#love area part 2 the series

[bl-bam-beyond]

LOVE AREA PART 2 (2022, THAILAND)

A BL I've never seen. Reviews are mixed however I firmly believe a person need to make their own decisions while respecting someone else's. So I finally watched part one. Nothing spectacular but not too bad.

I will say I hate the way Non was treated but at the same time, he wasn't forthright with his feelings but yet he was clearly interested in his across the hall neighbor.

However, that neighbor Kaitoon (CHAVITPONG PUSOMJITSAKUL aka PAK) instead fell for the unfortunate Valen (GUN TIEOSUWAN) who began the series trying to rob the hardworking yet naive Kaitoon. As they began working with one another at Valen's sister's restaurant (LOVE AREA) the two grew closer with Valen becoming more and more enamored with Kaitoon. Meanwhile Dr. Non was also feeling something for Kaitoon, feelings he didn't articulate to the somewhat dense Kaitoon.

Kaitoon's closeness to Valen often left him letting Non down whom was always understanding.

Valen confessed his feelings and Kaitoon felt the same so they became (secret) boyfriends.

One evening Kaitoon left his keys in his apartment, locked out he began the evening bunking with Non but later bunking with his boyfriend. His jealous boyfriend. But Valen and Kaitoon grew closer.

One night while staying together after a shower Valen began drying Kaitoon's hair. And it took an intimate turn...they were sure to consummate their relationship until a friend of Valen came knocking at the door.

@pose4photoml @lutawolf Did you see this one? If so, thoughts?

[nomairuins]

the world if sims 4 had more lots per world

[kissablelips-desireslure-vol1]

LOVE AREA PART 2 (2022)

GUN TIEOSUWAN (as Valen)

&

CHAVITPONG PUSOMJITSAKUL (as Kaitoon)

[mirandaroggio]

Jovi Sasiriya (song by Jeff Satur) - Ethereal คนผ่านๆ konpàanpàan (passerby) OST Love Area Part 2 | Thai Lyrics / Rom / Eng sub / Esp / Pt-Br

[alicenpai]

princess tutu: die jahreszeiten 🌸

kind of a companion piece to my 2022 ptutu drawing | it's on inprnt

this print was at anime north; next con is otakuthon!

oops so my hand slipped and i made another princess tutu drawing. i admittedly don't watch that much anime so my catalogue of work is gonna be the same 5 animes LMAO. what can i say, i love "dark" fairy tales, and i've been really enjoying the more fine art approach to a lot of my drawings as of late (and the watercolour brush i've been using has been so perfect for that...!)

as my first princess tutu drawing is now 2 years old, there are some areas i've grown to have ... qualms with... although both drawings as a whole are pretty much exactly what i envisioned, and that's always satisfying!

both of these were drawn in roughly a week's time (yes really...) for con crunch period (and i went back to this drawing after the con to touch up some areas that were a bit rough!). i wanted a different approach to this new pt drawing, with the focus on the line work, rather than on colours and lighting in the 2022 drawing.

this drawing had 2 goals: to continue the style i adopted in my witch hat atelier "lantern bearers" drawing (which i promise i'll post in full soon as soon as all of the zine artists get their go-ahead to post their pieces!), and to emulate the art nouveau movement's heavy emphasis on line work, albeit not a 1:1 style replication of course.

the seasons also aren't a 1:1 representation, as i didn't necessarily pick flowers or colours that are most strongly associated with the season (e.g. summer being a dark tone is a bold choice?). but it's kinda whatever, as i said before i drew this in a week, there may be more appropriate flowers with better meanings. i couldn't spend too too much time drafting and researching.

FLOWER SYMBOLISM:

- spring: apple blossoms, tulips - the apple blossom is a quintessential spring flower, and thus symbolize the arrival of spring. spring is a season of change, which ahiru/princess tutu is a force of, instigating change in her friends and unravelling the story around her. the flowers below her are tulips, and there are many meanings to tulips depending on the colour, due to their ubiquitous nature. i narrowed on one, and intended for them to symbolize happiness. princess tutu's pose is one in which that is open, inviting, and warm - reflecting her nurturing nature in the series, and her willingness to help others achieve happiness.

- summer: deadly nightshade flower, yellow rose - i chose for rue/princess kraehe to symbolize a fiery summer's night instead of the typical dazzling heat of a summer's day, a rather bold and unusual choice. the warmth of sunshine didn't quite fit, as the character is quite dramatic and passionate, with her intentions often hidden in shadow. next, the deadly nightshade - atropa belladonna - has a lot of mythological associations, a lot to do with poisoning, as the flower is toxic. the flowers bloom at night (another reason why i picked a nighttime backdrop for "summer") and also outwardly match rue's dark design scheme, as the cherry on top. yellow roses, at the bottom of her frame, are the archetypal flower depicting jealousy (as with many yellow flowers are), and at one point in the story, rue only wished for her own happiness at the misfortune of others.

- autumn: douglas fir needles, orange calla lily - autumn is another season of change - although much more tumultuous, as this season is traditionally taken to prepare for a long winter ahead - fitting for fakir as the role of the storyteller. the douglas fir is not a flower of course, but is a tree - with many different parts of this tree offering many benefits in advance of the winter season. i wanted the versatile nature of the douglas fir to reflect on fakir's dependable personality. next up, the calla lily is a flower with a dual meaning - on one hand you have life, on the other you have death. a storyteller quite literally can grant both at the tip of their fingers.

- winter: birch tree, snowdrop - winter is a rather still and unchanging season, a lull in the passage of time. this symbolizes mytho's passive nature at the start of the series, especially with his doleful pose here, as if almost in hibernation. to contrast, mytho is perched on the branches of a birch tree, which means new beginnings and renewal - as mytho is one of the characters that undergo the most change throughout the series (i'd argue the most?), regaining pieces of his heart. under mytho's frame is the snowdrop flower - and if you've read my witch hat atelier: seasons piece symbolisms, one of the snowdrop's meanings is rebirth, with connotations to the bible, bringing hope, when all had forsaken eve. the snowdrop is one of the first flowers to bloom even when the snow has not yet fully melted, further echoing mytho as an analogy for rebirth.

[ozzgin]

I love your reader insert stuff!! The yandere yazuka series was vvvv entertaining, I wish I had a big scary gangster to scare away my stalker lol

If you are open to requests, how about Idol!Reader x Yandere!Bodyguard. I love the trope so much, and I'm interested and what you'd do with the idea. No worries if you're not interested tho!

Best wishes

-🌟

I just finished writing it and you've got me punching the air with your prompt. It wasn't really my thing but I'm now sold. Thank you for the trope idea. :’)

Yandere!Bodyguard x Idol!Reader (I)

Short scenario featuring your bodyguard that takes his duty a little too seriously. Not that you’d mind…

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

TW: violence

(Cover from the manga “A girl and her guard dog”)

"Fantastic show tonight!"

The older man guides you in and closes the door behind him. You smile warmly and seat yourself on the sofa. He quickly follows, although at a terribly uncomfortable proximity. His legs are pressed against yours and he extends an arm behind you, pretending to stretch. You shuffle awkwardly and lock your hands in your lap. You can already tell where this is going.

"With your talent, I'm confident we could triple the number of attendants. We just need a bigger venue." He nods at you and taps your thigh with his other free hand as encouragement. You notice the wedding band digging into his skin. 

"Alas, let us not waste the evening with business talk. I'm sure a stunning lady like you has better things to do." He laughs at his own compliment and ponders for a minute. "In fact, why don't we have dinner together? I know a great restaurant in the area."

You open your mouth to speak, but are distracted by the sudden, mild pressure on your leg. Somehow, his greasy fingers have wandered further up in the time you listened to his shameless offer. You've been in this career for long enough to guess what such proposals entail. If you say no, best case scenario he presses further, calling you a stuck up bitch and reminding you who has the power in this partnership. Worst case scenario, he leaves the room and the calls and invitations to perform will gradually drop. 

Yet your situation is special, benefitting from an additional possibility. A loophole, if you may.

Should you scream? Oh, he always gets so angry when you act scared. It's an immediate trigger. He really has a soft spot for your glistening, frightened eyes. You glance up one final time at the perverted smirk silently disregarding you. If you are to be honest with yourself, you'd very much enjoy seeing it wiped off forever. Why not? You're feeling particularly mean today.

So without hesitation, you release a high pitched yell of help. The door bursts open and the hinges creak. A tall, toned man walks in, and without a word he lunges at the manager, pulling him by the collar of his cheap dress jacket. You hold your cheeks dramatically, and bat your eyelashes at your bodyguard.

"H-he tried to molest me..." you mumble between sobs.

That's all he needs to proceed. Now the real fun begins. You can hear the muffled screams of protest. The bones crack and the flesh bends under his iron fists. Standing before your bodyguard, they all end up looking like ragdolls. Comically limp and weak, folding and breaking with no resistance. It amuses you greatly.

When did it all begin? You can't remember anymore. You were in your early years and this scary looking stranger entered your little backstage room. His explanation was brief and to the point: as your fame increases, so will the threats to your safety. He was appointed as your bodyguard. You couldn't care less, so you just shrugged. 

You've always been on the playful side. Not necessarily rude, just some innocent tease and banter wherever it's well received. Seeing him so quiet and stoic, you couldn't help but try to push his buttons: changing in front of him and requiring his assistance, occasionally asking him to pick you up and carry you because you could no longer walk. Naturally you would've stopped at the first complaint, but that's the strange part: no reaction ever came. He went along with everything. You assumed it's part of the job. Celebrities aren't known for their good manners, so hiring someone that loses their temper easily would be a fast ticket to termination.

Then you had your first encounter with one of the unpleasant fans you've been warned about. You could only stare in terror at your bodyguard's feral, unhinged reaction. The unfortunate fan's face was so disfigured, you wondered if anyone could ever manage to fix it back into shape. The bodyguard was panting and you could see the sweat coating his face and chest. You were rather confident there were many other ways to deal with it and this wasn't on the recommended list. Thus you felt compelled to ask the million dollar question:

"You act like a jealous spouse. Do you have a crush on me or something?"

You kind of regretted your audacity towards a man that had just nearly killed someone. But his features softened instantly and he turned to you, wiping his forehead and straightening his collar. 

"I suppose so. Is that an issue?"

As you stared ahead, processing his unbothered act, you sensed your cheeks feverishly burning. Uh oh. You hadn't anticipated such a nonchalant confession. You thought back to all the times you stood before him, bare and flirty. Was he merely holding back his urges the entire time? Or was he finally paying you back for all the teasing? Then again, his face didn't betray any hint of humor.

"I've never heard you joke before", you decided to test the waters.

"I'm not. Why would I joke about something like this?" He gazed at you incredulously. 

As somber and honest as ever. Well, that would indeed explain why he'd let you get away with the cheeky behavior. The more you considered it, the more entranced you became with the idea of indulging in such a relationship. As a famous idol, you couldn't be seen dating anyone. One rumor of you having a boyfriend and the agency would've had your ass suspended. But no one said anything about messing around with your bodyguard. He has to be with you all the time, so no one would suspect a thing. And you could definitely expand his list of responsibilities. You'd been terribly stressed lately, after all, and an outlet to release your frustrations would be most welcomed. Your bodyguard would never refuse pleasing his beloved.

You chuckled and pulled him towards your dressing room, giddy with excitement. Something about his imposing presence, like a wild animal that had just escaped from the leash, aroused you to no end. You've had your share of crazy fans, but this was the cherry on top. 

"Should we leave?"

You're jolted out of your daydreams by his low, rough voice. Ah, you missed the grand finale. Too bad. The bodyguard approaches you, with the shirt wrinkled and the top buttons popped open under the shuffle of his vicious attack. You can feel the knot forming in your stomach.

"Not yet. You know how I get when you act like this..." You pout and look away. "You need to take care of me first."

He grins at your last statement.

"Of course. Is the sofa okay?"

You nod.

"Then let's get you undressed, miss."

Is this what they call a scary dog privilege? 

[lovemebutleavemewild]

Wasn't actually going to do a part 2 to this mafia!Price x pregnant reader drabble but a few people requested it so ...

I don't think this will be a long fic or a series or anything but if anyone has by particular requests for scenes, let me know!

You take the table's orders quickly and almost trip getting away from them.

John follows you immediately, of course, but if you can just get to the kitchen, he won't be able to follow you.

Or so you think.

The doors don't have time to swing shut behind you before they burst open again and you feel a hand on your waist, spinning you around to face him.

"You're taking your break," he tells you.

"I can't yet, I have tables. And-"

You see your manager approaching and brace yourself for the tirade.

"Sir, you can't be in h-"

He stops when he gets a proper look at John.

"Oh. Um, is there a problem, sir? Or some way I can-"

"She's taking her break," John tells him, jerking his thumb at you. Your manager just nods mutely and John takes your hand, leading you out the back entrance.

"Beat it," he tells the line cook, smoking by the bins. The man slinks back inside without a word.

As soon as you're alone, John shepherds you against the wall, arm on either side of you so you're walled in.

"It's mine?" he asks and you try not to be offended. It's a fair question, you suppose. You just nod, looking at your shoes. He tilts your chin up so you're looking at him. You can't read the look on his face.

"Finish your shift. I'll wait."

+++++++

He takes you home, makes the others take a cab wherever they're going, and just gives you a look when you suggest you can take the bus.

He also insists on walking you inside. Your face warms at the way he's analysing your apartment building. When you hold the door to your place open for him, he rubs his hand along the doorframe, studying the lock, heads straight for the windows to do the same once he's inside.

"We'll need to get you moved out of here," he says when he finally turns around. You raise  your eyebrows.

"Is that right?" you ask. If he notices the sarcasm, he doesn't comment.

"Mmmhmm. Could get the lads to pack up your stuff for you, handle the movin'. We could have it done tonight"

"And where do you suggest I go?"

John smiles and sidles towards you.

"I could think of a few places," he says, raising his eyebrows. You huff a laugh.

"Hmm. But there's nothing wrong with my apartment."

John just hums.

"Not a good area," he tells you.

You start to feel your temper rise a little.

"Think whatever you want of the area; You don't get to walk in here and tell me-"

"Well I am telling you darlin'. I know these parts and 'round here isn't a good place for a girl like you."

"A girl like me?" you ask flatly, crossing your arms. You force yourself not to move away from him as he gets in your space. You can smell him from here, the scent of his cologne, and doesn't that bring back memories.

He leans down so he's looking into your eyes properly.

"A good girl," he says.

You snort and turn away.

"Does that line usually work for you?"

In a second, you feel his hands on your waist, pulling you back against a hard chest.

"Worked before, didn't it?" His voice is raspy in your ear.

"You didn't mind being my good girl the last time we spoke, did ya, sweetheart? Or can you only be good when you're stuffed full?"

He presses harder against your back and you can feel the length of him now.

"'Cause I can help you with that, love, just you say the word."

You pull away, turn to look at him, with your chest heaving.

"Place like this could be dangerous for a girl like you," John says and it sounds like a warning.

"Aren't men like you what makes places like this dangerous?" you whisper.

He steps towards you again, slower this time, puts a hand on your hip. You don't pull away.

"Sometimes," he admits. "Not always. Need to make sure you're taken care of, from all the bad things out there. Goes for both of you."

"I don't need taken care of," you tell him. It would sound more convincing to your own ears if you could find it in yourself to pull your hand off his chest.

"No?" His hand suddenly dips between your legs and you jolt forwards into him.

"You been taking care of yourself here, hmm?" He starts to rub, over your work leggings, leans down so his head is nearly on your shoulder.

"Been taking care of this pretty pussy like it needs?" he asks, voice rough. "It was so needy that night we met, I was sure we'd go a few rounds. Why'd you run instead, sweetheart? I didn't even get a chance to taste it."

You can't answer, can't think, especially not when he shoves his same hand under your pants, sliding your underwear to one side for better access. Your head falls back when he touches your clit.

"Need me to take of you here, darlin'?"

You can't help your moan.

"Not good enough," he grunts. "Need you to say it, love. Say you need me to take care of this pussy."

And you've been so stressed for so long and, really, at this point, what harm could it possibly do?

"Please, please, John, I need you. I need-need-"

He quietens you with a kiss, leaning down to lift you by your thighs. The bump makes it a bit awkward but he doesn't falter as he makes his way to your room.

"All you needed to say, mama."

[spidermanifested]

heres MY rambly black sails analysis for the day, after watching the show twice in as many months i wholeheartedly believe in the "long john silvers quote unquote missus in treasure island is max, not madi" theory

the most obvious thing, as others have pointed out, is that in treasure island long john silver runs an inn with his wife, a black woman, in bristol, which is absolutely not madi behavior-- i cannot imagine madi would take him back in the first place much less move with him TO ENGLAND-- but IS maxs exact area of expertise. but theres so many other things that cement it for me

as early as episode 2, max tries to convince eleanor to buy out the inn and run it together with her when england takes nassau back. this is her dream-- to share power over her life with a woman she loves, free of the pressures of the outside world. (youll note this also happens to be silvers dream for himself and madi. the parallels)

in season 4 shes faced with the suspiciously similar option to take a husband to be the face of her business, completely on paper, for the sake of the public eye. and she refuses! she doesnt want to give a man that kind of power over her. not only that but she desperately wants to retain some kind of truth in her identity-- she admires anne for her honesty, her courage. these are things she can rarely afford to express. in refusing a marriage of convenience, she asserts her autonomy.

But. black sails tells us over and over again that an oppressive society will always find ways to batter down these private boundaries. there is no island safe from colonial rule. mirandas peaceful house in the interior is burnt to the ground. the maroons are forced to accept a freedom that comes at the price of abandoning those still enslaved and taking part in their continued subjugation. the things it takes to make these spaces are terrible, and unsustainable, and when it comes to being gay in the 1700s there is a tightrope to walk between privilege and privacy, one that destroyed flint and the hamiltons, thats even narrower to max as a self-made woman of color.

given all that, i do not believe she can girlboss her way out of her circumstances no matter how many lessons she took from what happened to eleanor. nor do i think the show believes it. i think the political-marriage-offer plot point is another illustration of that theme-- maxs desire, and silvers desire, to build a warm, happy room in the middle of the imperial machine, without meaningfully striking out against the machine itself, is destined to be futile no matter how strong they are as individuals.

max and silver are mirror images of one another. each of them is essentially the narrator of one half of the story. it is absolutely agonizing how BOTH of them tried to convince their lovers to abandon their ambitions, to settle for a quiet life with them, and in doing so saw that relationship destroyed by their own fear of an uncertain future....

....And its even MORE agonizing to imagine them finally securing the trappings of a domestic life... but without the love. and they know the love was what mattered! theyre always going to know!!!

it bookends PERFECTLY with their alliance at the start of the series. theyre right where they started, trusting no one, pretending to be humble and harmless, planning to steal the EXACT SAME TREASURE, except now theyre 50 years old and jaded and bitter and both pining after their lost loves. silver probably pictures madi whenever he tells people about his wife. when he and max have time to themselves they talk solely about finances and nothing else. its honestly impressive how miserable this is for every single person involved. im losing my mind

[yun-fangz]

Yunho twitter links — Dom ver.

Pairing: Yunho x fem!reader

a/n: ahhhh finally, we've come to the end of this series. 🥹 I would like to say thank you for all your support and love on each of these posts, i'm very happy you enjoyed these just as much i have had making them. as im finishing this up, i will be returning to writing as much as i can, however, i will most likely be making a much shorter pt.2 for this in a couple of months. enjoy ✨

masterlist.

warnings + links under cut! mdni 18+ content below.

warnings/tags: big dick!yunho, mean yunnie, heavy dom/sub dynamics, size kink, fingering, punishments, cunnilingus, semi-public, perv!yunho, lots of fondling, manhandling, mirror sex, gamer!yunho, being referred to as a "toy", praise, brat taming, slight breeding kink, body worship

yunho loves to take his time playing with you. he'd massage your tits as he rubs circles into your clit, loving the way you squirm on his hard-on. once he gets impatient, he's pull your panties to the side to work you on his fingers. link.

whenever you act out a little too boldly in public, yunho has no problem pulling you into the nearest private area and bending you over. He'd tower over your form as he fucks you harshly, reminding you who's really in charge. link.

yunho loves teasing you through your panties. this time he has you standing upright as he licks and sucks at your clit through the silky piece of cloth covering it. he'd feel as your knees begin to shake and nearly buckle as he ruins yet another pair of your panties. link.

riding yunho. the way your cunt stretches around and grips his thick girth has yunho going feral. he could feel every pulse and drag of your walls as you work yourself on him. link.

perv!yunho "accidentally" spraying you with water when he really just wanted to see the now transparent fabric cling to your tits. as you're cleaning up, he'd sneak up behind you as he circles his arms around your chest, playing with you through the damp fabric. link.

punishments with yunho. you'd been awfully bratty and cranky all day, replying dryly or just flat out ignoring him. once he returns home, he'd sit down as he silently manhandles you to where he wants before spanking you harshly, ignoring your pleads for mercy just as you ignored him before. link.

yunho tying you up to play with as he pleases. he'd think you look so gorgeous tied up, like a pretty little present wrapped up for him to play with. the way you writhed as he toyed with your cunt made him impossibly harder, loving how small and helpless you were under him. link.

if yunho ever gets too worked up over a game, you're always more than happy to help. crawling under his gaming desk, you position your open mouth over his cock, allowing his hand to guide you down the length of it. link.

if yunho heard you speak badly about yourself, he'd strip and put you in front of a mirror as he trails his hands along your skin. he'd massage his hands along each part of your flesh, going from your tits to your pulsing clit as he reminds you just how beautiful you are to him. link.

monstercock!yunho splitting you open each time he fucks you. he'd coo softly as he pushes himself to the hilt, drinking up each hiccup and cry that leaves your lips. he'd give you time to adjust before rocking himself softly against you, building up the pace little by little until he's pumping himself in and out of you manically. link.

bonus:

the kind of videos yunho would send you to tease and rile you up while he's away. link.

yunho making you squirt all over his sheets. link.

him holding you steady as he pumps his seed into you link.

the perfect stress relief for yunho. link.

© 2024 Yun-Fangz All Rights Reserved.

[honnelander]

go fish! part 3

here we are everyone! we made it guys! the much anticipated part 3 of the go fish! mutual pining series!! i cannot express enough how much this series means to me and that i am constantly blown away with how much you all love it too. it amazes me every day. i hope this lives up to the hype and that you all love it. and don't worry, there will be a part 4! disclaimer: i tried tagging everyone that had asked but a few users don't come up when i try tagging them, so i'm sorry :(

WARNINGS: none

word count: 4k

pairing: opla!sanji x jealous!reader

summary: reader sees Sanji get cozy at the bar with someone else and you get jealous as hell. Zoro sees the whole thing.

prequel part 1 part 2 part 4 masterlist

taglist: @mischiefmanaged71 @smolracoon25 @smol-book-nerd @shuujin @amanda08319 @nimtano @your-platonic-gay-lover @lovelymrvl @whiskeypowder @jovialcat123 @xtigerlily @shadowwolf1864 @quixscentsposts @guidingstarsstuff @ateliefloresdaprimavera @chexmixtrys @princettecharlie @amitydoodlez @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @abracarabbit @commanderfreethatdust @lordbugs @sweet-little-nothings @geisterfvhrer @kenkenmaaa @dazaisfavgf @fan-goddess @shadydeanmuffin @cherrypie5 @sauceonmyshorts @hhighkey @gimmebackmyskeeball @he4vens-ang3l @selcouthaesthetics @sapphireonline @dory-98 @redskull199987 @teenyforestfairy @acupnoodle

It really shouldn’t bother you...but it did. You couldn’t help yourself. Sanji wasn’t even yours, he never would be, and yet...you couldn’t help the wave of jealousy and annoyance that crashed over you every time he would be a little too friendly with other women. (At least, too friendly by your standards and, of course, you thought your standards were pretty reasonable.) 

But Sanji wasn’t even yours (he never would be). You weren’t his wife or his girlfriend, hell, you were only just crewmates to each other, so there really should be no reason why you felt as angry and jealous as you did. 

That still didn’t stop you, however. In fact, it just enraged you even more and you didn’t know why. 

It was just a stupid crush you had on him, right? So why did it bother you so much when he would cast that perfect smile of his towards someone else? When he would wink at another woman and say some suave innuendo that he would never say to you? Or even touch their shoulders or give a hug to someone else when he’s never even touched or grazed your arm or shoulder by accident before? 

“If you stare any harder at that glass, it’s going to shatter from all the daggers you’re giving it.” 

You blinked, looking up from the drink in your hand and to the left, only to see an ever calm and nonchalant Zoro take a swing of his beer, keeping his gaze towards the bustling nightclub/bar you all were currently visiting.  

It’d been a couple of weeks of straight sailing on the open ocean and everyone on board was going a little stir crazy, even the ever-happy-go-lucky Luffy. So, when the Going Merry’s captain had smelled a whiff of food in the air midafternoon up on the masthead that wasn’t Sanji’s doing, everyone had collectively decided to follow Luffy’s nose and see what lied ahead.  

After a half hour of sailing, you all had stumbled across another ship-like restaurant that, admittedly, even looked better than the Baratie. So, it was an easy decision for the crew to decide to dock there for a couple of hours and give Sanji the night off from making dinner, much to the chef’s annoyance.  

But it had all turned out to be the right decision in the end, apparently, since Sanji had made a point to visit the kitchen and give his compliments to the chef. 

Now, all of the straw hats had made it to the outdoor bar area to ‘drink the night away’, as Usopp had so jovially put it, and you’ve been here ever since. 

“Ha ha,” you deadpanned, looking back at the nearly full drink you had in your hand. “Very funny Zoro. You know, you should quit piracy and be a standup comedian.” 

Your green-haired crewmate turned his face to you with an unamused expression. “You’ve been nursing that drink all night.” He arched an eyebrow. “You ok?” 

At that question, your eyes immediately went to Sanji, who had been at the bar for a majority of the evening, chatting with the bartender but, of course, as if on cue, another gorgeous girl slinked right up to him, batting her eyelashes and ever so casually rested her hand on his bicep, sliding it all the way down to his forearm as she giggled at something the chef said. 

Sanji, on the other hand, flashed the new woman, the tenth this evening at least, you thought sourly, one of his dazzling white smiles, leaning forward slightly as if he was telling her some sort of inside joke, causing her to laugh louder and place her other hand on top of his. Sanji’s smile only grew wider. 

You couldn’t help the stab of pain your heart felt at the sight. 

“Never better,” you replied to Zoro bitterly as you quickly downed your drink. 

His gaze didn’t budge. “You don’t look fine.” 

“Yeah, thanks for pointing that out Captain Obvious,” you quipped sarcastically under your breath, stealing another glance at the object of your affections. He was still chatting with that other woman, and you couldn’t help letting out a small breath as you felt the familiar sting of jealously deep within your chest.  

God, it hurt. It hurt so goddamn badly, and you didn’t know why. 

Zoro followed your line of sight and when he saw the Going Merry’s cook at the end of it, he hummed to himself, hiding his sly smirk behind his beer as he looked back at you. “Sounds like you need another drink then.” 

“I guess so,” you sighed, sitting up and leaning over to grab the bottle of liquor that sat in the middle of your small table to refill your glass when Zoro stopped you. 

“Nuh-uh,” the green-haired swordsman said as he put the heel of his boot on the table to block off your reaching hand. “If you want a refill, then you have to go to the bar,” he explained, nodding his head towards the bar, and, coincidently, Sanji. “This bottle is mine.” 

“What?? Aw come on Zoro,” you whined. “I don’t want to go over there.” 

“Oh? Any particular reason why not?” 

It must’ve been the liquor, because you could’ve sworn you heard a knowing tone laced in his voice but when you looked at your friend, he looked as nonchalant as ever. Maybe you were imagining things. 

“No,” you lied, your cheeks heating up slightly.  

“Good,” Zoro said, taking a long swing of his beer, finishing it up and slamming the empty bottle on the glass tabletop lightly. “Then when you’re up there, get me another beer.” You opened your mouth to protest again but Zoro spoke before you could. “Since, you said there’s no problem.” 

