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gracieheartspedro · 1 day ago

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Me and The Devil

pairing: qz!joel miller x afab!reader

how to help the palestinians and what it means to write for the last of us characters

description: joel seeks out revenge on the man who stole from him. he finds you in the process. 14k words

warnings: mdni!, dark content, DUBCON, joel is a bad man, no mention of age (but joel is older than reader), murder, weapon use (g*ns), mentions of drug and alcohol, excessive alcohol consumption from reader, nicknames for reader (sweetheart, little one, etc.), stockholm syndrome, forced withdrawals from alcohol, mentions of non-con, forced proximity, physical violence/assault, reader is freaky and insane, reader has a vagina and boobs, sub!reader, dom!joel, orgasm denial, masturbation, unprotected p-in-v, oral (m receiving), fingering, throat fucking, cumplay/cum eating, dirty talk, name calling, spanking. PLEASE LISTEN TO THE WARNINGS.

author’s note: hi everyone! this fic came to me literally like... january of last year. it sat in the docs forever. and then my wonderful and beautiful friend @amanitacowboy told me to pick it back up and it spiraled from there. she also helped me edit, so i've forever indebted to you, lindsey!! it's probably the meanest joel you will get from me. some of the story has loose ends, but it's intentional *brow wiggle* (; also thank you @pedgito for listening to me blab about this shit forever. lindsey and ali have heard every detail and tidbit in this fic, I swear. thank you for putting up with me! anyway, hope you dirty lil whores enjoy this one!

You thought he was a myth.

The crime-riddled streets of the Boston QZ seemed to lace different stories about him together. You could not understand how a pill dealer could also kill countless guards and top honchos. People would conjure up the wildest lies about the man, so you were always morbidly curious.

You would sit in your apartment organizing the weapons you and your partner laundered through the streets of the QZ, pondering what it would be like to meet the man. You were never the one to deliver the weapons, only ensuring you were getting what you paid for. Your partner, Roger, would dispense the weapons to God knows who.

It was enough to get you by. You never ran out of rations and your alcohol dependency was never a problem.

You were too young to be this beat down. That’s what Roger would tell you, at least.

But the truth of the matter was that before the QZ, you were free-roaming the US with no purpose. You killed a lot of people. When you arrived at the QZ with an ounce of ‘normalcy’ within your reach, you promised yourself never again. The darkness you harnessed would have to be forced down, sitting in the very pits of your being.

When you met Roger, he just needed someone to live in his apartment and watch his stash when he was gone. You did just that and eventually, you formed an odd bond with the older man. He would let you count his rations and drink his liquor. Four years later, you depended on him to bring you back alcohol in return for your watchful eye. If a shipment came in late, you would panic, thinking your addiction would get cut off. You needed something to numb the scrambling thoughts, violent tendencies, and crippling anxiety.

After one tough deal, Roger stumbles back to your shared apartment, venting about the man.

“Fuckin’ Joel screwed me again. Gave him two .22’s and the motherfucker shorted me a bottle of Oxys.”

You were already too far gone to listen to the rest of the rant, finding yourself dozing off on the couch. The alcohol too often consumed you, sending you into dark nightmares that would have you waking up in the dead of night screaming.

By the time you woke up, though, Roger was no where to be found. Him being gone was not the worrisome part, though.

No, what worried you was all the drugs and guns he left out on display.

Springing up from your spot on the couch, you instantly get to work hiding the paraphernalia. When you grab a handgun from the table where you remember Roger sitting before you close your eyes, you feel eyes on you.

You are still drunk and now your stomach is churning. You feel like you may throw up.

There’s a figure standing by the window. Too tall to be Roger.

Your instant dazed reaction is to hold the gun up, and point at the large man who stands in your messy bedroom. You blink away the sleep that’s still in your eyes and stumble a bit as the intoxication still riddles your bones.

“You were sleepin’ when I came in,” His voice is slow and deep and it sends chills down your forearms.

“Who are you?”

You managed to sound pretty confident, even though you were scared shitless. You had not been so rattled since you almost got bit by some infected a year ago. You can make out his clothes, but that’s about it. Dirty jeans, an old green flannel with holes, and dark brown boots.

“‘M Joel. Roger ever told you about me?”

He finally turns to face you. You’re shocked to see a handsome dark-haired man and not some damaged old mug. His eyebrows are perpetually furrowed it seems, but you could also tell he was annoyed you were pointing a loaded gun at him.

You were so terrified, you could not even speak.

He puts a hand up, holding it over the barrel of the gun. “You shouldn’t be pointin’ that at me, sweetheart.”

You just nod, slowly putting down the weapon. You did not want problems with him. You knew what he was capable of.

You also knew your aim would be off if you did try to shoot, still feeling like you were rocking on a boat.

“Sorry,” You mutter, bringing the gun down and to your side. You swallow hard as his eyes rake your entire body, “Yes, he’s told me about you. Other people have, too.”

He looks pleased with that response. He steps away from the window and begins to saunter over to you. His footfalls are heavy. You assume it is because of his filthy brown boots. Or maybe it was the intimidation factor he was playing for you. He did not need to scare you, because you were fucked up and not on your game. He could kill you at any time. Why has he not killed you yet?

“What have people said about me?”

You gulp, sucking in a whiff of his musk. He somehow still smelled good, even though it looked like he had been rolling in the dirt. His hair was pretty greasy but the curls laid perfectly on both sides. He looks like a guy you would avoid in the street, especially in this QZ. The attractive ones were usually the ones who would take advantage of any woman who looked their way.

“They said you’re dangerous,” You manage, holding the grip of the gun a bit tighter, “That you have killed a-a lot of people.”

“Yeah,” Is all he says, before stepping an inch closer, “Yeah, I have.”

You can not look away from him. You are so rattled at the fact that he is good-looking. You vividly remember hearing a couple of dealers talk about how formidable he was and for some reason, you mocked up a man who looked like The Joker from Batman.

He inspects you and your gun and crosses his arms, almost like he is guarding himself. “Now tell me�� What did Roger say when he came home last night? I need to know how to handle this situation without spillin’ any more blood.”

You start to panic a bit, but you know you can’t be rash with your emotions. You did not want to be more blood that Joel Miller spills. You did not need to be a notch in his belt.

But you also did not want to rat out Roger. He had done so much for you and you knew deep down, he cared for you in his own sick ways. If you told Joel everything, would that come at cost to him?

What were you thinking? He was a dead man.

He notices your demeanor change and his eyes soften. “Don’t worry, little one. I don’t kill just anyone. Unless they cross me. You haven’t crossed me, have you?”

You do not know why or how, but tears start to spill from your eyes. You know you are not guilty of doing him wrong, but you have heard before that it does not matter in his eyes. By proxy, you are associated with the man who fucked him over. You would be next.

“I have not crossed you, Mr. Miller,” You start to slur a bit, your face getting wet quickly with more tears, “Roger just said you fucked him over. I was too fucked up to hear the rest. Said you didn’t give him enough oxys.”

Joel raises one hand and grabs the bottom of your chin. His skin is rough and callous against your sheeny skin. His whole aura gives off danger. You are too afraid to look at him. You’re trembling, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“That fucker stole them all, that’s why. When I tried to get him to confess his wrongdoings, fucker dipped out of there,” He explains, using his thumb to push one of your falling tears, “We followed him and luckily he swallowed too many pills even to realize we were breaking in. You were pretty out of it, too.”

“I w-was d-drinking last n-night,” You knew you had to get ahold of yourself. You were like sand in his hands, slipping right through his fingers. You were so easy to get information out of. “Where did you take him?”

Joel clicks his tongue, tilting your face so your eyes would look into his, “Don’t worry bout that, sweetheart.”

“Is he going to die?”

“Probably.” He states plainly, his eyes scanning your figure, “You’re going to show me where his stash is and ‘m gonna take back what’s mine.”

Your heart sinks to the floor. Roger was all you had. Without him running the guns and ammo, you had no way of income. You could not do these things yourself, especially now that Joel Miller knew who you were. No one would come near you when they heard he paid you and Roger a visit.

“I’ll show you,” You respond, trying to steady your voice. “Are you going to kill me?”

It was selfish. With him admitting to having to kill Roger, you knew you were fucked either way. Without a dealer or runner, you had no earnings. You were going to rot away in this apartment, dying from starvation. Joel killing you would be a mercy killing and from the sounds of it, he did not show much mercy.

“Just tell me where everything is.”

You shake your head as you step back away from him. Your instinct is to hand him the gun in your hands, proving to him that you are not a real threat. You grab the barrel and give him the grip, shaking it in his direction. “Here.”

He stares at you, the divots on his forehead still prominent. He slowly lifts his flannel. You first see his hairy tummy and then you see he has a 9mm strapped in his waistband. “Don’t need it, sweetheart.”

You keep the gun extended out to him, “You can have another.”

There’s a beat of silence, a bitterness in the air.

“Are you stalling?” Your blood runs cold. You were not, you were just afraid and unsure of yourself. You also assumed he would want your weapon so you would not use it against him. So many assumptions run through your head, that you are not even aware you are creating more uncertainty for him.

Your eyes drop, looking at the gun. “No, sir. Here… Follow me.”

You turn on your heels, walking back out to the dining room, right off the kitchen. You scoot the table away from the rug, the ammo and pills on the table vibrating as it moves. Joel watches your every move, the same unimpressed expression written on his face. You put the gun down on the table before you get on your knees at the corner of the rug. You pull it back, revealing a large trap door Roger installed before you moved in with him. It had a deadlock on it that was only able to be opened with a code.

You think for a moment, your muddled brain trying to remember the numbers.

8-3-6-7-1-9-6-9.

You say it out loud as you open it. When it clicks, you pull down and unhook it. As you toss it away from you, you hear Joel clear his throat. “Move.”

You instantly throw your hands up, crawling back onto your knees and sliding away from the trap door. You glance back at the tall man, seeing he has his gun trained on you. You did not even hear him pull it out. You sit back, pressing your shoulders into the wall opposite of the entrance of the storage cut-out. It’s lined with different drugs, handguns, some shotguns, and lots of pornography.

Joel chuckles darkly, looking into the unit. “Seems like you two are freaky, huh?”

You never assumed Joel thought Roger was your lover, but the inclination made you want to throw up. You shake your head, “He was. Not me.”

His addiction never really affected you in any way. He saved those vices for when he was alone. You do recall one night accidentally walking in on him doing something very disturbing that was forever etched inside your brain. Jerking off over a pillow with a magazine full of very young girls. You never looked at him the same way after that.

Roger was sick in the head, but he gave you drugs. He gave you alcohol. He gave you a place to stay.

Joel clicks his tongue, crouching down to loot through your stash. “You’re too young for’a man his age, anyway. Too pretty.”

The hairs on your arms and shoulders raise at such a comment. You cock your head to the side, watching the man curiously. He thought you were pretty.

He does not say anything else the rest of the time he is picking up bags of pills. He inspects each one, sniffing some of the bags as he does. The illumination from the window in the dining room lights up his face with golden stripes. It made you take note of his amber eyes. They were not dark brown in the sunlight. You can hear people on the street from the partially shattered panels, some dragged-out footsteps, and some hushed conversations. Screaming for help would be no use, people hear women screaming in the streets in broad daylight and do nothing. This QZ was not about justice. It was every man for himself.

Joel stands up, tucking his gun back into his waistband. His eyes laser toward you and you feel his gaze pierce you. “Stand up, you’re comin’ with me.”

You do not try to hide your fear. While you knew better, you silently hoped that he would just shoot you here, let you drown in your own blood in the comfort of your own home. But he was going to take you to a secondary location. You would be dying on his terms.

You push yourself up off the floor, your feet stuttering as you walk over to him. “Can I put on some shoes?”

He nods almost robotically. He watches you carefully as you drag yourself across the living room. You start to realize how torn up the place really is. Roger must have put up a fight because the side table is in pieces on the rug. You step around the splinters and grab your boots. After you tie up your laces, Joel is yanking you up by your bicep and dragging you into the dark alley your apartment opens up into. You were so fucked.

Joel is a harsh man, but he does not kill you.

You did not understand why he kept you around. You were eating his food, occupying a room in his apartment, and you were going through horrific withdrawals. He refused to give you an ounce of alcohol. The first couple nights at Joel’s, you were so sick that you violently shook for a whole day straight. You begged Joel through the door to shoot you and put you out of your misery. It was the worst feeling in the world. Your heart felt like it may beat out of your chest.

After the third day, your shakes had subsided and your mind was a bit more clear. You still felt like shit, but it was tolerable enough that you just laid in bed and stared at the floral wallpaper in your new bedroom.

You did not mind being spared, but being locked away was almost worse than death. You noted the mold smell the day you arrived in Joel’s apartment. You could not stop smelling it, no matter what you did. You kept telling yourself you would get used to it, but it always lingered. He restricted you to a bedroom where the window was completely caged. You had spotty natural light that only really peaked through in the evenings.

Joel would bring you a small meal every morning, usually stale bread and a mug of water. On rare occasions, his footsteps would stomp over to your rotting wooden door and he’d unlock the door to feed you for lunch. That only happened twice, though, and it was a bare-bones meal. But every night, right after sunset, he would barge in with a Spam sandwich and a cup of ice water. You would sit on the rusty framed-out bed as he sat in the armchair in the corner of the room by the window. Occasionally he would have a sandwich for himself, other times he would just sit there and watch you slowly eat the meal he provided.

And for some sick reason, you always thanked him.

He would never reply, his jaw slack and arms crossed. You only heard his voice a handful of times since he brought you here.

After two weeks of isolation and staring contests over dinner, Joel finally asked you a question after you finished your Spam sandwich. “Do you want to shower?”

You had not washed yourself in weeks and you could smell yourself. The idea of being able to shower was so appealing, that you actually smiled as he asked it.

Joel guided you across his expansive apartment into his bedroom. The entire place was falling apart, but Joel’s room seemed completely untouched by the times. It smelled like pine as soon as you bounded through the threshold. His bed was made up perfectly, with two pillows on each side. His side table only had one single lamp and a novel that’s title was in another language. Joel snatched you away from soaking up his oasis and forced you into the dated bathroom. He shuts the door behind him, clicking when he rattles the handle.

You swallow, “Are you joining me?”

He shakes his head, turning and grabbing the bar of soap on the edge of the vanity. “No, ‘m just making sure you don’t try anything.”

You narrow your eyes at him, not completely believing him. Joel had not made any moves towards you, so you are not sure why you are suddenly skeptical of his intentions. Even if he did try something, you knew you could not do anything about it.

You were at Joel’s mercy. You did not completely comprehend why he was locking you down in his home and you did not get why you were just going along with it. You used to be a ferocious fighter, but after everything with Roger, you did not know where else you would go if it was not with Joel.

You turn your back to him, hesitantly undressing. Your clothes were disgusting, stained with sweat marks that you left when you were going through withdrawals. As you drop them onto the cold tile, Joel clears his throat.

