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norikuna · 12 days ago

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WHAT? LIKE IT'S HARD? ✶ choso kamo

abstract ✶ there are six physiological stages of having a crush. you just wish that you didn't have to learn this through first-hand experience. everyone said that choso kamo was a loser in high school, a quiet kid who haunted the campus with no friends. sure, he was brilliantly smart, but he dropped out in senior year. he even managed to break your heart, the glittering prom queen, with the world at your fingertips. imagine your surprise three years later, when you find yourself stuck with him in med school. what's worse? he's actually super hot now!

PART II. of the new years letters, a series of fics dedicated to some of my lovely mutuals! 🎁

pairing. choso kamo x afab!reader genre tags and warnings reader is practically a blair waldorf prototype (filthy rich, a bit bratty, spoiled), bestfriend!gojo, background gojo x geto, mentions of blood and injuries, med school, MISCOMMUNICATION, angst and hurt, fluff, kissing and making out. sukuna and yuuji cameos.

word count. 17.5k! song inspiration. crush culture — conan gray

a/n. shameless med student insert i rlly projected my full heart and soul into the anatomy lab ick. art belongs to all respective artists [will add credit!] crossposted on ao3 💖

dedication. for my dear kashika, first of all happy (belated) birthday @kasukuna 💗 wanted this to coincide with ur day but i'm late, i fear!!! you hype me up so much, send the sweetest asks and you're so damn talented that i'm left begging for an ounce of your creativity and amazing mind! your fics are so witty and well thought out and i like to think that you've spawned an incredible dumbass!bf sukuna renaissance on jjk tumblr 😭 idk if you remember but i sent you an ask on creamflix so long ago like the start of december asking you to choose between characters and au's so i tried lifting this as verbatim as i could from ur answer <3 hope you had the most amazing day ever!!

mp3. ✶ crush culture makes me wanna spill my gut out, i know what you're doing! tryna get me to pursue ya <3

You refuse to speak to Gojo Satoru ever again. Not today, not tomorrow, not in this lifetime nor the next. He’s officially dead to you, figuratively, of course. Unfortunately.

The moment he stops cackling like a deranged hyena in the middle of your bedroom, you’re going to shove him out the door so hard that he’s going to see stars. You’ll block his number, you’ll delete every photo of his smug grin, and you’re going to hire an exorcist to cleanse his essence from your life.

Except right now, your best friend is sprawled across your bed, practically writhing as he gasps for air in between bouts of ridiculous, chipmunk-like squeals. He’s still in his uniform, having crashed at your place after school, with his white shirt untucked, sleeves pushed to his elbows and his tie dangling uselessly around his neck.

“You are such a child,” you grumble, shoving your sticker-laden journal off your lap with a huff, just so you can aim a precise kick at his ribs. Satoru wheezes dramatically, clutching his stomach like he’s just been mortally wounded in battle.

“It’s -” he’s snickering, slapping the fine-thread sheets with the fervour of one trying to summon a higher power, “It’s just too good. I – oh my god, I really can’t breathe! I think I’m going to pass out.”

Satoru’s rolling over dramatically, dark-tinted sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his hawkish nose, leaving him to look like a cherubic bird with a bad attitude.

“If only,” you mutter darkly, arms crossed over your own blazer as you glare daggers at the white-haired boy, “It’s not that funny.”

But Satoru just doesn’t listen, of course. His grin is wide enough to split his face in half, and every breath that he takes is another affront to your polished dignity, and every stupid wheeze is a reminder that you made the colossal mistake of trusting this man with classified information.

“Keep laughing,” you say, your tone low and menacing as you snatch your phone off your nightstand, “And see what happens when I play offence.”

That gets Satoru’s attention, as he freezes mid-snort. Grin faltering just enough to make you feel a small and petty thrill of satisfaction, “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” you say, already tapping away on your phone, scrolling past the ninety-nine notifications clogging Instagram. A certain raven-haired boy’s name hovers in your mind, one who shares the same initials as Gojo Satoru.

You’re not above sending a risky message.

Hey! Gojo’s been totally obsessed with you, ever since you bashed his head in with a spiral notebook back in seventh grade, and called him a spoilt, rich kid. He draws love hearts around your name every night. Just thought you should know, XOXO.

“Wait!” Satoru bolts upright so fast that his sunglasses fall into his lap, his grin morphing into a scowl as panic flashes in his too-blue eyes, “That’s playing dirty. Totally unfair.”

“You’re the one who laughed like a lunatic,” you say sweetly, tilting the phone towards him as if you’re about to hit send.

“You can’t be serious!” Satoru points a long, accusatory finger at you, his dramatic outrage undercut by the way his lips keep twitching, “I mean -” Another snicker escapes him as he buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaking again, “Like how? Of all people, you really have a crush on that guy.”

For a fleeting moment, you wonder if it’s too late to enrol in witness protection. It was clearly your mistake, deciding to tell Satoru critically sensitive information. Revealing the name of the boy that you were crushing on.

And yes, your type has turned out to be greasy Tim Burton reject loners who wander around school in faded Lord of the Rings hoodies.

You’re just totally head-over-heels for Choso Kamo.

“Whatever,” you snap, shoving your phone into the pocket of your school blazer with as much dignity as you can muster under the barrage of Satoru’s relentless cackles, “You wouldn’t understand?”

“Understand?” Satoru shifts himself with all the casual arrogance of someone who, unfortunately, has never been truly humbled in his life, propping himself against one of your enormous plush pillows.

The velvet squishes beneath his weight, gold embroidery bunching, but he’s utterly unbothered. “Enlighten me, we’re talking about the same Kamo right? The guy who sits behind you in class, and doesn’t so much blink in your direction? The one who looks like he’d rather gargle glass than talk to you?”

Another pillow sails across the bed before you even realise that you’ve hurled it. It strikes him square in the face, with a satisfying thwump! Muffling his laugh as he flails, tangled in thick, down stuffing.

“He’s just shy!” You insist, your voice rising as you get up to pace. Your Prada loafers click against the polished floor, before you kick them off. “And he only acts like that when others are around, by the way. He talks to me when it’s just us.”

“Oh, sure,” Satoru sits up, wrestling the pillow aside with a theatrical groan. His snowy hair sticks up at angles, like he’s been electrocuted, “That’s probably because he’s plotting his escape route while you corner him, like a lion closing in on its prey. Poor Kamo’s the gazelle.”

“Just know that I’m blowing you up in my mind.”

Satoru huffs, “So, what is your plan now? Are you going to ask him to prom? Are we going to see a proposal for the ages?”

You pause mid-pace, fighting the hot flush that creeps up your neck. It burns brighter as you glance towards the gilded vanity mirror, for that is exactly what you had wanted. You just needed to hear someone’s validation, “Should I?”

Satoru’s grin falters for a second, replaced with a look of sheer disbelief, “You’re kidding, right? That kid hates social events. You think he’s going to go with you?”

“Why not?” You’re fiddling with the crystal perfume decanters, the bottles of skincare on your vanity, “I’ve been dropping hints, okay? Subtle ones, all that manifesting shit.”

“Subtle?” Satoru snorts, “You mean letting half the football team pile bouquets into your locker? The locker that’s right next to his? Oh, yeah. Super low-key. Very humble.”

“At least I have options,” you snap back, flicking on the lights as the sun begins to sharpen its afternoon glare. Warm golden light spills across the room, catching on the ceiling-length silk drapes, “Meanwhile, I hope you end up alone at prom. Making ugly, kissy faces at Geto Suguru, while he’s with someone else.”

Satoru groans, like you’ve truly pierced his heart, “Cruel. So cruel when provoked,” but he’s propping himself back up on one elbow, “But hey, if you really do like Kamo, you know that makes him my future brother-in-law or something. That’s cool.”

Your gasp is sharp, scandalised, “Excuse me?”

“But think about it,” Satoru continues, ignoring your sputters, “You’re practically confirmed to be Prom Queen. Do you really want to drag that guy up on stage with you?”

“I think you’re being judgemental,” you mutter, tugging the drapes close and blocking out the faint twinkle of the city skyline, “He’d have to be insane not to say yes to me.”

“Someone is going to deflate that big head of yours one day,” Satoru says, and his voice has softened just enough to make you glance back at him, “You do know he cuts class a lot, right?”

“What’s your point?”

“I’m not being a bitch, I swear,” Satoru holds up his palms defensively, “He shows up for only half the month, you might want to check on your boy.”

You flop onto the chaise lounge, throwing an arm over your face tragically, “This isn’t the inspiring pep talk that I need right now.”

Satoru leans lazily against the gilded frame of your canopy bed, “Hey, it’s not my place to tell you what to do. But if you are that into him, then fine! Just ask him to prom and see what happens. And tell you what? If you ask Kamo, I’ll ask Suguru.”

You narrow your eyes, “Wow, this must be serious if you’re out here wheeling and dealing like this. Are you feeling okay?”

Satoru presses a dramatic hand to his chest, his grin morphing into something faux-solemn, “Cross my heart. I’m making a binding vow, like, it’s unbreakable. Life or death.”

“Deal,” you quickly say, ignoring the sudden leap of your pulse, because there’s no way that you’re letting him see how the sudden time-pressure is making your stomach twist into ugly knots. You point towards the door with a flourish, “And as much as I love our time together, I need to get ready. So…out! Chop-chop.”

Satoru groans like you’ve just asked him to drag a boulder uphill with his teeth, slumping off your bed in exaggerated defeat. He sluggishly reaches for his discarded backpack from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder, “I still don’t get why you bother with working. You and I both know that we don’t need it,” he mutters, as if the concept of responsibility personally offends him.

“It’s just babysitting,” you gently correct, shrugging on a cashmere cardigan from the back of your chair, “And anyway, you know I need a well-rounded list of extracurriculars for Pre-Med.”

“I’d rather eat my sunglasses, one lens at a time,” Satoru shoots back, adjusting said sunglasses squarely over his face, “Instead of being stuck babysitting brats all evening. We’re not meant to be saints.”

“It’s just one kid tonight. New family, new house,” you reply, grabbing your bag where it rests by the vanity, “Anyway, I expect a full report on your prom date by tomorrow, Satoru. I’m not forgetting that vow.”

Satoru pauses in the doorway, with the edges of his grin sharpened into something that makes you pity Geto Suguru in advance, “I never disappoint.”

You had finally managed to shove Satoru out of the doorway, his obnoxious laughter echoing faintly down the hall. The quiet that follows is a relief, albeit short-lived. You’re left standing in the stillness of your room, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the text with the address of tonight’s gig.

Honestly, Satoru might have a point. You, the only child of one of the country’s most obscenely wealthy families, babysitting? It’s not like you’re chasing pocket money or trying to build character. But medical school applications don’t only care about your bank account, there’s so many extra boxes to tick. Factors like being selfless or dedicated to the community.

The request had been odd from the start. Some child had called you himself, and normally, it’s the frazzled parents who handle that kind of task. His voice had been small, but determined, saying that his brother was out, and he needed a sitter for the evening. Something about the earnestness of it had softened you, though, now you were starting to regret the whole thing — seeing how far out this house was from your own penthouse.

Showing up in the Bentley with tinted windows and your chauffeur had felt a little off brand for this role. So, in the name of relatability, you had popped a piece of cherry gum and a book, taking on the bus. The sticky seats and questionable patrons had almost been enough to make you reconsider, but the suburb itself offered a strange charm.

It was quiet here, too quiet, the kind of place that might have once been picturesque, but it had gone soft around the edges. The homes were older, cozy but tired, with paint peeling in places and lawns that were overrun with weeds. You wrinkle your nose as you step off the bus, weaving through tufts of stubborn greenery and abandoned toys in the yard.

The house that you’re looking for stands a little crooked, but sturdy. It’s faded shutters are barely hanging on, and a basketball hoop leans precariously over the driveway. There’s a small, red toy car that’s entirely faded and scratched, sitting forgotten near the porch steps.

Just as your knuckles hover over the worn wood of the front door, it swings open with such force that you nearly stumble backwards. A blur of motion catches you off guard, and you’re suddenly face-to-face with a tiny, pink-haired whirlwind.

The boy’s grinning up at you, wide and gap-toothed, with big golden eyes. His hair is wild, a fluffy crown of rosy strands over a dark undercut, and his scraped knees are haphazardly patched up with dinosaur bandages.

“Wait here! I’m going to get my brother!” He chirps, his voice bright and slightly whistly, thanks to the missing tooth. Before you can get a word in, he’s gone, sprinting back inside with the energy of an overeager puppy, leaving you stranded on the porch.

You shuffle awkwardly, glancing down at the scratched paint on the doorframe. There was something endearing about the child, and you’re starting to feel less apprehensive. That is, until the door opens again, and time slows.

Your heart stutters, skips, and then plummets. As if someone’s dropped you into an industrial freezer. Standing there, with one hand resting lightly on the kid’s shoulder, and an expression that’s one part confusion and one part disbelief, is Choso Kamo.

It’s as if the universe has conspired against you, playing its most cruel and ridiculous joke yet. Tall and broad, with tired eyes that sweep over you in slow recognition. Dark mark twitching across his face, like a deliberate smudge of ink.

Choso’s blinking, startled to see you here, though his usual stoic expression has yet to crack. Meanwhile, your inner monologue is screaming a symphony of pure panic. You can already heal Satoru’s stupid squeals in your head.

The pink-haired boy tugs on Choso’s arm, “See, I got a babysitter! Isn’t that cool?”

Choso glances down at the kid, then back at you, his lips parting as if to speak.

“Uh, hey,” you manage. The picture of eloquence, the master of the verbose elite.

It strikes you, with almost absurd clarity, that you’ve never seen Choso outside the campus bubble. No dim library corners, no lab tables cluttered with textbooks, or heavy beat-up laptops parked in front of him. Gone are the oversized hoodies thrown over his school uniform, or the baggy jeans he dons when he forgoes the dress code entirely. Instead, he’s here, standing in the soft glow of the broken porch light, wearing a loose black tee and dark track pants.

His chestnut hair is free from the two greasy, spiky knots that he favours on his head, falling softer around his face. Your traitorous heart lurches, feeling a sharp pang of betrayal.

“You’re the babysitter?” Choso’s voice cuts through your spiral. Raspy as always, roughened like rock salt, but there’s something else threaded into the question. A flicker of irritation, and confusion. As if he’s struggling to reconcile you, with the person standing on his doorstep.

“You didn’t know when you booked?” You shoot back, aiming for casual indifference, but landing somewhere closer to petulant. Your eyes flick to the box he’s holding, with contents that glint faintly in the light. Suspiciously metallic, as if he’s cradling surgical tools.

Choso follows your curious gaze, exhaling sharply, and shifting the box to a nearby table, just out of your line of sight.

“I didn’t book,” he grunts, “Told Yuuji to check the ads, and pick one.”

“And I picked the best one!” The delighted chirp comes from behind Choso, as Yuuji reappears, practically bouncing with a sunny grin. His golden eyes are locked on the ribbon-wrapped box in your hands, and his expression is lit up with unabashed glee.

You glance down at the box, containing an array of decadent artisan doughnuts. Saffron glaze, coconut cream, pistachio and chocolate. All from that impossibly chic Swiss patisserie downtown. You ignore the dull ache building between your eyes, smiling as you hand the box over, “These are for you, little man.”

Yuuji’s already snapping his hands for the box, as though you had just delivered a treasure chest of gold doubloons, “Can I have one? Please? Pretty-please?”

Choso glances down at him with a long-suffering look that somehow manages to carry an undertone of fondness, “Just one,” he warns, his voice dry but warm, “For now.”

Yuuji doesn’t need to be told twice, bolting towards the kitchen and clutching the box to his chest like a sacred relic. The faint sound of icing being smacked off fingers echoes from somewhere around the corner.

Choso watches him go, before turning back to you, his posture easing slightly. “That was nice of you,” he says, his voice softer now, almost tentative, “But he’s going to crash hard after that sugar high. Good luck.”

You wave off his scepticism with a breezy smile, “I’m good with kids. I’ll manage.”

For a moment, the boy’s expression shifts. Something fleeting and unreadable flickers across his face, a hint of thoughtfulness or something heavier.

Another thought gnaws at the edges of your mind, a tiny spectre of dread wrapped in Gojo Satoru’s smug grin. Two hours ago, though it feels like a lifetime now, you made a pact.

You ask Kamo, I’ll ask Suguru.

At the time, it had seemed like an impossible bluff. But the thing about Satoru is that he’s infuriatingly reliable when he sets his mind to something. No matter the cost.

Which is why you’re here now, sweating under your cashmere sweater. The fabric is suddenly too soft, too warm, clinging to the nape of your neck. You, with half the school population ready to pen sonnets just for a chance to take you to prom. Jocks, debate captains, the crème de la crème of eligible dates. All overlooked in favour of the quiet boy that no-one seems to notice.

The boy whose locker was assigned right next to yours, empty and cold steel. While yours was glittered with Polaroids, and pastel sticky notes, and the occasional folded love letter. The boy that everyone said had no friends, but he was easily the uncontested valedictorian. The boy that you desperately wanted to ask to prom.

Choso is shuffling papers on the table, avoiding your gaze like it’s a laser beam. His movements are slow, and deliberate, but there’s an edge of tension in the way his fingers linger on a set of silver keys, before he slips them into his pocket.

“What?” His voice breaks the quiet, low and rough like gravel underfoot. It startles you out of your spiralling thoughts.

“Nothing,” you blurt out, far too quickly. You’re grasping at straws to keep the conversation going, “Where are you headed?”

Choso hesitates, a slight hitch in his movements, picking that cardboard box again. For a moment, you think he’s going to ignore your question, but then he mutters, “Work.”

You tilt your head, your curiosity outweighing your better judgement to never press Choso Kamo for more than two sentences in a conversation.

He shifts uncomfortable, and you catch a glimpse of latex gloves tucked neatly inside before he angles it out of view, “I…clean up things,” he says finally, his tone clipped as though every word is a concession, “Errands. I’m a cleaner.”

The kind of response that’s designed to kill conversation in its track. It’s vague, annoyingly so, but you let it slide, “Oh.”

You’re this close to spontaneously combusting. The pact, the reason that your hands shake when you catch yourself staring at Choso Kamo for just a second too long. It’s either now or never. Rip the band-aid before your central nervous system completely betrays you and implodes.

Objectively speaking, you’re a real catch. Second-best grades in the cohort, from an old business dynasty that rivalled the Youngs from Crazy Rich Asians, two-time prom queen with med-school practically knocking on the door. Yeah, a dream. College applications adored you. Surely, Choso would have had to be running on a clone’s brain stitched into his head to say no.

Yet, somehow, it doesn’t make your heart beat any less erratically. It doesn’t erase the hollow pit that’s clawing at your insides. And now, you’re wishing that you had asked for advice from someone with an ounce of finesse. Like Shoko, or Utahime. Not your best friend who called himself The Honoured One.

You clear your throat, the taste of artificial cherry gum still lingering, “So, are you going to prom?”

Choso snorts, the sound entirely dismissive. But he seems to realise that you’re not joking, flicking you a glance, like he’s deciding to humour you, “What’s it to you? Need me to vote for you to be prom queen?”

You roll your eyes, fighting the flush creeping up your Burberry sweater, “Didn’t I already ask you to do that, like, two months ago?”

His lips twitch, barely, like he’s holding a smile back under layers of indifference, “Yeah. You pestered me three times. And I actually did it.”

You latch onto the softer tone in his voice, “So, are you going to go, then?” You’re watching him, almost desperate for a sign, for anything other than no.

Choso’s shoulders tense, “Can’t.”

“Can’t?” The word slips out of your mouth before you can stop it, incredulous, “What do you mean can’t? Why? You need to study or something?” You’re trying so hard to sound indifferent, like you’ve got a roster of dates lined up. And well, you do. But this is the only one that you want. The panic creeping into your voice betrays you before you even realise it.

“No,” Choso replies, his tone quieter, “I really just can’t go.”

A weight drops in your stomach, heavy and cold. Is this what rejection feels like? The thought hits like a wave, leaving you breathless. Your heart’s flipping in your chest like it’s teetering on the edge of cliff, seconds away from freefalling into nothing.

You inhale sharply, steeling yourself for the words that are about to spill out.

“I want you to be my date for prom.” “I can’t go because I dropped out.”

The words slam into each other, and for a moment, everything freezes. Choso’s mouth has fallen open, the curve of his lips slack with shock. As though as someone’s hit the pause button on him, mid-thought. You blink at him, your brain becoming a skipping CD. Round and round, never quite catching the beat.

“What did you just say?” Your brows knit together in a sharp pinch, like your face can’t decide whether to wince or frown. But Choso just grimace, lips curling into a tight line as his shoulders stiffen.

“You first.”

Your fingers fidget around the cream Van Cleef that rests on your throat, tracing the cool edge of the pendant. It’s one of your mother’s newer gifts, the kind that comes with all the frills and none of the warmth. Her true transactional brand of maternal affection.

“I wanted to ask if you’d go to prom with me, as my date,” It spills out of you in a jumbling mess, like you’re tripping vowels and consonants over each other. Choso’s eyes widen, but you barrel on before he can interrupt, “I mean, I get it if you think it’s lame or boring, or you just don’t want to go. But I promise my friends are actually really nice, and you can sit with us.” The rest of your monologue trails off, crumbling to dust, “I just really wanted to ask you.”

You wish to sink into the floor, like the soft earth will swallow you whole. You can almost picture Satoru’s ridiculous proposal to Geto Suguru, no doubt involving fireworks or an airplane trailing a banner.

The air is so still, you can hear the faint crackling of Yuuji’s incessant doughnut quest from across the small house, his movements clumsy and unintentionally loud as he rips open cellophane for more than one sweet treat.

Choso’s shifting slightly, and there’s a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. The pink hue is a stark contrast to his usual sickly pallor. Even his ears are a shade darker, and his jaw tightens like he’s chewing on something bitter and struggling to swallow it down. It’s hard to tell if he’s upset or just lost. Or somewhere in-between.

“You wanted to go with me?” His voice is low, hoarse, like the idea is too outlandish for him to even process. You don’t know whether to laugh or apologise.

“Mhm.” It’s all you can manage, your throat suddenly dry and tight.

“I dropped out of school two days ago,” Choso mutters, as he runs a hand through his dark hair. He’s glancing at you, with the ghost of an apology flickering across his expression, but the shock that you can’t seem to mask makes him wince, “Look, it’s not a big deal. And it’s nice that you asked, but…”

“Dropped out? Like, entirely out of school?” Your voice cracks, each word climbing higher like you’re stepping on a broken escalator, “Why? What happened?”

Never let anyone tell you that teenage love is simple, or wholesome. Full of first crushes, and sweet moments. Because this? It feels like someone ripped the floor out from under you, the air yanked from your lungs, leaving you stranded. And it’s not a pleasant feeling, being denied something that you want, for the first time in your life.

Choso shrugs, like he’s been answering this question a thousand times already. Though, you’re sure that this is the first time he’s said it to out loud to anyone, “Family stuff. Just had to.”

You try to piece this together, for this house does smell faintly of stale coffee, and the worn leather of the couch has clearly seen better days. You can tell, on some level, that something is off. That there’s no parental figure in sight for little Yuuji, just the harsh edges of whatever it is that Choso seems to carry on his own.

You can feel the words bubbling up again, stupid and reckless, “But you know you just can’t leave. You’ve got the top marks in the class, Choso. And you know that you were on a scholarship, right? For one of the most elite schools in the country? How are you ever going to get that again?”

The second they leave your mouth; you hear how self-righteous and insensitive you sound. You already regret it, almost reaching up to slap your hands over your face.

Choso’s expression darkens, his face tightens. Like a storm cloud rolling in, as his lips pull into a tight and angry line, “Back off,” he snaps, voice suddenly sharp enough to cut, “You don’t know a damn thing about my life.”

His sneer twists, not with malice, but something deeper. Harder, like he’s being chewed up by all the things he never got to say before, “Don’t worry, though. I’m sure they’ll make a big, shiny tiara for when they name you valedictorian. Maybe, it’ll match your prom dress.”

“Hey!” Your eyes well up, stupid heat of tears prickling behind your eyes, and swelling a thick lump in your throat, “That’s not what I meant.” You cannot believe that you’re tearing up, over this. Over wanting something that you can’t have, and someone who seems to have more to lose than you ever thought possible.

Choso’s lip curls into a half-sneer, but there’s a flicker of something else there. His posture shifts, as if he’s trying to fold in on himself. He lowers his voice, still low and uncomfortable, but careful. Careful, because his little brother is just down the hall.

“I don’t need your pity, okay? Or your help.” His fingers grip the metal of the net door, “I have to go now. Just look after Yuuji.”

The heavy clang of steel on mesh echoes in your ears, sharp and final. The sound lingers like a ringing in your skull as you stand there, utterly paralysed as your mind scrambles to catch up with the wreckage of what just happened. Your five-year crush crashing down in five minutes.

Your feet move, and you find yourself in the bare dining room. Yuuji’s perched at the table, with a doughnut half-eaten in his hand, a mess of pistachio cream smeared across his chin like a brave trooper. There’s an iPad, an old, scratched model, with a silicone tiger case, propped up in front of him. The screen is flashing with something, like blueberries. Bouncing in time with some peppy tune.

“Did Choso leave for work?” Yuuji asks, utterly oblivious to the emotional landmine that his brother left in your hands. His eyes are wide, curious, the innocence of a kid who still thinks the world works in neat, little boxes.

“Yeah,” you say, forcing a smile, “He works a lot, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Yuuji mumbles through a mouthful of pastry, sugar clinging to his lips, “He always gets upset when Uncle Kuna’ calls him in. Even after school.”

Choso has never mentioned an uncle. Or a brother, for that matter. But then again, why would he? You had never even asked for his number, never bothered to learn anything beyond what was right in front of you. You realise, with a strange pang of guilt, that you’ve built your entire image of infatuation with Choso, from incomplete sketches. Filling in the blanks with whatever fits into the tiny box you’ve kept him in.

“Hey, do you have Netflix?” Yuuji’s voice cuts through your thoughts, bright and eager. “I want to watch How to Train Your Dragon. It’s Fushiguro and Kugisaki’s favourite movie!”

The names are unfamiliar, but Yuuji’s excitement is infectious. You cannot help but smile at the boy, his messy hair and too-big shirt. It’s hard not to be fond of such a kid. You take the iPad from his sticky hands, logging into the app. All the while, chasing yourself around mentally with a baseball bat for the biggest fumble of the century.

If last night felt like a disaster, this morning was just the encore performance. And you were the unwilling star. Just the effort of peeling yourself out of bed felt like an Olympic event. And facing your reflection of swollen eyes and blotchy skin felt like punishment for sins that were way out of your paygrade.

Reluctantly, you’re tugging on your blazer, and clipping a barrette into your hair. There’s a sparkling, diamond tennis bracelet fastened around your wrist. All little things that you need to don like armour, to face your senior year, the student population and the empty locker that would remain untouched next to yours.

Satoru and Shoko are the first faces that you spot in the crowd, and Satoru’s practically bouncing down the hall, “Oh, yeah, I got it locked in,” he announces, cheeks flushed with an absurdly boyish grin, “I got it in the bag.”

He’s sliding his sunglasses down just enough to peer at you, wordlessly handing you his coffee cup, as is your morning ritual. The overly sweet, creamy warmth does nothing to ease the ache in your chest, and your lip-gloss stains the edge of the paper.

“What about you, eh?” Satoru chirps, but you must look blatantly devasted. Because your best friend’s grin falters, the corners of his mouth pulling down.

“Wait, you’re joking right?” His voice is marred with disbelief, and his eyes scan the hall like he’s trying to spot someone’s dark head of hair, “Where is he? Jughead Jones lookin’ ass? Shoko, do you know where Choso Kamo sits? Because I’m going to give him a real piece of my mind and —”

You cut him off, abruptly shoving the coffee back into his warm hands, “It’s fine. He dropped out school, anyway.”

Shoko hums beside you, her fingers absentmindedly twirling a strand of cinnamon-brown hair. The chipped polish on her nails catches the fluorescent light, “Prom queen and valedictorian in one year? Not a bad run for you.”

You glare at her, and Shoko’s doe-eyed expression softens. The breeze from the open window catches her sleek hair, making it sway gently, and she shifts. Voice dropping to something quieter, more thoughtful, “That really does suck, though. Sorry.” She sounds like she means it now, her usual flippancy up in smoke, “I didn’t even know you liked him like that. Not until Gojo told me, like, two hours ago.”

Your eyes snap to Satoru who, for once, has the good sense to shut his mouth.

Shoko’s voice is subdued, “I wonder if it had anything to do with him being called into admin.”

“Wait, when?” Satoru interrupts. He’s taking another long slurp of his sweet mocha, the froth giving him whiskers.

“Three days ago,” Shoko shrugs, “Some big guy rolled up to the office. Demanded to see the principal. No idea who he was, but he was important. And rich. Like you need to be super wealthy to call the shots in a school for the children of the top one percent.”

You must look tragic, because even Shoko pauses mid-chew. Her lollipop moving from one side of her mouth to the other. She looks at you, really looks at you. You can see the careful shift in her demeanour, as though she’s considering the most diplomatic answer that she can offer you to avoid making things worse.

“Well, you don’t have to go to prom with anyone, right?” Satoru says, the words hanging awkwardly in the air like a balloon that’s just lost its helium. His consolation is well-meaning, but a bit clueless. But now, his sunglasses are perched atop his head now, leaving his eyes exposed. Icy blue, framed by lashes so long that they practically flirt with his eyebrows. For once, there’s a flicker of real concern in them, clouds passing over clear skies.

“I know,” you gripe, your voice flat as you find yourself glaring at a group of juniors who are skipping by, with their phones out in unison, clicking away like it’s a competition. Fantastic. You can already see the gossip Instagram stories by lunch, wondering what happened to you. Rumours milling about the reason for your glum expression.

Shoko shifts her heavy bag onto her shoulder, patting your arm. “I’ll see you at lunch. My treat,” she says, turning her heel for the Chemistry building. Leaving you alone with Satoru, as Shoko quickly picks her pace up to catch her Honours class.

“So,” you start, keeping your eyes on him out of the corner of your vision, watching how his fingers twitch around the coffee cup, “How did it go with Geto Suguru?”

Satoru’s shifting, as though he’s trying not gloat, but clearly bursting to tell you, “It was nice,” which is an unusually subdued, sensitive explanation from Satoru. The one who can take five hours to tell a story that you could wrap up in ten minutes. “He was really friendly. More than I thought he would be.”

“That is nice.” You’re forcing some perk back into your voice, but it comes out rather weak, “Like, genuinely.”

Satoru crumples the empty cup in his hand, tossing it into a nearby trashcan. Then, he shoots you a sharper look, “Did you actually talk to Choso, like, in-person? How did that go?”

You exhale, “Turns out I was babysitting his little brother,” and Satoru’s eyes widen slightly, “He was fine. And then he wasn’t. I asked him to be my date, and told me he dropped out. I said something…stupid. And now he’s going to hate me forever.”

Satoru stares at you, his gaze sharp, as though he’s dissecting you. And you swear that he can see right through your skin, right into your bones. It’s moments like this that make you feel like maybe your best friend has a sixth sense, some secret radar for picking up on these things.

“Wow,” he murmurs, a touch of something in his voice, “It really got you bad, huh?”

You bristle, a mix of annoyance and embarrassment flooding your chest. You’re straightening your shoulders, but it’s all too obvious and so fucking frustrating, “Yeah, well, I don’t even know why it matters so much.” The bite in your voice is more directed at yourself, than him.

Satoru doesn’t flinch, just tilts his head, and he’s quiet. It’s a weird look on him, soft concern, “You genuinely really liked him that much?”

The truth sticks to your throat as your chest tightens, and your eyes blur. It would be nice to tell Satoru that you didn’t really care that much. That it was never fully that serious, but the lie won’t leave your lips. The lump in your throat is palpable, and all you can do is sniffle, “Yeah. I did.”

“Do you want to cry?” Satoru’s voice is gentle enough to catch you off guard.

You open your mouth to retort, something sharp and defensive. But before you know it, tears spill as your chest constricts. It’s sudden, like a storm that breaks on the horizon.

And just like that, your best friend pulls you into him. For once, the wild energy that crackles off him is gone, replaced by something quieter and more unwavering. You can feel his shoulder under your cheek, soft and warm, salt staining the expensive fabric. And if anyone does see you sob into Gojo Satoru’s arms, while the white-haired boy pats your back, no one says a word.

But to borrow a line from Bangtan Sonyeondan, life goes on. The next few months slip by like the kind of indie film that you’d see at film festival. It’s bittersweet, and there’s a melancholy that everyone can taste in the air, especially as you all realise that this last blue spring of youth is slipping through fingers like sand.

