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mountainsandmayhem · 5 months ago

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BDSMaid - Chapter 4

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: JMKink is nothing and everything that you need and want it to be. Meanwhile, you are nothing and everything that Joel imagines you to be.

WC: 13.8k

TW: Warnings are below the cut in small red, feel free to skip them if you want to avoid chapter spoilers, but there are some descriptions of reader so I would classify this as more of an original character versus a blank canvas female reader.

AN: I actually cannot believe how many of you reached out all excited about September 1st approaching. From the bottom of my cold dead heart, thank you!! The more I write this, the more I picture video game Joel, so do with that what you will haha. Thanks so @ak-vintage and @lotusbxtch for beta reading for me. Support banners and dividers by @saradika-graphics. I recently got promoted at work (yay me), but the job is now waaaaaay more work than before, so enjoy this chapter slowly because I am not sure when I will be writing chapter 5.

Series Masterlist || My Masterlist

TW: p in v, dirty talk, sub dom relationships, age gap, alcohol consumption, flirting, voyeurism, description of a threesome and other sexual acts, use of sex toys, nipple clamps, female orgasm, talks of neglectful parents during childhood and loss of a spouse. Mutual pining.

“Hnnng, fuck yes, daddy.” He’s rutting into you deeper than anyone else ever has. Long, slow strokes of his heavy cock sending you into a spiral of white hot, sparkling nirvana.

“So fuckin’ wet n’ tight. Fuck, sweet girl.” His deep voice devours you - rattling around your skull, echoing slightly as if you’re in a large, empty room.

Everything is black; darker than the onyx pits of his eyes. You’re not sure if you’re up or down, and you’re either blindfolded or have your face buried in a pillow as he fucks into you from behind. All you can feel is the pleasurable push and pull of his thick, vein lined cock slamming in and out of you. The vast darkness and the feeling of him filling you so full is overwhelming

“Please, daddy. Please. I’m so close.”

The soft mushroom head of his cock is kissing right where he taught you to crave it, and you wouldn’t be surprised if that spongy spot had ‘Property of Joel Miller’ branded on it by now. Within seconds of him pressing inside of you tonight you had completely submitted to him; surrendering to the darkness, the sensation, the exquisite pleasure. This is exactly where you were meant to be, and he’s the only one you’d want to be here with. It has never been this good, and even with your limited experience you know that it will probably never be this good with anyone else.

“Don’t stop this time. Please don’t stop this time.” You’re an aching, crying, desperate crumb of yourself; wholly at his mercy.

“No coming until I say.” His voice seems further away with every word and dread settles in your stomach as it all starts to fade.

“No! Nonono. Please no.” You feel a hot tear run down your face as the euphoria fades. You can barely feel or hear him anymore as little slits of yellow light appear. You blink once, twice. After a third long blink your bedroom comes into view.

Fuck.

This has been the start of your new three part morning routine for the last few nights, since that kiss with Joel, since filling out your preferences and signing all the waivers. Since being asked to submit test results and proof of birth control. Since Joel Miller became your Dom. Night after night you dream of him fucking you, and night after night, right as you’re about to fall over the edge, he tells you not to come until he says and you wake up.

The second part of your morning routine is a lot more cathartic and vocal - very vocal. Your newly painted cotton candy pink nails (anything to stay distracted and busy) dig into the soft cotton of your pillow as you pull it out from behind your head, pressing it to your face and screaming until your throat feels raw.

Fuck.

When all the breath is pushed from your lungs, you put your pillow back and kick off the blanket. Your bare feet drag along the worn down carpet of your bedroom to the cold and cheap linoleum of your bathroom. You pee, avoiding your clit at all costs when you clean up. You know you’re down fucking bad when even the scratchy 1-ply toilet paper is enough to make you almost crumble.

Part three of your new morning ritual is probably the part that shocks you the most. You change into leggings and a tank top, slipping a ten dollar bill and your house key into the side of your sports bra. The old springs of your mattress creak as you sit to slip on socks and your lavender colored runners, that you honestly forgot you owned until the morning after your twenty second birthday. You sneak out of your apartment, careful not to wake your roommate and jog down the stairs from your fourth floor suite to step into the cool March morning air.

Fuck.

After shaking out each leg, you start to run. There’s no technique to your form or a planned out route. You leave your phone behind, only sounds are the morning traffic and your struggling breath to keep you company. It's just you, pushing your body to forget how badly you’re throbbing between your thighs and trying to erase the feeling of him. As you turn the corner at the end of your block you can see the bright green grass and leafy trees of the park. Your calf muscles burn with every step, but it’s not enough; you can still feel him. As you reach the park your lungs start to burn; they feel like they’re filling with fluid. Your ankles protest with every strike of your feet against the concrete. Finally, just as you swear you’re about to meet your maker it happens, the sweet release you’re pushing for. Finally every trace of the ghost of Joel Miller disappears.

Your legs slow below you and you clutch your side, wandering lazily around the park. The rush of blood through your ears is nearly deafening, almost completely drowning out the chirping of the birds and the trickling of the water in the large stone fountain. You suck in quick, deep breaths, essentially doing everything and anything not to pass out. You’re free from him, if only for a little bit, as you fight against what feels like death knocking on your door.

As you walk home you grab a coffee - black with just a splash of almond milk, apologizing to the barista as you hand her the sweaty ten dollar bill that was tucked into your bra and begin mentally scheduling your day. It’s Monday, which means you don’t work today and you can focus on studying and laundry. Your LSAT retake is just a few days away, today is your last full free day, and you have to get as much studying and practicing done as possible. The dread of taking that test again has your hot coffee doing flips in your stomach. Getting some college letters would really help put you at ease. You know you applied early but it would be nice to know if you need to continue to push or if you can finally rest.

When you get back to your apartment your roommate has already left for her classes. You check your phone and your heart lurches in your chest at Joel’s name across your cracked lock screen. There’s been no contact between the two of you since Friday night. You slide open the text with shaky fingers

Good Morning, sweet girl. Are you ready to learn?

You bite your lip as you respond.

Yes, please, Mr Miller.

You stare at the text thread for a while. Although you aren’t sure if a total of three texts can be considered a thread, but you stare anyway trying to will more messages into existence. After a few minutes you give up, locking your phone and stripping your bedsheets. The trek to the laundry in the building feels like it takes forever and you rush back to check your phone. There’s no response but you do have a little red bubble on your JMK app. You excitedly tap on the app to see a new menu titled ‘Dominant Preferences’ added at the top. When you click it, everything from your Reddit wormholes is revealed.

‘Joel Miller likes to participate in bondage play, nipple play, toy play, dirty talk, oral sex (both giving and receiving), and fingering. He doesn’t like brat taming, but is willing to participate in scenes where his submissive needs to be put in her place occasionally. He never has sexual intercourse - vaginal or anal, this is a hard limit for him and his submissives need to understand that there is zero room for negotiation on this matter. He’s very open to impact play, but believes that only good girls should get spankings.’

You click off the little ‘Read and Accepted’ box at the bottom without hesitation. As if he’s waiting for you to accept, he texts you seconds after your finger has made contact with the screen.

8pm tomorrow. I’m sending a car for you. You should dress comfortably.

The same kind faced man from your birthday waits for you outside your apartment at 7:30 the next night. He opens the door, smiling gently at you as you hop in; leather and new car smell wafting around you. During the drive to the club you learn his name is Arthur, but my friends call me Cap.

“Can I ask you a question, Cap?” You ask as downtown comes into view.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you drive all of Joel’s, umm, do you drive lots of women around for Joel?”

He chuckles knowingly from the driver's seat, glancing into the rearview mirror at you. “No ma’am. Joel is a pretty secretive man. I have driven him places when he’s alone, or I drive Tommy’s subs, but never Joels.”

You nod and look out the window. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you.

Cap rushes to open the door when he pulls up to JMKink. The club is in a different building than Joel’s office; that was in the tall building across the street. Three bright and expansive floors of that red stone faced building belonged to JM Inc. Assumingly, the home base for all the businesses he has his hands in. This building, however, is smaller amongst the tall skyscrapers of the Austin skyline. The entire building is coated in a shiny black chrome, from the steel framing to the windows, except for the golden JMK logo on the front door. You take a calming breath before heading up the steps, the blacked out glass door slides open automatically.

Your dark high heeled boots click on the black and honey flecked marble, the floor reminding you of Joel’s eyes. You wish the marble would suck you into it so you could live in that feeling you get when Joel looks at you. Where it might be seen as cold and intimidating to others, to you it feels warm and inviting, almost familiar, and that little box of feelings in the back of your mind stirs a little bit.

He told you to dress comfortably tonight, and you felt most at ease in a deep green sweater dress and knee high heeled boots. The dress just barely skims your thighs, making your legs look long and toned. You could use a tan, but it’s only March, everyone in Texas could use a tan at this point. You left your hair down in loose curls and kept your makeup minimal, as always.

There are three people in the small foyer. Two stunning women stand behind the hostesses desk in matching black dresses and collars. To the right of them stands a man who looks like he could kill you with his pinkie. He’s also dressed in all black, and stands in front of a large door. Everything here seems like it’s meant to intimidate but all you can see and feel is the safety that comes with knowing Joel Miller.

One of the women looks up at you, smiling comfortingly and asks for your name. Before you can respond, Joel's honey lined voice answers her. The sound of your name on his tongue feels like taking a breath of fresh winter air. Goosebumps break out across your skin, your own breath leaping in your throat as you spin slowly to meet his gaze. There’s no other way to around it, Joel Miller is fucking exquisite. His slightly outgrown curls are pushed back, silver reflecting off his temples and throughout his beard. Tonight he’s wearing a deep midnight blue Tom Ford suit with one jacket button done up, underneath he’s wearing a crisp white t-shirt, paired with brown dress shoes and what you assume will be a matching belt. One of his hands is tucked in the pocket of pants that literally look like they weren’t made for him, the other hangs loose at his side and you catch that gold ring again.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he speaks to everyone in the lobby, “You’re all to remember her name. She is my guest, my only guest, and as far as you’re all concerned she’s the most important person in this club. Understand?”

The little box of feelings lifts its lid a little. No, you say to the box, banishing it back to its dark corner.

A jumbled mess of ‘yes’ and ‘sorry’ fills the lobby but the only thing that’s clear to you is Joel as he wanders over, placing his hand on the small of your back, and leading you towards the large black door that the lethal looking man is guarding. As he pulls you into his side his voice quiets, his words a low growl meant only for you. “Hi, sweetheart.” When he sponges a soft kiss to your temple you press your lips together to stop the giggle that’s trying to burst out of you. Joel Miller makes you giddy in a way that you haven’t felt since you were much younger and saw a One Direction music video for the first time.

This afternoon, you had your easily predicted moment of panic. As with every decision you’ve ever made, you started to think that this wasn’t the right one. Maybe Tommy was the safer choice. Maybe you’ve bit off more than you can chew, or girlbossed too close to the proverbial sun. Or in kink terms, flirted too closely with the St Andews Cross. But now, being here tucked tightly against Joel's side as he guides you into your first experience with the world of kink you couldn’t feel any more sure of your decision.