You cannot remember the last time you were nude in front of another man. Another person. It had to be over 10 years. “I got ya some new clothes. I’ll grab them when you get in the shower.”

You just nod. While you were grateful for new clothes, you were still confused as to why you were here. As you turn on the water, you peek back at Joel. He is not looking at you, he’s looking out the window. His hands are tucked in his pocket and you have truly never seen him look at peace. His face is relaxed and his shoulders are eased down.

You use your hand to gauge the water’s lukewarm temperature before you slip in behind the curtain. The bathtub is an off-white color. As soon as you get under the shower head, you note the dirt and grime combining with the water and spinning down the drain.

You use the bar of soap Joel gave you to clean off your frigid skin. The scent is just a hint of lavender. It must have been an old bar and with age, the smell has faded. As you massage it in, you hear the door creak open and click shut. You assume it’s Joel doing what he told you and then your mind circles back to your previous observation.

Why is Joel doing this?

You ponder the idea that maybe he is a sadist psychopath who just likes the idea of having someone held captive. But you had heard a lot about this man, and while he was a murderer, you never heard about him kidnapping or hurting women. If anything, he was easier on women who did him wrong.

But you were not a woman who did him wrong. You did nothing to him. You simply were in the wrong place at the wrong time. You did exactly what he asked and then you went along with his plans for you.

Maybe he was just lonely?

His deep voice slices through your thoughts, “You almost done in there?”

You nod even though he cannot see you. “Yeah, I’m almost done.”

You rinse the soap out of your hair and turn off the faucet. You peek your head out from the curtain and Joel stands there with a towel in his hands. He laid a pile of clothes on the sink and you noticed that your clothes were gone from off the floor. Joel extends the towel to you and you reach around and grab it.

It’s scratchy, but it absorbs all the beads of water off your body. You wrap it around your body, tucking the end under your right armpit. You pull back the curtain and Joel is still standing there.

You step over the edge of the tub, letting some of the droplets run onto the cold tiles. Joel’s eyes never leave yours, but as soon as you step towards the clothes on the counter, his eyes trickle down your body.

Your heart picks up when his hand comes up to your cheek. Your natural reaction is to flinch away from him, but his motion is quicker than you. He wipes away a water drip off your cheekbone, pulling it down to your jawline. “All better?” He asks, his voice low. You nod, sheepishly. “Yes, thank you.”

He smiles.

“So polite. So pretty.”

And then he leaves you alone, clicking the knob shut as he exits the bathroom.

You get dressed quickly. Joel somehow knows your exact sizes because the cargo pants, long sleeve, and undergarments are a perfect fit. You never even managed to find clothes to fit you this well when you were doing your own stealing and looting.

His words rattle around in your head and you start to panic a bit. You start to formulate a plan. You had to stop thanking him. You had to stick up for yourself a bit more. You had to see where your boundaries were with him. You had to figure out his motive.

It was scary. Daunting. But you knew you could not live like this much longer.

You reach out for the door, but the knob was already turned and being pulled forward. Joel stands by the entrance of the door and you stride out, your head held a bit higher than usual. His face shows confusion, but you do not falter.

“I’m still hungry.”

It is like all the air is sucked out of the room. Suddenly, Joel is nine feet tall and you are an inch short. Your voice was confident enough to pass, but it was like he saw right through you.

“I fed you.”

You swallow, your eyes averted from his face for a moment, “Can I have a snack?”

His frown is more memorable than his smile. It is a permanent fixture in his big scary man aesthetic.

“A snack?”

You almost want to laugh at his condescending tone. But you also realize how you are playing with fire and at any moment this man could snap and kill you. You had to know if you were able to test him, see if you could truly ask him for something and he would be willing to give it to you. This would be your lesson.

So you nod, very matter-of-factly.

He is looking at you like you have four heads, but he bites.

“Fine, I’ll getcha a snack. Why don’t you have a seat on my bed?”

His cadence is giving him away. You can already tell he is not good at hiding his annoyance. You hesitantly walk over to his bed, plopping down rather obnoxiously. Your feet swipe the rug like a child’s would as you wait for him to return to the room. When he comes back, he has a single piece of beef jerky between his fingers.

You narrow your eyes at the so-called snack. You hated cured meats and you were sure to let him know that. “Jerky?”

You are really testing him now. And you can tell by the way his chest rises and falls in one quick breath.

“You seem very ungrateful, little one.”

You reach out to grab the bark but he snatches it back in a quick motion. You crinkle your eyebrows at him, trying your best to feign innocence. With the way he is staring daggers at you, you should fear his next move.

“Beg.”

You feel like your chest cannot take any more air in. Your hand is still hanging in the air, trying to reach out to his offering, but his hand is holding it far from your grasp.

You do not want to beg, this standoff would be part of your resistance to his captivity. In your mind, something would have to give way eventually. You could not sit around and just take his crumbs and passive weird behavior. So, you shake your head no.

“Go to your room. You’ve pissed me off,” His tone is abrupt and rushed. You do not want to push this further, knowing that you have made it an inch with him and were not completely ready to run the mile. You needed to game plan your next move.

You stand up, walking painfully slow to the door and leaving his space. His steps trail behind you, ensuring you did what he asked you to do. You can smell his musk, which makes the hairs on your arms stand up. He smelled good for a man as rugged as him.

When you reach your bedroom door, you grab the handle and turn around to face him. He stares down at you, his pupils dilated.

You make one last plea. “So, no snack?”

You regret saying it immediately. He puts the jerky bit up to his lips, opens them deliberately, and takes a huge bite of the meat. It pulls apart with a crackle and watching it, you know it probably would hurt your teeth if you did something like that. His flexed jaw is a lot stronger than yours. His action is animalistic in a way, reminding you of a lion tearing into an antelope.

And for some reason, it brings a rise of heat from your shoulders to your cheeks. Watching his teeth gnaw on the jerky sends your mind traveling to la la land.

His voice forces you out of your thoughts. “Go to bed. Now.”

He stopped bringing you breakfast. Instead of your usual routine, Joel started giving you one small meal a day. You start to resent him and by the looks he is giving you, he is still bitter over your whole scheme with the snack.

You woke up hungry, which only started your day off wrong. You are regretting ever testing him in the first place. You were biting the same hand that literally fed you. The more you think about it, the more you realize that you should be grateful he is even keeping you alive. Why are you even trying to rock the boat with him? In some weird twisted way, he gave you a second chance. You were completely sober from alcohol going on a month now. And while most nights you grieved the burn of it going down your throat, your mind was more clear. You felt more grounded in reality. You did not want to go back to the way you were. Sure, you were hungry, but you were not plastered and sleeping 18 hours a day, and that seemed like a fair enough trade.

But the ache of your chest started to set in. You were feeling impulsive. You do not clearly remember how your body felt before you started drinking so much, but you do recall the aggression that would riddle your bones from time to time. The knee jerk reaction just to let loose. It had gotten you in some very sticky situations, but it was a sort of rush you craved.

After three days of the stalemate, he brought you the Spam sandwich and a short cup of water for dinner. You do not look at him when he walks into the room, and you do not thank him.

You had to get on his good side again. Somehow.

“Are you on a hunger strike or somethin’?” His deep Southern drawl always extending out the end of his sentences. You loved hearing it.

You shake your head no.

“You stopped giving me breakfast,” You grumble, reaching out to the plate he offers you. He shrugs, plopping down in his usual chair in the corner. He does not have his dinner in hand tonight. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“You were bein’ an ungrateful little bitch. I am offerin’ you a second chance here and you are not appreciative,” He states, almost sighing. You grit your teeth at his name for you, but you decide it is not worth the argument.

You take a bite of the stale bread. The moan of your stomach subsides for a moment.

“I am appreciative…”

He sits back, his shoulders flexing under his jean button-up. You scan his body, noting his dirty clothes and muddy brown boots. He was always tracking things into your bedroom from the bottom of his shoes and it ate away at your need for wanting things more clean. Your sober mind needed tidiness.

He grunts, “Doesn’t seem that way, sweetheart. Didn’t thank me just now.”

You try to get your thoughts in order before you respond. You take one careful bite into the sandwich, trying to read the man sitting in front of you. He got you sober. He feeds you and houses you even though he could have shot you in the face for being involved with a man who screwed him over. And he is not a bad view to look at when you eat.

“Thank you, Joel.”

He stands up and saunters over to you. As you swallow your bite, your eyes trail up his large frame. You start to worry a bit. Maybe he did not see your answer as genuine.

His thumb begins to trace the outline of your jaw, before slowly making its way up to your cheekbone. You grasp onto the plate tighter, your eyes piercing his as he focuses in on your lips. When you think he’s about to pull away, his palm goes over your mouth and his hand squeezes your cheeks together. His grip on you is painful, his fingers sinking into the divots of your upper jaw.

“You are receptive to feedback. Which is a good thing…” He trails off. Your heart starts to pound against your rib cage as you wait for the other shoe to drop. His hand jerks your head to the right, inspecting your side profile. “You will be good for me.”

You do not know what he is insinuating and are too afraid to speak up. You dip your head down, trying to promise him silently. Yes, I will be good. Please don’t kill me.

He slowly lets go of your face. He brings his thumb up to his lips and licks the very tip of the finger. You watch him bring it back down to your level. You flinch when he brings it up to the very corner of your lip. He wipes away at something like a father would to his young child who had food left on their face.

Joel was violent. But he was quiet about it and that scared you. He moved with such intention and you found yourself occasionally hypnotized by his aura. He was unlike any man you ever met. It could be the fact that others around you made him out to be some enigma, but maybe he was one.

You finally manage to speak up, the sudden tender touch starkly different from the aggression just minutes before.

“What do you want with me?”

It comes out as a whisper, but with Joel being so close, his ears perk up.

His face does not change from the steeled expression. “Time.”

He gives you breakfast one morning. You have been sleeping in, trying to use slumber as a substitute for food and it seemed to work for a couple of days. Joel brings in a plate with eggs and some stale bread. You had not seen him bring in eggs before and it shocked you. Your eyes almost well up in tears when he hands it to you in bed.

“Thank you, Joel.”

He sits in his usual spot and watches you scarf down the meal. “I am going to be gone for a couple of days.”

Your eyes shoot back at him, confusion laced in your countenance. “What about me?”

“I’m letting you have access to the kitchen and living room. You’re not allowed to leave. The door will be locked from the outside.”

The thought of being alone for that long scares you. Your thoughts start spinning. Why is he leaving you? Why would he let you be alone? Would you be able to eat?

Joel can see the cogs turning in your brain.

“You are leaving me alone?”

He claps his hands on his thighs as he stands, “I have a run to make. I usually have other guys do it for me but I gotta do this one myself. You will be okay.”

For some reason, your instinct is to worry about him. Going out of the QZ walls is always a very dangerous feat and you knew he would be unprotected from the elements and infected. Joel seems more than capable, but anything can happen. What would happen if he died out there?

“How long will you be gone?”

The question comes out desperate and you do not mean it to. You crawl out from under your covers, planting your feet on the ground. You suddenly felt hot. When the cold air hits your bare legs, you realize that you forgot you discarded your pants in the middle of the night. You were just in your underwear in front of him.

Joel’s eyes flicker down your unclad legs. You had a good radar when it came to men checking you out and as much as you did not want to admit it, you knew Joel was doing just that.

His lips twitch, “Not long. Two days, max.”

You cross your legs, holding your hands in front of your crotch in an attempt to try to shield yourself a bit. You watch him meander over to you, his steps purposeful. Once he reaches about a foot away, your breathing slows as his hand trails up your arm.

You felt this tension rise within the room and for a second you think he may act on his reaction to your legs. But instead, he just clears his throat. You are a bit disappointed and you do not know why.

“I’ll be good, Joel.”

You survive the first night. You busy yourself with stuff around his apartment. You decide that you would not snoop through his belongings, only organizing the kitchen cabinets and alphabetizing his record collection. You had found a sense of purpose, filling your day with pointless tasks.

When the second night comes, you decide that you finally need a shower. Joel did not tell you that you could use the bathroom in his room, but you became aware that the other tub did not work and was covered in mold. The smell in the bathroom was enough to make you gag.

You were starting to reek of body odor and you did not want to sleep another night smelling the way you did. Plus, you knew the soap you used when Joel called you pretty was in that shower. He could not be that mad.

So, you tiptoe into his room and wander into his bathroom. When you flick on the light, you notice some of his beard shavings in the sink bowl. To the left of the shower curtain, you spot a jumbled pair of boxer shorts. You feel a pang in your stomach. His face appears in your mind. You cannot stop yourself from imagining him in the room with you, just like he was when you stripped for your shower before.

You step into the cool water, letting it soak you as your hands traveled around your body. Your nerve endings were buzzing as your thoughts pondered the idea of Joel being there with you.

The glimmer of his eyes when you were pantsless days before still rattled around in your head. You had not been desired in so long and with that action alone, Joel made you feel wanted. The tension was so palpable. His close proximity to you, the occasional gentle touches, it was enough to fill your mind with all the dirty possibilities.

Your hand travels down to between your legs. At first it’s only to clean, but as you explore, you cannot help but slip your fingers between your folds. The titillating motion is enough to have you throwing your head back in pleasure. You squeeze your eyes shut, thoughts drifting to how you need an explosive release and you sickeningly want Joel Miller to give it to you.

Your pointer finger and middle spread your folds, rubbing carelessly and eagerly. You have not felt this driven to orgasm in years. You recall the sight of Joel’s stomach the first day you met him. Then you think about the boxers right outside of the shower next to you. Your thoughts spin and suddenly he’s naked in your mind.

Your hand only moves quicker with the thoughts. Your clit is aching with such intensity, you are shuttering and using your free hand to balance yourself on the tub’s wall. The water is pounding down your chest, dripping through the valley of your breasts.

Your eyes open a bit as you try to find your footing and you notice a bar of soap that’s covered in his short hairs. You snatch it up, bringing it up to your nose as your lips quirk up into a smile.

Of course, it smells like him.

You finger yourself faster, his name spilling from his lips as you press the bar into your face. It is almost like you are imagining it is his face stuck to your face.

“Joel… Oh my god, Joel-”

The sound of the curtain being ripped away from its spot makes you completely jump out of your skin. His fierce brown eyes raking down your completely nude frame, hunched over and in a compromising position. He slams his fist against the faucet, shutting the water off in one swoop. You drop his soap to the floor, scrambling backward trying to dodge his rage.

He is pissed.

His hand wraps around your bicep, ripping you out of the tub and onto the tile. Your hip hits the ground first and it sends a shooting pain up your back. He is panting like he just ran a mile, standing over your sopping naked frame.

“What are ya’? A bitch in heat?” He spits. You are so dazed and a bit afraid, you start to shake and raise your hands in defense.

