#day 5: show me your dark side

[gutsby]

Father Figure

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Parents’ Weekend looks a little different this year with Joel showing up in the place of your father.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Dad[dy] kink. Age gap. Oral (m!receiving). Premature ejaculation (Joel cums in his pants while he’s kissing you AS REAL LOVERS DO). Drinking and drug use. Gratuitous dad rock references.

Note: We all saw that video. This was begging to be written.

Another note: For a more immersive read of the pregame, listen to my freshman year Kegs & Eggs playlist (yes, it sucks).

Word count: 19.0k

Read on AO3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Freud would’ve had a field day with this shit.

Really, there was no sane explanation for the obsession that seized you and your friends come Parents’ Weekend every year. But there it went. Again. Like clockwork, all the forty- to fifty-something fathers arrived for their first meal on campus. Like the cock-starved coed she was, your roommate bumped your shoulder as you walked and nodded to the first set of families approaching the dining hall. Out of the pack, you spotted four grey heads.

“Would, would, would, and would,” Aly observed, almost clinically. Her strides were long and resolved in their path

“That one could get it.” Her brother shrugged on your other side. He tipped his chin up, then added: “Look.”

And look you did. The batch of men, women, and all their college-aged children struck you as little more fun to ogle than your average wall of paint waiting to dry. Though the moms and dads were, admittedly, the kind of attractive you rarely saw outside an L.L. Bean magazine—as were all the rest of the kempt and polished crowd that populated your school—you were hungry as fuck. You’d agreed to join your roommate’s family for the kickoff banquet of the weekend, and you needed food. On top of that, you’d sworn off middle-aged men forever.

Aly and her brother didn’t know that, though, so you played the game and trudged ahead. When a handsome blue-eyed man born in 1970-something stood back and held the door open for your trio going in, you had to fight back a smirk at the look Aly gave him after thanking him.

“Oh, he wanted me bad,” she hissed once safely inside.

“Looks a bit like Rob Lowe,” you offered noncommittally.

“What about your dad? Is he gonna be here tonight?”

That last fragment of conversation had come from Aly’s brother, and the curiosity in it was sincere. Then he’d wiggled two dark brows your way and said he bet your dad was a silver fox like no other, and you’d had to roll your eyes before strolling into the wide open dining area. You were late; the food, evidently, was all already served.

“My dad’s at home with a broken femur, so…no,” you answered slowly. Starting to weave your way through a sea of round tables and following Aly’s lead as you did, “Probably not your type. Just old. Very embarrassing.”

You stuck your index in your mouth and pantomimed gagging, and the sophomore beside you just laughed.

“Yeah? Desperate, too?” he challenged.

“Pathetic, really,” you replied.

For a second, you felt a pang of guilt at the way you were describing your father. Surely he couldn’t deserve being characterized like that. Then you recalled how he’d boned your mom’s best friend while he was married, had never really made amends after the fact, and was still fucking said mistress’s brains out on the reg to this day.

You’d done plenty of wrong behind his back, to be sure, but that kind of took the cake for fucked up betrayals. He could stand for a little bit of ribbing every now and then.

Presently, Aly was paving the way straight toward a pair of bright and beaming faces at a table near the back.

“Our parents named us after a goddamn Grateful Dead song and the city they first saw the band in concert. Nobody does pathetic better than Scott and Michelle.” She waved her arm in a wide arc and grinned over there.

And you would’ve gladly countered that no, that actually makes them very fucking funny and cool, but the chance to do that was gone in a moment—the next had you approaching their table and meeting with big hugs.

Even for you, who had never seen these people before in your life, there was a warm welcome. You got long, suffocating embraces and cheery greetings of, ‘Oh, you must be Aly’s roommate!’ and ‘We’re sorry you got stuck with our shithead kid’ before you had a grin plastered on again and were being ushered to sit down.

You took note of the little placards opposite each chair, counted four, five, six of them altogether, with an empty spot beside your own, per usual, and you took your seat.

“Dallas, honey, I love you,” the woman across the table, Michelle, said with all the restraint she could conjure up, “I love you to pieces, but what the hell are you wearing?”

That steered the conversation in a decidedly light, playful direction from the start, with Aly’s brother defending his decision to be decked out in full school-sponsored athleisure tooth and nail. He’d been recruited to play lacrosse, so naturally, wearing the far-too-tight crimson lycra was all part of the deal. Aly insisted that he just wanted to show off the biceps he didn’t have, Scott hypothesized it was the crisp, wintry Boston air that had made his son dress like a total douche, and Dallas tried bringing the inquisition to a speedy end by lifting one middle finger up and flipping his napkin into his lap.

“Fuck you guys, I’m hungry,” he declared, emphatic. Fighting the urge to laugh along then grabbing a fork.

Just as fast as he’d picked it up to dig in, though, his mom was slapping the silver utensil out of his hand.

“Not yet,” she chided.

“Why? We’re all here,” Dallas groaned.

“Because,” his father returned, scrubbing at the stubble on his chin before casting a quick look around him, “We’re still waiting on one more to join us. See?”

With that, Scott nodded toward the card next to you, and immediately, your cheeks warmed. You shook your head, mouth working a little less fluidly than you would’ve liked as you piped up and told them—assured them all, rather:

“My dad’s not coming. He got a little, uh…hurt at work.”

And you were certain that would be the end of it. You’d just moved to grab a fork yourself, eyeing the plate full of food in front of you then, when another hand stopped you on the spot. It was Aly beside you, grip insistent as she gave your wrist a little shake, and in your periphery, you could see her tilt her head the opposite direction.

She was staring, silent—totally unlike herself.

Normally when something crossed her path nearby to make her twist her whole fucking neck to get a glimpse, it was followed by a dry remark. A comment, a compliment, or a lewd invitation to fuck me, please.

While the last of the three clearly wasn’t an option to use around her parents, you at least would’ve expected to hear something. When nothing came, you turned your head too, having just snagged a bite of roast beef on your fork and shoveled it in before looking that way.

You followed her gaze and nearly inhaled the food.

With a startled gasp and a ‘Christ!’, your eyes widened to find a man who wasn’t your father at all—just his best friend and your ex-fuckbuddy, Joel Miller, walking over.

It was a sight you weren’t prepared to see in a million years. What the everliving fuck this man was doing two thousand miles from Austin, Texas, on your college campus, striding into the very first meal of Parents’ Weekend, looking like that, was so far beyond your comprehension you couldn’t speak. You just stared and sucked in the sharpest, strangled breath, fought back a cough, and tried not to die swallowing a cube of meat.

From the way that man was approaching you now, asphyxiation might not be the worst, you thought idly.

Joel’s here.

Joel’s here, and he’s wearing slacks and a button-up.

Joel’s wearing business casual, and he’s walking over.

Who the fuck does this man even think he’s trying to—

“Sorry I’m late,” Joel cut in, smile bright and easy on his face. Then, stepping behind your chair, leaning down:

“Hey, sweetie. How are ya?”

He kissed the top of your head.

The tone sealed his fate completely.

Joel was pretending to be your father.

This wasn’t his brightest idea.

Call him sick, insane, selfish, besotted, or rotten straight down to his core, Joel Miller was no longer one to care. He had a goal in his head. Less than a week ago, you’d left him high and dry in Austin after having told him you loved him—in the middle of climax, but aloud, no less—and the month before that, you’d left him again. Back to college, where you could happily pretend he didn’t exist.

Tonight, he wasn’t letting that happen. This weekend, Parents’ Weekend, was of course reserved for families, but Joel knew your father wasn’t coming. He knew you wouldn’t be expecting your dad or anyone else to be there, and since you’d taken to the usual course of ignoring all his calls and texts, he felt he’d had no choice.

You couldn’t stay closed off like this forever.

Eventually, you’d both have to reckon with what this was and how to move forward, or the mess of the last month would never change. You would never believe he saw you any differently from a one-off hookup or a taboo outlet of pleasure. And if that was all you saw him as, so be it. But he had to get the truth of it out now, one way or another.

Even if he had to roleplay the father figure and play the most fucked up game of paternal charades known to man, he’d get the answers he needed this weekend.

You were good at games. Unfortunately, Joel was better.

He’d take this fake-out to the max and be the best faux father you’d never asked for. Maybe you’d hate him for it.

As he’d squeezed your shoulder and sat down beside you at the table, felt your gaze heavy and stunned on his, he also couldn’t help but hope you might still love him after.

“Scott Ingram. Pleasure to meet you.” The broad hand had been extended his way before he was even fully seated. The face across from him was kind. Intrigued. Tinged with a faint trace of curiosity, “So you’re dad?”

“Stepdad, yeah.” Joel had had to leave a bit more room for plausibility before he’d made his formal introduction.

Then he’d met Michelle. Aly. Dallas. The latter two more piqued with interest than the first, as though unsure of what they’d just been told, but willing to go on anyway.

“Old and pathetic my ass,” Dallas had murmured your way, low enough for Joel to know those words were meant for only you to hear. You stiffened in response.

“So glad you could make it up! Is your leg doing better?”

Aly had smiled warmly over at him, and Joel had only hesitated a second. Then he remembered his friend.

“Oh, my— yeah. Just…peachy. Yeah. All healed up.”

He didn’t flit a look to you; he could feel the searing imprint of your gaze and the way you hadn’t bothered to hide your frown when he’d referenced the leg he’d never broken. The way you could’ve pulverized the napkin in your lap to dust from how hard you were squeezing it in your fist—you didn’t like to admit it, but that was your nervous tic, and Joel knew it well. He propped his elbows on the table and didn’t miss the way a head turned his way from a neighboring group. Then another. He hated every starch white button-up he owned with a burning passion, but he couldn’t deny this one was eye-catching.

Not that it mattered, really, because the only glossy gaze he cared to snag was presently nailing him with daggers in its path. Still, it was a comfort to know he’d make a good-looking corpse if that look of yours ever did kill him

“Oh, my, my, oh hell YES—”

The sing-song trill of a baritone beside him roused him from his trance. He looked over and saw Scott grinning.

“—honey put on that pa-a-a-a-a-arty dress!”

It was Michelle that finished the line for him, while they both bobbed their heads along to the Tom Petty song blasting overhead. Evidently, dad rock would be alive and well all weekend. Joel wasn’t mad to see that happen.

“You a Tom Petty fan?” Scott jerked his chin up to him.

Before he could answer, though, Michelle interjected:

“I’d say he’s more of a Simon & Garfunkel guy.”

Whatever the hell that meant. Joel smiled.

“Mom, Dad. Please stop,” Aly moaned.

“Seriously.” Dallas’s mouth was full.

And, just as he fought to swallow the heaping glob of food he’d just crammed in, his dad snapped his fingers.

“No, I know it! You’re a Billy Joel man, Joel. No doubt.”

Joel blanched as white as the shirt on his back. You coughed. He hadn’t even noticed you’d chanced a bite of food beside him, but now you were sputtering—choking on a morsel of beef or mashed potatoes or something—and he didn’t think twice. He pivoted right to you and dropped a hand on your back in the space between your shoulder blades. He patted you twice, eyes a little wider.

“Hey, you OK?”

Fleeting memories of a night not too long ago flashed through his mind: driving town by town, state after state, blaring Billy Joel extra loud in his Bronco with you riding shotgun. It had been something special between you then. Now, your gaze was on him like you despised him.

“I’m fine,” you answered, tone clipped.

You shrugged his touch away. Joel blinked back to Scott.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he said, thoughts occupied by you all the while, but he reckoned it was something his neighbor had wanted to hear, because he saw a satisfied little smile cross his lips, ‘I told you, Michelle.’

“Everybody likes Billy Joel, dad.” Aly rolled her eyes.

And Joel would’ve liked to look your way again. Maybe dropped the fatherly moue for half a second and flashed an apologetic look shared just between you and him. But then the conversation shifted; the whole table began to eat, more pleasantries and questions about home life and backgrounds followed, and all the talk from there converged on where they were planning to go out after dinner—how they’d make the very most of Parents’ Weekend. You sat back and ate in silence, mostly. You wouldn’t meet his gaze for even a moment, and when you rose from your seat to get another drink, Joel felt himself stand too, as if out of habit. He hadn’t meant to.

It hadn’t been his intention to follow you out of the dining area, strides swift to try and keep up, but he did.

It hadn’t been his goal to corner you by the soda dispenser, either. Away from the eyes of everyone else, or at least in a private enough space not to be seen by too many people, Joel felt a little more at liberty to talk. He lowered his voice and drew even closer then to speak.

“Sweetheart—”

You’d filled a cup halfway with water. As soon as he’d said that word, ‘sweetheart,’ you turned and chucked its contents directly in his face. Liquid splashed up at him, and for a second, Joel had only to stand there with his eyes closed and his body completely frozen in place.

Water dripped in silence before he wiped at his chin.

At the same time, you were tossing your cup aside.

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ call me that,” you growled.

Then, shortly: “What the fuck is your problem?!”

Honestly, he didn’t know. He opened his eyes.

And, just as he raised both hands in a semi-conciliatory kind of gesture, you scowled and backed away from him.

“You’re sick, Joel. Pretending to be my goddamn da—”

“I know. I know,” Joel winced as he spoke, wrinkles no doubt creasing even deeper along his face as he saw yours fall. You weren’t happy to see him in the slightest. “I know it’s fucked up. I just…needed to talk to you, hon.”

“About what?!”

He could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. He wanted to cup them in his hands, or else kiss the frown off your lips in a way that would be totally inappropriate for a stepdad to do, but already, he sensed his resolve was eroding. It didn’t matter, anyway, because you weren’t letting him get within an inch of you, based off your look.

“Darlin’,” Joel sighed, “There’s just so much—”

Of course, the next moment was punctured by a voice. His words were cut short; you were both forced to turn.

“It’s all settled now,” Aly declared with cheery conviction. She snagged a cup and started filling it up with Sprite, “Pregame at Dallas’. Seven Oaks after. Lucky’s after that. Maybe a brief intermission at The Alley, if you’re up for it. Afters at A.J.’s, probably. Depends what the vibe is like.”

Joel had barely processed half of what was said, and it still sounded like a lot from where he stood. He blinked.

Then Aly’s eyes fell to his collar, and she lifted a brow.

“You got a little…drinking problem there, Joel?”

He glanced down at the mess on his shirt and tried to smile with her. It was hard to fight the color jumping to his cheeks simultaneously. He scrambled for the words.

“Oh, uh—”

“Dad’s real smooth with it,” you cut in, suddenly, like the paternal moniker was nothing at all. You didn’t look back, “I’m fine drinking wherever. Your parents coming, too?”

Aly’s grin stretched even wider. It looked devious.

“They wouldn’t miss this bingefest for the world.”

At just the intonation of those words, Joel’s pulse sped up. He saw a knowing look pass between you and your roommate, and in a second, he sensed he was fucked.

He really shouldn’t be drinking tonight.

A hundred shots probably wouldn’t have been enough to kill it—this ringing in your head hurt like a motherfucker.

Joel wanted to talk.

Of course he wanted to talk.

Just on his terms, on his time, with your closest friends and their family members all assuming he was your dad.

Because that made a lot of fucking sense.

You’d meant to split from Joel the second you showed up. Dallas’ off-campus house was many things, but small and quiet were not among those descriptors, and you planned to use all of its space to your advantage tonight.

Simply put, the place was a glorified playground for college degenerates. Afforded the distinct honor of housing eight members of the Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity in 2,700 square feet for over fifty years, the Craftsman home was no small wonder to anyone who saw it standing today: the house was shit. Dallas loved it.

You’d enjoyed it, too, for at least the first year or two of college. Then you’d wisened up to the antics of a few too many numb-skulled Pikes, got tired of listening to the same ten tracks being blasted in your ears every other weekend, and decided you’d just stick to the bar scene, where at least patrons were prohibited from standing on elevated surfaces and breaking bottles over their heads.

When Dallas rushed, and eventually joined the fold last year, you’d been hesitant to go back. Then, when he’d promptly decked the first guy who tried dragging you up onto a table with him, you figured you could safely visit again and not have to worry while your friend was there. The kid did a pretty good job of weeding out assholes.

“My lady.” He stood and bowed before presenting you with a fifth of Pink Whitney like it was the finest wine.

The bottle was half empty. You’d been passing it back and forth for the last hour in between rounds of pong.

“Been sayin’ shit like that ever since he saw Gladiator II.” His housemate Cory called from closeby. He flicked his wrist once and sank his shot in the second to last cup.

“You are not General Acacius, brother,” Cory’s teammate Pete chimed in. With a lucky throw of his own, he hit the final Red Solo cup and shook his head like it was nothing.

You were all on the third floor, away from the noise downstairs. While the so-called ‘pregame’ surged ahead on first, in the basement, and outdoors, you’d managed to find relative quiet among eight or nine friends and acquaintances, plus a guy railing lines off a frisbee in the corner. Nobody knew where the fuck he’d gotten it from.

“I like to pretend,” Dallas said with a shrug. Then, once you’d taken a swig of the pink drink and handed it back: “My parents play next. Gavin, put the coke away, please.”

Gavin sniffed the air at least four times like he had a cold. Then he tucked his credit card back in his wallet, put the wallet in his pocket, and knocked the frisbee on the floor.

‘Yessir’ was all you heard before he was leaning back contentedly. The girls Cory and Pete had just played seemed equally indifferent as they sauntered off—likely looking to get their hands on whatever the hell else the redhead had in his jeans and quick to forget about the game. Blow was way too easy to spread at these parties, and clearly, no one gave a shit about redemption round.

“Gavin.” Dallas’ tone was a warning.

At the same time, his housemate had just snagged an ID where it was left on the table and held it up to the light.

“Hang on, it looks like this guy, uh…” Cory squinted to read the text on an apparently too-old driver’s license. “Looks like he called dibs on next round…Joel Miller.”

Your grip tightened on the spot. You said nothing. Cory was just then starting to remark that this dude’s the spittin’ fuckin’ image of that one guy from Game of Thrones, Dallas, come look, when the door to the room swung open, and in walked the man of the hour himself.

Joel was joined by Scott, Michelle, and a horde of others.

Well, maybe five in total. They were all freshmen girls.

Giggling, grinning freshmen girls who were quite literally hanging off his body on either side, or else trailing behind him, admiring him like he was the single greatest thing.

Where were all their fathers? That was your fake dad.

Christ, that sounded bad, and you hadn’t even said it.

When Dallas offered you the bottle again, you declined. You were more than just buzzed. And Joel was drunk.

Apparently.

And was he—well shit, were they trying to strip him?

One of the bubbliest girls from the group was tugging on Joel’s shirt. Three buttons were already undone, and a smooth, tanned patch of flesh glistened through the ‘V’ in the fabric. He’d been working up a sweat downstairs.

A sea of black-and-grey hairs peeking out through the trough of cotton was the last thing you saw before you had to look away. It was too familiar. And there you saw some girl fresh out of high school, feeling him, teasing at the material while she bounced on the balls of her feet.

“You are so lying!” she slurred, voice pitchy and shrill.

What was worse, you couldn’t even fault the girl for it. That had been you just a few short years ago, hadn’t it?

Beside her, her friend snagged his sleeve: “Show ussss!”

Scott and Michelle had approached the table where Dallas was setting up the cups for the next round and you were trying not to stare. You reckoned you were failing pretty miserably at the task when the next thing Mrs. Ingram did was lean in closer to you and whisper.

“Real hot commodity with the girls, isn’t he?” It was soft.

She was right.

You forced your gaze to your feet, pretending to assess the wet and sticky mess underneath them. You hummed.

“Yup. Real ladies’ man,” you answered quietly. Strained.

“They’re convinced he’s got some ink hidden under his shirt. That’s a creative way to get a man topless if I’ve ever seen one.” Scott chuckled next to you, tone teasing.

Something twisted in your chest, though you couldn’t quite place what it was. It hardly felt like jealousy at all—but that was worse, somehow. Joel was your stepfather in every other mind but yours and his, and here he was, soaking in all this attention that you couldn’t give to him.

Maybe that was for the best.

Joel deserved a woman he didn’t have to love in secret.

“OK, who’s up—Joel or mom and dad?” Dallas asked.

“I’m out. Joel can take my place. And don’t we—”

Pete snapped his fingers, then pointed at Cory.

“We forgot to grab the other keg, didn’t we?”

“Fuck me.”

“Let’s go.”

They were gone in a second. That left Joel, Scott, Michelle, plus one open spot. Dallas set the last cup.

“Who’s gonna be Joel’s partn—”

“ME!”

That had to have come from three girls, at least. One on the couch and two more on either side of Joel, along with a slew of hopeful looks from others in his orbit.

They’d dispersed some, thankfully. Though not physically clinging to your pseudo-stepfather and begging him to peel off his shirt, they stayed close.

One of them giggled and nudged her friend: “Maya can!”

The girl who’d just been playing tug-of-war with the front of Joel’s button up waved her hand in mock indignation.

“I suck at pong. You go, Claire,” she crooned.

It was clear from the sideways glance the first girl had flashed that she wanted Joel to protest. Maybe insist that she play anyway, if you had to guess. It was all so confusing—what with how this group was flirting, and fighting, and insisting simultaneously that they couldn’t possibly play, even though they’d like to, but maybe…

Your skull started ringing again.

You were just about to turn to leave, when Dallas cut in:

“Sorry, ladies. Gonna be a Daddy-Daughter duo tonight.”

Then he gestured to you, beckoned to Joel, and grinned. Your stomach could’ve plunged to that floor you’d just been pretending to study. You quickly jerked your head.

Even Joel, for all his calm and unaffected dealings, the pretty damp mop of hair hanging in ringlets against the sides of his face, and the way he kept pretending not to be concerned by the flock of girls, had to pause a beat. You saw his throat work. Before you could try and decipher the look that was crawling up his face, you made the split-second decision to interject yourself.

“No, Dallas. I’m not playing again.”

You tried to avoid grinding your molars.

This time, the tone he heard wasn’t one of a thinly veiled acceptance—something begging to be disputed when it tried to decline the offer—but instead an emphatic ‘no.’

No way were you playing another game with this man.

Joel already had your head fucked ten ways to Sunday by being here at all, and now you had to pretend to be platonic, his goddamn beer pong partner, while a gaggle of freshmen girls sat frothing at the mouth for his dick?

Yeah, but no.

Hard fucking pass.

You didn’t care what it looked like. You shot Dallas a look, grabbed a stray Solo off the table, and made your way to the door, calling something over your shoulder about being too tired to play, and offering your spot to Maya.

That should make your old man happy enough.

It wasn’t like he could do anything here with you.

And then you left. Before you did, though, you passed Gavin and the mysterious white bag he was starting to fish out of his pants, and without thinking, you grabbed his hand. You didn’t like doing coke, had never seen the point in taking your level of intoxication that far out on an ordinary night, but, all things considered, this evening was anything but normal. You deserved some relief. If that couldn’t come in the form of Joel packing all his shit and leaving, then so be it. But you weren’t about to hang around and play the nice and polite stepdaughter when all you wanted to do was scratch your fucking eyes out.

A few lines wouldn’t be the worst way to start the night.

Joel wasn’t drunk.

He wasn’t tipsy, either.

And even if he had been, he wouldn’t have appreciated the way this hazel-eyed firecracker had nearly crushed his toes from how hard she’d jumped up and down at hearing you abdicate your position. Maya had shrieked, and Scott and Michelle hadn’t been able to fight back smiles, and trying not to wince too hard, Joel had politely excused himself. He’d claimed that he needed some air.

The oxygen he found down the hallway a few minutes later was stale as shit, but he couldn’t exactly complain.

He’d asked for this, after all: the thumping bass, shaking floors, passageways that reeked of weed and cheap perfume, and girls that refused to let go of his neck.

Well. He hadn’t asked for that last thing.

Thirty years ago, he might’ve found it cute—what Maya and Claire and every other glossy-gazed Phi Mu seemed to be offering with every bat of their lashes. Now, if the arms latched around his throat weren’t yours, the idea just made him sick. He cleared his throat and walked.

And before long, his feet had carried him to the end of the hallway. Where in the hell had you gotten off to?

Would you be back soon?

And why had you taken that kid with you?

Joel’s palms were sweaty by his sides. He didn’t like being kept in the dark—didn’t think traveling some 2,000 miles to be closer to you would still leave him wondering like a fucking idiot if he would see you again.

Then he reached for the nearest door. A bathroom.

The door was just cracked, allowing a sliver of light to shine through and a peek at a sea of tile flooring to greet him. Joel pushed on the knob without thinking to knock.

When he stepped inside, he had to stop.

It was too much to process and walk at once.

For the first time in his life, he felt shell-shocked.

You were on your knees in front of that red-haired fucker. Stabilizing one hand on a denim-clad leg in front of you, patting his thigh, having him murmur something back—probably words of encouragement for how nice your mouth felt around him—and then tilting your head up.

Joel could only see you from behind. His vision was red.

“What the fuck are you DOING?!” he bellowed out.

The two of you leapt apart, your head jerking back.

He wasn’t thinking. Joel blew straight past you and went for him, the little pencil-dicked Pike who’d just had his dick down his stepdaughter’s throat, presumably, and he grabbed him by the shirt. He shoved him hard against the bathtub on the wall, watched him flail a few steps, and then, before the kid could recover his balance, Joel shoved him again. He might’ve tripped further back and fallen into the tub, had the older man not reached for him again—and reared back to punch him square in the face.

That blow never landed.

In the next instant, a smaller body was forcing itself in between him and the kid, and the only other thing Joel could see through his own blinding rage were your two eyes—wide and panicked and horror-stricken, clearly.

“JOEL.”

Still not prepared to retreat, Joel reached out again.

Your hand knocked his down in a blink. Hard.

“J— Dad. Dad. Stop. Please don’t hit him.”

Suddenly, that tone was approaching a plea. You must’ve caught a glimpse of the rage pulsing through his veins and sensed it might’ve been too much for him to control—but of course, Joel knew better. He could always stop.

He stepped off and turned to you at once, teeth bared.

“How the fuck could you even—” he started again.

“I’m sorry, dad,” you broke in, words sounding like a sob, “It’s not his fault. Really. I— I didn’t mean for you to see.”

Sucking some other guy’s cock. Yeah, of course not.

Joel’s face flared with an anger unlike anything he’d felt in years, and if it weren’t for the skittish sack of shit stumbling away, and the warning that was starting to radiate off your skin, he would’ve liked to knock him out.

He might’ve, if the kid hadn’t run out of the room.

If you hadn’t turned slightly, he might’ve yelled again.

And then he saw it, from where you’d pivoted—the toilet.

Sitting on the smooth white porcelain lid in three thick stripes, the sight greeted him like a punch in the gut.

He wasn’t sure what it meant for an excruciating second. He stared. Then he processed what that substance was.

You’d been crouched over the toilet doing a line of coke.

He wanted to feel relief. For a moment, maybe, he did.

When your eyes narrowed on his and you shook your head in a scowl, it didn’t feel like he should be happy. Or ready to celebrate this latest discovery. Instead, realizing that you hadn’t been blowing a guy in this bathroom but were simply doing drugs in front of him, Joel felt bile jump up his throat. It was like a knot the size of his fist, and he wasn’t sure how to react, but he couldn’t stand that look on your face. You were just as angry as him.

“What the hell was that all about, Joel?!” you snapped.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut back in:

“Sorry, sorry—I mean ‘dad.’ You fucking asshole.”

“And this is why you up and left?” Joel hissed.

“I just—”

“Do you realize how dangerous that is?”

“I didn’t—”

“What that could’ve been laced with?”

He pointed to the cocaine on the lid of the toilet—apparently there hadn’t been enough space on the skinny porcelain sink to set up your lines—and at the same time, to Joel’s amazement, you sank to your knees.

“Well, I don’t know, dad, why don’t we test some out?”

And then you swiped a casual touch through a line and lifted your index to your mouth. With your other hand, you pulled at your bottom lip a little, and were evidently about to test your drugs the old fashioned way: by rubbing the powder against your gums to see if it made them numb. Joel swatted at your wrist before you did.

“Don’t,” he growled. Without even realizing it, he reached and grabbed your chin. His fingers engulfed half your face in an authoritative, upward-tilting grip. “Put that stuff anywhere near your mouth, and you will regret it.”

That didn’t seem to stir you, but your hand stayed put.

Joel stepped away just as quickly. He went to the door.

He shut it.

And when he returned, you hadn’t moved from where you’d been knelt. He was glad. Something quiet and dull throbbed between his ears, though he wasn’t recovered enough from the shock of the last few minutes to really investigate that. He just stood back over you, frowning.

His voice was lower when he spoke again:

“What am I gonna do with you, honey?”

It was a question as much for himself as it was for you, and your lips twitched at the end of it. You shrugged, and you sank back onto your heels, peering up as you did.

“You thought—” you started, soft.

“I thought you were in here blowin’ that little shit.”

Your smile split into a grin. Your eyes glistened.

“Is that so?”

Joel didn’t have the strength or the presence of mind to answer, so instead, he just nodded. His scowl deepened.

“You and me,” he resumed, having just exhaled a breath, “We’re gonna have ourselves a little chat later. Got that?”

And he meant it. Not just about drugs and other men and the dangers of accepting cocaine from strangers. He had more to tell you tonight than his overwrought mind was likely capable of sharing right now, but he’d say it.

Soon.

Eventually.

Once he got this bulge in his slacks sorted out.

With you, it was never a conscious decision, and it rarely ever occurred at times it was appropriate to happen. Like when your friends and their family and half of the Pike fraternity weren’t all milling about around this house. When he hadn’t almost decked a kid for giving you coke.

When you weren’t shuffling on your knees to greet the growing erection in his pants with a grin on your face.

“Will this ‘chat’ come before or after you fuck Maya?”

That was it.

Joel seized hold of your head again—this time, from the back. One palm rounded the base of your skull and yanked your face forward, mushing your nose and your lips against the fabric of his pants in an obscene sort of kiss. He made you rub your face against the hardened tent there, and he groaned when you whimpered. The reverberations of it traveled from his groin to his brain in two milliseconds flat and made him think insane things.

Like having your mouth right now.

Taking from you here what he thought he’d almost lost.

The sight of your head hovering anywhere near another man’s crotch made it crystal-clear to him, though he’d known it well before: he wanted you. He needed to have you. How you could even crack the joke about a shred of his attention being elsewhere had him tightening his hand in a fist in your hair. He didn’t care if it felt wrong.

“You know what girls like Maya can do for me?” he said.

He tilted your head back so your gaze could find his. He didn’t let you answer, but he let you stare for a second, and then he worked your pretty parted lips over the front of his slacks again. He let the taut grey fabric tease the cusp of that opening, tasting a bit, before drawing back.

“That’s right,” Joel went on as if you’d just responded, “Nothing. Absolutely fuckin’ nothing. Open your mouth.”

And you did. Wider. From the look of it, there was spit pooling inside, and your tongue hovered just within it when your lips met the front of his pants. You cupped your mouth around his clothed erection and kissed it.

Your eyes were locked on his as you did. The sight felt extra obscene—Joel couldn’t ignore the fact that he was dressed in near-formal attire, and you had on jeans and a tight cropped tank. He looked polished and professional; you were a beaming pretty thing making space between his legs to kneel. You felt like a dream with your lips over his swollen, aching cock; Joel felt old. Paternal, almost.

Was it wrong to think you needed to be taught a lesson?

Of course it was. He wasn’t your dad. He didn’t do that.

But when you smiled up at him with your lips still brushing his straining bulge, Joel couldn’t resist the smallest impulse to wonder—what if he showed you?

What if he let you know exactly what he wanted, how he needed it done, and that he only ever craved it from you? If he couldn’t say it outright in words, he could guide you.

Teach you.

Your tongue traced the seam of his zip, and he groaned.

“Damn near gave your old man a stroke, y’know that?”

“I know,” you said softly. Kindly, “I’m sorry, daddy.”

His cock throbbed at that last affectionate word.

His hands couldn’t help themselves: one stayed planted on the back of your head, and the other made its way to his belt. He undid his buckle, button, and zip in a blink.

“And what was that prick’s name?” Joel grumbled.

“Gavin.”

Your mind seemed two million miles away from any shit-brained fratboy at the moment as your gaze fixed itself on the length he was working out of his pants just then.

When it bobbed out and got within an inch of your rapt expression, your lips parted on instinct; you leaned in.

Swiftly, Joel’s hand on your head halted the movement.

“Gavin, huh,” he returned, tone treading on patronizing. He knew you were salivating for that little pearl on his tip. He gripped your hair hard. “This what you’d do for him?”

You whimpered.

“No, daddy. No, just— just you.”

Joel hummed his approval but didn’t let you move. He watched you eye the head of his cock like there was no single sight more appetizing in the world, and then he saw you lick your lips. You’d get positive reinforcement.

He would take things slow, and by the end of it all, he hoped to have made it clear that this was what he wanted: you, and only you. That he didn’t want you doing this with anyone else other than him. Here, now, or ever.

The last was a lot to say, so he fed you an inch instead.

He let his cock slide between your lips and stretch them.

You breathed something soft and sweet at the first intrusion of his tip; your mouth cushioned that inch, and his head was immediately enveloped in warmth. Your tongue darted out to greet him in a gentle lick. Joel groaned again, and his fingers constricted in your hair.

“That’s it, honey,” he told you, “Suck on daddy.”

His hips hadn’t meant to jump, but the pleasure from just the cusp of your mouth was too much for him not to flinch a little. He stabbed another couple inches in that pliant ‘o’ and felt you work your jaw open to take him whole. You looked so obedient. You were doing so good.

You bobbed your head gently, and his hand didn’t need to coax you at all. You were hungry, mouth sliding up and down his thick, throbbing dick and leaving trails of spit in its wake. You wanted to please him now; he could feel it.

You had no idea what you did to him. All he wanted now. It was like trying to explain a color in words, and all the man could do was just hold your head in place and watch you take him. When your back straightened and one palm braced itself up against his thigh, the other about to curl around the base of his length, he shook his head.

He brushed that hand away and made it rest on his other leg, so you were left with just your mouth around him.

You peered up, confused. Joel was, too.

He wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to do, but he knew he had to lead the way. Make you see what he wanted you to by guiding your motions and filling your mouth the way he needed. He tried as much by shifting his left hand to meet the right at the back of your head. Gently, he pushed your face forward to suck more in.

“Breathe through your nose, baby. Wanna feel you.”

Feel you deeper, he should’ve said. Either way, it made for a slow and painstaking slide down your tongue—sensing you flatten it and inhale a shallow breath as he worked his way in—and at the stretch, you gagged a bit.

