel his presence, the steady heat of him. Yet, he might as well have been a world apart.

And as the movie played on, the words and images passing in a blur, you couldn’t stop wondering—what would it take for him to look at you again?

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

It was almost too much.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Tiffany’s hand on Joel’s arm, her fingers curling there like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her head tilted toward his shoulder, resting lightly against him in the same way you had done—not long ago, in this very room. The memory was sharp, jagged, cutting into you as she leaned in, her laugh soft and airy at something on the screen.

It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving you suffocating under the weight of it all. The ache in your chest clawed at you, sharp and relentless, and for a moment, all you wanted was to leave. To cry.

You couldn’t fathom it. Joel, of all people, was letting this happen. Joel, who never let anyone close, whose walls were so high and impenetrable that every glimpse of what lay beyond them felt like a rare and precious miracle. Joel, who’d been deliberate with you, careful and steady, treating the moments you shared like something fragile, something worth protecting.

And now? He sat there, unflinching, as Tiffany leaned in, her presence slipping so easily into spaces that had once felt like yours alone. Her hand lingered on his arm, her laugh soft and melodic as though she belonged there, as though she hadn’t just barged into something you’d thought was sacred. And yet, Joel didn’t move, didn’t brush her off, didn’t even tense like he would’ve with anyone else.

Tiffany. Of all people.

The thought burned hot and bitter in your chest, threatening to bubble over. Was he that shallow? Was he that simple? Had you been wrong about him all along? The questions clawed at you, sharp and relentless, each one cutting deeper than the last. Was his gruff exterior, his guarded silence, nothing more than some calculated act? Some false intrigue meant to mask the truth?

The ache in your chest twisted into something darker, sharper—a betrayal that was quiet but devastating. And you couldn’t stop the thought from taking root: Maybe you’d been wrong about him. Maybe you’d misread it all.

Because the man sitting there now—the man letting her touch him so freely, so effortlessly—didn’t feel like the Joel you thought you knew.

This wasn’t the good, honest, protective Joel who had always noticed you. The Joel who had seen you in ways no one else ever had. The Joel who fixed your fireplace without you asking, who remembered how you liked your coffee, who walked just slightly behind you whenever you traveled, as if shielding you from the world.

No, the man sitting there now felt like a stranger. Someone distant and cold, letting Tiffany take up space where you used to be. Letting her laugh, touch, lean in as if none of it mattered.

The knot in your chest grew tighter, your breaths shallower as you stared blankly at the screen, the images flickering without meaning. You told yourself to stop, to pull your thoughts away from him, from her, from the endless loop of hurt you couldn’t escape. But you couldn’t.

Because no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the Joel sitting there now wasn’t the Joel you thought you knew. Or worse—that he was, and you’d been fooling yourself all along.

The movie played on, the flickering screen casting shifting shadows across the room, but it was all a blur. The dialogue was muffled, drowned beneath the storm of emotions raging in your head. Every sound, every laugh, every beat of the film seemed distant, muted, as though you were underwater.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, each relentless beat sharp and insistent, matching the ache clawing at your chest. It was a steady, cruel rhythm that refused to let you forget the scene beside you. Every muscle in your body was taut, your hands gripping your knees so tightly it hurt, the tension in your shoulders creeping up to your neck.

You willed yourself not to look.

Don’t look. Don’t look.

And then you felt it.

Warm and steady, Joel’s hand rested on your knee, the weight of it so faint at first you thought you might have imagined it. But then his fingers tightened, just slightly—a small, deliberate squeeze that sent a ripple through the storm raging in your chest. The air seemed to still, your breath catching and holding, the noise of the room fading into nothingness.

It was subtle, quiet, too dark for anyone else to notice. Tiffany didn’t see, too focused on her easy laughter and soft touches. Toby didn’t notice, his attention fixed on the screen. But you noticed. You felt him.

Joel.

Your pulse thundered in your ears, loud and chaotic against the quiet stillness of your body. You didn’t dare look at him, afraid that meeting his eyes would unravel the fragile composure you clung to. But you didn’t need to look. His touch said more than his words ever could.

He knew.

He always knew.

Joel had seen the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers gripped your knees like they were the only thing keeping you grounded. He’d felt the unspoken anguish radiating off you, the ache that you hadn’t been able to hide, not from him.

And this—this was Joel’s answer. Not a grand declaration, not a scene-stealing moment, but something quieter, something him. His hand on your knee, steady and unyielding, grounding you when everything inside you felt like it was crumbling.

It wasn’t an accident.

It wasn’t meaningless.

It was Joel, always Joel, his way of saying what he couldn’t bring himself to say aloud. I see you. I’m here.

The heat of his palm seeped through the fabric of your jeans, sending warmth spreading through your body in sharp contrast to the cold ache in your chest. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All you could do was feel—feel the strength of his presence beside you, feel the weight of his touch, feel the way that small, simple gesture cracked open something inside you.

You stared straight ahead, the flickering images on the screen blurring into meaningless shapes and colors. Your throat tightened, your chest constricting as the world tilted, your heart twisting painfully at the sheer tenderness of it all.

And then, just as you thought the moment might pass, his thumb moved—barely, softly—tracing a faint circle against your knee. You felt it like a quiet promise, like a steadying hand against the chaos that had taken root in your chest.

The movement was achingly deliberate, careful in the way only Joel could be. It wasn’t just a gesture; it was him. Him saying what his words hadn’t, what his silence couldn’t. It said I’m sorry.

And then, slowly—too slowly—his hand moved back to his lap, retreating with a quiet deliberation that left the warmth of him behind. It was like he knew he couldn’t linger, like he knew what that might do to the already delicate thread stretched between you.

It was enough to make your throat tighten, your chest ache with the weight of it. Enough to make you want to cry, to scream, to grab his hand and hold onto him as tightly as you’d been holding onto the quiet moments, the lingering glances, the fragments of his care he offered so carefully.

Instead, you stayed still. Your breath came shallow, uneven, as the ache swelled into something too big to name. It wasn’t just pain. It wasn’t just longing. It was something more—something that felt like hope and heartbreak, wound tightly together in the space between his touch and the absence it left behind.

And as the flickering light of the screen cast shadows across his profile, you dared to believe, just for a moment, that maybe Joel wasn’t letting go.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

Before the lights in the room flickered on, you swiped your cheeks with the back of your hand, the darkness offering a fleeting sanctuary—a moment to compose yourself before anyone could see. You told yourself to breathe, to calm the racing in your chest, but the bitter taste of tears lingered in your throat, thick and unforgiving. You held your breath, praying no one would hear it, see it, feel it.

“That movie was so good,” Tiffany’s voice rang out, bright and oblivious, slicing through the quiet like a blade. Her cheerfulness only made the ache in your chest throb harder. She turned toward you, her enthusiasm unrelenting. “No wonder you come here every month. I’m definitely coming back!”

And then, like an afterthought—like a punctuation mark to everything else—she squeezed Joel’s arm and said, “Well, we’ll be back, won’t we?”

Her words hit like a slap, sharp and unwelcome. No. This place is mine. The thought burned hot and bitter in your mind, but you swallowed it down, burying it deep beneath the ache already pressing against your ribs. You forced a smile, weak and fragile, hoping it would be enough to mask the storm raging inside you.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your voice barely loud enough to hear. “It’s... great.”

The words tasted wrong, forced, but Tiffany didn’t notice. She was too busy chattering on, her voice filling the spaces that felt like yours and Joel’s—not hers. Never hers.

“I’m, uh, really tired,” you said suddenly, turning toward Toby. Your words felt rushed, uneven, as if saying them faster might make them hurt less. His face softened, concern flickering behind his kind eyes as he waited for you to continue.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Toby said, stepping closer, his hands awkwardly tucked into his coat pockets. “I’ll walk you home.”

