#but that cuts out SO much important content that happens in between

[pekoeboo]

hm;; i'm kind of at the point right now where I'm not sure if i'll end up actually continuing/finishing the Journal?? I've had a basic outline written out for the entire rest of the story in one of my notebooks, so I know exactly what happens from the point I left off... but actually writing it hasn't exactly worked out very well for the past several months or so. >n<;; there's also a lot of new lore changes that have taken place and i'm ?? kind of not sure how to implement them into what i've already written without rewriting a bunch of stuff as well;;

idk if anyone's even still interested in the story anyway so it probably doesn't matter if I don't update it again. I just wish there were a way for me to still share what happens for anyone who is still curious, but writing new entries just isn't in the cards for me right now. maybe sometime in the future I'll get hit with the inspiration to continue with it? but as of now, probably not.

I guess I'm cool with spoiling the rest of it tho if anyone wants to know what happens - just send me an ask regarding the story and I'm more than willing to share that info :0 don't think i'll be able to really draw much art to explain stuff either so asks are probably the best way for y'all to figure out what happens. if not, then i'll likely just keep a lot of that to myself since i have no idea how else to share it.

anyway, it is what it is I suppose. these things happen with long-form creative projects, and I'm not the kind of person who is really good at keeping up on stuff like this for extended periods of time, unfortunately. hope that's ok tho;;

[euthymiya]

the delicate line between friends and lovers ft. alhaitham — in which the akademiya’s scribe and the bimarstan’s head nurse develop some serious feelings for each other in between hook ups. evidently, neither of them are very good at being able to communicate these feelings, though.

contains: 14.0k word count ; female reader ; explicit content—not suitable for minors ; fwb to lovers ; mutual pining ; banter and teasing ; angst with happy ending (this one goes out to all the girls who wonder if their fav would choose them: they would!) ; reader is the (very overworked) head nurse at the bimarstan ; mentions of blood and injuries (alhaitham) ; reader has insecurities ; jealousy ; dry humping—and kaveh being a major cockblock unfortunately ; alcohol drinking—4ggravate (minus alhaitham) appearance! ; clothed sex ; unprotected vaginal sex ; no prep ; creampie

the akademiya is well connected in its networks. meaning one thing: gossip travels fast. against his will, alhaitham learns far more about people than he wants to, details upon details that travel even through his soundproof earpieces at times. 

today, for example, he learns without meaning to that the akademiya has decreased the previously approved funding for the bimarstan. this piece of information is able to irritate him enough that he almost itches to demand for the title of acting grand sage once more. sumeru, a nation of free healthcare, couldn’t possibly hope to underfund one of the pillars of the citizens and their well-being. not unless someone who’s as incapable and underdeveloped in critical thinking as the last grand sage himself (before alhaitham, of course) was in office. 

he walks to the bimarstan, footsteps heavy in the dead quiet of the night as he trudges through the door of the hospital. you’re already there to greet him, eyeing the way the arm under his cloak is tense and curled under the fabric. 

“another eremite attack?” you murmur, walking towards an empty room as you gaze at him over your shoulder to follow.

he does so wordlessly, eyeing the tired, overworked, and disarrayed nurses along the hospital as he walks past them. 

you’re no different, he studies, watching as you stifle a yawn, taking in the darkened circles under your eyes as he sits on an examination table while you bring out the necessary supplies to clean his wound. 

the akademiya—no, sumeru was blooming under his lead. that much he was aware of. you’d said it yourself, too, the first time he came. 

oh, it’s you! we’re most grateful for your changes, acting grand sage, you’d smiled at him, they’ve really helped improve things here at the bimarstan.

he wasn’t expecting that. the only reason why he’d stopped at the hospital for care instead of going home was because he’d run out of bandages, nothing more. one look at you had all but changed that, the tilt of your lips as they smile spinning his world on its axis in a completely new direction. you tend to his cuts that night, and even though he’d told himself he wouldn’t, he returns after the next expedition. 

and the next. and the next. and then it becomes routine. 

for a while, alhaitham told himself he only came to the hospital for his wounds instead of patching himself up after long expeditions in the desert because it was nice to see how the bimarstan ran. it’s important for him to be aware of necessary changes that must be made as acting grand sage—however temporary the job may be, he has every intention of doing it properly. so he studies and assesses the functionality of the hospital and makes decisions accordingly. those things can only happen if he visits frequently. 

but then he starts to notice that his feet truly only carry him here on the nights you work. though you work often and late into the night, too. being head nurse requires as much, of course, but he notices all too quickly that he’s begun to memorize your schedule. 

slowly but surely, he resigns himself to fate. he comes for you. 

“it’s just a light graze,” he mumbles after some time, revealing the small gash on his arm under his cloak. your eyebrows crinkle in concern for a moment before you set off to work, methodically and expertly cleaning away at the dried blood and disinfecting the wound. 

he doesn’t talk for a while before he finally says, “you’re short-staffed.”

it’s a question presented as an observation—he has a habit of doing that, of speaking his mind and waiting for an explanation to follow. 

you sigh, bandaging his arm as you murmur, “people are quitting. it’s been hectic in here—and the funding cut doesn’t exactly allow for a pay that seems worth the grueling hours.”

you love your job. it’s the first thing alhaitham knows about you. you take it very seriously, scolding anyone, even the acting grand sage, about proper care and healthy habits. 

did you stitch these yourself? you’d gasped when you first noticed the scars on his chest, that’s dangerous! do you know the infections you could contract from an improperly tended wound?”

it’s not as amusing now to watch the other nurses listen awkwardly as you scold him. he’s back to being the scribe, no longer tied to the title of sage. the nurses aren’t as alarmed anymore by your lack of formality—although, he’s sure by now, they’re a bit used to it too. 

“and i assume you’re not resting properly?” he gives you a knowing look, reaching forward with his free hand and brushing a callused but gentle thumb under your bruised eyebags. 

you close your eyes at the fleeting touch, humming before giving him a guilty smile. 

“i can’t let things get out of hand here.”

“you should take your own advice,” he snorts, “what was it again? something about proper rest and sleep to ensure a healthy lifestyle?”

“if you’re here to throw my words back in my face, i recall also mentioning getting into less trouble,” you huff, momentarily glaring at his arm before meeting his eyes. “what happened to being more careful?”

“like i said,” he shrugs, hissing slightly when you press on his wound to prove your point, “it’s just a graze.”

you and alhaitham are, no doubt, an unexpected match—if you can call yourselves that, even. it’s a complicated relationship you share, you and the former grand sage turned scribe. 

you patch him up late at night one day, and he so chivalrously accompanies you on your walk home after your shift. that’s all it was supposed to be…but, well, things are never as simple as sticking to the original plan. 

you invite him in for drinks, he accepts, you clumsily trip on your rug, he catches you swiftly, and somehow, in the mix, both of your lips end up meeting in the most heated kiss you’ve ever shared with someone. clothes are easy enough to shed, and stumbling to your bedroom is hardly complicated, and in a far from ideal turn of events, you sleep with the akademiya’s scribe. 

multiple times, in fact. 

by now, his visits to the bimarstan to see you are as frequent as your visits to his house to see him. the only difference is that his visits tend to be for medical reasons, and yours are…personal to say the least. it’s, of course, as these arrangements tend to go, one that’s strictly physical. 

being physically involved with a patient is scandalous enough, but romantic involvement would be nothing short of unethical. and he’s not a very romantically inclined individual anyway, so not toeing the line of something more is easy enough for the both of you. 

still, you’re quite fond of him—he’s funny when he wants to be and a gentleman underneath the blunt responses and straightforward remarks. you like to consider him as a good friend. one who knows your body a bit too well than most friends should, but a good friend nonetheless. 

you look at him unimpressed as you finish tending to his wound, scoffing and rolling your eyes as you point out, “you’d call it a graze even if your arm was dangling off the bone.”

that gets a chuckle out of him, his head tilting up as he looks at you. if you weren’t in a hospital with your work attire, this would feel oddly domestic: cleaning tenderly at his wounds as he looks at you softly. 

you and alhaitham never toe the line of something more, but you do take steps dangerously close sometimes. 

“when do you finish your shift?” he asks, voice a low rumble. 

“now,” you grin, giving him a mock glare as you add, “you have me working past the clock.”

“let me walk you home, then.” he’d do it anyway, regardless of whether or not you accept. still, you never turn him away. 

“how kind of you,” you say sarcastically—you know better than he does what he means, what he wants, and you can’t exactly say you don’t want it yourself. 

“i can be rather giving when i want,” he shrugs. 

“oh, yes,” you snort, “quite the giver.” the grin he sends you is nothing short of fond. 

the line blurs a little like it’s been drawn in the sand, grains carried away by the wind and leaving the faintest trace of the border you draw. somehow, even though you shouldn’t, you step closer to it, just at the edge. 

but it’s never enough to cross it. 

“am i?” he muses, “i’m glad you think so.”

“you know, most people would believe you talk too little. but i think you talk too much.”

his cloak falls back in place over his arm as he stands, lips curled in a rare smile—well, rare to anyone other than you, that is. he walks out, and you follow.

it almost feels like you're getting closer and closer to stumbling past the line against your will every day. 

——————————

alhaitham knows your home well. well enough that he knows to drop his cloak in the basket you keep for laundry so you can wash away the blood soaked into the fabric for him. 

is it normal to do the laundry of your fuck buddy? you’re not even sure. it’s not like you’d ask anyone, anyway. 

but it doesn’t matter—not when his lips find yours before you can think about it too much. it’s a slow kiss. he’s good with his mouth in more ways than one—good at kissing, good at pleasing, and he’s even good at talking. he’s a linguist, anyway, so it only makes sense. 

“eager,” you murmur in between kisses, nipping at his lips as he shivers. “did you miss me that badly in the desert?”

“of course,” he rasps, gently guiding you to fall back against your bed, his hand cupping the back of your head like you’re fragile as glass, “eremites don’t have as enticing of a touch as you do.”

“maybe if you ask nicely, they’ll be less rough with you,” you wiggle your brows, giggling.

he clicks his teeth, angling your jaw to trail kisses along the slant of it as his hands travel to your hips, gently rubbing the bare skin of your hips under your shirt. you hum appreciatively, closing your eyes and sighing at the soothing feeling of his warm palms seeping heat into your skin. your fingers thread into his hair, tangling into the locks for some sort of means to hold on and ground yourself. 

it’s like warm drizzles of syrup, his touch sinking into you as you absorb his sweetness. 

“and why would i need that when this is far better?”

every word alhaitham alhaitham says is punctuated with the warmth of his lips pressed into your skin. it’s almost soothing—he feels calming. it doesn’t feel heated, not the passionate kind that kindles something carnal in you. 

it feels warm, the soft and gentle kind that makes everything feel a bit lighter. a bit cozier. something more homely in this house of yours. 

“mhm,” you hum, your fingers slowly slipping from his hair as they fall to his shoulders, barely holding him in place as your eyes remain shut. it’s soothing, everything about him. enough that you don’t even realize you’re dozing off until he chuckles. 

“did i bore you into sleep?” he pecks your cheek. 

“no,” you tug your eyelids apart, giving him a sheepish grin, “sorry, you’re just warm.”

“oh yeah?” he grins, amused. he’s climbing off of you, much to your dismay, making a soft whine run past your lips as your hands chase him. 

he’s quick to replace the lack of him, though, planting himself beside you as he pulls you into his chest. 

cuddling isn’t new for the two of you. usually, it’s a post-coital activity, though—you start to think alhaitham is just as bad at drawing a clear line in the sand as you. he’s gentle as he pulls your covers over you, pressing one more kiss to your head before he sighs and relaxes. 

“i’m not tired,” you protest weakly. 

“no, you’re not,” he agrees to satisfy you, eyeing your drooping eyes knowingly. “i am, though. it’s been a long trip.”

“right,” you nod, humming. “weak.”

he rolls his eyes, though fondly—you barely make out the action through your half lidded eyes as you glance at him one last look before your eyes force themselves shut. he’s warm, smells like that spicy hint of harra fruit in his cologne, and feels painfully safe when he lets you curl into his strong arm as it wraps around you. 

normal people don’t cuddle when they’re just fucking like this—you and alhaitham are anything but normal. it’s a mutual sort of agreement, though. you allow the small domestic tendencies to slip past the line, only to let the shore wash it away from the sand. 

it never stays for long, this feeling of intimacy. real intimacy, the kind that’s far more personal than seeing each other nude and feeling each other at your rawest. the kind where you both fall asleep beside each other, tangled, safe, warm, trusted. 

but you’re just friends. you think. you can’t afford to be anything more—alhaitham isn’t the sort of man to grant you something like that. you’re sure of that. he’s kind, good natured, even. but there’s not one romantically inclined bone in his body—you’ve seen it yourself. 

he’s rejected one too many brave women with her heart on her sleeve. never cruelly, but always definitively. 

sleep doesn’t let you think about it all for too long. you resign yourself to a peaceful slumber beside him, breath slowly evening out as he rubs the small of your back. 

and, when morning comes and you awaken, you don’t think about it for too long then, either. because he’s gone. because, of course, he wouldn’t stay—not when this is physical and nothing more.

you’re not disappointed, you think. you’re aware of the nature of things. and he’s a gentleman, as always, leaving you a note on your bedside. 

i had to file some reports from my expedition. i believe i’ll be needing my cloak back. 

you chuckle, shaking your head. it’s an invitation—bring me my cloak, and we’ll finish what we started. 

it’s how things are with you and alhaitham. you do his laundry with yours, he walks you home and forces you to rest, and sometimes, you happen to partake in some debauchery in the process. there’s nothing wrong with it. 

and even if your toes dance along the edge of the line, they always drag along to draw it sharper in the sand. 

——————————

coming to alhaitham’s house seems like second nature these days. he comes to you at night, and you come to him in the afternoon of your day off—luck would have it that yours happens to coincide with his. you knock three times and he opens as soon as your knuckles pull away from the cool surface of his door. it’s like he expects you, maybe even waits for you. 

you step in and let the door close behind you, grinning when he steps closer and cages you against the tight corner that is his front entrance. 

“i brought over your cloak,” you hold up the cloth, gesturing for him to move so you can put it on him. he looks at you incredulously, like you’re out of your mind. 

“why would i put it on now?” he asks in confusion. 

you tilt your head, raising an eyebrow, “you always wear one?”

“and why would i dress when we’ll only be undressing in a short moment?” he quirks his own brow like it’s obvious—which, to be fair, alhaitham is not exactly wrong. but it doesn’t make you any less flustered when he says it. 

“you’re shameless,” you huff, looking away in embarrassment. he chuckles lowly, leaning down and trailing his nose along your collarbone, breathing in your perfume. 

“i think i’m more practical, is all,” he murmurs into your skin. you sigh, goosebumps traveling across your body at the fan of his breath against you. 

“if only people knew how unstiff the akademiya’s scribe can truly be,” you grin, finger tracing the sliver of skin showing from his chest window. “did you know i overheard a few patients discuss how bad you are at conversing?”

“i don’t get paid to partake in small talk,” he says, voice a low vibration as he shivers at your touch. “i have things to finish when i’m on the clock apart from socializing.”

“what, you’re that concerned when you have your lovely pay raise? i’m sure you could afford a few minutes,” you tease, making him roll his eyes. 

alhaitham certainly won’t admit it, but he finds a good amount of amusement from your quips—the small grin on his usually downturned lips tells you as much. 

“if you want me to spend my earnings on you, there are better ways to ask,” he shoots light-heartedly. 

“you’d accuse me of such shallow schemes?” you pout. “do you think me to be after your mora?”

his answer is instantaneous, coming in the form of a delicate kiss pressed to your lips as his hands grab your hips. your arms have a habit of their own, always wrapping around his neck before you can even comprehend the action, and just like always, you both end up a tangled pile of limbs that can’t even make it past the doorway, let alone the rest of the house. 

you like it this way, perhaps even love it. something about him being unable to wait the time it takes to walk to his room fills you up with a sense of glee. 

“being the scribe is a much simpler job than sage,” he mumbles between kisses, “there happens to be much more time for other things.”

“things like taking the head nurse against the door of your home?” 

“perhaps,” he smiles with a chuckle. 

who would’ve thought alhaitham could smile so painfully charming? just a few weeks ago, you had never seen him smile before at all, willing to bet that he’d never smiled a day after stepping into adulthood with that seriousness he holds so dearly. 

“i don’t have much time,” you hum in between kisses, fingers fiddling with the short hair at the nape of his neck. 

“we’ll make do, i’m sure,” he says through a breathy groan, already semi-hard as your thigh slots between his legs, rubbing against the forming tent in his pants. 

your head tilts up as his head buries into your neck, lips branding searing kisses into your skin. you wonder if this is what it feels like to be his, to be stamped with his affections one kiss at a time until no one else could hope to have you. your eyes flutter shut, sighing as he sucks attentively to your sweet spot. 

“don’t leave marks,” you scold, “i can’t show up to the bimarstan looking so scandalous.”

you’ve felt his lips against your skin enough times that you can tell them by heart. you don’t have to look to know they’re pouting against your neck—you can feel it against your skin. you giggle, cupping the back of his head as your fingers delicately thread through his hair. 

“i’m meant to hold back then?” he grumbles. it’s almost petulant, but he still softens the nipping against your skin, careful to leave no evidence of his existence against you, however disgruntled he might be. 

“don’t be so whiny,” you laugh. archons must have it out for you, though, because as soon as you say that, his hardened cock brushes against your crotch, making you whine at the friction. it’s something, but it’s hardly anything at all—the separation from the fabric makes everything not nearly enough. 

he seems to know it, too, because he pulls away, eyeing you with a certain gleam in his eyes that looks like a cross between smug and amused. 

“i’ll try,” he says smugly. you glare, but you’re cut off by the brush of his cock against that sensitive spot between your thighs once more, his hips grinding against you as you fall slack against the door. you can feel him rub against your clit, sending shockwaves along your spine as your back arches and you breathlessly moan his name. 

at first, he only does it to tease you, but after the first few rolls of his hips, it’s evident he can’t bring himself to stop. it’s not enough, not for either of you. the ache settling between your legs can’t be quelled with a few simple rolls of his hips with fabric separating you both from each other. but alhaitham’s sense of control seems to wash away with the tidal waves of pleasure, each thrust of his hips brushing his cock against your heat and leaving him panting into your shoulder. 

“m-more,” you plead, grabbing at his cape and fisting the material as you hold onto him tightly, “i need more—please.”

alhaitham, for all his composure and self-preservation, is simple to take apart when his throbbing cock is pressed against your cunt, rubbing against the length and building the pressure he so desperately needs. 

he doesn’t even seem to hear you, hot breath fanning against the crook of your neck as he buries his head and groans, hips sloppy and rough as they rut into you. you can feel the outline of his cock clearly even through his pants and yours, hot and undoubtedly hard. the bulge in his pants brushes against your clit through yours—and even if it’s nowhere close to feeling him inside of you, you can feel yourself just about to break. 

“sorry,” he gasps, “sorry—c-can’t stop. i-i’m c-close. so close.”

the last part comes out like a plead. it’s like he’s begging you to free him of this torment, like he needs you to make him fall over the edge because he can’t bring himself there. you think that might be the case, so you wrap your fingers around his hair and tug. 

he moans—maybe if you were feeling teasing, you’d call it a whine and watch his cheeks flush as he scowls. but there’s no chance for that. not when you’re both so close, so achingly close that you can just make out the twitch of his cock in his pants. 

and then the doorknob twists. 

a series of muffled curses can be heard through the other side of the door, and you both pause—rigid, tense, stiffly alert as your eyes widen. his head perks up from its place in your neck, staring at the doorknob in equal parts rage and equal parts confusion, like he blames it for cutting you both short of a much-needed, much-wanted orgasm. 

“oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” you hear a voice groan exasperatedly through the door, “again?”

you’re completely lost. who could be trying to enter alhaitham’s house at this hour? 

the only hope you have for answers is, of course, alhaitham—one look at the recognition and irritation on his face, and you can piece together that it’s certainly no stranger. alhaitham, if his cold glare could freeze anything where it stands, could potentially risk turning sumeru into the next snezhnaya. his eyes are hardened, and his jaw is clenched as he breathes out a heavy sigh through his nose. 

“and you’re kidding me,” he mutters bitterly. “now?” 

“hey! i know you’re home! open this door and stop pretending like you can’t hear me,” the voice demands, tapping on the door with more conviction than the last time. 

you furrow your eyebrows and look at him expectantly; an explanation demanded through the crinkles of your forehead as you look at him in confusion. he pulls away, jaw still tight as he adjusts himself in his pants, trying his best to hide the still painful erection he sports. 

“my roommate,” he says quietly. deadly. 

you almost feel bad for the poor soul that must be waiting on the other side of the door, unaware of the pure wrath he must be about to face judging by the look on alhaitham’s face. 

you hear the voice again, “ugh! you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? you—”

“calm down,” alhaitham calls, unimpressed and unamused as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. he seems to hold it for a moment like he’s fighting the tension in his body, before he slumps and lets out another sigh. this time, it’s much more defeated as he gives you an apologetic look when his eyes open. 

you both adjust your appearances, erasing any trace of debauchery before you step aside and let him approach the door. 

the swing of the door opening is a rather aggressive one, and alhaitham stands taller and straighter than you’ve ever seen him, like he’s trying to tower over the figure that enters the house. 

you recognize him immediately. 

“oh!” you gasp in awe, “you’re that architect! the one who designed the palace of alcazarzaray!”

both men look equally as haunted by your statement. alhaitham’s eye all but twitches as he takes in the breathless admiration in your voice—you’re no doubt praising kaveh’s work. as for the latter…well, he looks like he might just about launch himself into the blade of an eremite willingly the first chance he gets. 

“wh-who are you?” kaveh demands, “and what are you doing here?”

“she’s obviously a guest of mine,” alhaitham shoots coolly, tone as condescending as ever. “have you lost all manners? that’s no way to greet a guest.”

“what did you say to me? i want to hear nothing of the sort from you—god knows your temper isn’t one to speak on my manners.” 

kaveh turns to you, taking one better look at you, squinting as he thinks for a moment before realization flashes across his features. he seems to recognize you—though most people in sumeru do know you quite well. the nurses at the bimarstan are limited, these days. 

“ah! you’re the head nurse from the bimarstan! you looked at my wrist,” he recalls. 

you smile, nodding as you gesture at his hand and ask kindly, “is it better now? i do hope it’s not as sore anymore. did you apply heat as i suggested? and i hope you’re taking ample rest in between sketches—architects are very prone to sore wrists as is, you know.”

alhaitham rolls his eyes at your lecture, grumbling, “as if he would follow anyone’s advice. he’s far too stubborn.”

“i’ll have you know that i followed her advice quite closely,” kaveh says pointedly. he turns to you, voice much softer as he smiles and adds, “and my wrist is much better, thank you.”

“of course,” you nod. and then you pause, staring between the two unsurely as you falter and ask, “but…i wasn’t aware you two were friends. alhaitham tells me you’re his roommate—he’s never mentioned you before today, though.”

they both glare at each other through the corners of their eyes. something tells you maybe friends was a bit of an exaggerated term. alhaitham makes no moves to speak, crossing his arms and staring expectantly at kaveh—the blonde scoffs, shaking his head with a scowl. 

“friends…is a generous word. we’re roommates,” he nods in confirmation, “i’ve…ran into some trouble for the time being, so i’m staying here for a bit. won’t be much long, however. i need a space less…suffocating.”

“and how well is that plan faring for you?” alhaitham’s words seem to poke at kaveh, riling the blonde up further as you watch the scene before you awkwardly. 

“you—” but before kaveh can finish whatever retaliation was on the cusp of his tongue, he pauses. it’s like all at once, the situation hits him before he’s staring between the two of you, instead. “hang on a moment. how do the both of you know each other? i didn’t know alhaitham was acquainted enough with the head nurse for her to pay a visit.”

“well,” you start, trailing off as you cough lightly, tensing as the question throws you off guard. “umm…alhaitham visits the bimarstan sometimes after his trips to the desert. so…”

so what? how would that explain your visit to his home? it’s not as though you become friendly with all your patients and drop them a visit—in fact, alhaitham is the only one you’ve ever done that for. and of course, it’s not just a visit that you’re doing here. but kaveh doesn’t need to know that. 

that would be quite the scandal—getting so intimate with a regular patient. and apart from that, you and alhaitham aren’t exactly in an ideal situation. what would you tell kaveh? that you come over just to hook up? it’s not exactly a rare occurrence to have a beneficial relationship with someone like this, but still…admitting it like that is a bit too shameless for your liking. 

and then there’s a much more complicated, much less easy-to-tackle problem, too. you’re not even sure if you can confidently say you don’t have feelings for the scribe. that’s not something you were counting on, ever. saying you only partake in intimate activities with no strings attached might just hit you too hard in the gut, even if it’s not exactly a lie. but admitting the words out loud isn’t something you’re prepared to do. 

almost like he senses your turmoil, alhaitham steps in, bless his soul. he almost looks a bit conflicted, studying you carefully. you don’t have time to dwell on it, though, before he speaks. 

“so she came to check on a wound she patched up,” he finishes for you, quick and easy and confident enough in his words that it makes up for your nerves. he quicks a fleeting glance at you before raising an eyebrow to kaveh. “i left in a hurry and didn’t really let her properly tend to it last time. not that it’s your business, of course. i’m perfectly within my rights to bring guests over to my house.”

“be careful,” kaveh glowers, “anymore attitude, and you’ll risk showing your guests your true colors if you’re not cautious. you wouldn’t want to make a bad impression on the same person who tends to your wounds, do you? that would be fatal.”

“you two are quite the duo,” you chuckle, shaking your head, “it seems alhaitham has finally met his match verbally. you truly don’t let him have the last say.”

alhaitham almost looks offended, looking at you in disbelief. “i am not outmatched by his—”

“if it’s not too much trouble,” kaveh laughs nervously, cutting alhaitham off with a sharp look, “could you keep this…uh arrangement of ours a secret? i don’t really want this getting around and such.”

“my lips are sealed,” you promise. kaveh perks up, relief sagging into his shoulders at that before he nods, giving you a friendly smile as he waves at you. 

“i’ll be off to finish a project, then. nice seeing you.”

as soon as he walks away and you’re certain the door to his room shuts, you let out a soft breath of relief. 

“that was close,” you whisper, “he could’ve figured it out.”

“right,” alhaitham says vaguely. he doesn’t say much else, arms still crossed as he stands there and looks at you—something about the way alhaitham stares at you is too uncomfortable for your liking. 

not because he looks at you weirdly or even inappropriately, but because it almost feels like he can pick apart every thought in your head just by his gaze alone. 

you shuffle on your feet before you give him a tight smile. 

“i should go—the patients are never-ending these days,” you chuckle nervously. 

“make sure you don’t overwork yourself,” he nods. 

you linger for a moment. you’re not sure why. it’s not as though you can expect him to give you a goodbye kiss—that would be preposterous. and far too wishful. 

so instead, you give him a small wave before turning towards the door—but he stops you before you can reach for the door handle, pulling you flush against him, your back to his chest. 

“will you come back tonight?” he whispers, voice low and husky as he presses his still-hard crotch against you. you shiver as he nips at your skin to get his point across. 

“what about kaveh?” you ask softly, biting your lip, unsure. the little voice in your head screams, who cares about kaveh?

“he’ll be dead asleep,” he snorts, “last night was the third all-nighter he pulled. there’s no chance he’ll make it past seven pm today.”

“you’re insatiable,” you tease, shaking your head as you snort. “do you know that?”

“i’ve never had a decline on your end,” he shoots back. 

“i have a shift later tonight,” you say apologetically, sighing as you think about the extra hours you’ll have to put in soon, “there aren’t enough people tonight without me.”

“you should really speak to someone about this funding cut,” he frowns, slumping against you, “it’s getting out of hand.” 

“no one listens.” your voice is so defeated, so uncharacteristically tired. you’re sure he notices it in a heartbeat—you notice it yourself. “but i’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“sure,” is all he says. 

hesitantly, you pull away. his hands leave your hips reluctantly, too, like they’re most comfortable when they have you to house them. but neither of you say anything, simply nodding at each other as you look at him over your shoulder and exit through the door. 

the footsteps down his steps and away from his home are the heaviest ones you’ve taken all week. 

you decide you hate the sand. and that stupid line you both seem to have drawn.

——————————

it takes two failed attempts at fucking alhaitham to realize you’re not strictly only after the physical pleasure he brings. 

the first time, you weren’t even disappointed you didn’t get that far. it was only a disappointment that he was gone when you woke, and you realize it’s because the absence of him is why you’re even let down in the first place. the second time, you’re unhappy because you have to keep the nature of your relationship a secret—that’s a more complex problem. 

it’s secret because it has to be, because of how lewd it is by nature and how partially unprofessional it is. but you decide you also hate it to be a secret. no one knows that you see alhaitham bare and at his most vulnerable, and you can’t handle that anymore. especially when you watch a nurse flirt so poorly with him right before your eyes. 

“oh, it’s you, acting grand sage,” she giggles, “what can i do for you today?”

“i’ve actually returned to my previous position as scribe,” he corrects, entirely unaffected. 

“oh, is that so?” she gasps—you know it’s all for show. everyone is aware of his stepping down. “well, i, for one, think it’s a shame. you were so capable as a leader.”

alhaitham doesn’t like leading. for all he claims it’s because it’s too much trouble and far more work than he appreciates, you know that it’s also because the easiest way to never be swayed by power is to stay far away from it. he keeps himself grounded this way. he uses his smarts for only what’s necessary and only enough to quell his thirst for knowledge and never anything more. his principles are admirable.

and should the next grand sage also abuse such power like the last, he’ll step up from his humble position as scribe and fix the problem again—because that’s what he knows to do best. use his genius to solve issues as they arise, not control the situation entirely. 

of course, she wouldn’t know that. she doesn’t know anything about him. 

you fight back the roll of your eyes with the last shreds of self-preservation you have left. 

“the position wasn’t really for me,” he says plainly. “any idea where the head nurse might be? i have some business to discuss with her.”

it shouldn’t satisfy you as much as it does when she deflates at at his dismissal. but does—enough that you saunter up with a grin on your lips as you greet the two. 

“why hello. what business does the scribe have with little old me?” you hum. the nurse becomes background noise when your eyes meet his teal ones, staring at the small fleck of amber in his pupils while his piercing gaze rakes over your face as if to study you. 

you feel oddly seen under his stare—he’s seen you stripped and bare, at your most vulnerable under him. but somehow, you’ve never thought about it much in the moment like now. right now, he sees you with a clear mind, without the clouding haze of lust to fog his mind. right now, he can see you for every flaw and every imperfection, so up close. he can notice the way your fingers fiddle with themselves to calm your nerves. he can catch every nervous shuffle on your heels as you fight the urge to lean into him from the proximity. 

finally, you break out of your trance when the nurse clears her throat and mumbles, “i’ll uh..i’ll be off, then.”

he blinks at the same time as you, shaking his head slightly to bring himself back to the present as he clears his throat.

“can we speak somewhere more private?” he asks quietly. you don’t know if that’s a good thing or bad. but you nod nonetheless, leading him to an empty room as he follows. 

it’s a long, painstakingly dreadful walk. your mind is filled with too many possible scenarios that it’s a miracle your brain is even functioning properly. it should short circuit. what if he wants to end your arrangement? what if he’s aware of your slowly shifting feelings (if you can even call them that)? what if he’s found someone he’s interested in? what if his roommate has pieced together something, and now he needs to come up with a cover? 

the possibilities are endless, and they plague your mind so heavily that your lip is chewed raw by the time you enter the room and shut it behind him as he follows you in. 

“you wanted to talk?” you ask hesitantly. 

he doesn’t say anything—the only thing he does is press a folded piece of paper in your hands as you stare at him, confused. 

“open it,” he insists.

so you do. and reading over it makes you pause as you glance up at him in disbelief. the bimarstan funding—more than doubled. 

“what?” you breathe, in absolute awe, “how…how is this possible?”