Joel eased up, just enough to let you flit your gaze to his.

“You wanna feel me, too, sweetheart?” he asked gently.

You nodded, mouth still full of cock. Your eyes glistened in a way that said you might’ve guessed there was more to it, but you weren’t exactly in a position to ask just what. You let the fingers of both his big hands splay against the back of your head, and your jaw slackened more. Your gaze stayed on his as his cock slid deeper.

In that, there was wordless, tranquil reprieve. The sight of his spit-soaked length stuffing your mouth, skin all shiny and wet, and the way he kept going further and further and further, until your soft pert nose grazed the hairs of his belly, made Joel’s member swell harder still. There was scarcely an inch in between your lips and his heft of stomach. Your eyes were still fixed on him, and as the seconds ticked by, there was moisture welling at the corners. Joel moved his hands to thumb at those tears.

“Good girl. You’re doin’ so good for daddy,” he praised.

And something stirred in the depths of his body when he felt you try to nod again, like you were thrilled to be giving him pleasure and wanted to show it in some way.

Joel could’ve stayed like that for hours if his dick would only have let him. As it was, though, he felt the stir in his stomach accompanied by something else—a familiar pinch, and a warning jolt of pleasure. He cursed quietly.

You’d just started. He’d barely got an inch down your—

“Fuck,” he cursed again, when he sensed you swallow around his dick. The head of himself was breaching somewhere deep within your throat, and he felt it.

This wasn’t what he’d planned. You’d taken him deep before—at your father’s birthday bash last month, actually—but then you’d been blowing him under a table. He couldn’t hold your gaze or watch your throat open around him, couldn’t see the minuscule wince in your eyes or try to brush that discomfited look aside with his thumbs in the way he could now. He felt it in the pit of his gut, though: he would burst if he didn’t slow down.

With that one grounding thought, Joel tried pulling out.

Your body below him responded in sharp protest.

‘Daddy, no’ seemed almost to jump off your tongue, though it was presently weighted down by his cock. Your nails worked deeper into the fabric of his pants, like the tight, possessive grip was all you could manage to let your intentions be known to him. Then the look flared in your irises, too. They were begging him to stay in place.

Joel obeyed. Though it was you on your knees for him, lips, tongue, and throat pulsing and sucking to give him the utmost pleasure, he felt pangs of powerlessness, too.

He couldn’t help it when your lips stretched more, when your mouth opened wider, and your throat took him in all the way. He was fucked. He let out a sharp, hoarse grunt to let you know as much, and he cursed out loud again.

And then, completely axing his every well-laid plan, Joel felt the first rope of cum unload from his throbbing tip. Then another. And another. And another hot flurry of pleasure cropped up from that place your mouth was presently attached to him, and this time, the wave was too much to be overcome. The whole thing flooded him.

Without a hope of beating out that primal instinct, Joel just cupped your face in his palms and let his climax fill your throat. He couldn’t think, and while you seemed a tad surprised at how early it came, you didn’t fight it, either. You simply sat back, peered up, and let him fuck your mouth in the gentlest, most desperate thrusts, mind likely eager to feel his spend paint your open throat.

You hardly had to swallow at all—hardly could swallow, with how deep he’d gone. His cum jetted in milky strings through your plush, wet channel, and Joel could feel it gliding down with just a moment’s hitch of resistance.

Impaled as you were, you gagged once, and he withdrew in the next instant. He didn’t wait for you to catch your breath or for his cum to get down inside you. He felt too much to be troubled now; he yanked you to your feet and drew you into him. He pushed you back against the sink.

Your legs latched around the backs of his, and your body was thrust against the mirror. It was tender, somehow. Joel didn’t fight to claim your lips or invade your mouth with stifling kisses; he just pressed you to the reflective glass and hedged you in under him. He kissed you gently.

In between movements against your body, he mumbled:

“I’m sick of missin’ you all the damn time, sweet pea.”

He wasn’t sure where it came from. It just came.

Much like he had, except the stringy ropes of cum that had spurted from his dick seemed far less of a mess than whatever the fuck was coming out of his mouth right now. He felt exposed as soon as he’d spoken it you.

Then he saw your lips twitch. You kissed him back.

Someplace within where your mouth slotted over his, you were able to get out a couple murmured words yourself.

“I wish you didn’t have to,” you returned in a whisper.

You snaked your arms around the back of his neck and kept kissing him, over and over again, like your body was just starting to melt, and the heat was making you dizzy.

Joel could relate. Every time you touched him, he felt it.

He gripped your legs where they were still curled around his sides, and he held you tighter to him. He pressed his torso to yours until he was half-sure he was hampering your breaths, and then he pulled back. Briefly. Panting.

When he opened his mouth to speak, you cut in for him:

“I wish you could…be here. I wish we didn’t have to…”

Hide.

Your mouth seemed to have your mind and your usual reservations beat by a mile. It was moving fast, like his. Before you could stop yourself, your thighs constricted around his hips, you pulled him in closer, and just as you were about to finish that last quick, splintered thought—

“We’re leeeeeeeeav—OH! Shit!”

Aly Ingram’s sing-song tone was shortly supplanted by a shriek. She’d thrown open the door, unannounced, and when she saw the two of you collapsed against the sink, Joel’s undone pants hanging precariously over his hips and your mouths scarcely two inches apart, she jolted.

Or jumped, really.

She almost leapt through her skin, it seemed, and before she could even begin to recover, she just slapped her hands over her eyes and stumbled back. She was drunk.

“I didn’t see that! I did not seeee—”

“Aly!” you half-hissed, half-groaned.

“I literally didn’t see shit. You’re all g—”

Before either you or Joel could utter another sound, or attempt to split apart, Aly let out a second shrill yelp. This time, it was because she’d just tripped over a trash can backing out. She’d only very narrowly regained her bearings, had grabbed hold of the doorknob and was dragging the door shut, when the girl all but sang again:

“Have fun, be safe! Don’t make babies!!”

Joel scarcely knew how to react to that.

As it turned out, your roommate was open-minded.

Ply her with four or five shots of tequila and a couple High Noons, and she’d probably believe the moon was made of cheese if you told her in a serious enough tone.

But your goal tonight hadn’t been to convince her of a lie—it was to get a big, ugly truth off your chest that you’d been hoping to keep under wraps this entire weekend.

Now, after getting caught with your fake stepfather’s jizz drying in your throat, you had had to come clean about this thing. It wasn’t a story you’d wanted to tell, but it was one that needed sharing given the circumstances.

Aly had laughed her ass off when you told her everything.

Blame it on the strobe lights, the thumping music, or the thick, fetid air of the bar you’d just arrived at, but Aly had laughed a lot. She’d squeezed her eyes shut and slapped the tabletop beside her, like that was the single most insane thing she’d ever heard, and why don’t you write her a How-To? She’d love some tips on boning old men.

“He’s not that old!” you’d protested over your beverage.

She’d bought the drink. She said news like this was cause for celebration, and you couldn’t deny that. Smiling as you spoke, you figured this was good.

In fact, you thought getting caught by your closest friend was one of the best things that could’ve happened, all things considered, because now you knew at least one person was supportive and in your corner regarding Joel. On top of that, you had someone to help cover your ass—if a touch or a look between you two was too suspect, she’d tell you. From the second your group had Ubered to the bar, she’d been keen to see you close…though not too close. Presently, she grinned and squeezed your leg.

“I think you two would make a damn cute couple.”

“Huh?” You had to shout over the music to be heard.

“A cute couple!”

“Come again?”

You were really trying your best, but the blare of Bon Jovi overhead was a bit too much. You leaned in closer to her.

“YOU AND JOEL WOULD MAKE A CUTE COUPLE!”

And, as if on cue, Joel and Aly’s father reappeared at the table, holding the drinks they’d left to buy. Thankfully, the volume in the room was near-deafening, and neither seemed to have heard a word of hers. Scott was nursing some bottom shelf whiskey concoction while Joel double-fisted two shitty beers beside him. You had to admit, the latter looked good from where you sat: one more button was popped on his icy white shirt and a smile was plastered on his face, eyes straying to you more often than they should. The moment after that, you were doubly grateful for the blast of ‘You Give Love a Bad Name’ in this bar—the next thing you knew, Joel was dropping his head casually and murmuring in your ear,

“Aly sure likes to stare, doesn’t she?”

Followed shortly by:

“Wanna give her somethin’ to watch?”

He was clearly joking. Your cheeks warmed anyway. Then, when he started to lift his head, he left a quick, parting kiss to your temple that could’ve been construed as a paternal gesture. To anyone else but you, him, and Aly, it likely was. Your gaze slid from Joel’s face to his forearms, where the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up. He smelled like pine, sweat, and Natty Light, and you were just about to tell him that somehow that combo worked for him, when Scott interposed, loud as hell.

“You ask her yet?!” he bellowed.

He knocked shoulders with Joel in a playful way, and the pair nearly stumbled sideways. Scott elbowed his ribs.

“He’s drunk as shit,” Dallas observed idly.

“Well, what’s he—” you began to say.

Before you’d even finished the question, your answer came in the form of Joel nodding, visibly pretty buzzed himself, as he waved his friend off with a shove and a laugh. Scott just grinned bigger as Bon Jovi gave way to Steely Dan over the speakers. Joel leaned back to you.

“Scott invited us to go skiing out in Jackson, Wyoming.”

“He loves planning trips drunk,” Michelle added.

“Like they’re best friends,” Dallas chuckled.

You ignored Aly’s half-concealed smirk on hearing that; you were too stuck on the look Joel was giving you. Like he was drunk, but dead serious—like he’d agreed to this.

Something set for a future date, however nebulous and far-fetched and stupid the idea may have been, made your insides stir a little all the same. You tried tamping it down with another sip of your drink, but you still shared a glance with Joel. He was watching you more intently.

“Is that something you’d wanna do, hon?” he asked.

You might’ve liked to warn him that he was drawing too close—that his breaths were too warm on your cheek and Aly was straightening in her chair, blinking harder—but anything even approaching a remonstrance was evidently never meant to leave your mouth, as the next second had you nudged off your barstool, taken by the hand, and dragged toward the bustling crowd at the center of the room. Scott had suggested dancing; his son had readily agreed and was now leading you out to the crowd himself. You snagged one fleeting look at Joel.

Mr. Ingram had been dying to get out there, apparently. Behind you, the man spun his wife the best he could through the jam-packed dance floor of students and parents bumping their way through the very best of the ‘70s and ‘80s. He took a few graceless turns himself; while Bob Seger, Bruce Springsteen, and AC/DC reigned supreme over the wide open space, he pulled some mildly impressive moves. More importantly, though, he didn’t give a shit how he looked. This encouraged your group to let loose a little, too, and you somehow found yourself burrowing even further into the sea of people.

Your arms were compressed on either side of you. Your shoulders were bumped, and nudged, and given little more than a quarter of an inch for your chest to expand in the shallowest of breaths. Every pull of your lungs was an effort, and still, you couldn’t help but smile as you ran a quick look over the heads of everyone around. This was fun. Private, even. With dozens of nameless, faceless bodies gyrating in time with the music, you could blend right in. You could pretend that everything was normal.

Even with the press of a familiar form at your back, you could pretend it was just the crowd forcing him there—that Joel had just sauntered in behind you by accident.

It was risky, to be sure. The lights above flashed in bright white bursts, undulating with every pulse of the song being played, and it wasn’t too far from you that Aly and all the rest of them were strewn throughout the crowd.

But Joel hadn’t seemed to have noticed. Beneath the myriad limbs of the bargoers around you and him, he moved a hand to your waist. It hovered precariously for half a second, then tightened. It drew you closer to him.

You tried to push it away on instinct, heart jumping in your throat: what if Scott or Michelle or anyone else turned their heads at that moment and found him touching you there? What if the grasp their eyes caught wasn’t the wholesome, blameless kind that was meant to be shared between stepfather and stepdaughter? Who the hell was supposed to do the explaining to them then?

Clearly Joel wasn’t all that concerned about it; he slid his palm back up your side and gripped your hip hard after you’d nudged him off. He took a daring step forward, and you could feel him shake his head behind you. Smiling.

“And if I made a joke about father-daughter dances—”

“I would kill you with my two bare hands, Miller.”

Your backside glanced off his front. It wasn’t so much a deliberate move on your part but a byproduct of the rhythm. Some soft rock song was coming to an end, and your body rolled gently with his. The friction was minimal. This kind of proximity was easy to be explained away, if Dallas ever happened to look in your direction—

“Joel!”

Something hard pushed into your ass. You had to steel yourself quick, eyes darting furtively about to make sure no one had seen what you’d just felt between your legs. Then you tried wriggling away, off of him, and were rewarded with another hand on your side. It gripped the flesh just above your hipbone with a tender conviction.

Joel’s lips grazed your cheek briefly. His grip loosened.

“See what you do to me?” he murmured, and the fingers that he’d eased around your waist were turning you back.

Facing him now, away from your group. More bodies filled in between you and them, and the force of that influx pushed you closer to Joel. It shoved you together. It almost couldn’t be helped—that was what you kept telling yourself, anyway—when your frame melded to his, and his hands lowered to your hips, and one finger worked its way through your taut, denim belt loop in a manner completely unbecoming of a normal stepfather.

That callused finger held you firm to him with your jeans. It didn’t give an inch, and his eyes on yours did the same.

You were drifting further out. This didn’t matter as much. Anyone who saw you now would just have to guess that you were Joel’s, and Joel’s was yours—if only for now.

Your lips and his were gravitating closer then, too. You were just about to part yours to speak, when one soft, opening sequence broke out in the air, and you groaned.

No fucking way.

An all-too-familiar mid-tempo tune flooded the room and coursed in and out of your skull with a low, rhythmic tick.

It was eerie. Dreamy. Nearly haunting in the way it rang out right here, right now, with Joel’s hold on your sides tightening more and more with every passing second.

You hoped like hell he didn’t know this song, though you were half-certain this was a big hit from back in his day.

When Joel tipped his head back and fell right in step with the swaying cadence, you weren’t left guessing for long. Of course this slick bastard liked George Michael.

Of course he did.

What more of an appropriate song to be dancing to now, other than fucking ‘Father Figure’ of all the throwbacks?

Joel lifted both arms in a half-shimmy, half-slide and flashed a shit-eating grin down at you. It was smug.

‘For one moment, to be warm and naked at my side.’

Joel raised his brows with it, as if hearing the lyrics for the first time and being shocked. He wasn’t, clearly, as he rolled his shoulders in a stupid and seductive way, and dragged you closer to meet his body’s movements.

‘Sometimes I think that you’ll never understand me.’

Right. You would likely never understand Joel Miller.

‘But something tells me together we’d be happy.’

Well…as long as your father didn’t kill him first.

Emboldened by the pre-chorus beat and the ever-increasing swell of people around him, Joel snaked an arm around your waist. He let your body fall in line with his, rolling in gentle sorts of motions until he could find what kind suited you two the best, and he led the way.

When his head dipped to yours, you could feel it coming.

‘I will be your father figure. Put your tiny hand in mine.’

This time Joel was singing along, grin wide on his face. As if to mirror the lyrics, he took your hand and squeezed it. You might’ve rolled your eyes or pulled away when the man leaned down and slid his touch to your wrist. He kissed your palm. Then he kissed it again, sponging his lips to the skin in time with the rhythm of the song. It was both innocent and lewd. Wholesome and sensual.

Something trapped between perverted and polite, like Joel was testing the waters while trying not to make it seem that way at all. You kept moving in time together.

Joel’s other hand held you to him. His fingers flexed.

“You can’t…”

When his grip slid to your ass, you shook your head.

As much as you would’ve liked to indulge the urge that was currently flooding your system, the timing was off. The choice to give in now was wrong, and risky to make.

Your roommate and her family were no more than fifteen feet away. No matter how many strangers stood between you and them, Joel was toeing a dangerous line with his hand lowered to where it was. With his face only inches away and a sly grin spreading on his lips, it was clear he knew better than this. But he was eager to talk.

“You feel that, sweetheart?” he asked softly.

Where that single term of endearment had once made you bristle, you now sensed it warming your insides.

You nodded but were quick to add: “Joel, we can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because…”

You found yourself trailing off again, just as you felt Joel’s erection grind into your front, somewhere close to the space between your legs. It rubbed right where you needed him. While another stream of airy, dreamlike notes floated out and a tenor’s voice crooned if you ever hunger, hunger for me, you peered up to find Joel deep in contemplation. He didn’t blink when you met his gaze.

Instead, he nudged you sideways. You inhaled a breath, and not long after that, you felt your back pressed to one of the lone barstools sitting at the outskirts of the room. You’d strayed far. And now, away from all the people that you’d come here with, you had two big hands sliding up the sides of your body. Cupping your face. Guiding your mouth to meet a warmer, more desperate set of lips than you’d ever been expecting to find. Joel’s kiss was rough.

It was open and aching—a wound not willing to be soothed by anything other than your tongue on his. Swiftly, he coaxed your jaw open and slid in. He licked in. He practically panted into your mouth, fingertips carving crescents in your cheeks from just how hard he was holding your face. He didn’t let up, and that hunger bled from his lips to yours. You felt a heady wave wash over your brain, and at the same time, your thighs tensed.

You pulled away.

Your lips were bitten numb. Your cunt was throbbing.

While your pulse thundered through your ears like a fucking kickdrum, your grip loosened on the front of Joel’s shirt, and you started to turn yourself from him.

What you needed to do was leave. What you couldn’t stand was getting caught again, and risk it being someone who wouldn’t take to it as kindly as Aly had.

But even as you walked, you felt a pulsing in your skull.

Between your legs, the feeling was worse, like there was something thrumming a frantic beat in that precious and defenseless place that you knew was needing him most. You were weak. You swiped a hand over your mouth like that would do anything, and you kept walking, knowing how closely Joel would be following you all the way out.

On such a clear, frigid night, the air outside should’ve been a relief. Instead, your pulse hammered and swelled. Your cheeks burned. You could’ve ground your teeth so hard that you cracked enamel, and it still wouldn’t have been enough to bite back the words inside your throat.

You turned to Joel wanting to tell him no. The expression that met yours said he was expecting as much—and was preparing to object—when you swiftly cut him off again.

It should end there. Nothing good ever came of you shedding your inhibitions or clothes with Joel Miller.

He reached out; you winced. You shouldn’t say it.

“Let’s go home, Joel.”

You were running again.

You’d nearly knocked him to the floor the second he’d turned the key in the door of his dingy little motel room, lips frantic over his and hands making fists in his shirt. It was exactly what he’d been hoping to see—part of why he’d booked this place and made the drive that weekend, to have you cradled in his arms again—but as he crossed the threshold with you all over him, Joel grew unsettled.

He couldn’t quite place the feeling, but something told him that you were only here to escape an unsavory urge. Like he was a bad habit to be flooded from your system.

You seemed to say it with every motion of your hands: skating down his front, clawing at the buttons, busying themselves with quickly trying to rid him of the fabric while your eyes stayed trained anywhere but on his face. It stung. Normally Joel wasn’t the type to ruminate on the reasons why a girl might be tearing his clothes off, but tonight, with you, this wasn’t what he usually did.

The ache unfurling in his chest wasn’t the kind to be imparted by just anyone, he kept reminding himself.

Which was why he took hold of both your wrists. Tightly. Just as you were about to try and peel his shirt from his shoulders and expose the whole naked expanse of his chest, he stopped you. He swallowed as you groaned.

“Joel.”

“You didn’t want me kissin’ you at all back there.”

In the bar, outside the building, in the car ride over here. You’d scarcely let him hold you for half a minute before begging to be taken home, and now that you were inside this room, alone, now you wanted to be touched by him.

Joel tried not to feel stupid saying it aloud, but hell, he felt pretty fucking pathetic peering down at you then.

You shook your head. Took a small step back from him.

“Yeah. Trying not to get us caught again, remember?”

And when you backed off, you stayed off, if only to start unfastening the little straps of your top and kick your shoes off your feet. You made your way over to the king-sized bed at the center of the room and sat down. Joel took off his own shoes but didn’t follow, opting instead to rest his weight on the old TV stand across from you.

He planted his hands on the hardwood surface on either side of him, watched you shuffle to the edge of the bed, and had to steel himself when the next pieces of clothing came sliding off your body. You were lifting your shirt over your head, then dragging your jeans down your legs.

Before you were stripped bare, Joel cleared his throat.

“I said we were gonna have a little chat later, too.”

He sounded like a dad. This really had to stop.

Instead of following his lead, you only kicked your pants off at your feet and leaned back. Joel approached the bed, and you greeted him with a coquettish look, like you already knew where this was going. But you couldn’t.

Joel made sure that you wouldn’t when he cupped your chin in his hand and made you tilt your face up to him.

“Honey,” he started, stern, while you reached for his belt.

You’d almost succeeded in threading your fingers through the leather and tugging it loose when Joel’s grip drew tighter. He jerked your chin up in a pinch, ignoring the roll of your eyes, and for yet another beat, he felt that obscure urge to discipline you again. Like you needed it.

If he could just control himself and play things right…

“Listen, I’m not trying to be your father.”

Wait. No. That came out wrong.

Your eyes widened some.

“Oh, really, daddy?”

Well, shit.

Joel straightened where he stood and tried not to puff out his chest like an old father-type might do, but the effort was useless—everything the man said and did was like the fucking calling card of a patriarch. He scrubbed a hand over his face and pretended not to see you grin up at him, your gaze bright and fiery as the Fourth of July.

He could hold important conversations and still not try to jump your bones immediately. He could control himself. He could slap on a semi-austere look and just tell you.

“I love you, you know that, right?” he blurted out.

Your eyes widened again, this time in alarm.

“Christ, Joel.”

You were sliding back on the bed. Shaking your head and pursing your lips in a grimace like this wasn’t happening.

“We’re not doing this again,” you added in a grave voice.

Joel was already making his way up after you—again, like a fucking moron, he felt—crawling on hands and knees across the moth-eaten, coral-colored bedspread and trying not to panic and failing miserably, per usual.

“‘S’alright if you don’t wanna say it back, I just—”

“I didn’t mean to say it in the first place, Joel!”

But there was a strain in your words. Denial.

You were working in earnest not to expose that sliver of self that wanted him, too. Joel could feel it. He planted his knees on the mattress and met you closer to the headboard, where your breaths were coming in faster. You shook your head, but you also didn’t stop him when he drew in even closer and lowered his body to yours.

He was hovering, almost.

Just as he’d been poised above your soft, beaming face all those weeks back in some little podunk town—at Balmaceda’s Mountain Lodge, where you’d been stuck together, only to fuck each other for the first time that night—he pressed a touch to your side. He rubbed his thumb just over your hipbone, where the panties you had on still clung to your skin, and he watched you tense up.

It was like before, only worse: now you knew his touch, and he knew yours, but there was a dread in your eyes.

As if you couldn’t stand to be under him, you slid back.

“Joel, please…don’t,” you murmured hoarsely.

“Don’t what?” His stomach dropped.

“Don’t ever say that again.”

That he loved you?

Joel never thought one string of words could hurt him so much, but there it was. While his heart unwound and his ego met with a swift and unceremonious death, he felt something like agitation twist inside him, too. Cruelly.

This was what he’d come this whole way to tell you.

The man could handle rejection; that wasn’t the problem. What bothered him now was how unflinchingly committed you seemed to misunderstand his intentions. Something surged in his chest again, and this time, it wasn’t all hurt—it was anger, too. Why you refused to accept that someone might love you was beyond him.

He didn’t reach for you again or crowd you further, but he raked a hand through his hair and heaved a hard sigh.

“Why won’t you believe me?” This time pleading.

“It’s not that I won’t—I just can’t, Joel. I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

You started to speak, but then that balloon of rage swelled bigger in his chest, and it wasn’t meant to be directed at you—it was only meant for himself, why wasn’t he enough—and he spit the words like venom.

“Haven’t I shown you that I mean it? That I— I— I care? I’m here. I came to see you. I’m telling you that I love you. How else am I supposed to show the woman I love that I care when you won’t let me in an inch, except when—”

“Except when you’re seven deep in me?” you scoffed.

It was bitter and derisive, and you slid farther back.

“For Christ’s sake,” Joel gritted through his teeth.

He didn’t even wait for you to interject, as he came back: “Is that all you think of me? Is that what I am to you?”

His voice was loud, and he hadn’t meant for it to be.

He was pushing off the bed, watching you sit back.

“I just think it’s real convenient,” you snapped again, “Betraying my trust by not telling me about dad’s affair, finding me in a weak moment, letting me believe you feel the same so you don’t have to deal with this…this…guilt.”

Joel couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You think I did all of this out of pity?”

“I think you’re trying to be a—”

“That I would lie about it?”

His heart rate was spiking. He felt his pulse thudding in his ears as he stalked around the footboard and scowled.

“Joel, I—”

“No.” He shook his head hard. He was sincerely trying not to fit the bill for ‘hot-headed, explosively angry father,’ but the efforts he made seemed all in vain. Joel could hardly talk now without raising his voice to a shout.

“I have—” he started, only to stop himself, swallowing.

His throat ached, and he almost choked on his words.

“I have been in love with you this whole fuckin’ time!”

His eyes burned. The sound came out angry, hoarse. Maybe he was; he just couldn’t contain it anymore. Silence filled the open space, and time distended.

He couldn’t stand the way you wouldn’t believe him, even now, as you straightened and shook your head.

“No, you haven’t.”

“I have.”

“You don’t mean—”

“You don’t get to tell me what I mean!”

He stared back and watched your gaze erupt in ire. Indignation. Lips drawing tight and teeth baring and hands gripping the bedspread beside you, as if enraged.

“I do. I can. You’re— you’re full of shit.”

Your words made him want to hurl something at a wall.

“Am I?!” he bellowed.

“Yes!” you spat.

“How can you say that?!”

And, without meaning to, Joel’s knee hit the side of the nightstand while he turned abruptly from you. The whole thing shook; the lamp nearly toppled, and the man immediately reached for it, then out to you. The gesture was a reflexive apology, but you responded by shoving his hands off. An angry sound racked through your body as you moved from him—“You—you don’t mean it, Joel.”

“I do. I mean it. Believe me, I do.”

That sound from his chest could’ve been half a sob.

He reached for you again, knees sinking with the springs of the mattress beneath him, and you shuffled further back. Your movements slowed. Suddenly, Joel’s stopped.

He couldn’t see it without a wince—your hands shaking. Your fingers tried making fists but failed, and in an effort to conceal the fear they held, you seized the comforter.

His throat ached, and that pain only soared in a second.

“You can’t…you can’t mean it if I’m just a secret to you.” Your tone was a rasp. The lips that spoke it were curled, revealing teeth still gritted. Eyes filling with more tears, “You can’t say you love me if…if you’re just gonna leave.”

By the end of it, your words were ground to a murmur. Your voice was hushed and slow and begging to be spared notice, as though every syllable hurt to say.

Your bottom lip was quivering too. He knew you were kicking yourself for it—could see the embarrassment etched into your gaze as you blinked back nothing, then one, then two, then a barrage of slow, hot tears—but no matter what you did to fight it off, your body trembled.

The whole thing was practically vibrating with hurt. Humiliation and anger had evidently joined the mix, and before he could even think to speak, you mumbled again:

“You’re gonna leave me, Joel.”

The hurt wouldn’t stop.

“You don’t love me.”

Your voice cracked to continue, pain clinched with a sob.

“You can’t.”

In the look that met his, he saw a wall of warring fears. It wasn’t all for him, either. There were wounds that were the work of years beneath the surface of your skin, ones entrenched in flesh since long before he’d ever known you or laid a finger on that part himself. It started young.

Your lashes battled to keep the tears at bay, but the floodgates had opened. Your secret was gone. There was no sense in feigning indifference when the truth was laid bare—that you didn’t deem yourself worthy of love, and likely never had. Regardless, you worked hard not to cry. You scrunched your nose, mashed your lips together, and stared anywhere but him, and the tears kept flowing. Gently, but without slowing, they streaked down in turn.

“No, sweet pea, I love you. I love you. I ain’t leavin’.”

It was all Joel could do to keep his own vision clear.

He already knew you wouldn’t believe him, but that didn’t stop him from saying the words all the same.

“I— I said it first,” he went on, words tumbling out.

You turned wet, sad eyes to him in utter silence, and that made him want to ramble on forever. As long as it took.

“At the fair, a month before you ever said it, I was trying to tell you I loved you then. You ran off before I could.”

That was the truth.

If Joel had any hope of regaining your trust, it would need to start there. And out of one truth came another.

“I already knew I loved you before that. I would’ve said it, except it just felt wrong, with all that…that stuff I knew.”

He meant knowing about his best friend, your father, and his little rekindled romance with his former mistress. It wasn’t right, keeping you in the dark about something like that, but he also hadn’t wanted to hurt you. There was more to the story that complicated things further, and frankly, Joel had been too swept up in the novelty of this thing you two had had to choose the smarter path.

That didn’t excuse what he did. Hell, it only hurt him worse seeing your eyes gloss over and stay fixed on his.

Knowing you’d trusted him not to hurt you—and he had.

If you didn’t accept what he told you now, he wouldn’t fault you for it. All he could do was slide off the bed and pull you to a perch on the edge, while he planted himself on the carpeted floor and kneeled in between your legs.

Cupping your tear-stained face in his hands, pleading:

“Baby.”

You blinked back at him but ventured nothing.

“Sweet pea, I am not keeping you a secret.”

A beat.

“I’m not leavin’. I want more—need more.”

And for some reason, that felt like a weightier admission than he’d even thought possible. He wasn’t good at this.

He wasn’t quite cut of a cloth to know just how to soothe you and make things right, but he did know that holding you felt right to him. So he did. He rubbed his thumbs in little circles over your warm, wet, puffy cheeks, and he pulled your face closer to his. He held your gaze and watched an internal war wage somewhere far behind your eyes as you tried to contend with this new feeling—that of being wanted and needed and loved as you were.

You sniffled between his two broad palms.

“I want you to stay,” you said softly.

Joel’s heart hammered at that.

He couldn’t hope to leave out the rest. He let go of your face then and felt an irresistible urge to go on, even if it was much too soon and he had meant to show you later. As stupid as the idea had been, he’d already made it, and there was no going back anyhow. He would tell you here.

He reached in his pocket for his wallet. He broke your gaze momentarily to take it out, flip it open, and then card his fingers through the bills a few aching moments before pulling it out—the thing he’d wanted to show you.

When he held it up, a set, he flitted a quick look to what he’d lifted between you and him, as if the sight might give him answers on what to say. Sadly, nothing came.

Joel was totally on his own in explaining what this was. Lucky for him, though, you didn’t seem keen to judge.

“They’re…they’re tickets,” he started. Stupid.

You raised a brow, trying to read, and he forged ahead. Just as the words first appeared to register in your mind, and the faintest look of shock took shape, he hurried out:

“Billy Joel’s got a show comin’ up in Austin this June. I…I thought— well, I hoped, I guess, that maybe we could…”

Spit it out, Miller.

Spit. It. Out.

He frowned.

“I’m no good at this. Sorry. I wanted us to go…together.”

And then…

“And I want your dad to know about us before then.”

There it is.

The last lynchpin in the man’s resolve was gone. He’d said it. There was no turning back from what he’d offered, or what it required, and now you knew he wanted things to be real and committed. Serious.

Terrifying.

Your eyes remained fixed on his. For a second, that look, and your whole upper half, appeared so still Joel thought you might’ve stopped breathing altogether. You blinked. Glancing down at the tickets in his hand and batting your lashes again, as if you weren’t quite sure how to answer.

Then, at last, he heard a sharp inhale—Or was it an exhale? He couldn’t tell—and before he could blink back or wonder so much as a thought, the breath was battered out of his own chest. You rushed him.

You’d moved so fast, hugged him so quick, Joel scarcely knew what was what until he felt your arms snake around his neck. You joined him on the filthy, soiled floor and dropped your knees on either side of his body in a kind of straddling hug. It was as swift as it was unexpected, and it took him a second to adjust. But no longer than that.

Joel was relieved to feel your warmth. Squeezing him. Choking him, almost. He didn’t think you’d ever held him that hard in his life, so he did all he could to soak it in.

It was only when he heard another sob that he paused.

“You…you want to?” Your voice was tiny against him.

“‘Course I do, darlin’,” Joel answered in a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He cupped the back of your head to him and held you tighter, “Of course I do.”

Then, because the impulse struck again: “I love you.”

He didn’t need you to say it back; a look was enough. When you drew back and met his gaze, eyes still doused with tears but smiling faintly at him, Joel was content to see your acceptance. Allowing love in in some small way.

And when your lips succeeded that look, meeting his in a soft kiss, and your body shifted up toward the bed, he didn’t protest. He kissed you back. Joel didn’t have to have love spelled out in words for him to feel what you meant. You said it gently, but somehow with even more force than when you’d stumbled into this room together, touch beckoning him in as you laid back on the mattress.

Admittedly, every inch of this place was seedy. On such short notice Joel hadn’t had much of a pick among his choice of accommodations, and the shortage showed. Still, when you slid up that old, worn bed and stretched yourself in wordless welcome, he couldn’t have asked for more. He only wished that he could give you more, but for right now, at least, that was out of the question. He leaned in and found your lips like second nature, slotting between your thighs and kissing you harder. The concert tickets had shortly been cast aside on the night stand.

“I love you.”

It slipped out again, and Joel didn’t care. His tongue chanced past the seam of your lips and, once inside, explored every contour, ridge, and crevice it could find.

While he did, a touch palmed your breasts over your bra. Your skin was warm; gaze soft, the last he’d seen of it. The scent of you rose to greet him like a mist of some wild intoxicant: citrus, mint, a tinge of sweat, and a liter of your favorite fruity drink, if he’d had to guess. You flooded his senses. It wasn’t enough for him simply to hold flesh in his hands and explore your body with his lips and tongue; Joel wanted to consume something more, though he hardly had the words to articulate it.

You unclasped your bra just as his mouth slid down to your neck. There was a beat—your sharp intake of breath when his teeth met skin and marked it with the tenderest bite—and then your arms reached out. You discarded your bra and bared yourself to him, and when Joel tilted his head to take in the view, he had to groan your name.

There was no other logical route for him to go.

You’d just begun to wind your fingers through his hair when he slid down to greet that newly-exposed place.

“I love you,” he repeated against your skin before drawing one nipple between his lips. He kissed it.

Your grip grew tighter.

“Joel, please.”

