#i wonder what color it is on the inside???

[beardedjoel]

honey, honey | two: tempting fate

sugar daddy! joel x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist

summary: your first official meet up (that's absolutely not a date) with joel is going even better than you'd imagined, until a mishap leads to awkwardness. 12.2k words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, sugar daddy worthy age gap (reader is 21, joel is 54), slow burn! inherent power dynamic imbalance from a sugar daddy arrangement, flirty flirty tension, alcohol consumption, playing it a little fast and loose with pov, reader has shit parents and comes from money, reader's clothing is described (dress and heels).

a/n: thank you so much for the love on chapter one! excited to share more with you. as usual, i yapped, but these two also love to yap with the best banter, so what can i say? it's their fault!!

You hear the tinkling bell of the boutique door as you slip inside, taking in the few other customers milling about. Soft white lighting bathes your skin, seeming to cast a pretty glow on everything in the high end shop. A put together, even toned employee greets you but you only half hear her, spilling out the typical “just looking around” in response.

You’d think it was your first time in a shop like this with the hesitant movements you make, the way your glances flit around the place as if everyone inside knows your secret. Hell, half of them might even be in on your secret with their own person behind the scenes funding it all, just like you are.

You passively flick through the curated racks, eyes half glazed over as they sweep over tables perfectly presenting clothes to you. You’ve never had so much hesitation shopping before or picking out what to try on, but you feel stuck, chewing at your lip as you approach yet another rack of dresses, everything starting to blur together.

You can’t help but wonder what Joel would like to see on you, what his expectations are. He’d sent you away with your first check, that huge sum to just get you to quit your job. You hadn’t quite gotten the nerve to do it yet, but you’re not telling him that. You want to make sure it’s all set in stone first before making any rash decisions, which may be the first smart and well thought through choice you’ve made this week. Or maybe even this year.

On top of that, he’d given you what he’d coyly referred to as a starting bonus to buy something new to wear for your upcoming dinner together. You knew it really was a test, a way to work out if this arrangement would work for the both of you. For him to see if you could really go through with spending his money, and spending it in a way that also pleased him.

You’d tossed and turned again last night after making what felt like a deal with the devil, leaving you barely awake for your morning classes before heading here. Joel hadn’t had any contact with you, and you suppose you hadn’t expected him to. It was clear enough that dinner was at six sharp on Friday, back at his house.

You sigh, running the chiffon fabric of a floral printed dress through your fingers before pulling out your phone. You anxiously tip tap your fingers on the darkened screen, arguing with yourself for another beat before pulling up your conversation with Joel.

You: Any dress code for dinner?

You cringe at your own message, trying to focus on browsing again as you await an answer. Luckily, Joel seems to be free, your phone lighting up with a response only a moment later.

Joel: Shopping, are we? 

You: Maybe…

Joel: Not going to say no to a pretty dress on a pretty girl.

You stifle a smile behind your hand, lightly biting the nail on your thumb. He’s bolder through text, you’ve noticed, and you think that you might like it. Joel’s attention feels focused, warmer than other men - something you find yourself unaware you were craving, but needing more of the instant it happens. It feels dangerous, but you’re unable to quite put the desire to have it all to yourself out of your mind.

You: A dress it is then. 

You: What about specifics? Color? Style?

You: Am I dumb for not knowing how to do this???

Your heart races, and you nearly hurl your phone across the room, hating the rambling you’ve succinctly blown Joel’s phone up with. So much for playing it cool.

Joel: You mean you’re not already taking random men’s money every week and spending it?

Joel: You’re fine sweetheart. Buy whatever you like.

Despite Joel’s blithe blessing, insecurity creeps in as you continue to browse, wanting to make sure you don’t mess this up. It isn’t often you feel like you’re pleasing anyone with your parents being who they are, and you’d always hated that feeling of never living up to expectations that followed you throughout your entire life. Joel made it sound so easy, but would he be disappointed if you didn’t measure up to his past entanglements, likely seeming to know exactly how to dress and act for him?

You’d already been nearing dizzy as he laid out all the terms for you the other day, going into detail about how he liked to do things in these so-called arrangements. At your insistence of needing to earn the lumps of cash he’d be offering you, he’d expected company in return, but nothing else. It struck you as odd, becoming friends with a man you’d known a good portion of your life, someone who was your father’s confidant first and foremost, but Joel seemed too genuine about the entire thing to be playing both sides. You truly got the sense that he wanted to help you from a decent place in his heart.

He requested dinners together every Friday, and the odd lunch or outing when your schedules allowed during the week. He was far busier than you, you assumed, running an entire billion dollar architecture empire, but school kept you occupied enough that you wondered when the two of you would find the time. In between all of it, he wanted texts and updates about what you were spending, making sure you were using that allowance for all the things your heart desired.

Joel requested that you transfer your bills to him, and starting immediately, your tuition. He encouraged you to start exploring what you really wanted to study, even if that involved transferring schools - he was here to fund any of it. More than financially, you felt his support emotionally too, something that struck you hard. Your heart flutters even now, recalling the sincere look on his face, one that showed he really believed in you, despite hardly knowing you on a deeper level yet.

You’re determined to make this work, so you refocus and snap photos of a few dresses on the rack, texting them to Joel. If you were going to do this, you may as well throw yourself all in and do it right.

You: Any preference? 

Your heart hammers in your chest again as you await his reply, wondering if you’ve been too bold this time, or if you’re bothering him while he’s tied up with business. It’s likely the middle of the work day for him, and the last thing he might need is your insecurities buzzing in his ear to make the decision for you. Instead, he surprises you with another fast response and you promptly berate yourself for the flutter you feel in your stomach as you read it.

Joel: Oh, the silk one. Definitely.

To your surprise, Joel answers the door on Friday evening instead of Clara, leaving you blinking at him with a soft smile on your face. He’s beaming at you with soft crinkles around his eyes, golden skin glowing as the evening light reflects throughout the house behind him. Joel’s hair is slightly pushed back, showing off streaks of gray that match the ones in his dark, full beard. He’s wearing black dress slacks with a blazer, but no tie adorns his crisp, white dress shirt. The top button is open, letting his chest breathe a little, and you can’t help but transfix your eyes there for just a moment, seeing a hint of chest hair poking out. 

Your bottom lip is pulled in, biting it quickly before releasing it and dragging your gaze back to his face. You smile at the effort he’s gone through tonight, knowing that you’d also spent far too long getting ready for something that was supposed to be so casual. You couldn’t help but want to impress Joel though, give him something lovely and desirable to look at over dinner, a sight you’re sure he’s accustomed to. He’s paying you to be here after all, you realize, so you might as well give him his money’s worth.

“Hey there. Glad you could make it,” he says, leaning in for a half hug, one arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you in. 

You lean into it a little, opting to just wrap one arm around him as well, feeling awkward. It’s a curt hug, over in just a few seconds, but you catch a strong whiff of Joel’s freshly applied scent - a cologne or soap he uses - something rich and woodsy but also distinctly fresh and classy at the same time. A blend you’re sure has a higher price tag than even you would guess, but the smell intoxicates you and makes your lips turn up even further as he pulls back and looks at you. 

“C’mon in,” he urges you, one hand along the small of your back to guide you into the foyer.

“No Clara today?” you ask, and Joel shakes his head, lips pinched to the side in a coy smirk. 

“No. Sent everyone home so we could have the place to ourselves.” Joel explains, and you raise your eyebrows a little. You can’t ever imagine your parents or any of their other stuck up friends daring to go one night without their staff taking care of everything. Joel has already proven himself to be different from them in many ways, but he keeps the surprises coming. You like it.

“Let me take your coat,” Joel adds in a hurry before you can answer him. He moves to your back, helping you slide it off before draping it over his arm, standing with a hip popped while he seems to notice you fully for the first time tonight. 

“Well aren’t you a vision, sweetheart,” Joel breathes, drinking you in with his eyes, brazenly raking them from head to foot, then back up. The silky material of the dress clings to you, picked out in your favorite color, one you always feel good in. Your immaculate new heels are a perfect compliment to the outfit. Even your purse is new, all at Joel’s insistence, and his eyes seem to darken a shade as they take in all the details of what you’d spent his money on, almost like he’s valuing it all in his head. Then he smiles wider, turning to hang your coat up in a large closet off the foyer.

“This all the new stuff, then? Do a spin, lemme see,” Joel says as he moves back towards you. 

You breathe out a small laugh, your cheeks warming at his attention, the way he can’t seem to stop staring at your body, the silk of your dress as it ripples when you start to do a small twirl for him, your heels clicking along the luxurious, shiny floors. Your purse flings with you, bumping your body harder than you’d intended as you complete your spin and you laugh a little harder. Joel scoots close, putting an arm around you, fingers splayed along the small of your back again. 

“S’perfect,” he says, tilting his head to look at you. “This way,” he says, his hand slipping away from your back. Your body misses the warmth, the way he’d felt when he was close to you. You don’t know what it is, but Joel feels safe to you, warm and friendly, like a true ally in this messed up hole you’d dug for yourself. You trail along right beside him, following him through the foyer and into the main living room, an area you’d already seen the other day but still jaw droppingly gorgeous and tastefully decorated upon second inspection.

You know Joel of course had someone style and furnish the house for him, but he still must have had some input. Your parents always had done it that way, so you know the man has style. With a blend of mid century modern coziness and upscale modernity, it feels more like a home than a staged house like so many of your parents' friends' places. It makes you smile to yourself as you pass through, seeing the evidence of Joel living here - coasters still on the coffee table, a clearly bookmarked novel sitting on the table next to the couch, a spot where one of the pillows isn’t perfectly fluffed, maybe where he was sitting as he waited for you to arrive tonight.

A large, open frame on the right side of the living room leads you both to the dining room, and your jaw drops to see it in the evening like this. Your mindset had been so different here during the daytime, content to just get the work done and get out, not appreciating all the beauty this old brownstone has to offer. It’s an opulent room, a long and sleek lacquered dark wood table taking up a good portion of it with white cushioned chairs on all sides.

A gorgeous abstract chandelier hovers over the table lit low, clearly the centerpiece of the room. It’s unique: one long piece of gold with twists and turns strung together with lighting on the outside parts, your eyes lingering on the mesmerizing way it’s all woven together. The table and side pieces in the room are adorned with candles burning, warming the space up even further. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Joel was trying to romance you a little. It makes a smile creep onto your face to picture him lighting all of these candles and staging the room just so for your arrival. He struts forward, pulling out the chair perpendicular to the head of the table, gesturing for you to sit. He’s an old fashioned gentleman: another tick in a box for Joel Miller.

Your lips press together, suppressing another grin at his polished manners, the way he’s smooth and fluid with the movement as he helps you tuck the chair underneath you like he’s done it a hundred times before. Then you quickly realize it’s likely that he has. As you sit down and settle in, the thought makes your stomach feel uneasy - you’re just another girl in a long line of women who Joel has given money to and taken on dates. The only difference is you know that this evening most likely ended differently for those other girls - up in his bedroom, under his sheets, sweating bodies doing unspeakable things to each other. You swallow hard, fighting your thighs clenching at the imagery in your head, unsure if you wish it was you, or you just need to get laid in general. You’re hoping for the latter, that you can reach out to an old hookup or find someone to scratch the itch that’s been building since you’d entered Joel’s office that first time just days ago.

But Joel does look handsome as he moves to his chair, sitting at the head of the table and watching you carefully the entire time, seeming to be enjoying himself, blissfully unaware of the confusing thoughts rolling their way through your mind.

“You comfortable?” Joel asks, seeing the way you’ve been sitting nothing but stiffly.

“Y-yes,” you blurt out, trying to appear more visibly relaxed for him. “It’s beautiful…” you add on as you glance around the dining room, unsure of how to start a conversation in a situation so far out of the realm of normal. You’re at your dad’s friends’ house, eating dinner with him alone in a sexy silk dress because he’d paid for you to be here - you could guarantee no handbook was written for a situation like this.

“Thank you, darlin’,” Joel beams, glancing around the room with you. “Recent renovation was jus’ a few years back, love how the place turned out.” He picks up a bottle of wine from where it had been nestled in a chiller on the table, taking the glass set in front of you first, then his, filling them up.

“T-thanks…” you mutter, unexpected jitters sweeping over you. Your hands shake slightly as you reach for the glass, and you look down to your lap. “Sorry, I’m… nervous for some reason,” you admit to him, hoping that if you’re just upfront with your feelings, it might ease some of the tension.

“No need to be. Jus’ a chance for us to get to know each other. A meal, some nice chatter, and we’ll have y’home by ten. Jus’ in time to go back out and do whatever it is you like to do.” 

You laugh, the grin reaching your eyes as you feel your face warming up, starting to remember why you’d been excited to come here tonight in the first place. Joel has been sweet and funny, someone you would have been intrigued to get to know outside of all the complications it posed.

“I’m afraid I’m usually one of the world’s most boring twenty one year olds. That’ll probably be bed time for me, actually.”

“Well you have that in common w’ a damn fifty four year old, so how’s that feel?”

“Shitty,” you deadpan, and Joel cracks up, throwing his head back a little. 

“Promise me you’ll try to get out more, yeah?” Joel demands, eyes twinkling in the low light of the room, and you nod with a genuine smile. 

“On your dime?” you ask, lifting a teasing brow. 

“Be upset if it wasn’t,” he quips back, and you laugh again, tilting your head and putting it in your hand as you rest your elbow on the table. You lean forward a little, closing the space between the two of you, letting the intimacy of the moment wash over you. 

“Now what do you like to do, if it ain’t bein’ out partying with friends?” Joel asks.

“Nobody said I don’t like that,” you snip playfully. “I’m just… selective with it, I guess. I do like to read, and go… shopping…” You wince at how materialistic it makes you sound, but you’ve never really known anything else. Your mother is the most materialistic person you’ve ever met, and her friends are no better, ever the influence on you while growing up with all of their shopping dates. 

“Which isn’t really a hobby, but…” you quickly add on, focusing down at your place setting on the table. Being around Joel seems to have this odd effect of holding a mirror up to you, making you able to understand even more clearly than ever the privilege you’ve lived with. When your entire circle has been curated based on wealth, it’s hard to have moments to reflect on it. But as you’ve gotten older, you realize you don’t want to act like the tantrum throwing, spoiled brats you’d seen in your parents’ and friends’ lives. 

“It can be when you’ve got someone who wants you to spend their money,” Joel quips, seeming to sense your shame and wanting to put a positive spin on it. “Kind of the whole point of the allowance, right? You deserve to have nice things, and I wanna be part of that. Thought we already went over this, hm?” He’s trying to poke fun at you, lighten the mood, and it’s working.

You wave him off playfully, cracking a smile. “Yeah, yeah. We did. Sometimes… I guess I’m just trying to figure out how to be my own person.”

Joel nods like you’re the most rational person in the world. “That’s normal. You’re livin’ life, jus’ like the rest of us. That’s what it’s all about. You’ll get there, I promise.”

You offer him a sheepish, appreciative smile. “Sorry that I somehow end up dumping my shit on you every time we’re together.”

“No need for that,” he replies, holding a silencing hand up. “Happy to help. Like I said the other day, you’ve got more potential than you’re givin’ yourself credit for. Hopefully if I say it enough times you’ll believe me.”

“What was the word you used about yourself the other day? Persistent?”