You hesitated, the offer hanging in the air between you like a thread you didn’t know how to untangle. You didn’t want to be alone, not with your thoughts. But you didn’t want company, either. Not now. Not like this.

“Actually,” you blurted out, sharper than you meant to. The words escaped before you could stop them, your voice tight. “I’m fine. I just need... some time.”

Toby blinked, taken aback but kind enough not to press. You didn’t give him—or anyone else—a chance to respond. Your feet moved on their own, carrying you quickly toward the door, your breath hitching as the heat climbed up your neck, your ears burning with the weight of humiliation.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

But you felt it.

Joel’s gaze burned against your back, heavy and unrelenting, pulling at you like gravity itself. You didn’t need to turn around to know he was watching, his silence saying more than words ever could.

The anger in your chest roared louder with every step you took. It didn’t make sense—none of it did. You were the one who had said yes to Toby. You’d agreed. This wasn’t Joel’s fault. You had no right to be mad at him.

And yet, you were.

Because he hadn’t stopped you. Because he hadn’t said anything. Because his silence as you sat there, unraveling in the dim light of the movie, was somehow worse than anything else.

Worse than Tiffany’s hands on his arm.

Worse than the way she leaned into him, her laughter too loud and too easy.

Worse than the crushing realization that you didn’t know where you stood with him anymore, or if you ever had a place at all.

Your chest tightened as you stepped into the biting cold, your breath fogging the air as you pressed your arms around yourself, trying to ward off the chill that was seeping deeper than the weather.

You didn’t know why it stung so much. But it did. It felt unbearable. It felt like him.

The walk home was long, the cold biting at your skin and your thoughts too tangled to focus on anything else. The tears came freely now that you were alone, each breath you took fogging in the icy air. Your puffs of breath were sharp and visible in the cold night, drifting like smoke, fragile and fleeting as you tried to breathe past the ache in your chest.

And then, just as you thought you might collapse under the weight of it all, you heard it—the crunch of boots against snow, fast and deliberate, cutting through the quiet like a lifeline you didn’t realize you’d been waiting for. The sound grew louder, heavier, paired with uneven breaths carried on the cold air. You froze, your heart lurching painfully in your chest.

“Shouldn’t make an old man run like that,” Joel said, his voice uneven, the roughness of his breath curling in the icy air. His chest heaved as he came to a stop in front of you, his broad frame shadowed under the faint glow of the moon. The sound of his voice, the sheer weight of it, hit you like a blow—raw, unguarded, and full of something that left you unraveling faster than you could stop it.

He stood there, catching his breath, but his eyes… His eyes never wavered from yours. They locked onto you with a kind of intensity that made your skin prickle, like he wasn’t just looking at you but through you, past every wall you’d so carefully built. It was unbearable. And it was Joel—always Joel—cutting straight to the heart of you without even trying.

“What are you doing, Joel?” The words burst out before you could stop them, edged with the frustration and anguish you’d been swallowing all night. You crossed your arms over your chest like a shield, a feeble attempt to create space between you and the unbearable pull of him. But Joel didn’t move, didn’t look away, just watched you, his eyes dark and steady, the weight of them making your pulse race.

And then he gave you that look.

That look.

The one that made your breath catch, that stripped away every defense you tried to throw up, leaving you bare and aching under its intensity. It wasn’t just a glance; it was knowing. Knowing you in a way that no one else ever had, seeing the raw, vulnerable parts of you you’d never dared show anyone. It was infuriating and disarming and heartbreaking all at once—the way he could cut through all of it without even trying, as though your walls were made of glass and Joel Miller had always known how to shatter them.

“I couldn’t just let you leave like that,” he said finally, his voice softer now, rough around the edges but laced with something that felt like regret—or maybe hope. It carried the weight of everything he wasn’t saying, everything he couldn’t say.

“Why?” The word slipped out before you could stop it, trembling with the weight of every question you couldn’t bring yourself to ask.

It was too small for everything it carried but too heavy to ignore, encapsulating the storm raging in your chest.

Why did you go with her?

Why did you let me walk away?

Why do you make me care?

Why did you let me love you?

The unspoken words clawed at your throat, burning to escape, but you swallowed them down, fighting against the ache threatening to consume you. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, hot and stinging, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. You wanted to scream at him, to shatter the silence, to demand answers he’d never dared to give.

Joel’s gaze stayed on you, steady and unreadable, his shoulders tense as if bracing against a storm. He didn’t answer right away—just looked at you, his expression unreadable, like you were something he couldn’t quite figure out.

The silence stretched too long, pressing against your chest like a weight you couldn’t bear. Your frustration boiled over, your voice breaking as you finally snapped, “Seriously, Joel.” The words hit harder than you intended, sharper than you meant, but you didn’t care. “Why’d you leave Tiffany? Your date,” you spat, bitterness lacing the word like poison. “Why’d you come here?”

Joel’s jaw clenched, the muscle in his cheek twitching as his dark eyes pinned you in place. “Wasn’t a date,” he said, his voice cutting clean and firm through the cold air, carrying no room for argument.

“Sure looked like it,” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended, the bitterness slipping out before you could stop it. The words hung between you, heavy and brittle, daring him to respond.

His expression hardened, a shadow crossing his face as his jaw tightened further. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths like he was trying to rein himself in. Then, without warning, he stepped closer, the movement deliberate and unrelenting. The heat of him was palpable now, the space between you charged with something raw and volatile. His voice dropped, low and dangerously calm. “And you?” he asked, his words like steel. “Didn’t want Toby to walk you home?”

It was a low blow, and he knew it. The words hit you like a slap, sharp and unexpected, leaving you reeling. You wanted to lash out, to fight back, but instead, all you could do was turn away.

“Stop it, Joel,” you murmured, your voice low and uneven, the exhaustion clear in every syllable. Your back remained turned to him, as if the distance might shield you from the storm brewing between you. You couldn’t look at him—not now, not when everything inside you felt so raw, so exposed. “Just… stop.”

But Joel wasn’t letting you go that easily. Not this time.

“No,” he said, his voice rising with a rough, unrelenting edge. Each word was sharp, cutting through the cold air like a knife. “No, tell me. Why did you say yes to him?”

“What?” You spun around, the surprise in your voice masking the way your chest tightened, the ache twisting deeper.

“You heard me.” Joel stepped forward, the crunch of his boots against the frozen ground the only sound between you. He stopped just close enough for you to feel the weight of him, steady and inescapable. His dark eyes locked onto yours, blazing with something that made it impossible to look away. “Why. Did. You. Say. Yes,” he bit out, each word deliberate, his frustration simmering just below the surface, “if you can’t stand bein’ around the guy?”

You froze, his words hitting harder than you wanted to admit, slicing through the fog of emotions you hadn’t been able to untangle. The air between you crackled with tension, heavy with things unsaid.

“I know you,” Joel continued, his voice low now, steady but no less intense, as though he were forcing himself to keep his composure. “Better than you think.” He took another step closer, his gaze holding yours, unwavering. “I’ve been watchin’ you long enough to know. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile once around him. You flinch every time he touches you. So, tell me—” His voice dipped, almost a growl now, the words sharp with accusation and something deeper, something raw. “Do you have feelings for him?”

It was the kind of statement that cut deeper than you wanted to admit, because it meant he saw you. Truly saw you. All the quiet moments, all the things you thought you could hide, all the small, delicate shifts that only someone who truly knew you could pick up on.

The question hit like a punch to the gut, and you could feel every bit of your composure unraveling in that moment. You tried to swallow the lump that formed in your throat, the words catching painfully as you struggled to maintain control. The truth sat there, heavy and unwelcome, but you couldn’t back down now—not with him looking at you like that. Not with him knowing.

“No, I don’t, okay?” you snapped, the words tumbling out with more force than you intended, the sharpness in your voice betraying the rawness beneath. Your heart pounded, and you could feel the flush of heat rise to your cheeks as the tension between you seemed to stretch and tighten.