His teeth had only reappeared a second to tug the pebbled flesh between them, tongue hungry and wet and laving gently across that hardened peak, when your legs wound around him too. You pulled his body into you.

Joel was helpless to the inducement. His torso fell more heavily to yours and his lips suckled with a vigor that betrayed sheer desperation. He felt it strain in his pants. When he moved from one breast to the other, he heard a wet pop, and the whimper when he re-attached himself was enough to make the bulge he felt swell even bigger. His tongue caressed in laving, measured motions along the curve, and he tried not to grow overly eager from it.

Don’t get too excited. You need time. Lots and lots of—

“Joel,” you exhaled on a particularly harsh press of his mouth. Your ribs heaved with it. “Come— come here.”

He was clambering back up in an instant. The ministrations of his lips that had practically engulfed your skin and smeared it with his saliva were swapped in a blink with them returning to your chin, jaw, and cheeks, planting kisses in between the words he murmured next.

“Yeah? Every—” To the side of your mouth. “Everything OK, sweet pea?” Feeling guilty but also simply needing to calm himself down. “Too fast?” Another to your cheek.

It wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t gone too far, too soon before. In fact, it was a pretty regular occurrence with the sex you had. Joel just needed a reset—had to make sure this was alright, and that he could cool down if needed.

He felt a pinch in his groin but ignored it.

Suddenly, your gaze was on his again.

Fingers carded through the sweat-damp, striated tufts of black and silver hair at the sides of his head, and you leaned in closer until your nose and his were touching.

“Here,” you pressed him, low. Need crept into those words, and your grasp constricted. “Stay here, please.”

It was clear you were inviting him back to your lips, to kiss them, so Joel did just that. He bracketed his arms on either side of your head and let his mouth explore as it had before. Where he resumed at equal force, you met him with still more warmth and wanting and open fervor, tongue curling around his in some soft and wordless plea

Below the belt, Joel was throbbing. He didn’t need to reflect long at all to know what that meant. Then your lips parted wider, your ankles dug deeper in the backs of his calves, and your hips started grinding against him.

Dry humping.

Whining at the friction.

“Feels…feels so good, Joel,” you told him breathlessly.

“You like that?” His lower half mimicked the motions.

Need blossomed across your face as the ridge of his cock rubbed in just the right way through his slacks. Something harder than he meant—a thrust, like he was fucking you into the bed—shook your frame, as well as the mattress underneath it. Springs creaked. Metal groaned. Warmth spread, from the pit of his stomach to where your body met his. The movements kept going.

You were slick beneath him. You must have been. Your whines had heightened to punctured gasps and your hips were so desperate, rubbing your barely-clothed core to the front of his pants and brows pinching as if—

You were already expecting this to end.

You didn’t think that he would stay.

“Baby,” Joel panted again.

By now, desire consumed him, but the urge to smooth that tiny crease of worry was coursing just as powerfully. He swallowed, gripped the linens beside your head in one hand a little harder, and opened his mouth to speak.

Another flick of your hips. Another sigh. Another whine.

Another pinch somewhere deep within him, and a groan.

Suddenly, your hands were on his shoulders, sliding up and toward his neck. Your fingers clawed for his hair.

“Joel,” you panted back.

Joel had tried to slow the motions of his lower half to talk, but yours had only sped up to grind yourself against him. He could feel the heat bleeding from you now. Wetness formed and expanded in a patch through your pink cotton panties and likely stained his front, or would.

His cock was swollen stiff and throbbing. Precum pearled at the tip of him, no doubt, and with every jerk of your body, he could feel it smearing and aching to slip in.

He wanted to be inside you. His balls twitched, his stomach ached, and his senses were suffused with you, a white-hot desire to paint your mouth, your skin, or your insides with his cum nearly as strong. But he had to stop.

Then you kissed him.

Joel’s lips were still parted when your mouth found his, kissing him sweetly and without reserve. Your fingers that had threaded through his hair pulled taut. Hard.

Your center slid up the length of his fully clothed cock, and with one more press of your legs, Joel felt you.

He’d never wanted anything more in his life, and still, he fought to speak—to reassure you that he wasn’t leaving.

“Joel—”

“I know, I know. Baby, I—fuck.” His breath hitched in his throat when his bulge pulsated again. His head swam.

With what meager resolve the man still possessed, he ventured another kiss, then drew back. His eyes dropped and searched your expression, half-crazed, and just when the words were taking shape again, you parted your lips and brought them to his. You rolled your hips, balled your fingers into fists through his hair, and with your mouth and his a quarter-inch apart in puckered, pretty ‘O’s, panting with every thrust that shook the bed:

“I love you, Joel.”

It was a breath, and the taste had never felt sweeter.

One more jerk of his hips and you were drawing in once again, panting in his mouth as if to make sure he heard.

“I— I love you. I love you so much,” you murmured, low.

His cum unloaded in thick, hot ropes. He couldn’t stop it.

Joel Miller, at the age, maturity, and level of experience he could boast, had never cum virtually untouched and in his own fucking pants since…he couldn’t remember when. But he was. His spend pulsed out from the head of his cock in dizzying bursts, and his stomach clenched. He gripped the bedspread and let out a guttural groan while he soaked the front of his boxers from inside them.

His dick throbbed and leaked, and his breathing slowed. He mumbled something back, quietly—‘I love you, too.’

Then he pushed up and off of you, out of the bed.

Seconds stretched; he didn’t feel it. Stars burst behind his eyes with every step, and he staggered that path to the bathroom like his life or his pride might depend on it.

As a matter of fact, the damage was already done. He’d jizzed in his pants like an overeager teen getting his dick touched or sucked for the very first time. What was worse, you hadn’t been doing either when he came; you’d told him you loved him, and that was enough.

Enough to make him look like a goddamn idiot, Joel thought without blinking. He kicked the door shut behind him and reached for the zip of his pants.

Sticky. Wet. A whole fucking shitshow below the belt.

He ran the tap. He had his undone slacks and boxers pulled down past his hips, and he was facing the sink in seconds, assessing the extent of the damage. Then his face flushed red at the sight of the sticky, milky mess swarming his groin and he could’ve kicked himself. He settled for yanking a towel out from one of the cubbies beneath the counter and running it under the water. He daubed quick and without much precision, gaze darting to find dozens more clumps of his spend strewn about than he thought possible. He’d cum an absurd amount.

Before he chastised himself, though, he had to pause.

“Joel?”

Your voice was soft. Sometime since he’d unzipped and started scrubbing his crotch in vicious circles, you’d appeared at the door, head peeking around curiously.

You must not have been standing there for long, because you actually drew closer to join him. Feeling comfortable enough in roughly thirty square feet of space, you shut the door again and leaned your hip against the counter.

If Joel didn’t know you better, and he wasn’t already occupied with wiping cum off of his cock and balls, he might’ve searched your face for a smile. A smirk, maybe.

It wasn’t like teasing each other was suddenly off-limits now that Joel was brimming with embarrassment. Half your communication was giving the other shit for little mishaps and quirks, and he expected that his last accident in the bedroom would be no different.

He flinched when you reached out instead.

Hooking your fingers under the waistband of his pants and his plaid boxers, you shuffled in closer to him and let out a breath. You tugged once, twice—gently, so as not to further disrupt the mess or make him wince—and then coaxed the fabric down his legs, lower and lower.

When you peered up at him, Joel couldn’t find so much as a trace of amusement in your eyes or on your lips. You just nudged his slacks to the tiled floor and hummed.

“It’ll be easier if we wash it off in there.”

You nodded to the shower behind him.

Joel turned slightly, as if considering or trying to get a glimpse of the freestanding shower with its wide-open, mildewed curtain seeming to beckon him in, then stopped. He turned back and chucked his towel.

“Alright,” he said while kicking his pants off at the ankles. Talking softly and not meeting your gaze, “That’s fine.”

He pivoted once more to peel his shirt off and make toward the shower by himself, and you surprised him, again, when you bypassed his much larger frame and hopped in first. You slid your panties off and tossed them into the pile of clothes by the sink, and you twisted the knob on the wall. You sidestepped the first stuttered sprays and drew the curtain back in wordless invitation.

Joel hovered, eyes scanning the cramped space.

“I don’t think we’re both gonna fit in here.”

Then, as though to emphasize his point:

“I can wash off by myself. It’s…fine.”

He hadn’t meant it to sound so stilted, but that was just how he felt: stiff and awkward and raw with feelings of recent embarrassment. He tilted his head to the side.

Your head tipped right back, and you raised a brow.

“Just get in, Miller. Freezin’ my fuckin’ ass off.”

And there was a smile: the first one. Faint.

Not mocking, snide, or condescending. Just the kind to usher him in and drag the curtain behind his hulking body, wipe a slick, wet hand over your mouth and grin—‘You do know I’ve seen you naked before, right?’—and that set his mind at ease. He almost smiled himself.

“So you remember that I’m a grower, not a shower.”

Joel cupped his hands over his softening length in faux protective fashion, as if you hadn’t seen the thing dozens of times by now. When he sidled up and cornered you between the soap tray and the shower stream, he found the edges of his lips kicking up a little, unable to help it.

You’d seen him hard, soft, and everything in between—mostly hard when near you. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing that you were getting to experience him like this.

That made him lean in closer. Chance another joke.

“Looks like your old man’s stamina has taken a hit, too.”

Joel had meant it to sound playful. Suggestive, even. Instead, it came out dismal and gruff, like he was trying to overcompensate for something he was sorely lacking.

He might’ve wanted to kick himself again, were it not for the next move you pulled on him, which was enough to pluck his thoughts—and his breath—out of his body.

Without wasting a second to pretense or teasing, you simply brushed your hand down his front and touched him, gently. He was softer, smaller, and almost wholly spent from his last exertion; still, you reached and wrapped your fingers around his length with care.

Sparks ignited from the place where you trailed. Joel had to swallow a groan, oversensitive and fairly stunned, and his palm came to rest on the wall behind your head. His chin dipped toward his chest while his gaze dropped too.

He watched you stroke him once, rub your thumb along the tender skin, then bring your left hand to join the mix, carrying a bar of soap with it. You started from the base.

“Baby,” Joel rasped. The muscles of his stomach clenched while you drew circles to spread the soap.

“My old man,” you repeated affectionately.

It was artless and kind. Friendly and gentle. Most every other time he’d been touched where you had him, the hands had meant to arouse, and seek something else. Here, you were trying to help. Clean him sweetly and without concern for yourself while also drawing him in, like you always did. It made his chest hurt—and not in a way totally unconcerning for a man his age. Nonetheless, he leaned into that feeling and shifted his body to yours.

His head and your head were now doused with water, his hovering above so close that little droplets streaked from his chin down your slightly upturned face. Joel could feel you watching him. He flicked his own gaze back to meet yours, and as he did, your palm stroked him from root to tip. His hips jerked involuntarily; he swelled in your grip.

His cock stiffened but still remained far from fully erect. Joel swallowed, anchored his hand harder on the wall, and wished himself a decade or three younger, at least.

“You alright with this?” he muttered.

“With what?” you mumbled back.

Joel sucked in a breath just as your hand, and the soap, slid back down his length, and rubbed casually around it. You assumed a leisurely pace and scrubbed his tummy.

“My body ain’t what it was—”

“And it’s more than enough.”

Suddenly, your eyes weren’t just resting on his but pressing. Piercing. The circles working to clean his skin increased in pace and force, and you set the soap aside. You nudged him closer to the water, but all Joel felt was the urge to draw you with him. The shower stream pelted his chest, his belly, his freshly soaped lower half, and past the suds, a gradually hardening cock. Gradually.

You had him in your hand; you were rinsing him clean. Joel should’ve extended some murmured thanks, a calm and uncalculating touch coming to rest on one of your shoulders while you did him this innocent favor. Your lips twitched. His cock hardened. Then your back was flat on the shower wall, and Joel was hovering over your drenched and naked frame again, only his touch was descending to your hip instead. He held it firmly.

“You could have your pick of any guy—”

“Good thing I only want you.”

Your grip tightened too. Now that you’d scrubbed him clean, you seemed ready to let go in the next second, but old habits died hard. Joel leaned in to nose your cheek.

“That so?” His hand moved from your hip to what he knew would be a scorching heat between your thighs.

Two thick fingers glided through your folds and forced a whimper out of your throat. You were soaking wet, and not just from the shower’s spray. Joel rubbed that slick, delicate seam with all the self-control he could muster in the moment, and he kissed your cheek. Every inch he could feel of you was brimming with warmth and need.

You tilted your chin and caught his lips. You parted your legs and held his almost-fully erect length in your grasp.

“I— I mean it, Joel,” you answered him, surprisingly soft then. You kissed the sides of his mouth while you continued to stroke up and down. “I want you.”

Joel’s hips shifted involuntarily. As if moving of its own volition, his lower half stirred beneath your touch, and shortly, he had your legs spread wider and his body slotting in the gap between. His fingers pushed deeper.

And, just as his hand was all but cupping your mound and the wet heat of your cunt was pulsing against him, Joel slowed. He sucked in a breath and met your gaze.

“How do you want me, sweetheart?” he murmured.

In reply, you gripped his base and guided him closer. Flicked your thumb over the fat, leaking tip and sighed.

“Right…here.”

“Right here?”

Joel hadn’t meant to move you so quickly, but one blink and your hand was off him completely; your back was turned to him, and your ass was pressed flush with his groin. He had to hunch in the tight, wet, fog-infested enclosure with his chin jutting in over your shoulder and his palm splayed over your tummy. He spoke softly again:

“You want daddy in here, pretty girl?”

Your whine was all he needed to hear.

And perhaps it would’ve been wise to wait a beat or two. Work two fingers in and out of your aching cunt, drag his tongue through your folds, or else use his throbbing tip to ease you open for him. Before he could even think to make use of his hands, mouth, or head, though, you were reaching behind and taking him yourself. You pressed a palm to the wall and pushed up on the tips of your toes, and with impatience bleeding through your every movement, you slid back onto him. You did it quickly.

In the absence of adequate foreplay, entry wasn’t swift. Joel almost choked at the feeling of how tight you were around him—how rigid and warm and narrow you felt on that first slide. He planted a grounding hand next to your own out of sheer necessity. He held your hip in his other and swallowed a groan that seemed fit to nearly kill him.

“Sweetheart,” he panted against your neck, “Easy. Easy.”

You tried to nod your understanding but slid up just as fast. From a glimpse of your profile, Joel could make out some consternation fanning out. Your brows pinched.

The pretty, slick ‘o’ encircling his cock clenched again, and it was evident you were trying to force the motion back down against your body’s wishes. You whimpered a little and dropped your free hand between your legs.

Joel kissed your jaw. Your cheek. Your ear. Partly to remind you that he was fine to take things slow and partly to quiet his own hammering heart inside him.

It wasn’t working.

You were just so. fucking. tight.

“I— you gotta slow down, sweet pea,” he hissed through gritted teeth. Your walls pulsed again, and it nearly sent him spiraling. The second your ass met his hips and he was buried to the hilt, he stifled a groan into your neck.

“But I need you, daddy,” you whined, “Need you inside.”

Another grunt. Another moan. Another suffocating pulse.

“I’m gonna blow if we don’t slow down some, honey.”

It was mortifying, but it was the truth. Tonight, Joel just couldn’t seem to keep his cum confined to his balls like he normally could. Presently, they rested firm and heavy against the globes of your ass and were just then preparing to hit a rhythm as you rocked back and forth.

Your gaze flashed to his over your shoulder.

“That’s OK. You…you can— oh.”

Before you could finish that thought, your words were torn from your tongue and lost to a shuddering moan. His cock plunged deep within your soft and airtight channel, and your head lolled back a little more.

Out of habit, Joel pulled out and then plunged back in, feeling the wet clutch of you stretch around his cock.

“I can what, honey? What can daddy do?”

Lax as his voice made him sound, the man was coming apart at the seams; he had only to search your face for a fleeting, desperate moment, find you hungry as he was, and he thrusted even harder, absorbed the shockwaves of your pleasure while he fucked you up against the wall.

Gradually, the spatter of water on white glossy tile gave way to the sounds of your skin and his hitting again and again. Your face softened, and the once-taut walls eased to accommodate his girth. You squeezed Joel from base to tip, making the most obscene noises when he slid in and out, and from the look you gave him then, he could sense the need before it ever left your lips. He saw desire fill your pretty, glossy stare and felt compelled to sate it.

Again, it seemed you were begging him to stay.

Expression so pleading and sweet and soft.

“Daddy, I— I want you to cum inside me.”

Joel almost blew his load on the spot. His hips had to stutter in place—so taken aback by what you’d just said—but then you were bouncing back and forth again, neck craning to flash him the most winsome smile.

“Oh, honey…”

“Please.”

He’d finished in you before. It had been an accident. The night had ended with you and him hauling ass to the nearest CVS and hitting the Plan B like it owed you money. And now you were asking him to do it?

“I’m about to start my period. It’ll be fine.”

The half-starved look in your eyes said you’d been thinking about this for awhile. Maybe not with your rational brain, but certainly in earnest. Your smile said it.

Joel’s good sense was shot. He knew it was wrong. He was assured beyond a shadow of a doubt that if your dad ever learned he’d deliberately painted your insides white—or worse yet, knocked you up—his best friend would personally sever his dick and sauté it for lunch. Still, the urge to be joined with you in this brand new way was damn near debilitating. He couldn’t tell you no. So instead of doing what he should’ve done, he simply said:

“OK.”

For some reason, it felt wrong to finish in the shower. So he cut the water, toweled you both, and took you to bed. He slid under thin, sodden, wildly outdated motel sheets without letting his lips disconnect from yours once. He propped your legs around his hips and kissed you harder. He found a home within the furthest recesses of your body he could find, and his heart still throbbed for more. It was the best and worst agony, to be so delirious in the need for someone else, but each time you met him and accepted him in, his pleasure soared to new heights.

His cock dragged in and out of your heat in sloppy, shallow thrusts. He felt your wetness ease his passage and welcome him deeper, until the mouth of your cunt was stretched as taut against his base as it would go and your walls were pulsing with need. You squirmed underneath him. Your whines turned into whimpers, and the whimpers became ragged, hiccuping gasps as you clawed at his back and begged for more, more, more.

“‘M’so full. Feels so, so good, daddy,” you breathed.

“Yeah?” Joel said, and he glanced between your bodies to see you stretched and stuffed to the brim with cock. He groaned involuntarily. “I fit so nice, don’t I, baby?”

“You— you do, daddy. You do.”

“Can I fit a little more in?”

Your eyes widened.

As soon as realization dawned, you nodded your head and gripped him tighter. You hardly needed another stab of his hips, his thumb on your clit, or so much as a word spoken besides—at just the thought of being filled with his seed, your body seized in anticipation. It was you trembling, shuddering, clenching hard and reaching bliss before you even meant to get there, really. You were wholly overstimulated and clamoring for more, the pulses of your cunt milking his cock with all you had.

Joel scarcely had the presence of mind to get a syllable out, but he knew what he needed to say before his pleasure took hold. He smoothed a hand over your cheek, cupped it, and lowered his lips to yours, so only the cusp of his mouth and his stubble were grazing your open pout and the words he spoke were all yours to hear.

Sliding deeper. Meeting and holding your gaze with bare, uncontrived sincerity: “I’m yours, baby. I’m all yours.”

His balls tightened. He wanted to say more to set your mind at ease and assure you what you meant to him, but evidently, your bodies had other plans. In the next moment, he felt a familiar warmth spurt from his tip, and his hips jerked. His cock burrowed as deep within your wet, pliant walls as it could go, and he unloaded rope after rope of his cum. Joel let out a full-throated groan.

The wild hum of his pulse through his skull all but rendered him deaf to the sounds around him, but he knew he told you that he loved you; he knew you said it back. He felt you anchor your heels into the backs of his legs and accept him completely. You spent what felt like hours kissing, writhing, panting, and murmuring words of the warmest affection. In reality, this lasted seconds.

With you underneath him, in his arms, it didn’t matter.

“I love you, Joel,” you whispered again, smiling.

He grinned and kissed you, “I love you more.”

And he’d meant what he said: every inch of him was yours. Every moment you would let him have from that point forward, he’d spend showing you that he was there to stay. He didn’t care how long it would take to prove it.

For once, he didn’t care what your dad would have to say

[h1biscusgal]

The hypnagogic state : how to reach it.

The hypnagogic state is a state where we naturally go into before sleeping, a sweet spot moment before sleeping and still being awake, a state where it is so powerful to be able to shift, get in the void, or basically do anything.

Now it requires NOTHING, it only requires one small thing that might sound tricky.

Staying awake long enough for it to come by on it's own, and actually on average it takes 10-5 mins from each person to enter it aware.

The steps:

Lay flat on your back (not needed, but many results come from laying on the back)

Do. Not. Care, just go with what you usually do to fall asleep, but one thing? You're not falling asleep, you're watching your body fall asleep, that sweet spot where your body is about to fall asleep? That's hypnagogia

Actually don't move, it may give your mind signs you're still not sleeping, now just lay there and try not to sleep while focusing on the blackness behind your eyelids.

You will start seeing flashing images or swirly things or even just flashing lights and imagery, this is the hypnagogia and you managed to reach it in just 10 mins of pretending to be asleep (acc it takes me 4)

Bam, that's the sweet spot, now affirm slowly for the void, or just sense your surroundings for shifting or maybe you can try your shifting method here! This state cannot argue back, you'll be immediately shifting in no time, and slipping in the void is so easy from it.

So really the whole steps is just "lay down, don't move, watch your eyelids, color seen? Hypnagogia reached, method or void procedure done, bam."

I managed to find a post on Reddit on how to keep your body awake, you can try 2 or 3 of them to keep yourself entertained, FULL CREDITS TO THE ONE WHO POSTED IT ON REDDIT (calaie_iscoolio):

"1. Looking in the darkness behind your eyelids

Basically what it says, when you close your eyes, just focus on the darkness until hypnagogic imagery begins to happen i.e. colors, shapes, literally anything that will show. When images begin to show up, do not interact or acknowledge what you are seeing, you can look at it, but don't try to control it and just let the images flow until you feel that the state is induced enough to where it won't disappear because you are "too" awake/aware.

2. "Forearm Up" Method

Another technique that basically helps with people who tend to fall asleep to quickly, basically lay down on your back like usual, lift your hand up in the air where your elbow is resting on your mattress, keep it there and as it slowly falls down that's where you'll begin to fall asleep, it'll drop and basically awake you back up.

I had also seen a shifter mention that they prefer to lay on their stomach and lifting their foot up in the air and basically do the same thing. This technique basically just wakes you back up.

3. Thomas Edison Method

Very similar to the "Forearm Up" Method, basically what Edison had done was he had held a steel ball in his hand, and when he began to fall asleep, the ball will drop and alert Edison awake, another technique to help with people to struggle to stay awake.

4. Imagine Constant Motion

Basically imagining something whether that be an animal or an object constantly moving like a horse galloping, a dogs tail wagging side to side, etc. (Pretty simple, for people who find it much easier to visualize).

5. Tire your body through out the day

During the day, you could do any tasks that would just tire your body out that leads up to your attempt to induce the state, it'll make it much easier for you to get into the state and induce it since your body is already tired enough to relax.

6. Repeating "hypnagogia"

This will mean you have you just repeat the words "hypnagogia" to yourself till you get tired enough and then hypnagogic imagery will eventually appear.

7. Counting

Basically just like regular shifting methods, you could focus on counting up to how much you want to until you begin to get the hypnagogic hallucinations, to keep yourself from falling asleep you could give yourself simple math questions just so it's enough to focus to answer it.

8. Imagining Randomness

Imagine literally anything that isn't related at all, i.e. horse, roof, apple, pen, desk, etc. Visualize and filter through random objects or animals that have no correlation and that will induce the hypnagogic imagery, randomness is key.

9. Focus on breathing

Similar to any shifting method, basically focusing on your breaths is another technique to induce the state. Literally just anything to keep your awareness occupied rather than letting your mind just shut down to go to sleep.

10. Sounds

Listening to anything in your environment, whether that be things happening outside, if it's raining listen to the rain, or if you've got headphones on listen to the music and focus that, keep your focus on the music so you don't fall asleep.

11. "Playing" a song in your head

Not necessarily listening to the song, but imagining the song playing in your head, whether that be your favorite song, if you know how it sounds like, imagine it playing and once you've entered the state, it will naturally play and you'll end up actually hearing the song.

12. Heartbeat

Basically just focus on your heartbeat. Listen to the amount of beats.

These are all the various of techniques you could use, you don't have to stick to one and can basicaally try them out, see which one you feel like works for you and go from there. A tip is also you could pick like 4 or 5 out of these 12 and just filter through the techniques if you can't just stick to one since you get uninterested quickly. (I get bored easily, do I normally do 8, 9, 7 and 4 just so I don't lose interest.)"

Good luck y'all!

[how-the-feathers-have-fallen]

Dumping the start of the tags here cause tumblr has a tag limit of 30 :/ sorry op

Okay hold on

also more things I couldn't fit in. after cuddy bails out choreman chase gets assigned a bunch of clinic hours as Punishment TM. But mom-dad wilson (house is dad-mom) keeps him company till house gets angsty and comes to bail him out pick him up.

More I couldn't fit in at the end so I dumped here outta order:

wilson teahces the ducklings to paint since obvi house passed down his musical talents

rich kid chase got assigned clarinet at age 6. he's ok but has 0 heart. house jokingly points him towards a lyre in a music shop and he takes to it instantly. house go to tease him (baby angel lookin-) but chase looks so overjoyed and he says something like "look just like David played for Saul" so he melts on the spot (and convinces wilson to by him a kinnor so he doesn't know its his idea. he sings like a screeching alterboy tho)

I think cameron can sing but she's quiet and stumbles so she refuses to get formal training. she's tear rendering on a cello tho. surprisingly she can dj like all hell too. she had a wild college life before her 1st husband

foreman can sing smooth as silk. but he can't play an instrument to save his life (no patient for it). his dancing though? stage worthy. can be convinced to show off after a couple drinks.

Obsessed with the whole vibes of early season one of House. The ducklings have the energy of dysfunctional siblings along with their insane Vicodin-addict father. Wilson isn’t shown to have an office yet so he just lingers at House’s side while constantly and giving him fuck-me eyes. Wilson will just sit in on diagnoses and give his advice like he doesn’t have any responsibilities in the world. When the team needs to (illegally) shrink a patient’s tumor so it’s small enough to operate on, Wilson just says “alright” and does it along with Cameron. Chase does a silly American accent to fool a patient’s mother and it WORKS. Foreman is new and already despises everyone. House comments on how fuckable Wilson looks when Wilson is simply wearing a green tie and nice shoes. An old woman says that House has the same bedroom eyes as Ashton Kutcher. At one point the team, House, Wilson, and Cuddy all gather together in the small lab room to discuss a patient and are all basically brushing shoulders. Wilson reads a love poem out loud in the middle of the hospital to House. House eats tomato sauce that the team suspected was killing the patient. Wilson ditches his wife on Christmas Eve to go hang out with House and it shows a montage of them laughing and eating take-out. Cuddy greets House and Wilson by saying “hi, boys” like they’re kids. Foreman and Cameron are tasked to search a patient’s home and Foreman eats the ham he found in their fridge because he was hungry. The first scene with House shows him and Wilson walking down the hallway literally brushing hands and shoulders despite the hallway being huge. One of the first things Wilson does is lie to House. Wilson asks House — who rarely ever takes cases unless he finds them really interesting — to take a case and House just takes it. When asked why it was so easy, House just looks at Wilson with a smirk and says “you know why” and then they both smile at each other. This is all in the span of the first eight episodes.

[cowgirlvi]

mdni.   cam-girl jinx.   loser-ish fem-reader.   sex toys.   squirting. based off this ask.

jinx masterlist

word count: 1.4k

you make sure to get home from work most days at precisely 5:00 PM—enough time to wash off the dirt and grime of the day in a quick shower, throw together a rushed meal, and settle in front of your computer by 6:30. your routine is second nature by now, the anticipation building as you watch the minutes tick by before jinx appears on screen.

jinx streams every other day, always at the same time, and you're careful never to be late. the moment her stream goes live, the screen fills with a warm glow. it illuminates her petite frame as she sits on her bed, poised and teasing. tonight, she wears a dark brown leather belt across her chest, cinched just enough to lift her small breasts, showing off her blue cloud tattoos. the worn leather is barely covering the soft, pink shade of her tiny nipples.

she has such a thin piece of fabric decorating her hips that you wouldn’t have even noticed it, if not for the way the black, lacy thong contrasts against her pale skin. she’s striking—utterly mesmerizing—and every movement is deliberate as she shifts, adjusting herself before flashing a sly smile at the camera.

the chat chirps with excitement when she leans in, offering a loud, enthusiastic greeting to her supporters. there’s an undeniable, mischievous confidence in the way she carries herself—a playful allure mixed with an effortless intimacy that only strokes the flames of your parasocial relationship with her.

heartseekerjinx: hi gorgeous!!!

spaceprincessjinx: you look so sexy, jinx <3

user3263288412: give us a show already.

jinx’s stream requires a hefty membership access fee, but you’d pay anything just to see her.

“hmmm,” she trails her fingers down the taut, creamy skin of stomach until they reach her panties. she toys with the lacy hem, saying, “i’ve been needing to play with my pussy all day… but i was waiting for you.”

you gasp. it feels like she’s speaking to you directly. you know you must stand out to her the most compared to her other subscribers, with the way you spam her with donations, flooding her chat with desperate compliments. she has to remember you.

you unbutton your jeans hurriedly, pushing your pants down your thighs and then you stuff your hand inside your underwear. you’re completely soaked already, as if jinx put a spell on you—on all her viewers. that would explain the all-consuming loyalty you feel towards her.

jinx plucks a sleek, blue vibrator from her toy basket, the one that’s directly attached to her many donations, where each contribution controls its intensity. it might be your favorite toy of hers. you enjoy the way her viewers can set the pace—how you can set the pace. of course, you love watching her stuff monstrous dildos inside her pussy too, but there’s something so intimate about being the one to force her to feel good, despite the distance between you two.

jinx plants her feet on the bed, spreading her knees. she turns the toy on, and then she hooks a finger in the crotch of her thong, pulling the thin frantic to the side so hundreds of eyes can see her glistening, pink pussy. she rubs the vibrator against her clit for a moment, groaning softly at the stimulation, and then pushes the bean-shaped toy inside her hole.

”oh fuck, look how wet i am for you,” jinx whines, staring up at the webcam. she looks tantalizing from underneath her thick lashes.

biting your lip in anticipation, you donate $20 without a second thought—just enough to speed up the vibrations of the toy slightly. jinx gasps on screen, surprised that she received a donation so quickly. she leans in to read off her computer screen, recognizing your username instantly and snickering.

purring your display-name like a cat, she says, “thank you, mydarlingjinx. you always take, ahh, such good care of me.”

you feel an immense sense of pride fill your chest. you love taking care of jinx, making her feel good, and you wish you could take things further. you often fantasize about laying her up in your bed, pulling off the skimpy clothes adorning her body, rubbing your hands all across her smooth skin, playing with her small breasts.

you know you could make her feel so good, stuffing her full of dildos and other phallic-shaped objects from her toy box, playing with every single one of her holes like you know she needs, pushing her to the brink of pleasure in ways that would leave her crying. her box of toys is filled with possibilities, each one capable of pulling the sweetest reactions from her. you can picture it so clearly; the way she'd squirm as you explore every inch of her skin—teasing, stretching, biting, filling. she craves it, you know she does—her slutty body was made for this sort of thing.

the speed of the toy is relatively fast now, but jinx keeps her composure—or at least, she tries to. she continues flirting with the camera, dedicated to keeping her supporters entertained. “unnghh—do you like watching me play with my pussy? i bet, ahh, you’re touching yourself too, huh?”

your breath hitches. it feels like a direct challenge, one you’re all too eager to accept. you type a quick response in chat, confirming her suspicions, and she giggles, her laughter raspy and sweet.

mydarlingjinx: yes you look so cute jinx!

”i knew it,” she coos. “i wish you were here—mmgh! you’d feel so much better—aghh—than this dumb toy.”

holy shit.

your pulse pounds in your ears. she wishes you were touching her, that you were the one making her feel this good. it’s almost too much for you to handle. your fingers fumble over your keyboard as you send another donation, barely registering the amount before the confirmation pops up. you're not the only one—her other viewers flood the chat with their own desperate contributions, the collective need to see her fall apart pushing the toy's vibrations even higher.

”unghh! please, ohh, slow down—i can’t t-take it, mmmf!” jinx squeals, which only entices you to send another donation.

her magenta eyes are trying to flutter closed and it seems like she can barely keep her legs open, but she has to give her viewers a show—it’s what they paid for, after all. so she hooks her elbows under her knees, forcing her legs to stay spread open so everyone can see the way her sweet pussy is gushing more and more arousal out of her little hole, trailing down to her heart-shaped ass.

her makeup is ruined—messy, dark eyeshadow running down her face, black cherry lipstick smudged around her chin, her tongue lolling out like a dumb dog. she looks completely debauched, and yet, she pushes herself further. 

your fingers are moving with newfound desperation inside your underwear, awestruck by the sight of jinx unraveling. every labored breath, every twitch of her delicate frame is a testament to just how close she is to reaching her breaking point, how desperate her pussy is to finally orgasm, to release more heavenly juices from her hole—and it’s all because of you.

the realization is dizzying, a fire pooling deep in your stomach as you drink in the sight of how utterly ruined and overwhelmed your girl is.

“oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—!” jinx is repeating like a mantra, her raspy voice hitching with every syllable. “baby, ohh, i’m coming—hngggf!”

and then she goes crosseyed, nails digging into the skin of thighs hard enough to make her bleed. her back arches as she tips over the edge, pushing out her perky tits further. jinx squirts harshly from her pussy and you can see the powerful contractions of her hole as it pushes the blue toy out.

the vibrator falls onto the plush sheets of jinx’s bed with a bounce, but her orgasm continues. she’s trembling, her skin is clearly buzzing with electricity, and you think she looks like an angel.

the sight of her—shaking like a leaf and moaning whorishly—completely undoes you. heat coils tightly in your core before snapping like a rubber band all at once. a deep, shuddering wave of pleasure rolls through your entire body, your muscles tense and your fingers clenching as your breath catches in your throat. the intensity of your orgasm leaves you momentarily weightless. a full-body shiver overtakes you, every nerve alight with warmth and satisfaction.

your mind turns hazy, the world around you blurring until all that remains is her—jinx, who is sprawled out against her plush bedsheets, her chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths, and her lips parted in a lazy, drunk smile.

jinx came because of you, and you because of her. it’s irrevocably intimate and she has no idea.

taglist; @marvelwomenarehot0, @marieeeluvsyou, @mxchi-mxxn, @el-amor-que-tu-quieres, @jinxvex, @mwahbabe, @teddybearbutch28, @stupendousbananasharkcop, @nahcala, @ellieslob, @idontwannabehereatm, @rhian88, @kyur1jinx, @vivispace, @girlbeatings

(2/11/25)

[nereidprinc3ss]

pillow talk

in which spencer reid chooses a very odd time to reveal an anecdote from his past to fem!reader

18+ (fluff, extremely suggestive) warnings/tags: fingering but nothing graphic whatsoever, it's basically fade to black sex, discussions of spencer's gsw from season 5, medical talk (and inaccuracies), spencer is a sarcastic little shit a/n: found this super random little thing in my drafts and it was done and i think it's silly and cute so i'm posting it! 600 words, short n sweet!

“You got shot in the knee?”

It’s perhaps said too loudly for the setting—tucked into Spencer’s bed in the late hours of the night when up until this point the conversation had been nothing but murmured stories and quiet giggles. And before that, well—before that there hadn’t been much conversation at all. 

Still you can’t find it within yourself to apologize as you sit up, holding the top sheet to your chest and looking down at Spencer incredulously. His eyebrows raise like he’s surprised by your reaction. 

“Thigh, technically. And it was years ago. Come back.”

You huff but allow yourself to be pulled back down, head on his shoulder as his hand finds its place stroking your hip once more. 

“How have you never told me that?”

“You never noticed the multiple incision scars on my leg?”

“What? No! Can I look now?”

“You won’t be able to see them. It’s too dark.”

You angle your head toward him, and he does the same, tilting his down until your noses almost brush. 

“So turn the light on.”

“If I turn the light on I’ll get distracted.”

“Distracted by what?” You ask, realizing what he means and voice quickly fading even as you finish the sentence. He chuckles and kisses your head. 

“I’ll show it to you in the morning. Come here.”

“I am here,” you grumble. He hums, leaning down further to try and kiss you. 

“Closer.”

So you scoot up the mattress and roll onto your side, pressed right against him, to meet him halfway in a sweet kiss. 

“You’re kind of spoiled,” you laugh against his lips as he begins pushing the sheet from your body. 

“You have to be nice to me. I got shot, remember?”

“Right. And how long ago was this, approximately?”

“It was 19 days before my 28th birthday.”

So much for approximations. 

“Aw. You got shot for your 28th birthday?”

It’s his turn to laugh into the kiss as he carefully rolls over you but recovers quickly, assuming a deadpan delivery. 

“Yeah. And it was really bad.”

“Sexy,” you murmur as he kisses down your jaw. “Tell me more.”

“Shots to the leg can be life-threatening if the femoral artery is nicked. Thankfully the bullet missed mine. You’re welcome.”

Your heart skips with a split second of true anxiety, but you snort at his cavalier attitude. 

“Yeah? This is really working for me.”

He lowers his voice to the one he uses in more intimate contexts and you giggle as he explains his gunshot wound to you like it’s dirty talk. 

“The bullet went in through my rectus femoris…” now uninhibited by the sheet, he finds the spot on your thigh and pinches lightly, “and came out clean through my semitendinosis muscle.”

“Clean? No bone fragments?”

“Nope. The doctors said I was extremely lucky it didn’t splinter my femur but it completely destroyed my muscles. I had to do physical therapy for a year and a half and I had a cane for months.”

“That’s kind of hot,” you breathe, losing commitment to the bit as his kisses get lower and his hand creeps higher. 

“Wait until you hear about the mid-surgery aortic clamping and ligature complications. You’ll love this—I was awake the whole time.”

A soft moan slips from between your parted lips and your brows pinch. 

“Spencer—”

“What?” He murmurs. “Me getting shot in the leg isn’t sexy anymore?”

You manage something between a breathy laugh and a mewl as your back arches. 

“I’m gonna kill you.”

He hums against your throat. 

“Good luck. You’d be far from the first to try.”

[littlerequiem]

Hello!! I hope you are having a wonderful day/night! I was just wondering if you have any good Levi fanfic recommendations? Preferably x reader and canon-compliant? Ik this is so random lol I just feel like you would have good recommendations!! And in general even if they aren’t x reader or canon-compliant. Your writing is so good and I just know you would have good taste🥰

Hi, of course, happy to share recs :D Excuse the length of this, but I somehow ended up giving you my 5+ years worth of i-am-once-again-hopelessly-addicted-to-Levi AO3 bookmarks, heh. I tried to categorize them best I can.

These beautiful stories are mostly x Reader, a few x OC. Please heed the tags & if you can, let the authors know that you appreciate their writing (:

LEVI x READER RECS

CANON* LONG-FICS (*some are pre-canon or post-canon)

Dust, Diamond by maotkitty

Death's Door by SongsOfApollo

Veins of the Citadel by cinnamads

Felines and Canidae by veratrance / @veratrance

Through Peril and Refuge by post_academic

To You, 2,000 Feet Above by PrettyxVenom99 / @prettyxvenom99

His Wounded Heart Beats For One by UrbanDeity / @urbandeity

North Star by sixpennydame / @sixpennydame

Silver Soul by oi_levi / @bibblelevi

First Time Anthology by Levmada / @rivangel

Freedom & Death by killerpillar / @killerpillar

silver underground by tothestrongones / @amywritesthings

One Brushstroke At A Time by missEmpress

AU LONG-FICS

Paychecks with a Side of Intimacy (sugar daddy AU) by Milmie / @leyyvi

A Soul Beyond Salvation (western AU) by ananimegirlhasnoname / @ananimegirlhasnoname

Lessons in Patience (college AU) by almondblossoms1000 / @capricornlevi

As the Sparks Die (zombie AU) by wellitcouldbeworse3

Project Arcane (urban fantasy AU) by missEmpress

The Romance of Reimbursements (modern AU) by taomyou / @taomyou

To Sing a Song of Steel (fantasy AU) by CaptainDegenerate

House of Cards (royalty AU) by darlingheichou / @h0neylevi

Percolate (coffee shop AU) by heichoe / @heich0e

Kintsugi (figure skating AU) by @humanitys-strongest-brat

BOUND BY DUTY (royalty AU) by mrsackxrman / @atruewarrior

dark side of the moon (sci-fi/yakuza AU) by sixpennydame / @sixpennydame

To You, 1000 Years From Now (isekai) by darlingheichou / @h0neylevi

Unspoken Words (modern AU) by chaos_on_main / @chaotic-on-main

ONE-SHOTS/TWO-SHOTS (AU and canon)

Melt by chimeragarden / @chimera-garden

Mise En Place by gothgril69 / @gothgril69

[watch me fall apart, watch me fall apart] by djmarinizela

the mortal price of crossing twice by heichoe / @heich0e

we're all alone, ride it by alleviate / @alleviate-ao3

Kiss It Better by oi_levi / @bibblelevi

It's a Wrap! by jayteacups / @jayteacups

Thundershower by Levmada / @rivangel

SHADES OF GRAY by mrsackxrman / @atruewarrior

One Step from Hades by silesy

waking reverie by captain-hawks

All Too Familiar by jayteacups / @jayteacups

Your Safe Space by humanitysstrongestbamf / @humanitys-strongest-bamf

Desperation by veratrance / @veratrance

Under the Mistletoe by youre_ackermine / @youre-ackermine

Welcome Home by FlameTrashira / @flametrashira

Tea and Therapy by misspearlmd

For the Living by BreakingGround / @thechaoticarchivist

Last category is a Levi x Erwin x F!Reader story that I always recommend bc it altered my brain chemistry.

this is a story of the sea by shinzouing / @shinzouing

I didn't go into specifics or share fics from Tumblr bc this post would never end but, if you want, check out my rec tag and go give the fics on here all the love they deserve <3

( also, adding to that: the stories mentioned in this post are simply what I've personally read, it is by no means meant to exclude other fics/writers. Truth is, I have not read everything out there as I am just one person, so if anyone has any recs to add, feel free to add and continue to show support for different creators! )

Happy reading!! Divider by @/enchanthings.

[no-144444]

꩜ summary: someone needs to get their hands off your man...

꩜ pairing: jenson button x wife! fem! reader

꩜a/n: smut! 18+

The club was dark and sweaty, just how it was supposed to be. The bright lights and loud music reverberated off the walls so hard, you swore you saw someone almost fall over. This wasn’t your usual scene, maybe back in 2009 or 2010, but not now. Not when you had little ones at home and an early morning school run 5 times a week. 

Yet here you were. In the sexiest dress you’d ever bought, your hair done up exactly how he liked it, watching him be flirted with. And yes, you wanted to scream. Some blue eyed blonde bitch in a red dress (which she didn’t pull off), who was much younger than the both of you. You understood where she was coming from. Jenson was fucking gorgeous, and he only got better with age. That salt and pepper look really did it for you, and he was doing that dumb side-smirk that drove you insane. It was driving her insane too. 

“Hey baby,” Jenson smirked, pulling you against him. He noticed the stiffness of your body, felt the heat of your skin, and saw the way your eyes cut straight through her. He knew what he was in for. “Thanks,” he pressed a soft kiss to the shell of your ear as you handed him his drink. 

“Hey!” Her voice was perky and annoyingly american. Sickly sweet despite the way her eyes hung to your body, a slight grimace on her lips. You might’ve been a little older than her, but you could still show up and show out. And Jenson was still obsessed with you. “I’m Olivia.” 

“Cool,” you nodded, your eyes calculating and irritated. “How do you know Jenson?”

She chuckled. “Oh, we go way back.”  

“Not as far as us,” you murmured to Jenson, who held in a laugh, his hand slipping further down your waist. “Oh yeah? He’s never mentioned you before.”

Her smile faltered for just a second, but it was fuel enough for you to know you were winning. She adjusted her dress and laughed along, though both of you were just staring at her. “How funny!”

Lando walking into the party caught your eye. He smiled and waved, making his way over. Your smirk grew and you leaned in closer to Olivia. 

“I’m going to suggest one thing for you, don’t try to flirt with other people’s husbands, yeah?” Your voice was dangerous, cutting, and above all else, scary. “You’re going to walk away now, and never fucking look at me or my husband again, right?” She gulped and nodded. “Great!” you leaned back out, slotting back into Jenson’s side. “Oh look! There’s Lando, maybe you’ll have more luck with him.” 

Jenson couldn’t hold back his smirk. He leaned in and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your neck as you watched Olivia scurry off, embarrassed. “You’re so hot,” he whispered against your skin, his breath hot against you. It sent a shiver down your spine and you smiled. 

“Yeah?” you whispered, the rest of the club falling away from the two of you. His lips found yours as he grabbed and groped at any part of you he could get ahold of. You ran your hand through his hair, pulling when you really needed him closer. It was perfect, all tongue and teeth, everything you wanted. You felt 25 again, celebrating his championship win with a night of dancing, followed by about two days straight of sex. 

“Want to get out of here?” he whispered, his voice husky and deep. You just kissed him again, your eyes trailing to the other side of the room and finding Olivia’s. She watched with her mouth open as Jenson kept kissing you. You felt more than accomplished. 

“Yeah,” you breathed out. He wrapped an arm around your waist and led you out of the club, his hand slipping lower and grabbing your ass. 

Once you got to the car, he pressed his hard-on against your ass. “Can’t fucking wait,” he pleaded. “Need you.” 

“You have me,” you smirked, opening the driver's door. He sat inside and leaned the seat back, undoing his belt and trousers as you sat in on his lap, pulling up your dress. Thank God you hadn’t worn panties. 

“Won’t last long,” he admitted, pumping himself a few times as you positioned yourself properly. 

“When do you?” you teased and he laughed. 

“Bitch,” he shot back. 

You sunk down on his cock and the air was knocked from his lungs. “You love it,” you hissed before kissing him again. He thrust up into you as you rode him, controlling the pace. You wanted this to last a little bit, at least. You felt like you earned it. You showed he was yours. You rode him harder, his grunts and small words of praise just spurring you on. 

“So fucking good,” he whispered, pulling the front of your dress down, spilling your tits out. “Fuck!” he groaned as you changed the angle, taking him deeper. He started pressing open-mouthed kisses all over your tits, leaving marks. You didn’t care. He left so fucking good in you and you knew he was close. “Gonna cum.”

“Wait for me,” you whined, riding him harder as you threw your head back, your back arching even more. You thanked your past selves for getting a car with such a high top. “So close Jen.”

“So good,” he grunted, thrusting back up into you. “So hot when you’re jealous.” 

“Yeah?” you chuckled. 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Drives me fucking crazy. Miss possessive or something, it’s so fucking hot.” 

You smirked down at him, riding him faster as both your highs approached. “It’s all for you,” you moaned. 

“I know baby,” he grunted. “All for me. All mine.” 

“I’m cumming!” you groaned out, cumming all over his cock as he came right after you, flooding your cunt. You opened your eyes after a few seconds, and looked out the windows, trying to assess the damage. 

You saw Olivia staring at you through the back windshield. You smirked and fixed your dress, covering yourself again. You reached down between the two of you, taking some of his cum (which was already dripping out of you) and licking your middle finger clean before showing it to her.  Miss Possessive. Sounded about right.

so close to what masterlist

pop queens mixtape

navigation for my blog :)

[ghoulishhx]

Hiiii Olivia, I absolutely adore everything you write I'm literally obsessed.

Can I request no.5 from the prompt list pretty please, but I was thinking that maybe the reader worships franks body ya know, I little twist, only if you want don't feel pressured.

Ok love you, bye!!!

5.) body worship

hii coco my love, thank you so much :')) i adore YOU and im literally obsessed with YOU. i had so much fun writing this one so i hope you enjoy :3

part 2 - show me

18+ MDNI !!

My Masterlist!

──── ୨୧ ────

Pairing: Frank Castle x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: filth, pure filth, SMUT OBVIOUSLYYY, oral (m!receiving), masturbation, praise, dirty talk, face fucking, mentions of pillow humping, submissive frankie if you squint

Wordcount: 1.3k

──── ୨୧ ────

✦ heart eyes

���You’re so fuckin’ beautiful doll.” Frank moans into your mouth, exploring your body with his hands, tracing every curve with his fingers.

“All you Frankie, that’s all you.” you whisper, pulling away from his lips and attaching yours to his neck, tasting his soft skin and nibbling on it.

“Think ya fuckin’ blind baby, I’m nothin’ compared to ya.” he chuckles, squeezing your waist and pulling you closer to his crotch, both stood at the edge of your bed.

“That’s where you’re wrong Frank.” you say, pulling yourself away from his neck, pushing him down to sit on the bed, leaving you standing, towering over him. He shoots you a shocked look with a raised eyebrow, unsure of where you were going with this. You fall to your knees, grabbing the hem of his shirt, pulling it up as he helps you remove the garment. Running your hands down his chiseled torso, you hum appreciatively. 

“Fuck, you can’t sit there and call me blind when you look like this baby.” your hands wrap around his waist, gripping him harshly. You don’t peel your eyes away from his body for a second, wanting to take in every crevice of his muscles, all the scars, memorizing them forever. “It’s like you’ve been fucking hand-carved by the Gods themselves.”

He chuckles at the comparison, Frank can’t help but look away as the blush creeps up from his neck, painting his face beet red. He isn’t used to this love, these compliments. He believes with every ounce of himself he doesn’t deserve any of this, but despite all these thoughts of self-hatred, you shine through. 

“Shh sweetheart, y’dunno what ya sayin’, promise ya you’ve got the wrong guy.” he mumbles, reaching down to pull you back up to him to straddle him, but you stay firmly planted on the ground, shooting him a daring look as if to say “I’m not fucking done yet.”

He raises his hands in defeat, allowing you to unbuckle his belt and pull the dark blue jeans off of his legs. The moan you make just at the sight of his aching cock straining in his boxers makes his member twitch. 

“Don’t get me fucking started on these legs, these thighs Frankie. How on earth did I get so lucky?” your heart eyes are practically bulging from your head as you go to palm his bulge through his underwear, smearing his already leaking precum around the fabric.

“I ask m’self the same question every damn day, pretty girl.” he groans, running his hands through your hair, allowing you to make him feel good for you. His head throws back into the plush of your comforter as you run your fingers up his thick thighs, playing with the prominent vein on his cock through the fabric.

“You dunno what you do to me Frank, I get so turned on just thinking about you.” you whimper, pumping his length through his boxers. “I hump my pillow every night you’re out.. fuck picturing it’s your thigh.” you place your mouth over his underwear, tentatively licking stripes up his clothed bulge. Frank starts bucking his hips into your touch, dying to feel more of you. “Just being in your presence makes me so wet I can’t think straight, I have to stop myself from just taking you right there and then..”

At this point you can’t help trailing your hand down your stomach to your soaked panties, pushing them to the side as you delve your fingers inside your drenched hole, the view of your perfect boyfriend turning you to desperation. Taking your mouth off of his cock, you pull his boxers down to expose his length. It instantly slaps against his stomach, the erection he has is so hard it almost looks painful. You purr and drool at the sight, Frank so bare in front of you, so exposed just for you.

“All mine Frankie, all fucking mine.”

“Only yours doll, fuck I’m all yours.” he whimpers, the sound like music to your ears. “Please baby, I need ya so fuckin’ bad, need your mouth..”

You can’t wait another second without tasting him, so that’s what you do, accepting his begs for you. The power you have over him is enthralling, something you’re gonna want to explore later on with him. Placing your lips around his dark red tip, swirling the sensitive head around your mouth with your tongue, you begin bobbing your head up and down his cock, taking as much of him in as possible while fondling his heavy balls. 

Frank knows he won’t be able to last much longer like this, but he uses every ounce of self control to withhold himself from letting go, needing you like this for as long as humanly possible. Your eyes don’t leave his while you pleasure him and yourself, he smirks at your gaze.

“Enjoyin’ yourself down there sweet girl?” he coos mischievously between moans.

“You know damn well I am Frank, any excuse to be in between your legs.” you wink, smiling at him matching his energy as you resume the task at hand.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl.. fuck just like that don’t you fucking stop… shit” he growls, taking both of his hands and grabbing your head as he starts fucking himself into your mouth, his desire fully consuming him like a man possessed. The feeling of him taking the control back, using your mouth to get off, sends a fresh wave of arousal to your already longing core. His tip hits the back of your throat repeatedly, taunting your gag reflex but you take it on the chin, eyes welling with tears and his cock flooding with your saliva. 

The sounds erupting from the action are pure sin, the squelch from each thrust, the wet noises from your pussy as you play with yourself. You whine around his cock as he spills his sticky, hot seed directly down your esophagus, a primal groan erupting from his throat as he emptied himself inside of you makes your clit throb. 

You finally take your mouth off of his spent member, the overstimulation as you lift yourself makes his whole body flinch. You can’t help but smirk, Frank sprawled out beneath you heavily breathing, balls and cock twitching as his member softens before your eyes. 

“I meant everything, y'know Frankie? I truly do think you’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever had the privilege to call mine.” you pant, lips puffy and red as you smile up at him.

“I know ya did doll, meant it when I said I dunno what I did to deserve ya too,” he offers you the same smile back, eyes staring through you with lust blown pupils. “So, ya hump ya pillow thinkin’ of me, huh?”

You roll your eyes, giggling at the realisation you admitted to him your dirty little secret while you were so cockdrunk. 

“I do baby, while wearing nothing but your shirt too.” you taunt, climbing up to your feet. He groans at your confession, eyes rolling to the back of his head imagining you do this. You go to walk to the bathroom to clean yourself off, but he halts your attempts by grabbing your wrist and pulling you down to his eye level. He places his hand to your face, angling you to meet his gaze.

“Show me.”

──── ୨୧ ────

a/n: this.. ngh.. need this. need him. i have no other words.

my inbox is open!

[bertoyana]

i'm so sorry i don't want to be the "the party ended 5 years ago and he's still here" person but dark phoenix's final scene is still SO funny to me. especially to see how erik plays charles like a fiddle

like: he shows up with NO helmet AND a chess set. (he did this last time in days of the future past, and it worked, right? so it should work again, right? right???)

so, he sits, completely uninvited mind you, and he tries (and fails terribly bless his heart) at starting a normal conversation, he asks charles about his retirement, probably trying to get charles to like, talk about it or whatever

(rip erik's hairline)

charles is not having any of it, which... valid. the last time he and erik had a full conversation, erik told him to shut the fuck up 

anyways, erik realizes his failed attempt at being casual did NOT work like he wanted, so he pulls out plan b - he calls charles his old friend (which, if you pay attention, in the prequels they use 'old friend' as a term to de-escalate the situation)

which WORKS, for some reason, and charles immediately deflates and gives erik the tiniest smile in existence, because erik showing he cares always seems to do it for charles lmao

(he's so embarrassing . god bless. @ x men: is this your leader)

anyhow, erik pulls out the second part of his plan b - he asks charles if he wants to play a game. still playing casual. just two buddies. just two guys. some guys. just some friends having a toootal normal n casual conversation.

and you can immediately see charles close himself up, he crosses his arms and avoids looking erik in the eye. erik managed to soften him up with the 'old friend' and having his helmet off, but it's not enough YET so erik pulls out his plan c. luckily his last one, christ, charles really does like to keep them waiting doesn't he

keep an eye on erik's entire demeanor in this scene, his position is not closed off like charles', he's open, he leans on the table, and maintains eye contact with charles. his head is tilted to one side and everything, completely harmless

i'm so obsessed with charles' microexpressions here james mcavoy you are so insane

anwyays, charles uncrosses his arms and his position does come off a little more open, but if you watch the scene you can see him shake his head. this obviously touches him - but he's probably intending to say still no. probably because he has the biggest martyr complex i've ever seen in a fictional character 

so, erik pulls up his fucking plan d (lol) and hopefully this time IT WILL be the last. he pulls the pawn out of his jacket pocket.

(why the fuck is this played like a fucking romantic scene i'm so serious, why is he smiling to himself like that)

mind you, erik had the pawn in his pocket the entire time, which could mean either of two things:

charles looks surprised/confused the entire scene, but in THIS part he doesn't look confused, he just looks like he's still trying to figure out what erik is trying to do. so it either means erik makes charles play this 'guess where it's hiding' game all the time (????) which doesn't really sound likely for him to do, but erik is always begging charles to get into his head so it wouldn't surprise me if he actually did this every time. god knows he's desperate enough or

erik was expecting charles to reject his offer right away, and had multiple other plans shoved up his ass if this was the case. this also seems likely, he's obsessive enough to have thought multiple ways through. 

anyways, he puts his two fists up and pulls up the most mortal sentence in existence. one he knows charles won't be able to deny him

"just ONE game 🥺 for old time's sake???? 🥺🥺🥺" man stfu you are 62 years old GET UPPPP 

anyways - pay attention to his wording. 

"just one game" because erik came ALLLL this way for charles, so charles might as well play ONE game with him, and then erik could be gone - if charles wanted it that way. 

"for old's time sake" when things were easier and when they were more at peace - when they were on each other's side. when they were together and the mansion, just after charles had saved him and gave him a hom- oh wait 

(also, there's 100% a hidden meaning here. and there’s also a 100% chance i’m reaching but idc. the pawn could be in his left hand or his right. the possibility is 50/50. the only way charles could know with 100% certainty was if he entered erik's mind - if he took up erik's offer. but he could also not get into erik's mind and just... guess and fail - by thus, not taking erik's offer. erik is giving him an out, a choice to make the first move)

(and the chess piece he offers charles a WHITE pawn. the white pieces are the first ones to move. 

also also if you have paid attention to the previous movies, erik is always the one to use the white pieces, this is the first movie where we see charles play with white)

anyways, charles does struggle a bit with the choice, but ultimately he decides to accept erik's proposal and """guesses""" right.  

and going from erik's... entire face and smirk lmao i'm guessing charles went into his head to get it right. mind you, this is like sex for them

charles accepts - erik is very relieved to know he's not the only one who's down horrendously. and after the worst guessing game in history (seriously, the pawn was in erik's right pocket and then he had it hidden in his right hand... man i guessed that shit and i'm not even a telepath) they start rearranging the board

so anyway, erik gives charles this look like he wants to climb him like a tree, which means that playing edward 'down embarrassingly bad' rochester in jane eyre (2011) finally fucking paid off

erik doesn't even blink mind you, and charles doesn't take his eyes off erik either way, which means they are just STARING at each other without blinking for god knows how long LMAOOO 😭😭😭

once everything is said and done, erik makes a silly little joke and charles rebuts. then erik gives him the biggest smile i've ever seen him give to someone since magda, and then he follows it up with a smaller, softer smile with no teeth

seeing this for the first time in the theater was like getting shot in the chest, no joke

mind you erik stopped trying like three minutes ago but for some reason, the first time we finally see charles soften up in the ENTIRE movie is after he sees erik smiling at him. which could mean nothing.

and the thing is: charles does have a big heart, and he means well, most of the time, but he also doesn’t necessarily has… the best way of showing it with his actions lol. erik knows this, and he knows charles has a thing for lost causes, for people the society has given up on. charles threw himself into the freezing water to save erik - even when he didn't KNOW him. 

AND he also knows charles has the biggest soft spot for him, he KNOWS - because all those years ago, charles' biggest accussation wasn't "you paralyzed me" it was "you left me". because after erik lost his wife and daughter, charles rushed to find him, to make sure he was okay. because nine years ago, charles looked at apocalypse and said "fuck you you are twisting erik's grief, and you are hurting him" to A GOD BTW. TO HIS FUCKING FACE NO FUCKS GIVEN AT ALL

tldr: call erik the fucking violinist because boy he sure knows how to play charles like a fucking instrument and how to press all the right keys to get him to say yes to him. he gave charles an out if he didn't want to come with him, but he also came PREPARED for it, mind you, he came PREPARED to take charles with him to genosha. he didn't get to take charles with him 30 years ago, and he was going to be dammed if he didn't take charles with him NOW (this time with no bullet wound and no helmet lol)

and the most insane thing to me is, that he knows charles has a soft spot for him, he's known this for 30 years, and yet, the only time he uses it in his favor is to get charles to say yes to him on this. the only time he uses it is when he thinks he can do something to help charles - to give him back all the kindness charles gave to him 30 years ago. 

anways i'm insane. i'll be back here eating glass if you need me. i'm so normal about them. simon kinberg broke something in me 5 years ago

[lonely-ey3s]

Ride or Die | Chapter One

pairing: rodeo/cowboy!joel miller x f!reader

chapter summary : Going to your county's fair after coming back to your hometown goes a lot better than it has in past years. It usually earns you a goldfish. This year, it earns you a date with a local cowboy, Joel Miller.

chapter warnings: fluff, slow burn-ish, angst, Joel speaks Spanish (translations will be there), reader has a somewhat emotionally abusive father, mentions of grabbing, mentions of a parent being drunk, mention of parental death, switched POV's.

word count: 8.1k

a/n: alright, here it is! chapters will be every other sunday-- alternating with heartlines !! just fyi, i know little about being a cowboy so if lingo is wrong, please let me know, i'm going off purely google.

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

Masterlist

Coming back home to Texas was not on your bingo card for this summer.

However, when you caught your ex-fiance cheating on you with your best friend-- packing your bags and taking the first plane back was the only logical thing to do.

You got home about two weeks ago. Your older sister and little brother were more than excited to have you back. Especially your little brother, Wesley.

He had just turned 18, and the two of you have always been as thick as thieves. A lot of the closeness is due to your mom dying while giving birth to him and your dad pretty much shutting down.

However, you stepped in, pretty much raising him.

You and your older sister, Everly, were close as well– as close as sisters could be. She was 5 years older than you, married to her high school sweetheart, and had a little boy who everyone called ‘Bubba’.

She lived just a few miles from your family’s property, but she and Bubba usually made it over to your dad’s daily to help around the house and hang out. 

This past week, Wes has been training for this year’s county fair rodeo show that was happening next week.

You had done the morning chores, which included feeding the chickens and ducks and cleaning out the donkey pen and the stables. You finished with making sure your horse's stable was stacked full of what he needed.

After you were finished, you walked over to the training pen and saw Wes and Trigger running around barrels, getting everything refined for the big event he was competing for. 

“You’ve got to pull back on him on that third barrel, Wes!” your dad shouted, sitting on the edge of the fence, with his arms crossed across his chest, observing. 

“Got it…” Wes mumbled, patting Trigger's side before softly saying to the dark black horse, “Let’s try one more time bud…” 

You climbed up on the fence and leaned against it, “That horse knows how to cut quick. Why are we runnin’ him days before the event?” you said, nodding at your dad and toward your brother. 

“Because it’s not the horse that’s goin’ win the medal, it’s Wes, and if can’t control the damn thing, he shouldn’t compete.” your dad clipped back at you. 

Your dad wasn’t always the warmest to any of you, but more so Wes. Part of you thinks that deep down, he might have blamed him for your mom's death. He was hard on and pushed him, but something always seemed insensitive. It seemed more callous than when he did it to you and Everly. 

“If you push the horse too hard, he’ll hurt himself, effectively hurting Wes in the process…” you tsked and got down from the fence. “Gotta think about that component too, Dad…” You turned around and started walking away.

There was a pause, and then your dad turned his head to look at you.

“Chores done?” your dad bit out, closing the other conversation. 

“We wouldn’t be over here if they weren’t,” you shot back before walking back towards the house. 

You cleaned up for the day and got ready to work in a coffee shop in town.

The goal was to escape the inevitable argument your dad would start with you when he came inside about what happened earlier. 

You left the house before they got in and drove to the shop downtown. It was a newer shop, wasn't here when you left a few years ago.

You order a drink and something small to eat and then set up at a table in the back, near an outlet. 

You grew up in this town, so mostly anyone and their dog knew you. Since coming home all of a sudden, working in a public place was brave but also downright stupid. Everyone and their moms want to know why. What happened? Why isn't Riley with you? Why aren't you wearing your ring?  

You put on your headphones and set your music to shuffle as you start working on a project you must complete for one of your clients in the next couple of days. You knew that in the coming week, things would get busier with the rodeo and fair prep happening. Knowing your dad and how he'd delegate work to you, you just knew your personal time would be limited.

Back in Nashville, you worked as a social media manager for a small boutique and a local up-and-coming musician. Both were highly supportive of your decision to move back to Texas and made things work with you remotely, for which you couldn’t be more grateful for their flexibility. 

You were just about to wrap up one of the posts to send off for approval when you felt your phone buzz on the table. It was Riley,

Can we please talk? I know you said you needed time, but it’s been two weeks– we’ll need to talk this out eventually. 

You scoffed and shook your head, closing your phone screen and muttering, “Talk it out? There’s nothing to talk out, you cheated on me with my best friend of 15 years, you dumbass.” 

You sent off the post for review and then took out your headphones, standing up for another cup of coffee.

You walked to the counter and asked for another latte. The barista said they’d bring it over to you. You smiled and thanked her, but then, when you went to turn around, you bumped into someone behind you. 

“Oh shoot, I’m so sorry, pardon me…” You quickly apologized, flustered that you weren’t watching where you were going. 

“No harm, darlin’...” You saw a brown-eyed man smiling down at you, his large, strong hands on your arms, holding you steady from when you bumped into each other. 

You swallowed before nodding and kindly smiling. “Thanks…” His hands let you go just as gently as they held onto you, before you nodded to where you were sitting. “I uh… excuse me,” you said before returning to your table. 

You sat back down and didn’t realize how flustered you were until you saw in the reflection of the computer screen how red your cheeks were. 

You let out a long and slow breath before tapping a few buttons to wake your screen again, refocusing yourself on your work. 

You didn’t see that the man you had bumped into had his eyes still on you from the front.

He was watching you, his hands in his pockets, tapping his foot lightly as he began to think about how he could approach you without seeming too eager. 

He was waiting for his coffee when the barista went to leave the front counter with your coffee in hand.

He cleared his throat and smiled brightly, “Here, why don’t you let me Susie– looks like ya’ll are busier than a hive fulla bees…” He winked and outstretched his hands. 

She nodded and smiled at his gesture to help: “Thanks, Joel. You’re a peach…” She handed him the coffee in a to-go cup with your name and order written on it. 

He smiled and walked over to your table, softly clearing his throat before he set it down next to your laptop, “One cinnamon caramel latte with brown sugar sprinkles…” then chuckled after realizing your what your order was, “Damn darlin’, want some coffee with your sugar?” he lightly teased. 

You looked up, feeling eyes on you, and took out your headphones, light music coming from them. “I’m sorry?” You then saw him in front of you and then the coffee and furrowed your brow. “Oh jeez, I’m so sorry. Did they call my name and I didn’t hear?” You looked past him at the counter, worried you misunderstood them say they’d bring it to you. 

He smiled warmly, “No, I uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to confuse you… I just…” he chuckled as he nervously rubbed his fingers through his scruff, “Damn, uh… I’m sorry, I’m usually not like this…” he shyly looked down for a moment, biting his lip before looking back at you, “I just wanted to come apologize for earlier… I uhm, I was a little too eager to get my drink and I shoulda let you leave the damn line before rushin’ into you like that.” 

You smiled softly and waved your hand, dismissing his apology. “I’m sure I had a clumsy factor in the equation, trust me.” You lightly chuckled. “How about we just assume 50/50 responsibility and not get the insurance involved for the fender bender…” you lightly joked. 

He chuckled and nodded, “I’m Joel…” he held out his hand. 

You recognized him from somewhere. However, you couldn't place where. So you nodded and said your name softly, and then your phone buzzed. It was one of your clients. “Oh, um, I’m sorry—I need to take this. Thanks for the coffee. It’s been lovely meeting you, Joel.” You picked up your phone and smiled softly before answering it. 

Joel nodded and slowly backed away, saying your name repeatedly in his head, trying to remember if he knew you, as you looked somewhat familiar as well. He smiled to himself and tucked his hands back into his jeans before grabbing his coffee from the front and leaving the shop. 

1 week later 

Reader’s POV

It was the first of 4 days of the fair. 

You sat in the bleachers with your sister, her husband and son, as well a friend, Tripp. Your brother and dad were getting everything together below in the arena and stables. 

You were dressed in your best. From the best cowgirl hat you've ever owned to your boots. You wore tight jeans and a floral tank that showed just a sliver of your stomach and gave you some cleavage, wanting to get a tan but also mess with some cowboys. 