“As can be.” He smirks, and your belly flips at the sight in low light along with the soft rumble of his voice. “So reading, huh?” Joel asks you, changing the subject. “What kinds of books have you been gettin’ into, then?”

You shrug. “Little bit of everything. Classics, some more modern fiction, romance, maybe some fantasy thrown in there. Just sort of seeing what sticks for me.”

“That’s impressive, you makin’ time for all that with school and everything,” Joel speaks with a natural frankness, leaning a little closer as if he’s enraptured by everything about you. 

A wave of discomfort rolls through you, unsure of what to do with the compliment from him. It seems to be his main mission that every time you’re in a room with him, you leave feeling better about yourself than before you’d gotten there. 

You peer down into the light, glossy liquid in your glass, taking a long swig and hoping it eases your nerves. “Well, what about you? Don’t think I didn’t notice all those corny mystery books on your shelves the other day.” You peer at him, brows raised, and watch his grin light up his face, crinkling the crows feet by his eyes.  

“Yeah, you got me. That and westerns, gets me every time.” He shakes his head in mock defeat.

“Western guy, huh? Even New York couldn’t take the Texas out of you.” He snorts out a chuckle and a bubbly little zing travels up your spine at the fact he thinks you’re funny, that he seems to enjoy your company as much as you do his. “I like westerns too, but you may have to lend me one of those mystery ones to try to convince me.”

“Happy to let you raid the library any time,” he tells you, his voice suave as he delicately holds his own glass of wine, taking a sip. You like this, making plans with Joel, the casual way he offers his life and things up to you. He’s generous down to the core, you realize, and that’s something rare in your world, something to hold on to. 

“Alright, so if you’re tryin’ to get to know yourself, what else do you like to do, then? What have you found out?”

“I said I was trying, not that I figured anything out yet,” you rib in response, knowing Joel can take it. “I like creative outlets the most, I think. I’ve done a lot of different things since I was a kid, but not a lot of it stayed with me, I guess. My parents kept me pretty busy growing up - always some new tutor to try out different hobbies or instruments. Things that I guess made me seem… proficient, or something. But uh… sorry to bring them up…” you trail off, cursing yourself silently. One way to surely make it even more awkward on a dinner date with your dad’s friend is to keep bringing him up. 

Joel chuckles kindheartedly. “It’s alright, it’s gonna come up. You feelin’ weird about it?”

“You’re not?” you ask incredulously.

“I am,” Joel says, contradicting himself by shrugging like it doesn’t really bother him.

“But…”

“But I like you too. I’m allowed to have a piece of the pie wherever I please, regardless of my affiliation with your dad. Just… privately.”

You snort, nodding. “Exactly why we’re here instead of a five star restaurant where you take all your other girlfriends.”

“Who says I have others?”

“Well, you have. Certainly.” You cross your arms in front of your chest, glaring at him playfully.

Joel shrugs again, shooting you a smirk. “Yeah, thas’ true.”

You shy a little under his gaze now, hands dropping as you fiddle with your fingers in your lap. “And… you’ve done this all before? The money stuff? The allowances and all that?”

Joel nods, swirling the wine in his glass a little before taking a sip. “Mhm. Does it bother you?”

“Well… no. I mean, it was pretty obvious with how quickly we got to that point the other day when you caught me here, so I made assumptions.”

Joel leans forward, setting down his glass. His eyes burn a hole in you, studying your expression as you look down again, then back up to fight that same dark stare. “And what did you assume?” he asks, sounding oh so cocky. 

You can’t decide if you want to wipe the coy smirk off his face or crash your own lips into his. His demeanor is exactly what you typically go for - self assured and a bit arrogant, but Joel has this sweet side so many others haven’t that’s really reeling you in more than you’d expected.

You scoff quietly, shaking your head at his unashamed questioning. “That you basically pay women to sleep with you, or be your girlfriend, or something like that. Sugar daddy shit.”

“Sugar daddy shit…” Joel laughs loudly, “I like that.”

“Shut up,” you scold him, brows pinching together as you fold your arms across your chest again. 

Joel holds up a finger, pushing his chair out and standing up. “One sec. Almost forgot we’re here to eat, didn’t we? Probably should get goin’ on the first course,” he says, smoothing out his jacket with a simple brush of his hands down the fabric.

Before you can speak again, he disappears through a door across the room, giving you a tiny peek into the kitchen. He returns only seconds later with two small plates, setting one in front of you. You see gorgeous, fresh greens and vegetables adorning the plate - a beautiful, simple looking salad. 

“‘S a mint vinaigrette,” Joel explains, settling back into his chair. When you take a bite, the salad tastes anything but simple, your mouth watering at the beautiful bursts of flavor and balance.

“Delicious,” you exclaim earnestly after your first bite, going in for another. He smiles, letting the two of you eat in silence for a few moments, but your eyes keep poking their way back towards him, your previous conversation still feeling unfinished.

“So… you’re all good with this, then, still? You’ve done it all before?” you ask.

“I mean that’s the gist, sweetheart. It’s not like I’m going through girl after girl, but well, it’s happened over the years. Turns out I like it.”

You stun for a moment, considering his words. “It doesn’t bother you? That they’re just taking your money?” you question him curiously. If anything it sounds lonely, even with the promise of companionship from them. Just like what you’re doing to him right now, you realize with a sinking heart. 

Joel lets your words sit in the air for a moment while he takes another drink. “It don’t… doesn’t bother me,” Joel starts, and you catch the quick fix in his grammar, something you wish he wouldn’t feel the need to do around you. You know he’s Southern - Texas to New York transplant Joel Miller is no secret, every article about his success never forgetting to mention his humble beginnings there. He starts to grin now to himself, like there’s some inside joke you’re not in on. You cock your head, mouth opening in a playful smile in return as your bite of salad hovers mid air on the fork.

“Oh my god…” you mutter, setting down your silverware and twisting your lips to the side to hide your chuckle. “You get off on it, don’t you? Like, of course they all do, but more than your average rich guy. Don’t you?” you ask excitedly, feeling like you’ve cracked the code. “Joel Miller gets off on throwing his oodles of money around.” You fully tease him despite knowing you’re right, and suddenly it all makes sense.

The way his eyes twinkle right now completely confirms it, and you understand now why he’d been so insistent on your arrangement together, not caring about the complicated nature of who your father is. This was a man just trying to get his rocks off in whatever way he could. So typical of a man - thinking with only his cock.

“And what if I do?��� Joel asks, throwing caution to the wind and leaning forward, meeting your amused staredown. 

“I should have known,” you say, shaking your head. “Ugh, so were you like… fucking hard when you gave me that check the other day?” You hate the little twinge that pulls between your legs at the thought of him being hard in the same room as you, because of you, and brush it off as staunchly as you can, refusing to entertain it. 

Joel’s raised eyebrow answers all you need to know, but he speaks anyway. “Not - not ‘till after you left. I’m tryin’ to be respectful.” You scoff at his honesty and he just laughs, shrugging casually as if to say you asked!

“I’m afraid that ship has sailed, Mr. M,” you chortle, taking a long sip from your glass, savoring the bright, fruity flavor from the wine - it was a damn good bottle.

“C’mon now, I’m serious,” Joel says suddenly, his mood shifting. “I only wanted to get involved to that… that… level, okay? Just givin’ the money. You weren’t supposed to know, or guess… any of the other shit. That was…” Joel waves his hand off to the side in a wild, swift gesture before shrugging.

“Private?” you interrupt with a determined glare at him.

“You understand, don’t you?” Joel asks, eyes narrowed in distress. “I was tryin’ to keep you protected, didn’t want you to feel weird about any of this.”

“As opposed to what I’m feeling now, which is… well, weird.”

Joel seems to flush a little, unsure of how to move forward. It was never part of the plan for you to know the hunger he had for it all, this odd thing he’d discovered about himself the more that he’d started doing it. The way his body and mind reacted seemingly all on their own to the prospect of these beautiful, sweet young things enjoying his hard earned cash. It had surprised him at first, but the more he leaned into it, the more he enjoyed every purchase, every moment of seeing it pay off and how much happiness it could bring a woman, someone he felt lucky to just be in his sphere. He feared it was no different with you already, someone he almost felt shameful to be spending time with. It was going to be a constant battle, but one he’d willingly gotten himself into, and now had to face the consequences of.

“I’m sorry, really. I never meant for it to get to this point,” Joel says, looking a bit dismayed. 

You peer down at your plate, thoughtfully pushing the greens around for a beat. This was the point to make a decision: if you were going to back out now was the time, while it was still fresh. But you think of how honest Joel has been with you tonight, how kind, how generous he plans to be with you, and you realize that you think you want to be around him. Regardless of the money, Joel sees something in you, and it makes you buzz to have somebody on your side for the first time in a long time, or maybe ever. You look back up, glancing at Joel under your lashes as you bat them a few times. 

“It’s… alright. It’s okay. With me, I mean. The… other stuff,” you tell him, and his eyes flit quickly from where they were studying the table to meet your gaze. He looks surprised, like he’d half expected you to give up and walk out as soon as you discovered his dirty little secret. Instead, you see him and meet him where he is with no judgement. 

He clears his throat, his voice faint as it cracks. “I won’t, er, make it a thing, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

“Joel,” you sigh, “Stop apologizing. It’s honestly… refreshing to have someone just being their real self with me.”

Joel pushes out an abject chuckle, twisting his lips to the side. “Didn’t think this would be what you’d have in mind for bein’ real, but yeah, I s’pose that’s who I am,” he says thoughtfully, scraping the last bits of salad off of his plate.

“I’ve been with guys with way more intense kinks than this, anyways,” you say, tossing a hand through the air, listening to the tinkling sound of your diamond bracelet as it whizzes by your ear. 

Joel’s brows shoot up, his mood quickly shifting to intrigued. “Now is that so?”

“I don’t want to get into it, but yeah. It was a whole thing with feet and toes - just uh, didn’t do it for me at the time.” You clear your throat a little awkwardly, recalling the distant memories you’d tried to neatly stow away of that short lived, toxic relationship. 

Joel smirks, taking the bait. “Forgot to mention the other thing I’m really into…” he says with a fake, over dramatic grimace before attempting to peer under the table at your feet. 

“Oh, shut up,” you tease, giggling hard and reaching to push his shoulder, the entire thing coming all too naturally to you. Your skin flushes warm as you realize it, hoping you’re not crossing some unspoken boundary. “You know, I can’t believe I never knew you were so funny.”

“You never asked.”

“You hardly ever talked to me,” you quip back, getting a shrug from Joel. 

“Would have sooner if I knew you needed money.”

“Ouch,” you say, scrunching your nose at him and laughing softly before taking another bite of the greens. “This is seriously good, by the way.”

“Appreciate it,” Joel replies.

You pause, watching him for a moment as the pieces click into place. “You made this?”

Joel’s head tilts at you, seeming a little confused at your astonishment. “Er, sure did.”

“Huh,” you blurt out, chewing as you think. It was rare in your world for many people to cook for themselves, let alone for a guest. Money makes everything easier, more accessible, and that includes the need to ever have to step foot in your own kitchen for so many of the people you’d met though your parents. Joel was… different from any of them. Cocky on the outside, sure, but deep at his core, he was still humble. It was just another breath of fresh air that Joel was filling you with, and you found a new angle of new appreciation for the man seated next to you.

“Most people would have just had someone do this for them,” you say bluntly, and Joel gives another shrug before gracefully fending off your line of questioning. 

“I enjoy cookin’. Try to do it as much as I can f’myself when I have the time.”

You give him an awed smile. “I do too, actually. Well, I tried learning once I lived on my own. My parents… they don’t cook. Ever. I would love to be able to make something that tastes this good, though.”

“Just wait for the second course,” he tells you excitedly, his passion for it shining through. He stands up, taking both of your plates now that you’ve finished. He does the same routine, popping into the kitchen before returning with two larger dishes plated up with another beautiful assortment. 

“Happy to teach you, by the way. I’m no expert or anything, jus’ kinda honed it in over the years when I had the time.”

“You - you’d want to cook together?” you ask him with rising interest in your voice. Why were you feeling this pull, this desire to spend more time together outside of this arrangement? Why did you picture yourself, laughing in Joel’s kitchen as he shows you some technique of his, or a favorite recipe? You two are huddled close near the stove, his hand on the small of your back - it’s intimate and cozy and you feel safe there. Why did that thought already bring you so much comfort?

“Well sure, sweetheart. Sounds like fun to me,” he replies genially, and you try to hide the growing stars in your eyes as you watch him sit back down and finally turn your attention to the food in front of you. It’s a stunning plate - lamb, an assortment of glazed, bright vegetables, and some sort of silky, aromatic sauce. You start to suspect Joel may be hiding the full breadth of his skill behind modest words.

“Wow,” you murmur, gazing at the plating that looks like it belongs in some classy, upscale restaurant. “Joel, I need to tell you this because maybe nobody else has. You’re too humble. Please brag a little.”

He laughs, the sound deep and rich, strumming pleasantly through your ears. His head shakes before he speaks, waving his hand in an additional signal of pushing off your request. “No, no. This was just me pullin’ out all the stops to impress you.”

You guffaw, picking up your silverware. “You want to impress me? You’re the one writing me checks.”

Joel shoots you a stern glance. “Doesn’t mean you’re not worth impressin’. You got that?” He points his fork in your direction for extra effect, and you hear sincerity beyond the teasing in his voice, making your chest clench tight. You wouldn’t say you were the most confident person, and the idea of what he’s saying, being someone worth impressing for reasons other than your money, was never something you’d thought much about yourself. 

“Thank you,” you reply quietly, silently begging yourself to stop this strange attachment you were starting to form towards Joel within hours of spending time together. You didn’t know just how long this arrangement would go on for, and you had to steel yourself now if you ever had a chance to see this through to the end of reaching your goals.

When you take your first bite of the main course, it’s magic on your tongue. You decide as the flavors dance perfectly in your mouth that you will indeed take Joel up on his offer of a cooking lesson. You’d love to be able to cook like this, maybe even return the favor to him one day if he teaches you enough. 

“Jesus, Joel…” you mutter, shaking your head. “This is amazing.”

He seems to beam a little with pride, clearly not hearing often enough just how good he is at this. “This one’s always a winner,” he tells you.

You take the last swig of your wine and Joel promptly refills your glass like the excellent host he is. You banter and eat and drink, having what you’d consider one of the best dinner dates of your entire life. Well, a date that’s not actually a date, you have to remind yourself. It was hard to fool yourself into thinking it wasn’t, with the low lighting, the intimacy of being alone in Joel’s house, and the glint in his eyes that told you that he was enjoying himself too. 

“J-Joel…” you utter during a lull in the conversation, overcome with the sensation of something happening within you. “Um, is… is there mustard in this?”

He stiffens, his face going stony as he takes in your fallen expression. “Yeah, some dijon,” he pushes out apprehensively. “Why?”

You inhale through your gritted teeth. “Er, I’m allergic.”

A switch flips within him, activating into some form of panicked paternal mode, his ass off the chair in a flash, over to you and crouching next to where you sit. “Shit, really? Okay, what do you need? Are we callin’ an ambulance? Or maybe my driver would be faster…” Half talking to himself, his eyes scan hurriedly across the room, his mind whirring into action.