In this haze of time, you discover a few things that you didn’t expect. For instance, Geto Suguru is, in fact, far more than the tall and brooding figure that you once shrugged off. He’s the stillness to Satoru’s sharper teeth, the quiet that counters the blue eye of the storm. He’s soft-spoken, with an easy patience that tempers Satoru’s edges. He’s become a bit of a constant presence, as they always bicker and makeup in a sort of perpetual cycle.

Spring arrives like a first kiss. It’s hesitant, not rushing in. Just tiptoes around you, tentative enough as it coaxes you out of winter’s gloom. Before the flurry of sparkly gowns and speeches, there’s Utahime’s birthday to celebrate. It’s supposed to be a relaxed affair, she insists that she has no desire for fuss. But you all show up anyway, surprising her with a giant, pastel cake that takes up nearly half the table.

Her laugh is loud, and carefree, mixing with the salt of the ocean breeze on this beach trip. Her black hair whips around her face, even as she blushes at the attention. She’s protesting, but it’s swallowed by laugher, by the sound of waves breaking against the shores.

The awards and titles are all well and good, prom queen and valedictorian. A shiny, little stamp on your high school resume, a golden ticket to the next chapter of your life. But when anyone brings it up, or someone presses too hard on the subject, you shift uncomfortably, your fingers toying with the edge of your pre-med acceptance letter like it just might tear under the pressure of your grip. No-one talks about how you’ve been visiting your locker less and less.

Satoru, of course, loudly denies crying at graduation, even as salty, shiny tears tack to his cheeks. They’re practically immortalised in every digital snapshot that you take. But for now, he’s too busy wrapping everyone in a bear hug, clutching the group that it’s the last time he’ll ever see them. Nanami’s already peeling him off, shaking his head with a worn sigh.

It's late in the morning after the graduation ceremony, as you all pile into cars, driving to a riverside café. It’s one of those places where people with money go to prove that they have money, to prove that even their breakfasts are above the meals of the common folk. But you all sit there, with the graduation ribbons still pinned to your lapels. There’s the debate over who cried the most during the ceremony (Gojo, easily, though Haibara is a close second) and who’s the one who peaked in high school. Everyone unanimously votes for Geto, who sulks as he tosses his hair out of his face, ever the drama queen.

“Bullshit,” he’s grumbling, “Just you wait. You’ll see what I accomplish in ten years.”

Satoru grins, all teeth and lazy confidence, “Yeah, what? You’re going to start running a pyramid scheme cult?”

Utahime’s voice cuts through the chatter, her white ribbon flouncing as she leans towards you, blinking at the empty space in front of you, “Where’s your food?”

You wave her off with a smile, “It’s fine. You guys can go ahead and start, I’ll just go and check.”

You hear Satoru choke around a mouthful of food, already bulldozing half his way through his plate like a bottomless pit.

There’s a pretty glass display at the front, filled with delicate chiffon cakes that glisten in the soft light. You wonder if you should have just ordered one, perhaps to share with Nanami. You know he likes desserts like this.

“Can I help you?”

Your pulse stutters as you bite your tongue, heart crashing against the rocks. You soothe your tongue over the tang of iron that blooms in your mouth from the stupidly familiar voice.

Choso Kamo.

You’d like to say that he looks good, but the truth is, he doesn’t. The hollows beneath his eyes are far more accentuated than you remember, and his hair is pulled back into a messy knot at the back of his head. Even his pale skin has taken on a sicklier pallor than usual.

“Hello?” His voice cuts through the silence, sharper this time, carrying an edge that takes you by surprise.

“Oh, uh, hey. Choso. Just wanted to check on my order,” you say, like it’s a poor prelude to small talk. It sounds far too chipper, almost artificial.

Choso’s expression tightens immediately, in an ill-omen. It’s as if he’s irritated that you even have the nerve to recognise him, to stand there in his space. He doesn’t meet your gaze, his attention flicking back to the screen in front of him with a quickness that almost feels deliberate.

“Hello.” He’s muttering back, more out of obligation than any real interest. Like it’s a formality.

The sharp, hollow feeling in your chest expands, deeper than you’re willing to admit. The last time you saw him, you had been standing at his door, and he had slammed it in your face.

“What are you doing here?” Your question is clumsy, hanging in the air, and far too intrusive for a stranger.

“What?” Choso doesn’t even look up. But then he does, just briefly, his gaze flicking to yours with the same disinterest. He shrugs, as though the query is too trivial for any answer.

“It’s just…it’s been a while, yeah?” You’re not quite sure how to word and I want to know how you’ve been.

“I’m fine,” Choso replies quickly, dismissing your question with a wave of his pale hand, “Just working around here and there.”

It’s offbeat, landing wrong. You don’t think it’s unfair to think that everyone expected more of him. One of the smartest, most brilliant minds in your cohort, who had been a shoo-in for medicine, alongside you.

The bustle of patrons behind you intensifies, but you stubbornly dig your heels into the polished tile, “How’s Yuuji?”

The mention of his younger brother softens him, just a little. A small, bashful smile tugs at the corner of Choso’s pink lips, hesitant, like he doesn’t quite know how to let it show, “He’s good. Says you were the ‘bestest’ babysitter that he ever had. Even asks about you sometimes.”

You fight the urge to smile too openly, not wanting to seem too affected by the gentleness that suddenly lingers in the space between you two, “I’m glad. And…are you still working for your uncle?”

It’s as if you’ve thrown a switch, causing all the warmth to evaporate from his features. His jaw tightens, as his brow furrows. Settling a coldness over his expression, “Who the fuck told you that?”

You blink, surprised at the sudden harshness of his words. “Yuuji mentioned it,” you murmur, quieter now, careful. The hesitation in your voice isn’t feigned, and you realise you’ve broken the golden rule of ‘never push Choso Kamo about his personal life.’

Choso doesn’t seem keen on letting you explain, as his glare cuts through you, “If you wanted to snoop into my life, just ask me your stupid questions, okay? Don’t drag my little brother into it.”

The accusation lands like a slap, stinging you more than you expected, “What? I wasn’t snooping,” you insist, defences flaring open, “He told me that himself. I didn’t even ask him anything, and I didn’t ask anything else!”

He just stares at you, eyes burnished and unreadable, but he seems mollified by your answer. Like he knows that your explanation is sincere, but the chasm is nigh impossible to bridge, “Sure. Okay.”

You don’t know how to respond, opening your mouth to ask what on earth has made him so unreasonable. To dig the tips of your almond nails into his long sleeves, and demand that he treats you as adoringly as everyone else in your life does. But he interrupts you first, “Your order’s coming.”

Choso’s tone is clipped, colder. As though he’s already moved on, “And I’ve got a lot of other customers to serve. Nice seeing you again, or whatever.”

A dismissal, if there ever was one. The embarrassment rushes up your neck, hot and insistent, but you bite your tongue. You let your heels clack a little more loud than necessary, as you stomp away. You’re swivelling your head to deliver a final, withering stare but his gaze is no longer on you.

Choso’s looking at the table where everyone is sitting. Where your friends are laughing, leaning into one another as they snap their final graduation photos. Where Geto has his lips pressed to Satoru’s cheek in a rare display of affection, arms linked with Shoko and Utahime. Where even Nanami’s smiling, the sunlight leafing through his golden waves of thick hair.

There’s no anger in Choso’s eyes, or even that solitary, brooding stare. He looks almost…sad. Profoundly sorrowful, in a deep and aching way that makes your anger dissipate.

He’s looking at your friends, at their graduation certificates stacked in sleeves on the table, as though he’s lost something that he never had. It aches your chest tightly, a knot pulling at your heart.

Once, he was Choso Kamo — the quiet boy you liked in school. Then, he became Choso from the café. Soon, he'll be someone whose name you won't even remember in a few years, someone who's path you'll probably never cross again.

You find yourself blinking furiously, feeling as though you've just lost something yourself, but you fight back the salt that threatens to blur your vision before your friends see.

THREE YEARS LATER.

Your day had started off deceptively well, like a glass of water poured perfectly. Clear, refreshing, with no chance of spilling. The sun was shining, your skin looked like it was having its best day, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. But of course, it didn’t take long for things to spiral, as they tend to do.

It was like playing a real-life Sisyphus game, except instead of a boulder, it was a series of small, dumb annoyances that you couldn’t dodge fast enough.

First, Satoru had texted to cancel lunch. And to be fair, you weren’t that bothered. He had been talking all week about a world-renowned professor dropping in on his fourth-years Honours class, something about nuclear engineering. And you knew that Satoru lived for anything involving theoretical mass and explosions.

Then, your favourite tote bag had decided it was done with you. The strap had snapped off with a surprising, sudden violence. Your beautiful new water bottle had hit the floor with a sickening, metallic thud. Pens rolled across the tiles like little soldiers. You had been kneeling, already late for class, muttering curses under your breath when your phone had rung.

Your mother.

And you already knew that tone well enough, that voice that could cut through steel.

“You missed the charity dinner? You know how embarrassing it is for your father and I to come up with excuses, just to explain your absence —”

Yeah, like you had personally insulted her by choosing to study for your exams, instead of milling around an event hall. You tried to explain, but it was like trying to explain Satoru’s quantum physics to the wall. Totally pointless, and not worth your time and energy. And naturally, her tone escalated, because that’s what she just tended to do. Nevermind that she was calling from some ritzy hotel in Europe, crackling over the phone.

And then, just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, the course coordinator paged you in for a meeting. You were still in your first few weeks of medicine, so you had been scratching your brain for what he could have possibly wanted, snapping gum as you rushed and clacked up stone steps, breezing through campus.

Now, here you were. Standing in front of his desk with your arms crossed, almost petulantly. The room smelled like old coffee, and expired textbooks as the man coughed, leaning back against his desk, littered with academic transcripts and stacked envelopes.

“Look, there’s no denying that you’re one of our most brilliant students. All the tutors and lecturers admire your work ethic,” and the professor stopped, and you grimaced. Ah, here it comes.

“But, you’ve chosen Ieiri Shoko as your partner for the past three years, am I correct in saying this?” His dark eyes are narrowed behind wiry glasses, as you frowned.

“Yes.”

Shoko had practically excelled in Pre-Med alongside you, surviving late night study rants, extreme caffeine dependency, and textbook-induced breakdowns.

“You work together well,” the coordinator adds, looking like he was trying to make this sound like a compliment, “But you need to branch out. Develop your versatility. In a noble field, such as medicine, it’s important to be able to work with others. Not rule and conquer.”

You blink at him, “Branch out? I don’t know how else to say this, but I don’t like anyone else in my class. And Shoko and I are easily the best.”

He ignores your comments, “So, I’ve thought it better to move you to a new stream. Instead of Tuesday’s clinical practice, I’ll have you attend the Thursday session, starting today. There’s a new partner for you, and I assure you, he is just as competent as Ieiri Shoko,”

You doubt it. No-one can handle the sight of infected perineum stitches like Shoko can.

It seems there’s only one card left for you to pull, “My grandfather paid for this entire wing of the building. His name is on the plaque outside.”

The coordinator doesn’t even budge, “That may be true. But you still need to grow. You will never learn if you just continue to stick with what is familiar.”

You leave the office with a sour taste in your mouth, clutching the crisp sheet of paper that’s already being emailed to your student account, no doubt.

“Collaboration,” you’re muttering under your breath, “Building character, my ass.” You’re squinting at the page, trying to decipher the name of your new stream partner, but it’s obscured by a hastily scribbled note with your classroom change.

The faint ache in your neck refuses to budge, and you roll your shoulders with a sigh. Pushing through the double doors to the anatomy facility. Immediately, the frigid air bites at your cheeks, sharp and unwelcome. These buildings always feel like high-tech mausoleums, with tables lined up like gleaming altars. Surfaces cold enough to numb your fingertips if you’re careless.

The faint, cloying scent of formaldehyde hangs in the air, sharp and chemical. It’s supposed to preserve the cadavers, but it has the unfortunate side effect of making your stomach growl at the worst times. Hunger, and embalming fluid. A combination so disgusting that you try not to dwell on it for too long.

Your lab coat is rubbing uncomfortably against your arms, and your Loewe sweater is bunched awkwardly around your elbows. It’s a long-suffering sigh that echoes the hall as you shove the heavy barred doors to the classroom.

The tutor is a stalk-like man, with perpetually knitted brows, glancing up at you as you enter, “Ah, yes. The transfer,” he’s brisk with it, “Got the note about you moving to my Thursday stream. Just sit over there, for now. Yeah, there. Your partner should be along soon. If he’s a no-show, I’ll reassign you to a different table.”

You nod wordlessly, scanning the room as you head to your non-descript, assigned corner. The faces at the other tables blur together, some curious and others indifferent. Most focused on pushing worksheets under steel clipboards.

Great. A room full of strangers with all the warmth of wet cardboard.

Sliding into your plastic seat, you pull your notebook out and flip it open, the pages crinkling and echoing in the too-quiet room. It’s a minute, maybe two of shifting uncomfortably in your chair, feeling the awkward hollowness of sitting alone at a two-person station. But the door swings open with a groaning creak.

“Perfect! Full class today, that’s what I like to see. Just head to your usual spot, and I’ll start passing the models around.”

You glance up, squinting at the figure who’s broad enough to cause a solar eclipse of the fluorescent light.

“Get out,” you blurt.

“This is my class,” Choso Kamo stares at you, equally bewildered. His bronze eyes widen briefly, flickering from your face to the lab tables, to the unaware tutor.

“Don’t care. Get out,” you scowl, speechless for a moment, “No. Don’t sit. This is my assigned stream. Don’t tell me that you’re my —”

“Partner?” Choso finishes for you, deadpan.

“Of all the people in this entire school —”

“I’m starting to feel offended,” Choso cuts in, already pulling out the chair beside you, and slinging his bag down with an air of resignation.

“What are you doing here?”

Choso’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t quite smile, “I’m getting an education. Obviously.”

Your gaze flickers away from his unfairly handsome face, following the motion of his hand as he shifts. There’s a single black hair tie, looped around his wrist.

But something just does not add up for you. This isn’t just any medical program. It’s the kind of rigorous, cutthroat, soul-consuming degree that requires three years of a top GPA from Pre-Med. It’s designed to weed out the faint hearted before the first semester is even over. Graduates here don’t just get jobs. They get titles, and invitations to Westminster where the British monarch probably bestows them with Dame, or Sir, or some other archaic title.

And Choso Kamo is a high school dropout, with nary a certificate to his name.

“You got into medicine?” It’s as blunt as you can get.

“What? Like it’s hard?”

“Don’t quote Legally Blonde at me,” You snarl, wordlessly taking the tray of silicone gashes from the tutor.

Choso blinks, as though he’s truly stumped by your hostile reaction, “Then don’t ask stupid questions.” He seems…different now. Sharper, and less apologetic. There’s a streak of confidence that’s as unnerving as it is infuriating. Is he taller? He seems taller.

You exhale sharply, a sound between frustration and resignation. It’s not like you can go up to the course coordinator now and say, ‘Oh, sorry! I can’t be in this stream because my new partner is the boy who broke my heart in high school. I cried and threw up on my best friend’s blazer for three days.’

But you’ve definitely given the group chat enough material to fuel their devious amusement for days, even weeks. You’re practically writing the jokes for them.

With a defiant swing of your arm, you hoist your bag onto the desk. The soft leather tanking against the sterile surface, like a gauntlet being thrown. You slide it firmly into position, the strap dangling just enough to make a point. That this is your line in the sand.

“Don’t move one centimetre over your side of the desk.”

Choso just rolls his eyes.

“They…modify bacterial ribosomes.”

“Wrong.”

You sigh and tap the edge of your notebook with the tip of your mechanical pencil. The rhythm is irregular, your thoughts too scrambled to produce anything like a steady beat.

“They inactive carbapenems,” you try again, your tone pitched with the kind of hope that knows it’s already on life support.

“Nope.”

Choso’s shaking his head, the movement loose and lazy, and it sends strands of his chestnut hair tumbling into his face. The harsh fluorescent lights above make his hair shine with an almost metallic lustre, and as he tugs a thick sweater over his broad frame, your gaze drifts.

The fabric of his white top is riding up, revealing a pale stretch of skin. There’s the faintest dusting of dark hair trailing downwards, and your eyes snap back to the textbook. Your cheeks flushed, for the briefest second as your resolve breaks.

“Just tell me the answer.”

Choso exhales, in a soft and patient sound, sliding the textbook your way. He’s tapping the page with his finger, his blunt nail landing on the highlighted sentence.

“Extended-Spectrum Beta-Lactamases hydrolyse a wide range of beta-lactam antibiotics, including third-generation cephalosporins. This contributes to antibiotic resistance.” His voice is smooth, but it carries that faint rasp that always makes it sound like he’s just woken up.

“I was close.”

“Close doesn’t get you any marks,” Choso replies, deadpan.

Your retort dies on your glossy lips, when a sharp shhh cuts through the air. You glance up, spotting a student two tables away, glaring at you over the rim of her stylish tortoiseshell glasses.

Your next sip of coffee is deliberate, making an obnoxious gurgle as you drain the bottom of your cup. Choso’s eyes flick to the order scribbled on the side, Caramel Crunch Latte, Extra Whip. His lips twitch, but what can you say? Satoru’s dropped a habit or two on you over the years.

This has become the routine over the past few weeks. The outright disdain you had initially felt had eroded, once you had realised that you were truly stuck with the man. It had become something closer to a begrudging truce, but ‘truce’ may be too generous a word.

The two of you found yourselves studying together. Regularly. Choso needed to interact more with people, and less with his old, dusty laptop. And you needed a study partner that could match your wits. Unfortunately, Choso seemed entirely oblivious to the reason you nursed an ancient grudge against him, choosing to accept your bad attitude in stride.

It doesn’t help that Choso is, well, hot now.

In high school, he had always been cute in that underdog way. Endearing, if not exactly the type to inspire confidence. He had been the subject of your sweet trope-like fantasy that you would nurture during long, dull classes.

You, the radiant prom queen, standing under a canopy of glittering lights, extending a perfectly manicured hand to him. The shy, awkward loser who’d clearly underestimated how gorgeous his messy hair and tendency to trip over his own words were. Ugh, now you’re not sure who had been the bigger loser.

But three years had passed, and the Choso that sat across from you now bore only a passing resemblance to that daydream. Time, it seemed had been suspiciously kind to him. Unfairly, even. His frame was lean but undeniably defined. His shyness remained, because you knew that he refused to correct the woman at the food trucks whenever she got his name wrong, but it had softened into something less clumsy, and more self-contained. Far less teenage angst.

The dark violet smudges beneath his eyes were still there, giving him that haunted and sleep—deprived look. And his hair was still the same stringy, chestnut mop that you remembered. But it was more of a deliberate statement now, instead of an oversight. It hung just over his shoulders, and you had heard many a passerby giggle and whisper about hot emos on campus. Like, get in line.

“What are you doing next weekend?”

The question comes so abruptly that your head snaps up like a spring-loaded trap.

“Huh?” You blink, the tip of your pencil teetering dangerously close to snapping against the page.

Choso stares back at you, his expression maddeningly neutral, “Like, are you busy?”

“It’s my friend’s birthday on Saturday, we’re going out at night,” you’re narrowing your eyes at him, already feeling your composure fray.

It’s Suguru’s birthday, and Gojo’s gone full-out with a surprise planned at some five-star restaurant. You managed to get your hands on a vintage vinyl turntable for him, courtesy of a Sotheby’s auction.

Choso nods, like he’s filing that away somewhere, “What about Sunday?”

“Sunday?” You repeat, dragging it out, “I’m free, I guess.” Against all reason, you find yourself answering honestly, even as some internal voice is screaming at you to lie and make up an excuse.

“Do you want to study at my place?”

There’s a pause, long enough for the air to grow heavy between you two. You wonder if he remembers the last time that you asked him to go out with you. Your eyebrows shoot up, and your mouth must be twitching in something close to incredulity.

Choso notices, for his ears go pink first. Then his cheeks, like someone’s spattered him with a splotchy watercolour paint. The flush sits pretty, just under the dark mark that crosses the bridge of his nose, “No, I mean, like really study. Just studying. It’s easier than being here…” He twitches, looking anywhere but you, “Yuuji would be happy to see you again, and stuff.”

And stuff. How ridiculous that two words make your heart trip over itself. Your three-year resolve to keep him firmly in the do not touch zone has basically cracked wide open. There’s a traitorous smile tugging at the corner of your lips, but you manage to suppress it. Barely. Playing it off with a nonchalant hum.

“Hmm. Sure, I’ll think about it.”

Choso lives in an apartment now. Not a polished high-rise with sleek fixtures and panoramic views, but a tired and unremarkable building with flickering yellow lights that cast long and ominous shadows along the stairwell. You clutch the slip of paper that he scribbled his address on, squinting at the nearly illegible scrawl. It’s barely decipherable, a penmanship perfect for prescriptions and indecipherable notes.

In your other hand, you balance a box of cream rolls from the bakery that Nanami swears by, their golden horns stuffed with airy dairy and dusted with cinnamon sugar. The smell is warm and sweet, a sharp contrast to the questionable stairwell.

The ascent feels longer than it should, each step accompanied by the faint swing of those tired lights overhead. But you bite back any judgement, you’ve made that mistake before.

Someone else is already there, a tall figure that knocks on Choso’s door with wide, lazy knuckles. Once. Twice. The man huffs, pocketing his phone and pulling out a key. There’s a practiced ease to the way he clicks the lock open, and for a moment, you hesitate, wondering if you’re witnessing a breaking-and-entering type of situation.

But there’s something familiar about the muted shock of rosy, pink hair that spikes over his head.

“What are you doing?” His voice is rough, deep, with an edge of irritation that makes you stand a little straighter. He looks over you once, and his eyes fall on the box of pastries in your hands. Disinterest giving way to a little bit of curiosity. It reminds you of Itadori Yuuji.

“Uh,” you clear your throat, “Choso invited me.”

The man’s eyebrows lift in surprise, and you’re fascinated by the tattoos that curl around his face. Even running along his jawline, and down his neck. There are silver studs littering his ear, and if you didn’t know better, you would say that there are real precious stones scattered among them.

“Didn’t know he had a date.” The man seems gruffly amused, and you stomp your heels, the sound snapping off worn walls.

“It’s not a date. We’re studying.”

“Don’t care. Didn’t really ask.”

With that, he swings the door open, stepping inside before you can. You linger in the doorway, before hesitantly following him, watching as he kicks the door shut with his heel. He seems to be making himself at home like he owns the place, peering through an empty fridge and rifling through cabinets. All before collapsing on the sagging couch like it’s his throne, sprawled out as he starts scrolling through his phone again.

You just perch awkwardly on the edge of a cold chair, as the space suddenly feels oddly claustrophobic. Your fingers toy with the edge of your notebook, as you wonder whether you need to call Choso, to see if this was all a mistake. Instead, your gaze flickers over to the man sitting opposite you.

You’re sure that he comes from money. You’ve spent enough summer holidays backstage at Milan and Paris shows to recognise the season’s latest pieces. And the crimson racing jacket on his shoulders is definitely a Dior piece that costs more than what you assume is the rent of this entire apartment complex. Plus, you had spent enough time flicking through Van Cleef’s catalogue to recognise the whirring, high-jewellery piece that sat on his wrist. A watch with an eye-like mechanism, studded with Burmese rubies. Easily the price of your penthouse.

“So, you friends with Choso?” He asks suddenly, lowering his phone. His eyes are sharp russet, locking with yours.

“We know each other from high school,” you say, trying to keep your tone neutral. It’s best to leave it at that, it’s safer that way. You’re playing Choso’s game, the one where you don’t share a thing about your personal life.

“Hmph,” The sound is more of a grunt than a response, and it makes you bristle. Why bother asking a question if you’re not interested in the answer?

“Did I leave the door unlocked?”

You hear Choso’s faintly bewildered murmur, almost to himself, before he catches sight of you. It’s cute, how a bashful smile creeps over his face again, almost embarrassed at the sight of you. But it darkens instantly, sharply. His bronze eyes are fixed on the man that loiters on his couch.

“Get out.”

The man is unfazed, “Why? Am I interrupting your date?”

“It’s not a date. We’re studying.” Choso’s mirroring your exact, previous words. His tone is stiff, like you’ve never heard it before. A snarl, with irritation bubbling underneath the surface.

“I don’t know how else I can stress this enough, brat. But I really do not care what you do to get off.” The man drawls, pushing himself off the couch. He’s absurdly tall, easily the height of the ceiling. You catch a glimpse of the tattoos trailing up his forearm, dark ink that winds around his wrist. A startling splash of red staining the sleeve of the pristine jacket. It’s dried up now, crusting the edges of the fabric. Sort of like…

Weird. And impossible.

Choso grunts, “Fine. Get up. Go,” and he’s gesturing towards a door leading into another room, his jaw clenched tight. The muscles in his neck are taut, the apology in his expression at you somehow mixed with a faint flicker of regret, like he wishes you weren’t here to see this.

What happens next is an absolute masterclass on being nosy. You’ve edged closer to the door, shifting on the couch so you’re practically perched on the armrest. You can hear the muffled thrum of Choso and the stranger’s voice through the door, but it’s not enough. Curiosity is clawing her sharp nails at you, and you wonder if you should text Satoru. Or maybe drop a quick message in the group chat.

You end up leaning in closer, ignoring the way that you’re teetering on the very edge.

The conversation is low, like the rumble of thunder in the distance, but the voices are gradually building until —

“What? You did not just fuckin’ throw something at me!” The man’s voice booms so loud that you almost jump out of your skin, “What is wrong with you? Can’t even have an honest conversation these days?”

Choso’s response is tight, simmering with frustration that you don’t understand, “Nothing you do is honest. And don’t break into my place then!”

“Your place?” The man’s scoff is almost a sneer, like he’s amused at the mere thought, “Brat, let’s not forget all the favours I’ve done you.” There’s a crash, something hitting the floor with a thud, and the man’s voice bellows again, “Oi! Put that down right now. Don’t you dare throw something else at me. Fuck, you’ve got good aim, I’ll give ya’ that.”

You can hear Choso shuffle, spit something sharp in response.

“You’ve done all these things for me before, eh? Why the hesitation now? Got tired of cleaning it all up?”

Choso’s response is firm through the thin walls, “I’m done with doing your dirty work all the time.”

The silence that follows is thick, suffocating, punctuated with a low and disbelieving laugh.

“You said that last time. But you came crawling back when you couldn’t handle looking after the kid all on your lonesome.”

“Leave Yuuji out of this!”

There’s another muffled scuffle, a loud thud that makes your heart race as the stranger growls, “Can’t believe you bit me.”

The door swings open with a suddenness that almost knocks you off your seat. Choso’s practically putting his entire back into shoving the man out with a sharp grunt, like he’s had enough.

The stranger turns, giving you a lazy, bored wave. Like he knows that it will simply irk Choso off even more. And he’s right. Choso, not having it for a second, snaps at him, “Get out. And don’t come back.”

The man rolls his eyes, but not before pulling out a pricey Italian wallet, slapping a wad of thick bills down on the kitchen counter, “That’s for this month. I’ll send a cheque next month for the little brat’s birthday.”

Then he’s gone, muttering something about bitchy, little bastard children, born on the wrong side of the sheets, with sharp teeth.

Choso’s whirling around to you, his expression unreadable and blank. Like the surface of still water that refuses to betray even a ripple of emotion. You school your features, meeting his gaze with a look of equal, quiet disinterest.

“Friend of yours?” You ask, your voice cool. But there’s questions dancing on the tip of your tongue, and you can taste them in the air.

He doesn’t answer right away. He’s flicking through the thick stack of bills that the stranger left on the counter. The sound of cash shifting in his hands is oddly loud, and you whistle low, almost involuntarily. It makes Choso look up, catching your appreciative gaze. His fingers tighten around the stack, his jaw clenching, as if to keep in whatever thoughts or words are threatening to spill out.

“Don’t say anything.” His voice is a low mutter, hard.

“I didn’t.”

Choso looks at you again, his hazel eyes softening just enough that you catch the flicker of something unsure. He lets out a low sigh, “But you want to ask.”

“Will you let me ask?” You’re pushing, your voice a little softer and coaxing than you intended. You can already see the signs, the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the way his gaze flickers to the door as if he’s considering an exit. Choso’s like a clam, snapping shut, as if there is a pearl that he’s not ready to share.

“What do you want to know?” He’s saying this like it’s a chore, as if it is the last thing he wants to do.

You make your way to the kitchen counter, “What will you tell me?”

If Choso is irritated by the vague, passive nature of your questions, he doesn’t show it. He simply tugs his purple sweater down, sharply. “Yuuji will be sad if his uncle didn’t send him money for his birthday. He turns ten next month.”

“So that was…Uncle Kuna,” you ask, murmuring more to yourself than to him. But Choso’s sharp gaze flicks to you, a faint confirmation in the nod that follows.

“Mhm.”

And just like that, something clicks in your brain. A conversation that you had overheard once, perhaps a year or two ago. A rare moment that both your parents had been home, still too distracted to realise that you were listening. The realisation hits you hard, like a small shot of adrenaline, “That’s not Sukuna, is it? Ryomen Sukuna?”

Choso’s amber look is like fragile glass now, “Yeah. How’d you figure?”

In a world such as yours and Satoru’s, it’s quite hard to avoid gossip, and whispers that float around in the backrooms of business meetings, or in the too-quiet halls of private clubs. For all the older business-clans, Sukuna is quite the upstart. A man who clawed his way to the top, not just content with money, but power and influence as well. Apparently, he made quite the name for himself, building an empire with wealth beyond measure.

And all at the low price of being wanted in more than thirty-five countries and territories. A businessman, a crook and a criminal. Your father said that Ryomen Sukuna’s ledgers were written in red ink, fresh blood for both personal and financial debts that were owed to him.

“Why did he say that you came crawling back to him?”

Choso’s eyes flutter shut, and you can see that he’s calculating whether it’s worth the effort to respond.

“He’s the reason I dropped out of school,” Choso mutters, the words low enough that almost don’t catch them. They land with a soft thud, the kind that makes your pulse stutter. You stare at him, with the kind of look that people give when a ticking time bomb has just been dropped in their lab.

Choso scoffs, eyes darting away, “Yeah. He’s always been sending money for Yuuji. And I was stuck doing his…favours.”

Suddenly, you’re back in high school. On Choso’s doorstep, watching him try to hide a cardboard box of surgical tools. There’s a little corkboard map in your head connected with red strings, as you pin other things on there. The latex gloves in the box, Choso’s general lack of squeamish misery when it comes to the stickier parts of medicine, and the bloodstain on Ryomen Sukuna’s Dior jacket.

It’s almost odd, in a morbid way, that a crime boss chooses the latest Vogue streetwear, instead of a dark Godfather suit and a cigar.

Your expression must betray the pieces that you’ve put together, because Choso’s eyes widen, like he can see the cogs turning in your brain. “Look,” he stammers, voice rougher now, with a nervous edge, “I didn’t do anything wrong. Never saw what he did. Not really. Just —”

You shush him gently, a hand reaching out to land on his, a little too quickly and a little too hot. The instant your skin brushes against his, there’s a sharp feeling. Like you’ve touched something that burns beneath the surface. His face flashes a faint pink, muscles stiffening as though your touch seared him in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

“Go on,” you hope that your tone is reassuring.

Choso swallows, his throat bobbing as his fingers suddenly curl around yours, “Anyway, I got tired of doing his dirty work, you know? Thought that if I dropped out, I could get a job. Work enough to support myself and Yuuji, without taking a single dollar from him.”

“But he’s your uncle?” Your question is tentative, like you’re testing the waters of a deeper pool, “Wouldn’t he support you, too?”

Choso’s sigh is deep and weary as he gently corrects you, “He’s Yuuji’s uncle. Yuuji’s my half-brother.”

Suddenly, Sukuna’s comment about ‘biting bastard children’ snaps into place with clarity. Oh.

You’re not sure what to say now, what words could possibly fill the emptiness that lingers between the two of you. What a misery it would have been. Being a teenager with such potential, forced to close off your own future for the sake of family, and those that you love.

You remember Choso’s face that day, after graduation, with his hollow expression as he watched your friends celebrate their youth. There’s a bitter lump in your throat, but for once, you keep it down. This really isn’t about you.

You frown, the thought sneaking up on you and settling in your chest like a splinter you can’t ignore. “He said you owed him favours.”

Choso exhales sharply, his shoulders stiffening as if bracing for something unpleasant. His voice is low, bitter. “You think high school dropouts pay their own way into med school without a benefactor?”