You hadn’t meant to sound so defensive, but something in his gaze—the way he was able to see through you, to strip away the layers you’d carefully built—had shaken something loose inside you. Something that had been waiting to be said.

His eyes narrowed, searching your face for cracks in your defenses, as if he needed you to be telling the truth, as if not telling the truth would break something in him. Something fragile. Something he was now realizing he had to acknowledge, or he might lose you. The weight of the silence pressed in around you both, and for a moment, everything seemed to stand still—like the world was holding its breath.

“Do you have feelings for Tiffany?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, sharp and raw, a challenge wrapped in vulnerability. They felt reckless, like you were ripping the bandage off something you weren’t sure either of you were ready to confront. Your pulse pounded in your ears, your breath shallow as you waited for his response, terrified of what he might say, but even more terrified of what he wouldn’t.

The question hung heavy in the cold night air, like it had just taken root between you, twisting and turning in the space between your hearts. His jaw tightened, a flicker of something crossing his face before he quickly looked away. But then, his gaze returned to yours, direct and unyielding.

“You know I don’t,” he muttered, shaking his head as if the very idea was so ridiculous that he couldn’t fathom why you’d even ask.

“No, Joel, I don’t know that,” you said, your voice breaking on the last word, a fragile edge creeping in. The weight of his gaze made your chest feel tight, suffocating, but you couldn’t look away. “How the hell would I know that? Didn’t you go to her house? Fix her "faucet" or whatever?”

The question hung in the air between you, stinging with the sharpness of things left unsaid. He shook his head again, frustration visible in the set of his shoulders, the way his lips pressed into a thin line. “Yeah, and I left right after,” he said, the words coming out with a quiet finality that felt almost like an apology, even if he didn’t mean it to be.

“She was holding your arm,” you said, the words slicing through the tension like a blade, sharp and trembling with something you couldn’t quite name. Hurt. Jealousy. Anger. All of it twisting together into one unbearable knot. “What the hell was I supposed to think?”

Joel’s eyes flashed, dark and stormy, his jaw clenching hard as he stepped closer, his voice dropping low, rough. “And he was holding your hand,” he snapped, each word striking like a match against the cold. “What the hell was I supposed to think?”

That shut you up.

The world seemed to freeze in that moment, both of you standing there under the weak yellow glow of Jackson’s streetlamp, two stupid idiots locked in a battle neither of you wanted to win. The silence stretched between you, thick and unyielding. Two hearts beating loud enough to echo in the stillness, both too stubborn, too scared, to give the truth a name.

You didn’t respond, your breath coming out in shudders, each exhale a visible puff in the cold night air. Your chest tightened, but it wasn’t the cold that made your eyes sting—it was the sharp, aching bitterness of the moment, the weight of everything unsaid crushing you beneath it. Your cheeks were streaked with tears now, betraying the calm facade you’d tried so hard to keep in place. You hated it. Hated that he could see it. Hated even more that he caused it.

And yet, when he murmured your name, it broke something fragile inside you. His voice was so soft, it could’ve disappeared into the night, but it didn’t—it found you, sharp and unrelenting in its tenderness. It was the way he said it, like a plea, like a thread stretched taut and fraying at the edges. It made your heart ache so fiercely it felt like it might break apart entirely.

“Are you okay?” Joel asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer, like he was bracing for something he wasn’t sure he could handle. His hands hovered at his sides, trembling, uncertain—like he wanted to reach out, to cradle your face the way he used to, but wasn’t sure if he had the right to.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, the words thick and heavy in your chest. “Yeah. Good night, Joel.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, the ache in it betraying more than you wanted to give away. Then, before he could respond, you turned and started walking, your steps slow but deliberate.

He didn’t move right away, didn’t say anything. He just stood there, hesitating, long enough for you to feel the weight of his gaze burning into your back. His presence lingered, heavy and unshakable, the kind of pull you couldn’t quite escape even as you forced yourself to keep moving.

Joel’s eyes stayed on you, watching as the snow began to swallow you, the misty cold rising like a curtain until you were nothing but a shadow in the distance—and then, finally, gone. The night seemed to close in around him, the silence deafening except for the soft crunch of snow beneath his boots as he shifted.

A low, frustrated “Fuck,” escaped his lips, rough and quiet, as he rubbed his hands over his face. His breath came out in a harsh exhale, misting the icy air, before he dropped his hands to his sides, clenching them into fists like he could keep himself from reaching after you.

But he didn’t follow. He just stood there, alone under the weak glow of the streetlamp, his chest heavy with everything he couldn’t say, the space between you stretching farther and farther with every step you took away from him.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

The next morning

The dining hall buzzed with morning energy, the low hum of conversation punctuated by the occasional scrape of chairs and clatter of dishes. By the time you dragged yourself inside, most of the good food had already been claimed, leaving behind a few sad scraps that no one had bothered with. The smell of burnt toast and weak coffee lingered in the air, doing nothing to ease the tension in your chest.

You hadn’t slept. Not really. Tossing and turning all night, you couldn’t escape the replay of the words you and Joel had exchanged, the weight of them pressing into your ribs like stones. It was as though your bed had conspired with your thoughts, refusing you even a moment of peace.

You wanted to stay buried in the covers, to let the day pass without you, but you weren’t a teenager anymore. You couldn’t get away with hiding from the world like you used to—not when Jackson hummed with its usual demands, not when life kept moving whether you wanted it to or not.

But the truth? The real reason you’d dragged yourself out into the light of day wasn’t responsibility, or resilience, or even a shred of dignity. It was coffee. You’d run out of the good stuff at home, and the craving had gnawed at you until you gave in.

Your stomach grumbled in protest as you poured yourself a coffee, eyes scanning the remnants of breakfast. Stale toast. Some overcooked eggs. Nothing worth the effort. You sighed, the ache in your chest from the restless night pressing heavier with each passing moment. You settled at a table in the corner, wrapping your hands around the coffee mug like it might anchor you. The bitterness of the brew matched your mood, its warmth doing little to chase the chill that lingered from last night.

Then you saw him. Joel.

Joel wasn’t supposed to be here. He never ate breakfast—or at least, not in the dining hall. Never. Ever.

You hadn’t even noticed him until he was there, sliding into the seat beside you, the wooden chair scraping softly against the floor. He didn’t say a word as he balanced a tray in one hand, the movement practiced and deliberate.

“Here,” he said, his voice low but steady. He set something in front of you with the same no-nonsense grace he applied to everything he did. Your heart stuttered when you looked down.

A biscuit. Warm, golden, with a pat of butter nestled beside it, the edges still glistening as though it had just come out of the oven. Your favorite. The kind you always picked at whenever it was on the table, your eyes lighting up like it was a rare treat.

You blinked at it, your hands tightening slightly around your mug. “What’s this?” you murmured, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Breakfast,” Joel replied simply, his tone as gruff as ever. But there was something else there—something softer, hidden just beneath the surface. “Figured you didn’t eat yet.” He leaned back slightly, one hand resting on the edge of the table as his eyes flicked over you, watching your reaction like he was bracing for something.

“Joel.” You sighed, his presence catching you off guard, unraveling the fragile calm you’d been trying to cling to. “What are you doing? You usually don’t come here for breakfast.”

He shrugged, leaning back slightly in his chair, but his eyes never left you. “Felt like a change.”

The words were simple, but they hung in the air between you, weighted with a truth neither of you were willing to name. You both knew it wasn’t about breakfast.

You stared at him for a moment longer than you meant to, trying to read the lines of his face, the tension in his jaw, the way his hands gripped the edge of the table. Finally, you gave in, breaking the biscuit in half, the warmth of it grounding you in the moment even as your mind raced. “Thanks,” you murmured, your voice so soft you barely recognized it as your own.