You reach out to calm him, placing a hand on where he’s leaning against the armrest of your chair. “It’s not that serious, I promise. I’ll just get kind of itchy and my tongue and throat might feel weird. I can just take some Benadryl and sleep it off tonight.”

He seems to relax a little, but the worried lines stay etched deep in his face, refusing to fully forgive himself. He stands up, towering over your chair, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Sh - should have asked you. I’m so sorry. Shit, what kind of host doesn't ask his guests about allergies…?”

“It’s fine, I swear.” You stand up to meet him. “I forget about it sometimes, I should’ve said. I never have it around, and I sort of don’t think about it much since it’s not life threatening.”

Joel sighs, putting his hands on his hips and pacing towards the door of the dining room, then back in towards where you stand, trying not to giggle at his very sweet and touching restlessness.

“Okay, okay, so the medication. What else? What d’you need?”

“Just the Benadryl is fine,” you say reassuringly, clearing your now scratchy throat. This reaction was worse than you remembered having as a kid, but you don’t tell Joel that. He’s already panicked enough as it is. 

“Alright, c’mon,” he says, coaxing you to follow him with a motion of his hand. Long strides take him out of the room and back towards the foyer where you know the stairs are. You struggle to keep up, your heels feeling like they’re making too much noise in the otherwise quiet, tense house. 

Joel pauses in the upstairs hallway, opening a closet, and you look on with fidgeting hands. You’re right outside a set of double doors, nearly closed except for a sliver, and you realize with a pulse of inquisitiveness that it’s likely his bedroom. 

You should be focused on the task at hand, at Joel’s grumbling to himself as he digs through the contents of the closet, not wondering what his California King looks like behind those doors. What color the bedding is, what state the bedroom is kept in, if it feels as lived in as the rest of the house. Or picturing the women who have graced it - how many there have been, what they had that you don’t seem to if Joel is intent on keeping you out from under his sheets? Why the hell couldn’t you stop thinking about it, about being intimate with him, feeling his touch - is it gentle? Or would he be more rough? You swallow hard as your entire body seems to tense, the allergy induced itchiness in your throat reminding you once again to focus the hell up.

“God damn it…” Joel whips around to flick on a second light switch behind him, bathing the hall in brighter light before he seems to rearrange the entire closet, tearing out a pink box, holding it up in victory. “Only got the drowsy kind,” he laments. “I prefer it.”

“Me too. Puts me right to sleep every time.” You try to smile, hoping to lighten Joel’s mood, but it feels plastered on your face. He appears too far gone, leaving behind the genial flirtation you’d held together at the dining table. He’s too busy berating himself for putting you of all people in danger - someone he was responsible for this evening, supposed to be looking after. Christ, your father would kill him for several reasons if he learned the truth about this evening, but risking your life seemed to push it into a whole new territory. 

There’s a bathroom off the same hall, where Joel leads you before popping one of the pills out and handing it to you. He’s too silent now, bordering on brooding as he watches you dip your head towards the running water in the sink, taking a sip.

You stiffen as the water touches your lips at the same time Joel’s hand rests on your back - heavy, warm, and comforting. You slide the pill onto your tongue, swallowing and meeting his eye, his hand remaining in place now that you stand up straight.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, sighing, his thick, broad shoulders dropping their tension. 

“Don’t apologize anymore. Please. I’m fine, see?” You flash him a smile, putting your hands on your hips and striking a pose, standing tall and hoping you appear as a vision of good health.

He finally breaks, cracking a crooked smile as he snorts out a half hearted chuckle. It’s suddenly too small in here, crowded next to the sink with him, personal space seeming to be lost to the two of you for a long, stretching minute.

Joel’s voice comes out tenderly. “You’re feelin’ okay, though?” 

You nod despite the fear trickling in at your body’s reaction - it’s been enough years that you nearly forgot all of the side effects, but you always remember the way your childhood nanny, Lena, would assure you that it wasn’t life threatening when it does happen. Stay calm, you chant the mantra in your head. And maybe reach for another Benadryl.

Joel eyes you inquisitively as you take a second pill from the box now laying on the countertop, but doesn’t say anything. “For good measure,” you reassure him. “I should probably call Karl, have him pick me up before I get too tired.”

Joel moves in front of you, blocking your body from exiting the bathroom, shaking his head. “Hell no. No way. Go back to your place all alone? With an allergic reaction?”

You sigh at his instinctive protectiveness. “Joel, it’s not -”

“Not deadly, I know. But you’re still pumped full of meds now and anythin’ could happen. You’re staying here. That’s final.”

The instant buzzing in your belly betrays you at his fierce, domineering tone. You crave to heed it, to listen to anything that Joel has to say and follow it, as if you’re already overwhelmingly aware that he knows best. There’s a natural trust here, and the origin is difficult to pinpoint, but you’re lost in the high it brings you already. It’s too hard to trust anyone in your circle, and worst of all, many of them are your own flesh and blood, your family.

“You’re right,” you tell him sweetly, hoping your gratitude shines through. “I - I appreciate it.”

Giving you a satisfied hum, he finally steps out of the way. “That’s more like it,” he says, and you’re relieved to hear the gentle teasing reemerging in his tone. “It’s the least I can do, anyhow. I’ll get you all set up, follow me.”

Joel is stubborn. You should have realized it sooner with all the obvious flags he was throwing out, but the man is staunch and stubborn and somehow it’s only adding to his charm.

You insisted on at least helping clean up dinner if you were going to be incapacitated soon, and the man acted as if you’d asked for something so absurdly out of the realm of appropriate.

“Absolutely not. You’re gonna stay right here,” Joel had insisted right back, gesturing to the tidy, inviting guest room he’d led you to. Blue, plush bedding and warm wood furniture gave the room life even with its minimal appearance - clearly purposefully left that way so that any guest could put their things out and make it feel their own. A hearth lays unlit across from the bed, and a huge flat screen television is mounted above it. It makes you wonder how often Joel even has guests stay over that aren’t sleeping in the same bed with him.

He wants you to make yourself at home, he says, but how can you when this night has turned into something far beyond what either of you could have dreamed up? You awkwardly use the attached bathroom stock piled with unopened toothbrushes, toothpaste, and toiletries to garner some semblance of normalcy, but you’re acutely aware that you’re far from home with a man you know far less than you should.

You hear tinkering downstairs, a distant clinking of dishes as you situate yourself on the edge of the bed and look forlornly towards the open door, feeling the Benadryl starting to take effect. You’d noticed some hives in the mirror back in the bathroom, feeling self conscious as you had absentmindedly scratched at them. You’re up and walking before you can really reconsider it in your hazy state, traipsing down the slick, wooden stairs in your bare feet, having kicked your heels off in the bedroom.

You catch Joel in the kitchen before he can notice you, looking on to a heartwarming moment of him packing up the leftovers you’d barely been able to eat into glass containers, nearly muttering to himself. His blazer is off, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up as he flits about the kitchen with a miffed but determined energy. 

When the fridge shuts and he catches you out of the corner of his eye, he takes one look at you lingering in the doorway, eyes clearly glazing over and body swaying, and can’t help but brighten up. You’re starting to wonder if your combination of two glasses of wine plus a double dose of Benadryl was a smart idea, leaving you feeling less inhibited than you’d like. You’re noticing how handsome Joel looks like this - acting in charge of his home and domestic. Your own parents wanted to believe they had any semblance of control over their home - where things were, how things stayed running, but they were so often not the ones pulling any strings. Joel is unexpectedly charming you once again, revealing there is more under the surface than the suave business mogul he’s painted to be. 

“Now what are you doin’ out of bed, young lady?” Joel teases, arms folded over his chest, hip pressing against the counter. 

Something resembling a giggle erupts out of you, nearly making you snort. “I’m helpin’,” you slur out slightly, stepping into the kitchen on unsure footing. “See?” You reach forward, placing a lid on the container of food.

Joel quirks a brow, snatching it away from you. “Thought we already discussed this.”

“‘M just having too much fun tonight. Don’t wanna sleep.” You hear your own voice, silly and far away, and you giggle another time.

“Nuh-uh. You’re lookin’ three sheets to the wind right now,” Joel says, promptly grabbing your shoulders and redirecting you towards the doorway. You lean back into the touch before you can help yourself, nearly colliding your entire back half with his front, suddenly yearning for his warmth.

It was official: your inhibitions were too, too low. Dangerously so.

“S-sorry,” you blurt out, stumbling on both your feet and your words.

“‘S’alright,” Joel replies. You miss the flush that colors his cheeks, traveling down his neck as your body nearly grazes his in far too intimate of a way. The sight of you leaning into him, searching for that connection and comfort pulls at his heart unexpectedly, followed by a lusty tug between his thighs.

“You’ve gotta lay down now, though. Er, here, hang on.” Joel offers you his arm, nervous in the movement, and you equally so as you link your arm through his. You glide up the steps and back to the bedroom, lost in his scent and his gentle touch, reminding yourself repeatedly who he is and what he should mean to you. Your father’s friend. Giving you money. No sex. No feelings. Just… an exchange. That’s all you can and ever will be to him, is company in exchange for money.

You flop down on the bed as soon as you’re released from Joel’s hold, sighing long and loud as your vision spins. The drowsiness starts to take over, your limbs loose and unwilling to work with you as you try to crawl under the sheets. Joel helps, seeming unsure in his movements as he pulls the duvet up over you. 

“I know you said not to bring it up anymore, but I am sorry. You shouldn’t be spendin’ the night here like this, you should be home or out with your friends or somethin’ on a Friday night.”

You quickly shake your head. “N-no. Wanna be here…” you mumble out, blinking slowly up at him.

His gaze softens, nearing something awed at your words. “Appreciate that. But I don’t think you’re in your right mind right now.”

“Promise, I am. I am. This was the best night I’ve had in a while. ‘Fore the mustard.” You let out a weak chuckle that Joel returns. 

You are something, alright, Joel ponders as he watches you drift further and further away, lashes curling lower on each blink of your beautiful, captivating eyes. You’re different than he’d expected, nothing like the disjointed and unsubstantial vignettes he’d gathered over the years at parties and gatherings and meetings with your father. He liked your humor and your attitude about life, never seeming to take things too seriously, but seeing how handled it when it was called for. He’d always felt that same way about himself, recognizing a kindred spirit in you from the get go. He knows it complicates things for him to be thinking so far into it, to analyze and decode your personality and how it fits with his, but at the very least, you two got along. That was important in these kinds of arrangements, he’d learned. He couldn’t find himself satisfied in the way he wanted to give out his money if he couldn’t find any spark of connection on the other end of it. And with you… as much as it might be trouble, there was a spark. Undeniably.

“Hey…” you murmur, forcing Joel to snap back to reality.

“Hm? I’m here,” he replies distractedly, trying to turn his attention back to you.

“Mr. Miller… Do…you think I’m pretty? Like… would you sleep with me like the other women if you didn’t know my dad?” Your eyes open again, lost to your grogginess, but with a detectable sadness behind them. You’re no longer in control of your thoughts, your words, everything seeming just out of grasp for you. It’s a stream of consciousness, flowing from brain to mouth in the most regrettable fashion. 

Joel’s mouth opens and closes, a tentative hand reaching towards you with a small, uncomfortable shuffle of his feet below him. He shouldn’t answer this, shouldn’t even entertain it in the slightest. But why does he feel himself pulled to say something, anything to ease your worried mind?

You scratch at your brow, running an sloppy, unnerved hand down your face at his silence. “Shit, shit, ‘m sorry. I’m not… I’m out of it. Just being stupid.”

Joel shushes you. He reaches out, brushing tentative fingers along your hairline, making you nearly melt into the foreign touch. “No, it’s alright. I just - we shouldn’t be -”

“I know. That was dumb.” You offer him a watery smile that he doesn’t quite believe, your body releasing a sigh as you relax into the bed. “I just need to sleep.”

He gives a stiff nod in agreement. “Get some rest, yeah? I’ll check on you in a bit to make sure you’re alright.” Joel’s mind reels, itching to say more, to soothe you as you look so vulnerable cozied up underneath the covers. There’s a shift inside of him, wanting to care for you, to reassure you that he can’t see whatever faults you’re so clearly focused on. Forcibly pulling himself away from your bedside, he turns to leave, but your little, tired voice stops him in his tracks.

“Wait -” you call out. “Would you stay? Just ‘till I fall asleep?”

Joel deflates, knowing he’s unable to deny it even if every cell of him is screaming that it’s a dangerous road he’s going down. He offers you a nod, walking across the room to drag over one of the chairs that sits facing the fireplace.

“Thanks,” you utter quietly as he settles in at your bedside.

“Jus’ sleep.” He reminds you, eyes watching you with an intense smoldering, like he’s thinking too hard.

You want to continue to meet his stare in an attempt to read his mind, but your eyes blink closed seemingly against your will. You’d open them if you could, fighting against sleep just for Joel to see the look of appreciation in your now weary eyes. You hope you don’t imagine it, the sincerity in his voice when he says his next words, just before you drift off.

“You are beautiful. So you know.”

Your head pounds before you can even open your eyes for the day. A dimly lit bedroom greets you as you press your fingers to the top of the bridge of your nose, gently massaging it. 

What the hell?

Dinner with Joel comes back to you in a flash, the guest bedroom and fluffy, soft duvet wrapped around you. And the mustard. The god damned mustard. Without it, you’d never have made such a fool of yourself, leaving your cheeks blazing from the get go this morning. 

You stare up at the smooth, white ceiling and debate in vain whether you actually asked Joel if he thought you were pretty or if he’d have sex with you, or the much less embarrassing option that it was all a Benadryl induced dream.

He’d made it a point to answer you though, hadn’t he?

Making an already awkward situation even more so hadn’t been part of your plan last night, yet here you were still dressed in your silk gown, makeup likely smudged, hair a mess, and clothing wrinkled. You slide out of bed, confirming all of it with one look in the full length mirror perched next to the dresser. A long, drawn out sigh deflates you, making you look just as pathetic as you feel.

Familiar to you, but new to this room, you catch a pile placed neatly on the dresser out of the corner of your eye. These were your things: your clothing, your toiletries - makeup, face wash, everything you liked to use to get ready in the morning. You only manage to blink at it for a few moments, your mind still whirring to life for the day and unable to process it.

You use the toiletries, continuously questioning how they ended up here yet enjoying the convenience, and change into the comfortable ensemble somebody somehow had picked out for you - whoever chose this knew you well.

The last thing you want to do is leave the calm, safe bubble of this bedroom, where you never have to face the consequences of your actions. Could you have ruined this blossoming thing with Joel before it even started? Taken away this opportunity for your future?

Groaning, you realize there’s only one way to find out.

Tentatively cracking open the bedroom door, the house has a different energy in the light of day, making last night all the more embarrassing, feeling like a far away dream. You hear the most commotion from the kitchen, entering to see Joel distractedly sipping from his coffee mug while a tablet lives in his other. He’s on the move, his brow scrunched in concentration at the screen as he scrolls, reading glasses perched on his nose. When he sees you, he stops, always seeming to make sure you feel worth his time of day. He pulls his glasses off and bundles them in his hand.

“Mornin’” he says, clearing his throat. “How’re you feelin’?”

Your cheeks tingle, flushing warm at the sight of him. If luck was on your side, he’d hardly remember the conversation at all, but you know that isn’t possibly the case. “Uh, better, yeah,” you croak out.

“See you found the stuff I had brought over. Hope that was alright.”