“i’ve pulled a few strings,” he says plainly, shrugging. as always, he brushes off his actions as though he hasn’t just changed your entire job for the better. “it’s a nice perk of being an ex-sage.”

“you’ve used corruption just to help me?” your words are a playful jab—but there’s still an underlying question that you really do mean to ask. why go to such lengths for me? 

“it’s hardly corruption,” he grumbles, crossing his arms. the dust of red over the tips of his ears is the only thing that gives away the slightly flustered part of him, “i had a few favors owed to me, and the conditions here play an important role to everyone in sumeru. it was a simple correction to their terrible decision-making skills.”

“oh, haitham,” you chuckle. this time, the nickname really does make him flush more obviously, his eyes darting away to look off to the side as he clears his throat again. 

“well, that’s all,” he says stiffly, “i have to go home and…and make dinner. kaveh is of no help.”

“sure,” you beam, looking at him knowingly. you pause for a moment, contemplating before you cave and add, “and thank you. really.”

“it’s really nothing to look into,” he says awkwardly, “hopefully, now you can work fewer hours.” 

“the other nurses will also really appreciate it,” you say softly, “i’ll be sure to let them know—they’ll really have the hots for you this time,” you snort, making an indirect reference to earlier. he shivers, like the thought leaves him unnerved. 

“that one nurse of yours hasn’t left me alone since i stepped up as grand sage for that short while,” he grumbles, making you snort at the troubled look on his face. it shouldn’t make you feel as good as it does to see him so disgusted by the affections of someone else, but you’re only human. “doesn’t take a genius to figure out why.”

“oh c’mon, she’s sweet,” you tease. now that you know he’s uninterested, it’s fun to mess with him and get under his skin, giggling as you reach over and poke at his arm. 

“perhaps,” he shrugs, “but not very good at keeping her emotions in check. i’ve known her since my student days—i don’t think i could last one day with her lack of…composure.”

“what, you’re too above emotions?” you ask amused, “i would disagree. you’re a rather grumpy man, you know.”

“am i?” he fights back a grin, “i hardly noticed.”

“without your morning coffee, yes,” you quip. 

he laughs, shaking his head as he stares at you with something that looks oddly close to fondness in his eyes before he murmurs, “i do really need to make dinner. kaveh will truly whine my ear off if i don’t tonight.”

“have fun,” you pinch his cheek. he rolls his eyes, and with that, he nods to you and leaves, swiftly walking away and leaving you to yourself in the empty room with the slip of paper in your hands, a lovesick smile still on your face. 

you don’t even know where the line starts or where it ends anymore. all you know is that you’ve undoubtedly crossed it all on your own—and it might be the end of you, truly.

——————————

it takes one nice gesture from alhaitham to make you realize you’ve fallen hopelessly hard for him. before, every small action of intimacy was always just the two of you being friends, amicable and good-natured in between sex. 

now, you’re not sure you could spend a single minute next to him without wondering what it would feel like to do those things as a couple. 

sometimes, after sex, alhaitham likes to read. because it’s hard for him to sleep, and he doesn’t want to disturb you from your much-needed rest after a long day at the hospital. you don’t realize how reliant you’ve become on the sound of his pages flipping until you lay in bed alone, tossing and turning under your sheets as you try your hardest to sleep.

you can’t. not when all you think about is him. him, him, him. he’s all your mind drifts to nowadays. 

but you know alhaitham—better than a lot of people, in fact, seeing as you get to see parts of him that are otherwise… off-limits. being in a relationship is the last thing he wants, especially with you. otherwise, he’d have told you by now. you’re scared of a lot of things, scared to speak your mind, and tend to overthink too much for your own good. 

but alhaitham? he’s blunt and to the point. if he’d wanted something more with you, if the line had blurred and blurred for him until it risked being nonexistent like it did for you, he’d have said something. but he hasn’t—and neither can you. 

because you know as soon as you do, it’ll be over. the kind gestures, the gentle touches, the heated kisses, the nightly visits, all of it. gone with the wind as it blows the line in the sand away for good—not because he wants to cross it, but because it simply doesn’t need to exist anymore if he never speaks to you again. 

 alhaitham is not a romantically inclined guy. he’s good-looking enough that not just a handful of girls have tried their hand at confessing to him, and he’s always turned them down instantly. you’ve seen it, heard about it, know it to be true. and apart from that, are you both even that compatible?

sure, you get along great as is, but a relationship is much deeper than that. you’ve always appreciated how honest he was, how straightforward he put things. but relationships come with a lot more vulnerability and emotions than you’ve ever shown him. his bluntness will be too easy to mistake for casual cruelty when you’re in over your head. he’s quiet; he doesn’t appreciate too much interaction—would he even enjoy going on dates? what if you insisted on an evening out, and all he wanted to do was stay in and read? would he want to do all that stuff? everything you want seems like it would be something of a chore for him, something that makes him see you as a chore. 

he even said it himself the other day, calling that nurse too emotional for his liking. sure, it was an off-handed comment, but you’re one emotional day away from potentially being too much for him too. you couldn’t handle that. not when you like him so, so much. not when you want him so bad, you couldn’t handle him not wanting you just as badly. 

would he even want you that badly? logic tells you no—and logic is at the forefront of his mind at all times. your emotionally charged outlook on life would be a bleeding mess of color in his neutral, logically categorized approach. 

you’d be dooming yourself to loving a man who would hardly know what to do with your affections. 

so you do the only sound solution to this predicament of yours—you end things before he can do it himself. it’s inevitable, of course. whether it’s in a few weeks or months, eventually, alhaitham will grow bored of your casual fling. and he’ll end things, completely fine and normal while you fall apart at the seams. the best thing you can do for yourself is let things end on your own terms, and early on, too, before the feelings fester into something all too serious. 

it’s not as though you love him yet—things are still early on enough to make sense of them. 

or is it? some part of your mind asks viciously, are you sure you don’t love him? 

you push away the thought as quickly as it pops into your head. rolling your shoulders back, you straighten your posture, taking a deep breath before you knock on his door. 

he opens it instantly, smiling that small, ghost of a smile of his. you falter immediately. 

“hey,” he hums, swinging his door wider, “come in.”

“no, that’s okay,” you say stiffly, not meeting his eyes, “i…can’t today.”

“oh.” you hate that you can hear the frown in his voice and practically see the confused crinkle of his eyebrows. “did you want to talk about something, then?”

yes, you want to say. there’s a lot i want to talk about. 

there’s a lot you should talk about—and if you were keen on discussing this like an adult, you would lay it all out on the table. 

instead, you blurt out, “i think we should stop.”

he eyes you carefully, raising a questioning brow as he asks, “stop what?”

“this,” you point between the two of you, “whatever…whatever this is we’re doing.”

and just as you expected, his face is blank, so neutral and so hard to read you want to scream at him. yell at him for making you want him so bad when you can’t even tell if he’s even a fraction as crazy as you. does he want you? he certainly treats you well sometimes, but maybe that’s just because you get his dick wet and stitch up a few wounds here and there for him. does he actually even toss and turn and stay up thinking about you the way you think about him? 

the answer is probably no. you don’t even want to find out if you’re right or not. but he’s never made you believe he has, so you don’t entirely think you’re wrong in your assumptions. 

“and what are we doing?” he must be playing dumb, you think. 

“hooking up,” you hiss, “having sex. fucking. whatever you want to call it, alhaitham. we have to end it. now.”

“and what brought this on?” he crosses his arms. 

you want to ask him why he’s being so cruel, so intent on keeping you when you clearly can’t stay, when there are so many women who would throw themselves at him for a chance to get in bed with him if a physical partner is what he’s so hellbent on keeping. but you can’t be that for him any longer, not when your emotions are tired of being a jumbled mess that slowly but surely eat away at your decaying soul. 

“we…we’re just…it’s not—we just have to, okay? i don’t appreciate you treating me like i’m easy.”

“wha—when have i ever treated you as such?” he looks at you bewildered, getting defensive. 

“that’s not what i meant,” you pinch your nose, groaning as you try to process the words you want to say in your spinning head. everything is too much—the way he’s close, the way your body feels aflame from just standing near him, the way your eyes are involuntarily misting over. “this…this is just an easy arrangement, that’s all. for both of us. but i don’t want to be someone’s quick and easy hook-up for the sake of convenience. i need…i need something more from someone, so we should stop while we can so i can find myself that.”

there’s a minimal twitch of his jaw as he clenches and unclenches it, nodding slowly.

“you want something more, is that it?”

“w-well, yes—but that’s not what i entirely meant, so don’t read into it—”

“so how would ending this get you that, then?” he challenges. you hate that he makes you feel stupid, that he looks at you like you’re not thinking when that’s all you’ve been doing these last few…archons know how long. he’s plagued your mind for so much time you can’t even pinpoint for how long. 

“i want something more, but not from you,” you spit, slamming your hands to slap against your thighs in frustration, “that’s obviously why i’m ending it! must you always make everything difficult?”

he doesn’t speak, silently stunned a bit at your outburst. so you take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down before you collect your thoughts better. 

“i just…i’m sorry, okay? i didn’t mean to yell at you like this is your fault. i…i can’t say i can get into bed with you anymore without wanting us to actually mean something to each other, and i know that’s not what you want—”

“who said that’s not what i want?” he interrupts, looking at you with the first hints of emotions all day. there’s a small etch of frustration building in the twitch of his brows as he continues, “you’ve just decided for me how i feel, and that’s a bit unfair, don’t you think?”

“you’ve never said anything about how you feel,” you shoot back.

“well, neither have you, but that doesn’t mean—”

“i may not have said it, but you’re telling me you never noticed? i do your laundry for you, for crying out loud, alhaitham! and you’ve never so much as dropped a hint!”

“i see,” he nods slowly, going back to the blank slate that is his face. still so infuriatingly neutral and unbothered by it all that you can’t help but lose it a little. 

how can he be so unbothered? how can he be so calm and collected when you feel like you might need to check yourself into the bimarstan yourself from the stress of it all? you’ve spent weeks, months in each other’s beds. familiarized yourselves with every part of each other’s bodies. he knows about that birthmark no one else sees, and you trace that mole on his left pec every night before you sleep. you’ve slowly but surely been dying to cross the threshold of just friends (with a few perks, of course), and here he is, nodding along as you tell him you want him, want more of him.

and he’s got nothing to say. because, for some reason, after months of feeling you, spending nights and days tucked away against you, he doesn’t seem to feel the same, so he doesn’t have much to offer you. how can he be so unbothered by your presence after months with you? is it really that easy not to be affected by you? 

some part of you lets go of the hold on your control as you snap, “and this is why we can��t have anything more.”

“why’s that?” he tilts his head, voice an uncharacteristic edge to it, “enlighten me.”

“because…because…because you’re you!”

finally, a flash of hurt crosses his face, making itself home in his eyes and forehead as it crinkles at your words. he studies you, quiet. unnervingly quiet that you almost wonder if you’re just deaf.

“are you trying to say there’s something wrong with me?” he presses, looking so lost that you almost feel guilty. 

not as much as you feel like you’re about to cry, though.

“yes,” you say without thinking—and the way hurt settles into his eyes more makes you scramble to reword things so you don’t sound like a total jerk, “i mean no! i mean…i mean you’re just you, and you and i won’t mix.”

“we won’t mix,” he repeats, blinking. “interesting—”

you can’t stop yourself from going on the tangent now that you’ve begun, spilling your every thought one by one as you cut him off, “you’re so quiet, and it’s unnerving, you know? you never speak a single thought on your mind, you’d rather just read than talk about your day. and everything you say is so painfully to the point—would it kill you to soften the blow sometimes? people don’t always need the cold, hard truth, okay? sometimes, saying what someone wants to hear can make all the difference. and…and…i don’t know, okay? i need someone who can work with my emotions without applying logic to everything, and that’s not you so…so we have to end things because it’s not fair to either of us. i want it to actually mean something with someone when i’m with them, and you don’t want someone to taint everything with their fragile feelings, so we need to go our separate ways. okay?”

you’re practically panting when you’re done speaking, and alhaitham is just standing, thinking, processing everything you’ve said in that painfully complex head of his. 

finally, he breaks the silence and says, “i didn’t know so many things about me bothered you.”

“they didn’t,” you sigh, “not until recently. i guess…i guess it just hit me how difficult it would be to get along in a proper relationship.”

“you know that because what? you think it?”

“i know it because i’m actually looking at things realistically,” you say exasperatedly, “just because we had sex for a few months doesn’t automatically mean we’re a compatible pair.”

“we haven’t really gotten to know much outside of sex to decide that,” he shakes his head, “i’m not understanding how you can so easily dismiss these feelings by deciding it won’t work—”

“look, alhaitham,” you cut him off, voice so uncharacteristically small, he pauses to look at you in shock, “i’ve been slowly losing it for weeks, okay? the last thing i need is for you to make things difficult for me. you’re a good guy, and i really, really wish things were different, but i just need more than what you can give me without completely changing yourself. neither of us should have to compromise anything about ourselves for things to work.”

“you don’t know if i’d be willing to give you what you need or not,” he says quietly, “maybe i wouldn’t be changing a thing.”

“then what about that girl?” you scoff, “the one you said was too emotional for you to handle? you think i’m just being crazy? you said it yourself, so what else should i believe?”

“her? she’s different—”

“why? because she’s not me? because she doesn’t let you in her bed? you’ll find my emotions just as burdensome as hers one day, and then what? we fall back on sex to keep the spark alive?”

something about him is defeated. shoulders slumped, eyes dim, and arms uncrossing to lay limply at his sides. he takes a deep breath before nodding, looking at you so intensely you almost feel frozen in place. 

“okay,” he whispers, “if this is what you want. that’s fine.”

his door closes, and your first tear slips. 

——————————

nine days. that’s how long it’s been without alhaitham. your mind tells you this is for the best, but your heart is practically on its knees, begging you to reconsider. 

a part of you wonders if you were being unfair like he said, judging him before you could properly give him a chance. the other part of you thinks it’s important not to let attachment cloud your better judgment. alhaitham is a good man; there’s no doubt about it. 

but is he a man good for you? that part is a difficult question to answer. protecting your heart seems like the safest option. still, you can’t help but miss him horrifically often. it doesn’t hit you how badly you’ve fallen for him until you don’t see him anymore. no more late nights at your place, no more afternoons at his, and no more routine bimarstan visits. 

your life has at least gotten a bit easier, though—more funding means more people to hire, and more people to hire means fewer grueling hours for you. though, when you really think about it, you owe this small win to the exact man who’s been plaguing your thoughts. 

you intend to drink your woes away, but it seems even in the tavern, you can’t escape him—well, not exactly him, but his roommate. but kaveh still reminds you of alhaitham, so the cleared head you hoped for is out of the question for the night.

the thing about kaveh, though, is that he’s loud. painfully so, and especially when he’s drunk. you could hear him from the other end of teyvat, you think—it’s hard to ignore him even if you want to. 

“he’s been insufferable lately,” kaveh huffs, “worse than usual. that awful temper of his needs to really get a check because i’m not sure how much more i can take.”

you didn’t know kaveh was friends with the general mahamatra—seeing cyno loosened up with a deck of tcg cards was not on your list of expectations for the night, but you can’t help but listen in when he adds, “his last few reports to me from his investigations were not up to his…usual work ethic, either. i’m not sure what’s up with him.”

“maybe he’s overworked,” tighnari suggests—you know him as a fellow amurta scholar, recognizing him from your student days. you hadn’t realized alhaitham was friends with such an interesting assortment of people—well, you don’t know if kaveh fits as a friend, but the other two seem like safe bets. 

“i don’t think so,” kaveh grumbles, “he’s hardly been sleeping. it’s not like he takes work home with him, you think he’d be the type? but he’s been drinking all the coffee—i actually work into the night. shouldn’t he at least leave some for me?”

“i wonder what’s up with him,” cyno hums thoughtfully, “he must really be brewing in his emotions.”

you snort at the poor pun, watching as the other two around him wince and groan. 

finally, kaveh sighs, rubbing his temple as he mumbles, “i don’t know. i’ve never seen him like this. i think it’s serious.”

that makes guilt pool in your gut, making you feel so full that even one sip of your drink feels like too much. you’ve lost all desire to drink your sorrows away—you couldn’t have possibly dampened someone like alhaitham so deeply, could you? he’s always been unaffected by things more than others, and you’d never imagined him to care that deeply about your relationship. if you could call it that, even. 

“what do you suppose has brought this on then?” tighnari’s ears twitch in worry, “he’s…not exactly the most emotionally available.”

well, at least you’re not alone in your beliefs. 

“i don’t know,” kaveh says quietly—and even if they claim not to be friends, you don’t think they hate each other a fraction as much as they let on because his voice seems to be twinged with clear worry himself as he adds, “his eyes have been red in the mornings. it can’t be something small.”

that’s all you can stomach to hear before you slam your glass down and swiftly make a beeline for the tavern’s exit. some part of you, weak and bound to alhaitham, is unable to listen any longer about his misery. the misery you caused. the misery you brought yourselves both because insecurities ebbed and flowed into the deepest crevices of your mind and rotted away at the reasonable parts. 

of course, you’re different. of course, there’s a chance things will go sour. of course, it won’t be easy. but isn’t that the case for every relationship? love was never meant to be a simple feat—otherwise, it would never be half as scary to take the fall. 

but you’ve been careful, too careful. so careful that you forgot to let yourself try and be happy, and so careful that you’ve stomped on someone’s feelings enough that his friends exchange their worries over drinks instead of having a good time with him. 

so you decide that enough is enough. if alhaitham isn’t meant to be yours, then celestia themselves will have to take him from you—because you’re not risking losing him a second time. 

not again.

——————————

contrary to popular belief, alhaitham has never been difficult to track down if you simply know where to look. he might be good at making himself scarce, but there’s only a handful of places he could be. the light of his home shining through the window tells you that your first guess is not very off.

you knock, silently staring at the tips of your shoes as he slowly opens the door.

“hey,” you murmur as soon as the door swings open. you haven’t even looked up yet, but you’re certain he has the same neutral expression on his face. but kaveh is right about one thing—his eyes are definitely a little red.

“hey,” he says quietly. 

it’s awkward for a moment. you don’t know what to say, and he doesn’t have any intentions to fill the silence. some time ago, that worried you. his quietness came across as an inability to keep up healthy communication. but now, you miss it—the quiet flip of his pages as he sat beside you, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh. the way he let out a soft little breath when you lay on his chest, rubbing his palm slowly in circles against the small of your back. the soft, peaceful silence of his presence. 

you never appreciated it enough, the comfort of knowing you’re valued without having to say anything at all. 

“listen, i—”

“you don’t have to—”

you both stop, pausing when you speak at the same time. 

“go ahead,” you say instantly. 

he clears his throat, shaking his head as he swallows. “no,” he mumbles, ever the gentleman, “no, that’s okay. you go first.”

you think your nerves might just explode one by one if you have to wait any longer, so you don’t bother putting up much more of a fight, nodding before fiddling with your fingers as you take a deep breath. 

the words spill faster than you can process what you’re saying. a long, jumbled string of thoughts that rattle off your tongue like a dam finally breaking at the leaking crack. 

“i was wrong. for all the things i said, i mean. there’s nothing wrong with you, you know? you’re really kind, and you remember the little things, and you always keep your promises, and those are really nice things. and i don’t hate when you’re quiet, by the way. i used to think it bothered me, but i miss it, you know? just having you sit next to me and read and stuff. i guess…i guess i just never bothered trying to think about how to love you the way you needed because i was so busy worrying if you could love me the way i needed and…and i just fucked a lot of things up. i got in my head and made a lot of assumptions that weren’t fair and just…i got cold feet. and i’m sorry. and i love you—really, really love you. all of you. you don’t have to believe me or even say anything at all. i just needed you to know all that because you deserve to.”

he’s silent. you can’t tell whether from being stunned or from disinterest. both are fair, regardless—you think alhaitham could slam the door shut in your face, and you’d deserve it. but he doesn’t. because just as always, he’s your same, kind, gentle alhaitham underneath all of the blunt stoicism. 

“i lied,” you whisper, “i do want you to say something. anything.”

“i don’t know what you want me to say,” he stares at his feet, still looking as hurt as the day you left him. “you…you just assumed i wouldn’t be able to love you, is what i’m gathering.”

“i just thought…” you swallow thickly, tongue like sandpaper against your dry mouth, “i just thought we were too different.”

“i thought we got along well,” he shrugs, trying to pretend there isn’t as much hurt on his features as there is, “maybe i misread things.”

“no,” you shake your head desperately, “no, i overthought them, that’s all.”

“why did you leave me?” he asks hoarsely, “why couldn’t we have talked about things?”

you want to say because you were a coward, maybe even a hypocrite. you insisted he’d be too constipated emotionally to communicate properly with you, but all you’ve done was decide things for him and avoid the hard, heart-to-heart talk.

really, it’s because you were never brave enough to try and love alhaitham the way he would have loved you. the way he loves you. you were blind to see it—weren’t even willing to believe that he ever would. not until after you let him go and realized what you had. he’d walked you home, made sure you got proper rest, pulled strings, and used up favors just to make things better for you. and you missed all the signs, all because it was so easy to walk away, to label his blunt nature as causal cruelty, to confuse his quietness as disinterest, to assume his logic was the absence of emotion. you never gave him a chance because you were never brave enough to take the fall. 

but alhaitham was always ready to catch you, arms aching to wrap around your form and hold you. not because he wanted you to love him, but because all he’s ever wanted was to love you. 

you think that’s the difference between the two of you. you’ve always wanted to be loved, and he’s always wanted to love. you’ve always wanted to take and he’s always wanted to give. you’ve always wanted him to be enough, and he’s always wanted you to know you’re enough and more. 

it’s too much to tell him though, so you settle on cupping his cheeks and whispering, “because you scare me. the way you make me feel.”

“how do i make you feel?”

not too long ago, you’d think he was asking just to confirm what he already knows. now, you know he’s asking because he needs to hear the words for his own sake. just to be sure. just to ease the uncertainty in his own head. 

“you make me feel a lot of things, haitham,” you murmur, “you make me feel happy. appreciated. very pretty. capable. important. sometimes a little dumb,” you giggle as he frowns, squeezing his cheeks as you add, “but only because you’re so smart. i could list a few other things you make me feel, but…they’re not as proper.”

“i thought…just…d-did i do something?” he asks, voice hesitant. there’s a painful, awful squeeze in your heart at his words. but your heart is the last of your worries right now—it’s the least you can do, putting your feelings aside for his own, seeing as you’ve stomped all over his.

so, in an effort to show him that everything is okay, you smile—you’re sure it’s a pathetic, wobbly little thing, but you don’t have time to care. not when he’s right here, under your fingertips, and one possible moment away from slipping away. 

a watery chuckle escapes you as you whisper, “no. you didn’t do anything—it was me. but i’m not running away anymore…if you still want me, that is.” 

“you’re all i want,” he says instantly. “the only thing.”

“i know,” you breathe, “and you are all i want too.”

you kiss him. because he deserves to feel you choose him, to feel you close the gap and show him you’re here. your lips press gently against his, molding into them like two pieces of a puzzle—except you don’t think neither of you fit anywhere else but each other. incomplete without each other and unable to fit anywhere else. your thumb traces the soft, warm skin of his cheek, soothingly caressing it as if to let him know i’m here, and i’m not going anywhere. 

he stumbles back, and you follow him in, pressing against the door of his home just like those days ago before an unwelcomed interruption. this time, though, you think kaveh could freeze outside all you care—you’re not letting anything interrupt this moment. 

“i’ve been losing my mind for weeks too,” he mumbles in between gasps for air as you kiss, “just so you know. it wasn’t you alone.”

“that’s good to know,” you hum, grinning against his mouth. 

“and i thought i was giving signs,” he adds, “that’s why i went through the trouble to fix your schedule. so i could spend more time with you—i…i apologize if i wasn’t obvious with my intentions.”

“don’t be,” you say softly, “i’m the one who missed them. you did everything right.”

“did i?” he asks, unsure. 

you press your lips firmly against his when you hear the crack in his voice, as if sheer touch alone will express the way you feel. maybe it does, though—because he melts against you, letting out a soft moan as your hands travel to his broad chest, feeling the muscled and toned body he hardly hides under that skin-tight shirt. 

“i get scared easily,” you whisper, “will you be patient with me?”

“i’m not good at expressing my emotions,” he whispers back, “will you be patient with me too?”

“we can be patient together,” you hum, pecking his lips a few times as he chuckles softly. 

“good plan,” he nods, “sounds like it should work.”

“oh, thank you,” you wink playfully, pulling away to wrap your arms around his neck and press your forehead to his as you look at him cheekily, “i’m a bit of a genius.”

“that you are,” he nods, smiling in amusement. and he means it. you’re every bit smart and capable as he makes you feel—inadequacy was never something alhaitham made you feel; it was always something you brought onto yourself. you’re used to shifting the blame, you realize. it’s so easy to blame everything and everyone but yourself for the intrusive thoughts in your head. 

but they melt away tonight, one feathered kiss at a time, pressed to your jaw delicately by warm, familiar lips you’d know blind. 

“your friends are worried about you, you know. kaveh—”

“please do not mention kaveh’s name right now,” he groans, “i’ll hear all about your alarming story of my friends at the tavern, but right now, i only want to hear you say one name.”

“yours?” you wiggle your brows. 

“glad to know we’re on the same page,” he confirms, humming as your hands trail under his shirt, feeling the ridges of his built muscles. 

“i don’t want anymore casual sex,” you murmur, pouting, “it’s driving me mad.”

“okay,” he nods, shivering as your palms glide over his nipples as you pull his shirt up, exposing his chiseled abdomen for you to admire, “will girlfriend suffice?”

“girlfriend would be great,” you nod, beaming. 

“just so you’re aware, i am very concerned with the emotions of my girlfriend, however heavy they might be. i do still think, however, that nurse was on a…unique realm of her own, though,” he adds the last part with a pointed look.

“don’t mention other women when you just asked me to be your girlfriend,” you huff, “don’t forget who stitches you up. don’t get on my bad side.”

“my apologies,” he laughs. 

and then you’re back to kissing him, fervently and so desperately, you think this might be your last day on earth, making the most of it before you’ve breathed your last breath. alhaitham groans into your mouth, lets your hands wander all over him as you feel the tautness of his physique. 

it’s not the first time you’ve felt him, but it is the first time you can take all the time you want, memorizing him because he’s yours to keep locked away in your memory. 

“i love you,” you pant against his mouth, wet, hot kisses interrupting your sweet confession. 

“i,” he kisses your cheek, “love,” a kiss to your other cheek, “you,” a kiss to your nose, “too.”

this time, he leans down and kisses you right over your pulse point, right where your racing heart rate is beating erratically. you gasp when he bites and sucks at the flesh, making you whimper as your knees buckle. 

“how much?” you ask, pleading to know.

“enough to lose sleep,” he murmurs, “because my dreams were plagued with you. i couldn’t escape you in waking hours or in slumber. that’s how much you torment me. take over my body and mind. is that what you needed to hear?”

he’s a linguist—sometimes you forget that. perhaps he’s not so bad at saying what you need to hear, after all.

“maybe,” you hum, kissing his cheek, nibbling affectionately at the soft flesh, “you like me that much? how cute.”

“i’ll like you a lot more if you stop teasing,” he grunts, pressing his hot, searing erection against your thigh as your thumbs toy away at his nipples. you gasp when you feel him prod at you, feeling the heat even through the fabric that separates you. 

neither of you are patient enough to do this properly right now—but you have plenty of time for that. plenty of time to take it slow, explore each other, and map your bodies in ways you never dared to before. scared to cross that stupid, useless imaginary line you drew for no reason at all. you decide from here on out there are no more lines—just endless sand, your footprints next to his as you trek the path of lovers. 

you rub at his hardened cock through his pants, making him grunt before he grabs your hands and pins them over your head. 

“i said love you,” he says intensely, eyeing you with a carnal hunger you’ve never seen in him before, “but i didn’t say i’d be patient tonight.”

with that, his free hand tugs down both of your pants—his just enough to free his aching cock, and yours enough to expose your leaking cunt as he teases your clit with the blunt tip of his length. you whimper, bucking your hips into him, feeling the beads of precum spread along your heat as he shudders. 

“put it in,” you whine, clutching his shirt with tight fists. 

“you’re…not ready yet,” he insists, teeth grit as he gives his all to hold himself back from taking you just like you plead. 

but you’re stubborn—and alhaitham? he’s too weak to you to fight you when you are, doomed to give into any and every whim of yours.

“don’t care,” you shake your head, “don’t care, don’t care, don’t care. i just want you—please, please, please haitham.”

that’s all it takes for him to crack—slowly, so, so carefully, he nudges past your wet folds, inching his throbbing cock into you as you gasp at the stretch. this isn’t the first time he’s split you open—but it’s never something you get used to. the burning stretch still feels as new as the first time. he groans, low and breathless, as your walls clamp down on him as he slowly but surely intrudes into your cunt. 

“so tight,” he murmurs, voice filled with wonder—like this is the first time he’s ever felt you so raw. maybe it is. he’s never felt you as his, as yours. “does that feel good? do you feel me? what you do to me? and you thought i didn’t feel the same? like i didn’t purposely let blades slice my skin just for an excuse to come find you? feel your touch, watch you worry? just for a moment of your attention? surely, you can’t be so blind.”

his words make your head spin, making you throw it back as a soft escapes you when the last bit of his length slips in, filling you full and to the brim as he nudges at the most sensitive spots inside of you. he’s so deep; you think your lungs are filled with him, like every breath you take is filled with him, him, him. 

“yes,” you say through a shaky voice, “yes—so good, you feel so good. i want you, haitham. all of you.”

“you have all of me,” he kisses the words into your neck, “that’s not enough? you want more?”

“yes,” you plead, “more!”

he chuckles, smooth and low and so pretty, you feel an ache in your clit from the sound alone. “well, alright then. more it is—i could never dream of denying such a sweet wish.”

finally, he rolls his hips, all but pulling out completely before pressing back into you, dragging along every ridge of you, nudging his thick tip against the spongey, sensitive at the back of your walls. you’re slack against his door, held up by him and him alone as your body betrays you, unable to keep balance as he fucks into you the way he does. 

it’s been nine days without you. the way his hips snap so desperately into you, you’d think he’s a man thirsty, gone a year without rain in the deepest, more treacherous ruins in the desert. all you can do is cling to him, repeat the same mantra of haitham, haitham, haitham—more, please haitham.

he knows your body well. so, so well, he knows exactly how to toy with your clit, thumb finding the sensitive nub, enough pressure to make you whine with a jolt, but not enough to let you fall over the edge just yet—not until he allows it.

“i love you,” he punctuates with a roll of his hips, “repeat that. so i know you believe it. so i know you believe me.”

“p-please,” you gasp, tugging at his hair, “i…i need to c-cum—”

“say it,” he demands. 

“you love me—oh,” you cut yourself off with a sharp breath, his thumb abusing your clit in faster circles. 

“again,” he says firmly.

“you love me,” you whimper, “you…you love me. only me.”

“good,” he nods, groaning as you squeeze around him at the praise, “and don’t forget it. not for a second.”

“l-love you too,” you stutter, voice cracking as he rolls his hips unforgivingly, the friction making your mind fog with pure lust. “love you so, so much.”

that makes him inhale sharply, breath catching in his throat. his head falls to your neck, hot breath fanning against your skin as he moans lowly, hips sloppy and ungraceful in their pace but never failing in precision to angle right into your sweet spot. his thumb rolls circles into your clit, fast and desperate to send you over the edge so he can follow. 

and you do—you fall off the edge so fast, so hard, your nails dig blunt, raw crescent moons into his skin as you arch your back off the door and cry his name. luckily for alhaitham, his house is built conveniently enough that he has no close neighbors. no one to hear such filthy sounds right against the door for them to witness just by passing by. no one should be at this hour—but even if they were, you hardly could bring yourself to care. 

“c-cumming,” you wail, “cumming, haitham.”