He squats down to you, his eyes scanning your dripping body. His hands work so quick to reach out and grab your face. With clenched teeth, he brings your face close. “Answer me.”

His grip is tight on your face and you do not know if you can even respond effectively. You feel your core pulsate with the way he has a hold of you.

“I-I wanted to s-shower.”

He mocks you, “I-I… You are fuckin’ yourself in my shower like a dirty whore.”

He turns back to check to see if he actually saw you holding his bar of soap. It’s in pieces at the bottom of the tub surround. He pulls his hand away but the sting still remains.

“I-I’m sorry, Joel.”

His gaze falls upon you again, a little less aggravated. “Dry off and get dressed. Sit on my bed when you’re done.”

Your mind is all over the place when you sit down on Joel’s bed. He is not in the room but you hear him in the kitchen moving around. You hear the clatter of some plates and then him grunting.

When he barges in,you can tell he is annoyed still.

“You reorganized?”

Your heart pounds with uncertainty. You did not believe that would ever set him off, but you are starting to realize you have gauged Joel incorrectly. “Yes.”

He stops his pacing, his hands still propped up on his hips. “Why?”

“Because I needed to keep busy while you were gone. I also went through and-”

“Alphabetized the records. I saw.”

Nothing was getting past him. Your breathing is labored, the idea of him killing you for helping him be more orderly is so pathetic. You had to go out in a better way.

You clench your hands in your lap, “I did not mean to make you angry.”

He does not say anything, staring at you with an askane expression. He pivots to the dresser beside the bed, opening up the top drawer. He pulls out a pair of gray sweatpants and a beat up white t-shirt. He folds them meticulously, stacking them and then handing them to you.

You reach out for them, putting them in your empty lap.

“Put them on and get under the covers.”

Of all the things he could have said, this surprises you the most. “In my own bed?”

“No, this one.”

You look back at his perfectly made bed. He wanted you to sleep with him?

“Joel-”

“We are tryin’ somethin’ new tonight. Change your clothes while I take a shower with my soap, and be under those covers when I get out,” His outline of directions is seriously rattling you to your core. You felt nervous but almost excited?

You watch him turn on his heels and amble over to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Your stomach sinks when you hear the lock click. You look down at the clothes he gave you, raising them up to check the tags.

Just your size.

His bed is way more comfortable than the mattress you were cursed with. The blue quilt feels soft and worn under your fingertips. You lay on your back, feeling out of your own body. You hear the water shut off in the bathroom and your heart starts racing. You hear the rip up the curtain and some small stomps as Joel must be exiting the shower.

When the door creaks open and you see him standing in only some boxer shorts, your breathing hitches. His hair is brushed backward and his hairy upper body is a sight to behold. You silently wished you had this image earlier when you were rubbing your clit.

He walks over to his dresser, the same dresser he pulled clothes for you out of, and grabs a plain white t-shirt. He tosses it over his head, pushing his arms out of the holes on the side. It was slightly stained at the collar and it was see-through enough that you saw his dark chest hair still.

“You are sleeping with me tonight,” He announces, walking over to the opposite side of the bed. Your stomach flips when you watch him pull the blanket back and crawl under the blanket. You observe how drastic his mood shifted from ripping you out of the shower. Why did he want you in his bed? What was his end goal? Your core is still sticky with your desire. You secretly wish he would just take advantage of you already.

But he does not even turn your direction. You watch him face his back to you, tuck one arm under his pillow and shut the lamp off.

Your mind starts to race. The bedroom door is unlocked, you can see it in the moonlight. You could easily slip out of the bed in the middle of the night and head for the front door and run.

But it’s the same thought that slipped your mind when Joel left you a couple days ago. You could have jumped out a window, rigged the doorknob to the apartment to get out, but you just never did. Instead, you sat idle inside Joel’s apartment and waited for him to return.

And now you have access to him when he’s at his most vulnerable. What was preventing you from sneaking a pointy object into the bedroom and stabbing him directly in the throat?

Because you needed him. And while your demented and violent thoughts of all the ways you could kill him rattled around in your mind, you knew deep down you would never do it. You craved the need to impress him. To be good for him.

He’s silent next to you, not a sound leaving his body. You are not even sure if he is asleep when you slowly turn on your side, facing away from him as well.

Somehow, you sleep better in his bed than your own.

The routine changes after that night.

Joel wakes up as soon as the sun breaks the sky and he leaves you in his bed as he prepares you breakfast. When you hear the door reopen, you always wake up to his frame standing over you with a plate. You rub your eyes as you grab the handoff, propping yourself up on his headboard. He would sit on the end of the bed, nibbling on his own meal.

And then he starts asking you questions.

It starts off with him asking you where you were from originally. You explain how you traveled with a group of people that were essentially raiding other established communities. You had escaped the Baltimore QZ when a bunch of people got infected practically overnight and there was no oversight. When you got out, the people who survived with you became vicious and desperate.

Then he asks you about your relationship with Roger.

You give him the overview. You tell him you relied on him to fund your mind-numbing habits and he left you to look over his stash. When you press him about what he did to him, Joel gives you those eyes. Almost to say “you don’t get to ask the questions here.”

Most days you sat on the couch and read his collection of books. You were not the fastest reader so it took days to get through some of the stories. He had a lot of books about space and a variety of science fiction. He would leave every day, running his usual business. When he got back home, you would still be planted on the sofa, reading. He would slam his keys down and get to work on your Spam sandwich.

Every other night you would shower. After the soap incident, he kept his soap on the very top corner of the shower. When you first noticed it, you smiled sickly.

The sleeping situation is the same every night. You lay on your back, Joel lays on his side, completely facing away from you. Sometimes in the middle of the night, your arms would brush his back and he would stir. You tried your very best not to test his limits even though you had no real clue what they were.

One particular night, the window he kept cracked was letting in the most frigid air. You always ran cold while Joel was like a furnace when he slept. He radiated enough heat to keep a whole house warm. But this night you were shaking under the quilt, your toes feeling like they may fall off.

You turn on your side, facing his expansive back. You are so deliberate with your movement that when your arm falls over his waist, his body jolts. Instead of slapping you away or turning to face you, his body just stills completely, not even a rise and fall of breath.

“What are you doing?” He asks through the darkness, his sleepy voice. Almost wholesome.

You stifle a response, trying your best to sound confident. “I’m cold.”

He finally breathes out, his arm moving down over yours and holding it against his waist. Your heart races so hard you can hardly fathom falling asleep, but at least you were warm.

You start to do it every night, even when the air is balmy outside. You settle on your side, your arm swinging over his waist and pulling your lower half taut with his butt. You never expected you would ever be spooning Joel Miller every night, but here you were, wearing his clothes with your pelvis flush to him.

Your hand finds his hips one night while you adjusted your position. Your hand graces right below his waist and you feel his member half-hard in his boxer shorts. It makes your eyes snap open, the shock of your body waking him up. Your hand does not move, though. You hover it over that spot, curiously wanting to touch him through his shorts.

“Do you feel me?”

His voice makes your throat tighten, unsure of how to respond to such a question. So you just hum and shake your head.

He takes your reluctant hand and pushes it down to his clothed cock, his body pushing back into a bit. Your mind is still a bit fuzzy from your slumber, but when you feel him harden under your touch, you do not want to stop until you finish him.

He is deliberately moving your hand around, pulling it over and under his boxers until you are touching his bare cock. You shutter at how large it feels in your hand and you cannot even see it from how you are laying. Your hand cannot completely wrap around it due to its girth.

“Joel…” You practically whimper, clawing his back to get him to lay back so you can see him. He does not budge, still laying on his side.

Your hand massages the very base of his dick, his curly hair poking your fingertips as you do. You are so eager that as you jerk him off, he grabs your hand to start guiding you slower. When your hand graces his tip, he hisses.

“Gotta take me slow, girl,” He groans, holding your wrist so tight you know it will be bruised in the morning. You do as he says, slowly and methodically following how he likes to be jerked off. After a minute, you can hear his shallow breaths increasing as you bring your speed up just a bit.

“Are you gonna cum?”

You try to say it in a sultry voice, but it comes out rushed and desperate. You just want to see him seize by your own hand. Joel grunts, his grip on your arm practically stilling your movements before he can even finish. You resist his persistent handle on you. You craved to make him orgasm. Eventually, he pushes his hips forward into your hand, sighing as he releases.

You feel the ropes of cum spill all over the back of your hand. As soon as the warm seed empties onto you and his tummy, he rips back the covers and stumbles into the bathroom. He shuts the door so fast, you hardly see him through the dark.

You look at his clear-white fluid on your knuckles and smile in satisfaction.You want him to see your next actions.

The bathroom light spills into the room as he holds out a wash rag to you. It’s obvious it’s the one he just used on himself. You shake your head, bringing your hand up to your lips, extending your tongue, and licking the spend off your knuckles. You swallow, willingly.

He gawks at you, his eyebrows still knitted together, watching you clean off your hand entirely. “Didn’t even need my help. What a good girl.”

You wake up with Joel standing over you. It rattles you a bit, his stare zeroed in on your face.

“Mornin’,” He uttered, holding out a small pile of clothes for you. “We are goin’ on a field trip.”

The last thing you expected after jerking the man off last night was an outing. You sit straight up, holding out your hands for him to shove the clothes in your palms.

“Where are we going,” You stammer, pushing the covers down your legs.

His eyes rake down your body as you stand up, almost standing at attention in front of him.

“You’re comin’ to work with me.”

You look down at the clothes he has given you. Some cargo pants, a short sleeve gray top, and even a new pair of underwear.

This is the first outing you have had since being with Joel, so you are a bit nervous thinking about how the outside world may be. It cannot be any worse than it already was, but you worried about how you would be perceived walking down the street with Joel Miller.

The more you ponder the idea, you start to feel more reassured than anything. If you were placed beside anyone, you would want it to be with the guy everyone feared. No one would ever think to give you a hard time.

Joel’s line of work was dangerous but it was also a powerful role to have in this fucked up world in the QZ. You were on the right side of the insanity, in your opinion. Joel was your protection in some demented fucked-up way.

You get dressed as he makes breakfast. This morning, he decides to make you two some eggs that he said were getting old so he had to make them. He likes his eggs runny, so you had to like yours runny, too.

You two sat at the dining table as you ate. He scarfs his down in a minute, while you take your time to savor the different flavor. You missed eating food that was not Spam or plain bread. Joel notes your painstakingly slow chews.

“Hurry up, we got places to be.”

The people on the streets pay mind to you now. Before, when you did leave your former place with Roger, everyone kept their heads down. Occasionally people would slam into you with their shoulders, acting like they could phase right through you.

When you walk with Joel, people move out of the way.

The alleyway is not too far from Joel’s apartment. He forces you to walk in front of him, copying every step you make with his loud footfalls. He grabs your shoulders to direct you down a concrete staircase that seems to lead to nowhere. At the bottom, a brute man stands with his arms crossed. You hesitantly stop right in front of him, your eyes taking in all the scars littering his face.

Joel grunts. “She’s with me, Pete. Thomas and Garrett in there with him?”

The man, who’s now known as Pete, just nods minutely. Joel pushes the door beside him open and grabs your forearm to drag you through the threshold. It’s a dimly lit hallway that smelled like dampness and gunpowder. There’s two light bulbs dangling from the paint chipped ceiling that guide you to the end of the hallway. Joel pushes open the door, and you smell that familiar metallic smell.

It was a smell that leaked into your dreams occasionally. It’s so overpowering you can almost taste it.

When you walk in, the room is occupied by three men. Two are standing over the other, their bodies blocking the entirety of the scene. You do note the huge puddle of blood on the floor near a knocked over wooden chair. Joel clears his throat and the two men step away looking at Joel, then you. They have to be around your age, maybe a bit older. The blond man speaks up first as he scans your body.

“Bringing your kid along for the show?”

You glance over at Joel who’s jaw tightens. You watch his whole demeanor shift, his body becoming rigid.

“Get out of here, Garrett.”

The blond man furrows his brows, not understanding why he was really being directed to leave. You can sense a bit of hesitance. “Joel, I’m just kidd-”

“Get the fuck out, now. We don’t need you.”

The man scrambles past you and Joel, shutting the door behind him. The dynamic Joel and his men have is very easy to figure out. Whatever he says, goes. The look the other man is giving him is that of unease.

“He confessed that he stole from our stash. More than once.” Joel walks forward, drawing his gun out. Finally, the man on the floor comes into full view.

And you recognize him.

He was a pill smuggler that had come over to Roger’s a couple times before. He always gave off the vibe that he would take advantage of anyone, especially a woman. He would whisper things about you to Roger and you remember a couple times when he had inappropriately touched you. You believe his name to be Don. Maybe Ron.

His eyes are swollen and bruised. His lip is completely split open and he has a gnarly gash on his left cheekbone. He is tied up, his arms and legs bound by ropes and zip ties.

You are not at all phased by blood, but his beaten body is a bit hard to look at. He was not a nice looking man already, and surely the swelling was not helping him.

His lips part almost like he is about to speak up, but Joel swipes the butt of his gun across his face with insane accuracy.

One thing about you was you did not turn away from violence. Now that you are sober, it's easier to recognize that something was off for you to be so unfazed by the savagery. You sickeningly enjoyed watching people get their karma.

You had no context as to why this man was bound and brutalized in this random basement, but you knew Joel had good reason to set him straight.

“Donny boy, I thought we were friends,” Joel’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. He seems in his element as he squats in front of the man, “And you fucked me over good. Sold out people only to get yourself in this position. Pretty fuckin’ dumb.”

Don can hardly sit up, his body completely tilted with his elbow propping up his entire body weight. You can tell he is struggling to respond, but you hear the faintest voice quip up.

“I told the truth, please,” He begs as he attempts to sit up more. Joel grabs his shoulder roughly, balancing his back on his butt. “I won’t do it again.”

You cannot see Joel’s face, but you know he does not believe that. His shoulders slot back a bit as he stands up and turns to face you. His face is straight, not showing any emotion at all. You notice the gun still in his hand, his finger completely off the trigger.

“You know him?”

You just nod, your eyes peering down at the gun he has directed at you. His eyes flicker back and forth, seemingly contemplating what to say next. He pushes the weapon into your hand, his fingers curling around the grip so that your hand would follow suit. You watch every meticulous move, pulling the safety clip, slipping his hand away and gesturing towards the man.

“You’re gonna kill him.”

Your eyes fly open, unsure if this problem should be dealt with by you. The promise you made to yourself when you stepped foot in this QZ rattled around in your brain as you tried not to show Joel your irresolution. Your mouth is dry when you gulp, “Why?”

His hand presses on your back as he pushes you towards the guy. You are about 2 feet from him and Joel’s face is so close to your ear. It’s the closest he has ever been to you. You can feel his breath on your lobe and neck and it makes bumps scatter across your body.

He raises your arms, pointing the barrel towards Don. As soon as he does that, Don starts begging. His voice shaking, sweat pooling on his forehead, tears pricking at the corners of his swollen eyes.