You hold your breath as the shiny black marble door opens, this feels like one of those big climatic moments you see in the movies, like you know the main character's life is about to change, and a nervous excitement buzzes through your veins. As the club comes into view it’s nothing like you thought. For starters, there aren’t cages or naked people around, and at first glance it looks just like a lounge in a high end hotel or restaurant. JMKink is beautiful, breathtaking.

Light pine flooring is set in a herringbone pattern across the entire club. Directly in front of you are a few tall tables and then, situated in the middle of the space, is a large black marble bar. The bartender is surrounded by a halo of soft chiffon light that casts down from a brushed gold chandelier. The tables and bar top have tealight candles on them, making the entire thing feel sensual and soft. It’s just dimly lit enough that you can’t see beyond the bar from here. Joel guides you gently to the right. The booths that line the wall are only illuminated by the flickering candle on the table. Three of the booths are roped off, guarded by a tank of a man in a black suit. As Joel leads you towards them, you notice each of those tables have a gold plated reserved sign along with a name; Joel, Tommy and Tess.

Confusion swirls in your brain at the romantic feeling the club gives off. Part of you expected to walk into a sex dungeon or that red room that Christian took Anastasia to, but you definitely weren’t expecting this. If this place was just a bit brighter you could imagine studying here on weekends.

This isn’t a sex club, there’s no way.

As you slide into the furthest booth you’re able to see a small stage on the back wall and empty dance floor looking area on the other side of the bar. You can feel Joel’s warm gaze on you as you look around with wide eyes. Right when you’re almost convinced that you interpreted the information you found on Reddit wrong, your eyes land on the far left side of the room.

No, now that you see if from this angle, you are indeed in a kink club; a well stocked kink club based on the entire sex shop in the corner. You feel your cheeks flush and you dart your eyes towards Joel, pushing at your cuticle under the table, smiling shyly at him.

“What’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours?” His voice is syrupy and warm as two drinks land on the table. Whiskey neat for him and some sort of pink martini for you.

“Nothing..I just, it’s not what I expected,” you swallow the sand that’s found its way into your throat at seeing all those sex toys just out on display in the corner and flick your eyes towards your drink.

“That's a cosmopolitan. I can get you something else if you want, sweetheart. The female staff here seems to love them.”

“No, I should have said thank you. I’m sorry.” His hand comes to meet yours as it’s picking furiously at the non-existent skin of your nail bed. He wraps his hand tightly around yours, and brings them to rest on the top of the table together.

“Take a breath, sweet girl. You’re ok.” His words wrap around you tightly, calming you. You’re ok. Your heart rate slows and you relax into the plush velvet lined booth a little bit, smiling sheepishly up at Joel. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” Your free hand grabs the martini glass and you bring it to your nose, it smells like cranberry and lime.

As you take a small sip Joel says, “You really don’t have to drink it, baby girl. I can get you whatever.”

The vodka burns away any sand that remains in your throat. It’s tart, and dangerously delicious. You can see yourself getting very fucked up these with your girlfriends one day soon. “No, I like it. Thank you.”

After putting the glass safely on the table, Joel lets go of your hand, wraps his arm around your waist and slides you across the seat, pressing you to his side. “Is this ok?”

JOEL

His cock twitches at the little hum you make in agreement. You lift your leg closest to him and rest it over his under the table. He squeezes your side gently, sinking into the comfort of you and grabs his whiskey. “So if this isn’t what you thought, what were you expecting?”

He loves the way you blush a little before answering him. “People just, you know, it’s a sex club, so just having sex here.”

He lowers his head to yours and whispers just for you, “There are people having sex here, sweet girl.”

He laughs to himself as your eyes narrow and you look around at the other people in the bar. “Not out here, just because you’re in a sex club doesn’t mean you have to consent to seeing or hearing people fuck. Or to be having sex yourself, really.” He loves the way you look at him with surprise at his boldness. He cocks his head towards a guarded door between the stage and booths along the wall, “But behind that door - well, people are indulging as we speak.”

He watches the small shiver of your spine, pulling back to take a sip of his whiskey, allowing you time to look around and become comfortable in your surroundings. He watches your perfect lips part, finding himself jealous of the rim of the glass as you take another sip. Great, first spoons and now glasses. As he watches your neck work to liquid down he says, “So did you leave that little pussy alone like I asked?”

Your head whips to face him, he can’t quite place your facial expression. It’s a twisted mix of fear, shyness and embarrassment, like you’re worried that someone may have heard him say pussy; but if you only knew the kinds of things happening in this club right now.

“What?” you ask shakily.

“Did you come? Or did you listen?”

“Umm…I,” he can tell that you’re flustered, and he finds you nearly irresistible like this.

“Are you nervous, sweet girl?”

He’s not sure if you realize it, but when you’re tense and he calls you by that nickname you relax a little. Your shoulders lower, the little crease in between your eyebrows softens. “No,” you say, and he’s not convinced.

Joel deepens his voice, a voice he only intends to use when you’re at the club together. Or when she’s in my bedroom. He pushes any thoughts of you outside of the confines of this space away, “Lesson number one, don’t lie to your Dom. We have to be able to trust each other.”

You look up at him through your lashes and it damn near kills him. You’re so beautiful, absolutely glowing against all the black in the room. The soft golden light bounces off of every little perfect piece of you; from the deep cupid's bow above your top lip, to the caramel highlights in your hair. He can tell by the long breath you suck in that you’re about to do that adorable thing where you ramble. “I’m nervous, but it’s an excited kind of nervous. And no, I didn’t…that thing.”

He can’t fight the smile at your shyness, “Lesson number two, If you can’t say it then you shouldn’t be here. What thing, sweet girl?”

You close your eyes and say, “Come,” and then open your eyes to look at him again.

So shy. So cute. I’m fucked, so very fucked, he thinks. He takes another pull of his whiskey if only to keep his hands and lips busy and to himself. He usually enjoys the burn but with you beside him it tastes sweeter.

As you bring your martini glass to your lips he commands, “One more time, this time look at me when you say it.”

Over your glass, sparkling eyes locked on him you mumble, “I didn’t come, Joel.”

“That reminds me. Lesson number three, as soon as we cross the threshold into my private room, you will refer to me as Mister Miller only. Out here, and anywhere else, I can be Joel, but in there,” he tilts his head towards a door on the other side of the stage, this one isn’t guarded, instead there’s a security pad that you need to have a microchip to unlock, “In there, I’m Mister Miller. Understand?”

He watches your throat again as you swallow, the palm of his hand tingles at the thought of wrapping his hand around it again. One of your eyebrows raises just a touch and he knows that cheeky little line of your lips. “Yes, Mister Miller.”

Your voice is husky as you say it and this time it’s him who has to fight the goosebumps rising on his skin and the icy shiver trailing down his spine. So perfect.

“Can I ask you a question?” You don’t make eye contact with him when you say it, like you fear he might say no and he has a feeling that whoever made you feel that you needed to make plans A through Z also told you are a burden for asking questions. Joel isn’t a violent man, but would happily ring whoever’s neck did this to you.

“Of course, sweet girl.”

You turn to face him, taking a sip of your martini before you say, “Why did you send me into your basement that day?”

Joel clears his throat, weighing how transparent he wants to be in his answer, but there’s no hiding it after what he said to you in his office last week. “I’m not always going to be nice to you here, sweet girl. I’m going to push you, I might even hurt you. Yes, it’s all consensual, but I didn’t want you thinkin’ I’m some sort of monster.”

He watches as you take a long pull of the pink liquid from your glass. You set it back on the table, the earlier tremble of your hand gone as you reply, “Thank you for being honest with me. I don’t think I could ever see you as a monster, Mister Miller. I need this.”

The devious smile you give him has his cock come to life. He doesn’t fuck his subs, but he would take you right here in this booth if he could. “Would you like a tour of the club?”

Your eyes light up, “Can I bring my drink?”

“Anywhere out here, yes. But not behind those two doors.” He takes the last drink from his whiskey and then watches as you take two big gulps to finish your Cosmopolitan. Your nose crinkles at what he assumes is the burn of the vodka.

“So fuckin’ cute,” Joel says quietly, and hopefully just to himself, as he slides out of the booth.

No, you say to the little box of feelings when you overhear his whispered words, don’t start with me right now.

You follow him as he heads towards the store in the corner. Even with the condoms, dildos, plugs, gags, whips, lube and all sorts of other things on display it’s somehow still classy and beautiful. Lots of these things you’ve never seen before, or had any desire to play with, but you’re pretty sure you’d try almost anything with Joel.

He nods at the man working the store counter and then walks you around the main area, his voice thick with passion as he speaks. “Usually on Friday and Saturday nights there's more of a nightclub feel, couples who like to swap partners can mingle with the room. This is a safe space, monogamous couples aren’t offended by the attention and everyone stays very respectful of others wishes and limits. There’s a drink limit of course, keeping things safe and consensual is my utmost priority.”

You walk slowly, crossing the middle of the currently unoccupied dance floor, “That stage is often used for workshops or shows. This is a place to learn just as much as it’s a place to enjoy sex and kink. We have a new workshop coming up next week actually.”

The two of you stop beside the guarded door - the door Joel said people were indulging behind. You can’t help but be curious about what's happening back there, but you’re also desperately horny and unsure how you might react to whatever is unfolding in the dark. The man standing in front of the door is also dressed in a black suit, this seems to be the uniform of those who work at JM Kink, he says a cordial, “Good Evening, Joel.” Then nods at you and adds, “Miss.”

You jump as Joel’s hand connects with yours, his strong fingers linking with your slender ones. He spins you to face him. His freehand cups your chin, the band of his ring cold against your pink flushed skin. He tilts your face up to meet his, seriousness etched across his face. “My sweet girl, behind that door can be a bit intense at first. You’re an adult, but you shouldn’t have to see anything you don’t want to see. So you’re in charge in there. If you want to leave, we leave. If you want to cover your eyes, do it and I’ll lead you away. On the contrary, if you see something you like and want to get closer, then get closer. If you have questions, just ask. Ok?”

You nod, and Joel leads you through what you hope is the second life changing door of the night. The air feels different on this side of the threshold, something about it makes you feel like you’ve been plugged into a low voltage socket, you’re buzzing in an exciting and dangerous way. It’s dark enough in here that you can’t see your black boots as they click quietly against the hardwood. Joel's strong hand comes around your waist, tucking you into the side of his body protectively. After taking a deep breath, the familiar ash and leather scent of Joel intoxicating and calming your senses, you look up.

You and Joel stand intertwined at one end of a long rectangular room. Across from where you stand and down to your left and right the wall is lined with large windows. On the side of the hallway where you stand are plush chairs and couches, some of which are occupied by singles or couples as they watch what’s happening beyond the windows.