“so beautiful,” he kisses the corner of your mouth, voice strained as he chases his own orgasm, “can’t…can’t believe you’re mine. mine.”

it’s like the realization that you’re his is what pushes him past the edge, his cock twitching with hot, thick ropes of cum into your abused cunt and painting the walls white as soon as he repeats the word mine. 

mine, mine, mine—he doesn’t stop repeating it even as he fucks himself into you and works himself through his high. you can feel the wet, messy trail of his cum and your slick leaking down your thighs, so filthy, so lewd, so devastatingly raw. 

“yours,” you confirm tiredly, kissing his head as he pants into your neck, muffled moans pressed against your skin as you soothe him while he falls apart against you. “all yours. not going anywhere, i promise. i promise.”

finally, he slumps against you, panting as he tries to catch his breath, sweaty and tired but never unsatisfied. 

“if you leave me again,” he quietly admits, “i think i’ll go mad.”

“then i won’t,” you say gently, stroking his sweaty locks. 

“i love you,” he reminds you once more, “do you believe me?”

“i do,” you nod, smiling like he’s handed you the sun, “and i love you too. do you believe me?”

“i do,” he hums, wrapping himself around you tighter. 

there’s a jiggle of the doorknob behind you, followed by an incoherent, slurred string of curses. alhaitham deflates against you, looking up at you tiredly. you throw your head back and laugh, gleeful, and so, so in love. 

“i’m tired of him,” he grumbles.

“let him off easy this once,” you brush back his hair, “it’s thanks to him that i came to see you tonight.”

“then i suppose just this once, i won’t leave him out to freeze,” he relents. 

you realize for a moment, alhaitham had never drawn the line in the first place. perhaps it was always just you, making rules in your head when all he ever did was want you from the start. he waited so patiently for you, so you cup his cheeks and pull him closer, giving him one more firm kiss as a reward for all you put him through. he pulls away, dazed as he stares at you with unfocused eyes. 

“i’ll give you another like that if you run me a warm bath,” you say cheekily. 

“do i get to join this bath,” he raises a brow, eyeing you in amusement as his hands rub soothingly into your hips. 

you pretend to think for a moment, mockingly tapping your chin in deep thought before you murmur, “okay, fine. but no funny business.”

“i wouldn’t dream of it—”

“hello?” kaveh’s slurred call interrupts, followed by rough knocking. 

“he can freeze,” alhaitham says bitterly.

“don’t you dare!” you gasp, fighting back a laugh as he looks at you miserably.

well…….what was supposed to be maybe 4-5k words at best has…..gotten quite out of hand LOL. 14k words later i present to you my official love letter to alhaitham. anyway i suppose this fic stems from sometimes wondering if i would be compatible with the characters i enjoy. but the question is not whether or not you’re compatible, but whether or not you’re willing to put in the work to make compatibility. and alhaitham would certainly do that. anyway!!! i hope you enjoyed. i’m not sure if many peiple will read this, but if you do, reblogs and comments are really appreciated! giving you all a hug and reminding you that your favs would 100% want you <3

[palioom]

starving

summary: joel comes back from patrol to find you have kept your promise to him.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

word count: 2.8k

warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n; established relationship; overstimulation; orgasm denial/edging; dirty talk (joel has a filthy mouth); oral (f receiving); fingering; unprotected p in v; creampie; some softness in the end; choking (a lil)

a/n: we're back after almost a month of hiatus, with a fic also written last summer! I hope you enjoy

thank you to my love @aurasjournal for the moodboard 🖤

IMPORTANT as tlou is made by a Zionist, as well as part 2 being based on the oppression of Palestine by Israel, I urge you to educate yourself in the light of the genocide happening in Palestine, specifically Gaza, right now. I cannot in good conscience post for Joel without bringing awareness to the horrific things that have been going on for 5 months.

banners by @/saradika-graphics

follow @palioomfics & turn on notifs for future updates

She had been wound up tight all week - always was when Joel was on patrol somewhere, made worse by the fact that the way back had been cut off by an unexpected, small avalanche.

She was worried about whether he was safe up there with Tommy. He would be. Joel was good at surviving things, she gathered that much from the little talking he had done with her.

He was an interesting man, only too quiet, never liked to talk about his past too much, so she had gathered everything of importance from Ellie or Tommy once they had become a little more serious.

Of course he’d be fine.

But if she had known he’d be gone for a little over a week instead of a day or two, she never would have promised him shit before he left.

“Don’t you dare touch yourself, darlin’.” He had said to her before he left, his rough, calloused palm on the softness of her cheek. “Wanna see her dripping and needy for me when I come back.”

Oh, dripping and needy she was. And it was even now, having fought the urge back ever since day three.

Day one was easy, two became just a little annoying, so used to having his thick length buried inside of her almost daily. Unless he had to patrol, which really was the only time he didn’t fuck her. 

Because even when he was too exhausted, she would simply turn him onto his back and bounce on his dick until she was satisfied. Much to his amusement.

On day three, the throbbing between her legs became more than annoying, it bothered her, clouding her thinking. It was tempting to just sneak her hand into her underwear at home and get herself off with her fingers.

But she didn’t, only squeezing her thighs together to find some semblance of relief.

After that, things had only gone downhill.

So when he was finally back, safe and unharmed, it hadn’t taken long to go from sweet kisses by the entrance to demanding ones in their bedroom.

Ready to burst right here.

Joel had barely managed to take his thick winter coat off before she had dragged him there, his large hands now opening her flannel, then wandering beneath her undershirt to feel her warm skin.

A hiss left her, caught by his mouth as he pushed his tongue against hers, goosebumps breaking out on her skin at how icy he felt. Pressing himself against her as if to warm himself.

He was fucking freezing, his fingertips a little numb despite his thick gloves, and she was so damn warm, he just couldn’t help himself.

“Fuckin’ missed you, sweetheart.” Joel rasped, hands leaving her skin to open her jeans as quickly as he could, slowly regaining the feeling in his fingertips. “Been a good girl for me?”

She hummed affirmatively, stilling when he shoved his hand down the front of her jeans.

“Oh, baby, she’s desperate.” 

His cold fingers pressed against her clit over the wet material of her panties, the change in temperature making her shiver. That was almost enough to make her cum, her hand coming to claw at his wrist.

“Not like this- Fuck me, Joel.” She whispered, desperate and impatient. 

Surprised that he just pulled his hand back out, now hastily working to get her undressed, her own hands started working on his pants.

The air felt even colder when he had her naked, pushing her onto the bed, leaning over her to kiss and nip at her neck, then down to her chest.

His beard scratched over her skin, her hands in his grey hair, slightly wet from the snow. 

Like a man starving, he sucked bruises into her skin, bit at her until small imprints showed. Showed she was his.

Joel knew he didn’t have to worry, there were no signs she would ever stray. Not with the way he fucked her, the way he took care of her.

She had it too damn good with him, he kept the creeps away and generally kept an eye out for her.

Still, he liked to show she was his, that no one else could have her, even if they tried.

His tongue found her pebbled nipple, sucking it into his mouth while his hand squeezed and pinched at her other breast, making her arch into his touch with a drawn out whine.

She was always so responsive to his touch.

So cold but so good, goosebumps on her skin, hands tugging at his hair.

“Stop teasing.” She whispered breathlessly, earning a harder bite from him, his dark eyes finding hers as he looked up at her. So hungry.

“Someone’s impatient.” His mouth wandered lower, despite his words, hands staying on her breasts when he found her wet heat.

Joel's tongue dipped into her and made her moan, just about ready to burst. Especially with the way his tongue flicked over her clit, sucking on it before letting the tip glide over it again.

Joel noticed how quickly her legs started shaking, her fingers curling into his hair tightly, his own digging into her thighs as he spread her open. Feeling her muscles spasm below her skin as he kept licking at her, eating her out like she was his last meal.

It happened way too fast, throwing her head back as the coil inside her tightened and snapped so suddenly, her body shaking as her orgasm rushed through her unexpectedly.

“Oh fuck- Joel-” She moaned, her legs fighting against his broad hands but he kept her spread open, working her through it.

Too worked up from him having been gone that she just couldn’t last any longer, feeling a little self conscious about just how quickly he had pulled her apart already.

“Seriously, sweetheart?” Joel asked when he lifted his head, looking up at her from where he kneeled between her open thighs. His beard was wet with her, a ravenous expression on his face. “That was way too damn short, darlin’.”

His words burned on her skin, unable to look him in the eyes so she stared at the ceiling instead. 

That really was embarrassingly fast, her fingers carding through his silvery hair.

“Sorry, Joel. I’ve been so damn horny all week and-”

He shushed her, pressing his lips to the inside of her thigh. His beard scratching her, making her shiver.

“Let’s go a little longer, I’m not done with you yet.” His chuckle was deep, tongue finding her middle again with a hum.

She whined, still a little sensitive as he worked his tongue over her clit repeatedly, back arching and her fingers curling back into his locks.

The heat came back immediately, settling in her abdomen, his tongue now moving down to find her soaking entrance, pushing inside.

Feeling her pulse around him when he fucked into her, his nose bumping against her clit in time with his movements, making her whine.

“Right there, Joel, yes!” She breathed, already feeling another orgasm approaching rapidly. “I’m close already, fuck. You feel good.”

Pushing her over a second time, he made her cry out, her legs shaking as he once again worked her through it.

But he didn’t stop. 

Joel just kept going, not giving her time to come down from her high, the buzz steadily moving through her body.

It was then that she realized he really was far from done with her, looking down at him with furrowed brows, while the glint in his eyes told her everything she needed to know.

“Joel-” She whined, feeling another rush coming, trying to scramble away from him somehow but he had an iron grip on her thighs.

He hummed against her, shaking his head No. She could swear he was grinning, doubling down on his efforts, tearing another orgasm from her.

The pleasure bordered on pain at this point, every nerve feeling like it was on fire as she shook, his tongue alternating between her clit and her pulsing hole.

God, he could be such an asshole, going on until tears were in her eyes, right on the brink of the fourth one.

Leaning back and licking his lips while he looked at her, squirming and shaking. A gasp left her when he worked two of his thick fingers into her, her legs clamping shut around his arm as he began to pump them in and out of her.

“Told you I’m not done with you yet, darlin’.” He rasped, using his other hand to open her legs again, teeth sinking into the soft skin before his tongue soothed over the marks. “She’s hungry still, must’ve been starving the whole time.”

Her hands fisted the sheets, head rolling from side to side as he built her up, scissoring his fingers before pushing into that soft spot inside of her again.

Then he let her fall, pulling his fingers out, laughing at the long whine that left her, the tears that rolled down her cheeks.

Like she didn’t know what she wanted, to cum again or to be left alone.

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry.” Joel chuckled, like he was mocking her. Somehow she liked it, the pulsing between her legs becoming worse, feeling empty. “Thought I’d give your little pussy some lovin’, she must have been so neglected.”

She lifted her head, trying to glare daggers at him but failing when his fingers rubbed over her clit, once again building her up just short of the peak, then removing them, his hand finding her breast, groping and squeezing at it.

What wonderful sounds she made, first feeling too much and now too little.

Maybe he should leave for extended periods more often, she clearly enjoyed the way he treated her right now, making up for time lost but also depriving her of what she really wanted.

“You’re mean.” She gasped, his thumbs brushing over her nipples.

She looked so fucked out already, yet he hadn’t even gotten his fill.

“I can be mean, sweetheart.” Joel said, letting go of her again and standing up, just watching how she writhed, deprived of his rough palms. “Wouldn’t like me when I am.”

“Joel, please!” She cried, one of her hands wandering over her stomach and to her aching pussy. But Joel was quicker, grabbing her wrist tightly.

“Don’t worry, baby, gonna get what you want when you’re fucking patient.” He said, letting go of her, moving to take off his pants. “Spent a whole week without me, can wait a couple minutes longer, can’t you?”

She watched him, growing frustrated at just how slowly he seemed to take off his jeans, then his underwear.

Then, finally, his hard cock was springing free, head glistening with precum.

Hovering over her, he nestled in between her legs.

She squirmed more, her hands running over his arms, feeling his muscles flex beneath the skin, coming up to cup his cheeks.

“So, so needy.” He chuckled, taking himself in hand, hitting her sensitive clit with the fat head of his cock a few times. The action made her whimper, fingers curling into his arms. 

Shooting electricity through her, her whole body taut, just needing him to push inside of her.

“Joel, can you fucking move?”

The corner of his lips curled slightly upwards, finding her entrance before pushing inside with one fluid motion, knocking the air out of her at the sudden intrusion.

His lips attached to her neck with a groan, feeling how tight she was gripping him. Like she wanted to strangle his dick, always so damn tight.

“Don’t get mouthy with me, sweetheart.” Joel said, hooking her leg over his hips, squeezing the soft flesh.

“‘M not.” She gasped, feeling so full of him, ready to burst again.

Slowly he began to move, shallow at first before thrusting deeper.

Pushing her up higher on the bed with each thrust, making her cry out and hold onto him, her head too dizzy and hazy as he fucked into her, letting out the week’s frustrations.

All that escaped her were incoherent ramblings, slurred whimpers and moans as she threw her head back, exposing more of her neck to him, his lips still dancing over the skin. 

“Shut up pretty fast with some cock in you, sweet darlin’.” He chuckled, voice strained and clearly losing himself slowly. Her wet pussy and her cockdrunk face were too much even for him after he’d been away from her that long. 

He’d gone without it for longer, but now that he could fuck her every night, even just a day had seemed like an awfully long time.

“Joel-” She mewled, voice high-pitched and so, so desperate.

“Yeah, tell me who makes you feel this good.” Joel said, lifting his head to look at her, one of his broad, rough hands coming up to wrap around her throat. Making her gasp as he squeezed the sides lightly, feeling her pulse throb in time with her sweet hole around him. “Say it, baby, keep sayin’ it. Whose cock is feeding your starvin’ pussy?”

She opened her eyes, finding his dark ones. 

“You- Yours, Joel!” She cried out, feeling her head become lighter as he cut off the blood flow, hazy smile on her face, jaw slack as he fucked into her. The words caught on her breath as she forced them out, stuttering. “Your cock, fucking- Fucking me so good!”

Joel almost snarled, thrusting harder, losing his rhythm. Jaw set so tight she could see the veins throb on his neck.

“That’s right, pretty girl. Hungry little pussy, what a poor thing.” He groaned, grip tightening around her throat, grinning at the way her eyes rolled into the back of her head. “C’mon, be a good girl and let me feed it.”

The coil inside her snapped again, almost painfully as she sucked in a shaky breath, her cries muffled by his mouth when he bent down to slot his lips over hers. Her heels dug into his lower back, pulling him deeper as she trembled, nails digging into his skin.

Everything hurt as he kept pounding into her, her veins filled with fire, his skin against hers hot, like it was burning her, her clit too sensitive as the coarse hair above his dick kept brushing against it.

But she loved it, the pleasure that wasn’t bordering on pain anymore, but actually hurt her in the best way possible, her entire body too stimulated.

It didn’t need much more for him to break, stilling inside her with a hiss that was swallowed by her mouth as he spilled himself inside of her, giving her exactly what she needed. Filled to the brim by his cock and his cum, humming as the pulsing of him didn’t seem to end, his hand around her throat just tightening a little more.

He loosened his grip when he felt her legs falling away from his waist, moving back to look at her face, blissed out while her body became boneless beneath him.

“My good girl.” He said, seeming less tense as he hovered above her still, the corners of his mouth slightly curled upwards, his hand moving up to brush some hair from her damp forehead. “Been too hungry.”

She giggled, catching her breath, feeling the blood rush back into her head as she laid there, feeling him soften inside of her.

“Not anymore.” The words were barely more than a quiet mumble, her weak hand coming up to cup his cheek, his coarse beard biting into the soft flesh of her palm. “Really missed you, though.”

In the quiet afterglow, the worry finally crept back in. She had been too pent up, too excited when he had walked into the door earlier, relieved to see him back but her need for him drove away all the worries of the past week.

Joel saw the change in her face, kissing her forehead tenderly.

“Been at the lodge when it happened, don’t worry, sweetheart.” He said, seeing her nod in understanding.

Silence fell between them, and she grew tired as she looked up at him, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone. Joel had worn her out pretty well, boneless and spent.

After pulling out slowly, he helped her get under the covers, his body finally warm again as he pulled her against his chest.

“You can take longer patrols, you know.” She said, her hot breath fanning over his neck where she had buried her face. “Hated you being away but if you fuck me like this every time you come home…”

Her words trailed off into the silence, making him chuckle.

“But no avalanches.” He said, making her giggle. “Love when she’s starved for me, sweetheart. Will see what I can do tomorrow, yeah?”

She nodded, eyes closing and enjoying his warmth again, his firm body against hers, strong arm wrapped around her waist.

Yeah, if he fucked her like this every time he came home from a long stretch of patrol, she definitely could manage being away from him for some time.

Starving for his touch and his cock.

[crishayle]

Part of Fortune in the houses

Part of Fortune is a point of happiness in your natal chart. It is on it that you can see where and how to look for your luck. For a more accurate interpretation of this placement, please see the sign and aspects of your Fortune.

Part of Fortune in the 1st house:

Your luck lies in your independence. If you need to make a decision, don't listen to anyone. You really attract good luck when you are in full control and accept your life. Luck turns away from you when you start to envy others or compare yourself and your successes with someone else.What is the secret of luck? In independence, focus only on your life and yourself. It is important to learn to appreciate your desires and not put them below others.

Part of Fortune in the 2nd house:

Your luck lies in finding a balance between material and spiritual values. When you focus only on one thing, you may notice how your resources are being cut off in this area.What is the secret of luck? In the ability to be content with the small and enjoy the big. Appreciate every little victory you have. Keep a balance between the material and the spiritual.Think about your career, but don't forget to text to friends and family :)

Part of Fortune in the 3rd house:

Your luck lies in communicating with other people. I don't know if you believe in fate or not, but I do. I have repeatedly met people with Fortune in the 3rd house who said that talking to other people radically changed something in their lives for the better. Simply put, share your thoughts and ideas with your friends. You will definitely find inspiration!What is the secret of luck? In communication with other people. Also, the 3rd house is responsible for thinking, so most often such people can really attract positive/negative into their lives with just the power of thought. Don't be afraid to discuss your ideas and motivate yourself more and then everything will work out :)

Part of Fortune in the 4th house:

Your luck lies in caring and kindness. Here the rule "give and get twice as much" applies. Luck can turn away from you because of greed, avarice and evil. Also a little advice from a man with Fortune in the 4th house:clean the house more often so that more things, food and money come to the house. What is the secret of luck? In generosity, care and kindness. This person always gets his good back because of the boomerang effect.

Part of Fortune in the 5th house:

Your luck lies in creativity. Stop, I know that everywhere the 5th house is associated only with creativity, but please read on. Creativity in the broadest sense of the word is the ability of a person to create something of his own. It may not be related to art. I have friends with Fortune in the 5th house who have opened their own business or those who are engaged in science. In general, these people create something unique of their own. What is the secret of luck? In creating something unique. Such people achieve success when they reveal their abilities and are not afraid to be themselves. Don't be shy, try and experiment.

Part of Fortune in the 6th house:

Your luck lies in your health. One of the coolest placements.Of course, human health needs to be looked at throughout the natal chart, but whatever you get infected with, you will recover. This is one of the indicators of strong immunity, physical endurance, successful operations, and sometimes longevity. What is the secret of luck? In human health and his ability to wait. The 6th house is responsible for discipline and patience. For such a person, success in his career or personal life may come later than he expects, but it will definitely be worth it.By the way, try to create your own ritual or good luck charm.

Part of Fortune in the 7th house:

Your luck lies in other people.No kidding, career successes and other good things start to happen when you work in a team. Some of my friends with Fortune in the 7th house, thanks to friends, found a good house at a bargain price or had an internship at their favorite company. What is the secret of luck? People nowadays are the most important resource. Communicate more and get to know people. The 7th house in astrology also represents the soul mate. If Venus and the Moon are also in good placements in your natal chart, then Part of Fortune in the 7th house can speak of a happy marriage:)

Part of Fortune in the 8th house:

Your luck lies in the risk. You know, the case when a person doesn't need to do anything to find good luck. The catch is that he gets lucky only at the VERY LAST MOMENT. At the same time, people with placements in the 8th house feel their karma very subtly. Do not be arrogant and do not use your luck for selfish purposes.What is the secret of luck? In the ability to appreciate the gifts of fate. For example, I have a friend with Fortune in the 8th house who complained that he could not buy a new iPhone (although his current phone worked fine) and it was stolen the next day. Fortune in the 8th house is really cool (I'm a little jealous even), just always appreciate what you have and then get 2 times more.

Part of Fortune in the 9th house:

Your luck lies in curiosity. The 9th house is the ability to know the world. People with Fortune in the 9th house can successfully change their profession, get a second higher education or fly to another company for an internship. You have endless potential, so being in the comfort zone only moves luck away from you.What is the secret of luck? In change and curiosity. I understand that sometimes it's scary to leave your comfort zone, but Fortune in the 9th house even encourages mistakes. Luck seems to be trying to teach and add more life experience to a person with this placement.

Part of Fortune in the 10th house:

Your luck lies in discipline and patience. I have not yet met a single person with Fortune in the 10th house who would just be so lucky. These people achieve a successful career or a happy relationship as if climbing a mountain.What is the secret of luck? In diligence and patience. Every time the hope leaves you that all your labors are in vain, remember that you have already passed half the way and the rest is quite a bit. The 10th house is a very long time house in astrology. Yes, it takes a lot of time, but after all, luck will be with you for a long time as well. Saturn (the planet of the 10th house) is very fair!

Part of Fortune in the 11th house:

Your luck lies in the development of spiritual skills. It is very important to keep order in your head. I noticed that such people tend to attract events with words and their thoughts. It is important to maintain a balance between heart and mind.What is the secret of luck? In balance. The 11th house is actually not as crazy as many people think. As soon as a person with this placement finds inner peace and realizes what is really important to him in life, luck begins to patronize him. Listen to your heart and be friends with your mind and everything will be fine :)

Part of Fortune in the 12th house:

Your luck lies in the secret. It's like you're lucky while no one is watching. The very case when you don't need to talk about your plans and dreams to people and then everything will come true. A little more advice:listen to the signs of fate. If the other placements of Fortune achieve success through people, time, karma, self-development, then you are lucky alone.What is the secret of luck? Happiness loves silence. Don't brag and don't share your plans.Less words, more action and everything will work out :)

You can write what questions about the Part of Fortune you are concerned about. I plan to write 2 more very interesting articles about it, so wait :)

[benedictscanvas]

pretty boy, pretty girl - jamie tartt x reader

pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader

word count: 2.1k

a/n: okay yes. it has been six months. which is actually mad to me, but there we are - whoops! i've been off following my dream and wrote this while procrastinating an assignment, so this is by no means a return!! honestly i was just itching to write it, but i don't know how much time i have for more - enjoy nevertheless <3

warnings: just a little bit of suggestion towards the end, reader is referred to as 'pretty girl' as the title implies amongst other pet names, quite a lot of swearing (some things don't change)

---

“Hi love.”

Jamie barely murmurs it as he walks past you, can’t help himself but to drag a palm along your back, one shoulder blade to the other, as he goes. 

He knows he’s bold sometimes, but he swears it’s instinct. He glances back to see whether your expression holds any discomfort, but all he finds is your grin, a tiny wave. He continues on his path towards the canteen, knowing that your corridor conversation with Rebecca is probably important.

Somewhere between here and there, he decides to get your lunch, your usual, and sits alone on a table until you appear.

You do, three and a half minutes later. As soon as he sees you, the irrepressible urge to make you grin again is back with a vengeance. He waves you over to his table with a gesture to the food he’s got for you and- there it is again.

If he was a slightly smarter man, maybe he’d consider why all it took was the sight of him to draw your lips upwards, set your eyes alight.

“Thought I’d save y’ from the queue,” he speaks, still soft, in a tone he feels he only uses with you. You match his unnecessary low volume.

“Thanks, angel,” you say easily, and you must not see his stomach doing flips, “Too good to me, you are.”

“Shut up,” he deflects, wonders if you can see him fluster at your nickname for him, “Are you still coming tonight?”

You groan. He frowns, and you quickly correct.

“Sorry. It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, you sound proper convinced, an’ all.”

You chuckle, taking a bite out of your sandwich and taking a pause to chew. Jamie eats too, content to let you think before you speak. It was slowly teaching him to do the same.

“I’m just boring, Jamie. My favourite people are all under this roof, but usually they’re sober, you know?”

He often forgets you don’t really drink. Your friendship (however sour that word feels in relation to you) usually confined to these halls, to the pitch, to various football stadiums up and down the country. When they all get a chance to let loose, you’re very quick with the excuses, but he’s believed them blindly until this moment.

“Shit, y’ don’t drink, right? I can’t imagine that’s much fun in a club. I won’t tell anyone if you happen to come down with an illness or somethin’ this afternoon.”

You’re grinning at him again, all bright and sunny. It’s downright infectious, so Jamie nudges your foot with his on purpose and then apologises like it’s an accident.

“You’re alright,” you reassure, “I will join tonight. Even if it just proves to myself I’m not missing out on anything. Maybe Colin’s not as bad a drunk as I’ve been led to believe.”

Jamie winces.

“No, he is pretty bad,” he admits and then finally comes up with something to make you more comfortable, “Hey, what about this? I won’t drink either and we can spend the evening laughin’ at everyone else.”

You poke his hand and he tries not to drop his crisp packet.

“It’s everyone’s ‘relax and recharge’ night, Ted said. We both know you relax much easier with a few drinks in you. And I’d never judge anyone for that, I really hope it doesn’t come across like I’m judging any-“

“It doesn’t, sweetness,” he cuts in, “But actually, I’ll relax better if I’m one hundred percent positive that you’re relaxing too. What better way than judgin’ everyone else, together like?”

You purse your lips thoughtfully, mid-chew. He feels like he’s holding his breath, like he’s underwater and you’re in charge of the oxygen tank.

“Well, see how you feel when we’re there. It sounds lovely but only if you’re still up for it when we’re right next to a bar,” you say, still unconvinced. He wants to convince you fully, but he can’t decide if he should argue with you or kiss you silly before you speak again, “Hey, if not, I’ll buy you a drink?”

“Pretty sure that’s my line, love.”

“I said it, I meant it. Girls can buy drinks for pretty boys, you know.”

He thinks you might have removed his oxygen tank now. There’s some cruelty in that sentence but you don’t know you’re wielding it. He wills himself to flirt back even though it’ll only make him feel sick.

“Okay, pretty girl. One passionfruit J2O, please.”

Another grin. He’s so fucking fucked.

---

He’s been waiting for you for around forty minutes. He doesn’t know if that’s the normal amount of time you take to get ready, even if he wishes he knew, so he just waits, leaning against his car.

After fifty, he decides there’s no harm in just checking you’re alright and haven’t slipped on a sparkly floor that an evening cleaner has done a number on.

You mentioned going to the kit room to get changed, and he meets Will on his way there.

“Hey mate, you seen Y/N?”

Will looks paler than he’s ever been. Guilty. Jamie narrows his eyes and waits.

“Kit room.”

It’s all that Will says. When Jamie doesn’t walk off immediately, still waiting for an explanation for Will’s strange demeanour, Will turns around and legs it all the way down the corridor, turns left at the end and never returns.

Jamie shakes his head and continues in the direction of the kit room. The closer he gets, the more he hears. Muffled banging, shouting. He picks up the pace.

“Y/N? Love?”

“Jamie! Jamie, in here!”

Your voice floats out from the kit room and he hurries over. Still very confused, Jamie turns the door handle and finds the door won’t budge, however hard he shoves his shoulder against it.

“It’s locked, babe. Did you lock it?”

He hears your exasperated sigh and feels a little embarrassed.

“No I didn’t bleeding lock it! Well, I did, when I was getting changed, but then when I unlocked it my side it had been locked from the outside.”

Jamie struggled to put the dots together. Had Will locked you in? Judging by the running, he had… and he’d done it on purpose. A spark of anger shot down Jamie’s spine but he tried to convince himself there must be a reason.

Before he could, there was a hand on his on the door, pulling him away. It was being unlocked by another hand and then he was being shoved inside, hard enough to stumble against one of the benches. A piece of paper was thrown at his face and Jamie groaned as he heard the lock click back in place.

“What the fuck?” he muttered as he stood up fully, more dazed than angry now as he stared at the locked door.

“Jesus, Jamie, are you alright? Who the fuck was that?”

“I dunno,” he says, staring at the door as if it might have answers. Your hand on his face wakes him up, his eyes shifting to yours where you look him over with concern.

“You’re alright, though?”

You ask it like you need the answer, and Jamie needs you to stop trailing a finger along his hairline either way.

“Fine, love,” he assures you, patting the juncture between your shoulder and neck gently until your hands drop to your sides. Then he raises his voice, and he’s not really talking to you anymore, “Whoever’s locked us in here as some kind of joke won’t be fuckin’ alright though!”

No answer. He picks up the small piece of paper from the floor and reads it in his head.

Tell her, you prick.

He’s actually going to hit Roy with his car. Lightly, definitely not enough to damage him, but enough to really, really piss him off.

This was all some ridiculous attempt to make him tell you how he felt about you? Absolutely not. Never. He wouldn’t be coerced into something so delicate, so important.

“What’s it say?”

You’re peering over the top of the paper, but he folds it in two before you can read anything. His chuckle comes out strained.

“It says: Get fucking pranked. Must be Roy, he’s probably scared Will into helpin’ him, the fucker. I’m afraid it’s payback for putting all his socks on the ceiling last week, babe, an’ you’ve been caught in the middle.”

You pause, staring at your shoes. For some reason, you look far more forlorn than the situation calls for, but it’s gone before he can think about it further.

“On the ceiling?”

He nods and you giggle. It’s only as you step away from him in your laughter that he realises how close you had been. He should’ve savoured it.

It’s also only as you step away that Jamie finally gets a glimpse of your outfit and nearly reaches out to the nearby bench for strength. He’s never seen you in a v-neck anything before, let alone a dress, and he thinks it might do him in.

“You look good,” he says lamely, then tries again, “Great. Fan-fuckin’-tastic, I mean.”

“I like that last one,” you smile, ducking your head. He thinks, or rather hopes, you’re a little flustered, “Fan-fuckin’-tastic happens to be what I was going for.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, words gone as soon as he’d found them. And now he was staring. Shit.

“I like your suit,” you say, maybe breathless yourself. It must be his ears. You reach up as if you might fiddle with his lapel but just point towards it before your hand drops again. You practically fall down onto the bench you’re both stood beside and he follows, ever obedient, “Shame no one else will ever see it. How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?”

The suit isn’t for anyone except you. That’s what he’d say if he had any stupid bravery. He’s an awful coward, he thinks.

“Until Roy gets bored or Keeley finds out I reckon,” Jamie guesses, “Y’ wanna play I-spy?”

You sigh, but when he peeks at you out of the corner of his eye, you’re grinning your silly, lovely grin again.

“I spy with my little eye…”

---

It is around 11pm, when Jamie has not long fallen asleep against the jacket he had scrunched behind his head, that he feels your hand on his ankle. He can tell, as he wakes without opening his eyes, that you’re not trying to rouse him. The touch is light, feathery. Maybe an accident.

No, not an accident. It wouldn’t have lasted this long, and your thumb is drawing absentminded circles into his ankle bone. You think he’s asleep and you’ve reached out to hold him anyway.

He opens his eyes but doesn’t move. His legs are stretched out on the bench in front of him and you sit upright next his sock-clad feet, one hand on his bare ankle. You’re staring at a piece of paper so intently he wonders what could possibly be so interesting.

“This doesn’t say get fucking pranked, Jamie,” you murmur, and his hand flies to his jacket pocket. It must have fallen out when he slumped into a slumber. He’s sat up in a blink, watching the hand that had been so soothing, fall back at your side suddenly.

“I’m sorry. Shit. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“No, don’t,” you insist, still staring at the piece of paper. Instead of whirling on him for answers, you reach calmly into one of the boot cubbies beside your head and pull out a piece of paper from one of the boots. You chuck it at him without looking.