Your fingers fidget in front of your belly. “Er, yeah. It’s fine. How - uh - how did you do that?”

“I called Karl for you. Sorry, might’ve been a bit invasive, now that I think about it and say it out loud. Jus’... thought you should be able to freshen up or somethin’. Change your clothes, an’ all that.”

It takes a moment to process his answer and the thought he’d put into making you feel comfortable here. It didn’t feel the slightest bit invasive at all, coming from him. “No, it’s… really thoughtful, actually. Thank you.”

His smile is soft, but he seems to rev back into gear now, his feet on the move. “Got coffee goin’, an’ Clara just finished up some breakfast. Feel free to help yourself.” 

You nod, feeling all the fun, flirty confidence from last night so far out of reach from the woman you are today. Spotting the coffee, you glance back to see Joel on his phone, tapping away rapidly with his glasses returned to their spot on his nose. He looks less amused himself, his brow furrowed and his features turned down in a scowl.

He sighs, draining the rest of his mug. “Alright, ‘m sorry about this, but I’ve got to head into the office. Somethin’ needs my attention for a deadline on Monday.”

You weren’t any stranger to the variable, on call schedule you’d watched your father deal with for much of your life, so you understand. You don’t want him to go, though. You want to ask him to stay and share breakfast with you, sip more coffee together and rediscover that banter from last night that made your heart thump a little faster. 

You can’t help but wonder if any of his desire to rush out of here has to do with how big of a fool you’d made of yourself, but Joel buzzes by you, placing a reassuring hand on your lower back. 

“Stay as long as you like. Enjoy your breakfast, yeah?” he tells you, more soft and focused. 

“I - uh - are you sure?” You knew it should feel weird, staying at Joel’s place without him here, but you’d already started feeling more at home here than you could have anticipated.

“‘Course. Don’t rush on outta here on account of me. It’s the weekend. We’ll talk later, okay?”

You muster up as much of a smile as you can and nod, filling a mug from the french press pot sitting on the gorgeous, marbled countertop. “O-okay. Have a good day in the office, then.” 

Joel’s fingers move on your back in the tiniest squeeze before he rushes off, and your entire face burns hot at how domestic that had all seemed. Like this was every morning for the two of you where you saw him off to work, wishing him well as he stands far, far too close for comfort. Your head buzzes from the interaction as you blow on your coffee, peering around at the quiet room.

You do as Joel says, trying to make yourself at home for breakfast under the watchful eye of Clara who flits in and out of the kitchen. Her smile is friendly enough, but you can’t help but wonder what she thinks of you. Is she keen enough on things in Joe’s life to have heard about the different kind of arrangement you have with Joel to his usual ones, or does she think you’re just one of the others?

Either way, you suppose you are one of them, whether you want to admit it to yourself or not.

“Hey.” Joel’s voice booms into your ear through the speaker on your phone. 

“Hey,” you reply, propping it between your neck and shoulder, staring up at the ceiling from your place on your bed. You may or may not have been wallowing, despite it being a sport you often tried to not let yourself participate in. Some things, though, like embarrassing yourself potentially beyond repair in front of someone as put together as Joel, simply called for it.

“You made it home okay?” he asks you.

 “Obviously.” You huff a tiny laugh and instantly regret your rushed, snarky reply. 

You’d left shortly after breakfast, unable to take the memories of last night following you around the place. You’d tried to settle in and relax for a while with your second cup of coffee, but couldn’t help but feel like you were trespassing anytime you went anywhere. As much as you wanted to snoop a little and begin to unravel Joel’s mysteries, it hadn’t felt right to even be there in the first place. Your instinct was to run - far, far away from Joel’s house and even him, ending this entire arrangement and going back to slogging away miserably at your job. Then your phone rang this evening, and when Joel’s name appeared on the screen, you knew: there was no chance you were able to give him up that easily.

“Right.” Joel’s chuckle on the other end sounds awkward, strained, and your heart drops. You knew it was too much to ask for you two to just forget what happened last night. You’d promised him it wouldn’t come to anything sexual, and at the first chance, you’d practically asked him to hop into bed with you. You hadn’t even meant it, not really. Although a part of you, settled deep down inside of yourself, wondered why you’d been compelled to ask in the first place, like a urge you couldn’t quite hold back. It made your stomach turn too much to think about, so you’d spent the better part of the day ignoring it.

 “You, uh - it was kind of weird… I thought maybe you’d have stuck around today. Like I half expected to come home this afternoon and see you there,” Joel spits out.

Your lips part, feeling your lashes flutter as you blink a few times in surprise before you bite back the smile pulling at your cheeks. Something about Joel seemed to put you at ease so naturally, and after the day you’d had, toiling over your mistakes, his reassurance was an instant balm. 

“O-Oh. Really? I - I didn’t know when you’d be back. And I figured… just that I should go.”

“Yeah. I think it’s just that I thought last night felt, uh, unfinished, don’t you think?”

“I - I thought the same thing, yeah,” you tell him, perking up.

“So, I - I’m not really sure how to say this but -”

“Joel,” you cut in, your belly twisting with anxiety. You’d rather be the one to say it, to just yank the elephant to the center of the room and present it to him. This was far too painfully uncomfortable to go on any longer. Besides, you had to own your mistake. “Let me go first, please. I’m sorry about last night. That was not… okay. I shouldn’t have said that. It put you in a weird spot and I’m just… I’m sorry. I won’t do anything like that again.”

You hear the whoosh of his exhale on the other end of the line. “No, that’s alright. No apology necessary. I just want you to know, I understand. This can’t be easy for you - s’all new during an already tough time for you. I know you didn’t mean it like that, an’ you’re just tryin’ to make sense of things.”

His words stun you silent for a long, reflective moment. He’s so patient, his voice gruff with use from the day but soft - god, he speaks to you softly, like you matter to him, like you’re something special to him. 

He seems to take your silence as a chance to go on. “Point is, don’t beat yourself up over it. I get what you were askin’.”

You sit forward from your place on your bed, brows scrunched tightly. “You - you do?”

“It’s confusing, I imagine, me being me, an’ this whole thing comin’ about. I’m the one responsible for you here, and if I didn’t make things clear enough… well, that’s on me.”

You nearly scoff, biting it back. His words wound you, which only pisses you off, wishing that they couldn’t affect you like they do. You’d put too much stake in Joel being something different, this fresh start you’d desperately needed, and it gives him too much power over your emotions.

“No. It’s perfectly clear, Joel,” you snap back.

You can practically hear the disappointment crackle in the silence on the other end of the phone. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to… Is - is this too much for you? I’ve been wonderin’ if I rushed into this, feelin’ selfish that day. I was in a mood, and if you’re worse off for what I got you into, jus’ tell me now. No hard feelings.” 

You nearly laugh at how ridiculous his words are, his self effacing reflection instantly softening you from the irritation you’d felt a moment ago. “Selfish? You’re the one giving me thousands of dollars, and you’re thinking you’re selfish?” you ask him incredulously. “Of course you’re not.”

Your skin prickles at the stretching stillness on the other end as Joel thinks. “It’s just… it’s hard to believe that. Jus’ can’t help but think are - are we doing the right thing? I mean, ‘course we aren’t, but you know what I mean. This is different than what I’ve done in the past, and I just don’t want you to feel obligated over time to doing anythin’ like what you mentioned that night, ‘cause you think that’s what you’re supposed to be doing. This is supposed to be helpin’ you.”

You feel yourself choke up, clearing your throat to try to hide it. What was he saying? Was Joel already breaking things off with you? A sudden mania grips at you, starting low in your belly and tightening all the way to your chest. You couldn’t lose this, lose this comfort - not even monetarily you realize in a flash, but someone you’d confided in for the first time in a long time. Joel knew your dirty little secret and had responded only with kindness that you weren’t sure you deserved. Desperately, you cling to it now, needing him to see that beyond understanding, he already meant something to you.

“N-no. It is helping. I - What are you saying?” you blurt out, hearing the rising emotion climbing up through your throat with each word. 

“Hey, no, I’m not sayin’ anything,” Joel quickly replies, seeming to sense your panic. “I want to make sure I do my part. In a situation like this, there’s a certain responsibility of… well, care, that I need to take over you. Does that make sense?”

Your heart squeezes tighter, but this time with an unfamiliar warmth, one that’s difficult to put your finger on. It’s only then that you grasp why - why all of this has felt so right despite it being wrong, why Joel already felt like something addicting, why you’d seemed to be drawn to each other in such an unstable time. That one word: care. It hurts like nothing else you’ve ever experienced, yet lends a little piece of completion to your soul each time he doles it out upon you. 

You nod dumbly before recalling that he can’t see you. “Y-yes. It does.”

“Good,” he responds simply.

“I don’t want to mess this up. Not even - not even because of the money. I think you’re really nice, Mr. M, and I had so much fun last night, I really did. I - I don’t want to make you regret doing this.”

He clicks his tongue at you disapprovingly. “No, no never gonna regret it, promise you that. It’s just a learnin’ curve, maybe more than most given our… well, how we know each other. We’ve just got to work out the kinks -” You inhale almost instinctively to make a joke, but Joel quickly cuts you off. “Don’t say what I know you want to say to that.”

You laugh, and when Joel returns it on the other end of the phone, all the tension in your body fizzles out along with it, like it had never been there in the first place. Whatever this was with Joel was simply… right, it had to be. 

“God, you already know me too well. It’s scary.”

“I’m good at reading people,” he replies. “You’re easy.”

“Easy? Rude,” you deadpan back to him. 

“I mean, you did proposition yourself to me last night. Easy if I ever saw it.”

You gasp in mock horror. “Okay, too soon. I’d love it if we never mentioned that again, actually. Ever.”

Joel’s soft chuckle tickles your brain in just the right way, making you smile into the phone. “Alright, sweetheart, that’s a deal. Consider it forgotten. Now, speakin’ of deals, I actually was calling mostly ‘cause I have some making up to do.”

“You have some making up to do? I thought you called to talk about… uh, the thing we aren’t mentioning ever again.”

“No, no, I was the one that nearly killed you,” he explains, and you roll your eyes at his dramatics. “So I’m takin’ you out to lunch this week as an extra treat.” You like that he presents it as a definitive, not giving any wiggle room for questioning or arguments. What he says, goes. “Tell me your class schedule and we’ll get it on the books when you’re free. What d’you say?”

You don’t even have to consider it, knowing that waiting nearly a week for your scheduled dinner to see Joel had already been a tough reality to face. The fact that he also seems eager to see you so soon makes that strange, new flutter of contentment light up your chest again.

Echoing him, you smile widely as you answer. “That’s a deal.”

[starlitunicorn]

Scar Tissue, Chapter 1

Zayne x Reader. University AU. Reader is not MC. Slow-burn. Angst!

When you begin your university year with an accidental collision with her new professor, Dr. Zayne, your world is thrown into awkward chaos. What starts as a simple mishap spirals into a tense dynamic between you and the former surgeon. Word count - 4.3k

A/N: I was really inspired by the wonderful @eelliotss and their story "Borrowed Time". It made me want to try writing something, for the first time in my life. It was definitely a hard challenge, since English is not my first language, and I don't have a writing style, but I really wanted to create something as wonderful as them (please check out Borrowed Time, it's literally a masterpiece). I would be more than happy to hear criticism or suggestions, just be gentle, I'm really new to it. ♡

Throwing a playlist I used while writing, hopefully it will help you immerse yourself in the story.

The fresh, slightly cold air tossed fallen leaves, lifting them from the ground, forcing them into a bizarre dance mid-air. Slightly cold autumn air is pushing its way through the tops of the trees, carrying careless talks and laughs of the students, who are slowly approaching the big, towering building. 

The start of the new academic year is always worrying in anticipation of new acquaintances, new friendships, and new experiences. But the least exciting part here is probably the lectures, a bunch of homework, that will keep you away from going out with your friends, and tests. Fixing the loose strap of your backpack, you slowly walk along the stone pathway, tossing the golden leaves with your shoes. The lingering summer memories are flashing in your mind, making you miss hot sunny days and carefree time away from the town. Approaching the big, open glass door, you look up at the large building with the flashy name of your university. Covering your mouth with your hand, you yawn, stepping over the doorstep. Even though you promised to go to bed earlier last night, you stayed up too late, like usual, playing games. It will be hard to get back into the “normal” schedule after three long months of going to bed at sunrise. A loud laugh and hustle behind makes you turn your head. A group of students, walking inside the building, was laughing and talking loudly, sharing some funny moments from their summer vacation. They were so loud that it was hard not to hear what they talked about. You huffed, turning your head away, when suddenly, you bumped into something. Or someone. 

A strong smell of cologne and coffee enveloped you when your nose touched the soft fabric of a coffee-colored coat. Base notes of wet moss and amber with light heart notes of jasmine and pine hit your sense of smell, leaving a transparent cocoon around you. A loud gasp escaped the lips of the person you just walked into. You slowly looked up with your guilty gaze, but you underestimated how high you had to lift your head. Your gaze stopped first on the steaming brown blotch staining his chest: a fresh splash of coffee. Then, higher, to meet a pair of deep hazel eyes burning with irritation. 

His pale face looked irritated. His refined features were nicely framed by the dark, short hair, which looked shiny and well-styled. His thick eyebrows were furrowed, making his eyes appear even more piercing. Scarred fingers were clenching the half-empty cup of coffee as if waiting for something. An apology, perhaps. You quickly snap back from observing the man, nodding your head in a guilty gesture. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Your hands searched your pocket, getting out a clean handkerchief, and handing it to the man in front. He swiftly grabbed the cloth from you, rubbing it on the wet spot, seemingly making it worse, smearing the coffee around the white shirt. Mortified, you murmured another apology and turned on your heel, rushing toward the stairs to escape the heat of his gaze—and the burning embarrassment tightening in your chest.

Swearing under your breath, you quickly move up the stairs, hoping this encounter won’t cause any trouble for you. Your palm slightly tapped your forehead, as if punishing yourself for not being careful enough. He didn’t look like a student. Maybe the way he wasn’t rushing anywhere, like other students, or the fact that he looked older than all the boys around, made you think he was the new lecturer, or someone with a higher position. What can make it worse? 

The morning encounter disappeared from your mind really fast, in the rush of the day. Running around the halls, trying to find the correct lecture hall, and meeting with classmates quickly took your thoughts to a different place. Your phone was exploding with new group chats and new contacts, trying to keep up with everything. The buzz already made you miss the quiet of your room and the comfort of your bed. Quickly unfolding the piece of paper with your schedule, you glance at the sign with the room number. Making sure it’s the correct one, you step inside, looking for an empty desk. Your gaze fell on the empty desk near the window in the room's far corner. You never liked sitting right in front of the teacher's face. If you took the front row, it always made you feel more supervised. This could take away the pleasure of doodling when the lecture gets too dull. Just as the bell rang, the door slowly opened, and the sound of footsteps echoed in the spacious room. Weirdly punctual, you thought, tapping the pen on the empty page of your notebook. The teacher's arrival time tells a lot about their teaching and their temper. Someone who is constantly late is usually laid back and a really easy-going teacher, letting students slack, or will try to blend in and joke around with them. As for someone who arrives with the bell.. It can be a tough one. Meaning, no relaxing in their lessons. 