You wonder if it gets easier, standing in a dark hall where you can watch people fucking. Joel is so calm, like a still glassy sea, meanwhile you are fighting against the tides. He stands almost statuesque, his thumb rubbing calming circles on your hip, while keeping you tucked safely into him. He has made it clear that you’re in charge here, so staying in the shadows as much as possible, you wander towards the first window. As if he’s another limb on your body, Joel follows you effortlessly.

Your heart thumps in your chest as you approach the first window. The room has a large bed that remains untouched. A man is tied to a chair at the end of the bed with black silk ties, and you stifle a gasp at the painful looking device he has clamped around his hard cock. You can hear his whines through the ball gag, and the moans of pleasure from the woman spread eagle on the floor in front of him as she fucks herself with a large dildo.

Joel’s soft stubble brushes against your ear as he whispers, “We won’t be doing that.”

“Looks fun for me,” you giggle and he lightly pinches your hip.

The next window has the blinds drawn, little slits of light illuminating the edges is the only sign that someone is in the room. “You can choose to let people watch or not watch, as well as how much you want those in the voyeur area to hear when you rent the rooms,” Joel explains softly as you approach the next open window.

The bed in this room is occupied by three people. A curvy woman is lying down on her back, a copper skinned man with a shaved head has his face buried in her pussy while a fully tattoed beefcake of man fucks his ass. The look of pure pleasure on all their faces has your clit twitching and aching. And when Joel lowers himself to your ear the little hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“We also won’t be doing that,” Joel’s voice is so light and carefree. For a second you forget that any minute now he’s going to use that deep baritone voice to boss you around while you’re completely naked.

“Again, it also looks fun for me,” you joke, and a small smile crosses your lips as you feel Joel’s body shake with silent laughter beside yours. There’s about ten windows in this room from what you can see, most are closed or dark, probably since it’s a weekday. You lead the two of you down the room to the next open window. “Can they see us?”

“Not unless you get close to the glass,” he instructs. You stop in your tracks at the next window. Despite your teasing with Joel the last two were not your thing, but this window you could easily watch for a while. A man and a woman lay on the large red silk sheeted bed while hundreds of battery operated candles flicker around them. He’s on top of her, one of her legs slung over his shoulder, the other around his waist. As you step closer you can see a sparkly, thin layer of sweat coating both their bodies as they slowly grind together, kissing passionately. You take another step closer, if they want to be seen then it shouldn’t matter if they see you. Once you’re close enough you can hear the gentle moans she’s making as he thrusts slowly in and out of her.

“Well,” you say softly, leaning into Joel’s side and looking up into his warm chocolate eyes, “That doesn’t look so bad.”

He cranes his neck and places a lingering kiss on your forehead and as your eyelids flutter closed you can no longer deny just how turned on you are. He pulls back to look at you, smiling slightly before saying, “When I first got here he had her hogtied and was paddling her.”

“Like I said,” you say while giggling softly, “That doesn’t look so bad.”

The two of you watch them for a while as they fuck languidly. This should feel wrong, watching something so personal, but the beauty of them together like this is comforting and almost inviting. Her cries grow louder and as she starts to shake he pauses his hips, fully seated inside of her while whispering and smiling down at her, pushing her sweat soaked hair off her forehead. The love behind the glass is so palpable that you feel yourself getting choked up a little.

Just as you’re about to ask Joel to take you to his room, you notice another window with about five people lined up along the glass. Curiosity gets the better of you and you lead Joel the few steps to see what’s going on. No longer feeling nervous or shy, you step right up to the glass. This time, Joel moves his body to be behind yours, pulling your back against his strong body. One of his arms wraps around your middle, the other sweeps your hair to one side and then rests gently on your shoulder.

The set up of this room is similar to the others you’ve seen: a large bed to the right, a chair to the left, and a chest of drawers to the back. There’s a woman strapped face up on the bed, wrists and ankles bound to the four posts of the frame. Her perky breasts rise and fall rapidly with her breathing. At the back of the room, a broad tanned man faces away from you, looking through a drawer for something. As your eyes travel up his back from his hard, round ass cheeks he spins to face the window. You step back into Joel as Tommy Miller’s gaze flicks to the people along the window and then to the sub he’s chosen for the night.

In your sane mind you tell yourself that you should look away. It's one thing to watch strangers but watching someone you sort of know feels like an invasion of their privacy. Plus, there’s no way Joel wants to see his brother like this. As if he can read your mind, Joel's lips brush against your neck, “I’m right here, sweet girl. Tommy likes an audience, he’s an exhibitionist, and lots of members come just to watch him.”

You glance up at Joel and he smiles softly. Your voice is just above a whisper, “Can we watch for a bit?”

“You’re in charge, sweetheart.” He patiently reminds you as you nod and look back towards the room.

The horny demon that seems to have taken over your body since catching Joel in his office has you dying to see more: more sex, more kink, more Tommy. Without consciously controlling it, your eyes travel down his tanned chest, to the hair around his belly button and then down to his fully erect cock. You can’t help but appreciate the beauty of his body, he looks like he’s carved out of stone, and that includes his cock. He’s decently long, but thick, a prominent vein running along one side of it. It’s slightly upturned and the head is smooth and glistening with precome. He looks so powerful and the small fire that’s been building in your stomach grows.

You bite at your bottom lip nervously, crossing your arms to rest on top of the one Joel has wrapped around you. Tommy walks over to the bed; grasped in one of his large hands is a black vibrator, his other holds a small glass jar housing a lit candle. He climbs onto the bed, then drizzles hot wax along the woman's thighs. Her back arches off the bed and through the speakers along the glass you hear her pained moans. Tommy watches her intently, his lips moving but you can’t hear what he’s saying. Once she’s settled back on the bed, Tommy places the vibrator on her clit.

She writhes and pulls at the velvety cuffs holding her to the bed. “Sir, oh god, I’m - I’m gonna - Sir, fuck, I’m gonna come.”

When she calls him sir you see the dark flash of obsidian across his eyes, the same look when you called him that at the poker game. Through your research, you know that doms have preferred names and your cheeks flush a little at the thought of accidentally using his with him.

Tommy pulls the vibrator away right before she falls over the edge and drizzles wax on her stomach. She cries out with more desperation this time, and then again, once she’s calm Tommy places the vibrator between her thighs. It’s suddenly hard to breathe and when you step back into Joel you feel his cock is hard against your back and a fresh wave of arousal coats the lace of your panties.

Tommy takes the vibrator away as she starts shaking and moaning, then hot wax splashes down her sternum. You feel antsy, like little pins and needles are pricking along your entire body. You squeeze your thighs together, Joel's warm breath against your neck causes you to shudder.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he hums.

“N-nothing.”

“You sure? You’re squirmin’.” His hand runs slowly down your arm, your hands moving on their own so he can wrap you in his muscle lined arms. A light kiss lands just below your ear and you bite back a moan.

The combination of not being allowed to have an orgasm, the feeling of Joel’s warm body pressed against you, and the erotic scenes you’ve witnessed tonight is almost too much. It’s also not lost on you that that could have been you in there with Tommy right now. Your clit is throbbing between your legs, and you aren’t sure if you have ever been this turned on.

Joel smiles into your skin as you watch Tommy tease his sub with the vibrator again, “Do you like what you’re seein’?”

You nod, trying to calm your breathing. It hitches as he adds, “Would you like to try that one day?”

Wax hits one of her nipples, the beads hardening along the peak of her perky, round breast. You adjust your stance to cross your legs together, squeezing hard to ease the almost painful ache at the apex of your thighs. Her and Tommy speak softly to one another, he smiles down at her, puts the candle down and then adjusts himself between her legs, spreading the lips of her puffy pussy with two fingers and putting the vibrator right where you know it would ruin you.

“Would you?” Joel repeats.

“Yes, Mister Miller.” You say, your voice shaky, almost like it’s impossible to form words as you look up at him. He’s so beautiful in the shadowy light, his tanned skin almost seems to glow against the darkness.

His eyes dance around your face, his voice comes out soft and sensual, quiet enough for just you to hear, “Do you want to go play now, sweet girl?”

You bite your cheek to try to fight the smile, but as Joel’s eyes flick to your lips it’s no use. A shy smile tugs at the corners of your soft pink lips. “Are you going to let me come?”

He looks at you the same way he did when you drank the water and ate that toast. Pride. He’s proud of you for asking for what you want, and you can almost feel your insecurity and fear around asking for things starting to shrink.

The softness in his voice morphs into a growl, “If you’re a good girl.”

You spin your body towards him, determination lacing your face. “I can be your good girl, Mister Miller.”

Joel’s strong fingers link with yours and a quiet giggle passes your lips as he hauls you towards a door in the shadows close to where you two entered. Truthfully, if it wasn't for the little red light on the security pad, you wouldn’t have even known there was a door there. He waves his ring past the device and after a quiet beep sounds the light flashes green and the door clicks open. He pulls you through and as soon as Joel hears the final click of the door closing he hauls you over his shoulder. Your squeal at your world literally turning upside down with his brute strength melts into an aroused moan as his strong hands grasp the back of your bare thighs.

When Joel stops walking, you tear your eyes away from his perfectly sculpted ass, like these pants must be stuffed, there’s no way this man has a better ass than me. You glance up to see two other doors; assumingly belonging to Tommy and Tess. A familiar beep sounds in the quiet hall and your throat goes dry as he steps into his room. He takes a few long strides before sliding you down his muscle lined chest and placing you at the foot of the bed. He stays close, your breasts just barely grazing his warm body. Your gazes are locked, and even though you’ve grown comfortable with his intense need for eye contact your breathing still goes shaky and uneven.

Oh fuck, this is it.

His hand cradles your cheek, “You read and signed off on everything in the app, but I want to reiterate a few things, baby girl.”

You swallow hard, his finger now tracing down your throat and you swear you can feel every whorl of his fingertips as they trail along your soft skin.

“From now on, you belong to me and I belong to you. No one else. You are not allowed to come unless I say.”

His hand continues its road trip of your body, settling to wrap around the nape of your neck. “Y-Yes, Mister Miller.”

“I have a no sex rule. I’ll give you orgasms, I’ll fuck you with my fingers and toys, even my tongue, but not my cock. I need you to understand that my rule is nothing against you, sweetheart. Are you ok with that?”

“Yes, sir, Mister Miller,” you coo. The nervous excitement from early has returned, every bit of skin that he’s touching is almost humming, butterflies with sharp wings scrape at your stomach. You bring your hands to the lapels of his expensive blue suit, fisting the soft fabric.

“Fuuck,” he moans, “That sounds so pretty coming out of your mouth, sweet girl.”

You smile up at him. He squeezes the back of your neck gently, his other hand cradling your chin between his thumb and forefinger. The rough pad of his thumb caresses your chin. “Nothin’ tonight that will require a safeword-”

“Stegosaurus,” you say eagerly, cutting him off. It’s silly really, but that little dinosaur on top of his coffee machine is what first intrigued you about the anonymous millionaire whose home had been assigned to you to clean. It also has some sort of meaning to him, so it seemed only natural for that to be your safeword.