Shit. You were backed into a corner. And the only way out was to go up to the bar and be face-to-face with Sanji. 

You looked back towards the crowded bar and felt another wave of emotion come over you. But these feelings were hard to discern. The pair was still talking at the bar, the woman still being a little too touchy towards him for your taste. You sighed slightly. Maybe when you got over there, he would just ignore you, since he was so engrossed in conversation it seemed. Part of you didn’t know if you wanted that wish to come true or not. 

“Alright- fuck it, whatever,” you grumbled as you snatched your empty glass and made your way to the bar, leaving a smug Zoro alone. 

As you made your way across the small dance floor and towards the bar, you felt your heart fill with dread with every step you took. You prayed to whatever God was out there that Sanji didn’t notice you but, of course, when you neared the bar, you noticed that the only open spot was behind him. 

How fucking perfect. 

“One beer and a refill please,” you quickly ordered, handing over your empty glass to the bartender.  

 “Y/n?” 

Your heart clenched at hearing Sanji’s voice. Why did you think, for even a moment, that Sanji would ever ignore you? The man seemed to always notice you no matter what, even when no one else did, so why would he ignore you now? 

But you couldn’t look at him. “Oh, hey,” you quickly greeted. 

Sanji, however, didn’t miss a beat. “I didn’t think you were a big drinker,” he commented curiously, turning his body fully to face you, leaning against the bar, and unintentionally removing the woman’s grip on his arm.  

“I’m not,” you answered, casting a quick glance up at him. 

The blonde chef blinked in confusion, his brows pulled together slightly, but before he could question you further, his ‘date’ for the evening quickly made her presence known. 

“Sanji?” the woman called out sweetly, stepping to the cook’s right, placing her hand on his right bicep and the other on his shoulder as she looked up at him with a coy smile. When she looked down at you, however, you could see the look in her eye that was anything but sweet. “Who is this? I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” she commented, tilting her head in fake misunderstanding.  

Immediately, both you and Sanji straightened up, shaking your heads quickly. 

“No, no, she’s not my girlfriend-” 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you both denied simultaneously. 

You quickly looked away from them, hoping to hide the rush of embarrassment that crashed over you and, to be honest, the sting of his quick rejection. It was just another reminder, you thought bitterly, that even though Sanji always acted like a complete gentleman towards you, you weren’t his girlfriend. He was just being nice, like always, and he would never like you how you liked him. 

You looked down at your hands, quiet for a moment as you knocked a knuckle against the bar top. “No,” you said after a beat. “We’re not dating.” 

The woman blinked, clearly unfazed by your admission, like she expected nothing less. She still had a fake look of curiosity on her pretty face. “Oh, right! Of course not,” she laughed slightly, in a way that made you feel small. “You must be one of the straw-caps then, right?” 

“It’s straw-hats, actually,” you bit back, straightening up and turning to face this jerk of a woman, chin up high, sending her what you hoped was one of your meanest stares. This girl could be mean to you all day if she wanted to, you didn’t care, but you’d rather drop dead than to ever let her bad mouth Luffy and the wonderful pirate crew he put together. “And yes, I am one of them. I’m a pirate,” you stated proudly.  

Sanji must’ve been drunk or stupid, because he didn’t seem to pick up on this girl’s bad energy. “Don’t you remember, darling,” he started, sending the girl a small smile, “I was telling you about my crewmates?” 

“OH right!” She hit her head in an exaggerated manner. “I remember now, pookie. You said there were two girls on your crew, an orange-haired map girl and another one...” she trailed off, tapping her pointer finger on her chin like she was deep in thought. “Oh!” she exclaimed brightly and looked down at you, her smile sweet as candy but her words as sharp as a razor. “You must be the potato girl!” 

Whatever air of pseudo-confidence you had was immediately snuffed, her words quickly cutting you down to size. “The- the what?” 

“Yeah, don’t you like potatoes or something?” she laughed, acting like it was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard.  

And to her credit? It definitely sounded stupid if you didn’t know the context behind the story. You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to fight the urge to either cry or deck this girl in the jaw over her making fun of such a special moment between you and Sanji. 

You opened your mouth, ready to shut her shit down when she beat you to it. The next words out of her mouth immediately sucked the air out of your lungs. 

“Or is just because you look like a potato?” she asked, laughing her about ass off as she lightly hit Sanji in the chest, keeping her hand there, expecting him to laugh along with her but Sanji just stiffened at her side. 

You, however, were too busy keeping your breathing under control and trying your hardest not to cry to notice Sanji’s reaction, or lack of. You could feel red hot shame bloom across your chest, the heat crawling up your neck and flushing your face as you looked down at the floor. 

Normally, another girl calling you ugly would sting, sure, but not cause you to literally break down in tears on the spot. So why now? Deep down, though, you knew exactly why. It was because of Sanji. She had literally called you ugly in front of Sanji, the person you had a major forbidden crush on, and what if Sanji just laughed along and agreed with her? You didn’t know if you’d be able to handle it. If he did, you would have to quit the straw hats because there was no way you could ever look at him again. 

Not wanting to wait and see what his reaction would be, you started shaking your head, ready to mutter up some lame excuse to get the hell out of there when you felt an arm snake around your waist and a warm body press against your side, pulling you against them. 

“Now, Madam, I don’t think those are the right words to describe the most beautiful woman in all of the four seas now, is it?” a deep, familiar accented voice asked from above you. 

Your breath hitched in your throat as you whipped your head up towards the voice with wide eyes, only to see the ever-beautiful Sanji look down at you with a small, soft smile, his eyes full of wonder and another emotion you couldn’t decipher, as you felt his thumb rub small, comforting circles on your right hip.  

His look and touch sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t tell if he was acting or not. Your heart hammered in your ribcage as you searched his eyes for a lie, but all you could find was the truth, strong and unwavering, staring right back at you. 

“I said: is it?” Sanji repeated himself, tearing his eyes away from you, looking straight on at this awful woman with his eyebrows raised slightly, like he was daring her to say something else. 

Clearly not expecting Sanji to rebuke her as blatantly as he did, the woman started sputtering. “Well, I- I didn’t mean it like that, Sanji-bear, really-” 

The blonde man raised his left hand in the air, immediately silencing her. “Yeah, I gotta be honest- I highly doubt that, sweetheart.” 

At his condescending tone, you saw the woman bristle and nearly foam at the mouth, her eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. She huffed, looking back and forth between you both for a moment before scoffing and shaking her head in disbelief, saying, “I knew it. I fucking knew it.” She looked Sanji dead in the eyes, glancing at you, her eyes filled with hatred, before taking a step closer to Sanji, filling in the gap between them, as she whispered something into his left ear before stalking off and leaving the bar without another glance. 

You quickly looked up at Sanji as she was whispering into his ear, confusion apparent in all of your features. Whatever she said to him, you couldn’t hear since they were both taller than you and the woman wore the highest heels you’ve ever seen, but whatever words she had spoken had left the chef completely stunned because you felt his body become rigid, the comforting circles his thumb was rubbing on your hip stopped, and you saw the muscles on his face freeze as he kept his stare straight ahead.  

“Sanji?” you call hesitantly, instantly forgetting your own muddled emotions as you looked up to your heart’s desire. “Are you ok?” 

At the sound of your voice, you felt him relax. He let out a little laugh (it sounded fake to you), as he looked down at you with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Of, of course. I am.” But as quickly as he looked at you, his attention was stolen by the bartender placing your order on the bar in front of you. “Thanks, man,” he called out, removing his arm from around you and stepping away to grab your drink order.  

Instantly, you missed the warmth he provided. You felt cold all of a sudden.  

You shook your head once, clearing your head of those thoughts. Now wasn’t the time to analyze things like that. “Sanji-” 

“How are you feeling?” he asked with his back facing you, beating you to the punch. When he turned to face you, drinks in hand, any trace of inner turmoil was gone. His eyes, instead, showed concern for you. “You know you’re beautiful, right?” he asked softly, his eyes scanning your face before looking back into your eyes. 

The look in his eyes nearly took your breath away. For a moment, you had completely forgotten what he was referring to. “Uh, w-what?” 

He must’ve mistaken your confusion for disbelief because his next action nearly stopped your heart. “Oh, my love,” he started softly, a small smile tugging on the corner of his lips. He placed the drinks on the bar, freeing up his hands, and placed them on either side of your head, along your jawline, as his thumb rubbed your cheek soothingly, his fingers gently entangled in your hair. Sanji gently tilted your head upwards, so your eyes connected with his, and the look on his face was filled with such tenderness and radiated a warmth that touched your soul. His gorgeous, tanned face filled your entire field of view, and you could feel his minty breath fan your face.  

When the hell did he get so close? 

You felt your cheeks heating up at the proximity, your eyes tried to look at anything but his crystal-clear blue ones. Your brain was sure to short circuit if you didn’t get ahold of yourself. You were going to do something incredibly stupid if you didn’t get space immediately. “San-” 

“Y/n,” he said, his tone soft yet commanding. “Look at me, love.” 

Your heart rate skyrocketed and you felt your breathing quicken. God, you could feel yourself getting a panic attack and you didn’t even understand why. There was nothing more you’d rather do more than look at Sanji but you didn’t know if you had the strength to do it.  

You placed your hands on top of his wrists, fully intending to peel him off and push him away, mumbling, “Sanji, I can’t-” 

“Please.” 

In an instant, you looked into his eyes and what you saw nearly made your heart stop. His gaze was so intense, so piercing, his blue eyes seemed like they were staring directly into your heart and soul. Could he feel your rapid pulse through his fingertips? 

When you locked eyes with him, you saw his soft smile grow. “You, y/n, are the most gorgeous woman to ever sail the four seas. You are the most beautiful woman in the world, I promise you that.”  

With each word out of Sanji’s mouth, you could feel your heart breaking and it was dawning on you as to why. 

But Sanji continued, his eyes sparkling. “And I'll be damned if I’d ever let that horrible woman make you feel otherwise. Alright, Missus?” 

At the nickname, you let out a shaky breath and quickly blinked back tears. It was right then you knew, you knew it from the depth of your soul, just like you knew for certain that the sky was blue and the earth was round: you loved Sanji. You didn’t just have a crush on him anymore, but you were completely head over heels in love with him. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, which might’ve been your heart, because you realized that even though you loved him, you could never have him. He was your crewmate, your friend, another one of the straw hats. He was someone that you promised yourself you would never cross “the line” for. Who you vowed to yourself that you wouldn’t risk anything for feelings-wise because you didn’t want the rest of the crew to suffer if you both didn’t work out. 

But despite all of that, it didn’t make the truth any easier to swallow because now you were stuck. You were stuck with your stupid feelings and all it did was want to make you cry. You should’ve been happy right now at this sudden realization but no, instead all you wanted to do was go hole up in your room and sob. 

And besides, Sanji would never return your feelings anyway. 

“Y/n?” Sanji repeated, a hint of worry laced in his tone the longer you kept staring at him unblinking. 

You quickly blinked, unable to stop a few tears from escaping your eyes, but managed to hold back the rest. You tried your best to fake a smile for him, but you could feel your lips quivering. “Sanji,” you breathed but quickly cleared your throat. “That, that was beautiful.” You looked at him in the eyes. “Thank you.” 

At your thanks, Sanji’s whole face lit up and he winked. “Ah, anything for the Missus.” 

The blonde cook didn’t make an effort to move, however. He kept his hands on your face and with each stroke of his thumb you felt tingles shoot down into your stomach (and to other inappropriate places), and felt goosebumps erupt across your skin.  

You had to get out of here. 

Carefully, you squeezed his wrists and slid your hands over his, gently prying them away from you, pulling them down and giving them one last quick squeeze in appreciation before dropping them. “Thank you, Sanji,” you repeated softly. You looked towards the bar, at the two forgotten drinks placed there, because you just couldn’t look at Sanji right now. “I, uh, should go bring these over to Zoro.” 

“Of- of course. Right. Mosshead is probably quite pissed off at us but, ah, who cares what he thinks.” Ever the gentleman, Sanji went to reach for them. “Here, let me help you-” 

“No!” you quickly intervened, grabbing them like it was a pot of gold. “No, no. I got it. Don’t worry about it. You should, uh, stay here and keep talking to the bartender. I think he was looking for you,” you lied and without waiting for his response, took the drinks off the bar, leaving a crestfallen Sanji standing there, watching you walk to Zoro and then, promptly, out of the nightclub altogether.  

As you walked over to your green-haired friend, your legs felt like rubber and that you would collapse at a moment’s notice from the sheer weight of your thoughts. You, however, were so far gone that you completely missed Zoro’s Chesire cat grin.  

“You and the waiter seemed pretty cozy over there, huh?” Zoro jabbed, his arms resting on top of the seat cushions and knees spread out like he had no care in the world. “I thought you guys were going to kiss or something for a minute there, but instead-” 

“Shut the fuck up, Zoro,” you practically growled at him as you put his beer and your glass on the glass tabletop with much more force than necessary.  

The swordsman lifted his hands slightly along with his eyebrows. “Whoa, hey now no need to-” 

Instead of taking your seat back and sitting back down, you started walking past him and towards the exit without waiting for his response. “I’m heading back to the ship.” 

As Zoro watched you leave, a clearly drunk Usopp slid in right next to him, gnawing on a toothpick, watching you as well. “Daaamn, Zoro,” the slingshot shooter drawled loudly, leaning against his crewmate and completely disregarding the other man’s personal space. “Did you see Sanji and y/n? I thought they were going to- pft, start making out or something!” Usopp exclaimed as he waved his hands in the air, mimicking an explosion and two people kissing. “Do you think they know they like each other?”  

Zoro hummed, watching your retreating form and then looking towards the dejected waiter, who looked like a kicked puppy. “I don’t know Usopp,” he replied, leaning forward to grab his beer and take a swing. “But if they don’t tell each other soon I’m going to lose my goddamn mind.” 

“Yeahhh,” Usopp agreed, sliding his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to look at the swordsman better. “You said it- oh! Is this drink taken?” he asked, not waiting for Zoro’s response before taking the beverage and sipping on its straw.  

Zoro shook his head with a small smile. Sometimes his friends were too predictable for their own good. He just hoped that you and Sanji would start being predictable soon so you two could finally be together and put everyone out of their misery.  

[solbaby7]

Sweet Thing

pairing: rhysand x reader

[ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ]

part 4 of the shy!reader massage mini series

warnings: swearing, sexual implications, possible violence, jealousy, gambling, male egos, petnames (bc being called bunny is so cute and soft, fight me on it)

summary: Your High Lord hosts a party with a dozen hothead Illyrian soldiers where you become the main attraction

—

“Stay close,” Rhysand murmurs in your ear, a warm hand pressed at the low of your back to guide you into the large room. It’d been recently renovated; not yet decorated and you'd assumed it was turned into a makeshift meeting area, a giant table pushed in the middle with a dozen chairs wrapped around it. It was also the furthest room from your own—a little detail that Rhys quickly bristled over when you'd mentioned it earlier. “Wanted to keep my good luck charm close by tonight.”

Your cheeks warm under the words, annoyingly aware of how sensitive your body had become in response to the High Lord since that night. It haunted your every breath; his barely contained need, the throbbing cock just a few measly layers away from being everything you’d ever dreamed of and Rhysand fed off of it like ravenous wolves who'd been starved three winters over. The teasing was merciless; heated touches and sinful words of remembrance haughtily whispered in your ear when you were supposed to be concentrating.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about.” You shy out of his touch, the hunger in his voice unmistakable and creating distance is easy when the others begin to filter in. A dozen or so pristinely dressed males of all sizes briefly greet Rhysand, hands clapping at each others backs and the testosterone that filtered in was thick enough to suffocate. They were friends; guys he’d fought and bled with, people he’d known for hundreds of years all gathered for card games and expensive glasses of liquor.

You were only there to help, to look pretty and shuffle the cards and stay close to Rhys—easy enough. “I’m thinking I should’ve dressed better.”

His fingers trace over the pleated pattern of your skirt, the soft purple fabric teasing at the middle of your thigh and all he can smell is some fruit on your skin—pomegranate? pear? “You look perfect, don’t worry about all them. You’ll be collecting their money for me by the end of the night.” Rhys is touchy; shamelessly so in front of others and you notice a few of the guests beginning to take you in, their stares raking up your form, sizing you up and you can feel Azriel shift closer from beside you.

"You always did have the prettiest little things hanging off your shoulder, Rhysand." Your head slowly turns to face the drawling voice, male entitlement and an incredulous amount of confidence seeping from every pore. Handsome and wealthy, but the allure dies the moment his mouth opens. The tailored suit alone was worth three months of the average faes rent and then some. "You have to tell me where you found this one."

Rhys laughs but you can tell there's no real humor behind it, his hand raising to wrap around your waist and pull you in closer; enough for your thighs to skim on the arm rest of his chair. The body language is possessive no matter how casual it’s intended to be and you catch Cass and Az sharing a look—mentally agreeing to pounce when they deemed fit.

Like salivating lions dressed in sheep's clothing.

"Couldn’t tell you, Maverick, she just stumbled in my lap."

He's trying to hold back for the benefit of the greater good—that was the whole point of inviting them over in the first place. Even after Mor had insisted that it was the dumbest idea ever inviting a dozen ill-tempered Illyrian soldiers and filling them up with booze. "I'd love to see her stumble in mine."

Your reaction is instinctual after feeling the High Lord's shoulders tense under your fingers and in seconds your hands are gently kneading at the muscle there, a palm running soothing lines up the length of his back and manicured nails scratch wonderfully at the nape of his neck until a bit of that darkness subsided. With a hum, you gently push his hand from your waist, backing away with a pitch only audible to him, "Gonna grab you guys some drinks."

"I'll help." You don't even try denying the spymaster, more than familiar with his customs and how unbearably uncomfortable he got once you started taking care of large groups of people. Az was always the first to say thank you when you served dinner and always made sure to wait until you sat down and took the first bite before even touching his fork.

He's quiet behind you, busying his hands with polishing the glasses you'd lined up and his shadows follow you around like a clingy pet but you understand why he's there—a silent promise that he'd have your back the entire night. That you’d never be left alone.

Azriel watches you pour a six-hundred year old bottle of amber liquor one knuckle deep for every cup besides one—that one got double and a single ice cube. Just how the High Lord liked it. "It's going to be fine," You tell him softly, storing away the rest of the bottle and you don't fight the smile that pulls when he stops you from carrying anymore than three glasses—brunting the rest of the work on the shadows. "Just a few hours and it'll all be over."

Azriel only hums but there's an underlying gratefulness for not having to speak or explain and his protectiveness towards you grows at how easily you understand him—adapting to his moods with ease.

He returns to his seat, shadows wisping their thanks over the length of your calf and a sweet smile is sent Cassian's way when he presses a grateful kiss to your hand. You turn to go back to Rhys, one final drink in your hand and you can feel Maverick's eyes trailing you, undressing you, touching and lusting from afar but he might as well have been shouting it across the room from the top of his lungs. "Come sit, bunny. And shuffle the deck, will you? They think I cheat."

"We know you do." Another male chuckles over the rim of his glass, blue eyes sharp and tawny curls tickle at the sides of his ears—Cade, you learn after a few minutes of listening in silence. You sift through the deck, righting the cards and splitting them in two before shuffling once, twice, a third time before you set it before you to be split by another. “Look at the hands on this one,” Cade poorly whispers to Maverick, shoulders bumping playfully and you felt like you were being hunted, ganged up on—eaten alive by males who didn’t follow the same code as the ones you hung around. “I bet they get the job done quite nicely.”

Rhysand has no time to respond because Cass is already doing it; gold battles with blue, large hands broadcasted before him and the General looks down at them to peer like a high maintenance woman after her nail appointment. “You should look at mine,” Crimson red Siphons glow with life on his arms; all seven of them, most hidden by the dark long sleeved shirt he wore but the message got across rather quickly. “I’m sure they’ll do it much better.”

You shift in Rhys’ lap, settling into the hands splayed around your waist, the other trails ticklish lines up the length of a bare arm and you’re grateful for how quickly the conversation shifts. “What do I do now?”

The low cadence of his voice rumbles against your back, hair gently pushed off one shoulder to make room for the chin that settles there. His instructions are thorough and intended to be purely informational but the smell of his cologne, the large hands sliding down lower to rub at the sides of your thighs and you’re unbearably aware of the plush of your ass nestled right atop of him. Cards are dealed, the rest left in a pile and you slowly draw three, facing them upright and most of the rest is a bit of a blur.

Every now and then Rhys will lean closer to mumble about what was going on but mostly it was just a room full of drunk males and their money. They cursed like sailors and laughed like hyenas, a chorus of voices overlapping the other until the liquor took its course and the true personalities settled in.

At some point you stand, hands grazing the back of Rhys’ neck when you mutter something about grabbing a snack. You’re not far, maybe a few feet away, body just barely obscured by the wall that separates them and the kitchen while you pile a plate full of finger food to snack on; fruit, mini sandwiches, warm meats wrapped in flaky dough and you’re pulled away from your focus when a voice clears. “There you are,” Maverick doesn’t look shitfaced but the liquor was definitely taking its toll, his steps a little unsteady and he slurred the s’s in his words. “How about you come rub my shoulders for me, sweet thing?”

Your brows furrow, mouth opening to give a response when the males hand raises to trace the line of your collarbone, you freeze. Four fingers graze over your shoulder and slowly moves down the length of your arm. “I don’t think—“

“I’m not asking you to think, sweet thing.” Your stomach churns, discomfort evident in the way you crane away from his touch but Maverick doesn’t care—as if unreciprocated want wasn’t an issue for him. “I’m telling you to come over here and offer up some of that treatment you’ve been feeding those three,” His eyes feel like hands in the way they roam your body, catching on bare skin and practically salivating to see the rest. “Swear I’ll return the favor.”

Your heart hammers in your chest and anxiety swells—you really should’ve just stayed put, the food in your hand threatening to spill to the floor with the intensity of your shaking but Maverick feels so close and you can smell his cologne; the whiskey. “I should get back to Rhys.” It’s no more than a whisper but when you try to slink past him, a hand clamps tightly around your arm, roughly tugging you back.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

A whimper escapes and just like that the kitchen explodes with darkness; relief overtakes your form as familiar hands tug you close and the arms that tuck you in close feel right—safe. Safe enough to not notice the warm spray of wetness that splatters against the back of your legs until you hear the steady drip,drip, dripping on the floor. Your head turns but before you can look Rhysand is tucking you in tighter, full lips pressing kisses to the top of your head. “Don’t look—let’s just get you cleaned up.”

“What about the others?”

“Cassian and Azriel will handle them,” The High Lords voice isn’t nearly as calm as you remember and it’s only when you’re halfway down the hallway does he loosen his grip a bit, turning you to face him to begin his assessment. “Did he hurt you? Did he fucking touch you?”

You can’t form words, realization beginning to form when you see blood splattering your clothes but you manage to shake your head. “He just grabbed me—Rhys did you—“

“I shouldn’t have let you go alone.”

“It was just a second.”

“A second longer and he could’ve—“ He stops himself from saying more; too afraid to make the words reality or too pissed to have to verbalize them but Rhys lets out a deep breath when he can find no damage besides a hint of a bruise. “I should’ve taken my time.”

You don’t need to ask to know what he means.

Instead, you place a palm on his cheek in hopes to ground him, to remind the High Lord that you were safe. Violet eyes soften, silver flecks catching in the light and it takes everything in you not to buckle beneath him when he looks at you like that—like it was nothing to kill for you. “Let’s go, I’d say it’s about time you return the favor and give me a massage.”

Mischief glints in those eyes, a smirk curling at the corner of full lips. “I can’t promise I’ll remain professional.”

“That’s sort of what I’m counting on.”

[zara-renata]

Hi, I write fanfiction about Love and Deepspace. Currently Sylus-dominant (heh), although I love and appreciate most of the LIs. Full summaries and tags are in each link.

The Sylus series

Part 1 Alike and cornered beast, Sylus's POV | ao3

I was desperate for Sylus's point of view during the first time that MC meets him in the Alike and Cornered Beast chapters of Long-Awaited Revelry. I wanted to know why he touches MC so reverently but also quite brutally, so I spent a lot of time thinking about possibilities and this is the result.

Part 2 Roleplay, undercurrents, and rising curtain, Sylus's POV | ao3

MC has PTSD from chapter 4 (you know the one), and no one can convince me otherwise, so I re-wrote the auction bits from Sylus's POV to fix this grievous oversight, because I am also firmly convinced he is a champ at handling MC's trauma.

Part 3 No way out, revised | ao3

I thought that MC was too mean to Sylus in his 4 star No Way Out card, and I didn't like it, so I fixed it. I mean, I rewrote how it went like a proper rabid fan.

Part 4 Datura tea, or how all you want is to get some sleep | ao3

You're suffering from insomnia due to untreated PTSD (probably, I don't know, I'm not a doctor or a therapist) from your family getting, well, exploded, and the longer this goes on, the sloppier you become in combat and just existing, and a bad idea is born.

Part 5 Sylus gets a headache | ao3

Sylus has secured the promise from you that he can use your place as a safe house if he's in the area and needs it. Sylus's definition of "need", it turns out, might be different than your own, as illustrated by the first time he shows up unannounced at your door.

Part 6 Wine time with Sylus | ao3

Sylus invites himself over, helps himself to your first aid kit and your kitchen, manipulates you into tasting wine with him, discusses his latest business venture, and gifts you more than one present before he's good and ready to finally leave.

Part 7 Sylus's guide to hiring, or Wine time with Sylus: his POV | ao3

Sylus mulls over all the data he has managed to collect regarding his sweet little hunter so far, and spends some time considering mistakes he's made and his plans for the future. He also hires a new employee and is required to teach the twins to mind their manners in front of guests he's trying to intimidate.

Part 8 Not my type | ao3

Sylus pesters you on your day off while you're at the arcade until you agree to "lend your talents" to him for the evening. So of course you show up at the designated location only to discover it's a nightclub, and you're dressed for a murder, but not on the dance floor.

Control: a Sylus series interlude | ao3

You are feeling a bit depressed after completing a mission that didn't go 100% the way you wanted. Mephisto, and then Sylus, pay you a visit to cheer you up.

Part 10 Sylus makes a deal | ao3

Sylus answers some questions, receives dating advice from a dubious source, makes a deal you can't refuse, receives a birthday invitation, and plans to take you home for the night.

Part 11 Even the rocks on the roadside in the N109 Zone could tell | ao3

Sylus makes one final miscalculation. You wake up from a nightmare in a place you weren't ready to revisit. Sylus has to reckon with the inevitable consequences of how he treated you when you first met him, but you're paying the higher price.

Part 12 Even the rocks on the roadside - Sylus's POV | ao3

Sylus tries to get some paperwork done in his office while you sleep. He receives a call that turns his night upside down and makes him regret some strategic choices he's made up until this point in conquering your heart.

Part 13 Q&A with Sylus Qin | ao3

Sylus cares for your injuries and feeds you a meal. After he shows you a part of his home that you didn't know existed, you finally ask him why he was so cruel to you when you first met him. Sylus does his best to answer with as much honesty as he can right now.

Part 14 How you learned to stop worrying and embrace Sylus Qin | ao3

Sylus reveals his latest little plot and makes you an offer that you ultimately can't refuse. More lying around talking in different beds with Sylus Qin.

Part 15 The dream, the tie, the tour, the dream | ao3

You have a good dream, get a guided tour of Onychinus's base by the chaos twins, talk yourself into being sad again, and then have another good dream

Creature Feature with Sylus Qin | ao3

You and Sylus dress up for a Halloween gala. This is a short little Sylus series interlude, occurring after these idiots finally get together.

Part 16 The right hand, the left hand, the heart of Sylus Qin | ao3

Sylus meets with his legal counsel while the twins give you a tour of the base, you wake up from a dream, Sylus wastes some eggs, you attempt to get to know Sylus better, and you have your first 'date' with Sylus Qin.