Right.

“So?” Choso’s voice cuts through the fog of your thoughts, and you blink at him, startled.

“So, what?”

Choso shifts, unease seeping into his posture. His calloused fingers are still curled tightly around yours, like he’s afraid that you’ll pull away and slip past him.

“Are you angry?”

You’re not sure whether to laugh, or sigh, “Why would I be angry?”

He’s hesitating, dark hair falling loose around his face, “I was a jerk to you.” The words come quietly, like they’ve been gnawing at him, biting at the edges of his thoughts, “At the time, I don’t know, I guess I was just angry. Everything felt unfair, and I didn’t want anyone else to be involved.”

You frown, not fully understanding what to say, “You were still a teenager,” you say slowly, like you’re trying to convince both him and you. You hesitate, unsure whether you’re underplaying things, so the worlds come out a little jagged, not quite as comforting as you wished. “I guess…” It feels weak as your words suddenly stagger off.

Choso’s eyes flicker to yours, searching, like he’s trying to figure if there’s something else, you’re not saying, “What?”

You can practically hear Satoru’s voice in your heard, groaning and whining about screwing the long game. But you puff a breath through your cheeks, worried you’ll lose the nerve, “You know, I really liked you, right, Choso?”

Choso’s mouth drops open, as his face flickers with disbelief. The same way it had three years ago, “Like, really?”

You nod, a smile tugging at your lips without even thinking, “Yeah. And you know, everyone else thought I was being, like, silly. But I really liked you. I just never knew what to say to you.” It feels so stupid, and obvious now. But back then, it had been a great chunk of your world. You force yourself to hold his bashful gaze.

Choso’s quiet for a moment, before he admits, “I couldn’t believe it when you asked me to be your date. I thought it was just a game you were playing, or there was no-one left to ask.”

And then, after a beat, “Who did you go with?”

You snicker, a little too bitter and honest, “No-one.”

Choso’s quiet, relieved ‘damn’ makes you laugh even more, threading your fingers with his.

“I just can’t believe he’s in your classes. What are the odds?” Satoru mutters, abandoning his sunglasses for the evening, his bright eyes flashing like sunlight refracted on water. He claims that his eyes are less sensitive today, but you’re certain it’s an excuse for him to freely rifle through your kitchen without obstruction. In the living room, the rest of your friends hover like a pack of starved hyenas, waiting for the snacks that Satoru is currently monopolising.

“I’m telling you, when I first saw him, my heart dropped straight to my ass,” you say, tearing open a bag of sour cream crisps with more force than necessary. The chips tumble into the earthenware bowl in a noisy cascade.

Satoru snickers, expertly arranging small platters on a big, oaken serving board, “I pity the lack of cushioning it got.”

You flick a stray crisp at him, the chip bouncing off his shoulder with a gratifying crunch. For a moment, his grin is steady, but it quickly turns rueful. That slight furrow in his brows, the way the corner of his mouth twitches downwards. There’s something else simmering under that veneer of carelessness.

“You’re not happy, Satoru?”

His expression hardens slightly, plucking a cluster of wine-red grapes, twisting them off their stems with methodical precision.

“Well, yeah,” Satoru admits after a beat, his tone uncharacteristically sober, “I’m glad that he’s, like, nice now or whatever. But he basically broke your heart, didn’t he?”

You glance away, your fingers tighten on the corner of another snack bag, “He had his reasons.” Your flat reply avoids his curious gaze, perceptive and knowing. You hadn’t filled him on the Sukuna-lore. You’re not sure what it is, but there’s bad blood between the Gojos and Sukuna, and you’re not keen to exacerbate it.

Oh, hey, Satoru! So, Choso is like Sukuna’s adopted nephew. And I think Sukuna forced him to like clean up people’s chopped fingers and arms, or whatever. But I have a big crush on him, yep. Right after I said that I wouldn’t catch feelings again.

Satoru scoffs, wagging a long finger at you. A glistening droplet of grape juice clings to his thumb like a ruby bead, “Don’t make excuses for someone hurting your feelings. You know better than that.” His tone carries the same theatrical lilt as always, but it’s underpinned with something firmer, genuine.

Before you can fire back, a new voice meanders into the kitchen, soft and unhurried, “Who hurt your feelings?”

It’s Suguru, propped lazily against the doorway, choppy layers freshly framing his sharp features. The dim kitchen light catches on the faint sheen of his silver rings as he crosses his arms.

Satoru grabs a bag of pretzels, lobbing it towards him, “Choso Kamo. Remember that emo guy I told you about?”

Suguru catches the bag with practised ease, without looking, his mauve gaze flicking to you. You silently curse Gojo Satoru for broadcasting your love life, or lack thereof, to what feels like half the city.

“What’s he look like again?”

You narrow your eyes at the tall man, “He was literally in our grade.”

Suguru shrugs, his palms raised in mock innocence, “I never saw him, okay? He was quiet as hell, never had classes with him.”

“He wasn’t that quiet,” you protest, but your words are drowned out by Satoru’s triumphant declaration.

“Hold up! I got visual aid.”

He’s whipped out his phone, unlocking it with a brief glance of his face, before shoving the dimmed screen inches from Suguru’s puzzled face. The photo, a grainy yearbook photo of Choso in junior year, gleams under the kitchen lights. You wonder if you’re going to need to fight for your life on the frontlines again.

For a moment, Suguru’s expression remains neutral. Unimpressed even. Then, as if someone’s flipped a switch, his eyes widen with dawning recognition, “This is Kamo? His girlfriend’s my neighbour.”

Half a grape travels down Satoru’s windpipe, “The villain!”

Your best friend’s exclamation ricochets off the kitchen walls, loud enough to silence whatever protest was forming on your lips. Not that you had much ground to stand on. How would you even know? Choso had talked to you about his family, not his love life. You saw him a few times a week, and then the two of you would drift away, back to your own orbits. And he was a grown man with a life that had surely moved past you.

You had told him that you had liked him, and he hadn’t said a word back that hinted at any mutual connection. How had you missed that?”

Satoru is still recovering from his near demise at the hands of fruit, “What girlfriend? You’re sure, Suguru?”

Suguru raises an eyebrow, looking like he regrets ever opening his mouth, “Hey. Don’t pin this on me. But he comes by, with a little pink-haired kid. His brother? And she’s like talkative,” and he gestures vaguely above his head, “Like, really tall. Blonde.”

Your eyes had drifted to the unopened case of vodka sitting on the counter.

Satoru clocks you immediately, “Don’t even think about it. We’re going to handle this like mature adults.”

“We?”

Satoru nods solemnly, looping his arm through Suguru’s leather jacket, “Yes. Your Choso loss is my Choso loss,” and he pulls Suguru closer, “Our Choso loss.”

Suguru sighs, not shaking him off as he looks at you sympathetically, “Why am I a part of this? No offense. You could skip all this misery, and I don’t know because I’m just spit balling here, ask him?”

The dark-haired man continues, “Or, and I know this is radical for two divas like you, you could just let it go and spare yourself the drama. If you’re going to be working in the same field, wouldn’t professionalism be better?”

Satoru scoffs, “Or! We do some reconnaissance. I mean, you’re the girlfriend’s neighbour, Suguru. Go snoop around.”

“Why is it always me?” Suguru’s pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Because it is always you. You’ve got the best sneaky liar face I know,” Satoru replies breezily, ignoring how Suguru mutters about the love he feels in this kitchen, “And you need to do this for the greater good. All that noble shit.”

Suguru shoots you a half-hearted glare, as if this is somehow your fault, and not Satoru pulling every string. You’re one more inconvenience away from slumping onto the counter, head in hands, a shot glass by your side.

Your mind flickers to the hair tie that Choso always wears on his wrist. It could be innocuous, sure, but the green-eyed monster claws itself up in your chest. You imagine this faceless girlfriend passing it to him, like an intimate, inside joke.

“What am I supposed to do? Corner him in the break room on placements, and interrogate him? Should I pull out the clan funds, and pay him to date me?”

“It’s what I did with Suguru,” Satoru quips, not missing a beat.

“Now who’s the liar,” Suguru murmurs.

The hospital’s looming ahead. A hulking mass of glass and steel that outline the bleak sky. It’s a bitter Monday morning, the kind that bites at your cheeks and sinks into your bones, no matter how tightly you bundle up. The drive has been long and so utterly tedious, the pale sunlight doing little to brighten the cityscape as you crawl along congested streets.

Now, on the far edge of the suburbs, you’re left squinting and fuming as you circle the parking lot for the third time. The situation is grim, spots are scarce, and every turn feels like an ill-fated gamble that only ends in someone else’s bumper.

You mutter curses under your breath, the heater in your car doing little to thaw your mood.

Choso’s already there, not a massive surprise, for his apartment is far closer than your waterfront residence, smack-bang in the city’s central district. His dark hair is loosely tied back, and he’s thrown an old hoodie over his scrubs. There’s a clipboard tucked under his arm, and a coffee cup in the other.

He extends the cup towards you without preamble, “Want it?”

You blink, catching on the incongruity of the gesture. But Suguru’s intel still echoes in your mind, he has a girlfriend.

You furrow your brow, the cup hovering between you, “Where’s yours?”

Choso shrugs, “I don’t drink coffee. Makes me jittery.”

This answer irritates you for no logical reason. Who doesn’t drink coffee? It feels like some fundamental character flaw, and you snatch the cup from his hand. Doing your very best not to unfairly glare at him, for the sole crime of having a life outside of you.

It’s hard to focus when he’s nailed your exact order. You lower the cup, the warmth seeping through the cardboard sleeve and into your fingers, doing little to melt the icy knot that sits in your chest.

Choso seems almost unnervingly chipper this morning, a far cry from his usual brooding demeanour. There’s no scowl etched on his handsome face, no trace of his typical stoicism. Instead, he wears the faintest trace of a smile, a subtle and almost tentative thing that pulls at the corners of his mouth as he glances over a nearly printed itinerary.

The sight throws you further off-kilter. It’s rare to see him like this, easy and unguarded, and you can’t help the way your lips twitch, the barest hint of a smile threatening to escape before you smother it.

“We’re starting in the ER for two hours,” he reads aloud, voice steady, “then, the paediatric unit.” He pauses to flip the page, his expression shifting to mild exasperation, “And then, paperwork in the break room.”

“Figures,” you grumble, tucking your hands into your coat pockets, “Free labour from the students, yeah?”

Choso glances at you, from the corner of his eye, an unimpressed but faintly amused look on his face, “Thought that you would start the day with a more upbeat attitude.”

You grunt in response, which only earns a shake of his head as he folds the itinerary back into his clipboard.

A beat of silence stretches between you, only punctured by the sound of light metal snapping as you clip a badge to your pocket, but he’s speaking again.

“You good?”

His bronze eyes flick to yours, clearly searching, and your pulse stutters, “Yeah. Obviously.”

Choso takes a deep breath, his chest rising and gearing up for something monumental. The way his fingers fidget against the clipboard betrays him, they tap out a staccato rhythm. There’s a flush creeping on the back of his neck, subtle but unmistakeable.

“Want to get dinner tonight?” He blurts, the words tumbling out so fast that they barely sound like a sentence.

You blink at him, confused, “Bless you.” Your automatic response, because he spoke so quickly that it sounded as though he had sneezed.

Choso’s scowl is immediate, “No.” He says it firmly, drawing out each word in exasperation, “I asked if you wanted to get dinner tonight. After this.”

Oh. Oh.

The realisation hits you like a jolt, and for a second, all you can do is gape at him. He’s looking at you now, an almost defiant sort of expectation in his gaze, as though he’s worried that you’re going to laugh at him. But before you piece together a coherent response, there’s a sharp rap-rap-rap of knuckles on the doorframe.

The ward manager is here, her expression brisk and no-nonsense, gesturing for the two of you to begin your shift placement.

Your head snaps back at him, mouth moving before your brain diplomatically catches up, “I don’t think that’s fair to your girlfriend, do you?”

Choso’s brows knit together, his expression shifting to something startled and indignant. Irritated, even, as you push past him.

He’s trying to speak to you. It’s painfully obvious, as he’s got that mildly dazed look. All that awkward, earnest attention is squarely focused on you.

You’re having none of it.

He steps to your side as you shuffle through patient charts, his broad frame taking up more than his fair share of narrow space, shadowing your elbow as you scribble furious notes. His mouth opens, probably to say something that you don’t want to hear, but you’re faster.

“Hey, Choso, what’s her blood pressure?” You interrupt, not bothering to look up from the faintly lined paper.

There’s a second of hesitation before he answers, “120 over 50. Just write that down. Got it? Okay, yeah, can you stop moving for a second and —”

You squint at the chart, cutting him off again, “Hmm, don’t you think that the diastolic is a little low?”

His shoulders slump, “Yes, but the doctors already know that. She has hypothyroidism, you told me that when you interrupted me like half an hour ago. Can’t you just —” Choso stops mid-sentence again, muttering a resigned oh my god, when you pivot away and head to the next room without so much a glance back.

It sets the tone for the rest of the shift. You make a sport of avoiding him, weaving through the emergency department like a fish slipping upstream, leaving Choso stranded in your wake. He follows, persistent in his mild-mannered way, but you’re relentless.

“Can you hand me that chart?” He’s trying again, as you’re elbow deep in filing.

“Oh, this one?” You sweetly ask, holding it just out of his reach, before conveniently remembering that you need to double-check something on it. He just huffs at you.

By hour three, it’s clear that Choso’s patience is wearing thin, and fighting a war against his professionalism. He corners you near the supply cart while you rummage for gloves.

“There you are.”

“Oh, are we low on size medium?” You cut in, loud enough to catch the attention of a passing manager, “Should we restock?”

Choso inhales through his nose, “We’re not low on gloves. We’re fine on gloves. Can you stop talking about gloves for one second?”

You flash him a smile that’s all teeth, “Gloves are important, Choso. Hygiene is crucial.”

This time, you see him run an exasperated hand over his face, before realising that now he’s just contaminated his own pair of gloves. Snarling at you as he rips the blue latex off and reaching for the size large box.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, once and then twice. Then thrice, as if whoever’s contacting you as something urgent to say. You ignore it, you’ll check it after placements.

The hours tick by, and your strategy remains the same. Stay busy, stay distant, and stay unreachable. Don’t make it seem like you’re irrationally bothered by Choso having a life of his own and having a girlfriend. Or that you actually had hope that this time round, his feelings for you were requited.

By the time you both stumble into the break room, Choso looks as if he’s experienced the full emotional spectrum, like he’s been knocked through the five stages of grief and landed somewhere in the resigned space of acceptance. He looks as if he’s clearly preparing to lecture you, to tirade you on professional conduct and —

Without warning, his phone buzzes.

You don’t even look up from cracking open your water bottle, the sound of plastic barely crinkles louder than the dull thud of your own heartbeat. Choso glances at you out of the corner of his eyes, a flash of alarm crossing his face, before he draws his attention back to the screen of his phone.

You hear the faintest scoff from his direction, and he’s shaking his head as you watch in mild interest.

“What?”

Choso doesn’t answer immediately, still scrolling through his phone.

“I’m not dating Tsukumo Yuki.”

Your mouth goes dry. You blink rapidly, wide-eyed as if he’s just spoken in an ancient, dead language.

“What?” You manage weakly, “Who? What? —”

There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, and you fear the cause of this slow and curling chest is a meddling duo of two men, one with dark hair and the other with snowy-white.

Choso doesn’t even glance up at you, his voice tinged with something incredulous now, “Why is Gojo Satoru texting me? He says that you’re not replying to his or Geto Suguru’s messages. And apparently, this is super urgent, and he feels like he must do his divine duty by interfering before you do something stupid.

Choso pauses, finally looking at you as if he’s truly baffled, “And you all thought that I was dating Tsukumo.”

You’re crafting a list in your head. Twenty creative ways to kill Gojo Satoru and not land in prison afterwards.

Maybe you should ask Choso for Ryomen Sukuna’s contact.

“That’s crazy,” you say, the words tasting thin and hollow in a bitter, embarrassed lie.

Choso shakes his head at you, some dark strands of hair falling across his eyes, “She looks after Yuuji sometimes. I take him over to her place because Yuki’s adopted a kid, Todo. The two of them are friends.”

“Uh.”

Choso turns back to his phone screen, scrolling through whatever nonsense Satoru is feeding him, “Have you being icing me out all day, because you thought I had a girlfriend?”

“Will you hate me if I say yes?” You’re looking anywhere but him, focusing on the chipped, lilac paint on the break-room door. Or the slightly off-centre light bulb flickering above. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you’re adding Geto Suguru to your kill list.

Choso’s voice is softer when he answers, almost too quiet, “Hey. You know I couldn’t hate you if I tried.” But there’s a strange mixture of amusement and disbelief in his voice, a bemused chuckle that lingers in the air, “Wow. Just wow.”

You grimace, fingers toying with the edge of the water bottle as you wrangle your thoughts into words, “Are you mad? I mean, look. I told you I liked you. And then you held my hands, so I thought you liked me back. And you got me coffee. But Suguru said you had a girlfriend, and you can’t blame me for being — Oh my god, I’m going to stop talking, you’re looking at me like I’ve gone crazy.”

Choso’s expression shifts, just staring at you. You don’t more than a split-second to process his strangely intense look. There’s no time to recover before he leans down, his hands surprisingly warm and gentle as they cradle the side of your face.

Your breath hitches, but before you can form another thought, his lips are on yours. They’re warm, deliberate and surprisingly firm. The scent of crisp green apples falls over you, as his hair envelops your face.

He pulls back just enough to study you, “Was that okay?” he asks, his fingers still lingering at the curve of your jaw, like he can’t believe he just kissed you. You can feel the sharp blush sting your face, as your heart practically goes into cardiac arrest, nodding quickly.

“Uh, I’m not really an expert in this field,” Choso murmurs, “But I can’t believe that I waited this long to do that.”

“You can do that again,” you say. Wondering if you should buy Satoru and Suguru a bouquet of flowers instead.

Choso, predictably, blushes deep enough that it nearly looks like he might combust. His eyes flicker away, avoiding your gaze in that way he does when he’s trying to sort through his emotions. But it’s hard to miss the warm flush that’s firmly planted on his neck.

“Can I do it over that dinner?” Choso murmurs, his voice dipping lower, before he quickly rephrases, “I obviously do want to kiss you now, again, that is, but if they catch us in the break room —”

You suddenly beam up at him, patting him on the cheek, “You can kiss me as much as you like over dinner.”

Choso looks as though he’s been struck with a metaphorical thunderbolt, as if he didn’t expect you to agree so straightforwardly. And then, as if he can’t help himself, he presses a quick and soft kiss to your forehead. For the briefest second, it feels as if you’re a teenager again, caught in the whirlwind of something simple and so sweet.

“Okay. So, is that a yes?” He asks, a little breathless, as if he’s not sure what kind of confirmation he’s just gotten but needing it to hear it anyway.

“If it’s a proper date, it’s a yes.”

Choso mutters under his breath, “You know Geto Suguru texted me with a five-paragraph apology, something about sneaking around my apartment. Stalking me this morning,” and here, he looks at you, utterly exasperated but fond, “Something about checking to see if I had a girlfriend. I mean, I don’t even know the guy. We never talked in school.”

You loop your arm with his, pulling him in slightly, “See, I always did say my friends were super nice. They’re going to be super nice, and normal. Trust me.”

ONE WEEK LATER.

“And to my brother-in-law, my brother-in-arms, my brother in the Constantinople Crusades of 1204,” Satoru hiccups, his words slurring together in a rambled mess, as he sways over the edge of Suguru’s arms, and for a split second, you’re worried the white-haired man is going to tip over entirely, “My new brother, Choso. We always knew it was going to happen, eh?”

Choso’s cheeks turn a faint shade of crimson in the sudden spotlight as everyone cheers, and he shifts awkwardly. Suguru’s shooting him an apologetic look, the corners of his mouth twitching as he props Satoru up, “He’s a lightweight. And we watched a historical movie last night.”

“I can tell,” Choso grumbles, his face flushed now as Satoru’s monologue drifts like an aimless plastic bag in the wind, his words growing nonsensical as you reach over to pinch at his cheeks. He yelps but continues to babble on about how he and Choso are going to be best friends now, and they’re going to go shopping together, and ice-skating, and fruit-picking. All nonsense burbles being strung together by the tequila shots that Satoru swore he could handle an hour ago.

You glance over at Choso, faintly embarrassed, but he just laughs, a sound that’s unexpectedly light and unguarded. His fingers slide into yours once more, and the motion is gentle and natural, as though this, you, are exactly where he’s meant to be. And he drapes the wide expanse of his aviator jacket over your shoulders.

Meanwhile, Suguru is wrestling with Satoru, pushing him back down from his impromptu toast to your boyfriend, before the bartender can usher you all towards the exit. The burly man is already giving Satoru’s drunken proclamations a nasty look.

Shoko, of course, is grinning at you, a tankard of beer glimmering in front of her. Her eyes gleam with the sharpness of someone who’s won a decent amount of money in a bet. And Utahime is standing back with a faintly judgemental expression that only veils her gossipy curiosity, and a glum look as she passes wads of cash into Shoko’s waiting hands.

“They really do like me,” Choso murmurs, his voice low and almost carrying the undertone of vulnerability, alongside some quiet self-awareness.

You laugh, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand, leaning in to press a quick peck to the dark mark that streaks over his face, “They all have no choice. You’re my boyfriend now.”

The words slip out effortlessly, and for a moment, they hang between you like something solid and unspoken, as though saying it aloud has made it feel real in a way it never quite did before. Choso’s eyes flick to yours, and something shifts in his expression — just a slight softening around the edges.

Then, without warning, you lean in, closing the distance between you, and kiss him. It’s slow, deliberate, with none of the frantic energy of your first kiss but instead the quiet certainty of something just beginning to bloom. You feel the faintest sigh from Nanami in the background, the sound of Geto groaning as Gojo whoops with drunken delight.

The noise from the bar fades into nothing as you focus entirely on the warmth of Choso’s shy lips against yours, the gentle pressure as he presses more into you, the soft thud of his heartbeat where your hand rests over his chest. For that moment, it’s just you and him, and everything else is an afterthought.

“Okay! I’ve had enough of the lot of you snogging and yelling in my bar! And take stupid Jack Frost out with ya’!”

#choso kamo #choso kamo x reader #choso x reader #choso fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x you #choso x y/n #jjk choso #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk angst #daphworks

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lanabuckybarnes · 5 months ago

Note

Would you write a plus size reader w either bucky or steve(or both) where they are her first real relationship and she gets scared that she doesn't deserve to be with either of them and so she tries to push them away so she doesn't get hurt but instead they show her why she is their person.... like tooth rotting fluff and the filthiest smut..... if that's okay if not no worries

| All Yours, Only Yours |

18+ Minors DNI

✧Pairing✧ Bucky Barnes x Plus Size!Reader

✧Warnings✧ A lil angsty, Sharon being a big bully (like seriously you’re 50 and you’re bullying someone? ick), Name calling, Angry Buck, Crying, Bucky is a simp, Confessions, Marking, Dry humping, Oral (F), Fingering (F), Teeny bit of cum play, Dirty talk, Unprotected PinV, Praise, Petnames, My shitty writing — again very tame for me but i didnt want to go overboard. If there any more I’ve neglected to add please let me know.

✧Word Count✧ 4.3K

✧Author Note✧ I really hope you enjoy this and I've done your request justice, I honestly tried my best but idk…Anyways!!! Much love to everyone, please let me know what you think. Love ya xxx

“Still not answering?” Natasha asks from her spot in the cockpit, concern evident from the wrinkle between her brows.

“Nope” he spits his reply, reeling from the whole ordeal. He thrusts his phone into his jean pocket, sick to the back teeth of nothing but a black screen greeting him instead of your sweet little messages.

“Did you piss her off or something?” Sam tries to lighten the mood but is swiftly shut down, his hands rising in surrender at the killer glare the brunette shot his way.

“Calm down everyone, we’ll be home soon so we can figure this out” Steve, the voice of reason commands order within the small confines of the jet. He sits, a gloved hand rubbing over his friend's shoulder trying to reassure his muddled brain but to no avail.

Bucky is pissed. He’s pissed and he’s worried sick. A week he’s been gone for and he’s missing you like crazy. The only issue? You are ignoring him, straight up ghosting his brooding ass which is completely unlike you. Often on missions when Bucky clicks his phone on he’s greeted with a flurry of messages from you; photos of little birds you see on your walks, photos of alpine taken at odd angles and constant little messages that make his heart full and ready to continue his painstaking missions—none of it, just a notification from your favourite restaurant offering a discount to keep him happy.

As soon as this jet landed he was going to get to the bottom of what was going on and then he was going to cuddle you to death as punishment. Not that he’d let anyone else know that.

One Week Earlier…

Beep beep beep. Bucky’s alarm sounds at the ungodly hour of five am, his groan following. He didn't want to get out of this bed, he was too warm, his huge body wrapped around yours. Your movements spurred his own, your arm reaching over to switch off his alarm while he pushed himself into a sit, thoughts already on the mission afoot.

“Morning,” your raspy voice purrs, bringing his attention back to you. His eyes fall to your face; following the slope of your puffy cheeks up to your barely open eyes, your hues peeking through only enough to tease him. Putting his weight on his right arm he’s on top of you before you can blink, his head tucked into the crook of your neck, peppering tiny kisses along the warm skin.

“Morning princess,” he bites back his yawn, shifting so his hips slot in their spot between your plush thighs, loving the way they wrapped around his narrow waist just the way he loved. Practice truly did make perfect. His dark vibranium fingers drifted from your collarbone, over the swell of your breast until it found its favourite perch on your hips.

“So fucking pretty” he breathes, his pupils dilating to let more of you in — until you pushed him away.

“You gotta get ready Mr” you giggle, moving your foot so you could push him further away, ruining his plan B of pinning you down by your hips.

“Don’t remind me…”

His cold left hand hooks around your ankle, pushing at it until your knee hinged, bending up and out. A suspicious hardness presses against you, a wicked smile on your boyfriend’s face.

“I mean it Buck we can’t, Nat will be kicking that door down any minute” he groans at your words knowing that you are completely right. That lock had been replaced an embarrassing amount of times because of that exact situation. You hated rejecting him, knowing that he could easily put you back to sleep until midday if he wanted. After a small standoff between you both you warn him again, an arch in your brow and a growl behind his name.

“You’re such a little tease, you know that?”

You laugh, sitting up, watching him skulk around the room in nothing but his grey Calvin Kleins, “I haven’t done anything!”

“Sure you haven’t” he argues, moving over to you again, his metal fingers looping under your chin to tilt your head back to gaze up at him, “Looking so fucking sexy in the morning and I can’t fuck you stupid. That’s not teasing that’s damn near criminal.”

You groan, rolling your eyes at your pouty 106-year-old man. You inch closer to his mouth, a sickly sweet definitely not bratty smirk on your face. “Get your ass ready.”

“Fine…but only because you looked so fucking sexy ordering me around,”

“Bucky!” You shout after him, blush on your full cheeks. He only smirks over his shoulder, pushing his briefs to the floor at the entrance to the bathroom, giving you a full view of his posterior.

You get up too, knowing you had been awake too long to fall asleep again. You get ready with the shower as background noise, pulling on some workout clothes. Today you decided you’d try out the gym right here in the compound, you’d been to many different ones in the past; often polluted with the smell of days-old sweat and men reeking of testosterone, grunting and groaning at weights you could only dream of lifting.

An hour later, after waving Bucky off on his week-long mission you were in the gym.

“Hey” you smile as you pass Sharon, her blonde hair whipping as she ducks and weaves to dodger imaginary punches the bag throws out before throwing a couple of her own. She offers you a tight-lipped smile, her eyes straying from your face down your body. She takes note of your long top and shorts that settle around mid-thigh compared to her sports bra and tiny shorts — her flat stomach and sculpted legs on display.

God you wish you had just as much ventilation. Just as you go to place your earphones in your ears you hear a scoff coming from Sharon’s direction. You pay it no mind, setting the treadmill for a nice incline and pace, pressing the timer until it shone with the time you wanted.

The treadmill slowed for the cooldown. Your eyes moved from the display in front to glance over your shoulder, the gym was empty. You grab your bottle only to realise thanks to your distraction you'd finished off your water. You stop the treadmill and hop off, making a beeline for the kitchen. The walk to the kitchen from the gym wasn’t that long but with the feeling of your sweat culminating in places you didn’t want it to be it was almost torturous.

“I couldn’t believe it when I saw her,”

A gaggle of hushed laughs comes from the kitchen, stopping you. A familiar dread coils in your stomach, reminding you of when you were young, the children pointing and laughing — joking at your expense.

“she must been on that treadmill for about five minutes and she was all like huff huff” she laughs obnoxiously “Her face was like a big tomato, I almost died trying to keep myself from laughing” Sharon continues.

The group cackles again at your expense, almost doubling as Sharon makes the huffing noise again. You cling to your shirt, pulling it from sticking to your body. These women you thought were friends did just what everyone else did.

“She’s pathetic, I don’t know what Bucky sees in her” Your heart stops. That little devil on your jumps and cheers at the confirmation of what it has been telling you since the start of your relationship with Bucky. You were never enough.

“I can’t wait for him to dump her once he gets sick of her wide load.”

Tears fall on their own accord but you don't register them, too busy inside your head being suffocated by every doubt and self-conscious thought you ever had since you confessed your feelings for the super soldier. You didn't deserve Bucky and everyone thought that too.

Back at your room, freshly clean. You scrolled through your messages from Bucky. The little hearts next to his messages no longer felt genuine like he was only doing it merely to save your feelings from being hurt. You were nothing but a burden that he was forced to bear; it wouldn’t be long before like Sharon said, he got sick of the clinginess and the need for reassurance and broke up with you.

Well, you weren’t going to be a burden any longer. You wouldn’t let him break your heart first. You turned your phone off, tucking it into your bedside drawer.

—

“Bucky wait!” Sam calls from the quinjet but it goes ignored. Bucky’s face is twisted in annoyance as he takes wide, purposeful steps towards the tower doors. He was going to find you and you were going to tell him why the fuck you were ignoring him.

He ignores the shouts of his name as Nat, Steve and Sam follow him indoors, smashing the elevator button with his thumb and stepping inside. Once on your floor, he stormed like a charging bull to your room, slamming a gloved fist on your door in a poor excuse for a knock.

The loud knocking from the other end of the room had you jumping back in your seat, the slee overtaking you gone in an instant. Your heart lurched at the familiar face, worn from exhaustion and malice clear from the scrunching of his forehead and tick in his cheek muscle.

“Oh hello, where have you been?” Bucky snaps, glaring down at you as you use the door as a shield from his scrutinising eyes. Here it comes, the moment you’d prepared for all week. You don’t think you’ll go back to dating apps, too many weird me—

“You know how worried I was when you didn't answer me all week?”

Huh. “Huh?”

“‘Huh?’ Are you joking? You ghosted me, left me scared to death on a mission halfway across the globe and all you can say to me is huh!” His blue eyes glisten and you look at them closer. There was no anger there, only concern and fear culminating in swirls across his blue orbs, rearing its head in rage across Bucky’s face.

“Bucky I—” you try but you can’t find the words, each syllable sticks in your throat, balling up until it feels like you can no longer breathe. The week of bottled-up emotions spills forth at the sight of him — at the revelation that he was utterly terrified. Tears fall from your eyes before you know it, your lip wobbling as you keep trying to speak.

Bucky’s shoulders tense at the sight of tiny tears falling over your full cheeks, guilt replacing his earlier pain,

“Fuck c’mere baby” he pulls you close, bending at an almost uncomfortable angle just to hold you as close as humanly possible.

“I'm so sorry for being so annoyed but you have to see why I was so scared something had happened to you. You left me on read for an entire week and blanked my calls. That isn’t you, you know how scary that was for me?” He whispers so softly, backing you up to sit on your bed.

In his arms, surrounded by his warmth and scent the week you had fell from your mouth like alphabet soup, from the gym to Sharon to how hard it was to ignore your phone knowing that Bucky would’ve been calling you every single day but you did it to protect your own heart. Nothing was kept a secret.

“I’ll kill her,” he growls when you finish, muscles tightening even more around you.

“Buck.”

“Right…sorry, I won't kill her” He lied between his teeth, well sort of. He wouldn’t actually kill Sharon but he knew you'd be upset if he did anything to her which he was indeed planning to do but to save you any more pain for the evening, to keep that teeny tiny smile on your face he lied.

“What makes her think she has any fucking right to speak on other people’s appearance anyway?”

“She wasn't lying…” it came out in the tiniest little voice, maybe your way of silently hoping he didn't hear it and he wouldn’t have if it weren't for his super soldier ears.