You took a bite, the buttery warmth melting on your tongue, but it did little to ease the simmering tension between you. The silence was heavy, pressing against your chest, and you weren’t sure what to do with it—what to do with him. You were still mad, the ache from last night raw and fresh, and yet, here he was, sitting across from you like nothing had happened, like everything was fine.

Joel broke the silence first. “You sleep okay?” he murmured, his voice low, tender in a way that made your breath hitch. His gaze flicked up to meet yours, cutting through the veil of your hair where you’d tried to hide your face.

You sighed, rubbing your temple absentmindedly as you avoided his eyes. “No,” you admitted quietly, the single word carrying all the weight of your exhaustion, emotional and otherwise.

Joel sighed, the sound heavy as his shoulders sank. His hand moved to his coffee cup, fingers curling around it, but his focus remained on you. “Don’t like seein’ you upset,” he started, his voice rough but steady. He shifted forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table as he leaned in closer. “Don’t like seein’ you cryin’. Especially not ‘cause of somethin’ I did.”

Your breath caught in your chest, the words hitting you like a quiet storm. His eyes—so open, so achingly sincere—locked onto yours, cutting through all the walls you’d tried to rebuild since last night. The air between you crackled with unspoken things, emotions too big and tangled to unravel all at once.

“I ain’t good at this,” he admitted, his voice low and rough, the corner of his mouth tugging into a small, self-deprecating smile. “Talkin’, I mean. Sayin’ what I feel.”

“You think I am?” you countered, raising an eyebrow, though your voice lacked any real bite. It was softer, almost trembling, betraying how much you wanted this moment to matter.

His smile widened, just a fraction, a brief flash of warmth cutting through the tension. “Maybe better than me,” he said, his voice lighter for just a moment.

But then Joel leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, the weight of his presence pulling you closer like gravity. His voice dropped lower, quieter, like the words were meant for you alone.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “I know you, more than you think.” He paused, his gaze steady and unyielding as he took a breath. “And I…” His voice faltered for a moment, before he found the courage to continue. “I care about you. You know that.”

The words landed with a force you hadn’t expected, leaving your chest tight and your mind spinning. You could barely speak, barely think, the depth of what he was saying rooting you to the spot. But Joel didn’t stop there, his eyes never leaving yours as he pressed on.

“And I don’t want to see you settlin’ for somethin’ that don’t make you happy,” he said, his tone so firm, so resolute, it felt like he was carving the words into the air between you.

The weight of it made you look away, your gaze falling to the table as his words swirled around you, threatening to unearth everything you’d been trying so hard to bury. But then he added, his voice cracking slightly, “But if that’s… if he makes you happy, then—”

“He doesn’t,” you cut in, the words spilling from your mouth before you could stop them. You raised your eyes to meet his, your voice shaking but sure. “I don’t want him.”

He nodded, his words firm, “Good. Because you deserve better.”

“Maybe I don’t know what I deserve,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, the vulnerability in your words hanging in the air between you.

Joel’s expression softened, his usual guarded demeanor giving way to something raw and unspoken. “Everything,” he murmured, the word coming out rough, like it wasn’t meant to leave his lips. His eyes found yours, steady and unflinching, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away. “You deserve everything.”

Your breath caught, the weight of his words settling into your chest. You looked up at him, startled, unsure how to respond to the quiet conviction in his voice. But before you could take it in, he shifted forward, breaking the spell. He nudged your plate closer, the scrape of porcelain against wood grounding you back into the moment.

“Start with this,” he said, his voice gentler now, the intensity replaced with something more familiar. “You deserve the damn biscuit.”

It was so absurd, so perfectly Joel, that you couldn’t help but smile—a real one this time, not the polite kind you offered out of habit. And in that instant, you swore you saw the faintest flicker of relief in his eyes, like he’d been holding his breath, waiting for your reaction.

“Thanks, Joel,” you said softly, your voice steady even as your heart fluttered.

He nodded, and for the first time in what felt like ages, the silence between you wasn’t weighted or strained. It was comfortable, almost soothing, like the first breath of fresh air after being cooped up for too long. Joel lifted his coffee, taking a slow sip as his eyes flicked toward you.

Quiet moments like this, he thought, shouldn’t have been so rare. He ached for this—for mornings with you, the sound of your laugh filling the quiet, the easy way you teased him. He could picture it so clearly it hurt.

But Joel was patient. He’d wait. He’d wait as long as it took for the timing to be right, for you to see what he’d already decided—that this could be everything.

Then, just as the moment began to settle, you let out a sudden laugh, shattering the quiet with the sound of your joy.

Joel’s brow lifted as he glanced over at you, his lips quirking into a curious smirk. “What’re you laughing at?” he asked, his tone light but laced with amusement.

You tried to answer, but another giggle escaped, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as you shook your head. “I just... I can’t,” you managed between bursts of laughter, waving a hand as if that clarified anything.

Joel leaned forward slightly, his smirk deepening. “What? You’re gonna choke on that damn biscuit if you don’t—”

“Can you fix my leaky faucet?” you interrupted in a high-pitched, overly saccharine voice, batting your eyelashes dramatically for emphasis.

Joel groaned, dragging a hand over his face as his head shook in disbelief. “Jesus,” he muttered under his breath.

You leaned back in your chair, grinning so hard your cheeks ached. “I can’t believe you actually went out with her,” you teased, barely holding back more laughter.

“I didn’t go out with her,” Joel said defensively, his voice dropping into that familiar low growl that he used when he was embarrassed.

“Mhm,” you hummed, dragging out the sound and arching an eyebrow at him with mock disbelief.

Joel huffed, shaking his head as he took another sip of coffee, but his tone was softer when he finally spoke. “Don’t know how I put up with you.”

“You love it,” you shot back, leaning back in your chair with a smug grin, the kind that lit up your whole face and made it impossible not to smile along with you.

Joel didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you—really looked at you. There was laughter still lingering in your eyes, the faintest smudge of crumbs on the corner of your lips, and that easy way you filled the room with warmth, like you carried the sun inside you and didn’t even know it. It knocked the air right out of his chest, left him aching in a way he couldn’t quite name.

He shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, like he couldn’t believe you sometimes—how effortlessly you made him feel things he’d long since buried. Things he hadn’t dared let himself want. But there you were, unraveling him with every smile, every laugh, every quiet moment like this that left him wishing the world would stop spinning so he could stay here a little longer.

Yes, he thought, the realization hitting him square in the chest. Yes, he did love.

He loved the way you made him feel lighter without even trying, loved the way you teased him like it was second nature, loved... you.

But Joel didn’t say any of that. He couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he let out a quiet breath and picked up his coffee, sipping it slowly, letting the silence stretch between you like a bridge he wasn’t quite ready to cross.

Still, he let the moment linger, soaking in the way you looked at him, the way the corners of your mouth curled as if you knew exactly what he was thinking.

---

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badathumanemotions · 3 months ago

Note

Hey could you do a Spencer NSFW fic where you end up trapped in a confined space with him (maybe hiding from an unsub) and all your personal space is gone and stuff gets heated yk and then maybe it’s carried on later in a hotel room that they had to share (dom spence, degradation, size kink etc) whatever you want to do really 🫶🫶

Hidden Feelings

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader MDNI MasterList Category: Smut CW: Smut, Oral Sex (fem), Praise, Dirty Talk, Use of Good Girl and Sweet Girl, Riding, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Aftercare, Love Confessions. WC: 7,194 My brains been foggy lately so it's taking me longer to write these. Sorry guys. Also because of the long breaks I totally forgot to add everything you asked for and my Dom Spencer's a little rusty. Sorry anon. (Not Proof Read)

In the heart of a long-forgotten industrial district, the abandoned restaurant stood, a relic of a bygone era. The team had received an anonymous tip, a whisper on the wind that led them to this desolate corner. You and Spencer Reid drew the short straws, tasked with investigating the eerie structure.