Part 17 The pool | ao3

You dream, you do some art, you go for a swim, Sylus destroys part of his office, you discover the hot tub, you're close to catching a clue. A 'morning' in the life at Onychinus HQ.

One Shots

Sleepy time with Xavier | ao3

You suffer from chronic fatigue and worry that Xavier is only placating you when he says it's fine on the occasions you're too exhausted to follow through on plans together. On one such bad day, he reassures you in a way that you can no longer doubt.

[bittersw33t-lotus]

Romeo and Juliet

Ghosting series pt. 2

Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem! Reader

Cw:mentions of fighting, blood, pregnancy (this is gonna be on the whole series so…), hospital visit, reader is mentioned to listen to rock music :)

A/N thank yall for the love and support, I love yall (platonically of course)😘

part 1 here

part 3 here

It’s been a few weeks since you’ve been living with Stacy and her husband, Jared.

It’s been pretty good, they’ve been kind to you, you been helping around as much as you could, and they’ve been doing a lot to make sure you’re okay and willing to help you with anything.

Jared has been fairly nice and generous. Today is your first check up at the hospital and ultrasound. Jared offered to take you to your appointment, which you accepted since your car battery decided to take a crap right as you returned home from the store the other day, so now you have to wait for it to arrive at the mechanics before you get take it over to get fixed. This leaves you with no independent transportation for at least a week. Luckily Stacy had been able to take you to and from work but today she wasn’t able to take you to your check up due to having to work late. Thankfully, Jared offered to take you to the doctors, to which you gratefully accepted.

On the way there you started some small talk with him. “How long have you and Stacy been together?” You ask him as you watch the trees pass by along with building around the area as he enters the highway.

Jared looks at you for a quick second before focusing back on the road. “Been together for about four years now. Two years since we’ve been married.” He says with a small smile, you’ve seen all the things they’ve done together, so many adventures, dinners, vacations, you would’ve thought they’ve been together for more than that if he hadn’t said anything.

You realize that Stacy seemed to move to marry him pretty quickly, which wasn’t a bad thing, as long as you know that Jared has the best intentions for your sister. It was the same with her last boyfriend, taking any chance she got to up and move in with him at any chance she got.

But you aren’t worried, Jared seems to be a sweetheart, you e seen it over the few weeks you’ve spent here. He always engaged and doing anything around the house he can do. He and Stacy worked like a team. You also saw the way he looked at Stacy like the held all the stars in the sky. You wouldn’t admit it out loud but, you were jealous.

“We’ve been best friends since high school. Of course, she ended up with her boyfriend before I could confess my feelings to her. long story short he tried to have her cut contact with me but with a lot of persuasion she ended up leaving him and we got together in collage shortly after I beat the shit out of him." he chuckled seeming to be a bit ashamed at admitting it, but he wasn’t sorry though.

That took you by surprise, you never expected him be a guy to use violence just by looking at him. He seemed more like a lover than a fighter. Reguardless, you’re glad he stepped in, in any way, just to get that prick away from your sister. "Well, I'm glad Stacy has you. I remember seeing that guy before she moved out and he never gave me a good feeling." You say as the car gets off the freeway on the road that leads stright to the hospital. You can see the street changing to one of a more fancy and modernized road with trees every few feet, fancy black fencing, and lighting.

Jared smiled at you, noticing that your compliment took him by surprise. "Thanks." he says and focusing on driving, a small pause of silence between you two before he speaks up. "If you don't mind me asking, your sister told me a bit about the history between you two and how life was growing up but, how did you meet that guy?" He asks, you feel yourself start to think back on the memories between you and Simon, it was bittersweet and made the strings in your heart tug. "You don't have to tell me; I respect your privacy." Jared is quick to say noticing your face drop a bit.

You shook your head and wave your hand in a unbothered manner. “No, no. It’s alright. I don’t mind.” You say as you look at ahead of you towards the road. “I met him in my freshman year of high school, Simon was a sophomore. I first saw in when he got into a fight, but I didn’t talk to him until a week later when I was put into detention.”

✯Flashback✯

You were making your way to your fourth period, walking through the schools' hallway past others students walking trying to get to their next class. As you're about to turn the corner down the hall, you hear a sudden grunt before a loud metallic bang echos through the hall. A few feet away from you, you see everyone looking in one certain area from the origin of the sound hearing continuos grunts and chatter form other students looking intrigued, shocked and also unbothered with what they saw. You make your way towards the crowd getting a sense of what could be happening which was soon confirmed to be true when you manage to look between the gaps of the crowd to see two guys duke it out. The guy pinned against the locker getting multiple shots of fists to the face you recognized him as Todd Hanes. The renowned senior asshole in school. He always picked and tormented other kids younger, or others who seemed weaker than him.

The other guy punching him had his back turned to you, he had short blonde hair and wore a grey t-shirt that really defined his muscles well. You can see he worked out a lot with the way his bicep flexed as he pinned Todd against the locker. You moved closer to get more of a clear view of the fight and watched as the blonde guy raised his fist and socked Todd square in the face, repeating the action over and over again as your peers around you watching the fight. Todd tried to fight back but to no avail with the fists he received to his face. The students around cheered or reacted verbally to the fight as you heard "ooo's' and a few other words being said as they all watched Todd practically get beaten to a pulp which was much deserved. Todd looked pathetic trying to fight back and ended up shielding his face ultimately giving up on fight back.

it wasn't long before a teacher stepped in and tried to pull the blonde off Todd, whos' face was now battered with his own blood, nosebleed and busted lip dripping blood down his shirt. it took two teachers to pull the blonde off Todd and once they did Todd slid down the locker down to the floor barely conscious and seemingly dazed and confused as everyone stared in shock. You finally got to see the blonde guy's face and immediately, you felt your stomach flutter. He was downright breath taking, his brown eyes look like there was a raging fire in him, he heaved heavy breaths as he stared down Todd, whos' face was all swollen, battered and bloody. Meanwhile he only had a bloody nose.

As weird as it was but looking at him like that really awoken something in you and had your brain go fuzzy with just the image of him. As he was pulled away to what you assume was to the principal's office you watch as the teachers helped walk Todd to the nurse's office supporting him up and walking him over.

After that, you didn’t see the blonde guy. However when you asked your friend about him, they told you his name was Simon, she knew since she had a class with him. But it wasn’t long until you saw him again.

You had gotten Lunch detention for two days, you had gotten the note during you second period after you showed up to your first period late for the hundreth time. You sighed in annoyance and crumble up the paper dreading for your upcoming punishment.

When finalllylunch came by you made you way to the library where lunch detention was being held, where you had to sit there in silence for 15 minutes. Walking through the doors you look around and see how surprisingly full it was, all of the round tables had a few students sitting in every single one of them, all except for the one table in the far corner back. Where you spot Simon sitting at, your heart did a back flip at the sight of his blonde hair that peaked through the hood of his sweater. Seeing that he was the only table with less students, and it would be reasonable to sit at his table instead of the other full ones, you began contemplate on wether you wanted to sit at his table or the table next to him where a group of boys sat, you hardly judged anyone but these guys just by the looks of them seemed to be ones to torment girls just for fun, so the easier option was to sit with Simon.

It was nerve wracking walking into the library seeing so many students in the room, you expected there to be only five but there was almost twenty in here, you feared one little noise could cause everyone to turn and stare at you if you so much as breathed the wrong way.

As you walked and approached the table where Simon sat at you began to notice and take in his appearance, his blonde hair was slicked back, a bandage on his nose, from the fight with Todd, and a bruise, it was odd, it looked to be a fresh bruise on his jawline. It had been over a week since the fight, he wouldn’t have a bruise or to the least bit, just have faint bruising. Did he get into another fight?

Your thought were short circuited when his honey brown eyes move up to meet yours, he stared at you through his blonde lashes. You’re surprised and quickly avert your gaze towards the floor ahead of you before you finally reach the table and pull out the chair adjacent where he sat, sitting down trying your best to make the least amount of noise possible. You can feel his eyes linger on you until he moves his arm out to pick up his pencil and focus on the papers on the table that you assumed was his class work.

You try your best to calm your heart that’s currently beating rapidly, it’s absurd how much he’s had an affect on you just by his appearance and a singular glance he gave you. No way you’re this down bad, you thought.

You quietly settle into your seat and set you bag down before opening it up and pulling out your own homework while you steal a few glances at him, an continue to do so as you “work on your homework,” unaware of how obvious you’re being.

At the end of detention the teacher dismisses everyone as you pack away your papers and pencil back into your binder, slipping the binder in your bag your pencil slipped out and falls to the floor rolling a feet away from you. Before you lean down to pick it up, a hand lowers down and grabs the object, you look up and meet Simon’s eyes as he leans back up and extends his arm out to you with your pencil in hand.

You’re dumbfounded for a second, staring at him like a deer in headlights. You manage to mutter out a ‘Thanks’ before reaching your hand out to grab it from him, trying your best to not show how shakey your hand is. As you grab your pencil you try you best to avoid touching his fingers with yours, but you index finger barely grazed his own before you pulled away and slipped your pencil back in your bag.

“Is there something on my face?” He spoke to you, you couldn’t tell if he was genuinely asking you a question or threatening you right now. You’re taken back by how deep and rough his voice sounded, its wasn’t very deep yet but it sounded like his voice was in the process of getting there.

“Sorry…” You say with a puzzled look on your face.

Simon continued to look at you seeming unfazed. “You kept staring at me, did you need something or you just have a staring problem?” He asks, his voice unchanging from his unfazed tone, along with the blank look in his eyes.

You quickly shake your head and try to think of something, then you remembered how you noticed on his backpack he had set on the table. You saw he had a Misfits keychain hanging on the zipper of his bag so you quickly use that as an excuse. “I noticed you had a misfits keychain on your backpack and thougt it was cool-” You blurt out, you words coming out so fast as you grew nervous, Simon almost couldn’t understand what you said at first.

You see him raise a brow at your response as he looks at his bag that was still on the table, then looks back at you and takes in your appearance, his eyes glazing over your body from head to toe. “You listen to the Misfits?” He asks seeming unconvinced by your words.

You figured he may not believe you possiblywith your outfit and appearance, however he shouldn’t be one to judge, all he was wearing today was a black sweater and jeans. You do listen to rock and metal music, you recently got into it thanks to your friend. So luckily for you, you knew some music and information about the Misfits. You nod your head, “Yeah, I’ve been getting into rock music lately and Misfits were one of the first bands I listened to. They’re pretty good.” You say as a small smile makes its way to your face hoping that he’ll believe you were only looking at his neck packs and definitely not checking him out.

Simon seems like he wanted to say more but shook his head. “Alright then.” He says before grabbing his bag, slinging the strap over his shoulder and walking out the library to wherever it was he was going.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and take notice of how hot your face felt. Crap, you were blushing. He definitely knows you were checking him out!

After that, you suddenly saw him everywhere, you noticed him in your English class, apparently, he’s been in your class this whole time and you never knew, you saw in the halls between passing periods, and of course you saw him again on your second and last day of lunch detention. There were slightly less kids in the library now which meant a couple of tables were empty. When you first entered you expected to see simon already sitting there but you noticed the lack of his presence, you assumed his days in detention were over which made you a bit disappointed. But at least you still got to see him in English class though. As you took your seat at the same table you pull out your essay you were working on for English class, you were almost done with it, just needed to add any finishing touches. Your essay was about the recent book your class read, Romeo and Juliet. The teacher had the class take a theme or idea of what you thought about what the book would be about and how it could relate to readers universally.

As you worked, you had your head looking down and hyper focused on your paper, too busy to see movement around you and a certain figure approaching your table. It wasn't until you heard a thud against the table that made you jump slightly and look up to see Simon at your table setting his bag down on the table before sitting down across from you, you look around and take notice that there were still a couple of empty tables left for him to sit at but he still opted to sit at the table where you were at, why?

Not wanting to overthink and get ahead of yourself, you thought maybe that because he's been in detention longer than you that maybe this was his designated table that he preferred to sit at. He looks at you as he sits in his chair, you look back down at your paper and tried your best to refocus on your essay but much to your dismay Simon was clouding your mind as your mind went into overdrive with him around, and suddenly you began to struggle to write anything.

As you tried to get the cogs in your head to start functioning again, unbeknownst to you, Simon was looking at you, watching how focused you were seeming to struggle a bit as your brows furrowed and your lips pursed. He takes notice of your paper and from what he can see from his view, he can see the noticeable pictures primted on next to the lettering and recognizes the paper to be the latest assignment in their English class. Writing something about Romeo and Juliet. He wondered if he should ask for your help since he saw how you had two pages done, maybe you can help give him an idea of how the story is since he hardly bothered to read the book and get the assignment done, like with all his other classes.

He debates if he should say something to you but ultimately says 'fuck it' and leans in his forearms leaning on the table to whisper to you with ease and not get caught. "You doin' the assignment for English?" He asks you in a whisper, careful not to get caught talking but the librarian was currently too caught up on whatever work she was getting done on her computer and the soft music she played was loud enough to blanket over his whisper.

you look up at him again and stare at him for a second processing what he's said to you. "Oh yeah, I'm just adding some finishing touches before I submit it." You tell him watching his eyes flicker to you and your paper.

"You think you can help me out a bit on mine? Been having some trouble with it. " He asks you as you set down your pencil seeing that you weren't going to write down anything else for now and focus on talking with Simon.

You look at him a bit taken back on the fact he wants your help. This means you get to talk to him more, perfect! "Yeah, would you be okay if we did this once detentions over? I'm not trying to get caught and have to stay here for longer." You tell him as you sneak a glance at the teacher seeing she's still occupied with her computer.

Simon nods and leans back in his chair. "Yeah, sounds good." he tells you. You try your best to fight back the smile that threatened to break through before you nod and look back at your paper completely not bothered to work with your thought clouded with just Simon.

Once detention was over, Simon gets up while you place your items back into your bag. Once you put everything away you see Simon standing there waiting for you, you zip up your bag and sling it over your shoulder and begin to walk towards the exit of the library, Simon following right beside you. “Were did you want to go?” You ask him as you both walk down the hall.

Simon thinks for a moment before pointing to the hallway to the right. “We can head down to the hallway to the band room.” He said as you look down the hall before nodding your head as you both turn right and make your way through the hallway. You figured that hall would be best to study, there’s hardly anyone in there minus the teachers but some kids go there to be alone, away from everyone else. You assume that’s why Simon wanted to go there.

Once you reached the hallway, you both spot a little lounging area at the end of the hall where the elevator was to go upstairs. Walking up to the table you set your things down and take your seats next to each other but Simon and you still kept a good distance from you. You bring out your papers from your bag, Simon doing the same.

Once you both settle and you look at Simon. “So what exactly did you need help with?” You ask him.

“All of it.” He states nonchalantly. “I haven’t really read the story much, just skimmed through a few chapters so I have a slight idea of what is going on but I don’t know what to write about it.” He tell you and keeps his eyes on the paper avoiding looking at you in case he saw the dissatisfied look in your face, he’s a bit worried you’ll think just he’s asking for your help simply to just copy off you.

“Oh well, you basically just choose a theme in the book and write about how you interpret the idea yourself and how it would make readers feel about it as a ‘universal thought.’ ” You explain to him. “So from the little information you’ve gathered from the book, what do you think one of the themes are?” You ask him.

Simon sighed and thought long and hard about it. “From what I knows is that the two are in a forbidden love story, something about family drama between their families. After the death of the two lovers they the family came together.”

You smile and nod at him, “That’s pretty much what the entire story is about. So write about that.” You tell him as you motion to his paper.

Simon nods and writes down a couple of notes to keep in mind. While he was writing he asked you, “What did you write about?”

You look at him and then at your papers. “It might sound a little silly…” You mumble as you avoid his gaze.

Simon raises a brow. “How so? Either way, I’m not one to judge considering I didn’t bother to read the book all the way.”

You glance at him as you fidget with your pencil. “Well, I focused on reincarnation and how cruel the world can be sometimes. The reincarnation part, I was worried the Mr. Jones would tell me not to include it but he told me to keep it, said it would be interesting since some people do believe in reincarnation.” You explain as you see that Simon seems to have his full attention on you, much to your surprise. “So I wrote about how love isn’t always a fairytale love story, life can be cruel and i believe we’ve lived many lives before our current one, our souls are old and our bodies are a temporary thing. Romeo and Juliet never got their happy ending due to some petty drama between her and Romeo’s families that ultimately caused them their happiness and eventually their lives. But I like to think that, reincarnation is a thing, their lifetime may not have been kind to them but maybe their next will be. They’ll find each other again and get to live the life they deserve.” You explain and as you do, Simon listens to every word, he watches you as you explain watching you ramble on about your thoughts of the matter, he watches the way your eyes dart between looking at him and then around the room, you lips moving with every word. Unbeknownst to you and Simon, he was falling in love with you. "I believe soulmates are a thing, Romeo and Juliet are soulmates and soulmates always find their way back to each other in every lifetime, romantic or not everyone has a soulmate." You explain as you glance over your papers.

"How do you know you've found your soulmate?" Simon asks confused on that part.

You then turn to Simon as you both stare at each other for a period of time. “You ever meet someone and within the seconds of your first interaction you feel an immediate connection with them, like being around them just feels… right?” You ask him.

That question made something switch in Simon in his mind as he looks at you. “Yeah… I think I know what you’re talking about.”

✯Flashback end✯

You arrive at the parking lot as you finish telling Jared how you met Simon, of course a shortened version of your story, just the main things. “But yeah, after that day we started hanging out more and more and eventually we began dating a little before I graduated high school.” You tell him as you Finnish up your story, Jared turns the car into the parking lot quickly finding an empty spot.

“He seems different compared to you. I guess opposites really do attract.” Jared chuckled as he sets the car in park and turns off the car.

“You could say that, I guess.” You say, considering your current situation with Simon.

You step out the car and Jared follows behind you as you both enter the hospital building. “I’ll be in here for a bit. You don’t have to stay, you can do your own thing and I’ll let you know when my appointment is over.” You tell him as you close the car door, Jared doing the same.

He shakes his head as you both make your way to the building. “It’s fine. I don’t mind, besides I figured you need as much support as you need.” Jared says giving you a small smile.

You return one back and nod accepting his offer before you turn to the assistant at the desk. “Hi, I’m here to see Dr. Raven for my check up.” You tell the woman as she nods looking up on her computer to check.

“Prenatal check up for y/n l/n?” She asks you as you confirm it with a nod. “Alright, Dr. Raven is currently still with her patient but she should be done in the next ten minutes. Feel free to sit in the waiting room and she’ll be with you shortly.” The assistant smiled at you as you nod back with a smile.

“Thank you.” You mutter as you head over to the lounging area and sit in a chair seeing other woman in the room, some by themselves, some with a relative or another male which you assume may be their partner but you’re not quick to assume. You notice Jared looking a few pamphlets displayed on the wall picking up a couple of pamphlets before sitting down in the chair next to you.

He begins to read one, you can see it’s about baby development, another about how pregnancy affects the woman during and after pregnancy, and the last one for expecting fathers. You’re a little confused on why he’s reading, possibly to pass the time but there are magazines laid out on the little table next to you that he could read. He notices your confusion and points to the pamphlet before speaking. “It’s good to know this stuff, ya know be prepared,” He said as he skimmed over the information.

You him and nod your head. “That’s good.” You reply back as you examine the pictures on the pamphlet.

You can tell there’s something else he wants to say as he takes a deep breath. “Uh… Stacy and I are planing to have kids soon in the near future, kinda thought this would be a good opportunity to read up on this for when the time comes.” He says as you notice his smile becomes wider at the thought of it.

You look at Jared and raise your brow in surprise. “Really? That’s great.” You say as Jared nods continues to smile.

“Thanks. We decided to wait till we settled down, and now that we’re getting there we decided it was time.” He says.

You didn’t think your sister would ever want any kids, you took her as the type to be childfree and live her life being single and on her own. But now that she has Jared by her side, she’s really changed, in a good way of course. “That’s amazing to hear, looks like my baby will have a cousin soon.” You say as you feel your bag vibrate and a chime sounds, opening your bag you fish out your phone and read the screen seeing there’s a message from Stacy.

Stacy: How’s the check up going?

You: Still in the waiting room, just got here but it’s shouldn’t be too long.

You send the message and revive a reply a few seconds later.

Stacy: Oh, well let me know how my little niece or nephew is doing, make sure you follow whatever your doctors says to keep you and the baby healthy. Also when you come back I have a surprise for you ;)

You look at the message a bit confused but smile a bit excited for the surprise.

“Yn.” A voice calls out to you, you look up to see a nurse with a clip board in hand scanning around the waiting room looking for you.

You stand up letting yourself be known, “Right here.” You say with a smile.

The nurse looks at you and offers you a kind smile. “Perfect, Dr. Raven is ready to see you.” She says.

You nod your head and look at Jared, “You okay with waiting out here?” You ask him as he looks up at you and nodded.

“yeah, I’ll be waiting out here.” Jared says and give you a reassuring smile and nod. “Good luck.”

You smile at him before making your way towards the nurse feeling anxious and antsy for some reason. You didn’t know why you felt like this but then again, you’ll be seeing your baby for the first time at least through a screen until the big day you deliver the baby.

As you walk through the halls with the nurse leading you through. You spot a couple in the distance, the woman with a noticeable bump as he husband smiles at her as the walk into a room with his hand around her waist leading her into the room. You feel a emptiness overcome you as you suddenly feel your body grow cold, if you didn’t feel alone before, you definitely felt it right now. You imagine what could’ve been if Simon wanted to stick around, how these visits would be less lonely and filled with more joy then the melancholy feeling you were experiencing right now. He would’ve been able to see your growing baby, see your bump grow bigger over the month before you finally get to meet them and live the rest of your lives as parents.

Thought of your memory with Simon, talking to him about Romeo and Juliet you found it amusing with how your life had played out, almost like the story, life didn’t play out the way you wanted with Simon. Life really can be cruel.

꧁————————꧂

Taglist

@leehoonii-i @blackhawkfanatic @kylies-love-letter @natashamea18 @demonking-69 @thegreyjoyed @nobodycanknoww @andoraamore @leonsgirlie @blarba-girl @going-through-shit @thychuvaluswife @nicolebarnes

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Daddy’s Best Friend, Mr. Miller Masterlist✨

dbf! Joel Miller x fem! reader

A/N: Hey, guys! Super excited to kick off my first dbf! Joel series. It was originally going to be a one shot, but after some thought I wanted to write more. As always, comments and reblogs are appreciated. Always like to hear your thoughts ☺️ Joel is a menace in this one! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Summary: After going out with your classmate from graduate school, Mr. Miller doesn’t take so kindly to your date when he sees you out and about with the college jock. Will the older, attractive man you’ve been pining after for years finally give you what you’ve been wanting for so long?

Pairing: dbf! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Rating: Explicit 18+ Only MDNI

Tags: Porn with Plot, dbf! Joel, fingering, oral, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, dom! Joel, (reader is 25, Joel is mid 40’s)

Part 1: Blurring the Lines

Part 2: Secret Glances and Wandering Hands

Part 3: October Surprises and Secrets Slurred

Part 4: Birthday Candles and Rock Concerts

Part 5: Let Me Take You There

Part 6: Hot Tubs and Calloused Fingers

Part 7: Can I Keep You?

On My Knees for You - Halloween one-shot that takes place after part 7

Recommended songs for series “Scary Love” and “Daddy Issues” and “A Little Death” by The Neighbourhood

Part 1 Word Count: 13.6k

The warm August air blows your long hair gently as you sit outside Moonlight Bar, letting the Austin city lights shine in the distance. The lighting is low as the dark blue luminescence of the bar surrounds the alcohol on the back shelf and various plants hang above the edges of the bar. The Goo Goo Dolls play softly across the outside speakers as people mingle together at various white wooden tables strewn across the manicured green lawn. It’s a busy night, one of the more popular bars in the area.

You’re sitting with William. One of the boys that’s in one of your law classes at the University of Texas. He wouldn’t leave you alone at school, so you figured you’d appease him and let him take you out on a date.

He isn’t bad looking. He has shaggy blonde hair and bright green eyes. He’s built like a body builder and has a jawline so sharp that it could cut someone. He’s nice and all, but he won’t stop talking about fucking football. You hate football, but you just smile and nod along to what he says. Occasionally rolling your eyes when he isn’t looking at you.

“Did you see the quarterback get slammed at the game last Saturday? Tim took him out hard! I thought he’d never get up!” he says starstruck as he shows you a picture from the game on his phone, slamming back another drink of vodka as he lowers it to the table.

“I already told you I didn’t watch the game,” you say, trying not to sound obnoxious.

“Oh, right. Well, you missed out. It was awesome!” he shouts as the group of people next to you look at William. You internally groan at the embarrassment that’s caked on your face. You need to get up for a few minutes. You’re bored and want to cut the talk on sports.

“I’ll be right back,” you utter as you get up from the barstool.

“Where are you going?” he asks with a hurt expression on his face.

“To the bathroom. I’ll be back in a few minutes, chill,” you say as you put a hand on his shoulder encouragingly and walk away. You roll your eyes at the action and start walking towards the back where the bathrooms are.

William really is a nice guy, he just isn’t the guy for you. You don’t have that much in common, and he’s way too into football. Granted, he did play as an undergrad, but you don’t really care. You want to talk about subjects other than sports, like maybe something you care about. He never makes an effort to ask you about yourself though. He just wants to talk about sports and his gym routine.

What a bore.

He’s a few years older than you. He’s twenty-eight, and you’re twenty-five. Soon to be twenty-six in a couple of months. You always had a thing for older guys. But lately you had your eyes set on someone else. Someone off limits to you which made you want him even more. But it would never happen. You needed to quit telling yourself it would. He’s too old for you, in his mid forties. Which only makes you that much more curious.

You aren’t watching where you’re going as you round the corner of a small crowd and run straight into someone who feels like a thick brick wall.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going and…” You stop mid sentence as you see just who stands in front of you.

Joel Miller. Your dad’s hot best friend, the older man you can’t get out of your head.

“S’alright, sweetheart. Didn’t think I’d run into you here,” he says as he laughs, his smile making his honey brown eyes crinkle up at the corners, making you swoon and melt under his gaze.

God, he’s pretty.

“What are you doing here?” you ask with surprise in your voice.

“Havin’ a drink? It’s the weekend. Gotta relax somehow,” he says with another small smile as his Texas accent comes out thick and low. That melodic southern accent that could put you at ease on any given day.

“Oh, right.” You move a lock of hair behind your ear nervously and you swear he watches you a little too closely as his eyes trail to your neck, keeping his gaze there a little too long.

“You come with anyone tonight?” he asks as he looks around the crowded bar, bringing his focus back to you.

“Yeah. Came with a date tonight. Someone from one of my classes,” you say carefully.

His bottom lip twinges and his jaw clenches just enough for you to notice. His bicep flexes around his forest green plaid shirt as it’s rolled up to his elbows, exposing thick veins that spider all the way down his lower arms as they end in his massive hands. You gulp at the sight of him, of how seriously hot he is.

Was he jealous of William? Surely not…right?

“You be careful tonight. Don’t let him do anything you don’t want to,” he warns with a deep gruff in his voice, staring at you with serious, dark eyes.

“He’s not going to do anything. He’s nice. He’s-”

He cuts you off before you can finish. “Doesn’t matter if he’s nice. He’s a guy. He can change up on you like that.” He snaps his fingers, looking at you intently. “Jus’ be careful, okay?”

Why was he being like this? Protective. He wasn’t your dad. He didn’t need to keep an eye on you. You had it under control.

“I’ll be careful, but you really don’t have to tell me that. You sound just like my dad,” you say as you roll your eyes, annoyed.

“I ain’t your dad, sweetheart. Jus’ tryin’ to look after ya is all. Don’t want ya gettin’ hurt.”

Oh.

“Right. Okay…” you say quietly.

Joel skates his eyes down your body as he takes in the tight black tank top as your cleavage spills out a little too much, going over your short, light blue jean shorts as they barely graze your tan thighs, dragging his eyes down your long legs and ending at your clean, white Converse shoes as he slowly looks back up into your eyes.