Gripping onto your wrists Bucky flipped your world in an instant, the breath leaving your lungs as your back makes contact with the bed, your wrists caught on either side of your head.

“Are you lying to me doll?” He says, raising a brow at you.

“No…”

“You are! You're lying right to my face,” he argues, pressing your wrists further into the mattress below. Your eyes fall shut as his face inches closer to yours.

“Look at me princess,” he waits until you open both eyes again, looking up at him as if he strung the stars in the sky “There is not a single thing that I'd change about you and I mean that. I fell in love with you the way you are now, you aren't some bitch that gets off on making fun of others. I fell head over damn heels for you because you are you.”

His eyes sparkle with adoration, his hands running up and down your body softly. The juxtaposition of metal on one side and warmth on the other sends shivers up your spine.

“I love you,” he breathes, leaning down again till your lips graze his. A teasing smile pulled on the pink corners of his mouth, a similar glint in his eyes, “you know that right?”

“Yes,” you nod, pushing up to close the distance between your mouths but he pulls away.

“I don't think you do,”

“I do Buck I promise.”

“Well…” he began, the glint in his eyes dulling as want engulfed the colour, “let me make sure.”

Bucky takes his time. He has to knowing that you're feeling small. Slowly his lips slot with yours, ushering out sweet little sounds to replace the broken ones that still thrum fresh in his mind.

“I love you,” he says again, capturing your hitched gasp with his tongue as he pushes it past the seam of your mouth, the tip flicking against your own to entice it to mingle. Slowly but surely the tension drips from your shoulders, your arms moving from his grip to trail up over his rigid stomach and chest. They sink below the shoulder pads of his jacket, pushing it off his broad frame and onto the floor beside the bed. Your hands paw at the exposed skin on his arm, fingers squeezing, nails scraping over the corded muscle.

“All of yours…all of it.”

Each time the seal of your mouths broke you chase them, planting kisses teeming with nothing but raw desire onto kiss-bitten lips. The words that Sharon said are long gone from your mind now, replaced by the man in front of you. Everything you smell, taste, touch and see — it's all him.

The brunette slips off his glove; his warm and cold, metal hand grips your hips, pulling you up into his lap with a squeak.

“You feel that?” He grunts, moving from your mouth down your face to your neck. His lips suck and his teeth nibble, marking you, proving to anyone around that dare dispute his love for you again. With undeniable strength he grinds you down into a sizeable bulge poking from his tight jeans, he hisses at the contact, letting a hand fall to your ass with a small spank.

Your arousal seeps through your thin panties making them stick to your dainty folds; your clit buzzes at the delicious scratch the metal of his zip brings you — a gasp catching in your throat every time your neglected nub catches the pull tab.

As much as he worshiped the way you dry-humped his cock, soaking the front of his jeans. Bucky is desperate. After a week of no contact, not even a tiny emoji heart never mind a raunchy photo, he needs something — anything. And he's going to get it.

“Get on the bed” he demands, pushing at you ever so slightly. “Panties off.”

You do as you are told, fingers frantically hooking into the waistband of your underwear, rolling the material over your thick thighs until they hook around a single ankle.

“Spread those legs for me baby, lemme see that sweet little cunt.”

You hesitate for a second, your legs twitching to open but knees knocking again as you close them. Blown pupils snap onto your face his jaw clenched hard and his nostrils flared. Before you can react his calloused hands settle gently, luring you into a false sense of security.

They soothe down your thighs as his blue eyes study you. Inch by inch his dull nails tap over your beautifully wide thighs until he's back at your kneecaps. With a soft unassuming smile, bucky pushes your legs wide, a rush of oxygen leaving you as your sopping folds are exposed to the cool air of the room. He doesn't give you a chance to breathe before a warm hand smacks over your wet folds, your body jerks, an unabashed moan flying from your parted lips.

“Don't fucking deny me this” he growls, fire roaring in his eyes. “You ghosted me for a week, now you're gonna lie there all pretty and let me eat this sweet fucking cunt.”

You nod, biting your lip. At the first presence of him between your legs, his hot breath billowing over your labia, your eyes roll into the back of your skull. Over each fold, ridge and crevice his breath fans, a shiver rolling over your spine each time; without warning he lays his tongue flat and wide, licking a strip from hole to clit. His tongue disappears and he does it again, guttural sounds falling from him at your taste mixing with the sharp trills you let out.

“Sing for me baby, let me know how good I'm making that pretty pussy feel” He delves in like a man starved, devouring your cunt as though it were his first and last ever meal on earth. He'd die happily if it were.

You were a mess, a mess of pleading cries. Your legs shake against his powerful hold, your hands grip his unruly brunette locks. Letting his hands drop from your thighs he stops his slurping to lay a soft, sweet peck on your raw clit. He smiles up at you, his face glistening with your juices visible thanks to the city lights peeking in through your open windows. Your mind wandered, wondering if the people in the building across could see the way Bucky fucked his tongue into you, curling the long muscle up to press against that ridged spot on your upper walls — he hit it with ease every time.

Using your distraction as an advantage bucky moves a hand to join his mouth, sliding his fingers in alongside his tongue for a second before he pulls his tongue from you. He moves, looming over you with a massive shit-eating grin at how much he unravelled you. you should've been embarrassed at how wet his face was; slick ran from his stubbled upper lip over and below his chin. You had done that to him and he wore it proudly. His fingers push deeper and curl out, coaxing the coils in your stomach to snap.

“Come on baby I know you feel it” he speeds up, the sound of your messy pussy almost as loud as your harsh breaths and whimpers.

“Buckyyy” you squeal, gripping at anything you can.

“That's it, baby…you're squeezing around my fingers, are you gonna cum?”

You nod but it's not enough for your man. He dips, nipping at a pebbled nipple and that's all it takes for those tightly coiled ropes to pull taut and snap. A sound you've never heard from yourself erupts from your lungs, your fingers clutching at bucky, the sheets, anything. Stars peppered your vision, blocking out the smug image of your boyfriend, blood rushing in your ears muffling his words of praise.

“Come back to me baby, that's it, good girl. such a good girl” Bucky coos, his fingers slipping out to rub lazily at your clit. He keeps going until you jerk harshly in his hold.

“You did so well, such a good fucking girl cumming like that for me” He praises, kissing your cheek and then your mouth, a smirk pulling at his lips when you moan at your taste.

You flash him a big dopey smile in return, your eyes hazy and your plump little cheeks flushed. You look gorgeous; Bucky had seen many things in his long drawn-out life but nothing could ever compare to how you looked fucked out beneath him.

He would stay like this forever…if his cock wasn't aching for release.

He stands, fiddling with his belt and fly until it comes loose. He wastes no time in pushing them both past his round ass and onto the floor, his cock springing free. His shirt goes next, thrown somewhere in your small room letting you get the full experience of what Bucky had to offer you. Layers of corded muscle ripple beneath his silky but scarred skin, his chest peppered in tiny curly hairs that sink below his sternum and over his abs where they begin to thicken until they finish, well trimmed at the base of his thick, heavy cock.

His eyes never stray from your body as he takes himself in his hand, pumping once, twice, his thumb catching the precum leaking from his tip. He kneels back between your welcoming legs, rubbing his slick thumb over your lips. A hushed chuckle vibrates in his chest as you suck the thumb into your mouth, eagerly licking his taste from the digit.

“Such a dirty girl,” you giggle, pulling back until his thumb slips out of your mouth with a pop. “Do you think you can handle one more hm? Can you let me fuck that little hole?”

“yes Buck” you smile, your eyes falling shut as he kisses you again.

“good girl” he growls, moving your legs over his own before grabbing a pillow to squish under your hips. With one hand he pushes the head of his length through your mess, dipping into your hole before running back up over your clit. He does it a few times, occasionally slapping his cock against you, praising each tiny sound you let out.

“Please Buck” You toss your head back, grinding your hips up to meet nothing. At this rate, you were going to come to nothing more than his teasing.

“Please what?” Oh he's a piece of shit. He knows what you want because he wants it too. He waits for a beat, enjoying your huffs of frustration. “Tell me and I'll do it.”

With the last of your sanity, you cry out, “fuck me buck ple—ah”

You slap a hand over your mouth as he spears into you, stretching you like he does time and time again. It never gets any easier with a size like Bucky’s; his tip kissing your cervix with each thrust and your walls sing at the almost painful stretch.

Bucky’s thrusts are delightfully slow, letting you feel each drag and push, each rigid vein on his pulsing cock. There is no fucking involved, he's making love, making sure you know that he would spend eternity wrapped up in your body no matter what size you are. The deep coloured marks along your neck and between your thighs would attest to that.

“Fuck” he moans, mouth gaping. “Don't think ill last long princess” His vibranium fingers fall to your soft belly, skating over the smooth skin to your full hip.

He squeezes hard enough to leave marks, “fucking mine.”

His thrusts speed up, his head snapping back and eyes rolling. His balls bounce rhythmically against your ass, the bulbous head of his cock smashing into the end of your cunt where a dull ache forms — a warning of future hurt when you wake tomorrow. You don't care, not when his free hand dips between you both, pulling back the hood of your sensitive nub and flicking it over and over.

He feels the way you tighten around him, holding him in a vice grip, “hold it princess, just a little longer come on”

“I can't Bucky please” you whimper in response.

“Yes, you can baby—oh fuck I'm close” his weight falls atop yours, smothering you in him. His hips stutter, his balls pulling up towards his body.

“Cum now, soak my big fucking dick.”

The slamming of the headboard ceases when his thrusts slow to shallow grinding, his mouth swallows any sounds you let out.

“Such a good fucking girl for me—shit” he sighs, slips from you with a hiss.

“Buck—”

“Shh pretty girl you're alright” he holds you close for a while, holding you tight to his broad body. Tears fall from your cheeks but he swipes them away. You don't know why you ever doubted Bucky, he's the only constant in your life.

“I love you” He whispers as the blood rushing in your ears settles, running through your veins in exhaustion.

“I love you too”

“Don't you ever listen to those idiots again, because I will show you over and over what you mean to me” Bucky promises with a kiss on the crown of your head.

You smile, laying your own lazy kiss over your thumping heart. You like the sound of that.

I DO NOT give permission to have my work copied, translated or reposted. If you see my work anywhere else except this page I have not given consent for it to be used.

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callumsturn · 9 months ago

Text

Sweet John

Summary: John keeps finding ways to stop by the hospital to see you, until he finally gets what he wants.

Pairing: Major John "Bucky" Egan x female reader Content/Warnings: John Egan being a charming bastard, 18+ smut (minors don't interact), unprotected sex. This starts real innocent, but it's really not. Notes: If you have any requests you’d like me to write please let me know! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! Thank you!

As you're helping wounded soldiers, rushing through the corridors of the campaign hospital at base, you bump into none other than Major John "Bucky" Egan.

You look up to see his smug smile. "Sorry, sweetheart." His hand gently over your arm as a way to balance you.

If you didn't know better, you'd even believe he might have done it unintentionally.

"It's alright Major." You tried to rush past him, with towels in both your arms to the end of the corridor.

"You shouldn't carry all that yourself." He takes half of the load from your arms. "Let me help. It's the least I could do."

He carries on up the corridor, following close behind you. You turn your head to him for a few seconds. You know you should be resisting. But he's very, very persuasive. Even when his uniform is covered with blood.

"You have blood on your uniform." You simply state.

"Oh, yeah." He shrugs, not bothered to wipe it off. "You know how it is." he tells you "Can't even breathe at battle without getting some blood splashed on you." He looks at you. "You've got some on you as well."

You look down at your own white uniform. "It has seen better days, yes." You continue to walk to the end of the corridor, entering one of the patient rooms.

John follows after you and looks around as soon as you're inside. "Oh, you're taking these to..." he trails off a bit as he sees who's laying in that bed. One of the men from his squad.

"Hi Sergeant. How are we feeling?" You spoke to the man resting on the bed.

The Sergeant looks up at you. "I've been better." As soon as he sees the Major behind you he tries to sit up, still a bit shaky. "Major." he says, his voice hoarse.

"I'm gonna clean that open wound and switch it up, is that alright?" you asked the man in the bed.

"Thank you, miss." he adds as you begin to gather your tools.

You can feel the Major's gaze on the back of your head as he watches from the doorway.

"It's gonna hurt a little. Take this." You hand the patient a bottle of alcohol to drink.

He takes it, grunting a little from the pain of just moving. He takes a sip and sets the bottle down. As you pour liquid over the wound to clean it, the Sergeant's leg moves in pain. He grunts loudly and moves in his bed. You feel the Major aproach the bed and hold the Sergeant with no trouble. He tries to move again but the Major's grip is firm.

"It's alright. Just hold still now." Major Egan tries to calm the man. You see the compassion and concern on his face. His hand is still on the Sergeant's lower body, ready to steady him again if necessary.

You say nothing, continuing to clean the wound and prepare the needle to stitch. The Major remains close. He watches you work, and his focus is almost entirely on exactly that. The Sergeant squirms in the bed again, but the Major remains in place.

"Easy." the Major tried to calm him down.

"Almost done, Sergeant." you mention as you finish stitching him up.

"Th- thank you." The Sergeant glances toward the Major. "She's real good, I'm telim' ya, sir."

You chuckle as you begin bandaging his wound. "Now... you shouldn't get up. Just try to rest and no missions for a few days. This needs to heal properly."

"Roger that, nurse." the Sergeant replies with a smile. "Will do." he finishes. "Could I get some more of that bottle, though? You know how it is."

You smile as you hand him the bottle for the second time. He takes another sip, as you hear Major Egan chuckle, keeping his eyes on the man and then on you as you put the remainder of the supplies away in a near medical cart, back turned to both men.

"She's pretty, ain't she, sir?" the Sergeant asks his Major who's sitting beside him still, in a lower voice.

As you barely hear the Sergeants comment, you tried to pay no attention to it, not curious to hear the Major's response.

You hear the Major chuckle again. "She is. I'm sure she's even got herself a fella already. Some lucky bastard."

"Probably some high rank fella, too." the Sergeant continues jokingly.

"Not a high enough rank for that, no." You barely hear Major John say.

As you finish storing all utensils, you approach both men again. "You rest up Sergeant. I'll tend to other soldiers now."

The man thanks you, as he rests his head back on the pillow and closes his eyes. The Major still has his gaze on you as you walk past him.

You continue to go about your shift, working on other patients in other beds. You do your best to ignore the Major's gaze when he is watching you from afar.

"Am I under some kind of evaluation, Major?" You asked unfazed, not looking at him, but still tending to a patient.

Somewhat caught off guard by the question, the Major's calm demeanour slips a bit. "Uh... no. I was-" he clears his throat "Just... checking up on... on your patient care."

"On my patient care?" You chuckled. "How's that going then?"

"It's going very well." he replies a little too quickly.

"Well I'm glad." You paused. "Thank you for the help back there."

"Any time." he replies. You see that he wants to say something else, but stops himself. "You've got everything under control in here then?"

"Sure thing."

"Great." He clears his throat again. "I'm..." He's having trouble finding the right words. "I'll let you get back to work then."

"Thank you, Major."

"Yeah. Sure, no problem." He finally leaves the room. You don't see him again for a while, but notice his eyes on you several times over the rest of the week or so.

A few weeks passed and the hospital became less busy. Patients were recovering and the missions were being successful over all. You notice the change. It's more peaceful, which is just what both you and the soldiers needed.

But there is one thing that has changed your routine. Major John "Bucky" Egan has been coming by to see you more often. And each time he does, he stays a little longer and talks a little more. He always makes sure to pay careful attention to everything you say, and always makes an effort to keep the conversation going. You can feel the other nurses and doctors giving you disguised looks, wondering if there's something going on with the two of you.

The Major even shows up when you're not working, and seems to hang around to see when you start your shift or finish for the day. He's always just hanging back, not being too obvious about it. You found it quite charming actually, the effort he would go into just to talk to you for a little while. It was definitely flattering. He's a handsome man, and he's got a certain charm and confidence about him that you can't help but like. Although you're still unsure how to feel about all of the attention, and that uncertainty definitely shows on your face as he approaches you yet again, and starts up another conversation.

"Major Egan." You say after he approaches you.

"Nurse." he replies with a polite smile. He's carrying a coffee mug and offerts it to you. "I figured you might be tired after your shift."

You gladly accepted it. "That's incredibly thoughtful of you."

"I try." he shrugs his shoulders with a smile. You can see his gaze still on you as you take the mug. For a little while he doesn't say a thing, just watching you as you take a small sip from the cup.

Suddenly, he clears his throat a little and speaks again. "I was wondering... there's a cafe outside the base... I though it'd be nice to go there and get something to eat." he says. He's still looking you straight in the eyes while saying it, his body relaxed and his hand resting casually on the mug. "Would you like to join me?" he adds after a moment.

"Right now?" you ask calmly.

He nods after a moment. "If you'd like." he responds. "We could both do with getting some real food. Maybe something more comforting than camp rations." He gives you a small smile, still watching you carefully as he waits for your answer.

You smiled at him for a second. "I'd like that."

His smile grows a little wider. "Great." He starts to back away. "I'll... I'll head out there now." he says "I'll be waiting just outside. The cafe's not far."

"I'll be right there." you smile.

He gives you one more little smile before making his way outside and waiting just out front of the camp, leaning agaisnt the wall and looking out the gate.

You head to the locker room where you find a colleague. You head inside to change out of your work clothes.

"Hey there." she grins "how have things been with you?"

"Good." you smile.

"Major's been going around again today, hasn't he?", she asks, glancing over at you.

"Um... yeah, he has." you continue to change into your clothes.

"Yeah, I figured as much. He coming around more often now? Spending more time talking to you?"

You chuckle, embarrassed. "I guess, yes."

"Well, I figured he had a thing for you" she laughs. "It was only a matter of time before he started getting a little flirtatious. He's not very good at hiding it."

"I think he's just being nice." you said as you buttoned your shirt.

"Sweetie, he's more than just nice. Major Egan has a reputation aroud here, you know. He doesn't go around being sweet to just anyone."

"Well, I don't know. I don't want everyone to go around and talk about this. The other nurses are real nosy!"

"Oh cm'on, don't worry. They'll just tease you a bit if they can tell that something's going on. And besides, nothing exciting happens around the hospital, so they cling to anything." she paused "But you're lucky. The Major's a looker, and I'm sure that you wouldn't mind his attentions, huh?" She gives you a playful nudge as she asks.

You chuckle as you looked at her. "He really is a looker isn't he?"

"Hell yeah he is." she laughs "A real man after my own heart. And the more things continue like this between you guys, the more certain I am that you might be the lady that gets to keep him to herself."

"Well, I don't know about that."

"Oh, come on. Just look at him. Just waiting right outside for you."

"Alright now. Enough of this." you said as you put your coat on. "I'm heading out."

"I'll see you back here later." she chuckles as you head out.

You find Major Egan just where he said he'd be. As you pass him and make your way to the gates outside, he starts walking with you, keeping his hands in his pockets.

"That's your work done for the day?" he asks casually.

"I have to get back in a few hours.... night shift."

"Ah... sure. Night shift. Busy workload tonight?"

"I don't think so."

He keeps his hands in his pockets the entire time, but he seems comfortable, confident, and content. "I bet it'll get busy in there." he adds, pointing to the cafe. "They have some of the best coffee and food around here."

"Have you been there lately?" you ask.

"It's been a little while now." he replies. "I had some time off last night and was going to go there, but I ended up making a stop by the hospital." he shrugs a little. "Had to see if you were looking after these soldiers properly, of course." he adds jokingly, raising an eyebrow at you.

"Yeah, you've been a real caring Major these last few weeks."

"Well, I was just making sure you were up to the task of caring for our troops." he continues.

"Oh, your soldiers never complained."

He smiles at your comment. "Glad to hear it." He looks at you again, a small grin on his face. "Or maybe it's just that they have something nice to look at while they're recovering?"

"Alright now Major Egan."

"Oh come on, why don't you just call me John, hm?"

You looked at him for a couple of seconds. "If you're sure."

He gives you a little nod, still smiling. "Absolutely."

You approach the cafe and he holds the door open for you as you walk inside.

The cafe is busy as John said it'd be. Off duty soldiers fill the place with their drinks, raised voices and the smell of cigars. Most of them are playing a game of cards at the tables. Several are chatting and laughing with each other, making it a very lively environment. Major Egan steps inside and closes the door behind him.

"It is busy, isn't it?" he asks as he guides you to an empty table. He holds your seat out for you before sitting down across from you. "You don't mind it being so busy, do you?"

"Not at all."

He smiles, his hands still in his pockets. A waiter comes to your table and takes your order. John asks you what you want and then orders for you. You just smile politely at the waiter before he heads off.

"I'm glad you agreed to come with me this afternoon." he says after a moment in silence. You notice him leaning forward on the table as the conversation continues. He seems quite calm, but you can tell how focused he is on you.

At one point, one of the soldiers at another table glances over at the two of you, and then nudged the others at the table. There's a murmur of conservation and a few more glances as the others take note of the Major and the nurse sitting together again.

The Major doesn't seem to notice though. It remains a lighthearted conversation, but there's an undercurrent of something a little bit more going on underneath the surface.

Before either of you realize, both of you have been talking to each other for half an hour. The Major shows no signs of losing interest in the conversation.

After a while, a couple first year Sergeants approach the table curiously, excitedly presenting themselves to John.

"Major Egan, sir!" the first says confidently.

"Major." the second follows. They both glance at you a tad nervously.

The Major looks up at them and smiles, still sitting at the table casually. "At ease, gentlemen" he says, raising his hands off the table, but still relaxed.

"Sir, a few of the men were wondering if they could get an extended leave, due to the successful mission earlier today."

The Major stares at the first Sergeant for a second, and his eyes dart over to you. He's still smiling a little, but there's a serious side to him that comes through as he talks with them.

"I understand that you were planning on extending their leave to allow them to rest?" he replies to both men.

"Yes, sir." the first replies "if that's alright with you, sir?"

"It's alright, Sergeant." the Major nods again. "There'll will be no issue on my part in regards to that. How many days are you looking at?" he asks, looking between the two Sergeants.

"Around a week" one of them replied boldly "if that's fine with you sir?"

"A week, hm?" he stares at them for a moment. "A week should be sufficient for them to recharge, especially after a mission like this morning. Make it happen."

The Sergeants both nod their heads. "Yes, sir." They both give you a resrpectful salute before turning back around and walking to the larger table.

"Major Egan..." you say mockingly. He was so different when he talked to you.

He glances over at you with a little half grin. "Yeah?" He laid back in his chair as he waits for you to continue.

"And just when I was about to call you John." You say.

He chuckles softly at that. "Go ahead and call me John. If anyone around here is going to call me that, it should be you." he took a sip from his beer.

That gave you a chill down your spine, out of nervousness.

He sees that he has gotten some sort of reacting out of you, but that smile still remains on his face. "Go ahead, call me John."

"Alright, stop that." you chuckle.

"I just want you to call me by my first name. Is that too much to ask?"

You look at him in the eyes for a second, before smiling. "In here?"

"Here" he pauses "or anywhere else if you'd like." He lays back and continues to smile. That damn smile.

As you take in his comment, music starts to blast and all the soldiers rise from their seats and grab the women to dance. The cafe instantly becomes an athmosphere of fun and liveliness.

The Major glances over at the dance floor. "Would you like to join me?"

You nod your head shyly, and take John's hands as he pulls you into the dance floor. The music is a classic swing tune, and the soldiers all seem to know the moves perfectly, moving with rhythm and flow in a very playful mood.

Major Egan seems to be familiar with the dance, and as he moves with you his confidence and skill is undeniable. He leads you easily, gently pulling you around and twirl you in his arms, and all the while, he stays completely focused on keeping you steady, stable.

"You're a good dancer." he tells you, still smiling playfully as he does. He spins you around in his arms and then back around again, pulling you close enough so that his face is inches from yours. He's still maintaining a comfortable distance between you two, but it's evident that he wants to be so much closer.

The music begins to pick up more, and as it does, his moves become just a little bit more intimate and playful. His arms around your waist. It's clear that he's more than just enjoying the dance.

Moving his hands down to your hips as he holds you, not giving you quite as much space as before. He tilts his head and gets closer to your face, maintaining that same playful grin.

"Careful, John." you say over the music, teasing him.

He chuckles at the teasing, but he doesn’t pull away, nor does he stop dancing with you.

His movements get a little bit more playful now, bringing you in even closer.

"John..." you begin.

“Yes?” He stares at you with that same grin on his face, but his eyes have become more intense now, as if wanting to know where this is going.

"Kiss me." you ask.

His eyes remain on you as he stares quietly for a second, but then he finally leans in to meet your offer. There is nothing playful or light-hearted about this exchange. This is a serious and bold moment for the both of you. Major Egan goes completely for it, pressing his lips against yours. And as he does, his hands moves to your hips and pulls you even closer to him. The kiss was slow but eager, like weeks of tension have been building up. Every movement and gesture felt intentional. His hands on your hips feel more intense and firm now. You pulled back and heard the music echo.

The moment of silence was deafening.

The music was no longer all that you could think about. He stares back at you, clearly still wanting more, but he holds back from following through in that very moment.

"Let's go." you say looking up at him.

He doesn't answer, but simply nods his head. He takes your hand in his own, and together, the two of you exit the dance floor and leave the cafe. As soon as you hit the street night air, John grabs your hand and pulls you close again, his lips finding his way to yours. Your bodies are pressed against one another, and the intimacy of the moment is undeniable. His lips find yours again, this time, more eagerly. And he lingers for a second or two, savoring the kiss. This time, it feels like he’s taking it further, as his hands start moving down to your waist more playfully.

“You wanna take me to bed?” You simply say.

He looks back at you, a bit amused at the question, but also somewhat surprised that you had the boldness to suggest that.

He stares for a second, his lips partially parted. “Yeah. I do.”

His answers are blunt and straightforward. But there’s also a confidence and assertiveness about him that makes it very evident that he is completely and totally up for that idea.

You smiled. He smiles back at you, before leaning forward to take your hand again. But this time, he doesn't just hold your hand. He interlocks his fingers with yours, his hand more possessive now as he glances down at your interwined fingers.

He leads you back into the base, guiding you towards his quarters.

The silence between you two is punctuated with little whispers and small talk here and there, but overall, the atmosphere is very much still intimate and playful between the two of you.

You noticed your environment. You've never been in this part of the base before, as it was only reserved for the Majors. It’s clear that this is a very private side of the base, for these higher ranking officers to be able to relax in the company of their women.

As you walk down the corridor, you hear the song My Funny Valentine by Chet Baker echoeing from a hall near by. Major Egan guides you through the hallway, the two of you still following hand in hand, until you both finally arrive at his room. You enter and before you could assimilate the space around you, John grabs your waist from behind, spins you around and you watch him close the door behind him so effortelessly, just before he kisses you gently, but passionately.

Everything around you has become a blur now, but you feel his hand on your back, leading you closer to his bed.

You start to walk backwards as he guided you. You put your arms around his neck, looking for support as he kisses you eagerly now. You jump, clinging into his body, as he grabs the back of your legs with his hands, easily supporting your weight. You moan quietly as he starts to feel your skin under your skirt as he holds you with both his hands.

John exhales soundly. "God..." he trailed off "You even sound beautiful."

His lips attack yours once again, filled with desire. His comment gave you chills all over your body. You felt him sit on the bed, you now straddling his lap. Being this close to him left you intoxicated, even speechless. You had nothing to say to him. Your attempts seemed to only come as careless whispers or moans as he explored your body with his hands.

"John..." you finally spoke.

You felt him smile into the kiss. "Yes?"

You took a second to answer, processing his touch. "Fuck me." You finally said.

He couldn't hide his smile. "I wanted to do this right." he paused as you looked at him. "I wanted to make love to you first."

The smirk plastered on his face made you melt. His eyes glistening with adoration for you.

You retributed the smile. "Sweet John..." you began tracing his features with your fingers. "Please do that."

You saw his smile grow slightly wider just before he closed the gap between both your lips.

He held you closer, his grip on you more firm, but never once hurting you.

“I imagined this moment a lot.” He confessed.

You began to take his uniform off. His shoulders so broad and his arms like two comforters around your torso. He did the same with your clothes but taking his sweet time to take in every little detail about you. The curve of your neck, the shape of your breasts and the freckles on your skin. Most of all he noticed the way your expression changed slightly when you became blushed with arousal.

His pants were bothering you, they were in the way. Your hand flew to his belt, trying to unbuckled it with no success. You saw him chuckle, surprisingly out of nervousness, as he helped you take it out. You always thought the Major John Egan would be swift in these manners, he had experience after all. It was the only thing nurses talked about, how much luck he had with women, inside or outside base. Was it so hard to believe that he could be actually nervous because you were the one unbuttoning his pants and trying to discard them? That was hard to grasp.

John grabbed the low of your back with one arm, supporting the other on the bed to lay you on top of it. He stood sat on the bed even after kicking his uniform pants, watching as you lay naked waiting for him to join you.

His expression was a mix of desire and adoration.

"What is it?" You asked laughing.

He shook his head slightly. "Nothing." he opened his mouth for a second before speaking. "I just think you're the most beautiful thing I've seen walk this earth."

You visibly blushed. How could you not? "You're just saying that because-" he interrumpted you immediately.

"Clothed or not." He said plainly, guessing the rest of your phrase. He looked at your face for a couple of seconds, and you did the same with difficulty. He was so handsome, his hair dischevelled falling perfectly on his forehead.

Not bearing it being away from him one more second, you grabbed his hand and pulled him to lay on top of you, opening your legs, allowing for him to fit in the empty space.

He immediately kissed you, your bodies now glued to each other. You could feel his hard member press against your core. You bent your kness, allowing him access. Your way of letting him know what you wanted.

He positioned himself at your entrance, ever so carefully. He looked at your expression as you gasped slightly, feeling him. He then kissed you gently, but eagerly, as he pushed himself inside you, slowly. Your mouth hang open as you threw your head slightly back on the pillow. He looked down at you, and he swore he could come undone right then and there, watching you in that blissful state.

You felt his lips on your neck, beginning in the low of your jaw until the base of your neck. You exhaled when you felt his touch and he could feel the vibrations of your voice on his lips.

His thrusts were purposely slow so you could adjust to his size. Soon enough he started to go deeper as you dig your nails in his upper back muscles.

"Faster." You pleaded, your voice only coming out as a low whimper.

He could hear it alright. John picked up his pace and you moaned louder as you felt every inch of him molding you.

"You feel so good." you heard him say between grunts into your lips.

You brought your lips to his, kissing him deeply. You broke it to speak finally. "John..." you called out his name. "I'm- I'm close."

"I know sweetheart, I know you are." his voice intoxicated you with desire, you could barely control yourself. "I can feel you closing on me." he continued thrusting in and out at that perfect pace. "You can let go... I wanna see that perfect face when you cum."

That was enough for you to explode. You soon came undone, your voice a higher pitch when you moaned his name a couple of times. You felt his warm release spill inside you. His face inches away from yours, mouths open, exhaling as you both reached your high. The moment that followed seemed like completely silent, only your breaths almost in perfect sync.

He smiled after noticing tears of pleasure in the corner of both your eyes, kissing each one of them away from your face. You both moaned when he removed himself inside you, both still very much overstimulated.

He laid next to you, immediately pushing you into his chest, arms wrapped around you. There were no words needed. You guys didn't have to talk about what happened. It was clear.

A few minutes were passed in silence. You looked at the clock on his wall, which marked almost twelve.

"Shit, I have to go. The night shift." you grabbed a bed sheet instinctively to cover yourself as you sat up, looking for your clothes scattered on his bedroom's floor.

"No." his voice lingered, pulling you back on the bed again. "You're staying here tonight."

You smiled as you looked at his sleepy expression. "I don't think that's up for you to decide. The doctors do our schedules, I have to show up to work."

His voice became deeper with tiredness. "I'm Major Egan. I can make a few calls." He suggested, his voice now more playful. "If you'd like to stay here with me tonight." his demeanour expectant.

You looked at him for a couple of seconds, giving thought to his offer. A smile escaped your lips, as you lay in the bed again, slightly embarrassed.

"They can get by without you one night. I can't." he admitted while wrapping his arms around your torso, setting the covers on top of you both.

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beawhatchumean · 7 months ago

Text

FINALLY THEY COMPLETED!!

the true complete experience of the SWK & Macaque shimeji (for those that like the ship or duo me guess)

LMK SHADOWPEACH SHIMEJI VER 1.0!!