Joel’s voice is so hushed over Don’s pleas. “He is the one who told me about Roger stealing from me. Little did I know, he was stealing from me, too.”

It is like a switch goes off in your brain. Your eyes are trained forward on the trembling man but it is as if the whole world went quiet when Joel stopped speaking. You hear white noise in your ears and your mind shuts off for a nanosecond. Your pointer finger slots between trigger guard and trigger and you squeeze, your aim right at his head.

You feel the spray explode across your face and suddenly you snap back to your reality.

Your body was overtaken by the need to please. The need to impress Joel. It was also like your own sick revenge. This man is the reason Roger was dead. The reason you got ripped from your normalcy. Your brain had no time to catch up to your body’s actions. Instead of flinching or falling backward away from the body of the traitor, you stand over him like he’s some commodity in a circus. With wonder and curiosity, you lower the gun and smile.

Joel steps beside you, his face expressing fervor.

Finally facing him and forgetting the other man in the room who was just a witness to the scene, you speak up.

“Did I do good?”

A small semblance of a grin spreads across his lips. “Very good, sweetheart.”

You and Joel do not stay in the room long after. Very quickly, he ushers you into another room where he checks a cabinet full of guns, looking over each other and counting in a hushed tone. You hear bounding footsteps in the hallway and men talking amongst each other.

The voices are rushed and surprised. One states, “She didn’t even flinch. Joel’s lucky to have her.”

You feel a tickle on your brow and itch it absentmindedly. As you pull your finger back and look at it, it is stained red.

You find a shiny surface in the room of arms and paraphernalia, glancing at your own reflection. The smear of blood goes across your forehead, while the splatter itself is speckled across your cheeks like freckles. Joel stops what he is doing to check you out, his steps trailing up to your back. His breathing is quite labored and as you stare at your own mirror image, you note the look he’s giving you.

His hand goes across your chest, his finger tips starting to dance across your décolletage.

“We gotta clean you up. Can’t have you walkin’ the streets lookin’ like you killed someone.”

He says it while he rubs the blood across your chest, smearing it and massaging it into your skin.

You loved it when he touched you. Even if it was roughly, you counted yourself lucky that Joel felt the need to do so.

“But I did kill someone.”

Your voice does not have any hesitance, you are simply stating facts. Joel’s chin tilts upward, his hand grabbing your shoulder and jerking you around to face him. His face is practically millimeters from the tip of your nose.

He grunts, almost like he’s clearing his throat. “And you didn’t even second guess me. I didn’t even need to push you, you just did it.”

You smirk to yourself, enjoying the slight praise he is giving you.

“And here I thought I was testin’ ya.”

Your eyes flicker up to his, trying to see right into his soul. Testing you?

“Did you not expect me to do it?” You bite.

“I had an inklin’ you’d be loyal. Consistent. Even a bit violent. But I didn’t expect a killer.”

Your chest rises at his statement. You are trying to manage your breathing as his words have a visceral effect on you. It was like he was talking dirty to you. Why did his impression of you mean so much? Ever since you met the man, you were at his mercy and you got off at his reassurance. It was like he was your new vice.

His right hand traces down your bare arm, while his left grabs your jaw. “Let’s get you cleaned up and home, how ‘bout it?”

You agree with a jerk of your head.

Once you walk into the apartment again, you are reminded of the smell of mold again. When the scent hits your nostrils, you scrunch your face. Joel is quick to notice the expression because his eyes and hands have not left your body since you shot that guy. He has been watching your every move.

You toe off your shoes by the front door as Joel tosses down the keys. He takes the handgun out of his waistband and places it carelessly next to them.

When he turns to look at you, he crosses his arms. He is studying you as you unzip the jacket he offered you. It was only to cover the blood that stained your new outfit.

“Take it off slow.”

You shoot him a confused look, still trying your best to follow his instructions. You shrug the jacket off your shoulders, letting it purposefully fall down your arms. The blood on your clothes has left semi-permanent spots on your skin. Once the clothing pools to the floor, you stand there at Joel’s mercy.

He clenches his jaw, nodding slowly as he inspects you. “Now the shirt.”

You do not second guess his next directions. You grab the hem of your shirt and draw it upward over your head. The fabric goes across your lips and nose lifting them up awkwardly. You smile when you drop the next article next to the jacket.

The anticipation makes your pussy pulsate. You have thought about this moment for longer than you care to admit.

“Pants.”

The pants are buttoned so you fumble with getting it undone before you are shoving them down your goosebump-ridden legs. When they get to your ankles, you use the opposite feet to step on the fabric and pull them off your feet. You kick them further away than the shirt and jacket.

You are only in your underwear in Joel’s living room. He is looking at you with such confliction. You have never felt very self conscious until this very moment.

“Should I keep going?”

It is an innocent question, but there is lustful intention behind it. There would be a point of no return if he did answer it.

“I was gettin’ there,” He steps towards you, his guise not giving away any of his next movements. His face was still unyielding. “Panties first.”

Your breathing hitches when his fingers wrap around the elasticity of the waistband.

“I’m still c-covered in blood-” “Shut up.”

You nod, sliding the underwear down and revealing your already dripping core. He sucks in a big breath of air as his hand reaches between your legs and swipes at your wetness with the pads of his fingers. Your entire body tenses, the feeling so foreign and exciting that you cannot contain your gasp for air.

Finally his expressionless face changes to a small twinge of a smile, “Dirty fuckin’ girl. Have been wantin’ this for a long time, eh?”

You are afraid to admit it out loud so you just nod. His fingers still make work through your folds and your knees feel like they may buckle with every swipe. Joel notes your position and grabs your face with his left hand, squeezing your cheeks so hard it forces you to look at him and stand up straighter.

His fingers dip into you briefly, making squelching noise so loud that you both groan.

“Joel,” you whimper, sounding desperate and hasty.

He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours. It is a passionate act you did not expect. You did not know that sex would Joel would mean open mouth kisses, but you are thankful for it. His hand releases its grip on your cheeks and wraps itself around the base of your throat. Your lips slip open for his tongue, letting it explore every inch of your mouth. His fingers are making their slow methodical movements around your clit, driving you absolutely insane with desire.

Your body seems so in tune with every movement he makes, but as you makeout with him, you realize it is because he has molded you this way. To curve and bend to his every will and way.

And you loved every moment of it. You thirsted for this type of control. You knew you would not have to worry or have a second thought, ever. Joel was already ten steps ahead and thinking out everything for you.

He pulls away from the kiss, his eyes flickering between your lips and eyes. You note the red tinge of blood on his lips from kissing yours.

“Get on your knees.”

You obey, whining when you realize that means he would no longer be keeping your pussy warm with his hand. Once your knees hit the hardwood, his hands are making work at his belt and jean buttons.

“You know how to suck dick? Or do I gotta do all the work for ya?”

Your eyes fly open at the vulgarity. You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, “Yes, Joel. I’ve done it before.”

Having his dick in your hand last night was one thing, but seeing it for the first time is jarring. He is definitely the biggest you have ever had the pleasure of being in front of. He can tell by the look on your face that you are a bit stunned.

“Let’s see how you do,” He inches his waist closer to your face and slightly ajar lips, “Open.”

Complying is what you do for Joel.

You open your mouth nice and wide as he inches his cock into your warm mouth. You close your eyes, trying to focus on not disappointing him with your gag reflex. You try your best to relax, but his watchful eye is making you feel disoriented.

He pulls out, letting you take a breath, only to push back in more forcefully. You try to stop his intrusion by putting your hand up on his hairy bare thigh, but it is no use. Your closed eyes prick with tears as Joel pulls out again, this time he is slapping his dick across your mouth.

“Keep those fuckin’ eyes open and on me. Open nice n’ wide and relax that fuckin’ throat.”

His demands needed to be met, so you nod and adjust your position, laying your tongue out. He inches in again and instead of resisting, you relax and watch him through your eyelashes. His face twists as he draws back, his cock getting so impossibly close to the back of your throat. When he hits your gag reflex, you grip onto your own thighs tightly to contain the urge to empty your stomach. He smiles sickly at your reaction. “Poor girl,” He teases, snapping his hips forward again. Another gag. “Can’t fuckin’ take me? Guess we will have to train that mouth and throat, huh?”

He keeps fucking your mouth as your eyebrows draw together in concentration. Joel’s loving every moment, watching you writhe under him. Your wetness is pooling on the hardwood and you can already hint the embarrassment you will feel if Joel notices.

You hollow out your cheeks, attempting to assert yourself in the situation. When you do that, Joel pulls out completely. He leans down to grab your arms and lifts you off the floor, dragging your shins against the uneven wood planks. And to your horror, he notices the wetness on the floor. “Drippin’ on the floor like a wet mop, ain’t ya?”

Joel’s eyes were always dark brown, but they look black with his eyes as dilated as they are. His grip on your arms is very assertive and when he pushes you back over the arm of the couch, you can feel your heartbeat in your ears.

“Please, Joel.”

He grabs you up by your armpits, dragging your body across the couch. When you're lying flat, he settles himself between your legs, holding your right leg taut with his hipbone.

“Keep begging,” He demands, a smug expression taking over his face. His eyes scour your entire body, “My little killer.”

The word sends your body into overdrive and you start grabbing at his body, trying to take what you want. He fights your hands, grabbing both of them and pinning them against the throw pillow right above your head.

You want to confess everything to him in that moment. The very moment you laid eyes on him, you wanted to give yourself to him. In every single way possible.

“I want you.”

“I know you do,” He grabs the shaft of his cock and begins his torture. Sliding it through your soaked folds and humming in satisfaction. You lift your hips, trying to get him to slip it in, but he is always quicker than you. “Desperate, ain’t ya?”

Before your face can react to his mocking, his hips snap forward, fully sheathing himself inside you. The meat of your thigh presses against his waist, trying to hold him in that spot, but he does not let up. The pressure is almost too much but the pain is appallingly satisfying.

You cannot even remember the last time you felt this. Your previous sexual encounters were usually hasty and boring. Most were not consensual and left you feeling gross and deprived of release.

The build up between you and Joel was a months long endeavor that left you feeling borderline insane. You could not help but let your desire for him fester.

His pace is not slow in the slightest, but it is calculated. You manage to widen your legs a bit allowing more space for his thighs to take up. As he kneels between you, you get a great view of his muscular flexed thighs.

Joel was a specimen. You could not stop yourself from admiring such a sight, especially when his hands are all over you and his dick is driving into you over and over. You had never been in love, never seen it first hand even, but you knew you love this moment. You love Joel for making you feel so good. That’s not a feeling you have ever had for anyone, let alone a man in this sick world.

“Oh my god, yes,” You clamor, your hands still locked over your head. The tension you feel in the pit of your stomach feels like it may explode, “Please, please.”

He repositions himself, releasing your wrists and pushing your legs up. You are folded in half while his upper body falls over you. You can already see the glistening of sweat across his neck and shoulders. His body locks you on the couch as he continues rocking into you.

“You don’t cum til I say, got me?”

He fucks into you harder now, and from this angle, you do not know how that will be possible. A couple more thrusts and you know you are a goner.

“I feel it,” You choke, trying to clench to prevent yourself from letting go before Joel’s instruction. “Joel.”

“I said hold that shit back,” His pace only speeds up, like he is chasing his own high, “Not ‘til I say.”

The friction is too much. You tug your lip between your teeth and you bite so hard that you start to taste blood. He is not letting up and you know the rope is about to snap. No matter how hard you try, when your eyes roll back and your body goes rigid, you let the release take over everything.

You are screaming, your voice cracking as you do. Joel’s hip stutter when your pussy tightens up around him, but you know he’s only slowing down because you did not listen.

Your limbs feel like jello and being that you are unable to really shift or move below Joel anyway, you just lay there limp. Joel flexes his arms and you can tell as he pulls away from your body that he is pissed.

“Roll over.”

You knit your brows together, still trying to manage your breathing. “I’m sorry-”

He slaps your thigh, the sting prickling down your entire leg. “Roll the fuck over.”

The motion takes almost all of your energy. When you are on your stomach, Joel hauls your ass towards his pelvis. With your ass up in the air, you can feel the cold air hit your spent cunt. Your head is tilted, only able to see Joel in your peripheral vision. He looks down at your pussy, dragging his cock head through your seams. You note how he smiles coyly.

When his lips purse and spit starts to dribble out, you start babbling all sorts of nonsense. The spit lands perfectly between your pussy lips and the top of his red tip.

“You know what happens to girls who don’t listen?”

You keen as he pushes his cockhead into your cunt, “What?”

“Punishment.”

The thrust is so powerful it has your body almost slamming back onto the sofa. As he ruts into you, the moans that come out of you do not sound human. You are already so sensitive from your orgasm, you know that it takes practically no touch at all to set off the chain reaction again.

His grip on your ass will leave bruises, just like all the other bruises he has given you in the last couple months. You count all of them like trophies. All the time Joel has touched you.

When the grip turns into open hand spanking, you know your ‘punishments’ would be something you would enjoy tempting time to time.

They are brutal. With each thrust, his palm comes down on your left ass cheek. All the while, his right fingers are digging scratches all along your ass and thigh. Between the sounds of the smacks and his balls slapping against your skin, you are being sent back into an ever-growing burn in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuckin’ pussy is squeezin’ my cock,” He mewls, his voice gravelly, “You like gettin’ spanked? Hm?”

You restrain yourself from screaming out that you love it. You settle for just, “Please don’t stop.”

You can hear him chuckle behind you, his actions continuing as he bucks into you.

“You’re lucky ‘m feelin’ nice.”

His hips start to stutter as you continue your mewling over his cock. He reaches out to your shoulders, pulling you upward and locking his arm around your neck. He has you in a loose headlock as he fucks you. Your hands rest on your forearm, your nails digging so hard that you leave small half moons on his freckled skin.

His other arm finds its way between your legs, swiping your clit as his thrusts become more labored. Even with the pace slowed down, the small titillating circles he pushes into your sensitive bud sends you over the edge again. As you fall apart in his arms, he spirals into his own climax, fucking his seed so deep into you that you will probably have it dripping out of you for days.

The husky moans he lets out as he empties himself inside you rattles in your eardrum. It was like music to your ears. You finally got what you want.

“You came again without permission.”

You do not respond, just grunt and fall onto the couch.

Your body is humming still. Joel’s half-hard cock is still standing at attention as he stands up and walks over to the kitchen. You grab the back couch cushion and push yourself up to watch him wander over the sink. His hand reaches for a kitchen towel and he wets it under the sink faucet.

His ass is so perfect and you silently curse yourself for not grabbing it when he was balls deep in you.

“Come ‘ere.”

You scramble up, your legs wobbling with each step. Joel’s eyes scan your entire body again, enjoying the sight of you so bare in front of him. “Didn’t think you were the one for aftercare.”