You suddenly feel self conscious, like you need to cover up a little more. Not like he hasn’t seen you in short shorts and a tank top before. Hell, he saw you in a slinky bikini last summer at a pool party and the man couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

You wouldn’t lie though, you love when he notices you. When he flicks his eyes over you and lingers just a little too long, making you burn with heat from his intense stare. He’s the one you have wet dreams about, the older man you can’t quite shake from your fantasies. But he’s off limits. Because he’s your father’s best friend. And he would never dare touch his best friend’s daughter…right?

“Well, I’ll let ya get back to it. Don’t wanna keep ya from your date. I’ll be around here if ya need me. Just shoot me a text.”

You nod in reply and make your way over to the bathroom, turning to watch Joel disappear into the crowd somewhere. A sea of green getting lost in the abyss. You sigh and walk into the bathroom, trying to get a hold of yourself.

You had met Joel when you were just eighteen years old. He had just moved into the neighborhood, and your dad made quick friends with him. Pretty soon they were best friends. He was always coming to the house to hang out with your dad, always coming to pool parties or cookouts. He even taught you how to play guitar when you asked. And he was a good teacher, the way his hands slid across yours. Those rough, calloused fingers. You’d do anything to be able to feel those again on your skin.

You wondered how they’d feel on your thighs or even someplace else. Someplace sensitive…

You finish up in the bathroom and make your way back to William. Back to where you belong tonight. You need to stop thinking about Joel. He wasn't the one that was taking you out and never would be. Even if that’s something you want, so badly.

“Oh, you’re back. You missed this great conversation me and this guy had about Jake’s pass last week with the football. It was killer!” he shouts as you settle back into your barstool and get situated.

You roll your eyes and give him a polite smile. You’re so over the football talk. Couldn’t he give it a rest? You take a large drink from your red bull vodka and place it back on the bar top as you chase it down, letting it leave a slight burn in your throat.

When you look back up and turn your head slightly to the left, you almost fall off the barstool as you see Joel sitting across the bar, just on the opposite side. He’s drinking what looks to be a cold glass of whiskey on the rocks as the amber color swirls in the cup.

He takes another sip as he keeps his eyes fixed on you intently, letting his eyes roam up and down your body as a faint snarl edges the side of his mouth as he looks over at William.

Holy shit. He is jealous. You can see it in those dark brown eyes as they slightly narrow at the loud mouthed man that sits next to you as he rambles on about football.

He swirls the short straw around his drink as he eyes you again, this time his gaze relaxing into warmth as a gentle smile plays on his lips. You blush at the brooding man and bite your lip as you look down, unable to keep your focus on the intense dark eyes that are staring at you.

What’s his deal? He never dared tried to flirt with you before. Not like this. At least not around your dad. You always felt that invisible line get drawn at times though. Like last summer when you were in a tight, short dress, about to go out with some friends for the night. You felt his eyes burn through you as he stared at your thighs as he glazed over your toned, tanned body. You could feel it in the room how thick the tension was. But he didn’t dare cross that line. Not while he was in the presence of your father.

Joel’s a good guy. He’d never do anything to disrespect or hurt you. He’s kind and caring, always willing to help you out when you need it. Like with your projects or guitar. Or that time when he picked you up when your car got stuck in the snow and drove you all the way back home in the middle of an ice storm.

He’s special. One of a kind. You just don’t understand why he’s still single when he’s drop dead gorgeous. And his curls.

God, his curls. The way his thick, tousled hair curls at the edges as grey streaks line his dark hair. And his beard. That thick, scruffy salt and pepper beard that you want to graze your fingers across in a flirtatious manner. Thinking of how good his lips might feel on yours. How soft and velvety they must be…

You snap out of it as William tries talking to you again. You avert your eyes from Joel and put your attention on the guy that sits next to you.

“Did you finish the paper yet from Mr. Lawrence’s class yet?” he asks as he takes a sip of his vodka drink.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been done for a few days now. Wanted to knock it out before more work got piled on,” you reply nonchalantly.

“Cool. I still got a ways to go. But anyways, you wanna go to the football game next weekend? Our team’s playing here. Thought you’d want to maybe go with me?” he asks with raised eyebrows and green eyes that search yours, hoping for a yes to come from your lips.

That was a hard pass. “Sorry, I already have plans that day,” you lie, trying to sound apologetic to soothe his hopefulness.

“That’s fine. There will be other games.”

You roll your eyes as you internally groan. You’re bored and you don’t want to be sitting here with him anymore. You need someone that isn’t boring. Someone that’s older, much older. Someone with pretty brown eyes and thick arms covered in plaid…

You look up from your long, thick lashes and meet Joel’s stare again as it sears through your skull. His gaze is so intense that it stirs something low in your stomach that feels a lot like heat.

This was bad. Really bad.

You squeeze your legs shut and put out the growing fire, dropping your gaze again so you won’t be tempted to be pulled back into the flames.

William puts a hand on your thigh and leans into you as you catch a whiff of his strong vodka drink on his breath. Joel looks like he could break the glass right under his fingertips the way he’s holding the cup.

Oh, he’s mad. But why? It’s not like he was supposed to take you out. He’s your fucking father’s best friend for God’s sake. You need to get out of the sick delusion that Joel actually likes you more than his best friend’s daughter. He’s only trying to be nice, protective. He’s only looking out for you because that’s what he should be doing, for your dad.

But then why is he looking at you like that? Like he wants to eat you alive and wants to snap the neck of your god awful date.

“You okay if I do this?” William asks as he rakes his teeth over your neck roughly. Nothing is sexy about it. It hurts and his teeth are sharp, and his breath smells horrible. He puts his hand back on your thigh and squeezes as his nails dig into your skin in an extremely uncomfortable way. You wince at his actions.

“William, no. We’re in public. I don’t think-”

Before you can finish your sentence, Joel’s on him in a second, pulling him away from your body as he yanks him out of his seat. Your breath catches at the way Joel is seething and breathing hard as he glares at William with daggers in his dark eyes.

“Don’t think she wants ya doin’ that,” he snarls as venom shoots from his tongue.

“Who the fuck are you to touch me and pull me from my woman?” he yells at Joel as his nostrils flare and his green eyes turn to tiny slits.

“She ain’t your woman,” Joel scoffs, clearly annoyed at the younger, less mature male.

“Oh, and who are you? You her keeper or something?” he asks angrily.

“Somethin’ like that,” he replies, his voice clipped.

Your eyes widen at the statement. Was he marking his territory? He had to be. Or maybe he was just being protective, helping out his best friend to keep his daughter safe. Maybe it didn’t mean anything.

Or maybe it did. You can’t tell one way or the other. Your mind’s a blur.

William rolls his eyes and looks over at you. “You want to get out of here? Come on, I’ll-”

You stop him before he can finish that sentence. “No.”

He goes livid as his green eyes turn to murky swamp water. “No? Are you fucking serious?” he asks with shocked words.

“The lady said no,” Joel states firmly as he steps in front of you, blocking William’s view.

“Baby, come on. Let’s go,” William demands, holding out his hand for you to take.

“I’m not yours…” you reply quietly.

“Fine! You can walk home then, bitch,” he says with clenched teeth and a hard line across his forehead.

“Watch how you fuckin’ talk to her,” Joel growls as he pushes William up against the bar table, making the rest of his vodka spill as it lands in a heap on the floor along with the mixed in broken glass.

“You really want to go there? Because I’ll tear you apart,” William yells.

“Go on then. Try.” Joel bares his teeth and flexes his hand into a tight fist.

You can’t let them fight. You won’t let Joel get hurt, even if he can take on William. What would your dad say?

You quickly intercept and step in between them. You put your hands on Joel’s broad chest and try to push him back. “Joel, stop. He’s not worth it.”

Joel clenches his jaw and stares hard at William, about to put a fist in his face. You put your hand over his tight fist and beg him to stop. “Please.”

Joel’s fist relaxes as he looks down at you, his brown eyes softening just the slightest as he focuses on you. Butterflies were swimming through your stomach at the heat that was between the two of you. You had never been this close to Joel. You were only inches from his mouth, so close that you could reach out and brush your lips over his. So very close…

William rips you away from your thoughts as you hear him grab his keys and turn sharply your way. “Have it your way. Enjoy the old man’s company. I’m out of here.” He storms away from the bar in a hurry, leaving you and Joel alone. Together.

You suddenly realize you’re still leaning against his chest, your hand still planted firmly on his. You drop your hand and back away from his space as you rake a hand through your soft curls.

“Thanks for that. You didn’t have to,” you say nervously, your voice cracking at the thank you.

“Save it, darlin’. I could already tell you weren’t havin’ a good time, and then he put his hands all over you. Greedy bastard.” He bares his teeth as he clenches his jaw.

Greedy bastard? Well, goddamn. He does like you. He had to. Otherwise he wouldn’t be talking to you like this. Right?

“Oh uhh, yeah…” You don’t really know what to say to that. And the way he’s flaring his nostrils is making you have heart palpitations. He had never looked that mad before. At least not over you.

“You want a drink? It’s on me,” he says as he tilts his head toward the bar.

“Yeah, sure,” you reply, trying not to act like you’re flipping circles inside.

“C’mon then.” He walks you to the bar and pulls out a barstool for you as you sit down. He takes a seat next to you, gently brushing his thigh against yours as he gets into place. You can’t help but gasp a little at the touch. It feels electric.

The young, red head bartender comes over and asks for your drink orders. “Hi, guys. What’ll it be tonight?”

Joel looks over at you and raises an eyebrow, looking you over slowly as if he’s trying to figure it out. It makes chills run down your spine. “Let me guess. Malibu sunset?”

He never gets it wrong. He knows your drink of choice like the back of his own hand. It was that slight attention he always gave you that did it for you. He was always listening, always so attentive when you spoke. He knew you so well it was almost scary. No other man had paid that much attention to you, nonetheless listened to you ramble about your likes and dislikes. But Joel always did.

“You remembered?” you ask with a faint smile.

“‘Course, darlin’. How could I forget?”

You slightly blush and place your arms on the bar top as you lean on it, trying to calm yourself down. He orders his usual whiskey on the rocks, his drink of choice. A scent that you can sometimes smell on his breath when he’s sitting close to you like now. Something you want to taste on his tongue. But that’s only a daydream. That would never happen. Right?

“So, how’s school going this semester?” he asks as he turns towards you, placing one of his arms on the bar top as his plaid shirt squeezes around his flexed bicep, making you uncomfortably hot just looking at his massive arms.

“It’s going well. I mean, it’s hard. Really hard, but I’m managing. I can’t tell you how many papers I’ve had to write already, but I seem to be doing something right because I have straight A’s,” you beam.

“Straight A’s huh? You always were a sharp thing.” He’s looking at you with those deep honey eyes, gently smiling as he admires you. A sight that makes you weak at the knees as you stare at his perfect dimples.

And those eyes. God, those pretty brown eyes. You want to drown in them. Let them grab hold of you as they drag you deeper and deeper until you suffocate under the weight of them.

“Actually, I’m at the top of my class,” you brag, nonchalantly.

Joel lets out a low whistle as he leans back in awe, giving you a once over. “‘Course you are, darlin’. Such a smart girl…” he whispers low and deep, making you bite your lower lip slowly.

There it was. That tension in the air. The way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you’re the only girl in the room. That deep smolder that puts dangerous daydreams in your mind. Hot, sticky daydreams…

The bartender breaks the tension as he sets the drinks down in front of you and walks back off without so much as a “let me know if you need anything else” line. He just walks away and helps some loud couple on the other side of the bar.

You swirl the straw around your yellow, pineapple drink and take a sip, letting the tropical taste run down your throat. It’s sweet and delicious, just how you like it.

Joel picks up his whiskey glass and takes a generous gulp. You watch as the rim of the glass kisses his lips, how he takes his tongue and runs it over the bottom of his lips, how he holds the glass tightly as the amber liquid clinks against the ice. You never wanted to be a glass as bad as you did now.

You bite your lip slowly as he puts the glass down and wipes his bottom lip with his thumb as he slowly grazes it over his lip. It’s slow, seductive, the hottest thing you had ever seen. You want to know just how soft those lips are, how good he tastes, how his calloused fingers would feel on your skin…

You shake your head and free the dirty thoughts from your mind. He’s your father’s best friend! This couldn’t happen. Ever. But fuck did you want it to. You never wanted anything as bad as this in your whole entire life. He was just so…perfect.

Last summer when your family had a party at the lake house, your friends all whispered how hot Joel was in his tight grey t-shirt and swim trunks. They’d say how built he was, how he must be great in bed, and they had called him the hottest dilf they’d ever seen. Of course they were right, but you were jealous of them. Because you wanted to be the only one that had eyes for him. You wanted him. Period. Even if he was strictly off limits.

He sits the glass down on the smooth bar top and turns back around, putting his full attention on you. “You uhhh, been seein’ anyone besides that handsy asshole lately?” he asks with darker eyes, a hint of anger on the tip of his tongue as his eyebrows furrow together.

There it was. That jealousy swirling off his tongue. Or overprotectiveness. Or possibly both. You couldn’t tell which it was.

“No, not really. Haven’t been dating much lately,” you say quietly.

“How come?” He’s curious. His eyebrows raise and he focuses intently on you, leaning in just a tad bit closer so he can hear you over the noisy crowd.

“Guess I just haven’t been interested in anyone,” you shrug, blowing it off like it isn’t a big deal, but apparently it is to him.

“Oh, but I’m sure guys are always askin’ ya out. A pretty thing like you, surely. Bet all their eyes are on ya.”

A pretty thing like you? The man just called you pretty. You swear you see stars in your eyes. The room feels dizzy as you take another drink, trying to calm your racing thoughts.

“I mean, not really,” you shake your head disagreeing.

“I don’t really believe that, you’re gorgeous. They’re missin’ out on a great girl. Just give it time. You’ll find someone worth your while.” He takes another sip of whiskey and looks at you from the corner of his eye, keeping those brown eyes only on you.

A great girl? Gorgeous?! You can’t help but feel a little disappointed when he says that you’ll find someone worth your while. You don’t want to find just someone, you want him and only him. That’s what you really want. But you need to stop mixing reality with fantasy. Joel would never let that happen. He wouldn’t disrespect your father like that or would he? You hoped he would.

“Have you finished my guitar yet?” you ask all of a sudden excited to see it. Joel was customizing your acoustic guitar and carving sunflowers into the wood. You’d asked him if he could do it because his woodwork was exceptional and you only wanted your guitar in the best hands. He said yes automatically, giving it no thought.

“I am. Just want to polish it up and then she’s all yours,” he says proudly, his smile crinkling up the edges of his mouth, exposing his adorable dimples that you love.

“Can I come see it?” you ask, almost begging with your eyes.

“Tonight?” he asks, hesitating just a bit with his voice.

“I mean, unless you have other plans,” you say, shrugging your shoulders slightly. He looks at you with a serious gaze in his eyes, and you notice his hand on his thigh slowly flex like he’s in deep thought.

Why was he hesitating? He had never hesitated around you before. But also, you’d never really been alone with him before. He’d occasionally picked you up a couple times or you’d be alone with him in the room for a few minutes at your house while your dad was grabbing something, but not in his house. Not alone, just the two of you.

He finally speaks as he runs a hand through his tousled curls, watching as they fall back into place perfectly. “No, don’t have any other plans. So, yeah. You’re welcome to come see it. I’ll have you try it out, see how you like it.”

“Maybe you can give me another lesson? It’s been awhile. You’re a great guitar teacher, best I ever had,” you smile at him, just on the edge of being flirtatious and drawing that thin line that you were about to cross.

“That so, darlin’?” he smirks, giving you butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

“Mhm,” you hum, taking another sip of your fruity drink.

“Well, glad to hear it. And we’ll see,” he says in a low voice.

He finishes up his whiskey and waits patiently for you to finish off your drink. As soon as you’re done, he pays for the drinks as the bartender takes up the tab.

“You ready to get out of here?” he asks as he stands up, pulling out his barstool.

“More than ready,” you respond as you get up and pull your denim shorts down. Joel’s eyes wander down to your tan thighs, and you swear you see that smoldering stare burning in his eyes return as he takes in the sight of your long legs. His gaze stays a few seconds too long as he quickly looks back up into your eyes, trying to play it off as he runs a hand through his thick curls slowly.

A low heat starts in your core, and you have to squeeze your legs together to ease the tension that was there. You’re already wet from seeing how your long legs affected him.

Fuck. You wanted him. Bad.

“Alright, c’mon then. Truck’s this way.” He leads you out of the busy bar as you wind your way through the crowd of people. He puts his hand on the small of your back, and you almost jolt at the action. He’d never done that before. But it feels…good. And you want his hand to continue to stay there, burning all the way down to your skin.

When you get out to the white Chevy, he unlocks the doors and then you climb into the front passenger seat. It’s nice and clean in here and smells like him. That woodsy pine smell that you love just lingering in the air. It makes you a little dizzy.

After he buckles his seatbelt, he puts the key in the ignition and then the truck rumbles lightly, the engine roaring to life. Ghost plays softly on the radio as the volume is turned low. You played Joel one of their songs a while ago and then he got hooked on them. You had to applaud yourself for getting him into your taste of music. Maybe one of these days he’d take you to their concert.

“I see you’re still listening to Ghost?” you ask with raised brows as you look over at him, laughing. He’s holding the steering wheel tight as he drives down the busy city streets, paying close attention to where he’s going.

“‘Course. Can’t believe you got me into them,” he says as he shakes his head, a gentle smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

“Well, you can’t deny they’re good. I mean, come on. Tobias is a musical genius,” you go on, getting lost in the song that’s playing on the speakers.

“No, you’re right. He’s good. Wouldn’t mind seein’ them if they ever decided to come to Austin,” he replies as he turns a corner, rotating the steering wheel sharp as his large hands grip around the leather. You watch the way his knuckles grasp the steering wheel strongly, wishing you could feel those hands on your body instead.

“Would you take me?” you ask quietly, blurring the lines of a boundary you shouldn’t cross.

His jaw slightly flexes as he flicks his eyes over to you. “If you’d wanna go, I’d take ya.” He looks back at the road before you respond.

“Really?” you ask shocked, not expecting that answer.

“Mhm. Might be fun,” he hums.

You sit back in your seat and smile out your passenger side window triumphantly as you watch the glow of the evening city lights pass by in a blur. This was nice. Having a little alone time with Joel. You didn’t think it’d go anywhere, but you were still glad you were here. With him.

Ghost’s song “Spillways” comes on next, and your eyes go wide as you jolt forward, reaching for the volume so you can turn it up. “I love this song!” you say excitedly.

You guess Joel had the same idea because he ends up reaching for the volume too. Your hand connects with his as he brushes against the top of yours. You gasp at the contact of his rough hand and quickly pull it away.

When Joel drops his hand, it connects with a plastic water bottle in the cup holder and sends it over the edge, tumbling down your way. He quickly reaches out to catch it, but he misses as it goes spiraling to the floorboard. Instead, his hand lands right on top of your thigh as his calloused fingers connect with your smooth skin.

Your eyes go wide as you hold in a breath. His hand feels so good. Both rough and soft at the same time, somehow the two intermingling with each other. His fingers gently curl against the edge of your thigh, lingering there a few seconds too long until he quickly grabs his hand away, bringing it back to the steering wheel hurriedly like his hand is on fire.

“Shit. Sorry ‘bout that. Didn’t mean to, well. Put my hand on ya,” he says hurriedly, apologizing in a quick breath.

“It’s okay…” you say slowly, still catching your breath from what just happened.

He lets out a drawn sigh as he takes his right hand and runs it through his tousled curls, looking like he’s in pain or fighting off something deep in his mind. He slowly brings his hand back down and barely grazes the steering wheel. He slowly flexes and extends his hand, the same hand he touched you with. It’s like he just pulled his hand from boiling water, like your thigh ignited something in him. Something hot and tempting…

He brings his hand up and rakes it through his scruff, his eyes in deep thought as his eyebrows furrow together. That touch to your thigh definitely affected him. You can clearly see that. You want to test the waters and bring his hand back down to your burning thigh. Let him trail his fingers up and down your inner thigh as they tease you, as they send slick down your center…

He sighs again before speaking. “Maybe I should just take ya home,” he says undecidedly, his voice right on the edge of shakiness.

Back home? Without going to his house first? No, no, you wouldn’t let that happen. This was your chance. Your one chance to test just where this would go. And you would not go back home without at least trying your luck.

“No,” you say a little too loud, a little too demanding.

“No?” he asks, one eyebrow raised in question at the harsh words that came out of your mouth.

“I mean…I just really want to see my guitar. Please?” you beg with a pleading voice, batting your eyelashes with the most innocent expression you can muster up.

Joel does a double take at you with his hand over his mouth, deciding if he should take you home or not, and then he nods in agreement. “Alright, alright. You can come see it,” he sighs.

Yes! You were screaming in silent victory at the win. You had him eating out of the palm of your hand. You just had to play it cool and not get pushy. If he wanted to make a move, then he’d be the one to do it. You wouldn’t push him. The next steps were all on him.

He was driving with one hand now as he leaned on the driver’s side window with his elbow, his hand gently resting under his jaw. He seemed to be lost in thought about something, his eyes pierced with attention on the road. And then it was silent except for the faint hum of the stereo. An uncomfortable silence you’d rather not sit in, so you decide to start up a conversation.

“So, how’s work going?” you ask, hoping it’ll break him of whatever intense trance he’s under.

“Busy, like usual. Got a few clients in this week, so my employees have been busy with those new projects. Have to say that I’ve been a little overwhelmed lately. Been workin’ late a lot. I feel bad cause a lot of the time I come home, Sarah’s already asleep. So I’ve been missin’ time with her. But I just hired a few more employees, so I’m hopin’ I’ll finally work some normal hours and not a ton of overtime like I have been.” He huffs out in annoyance, his forehead creasing into wrinkles as he rakes a hand over his mouth.

Poor Joel. He looks so frustrated, tired even. You slowly reach a hand out and sit it on his shoulder to show your understanding. “Hey, I’m sure Sarah understands. And I’m sorry you’ve been overworked. Hopefully things lighten up and you can get more time at home. I’m sure you’re exhausted. Especially with taking on side projects with my guitar. If I would’ve known, I wouldn’t have asked you,” you say in an apologetic voice, slowly bringing your hand back down to rest in your lap.

“No, it’s okay. I wanted to do that for ya. It’s no problem. I enjoyed working on it. And thank you, for the kind words. You always know just what to say to calm me down.” He looks over at you and gives you a small smile, nodding his head in a thank you.

“Oh, okay. And I try,” you say as you swallow.

You watch him turn on Waterlake Drive as he pulls into your neighborhood. Except you aren’t going home. Not yet anyways. You’re going to his house.

You pass your street and drive four blocks down as you turn on the dimly lit road. Houses aren’t right next to each other as each house has a big yard and their own privacy. Joel turns into his wide driveway and stops the truck, putting it into park.

Joel’s house is a big two story house that has a wraparound porch on the outside with blue shutters on the arched windows. There are two wooden rocking chairs that sit on the porch, and the yard is covered in towering oak trees. It’s a really pretty house, one that’s too big for only two people, but he fills up the space with all his projects that are lying around just waiting for him to finish.

You get out of the truck and slam the white door shut as you hear the beeping noise of Joel locking the truck. He takes out his keys and places the golden house key in the lock as he turns and opens the door.

“C’mon in,” he says as he opens the door for you, waiting for you to pass through.

You step through and make your way down the polished dark, wooden floors. Pictures of Joel and Sarah hang all along the staircase as you pass right by, heading for the living room.

The living room’s done up in tall white walls with pictures of Lake Texoma and wildlife sprawled across the side walls. A huge 70-inch flat screen sits mounted on the middle of the wall and a big cream colored couch sits in the middle of the room with a couple of leather recliners sitting a few feet apart from each other. A small, wooden side table with a luminous lamp sits next to the couch as it shines light throughout the room. And a tall, glass cabinet sits in the corner of the room that’s full of old Rock and Roll albums that both Joel and Sarah collect. It’s really homey, peaceful. You liked coming over here, even though you have only been a couple of times.

“Where’s Sarah at?” you ask, looking around the quiet house.

“She ain’t here. She’s at a friend’s for the weekend,” he responds as he walks back in from the open kitchen.

Oh. So you were all alone with him. In his house.

Fuck.

“Well, have a seat and I’ll go grab your guitar,” Joel says as he exits the room.

You take a seat in the middle of the couch and try to relax, but you’re still flustered from Joel putting his hand on your thigh. It was probably just an accident. You were probably just blowing it all out of proportion, so you needed to calm the hell down. But you’re all alone with him, and that makes heat build in the pit of your stomach.

After a couple of minutes in silence, Joel comes back into the room with your guitar in his hands. He has it flipped to where you can’t see the front of it, keeping it a surprise for you.

“Alright, here it is. Why don’t you take a look.” He flips it around to where you can see it, and you gasp at how stunning it is.

The solid, light spruce guitar looks as if it’s shining. The strings are completely redone, and the narrow neck and body look like they have been resanded to perfection. But what catches your eye the most is the gorgeous, carved etchings in the acoustic guitar that makes patterns of sunflowers all over the bottom half of the guitar. Gold, pink, and orange fill in the flowers and a single hand painted purple butterfly sits at the top, along with a few sparkly swirls around the edges that are all sorts of bright colors.

You walk over to him and place your hand on the guitar, gently running your hand over the smooth etchings of the designs he had made for you.

Holy shit. It was incredible, the most beautiful guitar you had ever seen in your entire life.

Your mouth is agape and your eyes are wide as you take in the beauty that sits in his hands, just waiting for you to play. “Joel…I don’t even know what to say. It’s beautiful. How did you…” You’re completely speechless. You don’t know what to say.

“You like it?” he asks with a hopeful smile, his brown eyes trained on you.

“Like it? I love it!” you shout in glee.

“Good, that’s good. Glad ya do.” He says as he runs a hand through his tousled curls as one stray curl falls over his face.

God, what you would give to run your hands through those smooth curls. You could get lost in them for hours.

“Here, why don’t ya try it out?” he asks as he hands the guitar to you. You gently take the smooth guitar in your hands and walk over to the couch as you sit in the middle, right on the edge. You strum the cords as it’s perfectly tuned. Joel must’ve tuned it for you. That man was so thoughtful, you just couldn’t get enough of him.

“You remember that song I taught you?” he asks as he comes around the couch and stands a few feet away, looking at you as if he’s waiting on something.

“You mean that Nirvana song?” you ask, not exactly recalling the entire song.

“Yeah. Something In the Way. You remember it?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Umm, I think so. It’s been awhile since I played,” you reply honestly.

“Well, go on and try it. I can help ya if you get lost.”

“Right. Okay. Let me see if I remember,” you say as your voice trails off. You get your hands in position and take a deep breath as you line your fingers up just right. You start the song off slow, trying to recall all the notes to play.

You start off strong as you remember the beginning. Joel’s nodding his head in the corner as he watches you, keeping an eye on your fingers as you play. The more he watches you, the more you get nervous. You start to fumble your fingers and mess up the cords as the wrong tune comes out. You’re getting frustrated with yourself that you’re letting your dad’s best friend get you this flustered. It wasn’t fair. What was wrong with you?

“Shit,” you say with a frustrated sigh as you mess up the cords again. You scrunch your brows together and curse under your breath.

“Hey, it’s okay. You just messed up the bridge of the song. Let me show you.” He comes to sit on the couch beside you, so close that his thigh connects with yours as his muscles hug his jeans to him.

He places his left hand on yours as he positions your fingers exactly where they need to be. You bite your lip as his calloused fingers connect with yours, his thick fingers gently guiding you through the bridge. You can’t focus with him this close. He smells like whiskey and pines, a woodsy scent that’s clinging itself to you, making you dizzy from the smell.

You mess up again as you lose focus, only thinking of how good he smells and how delicious he’d taste. You’re starving for him. A hungry lioness that wants to devour her prey. And that prey is Joel.