It was enough for you to see the coffee-coloured coat that flashed in the doorframe, as your head sank into your shoulders. Soon, his tall figure was standing next to the teacher's desk, as he carefully put the cup of hot, fresh coffee on the table, next to the pile of files. He didn’t seem to rush, slowly taking off his coat and placing it on the back of the chair, exposing the faint coffee stain on the white shirt. 

Arms crossed, as the gaze of his hazel eyes carefully studied the room. It stopped on you for a second too long, forcing you to look away with a hint of guilt, once again reminding you of the incident in the morning. You slid down the chair, grabbing your notebook and hiding your face. It seems like he didn’t forget about the spilled coffee as fast as you did, since it ruined his outfit for the day. And it’s the first day of the new year, what a look to show up in a stained shirt. He finally stopped drilling your notebook with his eyes, slowly walking in front of his desk and leaning on it. “I hope you all had a nice summer, but it’s time to get serious and put a great start to your new academic year,” his voice, calm yet loud and clear, filled the room. It didn’t sound as you imagined it would, and there were no angry notes, so it made you relax and brush off the embarrassment once again. “I’m Zayne Li, a former awarded Cardiac Surgeon from Akso hospital, and now, your new anatomy teacher. You can call me Doctor Zayne. Hopefully, we can all work well together and achieve great results by the end of the year.”    

A wave of whispers rumbled across the class. Zayne Li was a well-known surgeon in one of the most prestigious hospitals in the town—the person who conducted tons of scientific research and was even awarded for one of them. Students seemed to wonder why he quit his job to teach at the university. Giving up something you've built for a long time isn't logical. “You have a lot of questions, I see. You can ask,” he lets out a quiet chuckle, turning around and grabbing the files from the table, opening them, and scanning through the text. The voice from the first row yelled out first, “Dr. Zayne, why did you quit your job as a surgeon at Akso hospital?” Zayne stopped, tapping his finger on the hardcover of the files. “You can ask anything not related to my dismissal.” Other students started asking questions about his work. Some had questions about his research, while others said he inspired them to enter this university. Zayne graduated as the best student from this exact university, which many think made the place special, and studying here could open many doors in the future. 

As for you, your inspiration to enter this university is your parents. They insisted, you didn’t complain, since at the time, you didn’t have any ideas for your future direction. The physical therapist wasn’t that bad, and your grades allowed you to get in. Still, his answer left you wondering. What could make such a successful doctor leave his position to be a teacher? You trailed deep in your thoughts, doodling some chaos on the pages of your notebook. You didn’t notice how the conversation shifted from questions to introductions. Your name was called twice, before you finally came back to reality, lifting your head up, and getting up. “Sorry. Uh, that’s me. Nice to meet you, Dr. Zayne.” Still struggling to keep eye contact with the man, you stare at the coffee stain on his shirt. He seems to notice, letting out a quiet hum and ticking your name in his journal. “You seem very windy today. Not the greatest first impression,” he murmured, looking down at his shirt. Some students turned their heads around to look at you. Annoyed, you don’t say anything, swiftly sitting back in your chair. Embarrassment burns in your chest, but it goes away fast. It must be the payback for his ruined outfit. Quickly wrapping up introductions, Zayne starts the lesson with some literature recommendations to get into the subject. Writing down the necessary books, you feel Zayne’s heavy gaze on you as you glance up. His unblinking hazel eyes, as if looking somewhere past you, make you feel cold shivers on your back. So much for wanting to stay “unnoticed”, that’s why you chose the furthest desk, but it seems like there’s no hiding in this class. 

After the bell rang, class ended. Everyone collected their scattered belongings, leaving the classroom. Zayne, on the other hand, wasn’t rushing to pack. His files were standing on the table in a really nice pile, placed on top of each other. He tried to be precise even in the way he put things on his desk. You were leaving last, since the way from the corner of the room to the exit door was the longest, but just as you prepared to step out of the class, you heard a clear call. “Hey. I think I should give this back to you.” Zayne reached into his pocket and handed you the handkerchief from earlier. Now, stained with coffee and shriveled, it was saturated with the smell of Zayne’s detergent, sitting in his pants pocket all day. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not mad. But you should be careful spilling someone’s hot drink like that. Others might not be as forgiving.” His strict tone echoed in your head, like a parent lecturing the child about putting on the hat before going outside. Your fingers slowly grab the handkerchief, shoving it into the open backpack. Your lips curve into a smile, which you usually give someone when you mess up, showing a barely visible dimple on your cheek. It seems that in that exact moment, Zayne froze on the spot. His fingers dug into the edge of the table, and his mind shifted somewhere far away from here, deep in his memories. Noticing that his consciousness left the walls of this room, you quietly smacked your lips, rocking back and forth. Maybe he tried to remember something, to tell you about an assignment, or something else, so you just decided to give him some time. But it didn’t look like he was about to return anytime soon, so you slowly started backing up from the class, looking all around the place in a silent embarrassment. “Soo-oo.. I think I will go, I need to find another lecture hall. Have a nice day, Dr. Zayne,” you murmured, quickly turning around and disappearing from the classroom, like the wind. You heard him say something in return, but you couldn’t understand it, since the sound of his voice was drowned in the crowded corridor. Blinking several times at a loss, you shake your head, trying to eliminate the feeling that your new teacher is a weirdo. After a tiresome first day, your next destination was the university library. You decided to grab all the literature needed for your new subjects while you were at it. The library hall was in the farthest corner of the building, so reaching a big room stacked with books took some time. A library assistant handed you a little piece of paper with blanks, so you could write down all the books you’re taking. You ran your fingers through sparkly clean shelves, which were polished before the start of the new year. Your hand stopped at the “scientific research” section for the correct title. You scoffed under your breath, fingers closing around a book with Zayne’s face staring back at you from the cover. “Recommending your own research as class literature,” you muttered. “What a braggart.” But the smug satisfaction barely had time to settle before a low hum sounded behind you. Your arms instinctively wrapped around the book, clutching it to your chest. You didn’t dare turn around. The scent of coffee hit your nose, sharp and unmistakable. A sigh slipped out of you, heavy with dread, as you slowly turned, already picturing the furious expression you’d seen that morning when you'd spilled his drink.

“I mean… that’s wonderful. You must be really proud of it.” The corners of your lips twitch as you force an awkward smile. He doesn’t react, just rolls his eyes and takes a slow sip of his caffeine-heavy drink. Your ears burn. No way you’ve embarrassed yourself twice in front of your new teacher on your very first day. And to top it off, insulted him to his face.

“I just wanted to see who would actually stop by the library to get the books,” he said, pausing to lick the bitter remnants from his lips, “so I could maybe point them out as dedicated students next time.” Then his gaze flicked toward you, sharper now. “But I wouldn’t mention you. Since you already think I’m bragging, you should go ahead and read all my research.” He tilted his head with clear irritation, then set his coffee cup on the nearby table. 

Zayne stepped forward, closing the distance between you in one long stride, never once meeting your eyes. Your fingers dug into the book’s hardcover, but your legs refused to move. His chest stopped just in front of your face when he finally closed his eyes and exhaled—a long, heavy breath, like the weight of the entire day had just dropped onto his shoulders.

“Move.” The word came low and calm, almost a whisper scraped from the back of his throat. It cuts through your trance like a blade. You jolted, stepping aside without a word. His hand brushed past you, reaching for the book you'd unknowingly been blocking. 

Finally, lowering the worn research in your hands, you feel another heavy weight pressing down on your arms. Zayne places a thick, glossy book on top of your little pile. He moves past you, calm and deliberate, retrieving his coffee from the table. He said nothing, leaving you in the quiet of a library, staring at his light smile from the book cover. You lift your head and furrow your eyebrows at his echoing presence. Shoving books in your backpack, you try to fit everything without damaging your belongings. You quickly fill in the book registration paper and leave it on the desk at the exit, sprinting out of the library and soon out of the building. In your thoughts, you are already home, leaving the heavy day behind the university doors. The trip home doesn’t take long. The bus ride almost lulls you to sleep, but you manage to jump out of your seat before missing your stop. Entering the small apartment building, you climb the stairs, dragging your feet behind you. Stopping in front of your apartment, you slowly open the door, yelling, “I’m home!” from the doorway. You hear the quiet hustle in the kitchen when a dark-haired girl peeks out of the corner. Seeing your exhausted face, she offers you a warm smile. “Oh, hi. How was the first day?”. She finally leaves the kitchen, wiping her hands with a stained towel. It’s been the second year you and your friend Simone have been renting an apartment together. Living with her was not draining. She was a great roommate, and it took some weight off your shoulders regarding payments.

“They already loaded us with a mountain of books to read, and I’ve managed to get on my new teacher’s bad side. Wouldn’t be surprised if he fails me.”  You flopped onto the couch, grabbing a pillow and pressing your face into it, trying to bury yourself in the soft, forgiving embrace and shut out the world. Simone laughed, perching on the armrest and promptly stealing the pillow, your only line of defense, exposing your face to the light. “No one’s going to fail you,” she said with a grin. “Just get your teacher something nice. A bottle of wine, some fancy chocolate—boom, apology accepted. Who wouldn’t love that?” She flashed that radiant smile again, the one that always, without fail, made you feel a little better. “I was just cooking. Food’ll be ready in ten. Go wash your hands.” But you were already sprung to your feet, yanking open your backpack and dumping the books onto the couch to make space for something else.

“You’re a genius! I’m getting an apology gift.” You were halfway out the door before you finished the sentence.

“You can start without me!” you shouted back. Simone didn’t say anything, but her smile lingered. Somehow, she always knew exactly what you needed—even when she didn’t realize it. 

The late afternoon air hit your face the moment you stepped outside—crisp, laced with the distant scent of city exhaust and someone grilling down the block. You didn’t slow your pace. You zigzagged past the corner store, dismissing the sad stack of mass-produced chocolate bars in the window. 

No, this needed to be thoughtful. Personal. Maybe even charming. If Zayne was the type to wear expensive cologne and carry himself like a walking thesis paper, he probably wasn’t a fan of cheap sweets or mugs that said #1 Professor.

A small boutique caught your eye, tucked between a flower shop and a bookstore. Its window displayed neatly wrapped gift boxes, jars of imported honey, artisan teas, and a pyramid of dark chocolate truffles that looked sinfully expensive. 

A soft chime rang as you stepped inside. The place smelled like cinnamon, cedar, and vanilla—like December wrapped in tissue paper.

A woman behind the counter looked up with a warm smile. “Looking for something in particular?”

“Yeah,” you said, breathless. “Something for a… teacher. As an apology.”

Her smile widened knowingly. “Tough start to the year?”

You nodded, laughing a little under your breath. She guided you toward a velvet-lined shelf of truffles—dark, decadent, and neatly boxed with subtle gold accents. One label caught your eye: Dark Chocolate with Whiskey Ganache. You picked it up. Rich. A little bold. Slightly dangerous. Just like the man you were trying to appease.

“This one,” you said, nodding. “It feels… honest.”

“Excellent choice,” the woman said, ringing you up. “Strong enough to say sorry without groveling.”

You left the shop ten minutes later, the gift bag swinging gently at your side. In it was your olive branch—boozy, bittersweet, and slightly impulsive, just like you. Simone was right. You couldn’t undo the mess, but maybe you could sweeten the aftermath. 

Arriving back home, you realize that Simone has already vanished from the apartment. You notice a little note on the fridge, with her pretty, neat handwriting: I’ll be late, don’t forget to eat something. You look around to notice a small plate of pasta with meat sauce on the table, served with cheese, and even cutlery laid out for you, like a quiet invitation. 

A warmth spreads through your chest like a blanket. You didn’t need grand gestures. This was enough. This was Simone. Thoughtful even in something so simple as making dinner. 

You scooped up the plate and made your way to your small but clean room. It was lined with bookshelves, scattered with little figurines, and glowing softly from a tangle of LED lights. Nothing extravagant—just yours. 

Devouring the still-warm pasta, one hand already hovering over your laptop’s trackpad. The screen lit up as you opened your browser, fingers hesitating for only a second before typing: Zayne Li. The search bar flickered, loading results almost instantly. Articles. Publications. Academic praise. But nothing, nothing about his sudden departure from Akso Hospital. 

You leaned in, scanning the titles again. If someone like him, arguably one of the best surgeons in the country, had walked away from such a high position, shouldn’t that be front-page news? 

You even found his social media profile, though it felt sterile, curated, like a gallery where only the right parts of a life were displayed. Polished. Untouchable. Whatever happened… it was hidden. Intentionally. A soft sigh escaped you as you leaned back in your chair, pushing the empty plate aside. 

If the truth was hidden five feet deep, you weren’t curious enough to grab a shovel. At least, not yet. So you decided to get your mind off it by launching your favorite game, slightly glancing at the gift box, in anticipation of tomorrow.

The morning was quiet, cold but fresh and welcoming. You arrived earlier for the possibility of meeting up with Dr. Zayne and giving him your apology present, that you so thoughtfully prepared yesterday. The university halls are half-empty, still sleepy from the quiet night. Only the most dedicated students roamed these corridors at this hour. Those chasing scholarships, high honors, or simply the peace in the quiet of the library. 

You look through the schedule sheet, scanning the list of classrooms and lecture slots, stopping on the ones marked with his name. First period. It has to be the chance. But, arriving at the destination, you’re met with silent, empty walls. Your stomach twisted. What if you can’t find him before classes start? What if you lose the moment, or worse? What if the chocolate melts? You run around the halls, mind racing with possibilities. Where would Dr. Zayne go this early? What is the first thing he does in the morning? Then it hits you. Coffee. Of course. Without hesitation, you pivot towards the side exit to find a small coffee corner in the university garden. And there he is. Sitting alone on a bench, a paper cup cradled in his hands. He’s not on his phone. He’s not reading. Just sitting. His eyes are distant, as if he’s entertained by some unspoken deep thoughts. The rising steam curls around his face in soft spirals, making his glasses fog. He didn’t have those yesterday, but chose to wear them while drinking a hot drink. 

You slow your step, heart thudding from the sprint. Finally, taking a deep breath, you walk closer to the bench, figuring out how to start your heartfelt apology, since you didn’t think it through before. Your fingers clench around the pretty red box as you slowly nod, clearing your throat, trying to grab his attention, as he seemed not to notice you.       

“Good morning, Dr. Zayne.”

He glances up, brows faintly raised. You push through the knot forming in your throat.

“I know we had a… rough start.” You try to keep your tone light, but the words already feel like too much and not enough at the same time. “And I realize we’ll have to tolerate each other for the rest of the year, so—”

A pause. Your mind races ahead of your mouth, tripping over everything you didn’t rehearse.

“I just wanted to apologize for yesterday. I wasn’t careful and didn’t mean to sound rude or disrespectful. Especially toward your work.”

You extend the box toward him, almost too fast, and squeeze your eyes shut the moment it leaves your hand, bracing for laughter, or worse, complete dismissal.

“I don’t like alcohol.” He cut as sharp as a blade, making you freeze on spot. Somewhere in your mind, you could almost see a black Game Over screen flashing across your vision. 

Of course, you managed to mess up again, and how did that even happen? There’d been no way to know his preference, but that didn’t make the sting any less brutal. Pulling your hands away, your face darkened. Your shoulders dropped, the heat rising in your cheeks, as you were already prepared to leave without saying a thing, because it seems like a silent retreat is better than taking the embarrassing hit in the gut. 