He furrows his eyebrows, as he extends the towel to you. “I ain’t. Wipe yourself up.”

Your heart pangs against your ribcage. For some reason you thought being so intimate with him would bring something different out. You are sorely mistaken.

The anger you felt earlier, the blind rage, takes over all your nerve endings again. You cannot stop yourself from lashing out after such a high. A high he gave you.

You slap the towel away, tilting your chin up at him. He has never seen you defiant. His face twists in confusion.

“You made me kill for you. Then you fuck me. And you can’t even give me any decency by wiping your fucking cum off of me?”

The words are like vomit coming out of your mouth. You ever thought you would talk back to him like this. It is the kind of thing you could have been killed for months ago. But now, you both are in vulnerable positions. You want to prove a point. Look at me, appreciate me, love me.

“Excuse me?”

His tone is threatening. But so is yours.

“You heard me.”

As silence cuts through the air, you notice the gun Joel put on the kitchen counter next to a broken coffee pot. He sees you eyeing it and goes to reach for it, but you are closer and a bit faster than him. When your hand wraps around the metal, you point it directly at his hairy chest.

Proving a point with violence was always your specialty. Before the alcohol, and now, after the alcohol.

“You fuckin’ bitch,” He bites, his lips tightening inward, “You put that shit down now.”

You are steady with it, your finger not on the trigger, but only millimeters from gracing it. “No.”

“You’re not gonna kill me. Not after all you just did for me,” His voice is more clipped, his words staggered. His hands raise in the air, almost in surrender. “Put it down.”

You are not sure what your next move should be. The rage now turns into confliction.

You have screwed yourself for snapping so quickly at him and now he was never going to trust you. Threatening him with words would be one thing, but pointing a gun at center mass was absurd. While you wanted to get your point across to him, you knew this was overkill. Your fuse was so short and your urges were unkempt. Acting on impulse was going to get you in major trouble.

In the time you are second guessing your actions, Joel’s already springing forward and snatching the gun from you. You are easy to disarm when you are not prepared for a naked man springing at you in your time of contemplation. Joel grabs the gun, pushing you backward into the kitchen counter and points it at you.

“Now…” His southern drawl carries out the word. Your heart is pounding, the same way it was racing last time Joel trained a gun on you. This time was different. Instead of a look of contempt and uncertainty, he appears to be offended by your actions. “You know damn well that shit ain’t gonna fly with me.”

“Joel-” “Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” He steps closer, the gun still trained on you, “You know better, don’t ya?”

The coldness of the barrel on your right collarbone is enough to send you over the edge. Your eyes flicker between his chest, his lips, to his eyes, “I do. I don’t know what came over me.”

His eyes reflect a silent consideration. He is trying to figure out if he believes you or not. You silently pray he does even if you do not fully believe yourself.

“You are too quick to react to someone tellin’ you know. Knock that shit off now or else we will have bigger issues.”

You knew those bigger issues would lead to Joel putting you out of your misery. You would have to work on impulse control. “It won’t happen again. I will work on it.”

“You’re lucky I love that pussy of yours or else you would have a hole in your fuckin’ head.”

Love.

“You love it?”

He smirks at your candor. He did not even realize he said that. “Get on your knees and beg for my forgiveness. You don’t have time to get a big head.”

“On my knees?”

He clenches his jaw, withdrawing the end of the gun from your skin. It leaves a small circle indentation, solidifying that next time, there may be a much bigger one there. “On your knees, little one.”

divider from @/saradika-graphics

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dirtbra1n · 18 days ago

Text

Seigi Sunday the second—please don’t look at what day it is

(BELATEDLY LINKING THE FIRST ONE READ MY POSTS BOY)

okay so it’s Seigi saturday last-Sunday monday tuesday wednesday thursday I even slept in today can we be nice to me,

discontinuing that bit. Seriously just don't look at what day it is. it was technically a sunday when I finished it. My request for today is to acquire a phoenixheadinhands image and have it on hand as we move forward. 30 image cap beat my ass There were intense budget cuts.

but anyway white text this time :) where we start:

PESSIMIST!!! 🫵🫵🫵

a comment from jeweler richard enthusiast kiri @aranarumei and more seigi under the cut

The shop's owner was one Mr. Richard Ranasinghe de Vulpian, a man so elegant he looked like he could have stepped right out of a BBC historical drama, with an impeccable command of the Japanese language. And I had no clue what he was thinking. As much as I figured it wouldn't be long before he looked at the books and decided to close up shop, I diligently did my job cleaning the place and boiling milk with tea in it. And honestly, it didn't really matter what was going on with the shop. I had to work to get paid. I was still working twice a week at the TV station, too. But in two weeks' time, my pessimistic predictions were proved very wrong.

look he also realized what a pessimist he is. this won't come back to shoot me again ever. thats a promise. I would never lie to you about this.

Now, I knew I was just a part-timer who hadn't seen the store's books or knew what the rent was, so this was just a hunch—but I really didn't think this weekend jewelry café in Ginza was Richard's main job. I was sure he had customers like Ms. Miyashita in Kobe all over Japan, if not the entire world. He probably spent the week going from house to house showing off gems and selling them. With the profit from those sales, it wouldn't really matter if this shop was here or not.

It would be a long way off before we were on comfortable enough terms for me to ask him how the business was doing. "So, what's the deal with carats? I was really shocked when I learned about it last week. It's a just a unit for measuring weight. One carat is 0.2 grams." "Indeed, it is. And what exactly is it that troubles you about this fact?" "I guess I don't get why you need another unit. Couldn't you use grams?" "...It'll make more sense to you later." Richard's attitude seemed to suggest that if I wasn't actually interested in it, there was no reason to force myself to learn about gemstones. But he would still answer my questions, and he got mad at me when I told him I'd been keeping the pink sapphire ring in my fridge because the box might get moldy, and gave me a new box and cloth for it. He must really love gemstones. [...]

[if theres space for it, :phoenixheadinhands: if not, leave this in. Who give a shit] [:phoenixheadinhands:]

It was a woman with long black hair, fair skin, and narrow eyes. She was beautiful, in her late twenties, wearing a pencil skirt and a white blouse. She must've come straight from work. She made me feel a little nervous. "Um, this is a jeweler's. The rental office is on the first floor." "...Yes, there is a sign out front. Or, what, do you only accept customers by appointment?" "Welcome. You've made no mistake. We would be happy to accept your business." She seemed momentarily overwhelmed by hearing a blond-haired, blue-eyed man speak such fluent Japanese but quickly regained her composure. Typically, women reacted in one of two ways when they met Richard for the first time. They either got this indiscreet smile on their faces, like they were about to dig into a delicious meal, or they got very quiet in an attempt to hide their embarrassment. This woman didn't fit into either category. She seemed utterly unmoved by him. Or rather, she seemed utterly devoid of any emotion at all. Like an empty husk of a human being. She seemed pretty thin, and on closer inspection, I could tell that the shoulders of her shirt didn't fit quite right. Her voice was steady but her gait wasn't. I had to wonder if she was okay. At any rate, I showed her to the seating area and started making tea. I added extra sugar in hopes of making her feel a bit better. The tea snack of the day was leaf-shaped pies that I'd picked up in the basement of department store.

SEIGI.............. big heart aside What I'm choosing to take from this is that women are wolves. watch out richard. awoooo

Heat treatment. I'd never heard of it before. Richard pulled out documents for the identification report process, explaining the costs and time involved. Ms. Akashi immediately filled out the required forms and then got up. "All right, it's in your hands now. I work during the day, so I'd appreciate it if you only contacted me after 6 p.m. I'm sorry, but I'm pressed for time, so I'll be going now. Thanks." Before I could even offer her some tea, Ms. Akashi had already left. I'd studied on how to handle a situation where a customer tried to run off with a product they hadn't paid for, but this was basically the opposite. She left something and ran off. "...Is this a new kind of scam or something? Like she'll come back and insist that we stole from her and have some scary people beat us up?"

seigi don't be cute. why's this cute. Shut up. you would literally be fine in a fight don't be CUTE. all this coming from the guy who replied But we're not total strangers and posited What if I were a swindler like Seigi can we be serious. you of all people can not talk on this

I took a closer look at the item she left behind. It was a brooch arranged around a central, pure red, oblong ruby. The metal was a polished silver. When I counted, I found there were twelve diamond-encrusted ribbons emanating from the central red stone. There were at least ten small diamonds on each ribbon. The design was elegant. "I know I'm a total amateur when it comes to this stuff, but... this is a really high-quality piece, isn't it?" "Indeed it is." It was hard to believe. Was this really the kind of thing someone would just casually drop off their first time in the shop? What would she do if she came back and it was gone? "She should take better care of it." "I don't think leaving gems in the refrigerator is a particularly good idea, either. But for better or worse, gems reflect the feelings of their owners. So perhaps it's no wonder that those sentiments come out in how they're handled." I ignored his little jab at me and drank the milk tea the customer hadn't even touched.

have I told you two already that you can't have normal fucking conversations. You are not normal

"Richard, I think this is the first time I've ever seen a ruby in person." He said he didn't mind, so I didn't hesitate to gaze at the brooch. The thing that really caught my eye was the red stone in the middle. It was probably more than twice the size of my pink sapphire. It had been about a month since I started working at Étranger—though I'd only actually worked five days so far—but in that time, numerous gems, the names of which I'd never even heard of before, had crossed my eyes. But a ruby had thus far never appeared in the box of treasures. "It really is red... Like when you find a spot of blood in raw chicken." "Was that some sort of joke? Or do you actually understand what you're saying?" "Huh? I'm not sure I follow." "Pigeon blood," Richard enunciated every last syllable. I still didn't follow. "It's a term used to describe the finest of rubies. Just as exquisitely blue sapphires are called 'cornflower blue," the vivid red of the most highly prized rubies is compared to the blood of pigeons. For you to come up with that analogy completely unawares, well, bravo."

richard is impressed because he would not have come up with the analogy himself, and he would not have come up with the analogy himself because . He really really really can't fucking cook. first bravo though :)

Bravo? That's a good thing, right? My mother, Hiromi, didn't have much time to cook, and my grandmother didn't exactly have the most sophisticated palate, so as far as I ever knew, cooking was just a survival skill. But sometimes it was more than that. Like when I'd remove the tendons from chicken thighs to make fried chicken. The real trick was to fry them at a high temperature. Which reminded me— "What's this heat treatment thing you were talking about earlier? Why would you heat up a stone?" "In the case of rubies and sapphires, heating them makes their color more vivid." "Wow! So it must be a chemical reaction, huh? Do you think the first person who thought of trying it was scared? Seems like a pretty big gamble, right? Or do the gems not get burned if you mess up?" "The process is conducted under extremely high temperatures. So if the stone can't handle the heat, it's less that you'll end up with a scorched stone and more that you'd end up with nothing at all."

"It depends on the artisan and the specific stone being worked on, but it's typically around a thousand degrees for anywhere from a few tens of seconds to several minutes. Of course, this isn't the sort of thing that can just be repeated indefinitely. Whether a piece of corundum has been heat treated or not has a significant effect on its value. Padparadscha, like in that ring of yours, is typically a name given to natural—that is, untreated—pink sapphires." "Corundum? Natural pink? Wait, I'm confused." A storm of question marks filled my head. Richard sighed and pulled out Gemstones: An Illustrated Guide. He opened it to the page on rubies. The opposite page was about sapphires. "Let's start from the basics. Do you know the difference between rubies and sapphires?" "...One's red and the other's blue?" "Indeed. That is essentially the only difference." "What?" "You could think of these two stones like siblings. Corundum is the general name for the mineral. Red corundum is called ruby, and all other colors of corundum are called sapphire." So it really was just a difference in color. But then why did they need different names? Why was pink sapphire, "sapphire" and not pink ruby?

categorically refuse to drag you all into my pit trap without making you understand that you will learn things. Please come learn things with me

actually looking back on it now given seigi's usual fare Beauty reigned supreme is subtle for real. good job seigi. You're winning

Richard slid his finger over two squares to the right, pointing to a picture of a stone that was more purple than red and not particularly clear. "If it were between this ruby, ruby A, which has not undergone heat treatment, and ruby B, a stone of a much higher grade that has, which do you think would be considered more valuable?" "Uh... Hm..." Which one would it be? The natural stone? No, it couldn't be that easy. "I think someone would prefer to wear the redder one, and a layperson wouldn't know anything about heat treatment, so I guess ruby B, the higher-grade stone that's been heat treated." "Correct again." "Ooh!"

I was going to put phoenixheadinhands here for seigi's Ooh! because I think hes cute but I need to save image slots for later and also I think you might think phoenixheadinhands is overreaction to seigi Ooh! and you're probably right. chronicling it anyway because I Like To Be Level With You .

"...What do you think her angle is? Maybe it was a gift?" "I'm generalizing here, but people typically want to know the value of something when numbers are important than feelings." Meaning when people wanted to let go of something and turn it into cash. But would someone just looking for quick cash really go out of their way to visit a jewelry shop in Ginza? Judging from her behavior when she was in here, she didn't seem very concerned about money. The more I thought about it, the more mysterious it became. Richard snapped the lid of the jewelry box shut. The very standard black box still looked brand new. "So this is your first ruby, huh? You should consider yourself lucky. You're one of the few people to ever lay eyes on a ruby of such high quality."*

*look I'm not gonna say anything. Also not going to say anything about the everythingelse Look this is a big fucking gun. it's a really big gun. just walk with me.

Richard ended the conversation by declaring it would be a fruitless endeavor. I actually liked how uncompromising he could be. Maybe he was so resolute in his opinions because he worked in an industry that involved dealing with people from all over the world, who might not share the same ideas of what constituted "common sense." It was such a simple, yet valiant attitude. He was so unreasonable that he wouldn't drink anything but water out of a plastic bottle, and he was very particular about cleaning, but he was a good guy at heart. Well, I was pretty sure he was, at least. No other customers came by after that. After we closed up shop at five and I said goodbye to Richard, I wandered around Ginza on my way home. If I were being honest, I'd never really thought much about my criteria for selecting a romantic partner. There were just two callous options: You either have a girlfriend, or you don't. And I'd never had one. Though, truthfully, I was always so busy I never really felt all that desperate to start dating. But as of this moment, I already knew where my happiness lay.

thinking about volume two gripping my head and groaning in agony. Moving on.

As a student enrolled in the economics department of Kasaba University, I couldn't help being excited for Mondays. I had my compulsory English class on Monday. The professor was brutal, especially when it came to attendance, and to make matters worse, it was in building 15—the one without an elevator. The class was harsh enough that you might even be forced to retake an exam if you didn't score high enough.

Shouko Tanimoto. She was the same age as me and a second year in the education department: a delicate, raven-haired angel with soft curls styled into a bob. I was pretty sure her favorite color was white, since I frequently saw her wearing skirts and blouses in that color. I thought it looked very good on her.