Your right hand forgets to strum, and you mess up the entire song.

Christ. Get a hold of yourself!

“Sorry, I haven’t practiced in a few weeks. I thought I’d at least remember the entire song. It wasn’t that long ago that I was playing it,” you sigh disheartened.

“You’re doin’ fine, sweetheart. You want me to refresh ya on the song?” he says with deep brown eyes staring you down in question.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” you reply with a more upbeat tone.

“C’mere then.” He scoots his body to the back of the couch and spreads his legs as he grabs your waist and pulls you to him, sitting you down right in between his legs, right against his broad chest. His arms circle you as his hands come down on top of yours, covering them with his calloused fingers burning into yours as he positions them on the strings.

You gasp at the position you’re in. Joel had never taught you like this. Being this close, practically in his lap.

Fuck.

“You wanna go over to C and play these cords together.” He takes your fingers and strums them along the neck of the guitar, guiding your right hand to play some different notes. He takes you through the entire song slowly as he guides your fingers through every note.

“Alright, that’s good. There ya go. A little slower, right there. Good,” he murmurs as his deep breath rumbles from his chest, sending vibrations through your back.

His instructions were always so clear, so crisp as he languidly guides you with his rough hands. He was an excellent teacher, the best you’d ever had. Always so careful, so pristine, so diligent, so attentive…

His hot breath is blowing down your neck as he leans over your shoulder, his lips so painstakingly close to your skin that he could lean over and drag his lips over your neck. He scoots his hips up as he comes closer to you, so close that your back is crushed against his broad chest and his biceps are caging you in as you hold the guitar. His thighs are right up against yours as they gently squeeze your legs, making your breathing pick up at how close he is now.

He’s practically suffocating you with his tight abs and woodsy scent, letting the whiskey get you drunk from his breath breathing down your neck. It’s almost insufferable at how worked up you’re getting over him. You’re agitated, sexually frustrated at how fucking much you want to jump in his lap and pull his lips down to yours. Let him get you drunk off his whiskey taste as his tongue explores your mouth thoroughly.

He dismantles his hands from yours and coaxes you to keep going with a gentle, steady voice. “Now, you try by yourself. See if you can play it back to me.” He lets his hands fall to the sides of the couch as he stays in place, your body tucked into his tightly.

“You want me to play it myself?” you ask with hesitation in your voice.

“Mhm. Go on now. Play it for me,” he repeats.

You take a deep breath and get your hands in place, focusing on the cords. You slowly start playing the Nirvana song as the guitar strums to life. You’re getting the hang of it, finally remembering the right cords to play.

As you get further in the song, Joel sits up straighter and leans forward, his hands moving to his jeans and his lips almost brushing your neck. You keep playing, trying not to get distracted by the handsome man that sits behind you.

You’re closing in on the end of the song, just about a minute more left and then Joel interrupts your concentration. “That’s really good, darlin’. Nice and steady. You’re a fast learner. Think I could teach ya harder, more complicated songs in no time,” he replies with a low voice, making you break your train of focus.

“Oh yeah? Like what?” you ask quietly as you continue strumming along lightly, barely picking at the cords.

“Metallica, Bullet for My Valentine, Ghost, all those bands you like,” he lulls as he presses further into you, his lips dangerously close to your skin. You can feel his breath hit your collarbone. That hot, sweltering breath that you want to bask in, burn in.

“I’d like that,” you purr.

“Yeah?” he asks, digging one of his hands into the material of his jeans like he was trying to control himself.

“Yeah,” you reply, still faintly playing the guitar.

Without warning, he lifts his left hand and moves your long, beachy curls out of the way, sweeping them over your left shoulder so he has access to your neck.

He gently slides his nose up the right side of your neck, stopping right before he gets to your earlobe as he breathes in deep. “You smell like citrus and vanilla,” he groans in a deep voice as he moves his right hand to your thigh, resting it gently on the top of it.

Your eyes go wide as his fingers trail up your leg, slowly inching their way to your inner thigh as his fingers flex, running his nails up and down in steady strides, his hand ending just at the cutoff of the denim material, so close that he could lift the edges and dive his hand into darker, wetter regions.

His calloused fingers slowly flex and extend as he gently runs his fingers over your skin, making you want to come absolutely undone right there on the couch. His lips graze your skin as they trail down your neck, barely skimming the surface as you feel just how soft his lips really are. They feel magnetic as he teases you with his lips, not yet fully giving in.

You’re still playing the song, just a few seconds left before it’s over. “Doin’ so good, darlin’. Such a good little guitar player,” he purrs as his lips make contact with your skin, his mouth gently brushing up the side of your neck as you feel him sink down into you, hitting that sensitive spot that drives you crazy.

Fuck.

A wave of slick pools at your center as you squeeze your legs together, a breathless moan getting stuck in your throat. You stop playing, not able to concentrate any longer. Not when his mouth is on your neck and his fingers are pressed against your inner thigh.

“Joel,” you press, your voice coming out as clipped and desperate.

His fingers trail up to the waistband of your jean shorts as he dances his fingers up and down the denim, teasing you like he knows what he’s doing because he does know. He knows damn well what it’s doing to you. He’s working you up nice and slow. Starting that low burn in your stomach as it spreads to your center, down your thighs.

“You tell me to stop and I’ll stop,” he says in a deep, husky voice as he kisss your neck again, his fingers slowly unbuttoning the top button on your jean shorts.

Suddenly the room is too hot, the tension too thick in the air. Your breath is coming in and out like you’re about to hyperventilate and your skin is scorching at his touch. You feel your spine tingling as he grazes his lips against your jawline, his fingers slowly unzipping your shorts, getting ready to take them off.

“Don’t stop, please,” you beg as you move your hips up, slowly setting the guitar to the side as you put your hands on his knees, holding on for dear life.

“Don’t want me to stop? Want me to keep goin’? Want me to show you how else I can use my fingers?” he asks seductively, his voice low as you listen to that melodic tone.

“Yes, please. Show me,” you plead as you bite your lip in anticipation.

“Alright, I’ll show ya. Just ‘cause you asked nicely,” he says as he unzips the zipper all the way and pushes the shorts down your legs, letting them drop to the floor as he trails his fingers up and down your inner thighs, letting you squirm against him as you can’t stand the anticipation any longer.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this. How long I’ve had my eyes on you, you pretty thing,” he groans as he ghosts his hand over your center, lightly tugging at your waistband as he slowly lifts the pink lace up, sticking his thumb inside as it trails across the top, not quite yet to your dripping center where you need him the most.

“And those legs. God, those long, tan legs. So soft, so perfect,” he purrs as he trails his left hand up your thigh, letting his finger gently slide down your clothed center as it causes a hiss to come from your mouth.

“You want this?” he asks as he sinks his right hand lower, finding your slick folds as he barely puts pressure on them.

“Oh, fuck. Yes,” you groan out as you try to spread your legs further apart, your center desperate for some relief.

“Mmmm, thought so,” he murmurs, a thick, heavy breath coming from his throat.

He puts more pressure on your center and spreads your folds as he circles you slowly. You can hear the sloshing and sticky noises from your wetness and it’s making you so much more turned on, making you feral for his touch.

“Goddamn, you’re wet, darlin’. All this for me?” he asks with a smirk as he uses his other hand to slowly slide your ruined underwear to the floor, leaving you completely bare on the bottom.

He takes a good look at you as he spreads your legs over his thighs and opens you wider, exposing your dripping cunt that’s at complete mercy to Joel’s hands.

“Fuck, you’re pretty, baby,” he growls as he runs his hands up further and catches your clit as he puts more pressure into it. Circling nice and slow, building up that arousal and heat that threatens to make you come undone in just a matter of time.

“Oh, God,” you moan as you grip his thighs and dig your fingers into his jeans as you lean your back into him, his lips skimming down your jaw as he works at your clit meticulously. Feeding your arousal that’s pooling all around you as another wave of slick washes down your thighs.

“That’s it, darlin’. Gonna show ya exactly how a man should get a woman off. Want you to scream my name by the time I have you comin’. Gonna show you just how good your daddy’s best friend can finger fuck you,” he growls, a low guttural sound coming from deep in his throat. It’s primal and territorial. He’s claiming what’s his. And it’s you. And it’s hot as hell.

You let out a breathy moan as he plunges two fingers into your dripping cunt as he works hard and fast at sliding his fingers in and out of you. Up and down, back and forth as the sounds of slick and wet fingers connect, causing you to buck up your hips at the building sensation. You’re already so close and you can’t take much more. It’s too much. He’s too much.

He presss a hand down on your hips and clicks his tongue, locking you in with his grip so you’re unable to move. “You stay in place, sweetheart. I’m not lettin’ you get away just yet. You’re so close, I can feel it. The way you’re arching your back and tightening your pretty cunt around my fingers. You’re almost there, and I’m gonna make you come hard, understand?” he asks in a low, raspy voice as you feel his bulging erection growing in his jeans as you push back against it.

“Yes. Please, Joel,” you beg as you lay your head against his shoulder, looking up at the now blown out black pits of his eyes as he stares down at you with a devilish smirk on his face.

“Please what?” he smiles down, his smirk playing across the side of his mouth, making him look handsome as hell.

“Make me come,” you whisper out of breath.

“That’s all you had to say, sweetheart.”

He takes his thumb and presses down on the most sensitive spot of your clit as his index and middle fingers work at your insides, pumping in and out as the wet, sloshing noises get louder.

Your legs start to shake as he circles and circles your clit, rubbing faster and harder as your breathing picks up and a hot, burning sensation is right at the edge of spilling over. The room gets heavier and thicker as the gasping moans and heat intertwine together, making a muggy room of desire and seduction.

Your legs are shaking so much that Joel has to hook your right leg under his as his left hand holds your other one down. He’s going to make you ride out this orgasm whether you can handle it or not. The sensation is overbearing as you feel your walls start to spasm as they squeeze around his thick fingers that pump in and out of you.

“Joel, I can’t…I’m so…I’m almost…” you moan in quick, shaky breaths. Barely able to hang on any longer.

“C’mon, baby. Let go. That’s it. Want you to be a good girl and come on my fingers. Come on, almost there,” he coaxes as he speeds up his fingers and plunges deep into the spongy spot of your walls, pressing firmly on your clit in just the right spot.

You feel your insides clench up one more time around his fingers as white, hot heat fills your entire body and then your walls go slack as you feel yourself release hot liquid all over his fingers. You let your eyes roll back as you moan his name loud as the liquid continues to drip down your center and covers the inside of your thighs.

“There ya go. Such a good girl,” he purrs, his eyes bleeding into yours as you struggle to keep your eyes open.

It’s like you’re hypnotized, in a daze the way your body feels like it’s floating as Joel works you through your intense orgasm, his fingers slowly fucking up inside you as he makes sure he gets every drop of slick inside you that he can.

He takes his other arm and gently runs it up and down your thigh, easing you from your orgasm as you slowly come back to earth. He gently uncurls his fingers from inside you and brings them up to his mouth, lapping up the slick on his fingers as your eyes go wide at the provocative action. He gently runs his other hand down your arm in a comforting way and then slowly unlatches your legs from his grip.

“That was incredible…” you express with blown out pupils, your heart racing a thousand miles per hour as you sink all your weight into his chest.

Joel laughs as he pulls you into his lap and caresses your cheek, slowly pushing a strand of hair behind your ear in an affectionate way. He was being so careful with you, so gentle. You felt so safe and secure in his strong arms. It was nothing like you’d felt before with a man. Joel was one of a kind.

“Glad I could make ya feel good,” he laughs as a gentle smile curls up at his lips, his dark eyes hovering over you as his lips are just inches from yours. You want to taste them, see how good they feel on yours.

“I didn’t think…I didn’t know you were into me,” you answer quietly as you stare up at him, waiting for a reply.

He furrows his eyebrows and flexes his jaw before he speaks. “Sweetheart, I’ve liked you for quite some time now. Just didn’t know how to go about it with your dad being my best friend and all.” He sighs and lets his head drop back against the couch as he takes you with him. He rakes a hand through his messy curls and looks back up at you with another sigh. “Your father would kill me if he knew I just finger fucked his daughter.”

“He doesn’t have to know. It’s our own little secret,” you snicker as you lean your head on his chest. “Joel, I’ve liked you a long time. A very long time. I just thought you were off limits.” You shrug as you relax back into him as his arms pull you in and keep you warm.

“I mean technically I should be off limits, but…” He trails off and doesn’t finish his sentence as his eyes are in a far away place.

“But what?” You shake him out of his trance as he comes back down to reality.

“But…I can’t leave you alone now. Not after this,” he gestures to the mess on the couch that you made. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re mine now. And I don’t intend on sharing,” he growls as his dark eyes penetrate your gaze, sinking deep into you, awakening something that had been dormant till you met him.

Mine? Oh. You liked the sound of that. A lot. And it was possessive, dominant, making you hungry for more of him, needing more of him.

“Then don’t,” you breathe out in a quiet voice, your eyes intently locked on his.

He looks into your eyes with those desperate, needy honey eyes of his and then looks down at your lips, repeating the sequence a couple more times before he cups your chin and brings you in close. He presses his lips to yours as his large hands cup your face. It’s slow, romantic, everything you hoped it would be.

The kiss deepens as you part your lips and invite him in. He slides his tongue in your mouth and collides into yours as he slowly swirls and massages your tongue with his. His lips are so soft and large, feeling like they’re made just for you. And his taste.

God, he tastes so good. You can taste the hint of hazelnut coffee, a drop of whiskey, and maybe a taste of honey as his tongue invades your mouth in all the right places.

You moan into his mouth as he kisses you deeper, faster, more desperate as he grabs the back of your hair and pulls at just the right pressure. It feels good. Like he’s being dominant with you but also soft, the perfect combination.

You push your body up as you straddle his lap, feeling that tight bulge in his pants as you start to unbuckle his leather belt, desperate to get your hands on him. He puts a strong hand around your wrist and stops you before you can go any further.

“And what do ya think you’re doin’?” he asks as he lifts an eyebrow, a small smile hiding behind his serious gaze.

“I just wanted to make you feel good too,” you confess, giving him the best smirk you can muster up.

“Is that so?” he asks with a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Mhm,” you hum, using your free hand to push his broad chest back into the soft couch.

“Hmmm. Alright then, darlin’. Show me.” He lets go of your wrist and lets you pull the belt loose from his dark jeans. You slowly unzip the zipper but before you can pull down his pants, he stops you again as he cups your chin and lifts your head to look into his eyes.

“On your knees,” he growls dominantly as his eyes turn from soft brown to dark black pits as his pupils expand.

“Yes, Mr. Miller,” you reply automatically without thinking as you drop to the soft rug, getting on your knees as you place your hands on his muscular thighs.

“Just Joel, darlin’,” he reminds you. “Now, be a good girl and show me how good you can suck this cock.”

He stares down at you with seductive eyes and a large smirk painted across his face. He looks so goddamn pretty. And the way his plaid sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing thick veins that cover his arms is making you even more turned on.

You waste no time and pull down his jeans and then his black briefs, freeing his erection from the combines of his pants. It plants firmly against his stomach, and you gasp at just how large he is.

Holy shit. He’s massive.

You gulp and scoot up to the edge of the couch as you bring your hand around his thick width. You start sliding your hand up and down his large length, watching as the veins in his cock wrap around him, feeling the coarse, wiry hair that blankets around the base of him, transfixed on just how big he is.

You bring your head down and slowly lick the tip as you let your tongue swirl around all his sensitive spots, still using your hand to slide up and down him as precum bubbles over the edge. You savour the taste of him as you let the salty flavor run down your throat all hot and sticky like. You lick the tip again, this time looking at him seductively under your long eyelashes as you let your hand work up and down his largeness.

“Fuck,” he moans under his breath as you stare up at him, his black pupils blown out as he watches you devour him inch by inch.

You test your limits and take him further into your mouth, going down as far as you can until you gag on him, slowly coming back up for air before you go back down again.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty sucking my cock, darlin’,” he groans as a grabs the back of your hair as you go down on him again, this time taking him deeper, going past your limits. You choke on him as you feel your throat constrict around his length, feeling just how thick he is as the salty taste runs down your throat like warm cider.

He fists your hair and works you up and down him as you gag and choke on his delicious cock. Your eyes water as you feel saliva pool in your mouth and run down your chin as he takes you as far as you can go, speeding up his actions as he fucks your mouth over and over again. Up and down, deeper and deeper. Driving you fucking crazy.

“That’s a good fucking girl,” he growls, sending a wave of slick between your legs as you continue deep throating him.

He loves every second of it, and you love it just as much as he does. You love feeling his cock slide in and out of your mouth, love tasting him, love the way his eyebrows furrow together and the deep, breathless moans he makes from his throat as you make him come to life. And you love how possessive he gets with it. It’s so fucking hot. You revel in making him yours, making him want you, making him feel like he’s the most special man in the world, because he is. He’s so special, and now he’s yours. All yours.

He deep throats you one more time as he hits the back of your throat, making you audibly gag around him as your throat closes up around him, squeezing him as your saliva encases his thick cock.

“Goddamn!” he moans loudly as he pulls out of your throat as the saliva sticks to the end of his hard cock, running a trail of glistening saliva from his tip to your chin as you wipe the tears from your eyes. You miss one as it runs down your face.

Joel leans forward and catches it, wiping it away with his thumb as he cleans the saliva from your chin, making sure you don’t have a spot left on your face.

“You didn’t come,” you say quietly, unsure of why he stopped you.

He bites his bottom lip before answering you back. “I know, darlin’. That’s ’cause I’m not done with you yet.” His eyes turn into deep black pits again as he yanks you up from the floor and straddles you across his lap, the tip of his cock just inches from your weeping entrance as you’re soaked with arousal.

“Want you to ride me, sweetheart. Now get on top of me,” he instructs. He lifts your hips as he moves the tip of his cock to your drenched entrance, just barely slipping in, waiting for you to go down.

“Lower for me,” he demands, his voice raspy and deep. You slowly lower yourself down on him as he presses up deeper into you, expanding your walls right to the point of pain. You wince but keep your face controlled as you start to ride him nice and slow, feeling just how thick he is as you squeeze him, starting to move faster as you go up and down, up and down. Feeling every single flutter that your walls make as his large length caves inside you.

You groan and press your forehead against his as you straddle and ride him, digging your thighs into his sides as he grabs the back of your ass and squeezes, sending slick running down your center. The room starts to grow too hot, the stickiness and humidity mixing in with your fully aroused state. You can feel your hair stick to your face as the sweat shimmers across your forehead. You speed up the intensity, feeling every single detail of his cock as he rams up inside you time and time again. Making you nearly drown in your own slick.

“Fuck,” you groan as you continue riding him, building up that sweet orgasm that’s about to be set free. The sticky, slick noise from him sliding in and out of you is too much. He’s too much, too sexy, too fucking good for you. You need a release, you need to come. This was too much. “Joellllll,” you moan as you draw out the last syllable of his name, begging for him to make you come.

“That’s it, darlin’. Taking me so fucking good like the good girl you are. You’re almost there. I can feel it,” he says seductively, making you bite your lip at how sexy his bedroom voice is. It’s low, deep, provocative. A noise that could make you come just at the sound of. He’s electric.

“Want some assistance, darlin’?” he asks with low, drawn out words. Setting your insides on fire.

“Mhmm,” you hum out, trying your best to keep yourself in one piece.

He grabs the back of your hair and pulls you to his mouth as he devours you, biting your lower lip and shoving his tongue inside your mouth as he twirls around yours, setting your taste buds on fire. Drowning in his coffee and whiskey taste, wanting to drink him down until you can’t taste anything except him. Only him.

He takes control and places his hands on your hips as he bucks up inside you, thrusting deeper and deeper until he’s bottoming out, hitting you so deep that you swear you start seeing stars.

You place your hands around his neck and hold tight, your fingers wrapping around the curls that reach the back of his head as you claw at him, running your nails through his scalp. He moans at the sensation and continues plunging into you with his massiveness taking over you entirely, feeling every vibration through your body as you’re on cloud nine. You’re almost there, almost…

“You on birth control?” he asks with gritted teeth, a low growl leaving his throat as he thrusts inside you, sinking his nails into your sides.

“Mhm,” you choke out a moan, barely able to answer.

“Mmmm that’s good. Real good. Gonna spill all inside ya then. Is that what you want, darlin’? Want my cum inside that pretty pussy?” he asks with a gritted, clipped tone that’s full of arousal.

“Yes, please. Fuck,” you moan as he places his thumb on the throbbing bud of your clit, pressing just enough to pull that building orgasm out of you as you clench around his thick cock and feel white, hot heat slide over you.

You throw your head back and moan his name, feeling yourself unclench from him as you spill all down his long length. You feel your fingertips go tingly, the sensation making its way all the way down to your toes as they curl, feeling your heart speed up as the palpitations set in. It’s the most intense orgasm you ever had in your entire life, and you know then that you will never be able to get Joel out of your head. You’re hooked like a shot of espresso. Needing to consume it every day to be able to function properly. He’s like a drug. Nightshade. Deadly but intoxicating, a taste you can’t resist. A taste you crave, want, desire.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Your face is so fucking pretty when you cum, when you’re saying my name,” he growls as he emphasizes the my. Making it sound like you belonged to him now. And fuck you want that more than anything.

He thrusts inside you faster, harder as he knits his eyebrows together, getting caught in deep concentration as his breaths become ragged, unhinged. “You’re so tight, feels so good inside ya. You’re squeezing me so hard. Goddamn, you pretty thing,” he groans as he digs his fingers into your hips, pounding once, twice, three more times before he holds you down on his thighs and rolls his eyes up to look into yours with those black pits staring up at you hungrily.

He opens his mouth and moans as he spills his cum inside you. You feel the sticky, hot mess coat your walls as he thrusts once more, getting his fill of you entirely. Your breathing is rough and winded as you chase down your high from the intense fucking.

He keeps you there, staying inside you for just a few minutes as you both collect your breath and just stare at each other, taking in each other’s ecstasy and heat as the tension doesn’t disperse from the room. It stays like a hot, summer day with the humidity intensifying. It’s like you’re in the middle of a rainforest. It’s so hot, so suffocating, so muggy. And you can see that you’re caught in the middle of a hard spot. Alone with the stalking panther that wants to eat you alive. And that panther is Joel. He catches you, and now you’re all his for the taking. A complete menace at best.

He finally slides out of you as you feel his seed start to drip from you as it drops against his thighs, mixing in with the sweat and lust from each other. He falls to his back on the couch and brings you with him as he pulls you into his arms and brings your legs over his as he gently drags his fingers up and down them, soothing you from the hot cardio you had just taken part in.

“Fuck,” he says in a deep voice as he kisses the top of your head and brings his hand under your chin, lifting it so he can look into your eyes. “You’re so fucking pretty, baby. And your eyes. They’re so beautiful, they’re practically sparkling for me right now, just like diamonds.” Your breath catches as he gazes over you, admiring your beauty and charm as he caresses your cheek affectionately.

Oh, God. You’re in trouble. You’re falling hard and fast for your dad’s best friend. What a mess.

“Joel,” you say with admiration as you rake your fingers through his salt and pepper scruff, acquiring a slight groan from deep in his throat from the light touch. “I like you. A lot,” you breathe as you hold back tears from streaming over. You don’t want this to be over. It couldn’t be. You wouldn’t let it be.

“Oh, darlin’. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this. To have you, to hold you, to feel just how soft your skin really was. Been holdin’ back a long time. But something snapped in me tonight. When I saw you with that guy. I wanted to wring his fucking neck,” he spits as his eyes go cold. You gasp at the intensity of him. Of his words. He really does like you. This is real, it’s all real. And you just can’t believe it.

You run your hand down his broad chest as he pulls you closer, and you lean into him as your head rests on his chest, feeling every ragged breath go in and out as his chest rises and falls in waves.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to leave you alone now, darlin’. Not after this,” he says, holding you tight as he strokes your cheek, pulling back another strand of hair behind your ear softly.

“Then don’t,” you breathe, hope filling your gut as you cling to his bulky, tight arms.

He lets out a soft chuckle as he plays with your soft curls, running his hand through your hair gently as it sends a wave of warmth and serotonin over you, completely calming you of any anxiety. “I don’t intend to, darlin’. You’re all mine,” he coos.

Mine. There it was again. You were his and it felt so right.

“Joel?”

“Hmm?” he hums as the vibrations in his chest reverberate around you like a thunderstorm but calming you entirely.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” you ask in a quiet, meek voice.

“‘Course, sweetheart. I wasn’t planning on takin’ ya home. Not after this. You’re stayin’ with me.” He cups your chin and slowly brings his lips down on yours as you drink him in nice and slow, fully embracing the taste of him that was now a part of you.

When you finally break apart, you look up at him with a worried look on your face, your anxiety returning in full force like a galloping horse about to collide with another.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he asks with furrowed eyebrows and soft brown eyes that are searching your face, trying to find what was wrong.

“My dad….what if he somehow finds out that we…what if…”

He puts his thumb on your lips and hushes you, a gentle soothing sound coming from his mouth. “We can worry about that another day. He ain’t gonna find out,” he reassures you.

The unsettled feeling dwells in the pit of your stomach, and the worried expression doesn’t leave your face as you continue looking at him. A tear threatening to pool at the corner of your eye, but you hold it in. Not wanting to worry Joel with your anxious thoughts.

“Hey, you trust me?” he asks as he looks deep in your eyes, his brown eyes honing in like a hawk.

“Yes, of course,” you nod.

He takes your hand in his as he clasps his thick fingers around yours. “Then believe me when I say this will work out. I’m not lettin’ ya go, darlin’. I’m gonna make sure your daddy doesn’t find out. He ain’t gonna suspect a thing.”

You nod up at him, slowly pulling yourself back together. “Okay,” you agree.

“Alright. Now, let’s go get you cleaned up in the shower and get ya to bed. You must be exhausted,” he says as he pulls you up from the couch, picking you up bridal style and carrying you up the stairs to his bathroom.

After the warm shower, you get right in his bed with him. Wrapped up in his strong arms with one of his large plaid shirts hugging your body as you breathe in his pine and woodsy scent, enveloping yourself entirely in him as you memorize exactly what he smells like. Wanting to remember this moment as the best night of your life.

You fall asleep shortly as you listen to the faint sound of his breathing as you lay against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you. And that night you only dream of brown eyes, broad arms, thick fingers, and wet, sticky sensations. But one thing still clings to the back of your mind as you dream of Joel. Just one thing that you can’t quite shake as it interrupts your sweet, wet dreams of Joel. And that one thing is your dad.

Fuck. You just had mind blowing sex with your daddy’s best friend.

Tags: @janaispunk @studioghibelli @cinnamongorll @callmecath1 @joelalorian @dugiioh @ladamari68 @amyispxnk @pedrostories @tuquoquebrute

Part 2

[illyrianbitch]

An Education in Malice — Part Six

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: mentions and descriptions of wounds, scars, and allusions to torture, canon-typical violence, fighting, killing, death— all the fun stuff really. reader being a lil badass, az being emotionally vulnerable, a turning point in their relationship!!!!

Word Count: 9.8k this was originally going to be like 2-3 diff parts, but i loved reading it all as one, so consider this my lil offering since i disappeared for like 2 weeks <3

Part Five | Series Masterlist | Part Seven

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You always hated the ornate mirror that had stood in your room — its gaudy, gilded and tarnished frame was far too large for your liking.  You hated how much space it took up, how much of yourself you could see as you passed it. 

On most days, the female staring back at you felt like a stranger— someone wearing your face yet existing in a distant world. She moved when you did, blinked when you did, too. But she wasn’t you. And you hated it. So you didn’t often linger on your reflection. 

Except for today. 

Your hair was damp from the bath and a faint smell of sage and patchouli clung to your skin from the residue of your bath soap. 

Your eyes traced the lines of your face, following the tired shadows beneath your eyes and scars that marred the skin of your stomach. Normally, when you stood there with a focused gaze and a troubled spirit, it was because you were examining new wounds, cataloging the fresh marks left behind from nights where your father was particularly angry. All of those wounds were hidden beneath clothing, concealed where no one but you would ever see— carefully, strategically, placed. 