“Look at that one, he’s a pretty one!” Everly joked, pointing out a cowboy below. He was good-looking, but you could smell his toxic masculinity from where you were. He was winking at every girl that swooned past him and was chewin' tobacco, which was an instant red flag for you.

You chuckled and shook your head, taking a small swig of your water. “Mmm, no, he screams ‘walking red flag’...” You continued to look around. 

Tripp smirked and pointed to another young man, standing by his horse and tightening his saddle, “What about him?” 

You smiled. “He seems kind, but he’s not my type... he's got a baby face,” You nudged him with your elbow. “Plus, I’m not lookin’ for anything serious right now. I’m still trying to figure out the whole Riley thing…” you sighed. 

“Figure what out? What is there to figure out? You're done with him! Right?” he nudged you back, clearly annoyed you were still ‘thinking things over’. 

You tsked and fiddled with the top of your water bottle. “It’s not like that… I just… am not in a place to be in a relationship when half of my things are still back at our place.” You shrugged. “That wouldn’t be fair.” 

“To who? You or Riley?” he challenged. 

You looked at him and bit the inside of your cheek. “Tripp, " you said, raising your eyebrow.

“What?” he looked at your sister. “Ev, tell her… it’s okay to move on.” 

Your sister nodded. “He’s right. Riley didn’t hesitate. Why should you?” she shrugged, “But also, what’s wrong with just havin’ a bit of fun, no strings attached?” she giggled, nudging you with her elbow. 

You nodded and chuckled, “Fine, fine… no strings.” You looked back down and hummed, taking in the cowboys below. 

A few moments later, your dad came running up to the arena’s border, shouting your name, “Get in here! We need you and Buck. Randy’s son's damn horse got spooked and is running amuck!”

Buck was the arena's neutralizer horse. You and he had always helped when things like this happened, as the other horses couldn't risk getting hurt. 

You quickly got up from your seat and ran down the bleachers before jumping over the fence, your dad and you running towards the chaos.

Joel’s POV

Joel had been up since before the birds started to chirp. 

He started his morning by doing all the chores with his dad before they loaded up the trailer and headed to the fairgrounds around 6 a.m.

Joel had a few events he was in today and was eager to get back on the saddle after taking a few weeks off. He had taken time to rest after getting back from the national championship in Dallas. 

He and his horse Moonshine were in the stables around 9 am as they needed to be out to the arena by half past.

The two of them having a quiet moment together to prepare for the busy buzz about to happen for the rest of the day.

He tightened his saddle, ensuring everything was secure, when his dad came in, “How are we lookin’?” 

Joel nodded towards the dusty white horse that was built of pure muscle. He was his pride and joy. He’d spent the last 10 years breeding, training, and competing with horses for his dad. So when his dad told him that Moonshine was all his 2 years ago, Joel poured every minute he wasn’t working into this horse. 

“He’s almost saddled up. I just need to make sure his hooves are clear, then we’ll be good.” 

Santiago, or Santi as most called him, huffed and came around the back of Moonshine. “He’s got competition today. Ricky’s son is competing today; that horse is a beast,” he said, patting the backside of Moonshine’s rear. 

Joel tsked and smiled. “You can have a beast of a horse, but unless the rider knows what he’s doin’ – it won’t do jack.” he looked at his dad as he lifted the first of Moonshine’s hooves to inspect. “Ricky’s boy is a little short upstairs and will get hurt before he wins anything on a horse like that.” he put the first hoof down and moved to another. 

Santi just hummed and took a small breath in. “If you say so…” he clicked his tongue and turned around. "I’ll wait for you by the gate to the arena. Take your time and make sure everything is good, yes?” He began to stroll away. 

Joel nodded, “Yes, sir.” 

—

It didn’t take Joel more than 10 minutes to finish inspecting and preparing Moonshine.

The two of them walked casually out of the barn area. Joel kept his shoulders back and head held high; he exuded confidence as he walked from the barn to the main arena. He proudly wore his national championship belt buckle, which he used to intimidate fellow competitors.

He used a lead to guide Moonshine out towards the arena, which was now filled with guests loudly cheering on another event happening. 

He wore the complete competition outfit, including his cowboy hat, black button-down shirt, jeans, and chaps. His vest had patches from his sponsors on both the front and back.  

His dad was talking to Randy at the gate, a neighbor who had invested in Joel’s bareback and bull riding career. 

Joel tipped his hat as he approached, “Good to see you, Randy. How’ve you been?” he smiled and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him into a hug. 

Randy chuckled, “Good to see you, Joel! I’ve been better—bad knee!” He tsked before pulling back and looking over at Moonshine. “He’s a beaut, Joel. I'm excited to see him in action today.” He smiled and touched the horse's neck gently. 

Joel turned and touched the other side of the horse's neck. “He’s been a fun one. I’m also excited for us to be back in the arena.” he looked back at the gate and nodded for the gatekeeper to open it. 

Before they opened the gate, a loud commotion and frenzy ensued. Moonshine reared up slightly and chuffed in fear at a loud noise. 

“Shh, shh, steady boy… steady,” he cooed to him, pulling on the brindle to calm and refocus him. 

He turned to see what was happening and handed the lead to his dad.

He was walking up to the gate when the crazed riderless horse ran past. Not long after, another horse and rider buzzed by, trying to herd the crazed horse.

You swung a lasso and shouted at the horse, “Hey, hey!” before throwing it and landing it around its neck. 

The second Joel saw who it was, it was like you were moving in slow motion to him.

You maneuvered your horse to pull back and redirect. The horse in question was headed straight for a group of people so you snapped back and pulled him away.

You hollered, “Woah there boy-o!” 

You wrapped the rope around the horn of your saddle and then clicked your tongue and pulled the reigns to the left. “Here… let's go over here…” You tugged on the rope, trying to get the horse to follow you. 

Your dad was watching from a distance. “Take ‘em to the barn!” he yelled at you. 

You nodded and looked down at your horse. “Alright, Buck, let’s get his poor kid to the barn…” You patted his side affectionately and pulled up on the reins a little. Buck circled around and then headed towards the gate.

You looked back at the horse you were dragging along and smiled, “Let’s go, come on, pretty boy…” You coaxed the horse to follow you. 

It settled and huffed a few times before walking close behind you and Buck. “There we go, that’s a good boy,” you said softly. 

The gate opened, and you faced forward, tipping your hat at Scott, the gatekeeper. “Thanks, Scotty!” you smiled and winked then clicked your tongue and looked ahead of you. “Come on sweetheart…”

You saw Joel not connecting the dots of who it was with the get-up he was wearing.

His jaw is partially ajar, and his eyes are watching you as you moved.

It was like he’d seen God herself. 

You chuckled and looked at Randy, whom you knew, he and your dad were good friends.

“Got yourself a trout rather than a cowboy there, Rand… " You nodded towards Joel, teasing. 

Randy chuckled and then looked at Joel. “Good god, son, close your mouth before you catch a fly.” He swatted Joel's arm.

You giggled, clicking your tongue to get Buck to move faster, as you headed toward the barn. 

Joel snapped out of his daze and looked at Randy and his dad, who were grinning at his reaction.

His dad shook his head, chuckling, “Just keep it in your pants until after the competition-- please and thank you.” he walked past Joel to get into the gate, tugging Moonshine with him, “Come on mijo, you’re up soon.” 

Joel looked back at the barn and smiled, then looked at Randy who was still standing there with a shit eating grin, “You heard your dad, get goin’. She’ll be around all week...” he winked.

Joel competed, and on his way out, he saw you sitting down next to your sister and Tripp.

He saw you lean over and hold onto Tripp's arm, softly laughing at something.

A flame of jealousy burned up his neck. He fixated on you from the back of the arena, watching you interact with those around you, and figured that Tripp was either a friend or, worst case, a very early boyfriend. Either way, easy competition. 

He also noticed that when a specific rider came out, you all went crazy, shouting and cheering loudly. He wondered who that might be and why he was so important. 

Randy came up from behind and stood beside him. He followed his eyeline and lightly chuckled, “Since when are you not already over there markin’ your territory?” he joked. 

Joel turned his head and chuckled lightly. “Mark my territory? What am I, a dog?”

Randy chuckled a little louder and then hummed, watching the barrel racer, your brother competing. “That’s her brother, Wes. Incase you’re wonderin’...” 

Joel hummed and then realized how he knew your family. “She’s Judd’s daughter?” 

“Middle kiddo. She’s the one who pretty much raised Wes after their mom died.” Randy said sadly, looking back towards you. 

“I went to school with her. I remember when her mom died. How did I not recognize her the other day?" He slid his thumb over his bottom lip as he started to think about your interaction. 

“She’s been in Nashville since she graduated. She and that boy she dated in high school moved up there when he got some fancy job,” he gossiped. “You probably didn’t recognize her; she looks a bit different than she did in high school.” Randy remarked. 

Joel ran through his mind, thinking of who you were with in high school, then turned his head, “Riley! That's his name… what happened to him?” he raised his eyebrow.

Randy tsked, “The fucker cheated on her with Amanda." he sighed and tapped his thumb against the railing, "She found out, packed a bag and came back home.” he said sadly then turned to Joel.

Joel’s eyebrow raised, “Amanda, as in her best friend since they were like in elementary school, Amanda?” he asked, blown away. 

Randy hummed as he nodded. “Bingo.” 

Joel scoffed and looked back at you, “So she just had the ultimate fuck over…” 

Randy nodded. “Betrayed by her best friend and fiancé... it doesn’t get any worse than that.”

Joel turned to look at Randy again, and his face showed complete disappointment. “She was engaged? And he cheated on her?”  

Randy bit his lip for a moment, not wanting to divulge too much but he figured Joel should know, “From what I know, the wedding was supposed to be at the end of this summer, but not anymore. At least that’s what I’ve heard.” he kicked his foot into the ground, making some dirt dust up. 

Joel hummed and looked at you, his features softened thinking what you'd been through the last few weeks. No one should go through that.

You stood up and waved goodbye to the group you were with, then put your phone to your ear as you headed up the steps of the arena. 

“‘Cuse me, Rand… I’m going to go try to catch up with her. Apologize for earlier.” He said before hopping the gate and jogging towards you.

You were fast and beat him to the top.

He tried to keep up, but when he got up to the top, the crowd of people and busy traffic of the fair going on around the arena was too much; he’d lost you. “Damn it.” he tsked and dug his boot into the dirt frustrated.

After watching Wes’s event, you felt your phone buzz on the bleacher beside you. You picked it up to see Riley’s name displayed across your screen. Tripp looked over your shoulder and then raised his eyebrow at you. “You need to take that…” he suggested. 

You sighed and nodded. Putting this off was only dragging the dead cat out for longer. You stood and quickly said goodbye, then slid to answer, “Hello?” 

“Hey…” he sounded sad and quiet. 

“What do you want?” you said as you started to jog up the arena steps. 

“I—I… god,” he sighed. "Where are you? It’s so loud!” He sounded annoyed. 

“That’s none of your business anymore, Riley. I asked you what you wanted, so please get to the point, or I’ll end the call,” you said coldly, looking around before gathering where you were and heading towards your car. 

There was a pause, then he sighed heavily. “I just —baby, I miss you. When are you coming home?” he pleaded, his voice soft, almost begging. 

You let out a numb chuckle. “Riley, there’s no us. You fucked that over the moment you put your cock between Amanda’s legs.” You bit out.  

There was another pause. “She’s no longer an issue; I ended it with her. I realized how much I wanna fight for us, for you.” 

You chuckled a little louder then shook your head; this was nonsense. He was nonsense.

“What don’t you understand? I don’t want to fight for us. I don’t want to be with you anymore!" you walked up to your car, "You cheated on me with my best friend for most of our fucking relationship. And then now that I know about it and did the logical thing and left you– now you cut things off with her?” you opened your car door and got inside, slamming it shut, “Riley you’re one stupid son of a bitch if you thought that I was coming back.” you started up your car. 

“Why can’t we start over? Come back home, and we’ll go to counseling or get help, please. Give me a chance,” he pleaded. 

You let him stew in silence before you spoke firmly, “You don’t get another chance. Your chance went out the fucking window when I asked you who was texting you and you lied to my face saying it was a co-worker.” you sat for a moment before lowering your voice, tears forming, “You went the lengths Riley… the lengths… to change the name of her contact to a ‘co-workers’ name so that I wouldn’t get suspicious.” you scoffed, a few tears falling down your cheeks, “That’s some psycho shit. That’s premeditated fuckin’ cheating bullshit.” you shook your head and chuckled a few times, wiping the tears, “God, you know, Amanda probably got her head out of her ass and left you -- and now you’re crawling back to me because when I left, you didn’t even flinch. You let me go.” you took in a shaky breath. 

“I’m here. I’m here now,” he said after a few moments of silence. He knew you were crying. 

Something in the way he said that severed whatever you had holding onto him. You had the clarity you needed; it was time to move on. You deserved more than this, more than he gave you for all those years.  

“That’s not enough.” You let out the breath. “We’re done, Riley. I’ll have movers come and collect the rest of my belongings, your mom's ring will be returned to you, and I’ve already taken care of our financial matters. Don’t ever contact me again.” You hung up the phone and immediately blocked him before throwing your phone in the passenger seat out of anger. 

You hit the steering wheel, your anger boiling over, “God damn it!” then you began to sob softly, not out of sadness, but out of finally feeling free. 

The next day

Joel was walking down the arena steps after running to his truck quickly to grab the correct bit that he had forgotten before his event started. His mind was elsewhere, so he didn't even notice you as he walked past.

Everly saw him and nudged you. “What about him?” she nodded towards him as he walked down the steps and hopped over the fence into the arena. 

You watched, humming softly, then noticed who he was when he turned his head and smiled at someone in the arena.

“Well I’ll be damned…” you chuckled, eyes following him as he walked into the back. 

“What?” Everly looked at you like she was on the edge of her seat. “What?!” she exclaimed. 

You chuckled louder and nodded his way. “I ran into him at the coffee shop about a week ago, and then he was the cowboy that I told you about yesterday-- the trout,” you giggled. 

She gasped, “You’re kidding me, that’s the trout?! That's Joel Miller!” She hit your arm, giggling with you. 

You nodded and kept your eyes towards him. 

She looked that way as well, then looked at you, seeing you slightly blush. “You’re interested in him, aren’t you?” she giggled, a shit eating grin across her face. 

You chuckled, “I wouldn’t say ‘interested’...” You blew off her accusation, trying to act calm and collected, but inside, you could feel your heart pound, and a small amount of heat rose to your cheeks the more you watched him move. 

He was getting Moonshine’s bit adjusted, paying no mind to his surroundings. 

You noted that he looked good handling a horse. He was in complete control. His hands gliding over the equipment confidently. There was something about watching a man with a horse that always appeased you, making you feral. 

Riley didn’t come from the ranch life. His family was wealthy and privileged. They were full of snobby, rich aristocrats who didn’t care for anyone but themselves. Being with him and having that difference in family dynamics created rifts in your relationship. His family tended to look down on you. Behind your back, they referred to you as the ‘dirty ranch girl’. He never stood up for you either.  

Joel hopped onto Moonshine and clicked his tongue, guiding him to where they needed to be. He took his hat off with one hand and pushed his hair back with the other before putting it back onto his head. He looked up to the crowd and noticed you already looking at him. 

You were in a floral sundress, your boots, and to top it off, your cowboy hat on your head. You looked insatiable. He adjusted his hips as he felt a stir below the belt before making direct eye contact with you. “Who’s fishin’ for a trout now, sweetheart?” he mumbled to himself. 

He caught your eye with his and grinned, tipping his hat to you and giving you a slight wink. 

You immediately looked away shyly and couldn’t help the smile that grew across your face, softly chuckling to yourself. 

He chuckled and looked up at the board, seeing how much time he had before he and Moonshine would compete.

5 minutes.

He looked back to you, and you were giggling with the guy next to you, the same guy you were sitting with yesterday. 

Jealousy filled him again, a heat grew up his neck and his lips tightened.

He cocked his head and whispered, "Fuck it." then decided he had enough time to make his way over to you. 

He swung his leg over and off Moonshine, then tied the lead to the fence. “Stay right here… I’ll be right back.” he muttered to the horse.

He jumped over the gate and then started to stroll over to your group. 

Tripp saw and whispered, teasing, “Trout incoming…” then he realized he was actually heading over, “Oh fuck! He’s looking right at you babe! He’s coming over….” he nudged you to catch your attention. 

You hummed curiously and turned to look, the blush on your cheeks betraying you when you found him again. 

When you two made eye contact, he tipped his hat again and smiled at you.

‘Damn it. He’s going to be trouble.’ You instantly thought as butterflies erupted intensely in your core. 

You swallowed nervously and began frantically fixing your dress, clearing your throat. Then, you stood and came down to the fence at the bottom of the bleachers, smiling at him on the other side. “Hey, cowboy…” 

He approached the other side and grinned at the nickname, “How are you doin’ darlin’?” 

You blushed and tilted your head, “I’m doin’ better now that you’re here sayin’ hello.” you flirted, leaning up against the railing. 

He chuckled and ran his thumb against his bottom lip. “What’s a pretty girl like you doin’ out here today?” 

You watched him touch his lip and bit the inside of your cheek to stop you from smiling too much. “I have a brother competing in barrel racin’...” You looked down at his belt and smirked. “Take it you’re competing too?” Your eyes trailed up his body, slowly landing back to his eyes. 

He felt himself harden the way you were drinking him in, the way your eyes landed on his belt. 

He smirked and tilted his head back at you. “I am. I’m out bare buckin’ today and then bull buckin’ tomorrow.” 

You nodded and hummed, “You’ve got some competition in bare buckin’.” You nodded to the arena. “Rob Turner is competing. He's got a beast of a horse I've heard...” You looked over at that rider and his horse. 

Joel looked back at Rob and chuckled, shrugging, “Eh, he’ll be easy to beat,” he said confidently. 

You raised your eyebrow slightly and looked back at him. “Oh really? You think you’re good enough to beat him then, cowboy?” 

He smirked, “Oh, am I no longer called ‘trout’, then?” he teased.

You turned red for a moment then cleared your throat, “Well today you didn’t look at me with your jaw open so wide that you could be catchin’ flies, so no.” you challenged, cocking your head and looking up at him confidently. 

He raised his eyebrow at your playfulness then grinned and leaned forward on the rail that you had your arms folded against. His hands to his arms were straight to hold up his weight. “Well, apologies for the lack of manners yesterday, darlin’. I was stunned by your beauty, and in that moment, my jaw fell open…” he looked at you with a broad and warm smile. 

You hummed, smiling back at him, “Well, I can’t say I haven’t been doin’ the same to you today. I guess we’re even?” 

He tsked, “Oh really? You’ve been swoonin’ over me, huh?” he leaned a little in, “In that case, what can a cowboy do to take you out to dinner then?” he winked at you. 

You leaned in to him and looked down at his lips, biting your bottom lip before you backed up a step and shrugged, “What can I say? I find cowboys attractive.”

He was speechless. He swallowed and chuckled shyly, not knowing what to say.

You saw the effect you had at him and loved it. You relished in your ability to make a man squirm.

You tipped your hat and smirked, “But I find champion-winning cowboys date-worthy…” You took another step back and looked at his belt. “Win that championship today, then you can ask me out to dinner.” You looked back up at him and smiled, blushing as you felt a sense of confidence with him, a feeling of safety.  

He grinned as he looked at you. “I win. I get to take you out?” 

You nodded. “Think you can do that or is that too hard for you to achieve, trout?” you jabbed playfully. 

He liked this side of you. He didn't know you like this in high school. You were the quiet and shy girl, this girl, she was much more confident and he found it very attractive.

He smirked and bit his lip, offering his hand. “Deal.” 

You walked back up to him and took his hand. “Deal.” 

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles, keeping eye contact with you. 

You blushed and smiled softly, before shyly looking down for a moment before looking back up. “If you win, I’ll be up there with my family and friends…” You gently pull your hand away and cutely put both hands behind your back. 

He nodded to Tripp, “That ain’t your date?” he chuckled. 

You looked to where he was nodding and let out a chuckle. “What if it is?” You looked back at him, grinning. “Give you some competition…” You winked, then turned and started heading up the stairs. “Good luck out there, cowboy…”

He chuckled and pushed off the railing, “Ain’t gon’ need it darlin’! I’ve got a date on Friday night for you and me in the bag!” he shouted as you went up the stairs. 

You giggled and went back to sit with Ev and Tripp. They both were grinning and began nudging you as you all watched him return to his horse. 

After catching the two of them up on your conversation with Joel, you sat back and watched as he and Moonshine entered the pen where they were in before being released.

He found you again and smiled, nodding his head at you before looking down and tying his hand where it needed to go to prepare for the bucking.

While this happened, the announcer shouted throughout the arena, “Alright, alright! Our next competitor is this year's National Champion! He just returned home from travelin’ upstate for nationals… please help me give a huge warm welcome to our hometown champ– Joel Miller!” 

The crowd went wild and you instantly turned red, “Oh fuck me…” 

Tripp leaned over and muttered, “Oh, I fear he will be now…” 

You swatted his arm and gasped, “Tripp!” 

He chuckled and looked at Everly. “Am I wrong?!” he shouted over the crowd, grinning. 

Everly looked at you and shook her head, giggling, “Girl, looks like you’ve got a date this weekend.” 

You looked out towards the arena and couldn’t help but smile, chuckling, “I guess I do…” 

—

As expected, Joel placed first in the bare-bucking competition, out-running the competition by a landslide. 

Watching him compete and win was exhilarating to watch. He was meant to be on a horse. He was also meant to be a cowboy, the way he looked in that damn hat should be a sin.

As the arena started to clear, Joel came walking over after putting Moonshine back in the barn, smiling widely, presenting the new belt buckle he now had on himself.

Everly and Tripp chuckled, seeing him beam, and stood up. Tripp touched your shoulder and said, “We’ll be at the top when you’re done.”

They smiled politely and nodded at Joel before they made their way up the steps. 

Joel smiled warmly and tipped his hat to them before looking up at you as he stood with his leg placed on the bleacher below you, leaning on his knee, “So, sweetheart, what time should I pick you up Friday evenin’?” he looked up at you with soft brown eyes. 

You leaned your elbows on your knees and raised your eyebrow. “Not so fast. You didn’t say you were the national champion!” You tilted your head. “You knew you’d win today…” You grinned. “Now, I think that’s a little bit of an unfair advantage you had there, cowboy.” 

He chuckled and reached up to gently mess with the hem of your dress, looking down, “Maybe I was keepin’ that little fact to m’self…” he looked back up, “That way I knew there would be a guarantee of takin’ you out…” 

You blushed and pursed your lips together, looking away for a second with a smile so wide your cheeks hurt. 

He watched you glow in front of him with the smile you had on your face. He felt his heart pounding against his chest. He’d been on bulls' backs, in bar fights, tamed wild horses, and in some of the most dangerous adrenaline high situations– but nothing made his heart beat this fast and strong like being around you. 

You looked back at him and bit the inside of your cheek, smiling still. “Pick me up at 7.” You stood up and looked down at him, holding out your hand. “Give me your phone…” 

He chuckled and stood straight, looking at you. “Pardon?” 

You giggled, “Do you want my number or not?” 

“Oh.” he smiled and pulled his phone out of his back pocket, unlocking it and holding it up to you, “Yes, please…” 

You gently took it and put your number in, playfully looking at him every few seconds, blushing. 

He smirked and swiped his finger across his bottom lip, his eyes momentarily looking at your body from top to bottom. "By the way, I like this dress on you. You look beautiful.” 

You smiled at him and handed his phone back to him. “Text me later, I’ll send you my address and a photo for my profile pic…” you winked. 

He took his phone but damn near dropped it with your last comment. His cheeks now turned a shade of pink, and he chuckled nervously. “I’ll text ya when I get home…” he looked down at his phone with your contact info on it, shyly. 

You giggled at his reaction and nodded, “Good.” You then gathered your things and started to head up the stairs. “Congrats, by the way—on the national title,” you smiled. 

He looked up and smiled warmly, “Thank you darlin’.” 

You nodded and went up a few more stairs before turning back and shyly saying, “I would have gone out with you win or lose, you know?” You grinned and tilted your head cutely. “However, I’m glad to know I’ll be goin’ out with a county and national champion now…” You winked and then turned to continue up the stairs. 

He chuckled and looked up at you. “You get to go out with a champ, and I get to go out with the prettiest girl in the world— I call that a win-win...”

You blushed and kept walking, shouting behind you, “Stop bein’ a flirt and go home so you can text me, cowboy!” You smiled to yourself, reaching the top. 

He tipped his hat and chuckled, “Say less, darlin’...” Then he smiled as he hurried down the steps and jogged back to the barn to pack everything up as quickly as possible. 

When you got home, you headed to your room to change into something more comfortable. Your legs felt filthy, as a layer of sunscreen and dirt from the fairgrounds covered them.

You start the shower and play soft music when you hear a ding from your phone. 

You walked over and picked it up, seeing an unknown number had texted you, 

‘Hey sweetheart, it’s Trout. 🎣’ 

You chuckled and realized it was Joel. You saved his number and typed back, 

‘Hey there, cowboy. Get home safely?’ 

Almost instantly, a message appeared, 

‘Safely and as quick as I could– what are you up to?’ 

You were stripped naked as you were about to shower. You typed back, 

‘Just about to hop in the shower…’ 

You grinned, then put your cowgirl hat back on. 

You then stood so that your silhouette shone against the wall from the setting sun. You held up your phone and snapped a photo. It perfectly sent a clear message but kept him on his toes. 

You then sent the photo with the text, 

‘Here’s that profile pic I promised you. 💗 Send one back?’ 

A few moments later, you heard your phone ding again, 

‘Forgive me sweetheart– but damn! 😍’

You giggled and typed, 

‘Come on! Send one of you, handsome! One with your hat! ;)’

‘...’ was displayed for a few minutes before a picture of him in the mirror with his cowboy hat on and black button-up partially undone by the collar, smiling with his dimples, came up on your screen.

‘I’ll send you a better one after my shower, how ‘bout that?’ 

You chuckled and set it to his profile picture before typing back, 

‘Deal. Let’s both get today's grime off, and then we can send updated photos? 💗’

‘Deal. I’ll text you when I’m done, but take your time. I’ll be here, cariño.’ (Darling)

You blushed and set your phone down before hopping into the shower, smiling as you thought over the events of the past few hours. 

—

When you got out, your sister knocked on your door, telling you to come downstairs. She said that your dad said it was important, but she sounded somewhat annoyed by the urgency she was told to imply. 

You hurried and got dressed in jeans and an oversized sweater. The way she sounded annoyed made you anticipate the worst. Knowing your dad, he had frequently annoyed both you and your sister with antics, more so lately than ever. 

When you went downstairs, you saw that your dad had prepared a feast celebrating Wes’s win for both events he was in. Friends and family buzzed about the house, excited to celebrate Wes and his hard work. 

You looked at Everly, and the both of you took a breath and hopped into the mix to socialize. 

You both put on fake smiles and masked how you were truly feeling. This wasn’t about your dad; this was for Wes. Who you both wanted to celebrate and who deserved this, no matter how you both felt about your dad. 

You texted Joel when you had a moment,

‘Hey, so something came up after my shower with my family. I’ll text you after it’s all done. 💗’

You put your phone in your back pocket and focused on celebrating your little brother, who you were so proud of. 

—

At the end, after everyone had gone home, you were in the kitchen starting to wash the dishes. You had texted Joel to call you in 5 minutes as you would be done then.

Everly was cleaning up the living room, and Wes went out with friends when your dad came in and cleared his throat. “Ev tells me you might have met someone today…” he probed.

You turned your head to look at him and nodded, keeping your reaction as minimal as possible, “Yeah, she’s right. I’ve got a date this weekend.” You pursed your lips into a tight smile and looked back to the soapy water. 

“Who is it? Maybe I know ‘em…” he leaned against the counter, his arms folded, holding his beer, letting a small smile stretch across his lips. 

You took a moment before speaking up, debating whether or not to tell him. He always stuck his nose in your business; for once, you wanted things to be somewhat private. However, you knew if you didn’t say anything, it would end up in a fight more major than it will be with what you were about to say. 

You chose to bite the bullet and say ‘Fuck it.’ A fight with him wasn’t something new– bring it on.

“Santi’s boy, Joel.” Thinking about him, you smiled but fixed your gaze on the water. 

“Nah, no, you’re not goin’ out with him,” he said in a tone that made you think he was joking. 

You lightly chuckled and turned your head to look at him. “Yes, I am! Why not?” you smiled. “Is it hard to think I can swing one of the Miller brothers?” you joked back. 

His face turned neutral. “I’m serious. You’re not goin’ out with Joel Miller. You know how I feel about that family.” he pushed off the counter and rolled his eyes at you as he took a swig of the beer. 

Your smile dissolved, and you stood there momentarily, processing what he just said. 

After absorbing it, you shook the suds off your hands and grabbed the dish towel to dry your hands, raising your eyebrow at him, “I’m sorry, I must’ve miss the part where you have a say in this dad… forgive me but am I not a grown ass woman and don’t need your permission to date someone...” you challenged. 

He scoffed and looked at you, wanting to dig at you, “Well, you certainly aren’t a grown woman if you have to run home when your fiance makes a little accident.” 

You clenched your jaw at that and threw the towel onto the counter. “An accident?” you bit out harshly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d consider cheating an ‘accident’, Dad.” you shook your head in disbelief and looked back at him, “Did you ever do that to Mom? Was it valid enough to be unfaithful to her because it was an ‘accident’ to you?” you dug back. 

He looked at you, and you knew immediately you had tapped on a nerve. The pride you felt was one of the best feelings in the world. You rarely found a nerve, but it was blissful when you did in moments like these.

You tilted your head, getting cocky. “Oh? That seemed to get to you.” You grinned. “Well, guess what, Dad? I don’t give a damn what you say, think or want. It’s my life.” you said firmly. 

He looked down at the ground, then back at you. “You know the Millers are nothing but bad news.” 

“No, Dad. The Millers are bad news because your granddad said they were bad news back in his day. Then he created an unfair, false narrative that has spread to you – come on?" You chuckled mockingly and started to walk up to him. 

“Joel and Tommy were some of the most hardworking and kind boys when I went to high school with them.” You paused and looked at him, your breath catching in your throat. “And their dad?” you paused, “Santi brought us a meal when Mom died, Dad.” You teared up and shook your head, shrugging off anger you were starting to feel. “How can that be bad news?” you choked out.

He looked down at you and clenched his jaw before huffing a breath through his nostrils. “They are nothing but liars and cheats.” he said lowly. 

You felt another heat of anger crawl up your back and needed to step away. “Liars and cheats or just better than you when it came to competition?” You shook your head and went to walk past him. “You’ve always been a poor loser.” you muttered.

He grabbed your arm and turned you to face him roughly. “You’ll treat me with respect, young lady. Got it?” The smell of alcohol immediately hit you from his hot breath that was inches from your face. 

He’d never touched you like this. Never once laid a finger on any of you. You two always would argue or have yelling matches, but he never touched you. 

Your blood ran cold, and your breath became shaky.

You swallowed and looked up at him, eyes filled with fear. “Dad, let go of me…” 

He realized what he had done, seeing the look in your eyes. His eyes softened, and he slowly and softly let go of your arm. “I… God, I’m so sorry.” 

You quickly stepped away from him, holding onto your arm. Your heart was pounding, your adrenaline was pumping, and your mind was racing at what had just happened. 

Your phone dinged in your pocket before it started ringing. 

You pulled it out of your pocket to see Joel’s picture he’d sent you earlier across your screen. 

His dimpled smile instantly calms your nerves and washes a warmth over you. 

You looked up at your dad and clenched your jaw before flatly saying, “Night, Dad.” 

You quickly left the kitchen and ran upstairs to your room to answer the call. 

As soon as your door was shut, you answered the call.

“Hey…” You melted against the door, sliding down to your floor, holding your head in your hand.

“Hey darlin’...” he softly said. You could hear the smile plastered on his face through the phone, instantly making you smile. 

“Sorry about earlier– how’s your night been?” you asked softly. 

“No need to apologize. You had family come up! Nothin’ matters more than that, right?”

You swallowed and sighed softly, closing your eyes and leaning against the door. “Right…” 

He noticed the slight shift in your voice. “Everythin’ ok?” 

“Yeah, just a long night and an even longer story…” you softly chuckled. 

He hummed, “Need to pillow it out?” 

You giggled softly. “Pillow it out?” 

He chuckled, “You know, yell into a pillow or beat the shit out of one?” 

Your giggle grew, and you stood up, walking over to your bed, “‘Pillow it out’… that’s got to go on a t-shirt.” 

He chuckled, hearing your giggle, his stomach erupting with butterflies again. 

You smiled while lying in bed. “So, screaming into a pillow or hitting one? That helps?” 

“It did growing up and has come into use in my later years, I will confess…” he chuckled softly. 

You smiled and hummed, “Well tonight I think just hearin’ your voice is doin’ the trick.” You blushed. 

There was a pause, then he softly spoke, “Why don’t we move up our date to tomorrow?” he said abruptly. 

You chuckled, “Don’t you compete tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, and?” he chuckled. “Come cheer for me. Afterwards, you and I can go to the fair and watch the fireworks. It’ll be fun!” There was another small pause. “And if I’m bein’ honest, I don’t think I can wait two more days to take you out or to see you again…” 

You smiled and blushed, putting your pillow over your face and squealing into it, muting the phone. 

“Hello?” he said after a moment of silence. “Querida?” 

You came onto the phone and smiled, trying to act cool. “Sorry, I, uh, dropped the phone.” You bit your lip as you grinned, “Um, yes. Tomorrow it is.” 

He chuckled and smiled brightly, “Tomorrow then.” he bit his lip then cleared his throat, “Well then, with that being said, I’m going to go get some sleep. I’ve got an early morning. I’ll come see you before my event, ok?” 

You blushed and lightly bit your nail shyly. “Ok…” 

He chuckled again and took a deep breath, “Goodnight darlin’...” 

You sat up and smiled. “Night, cowboy, sweet dreams.” 

Next Chapter

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[eiralunaire]

🌹 Damian Wayne (Yandere) Headcanons

Damian falls madly in love with you (a girl with curly brown hair, big brown eyes, and a warm personality). At first, his pride prevents him from admitting it, but his obsession secretly grows... until he can no longer contain himself.