He unfolds it with careful, if shaky, hands.

Tell him, you silly shit.

It takes him an absurdly long time to understand what the hell this second piece of paper means. Later, when the two of you look back on this moment (and you do so often), you’ll wonder how he could have been so dense and he’ll spin you a line about how too good to be true it all felt. But in the moment, he has no lines and no words, until your hand lands heavy on his knee this time.

“Jamie,” you say softly, through a grin that is so different from your usual that he could pass out. It’s so beautiful and so strikingly lovesick that he thinks he might actually be sick, “What do you have to tell me?”

“What?”

He feels dumber than he’s ever felt. But your hand is still on his knee and now you’re shuffling closer to him on the bench.

“What do you have to tell me?” you repeat, then you poke his chest playfully as you add, “You prick.”

He still looks confused, so you clearly decide the best way to catch him up is to kiss him.

You pull away after a moment, a moment of pure heaven, because clearly you don't want to kiss him fully until he's all clued in.

"Come on, pretty boy," you say, teasing, "Figure it out. I was going to buy you a passionfruit J2O. It's the sign of all signs."

He should be laughing at your joke, but all he really wants to do is kiss you again. And again.

Maybe again.

"Oh pretty girl," he says, and he feels the rumble of his low tone in his chest. He places a hand on your face, fingers itching at your hairline, "I'll tell you anything ya wanna hear, I swear. Anythin'."

He hears your breath hitch, but he feels it too, where the meat of his palm is covering your neck.

"Anything?" you answer back, "I could have a lot of fun with this."

You scrunch up your brow like you're thinking and he's so stupidly in love with you that he just tells you. Too-soon be damned.

"Smooth talker," you laugh, giddy, and you kiss him again. And it's so good that he doesn't even remember you didn't say it back until hours later.

(at which point, you say it back so many times and in so many ways, Jamie is certain that he's the luckiest man in the world. he might not hit Roy with his car after all)

[writingsonsaturn]

i'll find you - tim bradford

{ masterlist }

🪐: heyyyyy, please take this fic as an apology for being gone so long, love you pookies <3

word count: 2.06k

content warning: fem!reader, kidnapping, violence, fluff, this is pretty tame but always put your mental health first! (absolutely not proofread)

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Three days. It had been three days since Tim last saw your face. Three days since his purpose in life had been up and taken from him, as if it wasn't ever really there to begin with. 

His alarm sounded off early with no remorse as the dreaded ringing disrupted his peaceful sleep with you next to him groaning to “please shut that damn thing off.” He had smiled at your unwillingness to succumb to the early morning, and kissed your forehead before promptly getting up and heading for the bathroom. Moments before he left he walked into your shared bedroom, giving you a quick “I love you” and a kiss on your lips even after your protests to morning breath, before heading out the door.

He had gone over the morning in his head as if it were a prayer. He had come home after his shift to immediate alarm bells ringing throughout his head, the handle on the door had been smashed, various items littered the hardwood floor, and splotches of blood smeared across the island counter in the middle of the kitchen. 

His shouts of your name cut through the eerie atmosphere he called home as he was met with a silence that was impossibly loud, and with a frantic hand dialed 911 to report a missing person with the indication of foul play. He made sure to clear the house of any active threat, heart pounding every time he rounded a corner with the fear of seeing your lifeless body sprawled on the floor, he was unsure whether or not to feel relieved.

Just because you weren't dead in the house, doesn't mean you weren't dead period.  

The image alone nearly made his knees buckle and heart give out on spot, he made his way outside to sit on the steps that lead to the beautiful house you two had bought together. His mind was racing with endless outcomes and possibilities, he was unaware of how much time had passed before blue and red lights came into his field of view, loud sirens just barely breaking him out of the rabbit hole he was falling down. 

Grey arrived in his personal vehicle Luna fast on his heels, she had insisted on coming with the moment she heard Tim’s panicked and wobbling voice break through the quiet of their night. The four of you had gone on double dates a decent amount of times, and she’d be damned if Wade forced her to sit and watch while you were missing and Tim was breaking at the seams.

Tim recounted everything up until the moment everyone arrived, every text and moment shared between you two before you essentially went radio silent, the last two hours of Tim’s shift you hadn’t responded to his text asking if he needed to bring takeout home or if you two would make dinner together when he got home. 

A feeling sat low in his gut warning him about your absence, but he ignored it, since he was in the middle of booking an important lead in a narcotics investigation. Guilt was eating his insides alive, yelling and clawing at his soul, damning him for not following through with the churning in his stomach, begging him to notice something before it was too late.

Everyone in the station was working overtime to figure out what exactly happened to you, Lucy and John went to ask people you had visited that day if they had seen you acting out of character while Angela and Nyla worked as the lead detectives in your case, all of them were left baffled and confused as nothing popped up with red flags. 

No ransom note. No intimidating phone calls. No sign of you.

Tim refused to go home, refused just about everything until you were found safe. Lucy even called his sister begging her to knock some sense into her brother before he killed himself. She did the best she could by asking if he could at least sleep in a break room as long as she took his spot and kept him informed the moment she was told anything. He was reluctant but decided that the best way to find you was if he was well rested and in the right state of mind.

He woke up with a grunt, any sort of shut eye he attempted to get was flooded with images of you battered and bruised. Screaming out for him to save you, everytime he got close you were once again ripped out of his reach, his fingertips just grazing your hand before being brutally awoken but the reality that settled over him.

Making his way out of the breakroom he let his fingers roam over the kink in his neck, he looked around to find his sister combing through the only thing she was really allowed to do which was look over surveillance footage that you could have possibly shown up on.  

The two sat there for hours of footage, pleading to whatever was listening to see you or something that could lead him to you. 

Just before they moved on to the next camera Tim noticed an anomaly, a deep blue toyota came into his neighborhood at 9:47pm and left at 10:00pm with no regard for the stop sign lining the exit and a little more rush than when the driver entered. They did their best to follow the car through different intersections and for a split second the car had got on the interstate Tim noticed his back tail light had been kicked out and a bloody hand replaced it.

The heart pumping blood through his body stopped abruptly, his throat closed for a quick second before screaming out “I have her!”

Everyone gathered around, looking at the footage and urgently getting to work to find out who the vehicle belongs to and where to find them. Time felt as if it was moving at the speed of light, Angela announcing that she found the driver and giving his long list of charges. 

Rage and fear coursed through Tim’s veins, his finger played with the metal band that decorated his hand so nicely, pleading with the world to not take you away from him. He had found the second half of his soul, you were his blood, you were his entire being, and if you were stolen away from him he would burn the world to the ground. 

Luckily, the car was relatively new meaning it had a GPS chip attached to the cars system. Four to five cop suvs pulled up to the abandoned warehouse, metro and swat following close behind, it may have seemed excessive but you were one of their own, you brought homemade fresh cookies every friday, and knew everyone’s birthday ensuring everyone had a nice card and cake waiting for them after their shift. You made the station feel right and everything had felt off the moment your bright light was suddenly ripped away.

Cautious and careful swat went in first, sweeping the grounds before the rest came in with their gun raised and fury bleeding out of their eyes. Tim and Lucy cut a corner to the left, opening the three doors that lined the right side; at the last door they entered, disappointment started to drip down Tim’s spine. “Tim, we’ll find her, she got to b-” Lucy cut herself off when her eye caught an uneven side of the wall, narrowing her eyes she walked over and started lightly tapping and jimmying the part of the wall until it finally gave way and she moved it to the side revealing another room.

Tim felt his world pause when he noticed a body laying in view, he took a deep breath and went in through the hole the wall was covering. “Oh my god, baby, hey” Tim’s quick words met your ears, your wrists and ankles were chained together, and a gag was placed between your lips. 

Tears fell down your cheeks at the touch of your lover, Tim took out the gag holding your face between his hands and gently moving your head around to check for any sign of head injury. Lucy was quick to try and take the chains off, hurrying to ask across the radio for bolt cutters which swat was fast at accommodating. The moment the chains were off you wrapped yourself around Tim, tucking your face into his neck while crying for him to take you home.

He held you close against him, giving you soft reassurances that he was going to take you home the moment the doctors said he could, “I'm never leaving you again, you hear me?” Tim whispered into your hair and carried you out into the safety of a police car. Metro called over the radio that your captor was found, and was going to be escorted out to a car.

You visibly tensed at the thought of seeing the man and Tim was quick to shut the door to the shop and calm you down to the best of his ability. “I was so scared” you admitted, keeping a white knuckled grip on his bullet proof vest, “i know, baby, i know” he empathized rocking you two side to side until the evil was gone and he was able to get you into the back of an ambulance, he quietly thanked everyone with a quick nod before the doors of the ambulance were slammed shut.

You had many cuts and bruises littering your arms and legs, only one serious cut that would require stitches but other than that you seem physically okay. Not once did Tim’s hand leave yours, you squeezed his hand like a lifeline, and he watched as you started to calm down, slowly talking you through breathing exercises and assuring you that you’re safe and with him. 

Once the two of you had gotten to the hospital doctor’s were already on standby, and as was Wade. Tim explained to you he would be right outside and that he needed to talk to Wade, you nodded slowly with a glint of panic in your eyes that was quickly eased when Luna appeared to keep you company while the boys talked. She hugged you and made sure you had water and were as comfortable as you could be. 

“The man who took her broke the moment Harper stepped in the room, he said he was looking for a nice house to be able to steal a couple of things to pay of his debts to his drug dealer” Wade paused, “taking a captive was never his plan but he explained she was a witness and he needed to take her because he didn’t want her calling the cops.” he finished with a bit of bewilderment in his tone. Wade continued to explain that you had fought him tooth and nail before he called one of his buddies who provided the chains and helped chain you up.

Tim felt a bubble of pride at how hard you fought your unwelcome guest and never let up even when you were chained, when he had seen you in the light he noticed the irritation on your wrists and ankles indicating your continuous pulling at the restraints. Tim softly thanked Wade before relieving Luna and replacing her in the seat right next to you, Tim could tell you were exhausted and mentally drained. 

Fortunately the nurse had given you a bit of laughing gas to aid the pain of the stitches, by the end of the last thread you were on the verge of passing out. The doctor wanted you to stay overnight to watch out for signs of internal injuries they may have missed, Tim whispered sweet nothings into the air hoping you would fall asleep soon. 

“Tim, can you lay up here with me?” your hoarse voice croaked out, not a beat was missed as he climbed up on the bed and got you as comfortable as possible, “i love you” your voice was just barely over a whisper, “i love you more” Tim concluded pulling you into his chest and playing with your hair the best he could without knotting it any further. 

His love for you would go down in poetry, and worlds would collapse before he ever lost you.   

[iloveboysinred]

That zuko smut you wrote was just 😩 is it okay if i request nsfw Zuko hc ??? Like how yall be getting down if that makes sense? Thank you 💗💗

Omg youre my first anon ask <3 i’m glad you enjoyed it! Shit took me 3 days and 4 spliffs to write. But lets get into it!

Cw; gn! Reader, explicit sexual content, smut, 18+ aged up Zuko for the first half, grown ass adult man Zuko for the rest. Nsfw under the cut, mdni.

GIF by @/reksonline

- When you and Zuko first started dating and fooling around, man had absolutely no idea what he was doing. Being an angry teenager on the run for 3 years looking for the avatar? Yeah, he didn’t really dedicate much time to going out and meeting people he would likely never speak to again, much less have sex with.

- when Zuko first started chasing you and the Gaang around you would have little intrusive thoughts about him and the way he was built, his aggression and his voice. But of course, you always kept it to yourself. He was the enemy trying to kill your friend after all!

- so, when Zuko finally came to his senses and joins the gaang, naturally you developed a thing for each other.

- lingering glances that were a littleee too long to be friendly, ‘accidental’ fleeting touches that were scandelous, Intense eye contact when you would pin each other down during training.

- Zuko being shy, he never let it get past more than that on his end, but he and everyone else knew that there was definitely chemistry happening between the two of you.

- So when you and Zuko started getting closer, even romantically involved, things started getting a little spicy!

—————— nsfw———————

- You and Zuko didnt want to make it official until the war was officially over, focusing on more important things like training Aang and readying yourself for combat.

- however, you guys still did couple stuff like sleep in each other’s tents, sneak off to have alone time, cuddle, ect

- So, when the others went to a nearby villiage looking for supplies, you and zuko were left alll alone.

- It started off as just enjoying each other’s company, kissing here and there, rubbing his back, him kissing your shoulders

- but then you found yourself under him, his whole body over yours in a messy make out session, his hands stayed put around your waist, his shy ass too nervous to move them.

- you reassure him that its okay for him to touch you, moving his hands to places you would like him to put them.

- you show him how you liked to be touched, and you touch him as well, learning his sensitive spots, his erogenous zones and committing every reaction to memory.

- soon after your first time together he just couldnt get enough, he was ravenous for you.

- would sneak off to have quickies with you.

-like during the play, you snuck off to get “fire flakes” but really he just had you bent over in a bathroom stall, rocking into your heat.

-then you just went and sat back down like nothing happened. Not even getting fire flakes to make your story believable.

- after the war was over you and Zuko made it official, eventually getting married.

- What started off as a clueless teenager slowly over time became a grown ass man who knew exactly how to please his partner.

- Zuko lovess eating you out. Man is a munch, every little gasp, moan and whine you let out is like dumping lighterfluid on a campfire. It just gets him all the more turned on.

- He definitely loves when you rock your hips into his face and he has to hold you down in place, burying his face deeper into you, not letting up even after you cum.

- loves overstimulating you. He just wants to watch your body lose allll control as he pleases you. Sometimes he’ll reach under and stroke himself while he eats you out, just to get some relief cause your face and sounds are driving him crazy.

-“ just one more baby, please” “you can do it love” “give me all of it baby” are just a few of the filthy words he mutters while he has his whole face between your legs

- definitely feels like he’s drunk off of you. Even if you don’t return the favor, he doesnt even care. He’s just happy he got his fill of you.

- Now if you do return the favor, Zuko quickly turns into a mess

- you’ll pay special attention to his tip, knowing it drives him crazy from the stimulation

- loves when you run your hands up his body while you suck him off

- praises you, sometimes if youre going especially crazy his words will slur, completely blissed out

- when ya’ll have sex he loves to thread his fingers into yours

- loves being close to you, making out and whispering words of praise and filth to you

- Zuko is a helpless romantic, but he also loves nasty sex if you’re willing

- might ask to spit in your mouth, choke you, loves to leave hickeys and bite marks all over you

- i feel like everyone says this but i think its true! He’s super into hair pulling, pull his hair and he’ll let out the sluttiest moan you’ve ever heard

- just loves to cuddle and leave his dick inside you as you sleep, just clingy as fuuck and a big baby

- cleans you up and gives you so much fluffy affection afterwards. You’ll talk about your day, and he’ll talk about all the responsibilities of being Firelord

- sometimes yall do a one and done but if its been a while or if you’re feeling particularly needy you guys will go for multiple rounds.

- overall a loving, doting husband

- to end this off, yall are some horny freaky fucks

reblogs and notes are appreciated :> comments and asks are welcome! Hope you enjoyed anon 💕

[lullabies-blue]

Thomas Hewitt/ Reader

𝔚𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢, 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔫𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔦𝔱? 𝔑𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔦𝔱𝔰 𝔫𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔞𝔯?

Written in third-person limited POV, focusing on Thomas. Content tags: Neurodivergence, Cannibalism, mentions of rape, Canon typical violence, self harm, Mommy issues, child abuse (mentioned), good vs. evil with nothing in between, religious trauma. Author notes: I honestly intended this to be short and to the point- but here we are. I read a lot of Thomas/Reader stories where Thomas is portrayed as neurotypical and I don't know why it bothers me so much- it's just fanfiction after all, but I wanted to write a short "love" story where Thomas is violent and scared and lonely. He's nonverbal, he's mentally disturbed but not 'slow'. His world is very black and white and full of violence, so that got me wondering- what would love look like for him? What would happen if this man, who has only ever known darkness, met someone who was nice to him? Fair warning, lots of rambling ahead. I also just want to say that I am Autistic and that influenced a lot of this story- from the way that I write, to how I portray characters, to certain interactions. So if anything seems weird to you, I apologize- my mind works in weird ways. If I need to clarify anything, just shoot me a message. I would love to talk about the writing process and why I included certain things. Important: This is about 15k words and NOT even half of it. I had to cut it into pieces, will update the rest in another post.

Thomas brings the axe above his head, his breath ragged as he swings it down and cuts the piece of firewood in half with a low grunt. He’s hot, even though it’s the middle of winter- the weather low even with the sun that hid behind the clouds- and his shirt is sticking to him uncomfortably, the sweat doing nothing to cool him down.

He lodges the axe into the tree stump, grabbing the two pieces of wood and throwing them in the wheelbarrow before he wipes his forehead with dirt covered hands. It was the last chore of the day, and he was tired and sore- a tightness in his shoulders that seemed to spread all the way down to lower back and made him want to get in bed. His mask is damp and tight against his face, the skin underneath irritated. He wants to go inside and change, the thought of taking a shower was frustrating but he knew that he needed one. He could smell himself- bitter with sweat and the slightly suffocating scent that seemed to stick to chickens now clinging to him from when he had cleaned out the chicken coop. His nails were lined with dirt- hands and arms caked in grime. It made him feel heavy and slow.

Uncle Hoyt would drag him to the back and hose him off if he saw him, and he hated that more than he hated cleaning himself off- the feeling of water on his skin something he had never got around to liking. He could handle other things- blood never seemed to churn his stomach, or when Momma or Uncle Hoyt used to ask him to go clean out the pig pen- back when they could afford to have pigs, they were empty now, the whole farm seemed to get emptier and emptier as the months passed- he hadn’t thought that shoveling pig shit into a bucket was all that bad. But he had trouble smelling sometimes, especially with the leather pressed so tight against the place his nose had once been.

He takes the handles of the wheelbarrow, filled with enough dried out wood for the weekend- maybe Monday, if the weather stayed where it was at- and began to haul it towards the house. Momma would need some in the kitchen, to boil water and heat the ovens for Supper when she got back from town. He’d have to check the fireplace on the main floor- sometimes even on the coldest days of winter that room stayed warm enough that if they were to turn on the fireplace it’d be too uncomfortable to sit in. He would wait until Uncle Monty asked for more- he didn’t like it when any of them made decisions for him, more so now that he was stuck in that wheelchair.

There were no fireplaces upstairs, just piles of blankets to layer and hope they did enough to keep them warm. Sometimes it would be enough for him, but there were nights that even with two or three of the ones Momma sewed together for him; he would still lay awake, teeth chattering from the cold. It’s why he hated the cold- he could manage the heat, but winter was unpredictable even in the deep south of Texas.

Uncle Monty is in the living room, asleep in his chair as the TV keeps playing, almost as loud as his snoring. He walks past him, noticing the almost empty fireplace. His footsteps are heavy and loud from the metal on his shoes as he carries an armful of wood into the kitchen. He sets it down on the dining table, right on the white plastic cloth momma had set out before she had left, dirt falls onto the floor and he makes a low, grumbling noise of frustration, hoping that she didn’t see it when she got home.

He had forgotten the plastic mat last time and gotten her favorite tablecloth dirty -the mud staining the light blue cotton forever. He didn’t see why it was such a big deal, Momma had once told him that life was messy, that’s how one knew that they were living it, but she had been so angry at him then- sending him out with the bucket and soap, shouting about the mud he had tracked inside their house. Supper had come late that night- Hoyt growing angry at him. He liked it when it was ready and waiting for him when he got home- shouting at momma that working men weren’t supposed to wait for food.

He had gotten into an argument with him that night- he didn’t like it when people were mean to momma. Uncle Hoyt had called him a bad name- making his blood boil.

He didn’t want that to happen again. He didn’t like how badly he had wanted to hurt Uncle Hoyt at that moment. Momma said that family fought all the time, but he had to be careful not to do anything that he would regret. Maybe he would regret it when his blood stained his clothes, but part of him wasn’t so sure. He liked him better when he was Uncle Charlie. Uncle Hoyt reminded him of the bad men.

He tries not to think about it anymore when he heads back outside to grab a few more pieces of wood for the living room. He didn’t like thinking back on the things that made him angry, sometimes he couldn’t come back from them, and he’d end up doing something bad.

By the time he’s pushing past the double front doors, Momma’s car is pulling into the dirt path off to the side of the house. It’s an old one- rusting from the heat of too many summers, but momma didn’t mind it.

 The car comes to a stop as he picks up another armful of wood and takes it inside.

Ever since Hoyt became Sheriff of the town, things had gotten better for them. There were never days where they went to bed hungry, the meat freezer down in the basement always seemed to have enough for them. If it ever ran low, a Hoyt always seemed to find a way to get it restocked. Momma had taken over the shop in town after the owner had passed away and Hoyt made sure that his son- one of the bad men- went right along with him. He had filled the bellies of those who still stayed in town, too hungry to care enough to question them. Sometimes she brought back what didn’t sell that day and they’d have themselves a little feast. There were days Uncle Hoyt brought a guest with him- always a woman-, other times he’d ask momma to bring his food up to his room- the muffled screaming drowned out by Monty’s TV show.

He liked to stay in the basement on those days. It was harder to hear the pleading and begging as Hoyt played too rough with them. He would always get stuck with getting rid of them afterwards and he was starting to dislike the chore.

By the time he finishes stacking the wood, Momma is calling out for him, the front door swinging open. He freezes- his shoulders squaring and his breath suddenly heavy as he looks up at the hall, hidden between a wall and the fireplace. There was someone with Momma. He could hear the footsteps- Momma walked with a purpose, heavy and loud like him. She said that she did it so God would hear her better, but he wasn’t so sure that God was with them anymore. The ones that came after her were lighter, nervous.

He didn’t like guests. Didn’t like that Momma and uncle Hoyt had developed a habit of taking in strays that would just end up in the basement with him later. They would scream when they saw him- call him those names that made the anger come. Some of them liked to hurt him, momma taking him to the bathroom afterwards and stitching him up.

“You’re going to love my Tommy. He’s a little bit shy but he’s got the sweetest heart.” Momma says and he hears the other person laugh. It’s a soft noise- gentle in a way that manages to make his heart race faster as he tries to crawl deeper into the tiny space. “He’s here around somewhere… but let’s get you set up in your room then you can come down and help me with supper, okay?”

Another laugh, his heart racing uncomfortably in his chest. He didn’t want Momma to find him, he was already so tired.

“Of course,” the stranger says, and she- the thought of a woman in the house irritates him- doesn’t talk like Momma or Hoyt or Monty. Her voice is quiet, it doesn’t drawl out. He’s heard it before- she must be from out of town. “I would love to!”

For a moment, he feels bad for the woman as he hears them go up the stairs. He always feels bad for them at first. Momma said that his heart was too kind. Hoyt called him a pansy boy, in need of toughening up. He doesn’t know why he feels bad, the guests were never good people- he’d always come to learn that, but it never seems to do anything to make the twitch of guilt go away from his heart. The steps grow quieter the farther up they go- until he hears Momma’s muffled voice and then her footsteps coming back down.

She spots him, curled into himself in that tiny, dark space and she sucks her teeth, shaking her head. “Thomas Hewitt, what in the lords name are you doing there?”

He feels embarrassed all of a sudden, getting caught like this. He makes a low noise in his chest, pointing to the firewood.

“Come on and get on out of there if you’re done then, we’ve got company.” She comes down the rest of the steps and makes her way towards him. When she holds out her hand he takes it, a comfort that has his heart slowing down.

 “I need you to go and grab the rest of her stuff from the car- poor girl don’t got no power in her home.” She says with a shake of her head as she pulls and helps him to his feet. “She’ll be staying with us until her electricity gets put back up.”

He shakes his head, this time the noise he makes is in protest, a deep groan of anger. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want her in his house.

Momma frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. “Now listen here Thomas, not everyone is as lucky as we are. Sometimes we have to help those in need.”

He wants to believe her- Momma wasn’t one for lying, after all- but this isn’t anything new. He knew how this would end; with the woman in their bellies and her screams in his head, keeping him awake at night. She would make a mistake and then she’d end up in the basement, begging for her life.

It was like Momma had set her up to fail, like a game that promised a prize that would never come, and Thomas didn’t want to play. Not this time. He shakes his head again, his way of telling her no.

Momma and Uncle Hoyt have a lot in common, no matter how sweet and gentle Momma tried to be, her anger was almost as bad as his. He doesn’t like it when she gets angry at him- everyone was always angry at him- and he can see it in her eyes, making him bend his chin against his chest as he let out a whine, glancing down at the ground. She never hit him, but she would ignore him and that hurt a lot more.

“Then you go on upstairs and tell the poor girl that she’s got to leave. I won’t be the one to break the bad news.” Momma huffs, stomping over to the kitchen. “Tell her you would rather see her freeze than offer a small kindness.”

There it is, that harshness in her voice that makes him tremble, his heart picking up its pace until he feels like he can’t breathe. He shakes his head again, digging his fingers into his arm. He didn’t want to have anything to do with the woman. Didn’t want to be forced to deal with her later but if this is what Momma wanted, then he would do it. He would make her happy.

He lets out another noise, smaller this time and turns towards the door. Part of him is angry- angry that he wasn’t allowed to be angry without being punished. Angry that sometimes it seemed like he wasn’t allowed to have a say when it came to things. He felt as if momma sometimes liked to hurt him on purpose- pushing and pushing until he snapped.

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, he feels the guilt settle in his stomach, hot and suffocating. Momma wasn’t like the bad people. She wouldn’t hurt him. Sometimes he just made her so angry- he knew that. He knew that he was difficult and stubborn and sometimes she got tired of dealing with him.

It wouldn’t be long before the woman disappeared anyways- Hoyt will see her at supper and he’d take her upstairs. The screaming will start, and everyone will act like they couldn’t hear it; Momma would knit, and Monty would turn the volume on the TV up until it was too much. He’d end up sleeping in the basement again, picking at his skin until it was raw and bleeding- the crying twisting his stomach and threatening to swallow him whole.

He just had to wait until then. He would be good until then.

The trunk of the car was left open for him, and he finds the woman’s things waiting for him. It’s not much- a simple backpack, filled with so many things that it ballooned uncomfortably. He grabs it, grunting at the fact that it was heavier than he thought, and slams the trunk close. The car shakes and squeaks at his aggression as he carries the bag inside. He doesn’t like the fact that he’s touching the stranger’s things.

He’s dirty- his fingers staining the bag- but he’s also dirty inside. Rotten from the anger, the bad he’s done. The bad he was going to do. He can feel himself soiling the items inside- turning them just as dirty as him as he walks into the kitchen and sets the bag down on the floor. Momma had taken the firewood he had left and put away the mat. He could feel the warmth of the fire even from where he stood across the oven- filling the room with the scent of smoke. He grunts, wanting Momma to turn around and see that he had done what she asked. He wanted her to smile at him- to ease the way his heart still hammered in frustration.

She turns, but the softness in her eyes isn’t directed at him- she barely looks at him and his heart sinks further down into his stomach, tension building in the back of his neck. He can hear her footsteps now- the creaking of the staircase as she came downstairs. He’s standing in front of a wall, the staircase on the other side. For now, he was hidden- but it wouldn’t be long until she stepped into the kitchen, and he couldn’t hide anymore.

“We’re in here dear,” Momma calls out to her. “Tommy here’s got your bag for you.”

He sees her for the first time out of the corner of his eye- spotting her before she spots him, her eyes on Momma. She’s short- shorter than momma by a bit, and clean and well dressed. Her sweater is thick and colorful, the cuffs of her sleeves neatly folded against her wrists. Something there catches the soft yellow light of the kitchen- a thin golden bracelet halfway hidden beneath the fabric. Her jeans look like they’ve been around for a long time- a different shade of fabric stitched into one of the knees. Her boots are old and worn out, reminding him of his own.

He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like this feeling that runs through him as he inspects her.

“I really like your house!” she says- voice light and full of excitement that made his mood worsen. “Its-” whatever she was about to say dies in her throat as she turns her head to the left and spots him for the first time.

He doesn’t let her look at his face- turning his head to the side as he folds into himself, chin against chest. He doesn’t like this- doesn’t like that she stares at him without saying anything. He can feel her eyes on him- inspecting him- an animal on display. His chest rises and falls painfully, his breathing hard and loud in the silence. He can feel his hands twitch- his thumb nail grazing along the length of his finger.

“This is my son,” Momma’s voice is tight as she talks. “Tommy this here is our guest. Don’t you want to say hello?”

He shakes his head, his hands trembling. Something wet lands inside the sink and he startles. He hears Momma suck her teeth and he can see her in his mind- shaking her head like she does whenever he does something she doesn’t like.

He doesn’t like this. Doesn’t like that Momma is getting mad at him, that the woman still stands there, watching him tremble in fear. He could already hear it- her laughing as she called him an idiot. They always called him something. They always laughed at him.

“It’s okay,” her voice shakes a bit as she breaks the silence, and she coughs and clears her voice. “I, um, I’m a little shy myself so I know how hard it can be sometimes.” She speaks slowly, her voice almost a low whisper. She tells him her name. Tells him that it’s nice to meet him.

He doesn’t say anything- not that he can, he’s never spoken a single word- but he nods his head, his eyes quickly glancing over at her. She’s still looking at him and his heart almost beats through his ribs. He expects her to be looking at him like they always look at him- filled with disgust and hatred, looking for any excuse to leave, to get as far away as possible from him- but he doesn’t find that in her face.

He finds her mouth twisted downwards and her eyebrows pushed together just a tiny little bit, her eyes gentle and wide. She looked at him as if he was a dog out by the side of the road on a hot summer afternoon refusing help and she had been chasing him with a bowl of water.

She looks at him like there was nothing scary about him. Like he was a man, dirty from a long day at work and not a freak- poor and disfigured- a monster. He had never seen that look from anyone who didn’t live in this house, and it scared him. It terrified him that someone would decide to look at him like that.

But as soon as he met her eyes she looked away, towards Momma- a smile in her voice.

“What are we making for dinner?” she asks, stepping farther into the kitchen and pushing her sleeves up towards her elbows- ready for whatever Momma tells her to do.

The tension disappears just like that, Momma laughing lightly as she places her hand on the woman’s back and pulls her close. “You’re such a darling, helping me out like this. How about you start getting out the pots and pans? They’re over there by the pantry.” She pointed to the cupboards by the fridge and the woman nodded and went straight towards them.

With her back to them- Momma turned and looked at him finally. He could still feel his heart hammering away at his chest, but this was more manageable. He was still waiting for the names to come, for the screaming and the disgust to appear in her eyes. Sometimes when Momma was around people hid it a bit better, but he knew that it wouldn’t be long until they couldn’t hide it anymore.

He expects Momma to still be mad at him- blue eyes dark with anger- but instead she sighs and puts her hand on his shoulder, a silent apology that has his muscles relaxing. The woman pays them no mind- bending down to inspect the cupboard down there.

“Go on and take her bag up to her room and get yourself cleaned up, okay?” She tugs on the collar of his shirt before fixing his hair out of his face. It’s damp from his sweat, but she doesn’t flinch. “She’s a good girl- try to handle her with care, alright?” Her voice is a low whisper- something the woman wasn’t supposed to hear. It unsettles him as he nods along with Momma- not quite understanding what she meant. He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to nod along with her or shake his head, but Momma doesn't wait for an answer, patting him on the cheek before she turns her head and calls out to the woman.

“Honey, Tommy is going to take your bag up to your room- is that alright?”

The woman rises from the ground, two pots neatly stacked in each other in her hands. “Yes,” she says softly- her eyes meeting his. “Thank you, Tommy.”

She smiles at him shyly and his heart begins to hammer against his ribs again. He feels his skin begin to burn- his flesh raw and exposed to her. Even underneath his mask he can feel himself heating up as he looks away, scrambling to grab the bag.

He needed to get away from her- from Momma and her words that he couldn’t understand. He felt like he couldn’t breathe with her here. He stumbles up the steps- feet so heavy against the wood that he swears he can feel the house tremble underneath him.