Just click on the big words and ya can download, ye :D

Contains 2 zipfiles: The normal version and less frames version

Read down below for explanations on that

if got any problems launching and stuff, dont be afraid to message me, i'll try to help ya out :>

but as seen in the quick lil poster i made there, it says extra animation + more more info about that underneath the read 👇

so first things first,

SAME LIKE PREVIOUS ONES

this is the same thing like the previous shimejis. actually its the same ones skskksk. so I wont waste time here. like:

extra animation

custom action name

custom action

non-symmetrical shimeji

REMINDER FOR THE NON-SYMMETRICAL SHIMEJI

same thing like the macaque one, I made versions where he has symmetry & doesnt. so if you dont want your pc to lag, do get the less frames version

PLEASE DOWNLOAD THE LESS FRAME VERSION TO NOT FRY YOUR PC'S!!

SPECIAL INTERACTION CODING

this is where the special parts of this specific shimeji comes into play. it is coded where the SWK & mackie shimeji can interact with each other and in this case

THEY HUG!!

This is how they function:

One of the target shimeji must be in "Hug?" mode

The other shimeji will scan if there is a shimeji in "Hug?" mode, and then activate "Hug!" mode

"Hug!" shimeji will run after the "Hug?" shimeji and activate the hug action

then they hug :]

This can happen via you searching up in the settings or it happens by itself

It can work either way, either Wukong initiates "Hug?" or mackie does it, and they both have their own responding hug action, I'll let you discover what it looks like yourself ;]

UPDATES WILL HAPPEN!!

for now, this is the only interaction action so far but i do love to add more later on, maybe a kiss interaction action or maybe a hand holding interaction where they become one conjoined shimeji

but for now that is all ideas and whether they can work, up for future me to test

BUT DO STAY TUNED >;3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

but for now that will be all for ver 1.0

many thanks to anyone interested in this project and of course

BIGGEST THANKS TO THOSE THAT HELPED BETA TEST THEM

for privacy reason they shall stay anonymous still but

❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤ >:3

#monkiekid #lego #lego monkie kid #monkie kid #lego sun wukong #sun wukong #lego monkie king #six eared macaque #6 eared macaque #lmk macaque #shadowpeach #shimeji

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draconic-desire · 10 months ago

Text

🔹 Oculus Infinitum 🔹

Yandere Satoru Gojo x Reader

He’s infinity; in comparison, you’re nothing. So of course using your cursed technique on him backfires.

Warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI! Yandere behavior, unhealthy relationship, implied kidnapping, forced imprisonment, nsfw, non-con/dub-con, afab!reader, slight mindbreak

Infinity is often interpreted as the largest numerical magnitude to exist. And while that fact may be true in theory, infinity is better defined as the endless division of infinitesimally smaller and smaller values. One can be separated into half, half to a quarter, and so on, until the space between fractions almost ceases to exist.

Almost.

Gojo is a lot like infinity. Blame it on his technique, sure, but you suspect it runs much deeper than that. His actions never reach an end; instead, each one sinks further and further into your skin, fangs so small you barely feel them until it’s too late and the venom irreversibly invades your veins. He’s chipped away at you, piece by little piece, until you are the opposite of infinity; you are nothing.

On a surface level, most would say you have it pretty good. You (are trapped in) live in a huge home, filled with opulent furniture and all the luxuries you could ever want. You’re (expected to) allowed to cook meals for the two of you, including your favorite dishes. You still have (basic rights) privileges, such as free roam of the house, your own selection of clothes, access to the television and your phone (minus the ability to call or text, of course), even outdoor time with Satoru’s supervision. Why would you ever need to leave?

You had escaped, once.

Calling it an escape would be generous. Nothing ever happens without Gojo’s knowledge, without Gojo’s permission. How foolish you had been, to think you could evade his Six Eyes. Despite weeks of planning, he’d dragged you back home within the hour.

The chains hadn’t been removed for an entire month after that, and their lingering presence on each post of Satoru’s bed serves as a constant reminder that they’ll never rust.

Currently, you’re in the (not your, nothing is ever truly yours anymore) house’s lofty kitchen now, preparing dinner for his return home from work. Glancing up at the clock, you see it’s nearly time for him to arrive. You click the stovetop on and place a pot of water over the open flame, watching the blue fire flicker. Your thoughts immediately go to Gojo’s eyes, twin infernos of endless blue. Those eyes never seem to close, never seem to be too far from your own. They have the ability to lock you in place and throw away the key forever.

Moments later, the sound of the door opening and closing, along with the click of multiple locks, echoes from the hallway. Long, casual footsteps alert you to his presence behind you. His velvet voice, so languid and carefree, fans your ear as he settles his hands on your hips. “There’s my girl. Already making dinner for me?” He places a surprisingly chaste kiss to the top of your head. “Missed ya, baby.”

You add rice and a bit of salt and stir the pot in front of you in silence. When did you stop fighting him on that? On losing your full name to simple titles like girl and baby? The old you would have gagged at those pet names. The old you that kicked and bit the hand of your captor like a rabid animal, always fighting for freedom.

His grip tightens when you fail to immediately respond, though you hear him force a light tone to his voice. “What, curse got your tongue?”

Tension immediately floods your muscles. Gojo is a vain man; your silence maims his huge ego, something the most powerful jujutsu sorcerer will not stand for. You must react. “No, Gojo. I was just lost in thought, is all.”

You worry your lip when the quiet drags on. “I-I’m sorry?”

Gojo barks out a laugh, but his smile is strained and all fangs. “Back to Gojo again, huh?”

A mistake you notice too late. The spoon falls from your grip as you turn your head slowly. He’s still wearing his blindfold, but you know those infinite abyssal eyes are currently boring into your soul, daring you to speak. “Ah, no! Satoru, I mean—”

“Shh, baby. I get it.” His hands move to your shoulders, which he begins to massage. “Is it because you’re mad at me for neglecting you?”

To an outsider it may sound like he’s teasing, but you know all too well the creep of annoyance laced into his deepened, husky tone. “Or are you just being a brat?”

Swallowing, you place a hand on his toned forearm in an attempt to calm him. You feel him practically melt into the touch. “Truly, ‘Toru, I’m fine.” Your honeyed tone makes you sick, but you’ve learned it can subtly manipulate your captor in the right setting, usually this domestic fantasy world of his. “You’ve been so busy with work, and my mind has just been wandering. Why don’t you go sit while I finish up with the food?”

He hums absentmindedly, fingers swirling patterns across your abdomen. “I have a better idea…” Hot breath caresses your ear, eliciting a shiver. “Let me make it up to you.”

A deft hand snakes its way down the back of your bare thigh, barely ghosting across your skin. You can feel him, solid as a rock, yet you know there will always be space between you. He can touch you, but you’re powerless to do the same.

Just like in everything else, you can’t hold a candle to him. Your cursed energy is inconsequential, a tiny spark against his infinitive well of power.

Talk of your innate cursed ability is a topic you actively choose to avoid. Your technique, when activated, allows you to briefly control the thoughts and consequent actions of a single individual—but only after you’ve kissed them. And it often backfires tremendously, with the kiss causing overwhelming feelings of obsession or insanity in the receiver. From more than enough uses you’ve learned to see it as more of a curse in and of itself, and one you prefer to keep hidden.

Especially from the man behind you. Gojo—Satoru, you correct yourself—has enough twisted love that you wouldn’t dare try to possess his thoughts. The mere idea makes your throat tighten with panic.

Satoru’s technique, on the other hand, causes every nerve ending along your skin to explode as his hand falls beneath your skirt and skate across your barely clothed core.

“Been thinking about this all day,” he groans. “Are you wet for me, baby?” Before you can respond, Satoru easily moves your panties aside and spears you with his middle and ring fingers.

The invasion makes you jolt instantly. An involuntary gasp leaves you as he presses deeper, his fingers sheathed to the knuckle. You hate how your walls immediately tighten around him, slick with your arousal. No, you don’t want this, but Gojo gives you no choice in the matter but to practically ride his hand as he lifts your skirt with his other hand to get a better view.

“I’ll never get tired of this.” His thumb passes over your clit, pulling yet another shameful moan from your lips. Your tense demeanor only causes your pussy to accidentally squeeze him tighter, spurring him on. You try to pull your thighs together, but Satoru wrenches them apart easily with his other hand. “Oh, no, none of that. This pussy is mine.”

You squirm, grasping for something to get you out of this mess. “Satoru, stop, the food will burn—”

“Forget it,” he commands, ripping your skirt off. “We’ll order takeout after.”

Your heart drops. “After…?”

“Aw, you thought I’d stop here?” His condescension floods your ears. “No, babe, I’m only just getting started with you.”

His persistence, like infinity, has no end.

Without warning, Satoru removes his fingers from your core and swings you over his shoulder, smacking your bare ass and wrenching a yelp from you. You blanch when you realize he’s carrying you to the bedroom.

“Wait, Satoru—!”

You are unceremoniously thrown onto the bed, said white-haired sorcerer towering above you. He pounces immediately, locking your limbs in place. Satoru must see the fear, the readiness to engage in fight or flight, across your face, because he brushes a tender hand across your cheek to wipe away a tear you didn’t realize had fallen.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” he teases, but it somehow sounds like a threat. His fingers, still coated with your arousal, hook around your thong and slide it down your legs. “You’re acting like this is our first time or somethin'.”

Oh, it was far from the first time that he had touched you or been inside of you. But something about today, about this time, sends fear skittering across your whole being. Perhaps it’s all the reminiscence lately, or the fact that your thoughts drifted to your innate technique for the first time in weeks. Panic sinks its claws into you.

Breath ragged, heart pounding, you grab his face in both hands and react without thinking; for the first time since he kidnapped you, you willingly kiss Satoru Gojo and activate your technique.

Satoru immediately reacts, deepening the kiss and pressing you more firmly into the mattress until you feel as if you’re nearly suffocating.

Release me, you project into his mind, threading a hand through his white locks and squeezing hard.

The world suddenly goes very, very still.

Satoru freezes. Slowly, painfully, he parts his lips from your own and straightens his arms against the mattress to hover above you once more. His breath comes out in jagged huffs. The only sound that remains is the unending tick, tick, tick of the clock on the wall, bringing you closer to your doom.

For a second, you almost believe your technique worked.

That is, until he quickly sheds his blindfold, and you are meet with those stunning, terrifying, brilliant, paralyzing blues. He whispers your name with a foreign stillness that chills your bones to ice. “Do you…have a cursed technique?”

What an idiot you are to have thought you could sneak past Satoru Gojo’s barriers and Six Eyes. You can’t touch his physical form; why would his mind be any different?

It takes all of your willpower to withhold the panicked, hysterical laugh threatening to escape you. “Look, I can explain—”

Satoru leans back on his knees, one hand carding through his hair as he looks up to the ceiling. “God, babe, I knew you could see curses and harbored cursed energy, but here you go surprising me!” He laughs, a gleeful chuckle that has you reeling.

“You’re not…mad?” you dare to ask, inching your knees towards your chest. Maybe your technique failed, but you can still buy some time and get into a safer position.

Satoru gazes down at you, head tilted and a full grin on his lips. “Mad? Baby, why would I be upset when for the first time in our relationship, you were the one seducing me?”

Oh, no. No no no no no.

Grabbing your ankle, he drags you back to a supine position, your pussy on full display for him. He licks his lips at the sight. “Plus, you trying to get inside my head was cute and all. Weak, but you gave it your best!” He laughs again, and you realize that he never took you seriously, not even for a second.

The thought should enrage you—it would have infuriated the old you—but all you can manage now is a low whine as his hands go for his belt.

Satoru pulls himself free, his already hard cock pulsing in anticipation. Precum beads at the tip as he lines himself up with your entrance. “What was it you asked me for? Release, right?”

Your eyes bulge at his implication. “Wait, Satoru, I didn’t mean—!”

You barely have time to react as he buries himself in you completely. A choked sob bubbles up your throat as you breath through the stretch of him.

Satoru moans in ecstasy as he begins a steady pace, thrusting mercilessly into that squishy spot deep inside your core that has you seeing stars.

“Kiss me again.” It’s light and breathless, but it’s an order, not a request. Fear makes you comply immediately, though your kiss is a hesitant, timid thing compared to your earlier attempt to sway him.

He’s having none of that. No, Satoru had a taste of your affection, and now he’ll tolerate nothing less than your full reciprocation. If only you could truly peer into his mind and see that no amount of your cursed energy would change him; your being was already permanently imprinted on his brain. You were his perfect doll, held in the palm of his hand.

Nails rake down his back as you arch against the mattress. Every time he thrusts, he grinds against your clit, and you feel yourself chasing your finish. You hate this, you want it to stop, but you can’t help—

“Please, Satoru,” you plead without thinking, meeting his limitless eyes. You feel yourself drowning in them, a blue sky that never ceases.

For a split second, his rhythm hesitates. “…Say that again,” he whispers, almost reverently. “Beg for me.”

You’re not quite sure what you’re asking for. “P-please, I can’t take it anymore, please let me—!”

“Choose your next word carefully,” he warns, voice shifting to a low growl as his hand moves to your throat, adding ever so much pressure.

Tears streak your vision. The embarrassment of your technique failing and the lewd position he has you in all crash down upon you, and another piece of you breaks. “Please let me cum,” you concede.

To your dismay, his pace slows, and you cry out in protest as your orgasm fades. “I just need you to do one more thing for me, baby.” He leans into your neck, nipping and sucking at all your sensitive spots, torturing you even further. “Tell me you love me.”

Alarms should be blazing through your head, but the fog of your arousal clouds your judgement as you seek your climax.

That piece of your soul he took shatters into a million shards as you whisper, “I love you, Satoru.”

The two of you shatter simultaneously. You register all too late the warmth invading your core as Satoru pumps his cum deep inside you.

He’s never come in you before.

Your name is murmured over and over like a prayer against your neck—or maybe it’s a curse. You jolt in overstimulation when he pulls out and bends down to place a kiss against your puffy folds. “So good for me, baby. This perfect pussy belongs to me.”

He kisses you a final time, long and slow. When he pulls away, a languid smile sweeps across his features. “You’re all mine, (Y/n). Even your mind.”

With the use of your innate technique, you’ve dug your own grave for good. Satoru will never let you go now.

After all, infinity is indivisible.

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mushies-stories · 10 months ago

Text

Drinking- how TF141 handles a clingy drunk reader for the first time

PART ONE- Price and Soap

PART TWO- Ghost and Gaz

F!Reader

Warnings: drunk reader, little tiny bit suggestive... think that's it?

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Kyle had gotten off work a bit early, the mission going faster than expected but just as tiring. The only thing on his mind was seeing you, he needed to feel your soft body against his.

He called you from his car, figuring it was early enough and you'd still be awake. He was correct, but when you answered the phone you didn't sound like your usual self. Your words are slow and a little slurred. “Baby, ya okay?” he asks.

You hum a response. “M’okay, just been drinking a little.” you tell him.

“Sounds like it, you alone at home love?” he asks, a little nervous. It wasn't like you to get drunk by yourself, or really that often at all actually.

“Yeah… but could you come over, please.” your voice was a little shaky and it twisted something in Kyle's gut.

“Of course lovie. Be there in just a bit, eh?” he tells you. His drive was faster than normal, you sounded off and it worried him. His only thought was to get to you and the elevator ride up to your flat seemed endless.

When you entered he saw you sitting on the couch, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, glass of red wine and an almost empty bottle next to it.

Your head turned when you heard his steps and the sound of his shoes being kicked off. “Kyle.” you say quietly. Standing you shed the blanket and take a few shaky steps towards him.

He rushed to meet you, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you against himself. Your own arms wrap around his middle, gripping the back of his shirt. “What's wrong love, why ya crying?” he asks, voice tender and soft. His warm eyes looking over your tear stained cheeks before wiping a tear away.

You give him a small shrug. “I'm just so tired, and work was stressful. I just wanted to relax a little and I knew you are normally at the base late...” you admit.

Kyle hums softly before kissing the top of your head. “Well, drinking is no way to feel better, right lovie?” he asks, making sure you look at him by guiding your face to look at his. “Next time, just let me know, be over as soon as i can.” he tells you.

You give him a small smile. “I will, I'm sorry I know I was overreacting.”

“None of that love, let's just get ya to bed.” he says with a sweet smile. You lean into his touch and nod.

He figured after such a stressful day you should take a hot bath. Topped with some essential oils he found it was ready. You both relax in the warm water. Kyle behind you so you can rest your head on his chest.

“Thank you kyle.” you mumble. Eyes closed and soldering his arms around you, you sigh constantly. “I love you.” you add, a little slower and sleepier.

Kyle smiles down at you. Perfectly content in his arms, just as he wanted. Here to keep you safe and happy. “Anything for your lovie, I love ya too.” he says. Just above a whisper, the last coherent words you heard before drifting off.

When you had dozed off Kyle gathered your body in his arms and brought you to bed then wrapped you in a fluffy towel. The whole time you barely even stirred in your sleep. He crawled in next to you and wrapped you in his arms once again, this time pulling your head to his chest, arm holding you back so your firm against him.

He kisses your nose. “Goodnight love.” he says. That night you both slept soundly. Kyle happily content with your bare body against his own.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

Simon had called after getting back from a long mission, wanting to see you instead of going home alone. All he needed at the moment was your arms wrapped around him.

To his delight you had picked up, even in the late hour. To his disappointment however, it sounded like you were out with friends.

That didn't seem to mean much to you. Judging by your excited time when you answered. “Si? You home already?” you ask, smile evident in your tone.

He smiles to himself. “Yeah, sound busy though doll, see ya tomorrow?” he offers.

You make a sound of displeasure. “But I gotta see you tonight Si, please? I'll get an uber right now!” Simon just chuckles and tells you to stay put, he will come and get you.

Not even twenty minutes later and you're in his passenger seat with his hand on your bare thigh and a drunkenly sweet smile plastered across your face. You loved admiring Simon, even with most of his face concealed. Everything about him made you drawn to him.

“See something ya like love?” Simon chuckles and glances over to you. His hand on your thigh squeezes the soft skin.

You nod and giggle. “Always see something I like around you, Si.”

He snorts before paying attention to the road, eyes focus on getting home. You babbled about your night with your friends and he nodded along, humming in response when he needed to agree with you, all the while his hand rests on your warm plush thigh and a small smile plays at his lips.

You were adorable. The way you stared at him the whole time like he was the moon, the way your hands laid atop his and gripped it when you talked.

He loved the attention. From you, and only you that is. Loved that you just wanted to see him, needed too.

When you got back to his place, he carried you in. insisting that the stairs were too much for you and it would be faster. “S’alright love, just let me bring you up. Be much faster.” he explained.

The whole way you kissed at his neck, making sure to lift his mask enough so you could pepper them to his jawline. “Lovie, none of tha. S’to late and you.” he glanced down at you and your blushing cheeks, warm from the alcohol. “Are much too hammered.” he chuckles, stepping into his flat before closing and locking the door.

“But Si… I missed you so much, you were gone for a whole week.” you pout softly up at him after he set you down on his bed.

One of his hands comes out to cradle the side of your head, making you look up at him and hold his gaze. “Don't worry lovie, when your pretty little head is pounding tomorrow, I'll make sure to do everything I can to help you forget about it.” he promises.

I shiver rolls down your back and you smile dumbly up at him, the thought of what to come already turning the little gears in your head. Simon however forces you to push the thoughts aside and get ready for bed instead.

With you in only his shirt, his mask set aside and his protective arm wrapped securely around your middle, you start to drift off. “Love you Simon, can't wait for tomorrow.”

Simon kisses the side of your head. “Love you too doll, can't wait.”

#ghost x reader #gaz x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #john price #price x reader #john price x reader #john mactavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 #task force 141 #cod #cod x reader #cod imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #tf141 imagine

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rafeandonlyrafe · 1 year ago

Text

just a good brother

words: 2.7k

warnings: 18+ only! smut, stepbro!rafe, stepcest, dubcon/noncon, drugging, female receiving oral, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, somnophilia, manipulation? i guess, reader is sick with like a cold or somethin

“what's wrong kid?” rafe asks, running a hand over your hair, pushing it out of your face as you keep your cheek pressed against the arm of the couch.

“sick.” you mutter, keeping your arms wrapped around your stomach, as if that could somehow make you feel better.

rafe frowns. he hates seeing you feeling down, and it's his responsibility as your step brother to make sure you are taken care of.

“what can i do for you?” rafe asks, his voice unbelievably soft. he kneels down in front of the couch so he can look you in the eye, scanning over your face, looking tired with a sheen of sweat over your skin. “did you take some medicine?”

“i did, and i still feel like crap.” you groan.

“want me to make you some soup?” rafe questions. he doesn't really know what to do to make you feel better, so he's resulting to movie stereotypes. he figures it's better than doing nothing. “or some cuddles?”

“ill take some cuddles.” you say. you really do think rafes arms wrapped around you would make you feel better. it's not weird after all, he's your step brother.

rafe nods, and you pick yourself up briefly to scooch to make room for rafe on the couch. he joins you, his arms wrapping around your shoulders, letting you move to rest your cheek against his chest.

“i got ya, sis.” rafe says, rubbing his hand over your back in long comforting strokes.

“thanks rafey.” you sigh, eyes closing. your headache has subsided a little from the medicine, causing you to relax enough to fall into a light sleep.

you are awoken by sarah bounding out the door, shouting something about john b.

“shh, it's okay.” rafe says when you whine, but you need to stretch your tired muscles anyways, shaking out the one arm that got trapped and fell asleep during your short nap.

“ugh, i just feel gross.” you groan, burying your face in your hands.

“would a bath help maybe?” rafe questions.

“actually yeah.” you hum, thinking about being submerged in the warm water. you think you even have some epsom salt you could add to draw out some of the toxins.

“let me help you then.” rafe says. he stands up, only to swoop down and bring you into his arms, walking with ease as he heads towards the stairs. you would complain that you can walk yourself, but you're honestly not sure if you can, do you wrap your arms around rafes shoulders and let him take you all the way to his bathroom. you don't mention that your own bathroom has a jacuzzi tub as well.

“are you good to sit right here?” rafe asks as he places you on the counter.

“yeah.” you nod, leaning your head back against the mirror, watching as rafe turns the hot water on to fill up the bath before coming back over to you

“want me to help you get undressed?” rafe questions.

“wouldn't that be weird?” you raise an eyebrow. “you seeing me naked?”

“not at all. im your step brother, and im just helping you because you're sick.” rafe says, and you're not sure if it's the sickness, or the foggy mind from the medicine that makes you nod your head yes, accepting his help.

rafe assists you in standing, his hands firm in yours as you slide off the sink counter, the tub filling with water drowning out the sound of rustling clothes as rafe takes your shirt, dragging it over your head. he skips over your bra and moves to your shorts next, kneeling as he slides them down your legs. he also carefully takes your socks off before tugging at your underwear. you cringe when they stick to the slickness between your thighs, but rafe doesn't mention anything.

he stands slowly, his eyes taking in between your thighs, wondering what you, his precious little step sister, would look like with your legs spread wide open, cunt on display for him.

rafe stands in front of you while he reaches behind your back, unclipping your bra. the fever that has taken over your body is replaced with shivers as your breasts are exposed to the cool air, your nipples instantly hardening.

rafe looks down with a smirk, and you want to cover yourself, hide your shame away, but before you can move, he turns his head and looks at the bath.

“it's full.” he hums, moving to shut the water off before turning to you, beckoning you forward with his hand. you take hold, letting him bear part of your weight as you step in, the water being just on the verge of too hot.

you let out a low moan when you step the other foot in, already feeling better.

“go ahead, baby. all the way in.” rafe says, using a nickname for you that you haven't heard before. you slide down into the bath, glad that it can easily submerge your whole body as rafe drags a stool next to the lip of the tub, taking a seat next to you.

“gotta keep an eye on you just in case.” rafe says, again reaching to stroke your hair back.

“you're such a good big brother.” you tell him honestly. you feel so lucky that your mom married ward, that she brought you into this family, to rafe.

“always gonna take care of you.” rafe says, as a promise.

you lean forward, not sure what your intentions are as you pucker your lips, pressing them against his hand that rests on his knee.

“come here.” rafe coos, knowing you need this, need to show him some kind of affection as thanks, and how much you like physical touch. rafe cups your jaw, tilting your face up as he brings his own head down, letting you press kisses over his cheeks.

rafe goes to connect your lips, but you gasp and pull away.

“it's okay for siblings to kiss each other.” rafe says with a frown.

“but i don't want to get you sick.” you complain, even though you desperately want to smash your lips against his. you don't dwell too long on the thought or what it could mean.

rafe sighs, but nods, letting go of your face and letting you lean back against the tub. your eyes close as the water relaxes you.

rafe sits there quietly, but the silence isn't uncomfortable.

“baby, are you good here for a minute? gonna get you some medicine.”

“yeah.” you sit up slightly, eyes opening as you watch rafe leave the bathroom. the water in the tub has grown lukewarm at this point, so when rafe returns with a plastic cup filled with some sort of medicine, you tell him you want to get out.

“here, drink this then i will help you dry off.” rafe says when he has you wrapped in the fluffiest towel.

you accept the cup, swirling the purple liquid before shrugging and drinking it down in one gulp, surprised by the sugary sweet taste.

“good girl.” rafe says, making a surprising flood of wetness rush to your core.

he leads you out of the attached bathroom into his bedroom, guiding you to sit down on the bed. he takes a second towel and carefully dries your hair, squeezing strands free of water before running his fingers through, making sure your hair remains untangled.

rafe then moves to your arms, not letting you do any work yourself as he guides the towel up and down your arms until they're completely dry.

“why don't you lay back?” rafe questions, and you nod, wanting to lay down anyways as the new medicine makes your limbs feel sluggish. you guess that there was some kind of sleep aid in the medicine as well, but it could also be the effects of the sickness hitting you again.

you let rafe take your towel away before you lay back on the bed, on top of his comforter as he pats your stomach until it's dry. your eyes flutter closed when he moves upwards, able to feel his hands through the fabric of the towel as he dries your chest, seeming to pay special attention to your nipples.

“rafe, i-” you begin, wanting to apologize for how hard your nipples have pebbled but he just shakes his head.

“you don't need to explain, sis.” rafe simply says. ��it's natural.”

“okay.” you whisper. you're really not sure, and rafe is your big brother after all, so he has no reason to lie to you. rafe moves lower yet again, bypassing your stomach and privates as he wipes dry your feet, lower legs, and then your thighs.

“spread your legs for me.” rafe commands. he says it so casually you almost do it before you realize that your sloppy cunt would be revealed to him.

you sit up, moving your elbows so you can look at rafe, staring expectantly at you.

“rafe, i don't know-”

“we are siblings.” he cuts you off again. “it's okay.”

you lay back, closing your eyes, not wanting to see rafes reaction when you spread your legs, revealing your wetness. you miss rafes smirk as he covers his hand with the towel, making sure to move very gently as he works it between your legs, stroking the fabric over your cunt.

you let out a low moan when your clit is bumped, causing a whole new flood of wetness.

“i can't seem to get this spot dry…” rafe says, tossing the towel onto the bed, needing to feel your bare skin. he strokes over your folds, not doing anything more than touching around your cunt until he can't take it anymore, letting his finger swipe through your wetness.

“rafe, stop.” you pout, eyes now clenched tightly closed.

“it's okay.” rafe just hums in response, too transfixed on your pretty pussy to take your plea into account, especially when you spread your legs wider, giving him more access.

rafe smiles as his finger pushes further against your skin, now rubbing through your wetness, spreading it around your cunt. he moves his singular digit up to your clit, moving in circles around it teasingly until he presses his fingertip down directly over your clit, making your back arch as you let out a moan.

“how do you feel now?” rafe questions as his finger continues to massage your clit.

you assess your body, and you're not sure if it's from the medicine or from rafes attention on your pussy, but he only feeling you can focus on is coming from his fingertip, instead of your hurting stomach.

“really good.” you whisper. you should be concerned about what you're doing right now, but you're so glad to be alleviated from feeling sick that you can't bring yourself to care about rafe stroking over your clit.

“want me to keep making you feel good?” rafe questions.

you nod before you can hesitate. rafe climbs onto the bed, slotting himself between your thighs. you blink your eyes open when his hands rub over your inner thighs.

“it's okay.” rafe assures you again. “just a brother taking care of his sick sister.”

“okay.” you whisper. “it's okay.”

rafe smiles before diving in, burying his mouth in your cunt. he possessively licks over your pussy, like he's been waiting since your mom married his dad two years ago to get a taste of you.

he sucks your clit into his mouth, bringing his fingers to your entrance. he pushes a singular digit in, glad when you stay relaxed, allowing him to pump his finger into you. he's sure it's a combination of the exhaustion of your sickness as well as the medicine he gave you.

rafe switches between flicking his tongue over your clit and sucking on it while his finger works you open. he can quickly add a second due to your pliability and wetness.

“rafe, i feel something-” you gasp, his fingers moving faster.

“you're gonna cum for me?” he questions. he knows you're not the most innocent, he's seen you making out quite intensely with your ex boyfriend, but he also knows that you're still a virgin. you claim you want to wait until marriage.

“i-i don't know. i think so.” you whine, hips undulating.

“it's okay, relax for me baby and cum.” rafe says, his tongue taking in your taste again, licking long stripes through your cunt, making sure to flick over your clit with every movement.

you let out a mix between a whine and a moan as his tongue and fingers becomes too much, pulling the orgasm out of you as you cum, your high pushing through your body as your legs tighten around rafes head.

rafe gently kisses your cunt through the orgasm until your thighs loosen and your eyes fall closed.

“im tired.” you whisper, not sure what rafe is doing when you feel him get off the bed, and rustle around. you don't open your eyes until he's back on the bed between your legs.

“rafe!” you shout when you realize he is kneeling between your legs, now completely naked, his cock hard and jutting away from his body, one hand at the base, slightly stroking as he looks down on your naked body.

“it's okay.” he says again, hoping that repeating it will make you believe it.

“what are you doing?” you question.

“you said you wanted to feel good, im just helping you sis.” rafe says, now stroking faster, taking up more of his shaft.

“no, no, no.” you mumble quickly. “you're my brother!”

“im your step brother.” rafe snips quickly.

“still! im supposed to be waiting until marriage! for my husband!” despite your protests, you can't bring your body to move, completely slackened against the bed.

“it doesn't count if its family.” rafe says. “besides, ive been taking such good care of you. let me keep taking care of you, and you can take care of me too.”.

“i guess…” you mumble, eyes taking in his big cock. you want to know what it feels like inside of you, and rafe grants your wish when he drapes his body over yours, lining his cock up with your entrance.

“id say stay nice and relaxed for me, but the medicine is doing it's job.” rafe says, burying his head in your shoulder as he pushes inside, filling your cunt in one smooth and easy pump.

you let out a moan, wanting to wrap your legs around rafes waist to help the angle, but your legs feel like jelly.

“that's it, sis.” rafe moans, immediately snapping his hips into yours, not bothering to start softly.

rafe keeps one hand gripping your hip while the other moves to your chest, gripping your tit harshly, but you're too numb to complain about the pain.

“more.” you whisper into rafes ear.

“dirty slut.” rafe says back. “who knew my step sis would be such a whore for her brothers cock?”

you let out a whine of complaints, but rafe begins to move faster, push deeper into you. you wish you could keep your eyes open, to look at rafe like this, but tiredness is taking over, even as he pumps into you.

“can't- can't help it.” rafe says, his voice sounding strained as he continues thrusting. “gonna cum inside of you.”

this wakes you up slightly, squirming underneath him. “you can't, rafe! im not on birth control and you're my brother!”

“say it again.” rafe grunts.

“you're my brother!” you shout again, but instead of rafe pulling out, he floods your cunt with his cum, spurting long ropes inside of you.

you squirm again, but rafe just moans when your pussy constricts around him, having the opposite effect as you milk his cock.

“im sorry sis.” rafe says. you try to push him off, but thats when you realize that it's more than just tiredness taking over your body. you're completely limp, unable to move or lift your hand.

“what did you do?” you ask, words slurring.