TANIMOTO-SAAAANNNNNNNNNN hi pretty girl :)

We'd first met last month, after an information session about the different departments at the university. The crosswalk across the main street near campus was always incredibly crowded during breaks—I was pretty sure only Shibuya and Shinjuku station had crosswalks to rival it. At any rate, I was at the crosswalk when I saw a little old man walking toward me. He looked unsteady on his feet, like he could fall at any moment. That was when a short girl who'd been walking in front of me turned as she passed him, offered him her arm and asked if he was all right. She supported him as he walked, even though her bag was heavy with textbooks and she was heading in the opposite direction. I'd initially meant to just pretend I hadn't seen anything and keep walking, but I slipped over to the other side of the road, grabbed the old man by the arm, and threatened him. "Sir, I don't know how many times I've seen you cross this road today, but it's been more than a few. And you're always clinging to a different girl." The old man let out a little squeak and took off so fast in the opposite direction that it was hard to imagine he was the same person. The area was too crowded to go after him. After I'd crossed to the side I was originally headed for, I regretted what I'd done. If I hadn't said anything, the girl would have been none the wiser and wouldn't have to feel gross about the whole incident. I bowed my head and apologized, and her eyes went wide. "Why are you apologizing? You helped me. I should be thanking you." Her carefree smile made me worry, so I ended up sticking my nose in somebody else's business again. "Even if people look like they're in need of help, there are good ones and bad ones out there.* So you should be more careful." She tilted her head as she walked and smiled again. It was strange. Every time she smiled, I felt like the world got a little brighter. "You're not wrong. But I can't tell a bad person apart from someone who really does need help just by looking at them, so I'd rather help regardless. I wonder if there's a better way to go about it..." The moment she got this bashful look on her face was the moment I fell for her. It even made my own encounter with that old man on the way to class, when I'd offered to walk him to his destination and he scrambled for an excuse and ran off, seem like a sign from the universe or something. I got her name and what department she was in, and the moment I found out we had one class in common, I knew it was fate. She came in first thing in the morning, and I wanted to talk to her, so I came in early on Mondays. Tanimoto spoke slowly. There was always this gentle air about her, and only her. Her friends would tease her, calling her an airhead, but that didn’t seem to bother her at all. If Richard was a crystal clear gemstone slumbering at the bottom of a lake, Tanimoto was a powdered sugar fairy living in the ceiling of a bakery. I felt I could smell the sweets just sitting next to her. From what I could hear from the other girls, it didn't sound like she was dating anyone, either. I wanted to date her so badly. If only I could. I desperately wanted to ask her out. I wanted to walk down the street with her, holding hands. I wanted to go places with her—to the beach or the mountains, anywhere. I couldn't shake the feeling that if I brought it up out of the blue, she'd shut me down in two seconds flat. For as hot as the fire of love was burning in my heart, I had no way to put it out either.

*belatedly realized this is anotherfucking gun Anywa

"Seigi, what's that?" "Huh?" She was pointing at the reference book on minerals I had sitting next to my textbook. I'd borrowed it from the university's main library on my way in, but it was all chemical formulas and stuff—a futile effort for a liberal arts student like myself.

he's just like meee.....

"Seigi, do you like rocks?" "Huh?" Tanimoto flashed me a smile in my confusion. The way she was looking at me made it seem like she was hoping for something. Maybe, just maybe... ...Tanimoto likes gemstones? "I'm researching heat treatment right now!" I began to babble. Tanimoto's chunky bangs swayed softly as she tilted her head to listen. She squinted at me, like someone wearing glasses that weren't the right prescription. Maybe I was being too forward. Maybe I'd made the wrong call. Why the hell did I bring up heat treatment, of all things? Is that really what you talk to a girl about when you're all alone together in a classroom? I screwed up. This is it. I've messed it all up. While I was panicking, Tanimoto turned her head again and said, "Heat treatment for what kind of stone? Or are you just researching it in general?" "Huh?"

seigi how many Huh?s is that now. thats three Huh?s seigi. in so many sentences. lets regroup. do it for your angel tanimoto-san.

"Heat treatment is pretty typical in the world of gemstones. Beryl, quartz, and corundum are the obvious ones, but there are plenty of other stones that change their properties when they're heated." I was so surprised I felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room for a few seconds. Then, I was overcome with intense joy. It was like finally seeing the light break at the other end if a very long tunnel. That was the level of emotion I was at. I'd gotten through to her. The bits and pieces of things I'd picked up at my part-time job since this spring helped me get through to her. I wished for just that day—that moment—that I could be Richard. Face included.

you didn't need to bring him up... seigi....

"Yeah, I was looking into the heat treatment of rubies!" "So corundum, then. That's the scientific name for ruby and sapphire." "Right, I've heard that before! I stumbled on the term 'pigeon blood' recently, too." "...Seigi, you know that term means something very special." Tanimoto said with an impenetrable expression and smile on her face, turning into a completely different person than the one I'd known. "Pigeon blood rubies are extremely valuable. They're only found in a particular mine in Myanmar. Rubies are found elsewhere, like Thailand, Sri Lanka, and other parts of Asia, as well as Mozambique in Africa, but the highest quality rubies have always come from Myanmar." She continued, saying that due to geopolitical and supply instability, the prices of the highest quality specimens had skyrocketed. With a smile, she added that even the most beautiful of lights still cast shadows. Her tone wasn't one of half-hearted small talk—it was the tone of someone with strong opinions. So was her expression. "Did you know that rubies and sapphires are technically the same mineral, Seigi?" "I-I did, but... I still don't understand why they're different colors." "To put it simply, they have different impurities in the stone. Corundum is a kind of aluminum oxide, but if a stone has trace amounts of chromium in it, it'll be red, while iron and titanium will produce blue and purple stones. Which means there are techniques for manipulating color, too." "Wow...!" The more she talked, the faster she spoke. Her expression was stern and her voice low—there was a vague atmosphere of solemn dignity about her. She hunched over, crossed her legs, and tensed her eyes so much that it almost looked like someone had drawn a straight line in permanent marker under each of them. This was no bakery fairy standing in front of me but something else. Something more— "Oh, I'm so sorry!" Before I could put my finger on just what she reminded me of, Tanimoto stomped on the brakes. I was so startled I actually gasped. She giggled bashfully, and her face momentarily returned to her usual fairy-like state, though traces of the stern wrinkles about her eyes remained. "I, uh, just really love stones is all. Once I get going, I just can't stop. I'm really sorry."

difficult and even a bit of a narcissist Seigi hes gonna get you back for this. he will get you back. also tanimoto-san I Love You

every time seigi says something lame and econ major-like I cheer

"Good point. My boss said the same thing." "Hmm." Tanimoto let out a listless sigh, and her eyelid twitched. "...Seigi, lemme ask you something. Do you think of gemstones as assets? Or accessories?" "I think they're a little of both, but they can be more than that, too." "Why?" Why? Because I wouldn't consider my grandmother's ring an "asset" or an "accessory." But how was I supposed to explain that? I'm just a part-timer who doesn't know the first thing about gemstones. Tanimoto giggled as I got flustered. She was so cute. So damn cute. "Sorry, I guess I kinda brought the conversation to a weird place. But stones really aren't that complicated. I mean, you're not gonna die without precious gems after all, and I can't think of anyone who really hates them, you know? I think stones have a kinda, like inherit goodness to them." "Yes! Exactly! I think so, too. They might be accessories, or useful ways to bank value, but they're so much more than that... I think they have the power to connect people. And I think that's what I like about them... yeah." I didn't think my explanation was elegant enough to justify even an extremely generous comparison to Richard, but I'd said what I wanted to say. I figured as long as I got the idea across, that was good enough. While I was thinking, Tanimoto tensed her eyes up again and leaned forward—the "other" her was back. "Now I don't want you to think of this as the opinion of an amateur geologist but just as a personal, touchy-feely opinion." "Sure..." After repeating her lengthy preamble again, Tanimoto began, "Stones that are considered 'good' as assets or accessories are usually especially beautiful or rare ones. Like pigeon blood rubies. And that's why we developed the technology to find and reproduce stones of the highest standard of beauty. But there's something kind of cold and sad about chasing beauty defined only by numbers and standards." "You think it's sad?"

"Why? I wanna hear more! I wanna learn more about stones, but I have no idea where to even start. Honestly, I'm so happy right now that I don’t even know how to say it." "...You mean it?" I told her "thank you," and she flashed me a divinely sweet smile. Then she told me that she was the president of her high school geology club, and for some reason they'd given her the nickname "Golgo Tanimoto." I spent class with my head in the clouds, but afterward, we exchanged numbers. I finally, finally did it. And the cherry on top was that she invited me to join her for lunch. Campus was like an alternate dimension when we walked together. I was almost too happy. I had a hard time believing it was real. I felt like someone might throw water in my face at any moment to wake me up and tell me it was all a dream. Unfortunately, reality really did come knocking. "Excuse me, are you Mr. Seigi Nakata?" A man I'd never seen before stopped me just as we stepped out of the gate. He must've been about thirty. He had bright, childlike eyes* and wore an expensive suit. His clothes seemed suited to a more mundane job than Richard's. And, of course, I'd never met him before.

*for the sake of image count it’s not here but I annotated this ?? okay

"I am, but who are you?" "I'm sorry for dropping in on you like this, but I only need a moment of your time. It won't take long." "How did you know my name?" "I can explain, but let's go somewhere a little more private. If you don't mind." "Um, Seigi, maybe I should bow out here." "It's about the jewelry shop in Ginza. If you don't mind." The man didn't seem to pay any attention to how upset I looked. Clearly this guy didn't know what the phrase "If you don't mind," meant. Maybe Richard should give him a Japanese lesson. Painful as it was, I watched Tanimoto leave and followed the man into a local coffee shop. He ordered two coffees. Why am I here with a strange man and not Tanimoto? "...So, what do you want from me? Who are you?" "My name is Takashi Homura. I'm sorry for approaching you out of the blue like that." He handed me the second business card I'd ever received in my life. The first was, of course, Richard's. The company listed on the card was Homura Trading and the address was in Marunouchi—a business district with rents to rival Ginza's. I didn't ask, but he told me that he worked for his family business. Apparently, he was training to become assistant manager. I couldn't have cared less. He pulled a file from his leather bag and showed me a photo. It was a picture of him and a woman with long black hair. They stood in front of a fountain surrounded by tulips, awkwardly linking arms. The woman's face was familiar. She was Ms. Akashi, the woman who brought the ruby in for appraisal. "She's my fiancée. She came by the shop you work at part-time, right?" "...How do you know where I work?" "It's a long story, but I had someone investigate her recent activities. I'm sorry for scaring you." "You had 'someone' investigate her? You mean a private investigator, right? If one of my friends was dating someone like you, I'd tell her to break up with you because she could find someone better." "I can explain. You don't have to stay long, but please hear me out." He bowed deeply and began to explain. He'd met Ms. Akashi almost exactly a year ago. He fell in love with her when she started working for Homura Trading last spring, they got to know each other and eventually became engaged. The parents were on board, and they were on the verge of getting married. "But it's just not working out. She said yes, but she's been dragging her feet, and we're not getting anywhere on making arrangements. I was so excited for the ceremony, and we decided to hold it in August of this year, but there's no way it's happening at this rate. I think it's been going on way too long for it to just be anxiety about the wedding. It's driving my mother crazy... I told her she could just talk to me about it if there was some reason for all this, but she won't tell me anything. I didn't know what else to do." "Why are you coming to me about this? Your behavior is bizarre." "I'm not doing it anymore, but I had her followed for a month." "More like stalked." "During that month, the one thing she did that was different from her usual routine was visit the jewelry shop you work at." "So you decided to follow me to school?" "I'm so sorry. I'll get right to the point. If you have any idea why she was there, could you please tell me, if you don't mind? I just need some kind of clue, however small."

This was probably going to be my lunch. I really should have ordered some pasta so I wouldn't be distracted during my afternoon classes, but I didn't want to eat in front of this guy. He was so stressed I couldn't help feeling bad for him.

‘instantly’ is so funny to me seigi we were celebrating Top 20 #BITCH Moments hit after hit after hit after you were dragged away from tanimoto but NOW you ‘instantly’ feel bad. bleeding heart. bleeding heart who is also a bitch. silly guy Don’t kid yourself. also what’s the count on seigi mentioning richard apropos of anywhere from very little to literally nothing. it’s a lot right

"I don't expect you to understand. I know full well how selfish I'm being, but this was the only lead I had." "...Do you have any idea what your fiancée might have been doing in a jewelry shop?" "Last winter, I gave her a ruby. A brooch with diamond accents. She really liked it... or at least I thought she did when I gave it to her. Maybe I was wrong, though..." He trailed off. I thought so. She hadn't bought that brooch for herself. That's why she wanted to know if the stone had been heat treated and why she didn't know what it had cost. Maybe she really did intend to sell it. "Please. Not knowing is the worst thing in the world. I can't bear the thought of losing her." "Look, I'm sure Ms. Akashi has her reasons. Why can't you just accept that?" "Ms. Akashi?" Huh? The two of us referenced the photo again, and I pointed at Ms. Akashi. She did look a little less gaunt than she was when I saw her at Richard's shop, but her smile was identical—kind of stiff. "Isn't her name Mami Akashi?" "No, it's Mami Sasu." "Sasu?" The two of us exchanged confused looks. He definitely didn't look like he was lying, and he didn't have any reason to lie either. Which meant she'd used a fake name. "I wonder where she got the name 'Akashi' from. There's no one at the company with that name." "Maybe it's a relative's name?" "No, no one related to her is named that, either. Or... at least no one she introduced me to." Suddenly, he looked like an elementary schooler who'd been given the homework for someone in junior high. Funny, considering I thought he was a deplorable villain just moments ago. I thought back to Ms. Akashi storming in and out of the jewelry store. “...Sorry, I have to go. I've got class." I bowed and got up. I knew I couldn't stay there any longer. I'd probably already said something I shouldn't have. I hate this. I really hate it. I'd never shop at a place with an employee who'd sell out customers. I heard Mr. Homura say "thank you" as I left. If I were him, I wouldn't wanna thank the person secretly reporting on a person I loved. I didn't even know who the bad guy was in this situation: the man who hired a private detective to follow his girlfriend around, the woman who used a fake name to get a gemstone she was given as a gift appraised in secret, or the part-timer with loose lips? I left the coffee shop and noticed I'd gotten a text from Tanimoto. It was short, "Everything go okay? We should talk again sometime!" I was so, so happy. Too happy. I realized that if we did start dating and she started acting weird, I could see myself hiring a private investigator, too. I guessed the more you liked someone, the more it could go to your head. After I finished my afternoon classes, I made up my mind: The next time Ms. Akashi aka Ms. Sasu came to the shop, the first thing I would do was tell her what happened today and apologize. She would probably be mad, and I was sure Richard would fire me, but it was the right thing to do.