1. Silent Observation.

- Damian never shows open interest, but he's always nearby.

- He watches you train in the Batcave (if you're an ally) or follows you around Gotham Academy (if you're classmates).

- He memorizes your schedules, your likes, and even your conversations with others.

- "Tt. It's not like I care... I'm just making sure you're not a burden to others." (Lie. He cares too much about you.)

2. Extreme Jealousy.

- If someone else smiles at you, his fists clench.

- If a villain threatens you, that criminal disappears... and no one ever hears from him again.

- "That idiot Jon Kent shouldn't be anywhere near you. He's not worthy." (Jon just handed you a pencil).

3. Possessive Protection.

- He makes up excuses to "protect" you:

- "Father said I should walk you home." (Batman didn't say anything).

- "This road is dangerous. I'll go with you."(He broke the streetlights himself to justify it).

- If you get hurt, his dark side comes out: "Who was it? Tell me his name. Now."

4. Gifts... or Warnings?

- He leaves black roses in your locker (no one knows how he got into the building).

- If you mention liking a book, it appears signed by "Al Ghul" on your desk the next day.

- "Don't accept gifts from strangers. Only mine are safe."

5. Terrifying (or Romantic?) Confession.

- One day, he corners you in a dark alley (or on the roof of Wayne Manor).

- "You're mine. Always have been. I won't tolerate anyone else touching you."

- If you try to run away, he uses his assassin skills to persuade you... but he'll swear he only wants to "protect" you.

. "Affectionate" Kidnapping

- Damian waits for you in the shadows when you leave your house. Before you can react, a chloroformed cloth covers your mouth.

- You wake up in a luxurious but dead-end room (a League of Shadows hideout? A secret suite in Wayne Tower?).

- You're dressed in an elegant black silk nightgown ("Don't worry, I changed you. It was… educational.").

His Twisted Justification:

"Gotham is too dangerous for you. You'll be safe here… with me. Always with me."

. "Innocent" Touches (That Aren't)

- Damian sits next to you on the bed, "just to make sure you're okay," but his fingers run over your collarbone with sick adoration.

- If you move away, his grip tightens. "Don't run. You know there's no escape."

- He feeds you with his bare hands, murmuring in Arabic things like, "Habibi, you're too precious to let go."

Punishments for Disobedience.

- If you cry or scream, he doesn't release you... but he does silence you with a violent, toothy, possessive kiss.

- "Every tear of yours hurts me... but it won't stop me."

- If you mention another man, his expression darkens. "Do you really think I'll allow anyone else to touch you?"

A "Confession" Between Tears and Blood.

- One night, he enters the room with bloody knuckles (who knows what he did to that boy who smiled at you yesterday?).

- He kneels in front of you, wiping the blood from his hands before caressing your cheek.

- "Look at me. Only at me. Why do you insist on doing this to me? On forcing me to be... this?"

- His words are a mixture of love and guilt, but his actions are irreversible.

. Alternate Ending: Escape or Submission?

- If you try to escape: Damian uses all his assassin skills to find you. When he does, there will be no more gentleness. He drags you back, this time with shackles and promises that "you'll never see the light of day without me."

- If you give in to his obsession: His "sweet" side emerges. He pampers you, protects you, even trains you so "no one can hurt you"… but his love is suffocating. Every smile you give him drives him crazier.

"You're mine. In this life and all the ones to come."

Gotham never prepared you for this…

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

Favorite Poses.

. "Against the Mirror"

(His favorite pose: your back pressed against his chest, while he forces you to look at your reflection)

"Look at yourself," he pants in your ear, hands on your hips, marking the bruises. "Look at yourself and tell me it's not perfect... that we're not perfect."

Each thrust pushes you harder against the glass, and you see your mouth open in a stifled moan.

"Like this... now repeat: "Only yours."

. "Astride (But with a Dagger)"

(He sits on the edge of the bed, you on top of him, but with the edge of his dagger grazing your side)

"Do you really think I'd let you control this?" he mocks, his hands guiding you with false sweetness. "Silly..."

He pulls you down onto his lap with a jerk, and you moan.

"No, don't move." I decide when, how, and…—a bite on your shoulder—…how deep.

"On Your Knees (But He's the One Between Your Legs)"

(You on the mattress, he kneels between your legs, but with your thighs on his shoulders as an offering)

"Darling…" he murmurs, worshipping every inch of your center with burning kisses. "Do you know how many nights I dreamed of this?"

When he finally enters you, it's with the reverence of a monk before his goddess.

"Scream… but not for him to stop. So the world knows who makes you feel this way."

"Hands Tied (With His Cloak)"

(You face down, wrists bound with Robin's black cloth, while he immobilizes you by the back of your neck)

"I thought about being gentle," he confesses between gasps, "but you kept challenging me..."

Each thrust drags you against the sheets, and he lowers himself to whisper:

"Say 'more,' and maybe I'll untie you... (It's a lie. He'll never let you go.)

"Oral Possession"

(You on the edge of the table, he on his knees, but with a hand on your throat dictating the rhythm)

"Habibti..." he commands, while his tongue makes you see stars. "You don't want to run away, do you?"

When you try to close your legs, his fingers dig into your thighs.

"Open them. Or I will." (And he will. Gladly.)

[st4rbe0m]

PAIRING ▸ Nishimura Riki x fem!reader

SUMMARY ▸"Am I dating Y/N L/N? No thanks, I'd rather choke." Or in which you're clearly using some sort of spell to entice Riki, because why on earth would he suddenly start feeling this way about you?

GENRE ▸one-sided enemies to lovers, highschool au, she fell first but he fell harder, angst (lots of it), slow-ish burn.

WARNINGS ▸ swearing, featuring Eunchae from LeSserafim as your best friend and some additional cameos by other idols, some of dickish behaviour from Riki at the start :(, kissing, mentions of curses, occults knowledge, spells and witchcraft.

WC ▸ 7.1K

A/N ▸ Thank you for the immense support for this on the teaser!! I hope this lives up to your expectations, and I hope you guys enjoy the rest of my work as well :)

PLAYLIST ▸ Voodoo Doll by 5 Seconds of Summer, Kiss Me Kiss Me by 5 Seconds of Summer, Brought the Heat Back by Enhypen, Stockholm Syndrome by One Direction

masterlist

The air is a sweet smelling summer type, the day you first meet Nishimura Riki. He's a scrawny little thing of twig arms and downcast, shy eyes. Having moved to Korea from Japan only barely a month back, the number of words he can say in this newfound land in the foreign language can be counted on one hand. And this poses a problem to him right now, considering how his older sister had already gone off on her own despite their mother's strict orders to stay together at all times. You spot the boy, a sprightly little thing yourself, and the first thing you notice is his eyes. The most gorgeous, mesmerizing eyes. They looked like the black beetles you saw in the spring - lazing on the dark brown tree trunks, absolutely fascinating and captivating.

Nishimura Riki is six years old and scared. He's at a playground with kids his age, but he feels like an alien in his own skin. They're all either playing in groups or duos - but no dice for singles. It's times like this that makes him want to clutch on to the fabric of his mother's dress and be whisked away to safety. A place where he doesn't feel so out of place. His soft, trembling body stills in a bit of surprise as a gentle tap knocks on his shoulder, ever so slightly. Turning around fearful of being picked on, he only comes face to face with a girl. You're looking straight at him with owlish, unblinking eyes that make Riki shiver in your gaze - feeling smaller and smaller than before. He doesn't like how you're looking at him, not in the slightest. "Hi there! I'm Y/N L/N. Are you new here?" You're quite articulate for a kid, he thinks, as if he's not one himself. He's barely managed to string together the meaning of what you said through his broken understanding of the language, but it's the general environment about you that makes him hesitate. His lack of a response doesn't deter you apparently, as suddenly you're latching on to his wrist, trying to pull him to the sand pit, babbling on and on about being his new friend and offering to show him around town. He doesn't know how to get out of your vice-like grip, but he doesn't mind your company either. But it's just all too much. There's too many things going on around him, and you're too loud.

Suddenly, he's wrenching his hand out of yours, a scowl on his youthful features. It's a frown directed right at you like a bullet, but it leaves you unscathed. You still look at him with a complete look of innocence, completely boring into his own eyes. There's something about the way you look at him, and he hates it. He notices the way you hold no precise expression on your face, only a peaceful and serene look coupled with the way one would gaze when they felt curious and fascinated. He decides at that moment, with all the iron resolve of a six year old boy, that he hated this girl. He hated you and he wanted absolutely nothing to do with you.

But this was in no way similar to the way you were feeling currently. With the way that inky void in his eyes were pulling you in like a siren song, you decided that you loved Nishimura Riki. 

11 years later

"Riki! Riki!". Your chants are loud even amongst the bustling crowd of attendees, all mingling about on the bleachers, eyes trained on the orange basketball as the squeaking sound of shoes against the polished wooden floor accentuated the tension of this cut-throat game. Jersey number 9, tallest on the team and jet black hair that had everyone reeling in his subtle aura, Riki's eyes are piercing as his focus solely stays on two things - the first being how to get past the rival team's defense, and the second being how annoying your cheering was to him.

Their opposing team is not letting them cut through this bottle neck tie easily, and the red timer with its robotic, digital numbers clocking down to the game's end was not really helping either. It was right now, or never. And Riki never let a game get to the tie-breaker, ever. He's quick and sharp witted, and he's got the athletic skill to get past the crowding defense team, and with a crisp swish of the white net hanging on the post, the ball is swiftly sent through the basket. The whistle is loud, but the rest of his teammates are louder, wasting no time in running on the court to aggressively smother their prodigal player in affection and sweat, with Riki glaring away at them in faux irritation, but clearly preening in their pride. This was an important game after all, because it would be the game that would help team captain, Lee Heesung, who was graduating this spring, to choose the next in line to his legacy. And anyone with two eyes, who wasn't even on the team could easily say it belonged to Riki.

Your voice is back, louder again this time, and it has Riki grimacing amongst the celebrations, and Sunoo and Taki, his friends who had descended from the stands themselves, gave each other a knowing look of what was about to occur.

You're singing praises and it has him glowing, regardless of the frown marrying his sharp features. "God, that was so cool! You're so, so tall, it must have been an advantage for sure, but wow I mean that basket? Crazy!"

He's still glaring at you and his teammates have wry smiles on their faces. Your praises quieten down when you, and Riki, notice Lee Heesung walking over to Riki with a championing grin that only means one thing. Ushering Riki away, you just gazed at him at raw adoration as the boy's face lit up with the news Heesung was breaking him.

"By the way dude, are you dating that girl there? Y/N L/N?"

The question has him coughing slightly from the water he was chugging down. Sunoo and Taki are cackling violently at his expression, like Heesung had performed the most blasphemous act in front of him. "Heesung, what the hell dude. I'm not dating her, at all. I'll only date Y/N when pigs start flying."

He looks back to where you stood before, now gone from that spot. You always waited a bit before you left, usually, trying to catch him and make conversation with him, so this was new. A different kind of feeling he wasn't sure he was used to. It was strange, how he felt a bit different from the absence of you.

"Look, oh my god!" Taki cries out, pointing vaguely at the air. "What?" "I just saw a pig fly." “Shut the fuck up man.”

You were a curse sent from hell to torment him, that much was sure. He wasn’t sure what penance he was due to pay in this life for his previous actions that caused you to appear in his life, considering how since that moment on the playground, you’ve done nothing to actually make his life any better. And while he was explaining this very situation to Heesung, who was now sporting an amused grin at the way the normally nonchalant Riki’s mouth seemed to fly a mile a minute, Sunoo interrupted with a gasp at a particularly harsh tease. “She isn’t even doing anything bad you prick! I’d kill to have someone crush on me that long!”

“Oh you can have her then, Sun. I do not want to see her in my life ever again once we’re out of here.” He huffs.

The various examples of the ways you’d managed to make things bad for him seemed to resurface to his mind almost immediately, souring his mood. Like when in middle school, when he bagged the hottest girl of their grade, Choi Ri-ah, to go out with him. It was magical to Riki, that eighth grade relationship - mainly because him being in it meant having you off his back. Your displeasure with his newfound relationship status was not a secret either, no your distaste was very clear, with the way you’d frown when they would walk in the hallways together holding hands, which in eighth grade, was a very big deal. It didn’t help that Ri-ah was also your quote unquote, sworn enemy. The two of you had hated each other's guts since almost preschool, and the sickening punch in the stomach was how she’d managed to be with the only guy you’d ever loved. But Riki didn’t know any of that. And frankly, he didn’t care much about his and Ri-ah’s conversations or dates, where he would nod along as she talked his ears off about getting new earrings or the summer holiday her father was planning, where she was going to get the most outrageous tan. Sure, he liked her. But he liked not hearing your voice constantly bugging him more. 

“Dude she didn’t end your relationship with Ri-ah! Ri-ah was already going after another guy from that prep school, she just needed an excuse to end the relationship and made Y/N the scapegoat.” Taki told him exasperatedly, which just fell on deaf ears, because Riki was still convinced that you were the reason for the demise of his juvenile dating plan. Ri-ah had broken up with him seemingly out of the blue, over text, claiming that she felt uncomfortable dating a boy who was so coveted by another girl. And when fourteen year old Riki read that heartbreaking message curled up in his duvet at 10PM on a Tuesday, he just felt a bitter pill of hatred for you. Nothing had changed in the six years since that fateful meeting at the playground, no. You still made Riki shudder.

“I hate Y/N L/N. I wish she just left my life, because she’s what makes it worse.”

“He’s absolutely phenomenal.” You breathe out in a sigh, full of awe as you watch Riki skirt across the court with lightning speed. The dreamy looks and the lovestruck sounds was like routine to Eunchae, who had honestly even given up on rolling her eyes at you, because with the way she’d spent the last 10 years doing the same, she was afraid her eyes would get stuck at the back of the skull due to routine. It was truly a wonder how you hadn’t given up immediately after the first few tries - when he was extremely stubborn in denouncing the “Y/N’s boyfriend” title he’d earned. But you had your justification ready to go - that he never outright rejected you. Sure, he politely declined some invitations, but never a word against your feelings as such. It still raised the question, as to how you could chase a guy around this long. Because to you, the reason was quite fundamental - his eyes were still beautiful, and most importantly, they held no hate. Not an ounce of it, no matter how hard he tried to emulate it, which gave you hope. 

Unfortunately hope was a wonderful thing for sure, but also dangerous. It was quite the cycle you’d found yourself stuck in, and you weren’t honestly sure how long you could afford to linger as nothing but a mandatory footnote to him. It was eating away at you. But hope, hope made you hold on.

Only Eunchae knew about the firm decision you’d taken last night. After all, she was your closest friend. And she even held you, as you solemnly promised to yourself, on the eve of the 11th anniversary of the day you first met Riki, to leave him behind forever, if there wasn’t any improvement in his behavior, or general perception of you. It was shocking, and honestly a huge decision. But firm in its promise, that last hook of hope would be gone soon by tomorrow. 

“You know he ignored you again, right?” Eunchae points out for the nth time, and like always that doesn’t deter you, as you gaze lovingly upon where the soon-to-be former captain Heesung was talking to Riki about leading the team, a position quite coveted which you were very proud of Riki for acquiring. The pride that swelled in your heart was immense, but the cold words you heard Riki utter were like a small pin-prick on your heart. He was tense from the game, and let’s be honest, you’d always managed to survive the weight of his brash words. But why did this one hurt so much? Were you reaching your breaking point, finally? No wonder you’d tipped and already decided to get over him last night.

Snapping yourself out of these negative emotions, you decided to busy yourself a bit away from the bleachers and Heesung and Riki, focusing on Eunchae as she tried to decide where to grab a snack before you both went off to your own houses. 

“I hate Y/N L/N. I wish she just left my life, because she’s what makes it worse.”

The sound of his voice has always been melodious to you. It had a deep timbre and was almost soothing. But right now, you felt anything far from soothed. Your throat was closing up into a lump, and you huffed slightly as you blinked away tears. Eunchae’s eyes were blown wide in shock, and were slowly beginning to narrow in anger. Your movements were almost automatic as your hand reached out to stop Eunchae from storming out from your hiding spots’, the fuming girl looking like she was ready to punch Nishimura across the face immediately. The tears were burning into your lower lash line like furious embarrassment, making you more and more smaller, wishing now more than ever that the ground swallowed you whole. You kept telling yourself over and over again, that this wasn’t the first time you’d heard words of this type uttered against you by him. But it was like a disenchanting spell on you, the way a veil lifted off your eyes. A crack in the rose tinted looking-glass you always stared at him through. 

“Y/N”, Eunchae’s voice is a careful whisper, sensing your vulnerability as your best friend. She knew you long enough to tell that those extremely cruel, mean words did more than just a regular rebound on your thick skin. She was cooling down in an attempt to comfort you, rubbing your arm in support. Your lower lip was wobbling, and you felt like someone had slapped you hard across the cheek. You weren’t that annoying to put up with, were you?

Your heart felt stomped on at that point, and you wanted nothing more than to get away. As shocking as it was, you couldn’t stomach being around Riki right now, and hastily grabbing Eunchae and making a beeline towards the exit, your downtrodden expression morphed to anger as your shoulder harshly bumped against Riki’s, who’s expression you couldn’t tell with the way you could only see red. Your decision was ironclad now, if it wasn’t firm already. This was the moment you’d decided to get over Nishimura Riki. 

The touch of your shoulder against his was like a static current being passed through his skin, in the most pleasant way possible. Like he craved it. Riki was baffled, and even more so when he realized it was you, and your usually ever-present adoration from him being blatantly missing, even in this short interaction, if it even be called that. He felt a twinge of concern for you, which he suppressed easily. This was the Y/N he was talking about. Any emotion for you rather than disgust? No thank you!

However, it was strange. For the first time in your life, you felt almost nothing for Nishimura Riki. And for the first time in his life, he felt something for you. 

It’s been a week since the fateful basketball game. You’ve been through the stages of grief quite quickly, storming through each of them with Eunchae helping you along, although your headstrong need to get better did worry her, that you weren’t actually processing your pain to heal. But to hell with all that. No, you wanted to eviscerate any remaining thought of Riki from your head immediately. The school day seems to be quite regular, with spring break just a mere two weeks away, that had people buzzing with low energy in the hallways, all in the state of deciding their spring break plans. Your spring break plans weren’t anything fancy, or anything at all rather - with the main idea being that you’d while away the time with your best friend, doing all the fun activities you could possibly do. And a break that you were sure would be the final nail in the coffin that contained the corpse of your feelings for Riki, the dark haired boy who up till now kept an iron grip on your heart.

The boy in question, like you, had also spent the previous week raging through some emotions. But in his case, rather he found them very confusing and very out of character. Of course, he wasn’t self actualised enough to work through them, and that led him to create a stubborn mindspace - that you, Y/N L/N were messing with his head by purposely ignoring him. He just couldn’t stop thinking about you, your presence and the recent lack of. Your voice wasn’t greeting him in the homeroom every morning anymore, and it was a change many had noticed, but not yet commented on. He found this pit in his stomach from the first week, the immediate day after the match, when he saw you sitting in class - head bent, hair falling over your face messily. And for a fleeting second, his hand had to fight off the urge to get up and brush them away. Your eyes looked slightly swollen, with a faint bloodshot look, like you’d spent the night crying rather than sleeping. It made his chest ache and his head spin slightly. What the hell? When the hell did he feel sorry for Y/N L/N? When the hell did he feel anything for Y/N L/N?

That was about three days ago, and that same pit in his stomach has been growing ever since. He, for whatever reason, missed you. Instead of coming face to face with this fact, he turned his back on it, and it was killing him. Pinpricks of pain would shoot through him whenever he noticed you deliberately changing your path on noticing him walk towards your way. God, it’s like he was a hostage to your feelings all these years, and automatically he felt guilty of thinking about you that way. You just liked him right? Why was he even so rude to you?

His behavior, and his demeanor didn’t go unnoticed by all of his friends, even the basketball team, who were more than aware of your absence at practice anymore. Whatever you were doing to remove Riki from your life might be working in your favor, but it was ruining him. 

His brain felt like someone was swirling its contents around with a spatula, making a mess of his thoughts and his emotions. He hadn’t wasted a moment in spilling his dilemma to Sunoo, and invariably the guys he was closest to on the basketball team - Jake, Sunghoon, Jay and Heesung. The team itself were all in all pretty much aware of how the youngest was going through quite the mind-boggling series of epiphanies (if it could even be called that. Jay liked to refer to it as just a dumbass waking up from his stupidity sleep). 

“Dude, I just don’t know anymore. Her not being there is very odd to me? I just can’t get used to it.” Riki sighs, shaking his head as he thumbs around his packet of Cheetos, slumping against the cafeteria wall, while the rest of his group gathered around him like a pack, eagerly listening in. “But isn’t that what you wanted? So there must be something else then? Maybe you didn’t mind her as much as you let on?” Jake inquired, his head tilting like a confused puppy. That had Riki scratching his head again. He saw you this morning by your locker. You were catching up with Eunchae, both of you laughing boldly to whatever Eunchae had just said, and there was a glow on your face as your eyes crinkled in amusement, which made a heartbeat skip in his chest. He was staring longingly at you, and it seemed like you noticed, because your eyes met his in scrutiny - your single glance making him feel like that six year old at the playground again. 

When you were in freshman year, you had developed a fascination with reading horror novels and mangas and watching horror movies very frequently. Something about spirits and the occult had interested you very much, and many people around you knew about this hobby of yours. If anyone had any doubts about the intricacies of rituals and possessions, spells and witchcraft, they’d just go to you. Right now, Riki thinks that’s exactly what’s happening to him - you’d used your occult knowledge to put a spell on him. Of course, he knew how ridiculous he sounded. But he felt like he was bound to you, and couldn’t shake off your spell no matter how much he tried. And it was purely on him. This was just all so,so confusing, which he decided not to voice out to his friends until he himself had gotten a grip on what was happening to him. How he kept thinking about your little habits. Day before yesterday, he found himself soaked in sweat and thirsty beyond comparison after practice. Parched and defeated, he stumbled along to the locker room to find his flavored water that one of his teammates usually kept in his locker for him, only to come up empty handed. 

“Jake, have you seen my flavored water? I figured you usually put one in my locker.” He asked nonchalantly, only to find Jake, and the rest of the team that entered the room in a state of sly smiles, stifled giggles and shock. 

“Dude, we never did any of that. Y/N did that, she’d purchase the fancy water for you and put it in your locker before we came for practice.” 

It made him feel different. He was blinking slow, and his brain was sluggish. You did that for him? God, you were so sweet, weren’t you. He already felt a bit sad about not seeing your bright grin that you directed to him in the morning (even though he always dismissed it with ignorance), but this was the cherry on top. You had loved him to death, and now he was a dead man walking without you. 

“He looked at you, you know.” Eunchae is careful in her observation, but she knows you noticed too. Your pupils seem narrowed, and your lips are drawn in a tight line as you contemplate that look he gave you. You still couldn’t fight off the feeling of butterflies in your stomach when you met his eyes - those gorgeous, beetle-black eyes that had a magnetic pull to them. But within the haze of your flusteredness, you’d managed to catch the slight look of misery in them. He was looking at you like he was an injured puppy, lost without you. But your resolve was stronger. With the utmost focus, you managed to drive away the maddening thoughts of the possibility of him missing you away, and walked away with Eunchae. 

Over the weekend, Riki had realized that being away from you was driving him insane. So on Monday, he was pulling his chair close to yours in the classroom, the metallic screech against the wooden flooring making everyone turn their heads to the scene, their eyes widening in shock at what was unfolding in front of their eyes. How on Earth was Nishimura Riki sitting next to Y/N L/N? Your thoughts were also very similar to the rest of your classmates, because what was happening right now? Riki, the boy you’d put your heart dangerously on the line for was right here, sitting next to you. His movements were awkward and he was fiddling with his fingers while casting shy glances towards you, reminding you of the scared six year old version of him you’d met at the playground. There is a faint red crawling up his pale ears, and he clears his throat roughly, before saying “Is it alright if I sit here?”

Your all consuming feelings seemed to come back like a crashing wave on the shore the moment he uttered those words to you, and you just nodded wordlessly, too shocked to say anything.

You look too pretty this morning, and it’s messing with his head. Riki’s beating himself up internally, because this wouldn’t be so difficult if you weren’t so goddamn beautiful for some reason. He nods when you do, and then gets to his work. His proximity feels dizzying to you, and the scent of his cologne makes it harder for you to focus on the work in front of you. He’s biting into his lip hard, to suppress the urge to just hold your hand. The smell of your shampoo, the warmth of your thigh being barely centimeters next to you. You’re both so horribly blind and it is just painful to you both, unbeknownst to each of you. 

Nishimura Riki liked you. He really, really liked you. And as he turned his head to see your face, accented by the golden sunlight and eyes sparkling like dewdrops in the early morning, he knew that even if he wanted to run, he couldn't. He was trapped under your spell, and the thought of it made him smile. 

The following days are filled with such odd interactions with Riki. He always found an excuse to find you first in classrooms, or walk you to the cafeteria. You suddenly found yourself back at basketball practices again, but this time forcefully dragged to the court by Riki, and an amused Eunchae in tow. He was there to offer you snacks and drinks from the vending machine. He helped you with homework and you helped him with his. Whatever diabolical game he was playing was working wonders on you, because suddenly all you could see behind your closed eyes was his gorgeous face. 

The rest of the student body isn’t blind to his newfound affection for you. It’s all they’ve been talking about the entire time. His teammates slap his back in teasing jests while he shoos them all away, all the while that smile never leaving his face. 

“There’s no way!” You’re laughing hard, and yours and Riki’s shared giggles are quite audible over the soccer field. You’re both sitting on the grass just after practice, where Riki’s cooling off in the gentle breeze blowing across the grass. He’s telling you about some antics he had put up in class to get away from not turning in assignments, which involved a fake rubber rat and a very scared Calculus teacher. You’re wiping tears from your eyes from the laughter while Riki shakes his head in amusement. The breeze blows a single leaf to land right on top of your head, and it makes you giggle harder. 

He shuffles a bit closer to you, arm raising up to remove the leaf from your head. His breath is warm as it fans across your warming cheeks, the narrowed distance between you both not being lost on either of you. His eyes meet yours, and you’re still a goner for them. He gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing in nervousness, yet he makes no attempt to move away. Instead, he feels a bold surge in him. His finger loops around the bow on your school uniform, tugging the ribbon and invariably, you, forward towards him, making the breath in your throat hitch, and your eyes becoming wide as saucers. His eyes dip to your cupid’s bow, and scan over your lips and how they’re parted. Riki spends not a second more pressing his lips to yours, and you’re in heaven. 

The walk back to your house is full of shy touches, and the warmth of your hand in his. Riki’s lips are still tingling where yours were just moments ago. He can’t even begin to fathom how he ended up here - from loathing you to wanting to kiss you again. He was addicted to you and wanted more of you. But these things needed to be paced, and Riki wanted it done right. Bidding you goodbye in front of your house, where you left him with another giggle-pressed kiss to his cheek and a warm buzz filling his body, he was absolutely enamored by Y/N L/N.

The next day, he wakes up and it’s a good day. It’s a good day because he’s going to ask you out finally. He wanted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, just because of the implausibility of the situation. There was a brightness surrounding the boy all throughout, a contrast to his regular attitude. Sunoo and Taki had been updated already, and he was planning to tell the team, the rest of his friends during practice, after which he would ask you on a date during your regular after-practice hangouts. Except for the life of him he couldn’t find you, at all. It was unfortunate that today was the day of the announcement of the student council election results, for which classes were mostly halted, since the student council was quite a big deal 

He’s scanning around to find you amongst the crowd of the assembly where the results were to be announced - only to spot you a bit later. Also, he notices that you’re not alone. You’re grinning (a bit too much for his liking, if he's being honest) at Yang Jungwon, the boy who was the sure-shot winner of the President position. You’re too close to him, and it makes his heart clench. He’s biting his tongue until it almost bleeds. He doesn’t get an opportunity to speak to you, as the event commences. He just decides to wait till later, ignoring the pain in his chest he got from seeing you with another guy. 

“The President of this year’s student council is Yang Jungwon.” There’s a smattering of loud applause, and even Riki joins in half-heartedly, still wounded over what he was previously. “The position of Vice President goes to his running mate, Y/N L/N!”. 

He’s still in his place, though his heart bursts with pride and joy for you, his eyes drinking in your excited run up to the stage, shaking hands with the Principal of the school. Your face is broken into the biggest smile ever, and your eyes are shining from pure happiness. Why didn’t you tell him? Why didn’t he know you were going for it? Or that Jungwon was your running mate?”

But all in all he’s very, very happy and proud of you, so he squishes down that ugly feeling of jealousy in him, and focuses on how you somehow look directly right at him. Your smile drops a little when you notice he isn’t clapping, a fact Riki himself didn’t realize, too busy staring in awe at you. It takes Eunchae’s loud hollering in the crowd to break you out of your stupor and your return to your regular state. 

He’s changing out of his practice clothes, feeling a bit down from the events that actually happened today and how he’d expected it to go. He hadn’t been able to catch a moment alone with you after the ceremony, and four of the older members of the team were missing from practice today too, since Jay was the treasurer of the previous session, he had to oversee the handing over of the duties to the newer batch. Practice, because of that, ended up being him, and the benchwarmers and people he didn’t really know all that well. It was something he had to get used to as the new captain, so he figured this would serve as a good preview. He was talking to another benchwarmer of his grade, Junhee, while changing. Junhee wasn’t necessarily a good person, if Riki was honest. He always hung out with the rash crowd and got into fights because of his crass nature. He placed the small box of chocolates he’s managed to quickly buy for you from a store outside school, a sticky note with your name and a congratulation scrawled on it, down on the metallic bench as he gathered up the rest of his things. This doesn’t escape Junhee’s notice, who smirks lazily as he spots the name on the post-it. 

“No way, Nishimura. She did it, huh?”

Riki already doesn’t like the way he refers to you as just someone, and it sets his skin aflame. “Hmm?” he responds half-heartedly, not at all interested in maintaining a conversation with Junhee of all people. “Well, doesn’t it make sense, Nishimura? She’s into that horror shit right? Clearly she’s made a voodoo doll of you and forced you to love her. Manifestation shit, am I right?”

Riki’s blood is boiling as he hears what Junhee is saying, but for some reason he says nothing back. It’s like he’s trapped in this vortex in his mind fueled by the insecurity he felt from seeing you with Jungwon, or how he felt out of the loop about your co-curricular adventure. Staying mum, he just grabbed the chocolate box, and turned around, only to gasp in shock to see you standing right there. Your mouth is twisted downwards in disappointment, and you’re staring at him with absolute loathing in your eyes right now. He rushed forward towards you, ready to explain, and also wanting desperately to punch the snickering Junhee behind him, who was now slinking away from the scene. 

It feels like there is a knife in your back and twisting itself in your flesh all over again. There is a panic rising in your throat, suffocating you overwhelmingly. It’s jarring and mind-boggling. So before Riki gets to you, you run.

Eunchae is gathering you up in her arms as your inconsolable state renders you helpless, slumping on the floor of your bedroom, finding it harder to breathe as the sadness keeps washing over you in painful crashes, making you feel weaker and weaker as the time goes. 

“Why does he hate me, Eun? He kissed me, didn’t he? So why is he so cruel?”

The six boys in Riki’s room are trying their best with damage control, as they all had rushed over to his house when Riki had texted them in a panic and explained what had gone down. “But why didn’t you defend yourself in front of Junhee in the first place man?”, Taki asks frustratedly, tugging at his hair. Riki frowns, trying to ignore the flashes in his head of your heartbroken face while his chest aches. “I kept thinking about her and Jungwon. I treated her terribly before all this, didn’t I? I just kept thinking how she might like Jungwon now.” His eyes are downcast in sadness, and his voice is broken. Pulling up a chair right in front of Riki, Heesung plops down and holds Riki up by the shoulders, squaring him up. “Riki. Go. Go right now and apologize, before you lose her even more.” Riki is crying harder now, and wiping his tears, he breaks and finally tells them. “I don’t think I want to be without her, Heesung. I want her love, no matter if it drives me to my end.”

Riki sees how Eunchae slipped out of your house to walk towards the supermarket, no doubt to get you both some consolation food. He takes this moment to approach your front door, knocking furiously in nervousness and apprehension. It’s now or never. 

You open the door, assuming it’s Eunchae who left something behind before she left, so seeing Riki - messy hair, lips bitten to the extreme and bloodshot eyes standing on your front porch knocked the wind out of your lungs. Ready to slam the door on his face, his long hand stops you from doing so, pleading “Y/N please, please just listen to me. It wasn’t how it happened. I didn’t agree with Junhee at all. I like you, Y/N L/N, like it’s breathing. Being away from you makes me lose my mind, and I know I haven’t been the best to you in the past. But please, Y/N. I need you to give me a chance. I need you.”

There’s warm tears flowing down your face, and even in this state Riki thinks you’re beautiful. The porch light shines on your face and you look angelic. He hopes it showed in your mercy as well.

“Why didn’t you disagree?” you sniffle, sweater paws raising up to wipe away some of the tears on your face. The dejected tone with which you ask him makes him feel a deep tug in his heart, aching and sad. “I felt. Jealous. And angry, that Jungwon was so close to you, and that you hadn’t told me about being his running mate. And I know that doesn’t excuse my actions. I just felt, I don’t know. Out of the loop.”

“I wanted to surprise you with the vice president's news.” You mumbled, head down. Riki hesitantly moved toward you, and slowly patting your head, he said “I was surprised, baby, and so, so proud of you. I felt so proud of my girl up there.” He says hoarsely, hoping that his sincerity is as evident as much as he feels it. 

The breath gets knocked out as he groans through his mouth with the impact of your crushing hug. You have your face burrow into his chest, crying softly but also laughing slightly, wetting his shirt. He doesn’t spare a moment to wrap his arms around you tightly, fearing that letting go would mean that he’d lose you again. He sniffs in the soothing and familiar scent of your shampoo and mumbles into your hair, “I don’t know what spell you’ve casted on me, Y/N L/N. But I want to be under it forever.”