“ill take care of you. ill take care of everything.” rafe promises, grinding his hips when his cock begins to reharden inside of you.

you try to open your mouth, but your vision goes completely black, your jaw slackening. you pass out with the feeling of rafe beginning to move inside of you again, his cock pushing the cum further into your cervix.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @rafecamerongirl @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre

#rafe smut #rafe cameron smut #outer banks smut #obx smut #stepbro!rafe #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fic #rafe fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe fanfic #rafe cameron x you

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r1elle · 4 months ago

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for my peace of mind i want to live in the belief that miya atsumu has AT LEASTTTT got to be a candidate in the “pretending to be nonchalant but horrendously failing at it” trope.

like can you just imagine ..

a just freshly out of the change room miya atsumu, —who, by the way, has his brothers clothes on. (he wants to make a cool impression, and unfortunately, it’s his brother who always has the better outfit choices between the both of them. though he’d rather die than admit it.) anywho, he’s outside of the gym on standby to see if you had already walked past the building at your usual time. (he knows because he’s timed it.)

and when he realizes you already did, and that he had missed to take advantage of that one time slot in your routine, he’s BUMMED. he’s bummed out like a bum in bum central. but it happens as much as it doesn’t, so he still can’t figure out why he’s so dejected whenever the outcome turns out to be the former. (maybe cause he’s just so in love with you like that ?? duh)

but anyway, cmon now. you really didn’t even stop by to see if you could catch a glimpse of him setting ?? serving ?? heck, even spiking ?!?! because he couldn’t care less whether or not you knew which position he played, or what move he often did on court—…okay, well, maybe he cared just a bit. but screw all that. he can just tell you all about it when he’s finally able to call you his ! because what’s most important right now, is you seeing him during the times when he looks his “absolute coolest”.

but goodness gracious you should see the complete 360 his expression does when he sees you laughing along with your friends near the vending machine, indicating you hadn’t fully left just yet. he’s basically grown dog ears, and they’re raised HIGHH. osamu just wants to throw up, especially even more so as he sees heart eyes practically being etched onto his twin brothers dna, and he could only hope it wouldn’t apply to him as well.

with this profound opportunity, atsumu suggests that maybe they should buy something from the vending machine using their remaining coins. (“their” as in osamu’s. atsumu has .99 to spare, but he thinks he’ll save it for another day. perhaps to buy you those 50 cent candies at the nearby 7/11?).

“i’m thirsty. are ya not? c’mon. let’s use ‘em remainin’ cents.” though, anyone can see that it wasn’t a suggestion. it was a demand. (atsumu has never loved the “i was born 5 minutes before you.” card so hard in his entire life.)

osamu can’t help but feel the obvious desperation radiating off of his brothers anticipating expression, so he feels bad and says yes. atsumu internally thanks his brother, thinking that maybe telling him that ‘he should’ve ate him in the womb’ a couple of days ago was a bit mean.

but now that he’s infront of you, what should he do? the boy can physically feel his critical thinking skills melting away.

and so, with little time to actually prepare, he settles on nodding his head towards yours as a greeting (? if it can even be called a greeting), avoiding eye contact as he poorly executes his cowardly advances. he internally wallows in doing so, because that was NOT what he wanted to do. gosh….why couldn’t he be as smooth as he was on court ?!?! what he wanted to do was,—

“hey,” [add in a lazy but still oozing with confidence expression. whatever looks nonchalant and cool!] “want this? i was gonna buy one for myself,” [handing off his coins with one hand while his other one goes off to casually brush his blond hair to the side,] “but eh. dun’ really want it. take it, if ya’ want.” [finishing off with a low-key but proud sniff as he shoves his hands onto his pockets.]

but no. that was not what had happened. at all.

instead, he’s now completely focused over to the vending machine, his eyes directly staring onto the drink he had caught glimpse of you already drinking. (how could he not? it was the whole reason his plan backfired.)

well. at least he was able to give out a (puny) nod at you.

before he could even do anything else to salvage this already weak pursuit of his, atsumu hears you and your friends’ conversation exit out of his earshot. assuming that you were now further away from him, his knees seem to find themselves giving in.

one may think it was due to the exercises coach had given for todays practice.

but miya atsumu is a star volleyball player who yields the magic of ‘athleticism’. so surely, the runs up the mountain during todays agenda should hardly be the reason of any damage caused on the blonds already well maintained physique.

and surely,

heated cheeks, rapid beating of the heart, growing sense of frustration, and a yearning for some sort of impactful interaction with you..

wouldn’t qualify as side effects of hard practice, right?

“stop leanin’ on the vending machine like that, ya’ idiot.” osamu snidely comments, and his ‘face-mushed-to-the-vending-machine’ twin brother can only groan in response.

——

the walk back home is surprisingly quiet, until a low grumble decides to finally greet the silence.

“i was supposed to talk to her.”

“maybe that lame nod told her all that ya’ needed to say.”

“it ain’t my fault she already had a drink in her hand!”

“yeah, yeah. sure. ya’ still looked lame, though. i almost felt bad.”

“shut up! ya’ don’t know what it’s like to be a man in love!”

“…..….”

a silence.

a silence from atsumu who’s now just truly realized how doomed he was.

a silence from osamu who wonders if the person behind them had heard atsumu’s rather flamboyant confession.

“love, huh? didn’t know you were that deep into her.”

“ARRRRRRVHHHHGGGGGGGGGH! SHUT YER’ TRAP, SAMU’!! I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHIN’ !!!”

and of course,

a silence from you, who couldn’t help but just take the longer way back home, all because it meant getting to walk a few steps behind him. (even if he had always failed to notice you doing so, every. single. time.)

i was thinking of ryu sunjae from lovely runner while making this … i hope most ppl will see the vision 💔💔 I JUST LOVE LOSER MEN WHO JUST LOVE THEIR PARTNERS SO VERY MUCH !!!!

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fanaticsnail · 5 months ago

Text

It won't fit

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 3,200+ (600+, 500+, 1,100+, 800+)

Synopsis: The four commanders of the Victoria Punk were large in size, in every way. Eyes finally catching what goes on below their hemlines, you're brought to terms with the fact that it would be difficult to fit.

Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, 18+, Smut, all individual encounters with the four commanders, Kid x reader, Killer x reader, Heat x reader, Wire x reader, afab!reader, reader has breasts, size kink, size difference, no gendered terms used, first time with each of them, swearing, cumming, oral, hurt & comfort, pet names used.

Notes: Based on an ask @bitchimasnake-sss got about a size difference for Luffy, Zoro, and Sanji. I loved it, and wanted to see it for these four big boys. Everyone should check it out!

Gazing down from your position in front of him, your eyes met with his pulsating cock. Twitching in the air, his impressive girth and length caused your heart to beat rapidly in your chest. Heat swelling your cheeks, with your jaw falling slack, all you could manage to stutter in your stupor was a small whimper.

“It won't fit.”

Eustass Kid

“Yes it will, don't be a baby about it,” he growled at you. Grabbing at your thighs, he moved you to lay down the bed and towards his large cock. His pale shaft contrasted his ruby-red tip beautifully, each angry vein expanding his cock with each pulsating rush of blood engorged and expanded.

Panic shot through you as he lined up his tip with your slit, slowly dragging the cockhead over your slick pussy and tapping your clit with it briefly.

“No, you don't understand-! It's too big, Kid! I don't think I can take it,” you managed to stutter out, your eyes wide and panicked as he stilled his motions. Immediately cocking his head in a sharp tilt, he glared down at you with his forehead lowered in a deep furrow.

“You-... You want to stop?” He asked you lowly, each syllable pronounced so there was no misinterpretation of his question, “Say the word and we'll stop, ‘kay? I'm not gonna force ‘ya to do somethin’ you don't want.” At that, he withdrew completely, sitting back on his calves with his hand pressed on his thigh.

“No-, I mean-, I don't-, I-,” you add, shaking your head and rising to a seated position, “...I want to try. Can we-... Can we go slow? I'm not used to taking anyone so large, and I'm a little-.”

"-Frightened of little ol' me?" Kid's eyes darted between yours, the crisp golden hue warming you with the crackle of mischief twinkling within.

"A little, yeah," you nod at him, your lip twitching into a quivering smile. Darting your eyes to the ground, clenching and unclenching your hands to stifle your nerves before meeting his gaze once more. Kid smirked at your confession, leaning down towards you and raising his hand to grip at the back of your head.

“Although I may look and sound it sometimes,” he smiled at you, amber eyes darting between yours, “I'm not some huge asshole that doesn't take their partner into account. I can go slow. Just breathe with me, alrigh’?”

Stooping lower, he pressed his lips to yours and slowly lined his tip up once more with your slit. Slowly rocking his hips, he stretched your pussy with his bulbous tip, prompting your eyes to snap shut and body tense in response.

“Breathe, baby,” he whispered into your ear, pressing soft kisses to your cheek, jaw, and neck, “Just breathe. I'm gonna go slow, and you'll get used to it.”

His cock slowly eased in with each soft motion, each small portion of his shaft you took, he would press a flurry of kisses against your skin. Neck, chest, collar, back up to the corner of your lips, all kisses in a bid to ease you into it and breathe with him.

Not before long, Kid was whimpering and panting, his cock being squeezed by your tight pussy causing him to almost become a blubbering mess. His entire cock had your body mold to the shape of him, each twitch and pulse from it causing you to sigh and stretch to accommodate him.

As you finally adjusted to the large stretch, Kid was already shaking with the restraint of not pistoning his cock into you repetitively. He was already so close to cumming from the feeling of it alone, he truly didn't know how long he'd last if you finally acclimatized to his entire length.

“It's okay,” you nodded, looking up at him and cupping his face, “I'm okay. You can move now.”

“Oh thank fuck for that,” he groaned, immediately testing the sensation by pulling out a fifth of the way and rocking it back into you. When all it was met with was a moan from you, he did it again. More of his length came out, more of it pressed back into your pussy in a hard snap of his hips. The pace was set to a heavy rhythm of deep claps of his hips meeting yours.

“F-Fuck. Told you it'd fit.”

Massacre Soldier Killer

Letting out a soft exhale and shaking his head, he slowly drew your attention up to him by cradling your cheek in his scarred left palm.

“We don't have to do anything tonight if you’re not ready,” he gently soothed you with a softness in his voice, contrasting the hardness of his pulsating cock. “I know I'm a little bigger in comparison to you. It'll make things pinch and sting a bit. I don't want to hurt you.” He moved his thumb in soothing circles against your cheek, truly meaning every word falling freely from his lips.

Giving him a gentle shove, you push him to sit against the mattress, following your lead and reaching up to cup the backs of your thighs. Slowly crawling on top of him, he leans back and welcomes you to sit on his lap completely.

“I want to try,” you round your eyes at him, pouting and moving your knees to circle his hips. Spread in a wide straddle, you move your pussy over his tip and slowly grind your slit on him, “Can I please try? If we take it slow?” Killer nodded, thankful that the mask shrouded his face from view due to the fact he was clamping his teeth so hard on his lips to stop the whimper from escaping.

“W-We can try. I won't move a muscle until you're ready,” he stuttered, raising his arms to hold his hands beside his head: flat with palms up beside him.

Leaning forward, you line yourself up with his cock and roll your hips against it. The large tip does nothing to enter your tight heat, slipping and sliding against your slick and causing Killer’s breath to hitch. Reaching one hand down to grasp his swollen cock, you hold it steady between your legs and roll your tight core against his blunt tip more intentionally.

You wince at the sting of his pretty flushed tip entering your body, the stretch feeling immediately sore at your muscles expanding around him. Finally taking that first ridge of his tip past the largest point, you release his shaft and seek out his hands to anchor yourself against.

True to his words, the only muscle Killer uses is widening his fingertips for you to lace yours within. All gentle, all soft, all welcoming and patient: Killer grit his teeth harder to halt the urge to bounce his thick cock up into your smaller frame.

Slowly and surely, your walls relax around him and finally sheath him completely into your pussy. Walls fluttering around him, your clit grinds against his pubic hair and you whine at the contact. At that soft sound falling freely from your lips, Killer immediately unlaces his hands from yours and claps them around each of your ass cheeks, holding you firm and adjusting himself to the tight squeeze of your cunt clenching him in a vice-grip.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he huffed, groanding at his cock being strangled by your heat, “You gotta relax around me, sweet thing. Just relax, alright?” He withdrew his left hand from your ass and brought it to your face, cradling your cheek within the heel of his palm.

“I’m right here with you, okay?” he hushed you, gently thumbing over your cheek bone, “I won’t move until you’re ready.”

Heat

“Do you,” he began, halting as he sought out your attention with his eyes, ��Do you want to do something else?” He reached forward, his eyes flickering over your face and searching for understanding. His expression was captured completely in his hollowed eyes, hunching his shoulders and stooping to match your height with his own.

Heat was seven feet tall, his kindness welcome, but wholly unexpected and unfamiliar. His softness in comparison to the other three leaders of the Kid Pirates was what drew you to him: that kind hand mirroring the words pouring like honey from his fire-breathing lips.

“We can calm things down, you know?” he offered, pressing his forehead against yours with a soft smile, “I can go ask Killer for some potatoes. We can make all different styles together. Fat-cut chips, hash browns, roast potatoes in duck fat, mashed potatoes as a creamy dip. If you’d rather we don’t do anything intimately, we could-.”

“-Can I try just a little bit of it?” you spoke over him, eyes peering dotingly down at his stiff cock, bobbing vibrantly in the air, “Just to see if I can? Not all of it, but... Just the tip?” You gulped back a dry mouthful of saliva glancing up through your eyelashes at the blue-haired commander.

Heat’s face dusted with a vibrant shade of red, tinting his nose and tips of his ears with the hue. He swallowed the immediate “yes,” he so desperately wanted to bark out at you, focussing more on the serious tone lingering in the air. Following your gaze down at his cock and darting back up between your two orbs, he nodded slowly as he sucked in his scarred lips.

“If you want to,” he whispered slowly, drawing you close and pressing a sweet kiss against the apple of your cheek, “Let me take you over to the bed, okay. Lie on your side for me?”

He guided you to the large bed, each element smelling distinctively of incense, crisp linen, the stale linger of his cologne on the pillow cases, and something that felt like him. Lying on your side and offering him a sweet smile, he crawled over your body and caged you beneath his broad shoulders and muscular arms.

“I promise I won’t put it all in,” he whispered, pressing his lips against your shoulders and gently caressing him with each featherlight kiss, “Just the tip.” You nod at him, drawing your hand up and gently smoothing over the hair covering his ears. Falling behind your body, he jolted your knee forward with one of his own, lacing a lengthy thigh between yours, and lined his cock up against your glistening slit.

The reason he asked to position you in the first place is so you didn't become frightened by that hungry look in his eyes. That soft little ‘just the tip,’ that fell so innocently from your lips almost had him cum on the spot. He couldn’t let you know how eager he was to try it, how desperate he was to just have the smallest amount of his cock buried in your pussy. Drawing his palm down to your ass, he gently spread your cheek and exposed your entrance to him from behind. The shudder in his jaw matched the glaze of lust eclipsing his eyes.

Testing your heat, he reached down further and flicked his digits over the slit and collected your arousal. You mewled at the soft contact, arching your back and gently rocking your ass against his hand. He chuckled in your ear, giving your shoulder blade a swift kiss. Scooping his unoccupied palm beneath the pillows under your head, he cradled your chest against his body and lined up his cockhead with your warmth.

“Comfy?” he asked you, reaching down with the hand cradling you and collecting one of your breasts within his palm. You nodded, collecting his knuckles beneath your chin and giving it a quick kiss. Taking that as consent, he gently rocked his hips forward and eased his fat tip inside your slick cunt. His eyes rolled back at the squeeze, almost becoming lost in the moment and wanting so desperately to claim more of you with himself.

You hissed at the small sting, your walls fluttering and straining to accommodate his girth with each soft stretch. He halted at the rim of his tip disappearing into your body completely, his knob fully nestled within your body. Releasing a sigh, you flopped your head onto his arm and leaned into his embrace. Although not completely uncomfortable, the stretch of his tip felt like all you could truly take of him. His entire length would simply overwhelm you, needing a lot of practice before you were able to take the whole shaft.

“You okay, Heat?” you asked softly over your shoulder. The grip on your breast firmed, his arm seeming to vibrate with a soft quake. “Is this bad for you? Are you uncomfortable-?”

“-I’m t-trying not to cum,” he managed to stutter out, the hand on your ass moving to your hips to hold you stationary, “I-It-... It’s been a while. I-I-I’m gonna cum-!”

A large smile split up your face, prompting you to boldly arch your back and rock his tip inside your slippery walls. He shuddered and shook against you, his tip never truly leaving your body while the soft rocking over the sensitive head drew him to the white-hot ecstasy he was desperately attempting to withhold.

It only took a few more rocks before he came undone within your walls. The first few drops spilled over before he rocked his hips out of you and sprayed your back with his cum. He had no time to reach down and grip it before he was panting your name into your neck and spurting his release in white flashes over your ass. His choked whines and whimpers were caught in his throat, the little apologies flinging forth with each wave of release shooting against your skin.

“F-Fuck, fuck, shit,” he cried, his cock betraying him as he burried his face into your neck, “I-I’m sorry. ‘M sorry. It-... You-... So good.” You offered him a soft giggle, pressing your lips against his arm and flurrying a burst of soft kisses over his skin. Before you had the opportunity to offer him anything in response, he rolled you onto your back and withdrew back up between your knees.

“This fucking pussy,” he growled playfully at you, “Is too fucking good. Gonna have to punish it a little bit.” He kissed up your thighs, throwing your knees over his shoulders, and uncaring about your back stamping his release onto his duvet. Eyes holding yours for a moment, he gives you a short wink before immediately surging forward and diving into your pussy. Tongue flicking, mouth claiming, head bobbing, and nose grinding, he was going to have you cum on his face a couple of times as a playful invoke of punishment.

And then he was going to make you some potatoes. Any way you wanted them, he was going to make them for you.

Wire

Wire's lips dropped to a somber pout, eyes downturning and tearing his gaze away from your own. Although he had consumed several of your orgasms with his lips, mouth and skilled tongue, he knew there was little chance his cock would be able to bury itself in your plush pussy.

He was simply too big. Nine feet tall with a cock over one foot: achingly hard, desperately bobbing and leaking precum from his dark rose-colored tip.

“I know. I'm sorry,” he whispered softly, gently clicking his tongue and attempting to mentally rid his body of desire. Sighing out a sorrowful exhale, Wire flopped onto his back and laced his hands behind his head with his eyes falling shut. His cock stood proud and neglected, his pretty tip twitching and begging wordlessly for stimuli.

“Hey, look at me, honey,” your voice soothes down at him, your hands reaching for his cheeks and caressing his smooth skin and coarse facial hair. He scrunched his nose up and held his eyes closed in a tight clamp. Giggling at him, you shook your head before brushing your nose with his.

“Fine,” you whisper, hovering your lips above his, “Be like that.” Pressing your lips against his in a chaste kiss, he barely had time to reciprocate it before he felt you withdraw from him completely.

Slinking down his chest and over his stomach, you press soft kiss after soft kiss against his flesh. Mouthing at the skin, humming at the elevated goose flesh you leave in your wake, you map a trail down to his neatly cropped and trimmed happy trail.

Lulling your tongue from your mouth, you lick a fat stripe up from his large vein on the underside, over each divot of elevation towards the frenulum. Mouthing delicately, romancing his cock with each open kiss, you manage to widen your lips enough to nearly encapsulate his cockhead between your lips. The corner of your mouth split the skin, stinging pain prompting you to wince at the tear. His tip was larger than the circumference of your fist, and you simply couldn't put that in your mouth without your teeth biting into it.

“Don't-,” Wire whispered softly, his Adam's apple bobbing at the motion you were pressing against his skin, “Don't force it, sweetheart. I know it won't fit. It's okay, truly.” He reached down and cupped your cheek, drawing you up to cradle you against his chest.

“But-,” you tried to relay, cut off immediately with a harsh whisper down into your scalp.

“-I said ‘don't’,” he pressed a soft kiss against your forehead, “It brings me pleasure to bring you pleasure. I don't need anything from you, sweetheart.” He pinched your chin between his thumb and index finger, drawing your eyes up to meet his. “I just want you.” His hand relaxed against your face, caressing your skin in slow, soothing circles.

You hum into his hand, closing your eyes and leaning your lips lower to press a sweet kiss against his palm. He chuckles in response to such a softness from your earlier sultriness. Embracing you in silence against his chest, his cock twitched and began to reduce with his restraint.

Looking down between you, your legs and ass barely make it to his stomach with the height difference. Lulling your head to the side, you take your lips into your mouth and gaze longingly at his cock.

“...What if we don't put it in?” you offer, intrigue being met by his cock pulsating and slowly swelling back to life.

“Don't start, sweetheart. It was just going down,” he grumbled at you, chuckling against your head. You rolled your head back up to meet him, pouting up at him and doeing your eyes at him innocently.

“What if you fuck my thighs? I can grind your cock on my clit and get it all wet and messy for you?” you offer as if asking him what he wanted for lunch, completely nonchalantly, “You can cum on my stomach or ass, anywhere you want, and I'll say ‘please' and 'thank you’?” Wire growls down at you, his deep baritone vibrating against your shoulder.

“You can't look at me like that and spurt such filthy shit, sweetheart,” he moved his body up, sitting with you on his chest and manhandling you effortlessly, “Sends me mixed messages. I want to take care of you first, dote on you and make sure you’re feeling safe and secure, and on the other hand, I want to use your thighs as my personal flesh light and fuck them until I'm satisfied.”

Without skipping a beat, you smile back up at him.

“Use my thighs as your personal flesh light and fuck them until you're satisfied please,” you chirped happily up at him, prompting him to immediately clasp your thighs together and slot his exceptionally large cock between your wet pussy and your thighs.

“You asked for it, sweetheart.”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane

#one piece #x reader #kid pirates #kid #killer #heat #wire #kid x reader #killer x reader #heat x reader #wire x reader #one piece x reader #one piece smut #x afab reader #eustass kid #massacre soldier killer #op heat #op wire

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absurdthirst · 5 months ago

Text

Safe Haven {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 17.1k

Warnings: No Outbreak AU, domestic violence, spousal abuse, verbal/emotional abuse, Joel is a protector, oral sex, female receiving, fingering, vaginal sex, brief hair pulling, rough sex, aftercare, death, loss, kidnapping, threats of violence, feral Joel, threats of murder, happy endings. Reader is described as having hair that can be pulled.

Comments: Coming to Jackson had been a last resort, scared of your ex and running for your life. Meeting a cowboy in the bar your aunt owns will change the trajectory of your life, and his.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Joel groans as he steps out of his truck, the moon shining above and he adjusts his belt after he locks his vehicle. Making his way into the bar, he nods his head at the men who greet him. Locals in Jackson that he has known for years ever since he moved to the area to escape Texas. To escape the memories. He strides up to the bar and sits down on the stool, raising his hand to call over the bartender. He expects to see Jerry come over to give him his usual - beer and a shot of whiskey - but instead, a beautiful woman appears and Joel raises his eyebrows. "What can I get ya?" You ask him, wiping down the counter. "Yuengling...and shot of Jameson." He orders and you nod, walking along the bar to pour his drinks. His eyes dip down to your ass and he wonders where the hell you came from. This town is for rough ranchers, not pretty young things like you. "Here you go. Wanna open a tab or close out?" You ask and he snorts, "tab. Name is Miller. I have an ongoing tab." He says and you nod, having discovered that nearly everyone has an open tab.

You add the drinks to his tab and sigh, leaning against the counter to look at the brooding man who saddled up to your bar. He's gorgeous. A rancher through and through with the hat on his head which he takes off to set down on the counter after taking a sip of his drink. He's the kind of man you'd be flirting with if you had any interest in that. You don't. That's why you moved to Jackson, to get away from men. Well, one man. Your husband. "So, you're new in town?" Joel asks when you refill his beer. "Yeah. Arrived yesterday." You reveal and he hums, "well, welcome to the most boring place in the USA." He snorts and you wince, remembering the fact that your husband called Jackson the exact same thing.

Joel notices the joke falls flat and he taps the bar, looking around the place. It’s pretty quiet for a Friday night, but the night is still young. You wipe down the counters and Joel tosses back the shot, setting the glass down on the counter. “Another?” You ask and he smirks slightly. “Hell, why not?” He shrugs, picking up his beer. “Nowhere else to be tonight.”

You nod, making your way over to the bottles to pour him another whiskey. After you set it down, he says, “you want a drink? I’ll buy you one.” He says and you shake your head, crossing your arms, “no thanks. I don’t drink while I’m working. My aunt owns the place and I don’t think she’d want me drinking on the job.” You reveal and Joel says your aunt’s name, “you’re her niece? She mentioned you’d be coming into town.” He hums and you hate the fact that those dark brown eyes of his are hard to look away from. “Yeah. I, uh, it was last minute. I needed to escape and she helped me.” You confess and Joel tilts his head, “from what? A boring 9-5?” He chuckles and you shake your head, “from my husband.”

Joel’s brow knits, instantly wondering what could have occurred and he stares at you for a moment before he nods. “Understood.” He grunts, taking another sip of his beer and glancing around the room, noticing a few of the other ranch’s hands are here, including his own. “You have a problem, you tell any of the boys from the Triple M to give you a hand.” He tells you, looking back at you. “You have a problem with them, you let me know. I’ll handle them.”

You nod, offering him a slight smile, “thanks.” You get called over to another patron but your eyes drift back over to Joel. He’s handsome. In a slightly depressed way. That’s probably why you can’t stop looking over at him. He’s damaged goods…like you. “Another round?” You ask Joel, someone now sitting next to him. “Yeah. And what do you want, asshole?” He asks the younger man who scoffs, “don’t be mean in front of the pretty lady.” He nudges Joel. You bite your lip at the compliment but you know it would sound better coming from the older man’s lips.

“Where’s your wife?” He looks around, not seeing Maria. His younger brother grins the sappy smile of a man in love, “she’s in the bathroom. Has to pee every time she gets out of the truck.” Joel snorts, although he’s slightly jealous. You walk back over and he jerks his head to the side. “Beer and a shot for this jerk and a ginger ale for his wife, pretty lady.” He smirks slightly, aware of the interest in your eyes and he wouldn’t mind peeling you out of those jeans.

You work fast to get their drinks, setting them down just as the woman you assume is Maria comes to the bar and sits down. “This baby is bouncing on my damn bladder.” She huffs, picking up the ginger ale you set down for her. “Not long now, baby.” Tommy says, leaning in to kiss her cheek and your stomach twists at the obvious love in his eyes for his wife. You set Joel’s beer down, “here you go, handsome.” You flirt back slightly, wanting him to know you find him attractive. You tell yourself it’s to get a bigger tip.

Tommy’s brow wings up, surprised that his brother is flirting with someone but it’s good to see him get back on the horse. “Well, fuck me, tonight’s gonna be a good night!” He slaps the bar top with a grin, making Joel roll his eyes. “Pay attention to your wife.” He grunts, sending you a wink. “Lady’s interested in me.”

Joel’s wink makes your cheeks heat up and you chuckle at the way Tommy rolls his eyes at his brother before he turns to nuzzle his nose against his wife’s cheek. Another customer calls you over and you walk down the bar passing Jerry who is serving someone else. “She’s pretty.” Maria hums, caressing her bump, “you should ask her out.”

“She’s flirtin’ to get a better tip.” Joel dismisses the idea, although he wouldn’t mind taking you out. It’s been a long time since he’s wanted someone. Hell, it was almost surprising that his cock twitches and he’s half hard. “If she wants to go out, she can let me know. I drink here, and I don’t want her aunt poisoning my whiskey.”

You watch Joel from the corner of your eye. It’s wrong to feel attracted to him. You came here to escape, not to get with a local rancher. You need to focus on yourself, not on a handsome man. You find it hard to trust anyone. Your aunt gave you a safe haven from your husband and you need to keep it that way.

****

“You’re a fucking useless slut!” Your husband, Josh, yells at you, throwing the dinner you cooked him across the room. You hadn’t made the meatloaf he didn’t tell you he wanted. Apparently he expected you to be a mind reader and he’s not happy to have fettuccine Alfredo instead. “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t know. You didn’t -” You cut yourself off.

“I didn’t tell you? You should fucking know. You know what I like to eat! Why did I marry you? I could’ve had Shelly from work. At least she sucks cock. Every guy gets a blowjob from her but no, I got stuck with you. You don’t give me shit. I got a useless cunt. All because you got pregnant.” He hisses and you shake your head, tears stinging in your eyes. You lost the baby at five months. It was traumatic for you and your husband seemed to be relieved but didn’t divorce you. You’ve been married for three years. The first year he was perfect. He took you out for dinner, treated you well. After you lost the baby, he changed. You should’ve left him when you lost the baby but you were so distraught and your only family is your aunt. You lost your parents when you were in college to a car accident. You had no one to lean on except Josh.

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t - I can make you meatloaf.” You choke out and he scoffs, “too fucking late. I’m gonna go to the bar, get some wings. Clean up this goddamn mess.” He points at the dishes he threw on the floor and you nod, your throat closing as your hands shake. He slams the door behind him and you start to sob, sinking down to the floor. You need to get out of here.

****

“Woah, watch you’re doing lady!” One of the ranch hands snaps his fingers in front of your face and you come back to yourself, gasping when you realize the beer you’re pouring hasn’t stopped because you are pulling down on the tap. “Shit.” You hiss, lifting the lever and setting the beer down. “I’m - I’m so sorry.” You choke, reaching for the rags to clean it up. Jerry comes over, his eyes widening at the mess on the floor and he shakes his head, “clean up this goddamn mess.” He hisses, clearly frustrated with you and you gasp, hands shaking as you fumble with the rags. “I- I-” You struggle to breathe, taken back to that night with Josh.

“Jerry, chill the fuck out.” Joel growls, seeing that you are as spooked as an unbroken foal and he immediately senses that you need a moment. He pushes away from the bar and walks over to the mess and takes the rags from you. “Go take a piss or wash your face.” He tells you quietly before looking back at Jerry. “It’s just some fucking beer and it’s not like this place is the goddamn Ritz.” He huffs, folding the rag and wiping up the beer himself as you edge away. Joel’s dark eyes find you watching warily, as if unsure if you should and he nods. “Go on, girl.” He tells you again.

Your hands are shaking as you make your way to the bathroom and you inhale deeply as you push the door open, rushing over to the sink and tears sting in your eyes as you try to control yourself. You are shaking and you’re taken right back to Josh. How he would say you’re a useless whore. You splash water on your face, trying to calm your racing heart. After ten minutes, you gather the strength to go back outside to finish your shift. The beer has been cleaned up and you decide to get Joel a round on you.

Joel watches as you set another beer down in front of him. Tommy and Maria are on the dance floor, holding each other close while the other couples zip around them. “You good?” He asks, watching you close and not liking that you were obviously crying at one point.

“I’m good.” You nod, “this one is on me.” You tell him, wiping your hands on your jeans. “Sorry about that. I- I freaked out and I shouldn’t have.” You confess, “I embarrassed myself.” You shake your head, “all because of pulling a beer.”

“More like a trauma response to some shit from your past.” Joel comments, watching you for a moment before he picks his beer up with a small nod of appreciation. His knuckles are scarred from his own trauma responses, so he knows what you are going through. “Best thing to do is to focus on something good. And talk to someone…..if you’re into that kind of shit.” He doesn’t feel comfortable expressing himself to a lot of people, but he doesn’t look down on those who do.

You stare at him, shocked that he’s read you like a book, and you nod after a few seconds. “I- I’ll try to do that. Thank you. It’s - it’s complicated.” You sigh and lean back against the counter. “I don’t really like talking.”

"Then don't talk." Joel shrugs slightly, knowing that he's the same way. "Better options are to either fuck through your feeling or raise hell." He takes a sip of his beer and eyes you. "Both of them have their merits."

You snort, “sex sounds pretty damn good actually.” You lean against the counter, “I’m not a raise hell kind of girl. More of a book and a coffee kind of girl.” You admit, “what’s your preference?”

Joel’s eyebrow ticks up and he wonders if you are feeling him out. “Fuckin’ wasn’t always an option.” He tosses out casually. “Sometimes you just gotta beat the shit out of someone’s face if you can’t make a woman scream in pleasure.” He shrugs, eyes meeting yours. “But I’d rather fuck, any day of the week.”

You inhale sharply at his words, your stomach twisting with arousal. Josh wouldn’t have sex with you since that night you fucked up his dinner. Deep down, you knew he was fucking someone else and you didn’t care. As long as he wasn’t coming to you for sex. It’s been so long since you’ve been touched with desire and the look in Joel’s eyes tells you he’s capable of making you feel things you’ve never felt before. “Me too. I’m not a fighter.” You confess, snorting at your own joke. You couldn’t fight against your husband when he would scream at you. “I’m guessing the options around here aren’t too plentiful for you. Seems like more ranch hands than anyone else.”

“Nah.” Joel huffs out a smirk. “And they ain’t exactly my type.” His eyes slide up and down your body and he knows you are interested. “Been a long time since I’ve had a pretty little thing like you.” He admits, ignoring the pang of loss from Tess. It’s been a few years and she’s gone.