He smiles, laughing gently, “Not tonight, baby. If you want to stop tonight, just say so and I’ll stop. Ok?”

Your pussy flutters at the unexpected moments to come, but a gnawing anxiety starts to claw at your chest. You’re not sure what causes the shift, but suddenly you go from excited nervous to just plain nervous. Am I ready to give up control? What if he sees me naked and doesn’t like it. He said it was only me, what if he regrets that decision?

Your chest tightens, the knife-winged butterflies multiplying and traveling up your throat. Joel must sense a shift in you, he steps closer to you and softens his eyes as they dance around your face, a silent sign that he’s patiently waiting for you. If you said you wanted to go home you know he would kiss you softly and call your new friend Cap, but you don’t want that. You want this, you want whatever is about to happen; you just need to let go.

Vulnerability is thick in your voice as you break one of his rules and murmur, “J-Joel?”

“What’s wrong, baby?” His voice waivers, making you feel a little bit better.

“I’m nervous.”

He lowers his head towards yours, running the tip of his hooked nose down the slender bridge of yours. You close your eyes and take him all in. He’s warm and hard, yet somehow so soft. His familiar ash and leather scent is mixed with the expensive whiskey he drank earlier.

“So am I, sweet girl,” he whispers into your lips before kissing you softly. You melt into him, his hands moving to cup your face. His soft lips sponge against yours and everything quiets. You’re not sure how he does it, but kissing him feels like dunking your head under water, everything silences, all the nervousness dissipates. It’s just the two of you, floating in tandem in an endless void.

He’s nervous too? Because of me? I make this strong, successful, brooding man nervous? Your inner voice of anxiety starts to settle. I’m safe here.

The comfort of your thoughts is enough to have you pulling yourself into Joel more. You increase the intensity of your kiss, turning your head and parting your lips slightly. He follows suit, running his soft tongue along yours. The air in the room has morphed, it’s saturated with passion and arousal. With just one kiss he’s managed to erase all your fears and worries, your mind is silent and ready for whatever instructions he’s going to give you. When he pulls away your both panting for breath.

He turns his back to you, sliding his dark blue suit jacket down, the white t-shirt underneath clinging with perfection to the muscle and sinew that pack on top of each other along his back. He drapes his jacket over a padded bench about five feet away from you; you know from your extensive research that that’s a spanking bench. He spins to face you, slipping his gold and black ring off his hand, keeping his eyes locked with yours as he drops it in a dish on top of a low chest of drawers on his left. You can’t describe it, but the sound of the gold clashing with the ceramic dish puts you in a trance. Like a ritualistic symbol that you are his now.

His hands slip into his pockets, his voice taking on its deep dominant tone, “We are going to start now. You can stay fully clothed or you can get as undressed as you feel comfortable being. I’m serious here, sweet girl. Leave on as little or as much as you want. When you’re done, lay face up on the bed.”

Without thinking your hands fly back to the zipper on your boots, you unzip them and toe them off. You don’t break eye contact as you grab the hem of your sweater dress and pull it up and over your body. As your vision is temporarily blocked by the knitted fabric you can feel his eyes on your bare skin. You’re left in just a matching nude bra and panty set. He’s already seen your tits so you don’t hesitate to unclasp your bra and let it fall away from your body.

Joel swallows hard and licks his lips. “Beautiful,” he mumbles appreciatively and it coats your skin in warmth.

You hesitate for a moment with your thumbs hooked in the waistband of your panties. You know they’re soaked through, and you’re sure he can see that from where he’s standing. He’s so fucking good at reading you, so you’re not surprised when he says, “Only take off what you feel comfortable with, my sweet girl.”

“I do…I am…I w-want to…I just,” you fiddle with the band a bit.

“You can say it.” He nods encouragingly.

“I like having them taken off me. I - I want to see your face up close when you…when you see it for the first time.”

Joel smirks, popping his hip out to lean on the spanking bench. “See what the first time?”

“Don’t make me say it, Mister Miller.”

He clicks his tongue at you, “Mmm, but I love hearing that pretty little mouth say dirty words.” You stay silent, chewing your cheek as he continues. “Come on…say it. Say, I want to see your face up close when you see my cunt for the first time, Mister Miller.”

You feel your cheeks flush. Earlier tonight he asked you to look at him when you say it, so you roll your shoulders back and hold your head high. As confidently as possible you say, “I want to see your face up close when..” you take a shaky inhale, “When you see my cunt for the first time, Mister Miller.”

Before the last syllable has left your lips he’s across the room, lifting you off the ground by the back of your thighs. You instinctively wrap your legs around him and gasp at the sudden pressure right where you’re aching for him.

“I have memorized every answer from your preferences,” he growls into your collar bone, walking you around the bed. “I have strategically planned what I’m going to teach you and then you say stuff like that and fuck. I have to fight every sick and twisted thought I have, sweet girl.” He climbs onto the bed, laying you down just how he wants you, “You have no idea what you do to me. How out of control you make me feel.”

Joel shuffles his body down, kissing down your sternum before cupping your tits. Pushing them together and sucking one of your nipples into his hot mouth. This is exactly what you’ve been fantasizing about since that moment in his office. His tongue is warm and soft as it flicks across your hardening nipple. He lightly rolls the other one between his fingers.

“Please - oh god - please Mister Miller.” You moan needily. You try to arch into him, but his large body holds you down.

He grazes his teeth along your nipple then looks up at you, “I’m gonna take care of you. Just relax.”

You can’t take your eyes off him as he dives back in. Sucking and biting at your other nipple. You plant your feet on the mattress, hands tangling into his hair, as you try to grind your aching clit into his warm, hard stomach.

“Stay still sweetheart,” He says between suckles.

“I c-can’t. Please.”

He pinches both nipples hard, harder than you’re used to, and you whimper, freezing your hips. His voice is as deep as the obsidian in his gaze, “Stay still. I’m going to make you come. I promise. You need to trust me, relax.”

The pressure on your nipples eases and you pout before letting yourself melt back into the mattress. He smirks, a dimple carving itself in the patchy scruff of his cheek. “That’s my girl. You like your nipples being played with?”

The pad of his thumb ghosts over the tops of them, you shiver and moan, “Uh-huh.”

“Good. Then you’re going to enjoy what I have planned tonight.” He kisses your forehead and then climbs off the bed. You rise on your elbows, watching him as he pads across the room to a chest of drawers. He toes off his brown dress shoes and removes his belt before digging through a drawer. The actions were so simple, yet the domesticity of them has you fighting with your little box of feelings again.

No, you tell it silently as it inches out of the darkness. I am his sub and nothing more. The box seems to have grown a very annoying and persistent personality and it almost says, ‘but he’s nervous too’ back at you.

He turns back to face you, snapping you out of your fight with the imaginary box in your brain. The same vibrator Tommy had is clasped in one hand, his other is palm up, cupping something that he’s shaking much like a gambler does with dice.

“My sweet girl, you put a five for nipple clamps. Remind me, have you ever used them before?”

“No, Mister Miller.”

He wanders lazily back over to the bed, and if he was anyone else you’d tell him to hurry up, but you never want to rush a single moment with Joel Miller. On top of that, you need to let him take control; he said he was going to make you come if you just relax and trust him, so that’s exactly what you’re going to do. He places the vibrator on the small table beside the bed and then sits beside you, holding out his free hand to help you sit up.

He holds the clamps out to you and explains softly, “These are beginner clamps. See this little dial? I can control how tight they are.”

You watch his thick fingers along the dainty metal of the clamps, he’s so soft yet could have you crying with the snap of his fingers if he wanted. A fresh wave of arousal floods between your thighs completely ruining the panties he still hasn’t taken off your body. You nod and whisper, “Ok.”

“You control what happens here tonight. If you tell me that it hurts too much or to stop, I will.”

It’s time to show Joel just how good of a girl you can be, you look at him through your eyelash and sweetly coo, “Yes, Mister Miller.”

A deep growl rumbles in his chest, “Fuck. Lay down..now.”

You lay back, hair fanning around you. Joel stays seated on the edge of the bed beside you and lightly places the first clamp on your right nipple. It’s a light pinching pressure and it feels so good that your eyes flutter shut and you melt into the bed. He puts the next clamp on and you whimper.

“How’s that feel?” he asks, his strong hands gripping your hips, pushing you into the mattress and grounding you in the warm pleasure that floods your stiff nipples.

“S-so good Mister Miller,” you groan. You’re almost convinced this is another dream, he’s doing almost exactly what you have imagined countless times. You open your eyes to watch him, determined to visually take in every single thing he gives you.

“Good, baby. I want you to feel good. I’m gonna tighten them now, jus’ a little.” He twists the little knob. You start breathing heavily, teetering on the edge of pain and pleasure. You bring your hands to his strong, warm forearms as you suck in air.

“Too much?”

Your chest heaves at the delicious feeling flooding your tits. “No, no. More. P-Please, more. More.”

“Good girl,” he hums deeply, the words settling right behind your clit as he tightens the tiny clamps more. The warmth around your nipples spreads to your arms and down your sides. When you cry out he asks, “Pain or pleasure, sweet girl?”

At this point you aren’t sure, it definitely hurts, but it also feels good, and his deep brown eyes are looking at you the same way they always do, full of concern and care, almost like he’s assessing you.

“Both. Both, oh fuck. More, Mister Miller.” He kisses the left one gently and you arch into him, “More, more, please.”

“That’s as tight as they go, are you sure you want more?”

You keep your eyes on him, nodding fervently, “Yes. Please, yes.”

He pops them off and you gasp out in pain, heat rushes to both your nipples and it burns in white hot passion. Joel blows cool air along both of them and you can’t seem to stop your mumbling begging, “More. I need more. Please!”

“I know, baby. I got you.” He opens the drawer on the bedside table and takes out two gold plated clamps. You look down, your nipples already look sore, tinged slightly purple. “I’m so fucking proud of you already. Askin’ so nicely like the good girl I know you are. Goddamn, look at these stiff, perky, perfect little nipples. I love seeing you like this, seeing them like this. Are you wet for me? Are those flimsy lace panties soaked through?”

He places one of the new clamps and you cry out a ‘yes’.

“Ya? Just dripping and desperate for me?” He puts the other clamp on as you chant a chorus of yes’s and oh god’s.

Joel

Joel knew that tonight would either make or break him. As his name spills sweetly from your perfect pouty lips he feels it, the same tug behind his belly button that he felt with Tiffany, that his grandpa said was how he’d know when he found something special; something to hold onto.

“Please, Mister Miller,” you murmur. He doesn’t know what it is you’re asking for, and he’s sure you don’t know either. What is it about you saying those three little words that gets him so rattled? Countless subs have called him that in the past and it never made his cock swell this painfully behind his zipper.

He taps at your nipples lightly and watches your body shudder and arch off the bed. You aren’t even fully naked and he’s fighting the urge to come right there in his pants. He loves the way your body reacts, he can already tell you’re going to look stunning as you come.

“That feel good?” He asks, his voice deep and husky.