The sunlight, Riki thinks, just manages to make you so beautiful that it makes Riki speechless every single time. A lot has changed since the playground and the years after that. And a lot more changed within the last year too. You and Riki are midway through your senior year now. He was sad when he had to bid farewell to the older members of the basketball team, who were practically like brothers to him now. You continued your duties as vice president, though the shared activities you had with Jungwon, still a sore spot for Riki, made him pout adorably, which you always kissed away with a laugh. Riki was the basketball captain now, which added new responsibilities to his shoulder, which he carried excellently. The evidence of which was the recent basketball game that he’d just won with the team. The pep rally, and most of the team was still loitering around the court (Junhee was out. It was one of the first things Riki did as captain, in fact). Riki had sneaked you out to that fateful soccer field where you both had first kissed, and a beautiful sense of deja vu hit him as he looked at you in wonder - how you’d managed to put up with all of him was still a mystery to the boy. But, when you looked to meet his eyes - those dazzling, black eyes that glittered under the setting sun, you both realized - you were both enchanted by each other.

[slightly-knot-insane]

can you write an imagine where the orc chieftain takes notice of fem!reader after they raided a village and he starts courting her in ways she's not familiar so she's just ignoring him. he got annoyed with the ignoring, so one night, he got so drunk and ended up at her place, he saw her, just finished taking a shower, towel wrapped on her body, he started mumbling how annoyed he is and she just stares at him. then in the middle of it, throws up and ended up sleeping at her couch. she let him, but gets uneasy knowing the chieftain is just outside her room. she approaches her in the middle of the night and starts touching his form. he wakes up, grabs her hand and kisses her. then he confesses his feeling and he ended up railing her so hard she wakes up with bruised cervix. plsss help a girl out

a/n: Thank you for the ask! You sent me this 5 months ago when I was really burned out from monstertober, and I'm very sorry TAT

Lost in Translation

[ m!orc x fem!reader ]

content: nsfw, enemies to lovers (kinda), kidnapping, fingerfucking, humping, oral (male receiving), p in v

You had ZERO intention of getting involved with the orcs that pillaged through your town. How could you? They stole everything, they destroyed so many things, they ate everything they found edible. Luckily, they didn't murder anyone. But they did take a few village women with them. Including you. And they've treated you surprisingly well. All of you have lovely and cozy cottages to live there by yourselves. Locked for most of the day and night, of course. Comfortable as it was, you were still their prisoner.

Apparently, this kidnapping thing was a yearly event: this orc clan would take women, make them housewives or something similar, and then let them go if they were unhappy with that way of life. Some human women stayed with their orc 'husbands' even after being freed, and they all seemed... happy?

But you were not! You were taken away from your family, from your cats, and from your books. You never wanted this! Those other women were probably brainwashed! You can never be happy again!

To make things worse, the young chieftain - the one who led the raid - has been acting so weird around you. He was very tall and strong with long, dark green hair tied in a ponytail. Evidently very handsome. But brutish! He would often approach you and bring you animal hides and bloodied blades. One time, he brought you a huge bone and showed a deep scar on his chest. You wanted to ask him if he needed any help, but reminded yourself that you hate him. One time, he got into your face and grunted. His tusks were not the longest in his clan, but surely the shiniest and sharpest, and he was probably trying to terrify you. You didn't let him, so you grunted back. Unfortunately, he seemed pleased with that.

One evening, there was a celebration of sorts in the village center. Even though the orc chieftain wanted you there, using his mediocre knowledge of the human tongue and his arms to explain himself, you refused. He left in a foul mood, slamming the door behind him, locking it. What a preposterous idea - you to join him? Instead, you decided to take a bath and perhaps weave something to pass your time.

Once you finish cleaning and pampering your body, still wrapped in a soft towel, you hear fumbling on the other side of the door. With a loud clank of the key finally turning the correct way, the chieftain almost falls into your cottage. He is disheveled, breathing heavily, and appearing almost feverish as his eyes dart all over your figure. Noticing his state, you take a step back, looking for a weapon.

He lifts his finger and points at you. "Why are you so difficult? You... you..." He is slurring. Is he drunk? "You don't like me. Why? I give you presents, I give you a nice house, I am patient. Why don't you like me?"

You cock an eyebrow, unsure what to think of his rant.

He tries to straighten his back, but his legs fail him a bit. "Tell me what to do. Don't just be angry. I want you to like..."

With a small burp, he slaps both of his hands over his mouth and runs toward your bathroom where he throws up into the toilet. You close the door to give him some privacy and quickly get dressed. It took some time for the retching to stop, and the orc chieftain finally leaves your bathroom looking absolutely horrible.

"I'm sorry." He looks genuinely apologetic. "I will clean later... Please, can I lie down? My head hurts."

He looks at the floor, ashamed as a child, and you just can't say no. You let him lie down your couch and give him a blanket. His huge form can't fit the furniture intended for humans, so his feet still touch the ground and one of his arms is almost completely on the floor. But he falls asleep almost immediately.

You go to your bedroom and try to focus on anything but a huge orc snoring on your couch. And how awkward and endearing he looked while apologizing.

You wake in the middle of the night to the sounds of cleaning and flushing from your bathroom. The idea of an orc chieftain - the same one that smashed through your house and kidnapped you - now cleaning your bathroom, confuses you, to say the least. What a strange life you're leading now. Eventually, he finishes, but doesn't leave as you expected. He places his heavy form on the couch again and quickly goes back to snoring.

You can't fall asleep again, and not just because of the loud orkish breathing coming from the next room. You have to admit to yourself, the chieftain looked rather dashing when he entered your house, despite how distraught he was at the same time. And he didn't do anything to you, even though you were very naked and vulnerable at that moment. He wanted you to like him.

Unable to relax, tortured by conflicting emotions, you stand up and quietly exit your bedroom. The snoring isn't as loud as before, but the young orc chieftain is lying splayed all over the tiny couch. He is shirtless now, and the blanket you gave him slipped onto the floor. You approach him, biting your lower lip. He is rather attractive - in a very dangerous and ruggish way. You've always wondered if his hair is soft or rough like the rest of him.

You sit on the floor and scoot closer to his long hair, pooled at the base of the couch. You take one green strand and notice how firm it is, but not unhealthy. The chieftain is still sleeping, softly snoring, and his fingers twitch. He must be in deep sleep, you think to yourself. Probably still too drunk to be aware of anything.

You succumb to your daring idea of touching him and trail your finger along his veiny forearm. He doesn't move. You must be quite mad to do this, but you place your palm on his toned chest, feeling his warm heartbeat. You blush, thinking how big and powerful he is. How easily he carried you over his shoulder. How— What on earth are you thinking about? He is your enemy, he is—

He grabs your wrist, the one on his chest, and you gasp. His eyes are wide open, dimly glowing.

"I-I didn't mean anything, I—" you start, but he interrupts you by pulling you on top of him and kissing you. His tusks frame your cheeks perfectly, and you just can't move anywhere, completely surrounded by his massive muscles.

Not that going anywhere even crossed your mind. His kiss is gentle, warm, and surprisingly light. He pecks your lips and cheeks and moans from what sounds like pure pleasure. You let him, enjoying it quite a bit yourself.

"I like you," he eventually says. "I like you very much. I want to make you happy. Let me give you happiness."

Still dazed from his kisses, you look at him, unsure of what to reply. Maybe you even smile. But then the rational part of you hits you in the guts. "Happiness? You want to give back what you took from me? How dare you talk of happiness?"

Hurt and shock distort his face. "I... What..."

"You destroyed my home, scared my cats and parents, and brought me here. You took my happiness!" You are almost shouting at this point.

"I'm sorry. That's what orcs do. I will bring your cats if that'll make you happy."

You wipe away your tears. "And my books?" He nods, holding you firmly as if he's afraid you'll run away. "And you will fix my house?"

"This is your house now," he says in a most gentle tone, but there is a firm note that emphasizes how non-negotiable this fact is.

"Okay, my parents' house. And you will apologize to them!"

"Yes, anything you say. Don't cry. Just let me make you happy."

You feel a bulge pressing between your legs. The size of it is significant, and you have been curious about it since he started kissing you. But another thing was still on your mind.

"And why did you do all those awful things?" you snap. "Why did you bring me all those furs and hides, and why did you growl in my face?"

The orc chieftain's eyes bulged. "Awful? Those were gifts! And I didn't growl at you, I was showing you my teeth! How growing and sharp they are. So that you see how dangerous I am. How I can protect everyone."

You frown. "You were... flirting with me?"

"I'm..." A deep green blush covers his cheeks. "I'm not sure what that word means. But I wanted you to like me. I am learning human language too. So that I can talk with you. So that I can tell you I like you."

He caresses your cheek and glides his finger across your lower lip. A tender expression melts his scarred face and you have to admit you are not against the idea of him flirting with you anymore. Or doing something even more.

You push your body forward so that you can kiss him. He seems surprised, but soon his embrace tightens around your back so much you have to squeal. You both laugh, and your kiss deepens. His tongue pushes inside your mouth and you welcome it, tasting it and sucking it. Very soon the orc chieftain starts growling or purring underneath you and he jerks his hips upwards so that he could rub his cock against any part of you he can reach.

"I must have you," he whispers, "now."

He lifts your body so that he can rip your nightgown off of you and push his massive hand inside your underwear to grope your ass. "So soft. Perfect."

As his finger finds your holes and rubs them, you hump his firm abs underneath you. You got wet quickly, and that doesn't escape him. With a smirk, he pushes his finger inside your cunt. "Need to stretch you out for my cock, my little wife."

"Yes," you huff, thinking how cute it is to be called little wife. You clit throbs while you push it against his hot skin, feeling his every scar against your sensitive bundle.

He pushes another of his thick fingers, and you moan against his neck.

"No need to hide yourself. I want to hear you. I want my whole clan to hear how I make you happy." And he does everything to make you loud. Pushing his fingers in and out, very slowly, stretching you out for him - yes, he makes you very happy, and you push your torso up and your groin more firmly against his, whimpering as much as your body asks you to. He is smiling, eagerly praising you, before taking one of your nipples between his teeth. He rolls his tongue around it, sparking jolts of intense delight.

"Oh, I'm gonna... I'm gonna..." You can't even finish before your pussy clenches around his fingers, releasing the wave of pleasure through yoru core. The orc growls happily and bites your tit harder, not stopping fingerfucking your pussy.

Once the waves slow down and become less intense, he picks you up and takes you into your bedroom. "The couch is too small for what I want to do to you."

You tremble from his words but your cunt leaks more hearing his words. He places you on your bed and removes his pants. Seeing his thick green cock with a deep purple tip firm and ready for you, gets your mouth watering. You are already on your fours sucking it, and the orc draws air through his teeth. "Fuck... You want to make your husband happy, do you?"

You just mm-hm with your mouth full of his delicious cock and you try your best to lick it and suck it all over, and every moan that comes from chieftains mouth is a little victory for you.

"Stop!" he roars and pushes you against the bed. "I don't want to cum in your mouth... right now. Later, yes. I want to fuck your cunt now."

He lies on top of you, spreading your legs, his massive form trapping you. He finds your core with his finger and, noticing you are just as wet as before, he smiles and kisses you again. Just as he pushes his tongue betwen your teeth, he places the tip of his cock against your entrance. He moves slowly, prodding and stretching you, and you whimper into his mouth.

And then he shifts, positioning himself lower, and, with a low grunt, he penetrates you completely. You yelp, slight pain ruining the moment, but as soon as he slides in and out, all the pain is gone. You both moan into each other's mouths and necks, sweat emerging on your foreheads. His hands cup your ass and he thrusts his cock all the way in. "Fuck..." he groans. "Fuck you are so tight... Nnnggh..."

You whimper and moan as his massive cock takes all of you, pounding your cunt. You are so loud, so loud, you are sure the whole village can hear you. But you don't care. You hug your orc husband around his broad back and push your needy pussy further against him, working together to reach what you both need the most.

***

You are not sure how long you two slept, but it was noon when you woke up next to the orc chieftain. He is lying on his stomach, one of his arms thrown over your stomach. It is hard to breathe, but that pain is the least of your problems. You are covered in hikeys and bites and your cunt hurts so much. But it was all worth it.

"Are you ready to get your books and cats, my little wife?" His voice startles you a bit. He is a light sleeper - you need to remember that.

"And to apologize to my parents" you add.

"Anything you say. Just teach me how to say it properly. I don't want to make them angry. Well... angrier."

"Just don't bring any bones," you say, and kiss the tip of his nose.

[lavenders388]

hiii!! i was thinking of a scenario of where gi-hun comforts the the reader after they have a panic attack/ptsd/nightmare? something sweet and romantic <3

~morning sun~

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆ seong gi hun x reader

requested 💌

a/n gi hun is so underrated in his OWN SHOW! theres like 5 fics of him for season 2 I'm glad i can add one more!! keep requesting him plsplspls!!! our little sad mullet man -matcha

tw: ptsd/panic attacks, mentions and descriptions of death/blood (typical squid game tw fr), allusion to vomiting but no description

scenario!!!: after getting out of the games with gi hun, you both face lingering struggles from what you experienced as you fight to stop the games for good.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

as you stood with the 16 remaining players on the lifted platform in what appeared to be a circus tent -or a skyscraper it felt like- you trembled as the sickeningly sweet recorded voice announced what this game would entail. you were relieved to be second to last as the pink-suited guard confirmed that the number on your chest determined the order in which you would cross the glass panels. you were even more relieved when you remembered that your husband was behind you; and would be going last. the thought of crossing the glass tiles in front of him scared you, and you knew it scared him more.

you crossed the tiles slowly, trying to avoid looking down. down to what could easily be your death, your husband's, the deaths of the people in front of you, the people who died so you could then move on and see the remaining tile that would keep you from meeting the fate of them. "16 people." you thought. the fear of all the events of the past few days reverberating in your brain making it unable to focus on just one thing. you and your husband found yourselves in a group of 456 during the first game; now, even after starting this game as a group of 16, there were 4.

"at least we are all going to make it." you thought solemnly; wanting to say it to the group, or even just your husband. you watched as sangwoo crossed; jumping on the last tile with no issue and leaping onto the finishing platform. then say byeok; also getting to safety without issue. and finally it was your turn to jump onto the last tile like they did. cementing your survival and your husband following suit.

you tried to hide your shaking as you situated yourself to make the jump. you looked at your husband behind you and gave him a soft smile, knowing that your impending safety is a large relief to him. you turn, and jump. as you land on the last tile, you stabilize yourself. but something doesn't feel right. this doesn't feel like the last step to safety. you feel the tile buckle below you.

you start to turn to your husband, not having enough time to meet his gaze as the tile completely shatters below you; glass shards cutting into your bare feet as you plummet to meet the same fate as everyone on the ground.

when you jump forward with a gasp he's already awake next to you. in your horror you don't realize at first that you're safe and in your bed; the feeling of falling to your death lingering in a way that makes your stomach burn. you stumble as you throw the covers off and try to get to your shared bathroom as fast as possible; nothing around you seeming real yet. you fling open the door and fall onto the cold tiles; the feeling of the cold hard ground below you all too similar to what just happened in your dream. the feeling makes you grip the sides of the toilet, not just because you're about to throw up; but because you still feel like your falling to your demise in a dark, fake circus tent as the masked men who bet on your lives watched. like you're there again.

as you tried to catch your breath and wipe your mouth, you feel a soft touch on your back. still not being fully there, you jump; gasping in horror. "y/n! y/n! its me!" your husband yells as he goes to touch you again, trying to comfort you without startling you anymore than he already has. "sweetheart its okay, everything is okay." he says softer. "its me, its gi hun." in a different situation you'd laugh at him reminding you, his wife, of his name. this morning though, you just fall into his arms as you cry.

you don't have any explaining needed on why you woke up in such a panic. he does the same thing every now and then; its been happening more frequently to the both of you as you've been enwrapped with desperate attempts at finding the recruiter before the games were set to begin again. he just holds you as you cry, just as you do to him when he wakes up from a nightmare. you dont hear what hes saying as you continue catching your breath. you know its sweet comforting words being spoken softly into your hair as he supports the back of your head as you breathe into his chest; his other arm caressing your back. he cringes as he feels your chest lurch with every breath.

"just breathe, its going to be okay. you're okay, i'm here and we're home and safe. were at home." you hear him say to you as you breathing quiets a bit. "i'm so sorry." you cry into his chest. you don't what all you're apologizing for. a mix of being sorry for waking him up in such an abnormal and stressful way, being sorry for all you've both been through, as well as even being sorry for him having to watch you die in your dream; knowing he didn't actually.

mornings like these have continued to replace the slow mornings waking up in bed with your husband. before the games, the two of you would wake up in each others arms, feeling the warmth of the morning sunlight coming through the curtains and resting on your exposed skin. you would stay in bed as long as possible, waking up slowly as you held each other. eventually you'd start to get up, kissing each other as one of you would try to keep the other in bed. you'd slowly make your way to the kitchen and you'd drink tea and make each other breakfast.

now, mornings looked different. a lot of times it would be gi hun waking up startled; sometimes it would be you. you could tell it bothered him so much more when you'd wake up that way. he never says it, but you know he feels responsible for you joining the game in the first place; you doing so to help him pay off his debts and for his mothers hospital stay. you try to remind him as much as possible that yes, that's true, but he's also the only reason you made it back from the game. you still stayed in bed together for a little bit; the time becoming shorter and shorter as the time crunch for finding the recruiter narrowed. and in the hotel setting you found yourselves living in you didn't exactly have a kitchen to cook breakfast.

the love you felt during you and your husband's morning ritual, raw and unconditional, has remained unchanged.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[erodasfishtacos]

A Fix For Loneliness

prompt: YN is learning she has no self-preservation. It’s why she keeps running into her stranger. A man who won’t tell her anything, gives her instructions, and occasionally isn’t downright awful.

word count: 9.5k+

warnings: h is obviously not a good person, violence, blood, medical stuff, mean H, dark H

author's note:

I upload a piece of writing every 1-2 days.

There are multiple other parts of this up and will be updated this month

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 2

one shots (1-4kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 350 + pieces available to read

Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.

Tier II - $5 USD where you get access to every piece of writing!

you can check it out here

first FIFTEEN to click here can get a free $5 membership for a month!

A little reminder, my prices are still $3USD and $5USD - you have to sign up via web browser and NOT through the App Store - they are charging fees now!

———

YN was too kind.

She knew that.

It’s why she became a nurse, to help others in their time of need, and that’s exactly what she did in the emergency department of her local hospital.

When she was walking down a back alley one night (she knew it wasn’t safe but it was such a quicker shortcut after a thirteen hour shift she couldn’t ignore it even if it was one in the morning).

YN’s half-asleep on her feet when she runs into quite the scene, a man who has to be around her age was dressed in dark jeans and a black tee shirt.

There was blood dripping from his jaw and his bottom lip was swollen up, already bruising under the drying blood.

He had just tossed something into the dumpster before slamming the lid shut with a deafening echo and despite the warning signals, YN can’t ignore him.

“Oh my goodness. You’re bleeding, sir,” YN jumps into nurse mode, hurrying up to him and without permission, tilting his head gently to the side.

The man narrows his eyes at her, clearly taken aback, and takes three big steps away from her reach towards the opposite building.

He makes a show of spitting out a mouthful of blood onto the pavement before wiping his mouth crudely with the back of his hand.

His voice was deep and scratchy, it matched his appearance, his accent thick and rough, “M’fucking fine. Back off and mind your own god damn business.”

YN is used to fiesty patients, it doesn’t phase her much as she examines him from afar now, “I’m a nurse.”

The man sneers at her, “Surprisingly, I’m not fucking blind. I don’t want your help. Run the fuck along now, little miss hero.”

YN glances down, still in her scrubs, of course he would see she’s a nurse, and distraught at this man refusing help.

She’s tired, she’s overworked, and the fact that she knows she’ll perseverate on this if he doesn’t let her help makes her choke out a frustrated sniffle.

The brunette man, with a scowl of impatience scoffs of disbelief, “Are you really about to fuckin’ cry?”

“I jus-just want to help. I lost tw-two patients today and couldn’t-couldn’t save them,” YN begins to tear up now, wiping her eyes, it was always a hard day when she lost patients.

Two today.

An older woman with a heart attack.

A teen in a car accident.

“Fucks sake,” The bloody man groans under his breath, his eyes darting up and down the alleyway, “You’re going to cause a scene over this, aren’t you? I don’t have bloody time for this.”

He stomps towards her which makes her freeze but he stands in front of her with a agitated flick of his hand, “If you’re going to do your nurse shit, do it! I don’t have god damn time for your cry baby act. Of course, I get my plans ruined.”

YN obviously doesn’t know what he’s talking about but he seems like he has places to be and she’s holding him up.

Where on earth could he go with his face looking like that anyways?

“I-I don’t have anything with me,” YN stutters after a moment, this man was intimidating as he had major height advantage, he appeared lean but his muscle definition proved he was strong.

“Okay, then see ya’,” He grunts lowly, moving to turn on his heel but YN grabs his wrist without thinking to stop him.

“My-uh, my apartment,” YN’s throat is dry, what the fuck is she doing, “I have the stuff at my apartment up the street.”

“Did your parents never teach you stranger danger? Inviting a man you’ve never met, bleeding, up to your apartment?” He asks with an eyebrow raise, wiping his continuous bleeding wound with his shirt, flashing a sliver of his carved abdominal muscles.

“You need help,” YN replies unsurely, her behaviors are so uncharacteristic but she felt drawn to help this stranger.

A small group of people pass the corridor of the alleyway, with laughs and drunk words, and the man she’s standing with perks up at high alert.

“Fuck,” He hisses angrily, that seemed to be his favorite word, yanking his hand out of her grip and muttering so softly YN doesn’t know whether she heard him right, “gonna get me caught.”

“Stand over there and turn around,” The man demands sharply, YN wasn’t used to being talked to that way but she finds herself walking towards the edge of the alley and turning away.

YN hears rustling, the dumpster being open and closed again, and a few unidentifiable noises before she hears his footsteps approaching.

His hand on her shoulder is tight as he spins her around, “If I let you fix me up, will you leave me the fuck alone and more importantly, never mention this to anyone?”

YN’s brow furrows, “Why can’t I tell-“

The man hisses in agitation, fingers digging into her skin more has harshly, “Answer me.”

It’s the first time that chills are sent down her spine at his gritted words, everything in her is screaming to run, her fight or flight triggered.

“I-I won’t tell,” YN agrees breathlessly, skin tingling when he lets go and pushes her forward, not aggressively but enough that she stumbles.

“Then move already,” He orders and when she tries to turn around to look at him, his hand comes to her neck, keeping her facing forward.

Whatever he was doing in that alley, he really didn’t want her to see, and he didn’t seem like he was open to answering questions.

YN keeps trying to justify why she’s letting a bleeding, angry man into her home as she shakily unlocks the door.

There’s no justification.

She’s putting herself in so much danger.

It had to be something about how attractive he was that made her trusting that he wouldn’t hurt her, like he was too pretty to be deadly.

A trick of the eye, maybe.

He stands in the entry hall, unmoving, and uncomfortable as he doesn’t look around, keeping his gaze on her.

“I want you to know that I’m only allowing you to do this so that you don’t run around and squeal, alright?” He reminds her, voice a bit louder to scare her.

YN nods.

“I also know where you live now, stupid girl,” He shakes his head, like he’s in disbelief YN was such an idiot, “I won’t hesitate to come back.”

She was.

Stupid.

Now her fingers were trembling as she accidentally drops her keys.

“Bat-bathroom,” YN whispers as she pokes her thumb in that direction, “Uh, my supplies.”

“I’ll stay here. I’m not coming in any further,” He crosses his arms, akin to a cornered animal who’s about to be trapped.

YN hopes he doesn’t see when she nearly trips over her own feet as she makes her way to her small bathroom, her nursing/first aid kit was under the sink.

He’s standing in the exact same place he was before, he hadn’t moved an inch, and fuck, he’s scary.

“Um, can you please sit there?” YN points nervously to the entryway bench, not coming closer until he begrudgingly sits on the edge.

“Hurry the fuck up,” He snaps at her suddenly, shaking his leg impatiently and the abruptness makes her jump, “I haven’t got all day, miss lil’ hero.”

It doesn’t sound like an compliment rolling off his tongue.

YN pulls out a cotton pad, soaking it with antiseptic fluid, and shakily says, “This is going to sting a bit. I’m just cleaning it first.”

He doesn’t acknowledge her but he does flinch when she puts her fingertips on his jaw to move his head more to the side.

When she applies the pad, if it hurts, he doesn’t give anything away, his eyes don’t even blink as he sits with his hands on his knees.

After get a fresh cotton pad and drenching it again, she moves onto his lip, and she’s so on-edge, she stumbles over his foot and falls forward.

The man grips her hips hard, pushing her back upright, and appears even more agitated as he huffs, “Chill the fuck out, alright? M’not going to do shit to you. I don’t even want to be here. You’re the one who dragged me to your apartment. Stop being so fuckin’ dramatic.”

YN’s not going to cry despite her bottom lip quivering.

YN’s father was a calm quiet man

She didn’t grow up with brothers.

She wasn’t used to being treated so bluntly, so rudely by anyone, let alone a stranger she was trying to help.

“Are you about to cry?” He asks in surprise, a cruel laugh leaving his throat as he smiles widely, he has dimples, “You’re such a delicate little flower.”

Again, it was definitely an insult.

YN’s throat contracts as she pushes down tears and it wasn’t just because of him, today was hard and she was tired.

“You don’t need stiches. The cut on your jaw is superficial, just a lot bleeding ,” YN determines as she uses a butterfly bandage to close the wound tightly.

YN tilts his chin towards her, his eyes were striking in how green they were as they blinked up at her from under dark lashes.

They were just as frightening as they were beautiful because there was something about meeting his gaze that was like staring at a hungry lion.

YN starts to dab at it with the pad again as it slowly oozes.

She can feel his gaze on her face, it’s making the hair stand up on her arms.

“Skin is just uh, irritated. Nothing major,” YN tells him, holding pressure to stop the bleeding, “How did you get this banged up anyways?”

That triggers him.

He stands up suddenly, making her stumble backwards, and he steps into her space until her back is up against the wall and he’s cornering her.

“I don’t know what bad luck I was dealt to have to deal with such a nosey bitch in my business but you better stop asking questions,” He warns as she can feels his breath, he smelled surprisingly good like citrus and sage.

“I’m sorry,” YN chokes out, it was feeling harder to breathe now.

What the fuck did she get herself into?

“For fucks sake, calm your ass down,” He grunts as he directs her to sit on the bench he was just on, “Stop being a god damn drama queen.”

YN can’t reply, simply nods and stares at the ground.

Why did she let this man in her home?

She needed her head examined, clearly.

He squats in front of her, eyes deadly intent, “I’m going to leave right now. You’re going to keep your mouth shut. If you talk about anything that you saw tonight, I’ll have no problem visiting here again.”

YN nods again, watching him stand and he’s still looking at her as he sighs, hand on the doorknob and says, “Do not ever invite a stranger into your house again, you stupid girl.”

+

YN wishes that she didn’t think about that man again.

But she does.

Over and over.

Every time she walks past an alley.

When she walks home at one in the morning.

But months pass.

No signs of him.

It was a big city.

She didn’t know whether he lived here or not, hell, she didn’t even get his first name during the interaction.

Six months and no signs.

YN dreams about him three separate times.

One of which make her question her sanity.

+

“Be quiet f’me,” He whispers against her lips, hand wrapped around her throat, “Don’t want to hear you unless you’re moaning pretty.”

YN’s staring wide eyed at him, trying to beg with her eyes as he brings her lips to his by the grip on her neck.zzz

“Gonna show me what a nice lil’ pet you can be?” His dimple is popping as he licks her lips before squeezing a bit tighter, “Can’t wait to feel your cun-“

YN wakes up by her alarm, heart pounding, and a hand coming up to touch her throat, the ghost of where she felt his fingertips.

She takes a very cold shower that morning before work.

++

Matthew was nice enough.

He was an emergency medicine doctor which is how they met in the unit.

They rarely worked the same shift but in passing, he had managed to pull YN aside and ask if she’d be interested in going on a date.

YN wasn’t necessarily jumping for joy but she was bored, life was pretty mundane at the moment, and her romantic life was nonexistent.

He was overly cocky, the type of doctor who liked to wear his scrubs into the grocery store so everyone knew his title, corrected people when they didn’t address him with Doctor first.

She didn’t realize that this is how she would meet her stranger once again.

++

The first date was in the afternoon, at a coffee shop in midtown and he had picked the spot.

“I come here atleast once a day,” He laughs as he orders a large black coffee and a bran muffin of all things, “Same ole’ routine.”

“I’ve only been here a handful of times-“ YN pauses when she catches a familiar flash of green, knowing the color distinctly.

She’s been dreaming of it.

Her stranger.

He was sitting in a booth, in the furtherest spot back in the corner with a coffee and a pastry that hadn’t even been taken out of the wax paper.

YN’s heart seizes, blinking twice to make sure that she is not imaging this, that it isn’t just a look alike man.

His unsettlingly intense stare, the scowl etched on his face, it was no doubt the man who had been invading her thoughts for the last six months.

He doesn’t break eye contact first, YN glances back to her steaming chai tea first, lying easily, “Sorry, thought I saw an old friend.”

“Yeah, I run in to quite a few here too,” Matthew agrees without notices her slight shift in demeanor as she forces herself to focus on their conversation.

YN gives herself permission about three minutes later to let her eyes flit across the room, back to that corner.

He was gone.

His coffee and pastry gone.

There was already a new couple sitting there.

YN is half-convinced that she imagined it in the first place, how did she not see him get up and walk past her?

Had that couple been sitting there the whole time?

“I’m so sorry, Matthew. I have to run to the restroom, excuse me a minute?” YN smiles, hoping it doesn’t come off as forced as she stands up and heads towards the back.

YN goes into one of the stalls, sitting down for a moment and just taking a deep breathe because she can’t figure herself out right now.

YN can’t sit in her forever which she wishes she hadn’t even agreed to this date.

When YN unlocks the stall door, she begins to let out a scream when there’s a figure leaning up against the sink, waiting for her.

The person rushes forward, clamping a hand over her mouth as citrus and sage overwhelm her senses .

“Shut the fuck up, right now.”

Why does YN almost slump in relief at the harsh words?

Maybe because this proves that she didn’t conjure him up in her head.

To confirm that he was as startlingly handsome as she has been remembering him to be in the last months.

Even more so actually.

“Are you going scream when I take my hand off?” He asks pointedly, his lips were near her ear, whispering but seeming so loud.

YN shakes her head vehemently that she won’t.

She should scream.

She’s not going to though.

He takes a few steps back, no longer even close to touching her, and once again, he looks angry at her as complains, “Lil’ fucking drama queen.”

This is definitely her stranger.

YN just stares at him, eyes as wide as saucers.

“Why are you here with him?” He asks with the same agitation, his fists were clenched against his sides tightly.

“Do you know Matthew?” YN was confused by his question or why he would care.

“What did I tell you?” He snaps at her, taking a step forward again like he wants to grab her, “Don’t ask me questions.”

“Why can you ask me then?” YN doesn’t know where the confidence is coming from, puffing up her chest.

It gets finished quickly when he brings his hand up to hold her chin, “It’s different. Now answer me.”

YN’s blood pressure must be through the roof right now as she manages to find her voice, “I’m on a date with him.”

The stranger doesn’t like that answer.

His fingertips tighten on her skin before releasing, his tongue peeks out to run over his bottom lip, “I recommend you stay the fuck away from him.”

“Why?”

“You clearly have no sense of self-preservation so I’m trying to save you a lot of trouble in the future. End the date, make an excuse, and don’t go out with him again.”

“I want to know one thing,” YN request as she chews on her bottom lip.

“No.”

“What’s your name?”

“Harry.”

They stare at each other.

YN can’t decipher if he’s being truthful or not.

As he did the night they first met, her puts a firm hand on her shoulder, and guides her towards the bathroom exit.

With his lips touching the shell of her ear, he reminds her with a hiss, “Go do exactly as I say. Leave and go the fuck home.”

He pushes her forward, she puts her arms up to avoid smashing her face off the door, and pushes it open, tripping out into the hallway.

YN legs are wobbly as she makes her way back the table, “Matthew, I am so sorry. I’m really not feeling well.”

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” He teases as he stands up and pushes his chair in.

No, I just saw my stranger.

“Would you like me to walk you home?”

“Nope. I’m good, don’t want you coming down with whatever bug I have,” She replies with a dismisses wave of her hand, willing herself not to look back towards the bathrooms.

“I’ll text you to reschedule. I hope you start to feel better soon. Please text me if you need anything,” Matt smiles genuinely, a concerned expression on his face.

Why didn’t Harry want her to be around him?

How did he have the right to order her around when he wouldn’t answer simple questions?

YN’s mind is reeling as she walks home.

It’s like she expects to see her stranger, watching her walk home but there’s no sign of him, and just like that he disappeared into thin air.

++

YN visits the coffee shop multiple more times.

He’s never there.

Matthew texts her multiple times checking on her, offering to bring her soup or medication, and telling her what a good time he had.

In an act of defiance, against her stranger who has only come into her life twice but has occupied her mind ten-fold, she agrees to another date.

It’s not as if Harry will find out but it still felt freeing to actively disobey his warning.

And so when Matthew asks…

Matthew: If you’re feeling better, I would love to take you out this weekend.

YN feels a sense of guilt that she’s thinking more of her stranger than Matthew when she replies.

YN: I would absolutely love that. Just let me know how to dress. :)

+

That is how she finds herself inside of a nice restaurant on Saturday night, dressed in a satin dress and strappy heels that she hadn’t worn in ages.

Matthew had picked her up in his run of the mill, base model sports car, that was flashy but in quite an unimpressive way.

He was dressed in a nice suit and managed to get reservations at an exclusive, small restaurant in the heart of the city.

Matthew and her were sitting at a two person table toward the back.

Next to them was a round table with place settings for six that was yet to be occupied, the notecard only specifying, ‘Styles, Party of Six.’

They are being poured their first very expensive glass of Pinot Noir when a group of men, somewhat boisterous and rowdy for the setting, are seated at the round table next to them.

“And so Doctor Flint told me that the cadaver ligament we were to use was lost. How on earth do you misplace a body part?” Matthew laughs whilst he tells her this story from the old hospital he worked at.

YN was trying to focus but she hears a voice that is eerily familiar.

“Settle down. This isn’t a fucking bar.”

The hair on the back of her neck stands straight up.

Her stranger.

This isn’t a coincidence.

It can’t be.

YN refuses to look up, past Matthew’s head because she’s terrified of what she might see or more like what she knows she’ll see.