You’d gotten used to the marks, comfortable with them, even. There were many things in your life that weren’t yours. But these— these scarred areas of skin, these were yours. Proof that your body had worked to protect you, to fix and heal itself despite what had been inflicted unto it. And in some strange way, it made you feel less lonely. 

If it was any other day, you wouldn’t have looked any longer than a second, a minute at most. You’d walk past the mirror, change into a dress fit for an audience, and leave. 

Today was different. Today, your eyes were drawn to the intricate tattoo etched just beneath your left breast, wrapping around your rib cage. It was the first time you’d really looked at it, the first time you’d allowed yourself to acknowledge its presence since its creation. 

The tattoo was a delicate masterpiece, a swirling pattern of dark ink that almost resembled Azriel’s shadows perfectly— so perfectly it made you nauseous, made you flinch at the first sighting because it seemed too real.  It was beautiful, haunting, and undeniably meaningful.

It made you feel sick.

You traced the pattern with your fingertips, thinking back to how Azriel’s hand felt in yours, to the warm feeling you felt in your chest. You’d never made a bargain before— not even in Autumn. Perhaps all bargains caused this feeling you now felt, a sense of residue that your body held of him, as if you had crumbs of his being stuck to you. 

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. 

You turned to see Laney's ears twitch as she registered the sound. Whenever you showered, whenever you were naked and vulnerable at all, really, she always guarded the door heavily, never moving. The knock was so gentle that she didn’t growl; instead, she sniffed under the door, her movements growing excited— happy. You could tell by her posture that the visitor was no threat. Not only that, but the knock was delicate— patient, almost. You knew who it was by that fact alone. 

Scrambling, you hastily pulled on your clothes, trying to regain some semblance of composure as you blinked away the last remaining images of Azriel from your mind. 

The tension in your body eased as you opened your door. 

"There’s my beautiful girl."

A small smile tugged at your lips as you embraced your mother, feeling the warmth of her body fold over you like a comforting cloak. You held her for another moment, savoring the softness of her touch and her heartbeat beneath you, and then you stepped aside to let her in. 

Your eyes flickered to the back of the hallway she’d come from. 

Your mother caught your gaze swiftly. "He’s with some of his men. Drunk. He’ll be busy for the night."

You swallowed, trying to suppress the unease that settled in your stomach. She placed a gentle hand on your arm.

"It’s alright," she said gently, “Too drunk to even function.”

You hated that you knew what she meant, that you and your mother had grown to develop your own language regarding the males in your home—regarding the one that owned you both. Her words meant that Beron had an enjoyable day, one that filled him with enough joy to celebrate— that such celebrations were going to tire him so deeply that he’d fall asleep straight after. No issues for you, no issues for your mother. You nodded slowly.

Your mother stepped closer, her fingers brushing through your still slightly damp hair. "Let me braid this mane of yours," she said softly, her touch light as she affectionately stroked your cheek. You casted a wary glance behind you, towards the darkened hallways, but nodded nonetheless, closing the door behind you with a soft click. 

Laney curled up comfortably on your bed, her relaxed posture easing some of the remaining tension in your shoulders.  The act alone was a sign of her trust, a reminder that she felt safe and saw no threats nearby. If Beron ever caught her on any furniture, she’d be punished. But in this moment, she was calm and content, and you let that calm you too.

And then you were back in front of the mirror again. 

Your mother pulled a small velvet stool in front, gesturing for you to take a spot. The large frame of the mirror seemed to laugh at you and as your mother stood behind you, delicate arms reaching for a hairbrush, you felt like a child again. The mirror seemed to grow even larger, even grander, and you fought to recognize the female that stared at you through it. 

You watched as your mother moved with the same gentle grace she had always possessed, bringing a hairbrush to your damp hair. Your mother was beautiful. She always had been. Even now, with the sadness in her eyes— a trait specific to Vanserras, you were certain—she was one of the most beautiful people you knew. Your thoughts drifted to what she must have been like when she was a bit younger, how she was when Helion first met her. You wanted to know it all, wanted to know your mother as a teenager, wanted to know how she fell in love. 

Her eyes caught yours in the mirror and her movements slowed. The expression on her face softened. 

"Where has that mind drifted off to?" 

You blinked, shrugging slightly. There was a lump in your throat as you responded, "Nothing real."

She frowned, and her eyes danced across your face before she continued brushing your hair. A thoughtful hum left her lips. "You've been gone a lot recently. Done a great job of stressing your poor brother out. Where is it you've been running off to?"

Her voice was soft and kind and just below a whisper—  as if you two were sharing a secret. It was her classic motherly way of interrogating you. The gentleness in her tone made it clear that she didn't mind, no matter the answer. She never did.

A soft laugh escaped you. "I have to visit all of my many admirers."

Her answering laugh was sweet and quiet, a sound so pure it almost felt out of place in this house. You resisted the urge to look back at your closed door, to wait in fear for heavy footsteps. But your mother didn’t seem worried about an intrusion. Instead, she looked at you with a glint in her eyes, a mischievous sparkle that reminded you so much of Eris—right down to the playful eyebrow raise.

"Joke as much as you'd like. We both know you have plenty of those," she teased.

You smiled to yourself.  

"How could you not when you're so beautiful?" she added, her voice filled with a sincerity that made your throat tighten.

You looked at her in the mirror again. Her eyes were so kind. They held the same warmth you’d see in Lucien’s— a warmth that you’d see even in Eris’s when he was at ease, comfortable. Those times were rare now, if not impossible. 

You looked at your own reflection.

You didn’t have kind eyes. You had your father’s eyes. Beron's eyes—hard, angry, simmering with rage. You had his temper, his unforgiving nature. You were every part of him that you hated, and you were reminded of it every day. Reminded of it when you struggled to control your powers, when you failed to harness the very essence of who you were. Reminded of it when you looked in the mirror for too long— when you thought about how you would never be soft like the females males often loved. That your pain didn’t lead you to be kinder, didn’t teach you to be gentle.

Your hand drifted to your heart instinctively, fingers brushing on the fabric just above your breast. You trailed down to the side of your ribs, to where a spiral of ink now adorned your skin. 

Your mother finished the large braid, bringing it around your shoulder. She caught your gaze in the mirror and smiled. "Do you like it?"

She had a freckle above her eyebrow, the same freckle your brothers each had in different places on their faces. Eris had the most freckles out of all of you. They painted the bridge of his nose and his arms the most—

"Honey?" 

You blinked. Your body felt fuzzy as you reached up to touch the braid. "Yeah,” you said, clearing your throat. “Thank you."

Her kind eyes softened at you— softened in a way you didn’t feel worthy for. There was a faint simmering in her eyes, a fire that she still held despite how her life had treated her. It had dimmed over the centuries, lessened to a small flicker. But the flame was still there. You saw it. 

You took a deep breath, maneuvering yourself to turn in the chair and face her. You made room for her to sit next to you, gesturing with a small smile and a lift of your chin. 

"I have to tell you something.”

She sat and frowned slightly, eyes scanning your face. But she said nothing, waiting for you to continue.

"Do you remember when I was little? And you used to love reading me that one poem?"

Her expression softened, and a gentle smile played on her lips as a distant look grew in her eyes. She knew, without you even saying the title, exactly what you were referring to— after countless nights spent curled around you, running her hands through your hair as she repeated the words she’d memorized so long ago, how could she not?

So she watched you, her gaze unwavering, as you began to recite your favorite stanza. "In life's cruel grasp we could not abide, so we made a pact with the Reaper's side."

Her voice joined yours. "And in death's embrace our freedom lies, where we'll find each other beneath somber skies."

You smiled to yourself, looking at her, scanning her face. "I know why you love it so much."

She furrowed her brows, yet even then she looked so patient, like she'd sit there and wait for hours until you were ready to speak again. This was someone who had been made kind by what they had gone through. You almost felt ashamed that you had turned out differently.

Finally, you said, "I found the book. In Helion's library."

A flash of recognition crossed her face, and she softened, her eyes taking on a distant, wistful look. "You did?"

You nodded again, watching her closely as a tender, almost nostalgic smile played on her lips. She tried to compose herself, her eyes growing distant and glazing over. "I've heard he loves to collect stories." She paused, then asked, "What were you doing all the way over there?"

You thought about her question, about answering, about maybe telling her everything. But there was only one thing you could pull yourself to say. "I know," you said softly. "About Helion. I know."

She understood what you were truly saying. A sigh left her lips and an echo of her younger self appeared in her eyes, a female who had fallen hopelessly and madly in love. A version much younger—much more innocent. More hopeful.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered, your voice breaking as she met your gaze. Her face seemed pained, shocked almost, and her eyes filled with confusion. She moved closer to you, grabbing your hands in her own.

"What could you possibly be sorry for?"

It was becoming increasingly difficult to draw a full breath. There was something constricting around your chest. Perhaps it was all of the recent stress, the worry of how much harder things had gotten, the image of a life your mother could have had— this suffocating tie to Azriel that you now had etched into your very flesh. 

"You were loved. And you deserve better,”  Your voice caught in your throat and a tear trickled down your cheek as you shook your head slightly. “And I can't do anything to help—"

“No, no,” She interrupted you, bringing her warm hands to cup your cheeks— pulling your eyes to her kind ones.  "I'm your mother. I'm supposed to help you."

Tears welled in your eyes as she continued. "I should be apologizing to you,” she murmured, “I could be better, stronger. I should apologize that I was selfish and brought you into this world."

"Selfish?" 

How could she ever consider herself selfish? You knew the pain she carried, the weight of responsibility that seemed to crush her at times. You saw it reflected in Eris— a specific pain that came from feeling like you could never do enough. But even with your older brothers, despite their cruelty and callousness, your mother loved them fiercely, passionately. Loved them with every fiber of her being, every part of her that she gave to them. 

"Yes," she replied softly, her touch gentle as she rubbed your cheek, her eyes full of emotion. "Oh, how excited I was to have a girl. You, my sweet, are one of my greatest blessings. My beautiful daughter. So strong, so loyal. I just couldn't imagine a life without you."

You wanted to reassure her, to alleviate her guilt, but words seemed inadequate in the face of such profound love. Instead, you leaned into her touch, covering her hand with yours, and held on tightly.

"One day, things will be different," she said, her voice soft but filled with conviction— enough of it that it eased the anger that bit at your gut. "You can be different. And you won't be like him."

She paused, her eyes locking onto yours with a depth of understanding that made your chest tighten. "You’ll know what love is. And you won’t have to resort to reciting poetry to know how powerful it can be."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The dense canopy of trees above barely let any light through as you hurried along the forest path. Spring along the border was always odd, with dense forests giving way to large rolling hills. The difference in scenery, usually something you welcomed, felt nauseating today. All the sights, the smells, even the sunshine, seemed overwhelming.

You walked faster than usual, eyes fixed ahead, hands clenched at your sides. Azriel’s keen senses had already picked up on the subtle signs—your shallow breaths, the way your shoulders were stiff with tension. 

"Why are you walking through the woods and not even looking at me?"

You stopped as Azriel’s voice rang in your ears. 

You’d come to rely on these meetings with Azriel to exchange information, to strategize, to plan how to give your brother an edge. They’d eased your anxiety slightly, giving you a sense of support that you’d never thought would be found in Azriel of all people. But he was smart, as much as you hated to admit it, and had dedicated time to offering you aid. 

The truth was, you didn't quite trust your self-control right now. For some inexplicable reason, Azriel's scent was intoxicating, flooding your senses and causing your thoughts to swirl in a disorienting mix of attraction and confusion. Despite how hard you tried to fight it, you found yourself looking forward to these encounters. And that was a dangerous reality. 

"I like to stretch my legs," you finally responded, attempting to sound casual. "And maybe I just don't want to face you."

“Is that so? Nervous to stare at me too long?"

You could already picture the hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips— a bit of personality that you’d seen grow over your time together. You rolled your eyes, turning around and facing him with a blank look.

He stepped closer to you, eying you closely. “Worried that you’ll go crazy with desire?”

His smirk deepened, a rare, genuine smile breaking through his usual stoic mask. You bit the inside of your cheek in response.  "Don't flatter yourself,” you scowled. “Maybe I’m being kind and saving you from embarrassing yourself with how badly you’ll want me.”

This was dangerous— it was entirely too playful, too close to the brink of what you assumed friendship felt like. 

“Are you?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. “Being kind?”

Azriel’s hazel eyes bore into yours and your chest tightened at the eye contact. You cleared your throat, turning away and resuming your brisk pace. “Shut up and let's just go.”

Behind you, Azriel chuckled softly, the sound rolling across your senses like an unwelcomed caress, making you shiver involuntarily. 

"Stop laughing," you gritted out, “I’ve never heard a worse sound.”

The chuckle faded and you heard him come to a stop. You turned around, meeting his gaze with a glare. He stood there, arms crossed, a faint smirk still playing on his lips. He seemed amused, at ease, even.

“What?” you snapped, your patience wearing thin.

He nodded towards you. “What’s your problem?”

“You standing there. That’s my problem.”

Azriel raised a brow, uncrossing his arms as he took a few steps forward to stand directly in front of you. He narrowed his eyes, studying you intently. “You’re bitchier than usual.”

“Careful,” you gritted out, staring at him with a heavy, burning gaze. 

“I’m here helping you,” he said evenly, his voice holding a hint of reproach. “You can drop the attitude.”

"You’re only helping me because you want to get rid of me and, sadly, you can’t kill me," you shot back, bitterness lacing your words.

Azriel's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with something that almost seemed to resemble something like anger— like hurt. 

"I believe I've made it clear that your death is something I've purposely avoided."

Something about the way he was staring at you made you shiver. You fought the urge to run your hands over the area where your skin was now marked with the tattoo of a bargain. You met his gaze, steadying yourself. "Why didn't you tell me that Rhys presented my father with a proposition? That he requested an audience with him?"

Azriel blinked. "I wasn't aware that Rhysand had already done so."

"But you knew?" 

"Yes," he replied,  "I did."

"What good is this stupid bargain of ours if you don't even uphold it?" 

Azriel's expression hardened and he leaned down further. The scent of him filled your nostrils and you sucked in a tight breath, feeling your chest constrict with the motion. "I take my bargains very seriously. Our deal was that I would help you, that you would get what you wanted. Not that I would tell you everything."

Your nostrils flared.

"Do you realize how much danger Rhysand has put us in? Put me in?" Your voice trembled with barely restrained anger. "Beron is upset that Rhysand thinks of him as someone so conforming. He's convinced he has a traitor in his ranks. And if you haven’t noticed, Shadowsinger, he does!" 

You pointed to yourself and Azriel’s face seemed to darken with understanding. 

"Y/n—" he started, but he stopped abruptly, his gaze shooting to the trees beyond you.

Annoyance flared within you. "What?" you snapped, but he ignored you, his focus elsewhere.

"Can you just finish whatever the hell—"

Azriel moved with lightning speed, grabbing you and pushing you against a tree. His hand flew to your mouth, covering it as he brought his other hand to his face, a finger on own lips in a gesture of silence. Your eyes widened, watching as a muscle feathered in his cheek, his wings flaring slightly, shadows skittering around him.

Then you heard it too—a familiar laugh. 

"I know you're here, Shadowsinger. I can smell the bastard on you," Renard's voice echoed through the trees, taunting and cruel.

Desperation clawed at you. In a surge of panic, you bit down hard on Azriel's hand. He pulled back with a sharp intake of breath and you gave him one last look before you winnowed away. You could've sworn you saw a flicker of hurt, a sense of betrayal in the whites of his eyes. 

And then he was gone from your view. 

You didn’t get far, appearing in another thicket of trees within the same forest. Breathing heavily, you leaned against a sturdy oak.

Why hadn’t you winnowed farther? Straight to Autumn?

A tug in your chest nagged at you.

Faintly, the sounds of a struggle reached your ear—grunts and the clash of metal. You clenched your fists, chastising yourself. Do not go back, you thought. It's dangerous. You're putting yourself at risk—you and Eris, you and your mother. If they find you, if they manage to tell your father, you're dead. He'll kill you.

Azriel doesn’t matter, you tried to convince yourself. He can handle himself. And if not—

“Damnit.”

You made the decision before you could second-guess yourself, winnowing back immediately to where you had left him.

Disorientation clouded your vision the moment you landed. You blinked rapidly, taking in the chaotic scene before you. Azriel was engaged in a flurry of combat with three men— soldiers adorning the colors of your court. His gaze flicked to you for a split second, and his face softened with a brief, almost imperceptible relief.

You gave him what felt like a smile—an acknowledgment, a reassurance—before the reality of the situation snapped you back. Countless men surrounded you both, their eyes glinting with malice, with something that felt awfully like hunger. 

You had no weapon, but Eris had taught you ways to deflect attacks. 

One of the men lunged, and you dodged, feeling the blade cut through the air dangerously close to your side. With a swift kick, you sent him stumbling backward, then followed up with a sharp jab to his throat. He gasped, clutching at his neck, and you swiftly disarmed him.

Steel clashed against steel as you parried another strike, your movements agile and precise. A second attacker closed in, and you deflected his blade before stepping inside his guard, driving your elbow into his face. Blood sprayed as he staggered back, dazed. With a decisive motion, you brought his own weapon down through him, a sickening squelch filling your ears as he dropped to the ground.

Azriel was a blur beside you, his movements so swift and deadly it was almost poetic.

You managed to disarm another man, twisting his wrist until he dropped his weapon with a cry of pain. You kicked the sword away and followed up with a decisive strike to his chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. Your weapon found its way clean through his throat next.

Breathing heavily, you scanned the clearing, your eyes darting from one enemy to the next. There were countless bodies now, sprawled across the ground like fallen leaves— but none of their faces matched the one in your mind. You surveyed your surroundings once more. 

"Looking for me, princess?" The voice cut through the air, raspy and filled with disdain.

You spun around as Renard emerged from the trees, stalking closer with predatory grace, like an animal preparing for a kill. "Because I was looking for you."

He looked worse than the last time you’d seen him, barely alive, supporting swollen eyes and blackened marks around his neck. Beron had indeed tortured him, and the sight filled you with a grim satisfaction.

"Must be hard looking for anything with those eyes," you retorted, a grin on your lips.

"You did this to me, you traitorous whore," Renard spat, his face contorted with anger. He made a move towards you, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the flames flickering against your hands, unsteady.

"Real cute," he mocked. You bit back the frustration boiling in your gut, gritting your teeth as you focused on the simmering underneath your skin. 

“Come closer,” you sneered, “Let’s see how cute they feel on your burning flesh.”

“You always had such a foul mouth on you. It’s like you’re begging to be killed.”

Without hesitation, Renard lunged at you with a speed fueled by rage and desperation. You both collided in a flurry of strikes and parries, the sound of clashing metal ringing through the clearing. The flames in your hands flickered erratically as you tried to maintain focus amid the chaos.

You had always observed your father's men so you could be one step ahead— just in case. Now, facing Renard, you could sense his frustration with every move you countered, every strike you parried.

"You think you can match me, girl?" His voice dripped with contempt as he circled you, "I'll make your father's punishments seem gentle compared to what I have in mind."

"You talk too much," you managed to rasp out between clenched teeth. 

Renard's face twisted into a cruel smile as he pressed on, his strikes growing more aggressive. "I wonder what Beron will do with your body," he taunted, "If your mother will even be allowed to mourn you."

The thought hit you like a physical blow, momentarily freezing your movements. In that moment of hesitation, Renard seized the advantage. With a swift and brutal maneuver, he knocked your weapon from your grasp and delivered a fierce blow that sent you sprawling to the ground. Before you could react, he was upon you, gripping your hair and wrenching your arms behind your back, a hold tightening around your throat.

Panic surged through you as you tried desperately to summon your fire, but it wouldn't respond. You tightened your jaw, focusing every ounce of concentration to call forth that spark of heat, cursing the world—the training that was never enough, your father's prevention of you perfecting the skill.

Renard's breath was hot against your ear as you writhed beneath him. He gripped your chin roughly, forcing you to watch as Azriel fought against overwhelming odds. Men surrounded him, their blows raining down on him relentlessly.

"Is this how he had you?" Renard's voice dripped with venom. "From behind?"

You closed your eyes, summoning images of Eris, your mother, Lucien— each face a steadying breath in your mind. When you opened your eyes, your gaze landed on Azriel, surrounded by a sapphire aura that blurred with his swift movements. 

With a surge of willpower, you summoned every ounce of strength, every flicker of fire you could muster. Flames erupted from your hands with a hot burst of energy, startling Renard and giving you a split-second window of opportunity.

You turned around and seized him, your grip iron against his throat as you backed him into a nearby tree. With cold intensity, you stared into Renard's eyes, the flames casting flickering shadows across his face. 

"Don't worry,” you growled, “I won't be gentle."

Within seconds, flames engulfed Renard's throat and face, the heat and light blinding in their intensity. He screamed in agony, thrashing under your grasp, but you held on, firmer and harder each time he flailed.

As the flames dwindled, leaving behind only smoldering ruins, you staggered back, hands trembling and covered in ash and the stench of burnt flesh. But before you could dwell on the burnt remains of Renard that lay at your feet, you spun around to focus on Azriel, still fighting off multiple men, surrounded by the shimmering sapphire light of his power.

Two men stood directly in front of him, while another pair prepared to strike from behind. You glanced down at your hands and screwed your eyes shut for a fleeting moment. When you opened them again, the fire was there—steady and trained. With a fierce determination, you summoned the flames into existence, shaping them swiftly into whips of fire that crackled and danced in the air.

You brought your hands out towards the two men, feeling the fire respond to your command, crackling and whispering with power as it morphed itself at your will. The flames transformed into fiery whips, extending from your outstretched arms like extensions of your fury, connecting with the two bodies threatening Azriel.

The fiery tendrils snaked around their necks like vengeful serpents, searing flesh and scorching hands as the men futilely tried to break free. With agonized screams, they collapsed to the ground. The flames dwindled down to mere embers. When you looked up, Azriel met your gaze, his face bloodied and his leathers splattered with crimson. Shadows writhed around him, dancing on the forest floor towards your feet.

He walked towards you, his eyes shifting to the fallen bodies at your feet. He took in the sight for a moment, gaze focusing on the marred flesh across their throats. Then he blinked and brought his focus to you. "Where's Renard?"

You glanced over to the disfigured body and pile of ash near a tree. Azriel followed your gaze and he blinked once more, his eyes widening as he took in the sight. His lips parted as if to speak, but before he could utter a word, his attention abruptly shifted.

He pulled your body into him, his wing extending protectively in front of you right as a sudden ripping sound tore through the air. You were pushed away from him just in time to witness a thick weapon—a sharp, wide blade welded to a spear—pierce through the membrane of his wing. 

He cried out in agony, falling forward slightly, enough for you to catch the gaze of a lone soldier peering over the apex of his wing. You grabbed a nearby weapon and hurled it with all your might. The blade found its mark, burying itself in the soldier's neck. He collapsed instantly, motionless on the forest floor.

Azriel let out a cry of pain as he ripped the weapon out from his wing, causing it to twitch involuntarily. "C'mon, we need to go," you urged, moving closer to him. With great effort, he tried to adjust himself as you lifted his arm over your shoulder, feeling his weight and warmth press into you.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The journey back to the cabin was a blur of frantic winnowing and determined dragging through the dense forest. Your muscles ached as Azriel’s weight dragged heavily against you, stumbling with every move as the pain in his body grew. He groaned in pain as you lowered him onto the couch, the sound raw and unsettling in the quiet home.

Kneeling beside him, you moved closer to get a better look at the injury on his wing, but Azriel scrambled away from your touch and further into the couch. Your gaze settled on his face— eyes screwed shut, jaw clenched so tightly that you could see the strain in every muscle. His siphons glowed with an intense, flickering light and his shadows seemed to respond to his distress, curling protectively around him. For a moment, you felt a pang of envy. Even in his delirium, he had something to shield him from the world. 

The sight of him like this—so vulnerable, so raw—made your stomach churn. His breathing was ragged, each exhale accompanied by a soft whimper that he seemed to be fighting to suppress. Sweat matted his hair to his forehead, and every so often, he would twitch. 

You always thought that seeing Azriel suffer would make you feel good, make you feel some sort of vindication. Often, you used to imagine it would be you bringing him to his knees in pain, him and the rest of Prythian—making them suffer as you and your family had for centuries. But now, as you watched him writhing in pain on the couch, your heart hurt in a way you had only ever felt for your family—and even worse. You felt like you were in pain too.

But you had no wounds comparable to Azriel. 

A knot tightened in your chest and an unexpected urge surged through you—to comfort him, to wipe the sweat-dampened hair away from his forehead, to ease his torment. You blinked the thought away— nauseating and entirely too heavy for you to acknowledge further. You brought your attention back to his wing.

The membrane was pierced clean through by the weapon, a gaping wound from which blood and darkened poison gushed. The sight made you nauseous and you pushed away the haunting images of your father's face, the sound of leather striking flesh, and the memory of Eris's scarred back.

"I need to burn it out.”

Azriel's eyes shot open. "No, no," he pleaded weakly, his voice strained heavily. "Please."

Your hands hovered uncertainly above him. The first time you’d felt this poison in your wounds, it had felt like your body was eating itself from the inside out. You’d gotten used to the pain after a while, but Azriel was new to it— and Illyrian wings were incredibly sensitive from what you’d learned. He was in blinding pain.

"It's the only way to stop it from spreading," you insisted. "It'll only get worse if I don’t. You won’t be able to heal otherwise."

"That's—that's not how faebane works," he stammered, shaking his head vehemently. 

You gritted your teeth, letting out an exasperated breath as he rambled. "Because it's not faebane–”

Something seemed to snap. Azriel flinched, his eyes snapping to you with a wild intensity. His pupils were blown wide with fear, like a trapped animal. "You set me up."

Your stomach dropped.

"What?" 

You pulled your hand away, feeling an unfamiliar sting of offense wrapping itself around your chest. Azriel’s jaw clenched and his gaze darkened into a dangerous, skeptical narrow. 

"You're not hurt," he continued. "Was this some setup?"

Azriel's shadows flickered and writhed around him, siphons glaring with an iridescent light. He clutched at his injured wing, muttering through gritted teeth, "I knew it. You— you Vanserras."

He spat your family's name with such venom that for a fleeting second you questioned whether poison had lined his mouth rather than the wound on his wing. 

You were a fool. Azriel’s pain shouldn’t have bothered you so deeply. You should have never went back to help him. The hurt boiling under your skin made you feel weak, made you feel small.

"I will never be trusted by you, will I?" you asked, the words weak on your tongue. You looked at him and fought to push that stupid empathy away. Azriel said nothing as he grimaced further in pain. You let out a humorless laugh.

 "Right,” you said, “Deal with it yourself then. Stay here and die for all I care.”

You turned to leave, but his hand shot out and grabbed yours. The grip was firm, but not hard enough to hurt you. He adjusted his fingers around yours. When you looked down, Azriel’s pleading gaze met yours, sweat clinging to his hair as he looked up at you through darkened lashes. "No, no, I'm sorry," he murmured, "Please."

You hesitated. 

A surge of conflicting emotions—anger, hurt, and an unsettling tenderness you didn't want to acknowledge—washed over you.

Pull away. Leave him.  

And then you swallowed down the hatred, the cruelty that had risen, and knelt back down in front of him. He let out a relieved sigh. Your eyes fell to his hands, taking in the scarred tissue covering his skin— deep marks etched by fire and flame. 

"Close your eyes and pretend I’m Morrigan.”

His eyes flickered to you. "What?"

“Azriel,” You took a deep breath, training your eyes on him. "I need you to trust me. And since you don’t—close your eyes and pretend that I’m not me."

Your voice was gentler than you’d ever heard it, softer than you ever thought yourself capable of.  Azriel swallowed hard, then gave a small nod. His eyes shuttered closed.