“Yes. Oh god, yes!” You haven’t taken your eyes off him and he loves how your eyelids have become hooded from the pleasure while your brows furrow with the pain.

“Does it hurt?” Your cheeks are flushed pink making the colour of your eyes pop.

“Yes,” just as he’s convincing himself to remove the clamps you moan, “Please don’t stop.”

Joel grabs the vibrator from the bedside table before sliding his body down the bed. He starts kissing at your hip bone before wrapping his teeth around the slender band of your panties. Your eyes dart down to him, this is what you asked for; to his face the first time he sees your cunt. He pulls your panties with his teeth, smiling against your soft upper thigh when you instinctively lift your hips to help him. As he shimmies down the bed his eyes stay on your face.

He gets to the end of the bed, standing with your soaked through thong still between his teeth. He relaxes his jaw, dropping the panties in his hand and bringing them to his face. “God fuckin’ damn, sweet girl. You smell so fuckin’ sweet. Imma crave that smell when you aren’t around.” He tucks your panties into the pocket of his four thousand dollar, custom made Tom Ford suit. As far as he’s concerned, that drenched thong is the most expensive and important thing he now owns.

He trails his eyes down your sternum, your legs are straight out in front of you, not parted, but he can see your puffy pink clit pushing through the soft looking outer lips. He feels himself switching into full dom mode. The room around him fades away, everything outside of you and this room doesn’t matter anymore.

“Show me,” he growls. “Spread those gorgeous legs and show me that perfect little cunt.”

He crawls up the bed, following the path you make as you bend both knees up. He feels like a starved dog who’s about to get a meal. Your feet stop, and as he hovers above you, gaze wholly fixated on your core, you relax your legs and your knees butterfly open. God he loves how eager you are, how good of a listener you can be. He licks his lips as your outer thighs finally meet the soft sheets, baring yourself for him completely. He stops breathing as your lips part, sticky with arousal. Your pussy is swollen and glistening, your needy clit puffy and pink.

A deep moan rumbles in his chest as he lowers himself to the be, his face between your legs. Once he’s close enough he can see the tight little hole he’s vowed not to fuck. “Shit, sweetheart. This is goin’ to be so much harder than I thought.”

Your cries wash over him; he’s experienced enough to know that it’s from your nipples hardening under the clamps at his words. He smirks up at you, “How are you so wet already?”

“You, Mister Miller.”

“That right? Me playin’ with those nipples get you all turned on?”

“Uh-huh, and you said I couldn’t touch myself. I’ve been like this for days.” Your bottom lip pokes out and it absolutely ruins him, but he pushes down the overwhelming need to fix it and give you exactly what you need. No, you want to experience being a submissive, and that’s what he’s going to do.

“Poor baby,” he mocks, tsking at you. He kisses right above your clit and you gasp. He’s close enough to know the heat of his breath is going to have you squirming and he can’t wait to watch how beautiful you’ll look doing it. “So wet. Smells so good. Fuck, She’s right in front of me but I already miss her. You look so soft and tight. Goddamn, you’re gonna have me breakin’ all my rules, sweet girl.”

“Please touch me. Please.”

“Mmmm, such a good girl for asking so nicely. I can’t say no when you beg like that, baby, makes me weak.” He kisses the crook of your inner thigh, he knows how much he’s teasing you right now, he watches you get wetter by the second, the beautiful folds of your pussy opening like a flower in the sun for him and flushing a deeper pink and the blood courses to your most sensitive parts.

“I need you Mister Miller,” your voice waivers as you say his name, and you blink a little harder, he knows you’re fighting back the tears and it makes his cock throb harder, the teeth of his zipper practically digging into him.

After what feels like hours, he finally brings a thick finger to tease at your entrance. You buck into him, desperate for the friction.

“Don’t make me tie you up. Stay still for me, please.” Even with the please at the end, it’s a command - deep and serious, and you don’t dare test him. Your nipples stiffen every time he speaks, and they ache under the clamps, it’s the perfect twinge of pain to heighten the bits of pleasure he’s giving you.

You press your lips in a tight line, hands grounding you as they ball the sheets, focusing on keeping still. You want to shamelessly fuck yourself with his fingers; meanwhile, he’s being slow and calculated. Joel torturously draws slow little circles along the waiting hole with just the tip of his finger. He watches as your sticky white arousal coats his fingertip, then groans as he slowly pushes his middle finger all the way inside of you. You gasp at the welcome stretch and fight like hell to stay still.

“Look at you, fuck. So warm and inviting.” He slips his finger out slowly and lets out an exasperated sigh. Your heart falls into your stomach.

“Mister Miller, no. Please, it felt so good,” you practically cry at the loss at the feeling of him finally inside of you, finally giving you a taste of what you need the most.

“I know,” he shushes, “But that’s not what I have planned, not yet at least. My sweet girl, I need ya to be loud for me. I’ve been wanting this for so long. Need to hear you. Understand?”

The distinct sound of the vibrator you forgot he had comes to life and you squirm with anticipation. “Yes, Mister Miller. I will, just please, please make me feel good.”

He reaches up, the black vibrator makes contact with your nipple and an intense pain shoots to your core before it blooms into pleasure. One of your hands leaves the sheets, fingernails digging into the forearms of the hand he has holding the vibrator and you sob out.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he groans before moving the vibrator to the other nipple, circling it around this time instead of holding it flush. “Jus’ tell me if you need me to stop.”

“Don’t, please don’t. Oh god, yes.” You know you’re screaming, you doubt anyone can hear you, but at this point you don’t care if they can. The pleasure becomes overwhelming, you slam your eyes shut and arch your back. Joel’s strong chest is warm in between your thighs, he’s so broad that he’s keeping you spread open. You grind into the soft white cotton of his t-shirt.

“Look at me. Focus, sweet girl,” you peel your eyes open to meet his gaze. Warm coffee and hazel eyes stare down at you. “Stay still, please.”

“I can’t - aah!” He presses hard on your sore nipple and it brings you back into your own body. You manage to still your hips and release your grip, leaving behind little crescent shaped indents in his muscle lined forearm.

“Good girl,” he praises and then pulls the vibrator away from your breasts. His free hand comes to your mound, he swallows hard before breaking eye contact, pulling his hand back and looking at your puffy, and completely exposed bundle of nerves. A devious uptick of the right side of the mouth sets your blood on fire before he taps lightly at your clit once with the soft head of vibrator.

You cry out in pleasure.

He taps again and you gasp out loudly.

He taps a third time and you’re almost certain that this is how you’re going to die. No man has ever teased you like this. You’re desperate to come, your body breaking out in sweat, but you never want Joel to stop. Moans and whines are pouring out of you without you even realizing it, he looks so fucking beautiful between your thighs, staring at your pussy like it’s the sunrise over the ocean, like he’s never seen anything as beautiful or fascinating and it makes your feel unstoppable. You make him look like that. Him. A man who could have anyone in the world, but here he is, looking at you like you’re his whole world.

“Let me hear you, show me how you can be a good girl,” he clicks the vibrator up and holds it tightly to your clit. The sensation is almost too much and your nipples ache under the little gold clamps.

Your body starts to shake involuntarily and your moans become longer and huskier, you’re going to come any second now. You squeeze your eyes shut and Joel pulls the vibrator away.

“No,” you gasp. “More. Please, I need more. Please.” The fear of him leaving you like this has the back of your eyes burning. Was there a time limit you weren’t aware of with the room? No, this is his private room. Right? Didn’t he say that he has a private room? And it shouldn’t matter if the club is open or closed, he’s the owner.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” You blink your eyes open, trying to focus on his face, but you’re so turned on that the edges of him seem fuzzy. “That feel good? The vibrator teasing your desperately swollen clit?”

You nod your head, “Yes, again. Please, Mister Miller.”

“Tell me what you want?”

Historically, situations like this have riddled you with insecurity. You’ve never been a talker in the bedroom and as a textbook people pleaser you never, like NEVER, ask for what you want. Yes, being here fully naked with a fully clothed Joel makes you feel safer and more understood than you have ever been. You know that if you ask for anything in this room and beyond, he’d do it.

The words leave your mouth without you even thinking about it, without second guessing or carefully planning what it is you’re going to say. “Please make me come. I’ll be so loud for you. I’ll scream and moan until I have no voice. I’ve been such a good girl and I’ll do whatever you want. Just please, please make me come.”

He raises an eyebrow at you and his voice washes over you like honey, “Good fuckin’ girl. Eyes on me and hold on.”

It happens in an instant, the vibrator flicks to the highest setting as he adjusts his body to hold you firmly against the mattress with this forearm, your hands grab onto his shoulders as he presses the soft, thick head of the sex toy right onto your clit.

You scream and squeeze at the strong muscles of his shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure courses through your system, you tense under his touch. The build of your orgasm somehow too much and not enough all at once.

“Oh god. Oh god. Yes, I’m - Mist - fuuuck.”

“I know, I’m right here.” He says darkly.

“Gonna come,” you sputter between your cries of ecstasy. You can feel that familiar tightness building.

“Relax and let go for me. Come for me, sweet girl. Let me see this beautiful little cunt twitch.”

His words send you over the edge and your orgasm rocks through you violently. You convulse with so much force that Joel grunts as he holds you down. You’re nothing but what Joel is giving you, not a single thought or insecurity, not a single worry about studying or school, you’re just what Joel has made you and it feels fucking fantastic. His dark onyx eyes swallow you whole.

The pleasure of your orgasm, mixed with the pain in your nipples is so much more than you’ve ever known, and Joel’s deep gravel filled voice praises you the whole time.

‘There’s my girl.’

‘Sooo good for me.’

‘Fuck, that’s it my sweet girl.’

‘Beautiful when you scream for me.’

It starts to become too much. Your throat is hoarse from screaming. As your nails start to dig deep into his shoulders Joel slows the vibrator down and holds it lightly to your twitching clit as the aftershocks course through you. He releases your body from his and kisses your hip bone before shutting the vibrator off completely.

He’s stills between your thighs, your hands resting on his shoulders. Joel smiles up at you sweetly and you pull at his t shirt to encourage him to crawl on top of you. He doesn’t hesitate, bringing his stong body on top of yours, resting his forearms on each side of your head.

“Do I have your consent to kiss you?” He whispers.

“Yes,” you coo. His mouth meets yours similar to how it did when you both confessed to being nervous. It’s soft and lingering as you take shaky, calming breaths through your nose. That annoying little box of feelings shivers in the corner of your mind and you mentally put a piece of packing tape over the lid.

You end this kiss this time, pushing your head into the pillow. “I’m gonna grab some cooling spray and take those clamps off now, is that okay?”

You nod and hum in agreement. Your eyelids and muscles feel heavy and sated. Joel's warm body parts from yours and a chill runs up your spine. When he releases the first clamp you whimper, the burning ache goes away as soon as he sprays it with a cooling coconut scented mist. When he removes the second one, your pussy clenches around nothing, a small but powerful orgasm waves through you as the cool droplets of the aftercare spray land on your pebbled breast.