Momma gave her the room across his- the empty one where she liked to keep the extra bed sheets and towels. But it’s cleaner now as he turns the knob and goes inside, the curtains pulled open to let in the bit of light that still shone from outside- the sun close to setting. The piles of blankets that were on the bed are gone- the sheets neatly tucked into the space between the mattress and the boxspring. There’s a jacket thrown on top- red and faded, the cuffs ripped up on one arm.

He sits the bag right next to it- on the floor, wiping his hands on his jeans. It topples over and he lets out a grunt- fixing it so it sat upright again. He decided that he would stay up here until Momma called him for supper. He wouldn’t go down to the basement while the woman was here- he was worried that she would be stupid enough to follow him down there. That would be the end of her. Blood and flesh and sinew torn from her bones for them to feast on.

He’s careful when he’s leaving the room- closing the door gently so that it doesn’t slam before he hurries off into his own- locking the door behind himself.

Here it’s dark, his windows covered in greased up newspapers. He didn’t like it when it got too bright- when the sun shone through and reminded him of the mess around him. His room is small and cramped and full of things that he had hauled up from the furnace room so that he wasn’t stuck going up and down all the time. Uncle Monty said that he sounded like a ‘goddamned bulldozer,’ stomping around the house when he was trying to sleep. So, it was better this way- even though sometimes he got irritated that there were too many things. But it meant not being bothersome, so he tried not to mind much.

He checks the door again- making sure that he had really locked it, pulling and twisting at the doorknob just to be safe. He knew that no one would come up here and go into his room- Monty was stuck on the first floor, Momma was with the girl in the kitchen preparing supper and Uncle Hoyt wasn’t home yet. But he was always a little paranoid, just the tiniest bit afraid that someone would knock down his door and see everything about him that he had tried so hard to hide. Not even Momma was allowed in here. This was his- the only place where he could hide from everyone, where he didn’t have to worry about anyone disturbing him.

He takes his mask off and it’s not quite the relief he was expecting- the leather inside has gone stiff, his face raw and tender and aching from all the sweat and dirt that had managed to get in. He can feel it as he runs his fingers across his face, a cut on the corner of his lips that wasn’t there last time. It blends into the sores and scarred tissue already there, his skin long ruined. It shouldn’t bother him- but as he opens his mouth and feels the skin stretch and crack, a drop of blood welling up and rolling down his chin- he gets upset, grunting in frustration. He had wanted to clean the mask and add some petroleum to try and soften it up so it wouldn’t bite at his skin anymore- pinching and scratching and making the pain worse. It would have been something to do, something to keep him busy and distracted until he had to face the inevitable, but now it was something that he no longer wanted to do. Why would he? What would it change?

It was never this bad- but ever since his nose began to fall away, it only ever seemed to get worse- no matter what he did or how hard he pleaded for it to just stop and go away- nothing ever changed. There was no one there to listen to his pleas.

With a low groan of frustration, he tears his hand from his face, wiping the blood on the front of his shirt. He hates himself. Hates everything about himself. Momma liked to say that the bad people were liars, that people who were hurting only ever knew how to hurt others- but he knew that wasn’t true. He was a monster. He saw it, looking back at him in the mirror- wild and ugly and evil, everything that he did not want to be. He hated taking his mask off- hated knowing that the man that existed underneath it was the same man that he was trying to escape from.

Coming here was a mistake. He should have stayed downstairs, should have gone out back to the barn- there he would have found something, anything, to do.

He takes a breath like Momma showed him, trying to push the anger away- down, down, down, until he couldn’t feel it slithering through his veins and pounding in the back of his head. He just had to focus on something else-he liked it when he had chores, things to do that kept him busy and away from the bad thoughts. He takes another deep breath through his mouth- dirt and salt on his lips as he picks up the mask and tries to clean it off on his clothing. It does nothing but lift the dust off into the air as he places it on his face, tightening it too much across his head, leather digging into tender skin. He would take a bath, change his clothes, then sit in bed and wait. Uncle Hoyt would come an hour after the sun disappeared and then he would have to go downstairs. He didn’t want to go downstairs.

He didn’t want to feel the bad feelings anymore. The fear, the anger. The woman would look at him and his throat would tighten, and his heart would beat painfully. He hadn’t liked that feeling- trapped in his own skin, unable to get away. Yet at the same time, he wanted her to look at him. No one ever looked at him.

He could still feel her eyes- soft and warm on his skin, simultaneously calming and worsening his anger. He was half embarrassed- covered in dirt and sweat stains, his clothing old and faded- Did she think that he was disgusting? He was always messy in everything that he did- always having to teach himself how to do things. Filth had never been a stranger. Had never bothered him. But he finds himself wanting to wash the grime and sweat from himself- even if he was just going to put the same clothes back on.

His stomach growls, empty and needy as he unlocks the door and roughly pushes it open- he finds the woman outside of it.

The door swings open, the gust of wind pushing her hair around as the door barely manages to miss her. She’s looking up at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open- her arms up by her chest. It scares him, seeing her there and he makes a messy, garbled noise of surprise.

“Sorry!” she speaks fast, her words all pushed together. “I was just trying to find the bathroom!”

He feels his heart beating in his throat, muscles tense and solid as he stares down at her. She’s so much shorter than he thought- he could reach out and crush her throat in his hand and it wouldn’t take much force to do so. He’s almost tempted to, his fingers twitching at his sides. Momma would get mad at him when he dragged her body downstairs- but she would forget eventually.

“I’m in your way- I,” she takes a step back, her eyes finally releasing his. “I’m sorry, I’m just-”

He grunts. Low and short- his way of telling her to stop talking. Nothing she says is making any sense to him and the sound of her voice makes his heart hammer at his chest. Thunderous and loud and painful. It scares him how easily she does that to him. Such a small thing like her, carelessly walking into a house where God was nowhere to be found without a single ounce of caution. He could take her to his room, and no one would hear her scream. He could scare her more than she scared him.

She squirms in the silence like a rat stuck in a trap. She tugs at her sleeve, at her collar- his breathing loud as he watches her- watches her chest rise and fall with every breath, her eyes on the space between them.

 Another grunt and she startles backwards, looking up at him. This time, when her eyes meet his own, he doesn’t cower even though his body tenses and he can already feel her pulse beneath his hand.

 His body is stiff as he steps out of his room and moves out of the way of the door- he has to turn his back to her and for a split-second, panic runs cold and fast through his veins as he remembers the woman who had stabbed him. The door slams close as he turns around quickly, eyes wide and wild as he looks down at her hands.

He expects to see a knife pointed at him- the scar on his shoulder aching from the memory of being sliced apart, the pain still there even after all the months that have passed since. He hadn’t done anything to deserve that pain- the woman and her friends had attacked first, had tried to hurt his family. Uncle Hoyt had told him, so had Momma with tears in her eyes and blood splatters on her dress. They were bad people who wanted to do bad things to them, and it was his responsibility to protect them- to keep them safe. It hadn’t mattered that his hands shook so hard with fear, and he could taste vomit at the back of his throat, vile and burning, he had to protect them. They were all that he had. He couldn’t- wouldn’t- lose them.

He was panting as he searched the woman and finds nothing in her hands, her eyes widening as she takes another step away from him.

 Was she scared?

Did she finally see it? The evil that radiated off of him that others seemed to see- always scared of getting too close to him- He was a disease on this town. A burden. Did he finally scare her?

Would she scream?

Was she going to hurt him- just like everyone else? Drive a knife into his flesh- a pain that would only last for so long before it faded into a memory that he refused to think of. A pain that wouldn’t be so bad compared to the shame that churned his stomach whenever a stranger screamed when they saw him.

He waited- teeth clamped together as he stared her down in the heavy silence.

He watched as her lips part, lower lip trembling slightly. If she screamed, he would hurt her before she could hurt him. If she screamed, she would be nothing but a pile of bones, tossed into the fire by the time the sun rose tomorrow.

Scream, he thought, fingers twitching at his sides. Scream already and let this end already.

“You’re scared of me, aren’t you?” she whispers and her voice trembles even as she keeps talking. “I can tell- you’re looking at me like I just pulled out a gun on you or something.” She lifts her hands towards him and moves them back and forth, as if she was showing him that he had nothing to worry about. “But my hands are empty-”

She lifts her hands, palms facing him, and wiggles her fingers. “If it makes you feel better, apart from a kitchen knife I don’t think I’ve ever held a weapon.” She smiles oddly at him- as if she wasn’t sure how to do so, her eyes still wide and unblinking. As if she was worried that he would lunge at her at any second.

He doesn’t like how his body seems to let go of its worries and fears so fast, his shoulders drooping and his heartbeat slowing down until it’s no longer pounding against his ears as the ringing slowly starts to disappear. He unclenches his teeth, the pain still lingering in his jaw and neck, and suddenly, he’s no longer thinking of hurting the woman- of how easy he would have snapped her neck. He still could, part of him even ached and begged for him to do it. To get it over with.

But he doesn’t listen to that part of him that never truly seemed to go away- always begging for blood, for a voice that would finally be heard. He’s staring at her hands instead, focusing on the tips of her fingers that are flushed pink. He notices the birthmark on her left middle finger- a tiny dot right underneath the crease of her knuckle. He notices all the tiny little lines that make up her palms and the way her thumb trembles lightly.

He did not like her.

He did not like the way something as simple as her hands was enough to draw his attention- his eyes seeking out the tiny little patterns between her fingers. He did not like how her voice could soothe him so easily when he wanted nothing but to crush her- to take her, to taste her flesh on his tongue and her blood on his lips.

He did not like how she called out to him as he just stared at her- stared through her, voice gentle with his name. It wasn’t the same as when Momma said it though. This felt like a spell, a bad omen- Satan’s own voice whispering temptation in his ear. Sweet and gentle and unfamiliar.

She made him feel the same way he had felt that one night he had snuck upstairs to watch Uncle Hoyt and his new friend. He had pushed the door open just enough so that he could see but still stay hidden from the light. He hadn’t made a single noise as he watched Hoyt undo his pants and pull the woman’s legs apart. He hadn’t been able to see much from his hiding place, but what he heard had sent a shock of electricity through his body- blood boiling with need as he listened to the crying and the begging and the sound of something slick being hit over and over again. His stomach churned the same it had that night- tight and hot and restless for something that he could not give it.

He lets out a whine- deep and guttural and full of frustration. Go away, he wants to yell at her. Go away before you ruin everything.

“Tommy…?” she asks again, not understanding his plea.

He whines again and it takes him a second to realize that he’s scratching at his arm- digging his fingers into the old scars there and agitating the skin. It hurts. But that pain is familiar and calming and helps him focus on something other than the panic rising in his throat.

She was messing it all up.

 It’s supposed to just be the four of them- Momma, Hoyt, Monty and him. It’s always been just the four of them. There wasn’t enough space here for her. She was too much of a change to get used to- too loud, too much. Even if he went and hid in the basement until Momma got tired of her, he knew that he would still be able to feel her through the walls, a choking weight in the air that would only poison him until he forgot what it was like to be ignored and cautious even in his own home. He’d be able to hear her- hear her laugh, her steps, the tiny little noises she would come to make the more time went on. She would fill this house with her until she soaked the walls and filled in the foundation. Until everyone forgot that she had a stranger at one point- a spontaneous good dead in all the bad they dealt in.

And even then- what would stop Hoyt from taking her to the room where almost all of the women ended up in? From the emptiness of their bellies that might make them remember that she wasn’t one of them- that she was the answer to their starvation?

He's sinking his nails in harder- the thin skin underneath breaks and he itches at the spot as if there was something alive and buzzing under the flesh. He doesn’t feel the pain as the blood begins to gather underneath his dirty nails. He can see it, even in the dim light- but he can’t feel it. Can’t stop. He digs and digs and digs, hoping for the thoughts to stop- for the voices to stop telling him that he had to kill her. That if he didn’t, he had to make sure that she never left- that this house swallowed her whole and kept her from running, from leaving them. Leaving him. If she tried to run, he could keep her in the furnace room; could tie her up and warn her that if she wasn’t good, she wouldn’t be able to stay.

He could be good to her. He would learn if he had to, would ask Momma to teach him to be gentle and kind. He would not make her angry, would not make her cry or scare her away as long as she listened to him. As long as she stayed with him.

He’s lost, stuck in the farthest corner of his mind, in a future that would stop existing if he simply reached out and touched her. All he had to do was cover her face with his hand, she would be too surprised to fight him off when he pressed her against the wall and kept her there-the weight of him against her back. He could already feel her as she squirmed against him- her body unable to stand still as her lungs began to burn. He could already feel her warmth through his clothes, feel the way his heart would race as she sank her fingers into his skin, drawing blood from fear and desperation. His fear would seep into her flesh, make her lash out more. Her pain would become his and they would be inseparable in that moment.

 It’s when he feels her- fingers cold and desperate as she prods and pulls at his arms, forcing them apart that he returns to reality- to the dimly lit hall, the heat of the fireplace already seeping through the cracks in the foundation. He can feel the way her arms tremble, her fingertips burning holes into his skin.

The woman’s eyes are wild when he looks at her, all wet and round- something in them, in the way she looks at him, makes his heart fill with lead- knocking against his ribs painfully.

“It’s okay!” she says, her voice panicked as she keeps repeating it over and over again, almost as if she’s trying to convince herself- or maybe she thinks that if she says it enough times it’d become true.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” she repeats, her eyes on his as she pulls his arms towards her. “We just have to get this cleaned up and it’ll be okay.”

He doesn’t budge when she tries to pull him towards the staircase- instead, he watches as she stumbles over her own feet, her hands sliding down his arms.

“We need to get this clean,” she’s pleading now, tugging at him to get him to move. “It’s going to get infected if we don’t and there’s no doctor in town anymore-” the more she talks, the more hysterical she begins to sound, her voice growing higher. “I don’t know where the bathroom is, but we can go down to the kitchen, Luda M-”

He doesn’t let her finish, easily pulling his uninjured arm free from her. He didn’t want Momma to know. To see the mess that he made of himself. She would yell at him if he was lucky- tell him that he was sick in the head, hurting himself like a damn fool again.  But he knew that Momma wouldn’t be kind like that- she would take one look at him, dripping blood on the floor and she would blame the woman for his pain.

He could already hear her yelling, the shrill sound bouncing through his head. Momma wouldn’t care to listen, to see anything other than what she wanted. Momma was like that- kind and sweet and quiet until someone was stupid enough to go after the family. He was like her in a way, protective of them all. He liked to think that he got it from her- that he couldn’t possibly be bad when Momma’s blood ran through him, sweet and caring.

He couldn’t let Momma find out. Not now- not when he had decided that the woman standing in front of him was worth more to him alive than chopped up into pieces that would fit into the deep freezer.

 With a grunt that shuts the woman up from her rambling, he grabs her arm. She’s soft and small under his touch- her sweater itching at his palm as he begins to pull her deeper into the hallway, into the darkness. Away from Momma. Away from a future he wanted no part in.

“No, Tommy we have to go downstairs. I don’t know what to do.” Her voice is shaky as she takes a couple steps forward before planting her feet and refusing to keep going. “Your mom might me better at this than me, please.” She pleads even as she begins to walk again when he refuses to stop.

He tries to tell her that Momma couldn’t find out. That if she did then he wouldn’t be able to protect her- to keep her safe. Momma would tell him to get rid of her and he always did what Momma wanted, even if sometimes he didn’t want to.

He loves Momma. Loves her more than Uncle Hoyt or Monty. He loves her more than anything or anyone- even himself. He could suffer through any pain as long as Momma was with him- as long as she was happy with him.

He tries to tell her that he knows exactly what he’s doing, but all his words come out as a garbled mess of a groan, the muscles in his throat too weak to form any actual words. It frustrates him- hearing himself talk in a way that no one would ever understand.

He lets out a low howl, that frustration growing when she stops walking again. He has to be careful not to hurt her- he didn’t want to accidentally pull her arm too hard if she was going to make this a habit. He just needed to get her to the bathroom. She had to wash off the blood on her hands before she went back downstairs. He could take care of his injuries himself- Momma had taught him how to clean and bandage cuts and bruises. Though he wasn’t concerned with the open wound dripping blood down his arm.

Right now, he needed to get the woman to understand that Momma couldn’t find out about this. That if she went down those steps, stained with his blood, then there was nothing he could do to keep Momma from lashing out. Facing her, he points to himself- finger beating against his chest twice before he points at her.

He’s watching her- his eyes on her as she watches him repeat the action two more times. Her face is flushed, her eyebrows pushed together, and he begins to worry that she’s not understanding him, that now that he’s let go of her, she was going to be stupid and try to push him back towards the stairs.

Letting out a small whimper, he grabs at her wrist. She’s pliant under his touch- her skin cool and soft. Touching her reminds him of the Cattle fences that were used back when the Slaughterhouse had been open. He had touched one by accident, not fully understanding why they had so many warnings signs- and just like back then, something hot and quick ran through him. Back then, the muscles in his fingers and arms had tensed and burned, taking away all his strength. But touching her, feeling the way his scarred thumb slid against the thin skin on her wrist- felt like a shockwave of warmth had run through him- intense and disorienting and addictive.

It scared him, but he didn’t let go of her even though his brain was yelling at him to stop touching her. He couldn’t. He had to keep her safe. Slowly, he began to raise her hand towards him, his mouth opening as he made a noise from the bottom of his throat.

He looked at her face as he pressed the back of her hand against his chest. She was already staring at him, her lips twisted into a frown. He couldn’t look into her eyes for too long, something in him ached when he did, so he kept his eyes on her mouth as he tapped her hand against his chest. That same warmth that was spreading through his arm poisoned his chest. He could feel it in his throat, in the depth of his belly- It knocked around in his head until he was dizzy.

For a moment, with her hand on him and his eyes still glued to her lips, he forgets about the bad people who called him all those bad words. He forgets all of the evil that he’s done, all the screams that haunt him, all the blood that he can never wash off.

He finds the confidence to raise his eyes to her own and part of him is scared that in them he would find disgust at having to touch something like him. A smaller, quieter, part wonders if she feels it too- the electricity that flows out of her and through him. He wants her to tell him that she feels him in her- that he’s also warm and electric through her veins. He wants her to tell him that a real monster wouldn’t feel the way he did- that if he really was a monster, the softness in her eyes wouldn’t be affecting him so much.

Dropping his eyes, he taps his chest with her hand twice before pointing it towards him. He does it one more time before he lets go of her. He expects her to pull her hand away, but instead she lets it linger on his shirt, the dirt and stains not bothering her. He wonders if she can feel the way his heart knocks against his ribs.

“You want me to follow you?” her voice cracks a bit as she takes her hand away.

He nods, grunting as he motions to a door off to the side behind him before he lifts his bloodied arm and runs his hand over the scratches- they’ve stopped bleeding already, his arm a mess of blood stains and dirt. Pointing behind here, towards the staircase he shakes his head, bringing his hand back towards his arm and covering the mess he made.

She doesn’t say anything as she tries to piece everything together- her face twisting into itself as she thinks. He repeats the movement, groaning when he points at the staircase and once more when he covers the cuts. ‘Not safe,’ he tries to tell her, ‘Take care of it here.’

Realization makes her eyes brighten, her features smoothing out. “You don’t want Luda Mae to find out?”

It’s not exactly what he was trying to say but he lets it be, seeing as it was close enough. She could have thought that he wanted her to go down and grab Momma- and he was worried that with how small she was she would take off running before he could stop her. In trying to help she would run straight into her end.

The thought made his stomach drop- a sudden chill rocking through him.

“Tommy- I don’t know if I can do anything about that…” she pauses, and he watches as she reaches for him, taking his arm in both of her hands. Her touch burns him again, and this time he can’t stop the small whine of delight from escaping his lips. Her mouth twists down as she inspects his arm- and he tenses, waiting for her to start yelling at him, for the bad names to come. But they don’t- she stays silent, her eyes glued to his arm.

The damage isn’t bad- compared to the collection of scars that line both of his arms, this was nothing. He had scratched a small hole in his forearm- breaking the skin and tearing apart the bit of muscle and fat there. He was lucky that he hadn’t hit anything vital- that he had stopped when he did.

When he was younger, he had taken to cutting- tearing flesh from his body and slicing himself open as a punishment for his mistakes, for his bad thoughts. He had done a good job of keeping it from Momma until the night he had cut too deep, and the blood wouldn’t stop. He had ran to her, howling in fear- bloody arm pressed against his chest. She had made Uncle Monty hold him down while she stitched him together, only a glass of whiskey to keep the pain away. She had yelled at him the entire time-first with tears in her eyes then when they had dried up and she had finished sewing his skin together- she had taken the belt and beaten him raw. When she got tired of beating him, she had told him that this was all Satan’s fault- that she had no choice but to beat the devil out of him. God was gonna soothe his pain, his fears, his anguish. He would see, Momma liked to say. She had kissed him on the forehead, and he swore he had seen the devil on her shoulder, laughing at him.

The pain hadn’t convinced him to stop- he simply learned how to hide it better, how to keep things clean, how to stitch himself together on those nights that he fantasized about finding peace in death. He learned where to cut and how deep to dig- and eventually, Momma made herself forget it ever happened at all. Sometimes, he thought that she was afraid of God- of making him angry, of him turning his back on her. It’s why he didn’t tell her that every once in a while, he could feel the devil itself pumping through his veins. Taunting him.

The woman gently turns his arm, and he pulls himself from the memories, watching as her fingers caress his skin. She’s too trusting- doesn’t she see the danger that she’s in? How easily he could overpower her? This was a Godless house, no matter what Momma and Hoyt thought- he knew the truth. He knew that they were all rotten, inside and out. She would be ruined by them all if she stayed. He would ruin her with his sins-but his guilt wasn’t strong enough to stop his desires.

“It looks a lot worse than it is, doesn’t it?” she asks him, but he doesn’t answer- too busy watching the way she touches him- her touch making his breath deepen.

He likes the way she doesn’t mind that his blood is on her hands- twisted into the tiny cracks of her bracelet. She’s careful and slow as she traces the tip of her index finger above the crater he had created in his flesh. He’s almost tempted to push her hand down- to feel her flesh against the inside of his own, to have her hurt him before he could hurt her- but she moves her hand away before he can make up his mind.

“Okay…” she sighs, not letting go of him. “Show me what to do.”

He grunts in satisfaction, the weight of Momma finding out and the woman being punished lifting from his shoulders. Slowly, he turns the arm she cradled in her hands so that he was grabbing her instead- his hand swallowing hers.

He tries not to think about it too much as he tugs gently and finds no resistance in her steps. He almost smiles- lip twitching against the leather on his face as he leads her to the bathroom. Inside him, the devil starts to dance in glee.

The room is cold as he pushes open the door and pulls her inside before he follows. He can feel the cold seep into his thin shirt, see it with every exhale when he turns on the light and shuts the door, dropping the woman’s hand. She shivers and he wants to know if it’s from the cold or the fact that he’s no longer touching her.

The light flickers and dies for a couple seconds, leaving them in darkness before it turns back on- low and yellow like all the others in the house. It makes the woman’s skin look sickly- washing her out as she blinks and tries to get used to the light.

“We have to clean it,” she’s already walking around him, towards the sink. It’s a small one, too low for him to reach without having to bend his knees uncomfortably. Maybe that’s why she pauses mid-sentence- was she trying to picture him, hunched over as he scrubbed the dirt and blood and sweat from his arms?

The thought of her thinking about him- caring about him- splits him in two, a feeling that he’s never experienced before.

“Where are the towels?” she asks, turning around to face him. “If we lay some down on the floor it should keep the mess down a bit, right?”

He doesn’t tell her that it’s not a good idea- that a pile of soaking towels would raise questions that need to stay buried instead. So, he shakes his head, already closing the small distance between them.

The bathroom is small- all of them are. The tiles on the walls are a faded green color, some of them cracked- some of them are separated by mold- the caulk so old and weathered by age and neglect. He hopes that she doesn’t see them- his blood warming in embarrassment as he tells himself that he would fix them later, before she realized that this house was falling apart right under their feet.

The toilet and sink and the bathtub are old- not quite as stained, but still the same faded shade as the tiles that surrounded them. Under the harsh yellow light, it all looked a mess. At least it wasn’t like Hoyt’s bathroom- with too many colors and carpet all over the floors that trapped the smell of tobacco and sweat and soap, the steam that seemed to linger and stick to the walls doing nothing to lessen the stench.

He’s careful as he walks around her- suddenly aware of just how close they were. In here, with the door closed, being near to her seemed almost intimate in a way that he could not quite grasp.

He was used to being alone with people- usually they were screaming and begging, or already half-dead, delirious and confused from the pain and the blood loss. He was used to them thrashing and running and fighting back- hitting him with their fists, kicking him, throwing whatever they managed to get ahold of. They would always scare him when they did that- the pain eventually making him mad until he lashed out and hurt them on purpose.

They didn’t seem to understand that he didn’t want to make them suffer- that he was being kind- taking their lives quickly so that they didn’t have to be so afraid.

He was used to the screaming, the name calling- no matter how scared or afraid he got, he always knew how it would end.

With the woman, he had touched her- she had touched him- without screaming, without her begging or flinching or trying to run away. Out in the hall there had been enough space for him if he needed to get away, but here it was just the two of them- existing in a space that no one else seemed to belong in.

It terrified him just as much as it thrilled him. It made him feel the same way as when he had to chased down someone that had slipped out of his hold- but this time his mind wasn’t telling him to kill. This time, as he stood besides the woman, her eyes on him as he turned on the faucet and waited for the water to warm, something inside of him was telling him to chase her down in a completely different way- to keep her at his side.

Even if he had to chain her and train her- he did not want her to leave. He would not let her leave.

He remembers when he had first started at the Slaughterhouse, when he had been put to work with the cows- separating the babies from the mothers as soon as they were born. He would take them- carefully scooping them up in his arms, a child at the time, not knowing better, not knowing what it was that he was doing- and carry them to another part of the barn where he would drop them into cages so small that even he couldn’t fit inside.

They would cry and shake, unable to stand, unable to realize what lay ahead of them. He would feed them scraps he had stolen from the feeding center- oats or barley or even handfuls of grass from outside- shoving his hand through and letting them eat from his hand. They would calm down, even though they could not stand fully- their heads hunched over and pressed against the metal. He would show them that even if they weren’t going to live long- even if the world around them didn’t seem to care for them- they weren’t alone.

She did not have to be caged like them- though if he had to, he would keep her locked up if it meant keeping her beside him. Down in the basement where no one would hear her- where no one would disturb them, he would get her to see that he was a kind man, that he only wanted what was best for her.

She was already so much like the calves from back then- stupid and small and too trusting of him. It wouldn’t be hard to break her, to convince her that it was all her fault- that there was nothing left for her outside this home.

When the water heats up- steam rising and filling his lungs- he runs his fingers under the stream. Dirt and blood stain the sink, the hot water turning his fingers pink. It hurts, but not enough for him to stop. He rubs his hands together, the water turning pink as it drains. He can feel her eyes on him as he scrubs the grains of dirt from his skin.

For some reason, it embarrasses him- having her watch him do something so mundane and ordinary. He almost swore that he could feel the warmth from her eyes on his skin- hotter than the water. It makes the simple task suddenly seem foolish, makes him feel as if this was the first time he was doing it and he wasn’t sure if it was right or wrong.

With a grunt he tries to push the thoughts from his mind- cupping his hand and filling it with water before he splashes it onto his arm, onto the wound he had given himself. It makes a mess- water splashing onto his rolled sleeve and onto the floor, the sink too small to prevent the mess.

“Can I?” she says- and she’s suddenly closer than he had thought, her body pressed against his side. He can feel her through his shirt, through the thick fabric of her sweater. He swears that he can feel the softness of her body, the beating of her heart, the blood rushing through her veins on his very skin. It makes his heart leap into his throat- the sudden touch making him want to push her head into the glass of the medicine cabinet or pull her closer- he wasn’t sure which one he wanted to do most.

He stands still, body tense as she reaches for him, grabbing his arm and lifting it closer. She must have found the linen closet- an old, red washcloth in her other hand which she places underneath the running water. She hisses, pulling her hand away and opens the cold water.

“Doesn’t that hurt you?” she asks- and there’s no anger in her voice, no underlying judgement that has him tensing up, muscles rippling with dread that he had done something wrong. Momma liked to talk to him like that sometimes. She liked to ask questions that made him feel bad, that made him regret coming to her- guilty that he had bothered her. Hurt that she saw him as something bothersome.

He shakes his head, his way of telling her that no, it wasn’t hurting him. If he had a voice, he would tell her that his skin is so damaged that he could barely feel it, that some days he even preferred it- he liked the way his skin turned red and pulsed in a way that was almost comfortable, soothing.

“This will feel much better,” she holds her fingers under the water, and once it’s at a comfortable temperature she lets it run over the washcloth. “Tell me if I’m hurting you, okay?”

He nods sharply and she smiles at him- the corners of her mouth lifting. He expects her to rub the wound directly, desperate to clean it off before infection sets in. Instead, to his surprise, she wipes around the length of it- scrubbing gently at the blood matting the hair on his arm. The hand holding his arm is gentle, her fingers sinking into his soft flesh and holding him still.

He watches her- watches the concentration on her face that has her eyebrows knitted together as she wipes and rinses, repeating those two motions over and over and over again until his skin is cleaner- until the dirt is gone and there’s nothing left to hide the many sins he carried on his skin.

She pauses- and he can almost read her mind at that moment. He can see it in the tension in her wrist, feel it in the way her fingers tremble just a fraction of a second before they dig a little deeper into his arm. The feeling of her nails scratching at him isn’t painful, but it startles him just the same as if it were- a warmth growing in his chest that travels down to his belly and pools there- filling him with a different sort of sin.

He expects her to say something about the hundreds of tiny little cuts and bruises that she’s unearthed- he can feel it hang heavy in the air- his lips tingling from anticipation. From the worry that she would open her mouth and ruin it all.

It would either be disgust or pity- and he wanted neither. The scars were his to carry- his own punishment for his terrible deeds. Uncle Hoyt always cringed and acted like he didn’t see them- even though his mouth and face twisted as if he had eaten something sour. The pity always came from Momma- her hands on his as she prayed to God to take away whatever burdens he seemed to be carrying around in his heart. She wouldn’t touch them- maybe out of fear, or anger, or maybe just like Uncle Hoyt, she was disgusted as well- scared that if she touched the scars, they would somehow ruin her as well.

The corners of the woman’s mouth are still twisted down when she glances up at him- her eyes too dark to read. He wonders what he looks like in her eyes- what is it that she sees in him that no one else seems to see?

He waits for her to talk- to break the tense silence that’s choking him- but she doesn’t say a word, dropping her eyes as she picks up the bar of soap that’s been there for months. It almost slips out of her hand, and she lets go of him completely- his arm frozen in place, his body already missing hers. The tension disappears, as if nothing had ever happened, as if it had never been there to begin with. It rolls from the points of pressure that she had left behind on his flesh and up his arms. It moves in his veins, thick and syrupy- coating all of him in a feeling that’s doesn’t sit right.

Maybe he did want her to speak- to pity him after all. But the moment is gone, and he doesn’t have a voice to bring it back- to tell her what he was feeling, so he lets the discomfort drown him just a bit as he watches her act like nothing wrong had happened.

She rubs the bar between her hands, underneath the stream of water and his heart sinks at the thought of her cleaning all traces of him from her skin- he wanted to coat her in all that he was- his scent, his hatred, the bitter taste in his mouth that never seemed to go away- he wanted her to have it all, to carry him even if they were apart for a split second. An extension of him- equally as fearsome.

“Come here,” she motions for him to bring his arm towards her hands, letting the bar fall into the sink. Her hands are covered in soap as she takes his arm in between them- gently scrubbing from his wrist to the inside of his elbow, where his rolled-up sleeve sat. At first, she doesn’t touch the wound- and he can feel the hesitation in her fingers as she scrubs at his arm, circling around it. She scrubs at his skin, at the spaces between his fingers, taking his hand in her own and gently massaging it.

It's the first time anyone has done something like that to him- and while he can’t understand why she was being so thorough when it would have been easier to just hand him the soap and let him do it, he has no intention of stopping her.