I’d never shop at a place with an employee who’d sell out customers This is a massive massive gun to me. just horribly massive gun. give it like uhhh six or seven novels? don’t remember Just trust me. anyway refer to phoenixheadinhands Anyway anyway this one was marked in place by richard-gets-slammed.png

"Hold on, Seigi." My eyes went wide at Richard's response, and the person in the leather jacket glared at me. They had on skinny jeans and combat boots. I went back down the stairs, taking a ready stance on the white cobblestone. As the assailant slowly made their way down the stairs onto the sunlight walkway, I realized why I thought my ears were playing tricks on me when they spoke—the attacker was a woman. She was much smaller than Richard, too. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail. It was blonde fading to purple at the ends. She wore bright red lipstick and had sharp eyes. “‘This your shop? Which one of you is the dirty, woman-stealing bastard?” She must've been in her twenties, and she really looked like she belonged more in Harajuku than Ginza. Why on earth was someone like that attacking Richard? Richard fixed his shirt and came downstairs. The suitcase he was never seen without was fine. It didn't seem like the assailant had been trying to steal the gems. “...Lover's quarrel?” "Don't be foolish, I've never met this woman before."

You two are sick.

Apparently, she'd come at him just as he was about to enter the shop. Bizarre. The strange woman glared at me beneath the dull shine of the overcast sky. "You wanna go? This is gonna be fun. Come at me. Underestimate me and you'll regret it." "I'm opposed to using violence against women. Please state your business.["]

💥💥💥

- another gun

["]Who is this 'woman-stealing bastard' you're so concerned about? And just who are you?" "Tatsuki Akashi. Twenty-seven years old. I'm a bassist working as a studio musician in Shibuya." Akashi? This Tatsuki Akashi opened her wallet and took out a photo to show us. It was a picture of two women, having fun in what looked like a bar. "Do you know this woman? Tell me everything you know, I don't care how minor. I've got a situation I'm dealing with." The photo was of Tatsuki Akashi, wearing a Japanese national football team uniform, with a big smile on her face and an arm around none other than Mami Sasu. Just as I was getting over the shock of that revelation, I heard someone drop something on the path behind me. It was a brown shoulder bag. And a long-haired woman was standing there. Mami Sasu. Tatsuki reacted first. Mami tried to run, but Tatsuki chased after her and grabbed her hand. "Mami! I finally found you!" "Let go of me! I don't want anything to do with you anymore!" "Do you have any idea how worried I was?! How dare you just up and disappear like that!" The two women began to grapple in the middle of the street. This was not good. Not good at all—but just as that thought crossed my mind, a black taxi pulled up in front of the building. Takashi got out, clearly panicked. "What is wrong with you?! Get away from Mami!" "Oh, are you the woman-stealing bastard? Finally, we meet. You better clench your damn teeth!" "Don't! He's my fiancé!" Mami shouted.

okay did you guys know that the very first episode of La rosa de Guadalupe is rated a 4.8/10 on imdb. I never did watch it as a kid. I’ll tell you what though if I’m remembering faces right a telenovela I DID watch as a kid before or maybe overlapping with the ncisification of our household television time was Por ella soy Eva which I’m sure had no subconscious effects on me and who I am as a person now. Anyway. mess like this would net a way higher score than 4.8/10 on imdb. this was a visual gag before but you gotta understand I'm really stretching that 30 photo maximum

There was only one location in the area that could qualify as a café and was completely free. The owner of the devastatingly handsome face shot the three quarreling adults an ice-cold glare. "I will allow you to use my shop to settle this dispute on the condition that you do not damage anything inside. Understood?" The three of them all looked in different directions and nodded.

always so beautiful to see seigi in my minds eye standing just far enough away from the epicenter of mess. so beautiful for it to not be his fault for once

[…] I hastily prepared four glasses of barley tea from our stock. I didn't really feel like they needed to be served tea like they were customers, but I figured having drinks on the table might keep things a little more in check. Admittedly, that was just for my own peace of mind. Tatsuki and Takashi were seated across from each other in the four-piece lounge set. Richard had taken off his jacket and sat down next to Tatsuki, and across from him was Mami Sasu. I didn't have a chair, so I just stood by the table. I had a good view of everyone's faces from that position. Mami's hands and face looked almost uncannily pale as she sat in the chair, staring intently at her hands clenched in her lap. "Mami and I have been seeing each other for seven years. We were even living together until the winter of the year before last." ...Why did you have to mention that now?" "Because you up and left without telling me!" "Keep your voices down. This is my place of business, not a prison visitation room." Tatsuki hung her head a bit, ashamed, before continuing. She explained that in winter of the year before last, Mami, who she'd been living with up until that point, suddenly disappeared from their apartment. Her phone number had been disconnected and all her contact information had changed, and she'd gotten rid of all her things. Tatsuki frantically searched for her, to no avail. Just as she'd concluded that she must have left the city, a colleague of hers mentioned that they'd spotted a long-haired woman who resembled Mami in Ginza. Tatsuki couldn't contain herself and rushed over. This all happened to line up today. The worst of all possible days for such a coincidence. Tatsuki said they'd been "seeing each other" for seven years. You wouldn't phrase it like that to your friend's fiancé if you were just friends and roommates. More than anything, the vibe between them definitely didn't seem to be just friendship. So it was probably exactly what it sounded like.

refer to phoenixheadinhands.

"I'm sorry for tryin' to beat your ass earlier. All the info I had to go on was that there was an 'unbelievably hot man running a strange store' and that they'd 'seen Mami go into it.' The blood just went straight to my head. You really are unbelievably hot, but there's nothing strange about this store." "I'm flattered that you think so, but I would suggest trying to use your words before you grab someone by the collar next time."

Okay richard do you wanna take this time to maybe reflect on why seigi called you narcissistic earlier

"Um, Ms. Akashi, was it? Just what are you to Mami?" Takashi threw a straight ball, though I got the sense that he probably didn't even know how to throw a curve ball. He seemed the calmest next to Richard, even if that was ultimately just a front. Tatsuki stared at him intently. "Would you be asking the same question if I were a man?" Takashi flushed and hung his head, embarrassed, as she threw a straight ball right back at him. Before she could press the topic further, Mami mumbled, "I fell in love with a man. That's why I broke up with you." An icy chill hung over the shop.

Sorry everyone but can we please stop doing this. it’s killing the vibe. is anybody even drinking seigi’s tea

Richard and I exchanged silent glances and remained focused on Tatsuki's behavior. I really wasn't in the mood to have to kick someone out for causing trouble. ...What are you talking about? You were just going to toss me aside like I mean nothing to you to be with him? Bullshit!" "I was trying to be realistic about my future." "You always did mistake pessimism for realism. You're just a coward. Or is the old, 'normal is better' Mami back again? I certainly haven't missed that side of you." "We couldn't keep living together like we were going to be young forever. I'd just found a new job and everything. It was perfect. You don't mean anything to me anymore. I want to start over. Just forget about us and move on with your life." "Let me stop you there," Richard interrupted. The more Mami spoke, the sicker she looked, and she never so much as glanced at Tatsuki through the whole thing. With wide-open eyes and through gritted teeth, Tatsuki let out a little, "I see how it is. ...So, I don't mean anything to you, huh? Fine. But you listen here, Mami, that's not even what I'm mad about. We were dating. Dating. Remember? For seven years. Why couldn't you have said one word—just one word—to me before you up and vanished? I thought you might be dead. I thought maybe you got mixed up in something crazy and were lying dead in a ditch somewhere. I went to the police. I talked to all your old friends. Awful thoughts kept me up at night. I was driving myself crazy asking myself if it was my fault." "Well, that's all on you." "Just calm down, both of you. Please." I tried to mediate in a low tone, but really, I was thinking about something entirely different. Part of Tatsuki's story didn't seem to add up. Mami met Takashi in the spring of last year. If that was also when they started dating, then Mami would have left Tatsuki's apartment the previous winter before she met Takashi. But then, why did she come into the shop using "Akashi" instead of "Sasu"? Richard must've noticed this as well but politely held his tongue. If I was going to make up for the mistake I made when Takashi caught me at school, this was my only chance. But the moment the thought crossed my mind— "Mami, why did you use the name 'Akashi' when you came here?" Takashi beat me to it.

man would it kill you to just sit quiet for once. once in your damn life.

Mami had a look of abject despair on her face. She'd gone from white as a sheet to the color of death. She glanced at Richard and then at me, grimacing. There was no way she couldn't know whose fault that was. There was probably nothing I could possibly do to earn her forgiveness at that point. Tatsuki was baffled. "What? Akashi? What's he talking about, Mami?" I couldn't say that Mami looked like she was enjoying herself in Takashi's photo from that spring, even if I was trying to be generous. But in Tatsuk's photo of her, she looked happy and healthy—almost like a different person entirely. "This situation seems to be more complicated than I thought, so let me explain my side. She and I have been engaged for a year, and the wedding is set for August. But I have a proposal." "Oh, shut up. Just get married or whatever." "Mami, I don't mind if you cheat on me," Takashi said. For a moment, I thought Takashi had lost his mind. Tatsuki seemed to have the same reaction, and the two of us just sat there in a state of wordless shock. Mami looked up, her face expressionless. Takashi smiled, like a young father trying to reassure his small child. It was a forced smile though. You could see it in his eyes. "I do feel a bit sad that you never talked to me about your past, but I know you had your reasons. But I have a suggestion: Couldn't you think of love and marriage as separate things? I love you, and that'll never change, no matter what happens. You can just marry me and keep going out with Ms. Akashi if you like. Then everything can proceed as planned." His smile sent a chill down my spine. He's proposing that his fiancée date someone else? What does marrying Mami Sasu actually mean to this man? What does he even like about her?

refer to phoenixheadinhands.

Tatsuki clicked her tongue, breaking the silence. "Who the hell is this little rich boy anyway? Gimme a damn break, do you even hear what you're saying?" "I do. I can simply think of an affair with another woman as her having a 'very good friend' rather than romance. It won't bother me." "Well, I'm sayin' it'll bother me!" "I believe Mami already said that you don't mean anything to her anymore." Tatsuki snapped. Richard intervened after Takashi took a punch to the jaw. He was about to get into it with her, and if we let him, the situation would have devolved into complete chaos from there. I got him in an armlock when he stood up, but he still fought me. Before I knew it, Mami had stood up and grabbed her bag. "Mami! Wait!" She glared at me in response and ran down the stairs. While the cat and mouse were fighting, the cheese ran away. I felt like I'd seen a cartoon like that when I was a kid.

jesus. how could this get worse, I hear you asking. Ha ha ha ha ha

"I have some idea. I'm sure I could track her down." "Please do. Let me help." "Seigi," Richard softly scolded me. My one saving grace was the fact that we had no other appointments that day. Though it was beyond too late, I confessed that I'd told Takashi her name when he ambushed me as I was leaving campus. I thought Tatsuki might hit me, too, but she was just flabbergasted. "Richard, I'm so sorry. I know you put your trust in me. Take it out of my wages for today or fire me, whatever you think is appropriate. I'll do whatever's necessary to apologize to Mami."

Tatsuki and I rushed out of the shop at the same time. When we got downstairs, she tossed a card at me. It had the logo of a bass clef on it, along with her contact information. "I'll search Shibuya. Check any place you wouldn't think twice about a young woman being alone! If Mami dies, I'm gonna kill you, that Homura guy, and your boss!" Tatsuki slipped into the parking lot behind the building and reappeared in front of the store on a motorcycle, racing down the street. I looked up at Richard's jewelry shop, brought my hands together, and bowed my head before running toward the subway station.

[BOMB] [BOMB] [GUNFIRE] [EXPLOSIONS] [WILHELM SCREAM] also étranger treated as a place to pray to Seigi I’m gonna fucking get you. I’m gonna get you.

[マヨらサーティンreference.png] <- keeping that marker in actually

There’s just something about knowing the person you like believes in you that gives you strength.

If I hadn't said anything to Takashi back then, things wouldn't have gotten this bad. I knew regretting it now wouldn't change anything, but I did desperately want a chance to make it right.

I asked people if they'd seen a woman with long black hair who seemed kind of unwell but came up empty-handed. Just as I was trying to figure out what to do next, I got a text. It was from Tatsuki.

"Asakusa Shrine. We'd go there every year for the first shrine visit of the year. If you're close, take a look around there, please. There was an accident in Sangenjaya, so the line's stopped. I won't be able to leave for a while."

Asakusa. I could get there on the Ginza Line. Takashi must've had his hands full searching Tokyo Station. I replied that I'd take the express line from Ueno and hurried down into the subway.

Asakusa was crowded with tourists going to see the Skytree on a Saturday afternoon. I slipped under the massive paper lantern. The stalls were so crowded that it looked like a theme park. Kimono shops, Ningyo-yaki stalls, candied fruit sellers.

I made it back to the main hall of Senso-ji. Immediately to its right was Asakusa Shrine.

The grounds of the shrine were so peaceful and quiet, it was hard to imagine the hustle and bustle of the shopping arcade was just a few hundred feet away. The guardian lion-dog statues seemed to be almost lounging atop the white sand—and there was a woman with long black hair sitting on a bench. She was holding something that looked like a milk carton, with her legs splayed out comfortably. She waved when she noticed me. I let out a weird sound.

"Mami!"

My feet sank into the white sand as I ran across the grounds. I couldn't even laugh about it. I sat down next to her, and Mami set the carton she'd been drinking at her feet. It had "sake" written on it and was mostly empty.

"Did Tatsuki send you here? You guys really don't know how to respect a person's privacy."

"Sorry. I mean it, I'm really sorry. This is all my fault. Richard had nothing to do with it."

"I know. I don't really care anymore." She laughed.

She looked desperate. She probably didn't want Tatsuki or Takashi to see her like that.

"This reminds me of the first shrine visit of the year. This place is always full of people. Tatsuki's family makes kimono, so every year, we'd get dressed up for our visit. People would always tell us we looked so pretty or ask if we were sisters, which would make Tatsuki a little mad, of course. She can be so funny... You know about otakiage events, right? People would bring the talismans they kept in their homes for the past year to this place to be burned and honored in a memorial service. There's always a huge pile of charms and talismans to burn…"

"I'm going to call both of them. Tatsuki and Takashi are both very worried about you."

"Just let me talk a little more. You can call them after. It doesn't really matter."

"Yes, it does matter! They're both frantically searching for you!"

"Every time I would see that pile, I'd find myself wishing someone would burn me up, too."

Mami coughed. I was about to call them when she reached out for my phone to stop me.

I knew she didn't really want to talk to me alone. She didn't really want to talk to anyone.

"...So are you just gonna sit here drinking forever?"

"That wasn't the plan at least. I wanted to finally make a decision."