“He put it in the employee fridge! Can you believe that?” Matthew honks out a laugh, slapping the table like he just told the world's funniest jokes.

“That’s insane,” YN agrees, forcing a fake laugh out of her suddenly dry throat, “Sounds like it could be a scene from a movie.”

YN knows that he’s watching her.

It’s the untold feeling that’s inkling up her spine.

She feels in danger for the first time.

Real danger.

How on earth is he sitting across from her?

Is he following her?

That had to be the only answer.

Had she acquired a stalker by helping him all those months ago and the coffee shop just sparked it again?

But that does equate to what he warned about Matthew?

YN convinces herself that she didn’t hear his voice, that it’s all in her head, and she’s going to look up to confirm that she was in fact going insane.

After a deep breath, YN tilts her chin up and gazes directly into the eyes of the man she was praying wasn’t staring back.

Her stranger was positively fuming, he was leveling her with a downright murderous glare that actually made her concerned for her safety.

YN darts her eyes back towards Matthew and ignores Harry for as long as humanly possible as he chats on with his friends.

Everything is working out until her date excuses himself to the restroom, before the main course comes out.

Fuck.

YN anxiously pulls out her phone to distract herself.

Until someone is plucking her mobile right out her hands, a thumb pressing into the nape of her neck as a warning to keep looking forward.

“Bathroom. Five minutes after he gets back,” Her stranger leans down to speak into her ear, he moves so sleekly that she’s never even been alerted he got up.

“My pho-“

“You’ll get it back when you meet me in the bathroom,” Harry tells her before he’s standing up and walking back to his table, slipping her cell into his suit jacket pocket.

Did he really just steal her phone?

YN digs her nails into her palm, keeping an eye on the clock after Matthew sits down, waiting until the five minute mark before excusing herself.

There’s only a single bathroom which when she pushes through the already cracked open door, her stranger is leaning against the counter like last time.

YN takes the initiative to lock it behind her.

She shouldn’t but she does.

“Give me my phone back,” YN demands, unsure of where the bravado is coming from as she steps further into the room.

Harry doesn’t give her a wicked smile, his lips are tight, and his jaw is clenched.

He is absolutely pissed.

“What the fuck did I tell you last time, stupid girl?” Harry’s volume is louder than she anticipated, making her jump in surprise.

YN doesn’t respond, the heart palpitations that were now the norm for her interaction with this man are in full effect.

“Come here,” Harry orders furiously, moving away from the counter.

YN stands her ground.

“I said come the fuck here or I’ll smash your phone right off this god damn floor,” He threatens as he watches her, lip twitching in displeasure at her not listening the first time.

YN really would rather not pay for a new cell phone at the moment and slowly, she drags her feet towards him.

”Yeah, I don’t have time for your lil’ drama queen bullshit tonight, darling,” Harry sneers as he grabs her by the waist, moving her forcefully until he can pick her up and sit her on the sink counter.

YN readjusts her dress, she’d heard a slight rip but she wasn’t going to point that out at the moment.

Harry’s hand comes to her jaw, gripping it and forcing their eyes level, “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Is that what this is? Or do you lack any semblance of common sense?”

It’s hard for YN to talk with his hand holding her jaw, her words jumbled when she garbles out, “Why are you following me?”

His brows furrow in confusion, “You think I’m following you?”

”What are the chances that you show up in two places that I’ve been? While I’m on a date? Unless you’re following Matt….” YN trails off because that would make no sense, it was much more likely that he was following her around.

It was clear Matt had no idea who Harry was because he hadn’t recognized or acknowledge him at the coffee shop or at dinner when Matt would have definetly seen him when he was returning from his bathroom break.

Harry grip tightens enough that she squeaks, trying to pull away, and he hadn’t even seemed to realize he was using much force because it instantly loosens again.

Oddly, he reaches his thumb out to run along her jawbone, and it’s half comforting, half annoyed when he mutters, “You’re fine. Stop.”

She was pretty far from fine at this point.

”Are you that desperate for a lay?” Harry asks bluntly, he was standing in between her thighs and if anyone would have walked into this room, they would be under a much different impression than what’s actually going on.

”Excuse me?” YN gasps, affronted at his questioning.

Harry rolls his eyes at he reaction, his thumb was still rubbing against her skin but his grip had him in control, “I specifically told you to never associate with that guy. Here you are a week later, dressed up all pretty f’him, and what…you gonna let him take you home?”

If YN didn’t know any better, there sounded like some jealously in his tone.

”I don’t know what was going to happen after dinner,” YN bites out, trying to exercise her jaw muscle against his fingertips, “Maybe I would have let him take me home and fuck me.”

Harry’s eyes darken, his pupils dialating further in his anger, and his hand moves from her jaw to the side of her neck, thumb ghosting over her pressure point as a silent threat.

”Can I tell you what I think?” Harry murmurs, with the smallest hint of a smile like he’s cracked the code to something.

”You’re going to anyways,” YN mumbles, her own annoyance flooding her body.

”You’re not even into him. I think you agreed to this date just to spite my warning, huh? Tell me I’m wrong,” Harry’s voice is deeper, smoother, and downright dangerous.

”I do-“

”Tell. Me. I’m. Wrong,” He recites each word distinctly, his teeth gritted as his eyes dart from her eyes to his grip on her throat to her lips back to her eyes in a vicious cycle.

YN bites at her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth as she doesn’t know why Harry is so good at figuring her out but now she doesn’t feel like she’s in a position to lie either.

She avoids it by saying, “I don’t know you. You won’t let me ask questions. Why should I trust you? There was no reason not to go on another date. Why because of your ominous warning?”

”Yes because of my fucking warning,” He snaps back at her, stepping further between her thighs until their chests are nearly bumping and his familiar scent is lingering against her, “I know what I’m talking about. Stay the fuck away from him.”

YN shouldn’t push his buttons.

She should oblige, agree, and then avoid him for the rest of her life.

But as always, she goes against all those natural instincts and eggs him on further.

”Well then who would I go home with tonight?”

Harry doesn’t appreciate that comment.

Not by the way he’s moving to wraps his fingers around her wrist and tug her off the counter, “I’m taking you home now.”

“Wait, I-“ YN responds in surprise, not resisting his hold as he helps her onto her feet, her high heels were not made for this type of activity.

”No, you want to keep playing with me? You’re going to lose, every fucking time,” Harry retorts as he begins to lead her towards the door, “You’re going to go home to your own apartment, by yourself. Use your fingers, a toy, I don’t really care but you’re not going home with that guy.”

YN feels awful that Matthew is sitting out there, their main courses about to be served, and it will be the second time that she is ditching him when neither had been her intention.

“My dress,” YN stops moving, right as his hand is on the doorknob, “You fucking ripped it. I cannot go outside like this.”

It was true, from the stretch of the countertop, the already high-cut slit on the right side of her dress was now up to her hip, flashing the obnoxiously red lace she had on underneath.

Harry’s eyes move down with a cluck of his tongue, “Really fuckin’ desperate, huh?”

But before YN can defend herself, he’s shrugging out of his suit jacket and wrapping it around her waist, tying it in the front, and it hangs enough to cover at least where her underwear is flashing.

”There, now come the fuck on. I have shit to do,” Harry retakes her hand, tight and firm as he opens the bathroom door, and instead of going towards the dining hall, he’s going further back into the hallway.

He’s letting them out of an emergency exit into an alleyway.

She expects him to dismiss her, to tell her to get home, and to not contact Matt again.

Instead, what actually happens is that he continues walking with her, out of the alleyway and towards the streets that will lead to her apartment, seeing as he definetly didn’t forget where she lived.

YN was cold, goosebumps breaking out along her arms as her bare arms hit the windchill, her jacket left at the restaurant.

“My jacket,” YN points out, pauses quick enough that Harry nearly bumps into her from where he was following closely behind.

His hands come to her shoulders, encouraging her with a bit of force to keep walking, “I’ll have one of my friends grab it.”

YN hated walking in these heels, it’s why she had spent the money on the Uber.

“It’s cold,” YN complains as they’re about halfway there, he’s only a step behind her, ready to grab her at any moment.

“Walk faster then,” Harry replies in a bored tone, his hands once again moving to her shoulder to give her a light shove forward.

YN wants to scream, maybe unstrap her heel, and hit him with it because he was truly the most incorrigible person that she has ever met in her life.

Her stranger stays silent until they make it to her door, he easily ignores the unflattering comments YN makes under her breath, only receiving a shove or push as a response.

When YN fumbles for her keys, Harry waits like he’s invited in, and YN doesn’t have the will right now to fight.

As soon as they get in, Harry shuts the door behind them and she plops on her couch to start unstrapping the heels.

Her hands are shaking.

She wants to blame the cold but she knows it’s her nerves.

“Pathetic, shaking like a leaf,” Harry huffs as he watches, kneeling down and smacking her hands away, heavy rings stinging her skin, and he begins to undo them himself, “Can’t even get your own shoes off and you want to act like you're tough with me.”

YN watches, heart in her throat at the sight of her stranger kneeling in front of her, his hand wrapped tightly around her ankle as the other fusses with the straps.

Why does she get this deep pitted urge to rile him up, just when he starts to act calm?

“I’m going to see Matthew again,” YN wishes her words had come out with a bit more confidence even though they were a downright lie.

Harry stops his actions, blinking up at her with an unreadable expression, “No.”

“You can’t-“

Harry lunges upward, eye level and angry once again, his teeth were gritted as he went to his usual means of control.

A firm grip of her chin.

“I can. I am telling you I can. Leave it the fuck alone and move on. You don’t even like the bloke,” Harry calls her out, it’s a statement, not a question.

“I haven’t even got to know him-“

“Nor do you need to. Stop fuckin’ around because you’re making my life harder by doing this. And I really don’t like when people make my life harder. Especially spoiled lil’ drama queens,” He’s getting agitated enough that his grip gets harsh, painful, and she flinches in response.

Just like last time, he loosens his hold and his frown deepens, “M’not going to hurt you. Don’t have to act like that.”

“Yes, as you squeeze me. I don’t even know who the fuck you are,” YN pulls out of his grip, he allows it but his other hand is still on her ankle.

“It doesn’t matter who I am,” Her stranger argues, “Bottom line. Stop. Fucking. Up. My. Plans.”

”I don’t even know what they are,” YN shots back, she felt like they were talking in riddles at this point.

”Go to work, do your cute little nurse shit, and come home,” Harry repeats through clenched teeth, he finally moves to take off her other high heel.

”Forever?” YN snorts sarcastically, wriggling until she can untie his suit jacket from around her waist, making it a point to toss it next to him on the floor.

She felt even more satisfaction when she realized it was a Gucci piece.

Harry’s eyes stay directly staring into hers.

”Until I tell you elsewise,” He replies cryptically, “You’ve ruined enough things f’me. I need you to stop or m’going to have to do something to make you. Don’t try to think you’re smart and defy me. I’ll know.”

YN’s head is spinning, “You’re telling me I’m not supposed to date or have a social life until you say so? A stranger I don’t even know?”

”If you want to stay out of danger. Yes,” He replies like it’s that simple, he’d taken off both of her heels by this point and didn’t seem to realize that he was still holding her foot, thumb pressing into the arch on the bottom.

”This isn’t fair,” YN feels her throat tighten.

Fuck, she was not going to cry.

”It doesn’t have to be fair. Life isn’t fuckin’ fair, darling,” Harry’s voice is venomous as he speaks, his accent was distinct and each word was enounciated harshly.

”Maybe I should just risk it,” YN slouches back into the couch, kicking his hand off of her.

”No, you won’t fuckin’ risk it,” Harry leans up, his hands on either side of her knees, and it would be an intimate position giving any other circumstance, “You need a date that bad? Having a dry spell, pet?”

There’s a roughness in his voice that makes her want to close her thighs.

God, what the fuck is wrong with her?

She is quiet literally being threatened by a stranger and she feels arousal pooling in her belly?

She’s going to fucking die at this rate.

”You said I can’t go out. It doesn’t mean that I can’t have someone come back to my place,” YN is fucking with him at this point, to rile him up even further when she should be doing the exact opposite, “My sex life counldn’t possible interfere with your ‘plans’.”

Harry’s jaw flexes under his skin, if looks could fucking kill.

”Do you need a lesson?” Harry sits up, his hand shifting to her hip and it sends a shockwave through her.

His fingertips were ghosting over the exposed red lace, lightly, curiously.

”A le-lesson?” YN stutters, eyes wide and god, she wanted to spread her legs further.

”Yes, a lesson. To keep you in this god damn house,” Harry reiterates as his fingers slip underneath the thin fabric near the waistband, snapping the elastic against her hips and making her jump, “Do I need to show you how to use your fingers? Buy you a god damn toy? Something because I need you to stay in this fuckin’ house and I don’t know how many different ways to emphasize it.”

YN knows how to use her fingers but there’s something about the texture, calloused roughness of her stranger’s that make her want his instead.

She wasn’t some sex-hungry feign.

Her currently dry spell had been lasting over the past year.

It was something in particular about her stranger that made her realize just how long it had been.

She wasn’t made uncomfortable by his finger wandering by her hip.

Despite how threatening, how out of line this man was, for some reason she felt like she could trust him not to hurt or take advantage of her.

She had never been this risk-taking in her entire life.

And this isn’t normal risk-taking.

”I know how to use them,” YN bleats back, heart jumping when his thumb rubs over the thin skin of her hip, his hand slipping just underneath the fabric of her dress, “Just don’t like to.”

“Then you’re not doing it right,” Harry shakes his head, a bit more solemn and quiet for the moment as he watches his hand.

There’s a pause.

A long enough moment of silence that it reels Harry right back into reality.

He straightens up before standing, kicking her shoes aggressively out of his way as he storms towards the door, “You better fuckin’ listen to me. It really won’t end well for you if you don’t.”

“When will I -“

When will I see you again?

When can I not be a prisoner in my own house?

Why am I going to be a prisoner in my own house?

What the fuck is he trying to protect me from?

What plans am I fucking up?

There’s all those questions and more on the tip of her tongue but she can’t even get the first one out before Harry is cutting her off.

”You’ll know. Now lock your fuckin’ doors and go the fuck to sleep.”

YN also doesn’t know anyone who used the word ‘fuck’ as much as her stranger.

But she finds herself listening as he slams the door on his way out, trembling on it’s rusty hinges, and locking it behind him like he couldn’t manage a way in if he really want.

YN didn’t know exactly what he was up to, but it wasn’t good.

++

It was six days until YN had to face Matthew.

YN had been surprised that she hadn’t received any text or calls.

Then she goes into her settings, realizing that while Harry had stolen her phone that he’d manage to block his number, delete their conversation, and delete his contact information on top of it.

Fucking dick.

YN can’t avoid Matthew in the cafeteria.

As she’s waiting in line for her salad to be made and he strides right up to her with a displeased expression she’d never seen on his normally smile-laden face.

”If you didn’t like me, you could have just said so before standing me up twice,” Matthew tells her, he’s trying to keep his tone casual as he acts like he’s reading the nutritional facts on the back of his energy drink.

”I am so sorry,” YN doesn’t look at him, looking directly at the woman making their food instead as she works, “It’s…this isn’t like me. It has nothing to do with you, I promise. I’ve just had some….issues that had unexpectantly popped up.”

Matthew scoffs, slamming his tray down a bit too aggressively, “If you’re going to lie, at least make it beleiveable. Do you know how lucky you were that I gave you a chance? I’m a fucking doctor. You’re a nurse. You should be chasing me, not elsewise.”

YN squeezes her eyes shut because it’s not worth starting a fight in the middle of their workplace, “Matt, I’m really just trying to enjoy my lunch break on my fourteen hour shift. Please, just leave me alone. Like I said, I’m sorry about what transpired. It’s on me.”

Matthew surprises her by ducking to whisper in her ear, “You are a no one, YN.”

++

None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for her stranger.

She wouldn’t be feeling so useless.

Alone.

It had been four months since she’d seen her stranger.

Not one trace of him.

Despite the fact that she had been listening, she didn’t go out on dates, and she didn’t bring anyone home.

A nice nurse anesthetist named Paul had wanted to take her out on a date, YN was somewhat interested but turned him down gently, stating that she wasn’t ready for a relationship.

It made her angrier as the months went on.

She hated her stranger.

She missed her stranger.

++

It’s takes four and a half excruciatingly isolating months until something changes.

YN had a ten hour shift tonight which wouldn’t have been bad but she hasn’t had a day off in nearly two weeks and she was run ragged.

YN had the next three off to recuperate which would start by passing out immediately in her bed after showering.

When YN unlocks her front door, her eyes are heavily lidded as she locks it behind her, flipping on the switch, and kicking off her black tennis shoes.

”It’s ‘bout fuckin’ time.”

YN drops her water bottle, her phone, and her purse - causing all the contents to start to spill and roll out.

”Jesus Christ, so jumpy, m’little drama queen,” He laughs meanly as his voice doesn’t come any closer.

YN hasn’t looked at him yet but has a sneaking suspicion that her stranger is sitting comfortably on her couch after breaking in.

She should be worried as to why he’s here.

Instead she feels a flair of anger bubble up in her chest, “Four and half fucking months. You let me be alone with nothing and no one for four and a half months, Harry.”

When she turns to face him, her anger quickly dissipates when she realizes that he’s injured.

He’s shirtless, which YN doesn’t have time to let herself look over his tattoos, his rippled muscles, any of it because he’s currently holding his balled up white shirt to his eyebrow.

There was barely any white fabric to be seen, sodden with dark red blood.

“Oh my god,” YN gasps as she steps over her spilled items, rushing towards the couch.

There were streaks of blood trailing down the side of his face, leaving a trace all the way down to his pecs where it finally dried.

“I’m fine. I just need you to do your lil’ hero act on me, okay?” His teeth are stained red from where his bloody lip has poured into his mouth.

YN feels awake suddenly, rushing to her bathroom to retrieve her kit, and running back to her living room just as fast.

“Harry, I don’t-“ YN fumbles, nearly dropping her supplies, going completely scatter-brained in panic and the shock of seeing her stranger after so long.

”Hey,” Harry replies, loud enough to make her jump, and with his free hand, he does what he always does, grips her chin and levels their eye contact, “Stop freaking out. Isn’t this what your fuckin’ job is? Do you do this at the hospital?”

YN shakes her head, “This is different.”

“Well then act like it’s not,” Harry’s hold on her isn’t as rough as it normally is and she has a creeping suspicion that he’s smeared his blood on her face but that was the least of her concerns.

YN goes to her kitchen sink, scrubbing her hand thoroughly before tucking her hands into a pair of latex gloves before she’s removing his destroyed shirt to examine the actual injury.

It wasn’t the worst that she had ever seen but it was far more serious than the injuries that he had the first time that she saw him.

”I’m going to do the same thing as last time. I’m going to clean it first,” YN informs him through shaky breath as she soaks a cotton pad to begin to swipe over the split skin gently.

Harry, once again, doesn’t show any type of reaction that it’s painful.

He only continues to stare at her face as she does her job.

When the cut is completely cleaned up, YN’s able to examine it better, and realizes that he definitely needs stitches.

”You need at least five or six stitches,” YN tells him after taking a step back, peeling off the gloves, “Do you want me to drive you to the hospital?”

Harry doesn’t move, his chest is moving steadily, calm as ever.

”No, I want you to stitch me up,” Harry replies like that’s a normal request.

”I don’t have numbing medication or pain medication, I-“

”I don’t need it. Will you come the fuck on?” He pushes, sitting up a bit straighter, and he has no right to get annoyed at her right now when he’s the one causing all of this.

YN knows she shouldn’t do what he’s asking.

Shouldn’t give in to another one of his demands.

But she does.

”Fine,” YN lets out a long exhale, digging through her kit for another pair of gloves and the material for sutures.

”Wait f’a minute,” Her stranger interrupts her, hand coming to grip her hip, and bring her attention back to him, “I don’t want you fuckin’ shaking while you do it. I need you to calm down, okay? Everything is fine, right? You know that.”

”I don’t know that,” YN frowns as she rummages through her kit, ignoring that he wants her eyes on him, “I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t even know you but I’ve listened to you for the past five months.”

“I know you have,” He replies simply.

Was he watching her?

”And nothing bad happened to you, did it?” Harry prompts, squeezing her hip encouraging her to look at him.

YN begrudgingly does, surprised by the softness on his face, his normal harsh frown lines had dissipated.

”No,” YN agrees honestly, “I have just been lonel- never mind.”

She finds herself choking up on the word, tears threatening to spill because she’s tired, confused, and fucking lonely.

Harry’s eyes are unreadable like the usually are, they’re concerned and his squeezing turns almost into a gentle massage of her plush right there.

”I’ll fix it, okay?” Harry sighs as YN tugs on another pair of gloves, “I need you to continue to listen to me, follow my instructions, and I’ll make sure you’re not lonely, okay?”

YN doesn’t believe him for a moment but doesn’t have the energy to argue, “Okay.”

Harry knows that she isn’t buying it, “I mean it. I stick by my fucking word. I’ll fix it if you continue to listen.”

YN nods in agreement, carefully taking the curved needle from the sterilized packaging and threading it through the suture material, “You’ll need to come back here or go to the doctor in about a week and a half to get these remove. They don’t dissolve.”

”Okay,” Harry acknowledges but he’s more subdued, like something about YN complaining about her loneliness had stuck with him.

”Sit back,” YN orders as she’s ready to start work and when she leans over, she not only realizes it’s a shitty angle but her lower back is screaming at her from being on her feet for an unreasonable amount of hours today.

Harry must recognize it, surprisingly perceptive for how cold and disconnected he can be, “C’mere.”

YN should put up a fight.

YN should do a lot of things that she doesn’t.

Harry pulls her in until she’s sitting in his lap, thighs straddling over his closed ones, and she rests her bum on the thick of his quad muscle.

It actually was a much easier angle to do what she needed to do.

Her strangers hands come up to steady her hips, resting in the dip above her hip, and his hands were massive, his fingertips nearly reaching her bellybutton from the way that they were splayed.

”It’s going to hurt. Try not to flinch or anything,” YN mumbles, ignoring the butterflies that were starting to go crazy in her belly.

The roles are reversed when YN grips his chin to keep his head at the angle she needed it as she decided how to go about this.

She can with one hundred percent certainty say that she’s never sat on a patient’s lap while giving them stitches.

Harry doesn’t so much as flinch as she begins, his eyes were studying her face the whole time, hands firm around her waist, and unrelenting in their grip to keep her steady.

The only noise in the room is their breathing, more so YN’s, and a sharper intake from Harry when she has to pierce the needle through his sensitive, bruised skin to pull it shut.

”D-done,” YN replies after she ties the thread of neatly, snipping it with a small pair of scissors before sitting back, her back was still aching.

Harry hadn’t said anything during the whole thing, he doesn’t smile but he isn’t frowning either as he moves to hold her chin, his favorite thing apparently, and his thumb swipes over her bottom lip.

It was oddly intimate.

”Thank you,” Her stranger tells her sincerely, no teasing or harshness.

YN nods, swallowing because she should get off of his lap but she feels planted where she’s at.

Until she can’t help the massive yawn that has her eyes watering, bringing her hand to cover her mouth.

”S’time to get you to sleep,” Harry decides as he stands up and positions her on her feet, “You need to stop workin’ so much. You’re going to die of exhaustion.”

How does he know how much she works?

YN’s too tired to question it further.

”Need t’shower,” YN mumbles back, rubbing at her eye.

”It can wait, you’re ‘bout dead on your feet. Hold on,” Harry disappears down her hallway, she can hear him going into her bathroom like he just has full permission to explore her house.

He comes out a moment later with a damp washcloth, without asking, he begins to wipe at her face, and when the white fabric starts to stain red - she’s alarmed before she realize that it wasn’t her own blood that had dried on her face.

”You can…um, you can shower before you leave if you want,” YN offers as she allows him to wipe her off, moving down her jawline and throat.

She expects him to turn it down.

”I might actually take you up on that. This…this wasn’t part of my plan for the night and I still have things to do. I’ll lock up on the way out?” Her stranger tosses the washcloth on her kitchen counter.

”Yeah, m’going to go to sleep,” YN waves her hand at him, her eyes were starting to close without her permission as she drug her feet towards her bedroom.

”Jesus Christ, I’m fucked.”

YN hears him mutter that under his breath, not meant for her to hear, and she doesn’t know what it means anyways, it was probaly about his plans that didn’t go his way.

After she changes into her pajamas, YN realizes that Harry doesn’t have a shirt on, and she rifles through her drawers until she finds a shirt from an old boyfriend that would fit him.

She folds it, leaves it right in front of the bathroom door, and goes back into her bedroom.

Underneath the covers, she tries to sleep but instead finds herself listening to her stranger.

He must drop a bottle in the shower at some point.

Then the water’s being shut off after awhile.

A bit of shuffling and the door opening.

What she doesn’t expect is when he steps into her doorway, leaning against her doorframe, in the shirt that she had left for him.

”Bye,” He replies simply, no ‘thank you’ or anything.

YN sits up, “No, not ‘bye’. When…when is this going to end? I can’t keep living like this, Harry. I -“

”I said I would fix it, didn’t I? So stop bitching,” Harry snaps, the calmness that had settled between them had disappeared, all the softness that he’d shown just a bit ago had been lost now.

YN frowns at him, “I’m so nice to you. I don’t understand why you treat me so poorly.”

”If you think I’m treating you poorly, you don’t want to know how I treat others,” Harry laughs, the cruelty seeping back into each syllable, “You’re just a sensitive lil’ drama queen.”

”Fuck you,” YN shoots back for the first time because she had been overly nice and accommodating for a man she didn’t know anything about.

The frown lines are back, his scowl set where it normally was.

”Goodnight, my queen,” Harry smirks as the insult rolls off his tongue.

”Get the fuck out,” YN’s voice is quivering but not from fear or upset, from rage.

”My pleasure,” He agrees easily, stepping away from the doorframe and disappearing down the hall.

YN’s too tired to have anymore thoughts after she hears the front door click closed.

What. The. Fuck

++

The next morning, she’s awoken to an obnxious pounding on her front door.

There’s no way that it would be her stranger, right?

He would have let himself in if it was anything like last night.

She had never even questioned where he got the injury from.

When she makes it to the front door, there’s no one in front of her peephole which confuses her, and makes her unlock it to open it up.

There’s a massive cardboard box on her front mat, with small holes poked into the sides, and her name scrawled on the top of it in what looked to be boyish handwriting in marker.

YN hears rustling of all things.

Which makes her kneel down to open the loosely shut box.

When she hears the most feisty mewl of her life.

After opening the flaps, there’s two black kittens inside with a blanket surrounding them.

They were jet black with sleek, shiny coats and bright green eyes- looking up at her expectantly.

Two kittens on her doorstep.

YN is confused but she brings them inside.

When she looks in the box for any explanation, there’s a small note that is in the same handwriting as the scribbles on the cardboard.

[shouyuus]

send me one + a character and i'll write you a drabble

─── 翔陽 INFAMMABLE BRIDGES

shouyou; 1,600 words; sfw, fluff; childhood friends to lovers; 5 times shou remembers + 1 time that you do

he has never been the forgetting kind -- not as a child, when, after the first time you told him you thought daisies were prettier than roses (who likes roses anyway? not you, eughck), he'd shown up at your door with dirty nails and a fistful of road-side daisies. his missing-toothed smile had been wide as a yawning horizon, bright as the first strip of lemon-yellow sunlight on a summer's day.

he's never been the forgetting kind, not as an middle school student -- even though his grades have always been nothing short of abominable, he's never forgotten that you prefer .7 lead over .5 because it's better for doodling in the edges of your notebooks.

"c'mon shou, you gotta focus if you wanna get into a good high school!" you tap your pencil against his mad scribble of illegible notes even as he whines, peering up at you with those honey-warm eyes.

"but its sooooo haaaard," he drops his face to the table, turning to pillow his cheek to the pages of the notebook, uncaring of the fact that when he picks his face back up, it'll be lead-stained. you fight back an exasperated grin, reaching out to wipe at the dark smear.

he pauses for a second at the familiar warmth of your touch. you drop your eyes back to your workbook page, resuming your work. you don't see him reach up to brush his own fingers along the place where your fingertips had touched.

later that night, with the pair of you sprawled out on your couch, flipping through channels till he settles on the sports channel, showing reruns of the local high school volleyball championships, shouyou turns to you with bright eyes and asks --

"hey! if i win the olympics gold medal for volleyball one day, will you marry me?"

you blink owlishly at him, momentarily distracted by the over-eager announcer as they exclaim over another apparently spectacular spike made by a guy named the little giant.

you shrug, "sure -- if you ever get olympics gold."

he's never been the forgetting kind, not as high school student, a even though you're cities apart now -- he shows up at your culture festival, sweaty and out of breath. you blink at him from behind the takoyaki stand, the smell of slightly burnt dough singeing your nostrils.

"s-shou! what're you --"

"s-sorry i'm l-late! h-had to bi-bike across the mountains --" he pants, propping his palms on his knees, careless of the alarmed looks of the other students still queueing up for their takoyakis, "but i d-didn't wanna miss your takoyaki stand!"

you stare, slack-jawed, wracking your brain for when you'd told him (but of course you had; you tell him everything, don't you?).

someone nudges you and you jerk out of your reverie, hurriedly flipping the takoyakis in your pan, grimacing slightly at the burnt backs. you give the queueing customers an apologetic smile as you scoop them out and drizzle them in sauce.

shouyou waits the entire 45 minutes it takes to get to the front of the line, grinning as he hands over a crumpled bill and asks for two servings. you cock your head, but he reaches over to flick at your sweat-beaded forehead.

"one's for you, duh!"

he's never been the forgetting kind, even though you know he spends all his time practicing, and it's hard, being 3rd years, what with uni apps to worry about and careers to consider.

he shows up at your door at 11:54pm, his hair tousled, his cheeks kissed pink by the cold. his breath frosts the air between you as he shoots you a bright grin and holds out a bouquet of flowers (your eyes linger on the tiny white daisies scattered throughout the bouquet like so many handfuls of lost stars).

"congrats on getting into u tokyo!" he pushes the flowers into your hands, glancing up at the darkened sky just as the first flakes of snow start to fall. you purse your lips, staring down at the flowers, a soft laugh creeping up your throat as you take half a step back to let him in.

"thanks, shou -- but you didn't need to buy me flowers, or anything -- and i know you're training for nationals --"

he shakes his head, stepping into the genkan and patting at the snow in his hair. you giggle, reaching up to dust at his shoulders, wondering vaguely when he'd gotten tall enough for you to have to reach up --

"course i did! not every day your b-best friend gets into the best university in all of japan!" he laughs, but when you join in with a soft giggle, he quiets, looking at you with those dark, steady eyes. you don't ask him why he'd stuttered over the word best friend -- it's what you are (though something inside you clunks)... because that's what you'd always been.

he's never been the forgetting kind, not as an adult, halfway across the world, two oceans keeping the pair of you apart. your phone rings early on a wednesday morning, and you scrub at your eyes, frowning as you swipe up to answer.

"shou? what's wrong? why're you up so late --?"

"happy birthday," he says, his voice still gravely from sleep.

warmth pools in the depths of your belly as you slump back onto your own bed, throwing an arm over your eyes to shield you from the first rays of unforgiving sunlight streaming through your window. you don't try to fight the grin that spreads across your lips as you whisper a soft --

"thanks."

a beat of silence crackles across the line.

shouyou clears his throat; it's a marvel, really, how much a few years a couple thousand miles can change the sound of a person's voice -- roughen it up around the edges, deepen it till it unspools something tucked inside you, or perhaps, it had always been his to undo -- and you'd just been waiting for him to reach out and do it.

"isn't it like... 1am in germany? don't you have a game tomorrow?"

"yep, but... still wanted to be the first one to wish you happy birthday." you can almost hear the light-bending gravity of his smile, all cheek and teeth and half-moon eyes.

you sigh, nodding, before you remember he can't see.

"well, you are -- you always are."

he hums, barely stifling a yawn. you crinkle your nose.

"go to bed, shou. i'll call you before your game tomorrow."

"okay," he says, and you hear the faint sounds of sheets shuffling as he settles back into his blankets. you roll onto your side and stare at the array of small trinkets he's brought back for you over the years -- a volleyball keychain, a tiny crow plush, a christ the redeemer statue from rio, an eiffel tower snow-globe from paris.

"i love you." he says. and there's no hesitation, no buildup, just a simple statement of fact. you sink deeper into your pillow, your cheeks awash with heat.

"yeah... i know," you whisper, pulling your blankets up over your head like you used to when the pair of you were still young enough to build blanket forts in his living room, giggling over stolen cookies and a flashlight clutched between chocolate-sticky fingers.

"good," he says, with a contented sigh.

"sleep, shou," you say. and he hums again, laughing. the sound rocks through you, soft and sweet as a rising tide, coming home to shore.

"yeah, gnight."

you've never been the forgetting kind, not when it's the most important day of his whole life (though he might argue, later on, the pair of you tangled in the sheets of his hotel room, his arm banded over your stomach as he nuzzles his face into your cheek, that the most important day of his life was when he first met you) --

"shou!"

he knows its you even before he turns to see you, the sound of your voice carried above the roaring of the crowd as he wipes at his face with the already soaked bottom of his jersey.

he turns just in time to catch you as you bowl into him, careless of the massive bouquet of flowers clutched in your arms, now squashed between you as he hoists you up with a joyous laugh.

he kisses you in front of the entire crowd, and you let him. of course you do.

later, when an interviewer asks you what it's like to have an olympic gold medalist as your boyfriend, you cut her off to say --

"fiancé."

she blinks, cocking her head, looking bewildered, even as shouyou jerks back, staring down at you, mouth agape.

the interviewer looks between the pair of you before asking, "sorry, did i hear that right? the pair of you are engaged?"

you shoot her a toothy grin, "yep!" before turning to grin up at an utterly shell-shocked shouyou with, "i promised i'd marry you if you ever won an olympic gold, remember?"

at this, shouyou's whole body softens, slackening as he tips into a fit of full-bellied laughter, pulling you into him for another sweet kiss, one that has the interviewer glancing away for just a second.

"yeah... yeah i do... god, i can't believe you remember that!"

you roll your eyes, giving him a playful shove, "i can't believe you forgot."

he shakes his head, "i didn't. i never did. i just..." he trails off, smiling helplessly down at you.

you lean up to give him another little peck on the lips.

"well, no going back on it now, shou."

shouyou nods, turning back to the interviewer with a bright smile, "nope, wasn't ever planning on it."

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