“Did you just come?” Joel questions proudly.

Your hands cover your face as you blush harder than you have in years, “Yeah.”

Joel’s warmth encompasses you again as he climbs back on top of you, he gently pulls your hands away by your wrists. “Fuck, baby. I think I’m addicted to you.” He kisses the tip of your nose, “Such a good girl.”

You shiver underneath him and he rolls the two of you so he can wrap the blanket around you, your head rests on his chest, your body half on him and half on the soft bed. He holds you tightly, his meaty hands rubbing any place they can over the fluffy down filled cocoon he’s got you in.

A comfortable silence falls around the two of you, your breaths in sync with one another. Your eyelids flutter closed, and that little voice starts to come back, lacing you with insecurity. You don’t want to ask, but you have to. You clear your throat quietly and ask, “Are you seeing any other subs?”

“No,” he replies softly, his lips brushing the top of your head. “But I haven’t told all of them yet. The dom/sub relationship is a delicate one. I can’t exactly just message them on the app that it’s over.”

You settle deeper into him. “What else do you have planned for us?”

You can hear the smile in his voice as he says, “I’m going to show you everything you want to know.”

A fire burns in your stomach, “When?”

Joel lets out a small laugh, then tilts your chin up, pulling back a little so he can look at you. “You’re so fucking cute when you’re eager. I have to go out of town tomorrow, but we’ll make sure to find time when I’m back this weekend.”

Him leaving is a bit of a blessing in disguise for you. “I take the LSAT again on Friday, so I guess this gives me lots of study time.”

He cranes his neck to sponge his lips to yours, the scruff of his mustache tickles a little and you giggle into his kiss. “How long have you owned the club?”

“Almost five years,” he replies.

You let an impressed hum, tucking your head into the crook of his neck as the two of you fall into a comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds are your mixed breathing and his calloused hand along the blanket. You remember all the times tonight that he called you ‘my sweet girl’ and you wonder if he’s feeling the same way you are, or if he’s so used to all of this that it’s just second nature to him. The packing tape on that fucking box starts to peels as if to say ‘he was nervous too and it’s only you’.

After a while Joel breaks the silence. “Becoming a lawyer is a pretty intense process. Your family must be really proud of you.”

“Umm, well, I actually don’t really know,” you say.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Joel says lightly and you know he means it. You know he would never push you to give him something you didn’t want to, he might push your sexual limits, but never your personal ones, and for whatever reason that almost makes it easier to tell him.

You roll onto your stomach and prop yourself up on your forearms on his chest. For a second you let your eyes look around the room. You were so focused on Joel earlier that you didn’t notice the rings and hooks along the black steel bed frame; or the paddles and ropes hanging on the wall next to a ladder and St Andrews Cross. In classic Joel fashion, everything is black and softly lit. Everything but the bed sheets which are plush and white.

You take a deep breath, resting your chin on your hands, and start, “I don’t want pity for this, truthfully I’m grateful that this is my reality, but my parents had me when they were very young and they were both very selfish when I was growing up. Never abusive or anything, and not neglectful in a physical way, but emotionally I was left alone a lot. I realized early on that if I excelled in something they would show up, and for a long time that felt really fucking good. But as soon as I hit high school I realized they were showing up for themselves. They’d brag about me to other adults, but not actually congratulate me. They’d show up to honour roll ceremonies, but not with me or for me, it was so they could say I was their daughter. They didn’t help me get those grades, I did that on my own. And I’m still doing that on my own.”

Joel’s eyes soften, those two permanent lines between his eyebrows disappearing. “That explains so much, my sweet girl. I want you to know that I’m here for you.”

The tape on the box of feelings snaps as the lid flies off. Not now, you scold.

“I know, but honestly, I don’t really need anyone to take care of me. I’ve made it this far and I plan on making it the rest of the way the only way I know how.”

“Doesn’t that get lonely?” He asks.

“Doesn’t this?” you say gently, gesturing to the room.

“No,” he blinks at you a few times. “I was in my early twenties when my wife died. I needed to focus on raising Sarah, but I’m still an adult male with needs, so I found the world of BDSM and kink. It allowed me to get what I wanted, and what my partner wanted, without the attachment of a relationship.” His words are so real and honest and in just those few sentences you feel like you know Joel Miller more deeply than you know anyone else.

“My way doesn’t get lonely either,” you say with a smile, tucking your head back into his chest.

Joel

Your breathing is calm and heavy, it kills him that he’s going to have to wake you up. Usually his aftercare doesn’t involve opening up about his past like this. He’s not a monster, but he is very strict about keeping his kink life and his real life separate. Something about you though has him opening up about Tiffany and Sarah.

“Baby,” he whispers into the crown of your head, shaking you a little. “We can’t sleep here, I’m sorry.”

You blink up at him and his heart ceases at how beautiful you look all sleepy and supple. He finds himself unconsciously memorizing the little details of your face. Your lips are puffy from his kisses and you have a little mascara smudge under your eye. He thumbs the black make up away gently and says, “Let me help you get dressed and then Cap will take you home, ok?”

You nod lazily and he helps you gently roll off him. He stands and starts to gather your clothing. After a few minutes of looking around he huffs, “Where are your panties?”

A tiny giggle sounds from the cloud of white blankets, the sound shooting straight through his belly button, “Check your pockets.”

He laughs at himself, reaching into his pants pocket to pull out your lacy nude thong. He helps you sit up, “I’m keeping these, by the way.”

“Should I be expecting my panties to go missing every time?” You say jokingly as you take your bra from him and put it on.

He nods and asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Good, really good actually,” After you put your bra on he pulls your dress over your head and then kneels to help you with your boots. “I - umm - I was hoping that this would help turn my brain off for a while and it did. I feel, I don’t know. Recharged almost?”

This is exactly why he loves kink, it’s an escape from the world for him and his sub. He kisses your knee and moves to the other boot. “Good, that’s what is supposed to happen.”

He pulls you to your feet and allows you to steady yourself before pulling you in for a hug. “Thank you for tonight,” he whispers. He hopes you know that he needs this as much as you do, how much this helps him clear his mind and reground himself.

After closing the door to the town car and sending you home he goes back into the club, waving for a whiskey and joining Tommy at the bar top.

“She was pretty,” Tommy says, clinking his glass against Joel’s.

“Yep,” he swirls the amber liquid in the cup.

“New?” Tommy asks.

“Yep,” Joel repeats and then sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I think I’m fucked, Tommy.”

Tommy puts his glass down and turns to face Joel, gripping his shoulder. “Are you ending it with all your other subs for this girl?”

Joel takes a long sip from his crystal highball glass. Repeating the only word he seems to know lately, “Yep.”

Tommy lets out a breath, “Shit. Ya, you’re definitely fucked.”

“Tiff told me to find someone who scares me. This fucking scares me, man.” Joel finishes off his whiskey, and even though there’s a drink limit, the glass is refilled before it’s even hit the table. “This is - I just - I ain’t felt like this in a long time.”

Tommy smiles at Joel, “I’m happy for ya, man. And look, as long as you aren’t keepin’ her panties then it’s probably not as bad as you think.”

Joel pulls that nude thong from his pocket and puts it on the bar top as he finishes off his second glass of whiskey and then waves the bartender off, silently signaling that he’s done.

“Shit, so you are fucked then?” Tommy laughs.

“We didn’t,” Joel says defensively, brows pulling together.

“I didn’t ask if you fucked. I said you are fucked.” Tommy shakes his head at his older brother.

Joel runs a hand down his face and through his scruff. “Look, you gonna be ok this week while I’m in Paris?”

“Ya, me and Tess got it.” He claps Joel’s back roughly as he stands. “Safe travels, hey?”

Joel nods and waves over his head at his brother. He hasn’t fucked you or let you suck his cock yet and he’s already feeling all turned around. But god, the way your body twitched in response to him, the way you melt into his arms every time he kisses you. How brave and confident you were after overcoming the shyness of asking for what you want. He can’t wait to teach you more, but he’s going to have to find a way to not let whatever feelings he might be having get in the way.

Next chapter

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acciotaitlynn · 2 months ago

Text

It's only been a few months since you and Xavier started your new chapter together, but already, you can't envision life without him. Moving so far from your best friend is proving to be difficult, but things get a lot worse when Sylus...catches feelings?

♡ pt.1

‧₊˚ ┊xavier⤷fem!reader⤶sylus

‧₊˚ ┊sexual content, 18+, smut with some plot, angst, unprotected sex, oral;꒰f&m receiving꒱fingering, handjob, restraints, marking/claiming, overstim, non/dub somnophilia, polyamory, cuckold themes, "guide my hand. tell me where to touch her, xavier," type thing, rough & soft, mostly softie sylus, there's a little heat between the guys, reader is not mc from lads

‧₊˚ ┊25k wc

༝ domxavier/subsylus/subreader, but all switch a bit (give sub sylus a chance 😩)

༝ pet names used: sweetie, dove, little birdie/angel, baby,"toy", good girl

This is pt.2 to a request I really enjoyed doing. I started writing this immediately after pt.1, but it took forever. I had to find a way to justify hurting Xavier that didn't make me hate myself 😭 let it be known that some sparks start flying between the guys halfway through a certain scene 🙈 they were begging; I couldn't help it. Not edited. I don't want to look at it ever again 😵‍💫 Tags: @littlecrow-littledove @lilithdaintyrose @cordidy: the sylus and mai scene is at the end if you want to skip to it!

The scent of something burning rips you from your dreams, prompting a low, frustrated groan as you force yourself to sit up and peer around your room. Over the past six months, the lingering smell has become all too familiar. When moving in with Xavier, you had no clue that he was such a terrible cook. Which wouldn’t be an issue if he didn’t insist on making you breakfast every morning. The thoughtfulness of it warms your heart, but secretly, you wish you could ban him from the kitchen altogether.

Soft fairy lights guide your way down the hallway as you slip on a robe. “We need to set a new rule,” you mumble groggily upon locking eyes with Xavier’s wide, innocent gaze. He stands clutching a tray of burnt biscuits, frantically fanning the smoke hanging in the air.

“Please wait until I wake up to cook. You need supervision, and I’m exhausted from being woken up so early,” you pout. He gives you his best puppy-dog eyes, mimicking your displeased expression before tossing the charred lumps into the trash with an exaggerated “Fine.”

A teasing, sultry smile curls your lips as you draw close, cradling his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. Xavier takes in your adorable, sleep-rumpled features with a smile as your touch grows more insistent. “I am pretty hungry though… and since you ruined breakfast, this will have to do,” you whisper, desire taking you hostage as your gaze traces his bare chest.

Fingers sneaking under the waistband of his sweatpants, you shoot him a mischievous grin. His pretty eyes darken as you drop to your knees before him, taking his boxers down with you. Xavier’s heart skips a beat at the sight of you kneeling, a quiet curse slipping out as you lift your shirt just enough for him to glimpse your breasts. Bunching your hair up, you guide his hand in a silent gesture. His fingers instantly tangle, tugging tight as your tongue flicks over the tip of his cock to taste him.