You bite your lip, stomach twisting with lust at the dark look in his chocolate eyes. His hair is streaked with salt and pepper and his hands are calloused. He looks capable. Like he'd protect you with his entire being or he has the capacity to destroy you. You're not sure if you want to take the risk after escaping from Josh. "Been a long time since a handsome man took any interest in me." You confess, "damaged goods." You shrug, "but you seem to understand that. I'm new here...any tips on places to go, things to do?"

Joel sets his beer down and shrugs, leaning forward. “Ain’t too much to do around here.” He admits, licking his lips before he decides to proposition you. “Best thing is to watch the sun come up off the northern part of my land.” He tells you. “Might have to come stay the night to get there on time.”

“There’s a campfire breakfast option or a regular option with a thermos of coffee to take on horseback.” Joel nods. “Either one. I prefer to sleep under the stars when I get a chance, but you might prefer indoor plumbing.

You chuckle, “I am partial to a toilet but a night under the stars sounds perfect. Exactly what I need after all the shit I’ve gone through.” You confess. “You want another drink? Water?” You ask, “or coffee? Jerry has a pot going in the back.”

“Coffee.” Joel decides, finishing his beer and pushing the glass towards you. “Black. I’m a simple kind of man.”

You nod, taking the glass, and you head into the kitchen to grab him a cup of coffee. You bring it back to him and look over at his brother and his wife. “She’s due soon.” You jerk your chin over to the couple and Joel nods, “yeah. They got all the baby shit ready to go. I had to make up the crib. Good thing I used to be a contractor.�� He snorts and you chuckle, “you’re gonna be a good uncle. I can tell. You got kids?” You ask, tilting your head.

Joel frowns, looking down into his coffee. “Got a foster kid.” He tells you, his heart aching when he remembers Sarah and how he had held her in his arms as she took her last breaths. “Pain in my ass.”

You snort, “she’s a teenager?” You assume from the look on his face but his eyes soften when he mentions her. “Well, I don’t work tomorrow night. My aunt wanted me to settle in after a rough first shift so if you’re free…maybe you could show me around town?”

“What time do you get off tonight?” Joel asks, weighing the work that needs to be done with the chance to just blow off some steam.

You look at your watch, “in an hour. Jerry said he’d close out my first night. Let me settle in with the locals first.” You reveal, “so…if you’re free…” You trail off, leaning against the countertop.

“Passenger seat in my truck is empty.” He points out, glancing back at Tommy and Maria, still dancing. “We can split the difference.” He decides. “Indoor sex tonight and outdoor sex tomorrow.” He smirks and winks. “See if you can ride a horse after I ride you all night.”

Your eyes widen and you inhale sharply, liking the cocky look on his face. You’ve been through hell and you want to have fun. You deserve to have fun. “Sure thing, cowboy. You ready? I can settle your tab and tell Jerry that I’m leaving.” You know you should play coy but he doesn’t seem like the kind of man to like being messed around with. He nods, shifting to pull his wallet out of his jeans and he hands you enough bills to cover his tab and his family. “Thanks.” You say, heading over to the cash register. “Keep the change.” He orders when you come back over and you sigh, knowing it’s best to not argue. “I’ll go get my jacket if you still want me to come home with you?”

“I’ll wait.” He’s not the type of man to have you come out of the bar and search for him. Groaning slightly as he stands, he motions. “Go get your shit, I’ll say bye to my brother and hands that are here.” He tells you, turning to head towards the group of Triple M hands playing pool in the back corner.

You walk over to Jerry, telling him you're leaving, and his eyes dart over to Joel, a frown on his face. "I hope you know what you're doing." He clicks his tongue and you nod, "I'm having fun." He snorts, "go. I'll lock up." He orders and you rush into the back room to grab your jacket and your purse, coming out the front to find Joel waiting for you, his hands in his pockets. Your heart thumps in your chest at what you're doing. Both with nerves and excitement. It's been a long time since you felt this way.

He shouldn’t do this. You’ve got trouble written all over you. But it seems like Joel finds nothing but trouble and he’s always been a sucker for a nice ass. “Ready?” He pulls his hand out of his pocket and touches the small of your back as he guides you out of the bar and over to a large 4x4 dually with the Triple M logo on the side. He walks you to the passenger door and opens it for you. “If you’re gonna fuck the shit out of a woman, you can open the door for her.” He grunts when you look at him in surprise.

You are surprised by his actions and his words. “I just - I’m not used to having the door opened for me.” You confess and he shakes his head, “then you’ve been with mannerless assholes.” He scoffs and you chuckle, “that we can agree on.” You get up into the truck and it smells like him. He rounds the front after shutting your door and you inhale sharply, trying to calm your racing heart. “I just realized…I never got your name.” You frown, looking at him after he settles in the driver's seat.

Sliding the key into the ignition, Joel chuckles as he introduces himself. “Joel Miller.” He tells you quietly. “Rancher.” He wonders if you are second guessing yourself. “Own the Triple M spread. My brother Tommy and his wife own the next ranch over. Called it Fresh Start Ranch.” He snorts. “They rehabilitate horses and people.” He tells you. “Gives minors and first time offenders job skills.”

You nod, saying his name. It suits him. “Enough people know you to know that I’m safe.” You declare and he nods, “I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He promises and you smile, telling him your name, “currently on the run from my crazy husband who tried to kill me. I own nothing. Don’t have a dollar. He took control of our joint account and I can’t use it otherwise he will find me.” You confess, revealing your reason for being here.

“Cash is king.” Joel nods, not liking the bastard from what little you’ve told him. “You can always open an account in our local bank.” He tells you. “They don’t ask too many questions. A lot of the hands open accounts.”

"Probably best to stick with cash. I - I barely made it out of there with my life. I can't - I can't risk him finding me." You confess, hands shaking slightly as you lean back in your seat. You close your eyes, remembering the way he held the knife in his hand. "Hey. Hey. Look at me." Joel murmurs and you inhale deeply before you turn to look at him. "I can escort you home. I ain't - you don't seem ready for anything." He observes and you sigh, "it's - I don't want to be alone. Can we go to yours and talk? I want to tell you why I'm like this." You say, voice a little stronger.

He doesn’t need another headache. He doesn’t need another responsibility. He’s got plenty on his plate without your shit added on, but he can’t turn down the naked plea in your eyes. He sighs and nods. “Sure.” He pulls out of the parking lot, resigned to the fact that the sex he had been anticipating is now off the table. “How did your aunt end up in Jackson?” He asks conversationally.

“She was married to a rancher. He died when he was fifty. Heart attack from the stress. So she sold the ranch and bought the bar and the apartment above. She lived there for ten years then decided to move into a home when she got remarried. So, she’s been around town for a while. Doesn’t manage the bar as much and needs a set of hands. She called me to check on me the week before he - she said I was welcome to escape here. Just call her and the apartment and job is mine.” You tell him and he hums, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Did he physically abuse you?” Joel asks, wanting to know what kind of prick you were married to. “Or more emotional and verbal?” He knows that if it’s physical, if the bastard shows up here, no one will even acknowledge that you are here, if you are sitting right in front of them. Everyone protects their own here in Jackson. Joel would be even more brutal. He would just take him out on the ranch and bury him.

“He was emotional and verbal. Everything I did…it was never enough. He would throw things at him but never hit me. Until - until the day he found out I was leaving. He came home early from work. He wanted me to make him lunch and he found my bags in the hall. I was in the shower, about to get dressed and leave before he got home from work and he - he came into the bathroom with the knife. I only managed to escape because I sprayed him with hot water. Ran to the car naked and I- I drove off after grabbing one bag in the hallway. I sold the car the next day, bought another one so he couldn’t track me and drove here to escape.” You reveal, hands shaking at the memory of him pulling back the shower curtain, the knife in his hand.

“Jesus Christ.” Joel hisses, tightening his fist on the steering wheel as he drives. “What a fucking psycho. You don’t need to worry, people around here don’t like fuckers period, but definitely not ones who would threaten someone they are supposed to protect.” He reaches out and offers your leg a light squeeze before he lets go. Remembering you might be skittish.

You feel safe with him. His touch is reassuring and something you haven’t felt in so long. “I- I escaped but he’s looking for me. I know he is. He was yelling at me, telling me he couldn’t let me go. I couldn’t leave. He screamed that he’d kill me before I left.” You choke, “I barely made it but I did and I refuse - I need to start fresh.”

Joel nods, knowing all about fresh starts. “Jackson is a good place for it.” He tells you. “Lots of folks are here because they got something they want to forget. You’ll blend in in no time.” He chuckles. “Then you’ll have half the patrons ready to whoop his ass if he shows his face in town.”

You smile, “thank you.” You reach for his hand, squeezing gently. He seems so capable and you love it. The strength in his touch but you’re not scared of it. You look out of the window, watching the town pass by, and he pulls into an estate with “Triple M” above the sign. “I really want to see the sunrise.” You reveal and you look back at him as he drives down the rubble road to his place. “I really want to see you.” You decide, feeling safe with him after telling him why you're so skittish.

Joel chuckles and he tries to ignore the harsh reality of that lie. He’s let so many women in his life down. His wife, his daughter, his lover. He’s terrified that he might let Ellie down and now you have just thrown him for a loop like he’s breaking a new colt. “You’re seein’ me, ain’t ya?” He asks, flashing you a grin. It takes five minutes to get from the gate of the property to the main house and he nods towards it when it comes into view. “Whaddya think?”

You inhale sharply at the beautiful lodge. Its setting against the mountains that will be seen when the sun rises has you nodding, “it’s beautiful. I see why you like it so much.” You tell him, “you gonna show me the inside?”

“Don’t plan on making you wait in the truck.” He snorts, pulling up to the front yard and parking it. “Come on. I’ll show you around and you can see what you like best.”

You smile at him as he gets out after killing the engine and rounds the truck to open the door for you. You get out and follow him inside his place, admiring his shoulders and back as he unlocks the door to reveal the comfortable and warm lodge. “Oh it’s gorgeous. I love it.” You exhale in awe, stepping in to admire the manly yet homey decor.

“It’s home.” He grunts, moving over to the bar area of the living room. “Want a drink? Coffee? Whatever you want, we can make it happen.”

“You have any whiskey?” You ask, walking over to the photo frames on the table in the living room. There’s a few different women in the photos. From two young girls to two older women. You can't figure out who is who. You turn to watch Joel pour out two glasses of whiskey, walking over to hand it to you after he’s done. “So who’s who?” You ask, gesturing to the photos.

Joel sighs softly, aware that you would ask about it, although he hadn’t expected it to be tonight. “That’s Ellie and Tess.” He tells you, pointing at one picture with his drink hand before taking a sip. “Foster kid and my late- erm, lover.” He settles on that title for Tess.

Your eyes widen and he continues, “she died a few years ago. It - it was fucking dumb. She was trying to rescue a stray dog on the property and it bit her. She got fucking rabies and - and she died.” He shakes his head, unable to believe it even after all these years. The worst part? She didn’t know that he loved her. “I’m so sorry.” You choke, reaching up to touch his arm.

Joel shakes his head and sighs. "Not a goddamn thing I could do." He admits softly, unsure why he is talking to you about this. He never talks to anyone about losing Tess, not even Tommy dares to bring up her name. Ellie had just been placed with them and it had been a long time before he opened up to the girl at all.

Your heart aches for him, he’s lost so much. “I’m - there’s no words.” You murmur, knowing there’s nothing you can say to remotely make the loss tolerable. He has to heal on his own time. “She has your eyes.” You point to the other teenager and Joel smiles sadly, “my Sarah. She - she was killed when she was thirteen. I used to live in Texas. Austin. She went to go get my watch repaired for my birthday and - and she was shot.” He confesses, “I tried to get there as quick as I could and she - she died in my arms.” He finishes quietly and your eyes widen, glistening with tears from the pain in his voice.

“Joel…I-” You don’t continue, you just spin around and wrap your arms around him.

Joel grunts, absorbing the impact of the hug. You had pushed into him hard, probably trying to reconcile all that he’s endured and he awkwardly wraps his arms around you. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the hug, he just doesn’t know how to really handle the softness anymore. “It’s - I’m existing. I’m still here.” He doesn’t mention that his sole reason now is for Ellie, but he rubs your back gently. “If I can make it, you can too, pretty girl.”

You look at him, that small patch in his beard that doesn’t seem to grow, and you lean in to kiss it. “You don’t- we don’t have to do anything.” He reminds you but you kiss his jaw again. “I want to. I want to feel. I want to feel wanted. Desired. Can you do that for me? Can you fuck me like there’s no tomorrow?” You ask, “because that’s what I need right now.”

Joel’s eyes flatten, darkening with desire. “I fuck rough.” He warns you, voice dipping down and taking on a raspy quality. “I’ll make you feel good, but I’ll also make you hurt.” He’s not talking about a slap or any kind of violence, he doesn’t get off on beating women while he fucks them. However, you would feel him tomorrow, every step you take and when you are riding a horse.

You whimper at the gruffness in his voice but it’s arousal. You know he won’t actually harm you. You nod, “I want that. Just- just make me feel something other than what I’ve been feeling.” You demand, wanting to take control of your emotions after such a turbulent escape.

“I can do that.” He promises, lifting his drink. “Finish your whiskey and I’ll make you forget your own name by the time I’m done riding you.” He growls, cock starting to harden again at the thought of laying you out on his bed.

You let go of him, stepping back to grab your glass and you down it, wincing at the sting of the alcohol but you like it. He watches you as he sips, doesn’t down it like you do, and your body tingles from his intense stare.

Joel knows Ellie is in town. It was the entire reason he had gone to the bar. She’s spending the night at Dina’s house and the main house is empty except for you and him. “Take your clothes off.” He orders, leaning back against the bar. “Ex-excuse me?” You huff, making him smirk at you as he continues to drink. “You heard me, girl. Strip.” His eyes drag up and down your form possessively. “I want to see every beautiful inch of your body before I touch you.”

You should say no but the look on his face has you obeying. You shrug off your jacket, letting it fall to the floor before you reach for the hem of your shirt. You lift it over your head and expose your bra. You hear his soft groan and it makes your pussy start to throb with need at the desire. You reach behind you to unclasp it and drag it down your arms, exposing your tits to his hungry gaze as he sips the alcohol. He doesn’t say a word, encouraging you to continue with his silence so you kick off your sneakers and unbutton your jeans, pushing them down your legs until you’re left in your panties and socks. “All of it.” He demands and you nod, lifting your feet to remove your socks then you hook your fingers in your panties, pushing them down your legs until you are standing bare before him.

“Fuck.” Joel growls, draining the rest of his whiskey and slapping the glass down onto the bar before he shoves off of it. His blood is hot, cock aching for you and he’s going to show you exactly what that little show has done for him. Stomping up to you, he grabs your ass and hauls you close, his lips demanding and harsh when they descend on yours.

He tastes like whiskey and something sweet that makes you moan into his mouth. His fingers dig into your flesh and you tangle your fingers in his salt and pepper locks, pressing yourself against him. His hard cock is pressing against your hip and you moan when his tongue pushes into your mouth. He takes what he wants without forgiveness and you love it. You love that he’s taking all the need to think away from you.

Joel is strong, he’s manhandled bull calves and horses, throwing hay and everything else that is needed on a ranch. Grabbing your thighs, he hoists you up into his arms, making you gasp into his mouth. Clinging to him as your legs wrap around his waist. Still kissing you, he starts to carry you towards his bedroom, eager to lay you down.

You gasp when he tosses you down on his bed. Simple comforter and two pillows, you shift back onto them to watch him as he works on unbuttoning his shirt. “I want to do it.” You huff, shifting onto your knees and reaching out to continue removing his clothes. When his shirt is unbuttoned, you push it down his shoulders and caress his chest, admiring the salt and pepper hair there.

Joel groans at the feel of your warm hands on his skin. He hadn’t been lying, it’s been a long time since he’s had someone touch him. Your fingers comb through his chest hair and he leans in to bite your bottom lip. “Open my pants, pretty girl.” He growls, cupping your ass again.

Your hands slide lower to play with the buckle of his belt, working fast to undo it, and you whip it out of the loops, making him chuckle. You toss the belt to the floor and work on unbuttoning his pants, reaching in to pull his hard cock out and you moan at the way your fingers barely touch when you squeeze him. “Holy shit.” You gasp, looking down at his girth.

Joel smirks, watching your eyes widen. “Second thoughts, pretty girl?” He rasps out. “Don’t think you could take me?”

You swallow harshly, "I- I am going to take every inch." Your stomach twists in anticipation. Josh had a small dick and you never complained when he first started fucking you but he was selfish. You wonder if Joel is selfish or not. You lean over to spit onto his length, twisting your wrist to start pumping his cock.

“Un uh.” He almost grabs your face, not wanting you to blow him, but he just grunts in approval when you pump his cock in your fist. “You’re going to cream on every inch.” He warns you, rocking his hips forward into your grip. “Now, tell me right now before we get started.” He huffs. “Anything I can’t do to you?”

You shake your head, "he never - thank God. He didn't abuse me like that. He stopped touching me. We didn't - not for eighteen months." You confess, "I think he was cheating on me." You continue pumping his cock, leaning in to kiss his neck.

Joel grunts. “Then your pussy’s been neglected for far too long.” He grabs your wrist to pull you off his cock, stepping back and kicking off his boots and shucking his jeans. Making sure to pull out his wallet for a condom.

You shift back onto the bed, laying down as you watch him throw his wallet onto his nightstand, his jeans and briefs discarded on the floor. "Fuck, you're so hot." You murmur, eyes drinking in the sight of the strong and capable man.

He chuckles, knowing that he is old and wearing down, but he can still put on a good show for you. Grabbing your ankle, he flips you onto your stomach and ignores your shriek of surprise before his hand comes down on your ass.

You gasp in surprise, your finger curling in the sheets and you moan when he smacks your ass again. "Again." You plead, wanting him to consume you, to make you forget all of the shit you've endured recently.

“That’s a good girl.” He slaps your ass again, a bit harder this time, tempering the slap with a quick rub of the skin with the palm of his hand. Grabbing both globes and pulling them apart to look. “Stared at this ass while you got my beer.” He grunts, leaning in and spitting on the puckered hole. “Knew it would be killer.”

Your eyes roll back in bliss at the way he's manhandling you. "Swayed my hips to make sure you were looking." You confess, "I wanted you to - to want me." You admit, "want you to fuck me hard. Make me forget my own name."

His hand slides through your folds to your clit. “Have to make sure you can take me first.” He hums. “Want you to be sore, not bleeding.”

You rest your cheek on his sheets, moaning when he rubs your clit. You’re already wet for him but his cock is too girthy for you to take him without his fingers stretching you out first. “So good. Joel, baby. Shit. Want your fingers inside of me.”

Joel smirks, pulling his hand away so you whine. He slaps your ass once more and flips you onto your back again. “Want to see your face when you cum.” He slides two thick fingers into your cunt while he dives into your folds with his mouth ravenously.

Your shriek echoes off of his walls as his fingers drive into you, making your back arch and your fingers tangle into his hair as he sucks on your clit like a hard candy. “Fuck.” You gasp, loving the way his thick fingers stretch you out.

Joel groans against your clit, curling his fingers up inside you and scissoring them apart. Wanting to stretch you out. His other hand has your hip in a bruising grip to keep you from bucking up. Sucking on your clit harshly.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” You cry out, back arching as you try to not buck up. His hand squeezes your hip and you moan his name as he laps at your clit, your fingers tugging on his hair and your other hand squeezes your tit.

His dark eyes watch you carefully, tongue flicking over your clit before he sucks on it again. Pulling back his hand in order to push another finger inside you. Wanting to make sure you are going to take him with ease.

You pant as he stretches you out on his thick digits. No one has taken this much care with you. Most men would’ve been trying to stick their dick in you by now. You moan his name again, toes curling when he works you higher and higher until you’re crying out. “Oh fuck!” You squeal, clamping down on his fingers as you fall apart around them.

Joel lightens the pressure of his tongue, but he keeps pumping his fingers into you. Curling them and pushing deeper. Rocketing you higher until his name comes out as a squeak and another rush of liquid splashes his wrist. Your cunt squeezes his fingers like a vice and he knows you are going to feel amazing around his cock. Chuckling, he starts to slow down, letting you ride out your pleasure with a nice languid pace until your body goes boneless. “Now you’re ready.” He hums.

You nod, eyes still closed as he withdraws his digits and you manage to open them to watch him kneel on the bed. He grabs the condom, opening it, and he rolls it down his cock with a hiss from how hard his cock is. He was leaking pre-cum into the sheets while he was working you open. “I’m still not sure that’s gonna fit.” You declare and he chuckles, “it’s gonna.” His face turns serious, “but if it hurts, you tell me and I pull out.” You nod and he shuffles closer, gathering your slick from your folds to coat his length. “You ready?” He asks and you inhale deeply, “yeah. Fuck me.”

Joel hovers over you, flashing you a smirk as he braces one hand on the bed. The other is wrapped around his cock as he guides it to your entrance. “Wrap your legs around me when I push inside you, pretty girl.” He grunts. “And hang on. This ride will last longer than you’re used to.” He promises, snapping his hips forward and burying his length inside you.

You do as he says, wrapping your legs around his waist as he pushes inside of you. “Oh my fucking God!” You cry out, tilting your head back as you take his girth inside of you. He’s stretching you out but the slight hint of pain is delicious. Your mouth falls open and your legs tighten around him while he works himself completely inside of you. “I really didn’t think you’d fit.” You confess, gasping from the intensity and you love it. You feel alive.

He chuckles, leaning in to brush his lips over yours. “Knew it would.” He grunts, twitching when your walls clench down around him. You seem to like the rough rasp of his voice. “Tight little pussy fits like a glove.” He groans. “Now let’s see how you cum on my cock.” He hisses as he pulls his hips back, prepared to slam back into you again.

You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing his lips back to yours, and your tongue slides against his as he starts to move inside of you. He eagerly swallows your moans of pleasure and you tilt your hips up, trying to meet his rhythm. “Fuck. You feel so good.” You pant against his lips, “more. Want you to - to wreck me.” You order, wanting him to make you forget your own name.

He chuckles again at how greedy you are, but his hips snap forward just a little harder on the next thrust. “Gonna wreck you.” He promises, ducking down slightly and starting to bite on your jaw.

You tilt your head to give him more access, your thighs tightening around him as he starts to fuck you hard. "Shit baby. Keep - keep going." You plead, knowing your expectations are low because of your husband who would barely last a couple of minutes.

Joel plants his hands on the bed bedside your head and starts to pound into you. Knowing that his back will start to scream, but he’s not going to let up until you are the one screaming. Hammering into you with rough, quick thrusts before pulling back to do it again.

Your eyes widen when he hammers into you. A squeal escaping your lips and you choke out his name. He steals your breath from you and his cock pushes deep enough that it feels like he's in your stomach. "Ho-holy shit." You moan, your heels pushing into his ass as he grunts above you.

He doesn’t have the breath to chuckle. Just continuing to fuck you like there is no tomorrow. Grunting and hissing every time he buries himself deep and pulls back for another thrust. He curls his hands into fists and he changes the angle of his hips until the pubic hair above his cock rubs against your clit.

“Ohhh myyyyy fuck - fucking Godddd!” You squeal endlessly, breathlessly as he rams into you. He’s rubbing your clit with his pelvis and your eyes squeeze shut. Your breath hitches as your body starts to shake. You moan his name and he rocks into you over and over. “I’m gonna- you’re gonna - shit. Joel. Joel. Jo-” Your voice breaks as you fall apart, clamping down on his cock.

Joel growls, something deep and feral from his being as he rocks into you harder. Watching as your eyes squeeze closed and your back arches. Your cry fills his ears as you cum around him. As soon as your body tenses for the last wave of pleasure, Joel is rearing up, breaking the hold your legs have on him to pull out of you and flip you back over. Wanting to fuck you from behind.

You scramble onto your hands and knees. Your back is arching as you still shake from your previous orgasm. “Fuck baby. I need - fuck me.” You plead, wiggling your ass.

It’s almost amusing how desperate you are for his cock, but he doesn’t chuckle or slap your ass. Just notching his cock and pushing back inside you with a groan of your name as he holds onto your hips.

“Shit. Oh fuck!” You cry out, fingers grabbing at the sheets as he fills you again, stretching you out even more in this position. “Joel!” You gasp, falling forward onto your elbows.

“That’s right.” Now he slaps your flank. “Told you I’d ride you hard.” He grunts, setting a harsh pace as your cunt squelches around him. “Fuck, you’re so goddamn tight, petty girl.”

He practically straddles you, his knees by yours as he bends you over so he can sink even deeper inside of you. “Fuckkkk.” Your voice rattles as he hammers into you. Your eyes close as you struggle to breathe under his weight but you love it.

He presses his weight into you, aware that you love it from the way you moan. He can’t help but hold you tight, pressing closer and his teeth scrape over your shoulder as he surrounds you.

You let him overtake your senses, letting him use your body however he wants. You moan his name loudly as he rams into you over and over. His cock punching your guts and your cries come out soundless as he wrecks your pussy.

Joel loses himself in you. Forgetting everything but the sound your cunt makes and the way it squeezes him. Growling as he feels himself get closer, knowing that you need to cum again before he finishes.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he adjusts his hips and hits a spot inside of you that makes your body shake. “Yessss right thereeee.” You hiss and he focuses on that spot, pushing against it time and time again until finally pushes you over the edge. Your cry is soundless as you cum, soaking him and your thighs shake.

Joel’s hand finds your hair, tangling into it as he yanks your head back. “That’s iiiiiiittttt.” He growls. “So good. Gonna cum, pussy’s too good.” He praises, pulling your head back more so he can kiss along your throat as his thrusts stutter. “Fuuuuuuuuck.” He groans your name and pushes deep, spilling into the condom and burying his face against your neck, relaxing his hold on your hair.

You pant as he presses his cheek against your neck, his hot breath fanning over your skin. You let him ride out his high, rocking back against him as he twitches inside of you. “Fuck. That was - " You can’t even finish the words and Joel smiles against your neck. “That’s - that’s what I needed.”

“Me too.” He groans, reaching back to hold the base of the condom as he pulls out of you. When he moves back, you kind of slither forward to lay on the pillows and he chuckles. “Now, pretty girl.” He groans slightly as he climbs off the bed. “Have you had anything to eat? Want some water? Or just a piss and some sleep?”

“Piss. Water. Food - if you have any - sleep. In that order.” You murmur, feeling boneless, “gonna take me a little to be able to move.” You admit, “you fucked my skeleton out of me.” You chuckle softly, enjoying the scent of him on the pillows.

He snorts as he pulls the condom off and ties it closed. Moving to the en-suite door, he shuffles inside and lifts the toilet seat. “Pisser’s in here.” He calls out as he pees. “When you can move. I’ll go make you some food and get you that water.” He flushes and comes back out, smirking as he walks over and presses his lips to yours. “Steak and eggs good?”

“Where have you been all my life?” You tease, groaning as you shift to sit up as he grabs his briefs from the floor. You watch him pull them on and he winks at you. You groan as you shuffle off of the bed, plucking his shirt from the floor before you practically waddle into his bathroom. It’s clean. No decor and only a few towels. Typical man. You pee and wash your hand, splashing your face while Joel heads downstairs.

He’s got the steaks cooking on the grill pan, over the gas flame and he pokes it with his finger before he moves to the fridge to get the eggs out. He practically lives off steak and eggs, the simple, yet delicious meal one that Ellie loves as well. He hears you start to move around upstairs and chuckles to himself as he pours you a glass of water.

You make your way downstairs on shaky legs, finding the kitchen and you swallow when you see Joel's back muscles moving as he cooks. "A girl could get used to this." You tease, walking over to press a kiss to his back, "thank you for taking such good care of me."

Joel snorts, turning around and grabbing your ass as you walk by. “Sit down before you fall down.” He smirks with pride, he nods towards a chair at the bar with a glass of water sitting in front of it. “Steak’s almost done. You like your eggs scrambled or fried?”

"Fried. Over easy." You tell him as you sit down on the chair, wincing slightly, and you pick up the water to take a sip. You should be recoiling from a man but Joel makes you feel safe. After what happened at the bar, you know he understands you and knows how to handle you. You watch him crack the eggs, "you cook a lot?"

“Have to if I want to eat.” Joel snorts, looking over his shoulder at you. “We had a housekeeper, a while back, but she got married to the Rawlings boy a couple of ranches over and is expecting a little one.” He explains as he slides the eggs around the pan. “Ellie burns water, so if we’re gonna eat, I’ve got to cook.”

You chuckle, “sounds like you know what you’re doing.” You down most of the water and watch as he serves up the eggs. You moan when he sets the plate down in front of you before he sits beside you. “Thank you.” You murmur, reaching for his hand to squeeze it before he picks up his fork.

“Think I should be saying that to you.” He hums, nodding to the food. “Now that we’ve pissed and had water, we are on to the food portion of Joel’s after fucking care.” He jokes. “Eat up.”

You giggle, picking up your knife and fork. You dig in and groan at the taste of the steak and perfectly cooked eggs. “Fuck, you are the whole package. Good lay. Good cook. Just need to see if you can kill a spider.” You nudge him playfully and he chuckles, “I even put the seat down.” You smile and he continues eating. You’re quiet but it’s comfortable, something you’re not used to. You used to be on edge when Josh was quiet, wondering when he’d say something bad.

You finish your water and Joel doesn’t say a word. Just getting up with a slight groan and going to refill it. You are happily digging into the food and he wonders if you had a chance to eat at all while you were at work. He brings it back over and nods when you thank him. Finishing up his own food quickly and moving to load the dishwasher with the dirty plates while you eat the last bites of your food.

“I can do that. You don’t have to do that. You cooked. Let me -” You scramble to grab your plate, rushing over to the dishwasher. “Go sit down. I can - let me do it.” You plead, reminded of the way Josh would demand you load the dishwasher before he finished eating. He didn’t want to finish his meal with a dirty kitchen so you’d have to get up to clean it before he finished his food. If you weren’t fast enough, he’d throw his plate at you. He never hit you but you’d be hit with shards of ceramic from it smashing. He would call you a lazy whore and you’d have to clean up the smashed dishes.

Joel frowns at the panicked tone to your voice and he takes the plate from you gently. “Don’t worry about this.” He grumbles. “Just gonna throw it in. The kid can unload it tomorrow.” His brows scrunch when you freeze in confusion. “You’re my guest, pretty girl. Only thing you need to do for me is hop your sweet ass back in my bed to sleep.” He cocks an eyebrow up. “Unless you’ve decided you want to go home?”

You shake your head, hands shaking slightly, “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t - he used to make me - I had to clean up before he finished eating. He liked a clean house and I- shit. I’m so sorry.” You shake your head, knowing how ridiculous it sounds. “I don’t want to go home.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Joel closes the dishwasher and turns around to face you, leaning back against the counter. “You’ve got shit in your past that affects you, so do I.” He shrugs like it’s nothing too serious. “Just let it out when you need to, you ain’t gonna bother me.”

You walk over to him, cupping his cheeks. “Thank you.” You murmur, leaning in to softly kiss him. “Thank you.” You caress his cheek and you drop your hands, feeling silly for your reaction. “You ready to sleep? I’m exhausted and you promised me a sunrise.” You tap his chest.

Joel grabs your hand and squeezes it. “Sleep sounds good.” It’s late and you need some sleep. He needs some sleep, although he’s accustomed to only a few hours. You smile shyly and he turns to lead you out of the kitchen. “You need me to carry you upstairs?”

You nod, “yeah. I don’t think I’m gonna make it. My legs are like jello.” You confess, “can you- I can make it.” You promise and he nods, reaching down to wrap his arm around your legs, his other arm around your waist. He grunts and he lifts you into his arms and you wrap your arms around his neck.

He chuckles again at the dazed and slightly romanticized look on your face as he hauls you up the stairs. “Just like out of one of those books, huh?” He jokes, smirking at you. “Gotta be willing to carry them after you fuck the life of ‘em.”

You can't believe he carried you up the stairs. He sets you down on his bed and pulls the covers over you. "Let me grab you another water and then it's sleep time, baby." He declares and you nod, covering the yawn that escapes your lips.

By the time he grabs the water and comes back up, you are already passed out. It’s kind of cute how you are curled up in the pillow and he sets the water on the nightstand beside you. Climbing into the bed beside you, he turns off the light and closes his eyes, aware that he will be awake in a couple of hours.

"Sweetheart. Wake up." You wince at the slight nudge to your shoulder. "Wanna see the sunrise?" A gruff voice asks you and you open your eyes to look at Joel. "Thought you were gonna wake me up with oral?" You tease, voice rough with sleep.

“Is that what the sunrise is to you?” Joel smirks slightly and shrugs. “If we do that, you’ll miss the sun coming up as you cum.” He teases back.