She stared off into space with a dreamy look on her face as she continued. She wasn't even looking at me, "I thought I could make it work, but I guess I was wrong. In my head, I knew what I needed to do, but I couldn't make my body cooperate. I couldn't sleep. I tried to eat, but it'd all just come right back up. I started losing weight to the point that it was just disgusting. Takashi is such a nice man, too... I guess I was just never going to be capable of marrying a man. I hate myself."

"What's the big deal? You don't have to force yourself to get married! Plus, utilitarian relationships are the furthest thing in the world from romance—that's what my boss thinks at least."

"Do you think I don't know that? It doesn't matter what anyone else says, though. I don't like myself, and I'll never be happy with the way I am. I always wanted to be a normal woman who got married to a man she loves and lived happily ever after, and I've always despised myself for not being that person."

"It doesn't matter, Tatsuki..."

Mami let out another weird cough mid-sentence. She seemed unsteady.

“…I'm sorry for causing you all this trouble. This had nothing to do with you, but I didn't see any other way."

"Any other way?"

Just as I asked that, she collapsed onto the white sand. The empty paper carton toppled over without a sound, and a plastic bag full of empty pill packages fell out of her brown shoulder bag. Alcohol and pills. This was her plan from the start.

"Mami!"

I shouted at her and smacked her cheeks, but she wouldn't wake up. I don't know what to do. Make her throw it up? But how? I had no idea. Hospital. I have to get her to a hospital. Ambulance.

I started running as I called for an ambulance on my phone. I didn't see anyone in the nearby shrine office. I ran to the closest food stall, looking for help, and they told me there was a hospital in the back. The back? The back where? There were plenty of elements here designed to mourn the dead—Kaminarimon, the garden, the pagoda, the temple, the shrine. This wasn't a joke. Where the hell is the hospital?

The back wheels of the vehicle rolled up onto the white sand as the metal steed abruptly changed course.

okay richard who’s the knight in shining armor NOW?

She arrived precisely on time for her appointment: Saturday at eleven 'o clock. The royal milk tea was just the right temperature.

"We've been expecting you. Please have a seat."

Mami had cut her long hair to just below her ears.

She looked much healthier than when I first met her, but that wasn't the only reason she seemed more cheerful than before. She looked me right in the eye and smiled.

"It's been ages. Have you been well? You know, I nearly died in Asakusa last month."

"I'm well aware. That isn't very funny.["]

well to be honest with you it’s pretty funny to me. Sorry

"The stone is 3.05 carats, AAA grade, originating from Mogok in Myanmar. It has not been heat treated. Ten million yen would be a conservative valuation."

I almost dropped the tray of tea. Ten million. Ten million. The stone she so casually dumped at the shop was worth ten million yen.

Mami seemed only a little shocked by the value. She let out a half-hearted "I see," and looked at the brooch that had finally been returned to her. She looked as though she were staring in a mirror.

[…]

Her hand under the jewelry box shifted, making the pigeon blood stone glimmer in the light.

"I also read that because we've only had heat treating technology for a few decades, no one knows what will happen to the stones in a century or so. Is that true?"

"If we're talking about modern heat treatment technology, it's conceivable someone may have said that. However, rubies have undergone heat treatment for over three hundred years. The process has a long history."

"The history of the pursuit of beauty, you could say."

Mami forced an awkward smile, went silent for a moment, and then began to mutter.

"I didn't regret my decision. I always wanted to be that girl. I didn't think what I was doing was wrong. But... as the wedding got closer, I started to feel afraid of my choice for the first time. And that's why I wanted to have the ruby checked."

She explained that if the ruby turned out to be heat treated, she would go through with the wedding. But if it wasn't, she'd rethink what she was doing. I guess that's what she meant by using it to tell her fortune. What on earth?

"Don't you have that backwards? I mean, a beautiful, untreated stone is way more valuable."

"All the more reason I shouldn't marry someone who would give me something like that. If only he'd given me some cheap trinket instead..."

I was so confused, my eyebrows started to twitch. Richard didn't say a word. Mami seemed to misunderstand the reason I was frowning.

"He's not a bad person. Sure, I was surprised he hired a private investigator, but it came from a good place. He might lose his cool sometimes, but... he really is a kind person."

I still wasn't sure exactly what sort of guy Takashi was. There were plenty of things about his behavior I wasn't crazy about, but he didn't seem irredeemably horrible, either. But that was probably why she considered marrying him.

don’t worry seigi look me in my eyes. You’ll never have to think about homura-san eeeever again after this. never ever.

"You must be tired from all that talking. Please, have some tea."

Mami took a sip of the tea at Richard's behest, and her eyes went wide. She stared at me.

"This is really good. Thank you."

"I learned how to make it from my boss," I said triumphantly.

Mami forced a smile and turned to Richard, "I believe you told him something to the effect of, 'utilitarian relationships aren't love.' That's a pretty powerful sentiment."

Richard shrugged, "You actually remembered that?"

I made an awkward expression, and Mami said to me with a smile, "Thank you for saving my life. It feels strange to be able to say that now, when I've wanted to die for such a long time."

She said it again. I had to wonder if she was really all right.

refer to phoenixheadinhands.

Richard pulled out the identification report and pointed to the "client" field. Mami's eyes went wide. It said "Mami Akashi."

"Could I trouble you to correct this? I do have to ask though, why did you use a false name?"

"...I'm so sorry. I don't even know, myself. I would use that name for fun when I was living with Tatsuki. Not that I've even said it at all recently..."

Mami took another sip of the royal milk tea I'd made. I couldn't say she was completely happy and free of worry, but she did look relieved. But what do I know, really?

"Um, so I don't mind if you don't want to answer this question, but why did you think it would be a good idea to force yourself to get married to a man?"

seigi loves to start an incredibly personal question like あのう…

"Why? Because that is what's considered 'normal' to most people in the world."

I looked confused. Mami continued.

"Do any of your friends live with their same-sex partner? Probably not, right? I'm not even talking about discrimination or harassment but the constant exhaustion of knowing you're not 'normal.' It's like trying to grow vegetables in the middle of the desert. I always wondered why I had to go through all this hardship that other people didn't, but maybe that's ultimately a grass-is-always-greener kind of thing."

"I mean, there are plenty of people who never get married, too."

"I know."

Mami told us about how she was raised. Don't cause other people trouble. Don't stand out too much. Live a normal life. Go to a normal school. Get married and have kids like a normal person. Raise them like normal. Grow old like normal. She was taught that this was the most comfortable, least remarkable, most trouble-free way to live. For example, she was taught to keep herself at a standard retail size when it came to clothing. Medium. The size that most people wear.

When she was on a school trip in junior high, a massive typhoon hit. Her home was destroyed, and her entire family died. News all over the country covered it as an unfortunate incident.

"That made me stand out a lot," she said, smiling while hardly moving the rest of her face. "Tatsuki and I are polar opposites. She hates 'normal.' She's the kind of person who makes her own clothes. I found it charming when we met, but when we lived together, we were so poor. I couldn't see a future for us, so I couldn't help thinking that maybe 'normal' really was better. I wanted to have an easier life. That's why I went back to full-time work, too."

"But it wasn't easier at all, was it?"

"Sure wasn't. Deathly so."

Mami laughed. Her laugh sounded so much brighter than her desperate voice back at the shrine, but I couldn't help still feeling worried for her.

"I don't think you should try that again. There are people who might die of grief if something were to happen to you. You'll be doing them a favor by valuing yourself more. This is starting to sound like a lecture, but I really mean it. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"You're probably right, but you know, it's still pretty hard to believe. It's weird, isn't it? I'm a total stranger with no family to speak of, but there are people I hurt just by treating myself like garbage."

"It is pretty weird. But when you love someone from the bottom of your heart, it changes you. I think that's only natural. I mean, maybe that's just what love is, right?"

But there was just something about her in that moment, like she felt unbearably sad, guilty, and heartrendingly happy all at the same time.

Mami wiped her eyes and looked at me like a displeased queen. "You don't look that much younger than me. Has anyone ever told you how presumptuous you are?"

"Sounds like somebody's just being a little childish to me."

"You know, you really are insufferable. Even if you did save my life."

I smirked, and Mami let out a slightly bashful laugh. That was the first time I felt like I could understand how the people who spent that day running around Tokyo and crying over her felt.* She really was charmingly awkward.

*- guy who spent that day running around tokyo over her. seeeiiiiigiiiiiii........

My boss, who had been silently listening the whole time, nodded, took a sip of his tea, and set the cup down.

"Ms. Sasu, do you know what a carat is?"

"You mean like how this ruby is 3.05 carats?" Mami confirmed.

"Exactly," Richard nodded. Then he looked at me, "Seigi, do you still remember what carats measure?"

“...They're a unit of measure for the weight of gemstones. One carat is 0.2 grams."

He replied with a "bravo." The question made me remember the time I'd asked him why they used carats and not grams. It was the day Mami showed up in the store for the first time.

"It's said that jewelers in ancient Greece used carob seeds to measure the weight of stones. Each of those seeds weighed around 0.2 grams. In Greek, the word for carob seed is 'kerátion,' which eventually became the word carat as we know it today."

One seed. One carat. I imagined someone with curly hair and dressed in a toga, placing seeds on a scale against a gemstone. I guessed seeds and gemstones were pretty similar in scale in terms of size and weight.

"In short, the carat is a unit of measurement created by jewelers specifically for gemstones and used exclusively for gemstones. It may not have the broad utility of centimeters and kilograms, but it's still useful for weighing gems. Of course, you could convert it to grams, but personally I find a world with a variety of diverse units of measurement much more comfortable, beautiful, and rich for it."

Mami giggled, like she understood something.

"Despite your cool and collected demeanor, you're quite passionate, aren't you? Well, I hope to be someone who makes the world a richer place, too."

"Everyone has their own universe, but the main difference is whether they turn their back on it or embrace it to cultivate it into a deep, bountiful sea. You mentioned using the stone to tell your fortune earlier, but the thing is, gemstones are mirrors that reflect their owners. You would have never received an answer that you didn't already desire."

“......"

"Ms. Sasu, I believe you already had your answer the moment you set foot in this shop."

“…I guess I'm the only one who didn't know that."

Richard flashed her a gentle smile that reminded me of a calm sea. I was kind of shocked to learn he could make an expression like that. Mami smiled meekly. She was a pretty impressive person to be able to ignore that face of his.

then here comes gayboy interrupting a tender moment of connection anyway #LESBIAN

"So, about the charge for the identification report. How much was it again?"

[…]

"It's on the house. I believe what you need right now isn't fine jewelry but to turn your gaze inward to your own sparkling beauty. Should the day come that you desire a gemstone that matches your own inner luster, please contact me. I promise I'll find you the perfect piece."

"Thank you. You've really gone above and beyond for me."

Mami bowed deeply, put the brooch away in her shoulder bag, and left the shop.

I was still a little worried, so after a moment, I poked my head out to watch her leave. I was greeted by the rev of a motorcycle engine as a bike with two people on it sped past.

“...You know, I've thought this ever since we were coming back from Kobe on the Shinkansen, but you really are a bleeding heart, aren't you? You care more about your customers' well-being than profit. Or are you thinking about how you sometimes have to take a loss to profit in the long run?"

"I'm not sure you'd call this a loss. I made a connection with Mr. Homura."

"With Takashi?"

"I met with him once more after the incident. His family are avid jewelry collectors. We already have plans for me to show them several pieces when next we meet."

I shouldn't have expected anything less from a globe-trotting salesman. If someone had a stone that incredible to begin with, landing them as a customer would probably be profitable in the end. He did sound a little embarrassed about it, though.

"What'd Takashi say?"

"Just that if I had any good stones, he wanted to see them. That's all."

“...Huh."

- words that won’t be of any consequence several novels from now

He was a pretty baffling person, too. I still couldn't believe he told someone he was really in love with that he didn't care if she cheated on him. Though at the same time, if you were really, painfully in love with someone who was truly hopeless... I could see how you might come to the conclusion that it didn't matter if you weren't number one in their heart, as long as you could be by their side. No matter what form that took, or how much you had to give up. I felt like I could understand that a little, at least.

But only just a little. I wasn't saying I understood pain so bad that it made you want to die.

"Prejudice isn't a question of preference but one of whether you are offering other human beings the bare minimum courtesy of treating them as human."

Richard cleared his throat when I said that was what I loved about him.

everybody do me a favor and look up 'hayao miyazaki smoking stressed'. thanks. Seigi I kind of hope you die

Richard looked at me like he was waiting for something, and I just smiled at him. "You know, you really are shockingly handsome, even when you frown."

The implication being, "test me all you like." I had reflected on my actions after that incident, after all.

STOP! ❌ ✋ 🛑 🙅 🚫 ALTO! SEIGI ヤメロ

Suddenly the displeased look left Richard's face and was replaced with a smile—like flipping a switch. It was strange, though, like a doll made of ice smiling. So beautiful it was terrifying.

"Thank you very much. I think I have a thorough understanding of where you're coming from."

"D-do you now? Well, good. You know, you're kinda… scary right now."

"We've run out of our stock of sweets. Would you run out and buy some more?"

dumb stupid idiot’s Last Ever Task. how the fuck am I gonna fit all these photos. Oh well

"This is too much. I can't buy all this. What are you thinking?"

Just as I fired off that text, another one came in. It wasn't from Richard. My heart skipped a beat the moment I saw the name "Tanimoto."

"Hi, Seigi! Is it true that you were in a sports car in Asakusa? My friend who works at a shop near the temple said the driving was incredible! Sounds like it was a really interesting game of hide-and-seek!"

What a misunderstanding. What a massive misunderstanding. And it was already being embellished in the telling.

I didn't even want to look at it. I didn't even notice that I was on a different message chain when I fired off a reply.

"Is that sports car yours, Seigi? Show it to me sometime!"

I'd sent my "got it!" in reply to Tanimoto's message.

The phrase "just deserts" came to mind.

it really should be ‘just desserts’ given our circumstances

I bought everything on the list and returned to the shop where Richard greeted me like everything was normal. He hadn't done anything wrong. Really, he hadn't.

(he had.)

It was all my own fault.

(it was.)

I'd understood the point he made but failed to put it into practice.

boy did you.

and that concludes this edition of Seigi Sunday on “The Ruby of Truth”. on this [punctual] [Sunday].

#seigi sundays #ITS SUNDAY TO ME!!!! ITS THE RIGHT SUNDAY TO MEEE!!!!!#lateness the consequence of one of the biggest pain in the ass semesters of my life. At least i have my best friend seigi #<- amending that tag to also include. like the flu? maybe? Got real gunked up. but at least i have my very best friend seigi……..#also Yeah the indentations are all screwed up in the second act because i had to them on my phone. i’ll see if tumblr won’t actually let me #fix em once i post the thing. in the meantime let me review for any other things that got janked by fucked up saving mechanics #Coming back after review. it should be fiiineeeeee #Be free. long fucking post #edit after posting: Fucked up indentations are here to stay #the case files of jeweler richard

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