Peeling paint and shattered windows cast a grim pallor over the faded sign that swung lazily in the breeze. You felt a shiver run down your spine as you approached, your footsteps echoing against the cracked pavement. Spencer, ever the intellectual, rattled off facts about the place's history, trying to fill the silence with something other than the heavy tension that hung in the air.

Inside, the restaurant was a maze of dust-covered tables and chairs, the smell of stale grease clinging stubbornly to the air. The kitchen was a jungle of rusty pans and forgotten spices, the floor sticky with a layer of grime that had built up over the years. Despite the emptiness, it felt as though you were intruding on a place where secrets had been left to fester in the dark.

The tip you received was vague, hinting at suspicious activity in the area. You and Spencer moved methodically, your eyes scanning every corner for the faintest trace of anything could help with the case. You weren't quite sure what you were looking for – a clue, a sign, anything to justify the uneasy feeling that had settled in your stomach. Spencer paused every so often, his sharp mind analyzing anything out of place.

It was in the kitchen that you stumbled upon the horror. The ticket holder, once used to organize orders, now held a different kind of queue – a series of surveillance photos of the victims. Each face hauntingly familiar from the case files you've studied. The sight of their images, captured unknowingly by the monsters you were hunting, sent a cold chill through your system. Spencer's eyes widened in surprise, his voice barely above a whisper as he pointed out the meticulously laid out schedules scattered around the kitchen counters. It was clear that these Unsubs had been stalking their prey, plotting their every move.

The two of you withdrew your weapons now on high alert. You continued clearing the place, the weight of the moment pressing down on your shoulders. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a reminder of the lives at stake. You could feel Spencer's tension beside you, his breaths shallow and eyes darting around the room as he searched for any sign of the trio.

Approaching a back office, you pushed the door open with your foot, not taking any chances. The room was a time capsule of forgotten paperwork and dusty filing cabinets. A desk sat in the centre, with a table beside it covered by a faded tablecloth.

The papers scattered across the surface looked like they had been abandoned in a hurry. Invoices, receipts, and pay stubs lay in a disorganized heap. You squinted in the dim light, trying to make sense of the dates. They were from before the restaurant had closed, a mundane record of a business that no longer existed.

Then, the unmistakable sound of footsteps, heavy and deliberate, echoed through the empty dining area. You and Spencer froze, your eyes locking for a split second. The blood drained from your face as you both realized the gravity of the situation. The Unsubs had returned and you were out numbered.

You caught a glimpse of four men, their silhouettes looming through the dust. At least two were obviously armed, their weapons glinting in the sliver of light that pierced the dimly lit space. They were getting closer and you had to think fast.

With a burst of adrenaline, you grabbed Spencer by the arm and pushed him down onto the floor, under the protection of the dusty tablecloth. He tumbled backward, his eyes wide with surprise, and you quickly followed, landing on top of him in a desperate attempt to hide. Your heart hammered against your ribs as the fabric of the cloth billowed around you, threatening to give you away with every breath.

With quick hands, you pulled out your phone and silently typed a message to Hotch, your thumb hovering over the 'Send' button. The footsteps grew louder, each step bringing the danger closer. You hit 'Send' and shoved the phone into your pocket. You could feel Spencer's body tense beneath yours, his muscles coiled like a spring, clearly thrown off by you sitting on top of him.

He begins to squirm, and you knew he was uncomfortable, not just from the fear of being discovered but also from your proximity. The cramped space made it impossible not to be aware of every inch of your bodies pressing together.

Spencer tries to sit up, but you're quick to react. You place a hand firmly on his chest and push him back down, shaking your head.

Suddenly, he whispered, his voice strained and urgent, "We should change positions, it's not…ideal." But before he could finish, you clamped your hand over his mouth. You didn't know if the Unsubs had heard you, but you couldn't take that risk.

"Quiet, we don't want them to hear us."

You felt Spencer's body stiffen even further as your breath danced against the sensitive skin of his neck. You could feel his pulse racing against your chest, a frantic drumbeat matching the tempo of your own heart. You shifted slightly, the movement pressing your ass against his growing arousal. His breath hitched beneath your palm. It was an accident, but one that sent a jolt of heat through you.

The voices grew louder, the Unsubs seemingly oblivious to the danger hiding in the shadows. They talked in hushed tones, their words muffled by walls between them and your hiding spot. You strained to listen, hoping for some clue as to their plans or identities. The words were indecipherable, but the tone was one of excitement and anticipation.

As the moments dragged on, the tension in the air thickened, coiling around you and Spencer like a serpent. His body was taut beneath yours, the fabric of your clothes the only barrier between you. The adrenaline had shifted gears, no longer just a fight-or-flight response but a potent cocktail of fear and desire.

You felt his hands grip the back of your thighs, knuckles almost white with restraint. The heat of his body was intoxicating, and the friction of your movements was setting something alight between you. It was a dangerous dance, one that had no place in the middle of a horror show, but your body didn't seem to care about the setting.

Spencer's eyes searched yours, looking for a sign, a silent question. Was this real or just the situation playing tricks on you both? But the desire was unmistakable, a palpable force that seemed to fill the air in the tiny space. You drop your head down, your nose brushing against his cheek, and for a heart-stopping second, you thought about what it would be like to kiss him right then and there.

The sound of the Unsubs grew closer, their footsteps echoing in the hall outside the office door. Spencer's hands slid from your thighs to your hips, his grip tightening. The heat of his touch seemed to burn through your clothes, setting every nerve ending alight. The fear was still there, a live wire running through your veins, but it had morphed into something more primal, something that made your skin prickle and your breath catch in your throat.

You met Spencer's gaze, and in that fraction of a second, everything changed. The hunger you saw in his eyes was raw and undeniable. It was a look you'd never seen from him before, one that made your heart skip a beat and your body respond in ways you hadn't anticipated. For a moment, the horror of the situation was forgotten, replaced by the all-consuming need to touch, to taste, to claim.

Your hand slowly slid from his mouth to cup his jaw, feeling the stubble that had formed over the past few days of non-stop work. His breath was hot against your palm, his eyes never leaving yours. The intimacy of the gesture was not lost on either of you, but in the face of the danger lurking outside, it seemed to be the only thing that made sense.

Spencer's arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer until your chests were pressed together. The sound of the Unsubs' footsteps grew fainter as they moved away from the office, but the intensity between you only grew stronger. His hands slid up your back, tangling in your hair, and you both leaned in, lips almost touching.

Suddenly, salvation in the form of a vibration. Your phone. The team had gotten your message. You felt a rush of hope as you realized that rescue was on the way. The vibration against your leg was a silent shout of reassurance, a beacon in the dark.

You both knew that you had to keep it together, to keep the facade of professionalism until the danger had passed. The text message seemed to sober you both up, the urgency of the situation slapping you back into the stark reality of your predicament.

You glanced down at the screen, noting the time since you'd sent the SOS. It felt like hours, but it had only been minutes. The message was simple: "In position. Hold tight." Spencer's eyes met yours, understanding passing between you in a fraction of a second. The weight on your chest lifted slightly, the fear ebbing away just enough to allow you to breathe again.

The sound of the Unsubs grew fainter as they moved away from the office. You dared not speak, not even a whisper, as you both listened intently for any clue to their whereabouts. Spencer's hand slid from your hair to the small of your back, his fingers gently tracing the contours of your spine. You shivered at his touch, the line between terror and passion blurring further.

Suddenly, the air was pierced by the sound of shattering glass. The Unsubs had been spooked, and the cavalry had arrived. The SWAT team, alerted by your message, had come crashing through the restaurant's front windows, the shards raining down like a crystal waterfall in the dusty room. You could feel Spencer's body tense beneath you, his muscles coiled and ready to spring into action.