The suction of your lips around his head has him swollen and firm under your touch in seconds. Cupping your chin, his hand guides you as you take him in completely, moaning at his taste as he fills your throat. Taking him deep a few times and popping him out, you spit on his length, coating it languidly as you meet his gaze.

“I think it’s only fair that you feed me...” you murmur, wrapping his free hand around his shaft. With your mouth open wide and your tongue flat, you invite him in. Tightening his grip on your hair, his eyes fill with so much desire they make your body hum with delight. Adjusting your face to his liking, he fucks it without hesitation. Xavier knows your desire is to please him, and he’s more than willing to oblige.

With deep, precise thrusts, he aims to leave your pretty face ruined when he’s finished. At his climax, Xavier pushes his cock deep it brings a jolt of pain, releasing his warm, comforting release while he strokes your hair tenderly. Greedily swallowing every drop, a sated hum leaves you as tears stream down your cheeks, gagging and drooling around him.

Lifting you onto the counter, Xavier meets your blissful gaze, wasting no time before his fingers slip under your shorts. It feels so good when his finger slides through your slick folds that it pains you to pull away, trapping his hands in yours. Gently freeing himself from your grasp, he instinctively reaches for you again. Giving you a petulant look, he retorts, “But I’m hungry too…” before silencing you with a needy kiss.

Rejecting Xavier is incredibly challenging. With an undeniably addictive touch, his kicked-puppy expression only adds to the allure. Cupping your breast, his teeth tease a sensitive spot on your neck, eliciting soft whimpers from you as he tries to break your resolve. While he almost succeeds, you gather your composure and push him back gently. His pouty face brings a smile to your lips as you playfully poke his rosy cheek. “I’m already running late.”

“You know I’ll make it quick.” His voice, low and sensual, stirs your desire, making your thighs press together in an attempt to restrain your arousal. Yet, you counter, “Yeah, right. One orgasm from me turns you into a hungry beast who craves more. You’ll have me missing work altogether if you get a taste.”

Acknowledging that you’re right, he rolls his eyes, looking every bit like a disappointed child. But in moments, his expression softens as he cups your cheek, giving your nose a gentle nuzzle. “You owe me dinner later, angel,” he murmurs, smirking at your blushing cheeks before heading for the fridge.

As you rush and prepare for the day, you pause to embrace Xavier on your way out. Tucking a stray hair behind your ear, he offers a gentle smile and inquires, “What time do you finish work tonight? I’ll grab takeout before you get home. No cooking, I promise.”

A wave of guilt washes over you. You haven't told Xavier of your plans with Sylus yet. You’ve been dreading this moment—Sylus is a delicate topic lately, prompting you to avoid mentioning him altogether.

Letting an apology shine in your eyes, you meet Xavier’s gaze. “I forgot to mention that Sylus will be in town today... We’re meeting up for drinks. You’re more than welcome to join us,” you offer hesitantly.

A mix of emotions crosses his features as he backs away. Unease wars within Xavier as he questions, “He was just here. Why does he need to return so soon?”

“He has something to take care of nearby, and he thought it would be nice to see me while he’s in town,” you explain, deliberately omitting the part where Sylus mentioned it would be a wasted trip without seeing you.

He shoots you a cold glare that strikes like a physical blow. “I’m not really in the mood to go out. I picked up a book yesterday that I’m eager to start,” he responds, leaning in to give you a soft kiss. The way he avoids meeting your eyes makes your heart sink. “Stay safe. The offer for takeout still stands,” he mentions before heading towards the bedroom.

You shut your eyes, taking long, deep breaths in an attempt to quell your anxiety. This tension with Xavier is agonizing, especially since he’s always been your pillar of comfort and happiness. And knowing he has valid reasons to feel uneasy hurts you more than anything else.

Initially, when you moved here, Sylus would stop by a couple of times a month. But recently, his visits have become increasingly frequent. Last month alone, he made eight trips, causing Xavier to grow suspicious of his intentions. Sylus maintains that he’s in the area for business purposes, a fact that secretly brings you solace as you miss his presence. Having been a constant in your life for nine years, the distance feels unsettling.

Resolving to ask Sylus to reduce his visits, you hope it will alleviate some of Xavier’s concerns. Nevertheless, a sense of sorrow hangs over you like a shadow throughout the day, intensifying each time your friend crosses your mind.

A smirk dances on Sylus’s lips as he slides a bag across the table and settles into the booth. Suspicion washes over you, shooting a look of betrayal at the gift.

“Why do you insist on torturing me like this?” you exclaim, frustration creeping into your voice. You hate receiving gifts, a fact that Sylus is well aware of.

“Is it really torture, sweetie? You insist on using my phone to search for things you want, then act surprised when I buy them for you,” he replies, a teasing gleam in his eyes as he leans back.

With an exasperated sigh, you peek into the bag and spot a pair of boots you remember trying on during a shopping trip. “I never searched for these, Sylus! I only tried them on that day!” you protest, skepticism coloring your tone.

He casually shrugs, draping his arm over the booth while scanning the room with his piercing crimson gaze. “Fortunately for you, this bar doesn’t offer karaoke,” he quips, flashing a wicked grin.

“That’s exactly why I picked it,” you shoot back, grimacing in annoyance as he playfully tousles your hair.

His tone shifts to amusement as he warns, “Don’t underestimate me—I might just stand on this table and start a choir, sweetie. You’re tempting fate.”

As the drinks flow and the conversation continues, you find it increasingly difficult to leave. The night grows late, and although you should head home, a sense of concern gnaws at you when you notice Sylus gazing absently at a TV across the room.

Offering him a gentle smile, you move to his side of the booth. A fleeting expression flips across his features, disappearing before you can place it. His usual composed, slightly cocky demeanor slides in effortlessly to take its place.

“Ever heard of personal space, dove?” he teases, raising an eyebrow with a smirk as he looks at you. Unfazed, you roll your eyes. “Since when has that been an issue?”

For a brief moment, hesitation crosses his face before his grin widens. Slipping an arm around your shoulders, he eases back, sighing softly as he rests his head against yours.

Seeing Sylus so weary and worn out—a rare sight—causes worry to wrap around your heart. In an attempt to lift his spirits, you playfully tickle his side, but he intercepts your hand, shooting you a warning glare that silently says, “Behave.”

Smiling, you lean into him, closing your eyes to savor the comfortable silence enveloping you both. It takes you a few moments to realize that Sylus is still holding your hand, cradling it delicately where it rests on his thigh. Without a second thought, you intertwine your fingers with his, giving a gentle squeeze. Grip tightening briefly, his eyes snap open as his silver brows furrow in surprise.

He relaxes quickly, though, his lips curving into a small smile as his thumb lightly traces your skin. A strange warmth flutters through you at his gentle touch. Your eyes widen as they focus on his hand, noticing how it swallows yours whole. How can hands so large feel so gentle? Suddenly feeling inexplicably nervous, you clear your throat to distract yourself.

“Do you need to vent about anything? I can tell you're not doing well…” you start, worry seeping into your voice.

He remains silent for a long moment before murmuring, “I appreciate the offer, dove. But not this time.”

A fresh wave of apprehension rises as you resist the urge to pry. Sylus always opens up when he’s ready. “Okay,” you whisper, squeezing his hand reassuringly before pulling away. Your frantic heart slows, an odd sense of relief washing over you as the contact ends. Thinking of Xavier waiting for you, you suddenly feel very eager to get home. “I need to get going. It’s getting late,” you say with a smile.

Confusion fills you when Sylus releases his hold on your shoulder but doesn’t get up to leave with you. Instead, his eyes lock onto yours for a long moment before he replies, “I think I’ll stay for a while, sweetie. Be safe getting home.”

His demeanor suddenly turns distant as he shuts his eyes again in a silent dismissal. The fierce stinging sensation in your chest at what feels like a rejection surprises you. Irritation bubbles up as you grab your purse and silently leave the bar.

Xavier is still awake when you get home, lounging on the couch with a nearly finished book in his hands. Slipping onto his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck, you draw him in for a lingering kiss. He greets you with a gentle smile before turning back to his reading, absentmindedly stroking your hair. Resting your head against his chest, you listen to his slow, steady heartbeat, feeling immediate relief as your body relaxes and the day's worries ease away.

You drift in and out of sleep as he finishes the last few chapters of his book, stirring as he sets it aside. Kicking out the footrest, he pulls you on top of him, enfolding you in his arms and nuzzling your neck with a relieved sigh. “I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting,” he murmurs, pressing delicate kisses to your skin.

You lean into his touch effortlessly. “It’s okay... I promise I understand.” Savoring his taste, your tongue explores his mouth languidly as your fingers trail under his shirt.

Body becoming pliant in your hands, Xavier silently grants you permission to do as you please. You straddle him, deepening the kiss as you grind down on his erection with a slow roll of your hips.

Tangling your fingers in his hair and gripping tightly, you elicit a strained gasp of pleasure. His pretty eyes flutter shut as his hands find your waist and guide your movements.

Each taste of his skin and sweat is amplified by the sweet sounds escaping him as your lips trace the contours of his neck. “Don’t I owe you dinner?” you whisper with a mischievous smile.

He hesitates briefly, his eyes flickering away before he murmurs, “What if I just lay here, and you use my body in any way you want.” Arousal courses through you, your cheeks flushing furiously at his words. The request is something new from him. Intercepting your hands as they wander to his pants, he gently commands, “Clothes off, angel.”

Blushing even deeper, you stand and slowly remove your dress, unhook your bra, and slip off your panties. Xavier’s throat bobs, awe shining in his voice as his gaze wanders your form. “You are so beautiful…” he murmurs.

Your heart clenches painfully at the deep adoration in his eyes. With a tender smile, you beam back at him.

Just as you’re about to straddle him again, you pause, eyeing his clothed body with a pout. His voice shimmers with need as he responds, “Don’t people dress their dolls up for different occasions? My owner will have to tell me how she wants me.” There’s a faint roughness to his tender tone, an undercurrent of raw emotion sending shivers down your spine.

Suddenly, you feel incredibly nervous about this shift in dynamic. But you resolve to give Xavier what he’s asking for—what he seems to need, judging by the plea in his eyes. Voice soft but firm, you instruct, “Then, for starters, I’d like my toy naked and in my bed.” He gives you a gentle smile and a lingering kiss before leaving the room.

Xavier typically prefers taking on a dominant role in bed, which suits your tastes perfectly. But you can’t deny the excitement bubbling at the thought of reversing roles. And if you were going to do this, you’re all in.

Arousal washes over you when you enter the bedroom and see his naked form. He’s already hard and ready for you, the sight making your breath catch as a string of precum trails from his cock to his boxers when he frees himself.

Heat sparks in Xavier’s eyes when he notices the ropes you’re carrying. He appears almost nervous as you softly instruct him, “Rest back against the headboard for me.” Tying his arms and legs to each end of the bed, you silently restrain him. Once you’re confident he won’t free himself, you straddle him again and grab the scarf.