You groan and sit up, excited to see the sunrise with a handsome man. You rub your eyes and yawn, “I gotta pee.” You murmur, shifting out of bed and you shuffle into the bathroom. Your body aches from his harsh fucking last night but you love it.

Joel had already gotten up and dressed. Laying out a spare toothbrush for you to use. He throws out a heavier jacket than you had worn last night on the bed for you to wear, not wanting you to get cold when you are riding. “Going downstairs to make coffee.” He calls out.

You gurgle around the toothbrush and you wash your face. Redressing in your clothes and sneakers, shrugging on the heavier jacket, you make your way downstairs to where Joel sets a cup of coffee on the counter. “Not sure if you want cream or sugar. Or that oat milk shit.” He grunts and you chuckle, “just cream.” He nods and grabs the creamer for you.

While you take your first sip, Joel pulls out a thermos and pours the rest of the pot into it. Adding creamer for you since he will drink coffee any kind of way. “You ever ridden before?” He asks, unsure of your skill or id he should just drive the truck.

You chuckle, waggling your eyebrows, “depends on what I’m riding.” He raises his eyebrows, a serious look on your face, and you nod, “yeah. Back when I was a kid. I used to ride a lot on my friend’s horse when I’d visit her.”

He nods, happy that he can get the horses out. “I’ve got a sweet little mare that is itching for some exercise.” He tells you. “We’ll make breakfast over the fire at the ridge.”

You feel like you’re in a dream as Joel gathers the bags and you make your way to the stables, it’s dark out but Joel flicks on the lights and you gasp at the set up he has. “Oh they are gorgeous.” You coo as you walk over to a horse, holding your hand out so you don’t spook them.

There’s something about girls and horses. He smirks as he moves to the tack room and grabs a couple of saddles. It won’t take him long to get the horses saddled and on the way. He’s too used to this kind of work. Even if the boys in the bunkhouse aren’t up yet. He walks back and hears you giggle as the horse, the mare he had wanted you to ride, sniffs your hair and attempts to taste it. “She’s a nibbler.” He warns with a grin.

"Like her daddy." You giggle, winking at Joel before ducking your head away from the horse. "She's beautiful." You murmur, stroking her nose and she nuzzles into your hand. "You wanna ride, sweetheart?" You ask her and she grunts into your palm. "We are gonna see the sunrise, beautiful girl." You coo, enamored with the horse.

Joel saddles his own horse and then moves over to you and Sweet Pea. He tells you her name and rolls his eyes playfully when you coo even more at the sweet name. He ties the bags onto the saddle and pats her flank gently. “Ready to go?”

You nod and he grabs the reins of his horse, making his way out of the stable and into the night. The stars are still shining and you follow Joel's lead as you begin to make your way across his land to the hills in the distance. "It's so peaceful out here." You declare, enjoying the solitude with Joel by your side.

“It is.” Joel agrees. “I feel like I can start over here. Maybe not fuck up this time.” He steers you towards the mountain that he wants to show you and watches out for holes or snakes. “Do right by the kid. Give her a fucking future.”

You smile softly, "you seem to really care about the people you love. You're protective. I understand...after everything. You're a good man, Joel. Even if you don't think so." You know his type, brooding and self loathing but he's shown you nothing but kindness.

“You’ve never seen me at my worst.” He reminds you, aware that the violent, brutal side of him could quickly change your mind on his goodness. A rabbit darts out from a burrow and he instinctively reaches for your horse's bridle as he tries to calm the slightly spooked horses. “Easy, easy there.” He grunts out, happy when they just side step nervously and then settle back down. “Good girl, good boy.” He soothes, patting them on the necks.

Your heart flutters at the way he handles the horses and you continue on your journey, the sky starting to lighten but no sunrise just yet. "Everyone has a bad side. It's about how we handle our demons. You have been nothing but kind to me." You shrug and the cool morning air hits your face.

He admires your positivity, despite the abuse from your ex. You are good to the very marrow of your bones. Ellie would like you. “Demons.” He grunts, “well, most of the time, I just shoot ‘em.” He guides you further onto his property, up the mountain to the little ridge he loves to watch the sunrise from. “Here we are.”

You gasp at the sight in front of you. The sky is brightening up and you see the mountains in the distance. “Wow.” You murmur, staring at the beauty in front of you. Joel dismounts and guides his horse over to the tree to tie him up, patting his side before he comes over to help you off of your horse. “It’s gorgeous.” You murmur when he helps you down and takes the reins.

“It’s my favorite place.” Joel confesses, motioning to the flat rock where he likes to sit. “I’ll get the coffee, and we can sit.” He tosses you a blanket to spread over the cold rock.

You spread the blanket out on the ground and settle down, watching him grab the bags from the saddle and carry them over. You eagerly take the flask of coffee and the two plastic mugs, pouring the hot liquid into them.

“After the sun comes up, I’ll make a fire and we’ll cook some breakfast.” Joel promises. “Bacon, eggs and toast sound good?” He smirks and holds up a can of beans. “Or are you a beans on toast kind of gal?” He tosses the can up and shrugs when he catches it. “It’s actually pretty good.”

“No beans.” You snort, taking a sip of your coffee.

The steaming cup of coffee warms his hand and adds to the beauty of the moment. watching as the pink hues break and the bright sun flashes over the horizon and bathes the valley below in sunlight."Beautiful." Joel whispers softly.

You are silent, just taking in the sunrise and it takes your breath away. When the sun is above the horizon, you lift your cheek from his shoulder and turn to look at him. “Thank you for showing me this. When I - before I escaped, I thought I was destined to die at the hands of my husband - physically or mentally. I never imagined I’d be safe and watching the sunrise. Thank you for bringing me out here.”

"This is a place for new beginnings." He murmurs softly. "Never thought I would get one, but I know you damn sure deserve one." He looks into your eyes seriously. "You'll be safe here. No matter what."

You know he isn’t one for gushing gratitudes so you simply nod and lean in to kiss his cheek. You watch the sky for another few moments before he starts to set up the fire for breakfast. “Where did you learn all of this?” You ask, knowing you wouldn’t have a clue how to start a fire. “My Pa. Taught me and Tommy when we were kids. Used to go camping in the middle of nowhere in Texas.” He confesses, “he taught us how to survive. Figured the world was gonna end one day and we’d all have to fight for our lives.” He snorts at the memory of his father. You hum, “like a zombie apocalypse?” You ask and Joel snorts, “yeah.”

"After Tommy got out of the Army....he helped me for a while. We were contractors. Built houses and shopping malls." It seems like Joel is talking about another life. He is talking about another man. Life had been so simple back then. "Then...after Sarah....Tommy moved out west and when I- I couldn't stay anymore, I followed him. Came out here, started over."

You watch him as he prepares the breakfast, “at least you came out here. Started over. Some people…they wouldn’t survive what you went through.” You tell him and he sighs, “some days it doesn’t feel like it.” You understand that. “But you’re still here. And it takes time.” You tell him and he tuts, “wasn’t time. It was Ellie.” Your heart melts at that and you watch him place the bacon on the now hot pan. “And she’s lucky to have you.”

He doubts that, but he won't let her down. He pokes at the bacon and looks around the valley, the sun clearing the horizon. "Well, she's got me." He snorts, smirking slightly. "Sometimes she hates it. Says I'm too parentified. whatever that means."

You giggle, “maybe you need to loosen up a little. She’s a teenager, right? Just need to let her have a drink now and then and let her date someone stupid.” You tell him, “I know. I was a teenage girl.”

"She tries whiskey every time I drink some at home." Joel glances back over at you and grins. "Hates it every time." HIs grin widens when you laugh and he shrugs. "Hasn't seemed interested in anyone yet."

You shrug, "maybe she will, maybe she won't. You'll be a good father to her whatever happens." You can tell he's a strong character, strong in his resolve to be better. "You just gotta let her make some mistakes. Lord knows my parents let me fuck up...but they would've said no to Josh." You murmur, frowning at the realization that he was never the man you thought he was.

“Everyone needs to make mistakes, although I know she’s going to be making all new ones.” He hums, smirking slightly at the headstrong girl and her convictions. He looks back at the bacon and he frowns slightly. “Did your parents….are they gone?” He asks, understanding that they must be.

You nod, “car accident. I was in college when I got the call. Some asshole drunk driver. I - they never got to see me graduate. I barely did. Got lost in the booze and partying to deal with my grief.” You confess, “nearly fucked everything up but they left me their house in the will. Josh made me sell it. Used half of the money for a down payment on our house and he - he spent the rest of the money. Gambling. He was - I was scared and alone and grieving. I just wanted to belong somewhere and he took advantage.”

Joel frowns, jaw clenched at the idea of you being taken advantage of while you were so vulnerable. While you were trapped in your grief. “Maybe you can find a new home. A new life where you don’t have to worry about being taken advantage of.” He offers quietly. “A life your parents would be proud of. One that you are happy in.”

“That’s why I left. Why I moved here. I can’t touch the account. He’d be able to find me. I need time to figure out what to do next but one day…I’m hoping I find a home. A place I can relax and be happy in.” You confess, watching Joel serve up the food after he fried the eggs.

“You think he will come looking for you here?” Joel asks, sitting down beside you after handing you one of the tin plates the hands take on the trail. “Since your aunt is here? Would he remember?”

You shake your head, “she met him once, when we got married. He didn’t really know about her. Kinda cut me off from her after we got married. Said I was his new family.” You sigh and shake your head, knowing you made mistakes. “I hope he doesn’t find me. I never told him where she was. I - shit - I have been so careful to not let him know where I am.”

“Well, you can get close to her now, repair that relationship.” He points out. “Abusers like to isolate their victims. Make them feel like they have nowhere to turn, no one to talk to about what they are doing.” He’s seen it before.

“I know that now. In the beginning, he made me feel so special. I felt so stupid for believing him. I didn’t - shit. I got away from him and I want to start again. I want to live and not feel like I am constantly triggered by my asshole ex.” You shake your head and take the mess tin from his hand when he offers it to you.

“Look at you, talking shit out.” Joel teases softly, picking up the thermos to refill your coffees. “After fucking it out. You’re on the road to recovery.” He chuckles when you snort and roll your eyes, taking the cup back from him. “Shut up.” You huff and he nods. “When you eat your breakfast.”

You dig into the food, the sun making everything shimmer and it’s like the ushering in of your new life. “Thank you.” You say to him again and he shakes his head, “stop sayin’ thanks.” You chuckle and he winks at you, taking a bite of his eggs.

****

“Thank-” Joel cuts you off with a stare and you close your mouth. You shift over in the cab of his truck, parked outside of the bar where your apartment is, and you reach up to cup his cheek. “If I can’t say it…” You trail off and lean in to kiss him. He cups your cheek, kissing you back, and you pull back after a moment, a smile on your face. “I had a good time. I’ll see you around hopefully?” You ask, tilting your head.

Nodding, Joel leans back. “Of course.” He smirks. “Coldest beer in town is served right under your apartment.” He teases. “And if I’m not showin’ up quick enough, you come out to the ranch. Even if I’m out, one of the boys can find me.”

“I’m sure I’ll see you in the bar.” You smirk and grab your purse to pull your keys out, realizing that you don’t want to wait too long to see Joel again. “Do you maybe want to come for dinner? I’m not working tomorrow night and I need to repay you for being so great.”

“You don’t need to repay me for anything.” Joel huffs. “But dinner sounds good.” He agrees. “Seven sound good?” He figures everyone will be done with the fence lines then and he’s not moving cattle between pastures. Only thing he was thinking about doing was going to an auction to see about some sheep.

You smile, “see you tomorrow at seven, handsome.” You get out of his truck and shut the door, walking up to the door that leads to the apartment above the bar. You turn to see him watching you and you offer him a small wave before unlocking the apartment and disappearing upstairs.

Joel sits in his truck for another minute, ignoring the few cowboys that are milling around in the parking lot before he puts the truck in reverse and backs out. He needs to go talk to Tommy, because he has a feeling that your ex will show up. You’re too good to let go of that easily.

You shower and change, getting ready for the rest of the day. You decide to head out and get some groceries for dinner tomorrow night. You do some laundry and sleep the day away, exhausted after Joel fucking you hard, until you open the bar for the night. It's an uneventful night but Jerry seems to treat you with kid gloves as you serve the locals. The next morning, you are excited to see Joel again and you head downstairs to the bar to clean up and take the cash to the bank. You're mopping the floor when you hear the door open. You could've sworn you locked it. "Hey. We’re closed!" You call out and turn when you don't hear the door close again.

"I think you can make an exception for me, honey." You inhale sharply, spinning around to see Josh. "What - how - you're-?" You choke, heart pounding in your chest as your ex husband stands in front of you. He's found you. You shake your head, dropping the mop, and you run towards the bar to get the phone.

"Ah ah ah. I don't think so. We need to talk." Josh rushes towards you, grabbing your arm, and you cry out. Shouting for help as he tries to physically restrain you. You fight, slapping and scratching him, but he jerks your body. "You stupid bitch. Thought you could run away. You will never be rid of me." He hisses and you scream, spinning around to hit him but he side steps and you fall forward, hitting your head on the bar. You crumble to the floor and your head pounds as Josh stands above you. "You are mine, baby." He reminds you and you wince as your eyes close, wondering what will happen to you now.

It’s not yet seven, but Joel had finished up early and decided that he could stop by and get a bottle of wine to bring, like he had good manners. He had thought that if you were too tired to cook after working, there’s a dinner that has a good meal. Or you order a pizza and call it good. He’s not that picky. Parking around back, he frowns slightly when he notices a van but he doesn’t think twice as he gets out and climbs up the stairs to your apartment to knock.

Your head lolls, pounding from the way you hit the edge of the bar, and you barely register that you have been tied to a chair. A rag wrapped around your head and covering your mouth to stop you from screaming. Your eyes widen when you gain more consciousness when the doorbell rings and you scream against the gag. "Don't be rude, honey. I bet that your auntie coming to say hello. Interfering old cunt will get what's coming to her. She should learn it is wrong to come between a man and his wife. Fucking old hag trying to take you away from me." Josh huffs, walking over to the door to open it and he is shocked when he sees a man, not your dear old aunt.

Joel’s eyes narrow and he tilts his head as he says your aunt’s name. “She’s not here, is she?” He asks, holding up the bottle of wine. “Told her I’d bring her a bottle the next time I was in town.” He’s got a good fucking idea who this bastard is, but he can’t give it away right now. Josh scoffs. “She’s not here.” He rolls his eyes and Joel nods, seeing a leg of a chair and a leg tied to it. He smiles blandly. “Well, I’ll try again next time.” He tells Josh. “Sorry to bother you.” He tips his hat and feigns turning to leave as the bastard closes the door.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you hear Joel leave. Part of you is relieved that he’s not involved in this, the other part feels hopeless as the only person who could save you leaves you. You sob against the gag and Josh comes over to you. “You must think I’m fucking stupid.” Josh hisses, “some guy comes to the apartment with wine and asks for your aunt? Seems too fucking suspicious. He was looking for you, wasn’t he? Goddamn. I turn my back for a minute and you’re already sitting on some other guy's dick. Jesus Christ. I married a whore. A useless fucking whore.” He strides over to you and slaps your cheek, making you gasp against the gag in pain.

Joel stomps down the steps noisily but then he’s creeping back up, trying to look in the window when he hears you cry out and a dark hiss. “I should just fucking kill you, you useless slut. We’re married!” You cry out, the sound muffled, as he hears a sharp slap. Joel clenches his jaw, knowing that he should call the Sheriff, but he would rather deal with this fucker himself. Lowering his shoulder, Joel slams it against the door, breaking through it and launching himself at your estranged husband.

Your eyes widen, full of tears as Joel drags your husband down to the floor. His fists immediately hitting his face and Josh kicks him to try and get him off. “You motherfucker!” Josh growls, “fucked my wife and-” Joel hits his jaw and he cries out in pain.

Joel sees red, looking up and seeing your panicked eyes, the swelling on your face. He climbs on top of Josh and pulls his fist back. Slamming it into the fucker’s nose to break it and from there, it’s just hit after hit. Blow after blow as Joel beat him unconscious.

You can't do anything but watch. Eyes wide as you witness Joel beat your husband to unconsciousness. You cry out against the gag, not wanting Joel to be arrested for killing your husband. He doesn't deserve a prison sentence when he has Ellie.

When you cry out again, you break through the rage fueled haze that Joel is in. Stopping before the last blow is delivered and he pants, dropping Josh back to the floor where he was holding him up by his shirt. The man’s head hits with a thud and he climbs off of him to pull out a knife. “I’m going to cut you out of there.” He promises, not wanting to spook you after you’ve obviously been tormented by your ex. “I’m going to get you out of here, pretty girl.”

You are breathing heavily as he cuts your ties and removes your gag. You swallow, your throat dry, and he helps you stand on shaky legs but you collapse, the fear draining your strength. “I got you.” Joel promises, wrapping his arm around your waist to help you stand up. “I- he - shit.” You finally choke out, “he found me.”

“It’s okay.” Joel promises you. “He’s not gonna hurt you ever again.” You choke out another sound, almost like you don’t believe him but Joel doesn’t say anything. Instead, he helps you towards the door. “Come on, pretty girl, we need to get you out of here.”

You let him guide you down the stairs on your shaky legs and you are struggling to breathe when the cool night air hits your face. “Hey. Hey. It’s okay. It’s me. It’s Joel. Just breathe.” He orders, cupping your cheeks, and you inhale deeply, trying to calm down.

Joel can see that you are trying not to break and he scoops you up, carrying you over to his truck. He opens the door and sets you in the seat. Pulling out his phone, he dials a number. “Tommy.” He grunts when the other end picks up. “Get the boys from my ranch and meet me at the bar.” He tells him. “We’ve got a critter needs disposed of.”

Your hands are shaking as you listen to Joel summon his brother and you aren't sure what to think. Josh threatened to kill you, Joel saved you and nearly beat Josh to death. "Are you - are you going to kill him?" You ask, "he's not worth jail time. I'm not worth jail time."

“Don’t worry about that.” Joel doesn’t want you to worry. He reaches out and cups your cheek. “Listen to me.” He tells you carefully. “He will never bother you again. Ever. You don’t have to look over your shoulder, you don’t have to be scared. You will never see him again.”

You nod, swallowing harshly as he settles you in his truck. "You - shit - you saved me." You murmur, surging forward to wrap your arms around his neck and breathe him in. "You saved me. He - he was gonna kill me."

“It’s okay, pretty girl.” Joel promises, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing gently. “You don’t have to worry any more.”

You breathe him in and relax knowing he's got you. "Your hands." You murmur, bringing his arm from around you so you can inspect the broken skin. "You need to bandage these." You realize that this is what he means by his demons, his method of coping. You want to take care of him like he took care of you.

“It’s okay.” He winces when you press on a knuckle, sure that he’s fractured it. But it’s only a hairline fracture. “I’ll take care of it later.” He’s more worried about you. “Do you need a doctor, pretty girl?”

You shake your head, "no. No. I- he didn't do anything more than bruise me. I'll heal." You promise and Joel nods, "I'll bring you back to my place after my brother arrives." He tells you and you nod, "okay. I- I just want to get away from him."

Joel knows that it won’t take long for Tommy to get there and he pulls out a blanket from the back. It’s an old horse blanket but it’s clean. Draping it over your legs, he pats your knee and sighs. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

You shake your head, "you saved me. If you hadn't - I don't know what he would've done. He wanted to take me home and I think...he would've killed me." You choke, "you arrived just in time."

“I wouldn’t let that happen.” He promises, knowing he would have tracked that motherfucker down. He pulls back when he hears the truck pull up and turns to see Tommy jump out. “Let me go talk to my brother.” He murmurs softly.

You inhale deeply, trying to calm your racing heart. You watch in the wing mirror as Joel speaks to his brother. "What the fuck happened, man?" Tommy asks, seeing the state of his brother's fists.

Joel glances down at his hand and shakes his head. “Her ex found her.” He gestures back towards the truck. “He had her tied up in her apartment. I busted in.” He explains. “He’s unconscious upstairs.”

"You want me to - to get rid of him?" Tommy asks, tilting his head. "Don't - I mean, I nearly fucking killed him but she stopped me. Just get him the fuck out of here. Maybe drop him off at a hospital in Denver?" Joel suggests and Tommy snorts, "away from here. Got it." He nods, whistling to the boys to follow him upstairs. You look up as Joel gets into his truck, starting the engine. "Thank you, baby." You murmur, watching him as he pulls away from the bar.

“They’re going to make sure he knows to never come near you again.” Joel explains. “Next time he comes to Jackson, he will be a dead man walking.” If the man ever showed his face again, Joel would personally put a bullet in his head. “For now, I’m taking you home. You’re staying with me.”

You look out the window as Jackson passes by, the town turning to fields and you try to think about how Joel saved you, not about what he saved you from. When he pulls up outside of his house, you open the door but he's already there to help you out.

“Here we are.” You are shaking slightly and he knows that you are about to freak out. “Get inside and we’ll have a drink. Or three.” He moves you gently and speaks softly. “Get you cleaned up. You want to soak in a bath? Damn tub is good for when you’re sore.”

"A bath sounds amazing." You confess with a soft groan. He escorts you inside and when he shuts the door, you break down. Now that you're safe, you start to sob and wrap your arms around yourself.

Joel panics slightly, shuffling slightly and moving towards you before he stops. “I- I don’t know what you want me to do. Can I touch you?” He asks softly.

You nod, knowing he isn’t Josh. The fact that he asked about touching you makes you calm down a little and his arms immediately engulf you. You nuzzle your face into his chest, breathing him in. He saved you. He’s not Josh. He saved you. This is Joel.

Joel reaches up, caressing your head gently. He doesn’t speak, just holds you close and rocks you gently. Letting you break down like you need to, just keeping you safe while you work through your emotions.

You aren’t sure how long you sob into his chest. His hands caressing your back, and you soak his shirt. “I’m sorry, I - shit. I need - I don’t want to cry about that fucking asshole anymore.” You shake your head, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

“You needed to get it out.” Joel grumbles softly. “Now how about that drink and bath?” You nod, sniffling and he nods too. “I’ll get you the drink.”

“As long as you get in the bath with me. You need to soak those fists.” You say and lean in to kiss his cheek, “come sit in the bath with me, baby.” You order, wanting to feel him surrounding you.

“Go start it.” Joel smirks, looking at you softly. “I’ll bring the drinks. We can have a drink in the bath. You relax and then I’ll put you to bed.”

You don’t waste time heading to his bathroom and turning on the water. You are exhausted now after everything that has happened and you pray that Josh will no longer be a problem. You want to file for divorce as soon as possible. Finding the bubble bath shoved deep in the cabinet under the sink, you pour a good amount in and start to strip, ignoring your face in the mirror. You don’t want to see what he did to you.

Joel decides that the night calls for full drinks, getting the juice glasses out of the kitchen and pouring out most of the bottle of whiskey between them. Carrying them upstairs and watching as you sit in the tub. “Here.” He holds one out to you. “Best sleep med I’ve got.”

You take the glass from him, sipping the liquor and you wince at the burn while he sets his drink down and starts to strip. “You wanna get in behind me?” You ask, shifting forward to allow him the room to get in the bath.

Joel grabs two towels and drops them by the tub before he steps in. Hissing slightly at how hot the water is. Apparently you wanted to sit for some time, so he cups his cock and balls before he sits down, needing to protect them from the sudden temperature change. “You like it hot.” He huffs and he settles down and pulls you back against him.

"I do. Sorry." You murmur as you lean back against him, sipping your drink before you set it down on the edge of the tub. You close your eyes as his arm wraps around you. "I can't thank you enough for this. For everything."

“I was going to kill him.” Joel admits quietly. “For hurting you. For fucking touching you.” His arm is draped over your stomach and his thumb brushes your hip gently. “Already alerted the sheriff that I would.” He chuckles quietly. “He told me to just make sure a bear found him before anybody else.”

"Sounds like a good sheriff." You chuckle before you swallow, "you were going to kill him for me? Baby...I- I've never known a man like you. I know we just met but I really like you, Joel. I want to stay in Jackson and I want to get to know you more. Know Ellie. I - I like you a lot." You confess, "I am damaged goods so I'm not sure if you want to deal with all that shit."

“You aren’t any more damaged than me. Than the kid.” Joel snorts. “You stay right here and get to know us. See if we don’t drive you crazy in two days.” He teases. “I’ve got plenty of shit that I’ve dealt with, helping a pretty girl cum and giving her a shoulder to lean on ain’t much of a problem to me.”

You grin, turning your head to kiss his jaw, “thank you. I would love to get to know you both. I want to stick around and make a life here.” You murmur and he turns his head, softly kissing you. “And I wouldn’t mind you making me cum a few more times.”

He hums against your lips, twitching against your back but he doesn’t start touching you. He wants to make sure you are in control of what happens right now. “You just tell me when, pretty girl.”

“Now.” You murmur, wanting to feel him inside of you. You want to make him feel good and you want to know that you’re safe in his arms. His lips meet yours, spurred in by the adrenaline of beating up your husband, and you shift to straddle him after setting your drink down on the ledge.

Joel would never take advantage of you, but he will give you what you need. Squeezing your ass as you grind down against him, “you want to cum, pretty girl?” He asks roughly, kissing down your jaw and pressing his tongue to an abrasion on your neck.

You moan, tilting your head for him, and you reach between you to grip his cock, pumping him between your bellies. “I’m on birth control. IUD. Want you to - want you inside of me. If you want.” You tell him breathlessly, moaning his name as he squeezes your ass.

“Fuuuuck.” Joel groans out, jerking his hips up in your grip. “I don’t mind that.” He murmurs, flicking his tongue against your pulse. “‘m clean. You just take what you want. Sit on my cock if you want it.”

You reach down to position him at your entrance, you slowly sink down onto him and he groans, his hands caressing your waist and back. “Fuck. You feel so good.” You pant, “saved me. Saved my life.” You murmur, starting to rock on top of him.

Joel groans, squeezes and caresses your ass and up your back as you work yourself on his cock. “You’re safe.” He grunts. “Not gonna let anything happen to you.” He doesn’t know why, but he’s attached to you, protective. Perhaps it’s crazy, but he would have killed for you.

His words wash over you, making your heart thump, and you caress his cheeks, leaning in to kiss him. It's crazy but you feel so comfortable and safe with him, like you've known him your entire life. He feels like home. "Baby." You gasp when he thrusts up into you, the water sloshing in the tub.

“It’s okay, baby, I’ve got you.” Joel tightens his hold on you, not hard enough to hurt you but to take over. He takes one arm and slides it down to rub your clit. “You want to cum? You want to cream all over my cock? Feel like you are flying?” He grunts into your skin, face buried against your neck.

You nod, a cry escaping your throat as he rubs your clit, thrusting up into you. “Fuck, Joel. Yes. Yes. Right there.” You choke when he thrusts into the right spot. His hips focus on that angle, making you choke as he pushes you higher and higher until you fall apart with a squeal of his name. The water splashing on the floor as you convulse around him.

Joel groans your name, kissing your neck and along your shoulder as you ride out your high. Slowly rolling his hips as the water settles around you both. “Good, pretty girl?” He asks, smirking slightly when he hears you still panting. “Or you need another one?”

You tangle your fingers in his hair, dragging his face to yours to press your lips against his. Your tongue invades his mouth and he eagerly responds to your invasion, groaning softly. “I want one more. I’m greedy for you.” You confess, rocking down into him.

“Haven’t cum yet.” Joel leans back, cupping your tits in his hands as he squeezes them gently. “Use me, pretty girl.” He commands. “Ride my cock and rub your clit.”

You can’t deny him. You shift back to rock onto his cock, water sloshing as you gasp his name and rub your clit, rocking back onto him a little faster. His dark eyes watch you, flicking between your tits and where his cock disappears inside of you.

“That’s it.” He groans, twitching inside of you. “That’s it, pretty girl. You’re so good to me. Feel so good around my cock.” He praises. “He was a fool,” he grunts, squeezing your tits again. “Shoulda worshiped you. Taken care of you. You’re a prize to appreciate.”

His words wash over you, cleaning off the harsh insults of your husband and replaced by his praises. You clench around him and he groans, leaning in to kiss along your shoulder, and you rub your clit a little faster, wanting to fall apart for him.

Joel groans and hisses your name, feeling his own body start to tense, but he doesn’t want to cum yet. Not before you do again. “So fuckin’ tight.” He moans.

His moan works you up, making you bounce on his cock and the water splashes over the side of the tub. “Fuck. Oh fuck, baby. I’m gonna - you’re gonna make me-” You squeal as you fall apart around his cock, soaking him as you shudder through your orgasm.

Joel doesn’t let up this time, taking over and thrusting up into you. Groaning out your name as he starts to cum, hips stuttering as he gives in and buries himself deep. Painting your walls with hot ropes of his cum.

You whimper at the feel of his hot seed coating your walls and you tangle your fingers in his hair, bringing his mouth back to yours. You’re so thankful he saved you. In more ways than you know right now. He saved you from your husband and he saved you from yourself.

****

“Ellie. Keep up!” Joel yells over his shoulder at the teenager who decides to join you for your sunset ride. After Joel beat your husband up, he brought you home and after you were settled, he left to the place your husband was being kept. You don’t know to this day what he said to Josh but the next thing you knew, your divorce papers were filed. You managed to live in peace in Jackson, getting to know Joel more, getting to know his family. You’ve fallen for the rancher and you moved into his home a month ago, your aunt telling you to go for it. You were wary at first to take such a big step but you are happy you did. You love Joel and Ellie. Your family. The divorce came through last week, so you're officially a single woman.

“She’s fine. She won’t miss it.” You tell Joel as you ride alongside him, trotting down to the river to watch the sunrise and have breakfast.

Joel grunts, shifting in his saddle and glances back at the girl before looking at you again. “She’s a pain in the ass.” He huffs, making you laugh.

“You always say that.” You point out, making him roll his eyes. He’s been looking forward to this for a while. You have been happier, brighter, since the divorce came through. Happy that you can fully move on with your life and not be tied to him in any kind of way. Joel looks over at you with a small smirk. “Still sore, pretty girl?” He asks, thinking about how hard he had fucked you last night.

You chuckle, “nothing I can’t handle, cowboy.” You wink at him, “gotta be able to take what you give me.” You shift on the saddle, loving the slight ache in your body. He makes you feel loved, desired, even if he doesn’t say it often, you know how he feels.

“Good.” Hopefully you mean that. Since you’ve been here in his life, Joel’s been happier. Smiling more. Looking forward to the time where he’s back at the main house and spending time with you and Ellie. Not that he hasn’t enjoyed time with Ellie before, but the three of you feel like a family. He urges his horse faster. “Come on, or we are going to miss it. It’s a special sunrise.”

You follow him, Ellie behind you, and you arrive at the river just as the sun is about to appear over the horizon. Joel dismounts his horse, helping you down and then he helps Ellie down, tying up the horses. You grab the saddle bags and carry them over to the edge of the river to the rocks you usually sit on. Joel comes to sit next to you, opening the saddle bag to pull out the flask of coffee, handing it to you and he hands Ellie her flask of juice. She hates coffee. “I never get tired of this.” You murmur, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Hope not.” Ellie knows what’s coming, he’s talked to her about it. Enduring her teasing and jokes even more than usual in order to make sure that she’s okay with the potential change. Joel sets his hand down on your free one and threads his thick fingers through yours. “Hopin’ you might want to stay.” He confesses quietly and pulls out a small velvet box from his jacket pocket. He had felt like a fool going into the jewelry store, but Willie’s wife had told him that you would love it. “Forever. Watch the sun rise with me until we are too damn old to get up here.” You pull away and look into his eyes in complete shock. “Love you, pretty girl. Will you marry me?”

Your heart pounds in your chest and you swallow harshly, throat suddenly dry but fuck, you are so in love with him. He's proven to be an incredible partner. Treating you as an equal, both of you damaged but understanding of the other. You feel like you're home when you're with him. No matter where you are. "Ye-yes. Yes. Oh my God. Yes." You choke, surging forward to press your lips to his just as the sun rises. His hand cups your cheek until he pulls back, fumbling with his thick fingers to take the delicate ring from the box.

"I hope you like it. Didn't know your style." He confesses as he slides it onto your finger and you stare at the diamond in awe. "It's perfect. This is perfect." You promise and Ellie comes over to hug you, "just make sure you guys don't put me in some frilly dress for the wedding." Ellie jokes and you giggle, tears in your eyes as you pull her close and Joel wraps his arms around you both. Your new family. You never imagined when you were trapped in a loveless marriage that you'd be happy one day yet here you are, engaged to a wonderful man with a step daughter you adore. Just like the sun rising over the horizon, your life is bright and colorful and full of hope.

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