He simply watches and enjoys- his mouth twisted into the closest thing of a smile that he could manage underneath his mask.

“Tell me if I hurt you, okay?” she says quietly, and it takes him a second to understand her words, his mind lost even to himself- her fingers lightly press against the cut as she speaks, drawing him back into reality. He tenses as she begins to clean it out, rubbing soapy water into it. It doesn’t hurt- not with how light and slow she moves her hand, her finger dipping into the hole he had scratched open. He expects it to hurt or sting or startle him- but pain doesn’t come. Instead, he groans in delight- enjoying the way her finger seems to be tearing into him, stretching his skin open. It’s like she’s making space for herself inside of him- forcing herself into the parts of him that held him together, sinew and muscle and blood- now poisoned with whatever sickness the woman had inflicted in his heart.

“Sorry!” she says quickly, pulling her hand away from him. The once white bubbles between her fingers are now a soft shade of pink, mixed with his blood. It all disappears down the drain as she rinses her hand, drying them on the front of her jeans.

He grows frustrated at the fact that there’s no way to tell her that she hadn’t hurt him- that he wanted her to do it again. That the pain she caused him was almost addictive- sweeter than the whiskey Uncle Monty sometimes let him have whenever he was in a good enough mood to share.

The woman motions for him to rinse his arm, already cupping her hands together under the faucet and letting the cool water pool between her hands. He angles his arm awkwardly into the sink and she lets the water trickle from between her fingers over his arm slowly. He watches as she repeats the motion, rinsing his arm- it’s so trivial and boring, yet he’s in awe as she takes care of him.

Without a second thought, the woman is already devoting herself to the mundanity of life with him. He could see it as she turns the water off and tells him to wait- as if he would leave her side, as if he could do something so absolutely stupid- subjecting himself to an agony he had no intention of experiencing firsthand.

He hears the closet door open behind him, making him turn around and look at the woman as she rummages through old fitted blankets, washcloths and towels until she finds what she needs. With one hand pressed against the pile of folded towels she pulls one free, tossing it over her arm. “I don’t know how long this has been here for-” as she talks, she moves onto her toes, stretching her arm out as she reaches for something on one of the top shelves.

He almost moves to help her, his body already swaying in place, eager to move, to make himself useful to the woman. But he spends too long trying to decide- her hand closing around whatever it was that she had seen earlier. She lets out a small noise of delight as she drops down to the balls of her feet, and it wracks through him, sending a shiver of warmth up his spine that spreads across his chest- tightening the muscles in his lower belly.

“Expired medicine and antibiotics are better than nothing, right?” She asks as he turns and faces him- lips curved up into a smile and he almost finds himself mimicking it- the corners of his lips twitching. He catches himself, hot embarrassment forcing his eyes to drop from her face- down to the small plastic medicine bin in her hands. It did not matter that he had his mask to hide behind, the way she looked at him made him feel as if she could somehow see through it- his face exposed for whatever ridicule and insults she would eventually throw at him.

 There are bottles of pills stacked on top of one another- the type that Momma used to give him when he was feverish. It would take his sickness as well as his hunger- leaving him too heavy to do anything but lay in bed until the heat of his body burned through the drug. There are other things as well- gauze and bandages, silver packages of pills he couldn’t identify, the label worn off a long time ago- a bottle of Vaseline, faded from the years sits next to a glass jar of Vapor-Rub. Looking at it, he swears that he can smell it even with how far away from the jar he was- even though his nose hasn’t worked properly for months, he feels the ghost of it wrinkle as he cringes from the offensive smell his mind reminds him of.

Momma used to slather him with it when he had first started working at the Slaughterhouse. He hadn’t been used to the smell of it back then and every day he went back had been miserable. The scent of death and blood and shit had soured his stomach until he had gone and thrown up the oatmeal Momma had made for breakfast all over his worktable. All over the slab of meat he had been told to break down. He can still remember the taste of animal blood on his tongue after he had wiped his mouth- forgetting that his hands and arms and chest had been covered in chunks of offal. His boss had called him every bad word under the sun-some were words that he had never heard before, now fully engrained in his mind, tearing at his heart once Monty had told him what they meant.

When he had gone home that night, after scrubbing his station clean- the blood mixing with his waste underneath his nails, in the strands of his hair and in between the cracks of his boots, Momma had slapped him. She had been waiting for him on the porch, her face twisted down in anger, the blue of her eyes dark and cold behind her glasses.

She had called him a great big idiot- uncaring of how dirty he had been, of how hard he had silently prayed to God for the day to hurry up and end so that he could leave and go home. At one point, when the bell for Lunch had rung and he was forced to stay and catch up to everyone else- his boss throwing what Momma had packed for him in the garbage before spitting on it with a laugh- he had wanted to die, his chest burning every single time he brought the cleaver down. He had wanted to die right then and there- to stop existing all together. To be nothing but the air around him- free from the bad people, from the stares, from feeling like all that he did was somehow inherently wrong. No matter if it was an accident or not, no one ever seemed to care enough to listen to him.

Momma had gotten a call from the Slaughterhouse- telling her that because of his careless mistake he would have to be let go. Momma had told him, as she dragged him to the hose out back, that she had begged and begged and begged for them to give him a second chance. They couldn’t lose his income, not with Uncle Monty getting less hours at his job and the Government cutting Uncle Hoyt’s veteran checks so suddenly. They were barely making ends meet as it was- this would ruin them.

She had yelled and shouted, spraying him with cold water until he was a shivering mess, the blood no longer crusted over on his skin. He could feel the cold water pooling in his boots, making his socks stick to his toes. It hadn’t even mattered to him then, his heart hammering away at his chest at the thought of never having to go back. Of not having to wake up so early to walk all the way to the other side of town in a place that he hated.

He didn’t even mind when Momma had beat him, welts forming on his wet skin from the belt she kept exclusively for punishments. The pain was nothing in comparison to when Momma had told him that she had made sure that he had kept his job.

They were going to cut his pay, a little every check, until he paid off the cost of the half cow he had puked all over. But he still had a job, he was still able to help the family out- wasn’t that good? Momma asked him, smiling at him like she hadn’t just beat him tired.

 Momma warned him that he couldn’t mess this up again. That there were no more chances after this- sending him up to his room with no dinner, his stomach already empty and rubbing against itself.

The morning after, when she had woken him up- his body sore from all the walking that he had done and the bruises forming on his back and legs- Momma had twisted open the jar of Vapor-rub for the first time, filling his room with the slightly sweet- minty smell.

She had bought it last night, right before the shop closed- with the bit of lose change she had managed to scrap together. It’s gonna help you from making another mistake she said right before she shoved a finger full of it into his nose. It was thick, and cold, burning the inside of his nose as he moaned in pain, trying to push Momma away before she shoved more into the other nostril. She had smacked his hand away, telling him that this was for his own good. That this was only until he got used to it.

He had moaned as tears began to form, shaking his head- trying to empty his nose, the burning crawling up into his head and making his eyes water painfully. Every inhale he took through his mouth burned its way to his lungs. Momma only slapped him again- telling him that this was his fault. That he had to do this for the family.

“You’re so selfish Thomas!” she shouted at him, holding his jaw and shoving another finger into his empty nostril. “There’s no room for useless boys in this house, do you understand?”

He couldn’t remember anything after that. His memories about that day lost to the pain he had put himself through. He remembers bits and pieces- the hunger. The burning. The anger.

He always seemed to remember the anger. Flashing through him- hot and cold, boiling his blood.

Something outside of his thoughts rattle and he’s once more standing in the bathroom, a man three times the size of the child that he had once been. Beside him, the woman had set the medicine bin on top of the toilet tank and was rummaging through it- the source of the noise that had brought him back.

He’s tense, the muscles in his neck thick and tight. He doesn’t like how he seemed to live more in his memories- constantly remembering all the things that he just wanted to forget. He didn’t want to remember, to be reminded of the pain he carried.

The woman glances at him, holding a small yellow squeeze tube and a roll of self-adhesive medical tape in one hand. Their eyes meet and she smiles at him, even though he can feel the way his face is twisted down into a scowl- his eyebrows heavy over his eyes.

He doesn’t mean to glare at her- to make her smile falter slightly as her eyes widen just a fraction. He could almost see himself in her eyes and he doesn’t like the him that he imagines. Large and imposing- a thing that only knows how to hurt, how to cause fear. He waits for the woman to realize her mistake- to realize that she was trapped in a small room with a monster.

“Give me your arm?” she asks him, holding out her right hand. “Let’s get you all wrapped up, okay?” her smile is still small, and he can see the wariness in her eyes, but when he places his arm in her hand she doesn’t flinch, she doesn’t rush him- wanting to get this over with.

She pulls him towards her instead, slender fingers wrapping around his forearm as much as possible. She tugs, and he moves- lightweight in her hold.

He’s aware of the muscles in his face- of how, even if he’s partially hidden behind his mask, his face sits. He makes himself relax- something that comes easy with the warmth of her hand on his body, easing the tension that he still carried from his memories. Her touch burned into him, filled him until he swore that he could feel her in his blood- pumping through his heart.

Her eyes don’t leave his as she pulls him closer, and motions with her head for him to sit down on the toilet. “It’ll be easier, that way you don’t have to keep your arm in the air.” She explains, shuffling out of the way to make space for him.

Underneath his weight, the toilet squeaks and shifts as he does as told, awkwardly sitting down. She’s taller than him like this, his head at the same level with her chest, making him have to tilt his head back just a bit to meet her eyes.

Her smile had grown in the time he had looked away- and he can’t help the heat that spreads across his face, his ears growing hot. Could she feel it? The warmth that she caused him? The uneasiness thrumming through him that had the tips of his fingers aching to touch her? To hold her like she held him?

“Can you hold this?” she asks, already dropping something into his expecting hand. It had been resting on his lap, calloused covered palm open and waiting- a beggar’s pose. The ointment and tape weren’t what he had been waiting for, but he takes them, closing his thick fingers around them.

What he didn’t expect was for her to lean over him with a mumbled “sorry”, her hand falling onto his shoulder as she reached for something behind him- inside of the medicine bin.

He doesn’t know what to do- his body freezing underneath hers as her neck grazes his mask covered face. It doesn’t last long- maybe a fraction of a second before she’s pulling away and dropping the hand from his shoulder, but it was enough.

Enough for him to inhale the light scent of her- woodsy and sweet and nutty- just the smallest hint of sweat underneath that. It reminded him of the baked goods Momma used to make for him on his birthday when he was small. It was comforting in the same way that it twisted his stomach with the pain of remembering something that used to make him so happy, something that had been taken from him so abruptly once Momma decided that he was too big to celebrate his birthday. Too old to be cared for.

The woman had been so close that he swore that he could almost hear the blood pounding through her veins. He had almost been tempted to turn his head and feel its pulse with his lips. To scratch her skin with his mask- the scent of her tainting it the same way it has already ruined his senses.

He could picture it- his teeth sinking into the warm and thin flesh she had so stupidly given him access to. It was almost scary- the way his mouth began to water at the thought of her blood on his tongue, raw flesh between his teeth. He wanted to fill his belly with it- to make her a part of him in a way that no one could take from him.

Would she taste as sweet as she smelled?

He swallowed down saliva, clearing the bad thoughts from his mind- scared that if he kept focusing on them, he would do something that he didn’t really want to do.  Something that he wouldn’t be able to take back, no matter how hard he begged and prayed and tried to undo.

He didn’t want to hurt her right now. No matter how hard his mind was telling him to do it- replaying all of the times that he could have done so. Showing him all of the ways that he still could.

He feels ashamed of his thoughts, of the temptation that he was barely keeping at bay- and finds himself unable to look at the woman as she rips open a piece of plastic, tossing it in the garbage can between the toilet and the sink. He keeps his eyes on the space between his legs, on her beat-up boots as she stands in front of him- sweet and unaware of what a horrible person he truly was. Of all that he was struggling to not do to her.

“Do you think Luda Mae is getting suspicious?”

The question startles him, reminding him of the world outside of the bathroom, outside of the woman in front of him.

“She’s probably thinking I ran away; don’t you think?” the woman’s laugh is small, feathery light. He doesn’t know how to answer- not knowing how long they had been up here. There was a possibility that Momma had grown suspicious, or maybe she thought that he had snapped and taken care of her in the only way that he knew how.

Vaguely, he shakes his head. Whether it’s to disagree with her or to tell her that he wasn’t sure- he let’s her decide on which one he’s trying to communicate. If Momma had been concerned, she would have come upstairs to check on her already, so he wasn’t too worried. He shrugs, and her laughter fills his ears again.

“Right. If you’re not worried, then I won’t be either. I just don’t want her to think that I’ve been a horrible guest- running off in the middle of helping her with dinner.”

He shakes his head again and this time its to reassure her that Momma wouldn’t think that. At least he hoped that she wouldn’t. The thought of Momma angry at the woman made his chest burn uncomfortably. An ache that slithered in the tight spaces between his ribs- hot and uneasy in its slickness.

“Well, what’s done is done, lets just get your arm bandaged. I might need your help facing her again.” The woman likes to talk with a smile, he’s noticed. It was as if her mouth had no other way to rest- the corners turned up towards the heavens, towards her eyes that liked to seek him out- unafraid of what she saw, of what others liked to look away from.

He wondered if she was joking- if she was just talking in order to fill the silence. He knew people who did that- people like Hoyt and his old boss at the Slaughterhouse, who had to keep their mouths moving or they would stop existing all together. He liked to think that if he had a voice, he would be like that too- not quite as annoying, but loud enough that people were forced to look at him, to listen to what he had to say.

He would tell the woman that he would keep her safe. That he wanted to go down with her and show Momma that she had done nothing wrong. That if anyone was to blame, it was him. It was his fault that she had stayed away for so long. He would hide her away from Momma’s anger- keep her tucked behind him- safe.

If he was being honest, he wasn’t sure that he wanted her to leave just yet. They could stay here a little longer- everything behind that door non-existent. He could make believe that Momma was still at work, busy with too many customers- outsiders who were just passing by, headed for more than the meat hooks in the basement of this house. That for a bit his uncle’s Monty and Hoyt didn’t exist. That the world was just for him and her.

That would be enough for him. He was almost tempted to ask God- to check and see if he was still paying attention to him after all that he had done.

The woman moves from in front of him and takes a seat on the edge of the tub, her knees rubbing against the outside of his thigh as she grabs his arm and places it on her lap. He can feel the buckle of her belt against his knuckles- his arm suddenly a solid weight as he feels the warmth that radiates from the space between her thighs.

 It crawls along his skin- up to his shoulder and through the space in his chest. It reminds him of the times that he’s stayed in one spot for too long, his limbs falling asleep. Though there was no uncomfortable pain this time- Instead it felt like a million little bugs were crawling around inside of him- a buzzing under his skin that he was unused to, but not disgusted by. It was something that maybe he could get used to.

It settles in his belly- thick and heavy and hot, stirring awake thoughts that felt too uncomfortable to focus on. Shamefully, he raises his eyes from the woman’s lap, trying to think of something other than the way her jeans clung to her thighs or how close his fingers were to the space between her legs- somehow hotter than the rest of her, the back of his hand burning pleasantly. He wanted to keep it there- to soak all of himself in her warmth until he knew nothing more.

He pushes the indecent thoughts from his mind, suddenly growing paranoid that the woman would find out what he was thinking about her. He didn’t want her to think that he was disgusting. Rotten just like Uncle Hoyt, who was obsessed with playing with their food.

“Is this uncomfortable for you, Tommy?” maybe it was because the silence had gone on for too long, but the woman whispers her question- her voice only for him, distracting him slightly as she reaches for the things she had given him, plucking them from his hand before he even had a chance to register the movement- her hand too fast that he barely feels the way her fingers skim his palm.

She’s already twisted open the bottle of ointment by the time he shakes his head- the cap balancing on the edge of her knee. With a hum she nods- her eyes focused on her own hands even though he wants her to look at him again. He wanted her to ask him more questions- her voice tender and sweet whenever she spoke to him. He wanted her to distract him for his thoughts that liked to pull him away from her- and right now he wanted to stay right here, to not miss a single moment.

The ointment is cold against his skin- the woman squeezing a light amount right above the wound. He can feel it cleansing away all of his wickedness- her finger swiping at it until it’s in the deepest layer of his flesh, leaving nothing behind but an oily residue that coated her thumb. Without a pause she sticks a piece of gauze on top- taping it up until the gauze is well hidden under flesh colored medical tape.

He had found it in the pocket of one of the first of Uncle Hoyt’s guests- setting it aside for Momma along all of the jewelry he had collected. Maybe it was for a reason that he had second guessed his decision to throw it away. Maybe that had been a sign from above that you were on your way- that God hadn’t abandoned them after all.

The woman is gentle as she pats the covered wound and leans back a bit to meet his expectant eyes. What does she see in them- in him- that makes her look at him so sweetly?

“You’re all set. How’s it feeling? It’s not too tight, is it?”

[delicious-in-imagines]

What about Laios, Holm and Kabru with someone who has never been in a relationship before, so they are unfamiliar with how they work (nsfw too if possible? Thank you)

As usual, requests are still OPEN, and NSFW will be below the cut!

Laios Touden

The two of you certainly make a pair. I really don't see Laios as someone who's really cared about relationships in the past, so the pair of you will be parsing through the hiccups that come with any new experience.

Between the two of you, you'll pendulum swing between too much and not enough - too much time together, not enough privacy, too much affection, not enough kisses and hugs. It'll be really important for the pair of you to communicate and establish what you want out of that relationship in order for the relationship to remain healthy, and eventually level out.

The first time that you find the privacy to indulge in one another's company, the heavy petting that you started with will shift into something a little more... substantial. The two of you will pull away, feeling the heat and heaviness settling over you, and, just like the rest of the your relationship, it'll be up to the pair of you to decide whether to pull back, or to throw yourselves into the flames.

Holm Kranom

From that little tidbit in the Adventurer's Guide (?) that Holm is attractive by gnome standards. I see him having had maybe a handful of relationships over the years, but none of them have really been fruitful - so he's willing to lend you a hand when it comes to sort of figuring stuff out. He's quite slow and gentle with affections, always checking in with you to ensure that nothing is moving too quickly for you.

If you're ever feeling too overwhelmed, he'll pull back on the overt shows of affections, trading hand holding for linking pinkies, and kisses on the lips for ones on the cheek. It's important for him to know that you're comfortable, while still getting to explore these intimate parts of the relationships.

When things get heated, Holm will excuse himself, not wanting to feel as though he's imposing on you with his arousal. At one such point, you feel bold enough to tug him back, potentially from where you're straddling across his lap. It's his turn to be bashful, his face flushing brightly as he leans back, placing a strangle hold on his patience while you explore to your heart's content.

Kabru of Utaya

I can see Kabru being an accidental heartbreaker over the years. It doesn't take someone much to see that not only is he handsome, but charming as well. He's keen to remind you that he only has eyes for you. He'll indulge you in handholding, especially after dinner while you all discuss what happened during the day.

Even if you talk over dinner, he loves to have you set your bedroll beside his, talking over more personal things. Even despite the rest of the party being never too far away, he tries to make these moments feel as though you're the only two in the world. He likes to start off just laying side by side, holding hands - but eventually the two of you drift closer, until he's checking that you're alright with a pre-bed (and maybe even during-bed) cuddle.

He's got no qualms in explaining to you just what he likes, bearing his erogenous zones to you. He'll encourage you to explore, and is more than willing to reciprocate, moving the warmth of his hands over all over your body. In that nice, even tone, he'll give you words of affirmation, telling you how good you are, what an amazing job you're doing - he doesn't want you to feel like he's not enjoying himself, and he hopes you are too.

[moni-logues]

Long, Long, Long

Pairing: Jin x reader (afab)

Genre: exes-to-lovers, angst, smut

Word count: 6.3k

Content: piv sex (it's vague-ish, so it's not specified whether protected or not), fingering

Summary: A not-exactly-by-chance encounter gives you and Jin a second chance to get it right. You don't. Will Jin give you a third? [based on the song Long Long Long by The Beatles as part of the Across the BTUniverse collab hosted by @ugh-yoongi]

* * *

“Hi.” 

Your voice was thin, airy, all the breath trapped in your throat as your eyes met his for the first time in years.  

“Hi.” 

It was like an echo in reverse: his voice the strong, confident greeting and yours the weak memory of it.  

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he continued and you felt your head cock to the side. 

“I mean... He’s my cousin...” 

“Right!”  

His laugh cut straight through you, because you hadn't been expecting it. Hadn’t been expecting to be affected by him at all.  

“I always forget you’re related.” 

“It’s how you and I met.” 

Had he forgotten? Why did it hurt so much that he might have? Why did you care? You broke up with him! Years ago! This was your choice! But you couldn’t stop the accusation lingering in your tone. You weren’t sure if you wanted him to hear it, too. 

“I remember,” he replied, face serious. Serious but ... soft? Maybe? If you looked hard enough.  

You cleared your throat to pierce the awkward silence that followed. 

“How have you been?”  

“Yeah, pretty good. Same old, y’know. You?” 

“Oh, same, yeah. Nothing to report.” 

You chuckled self-consciously, wondering when you could get out of this conversation, away from him. He offered a bare grin back and you stood there, looking at each other, for long enough that you almost started to feel the world fall away; you almost started to believe you saw something in his eyes, something you’d not seen for such a long time, something you’d never expected to see again.  

Your lips were parting, mouth about to say who knew what, when Namjoon startled you with a slap on the shoulder. 

“Hey, guys!” 

You both jumped, flinched, and did another awkward laugh that Namjoon would almost certainly not have noticed. 

“Having fun?” he asked, grin wide and eyes shining, face a little too red to be sober. 

“Yeah, of course!” 

“It’s your wedding! Who wouldn’t be having fun?!” 

That appeared to satisfy Namjoon and he left as abruptly as he arrived, but it had disturbed something between the two of you. You felt unable to look at Seokjin again. You mumbled something almost inaudible and walked away.  

You went outside, where almost no one was. It was far too hot and humid, the air clinging close to you like a second skin. It was suffocating, almost too wet to breathe, but it was a relief from being inside. Where he was.  

You sat yourself down on the stone steps around the corner, out of sight. You needed a moment to think things through. It had been a long time and you had thought it was all behind you, but seeing him again brought it screaming back, and you needed to remind yourself of what had happened. 

* * *  

Seokjin slumped in his chair, fingers on the keyboard unmoving. He liked gaming because it made him feel peaceful, even if the game was infuriating. It took him outside of his head, outside of his troubles and stresses. He could leave everything behind and let himself be absorbed into the world of the game. It was relaxing. It was refreshing. It was, often, a well-needed break.  

Tonight, though, he just couldn’t get there. Couldn’t bring himself to leave the real world behind. This time, it felt too big. His problems too important to just run away from, even if only temporarily.  

He loved you. Knew it down to his bones. Felt that you were as much a part of him as they were. Couldn’t imagine a world in which you weren’t together but found himself thinking about it all the same.  

He wondered how often you made each other happy, because it felt rare these days. He tried to remember the last time you greeted each other with actual smiles on your faces—smiles that you meant, smiles that you felt. He couldn’t pinpoint the moment at which it had got difficult. It had happened slowly; he knew that much. He knew, when you moved in together, that he was happy. That you were happy, too. That you both were full of hope and enthusiasm and love. He knew, now, that he wasn’t. 

He sighed heavily. That was the first time he’d really thought it. The first time those words had risen in his mind, floating to the top like pond scum. He stared, unseeing, at the screen in front of him. All he could see was you. You then and you now. What had happened to you? What had happened to him? 

* 

You felt Seokjin roll out of bed. You didn’t roll over to him, ask him where he was going, say good morning. You stayed, facing away, on your side.  

You used to love waking up with him. Used to snuggle down at night, gleeful about the morning you knew was coming. You looked forward to every new day because they all started with him. Started and ended and then started again. Your days were book-ended with him, bound by him, supported by him. It felt exactly as it should have, you thought. Right. Correct. As it should have been. 

You squeezed your eyes tightly shut, trying not to cry. Every morning a fresh heartbreak. Every morning, rubbing exhaustion from your eyes as you crept to bed later and later at night, anything to delay that cold slide into sheets, the slipping off to sleep knowing you’d be waking to disappointment.  

You were going to have to talk about it. You’d both been doing a good job avoiding it so far, but something had to give. You didn’t know how much longer you had left in you. Didn’t know if you could keep tip-toeing around, ignoring each other, pretending things were normal. Pretending you were happy.  

Were you? At that point, you weren’t even sure you were still pretending. You passed each other like ships in the night because you were too scared to talk. Too scared of another argument with no end. No resolution.  

Except one. 

That one.  

The one you didn’t dare think about.   

* 

“We have to do something,” you said, quietly, the words dropping to the floor, dark and heavy.  

“I don’t want to,” Jin replied.  

You took a beat to swallow your frustration; you didn’t want to either. You didn’t want this. You didn’t plan this. You hadn’t planned for this. This hadn’t figured in any of your plans when you had signed a lease with him, merged your life with his.  

You rubbed at your temples. Neither of you said anything. You sat, in silence, side by side on the sofa. You thought yourself around in circles. You wrangled with the problem again, as though you hadn’t done so a thousand times before. You tried to find something, some other angle, some fresh perspective that might give you a way out. You made your head hurt with it. The thump of your heart resounded inside your skull, hit you over the head every second.  

You were tired. So tired. Of all of it. Everything. Of the misery you felt. Of the misery where joy had once been. Of this incredibly pregnant absence that surrounded you. These edges, frayed and sharp, screaming in neon about what used to be there, what used to fill them.  

Some days, you had thought about not coming home. Not ditching your whole life, just... not coming home for a day. Maybe two. Staying at a friend’s. Eventually, you always made your way back there, because you weren’t able to admit to anyone that things were falling apart, but you spent the journey pretending you were heading somewhere else. That there was a destination at the end that wouldn’t break your heart. 

“I think we have to,” you whispered, your voice cracking on tears. “We can’t just keep living like this. You know it as well as I do: we’re not in this anymore. It’s over.” 

And Jin couldn’t say anything. Because he knew you were right. He just didn’t want you to be right. He wanted this to be right: him, you, together. He wanted it to be like it was. Before... Before he wasn’t even sure what. Life? Work? The everyday drudgery of existence somehow grinding you both down so that you didn’t have time for each other, didn’t have space, didn’t have energy. You lived together in relative peace and that was all you had now. Nothing less but nothing more.  

You’d already done all the arguments. The ‘you aren’t prioritising this relationship’ one and the ‘we need to make more of an effort’ one and the ‘why are we even together then?’ one. All of those a hundred times and others besides. They never fixed anything. Only made you both feel worse. Frustrated. Guilty. Ashamed. Scared.  

So he had known this was coming and was being cowardly, making you the one to say it. He felt bad for that but he couldn’t. It hurt enough just to hear you say the words; he couldn’t be the one to rip them from his lungs, to tear down everything you had built together. He was a coward. Had been a coward all this time, trying to run from this.  

Knowing it was coming didn’t make it hurt any less. He couldn’t reply immediately, had to take a minute to let the initial sting wear off. Kept waiting for it to fade. Gave himself a little longer to feel composed. To stop feeling shocked and confused and hurt, hurt, hurt.  

He dropped his head into his hands, thoroughly shamed, chastising himself for making you do this, for still not being able to agree. Not being able to help you with this. He knew you were right but he couldn’t look it in the eye. 

“Jin,” you croaked. Pleading.  

He swore under his breath, tears burning in his own eyes. He was going to let you down. Had been doing it for months. Was going to do it again. He could hear you crying, couldn’t bear to look over and see it, too. He bit down on his lip, chose to focus on that; grabbed his hair with his fingers and pulled until it hurt, chose to focus on that. Anything but the pain of hearing you cry. Anything but the pain of his heart, bleeding freely, filling him with heartbreak.  

“We have to break up,” you whispered, some time later, when your breath had evened out a little, when Jin had blood on his tongue and fewer strands in his scalp.  

“I don’t want to,” he whispered back.  

A coward. He was a coward. He knew it.  

You weren’t. You were going to do it. What he couldn’t. Pull the plug. End it all. Walk away. Leave.  

* 

You did. 

* * * 

“This seat taken?” 

You barely registered the words, let alone the voice. You waved a hand in a vague gesture of an answer. It wasn’t until he sat down and that lost, familiar scent hit your nose that you realised who it was.  

Your head snapped around, looking at him, and, once he met your gaze, you couldn’t look away.  

Were they the same? Those eyes? Were they exactly as you remembered? You couldn’t be sure. They looked similar enough, familiar enough, deep and dark as they had ever been. You just couldn’t see beyond them anymore. Couldn’t see what he was thinking or feeling. Had lost the skill when you lost him, you supposed. You searched his face for clues, for a hint of-- 

You stopped yourself. You were about to think of him as ‘your Seokjin’ but he wasn’t that. Hadn’t been for a long time. He could be someone else entirely now. Even if you felt catapulted back in time, hurtling into the past when you had been his, when there had been a connection between you, a thread, thoroughly tangled, so well knit that you had thought it would never unravel, that didn’t mean he felt it, too. You had no right to expect that. To want it. 

Did you want it? 

“They’re organising a search party for you, y’know,” he said lightly, lips lifting slightly at the corners. 

“Oh?” 

“You missed the first dance-” 

“Oh, fuck!” 

Finally bringing yourself back to the real world, you gazed around yourself, realised how low the sun had got in the sky, saw all the bugs flying around you, making a feast of your skin. It was still sticky and close, the encroaching dark bringing with it no chill.  

Seokjin laughed. 

“Don’t worry; Hobi filmed the whole thing. They attempted a lift and Namjoon dropped her.” 

You gasped.  

“No!” 

“Yes!” 

You laughed, harder than you might have otherwise, because it was such a relief to laugh, to cut through the tension you were feeling.  

“Is she ok?” 

“Of course. It’s the perfect wedding anecdote: no harm, no foul, caught on tape.” 

“You’ll have to get Hobi to send that to me.” 

“It’s already on the internet.” 

You wanted to fill the silence. You wanted to keep this going: this light chat, this friendly conversation. You wanted to show yourself that you could do it. You had been working on it, steeling yourself because you had known you would be seeing him here, that you wouldn’t be able to avoid it. You’d been preparing. Reminding yourself of your decisions, of where you were now because of them. Propping them up with a little too much bluster—but it was only one night. This facade did not have to be robust; it just had to be opaque. 

“We should go back inside,” Seokjin offered instead.  

“I don't want to,” you said without thinking.  

And those four words did it: stabbed you hard in the chest, right where you were softest. You swallowed your gasp, held your breath. It hurt like it had three years ago. How could your heart feel so freshly cleaved when you had been sure it was all solid scar tissue? Healed and weathered, maybe, but sewn together all the same.  

You wondered if he would say it. If he even still remembered. You were waiting for it, tense and aching and bleeding all over. The seconds were weeks, months, years. Three years. Three years, three months and, you calculated it quickly, five days. You winced, cheeks flaming, eyes burning.  

“Ok,” he said eventually. “We don’t have to.” 

When you looked at him, his heart broke a little. Watery and wide, your eyes pleaded with him, said things he couldn’t hear. Not anymore. He had wanted to apologise. Had almost done it so many times, reached out to you just to say sorry. Sorry for- 

All of it.  

Sometimes he was sorry you ever met. Sometimes he was sorry you fell in love. He was sorry that it didn’t work. Sorry that he couldn’t fix it. Sorry that you walked away. Sorry that he let you. Sorry that he didn’t run after you.  

“I’m sorry,” he said, plainly, finally.  

He wasn’t sure that he wasn’t still being selfish, that this wasn’t more for himself than it was for you but he couldn’t let this opportunity pass. He might never see you again. Or he would see you: when Namjoon had his first baby, at their 100-day party, and every year after that, maybe. He wasn’t sure which would be worse. 

“For what?” 

He sighed and looked at his hands.  

“Everything, I suppose. That it didn’t work out between us.” 

He saw you shrug in his periphery, hoped that wasn’t how you really felt. 