You gently placed your palm on his injured wing, feeling the delicate membrane beneath your touch. Your other fingers trembled slightly as you summoned Eris' voice into your mind, calling upon that familiar heat and flicker as the flame began to rise through your hands. You struggled to keep it steady, each breath becoming more labored as you bit back your frustration.

Slowly, soft tendrils of shadows began weaving around your hand– a soft, cooling touch that made you blink. They drifted over you, calming the flickering flame to a steady warmth.  You took a deep breath and cautiously brought your fingers to the wound.

As the fire met his skin, Azriel tensed, a strangled sound escaping his throat. You could feel the poison reacting to the heat, the black substance dissipating under your fingertips.

"I can do this," you murmured, more for your own benefit than his. "It’ll be alright."

You weren’t sure if he could hear you, but you kept talking, hoping that your voice might anchor him to something other than his pain. It always helped you when Eris told you it would be alright, when he talked to you as he tended to your wounds, gently, tenderly, lovingly. 

You focused solely on the task at hand, blocking out the rest of your thoughts and the tightness in your chest. Finally, when you felt the last remnants of poison retreat, you withdrew your hand, the flames extinguishing with a final flicker.

Azriel’s breathing, though still ragged, had eased from the strained gasps earlier. Encouraged by this small sign, you withdrew your hand, a quiet smile of satisfaction tugging at your lips.

Looking down at Azriel, who had slipped into unconsciousness, you took a deep breath. "Thank you," you whispered to the shadows that continued to hover around you. For a moment, you felt silly for speaking to something so intangible— to things that probably didn’t even understand. Yet, as if in response, they slithered back toward Azriel, settling near the crook of his neck.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel’s eyelids felt heavy as he finally came to, his surroundings blurry and unfamiliar. 

It took him a few moments to orient himself, to remember where he was. He noticed three things first: it was nighttime, and a gentle moonlight bathed the space he was in; he was covered in a thin orange blanket, the fabric soft and worn, smelling faintly of pine and something sweet; and he was no longer in the agonizing pain he had succumbed to earlier.

Azriel shifted slightly, grimacing as a dull ache radiated from his wing. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to sit up, the blanket sliding off his shoulders. He glanced at his wing, noting the faint hole where the gaping wound had been. He extended it in a light stretch, feeling a slight sting, but it was bearable. Healable. His mind replayed the events leading up to this moment, your voice echoing in his thoughts—soft, concerned, saying his name. 

Pretend I’m Morrigan.

He had nodded, closed his eyes— but he hadn’t pretended. It was you kneeling beside him, not Mor.

Azriel's gaze wandered around the room. His shadows had left their original position, perched and curled around the apex of his wings, and now seemed to be leading him across the small living area. He frowned, his boots heavy against the aged floors as he followed them past the wooden table— he pushed away memories of you bent over the furniture, shaking his head as he approached a small bookshelf tucked in the corner. 

The shelves were adorned with an assortment of well-loved books, spines worn from what Azriel could only assume were countless readings. His shadows hovered near the middle shelf, where something caught his eye—a slight indentation in the wood, partially concealed by the darkness they casted.

As he drew closer, the shadows dissipated, revealing a carving etched into the wood—

L.V., Y/N. V. 

Azriel blinked, brows furrowing as he inspected the letters further. He traced the letters with his fingers, feeling the rough wood against his scarred, ridged skin. 

You had mentioned offhandedly that you kept in contact with Lucien, that you visited the Spring Court. But he hadn’t given the statement any further thought.

He glanced around the room. 

The space seemed to come alive around him, details he had previously overlooked now asserting their presence. He had never paid proper attention to the home, never questioned why it seemed to be so oddly clean, why you favored it so much. His fingers hovered over the initials once more.

Y/N. V. 

Glancing down at his shadows, they stilled momentarily before slithering across the floor, guiding his gaze towards the doorway. There, through the windowpane, he caught sight of you standing a short distance away from the house, beneath the starlit sky.

Azriel approached the door with cautious steps, ensuring every footfall was quiet– undetected. He reached out, his shadows wrapping around the door handle to muffle any noise it might make. With a gentle push, he swung the door open just wide enough to slip through, his shadows ensuring the hinges made no sound, either. Leaning against the sturdy frame, he allowed the darkness to envelop him further, becoming one with its comforting embrace as he observed you in the distance.

From this vantage point, he watched you, bathed in the soft light that painted the sky with a silvery hue. A gentle breeze stirred, ruffling a few strands of your hair and carrying your faint, familiar scent to him. Sweet with a hint of spice, a smell that he’d grown used to recently. There's an emotion woven into it that he can’t decipher, and for a brief moment, it frustrated him. You seemed at odds. Peaceful, in this night air, but stiff. 

There was a tightening in his chest. 

Seeing you now, basking in the moonlight as the cold air licked at him, Azriel wondered if you were the same Y/N he had so violently hated. Could someone so cruel enjoy the light of the moon? Did his other enemies also watch the stars?

“How long are you going to stand there and stare at me?”

Azriel stiffened and a heat rose to his cheeks. He looked down at his shadows in accusation. Maybe they had betrayed him, not covered his approach adequately. He glanced back up, meeting your gaze as you looked over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

Azriel waited for it— the expected glare, the indifference, or even a cruel smile. Something foreign, something that aligned with the adversarial image he held of you. But it didn't come. There was no hostility, no cruelty, no snark. Only a softness reminiscent of one that he had seen those in his family hold many times before. It caught him off guard.

You snickered softly. "I can feel your stare burning a hole into my dress."

Azriel swallowed and cleared his throat, willing himself to regain composure as he walked towards you. You turned to face him, arms crossed, eyes flicking to his wing.

"You don't look like death anymore," you remarked, a faint hint of amusement in your tone.

Azriel offered a wry smile. "I suppose I have you to thank for that." He paused, searching for the right words. He had too many questions in his mind— too many thoughts floating around, headless, bodiless. 

— You had called him by his name. You had been here with Lucien. You left and you came back. He shielded you with his wing. You healed him. You stayed. You watched the stars. 

Crickets chirped, and a soft breeze rustled the leaves overhead. Azriel's mind wandered to the initials carved into the wood.

"This was your home," he finally said, his voice quiet. "With Lucien."

Your head snapped towards him, eyes widened and lips parting in surprise. "What?"

Azriel simply looked at you, taking in the contours of your face, the way the moonlight painted soft shadows on your features. You had always been attractive, dangerously, irritatingly so. But you looked softer in this light. Someone more approachable, more real—someone he could dare to care for.

Someone he cared for enough to protect.

"Am I right?" he asked again, his voice steady.

You glanced back at the modest house. With a small sigh, you met his gaze briefly before your eyes looked down, unfocused. 

“It was Lucien’s.”

Azriel remained quiet, steading his breath as your eyes met his again. The normal simmering rage within them was replaced now with a distant sadness. 

"After Lucien fled Autumn, Tamlin had this made for him," you continued, gesturing subtly towards the house. "A place close enough to the border that Eris could sneak me to. A place for me to see Lucien, to stay with him when it was possible."

Azriel’s chest tightened further. This wasn't a Spring Court citizens home— it was yours. He thought back to the first time he’d found you here, how bitter you had seemed when you talked of its emptiness. To you, Feyre had taken away the only place you had to escape— when Lucien was forced to flee from another court, when Hybern took advantage of a weakened Spring.

"Why risk sneaking away constantly? Why not seek refuge like Lucien did?" 

Your face seemed to harden briefly at his question, a flicker of defensiveness crossing your features. "I could have," you replied, your tone tinged with a hint of regret as you offered a shrug. "Lucien begged me to."

"Yet you stayed. In Autumn.”

You tilted your chin to look at him properly, meeting his eyes with an intense, burrowing gaze. 

“Would you leave your family? Your court?" 

"My court is not known for its cruelty." 

The words slipped out almost automatically, like a response that had been trained in your presence. He cursed himself inwardly. Something flashed in your eyes and your jaw twitched imperceptibly.  For a brief moment, he braced himself for the anticipated flash of anger, the potential for conflict that could leave him stranded in this spot he now believed himself tethered to. 

But you only raised a brow. 

"Isn't it, though?" you retorted with a slight snicker.  "The all-powerful and brutal Rhysand, feared High Lord of the Night Court."

Azriel bit back the discomfort at the sound of Rhysands name, at the way you disregarded his title so flippantly. He took a deep inhale, and you recognized the action as the response that it was. 

"Autumn is my home.”

The freckles on your face seemed more visible in the moonlight. All the times he'd been with you, the weeks spent meeting you, fucking you, he couldn't remember a proper conversation, face to face, that had lasted this long without a cruel, vile insult. He found it hard to picture you in Autumn anymore, to see you alongside your other brothers, alongside Beron. The image of you among the autumn leaves, your fire-red hair blending with the fiery landscape, felt almost surreal now.

“It was Lucien's too."

“No.” You shook your head gently, a rueful smile touching your lips. “Lucien spent most of his life in other courts. He was always too kind for us. Him and his large heart were destined to leave. A bleeding heart in Autumn gets you nothing but a loss of blood."

You looked like Lucien now, more so than Azriel had seen before. The snark of Eris was still there, the same guarded, calculated movements— even the still, low cadence of your voice, like a practiced talent. Seemingly emotionless despite the topic of conversation.

Seemingly.

Gods, he hated how much you looked like Lucien now.

Because Lucien was fair. Just. Lucien had every reason, as Azriel was beginning to see like you had, to hate him. He'd gone after his mate, had rushed to prove himself in a battle to the death, hadn’t thought about Lucien as a life, as a person, beyond an adversary standing in front of a prize he wanted—that was what Elain had been. A prize. Something he wanted to deserve. Something to prove he was good.

But Lucien was kind. Lucien was diplomatic, good with people. Lucien had won Elain over with his patience, with that good heart you spoke of.

Azriel studied you, wondering how much of Lucien’s qualities you had in you that he had refused to acknowledge. That heart—it was there, beneath the layers of bitterness and guardedness. He had seen glimpses of it tonight, in the way you tended to his wounds, in the way your voice softened despite the hatred you held so deeply, so fiercely. 

He found himself wondering, not for the first time, what you could have been had you left with Lucien.

Azriel cleared his throat. “So you stayed.”

You held his gaze for a moment. He wondered if you were deciding whether to answer, waited anxiously to see whether this openness of yours would vanish. 

"I couldn't leave my mother. I couldn't leave Eris."

Azriel opened his mouth— to say what, he wasn’t sure. But you beat him to it.

"And besides that," you added, your tone shifting slightly, "I fit. You're the one who's talked about my cruelty. I belong in Autumn."

A familiar hardness began returning to your expression. He could see it building, a wall of cold resolve. Your arms tightened around yourself, nails digging into your biceps. You were cruel—this was a fact he knew well. Cruel, calculated, and dangerous for him. Yet, despite all this, an inexplicable urge to apologize welled up within him. 

He had always known getting involved with you was a bad idea. He had rationalized it as a way to fulfill his urges, telling himself that fucking you was the path of least resistance compared to killing you. One option provided a release, the other would only escalate into more chaos. But now, as he stood here, the realization hit him: perhaps it was more dangerous than he had thought. Perhaps he had been dipping into something more addictive than he realized, and now he couldn’t think straight.

Why had he protected you with his wing?

You glanced back at the house, your gaze softening, body relaxing. "I don't think Lucien ever truly got over that," you whispered, almost to yourself. "The hurt that came from his belief that I had chosen my cruel brother over my kind one."

It felt like an admission not meant for Azriel, like you hadn’t realized you’d confessed it out loud. You blinked and the flicker of vulnerability he had seen was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the guarded expression he had come to know.

"But that's not the truth,” Azriel said.

You met his gaze again. Years of sacrifice and loyalty that bound you to a life you never chose. A curved smile touched your lips, a mask slipping back into place— so easily, so swiftly, it almost made him sick. 

"People believe the stories that make the most sense to them. I'd say you're more than familiar with that habit, Shadowsinger."

Azriel's brows furrowed as he straightened, instinctively pulling his wings closer. A small ache radiated from his injured wing, and his mind drifted back to the wound. His shadows coiled protectively around him. Through their whisperings he felt an inexplicable urge to ask, "How did you know it wasn't faebane?"

You looked at him, your expression unreadable. With a nonchalant shrug, you replied, "Lucky guess."

He shook his head. "Do not lie to me."

“I don’t take orders from you.” Your jaw tightened, a flicker of defiance danced in your eyes. "And does it matter? You're healed. You’re welcome. Move on.”

"It matters," he insisted, his voice firm. "How did you know it wasn't faebane? That you needed to burn it out?"

You sighed in irritation. "You're supposed to be smart. Why do you think I knew?"

Azriel's heart pounded. He did know. Deep down, he knew the answer, but he needed to hear it from you. "How did you know?" he pressed.

You looked away, a dry laugh escaping your lips. Shaking your head, you said, "Faebane became useless to my father when an antidote was created for it."

Azriel's brows furrowed further, a sick feeling churning in his stomach. His fists curled at his sides as he asked, "What does that mean?"

A bitter smile twisted your lips as you met his gaze again. "He needed something else to make his punishments effective. So he created a new type of poison, similar to faebane. You can burn it out, which he loves. It's like a fun game for him—inflict the wound, heal it with even more pain, just to do it all over again."

Azriel's shadows seemed to still, softening in their movements. He fought the urge to keep them close, feeling them drift away towards the night air, towards you.

He scanned you with a burning gaze. He’d never noticed any scarring before, but then again, he'd only ever seen you from the back, your dress hitched up to your waist as he rutted into you from behind.  A tightness in his chest made him feel sick.

"I'm sorry," Azriel whispered before he even realized what he was saying, the honesty in his voice surprising even himself. Azriel didn’t apologize. He never did. Even when he should’ve.

You let out a wicked, cold snicker. "Don't go soft on me, Shadowsinger. We both know you're not really sorry. Just like your brute brother wasn't sorry when he figured out the same thing about Eris."

He shivered at the tone of your voice— a bite stronger than the night air that surrounded you both. His fists tightened at his sides as an image of Cassian came into his mind. He felt a rush of two things: blinding rage and blistering guilt. You had no right to call Cass a brute— Cass was a good brother, a loyal brother. And he and Azriel had talked about Eris, had talked about your brother, how little they cared about his punishments. The guilt bubbled up faster than the anger did, swallowing the rage entirely. 

The nighttime air felt suffocating now, pressing against his skin. As if you sensed it too, a cough escaped your lips, breaking the silence that had settled between you as Azriel observed you further. 

"That's enough sweet talk for me. I'll be leaving now," you declared, making a move to step away. Azriel intercepted your path, stepping in front of you with a determined stance.

You shot him a pointed glare. "I can just winnow away. You are aware of this, yes?"

Azriel ignored you, his gaze fixed on you as he searched your face for the answer to a question he didn’t know how to ask. 

"You left me earlier," he said.

You rolled your eyes, an incredulous scoff leaving your curved lips. “Gods, what is this, an exit interrogation? I just saved your ass and—”

He cut you off. “Earlier. When Renard ambushed us. You left.”

"Yes, Azriel, I did," you replied evenly.

The sound of his name seemed to cause a ripple, almost imperceptible, through the shadows around him. He flinched slightly and his stomach twisted into a small, tight knot. Azriel. 

Azriel's eyes darted between yours. “And then you came back.”

He could sense your growing annoyance, could see the simmering flame in your darkened eyes, the tightening of your hands.

"Are we summarizing the events of tonight?" 

He ignored you. “Why?”

"I'm not doing this with you," you shot back, frustration lacing your words as you attempted to push past him. But Azriel moved with a swiftness that caused a small sound of surprise to leave your lips. His strong grip closed around your arm, halting your movements and pulling you back into him.

Now, you were standing close, barely an inch separating your bodies. He could feel the heat of your body radiating against his and the faintest hint of a question lingered in his gaze. His shadows wrapped around your arm.

“Why?”

Your eyes locked with his and you sucked in a breath. "Because you're no use to me if you're dead.”

Azriel's thoughts raced. He hadn't meant those words when he said them, either. 

His shadows whispered things he couldn't quite focus on, their murmurs blending into the background as all he saw was you—so close to him. Someone who could have left him for dead. If Renard's men hadn't taken him so off guard, the poison would have. But you helped him, even after he insulted you, accused you of setting him up.

You looked like Lucien. You looked like Lady Autumn. You looked like Eris. But for the first time, you didn't look like someone he hated. 

"You are not Beron," Azriel said, his voice rough like gravel. He watched as your brows furrowed, your lips falling into a slight frown. "I should never have compared you to him. You are not your father.”

He could see the conflict in your eyes, darting across his face as you began to fall lax in his touch.

"And you're not your brother either," he added quietly.

The words felt like a confession from his lips, as if he was saying something besides the actual words he uttered. 

You blinked, staring at him as you pulled away slightly. Confusion flickered in his expression, his hand hovering where you had been in his hold. You took another step back.

"I am not my father," you affirmed, your voice steady. "I'm loyal. And I'm smart. And—" Your voice faltered. "And I get those things from Eris.”

Azriel stiffened, feeling his shadows tighten around him involuntarily as he watched you. He saw the softness fade from your face, replaced by a steely determination that caused a pang in his chest. You shook your head slightly, swallowed hard, and locked eyes with him.

"I am exactly like my brother. It's one of the things I'm most proud of.”

Before Azriel could respond, before he could even make a move toward you, you turned on your heel and were gone. The night swallowed you up, leaving him standing alone amidst the whispering shadows, grappling with the sickening vulnerability that washed over him like a wave. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

IM BACK BABIES AND IM WRITIN LIKE ITS A FULL TIME JOB

ill make parts shorter i swear (actually....will i???) but alas.... azzie baby has been hit in the face with the beginning of his FEELINGS!!!!

also, in case you wanna SEE our angsty hate-love birds, the super talented @micahssketchbook has sketched them not ONCE, but twice!!

The scene in part three where Azriel has reader in a chokehold and she pulls one on his ass by taking Truth-Teller

and what theyre about to be like in future parts with Az caressing readers face!!

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters

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[wintrwinchestr]

strangers | part 2

summary: nearly a month has passed since you agreed to go to california with joel, and you think you might love him. you trust him, and he makes you feel cared for and safe, but he hasn't been telling you the whole truth. eventually, you make a shocking discovery that makes him feel like a stranger to you all over again.

!!PLEASE READ WARNINGS, THIS IS A VERY DARK FIC!!

I've tried to label this fic as detailed and as boldly as possible. I will not be held responsible or bullied off the internet if you choose to read this potentially upsetting/triggering work of fiction anyway.

warnings: joel miller x f!reader, 18+, smut, age gap (reader is college-aged, joel is mid-50s), no outbreak au, serial killer!joel, dark!joel, DDDNE (graphic descriptions of blood, murder, and of captive/dead girls, non-con p-in-v sex (i'll say rape just in case but reader does not explicitly express non-consent), being held captive, degrading language toward victims/victim blaming, joel is implied to fantasize that you're dead while fucking you, kind of stockholm syndrome), non-con breathplay/choking, mommy & daddy issues, lying, gaslighting, coercion, manipulation, pet names (baby, darlin', sweetheart, babydoll, etc), no ellie/sarah but tommy has an unnamed daughter, somewhat inspired by "strangers" by ethel cain, vaguely set in the 70s/80s, please respectfully let me know if i missed anything and i will rectify the tags

word count: 8.1k

a/n: this is the second part. if the tags deter you from reading that's okay, just pretend joel and reader made it to california and they lived happily ever after. i understand i've written something dark and heavy and it isn't for everyone, you are welcome on my blog whether it's for you or not as long as everyone is respectful of each other <3

divider by @saradika

series masterlist/moodboard

read this chapter on ao3

part 3 (coming soon)

As the breeze begins to carry a chill that bites without the protection of a jacket or one of Joel’s flannels, the two of you have been spending the last month or so trying to outrun Autumn altogether as you make your way to California. You’ve crossed more state lines now than you ever could’ve imagined you would, and you and Joel have even made a game out of trying to spot the license plate of the farthest state away from wherever you are. He was impressed when you had recently managed to spot an Alaska plate in fucking Kansas, of all places. 

You spend your days visiting cheesy tourist traps and collecting cheap souvenirs from their gift shops, and your nights in motels or in his truck or in goddamn gas station bathrooms tangled up in each other’s bodies, unable to keep your hands off each other. The seal had finally broken just a few days after you had agreed to go to California with him, when he had laid his hand on your knee while he was driving, and you didn’t stop him from sliding it higher and higher, his fingers eventually making their way between your thighs and gently rubbing your clit through your shorts. Joel would’ve been content to play with your pussy just like that, pinching at your little nub and dipping his fingers into your drooling hole as he drove, but the noises you were making were driving him fucking insane. He had pulled off into a wooded area and instructed you to climb into the backseat, where he had shoved himself inside of you for the first time and fucked you until you saw stars. You never made it to wherever it was you were headed to that afternoon, deciding instead to just call it a day and spend the rest of it covered in each other’s sweat and come and breathing heavily into each other’s necks. 

You’ve seen new parts of Joel in other ways, too, in the time that you’ve been traveling with him. He’s been opening up to you, slowly but surely, as the weeks go on. You did eventually remember to ask him about that song you couldn’t quite make out at Moody’s, humming the bit of the chorus you could remember for him in hopes that he’d recognize it.

“I think I know the one, darlin’. Should have it on cassette somewhere here, ‘s called Alone and Forsaken, think it’s by Hank Williams. Hadn’t heard that one in a while, ‘s a winner, though,” he’d said.

You’d rifled through the contents of the glove box and pulled it out, excitedly swapping the tape with the one in the player and pressing the button on the dash to start the song. Joel’s fingers had begun to tap against the wheel immediately, and he seemed to relax at the sound of the guitar’s steady strumming. You had just watched him as the song played, admiring the subtle movements of the muscles in his face as he’d hummed along.

But he’d noticed your staring, after a while, and teased, “Y’know, really shouldn’t look at a man like that, babydoll. Might give ‘im some ideas.”

Babydoll. That was new, too. It had become his new favorite pet name for you, bestowed upon you when he had offered you another dress to wear from the stash of clothing belonging to Tommy’s daughter that he keeps under his backseat. Joel had told you eventually that he’d fibbed about his relationship with Tommy, just a little bit, and that he hasn’t actually seen him or his kid in quite some time. “Just kinda grew apart after a while, stopped keepin’ up with each other,” Joel had explained. “Jus’ never quite got around to gettin’ rid of all that stuff, I guess.”

You certainly didn’t mind having something new to wear, especially something as pretty as the little pink dress that got you your new name. Joel had looked at you hungrily when you’d first tried it on, raking his eyes up and down your form as you twirled for him.

“So pretty, sweetheart. Look just like a lil’ babydoll in that, don’t you?” Joel had complimented.

You’d giggled at the nickname, becoming shy as he’d stalked towards you and used a hooked finger to lift up your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his own. “Like that one, do ya? Like bein’ my babydoll, all mine?”

You’d sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, your brows peaked with need as your eyes had begun to glaze over from his gentle dominance. It had never taken much from him to make you start feeling a little floaty, even early on, ready to fall into his arms so he could make you gush onto his fingers or his cock or his tongue.

You’d nodded your head all syrupy and slow, making a little whimpering sound in affirmation.

“Say it,” he’d whispered, the hand propping up your chin slowly finding its way down to your neck, where it always seemed to land in your moments of intimacy. Joel had never really asked you if you liked it there or not, if you liked it when he squeezed your throat just right until your vision became spotty and your breath came out pinched and raspy, but you had learned to like it, to crave that guidance and control from him. He’d never taken it too far, just brought you teetering over the edge of unconsciousness, then allowed you to fill your lungs with air again. 

“I like it, Joel, like being yours…”

“Yeah… ‘n you’re gonna be mine forever, huh? Never gonna leave my side, always gonna belong to me, ain’t that right?” His grip on your windpipe had begun to tighten as he questioned you.

“Forever… ‘m yours, Joel…” you’d promised through a hoarse whisper.

A growl had rumbled from deep in Joel’s chest at your choked words, and he’d quickly let go of your throat to spin you around and shove you face-first into the creaking motel mattress, flipping up the skirt of your little babydoll dress and showing you just how pretty he thought you looked in it. “Mine, mine, mine,” he’d chanted as he caged you in with his heavy form, slamming inside of your aching cunt until you cried out, shuddering around him as he spilled inside of you. 

He calls you babydoll almost exclusively now, like it’s your actual name. Your everyday clothing consists almost entirely of frilly dresses and tiny tops and tight shorts from the supply in Joel’s truck, with maybe a few items he picks out for you at the occasional Goodwill mixed in. He’s made it so that you never have to think for yourself ever again, taking care of everything for you from picking out your outfits to ordering for you at the diners. All you have to worry about is being good, being his, his perfect little doll, and he says that you deserve a life as easy as this, that it’s the least he can do for you in exchange for your company, for being so good for him.

Joel does allow you to use your brain for some things, still, like bombarding him with the questions you’d begun stashing away in your mind all those weeks ago. Some of them he still answers vaguely, like where the scar on his nose came from, or if he’d been married before, or what his life was like before he met you. But sometimes you can get a story out of him, and it always feels like you’ve won the lottery when you’re able to get him talking. After the Hank Williams cassette had finished playing that day, you’d decided to ask him what he’d wanted to be when he grew up. 

He’d thought about it for a second, and then laughed at himself. “‘F I tell you, I don’t wanna hear any gigglin’ outta you over there, ‘s that clear?”

“I can’t promise you that if I don’t know what you’re gonna tell me. If you say, like, a rodeo clown or something, I’m gonna laugh.”

Joel had just glared at you, and you’d rolled your eyes.

“Fine, I won’t laugh, I promise. Just tell me.”

“Alright…” Joel had sighed. “I wanted to be a singer, actually. Believe it or not.”

You had almost started crying right then, the visual of a little Joel all those years ago wanting to grow up and become a singer being almost too much to bear. 

“Awe, Joel… You can sing? Can you—”

“No, I ain’t gonna sing for you. Don’t even ask, babydoll.”

Joel had seemed adamant about that at the time, but just a few days later when a violent thunderstorm was blowing through the town you’d stopped in for the night, you’d woken him up when you couldn’t fall asleep, and asked him in a trembling voice if he would sing for you. He’d just grunted and rolled back over at first, but you’d kept quietly begging him, and he eventually gave in to your little frightened sounding pleas. You’d rested your head against his chest as he stroked your hair and sang Alone and Forsaken for you a few times over, until the soothing sound of his voice and the quiet thumping of his heartbeat had lulled you back to sleep. The thunder had eventually retreated when it realized you weren’t scared of it anymore, now feeling safe and protected in Joel’s arms. 

He could only take so much more questioning from you after a while, though, until he decided it was about time for you to reveal more of yourself to him, and you’d thought that was fair. You’d spent a whole afternoon in the truck one day telling him about how your dad had passed away when you were still in high school, and how you’d always wished he could’ve seen you walk across the stage at graduation and go off to college. How he was the one who’d even encouraged you to go in the first place, when you hadn’t felt smart enough or good enough at anything to ever find the pursuit worthwhile. But he’d always been supportive of your artistic endeavors, the ones your mom had always called ‘useless’ and ‘a waste of time’ and ‘nothing that could ever amount to a real job’. Your dad had tried his best to make you believe otherwise, always proudly displaying your work around the house when your mother would allow it, and even framing some of it for his office. It was devastating when he had passed, but at least you felt you could make him proud in some way, by deciding to pursue a degree in art at the nearby state school. But then your mother had ruined your chances of ever finishing the program, and, well… here you are now. 

After you’d finished your story, Joel had comforted you just like he always did, promising to find you a sketchbook and some pencils at the next town you came across so you could keep nurturing your talents. He’d made good on his word, and now your time on the road is often spent sketching Joel, his cassettes, the mountains, anything you see that sparks inspiration and demands to be committed to paper.