You both took this as your cue to come out of hiding. With a silent nod of understanding, you slithered out from under the tablecloth, drawing your weapon as you went. Spencer was right behind you, his eyes sharp and focused, scanning the room for any sign of the quartet. The office door was slightly ajar, and the sound of chaos outside grew louder with each passing second.

As you emerged into the corridor, the scene that met you was one of organized mayhem. The SWAT team was spread out through the restaurant, their movements precise and calculated as they secured the area. You saw Morgan taking down one of the Unsubs with a well-placed tackle, the man's body hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

The other three Unsubs were already in cuffs, their faces a mix of shock and rage as they were read their rights. You felt a wave of relief wash over you as you realized that it was over, that no one else would suffer because of them.

He approached you and Spencer, his gaze sweeping over the two of you with a practiced eye. "Are you both okay?" he asked, his voice low and steady. You nodded, still trying to catch your breath, and Spencer managed a tight smile.

Morgan's eyes lingered on the two of you, and for a moment, you wondered if he could see the unspoken tension that had arisen between you during the standoff. But he said nothing, only nodded and turned back to the rest of the team.

The wrap-up was a blur, a flurry of activity that seemed to happen in fast-forward. You watched as the Unsubs were led out of the building, their heads bowed in defeat. The SWAT team secured the perimeter, and the forensic unit began their meticulous dance of collecting evidence. Your heart was still racing, the adrenaline from earlier lingering.

Before you knew it, you were in the back of an SUV, the cool leather pressing against your heated skin. Spencer was sitting beside you, the two of you trading glances. The silence between you was deafening, charged with the electricity of the kiss you had almost shared.

You couldn't help but wonder if it was the adrenaline that had pushed you both over the edge, or if there had always been something more simmering beneath the surface. The team was busy around you, talking and filling in the gaps of what had just transpired. But all you could think about was the way Spencer's body had felt beneath yours, the way his hands had explored you in the dark.

Once back at the precinct, you were just going through the motions. While the majority of the team interrogated the Unsubs, you found yourself cataloguing evidence with a sense of detachment, your mind replaying the events in the abandoned restaurant.

The almost kiss kept playing in your mind like a record on repeat. You couldn't shake the feeling of Spencer's breath against your skin, the way his eyes had searched yours for something unspoken. Each time you reached for a new piece of evidence, your hand would tremble slightly, a reminder of the intimate moment you had shared.

The touch of his fingers on your spine had been electric, sending a shiver down to the very core of you. You found yourself acutely aware of every point of contact, every brush of skin on skin, feeling as if you were still entwined under that dusty tablecloth. The memory of his arms around you was a comforting embrace that seemed to linger.

You froze for a moment as the realization hit you like a ton of bricks: you were sharing a room with Spencer tonight. The implications of what had almost happened weighed heavily on your mind as you continued to process the adrenaline-filled afternoon. You'd been partners for so long, so close, yet this was uncharted territory. You couldn't help but wonder how this would affect your relationship, both personally and professionally.

The case was wrapped up. Everything else was left for the locals. You and the team had done your part, leaving the cleanup to the local law enforcement. The Unsubs were behind bars, and the victims could now find some semblance of peace.

As you and the team divided into cars, you found yourself paired with Morgan and Prentiss. Spencer ended up in the car with Hotch, Rossi, and JJ, his eyes meeting yours briefly before the doors slammed shut, leaving you to wonder what might happen next. The drive to the hotel was a blur of city lights and the muffled chatter of your colleagues. You were lost in thought, replaying every heart-pounding moment in the abandoned restaurant.

When you finally arrived at the hotel, the lobby was a bustle of activity. The team checked in with weary efficiency, the gravity of the case still weighing on everyone's shoulders. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment as Spencer's gaze didn't seek you out among the crowd. Perhaps it was better this way, you thought, a chance to cool off and sort out the tumultuous emotions that had taken hold of you.

You headed up to the room, the elevator's slow ascent feeling like an eternity. You were sure that the conversation that was bound to happen would be a letdown. It had to be the adrenaline, you reasoned with yourself. It was the only explanation for the way your body had responded to his touch. But as the doors opened and you stepped into the quiet corridor, the memory of his arms around you seemed to follow you.

You fished the room key out of your pocket and slipped it into the lock, turning the handle with a click. The door swung open, revealing a space that felt too small for the emotions you were carrying.

Standing in the middle of the room, you took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself before Spencer joined you in your shared hotel room. The walls felt closer than they should, the air filled with the anticipation of an unspoken conversation that loomed. You studied your reflection in the mirror, smoothing out any signs of distress, hoping to maintain a facade of calm.

As the lock clicked open, the sound echoed through the room. Your entire body tensed, not ready for what the night might hold. Spencer stepped in, his eyes briefly scanning the room before they settled on you.

For a moment, you just stared at each other, the silence stretching out between you. His face was a mask, revealing nothing. You searched his gaze, desperate to find some clue, some hint of what was going through his mind. But Spencer was a master of poker faces, and he wasn't giving you anything to work with.

Then, without any warning, Spencer closed the distance between you, his hands coming up to cup your face. His touch was surprisingly firm, yet gentle, his thumbs tracing the line of your jaw as he leaned in. His lips met yours in a kiss that was as intense as it was unexpected, stealing the breath from your lungs. You felt your knees wobble as you kissed him back with an equal fervour.

You gripped onto Spencer's shoulders, your nails digging into his shirt as you tried to keep yourself tethered to reality. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, his hands splayed against the small of your back.

He broke the kiss abruptly, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter. "Tell me you want this" he growled.

"Yes," you assured him, the word coming out as a breathless whisper. "I want you," you clarified.

With frantic movements, you both began to undress each other, the fabric of your clothes seeming to dissolve away in your haste. Buttons popped and zippers hissed as the barriers between you fell away. You could feel the heat from his skin as your shirts were discarded.

Spencer reached around and unclipped your bra with an ease that made your stomach flip. He took his sweet time peeling the fabric away, revealing your breasts to his hungry gaze. He didn't waste a second before his mouth found them, his lips closing around your nipple with a gentle suction that sent a jolt of pleasure through you. You gasped, your back arching, pushing your chest closer to his face.

With a groan, he began to suck, his tongue flicking and teasing the sensitive bud as you tangled your fingers in his hair. His hands followed suit, cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing over the peaks as he played with your nipples. He switched to the other side, giving it the same attention, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Each nip and suck sent electricity through your body, making your legs threaten to give out.

Once he had his fill, he moved on to your trousers, taking them and your underwear down with a gentle urgency. You stepped out of the fabric pooled around your ankles, feeling vulnerable and exposed. He knelt before you, marvelling at the sight before him, his eyes dark with desire. You felt a blush spread across your cheeks as he looked up, a wicked smile playing on his lips.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in your very soul. "All mine to taste." He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as his eyes travelled down your body.

With a gentle but firm tug, Spencer's hands slid down to the back of your thighs, urging you closer. You stepped into the embrace, feeling his warm breath against your sex. The sensation sent a shiver through your body, and you bit your lip to hold back a whimper of need. His fingers dug into the flesh, gripping tightly as if he needed the anchor.

He leaned in, his tongue tracing the seam of your pussy. You felt his hot breath against your clit, the anticipation making it throb with desire. He circled the sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue, the touch so light it was almost maddening.

You moaned, your hands finding their way into his hair, gripping the soft strands as he began to apply more pressure. Spencer's eyes never left yours as he started to devour you, his mouth working magic on your clit, his tongue flicking and teasing until you were grinding against his face, desperate for more.

He chuckled darkly at your eagerness, his hands moving to grip your ass, pulling you closer until you were practically riding his face. His tongue plunged into your wetness, tasting you deeply, and you couldn't hold back the moan that escaped your lips. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious mix of pleasure and vulnerability that had you teetering on the edge.