“It’s ok. Wasn’t your fault. We just... didn’t work out.” 

There was a long pause. You were going to let him lead the conversation because you didn’t trust yourself to. Didn’t trust yourself not to rip your heart open at the seams and ask him to break it again. Because despite all the time that had passed, despite the clean break, the no-contact, it didn’t feel finished. You weren’t done. You had tapped a rich seam you thought had dried up; if you let it, it would overflow.  

“Can you believe they’re actually married?” he asked.  

You laughed. This was easier territory. This was happy. This was joyful. This was everything you and he were not. 

“Yeah, sure. Why not?” 

“Given how it all started.” 

“Oh, that was so long ago. They’ve been happy for ages now.” 

They had and it made your heart lighter. That they turned it around. That somehow mess and rubble turned into solid foundations. That the house they built out of brick was strong and stable and full of laughter. 

“... We were happy once, weren’t we?” 

You took a breath before you turned to look at him, filled yourself up with air as if it would keep other things out. Other things like the aching familiarity of affection for him. The instinct to take his hand in yours, to rest your head on his shoulder. The feeling that you wanted to make everything better for him. The belief that you could.  

Other things like love.  

“Yeah, we were happy,” you said stiffly.  

“I’m not sure where it went wrong.” 

He turned, then, finally looking at you. You had the same sensation you had earlier: the sense of everything else falling away; the hint of something becoming clearer.  

He kissed you.  

Or you kissed him.  

Either way, it was happening.  

“Is this stupid?” you whispered against his lips, not daring to pull back farther, to open your eyes. 

“Probably,” he replied. “But I think we should do it anyway.” 

He didn’t give you the opportunity to argue, locking his lips against yours again. You didn’t want to argue. You wanted to fall into him, give in to him, give in to something you’d been denying that you wanted all this time. All these years.  

In just one kiss, those years disappeared. The time apart collapsed into nothing and you were together again. Like you used to be. You could ignore everything around you; there was no wedding, no party, no formalwear. It was just you and him. As it always should have been.  

He didn’t stop and neither did you. Not when he brought his hands to cup your face. Not when you shifted closer to him. Not when he rolled his tongue over yours. Not when you clutched at the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.  

Only when you had to move, when the constriction of the steps and your dress meant you couldn’t get any closer to him did you stop. Did you pause. Did you take a breath. 

“Jin,” you began, the pounding of your heart making you a little breathless already. 

“Don’t,” he whispered back. “Please don’t.” 

“Don’t what?” 

He sighed and you felt him sit back, drift away from you, hands falling to his lap.  

“Don’t say that we shouldn’t do this. Or don’t say we should talk about things. Don’t say-... I don’t want to say anything.” 

His plea was echoed in his eyes and you bit your tongue. For a second at least. For long enough for him to stand and offer his hand to you. For long enough that you took it. That you let him lead you back inside, out of the room, up the stairs. 

He opened the door to his hotel room and held it for you, his other hand still cupped around yours. He let it shut in silence and you sat on the bed. Your chest was bursting. Felt full. Full like a barrel bomb hurtling out of the sky. You didn’t know the damage it would do if it fell. If you let it smash itself open on the floor of this hotel room.  

So, you didn’t let it. Didn’t give it a chance. You locked eyes with Jin and reached out for him. Your hand fell to the knot of his tie and you dug your fingers into it, loosening, your other hand joining to break it apart and pull it from underneath his collar. Then your fingers went to work on the top buttons of his shirt, the ones on his waistcoat, pushing his jacket off his shoulders to let it fall to the floor.  

Jin wasn’t still as he let you undress him. He worked as gently and quietly as you did, using deft fingers to pull grips from your hair, freeing it from its tangles and running his fingers through your tresses as they ran like rivulets down your back, crossing your collar bones and curling just above your chest. You remembered with a smile and a twinge in your heart that he always wanted you to grow your hair long. That you had cut it into a long bob a year or so before you broke up and he never stopped mentioning, firstly, how beautiful you were regardless but, secondly, how much he liked your hair when it was long enough to tie into ropes, to curl endlessly around his fingers.  

You were silent like that—unspeaking—so that when he brought his lips to yours again, when his tongue found yours and you could taste him like you had a thousand times before, your little sigh of contentment was loud. Loud, too, was his grunt as you ran your hands down his chest and palmed at his trousers. You let those sounds fill the room. They expanded like air until it was full of small, breathless noises, ones you’d not heard for years. Ones you’d thought you wouldn’t hear again.  

Sounds you had forgotten: Jin’s intake of breath when your teeth met his neck, the way it sucked in through his teeth like a gasp, as if it hurt though you knew that it didn’t; the sound of a zip undoing and the quiet, grunted exhale that always accompanied it as your fingers grazed his length (that you didn’t even know if he was aware he was making, that he made the same every time); the moan when your fingers did more than graze, when they wrapped around him, cool against the solid heat of his cock, and squeezed a little. 

Sounds he had forgotten: your moan when his mouth found your nipple, when he felt it shiver to attention under his lips; the way even your breathing whined, each exhale carrying with it a sweet, sighed vowel which floated into the air to make space for the next; the way his name sounded in your mouth, the way your lips pushed and pulled to form it, the way the final consonant became a sound of its own, stressed as if you didn’t want it to end that quickly. 

Sounds you had both forgotten: the ones you made together. The rush and click of your kisses, breathing heavily, lips pressed together and then apart, at irregular intervals because sometimes you wanted to pepper kisses all across his perfect face and sometimes you wanted to breathe his breath back to him, wanted to taste him forever, wanted your tongue to know his like it used to.  

The wetter, slick squelch of his fingers pressing into you, coated in your arousal, then their insistent pressure that made you whine, made you keen, made your breaths high-pitched and long.  

The slap of his skin against yours as you sat above him and let him fuck into you from below. The accompanying grunts, answered by your panting his name: a word you thought your body had forgotten but that came without your say so, automatically, bubbling up from your lungs like a long-forgotten spring. Like it was natural. 

The sound he made as he came, his throat tight around the vowel as it stopped the air. The opening sigh of your name immediately following it.  

“Fuck,” Jin whispered as you let your body fall forward into his arms, chest to chest, your head on his shoulder.  

“Fuck,” you replied.  

The silence was complete, then. The drone of the air-conditioning and a fly batting at the window pane didn’t reach you. The noise of the disco two flights below didn’t either. It was just the two of you and your silence. The two of you with your arms around each other. In a bubble. Back in time.  

You fell asleep like that: the alcohol and the orgasms conspiring to knock you out before you could knock sense into yourselves. 

* 

The night was deep when you finally woke. You shivered and goosebumps rippled across your skin—too cold now, with the aircon still going. Jin’s head was tipped back, his mouth slightly open, eyelids fluttering as he dreamt. You started to smile and then stopped yourself. 

What were you doing? 

What had you done? 

You realised you were cold on the inside, too. That whatever your chest had been full of earlier was gone now. An icy dread began to swim in your veins. A terror.  

What a fucking stupid thing to have done.  

Jin slept deeply and you’d never been more grateful for it than you were then. You extricated yourself from his heavy limbs, pulled your dress over your head and grabbed your underwear and shoes in your hands. You opened the door of his hotel room as quietly as you could and padded on tiptoes back to your own. 

* * * 

“Hi.” 

Your voice was quiet, choked, blood racing to your face, cheeks burning. The reply didn’t come. He just looked at you. Blinked once. Kept looking at you.  

That was fair enough, you thought. He didn’t have to speak to you. Hadn’t done for over a year now.  

Not that you had spoken to him. Not that you’d been in touch at all after walking out on him at Namjoon’s wedding. Walking out on him as he slept after the two of you had slept together. 

But you did wish he would either say something or stop looking. It occurred to you that you could look away. You could walk away. Technically, anyway. Your legs could move and you’d been walking successfully for the better part of 30 years now.  

But you couldn’t do it again.  

Jin nodded with the smallest twitch of his head and turned away. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t really know how to say anything without the entire monologue pouring out. The one he’d been thinking to himself in quiet moments. The one he had ranted in his head for days after the wedding. It was softer now than it had been then, but it wasn’t soft. He didn’t want to give you soft, not again.  

He knew the break-up was as much his fault as yours. Or that it was no one’s fault exactly. He wasn’t angry with you for the break-up and now he had almost stopped being angry with himself, too. Because there had been a way back. He had thought you would walk it. With him. He had thought that the door had been opened and at least you would fucking talk about it.  

Then he woke up alone.  

So, he didn’t know what to say to you now, a year later. A year in which your silence resounded. He had got the message.  

* 

It had been a year. You knew that. You were painfully aware of that. You had seen it coming, had been almost counting down the days with every morning that you woke up and didn’t speak to him. Didn’t reach out. Didn’t apologise or try to explain. It had been another year without him.  

You hadn’t gone back to the wedding party. Had sat in your own hotel room and cried. Had sat in your own bed in your own house and cried. On and off. Occasionally. When you let yourself think about it. Him.  

It was months before you told anyone because you didn’t want it to be real. You didn’t want to believe that you had been that stupid. All your old wounds opening up, as if you had scurvy so bad your heart was unstitching itself. Except it wasn’t a vitamin C deficiency, it was you. You, actively ripping at the seams. You, digging around inside your deepest hurt. Fucking around in it.  

That was why you hadn’t called. Messaged. Carrier pigeoned. Smoke signalled. Telegrammed. Sent a message via your cousin and his friend, Namjoon. 

Your relationship hadn’t worked. You had broken up. You weren’t happy together. Things had changed. You clung to these truths like lifelines. They were facts and facts didn’t change no matter how you felt about them. Not even if you wanted them to.  

* 

You didn’t speak to Jin at your second cousin’s (first cousin once removed? Namjoon’s son’s) 100-days party. He didn’t speak to you, actually, but you pretended it was mutual. You stayed out of the way and, eventually, the party ended. 

* * * 

“Hi.” 

You’d practised this. You knew he would be here and you had cemented closed those holes in your heart. You had papered over the cracks and you were going to be civil. Polite. Friendly, even. You could do this. So far, your voice was playing ball. That was an absolutely textbook greeting. 

“Hi.” 

A response this time. Promising.  

“I’ve missed you.” 

Jesus fucking wept. That wasn’t part of the plan. By the look on his face, Jin also was not expecting you to say something like that but, as ever, he schooled his face quickly back into one of neutrality.  

“Have you?” he asked.  

You winced at the edge in his voice and knew you deserved it. You didn’t know how to answer, because your rational brain had taken back control and you didn’t want to wade into those waters. 

He sighed sharply, exhaling through his nose; he turned to leave and you let him. You watched him disappear through a doorway and tipped your head back against the wall, bumping it deliberately once, twice, three times.  

* 

“H-” 

“Please don’t say fucking ‘hi’ to me again.” 

The word died on your tongue.  

“What do you want?” Jin asked, not aggressive, just aggrieved.  

“To talk?” 

You saw him bite his tongue. Saw him chew and swallow the sharp retort he wanted to give you. 

“About?” 

You took a deep breath. 

“Us?” 

“I wasn’t aware there was an ‘us’.” 

“Jin, plea-” 

“No.” 

“I-” 

“No. Do you know how much I beat myself up when we ended things? When you ended things – because I couldn’t do it. I should have. I should have been the one to take that hit, but I let you do it because I was a fucking coward. I was scared to lose you but not scared enough to make things right between us, apparently. Just enough to fuck things up between us for good. I thought that was my fault. 

“And it fucking hurt because I missed you. All the time. I thought, all the time, about you and the life that we should’ve been living together still. And it hurt knowing that I ruined it. I fumbled you as the kids apparently say these days. I thought it was on me. 

“Then there you were at the wedding and it took me longer than it should have but I...”  

He paused and you couldn’t have filled the silence if you’d wanted to. He threw a hand in the air. 

“But what do I know? I got it wrong once and then obviously got it wrong a second time. You have no idea what it felt like waking up to an empty bed that morning.” 

It had been embarrassing. Scalding like a pot of boiling water thrown in his face. Had hurt like it, too. Jin had cursed his impulsivity, knowing that you should have had the conversation first, should have made things clear before going and fucking. Fucking things up. He just hadn’t been able to help himself: there you were, in his arms again, where he never thought you’d be. So, he had let sense take its leave and he had assumed it would all get straightened out afterwards. How naive he had been. 

“I’m so-” 

“Don’t say you’re sorry. What does it matter now? It doesn’t. I got the message. Loud and clear. We’re done. I get it. I’ll get over it. Just-” 

“Don’t.” 

“Don’t what?” 

You had to swallow, your mouth suddenly full of saliva, your stomach churning; you weren’t sure you weren’t about to open your mouth and vomit, but you had to say it.  

“Don’t get over it. Me. Don’t get over me.” 

His expression remained guarded, but his eyes flashed and you knew that expression. You knew him. Down to his bones you knew him and it all seemed so simple now, somehow. Laid out in front of you; spelt out in sky-writing; blaring like a klaxon.  

Your foot was already off the ground, about to rush to him, kiss him, make real all the things that had been only in your heart and mind for the last year and some. Maybe there was a reason you couldn’t get over him: that you shouldn’t. That the last time should never have been the last time. That you needed to be apart only so you could come back together. That you had lived with him and lived without him and you knew which you preferred.  

It welled up in you like a wave, sucking back on the shore as it rose, preparing to crash with full force and you took a step forward and lifted your other foot to take one more. 

Then you paused. Because that’s exactly what you’d done last time and he wouldn’t do it again. Wouldn’t step foot in what might’ve been a trap. You owed it to him to talk first. To lay yourself bare before him, emotionally this time. To let him see. 

“I shouldn’t have left,” you began, foot planted firmly on the floor. “That was really... It was shit. It was mean. It was uncalled for. I shouldn’t have done it. It wasn’t fair. And I am sorry, even if you don’t want to hear it. I am sorry and I’ve been kicking myself for doing it since the door shut behind me that morning.  

“It wasn’t your fault. At all. I never blamed you for our break-up. You didn’t do anything wrong. We just... Well, I don’t know; maybe we both stopped trying. But it wasn’t just you. It always takes two. You shouldn’t have been beating yourself up for it. I’m sorry for that, too. 

“I’ve been beating myself up for leaving,” you continued. “Honestly? I was scared. I didn’t expect it. I had put so much work into getting over it, being ok with seeing you again, believing that the break-up was the right thing to do and that there was nothing between us anymore.  

“It wasn’t true. None of it. Because the first time we’re in a room together after breaking up, we have sex?” You chuckled, a little rueful. “Who the fuck was I kidding? I just don’t think we’re made to be apart.” 

“We can’t just get back together.” 

“Why not?” 

Jin laughed then—more out of surprise than anything else. He had sworn he was done with you. He was determined to be. Because, well, that’s how the saying goes, isn’t it? Fool me twice... It was unfair to put it in those terms, he knew, but he still wasn’t prepared to put himself in another position that would see him heartbroken. Again. For the third time.  

But here you were, saying things he’d only ever dreamt you’d say. Saying them and looking at him like you meant it. At least, he thought that was what you looked like. Did he know you well enough still to make that call?  

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes as you let it go, because he was just looking at you. Looking at you with such uncertainty in his eyes. He was very good at keeping his guard up; you had been surprised when you learnt that. Had thought that you’d got to know him pretty well until he revealed to you that you barely knew him at all. Had let you take a peek at the depths beneath his not very still waters. It had been something you loved so much about him: the way you could share a look in a crowded room and only you would understand. The way he let you in had made you feel special because you were one of a small, select group. You had betrayed that trust.  

You understood his doubt. Knew he had every reason to feel it. Knew that you had to swallow your own fear and uncertainty for it. 

“Why not?” you repeated, stronger this time, a proper challenge. 

He spluttered.  

“Wel-, becau-... It-... I don’t know!”  

You did step forward this time. Sure, short strides. Crossing the room you’d been standing at opposite sides of until you were standing just an arm’s length from him.  

“Why not?” 

“Because...”  

His voice was barely a whisper now. You reached forward for his hands and he gave them to you. You took another step forward. 

“Why not?” you whispered back, feet moving you towards him all on their own now, until you had to crane your neck to look up at him, until you could smell his aftershave, feel the puff of his shocked little exhale. “I’m in,” you told him. “I meant it: I don’t think we were made to be apart. We’ve done apart. I don’t want to do it anymore. Didn’t want to do it in the first place. Please. Please give me another chance.” 

He scoffed, his eyebrows briefly high on his forehead. 

“It’s not you who needs another chance,” he replied. “It’s me.” 

“Ok, then, I’ll give it to you. Have it. Take it. Me. Please.” 

“Are you sure?” 

You didn’t need words to tell him how sure you were.  

[afro-hispwriter]

My Dornish Love(3)

Aemond Targaryen x Martell!reader

Summary- you and aemond discover you have some common interests 

Warnings- mentions of poisoning, some sexual thoughts? 

ferronniere- a headband that circles that forehead and will usually have a gem of sorts in the middle(or plain depending on where)

wc- 2.3k

1 2

-

Aemond waited patiently in the Library. A plate of food and a cup was next to him and a book opened. Another plate was across from him as well as a cup. 

The doors pushed open and you came rushing in, starting one of the other maesters. You wore a vibrant violet dress that made Aemonds own violet eye widen. You looked absolutely gorgeous. And the ferronniere really tied it all together.

“Good morrow my prince, I’m sorry I’m late.” You say and pull a chair out and sit down.

“It's alright, and no need for formalities. You called me by my name all yesterday.” Aemond gave you a tiny smirk.

“Yes, but we were around people who don’t particularly care, here in the Keep it is best to keep up appearances.” You lifted your hands onto the table. “Can we eat? I'm hungry.” 

“No need to ask, my lady.” You didn’t have to get told twice as you grabbed the biscuit and took a bite. Aemond caught a glimpse of your hand and forearm and he shut the book. “What happened to you?” He pointed at your arms and you looked up at him.

“Oh, I'm alright, it's just me and Thea discovered how much cats don’t enjoy baths.” You laughed nervously.

“Your handmaiden could have done that for you.” He says bluntly. 

“It’s alright, I like getting my hands dirty.” 

“Hmm. I should get the maester to check them.” He pushes his chair back and you grab his wrist. 

“Nonsense, eat first.” He yanked his wrist out of your grip and you drew your hand back. 

“It can wait.” He walks past the table.

“No, it can’t, the first meal of the day is very important. Especially for a prince and swordsman such as yourself.” Aemond stopped in his tracks and his jaw tensed.

“They could get infected.” 

“I’ve been poisoned before, this is nothing.” Aemond turned around with a shocked look on his face. 

“Poisoned?” He sounded intrigued now.

“I can tell you about it if you sit back down and eat with me.” You fluttered your eyelashes at him and he sighed. Aemond made his way back around the table and sat down. He grabbed the grapes and popped two in his mouth. His actions satisfied you and you cut the sausages in pieces. “So when me and Deziel were younger, we snuck into the storage where they keep the poisons because we just wanted to see them, but Deziel being Deziel. He grabs manticore venom and the twat drops it on me. I scream and end up getting cut which lets the venom go into my body.” 

“How did your parents react?” You laughed and Aemond dipped his spoon into his oatmeal. 

“There was a panic, my body had already weakened by the time they retrieved the antidote. Deziel didn’t see the outside of his room for almost two months, my mother was so angry.” You hunched over in a laugh and Aemond let his face relax and smile. You had such a pretty laugh but then you stopped. Aemond’s eyebrow furrowed in confusion until he remembered.

“I'm sorry.” He says.

“It was a long time ago.” 

“And still fresh on your mind.” You huffed and leaned back.

“No need for all this sadness, this is about you so how is your morning so far?” Aemond took a sip of the contents of his cup.

“I trained with Ser Criston and visited Vhagar.”

“I’ve heard stories of how big she is.” Aemond watched a glint in your eye of interest.

“Would you like to see her?” You drew back and your eyes widened. 

“I don’t think that's wise.” He finished his last grapes and grabbed his spoon again. 

“And why's that, princess? Are you scared?” He looked at you mischievously and you frowned.

“Of course I'm scared, I've never seen a dragon, and what if she knows?” You pouted.

“Knows what?” You sighed.

“That I'm Dornish.” There was a pregnant pause between the two of you. Then you heard it. A tiny little giggle and Aemond’s shoulder moved up and down. You frowned and scoffed. “It's not funny.” Your face burnt in embarrassment.

“What do you think Vhagar would do if she sensed you were Dornish? Eat you?” He asks and you shrug.

“Maybe! Dragons are smart, she fought in two wars against Dorne! My people had killed her own sister in arms.” Aemond kept an amusing look. “You’re mean.” You flicked a blueberry at him, hitting him in the cheek. 

“How unladylike of you.” You rolled your eyes. “But at least you know your history.” 

“Did you think I was stupid?” You cock your head. 

“Not at all, but not many ladies pride themselves on learning these things.” 

“Well, there's not much to do on Dorne rather than watch people fight to the death, drink, fuck, and eat. So I have picked up a book and I did pay attention in my classes.” You swirled the contents in your cup and swung a leg over the other.  

“Mmm. You should join me for a ride on Vhagar.” Your eyes widened in fear. 

“M-Maybe another time.” 

“Suit yourself, but I will still send you the proper attire.”

“The riding I know of requires no attire.” You cross your arms and pretend to be annoyed. Aemond let out an airy chuckle.

“In due time princess.” 

“Cute. Eat your food Prince Aemond.”

-

Breakfast was long finished. In the time after, Aemond asked you about Dorne. He wanted to know about it from a native's perspective. He also found joy in hearing you talk. 

“As you know it's always hot but here?” You laughed. “I actually had to cover up pretty decently last night but the sheets were quite scratchy, I thought there was a manticore crawling on me.” 

“You weren’t scared?” 

“I know how to extract their venom so they’re really nothing.” 

“Is it true you coat your weapons in venom?” 

“Mhmm.” 

“How do you do that?”

“To collect the venom we use vials and to hold the creature we would hold them with a large set of tweezers and a small set for the actual venom. For a manticore, the small tweezer would hold the stinger of the tail and you would just squeeze. Then we kill whatever it is and eat it.” 

Aemond grimaced at that. 

“What? They’re good, you should try one.” He chuckles at that.

“I am sure I will be alright without it.” You put your elbow on the table and pointed a finger at him.

“You’re going to try one.” He gave you a mischievous smile.

“I'm not easily persuaded.”

“We will see about that. Is there anything else you would like to know about, my prince?” You ask and the tips of your shows push against his boots. 

“No, I'm sure I have enough information to start a book of my own.” He says with amusement and you scoff.

“Hey! You could have asked me to stop at any time.” 

“A simple tease, I enjoy hearing your voice.” 

“Fancy me already?” 

“Is that a crime?” You shook your head and smiled. The edges of Aemond’s mouth curved up and he looked down. 

“How do you feel about the night sky?” You leaned forward. 

“I think it’s beautiful, when I ride Vhagar at night I try to get as close as possible to the stars.” There was a glint in his eye the second he mentioned Vhagar. 

“I have a book about it in my room, come with me?” You asked and stood up. You held a hand out to him and he pushed his chair back. He walked around the table and he grabbed your hand. 

-

The walk was short and no words were said between you too, but it was not awkward at all. Comforting even. 

You opened your chamber door and you let Aemonds hand go. He checked the hallways and when nobody passed he stepped through the door.  

You were already bending over to dig into a drawer. Aemond froze and his eye was trained on your ass. He was thankful he wasn’t like Aegon. 

“Here it is.” You hold up the brown book and show it to him. 

The Mysteries of the Sky by Maestor Elkin 

“He has traveled all over the world, he has even gone to The Wall and he reported on these bright lights in the sky.”  You say when you open the book to one of your saved pages.

“Fascinating.” Aemond stepped next to you, with hands behind his back, and skimmed over the page you were at.

“He doesn’t know exactly what causes them but he does believe it's the work of the gods. Can you believe if the gods do create what's in the sky, that they share their beautiful creations with us?” You wouldn’t see the smile on Aemond’s face as he solely looked at you.

“I do and they might be too generous at times.” 

“Hmm, I think they give us what we need.” You looked up at him by tilting your head back slightly with a smile. Aemonds heart started racing and his cheeks dusted pink.

“We should continue this back in the library.” Aemond starts walking towards your door when a white fluff walks in front of him. She passed along his boots and slid down onto her side. He crouched down and gave the cat some scratches making her purr.

“Or your room.” The cat hissed at you, still very mad about the events of earlier. Aemond looked over his shoulder and his eyes were met with the diamond that was pierced into your belly button. What he would do to just run his tongue along it.

Fuck that stupid (beautiful) dress

He stood up to his full height so he could tower over you.

“If someone catches us-.” 

“We are a very anticipated betrothal amongst many. I’m sure they will be more happy that we are getting along than mad that we were alone together.” Aemond couldn’t help but agree. 

“Follow me.” 

-

Aemond pushed the door open to his room and he stepped out of the way for you. You walked in and looked at all his furniture and all the paintings. 

“It's like everything I imagined. Dark but beautiful.”

“Hmm.” Aemond grabbed a book off his table and sat down in a chair and kicked his feet up on the small table. “Join me?” You gladly sat in the long chair next to his. 

“There is more Targaryen heraldry in your room than the rest of the keep.” The painting of a dragon setting ablaze to what seemed like Harrenhall caught your attention.

“That is what happens when the king grows ill and two devout members of the seven take over.” He cracked open his book. 

“How is the king? I have not seen him.” 

“Dying, slowly.” Aemond really should have said ‘too slowly’. 

“I can’t imagine wh-.”

“Not everyone has a relationship with their father as you do.” He cuts you off quickly. “A good one at least.” 

You decided not to push forward. 

“What are you reading?” 

“Political philosophy.” 

“Interesting.” You opened your book and kicked your flats off to lay down on the couch. A silence fell over, it was comfortable to an extent. There was a slight tension but you slowly forgot about it as you got deep into the book and your eyes slowly started to droop.

-

The book clattering on your chest made Aemond direct his attention to you. Book pages were folded on your chest. One hand on your chest and the other dangling. Your head was turned to the side and eyes shut. Aemond chuckled and stood up to a chest that held blankets. He grabbed the softest one and grabbed the book from your chest. It closed on the material of the dress and when he pulled it, the bottom of your breasts exposed themselves. 

“Fuck.” He turned away and his cock made a sudden throbbing sensation. Gods, he was acting like a boy again, the mere sight of a woman's body making him hard. He closed his eye and tried to think of anything else. 

He tossed the book on the table turned around and quickly splayed the blanket over your body. Aemond sat back in his chair and the material around his crotch down. Reading should make it go down.

-

You slept until the sun was almost gone. Aemond had finished a couple of chapters and did whatever else he needed to do. 

You sat up straight and rubbed your eyes. Aemond shifting caught your attention and you looked back. 

“Sorry.” You mumbled and swung your legs so your feet touched the floor. 

“Don’t apologize, you’re still tired from your trip. I should be the one apologizing for taking you out so quickly.” 

You yawned and stretched, a breeze hitting your nipples suddenly made you very aware that they had slipped out and Aemond had not taken his eyes off them. 

“If you wanted to see them, all you had to do was ask.” You teased tiredly and Aemond looked down at his now closed book. “I should get back, me and my brothers are going to see a play in the cities.” 

“Then I will see you later, princess.” You stood up and did a curtsy. Aemond frowned at your action but relaxed when you giggled. He even let himself laugh. He did this cute thing where when he laughed his head would shake slightly.

“I hope we continue these meetings, I think something good can come of this.” You say walking toward the door and Aemond stands up to open the door for you.

“I agree, I hope you enjoy the play.” He opens the door and you reach up to kiss his cheek. His face turned pink with affection. 

“See you tomorrow Aemond.”

You did not

-

Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated. I love hearing people’s thoughts🥰

[hannieoftheyear]

sexting with Mingyu

the one where you accidentally send Mingyu – someone who you do not like – a nude.

content warnings: smut, sexting, mingyu is an avid emoji user, switch mingyu but more subby at the end (sawrrrry I can’t help it), use of pet names (good boy and baby).

w.c: 2,9k

note: I wanted to post a quick work to get this blog going while I finish some longer things I’m working on ♡ hope you like it and I’m sorry if there are any mistakes

part 2 is posted! find it here

Your eyes roll when your phone lights up and the text notification pops up.

Kim Mingyu🤢: don’t forget to transfer me the money for Seokmin’s bday 🙏 [11:47 pm.]

The idea of Kim Mingyu of all people handling something as important as a birthday surprise for your best friend irks you.

Of course he was his best friend too. But why on earth did he end up making the plans. And who made you follow his lead. It’s like torture. You don’t want to engage with him in any way.

He was so smug when everyone decided he should be in charge of the surprise party. The decision was between you and him, and you guess people don’t really like your style of planning because it was an unanimous vote. Still, you liked not having to stress so much about it, but having to rely on your sworn enemy makes you shrug.

Okay, maybe sworn enemy it’s an exaggeration. You two just don’t like each other, and that’s fine. Not everyone is always going to like you, and you’re okay with that. The problem is when you can’t avoid said person because you’re in the same fucking friend group.

You two avoid each other if possible. When the whole group hangs out, you try to stay as far away as you can. It’s not like you fight with him, but your exchanges are short and dry, often a little harsh, so you try your best to avoid it to not spoil the mood.

After you transfer him the money, you take a screenshot to send him. It’s not really needed, but you do it just to make sure there’s proof that you transferred the money.

You open his chat and send the last picture on your camera roll without even looking, trying to be done with him the fastest possible.

You: [Picture.] [11:50 pm.]

Locking your phone, you keep working on the assignment your boss asked you to finish by tomorrow. But it gets cut short because not even five minutes later, Mingyu texts you again. You don’t open his chat, but instead, read it through the notification.

Kim Mingyu🤢: didn’t take you as the type to take pics like that 🫣 [11:54 pm.]

You wonder what the hell he’s talking about and why he chose such an annoying emoji.

As you open the chat, your eyes grow wide, and you realize you forgot to check what exactly you were sending Mingyu.

It seems that your screenshot hadn’t fully loaded on the gallery, and you accidentally sent him the previous last photo on your camera roll, which was a mirror selfie of you wearing a new pair of underwear you bought today.

Panic starts to creep in on you, but before doing anything stupid, you breathe in and breathe out, calming yourself to think. Mingyu’s still online, which means he’s probably waiting for your answer.

Instead of admitting it was on accident or showing him any weakness, you decide to play with him a little. He likes to annoy you too, so why not do the same.

You: you never know… I’m full of surprises.

You: why wouldn’t I take a pic if I look pretty? [11:55 pm]

You don’t expect much but his reply comes as soon as you click send.

Kim Mingyu🤢: surprised I definitely am🤔 can’t decide if I like this side of you or not🫢 [11:55 pm.]

You: like I care about your validation [11:56 pm.]

Kim Mingyu🤢: you should.

You: ?

Kim Mingyu🤢: take pics like this I mean😳

Now this is getting interesting.

You: so you think I look pretty? [11:57 pm.]

You wouldn’t lie and say him saying things like this doesn’t make you a little giddy. He’s always so dry with you, you definitely prefer this side of him.

Kim Mingyu🤢: you should send me another one🫣 it’ll help me make up my mind.

You ponder on what’s happening for a solid minute before replying. Is he flirting? Is he teasing you? Will this just be another thing to annoy you in the future?

You: can you stop with those fuckass emojis. [11:58 pm.]

You: I’m not speaking to you if you keep talking like that.

Kim Mingyu🤢: what if I say please?

Now that. Is unexpected. At first it seemed like he wanted to annoy you too, but now he’s almost… begging? How far is he willing to take it? How willing are you?

You: you’re so annoying.

You: I’m trying to work.

Kim Mingyu🤢: all this time we've known each other and I’ve never even seen you in a bikini. [11:59 pm]

Kim Mingyu🤢: what a waste of time.

You: was it worth the wait?

Kim Mingyu🤢: you have no idea.

You: enlighten me then.

Kim Mingyu🤢: oh I don’t think you’re prepared for that.

The conversation is taking a turn you’re not sure if you should take. Exciting you in ways that it shouldn’t.