“But you put in the effort,” he murmured, voice low and edged with something unreadable. “I appreciate that.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“I accept your apology. Though you should know. I was never mad to begin with.”

You blink, caught off guard.

“I’ve had worse from first-years. It takes more than spilled coffee and a stray comment to make me hate someone.” 

Zayne’s long fingers grasped the box, tucking it neatly under his arm as he rose from the bench in one smooth motion. His height loomed for a second before he gave a small, deliberate nod—an understated gesture of gratitude. Then, unexpectedly, his hand landed on your shoulder. Firm. Measured. His gaze locked onto yours, eyes scanning your expression with unsettling precision, making you feel like after a carrot, there will be a stick. “You really are.. windy.” 

It wasn’t quite an insult. Not quite praise either. But it lingered in the air, and for some reason, it felt like he wasn’t entirely wrong. With that, he disappeared from your view, behind your back, entering the building, leaving a somewhat bitter aftertaste of your failure. But at least you know your teacher is not holding a grudge, so there’s nothing to worry about. Right? 

[itzpookiepooh]

P-P-P-Poker Face

Based on this ask <3

Caleb spent his whole life trying to make you laugh, well the part with you in it anyway. It’s on his bucket list and he’s tried everything. He tried corny dad jokes, pranks, funny movies, nothing worked. Everything was mostly funny to you if only you got the punchline. An inside joke for you alone.

“Can you pass me the pepper?” Caleb asks as you pass it to him. His hands accidentally hits yours making it drop and puff out pepper. Caleb’s face contorts before he goes into a sneezing fit. The noise leaving his body made something tingle on your sides.

“Oh my—ACHO!” He exclaims his body jerking with every uncontrollable sneeze. You giggle at his sneezing fit, the faces sent you into a tizzy.

Caleb froze as best he could to mentally capture this moment. When he finally stopped sneezing he celebrated how he finally got you to laugh. Was it accidental? Yes however, a win is a win.

Rafayel was giving you an art lesson today. It was mostly its usual quietness with him talking your ear off. The same blank face you always have on. You were sitting on the ladder waiting for him to pass you paint when you heard clinking. He was coming over with various tools.

“I have pencils of different kinds, chalk and—WHOA!” He yelps falling over the paint cans on the floor—the tools flying into the air, falling on him. He groans as he lays on the floor.

You spit out a laugh making his head shoot up. He stares at you in shock as you laugh at him. You never laugh and the fact it’s at his pain confuses him. He doesn’t know whether to be proud or upset. He’ll take proud.

“You laughed!” He points out making you clear your throat, turning away. He begged you to laugh once more but you wouldn’t budge.

Zayne wasn’t very expensive himself and you matched that. He didn’t mind but he often found himself wondering what your laugh sounded like. He wanted to hear it much like anything else he heard from you. You guys were having casual conversation over dinner when Zayne bit into his food and his face twists up.

You try to hold back the urge to laugh. It was hard when Zayne looked like his tastebuds were assaulted. He spits the chewed food into a napkin, holding his mouth shut in disgust. He moves his fork around his food to find none other than—carrots.

“So you do know how to laugh.” He comments as you couldn’t hold in your giggles much longer.

At this point he didn’t mind being tortured by the orange menace. Your laugh was enough to wash it all away. He still sent his food back though, no way he was eating that.

Sylus rarely saw you express yourself and he didn’t mind he had enough emotion for the both of you. He was so busy today that he left you with Mephisto. You being bored made clothes for the bird. You thought he’d look cute in a sweater especially in this weather. Even though the bird doesn’t get cold.

You showed Sylus when he got back and he thought it was impressive. You told him Mephisto wouldn’t wear it and kept squawking at you so Sylus decided to make Mephisto wear it. The struggling made you giggle uncontrollably. A grown man fighting a mechanical crow brought you to tears. They both stopped to look at you laugh, it was mesmerizing. Sylus took this time to shove the sweater on the bird.

“Look at that. Red is your color Mephisto.” You giggle as you compliment the bird. Sylus hugs you from behind as you look up at him.

“And you look beautiful with a smile on your face.” Sylus adds, kissing your forehead as you giggle once more.

Xavier was pretty good at reading you but not when it came to something funny. You were pretty much poker faced when it came to a joke. Xavier tried almost everything to get you to crack a smile and laugh. Today was a total accident. You went to wake him up from his nap since he hadn’t eaten.

“Xavier, it’s time for dinner.” You shake him but he doesn’t move. You do so again and his eyes pop open but they’re cocked like pistols.

You couldn’t hold it in. You covered your mouth and turned away. He blinks a couple times before he fully sits up to rub his eyes. You giggle through your hands almost to tears. He tilts his head, confused as to why you were laughing.

“You’re laughing.” He states, astonished by you doing so. You turn to him your waterline ready to break.

“Are you hungry?” You ask through choked laughter. He does a firm nod as he begins to glow, happy that he got you to laugh naturally.

[transformation4life]

Magazine in The Attic

"Ugh... Can't believe I have to clean this STUPID attic." You groan as you enter the aforementioned room.

Many boxes littered the attic of your childhood home. Your parents recently decided to move out so it was time for cleanup. You look around, hoping for something to catch your eye among the sea of similarly colored boxes. Luckily one box's lid was missing letting you peer inside from afar. You walk over to take a look.

You peer inside, finding a stack of magazines with various covers. You grab the one on the top of the stack. It was a magazine for... men? The date on the top left states it's from the late 70's.

After some quick mental math, that was 50 years ago. These magazines are old! This intrigued you so you started flipping through the pages. Each page featured a multitude of different things. Workout tips, interviews and full page photos of bodybuilders from the time. As you kept flipping, you didn't even realize that you were completely aroused by each photo culminating into a tent in your pants. You bit your lip. "Fuck..." You made it to the last page in a horny filled stupor. Staring at what you consider the peak of masculinity. The next phrase you speak a result of that pent up horniness.

"I wish I could have lived as a Bodybuilder back then..." You mutter and just then the magazine suddenly got really hot and you dropped it in a panic.

"What the-" You snap back to the reality of being in your parents attic. You look at the magazine that stung you in confusion. That confusion went further when the magazine started glowing.

This definitely wasn't normal, but you couldn't muster up any words. You look down at the glowing magazine, a part of you wants to pick it up again, but this was all so strange that you just left it there.

The paranormal activity continued as what looks like to be a small gust of wind emanating from the pages. The gusts got stronger and larger until what was basically a tornado coming from the book. The tornado was expanding from the book to the entire attic as whole. You watched in awe as the swirling winds surrounded you., getting faster and faster, more dangerous. Boxes started being lifted into the air, one with the winds. You looked around, seeing the magazine once more. You surmise closing it would stop all this so you made the journey to it's location, but the winds make it difficult. You're almost there when the winds get too strong and you're barely able to stand. You reach for the magazine before the winds get too strong and everything goes white.

----------------------------

You wake up an unknown amount of time later, clenching your head in anguish to find that the tornado is gone, but... more than that is gone. The many boxes that were collecting dust in the attic were gone sans one or two, but the amount was significantly reduced. Did The magazine do this? You wonder, searching for its location. It was there where you last saw it, the glow gone however.

"Something isn't right here..." You say as you get up from the ground. Your best course of action is to call your parents and tell them what happened to the boxes.

You look through your pockets only to find that your phone isn't there. Panic settles in as you furiously search all your pockets, but no phone was ever obtained.

"Shit, what am I supposed to do now? Look for a pay phone? In this decade? Ha!" Well nothing better to do up here, you conclude so it's time to go.

As you head for the trapdoor leading to the floor below, you look at the magazine and think back to how much you enjoyed it. "I'm sure my parents won't mind if I snag this..." You walk back and grab the magazine, tucking it into your arms.

You return to the trap door and open it, noticing that it's not as old feeling as it was before. You just chalk it off to groggyness as you let the ladder down. What you saw next was less explainable however.

Your parents home looked like it went under a 70's makeover overnight. Any sense of modernity (what little of it) was gone and replaced with 70's style everything.

"T-This.... can't be real" But you pinch yourself and you didn't wake up.

You start running into the other rooms, hoping that it was just the hallway only to find more 70's looking furniture. Your parents room sporting just a single person bed rather than the two you remember. You go to your old bedroom to find it completely empty. The bathroom was similarly 70's and the first floor was even worse with a 70's kitchen and dining room. Not a single modern item was in site. There even was a telephone on the kitchen counter.

"N-No... this is all just some wacky illusion right? Right?" You run outside to find something that shocked you to your core.

Your hometown neighborhood was completely 70'ed. The houses looked the same but the exterior dressing was definitely different. You see people passing by who look straight out of 70's sitcoms. You look to where you parked your car only to find it a much much older model. That's what broke you. "Did I travel back in fucking time?!?!" The signs all pointed to yes, the very catalyst resting between your torso and arm you realize after you remember what happened before you passed out.

You head back inside, opting to head to your parents former? future? bedroom and sit on the bed putting the magazine on it as well.

You think about how you've been zapped 50 years into the past with no way back. Unlike the movies, you doubt there's some zany inventor who can make you a time machine back to the present. You try to not let it get to you though.

"Maybe I'll wake up the next thing and it'll be alll fine" you halfheartedly believe.

You decide to focus on other things, like the bedroom you're currently in. It's very different compared to your parents. You notice some things at first glance. A desk with multiple drawers. A closet, a mirror and a shelf with trophies of some kind. You decide to investigate the desk first, hoping no one minded looking through their stuff for the time being.

Inside the first drawer you find... detailed notes of dietary routines and workouts, as well as a day to day planner. Flipping through the planner entails various planned dates including "Competitions", "meetings" and workouts. You were amazed by everything you found. The guy who lived before your parents must have been pretty on top of things. The second drawer held a diary, but you decided not look through that incase it was super personal. You have some limits after all.

Next up on your list was the closet, opening it to find a lot of clothes seemingly met for workouts. Tank tops, stringers, shorts, anything a gymgoer would need. The size of them look a bit big for you so you don't choose to try them on. Maybe later, a thought rings in your mind. Everything else in the closet from your searching was standard fare like socks and underwear.

With that out of the way you stare at what you purposefully left for last. The shelf of trophies that stood out very much to you. You walk over to it and take a deep breath. When you opened your eyes you took a good look at the designs of the trophies. Nothing stood out too much so you'd have to take a closer look to get what they're for. So without much left to do, you grab one of the biggest trophies on the shelf and read the engraving.

Charles Leonard Mr. Olympia 1977

The words "Mr. Olympia" made everything click as you realize who this house belongs to. A bodybuilder! "Oh my god, I'm in a bodybuilder's HOUSE!" You shout in excitement. You've always admired bodybuilders as a kid so fate putting you into the house of one was extra exciting! You look at the other trophies and other similar bodybuilding achievements were engraved. Mr. Leonard really knows what he's doing. After looking at all the trophies you put the one you picked up back on the shelf. Your excitement couldn't be contained however as you thought back to that diary you skipped before. Surely... Mr. Leonard wouldn't mind a little peak, right? He could be home any minute so he rushed over to the desk and opened it to a random page on the desk's top area and began reading.

XX/XX/197X

Ab day was killer. I could really feel the ridges on my skin settling. I gave them a good rub and it felt so good!

You imagine a thought up version of Charles rubbing his abs and you feel aroused by it. The room also started getting warmer for some reason. Sweat dripping down your face. At the same time you could feel your stomach churning. You clench it in pain, feeling like it was experiencing years of pains all at once. After some time, the pain subsided, but curiosity got the best of you and you wondered what happened down there and lift your shirt to revealing rippling six pack abs. For a second you're shocked to find out that you have a six pack before that feeling goes away as you remember always having six pack abs as long as you can remember. You give them a good rub, more arousal forming in your system as you flip to the next entry.

XX/XX/197X

Chest day was a success. I can feel my pecs pumped up to the max! I even bounced them a little in excitement.

This was more fuel to the fire. Your imagination runs wild as you imagine a man bouncing his pecs in pure bliss at the gym. As this was happening, a heat was emanating from your chest. It felt like your pectorals were getting bigger. A noticeable ridge was now showing on your t-shirt. When the heat died down you looked at your chest, smiling. Ah, your meat mounds, gotta love 'em. You bounce them in solidarity with the diary entry. Time to keep going!

XX/XX/197X

Arm day was brutal, but I pulled through. Whenever I feel down, I give 'em a good flex!

This entry was just as exciting as the last two. A big strong bodybuilder flexing their two big arms. Then you hear a loud *RIP* coming from your shirt sleeves. Oh yeah, your large bulging biceps don't do well with small shirts. Makes you wonder why you were wearing one... Oh well, next entry.

XX/XX/197X

Worked on my legs and glutes today. They're bulking pretty nicely, especially my ass. Big and firm...

Ass... Suddenly an urge overcame you. You moved one of your hands to your ass. The image of a man with a large ass entered your mind. Meanwhile you could feel the hand on your ass being pushed by something. You look to your side to see two ripe and big buttocks attached to your frame. You also notice how tight your pants are. Definitely a sign of your hard work on your thunder thighs and legs. A loud moan escapes your lips as you think about how much you worked on that ass to what it is today, giving them a firm squeeze. You flip to the next entry before you cum.

XX/XX/197X

Back day had me pumped up! They're wider than before, just like my trapezii!

There was another *RIP* noise after you read the entry. It was your shirt being ripped due to your large back.

"Man, I really gotta know why I wore this small shirt..." You grab the shirt with your large mitts for hands and forcefully rip it off you revealing the top half of your bodybuilder frame. You flex your biceps almost instantly. The tent in your pants ready to burst. You had to stop. Just a few more entries and you're done you say.

XX/XX/197X

I went to get a haircut today, and it looks amazing. Not to mention the barber complimented my mustache. I'm glad other people appreciate my pride and joy.

A tickling sensation is felt above your upper lip. You reach for that area with one of your hands, feeling the texture of facial hair all across. Your beloved stache is where it should be, caressing it for a few more seconds. For whatever reason you then moved your head through your hair. You remember just recently getting it styled to be modern and trendy. Your barber happily remarked that "The 70's brought a new revolution to hairstyles like that one, sir!" You question why that person said 70's for "modern" but maybe he was just nostalgic.

After that entry you decide to speed flip through some more. One mentioned how big Charles' dick which was. something you could happily relate to. Another mentioned the impressive body hair hanging out on his forearms. Another relatable characteristic. It was so wonderful to find such a like-minded individual like you so far in the past. You would love to meet this Charles in person if you could. Speaking of Charles, he might be home soon, you were perusing for quite a long time now. You flip to one last page.

XX/XX/197X

A friend decided to take a photo of me during one of my workouts. I think it looked pretty good so I decided to keep it!

Below the blurb is a printed photo of said photo. Charles in the middle of a leg workout. You realize this is the first time you've seen Charles and wow he looks so amazing! And familiar...

You think back to the magazine that assumedly brought you here. Wasn't a man very similar to you Charles on the cover? Your parents never mentioned a bodybuilder living here in the past and surely they would have mentioned due to your outward love of bodybuilders, especially as one such as built as yourself. Thinking about it... did your parents ever live here? You think to the familiar halls of your home, only to find that you don't see them there. Only you just moving in a week prior. Another memory of them happily still living in your actual childhood home in California. How could you have misremembered so incorrectly? You think to yourself.