"That's right, sweetheart," Spencer murmured, his voice muffled by your flesh. "Cum for me. Let me feel you come apart." His words were a command, a demand that sent a thrill through your body. You could feel the muscles in your abdomen tighten, your orgasm building in your core.

Obeying his urging, you began to rock your hips, grinding your clit against his tongue. The pressure was exquisite, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you. His eyes remained locked on yours, his pupils blown wide with desire, his mouth wide open collecting your juices. His hands tightened on your ass, his fingers digging in, urging you to move faster, to give him what he wanted.

And then, with a final, needy grind against his mouth, you shattered. The orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you leaving you trembling and gasping for air. You could see the triumph flash in his eyes as he felt you come apart. He didn't stop, though, continuing to lick and suck until your legs gave out needing him to catch you.

With a firm grip on your waist, he guided you to the bed, his movements sure and decisive. The mattress dipped as you sat down, and he didn't waste a second before he was beside you, his body pressing into yours, his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that was as possessive as it was hungry.

"Good girl," he murmured against your lips, the words a dark praise that sent a thrill through your body. He pushed you back onto the bed, his body following yours, his weight a delicious pressure that made your heart race even faster. You felt the heat of him, his arousal pressing against your thigh, and it was all you could do to keep from reaching down and taking him in your hand.

Spencer sat up, his eyes never leaving yours as he removed the rest of his clothes. Each article of clothing fell away, revealing more of the toned body you had only ever seen glimpses of. His chest was bare, a blush trailing down it, and his erection was clear through his boxer briefs. He watched your reaction, a smug satisfaction in his gaze as he revealed himself to you.

"You have no idea how much I've wanted this," he murmured, his voice thick with lust as he pushed the last of his clothes off. "How hard it was to keep my hands to myself while we were hiding." His hand slid down his body, gripping his cock, giving it a slow stroke that had you biting your lip.

The admission sent a bolt of desire through you, making your heart race even faster. You had known there was something between you, something that went beyond friendship and partnership, but to hear him voice it so bluntly was exhilarating.

Spencer climbed over you, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered in your ear, "While you were on top of me, I couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to have you riding me like that, taking me deep inside you." His words were raw, unfiltered, and they sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel the heat of his arousal, his cock pressing into your thigh as he spoke.

He trailed kisses down your neck, each one a silent promise of what was to come. "I wanted to rip your clothes off right there," he confessed, his voice a low growl that resonated through your body. "To feel you wet and ready for me, to hear you scream my name as I made you cum."

The words alone were almost enough to push you over the edge again. Your pussy throbbed with need, your inner walls clenching around emptiness, desperate for his touch. A moan slipped past your lips, and you threw your head back, giving him full access to your neck. His teeth grazed your skin, and you felt a shiver of pleasure that went straight to your core.

"Please," you begged, the word a breathy whisper that seemed to hang in the air. "I need you inside me." Your voice was ragged with desire, your eyes never leaving his as you made your plea. The raw need in your eyes seemed to be all the permission Spencer needed.

With a final, lingering kiss, he positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your slick folds. "Don't worry, sweet girl," he murmured, his voice low and dominant. "I'll take care of you."

He slammed into you with a force that made you gasp. The feeling of being filled by him was almost painful in its intensity, but the pain quickly gave way to pleasure as your body adjusted to his size.

Spencer's eyes were hooded with desire as he watched your reaction, his hips moving in a punishing rhythm. His hands gripped the headboard, the wood creaking under his grip as he thrust deeper and deeper, his whole body taut with the effort.

You could feel the mattress shift with every pounding stroke, the springs groaning in protest beneath you. The sensation was almost overwhelming, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that had you panting and writhing beneath him. You wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to pull him closer, urging him deeper.

Spencer took your cue, his hands moving from the headboard to your hips, his grip unyielding as he set a rhythm that had you seeing stars. His hips snapped against you, his cock filling you completely, the sensation of fullness making your eyes roll back in your head. He was a force of nature, a storm of passion that you had unleashed, and you were helpless to do anything but ride the waves of pleasure that he brought.

You could feel the headboard knocking against the wall with every thrust, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room. Each time he pushed into you, your breath hitched, a whimper escaping your lips. His eyes watching every flicker of emotion that crossed your face, his expression one of fierce concentration.

"Look at me," Spencer demanded. You obeyed, locking your gaze onto his, unable to look away as he claimed you, body and soul. His dominance was intoxicating, the way he took control of your pleasure, leaving you powerless to do anything but submit to his will.

With a slight adjustment of his hips, he angled himself just right, and you felt the electric sensation as his cock hit your g-spot. A shocked yelp escaped your lips, your eyes widening with surprise. The intensity was almost too much, but you didn't want him to stop.

The sound of your moans grew louder with every thrust, filling the small room. Spencer smirked, his eyes dark with arousal as he leaned in close, his hand coming up to cover your mouth. "Quiet," he whispered, his voice a seductive rumble in your ear. "We don't want them to hear us, do we?" It was a playful reminder of your earlier words.

You moaned against his hand, the muffled sound only serving to add to the intensity of the moment. The heat from his palm was like a brand on your skin, searing your lips as you fought to keep your noises contained.

As the pleasure mounted, he slowly switched to putting his thumb in your mouth while the rest of his hand cupped your cheek. The act was both innocent and incredibly erotic, a silent plea for more as your teeth grazed his skin, your tongue swirling around the digit.

The sound of his groan filled the room, a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very air. It sent a bolt of electricity through your body, making your pussy clench around his cock. Spencer's eyes darkened with need, his thumb pressing deeper into your mouth, his hips moving faster, his strokes more urgent.

"So fucking tight," he murmured, his voice a low, guttural growl. "You're so wet for me, aren't you?" His words went straight to your pussy, your body responding instinctively to his words. You nodded, unable to form coherent sentences as he continued his relentless assault on your senses.

"Tell me," he demanded, his hips grinding into you, his cock hitting your g-spot with every thrust. "Tell me how good it feels." You moaned around his thumb, the sound muffled and wanton.

"Am I fucking you so good you can't answer?" he taunted, his voice low and full of smug satisfaction.

You could only nod, the words caught in your throat as he hit that spot again and again. The feeling was so intense that you could feel yourself climbing towards another orgasm.

With a sudden shift, Spencer rolled over, flipping onto his, and you straddled him, his cock still buried deep inside you. "Fuck, I need to see you ride me," he grunted.

Wasting no time, you immediately got to work, arching your lower back and slamming your ass down against his pelvis. The pleasure had your eyes rolling back in your head. Each downward thrust was met with an upward surge of his hips, filling you completely.

Spencer's fingers dug into your hips, his grip tightening with each bounce, leaving the promise of bruises in his wake. You could feel the pressure building again, his cock stroking your g-spot with an almost punishing precision that had your toes curling.

"That's right, be a good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Ride my cock just like that." The words were a command that had your pussy clenching around him, desperate to please. You picked up the pace, the slap of your ass meeting his thighs growing louder with each passing second.

Spencer's eyes never left yours, his gaze a mix of hunger and admiration. "Look how much you want it," he said, his voice a dark whisper. "Look how much you need me to fill you up, to make you scream." His words were like a drug, sending a rush of pleasure through your body.

"You like me praising you," he murmured, his eyes flicking down to where you were joined. "Calling you a good girl?" His hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin gently as his hips began to move again, his cock still buried deep inside you. "I felt the way your cunt started squeezing me," he continued, his voice a low rumble of satisfaction. "Every time I say it, you get wetter, don't you?"

You couldn't help but nod, the truth of his words evident in the way your body was responding. You felt the heat of his palm on your cheek, the gentle pressure of his thumb against your skin grounding you.