A chat between the two of you never exceeded a few texts. You are both always so eager to end it as soon as possible, so why does he keep replying? Why do you?

You: what do you want Mingyu? [12:00 am]

Your blatant question seems to take him by surprise because he doesn’t reply right away.

Kim Mingyu🤢: me? You’re the one that sent me a fucking nude at this hour [12:01 am]

He’s right. Are you embarrassing yourself? He’s never gonna let you live after this. But you’re not backing down now.

You: I wasn’t even naked you pervert [12:02 am]

You: and it didn’t seem to matter to you before

You: you liked it didn’t you

Kim Mingyu🤢: never said I didn’t

You: so…

Kim Mingyu🤢: what?

You: are you gonna do something about it?

You’re too curious for your own good. The lines between annoying him and flirting with him are getting more and more blurred every second that passes.

Now it’s your turn to be surprised.

Kim Mingyu🤢: you can’t ask me that [12:03 am]

You: why?

Minutes pass and you see him typing then nothing, then typing again. Your room starts to feel hotter, the expectation getting the best of you and you start to feel a familiar feeling at the base of your stomach.

Kim Mingyu🤢: you should never send a desperate guy something like that at this hour [12:06 am]

You: are you that desperate?

Kim Mingyu🤢: [Picture.]

Kim Mingyu🤢: does that answer your question?

You stare in awe at your phone for what feels like an hour. His hard dick covered by his white boxers threatening to come out fills your screen. Nothing is left to the imagination.

Kim Mingyu🤢: cat got your tongue? [12:08 am]

Kim Mingyu🤢: [Picture.]

Kim Mingyu🤢: it’s getting difficult to not touch myself

A second photo fills your screen now. It’s almost in the same position except now his hand is covering his bulge and his red tip is out.

Wetness starts to pool on your underwear, but he doesn’t need to know, yet at least.

You: I never pictured you as such a needy guy. [12:10 am]

Kim Mingyu🤢: I’m not ashamed to be who I am🙈

You: even with you hands on your pants you manage to send a fucking emoji wow. [12:11 am]

Kim Mingyu🤢: I can send something else

Kim Mingyu🤢: only if you want of course

You straighten yourself, waiting for another photo, but nothing happens. When you move on your seat, you feel just how wet you are. Oh you’re gonna kill him after this.

You: I really hate you you know [12:14 am]

Kim Mingyu🤢: aren’t you supposed to be working?😨

You: you’re distracting

Kim Mingyu🤢: oh so you do want this

You: this? [12:15 am]

Kim Mingyu🤢: all you have to do is ask

Kim Mingyu🤢: nicely

You: you really gonna make me beg?

Kim Mingyu🤢: want me to show you how horny I am?

Kim Mingyu🤢: you want me to make you feel good.

You: you could never make me feel good. [12:16 am]

Kim Mingyu🤢: oh we’ll see about that.

The act you’re putting up won’t last much longer if he keeps up like this. Your right hand creeps down you abdomen. You barely graze your covered cunt, the little relief makes you sigh.

You’re too lost in the little pleasure and don’t realize he sent more texts.

Kim Mingyu🤢: [voice note] [12:18 am]

Kim Mingyu🤢: your turn.

Kim Mingyu🤢: I’m dying over here

Kim Mingyu🤢: are you touching yourself? [12:19 am]

You: you’re leaving me no choice. [12:20 am]

You decide to play with him a little and send him a ‘one view only’ photo of your hand inside your panties. The same panties as the first photo you sent.

After you reply, you dare to play his voice note. The faint sound of his hand tugging on his erection and his little grunts are nothing compared to the sigh he lets out at the end. You play with your fingers, circling them around your wet entrance.

Kim Mingyu🤢: you’re so not fair. [12:22 am]

Kim Mingyu🤢: I bet you’re so wet right now

Kim Mingyu🤢: I wish you were here so I could touch you properly [12:23 am]

Kim Mingyu🤢: my fingers playing with your little cunt like the brat you are

This can’t hurt, right? It’s not like it will happen again, and besides he’s already jerking off to your image. You start circling around your clit, playing with yourself making you squirm.

You: I’m so wet [12:24 am]

Kim Mingyu🤢: did i get you all riled up already?

You: don’t flatter yourself

Kim Mingyu🤢: tell me.

Kim Mingyu🤢: show me how wet you are [12:25 am]

You: I could just slide my fingers in

Kim Mingyu🤢: I said show me

You debate if you should actually send him something. You know he’s trustworthy. He’s friends with your best friends after all, but this is something far beyond that.

You: should I? [12:26 am]

You: I could just leave you like this

You: get it done by myself

It could be read a threat, but you want to see how he reacts.

Kim Mingyu🤢: don’t be mean☹️

Kim Mingyu🤢: I won’t show this to anyone [12:27 am]

Kim Mingyu🤢: if that worries you

Kim Mingyu🤢: I promise

His sudden kindness surprises you a little.

You’re not sure if you always found Mingyu attractive. Sure he’s really handsome that’s undeniable. Maybe when you first met, you thought he was really hot, but those feelings died down because your relationship wasn’t the best. You had a few fights before you decided it was best for the group to just ignore each other if possible.

This was the first time in years you had a long conversation that didn’t end in a fight, and you like it.

You: I'm not the type to do this you know [12:28 am]

Kim Mingyu🤢: I’m not either

You: but I don't want to stop

Kim Mingyu🤢: me neither

Knowing he wants this too just turns you on more. He’s not pushing you to do anything, and you guess that if you tell him to stop, he will. But you have to make sure before you do something.

You: just promise me this is between us [12:30 am]

Kim Mingyu🤢: you have my word🤐

You: be serious for one second

Kim Mingyu🤢: you can trust me

Kim Mingyu🤢: I’m serious I won’t show or tell anyone

That is enough to calm you for now. You don’t think about how this will affect your relationship. Seokmin’s birthday is just a few days away, and you’ll have to face Mingyu in front of everyone.

But that doesn’t bother you now as you’re filming what Mingyu so desperately was asking you to.

You angle your phone to show only your lower body on camera. You start the video circling your entrance, gathering as much arousal as possible. After that, you move your fingers closer to the camera to show how wet they are and then slowly insert two fingers in your hole. You end the video after a little moan escapes your lips

You: for being such a good boy [12:35 am]

You: [video]

You don’t stop fingering yourself and close your eyes, imagining it’s Mingyu’s hand and not yours. His thick fingers would stretch you more than yours ever could. A few slow strokes are enough to make you squirm. And you remember to open your eyes and see you got more texts from Mingyu.

Kim Mingyu🤢: holy fuck [12:37 am]

Kim Mingyu🤢: you’re dripping

Kim Mingyu🤢: I should be there right now

Kim Mingyu🤢: show you what my mouth could do

Kim Mingyu🤢: could eat you out for hours

Kim Mingyu🤢: fuck you’re making me so hard [12:38 am]

Kim Mingyu🤢: [picture]

He had taken his boxers off and was now fully naked. His hand could barely wrap around his fully hard dick. The tip is pinkish red and leaking precum already.

You: fuck you’re so big [12:39 am]

You: I don’t think it could fit inside me

Kim Mingyu🤢: I’ll make it fit

You: how?

Kim Mingyu🤢: I'd make you cum so much that I'd slide right in

You: are you touching yourself?

Kim Mingyu🤢: god how I wish this was you instead of my hand

You close your eyes again. Imagining Mingyu on top of you as you finger yourself harder, as deep as you possibly can. Wet sounds and moans fill your room as you get closer and closer.

Kim Mingyu🤢: I’m so close it’s embarrassing [12:41 am]

You: I am too

Kim Mingyu🤢: show me?🥺

The giggle you let out is almost instantaneous. His emojis are annoyingly cute.

You take a similar video as before, but don’t hold back the moans. Your strokes are slow to show on camera how deep you’re getting. The orgasm is so close that you can taste it, but you stop, edging yourself.

You: because you asked so nicely [12:43 am]

You: [video.]

You: now you

You wait a few minutes, stroking you clit lightly to not lose the orgasm but not quickly enough to stimulate much.

The torture doesn’t last long because a video appears in your chat along with more texts.

Kim Mingyu🤢: holy shit [12:44 am]

Kim Mingyu🤢: you’re so hot

Kim Mingyu🤢: god that should be my hand

Kim Mingyu🤢: [video] [12:45 pm]

As soon as you press play you’re welcomed by Mingyu’s delicious moans. His cock is shiny with pre cum all over it, now angry red. He moans at every pump and you feel yourself getting wetter.

Unexpectedly, he also speaks: “I’m so close" his voice is hoarse and deep like you’ve never heard before, “I wish this was your hand, shit only imagining makes me almost cum" and finally, “please… tell me I can cum… can I cum?”

You never expected the big buff Kim Mingyu to be so needy, it just makes you hornier if that’s even possible.

You: you’re so needy baby [12:47 am]

You: I’m close too

You: been edging myself waiting for you

Kim Mingyu🤢: shit baby don’t say stuff like that [12:48 am]

Kim Mingyu🤢: im about to burst

You: want to cum big boy?

Kim Mingyu🤢: pleeasee

You: look who’s begging now

Kim Mingyu🤢: don’t play with me right now

Kim Mingyu🤢: you’re just as desperate as me

Kim Mingyu🤢: use three fingers for me and cum baby [12:49 am]

You don’t need to be told twice. You press record and insert three fingers into your cunt. You’re so wet they just slide in and you let out a long moan, increasing your speed at every thrust. It’s not long until you’re shaking and cumming all over your hand and bed.

But you don’t end the video there. You grab your phone and film your face as you suck your fingers clean while staring at the camera lense.

You: [video.] [12:51 am]

You: your turn to cum baby

As you wait for him, you go clean yourself up and grab new sheets for the bed.

Kim Mingyu🤢: [video] [12:53]

You press play and the sight of his hand is rapidly stoking his hard dick welcomes you, no more than five strokes after the video starts he lets out a long ground and is cumming all over his abs.

Kim Mingyu🤢: that was [12:54]

Kim Mingyu🤢: holy shit

Kim Mingyu🤢: I never came so fast in my life

You: embarrassingly me neither

The conversations stills for a few minutes, even though it feels like hours. What do you say after sexting with someone you supposedly hate?

You: I guess I’ll see you on saturday [01:03 am]

You're left on read a few more minutes, and you wonder if he already regrets this.

Kim Mingyu🤢: yeah right [01:06 am]

Kim Mingyu🤢: I’ll send everyone what hour to come by to prepare everything

Kim Mingyu🤢: see you then

It’s so awkward that you don’t send anything after.

You don’t regret it, but you do fear what’s going to happen.

Note: sorry if the ending it’s a little sudden, I don’t know how to finish this but I do want to write a part two 😉

[kittyoncescribbled]

“I can teach you if you’d like.”

Pairing: OPLA Sanji x Reader

Summary: Sanji finds out you’ve never been kissed, and he’s a very eager teacher;

Word count: 1.6K;

Rating/Content Warnings: PG-16, AFAB reader;

Author’s note: Can you tell I was scared of writing actual smut?

Kissing Sanji was a mistake.

Ever since that night, you just couldn’t stop thinking about him; sometimes, you daydream about it, wishing to drag Sanji by the collar to a secluded area and have another lesson with him. It was embarrassing, really; Zeff would scold you on a daily basis, as you were frequently seen in the kitchen holding a knife in the air or burning the very expensive cut of meat a client had ordered just because you couldn’t forget the feeling of Sanji’s lips on yours.

One time, Sanji was preparing a dish right next to you, and the way his perfume seemed to envelop you got you so distracted that you ended up with a cut on your left thumb and an earful from Zeff about not being an airhead. But was it your fault if the combination of expensive cologne and cigarettes was so enthralling? 

And to add insult to injury, Sanji seemed to be ignoring you — not exactly ignoring you, but more pretending like nothing happened between the both of you. He had even turned down the flirting and was treating you like one of the guys. You had to admit that it hurt, thinking that Sanji seemed unaffected by the whole thing while you couldn't get it off your mind; you wanted it to mean as much to him as it did to you, but honestly, giving that Sanji had his way with so many women before and this was merely a kiss, you couldn’t expect it to be so important to him as it was to you.

But still, it was enough to keep you awake in your cabin at night, pacing back and forth like an entrapped lioness, fighting the urge to stomp your feet like a little child. You had been all set up to bed: in your most comfy pajamas, hair tied up in a bun and skincare routine done, teeth were brushed, and you had a pair of soft socks on, but you were so aggravated by the situation you just couldn’t sleep. Eventually, you had enough, and before you could realize what you were doing, you found yourself at Sanji's door, knocking at a very fast pace.

Sanji opened the door in his pajamas, clearly confused as you passed by him and planted yourself in the middle of the room, tapping your feet furiously and tightly with your arms crossed. The blond looked at you with confusion printed all over his features and opened his arms as if to ask what was happening, letting the door close softly behind him. His cozy night, involving curling up in bed with a book under the dim light he had set up and some scented candles, was clearly canceled. You were distressed, and he would know about it whether he wanted to or not.

“Was I really that bad?” you asked, with a mix of hurt, indignation, and shame tinging your voice. Sanji tilted his head and furrowed his brows, even more confused. “Sorry, sweets, but I’m not following. What are you talking about?”.

Almost involuntarily, you pouted, and Sanji could see a shift in your demeanor. Not confrontational anymore, you seemed embarrassed, and Sanji could see your cheeks getting flushed. “You know… was I that bad? I know you were my first, but I couldn’t have been that bad… right?”

The vision of you all flustered, mindlessly tugging at the hem of your shirt and chewing on your bottom lip, had his heart aching. He never wanted to see you feeling inadequate, let alone be the cause of it. “I’m very sorry if I made you feel that way, Y/N,” he said, approaching you very carefully. “I just thought that’s what you’d want… you’ve never wanted to get involved with any of us, so I just concluded you wouldn’t want me to be all over you”.

Sanji was now less than a couple inches away from you, his voice barely audible, his fingertips ghosting over the few strands of hair that had escaped from your scrunchie, and his eyes locked into yours, the blue irises slowly disappearing as his pupils grew wider. Your lips parted, feeling your heart beating faster and a rush of adrenaline running through your veins; too shy to look up at Sanji directly, you peeked at him through your eyelashes, taking in the look of hunger in his expression. “Just give me the order, sweetheart, and we can continue with your lesson because trust me… I haven't been able to get it out of my mind”. 

You felt a whole swarm of butterflies in your stomach; your heart felt like it was going to explode. Unable to verbalize exactly what was in your mind, you simply nodded while shyly grabbing at Sanji’s sleeve. Slowly, Sanji’s hands made their way to your waist, pressing his body against yours; he was very aware that you were still finding out your boundaries, and he didn’t want to scare you or impose himself. “But we need to have some ground rules… and the first one is that if you’re uncomfortable, you need to tell me, ok? If you don’t feel like doing something or want me to stop, I want you to say it to me”. You nodded eagerly, feeling your heartbeat so fast it seemed like it would jump out of your chest.

Sanji cupped your face in his hands, studying your eyes and making sure you were still on board. “Sorry, sweetie, just a nod won’t do. Be a good girl and use your words.” You parted your lips, mustering up the courage and pretending to ignore the flush of blood that went straight to your cheeks. “Please, Sanji… I need you to kiss me”.

Even though he wanted to grab your face and finally let out the pent-up desire he had been fostering for so long, Sanji managed to compose himself; slowly, he lowered his face until your lips were touching, and a low moan left your parted lips. You had your fingers clutching harder onto his sleeve, trying to pull him as close as you could, and Sanji couldn't contain a smirk when he realized your eagerness. After all, you made yourself as unavailable as possible for so long that it felt like a hazy dream to have you there, in his bedroom, timidly exploring his torso over his pajamas and producing little soft moans that were enough to make his nose bleed.

Slowly, Sanji guided you to his bed; you felt the mattress at the back of your knees and timidly crawled making your way to the pillows. You looked up at Sanji, chewing on your bottom lip, silently asking for guidance. The cook’s smile softened while he positioned himself on top of you, wavy blond strands of hair tickling your face. “It’s okay, princess. You just relax, and I’ll take care of everything,” he said in a low voice, peppering light kisses all over your face. Your eyes fluttered shut while a smile tugged at the corner of your lips, overwhelmed by Sanji's presence, the perfume that lingered on his sheets, his lips all over your face and neck, and his strong hands grabbing at your waist, leaving a fiery trail where his fingers dragged into the patches of skin where your shirt had ridden up had your brain in a haze, allowing yourself for once to trust someone else and letting them take the reigns.

Working in a male-dominated restaurant made you distrustful and unable to display anything that could be mistaken for weakness, even remotely; you knew that if you gave any of the guys an inch, they’d take a mile, so you made a conscious decision to make yourself as distant and unavailable as possible. Sometimes, the guys would make fun of you for being a Strong Independent Woman as you never let any of them take the lead; letting go so someone else could take control was scary but, at the same time… freeing.

Sanji pressed his body on yours, and you could feel his cock against your thigh, and you blushed, your fingers interlocked in his hair, pulling him incredibly closer. Sanji’s hand made its way under your shirt, finding the doughy flash of your tits and expertly rolling your nipples between his fingers. You gasped, giving him a chance to attack your neck and collarbones with kisses and love bites; you felt like your brain had turned into cotton, an overload of sensations taking over you in a delirious way.

In one swift movement, Sanji managed to remove your shirt, exposing your naked torso to his hungry eyes and wandering hands. Sanji captured your left nipple between his lips, his hot tongue making you whimper; the cook couldn't stop the cocky smile that twisted his lips as he rejoiced, knowing he was the only one who was able to hear those sweet little noises.

Without thinking, Sanji's fingers went to your pants' waistband, and he was startled by your hand grabbing his wrist. When Sanji redirected his gaze to your face, his blood went cold: your eyes were big, not hooded or glassy anymore, and you had an almost scared look on your face.

“Can we… Can we stop for now?”

The blond stopped, immediately looking for your shirt. Sanji helped you get dressed and planted a kiss on your brow. He pulled you under the covers and allowed you time to get comfortable—you were cuddled up against his side, first balled up with the blanket pulled against your cheek.

There was no need to rush. There would be plenty of time for him to show you new things.

[luveline]

I know stripper!reader has this thing going on with Spencer but I keep thinking about something with her and Aaron maybe perhaps please 👀

thank you for requesting! fem

"Hi, Agent Hotchner." 

Aaron wondered if you were going to talk to him. "Miss L/N." He looks you over casually, taking in the scabbed state of your knees and your immaculate make up. "What are you doing here?" 

"Waiting for Spencer. I was in the neighbourhood." 

People aren't often in Quantico on pleasure trips. It doesn't take much for Aaron to peel back your mask. It's a good mask, but he's good at his work. Your strip lashes are lifting in the corners, the adhesive weak with wetness, and though you've taken care to reapply, there's a clear difference between the concealer on your cheeks where tears would've fallen. You keep touching your stomach, like you've a bruise that's bothering you under your clothes, or perhaps as a reassuring stim. 

"Are you okay?" he asks gently. 

"Would you ask me that if I were one of Spencer's other friends?" 

"No." There's no point skirting around it. You're a stripper, a job notorious for hurting the wellbeing of the people who undertake it. "But I'm asking because you've been crying." 

You turn your face down and sniff with a smile. "I almost forgot about you, you're the aloof one… Spencer pretends he doesn't notice when I want him to." 

"I'm not a good pretender. Sorry." 

"That's okay, handsome." You speak softly, but it isn't shyness, only a sweet disposition.

Aaron isn't sure what to do, and so, in want of no better path, he treats you as a friend. You're a friend of Spencer's and Spencer is practically family to Aaron, and so your wellbeing is important for that alone.

Aaron would comfort you even if you weren't. 

"What happened to your knees?" 

You cross your feet at the ankles. "I slipped on ice outside my apartment. Few days ago. What happened to your eye?" 

He has a small cut from a kerfuffle under his eye, so small he forgot it was there. "Work." 

"It looks sore. Like it's being tugged on." You turn to your handbag and shuffle through the contents before pulling out a small red and white pot. "Here, it's scar balm." 

"Oh, I wouldn't–" 

"You can keep it. I have three." 

He imagines your need for something like that is similar to his own line of work. He takes it, not because it feels right to take things from you, but because he knows the worth of letting someone help you. 

He doesn't put it on, though, just holds it in his palm. 

"How'd it happen?" you ask. 

"I wasn't paying attention. It was unlike me." 

"I can see that," you say, offering him a timid smile. 

Aaron frowns. "I think Spencer's playing chess against himself again, he could be a while. Do you want me to go get him?" 

"Oh, no," you say, getting to your feet. "I'm already an imposition for him as it is, I just wanted to walk to the subway with him." 

His lips part before he speaks, unsure of how to ask, "You're not–" 

You stop him before he can ask. "Spencer is the nicest, kindest man I know, and we're friends. But no, we're not." 

"It's getting dark. I'll drive you home." He gauges the hesitance on your face. "Just to drive you home, honey. I promise." 

It kind of breaks his heart that he has to clarify that to you. He wonders how often people have framed taking from you as helping. The 'honey' practically adds itself, as though his lips have a mind of their own, eager to put you at ease. 

"Would that be okay?" you ask.  

"Of course. Do you have your phone? You can tell Spencer I'm taking you home." When you hesitate again, he takes his phone from his pocket and offers it to you, Spencer's contact fourth on Aaron's speed dial. 

The smile you give him then, like you're sure he's a good guy, steals his breath away. 

"Hi, Spencer, it's me. Yeah, I'm okay. I bumped into Agent Hotchner outside and he's going to give me a ride, okay?" You peek at Aaron from the corner of your eye. He pretends not to notice. "Stop trying to embarrass me. Yeah, I know I said that. He is," —your voice drops to a murmur, a whisper, almost inaudible— "you wouldn't get it, he's like your brother."

Aaron can guess what it is Spencer doesn't get, and he, in his many years, has to concentrate hard on not flustering. 

[tulip-room]

˗ˏˋWhy Him? ´ˎ˗

Pairing: Atsumu x Sakusa!Reader

Words: 1.6k

Content: After Sakusa is able to get you to attend one of his matches you catch the eyes of a certain blonde setter. And maybe he caught your eyes too. Much to Sakusa’s dismay, with the blessing of your brother you ask Atsmu on a date.

Kiyoomi had finally worked your walls down. After asking multiple times you were finally coming to an MSBY match. He wants everyone to think he doesn’t care but he does. So here you are, sitting in the stands wearing black and gold and quietly cheering for your brother. You’re not going to lie to yourself though, you weren’t looking at him much. Your eyes were trailing a boy with outlandishly yellow hair. He was cute, sure his serve routine was a little annoying and made you roll your eyes but boy did he look good. Anyone with eyes would be able to tell you that. 

You thought he was cute until you saw the name on the back of his jersey…Miya. Of course. The boy you thought was cute just so happened to be the one your brother complained about the most. Sure he complained about his other teammates but none quite like how he complained about Atsumu. Why didn’t your brother ever warn you about how pretty he was though? Really this was his fault if you thought about it for long enough. 

It seems you weren’t the only one who had their eyes set on someone. Atsumu had seen you about halfway through the second set of the game. You looked so pretty in your black sweater, he wondered if you were taken. I mean surely you must be, you were far prettier than any other girl he had seen. The fact that you had a mask blocking the rest of your face be damned. You reminded him of Sakusa but surely that was all in his head. He needed to make sure he caught up with you once this match was over. He needed to get your number. 

Once you were done staring at the blonde, soon after realizing who he was, you pulled out your phone and started going through your emails. Sure enough work couldn’t leave you alone even on your day off. Sometimes you thought about quitting but then finding another job was just too much of a hassle. Soon enough the match ended, you walked down the stairs and to the entrance of the locker rooms. One flash of your ID to prove that you were Sakusa’s sister was enough for security to let you stand and wait for your brother. You leaned against the wall and replied to the messages from work. Mask still planted on your face, you scoffed at some of the questions they asked you. It’s almost like they weren’t adults that could come up with solutions to simple problems.

Your peace was disrupted by a certain blonde coming out of the locker room. He was confused to see the pretty girl waiting outside. He was in fact hopeful enough to think it was him you were waiting for. He wasn’t even going to question how you had gotten back there. He was much more interested in getting your number. He puts on his best smile and leans up next to you on the wall. “Well aren’t you a pretty thing,” he sends you a charming smile.

You’re so thankful for the mask because it hides the small blush on your cheeks. As you said, he was pretty. “Is there something you need?” You ask with a roll of your eyes, he might’ve been pretty but no way were you going to get with someone your brother would definitely not approve of. His approval was very important to you because you trusted his opinion. 

“I would love to have your-” he’s cut off by someone looming over him. He turns his head and sees none other than Sakusa. “Why hello Omi Omi, was there something you needed?” He still asks not to move from where he’s crowding you against the wall. 

“Yes. I need you to get away from my sister.” He glares daggers at Atsumu who is only just now putting two and two together. He looks between you two and notices the moles on your forehead that match your brother’s and how your current expression really reminds him of the ace. He grins sheepishly at you as he stands up. 

“You didn’t tell me you had such a cute sister Omi Omi!” Atsumu exclaims and tries to lay on the boy who just moves out of the way to watch him stumble over his feet to stand back up. Both you and Sakusa scoff at the comment. “Aww, Omi Omi! You don’t trust me to treat your sister nice? I’m hurt!” He grasps at his chest like he’s hurt and lets a pout settle on his lips. You can’t deny you find it quite cute. You let out a small laugh at his antics trying to cover it with a cough, unfortunately Atsumu and Sakusa heard it and both whip their heads to you. Atsumu seems to be spurred on by the action and gives you a smirk as he leans back over to you. Sakusa sends you a glare. 

“No. I don’t trust you with my sister. I would trust Bokuto with my sister before you. Now leave before I say you’re harassing her.” He crosses his arms and scowls. 

You lace your hands together in front of you, playing with your fingers with a sigh. “Are you sure Omi Omi? Why don’t I ask her?” Your head whips up with surprise. “Can I have your number cutie?” He practically purrs out. Part of you wants to say yes but the look your brother is giving you tells you to get rid of that part of you. 

“I’m fine Miya.” You turn to leave him standing there dumbfounded while Sakusa smiles and walks away with you. You know the two of you will be talking about this during the car ride back home. And sure enough once you’re buckled Sakusa gives you a knowing look.

“Miya? Really?” He knows you well and definitely saw your blush under your mask. You shake your head and put your face in your hands. “Out of anyone on the team, you chose Miya?” He doesn’t sound mad which is a relief, just shocked. He lets out a groan and sighs. “If you really like him then I guess I’m okay with it. But, I want you to tell me if he does anything.” He starts to drive away while you sit with your thoughts. 

“He’s pretty but…” you trail off quietly. “I think he may only chase me to get a rise out of you.” You admit solemnly and look out the window with a small frown playing on your face. Sakusa rolls his eyes with a scoff.

“You think Miya is stupid enough to pull that? He may be stupid but he’s not that dumb.” He lets out a small gag at the fact that he complimented Miya of all people. Let alone that he was basically talking the boy up to his sister. 

“So you would be fine if I got his number and went on a date with him?” You give him a hopeful look, a smile playing on your lips. Sakusa doesn’t miss the way that your eyes seem to light up at the prospect. He lets out a sigh and nods his head. 

“If you’re sure he’s what you want.”

“It’s just one date!” Sakusa refrains from rolling his eyes again as he pulls into the driveway. 

“Yeah, yeah. You have to ask him yourself, I’m staying out of it.” 

By the time of the next match you make sure to dress in an even nicer outfit. A simple black button up and sweater thrown over it. The sweater is special though, a custom made sweater with Atsumu’s number on it. You were a bit embarrassed to come home and find Sakusa holding the sweater in his hands after he had accidentally opened your mail. He shook his head and handed it to you, if you were different you wouldn’t have noticed his small smile but you had. And maybe you teased him about it a little bit, of course he denied every minute of it. 

After the game you’re once again waiting by the locker rooms, this time your mask is hanging off one ear as you scold one of your employees. Atsumu walks out as you finish the call, you give him a small smile and wave him over. He is more than surprised. He’s shell shocked at how much prettier you are now that he can see all of your face, let alone the fact that you’re calling him over after the display last time. He looks around not seeing Sakusa anywhere and approaches you with a smirk. “Long time no see pretty!” He hums out and takes in your outfit. 

His gaze falters when he notices your sweater, you give him a smirk of your own and cross your arms as you lean against the wall. “Question for you Miya.” He meets your eyes again and raises an eyebrow. “How would you like to go on a date with me?” You outwardly appear nonchalant but the blush on your face gives away your nerves. Atsumu gives you a gentle smile.

“You sure Omi Omi will be okay with it?”

“He was the one who encouraged me to ask.” Now that really shocked him. Did Sakusa really talk him up to you? He falters and the shock is evident on his face. You let out a quiet laugh which has his cheeks heating up. Why did your laugh have to be so cute?

“Really? Omi Omi? Are you sure you didn’t hallucinate?” 

“I’m sure, now are we going to go on a date or are you going to chicken out?” He stands up and offers you his arm. 

“Well, when you put it like that. Where would you like to go pretty?”

“I don’t know, how about dinner, pretty boy?” Oh yeah, you both could get used to this. And maybe, just maybe Sakusa had a small smile on his face as he watched the two of you walk out of the arena and towards Atsumu’s car. But that’s not something he’s ever going to admit to. 

I hope you enjoyed and feel free to request something or check out my other works!

taglist: empty

masterlist rules

[twstedpurple]

Meeting Ace's ex-girlfriend?

✧ Ace said in his Suitor Suit vignette that he had a girlfriend in middle school, but it didn't end well. Then I recalled that during special events in NRC like Halloween, the Culture Fair and SDC, and the Spelldrive tournament, they allow visitors from outside the school. So what if Ace and his ex happened to meet each other when she visited NRC during one of those events?

You were well aware that Ace had a girlfriend before he enrolled at NRC—not that it mattered to you. After all, you were the one he was with now, and dwelling on the past wasn’t your style. But surprise, surprise—you just happened to meet that very girl while you and Ace were strolling through the stalls lining the school's side street.

The tension between the three of you was thick enough to cut with a knife, both exes rendered speechless, merely exchanging uneasy glances until you gently elbowed your boyfriend in the stomach to break the spell. The girl shifted nervously, her eyes flickering toward your Ace. She still harbored a mix of hurt and anger from when he had ghosted her without so much as a breakup text. Sure, she might have moved on, but the unexpected encounter brought back the awkwardness of their unresolved past.

Ace was no less uncomfortable. Even though he was the one who ended things, confronting her like this—with you right there—threw him off balance. He had planned a fun date with you, not a drama-filled encounter with his past. Yet, here you were, smack in the middle of it all.

Sensing the growing tension, you decided it was best to give them space to address their unfinished business. Your boyfriend hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of you leaving him alone with his ex, but you knew it was necessary. They needed to clear the air rather than let unresolved feelings simmer any longer. You felt a twinge of guilt for leaving him, but you knew it was for the best. Their past relationship didn't involve you, and it was important they sort things out. Still, you couldn't deny a flicker of insecurity seeing them together.

Thankfully, Ace managed to resolve their lingering issues, offering a sincere apology for how he had abruptly cut her off. Once she bid farewell and left to join her friends, Ace wasted no time in searching for you.

While you were browsing a food stall, you were startled when someone grabbed your arm. Turning around, you saw Ace, cheeks flushed and slightly out of breath, explaining how he had been running around trying to find you after talking with his ex. While you were relieved they had settled things, you were taken aback when Ace began apologizing to you, guilt etched on his face. Though he did tell you of his past relationship before you two started dating, he didn’t want you to meet his ex like this. He didn’t care what others thought of him, even when his ex’s friends called him a heartless jerk before. But you? The thought of you thinking badly of him after that made him uneasy. He kept reassuring you that his previous relationship was long over, how he's changed since then, and that he was happy and content with his current relationship with you. This made you happy too, hearing his heartfelt words and expressing his feelings so openly that melted away any lingering doubts.