You go back to the magazine. You time traveled here right? But memories of getting this magazine right off the shelf because of being such a huge fan of Charles Leonard. You had to grab the magazine of someone who looked so much like you. Time travel? That only happens in fiction! You're a proud man living in the 70's. The 2020's were so far away how could you have ever thought of living in that time.

You look up from the diary, and scanned the once unfamiliar room. Your room. You notice a full size mirror you feel like wasn't there before, but you remember putting it there yourself to do pose checks. You walk over to it. Man you look good. Everything was big in all the right places. But then you think to your resemblance to Charles.

"We really look like twins, don't we?" You say, suddenly aware of your voice sounding just like Charles as well.

You notice your 10 inch dick still forming that tent in your tight pants. You watch your face mimic your actions in the mirror. Blinking, furrowing your brows, flexing. It reminds you of how Charles looked in the magazine photos. Your eyes peer over to the trophy case and then back to the mirror.

"If I live here then why is Charles trophies in my room..." You live alone so it's definitely not being roommates. Besides there was only one bed.

You think to Charles achievements engraved on the trophies, but you remember also earning those achievements. Every single one. Even winning Mr. Olympia 1977. Too many coincidences are piling up. The same achievements, the same appearance, the diary detailing similar memories to your own.

The magazine flashes in your mind one more time, but this time you finally realize that... YOU posed for this magazine not Charles. It hits you like a brick. You're not like Charles Leonard... "I am Charles Leonard!" You shout at the mirror finally releasing all the pent up cum from your dick, causing your underwear and pants to tear apart.

Post-nut clarity hits you hard as you question what the hell you were doing for the past hour.

"And what are these ripped clothes doing here on the floor? And why am I naked?" You decide to ignore the clothes and grab some athletic shorts as well as a pair of briefs from your closet and quickly put them on to cover your privates. You walk back to the mirror.

"Much better."

"Now, let's get rid of those... where did they go?" You swear you saw ripped clothes on the floor. You know you're not wearing your glasses right now but they were definitely there before. "*Sigh* I won't get in a tizzy over it." You rub the area between your brows.

You set your sights on the clock on your nightstand. 4:30 PM.

"I could go to the gym later..." But before you finish that though, a loud ring was heard from the other room.

You run over to your rotary phone in the kitchen and pick up the dial. "Hello, Charles Leonard speaking?" You ask with charisma.

"Hey Charles! It's me, Mike. Do you remember that photoshoot I was talking to you about?" "Yup, they said they'd paid top dollar to have me on the front cover of their magazine."

"Well I know you just moved, but they got a studio near where you lived, and they'd be psyched if you came over today!" "Oh really? What's the address?" You grab a nearby notepad just for times like this. "So you're down to going? Awesome! The address is..." Mike enthusiastically recounts the address to you as you write it down with ease. You make a mental map of where it should be and say goodbye to Mike.

You turn back to your room and grab some items such as your wallet, car keys, as well as a shirt. Unfortunately your bulging muscles will have to be contained for decency. You put on the shirt, your frame seeping through the tight clothing. You smile at the mirror. This is the life!

You waste no time after that, heading to your brand new car and starting the engine. The car's whirls honestly boned you up, but you had a photo shoot to get to. You grab a map from the backseat of your car, making sure you're heading the right direction and start driving.

----------------------------

A week, you're at the gym holding a preview copy of the magazine you posed for. Turns out they wanted something more out there and you happily obliged, being able to show what's in the trunk.

But enough of that, it was time to work out! You grab your water bottle and head to the machines. First up on your list was barbell curls. You grab a barbell and braced yourself for the lifts. After some time you began.

Each lift was exhilarating. You always, always loved that pump you get from workouts. After enough reps. You put the barbell down. It's time for the next exercise. You find a nice lady willing to spot you for this one as you grab a set of dumbbells and laid down on the weight bench. It was time for Another set of reps and you started lifting the dumbbells.

After you finish your reps, the rest of your workout was a breeze. Lift after lift, push after push, pull after pull, it was all so fulfilling. Once you finished, you were drenched in sweat. Time to hit the showers and go home! You're already excited for your workout session tomorrow, but it's time to rest.

Life continued in a routinely fashion for you as Charles Leonard. Wake up, Workout, pose, and repeat. It felt good living in the 70's, living in the now. You don't know what the future holds, but your body will be ready for it.

[lostintransist]

Hell's Spawn | Airport Cocktails

Part 1 | AO3

The warm feeling sitting in your chest rose to a simmer as Krueger sat next to you at the airport bar. Kim, Horangi, in front of his team, had popped over to the restroom.

You weren’t still mad at Krueger; you were mildly annoyed. He didn’t know that, though.

“Horangi said your interview went well. Do you wish to suffer in the desert for a job?”

Sipping your drink, you watch him.

“You don’t smell like ash and ass. You kick smoking?”

The heat in his gaze as it turns to you boils your bones.

“I am saving my frustrations being without nicotine for something special.”

Your sexual desire reared its head like a hydra. Despite best efforts, you didn’t have a God’s-damned ‘hero’ to burn the stump. One orgasm never satiated. Never. It only riled up the need more, one head removed that revealed two more.

“Interesting,” you sip at your drink. Playing unaffected was a craft you had perfected.

Observing him as you swirl your drink, the words slid out.

“What’s your first name?”

Krueger, hiding behind a ball cap, dark shades, and a medical mask, removes his sunglasses. He leans close, his eyes are brown, bordering on green. You doubt any artist could capture the chaotic streak the mossy color ringing his iris gives rise to inside you.

“Sebastian.”

The smell of his beer kisses your lips as they part without thought.

You repeat it back to him, tracing over the bits of his skin visible to you. His eyebrows are such a light shade of brown that you wonder if his hair beneath the hat leans toward blond. He moved closer, or you moved closer? It doesn’t matter. What does, though, is when your phone buzzes against the bar, you jerk upright to look at it.

Lifting and unlocking the screen, you notice Sebastian shift in his seat next to you.

Swiping down to see the notification, you have one message from Kim Possible. He had not been pleased to see what you had changed his name to after he asked you to call him by his first name.

>>My flight got moved up. Krueger is headed your way.

>He found me already.

Firing off a reply, you don’t let your gaze wander from the indication that he was typing.

>>Don’t eat him. I need him on our next job.

>I bet he would like it.

It reminded you of fireworks as Kim typed and deleted so many times until he finally settled on a thumbs-down emoji.

Laughing, you tuck your phone away and stand. Signaling to the bartender that you are finished, you pat Sebastian on the shoulder.

“Have a safe flight. I’m interested to see if pent-up frustrations can make a man explode.”

Saying nothing as you walk away doesn’t prevent the weight of him watching you.

Getting settled at your gate, you pull out your phone and settle into a fluffy little novel you have been working on reading when you’re awake and have the brain space to do so. Pages fly by. You are violently ripped from the story when a hand settles on your knee, the one crossed over the other. Whipping your head to the side, ready to tear a strip off the man who dared, there sits Sebastian. If you sit up straight, his head will be hovering over your shoulder. His gaze sears you even behind his sunglasses.

“Go on, let us read your dirty little stories.”

The husk in his voice shivers down your body. He must feel it for the pressure he grips your thigh with.

“This isn’t a dirty story,” you roll your eyes as you shift and try to settle some distance between you. He hears what you mutter to yourself, “I can recommend some if you need advice on how to treat women, though.”

“If any more thoughts enter my head of how to take care of a woman, bärchen, you will find me stalking your dreams.”

When the shivers come this time, they are tinged with panic, and all the more potent for them.

Sebastian clings until your boarding begins. The stubborn odor of his cologne stains the insides of your nose and teases you as you fall apart under your own ministrations after falling into bed for the night.

@demothers-empty-blog

Hell Masterlist | Masterlist

[xi-vz]

the one who waits on the rocks

•

•

•

I.

There’s a story they tell in the village.

About a merman who waits on the black rocks of the dune.

Not the kind from fairy tales—not golden-haired and smiling, not singing about love. This one is small. Barely the size of a man, with a tail the color of reef and a voice that’s never heard. He’s seen sometimes just after storms, curled on the black stones at the edge of the sea, staring out like he’s waiting for something that will never come.

Some say he’s a ghost. Others say he’s a curse. The old women who braid seaweed into charms just shake their heads and say he’s in love with the sea and something else he can’t have.

Only Mobei Jun knows the truth.

Because the merman talks to him.

II.

It starts like this:

Mobei Jun is a quiet man. He fishes alone. Lives in a house that smells of cedar and salt. He has no friends, no family, no need for gossip or warmth or the rituals of the living.

He wakes before the gulls. Rows out before dawn. Speaks to no one unless spoken to.

Until one morning, drifting just offshore, he hears a soft voice.

“Hey. You.”

He looks over.

There’s a man in the water.

No. Not a man.

A merman.

He’s clinging to the side of the boat, dark sea-slick hair stuck to his forehead and bare shoulders. His tail is a muted green with streaks of pale gold, looking more like sea-glass instead of reef. His hands are small, webbed, clumsy. He’s not beautiful in the way the legends say, but his eyes are wide and bright and searching.

“You’re not going to kill me, right?” the merman asks.

Mobei Jun blinks in surprise. “No.”

The merman exhales. “Cool. Can I sit here awhile? My tail’s cramping and I’m not supposed to go near boats… but I think I pulled a muscle.”

Mobei Jun nods. He doesn’t ask why the merman doesn’t just sit on the ocean floor. Or why he chose to approach him after days of watching from afar. He doesn’t call out the lie for what it is.

The merman hoists himself halfway up the side, dripping all over the planks.

“I’m Shang Qinghua, by the way. Not important. Just being polite.”

Mobei Jun says nothing.

Shang Qinghua grins. “You don’t talk much, huh?”

“No.”

“Nice. I hate being interrupted.”

III.

They meet again.

And again.

Shang Qinghua never asks for food. Never asks for help. Just sits on the planks or floats beside the boat and talks—about the tides, about his martial brothers, about how the deep ocean is overrated and honestly kind of terrifying.

“Too much pressure,” he says. “And anglerfish. Have you seen an anglerfish? They’d kill you if you look at them wrong. It’s hard not to gawk!”

Mobei Jun chuckles once, very softly.

Shang Qinghua hears it. His smile flickers, his eyes widen, then his smile returns brighter, revealing perfect teeth and sharp canines. The sight of it makes Mobei Jun’s heart stutter.

He stops joking for a beat and says, quietly, “You’re the only person who’s ever really listened to me.”

Mobei Jun looks at him with eyes as blue as the underside of a glacier and says, simply, “You’re worth listening to.”

Shang Qinghua doesn’t reply for a long time after that.

But he comes back the next day.

IV.

There are rules about merfolk and humans.

Shang Qinghua knows them. They’re old and cruel and shaped like iron. They’re drilled into everyone’s head when they’re still a fry.

1. Don’t let a human touch your skin unless you’re ready to drown.

2. Don’t give them your true name.

3. Don’t fall in love or befriend them.

4. Don’t let them see you.

He’s already broken three.

He wonders how long he has before the sea notices.

V.

One evening, Mobei Jun finds Shang Qinghua on the rocks, curled up and shaking.

“Cold,” Shang Qinghua mumbles when Mobei Jun lifts him. He’s never been cold in the water before, he knows what it means. His tail is bleeding from shallow cuts. “I stayed too long. The tide changed.”

Mobei Jun brings him inside.

Lays him in the old wooden tub by the fire.

Washes the blood from the frayed ends of his tail with careful, wordless hands. The scales are smooth under his fingers.

Shang Qinghua watches him through half-lidded eyes. “Will you always let me stay?”

“Yes.”

“…Why?”

Mobei Jun looks at him, steady and sure.

“Because you keep coming back.”

VI.

Shang Qinghua kisses him one night.

It’s stupid. Quick. Salt-slick and shaking.

He pulls back immediately.

“Sorry,” he says, all in a rush. “I know you didn’t ask for that—I just—sometimes I think I want things I’m not allowed to want, and I’m sorry if I—”

Mobei Jun cups his face and kisses him again.

Gently. Quietly. Like the sea itself taking something back.

When they part, Shang Qinghua is breathless.

Mobei Jun says nothing.

But he touches Shang Qinghua’s hand like an anchor.

VII.

In the morning, the tide comes high and angry.

Shang Qinghua is gone.

The sea takes what it wants.

Mobei Jun waits.

One day.

Three days.

A week.

A month.

The village whispers that the curse has ended.

Mobei Jun doesn’t believe in curses.

VIII.

The rocks are bare for ten weeks.

On the eleventh, Shang Qinghua crawls out of the ocean. He makes way to the cottage and collapses on the porch, half-human, half-torn.

His tail has split in two, a painful transformation happening. He’s bleeding freely. His fingers are raw.

His voice shakes. “I can’t go back.”

Mobei Jun doesn’t speak. He lifts Shang Qinghua up and brings him inside.

IX.

Shang Qinghua lives in the house now. He has a job in the village. He has an aura that’s other, but people like him.

He leaves during the new moon, just to swim, just to remember.

But always returns.

Sometimes walking.

Sometimes carried by the tide.

Mobei Jun never asks him to stay.

But every morning, there’s tea for two.

[fr-likes-chocolate]

whoogh... alright here goes nothing!

I was only pushing the spear into your side (again and again and again) Empires SMP

Katherine left the meeting room and walked through the forest, looking around at the wilted flowers. Every night, House Blossom’s temperatures dropped lower and lower, allowing frost to creep in. It was wreaking havoc on the flowers, most of which had started to wilt. 

She frowned, kneeling down and examining a particularly wilted daffodil. “I’m so sorry little friend…” she murmured. “It’s going to be ok…”

of blocks and new beginnings (mcyt in general? it follows an alternate timeline for the Minecraft movie with Mumbo and Lizzie but there's gonna be a bunch of others??? idk.)

“Lizzie.” she replied as they walked into the storage unit. Lizzie looked around for a moment before turning to the Nintendo box. Mumbo peeked over her shoulder as she carefully opened it.

Instead of a Nintendo, there were assorted toys and trinkets inside, Lizzie deflated as she looked inside the box. “Dammit…” she muttered. “Well there goes a few months of rent…”

To thaw permafrost (empires SMP x deltarune)

Martyn and Scott turned to look at the newcomer, Katherine had long black that was tied back in a braid adorned with flowers. Her dress was light purple and embroidered with flowers of the same color. Attached to her back were iridescent insect wings that looked like glass. She smiled, “well I wanted to meet our newcomers, and to confirm the rumors that Scott had returned.”

Unnamed Skizzpulseza fic (mcyt in general)

Skizz and Impulse glanced at each other, but followed the man. They walked back out onto the streets with Phil taking the lead. “I’d take you to this really nice diner across town but uh- I haven't gotten my next paycheck, and I’d like to afford food for the next week.” Phil let out a dry chuckle.

“That’s fine. We know how it is.” Impulse sighed.

This is the end of the bloom (life series)

“However I think I would tell at least a few other people. I know you don’t want this making its way back to Ren, but people ought to know.” Big B sat next to Martyn and put an arm around his shoulders. Martyn smiled slightly and leaned into the touch. “I know you’ve still got a few months, but for what it’s worth, you were an amazing friend. I’ll miss you.” Big B smiled.