With a growl of pure need, Spencer brought your face down to meet his in a passionate kiss that was both possessive and tender. His tongue claimed your mouth, the taste of you still lingering on his lips. You moaned into the kiss, the sensation of his cock inside you making your head spin.

Both his hands grabbed your ass, the firm grip of his fingers digging into your flesh. He used the leverage to slam your hips down onto him, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room. You could feel the muscles in his arms tensing, the power behind each thrust driving you closer to the edge. The sensation was overwhelming, and you could feel yourself tightening around him, the beginnings of another orgasm building deep within you.

Spencer's voice was a low growl in your ear, his words a mix of praise and need. "You're so fucking perfect," he murmured, his hips bucking up to meet yours. "I want to fill you up, have you dripping with my seed." The thought of his release inside you had your pussy clenching around him, the walls quivering with the anticipation of his climax.

"Will you let me, sweetheart?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for an answer. The question was loaded, filled with a mix of hope and desire that made your heart race even faster. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding back, waiting for your permission.

You nodded, the word "yes" barely escaping your mouth before it was swallowed by his kiss. Spencer's hips bucked up into you, the urgency of his movements increasing. He broke the kiss, panting. "I need to feel you come around me," he groaned.

The frantic pace continued, your bodies moving in perfect synchronicity as you raced towards the peak of pleasure. Spencer's grip on your ass was bruising, but you didn't care. You needed this, needed him to make you feel alive in a way you never had before. His cock slammed into your g-spot over and over, causing non-stop pleasure.

Your kiss grew sloppier, tongues tangling and breaths mingling as if you were trying to breathe each other in. The taste of him was intoxicating. You felt the pressure building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core, threatening to break at any moment.

"Cum for me, sweet girl," Spencer begged, his voice strained with his own need. And as if those words were the key to your release, your body obeyed. You felt the orgasm crash over you, a tidal wave of sensation that had you throwing your head back and screaming his name. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body spasming on top of him, your pussy clenching around his cock like a vice.

The sight of you, lost in the throes of ecstasy, was too much for Spencer. With a roar, he reached his own climax, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled you with his cum. The feeling was indescribable, a mix of pleasure and relief that had him seeing stars. His hips jerked upwards, his body shuddering with the force of his release, his hands gripping you tightly.

You moaned at the feeling of him cumming in you, the sensation of being filled sending you spiralling over the edge into another orgasm. Your pussy clenched around him, milking every last drop from his cock as he emptied himself inside you. The feeling was primal, a deep-seated satisfaction that resonated through every part of your being.

As the last tremors of pleasure passed, you collapsed boneless against him, both of you trying to catch your breath. Your cheek was pressed against his chest, his heart pounding against your skin. You could feel the stickiness of your juices between your legs, mingling with his seed.

Spencer's hand came up to draw patterns across your spine, the touch gentle and soothing. His fingertips traced the contours of your back, moving in a lazy pattern. You leaned into the caress, the tension in your body slowly beginning to melt away.

For a while, you both lay there, just breathing, the sound of your harsh pants slowly evening out as your heart rates returned to normal. The silence between you was conent, a shared understanding that didn't require any words. You felt the warmth of his body, the steady thump of his heart, and the sticky warmth between your legs.

Spencer was the first to move, cupping your cheek gently and turning your face to look at him. His eyes searched yours, a soft smile playing on his lips as he brought you into a sweet, lingering kiss. When he finally pulled away, the words he whispered were filled with wonder and a hint of disbelief. "I can't believe I finally have you," he murmured, his voice filled with emotion.

The truth of his words hung in the air, the weight of them heavy on your chest. You had both crossed a line, one that could never be uncrossed. But as you stared into his eyes, the warmth of his gaze and the tender way he held you made you feel that this was right. That this was what you both needed.

You felt his cock begin to soften inside you, the pulsing subsiding as your bodies slowly calmed from the intense climax. The feeling was strange, almost bittersweet, as if your body was mourning the loss of his hardness. Gently, he pulled out, his movements careful and deliberate, mindful of your sensitivity. A gush of warmth accompanied his exit, leaving a wetness that was both a reminder of what had just occurred and a promise of what was to come.

Spencer looked down at you, a soft smile playing on his lips as he brushed a stray hair from your face. "Come on," he prompted. "Let's get cleaned up." He offered you a hand, helping you to your unsteady feet. Your legs felt like jelly, weak from the pleasure he had wrung from your body. You took his hand gratefully, allowing him to lead you to the bathroom.

Spencer turned the shower on, the sound of rushing water filling the small space. He stepped in, testing the temperature with his hand before turning back to you with a nod, extending his hand once again. You stepped in, the warm spray cascading over your bodies, washing away the sweat and semen.

He took a washcloth soaking it in the warm water, and gently began to clean you. You watched him, the tender way he moved the cloth across your skin, wiping away the sweat and slick. His eyes were focused on his task, the intensity of the moments before replaced by a softness that made your heart ache.

You leaned into his touch, your body relaxing against his as he took care of you. Each stroke of the washcloth was like a caress, soothing the ache in your muscles and the throb of your pussy. He was thorough, paying special attention to every inch of your skin, as if he was worshipping your body.

Once he was satisfied that you were clean, Spencer quickly cleaned himself and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist before turning his attention back to you. "Let me dry you off," he murmured, his eyes gentle.

You stepped out of the shower, the warmth of the water leaving your skin glistening. Spencer took a towel from the rack, his movements methodical as he began to gently pat you down. Starting at your face, he moved down your neck, taking special care around the sensitive areas.

His touch was surprisingly gentle, almost reverent, as if he was afraid to break the spell that had been cast between you. You felt his hands on your shoulders, sliding down your arms, and around to your back, his touch feather light as he dried your skin. Each brush of the terrycloth cause goosebumps to break out.

Once Spencer had you thoroughly dried, he wrapped the towel around your body, tucking it in tightly, almost like he was afraid to let you go. He took your hand, leading you to the second bed. The mattress dipped under your weight as you sat down, the softness a welcome relief after the intense moments that had passed.

He took a seat beside you, his eyes searching yours. "I need you to understand something," he began, his voice serious. "What we just did, it's not just about the case or the adrenaline. It's not just about the physical attraction we have."

Spencer took a deep breath, his hand reaching out to cover yours. "I want you, not just your body, but all of you," he confessed, his gaze never leaving yours. "I want to know every part of you, every thought, every fear, every dream."

You could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way his heart was laid bare for you. "This isn't just about scratching an itch," he continued. "It's about connecting on a level that goes beyond anything I've ever experienced." His words were a declaration, a promise of something more substantial than the fleeting moments of passion you've shared.

You took a deep breath, the warmth of the shower still clinging to your skin as you searched for the right words. "Spencer," you began, your voice a whisper. "I feel the same way." The confession felt like a weight lifted off your chest. You had been holding it in for so long, the fear of ruining your friendship and professional relationship had kept you from saying what you truly felt.

His eyes searched yours, the intensity in them making your heart race. "Do you mean it?" he asked, his voice hopeful yet tentative.

"Yes," you whispered, the word a promise that seemed to echo through the quiet hotel room. "I do." Spencer's hand tightened around yours, his smile growing as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. It was a kiss that spoke of relief and joy, a silent acknowledgement that he wasn't alone in his feelings.

As the tension between you dissipated, you both got ready for bed, moving with a newfound ease. You slid under the cool sheets of the second bed. Spencer followed, his body fitting against yours as if he had been made for you.

You were so giddy with the intensity of what had just transpired that you weren’t sure you’d be able to sleep. Yet, as you cuddled against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, the comfort of his embrace began to lull you into a peaceful slumber. His arms tightened around you, his warmth seeping into your very bones.

As the night passed, you both slipped into a deep sleep, your bodies entwined like lovers lost in each other’s embrace. The tension of the case and the passion between you had drained you both, leaving nothing but peaceful rest.

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