Today, the two of you are on your way to see the world’s largest something or other in New Mexico, and you’ve become determined to etch a drawing onto every page of your book by the time you reach California. You’ve sketched just about everything in the truck at this point, and different tries at capturing Joel’s handsome side profile already take up more than half of the pages that you’ve filled out so far. You begin scouring the cabin of the truck, searching for something new you can draw. You eventually try bending forward to look under the bench seat, just in case you can find a crumpled up candy wrapper or something, but an even more interesting object catches your eye, tucked just behind Joel’s legs. It looks like an old shoebox, maybe containing some more tapes or things belonging to Tommy’s kid. You try to reach over to Joel’s side of the bench seat to grab it, and he almost swerves the truck off the road when he notices what you’re doing.

“What’re you…? Don’t touch that, babydoll, jus’ leave it alone,” he scolds.

You sit up straight again, taken aback by his tone. “Why? I was just looking for something new to draw, thought there might be something in there.”

“It’s just junk in there, baby, nothin’ you’d much be interested in,” Joel says, his grip on the steering wheel becoming more white-knuckled.

“So? I can’t draw some old junk?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Joel sighs in frustration. “‘Cause I said so, babydoll, Christ. Just leave it be, I’ll throw it out next time we stop. Find somethin’ else to draw.”

“Okay… ‘M sorry,” you respond timidly.

“‘S alright, sweet girl. ‘M sorry too, shouldn’ta yelled at you like that. Just… tryin’ to drive here, don’t want you reachin’ behind my legs and shit, ain’t safe.”

You just nod, popping open the glove compartment for the hundredth time in hopes that there could be something in there that you’d missed before. There isn’t, so you decide to pluck out that Hank Williams tape and sketch it again, humming the song to yourself in an attempt at self-soothing as you begin to outline the shape of it. It seems like a bad time to ask Joel to sing it for you again, but if you’re good for the rest of the day and make up for your earlier mistake, maybe you could hear it again tonight.

—

You’re just finishing up your sketch a half hour or so later, when Joel decides it’s time to stop for gas. You glance over at the fuel gauge on the dash, and it looks like the truck still has half a tank left, but you decide not to say anything about it. Just like he’d said when you had first reached for the shoebox, Joel swipes it from underneath the seat as he exits the truck, tossing it haphazardly into the trash can by the gas pump. 

“Dammit,” you hear him curse to himself, and you look out the window to see him staring angrily at the empty pocket inside of his wallet where cash should be. Joel opens up the passenger side door to explain, “Forgot I used up the last o’ my cash on dinner last night. Just… stay here, babydoll, gotta head inside ‘n use the ATM quick, alright?”

You nod obediently, and watch him take long strides toward the convenience store before disappearing inside. 

He’ll only be gone for a few minutes at the most, so you know that you have to make your move now. You’ve never had Joel bark at you before like he’d done when you had reached for that beat up cardboard box, and you still feel a little rattled by it. What could possibly have been in there that he didn’t want you to see? For the first time, you feel like you might not be able to trust him, and it makes you feel a little sick. You’ve started to feel like you might love Joel, and you think he probably feels the same way, even if you haven’t said those exact three words to each other yet. Someone who loves you wouldn’t hide things from you, would they? Especially not after you’ve already bared so much of your souls to each other, after you’ve decided that you belong to each other.

There’s only one way to find out, you decide.

You exit the truck quietly, swiftly closing the short distance between you and the trash can and peering into the black plastic bag that lines it. You fish out the shoebox from where it lays on top of other garbage, and crouch down in front of the gas pump to hide yourself from view. Taking a steadying breath, you carefully remove the weathered lid from the box and begin to examine its contents. At first glance, it seems to just be full of washed-out polaroids and a few random objects—a tarnished charm bracelet, a fraying ribbon, and a cracked pair of glasses among them. What is all this stuff? You think to yourself, Keepsakes from his former life, more of Tommy’s daughter’s things that he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of yet?

You pick up a photo laying face down on top of the pile and turn it over, almost immediately dropping it back into the box in favor of clapping your hand over your open mouth. You shut your eyes tightly as they begin to water, hoping that when you open them again, you’ll find that you were wrong about what you had just seen. That it was just a trick of the light, that it wasn’t what it seemed, that you had just imagined it.

But you aren’t so fortunate.

Your heart plummets into your stomach as you peer inside the box again, a sickly feeling of dread beginning to claw its way up the back of your neck. You examine the photo more closely, and it appears to be of a girl who looks about your age, bound at the hands, gagged, and naked. She’s kneeling on the damp forest floor, staring up at the photographer with a defeated, glazed-over expression. She’s bruised, bleeding from her nose, and filthy, with her hair tangled in knots and mascara-stained tears running down her cheeks. The photo looks to have captured her last moments alive. 

One by one, you quickly examine a dozen or so more photos as your pulse hammers hard in your throat. Each of them are nearly identical, all depicting a pretty early twenty-something, either restrained and begging for her life or already dead. They all have dates scribbled on the front that are spaced out a mere couple of weeks from each other, with the names of the girls written on the backs of them. To your horror, you notice that some of the polaroids even have bloody fingerprints staining their white frames. It seems impossible that Joel could be the one who took these photos, that he could be the one to reduce these young girls to nothing more than weak puddles of tears and blood. You begin desperately trying to convince yourself that this is all part of a fucked-up nightmare you’re moments away from waking up from, until a photo containing a bright flash of white catches your eye. You can’t help how your face contorts into a grimace when you examine the photo closer, your stomach lurching at the sight of the amount of blood spilling from the back of the girl’s head as she lays lifeless on a wooden floor. All that she’s wearing are her underwear and a white tank top, the ditsy floral pattern of which you could swear you’ve seen before.

You don’t understand why it looks so familiar to you until you spread around more of the polaroids in the box, and spot one capturing a girl tied up and gagged on a motel bed, wearing a baby pink dress that grotesquely juxtaposes the depravity of her situation. She has wide, pleading doe eyes and ribbons finishing the ends of each of her braids that kind of make her look like… a doll.

The realization hits you all at once, that nearly all of the clothes Joel has given you since the day you met him had never belonged to Tommy’s daughter at all, if he even has one, if Tommy even really exists. You’d been wearing Anna’s white tank top with the delicate floral print. Elizabeth’s pink babydoll dress. Even the clothes you have on now probably belonged to some of Joel’s victims, but you don’t think you can stand to find out which ones. 

Your thoughts begin to spiral out of control, an irrational part of your brain working overtime to come up with a million reasons why this can’t be true, that there has to be some other explanation for what you’re seeing, until you pick up a final photo, where the sleeve of Joel’s drab olive flannel is clearly visible in the corner. The shirt is tattered at the cuffs in the exact way that Joel’s is, and it has the same terracotta striping woven through the plaid pattern. Emerging from the bottom of the sleeve is a tanned, thick hand, wrapped tightly around a pale, fragile neck, with some of the girl’s blonde ringlet curls poking through the gaps between his fingers. When you flip over the photo, your blood runs cold when you read the name inscribed on the back—Ruby.

Your tears begin to fall then. How strange, how cruel, that fate has led you here, lured you straight to him. Someone that you thought you knew, trusted, loved, who’s suddenly a stranger to you all over again. You’ve just been doomed from the start, haven’t you? All along, it was Joel who had been responsible for building the trap you’ve found yourself ensnared in now. Ruby hadn’t run away at all that summer, hadn’t found a place she belonged, a place to start a real life for herself, a place to see her unlimited potential finally fulfilled. She’d met Joel, and he’d restricted her existence to nothing more than a polaroid that he keeps in a fucking shoebox under the seat of his truck. All along, this is where she’d been. 

You feel like throwing up. You’re reeling, completely horrified and sick to your stomach, your life as you had just come to know it having come crashing down around you in an instant. You quickly replace the lid on the box and throw it back into the trash can, hopefully never to be seen again. You scramble back inside the truck just in time for the convenience store door to swing open again, the little bell accompanying the movement sounding sharp and sinister as it announces Joel’s imminent arrival. Your pulse pounds erratically against your ribcage as you try to act as naturally as possible, forcing your shaking hands to look like they’re busy adding the finishing touches to your latest sketch. 

You don’t look at Joel as he approaches the truck, and he doesn’t seem to pay you much attention, either. He leans against the hood casually once he feeds the bills into the pump, letting the tank fill the rest of the way up with gas. You have to come up with an escape plan now, before your poorly disguised agitation gives you away and he figures out what you’ve seen. 

When his task is finished, Joel climbs back into the driver’s seat exhales a deep breath, like he feels relieved to have finally discarded the evidence so you’d never find out the truth about him. You’re determined to keep him clueless for as long as you can.

“Ready to keep goin’, babydoll? Should only be another hour or so ‘fore we get to the next stop,” he asks, reaching over to you to gently tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. You flinch away from his touch instinctually, then silently curse yourself for already doing such a shitty job at keeping up your facade.

“A-actually, um…” You swallow hard. “I’m kinda g-getting a headache, it really hurts. And I feel really s-sick. Is it okay if we just… go straight to a motel? I just wanna… lay down,” you lie, screwing up your face into a pained wince and wrapping your arms around your stomach in an effort to make it all more convincing.

“Oh, you poor thing…” Joel coos, placing the back of his hand against your forehead. “Y’ do feel kinda hot… Sure, darlin’. Think there’s a place not too much further down the road here, jus’ hang tight.”

“T-thank you,” you reply weakly. Your voice is coming out a little uneven, but you hope it just adds to the believability of your act instead of raising suspicion. You try to cover it up with a cough and a little pained groan, just for good measure.

Joel doesn’t waste any more time getting back on the road, and you stay quiet for the short ride to the nearest motel, doing your best to hold back your tears and even out your breathing. You’ll need to be calm and clear-headed in order to have any chance at escape, lest you want to meet the same fate as the dozens of other girls who were probably also blinded by Joel’s southern charm and good looks, who were manipulated by his lies and tricked into believing that he could give them a happy ending. Was he ever going to let you see California? Or had he been leading you to your death all along?

You’re going to be the one who lives. For Ruby, you have to be. For all of them.

—

Just like the first night you’d spent with him, Joel has you wait in the truck while he checks in at the counter and retrieves the keys to your room before coming back to get you. You fake a stumble when you step down from the truck, and Joel mumbles a ‘Jesus, babydoll’ before hoisting you into his arms and carrying you across the room’s threshold, setting you down softly onto the bed.

“Whaddya need, sweet girl? Water? Some crackers, or somethin’? Bet I could ask the front desk if they got some medicine or anythin’ like that,” Joel asks, sitting on the edge of the bed while you curl up and turn away from him. You do your best not to flinch this time when he decides to comfortingly massage the back of your neck.

“Can you ask, please? It hurts so bad,” you whine, unable to tamp down your shuddering sobs any longer.

“Sure I will, my poor lil’ girl… I’ll be right back, alright?”

Joel pets your hair for a moment, and the gesture would normally flood your belly with lovesick butterflies, but it only feels predatorial now, like a lion trying to convince its prey that it only wants to play, that it won’t be torn to pieces and eaten alive. 

Your body finally relaxes when Joel leaves the room, and you count out thirty seconds to hopefully allow him to reach the front office before you make your break. When you whisper the final ‘thirty’ to yourself, you spring out of bed and sprint out the door, almost tripping over your own feet in your race to reach the payphone you’d spotted earlier in the parking lot. You figured that trying to call for help would be a smarter move than running, and you’d never make it far on foot, anyway, not in the flimsy little dress and cheap canvas sneakers you’re wearing. You’d stolen a few quarters out of the truck’s center console while Joel was letting the gas pump, and you shakily deposit them into the slot, nearly dropping them. You punch the numbers 9-1-1 into the keypad, nearly ripping the phone clean off the hook as you bring it up to your ear.

“Come on, come on, come on…” You mutter to yourself, drumming your bitten fingernails against the hard plastic handset as the mocking dial tone trills in your ear.

“911, what is your emergency?” comes a voice on the other line, female. 

“Please, I need hel–” but before you can even finish the word, he’s on you, one large hand clapped over your mouth while the other rips the phone out of your hand and slams it back into the receiver. You kick and bite and thrash, but your pitiful attempts at escape do nothing to deter him. After all, his pickup is the only car in the lot, and your room is the only one with a light on. The clerk who checked him in could have never existed at all, for all you know. There’s not a soul around to hear you cry or beg or scream, except for him. You should have known that he would see straight through you, that he would’ve anticipated you getting curious and made sure he was always one step ahead of you. Joel drags you back to the room with a two-handed grasp on your upper arm, gripped onto you hard enough you’re sure his fingertips will leave bruises.

“No, no, no, please! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Joel!” You plead, using his first name in a pathetic effort to try to appeal to whatever morality he might have left.

“You stupid fuckin’ bitch…” he spits.

Joel kicks open the door to your room and flings it shut behind him so hard you’re surprised the wood doesn’t shatter, splintering into a million sharp little pieces. He throws you down onto the stained double bed you’ll be sharing tonight, if he doesn’t decide to use the yellowed comforter to wrap your lifeless corpse in later instead. You push yourself up into a sitting position and brace yourself for whatever he’ll do to you for disobeying him, for trying to escape. You’ve never seen this side of him before, never even come close to upsetting him like this in the time that you’ve known him. 

“Don’t know who the fuck you were tryin’ to call, but you better get it through that dumb fuckin’ brain of yours that nobody gives a fuck about you anymore except for me, you got that? Cops ain’t gonna do nothin’ about some fuckin’ runaway slut, ‘specially not one who’s got nobody to miss her in the first place. ‘S why you ran away, ‘s why I picked you up… ‘Cause we both know ain’t nobody gonna come lookin’ for you. Wouldn’t be able to find your body even if they did,” he barks at you, a huge paw wrapped in the hair at the base of your skull to keep your gaze trained on him.

“Please, please don’t hurt me! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I won’t ever do it again, I promise–”

“Y’ know… I saved you from that hell hole, I gave you everything, and this is the fuckin’ thanks I get?!” The low gravel of his voice seems to be coming from somewhere deep and cavernous inside of him. It fills the entire room with a black smoke that penetrates your eardrums and fills your mouth with something bitter.

“I know, I know, I don’t know what I was thinking, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you–”

“Yeah, I know you weren’t fuckin thinkin’. Dumb fuckin’ cunt.” Joel releases your hair and you collapse in on yourself, beginning to sob all over again. You know it probably makes you look weak in front of him, but you can’t help it as the dread washes over you. You’re on the verge of hyperventilating, wondering if this will be the one mistake that seals your fate, if he’ll let you live long enough to see those aching little imprints on your arm from where he grabbed you bloom into purple-red blotches in the morning. With your eyes shut tight and hot tears streaming down your cheeks, you’re heaving, trying to catch your breath as you release broken little noises that sound like sorry, sorry, sorry. The repeated apology almost resembles some kind of prayer, as if that could save you now.

He lets you run the gamut of your terror for a minute before pinching the bridge of his nose, the calloused pads of his fingers squeezing that angry red scar that adorns it. He expels a heavy sigh and sits beside you on the bed, the springs of the old mattress screeching as they dip with his weight.

“C’mere, babydoll,” he says, quietly now, and you feel too weak to fight him as he pulls you into his lap and helps you to straddle your legs across his thick waist. You can feel his hardening bulge against your core through the thin material of your panties, exposed now by the skirt of your dress riding up and pooling at the creases of your thighs. 

“‘S okay, darlin’ I forgive you.” He lets you cry into his shoulder as he shushes you, rocking you side to side and petting the top of your head as if he were soothing a spooked little dog. When you’re able to take deep breaths again, your senses are flooded with his familiar comforting scent. The combination of his natural cologne and the softness of his voice reaches inside some deep corner of your brain that isn’t completely terrorized and disgusted by him, and it’s enough for you to lift your head up to face him again.

“Y-you do?” You squeak out as you sniffle, and Joel wipes away the last of your salty tears with one of his rough thumbs, sucking it into his mouth afterwards. He lets out a soft groan before gripping your jaw so that the fat of your cheeks makes your lips pucker.

“Yeah, babydoll… But why would you try to go off runnin’ like that, hm? Thought you were mine, my girl, thought we understood each other.”

His tone, the furrow in his brows and the slight pout of his lips make you feel guilty, somehow, upset with yourself for making him feel this way, for trying to run from his care and affection. “I-I thought so, too. But then… then I…” you stutter, finding it impossible to speak coherently anymore.

“Then what, babydoll?” Joel prompts calmly, stroking his thumb along your cheek as he squeezes it.

“T-the box… I saw—”

“Yeah… You saw my girls, didn’t you, baby? That’s why you tried to run, ain’t it? Look at me, babydoll.”

Joel jostles your face in his grip, and you obey his command, nodding slowly. When you look into his eyes, you finally notice how dark they’ve become, their usual warm amber color now appearing more red.

“You… you killed her. I-it was you.”

“Which one’re you talkin’ about, baby? Collected a lotta girls over the years, lose track of ‘em after a while.”

Your stomach churns at his callousness. “R-Ruby… I saw h-her. Y-you… you were…” You can’t bring yourself to finish your sentence, your words interrupted by your hiccuping breaths.

“Oh, Ruby…” Joel shifts his hips into yours, a growl rumbling from deep in his chest as he closes his eyes for a moment, turning over her name on his tongue. “Yeah… She was a pretty thing, wasn’t she? Feisty one, though. ‘Bout broke my goddamn nose. Wasn’t gonna be so rough with her, but… she practically asked for it.” He brushes his finger across the scar on his face, and your eyes well up again when you make the connection. “What else did you see, hm? Talk t’ me about it, babydoll.” Even through his jeans, you can feel that he’s fully hard now, turned on at the prospect of reliving those gruesome scenes.

Nauseating visions of the polaroids flash across your memory—the girl bleeding from the back of her head, the one with the cut throat, the one with her neck bent at an unnatural angle. “No, please don’t make me…” you shake your head at him, your bottom lip trembling as you fight back more stinging tears. 

Joel releases his hold on your face in favor of giving your cheek a harsh smack. “Wasn’t a fuckin’ question, girl.”

You use his loosened grip as an opportunity to try to scramble out of his lap, hitting your hands against his chest as you try to push off the bed and get back onto your feet.

“Nuh-uh, I don’t think so. Quit fuckin’ strugglin’.” 

He’s got you flipped onto your back in a second, with your legs dangling off the edge of the bed. He stands between your parted thighs, and you look up at him through blurred vision, one of his strong hands now attempting to cut off the blood supply to your brain as he uses the other to free his thick cock from his jeans. His teeth are bared, and the look in his eyes is faraway, as if the Joel you thought you knew is somewhere else entirely, miles away from this dingy motel room off the side of the freeway. He’s long gone now, replaced by this monstrous version of him that you don’t recognize.

“Keep fightin’, see what fuckin’ happens… I’d take the prettiest photos of you, y’ know that? Add you to my lil’ collection, have no choice but to be mine forever… You’d fit right in, babydoll, this perfect fuckin’ body.”

He slides a hand up and down his leaking shaft as he rambles, and it’s impossible to deny how much it excites him, talking about his killing, his ritual. 

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it, promised myself I’d be done after the last one but—fuck—just can’t fuckin’ stop myself. ‘S just so goddamn easy,” Joel hisses through his teeth. His hand never leaves your neck as he flips up the skirt of your dress and yanks your ashamedly damp panties down your trembling legs. He flings them haphazardly onto a discolored patch of carpet in the corner of the room, and it makes you wince, imagining how he must’ve disposed of so many other girls before you in the same careless manner.  

As hopeless as it seems now, you won’t be one of them. You don’t have any other choice, you have to make it out of this alive, you have to do something.

“W-what… what is?” You manage to choke out.

Joel looks down at you, almost startled, as if you’re an inanimate object speaking to him, like he didn’t expect you to have a voice.

“Huh?”

“Y-you said… it’s so easy. What’s easy?”

He licks his lips as he thinks on his response, a sickly smile tugging at the corners. “Pickin’ up a pretty slut nobody’s gonna miss, takin’ her home with me and turnin’ her fuckin’ lights out. They practically do it to themselves with all their strugglin’ and bitin’ and scratchin’, just want ‘em to fuckin’—unh—behave.”

You whine as he pushes his tip inside your little hole, but try to maintain your composure. You think you understand now, why he’s acting this way. He wants you to want to be with him, and it triggers some kind of deepset anger inside of him when you fight, when you run, when you throw his affection back in his face. Killing the girls might not even be his end goal, at least not when he first takes them, more like an inevitable side effect of what happens when they try to escape his captivity and he feels rejected, hurt, tossed aside. And then he lashes out. And then they die. And then the cycle repeats. You’d lasted this long because you’d been the first to not reject his advances, because he’d seen himself in you.

If you don’t fight, if you can keep him talking, if you can convince him that this is what you want, you might have a chance at survival. It’s not much of a strategy, but it’s something, and it’s better than giving up.

“How… how do you d-do it?” you ask, a little less rasp in your voice as his grip on your throat begins to loosen, but his hand never leaves it entirely. He slides the rest of his cock inside you as you stutter out your question, and he laughs.

“You sure you wanna hear it, babydoll? Might be a bit much for you.” He’s fully seated inside you now, and the stretch of him burns. Even though the two of you have been fucking like bunnies practically every day since you’ve met, you can only fight against your body so much, and the fear you’re trying desperately not to clue him into is making every one of your muscles tighten around him.

“No! No, I-I wanna know. Tell me, please…” You bat your eyelashes up at him for good measure, and his canine grin widens some more.

“God, y’ really are just as fucked up as I am, huh? ‘S why I kept you around, ‘cause you’re like me…” He begins to piston his thick length in and out of you, affectionately tucking a lock of hair behind your ear with his free hand as he does. The other one constricts your airflow once again, and you stifle a whimper, suppressing the urge to argue and spit back that you’re not like him. “Usually strangle ‘em, little throats always fit so perfectly in my hands, jus’ like this…”

His voice trails off as he shoves into you harder, picking up his pace. Your breathing becomes broken and frantic as you claw through the black cloud closing in on your vision in your effort to keep him talking. “And then what?” you squeak out.

“Squeeze ‘em, real hard and slow,” Joel growls. “Try not to come in my jeans just from the pathetic lil’ sounds they make when they’re prayin’ to God to save ‘em. Ain’t so gentle with ‘em if they put up too much of a fight, though. Jus’ gotta cut the shit sometimes, slice ‘em open or split their fuckin’ skulls just to make ‘em stop. God, you’d never believe the amount of blood a lil’ girl like you’s got in ‘em.” He’s slamming his hips into your sore cunt now, both hands wrapped tightly around your neck as he uses it for leverage. You feel your muscles begin to slacken, either from the lack of oxygen or from his just-right strokes against that little spot deep inside, you can’t be sure. It was just a survival instinct, you’ll tell yourself in the morning.

“Yeah? It’s… it’s a lot?” you prompt, skin feeling tingly and voice coming out hoarse, sounding like it had come from somewhere else other than your own body. It could’ve just been the wind, a tractor-trailer whistling by outside.

“Yeah, ‘s a lot. Bleed so fuckin’ much, y’ think it might never stop. Just keeps—fuck—comin’...”

Joel’s voice breaks on the telltale word, his thrusts becoming frenzied and disjointed as he nears his release. A few high-pitched moans manage to squeeze past your compressed vocal chords, and they’re half-genuine, half-forced as a means to spur him on and speed up the process. The stretches of skin between his thumbs and forefingers are pressing down, down, down against your windpipe, and you plead with him as coherently as possible in your race against that darkness threatening to swallow you whole. 

“C-come, Joel, p-please, want you to—”

“Shut up, babydoll. Fuck… Eyes on me, c’mon,” he orders, shaking you by the neck to wake you up a bit, prevent your eyes from closing all the way. “Look at me. Just… lay fuckin’ still, don’t make a sound. Hold your goddamn breath, okay? Don’t even fuckin’ blink.”

He’s never demanded something like this before, but you aren’t exactly in a position to disobey. You do as he asks, and some of it comes involuntarily, anyway. With your hands laid at your sides, eyes looking into Joel’s own but somehow past them, unblinking, your mouth slack and lungs paralyzed, you almost feel like…

Like one of them. 

“Tha’s it, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants to himself, rutting into your limp body with abandon as he chases his high. You can’t help but let another tear slip past your lashes, and he doesn’t wipe it away this time. 

A few more bruising pulses of his cock later, and all the blood rushes back into your head at once as Joel lets go of his vice grip around your neck, collapsing on top of your still form and breathing heavily into the damp skin of your neck where your wet tears have collected. He stays like that for a while, still slotted inside you, and you let him come back into himself for as long as he needs, not daring to move a muscle until he permits you to do so. 

Joel slides himself out of your leaking hole when he’s finally caught his breath, grunting as he pushes himself up off the bed and runs a hand through his sweat-damp hair. He studies your abused form, then tuts when he notices the marks he left around your throat.

“Better make sure you wear your hair down tomorrow, I reckon. Got a decent record of keepin’ the law off my ass, I’d rather keep it that way.” 

Tomorrow. He plans on letting you live. Until then, anyway. 

“Okay,” you agree quietly.

Joel doesn’t let you out of his sight again for the rest of the evening. He’d helped you up off the bed and into the shower, where he’d cleaned both of your bodies and scrubbed the dried tears and sweat from your skin. He’d sunk his claws into your scalp as he washed your hair under the scalding water, and you wondered if the suds could carry even the intangible filth down the drain with it—the guilt, the fear, the defeat, the violation. You almost wish you hadn’t looked in the box at all. What difference would it have made, if you’d stayed with him in ignorance? Those girls are still dead. It’s not like you can save them now. You couldn’t even save yourself.

Joel changes you into one of his large t-shirts for you to sleep in tonight, instead of a frilly nightgown or something else short and revealing that he’d usually pick out for you. You suppose that the choice of clothing acts as a more visible representation of his ownership over you. He’s marking his territory, scenting you like a dog. Like you’re his bitch.

Joel holds you suffocatingly close to him in bed that night, his arms wrapped around you so tightly that it’s difficult for your ribs to expand. He keeps one hand possessively wrapped around the column of your neck, not squeezing, just to remind you what he’s capable of. As if you could ever forget. 

“Y’know what, babydoll? I think we could be partners, you and I,” Joel says in a slow, gravelly voice, right next to your ear.

“W-what do you mean?” You whisper back into the darkness.

“I just… I tried to quit, y’ know, but I don’t think I can. I don’t want to. Too damn old and slow to keep chasin’ after ‘em anymore, but… ‘f I keep you around, you’d just make the perfect bait, wouldn’t you? That pretty face, sweet lil’ smile, you could lure ‘em straight to me, they’d never see it comin’.”

“See… what coming?”

“My hands. The knife. A fuckin’ rock. Whatever, ‘s up to them.”

His words linger in the air, and you know you should say something, but how could you possibly respond to what he’s asking of you?

“You want me to… to kill—”

“No, no, ‘course not, babydoll. Wouldn’t even have to be in the room while it’s happenin’, would never ask my sweet girl to get her hands dirty like that. Jus’ gotta bring ‘em to me, tha’s all. Maybe go after ‘em if they try to run. I mean… you’d rather it be them than you, wouldn’t you sweetheart?” Joel’s hand closes in around your throat, and you understand now what he’s offering you—a deal. Your life in exchange for helping him grow his collection of victims, helping him satisfy his urges. He’s made you feel indebted to him, like you owe him something in exchange for letting you live tonight. He thinks he’s found something special in you, a victim who finally can’t run away from him, who won’t, now. There’s enough of a connection still here, although held together by fear, that he knows you won’t try escaping again. Because he saved you, the first time from starving on the side of the road, the second time from himself. And you owe him your life, now, in some form or another. 

You only nod against the pillow, but it seems to be enough for him.

Joel kisses the back of your head, breathing in the smell of your hair. “I love you, babydoll.”

His fingers press harder against your arteries, making it clear that you have no choice but to respond with what he wants to hear.

“I love you too, Joel.”

The words are still true, you think, somehow. But it just feels like you’re saying them to a stranger now.

You wish you would’ve listened to the one useful thing your mother had ever told you—not to talk to strangers, or you might fall in love.

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