“Oh god, I’ll miss you too B.” Martyn sighed. “You are a wonderful friend, and I’m sorry you’ve got to live with knowing about this…”

The Crow and the Canary (QSMP)

“Everyone still intact?” Fit’s voice rang out, “No one’s lost a limb?” A few chuckles and comments about the man’s prosthetic rang out.

“I think so-” Phil mumbled, walking over to Tubbo and Jimmy, “Hey, good to see you two in one piece.”

Well shit, I guess you're coming with us. (sbi)

Phil barked and growled, backing into the shadows, the only thing visible were his glowing eyes, trained on Tommy.

“Tommy I think we should back off- he’s in distress and we shouldn’t push-“ Techno put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder.

“No no- he’s not ok- this isn’t normal-“ Tommy assured, “something’s wrong…”

~~~

that's all I've got for now!

Tag game!

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your latest fanfics (or up to if you have less!) & tag 10 people. I was tagged by @irrealisms!

Tagging: @droidofmay, @leafcabbage, @blueeyedjoy, @these-godforsaken-halls, @rebelpeas, @nomsfaultau, @sohrleas @fensandmarshes, @residenthesitant, @imperialkatwala

1. out of my head, of my heart and my mind (Dream SMP)

Tommy let himself slump into a graceless heap on top of an apartment building, yanking his communicator out of his ear. The brick wall was rough on his back, and the pebbled surface of the roof dug into the spaces between his armour. The central tower of city hall loomed over him like an omen, Hero Tower shining oppressively behind it in the setting sun. Tommy propped his head in his hands, averting his gaze. 

2. A Revelation Starts To Form (Minecraft (Video Game), Dream SMP)

Phil almost runs into the soldiers when he turns the corner. He’s thinking of other things, hand under his cloak turning a carved wooden crow from Technoblade between his fingers, and footsteps in this stretch of corridor echo directionlessly. He catches himself, wings coming out to propel him away from the bodies he nearly collided with, and multiple pairs of hands come out as if to fend him off. 

3. the pressure and the panic you push your body through (Origins SMP)

When the Ender King’s guards hauled him back down the basement steps, the Crowfather’s left eye was swollen nearly closed, and his nose was so visibly broken it moved when he breathed.

4. Where You Go And I Will Follow (Dream SMP)

Most passengers on the system shuttle were napping or focused on media as it started the scheduled descent to the Vault. Phil gathered his things and checked the viewport again. The prison hung in space outside the shuttle, a massive unmarked cube in the void. There was an irregular sparkle in the empty half-km around the construction, the laser deflection array sparking as it vaporized micro-meteorites that dared to come close. The shuttle proceeded on a careful descent down the narrow path for transit in and out of the station, bracketed on each side by the prison’s security defenses.

5. Left Behind Everything I Knew (SMPEarth)

Technoblade had arrived at the stronghold at about three in the afternoon, the portal dropping him onto a glacier under a velvet-dark sky speckled with stars.

6. runnin' with this plan (pull me, grab me)  (Dream SMP)

The path through the evil wizard’s lair had been long and twisting, full of dead ends and magical traps and monsters summoned out of nowhere.

7. took a little journey to the unknown (Dream SMP)

The man with the cargo truck Phil had hired looked at his phone, then stepped forward to grab the final box out of the back. “Why don’t I help you bring this last bit upstairs, finish up?” 

8. You Fill My Lungs With Sweetness (Dream SMP)

Phil put a bowl of soup in front of Technoblade and then put one at his own spot, sitting down and settling his wings behind him as he picked up his spoon. “There we go. Let me know what you think.”

9. Makes The Rain Different (Dream SMP)

Techno shuffled sideways and dropped the new mattress into place, then stood back and considered the bed. He was tired—he was always tired nowadays—but it looked good. What was next on the pre-hibernation checklist? He called down to the ground floor. “Bed’s together, Phil, what did you say came next?”

10. I'm Not Askin' For A Miracle  (Dream SMP)

The Syndicate meeting had gone off the rails immediately, as usual.

Swapping between first lines and first paragraphs based entirely on vibes. Feel free to do this if you want to, even if not tagged.

[jrueships]

7C2, no I will not justify my reasoning. 😌

IT'S PURPLE 😡😡🤬‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

[luck-of-the-drawings]

POOR GABRIEL MONTEZ! YOU NEVER SAW THIS COMING DID YOU? ALL YOU WANTED WAS POWER. SECURITY. SAFETY. & THATS EXACTLY WHAT YOU GOT! JUST IN EXCHANGE FOR YOUR BODY. LETS JUST HOPE NO ONE FUCKS THIS UP. LETS JUST HOPE YOU WONT HAVE TO CLEAN UP THE MESS.

[000marie198]

pulled a power move

my wedding dress was in the signature colors of my current fav blorbo, the EXACT shades

Beat that

[arttsuka]

Happy new year!!! I hope you feel better soon and don't worry about how much art you're posting, because your art is so beautiful and amazing that even one drawing can sustain me for a year <3 <3 <3

Happy new year :)

[toasted-valentine]

@pyrotechnicarus was right, that tv can fucking glow.

[dexaroth]

i cant believe the day but i finally got a full tower pc. bought it already built and at a considerable discount of some 320 dollars off. its fucking huge and theres so many things going on inside... i was initially planning on choosing the parts myself but finding the graphics card was so hard and everyone else convinced me to just buy it built and honestly? good. id probably have fucked this up so badly by myself

i cant use it yet bc i took too long to buy the monitor that was also on sale and now its regular price -_- tho i managed to find a discount used one for now. well see how that goes since ill get it tomorrow. i tested it on out living room tv and it had some kaspersky thingy open and like thats so cute. i hope they left some treats in the browsing history for me to search through before i wipe it clean

[outlying-hyppocrate]

oh how i turn myself into the fictional concept i prize above everyone else!!

[kurooh]

bf! toji who fucks you so well on camera that your account skyrockets to the top on onlyfans and pornhub. his face, body, and dirty talk garners thousands—no, millions—of followers and gets the money rolling in faster than you could say his name. of course, he’s not the only reason for all the popularity; you’re sexy in every way possible, fucking him back before you inevitably go dumb on his cock, going so far as to talk right back to him.

“what am i, a whore?” despite his words, toji smirks, clicking his tongue at the incoming comments of new members of the stream. “we’ve been live for two minutes. ‘m not taking my clothes off yet, damn.”

“oh, come on,” you press up against his side, manicured nails lightly raking over his biceps, “give ‘em what they want, toji.”

he huffs, turning his head to the side. still damp from the shower, toji’s dark hair goes along with the movement, bits sticking to his forehead. “what you want or what they want, baby?”

the chat explodes with wild comments, ranging from raw next question to i’m doing it are you, all of which makes you laugh. tips ka-ching on the screen and finally, the clothes fly off in all directions.

toji’s on his back, greedily pulling you on top of his face like he’s starving (dinner was an hour ago). he’s refrained from ripping off your underwear, favoring the idea of teasing you through the fabric instead.

“off, let me take ‘em off,” you whine, squirming as he holds you over his face and takes his sweet goddamn time licking over your dampened panties. “that’s not fair, toji.”

his green eyes narrow at you, a scoff slipping past his lips. so sassy, but at least he doesn’t ignore your pleas this time—maybe toji’s feeling magnanimous. “suck it up.”

perhaps not. another whine, and you go so far as to tug at his hair, hips rocking insistently into his face. “you’re so annoying,” neither of you are looking at your phone, the way the screen’s bursting with colorful tip notifications and comments, “if you aren’t hungry, just say so. don’t waste my time, toji.”

of course toji would never admit it, but he’s got a habit of being easy: always taking your purposeful bait, smug expression melting into a scowl. and oh, maybe that was the wrong thing to say—but it certainly feels so damn right when he yanks your panties to the side and sits you all the way down on his face.

still offended, he grunts, mumbling something intelligible as his lips find your wet cunt. (like, you’ve been together for how long?) slippery arousal coats your skin, slicking up his lips with something bittersweet when he indulges in his favorite dessert.

you’re rocking your hips into his face, eagerly taking everything he’s giving you. a small moan escapes you when your clit bumps into the tip of his nose, sending a delightful bolt of electricity through your entire body.

“t-toji, fuck.”

your virtual audience is nearly enjoying this as much as you are. if his teeth weren’t lightly nibbling at your folds while his tongue pushes inside you inch by inch, you’d be in a state to laugh at the comments. one of his palms falls away from your ass and before you can register the brief loss, a stinging slap cuts through the air.

“oughta watch that mouth, babygirl,” toji ignores the wail that follows the impact, along with the glossy tears that spring to your eyes. “maybe if you didn’t have so much goddamn nerve, i’d..”

it shouldn’t come out as quickly as it does, but you purposefully grind down into his mouth, ignoring the muffled sound of him choking on all the saliva. “you’d what, toji?”

some comments are excited, wondering what’ll happen now that you’re challenging him right back. others are raving about being in your position or toji’s—something along the lines of how difficult it is to choose.

he shoves you up with just one hand, feeling his cock twitch from the softness of your thighs circling his head and the way you use that damn mouth of yours. toji’s never had someone talk back to him as much as you do, and it’s something he’ll never get tired of. it’s something that throws him off while he’s giving you backshots and secretly makes him cum faster, although he pretends to get hamstring cramps just to buy himself some more time.

toji’s almost too blissed out to snap back.

“i’d give you mercy, but what was i jus’ saying? maybe you’d like it a little fuckin’ better if i kept eating this pussy of yours.”

you look down your nose at him. “like you could keep going, old man.”

that strikes a chord, hitting a nerve much faster than it should. so toji drags in a breath and dives in, as filthy and careless as he can be—making a mess, spreading your legs impossibly wider just to find that sweet spot of yours that always gets you arching on his face.

wet noise fills the room, backing the breathless gasps and moans that fall from your lips, along with softer panting of mumbled praises bunching with his name. the way he eats—no, devours—you is akin to someone who’s been both starving and thirsty for days on end, too insatiable to please with just one taste.

ecstasy sparks in all your nerves, chasing its way to the tension pooling in the core of your body. it’s red hot and heavy, begging to be released; but no, toji commands your high with the rough strokes of his tongue and obscene slurping of his lips. he lets it simmer right below the surface until you’re begging, hands on either side of his head as you weakly hump against his face.

“i-i said,” you grit out, ignoring the sticky sheen of sweat covering your face, “make me cum, toji.”

he arches an eyebrow, satisfaction sparkling in his eyes. “and ya still didn’t say please.”

frustration bubbles up in your chest. it’s rare for you to be reduced to a begging mess on live, but there’s supposedly a first time for everything. your lips part, preparing to give him what he wants, when something bratty speaks in the back of your mind. there’s no need to listen to him, is there?

with one hand slipping into his damp hair and the other stabilizing you on the bed, you take what you want from him. like an ocean wave, your hips roll not-so-gently over his face until you finally fall over the edge, convulsing a little as you cum.

the orgasm literally takes your breath away—not to mention his as well—and leaves you whining as you come down from the intense high, stars shooting across your vision. neither of you have been paying much attention to your phone, too engrossed in each other to notice the fact that you’ve met the livestream donation goal or all the new followers you’ve earned.

toji lifts you up, cheeks flushed scarlet. he is simultaneously turned on by you taking control of him and also pissed that you refused to say just one word.

“fucking brat,” toji curses, easily maneuvering your weakened body into a new position that’s got you on your hands and knees, ass all the way up. “you’re gonna face that goddamn camera while i wreck this pretty pussy, got that?”

“‘m still sensi—oh my god. a-ah, fuck—wait a second, i—”

behind you, toji smacks his lips, placing both hands on your ass cheeks and spreading you wide. “no, no. this is what you wanted, right? for me to make you cum again and a-fucking-gain.”

you backpedal, back arching unintentionally when two large fingers slide into your cunt without much resistance. “fuck, tojiii, wait—”

a squeal actually leaves you when he puts a hand on the small of your back and forces you to maintain the arch. toji can be stingy at times, but never when you—he’s got a habit of being too generous, if the right buttons are pushed.

“might wanna think about saying please next time, yeah? fuckin’ thought so.”

[paetalks]

nanami kento, very serious looking guy working in the finance department, having a little crush for the new girl who just got hired by the creative team.

you didn’t even know him, not until the christmas dinner party at the office. you were fairly new, only been working there for four months. working for a big company had not always been your goal, but when you got offered the position freshly out of college you couldn’t say no. it was well paid, in the city center, and allowed you to put your degree to use - which was a big plus, since finding a good job lately seemed to be stressful for people with an art degree (or so you were told by basically everybody).

when you first saw him, your heart skipped a bit. he looked insanely good, with his white shirt hugging a toned chest and short blonde hair falling slightly on his forehead. he was talking with your creative project manager, big hands gesturing softly while speaking and a light smile on his face. it was the first time you ever laid eyes on this beautiful man, and as soon as you realized you were staring a bit too hard, he had already made eye contact. eyebrows slightly furrowed, his eyes met yours. before you even knew, you were walking up to him.

“hi” you said, breathily. you felt your hands sweat and damned yourself mentally for behaving like a girl seeing a cute boy for the first time. up close, you realized he must have been a little older. not too much but the confidence he exuded was clearly not the one of someone in his early twenties - nothing like a guy your age. your manager looked around, confused on why you were intruding in their conversation, and eventually asked “hi, y/n. did you need something?”

you blushed immediately, looking away from the beautiful man, realizing there was no good reason to justify your sudden intrusion. you just saw a good looking man and walked up to him as if nothing else was going on. “oh…” your mouth slightly open, your mind racing to find something appropriate to say.

“i think we have not been introduced yet.” his voice was deep and you felt it in your stomach, like music at a concert. your eyes darted up to the unknown man, nodding shyly. “right. my name is nanami kento, pleased to meet you.”

you felt your insides melt while shaking his big hand, mumbling your name and smiling softly. five seconds later, you pretended like someone was calling your name from somewhere where your other colleagues were and excused yourself, quickly leaving just like you did arriving.

watching you walk away, nanami let out a soft smile, hoping the man in front of him was not going to pay much mind to it. “oh, don’t worry about y/n. she’s young, and new. she’s still trying to find her way around here, you know?” your project manager laughed awkwardly, still wondering what was all that about. kento shrugged, watching you from afar. your cheeks were red and the grip on the glass you had in your hands looked incredibly stiff.

what neither you or your protect manager knew was that nanami kento did know who you were. he had noticed you, maybe on your first or second day, when you got lost and popped up in the finance department. your colorful sweater and laptop full of stickers looked very out of place and when one of his colleagues approached you, letting you know that maybe you had walked in the wrong office, you did turn another color from embarrassment and started profoundly apologize. he thought you were cute, and funny, but the more he got a glimpse of you in the hallways, the more he noticed you wherever he were.

the break room, the coffee shop in front of the office building, the elevator. he found you in every room, even if you didn’t even know he was there. it was like he couldn’t get enough of you, like looking at you from afar was something he had grown addicted to in such a short time.

he wouldn’t have called it a crush, but whenever he needed to print something he would carefully choose the printer on the same floor your office was on - hoping that, when walking by, your door would be open and that he could catch a glimpse of you. okay, maybe thinking back, there had been a few moments in which he felt very infatuated by the idea of you…

looking at you from across the room, while zoning out on the conversation he was in, and noticing how sometimes you would look back too, he told himself that yes, that was definitely a crush.

idk i love the dynamics of stoic boyfriend x artsy girlfriend. wtv??? i’m done .