Eyes widening in surprise before everything goes dark, his body starts to tremble as you lean in and press your tongue into his eager mouth. Gentle caresses slowly ignite with intensity as you bite and suck at his lips until they’re slick and puffy.

He’s simply perfect. Lips parted, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his body quivering at even the lightest of your touches. Cupping his cheeks, you kiss from his forehead down to his nose. A strained breath escapes him as his hips subtly grind into the air.

His voice carries an undeniable plea as he murmurs, “Please… I need to hear your voice.”

The control you hold over him fills you with giddiness as a smile lights up your face. Your voice is teasing and sensual as you reply, “Hmm… I’ll talk to you. As long as you behave like my good, sweet boy.”

Brushing your thumb over his perked nipple, you elicit a low, decadent sound in response. Your breath catches as his cock twitches beneath you in reaction to your words.

“I’ll be so good for you, angel, I promise,” he breathes.

“My poor baby,” you murmur, gathering some of his pre-cum on your fingertips before licking them clean with a pleased hum. His erection looks painfully hard.

“That sure looks like it hurts,” you muse with feigned concern. Your touch brushes him lightly again as you ask, “Is it uncomfortable, Xai?”

Wiggling in the restraints, his hips grind up in a desperate attempt to seek friction as he nods frantically. Stroking him slowly, you spread his essence around until he’s giving you sweet little moans. When he’s close to finishing, you let his length plop onto his stomach, earning a pained groan in return.

“Want to mark your body this time…” you murmur. Xavier nearly whines as you work a bruise on his skin with deep pulls of your mouth. Arousal floods you as you pull back to admire your work with a faint smile.

You can understand now why putting marks on you is such a potent aphrodisiac for Xavier. Watching the bruise darken, you feel as if you might burn alive. His form quivers as you place your palm over the spot, with only one word running through your mind—mine.

Moving over his chest slowly, you create a few more marks before warming his nipple with your breath as you pull it into your mouth. A low groan escapes as his head tilts back with a low, broken curse. Grinning at his needy sounds, you tease him with flicks of your tongue. His strangled voice tugs at your heart. “Do—do you like using me like this?” Hope colors his voice, a blush spreading beneath the blindfold.

“I love it... I love you,” you admit softly, your cheeks reflecting his rosy hue.

He groans, pleading, “Kiss me—even just once…”

To tease him, you tighten his restraints a bit, definitely not expecting him to mumble “tighter.”

Worry stirs within you as you comply, the ropes digging into his skin—enough to surely leave marks. He assures you that he's okay, though, sinking into the bed and murmuring, “Perfect.”

Sliding down his body, your fingertips trail over his abs as you settle between his legs. Pressing kisses just above his cock, your tongue flicks out to taste him.

His hips grind up with a frustrated groan when he doesn’t feel the warmth of your mouth envelop him after the teasing touch. “And you call me a slut…” you tease, clicking your tongue in mock disapproval.

Sucking one of his balls into your mouth, you release it with a wet pop and a pleased hum. The restraints tighten as he curses and tugs on them in exasperation before trying to calm himself. Head tilting back, he takes deep breaths, biting his bottom lip sharp enough to draw blood. His amusement shines through as he asks, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Humming in confirmation, your words are a teasing melody as you taunt, “Tell me how much you like being my pretty little fuck toy, Xavier. Need to hear you say it…”

Struggling to speak, his cock pulsing under the press of your lips, he manages, “I—fuck, baby. You know I do. Now please suck my cock… Just—just for a minute, angel?” he pleads.

Giggling, you murmur, “Okayy… but only for a minute.” Languidly sucking around the edges, you feel him grow even firmer beneath your teasing tongue. Sounds of raw desire slip from you both, twisting your core into knots as you take him deep into your throat.

Burying himself to the hilt with a pointed thrust, you allow him this moment, holding still as he fucks your face with slow, deliberate strokes. Then, you pop him out of your mouth with a teasing smile, caressing his length as you scold, “Dolls don’t move on their own, Xavier. They stay still and do as they’re told.”

His lips part in disbelief before a smile stretches across his face. Relaxing against the headboard, his voice is rough as he replies, “Yes, ma’am.”

Admiring the sheer pleasure you’re bringing him, nearly high on his ecstasy alone, you whisper, “Good boy,” before taking him into your mouth again. Desperate to fulfill his desires, you put your heart into every stroke and flick of your tongue until he’s whining beneath you.

Kissing along his shaft, you whisper tender praises along his skin, his pretty sounds growing needier. As he nears climax, you draw back, eliciting a frustrated growl. Giggling, you guide his cock through your wet folds as you straddle his hips. A pained sound escapes him as his body trembles with restraint.

Guiding his chin, you study his face and the blush on his cheeks. “Xavier?” He tilts his head a little, his lips forming a gentle smile. Kissing him delicately, you murmur, “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Lost in the sensation of grinding against him, his warmth sliding through your slippery folds, you both cling to each other tightly, savoring the intimacy.

“Don’t cum yet, Xavier. Just me,” you scold playfully. With a firm nod and a strained breath, his head knocks against the headboard.

Smiling against his lips, your tongue seeking his, you wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him close.

Your hips move faster as you chase release, your breath gentle against his ear. “You break me apart without even touching me…” Nuzzling into his neck with a needy moan as your orgasm approaches, your core tightens almost painfully. “You’re gonna make me cum so hard…” Just before you do, you impale yourself fully on him, clenching and pulsating around him in waves. A strangled, needy sound escapes you both as you eagerly bounce on his cock.

“Need to see you,” you whisper as you remove the blindfold, gazing into his eyes and kissing him again. Brows knitting together, he searches your face. The desire and love etched into your features push him dangerously closer to what he's been instructed not to do.

Xavier needed this so badly—he needed to feel your desire for him, even if he couldn’t fully grasp why. Desperately craving to see if using him for your pleasure would drive you as wild as it does him. Relief washes over him as he observes your blissful expression before your lips melt against his neck as you quietly chant his name against his skin like a prayer.

Gently gripping his throat, you kiss him, whispering, “I…I take it back… Please fill me up.” Xavier groans, nibbling and tugging at your lip, urging you to meet his gaze. Watching every flicker of ecstasy that graces his face as he releases himself, he struggles to keep his eyes on yours until they finally shut as his head falls back, his reverence for you escaping in a murmur. You keep riding him until he’s squirming in his restraints, begging you for a break.

Sliding him out of you with a grin, you playfully nuzzle his face. “Is my sweet boy feeling sensitive?” you pout, earning a raised brow and an amused grin from him. “You’re the literal Overstim King, babe. You can handle it,” you tease, rolling your eyes as you begin untying his restraints.

The moment he’s free, Xavier cradles you from behind and slides back inside you. Pulling you close and burying himself deep, he relaxes against you with a soft, happy sigh. Adjusting your pillow as you pull up the covers, you nestle against him as his cock softens inside you, finding instant relaxation in his embrace.

As sleep begins to take you, you remember that Xavier is leaving for a mission the next day. “Do you know when you’ll be back from the trip?”

“Mhm. Shouldn’t be more than two days. I have to leave early... probably before you wake up,” he replies in a drowsy murmur.

The thought makes you unbearably sad. Two days seems short, but you haven't been apart from Xavier for longer than a day since moving in together. “Fine. But promise to text me every chance you get,” you grumble. Sealing the pact with your pinkies, he chuckles softly before drifting into a peaceful slumber, pulling you along with him.

Waking late in the morning, you take a deep breath of air free from the scent of burnt biscuits, and it hits you that there might be one silver lining to Xavier spending a few days away. Seizing the moment, you decide to clean while you have the place to yourself. At first, you’re singing and dancing around as you work, your mood high as you move through the house. But it isn’t long before nagging thoughts drown out the music and sour your good mood. Sylus was really upset last night… You sensed it but chose not to push him; that approach has never been effective in the past. The sadness etched in his features, and the slump of his shoulders were unlike him, and each step makes the memory of his troubled face pierce your heart a little deeper.

Spotting a vase of flowers left by Xavier, you open a note that reads, “I miss you already, beautiful,” alongside a doodle of a smiling star. A giddy feeling washes over you, a fierce blush rising to your cheeks as flashes of last night consume your thoughts. Was Xavier able to hide the marks the ropes left on his wrists? Will he pleasure himself to the memory while he’s gone?

Reluctantly, you gather yourself before you can spiral out of control, refocusing on the task at hand. You had said nothing to Sylus about cutting back on his visits last night… You couldn’t—not when he showed up looking so worn down. The constant anxiety this discourse is bringing is becoming downright exhausting. Perhaps some time away from both of them will help you sort through your increasingly complicated feelings.

The way your heart faltered last night when you entwined your fingers with Sylus’s... It was a simple gesture, no different from his arm around your shoulders, yet it carried an intimacy that none of your previous touches have. And the way his thumb brushed your skin as he turned to you with those striking eyes…

Striking? … This is Sylus you’re talking about… You’ve always thought his eyes were pretty, sure, but striking? You quickly shut down that line of thought and the idea that there might be a twinge of attraction towards your best friend. Deciding to ditch the cleaning for now, you opt for a jog around the block to clear your head.

It’s futile, the exercise helps push the uncomfortable thoughts aside only temporarily. Upon returning home, you find the source of your unease sitting on your sofa, reassembling a handgun. Your heart thumps at seeing him, but you narrow your eyes and ask, for what feels like the millionth time, “How did you get in here, Sylus?”

He meets your irritated gaze with a raised brow and a bored look. “You already know the answer to that, dove. Maybe you should start asking why I’m here instead.” His expression reveals nothing about how he’s feeling today, but he looks at you as softly as he always does.

Sitting beside him, you earn a confused glance as your knee brushes against his thigh, and you pull away to create more space between you. It so feels strange to shy away from his touch. His stare is thoughtful as he searches your face before ultimately looking away.

He cleans the gun with familiar, meticulous movements. Stretching out long on the sofa, you prop your head on a cushion to watch him. The comforting sound of the cloth brushing over metal and Sylus’s presence quickly brings you a sense of serenity. But the worry still lingers…

“Sy? Why are you here?” you ask gently.

He glances your way, and for a moment, you expect him to dismiss your concern. Instead, he averts his gaze and replies, “Because I wanted to see you.”

Instinctively moving closer again, you sigh as you lean on his shoulder. “Well, I’m glad you stopped by, then.”

He chuckles softly, setting the weapon aside and resting his head against yours. Despite how much you detest bringing her up, you force yourself to ask, “How is Mai?”

Sylus stiffens beside you. He’s silent for so long that you wonder if he heard you, but eventually, he responds, “Your guess is as good as mine, dove.”

Confusion washes over you as you pull back to meet his gaze. “Did something happen?”

The corners of his lips curl slightly, but the expression is humorless. His eyes remain unreadable as he responds, “If you consider us breaking up as ‘something,’ then yes, sweetie. Something happened.” The wall he’s trying to build between you is almost visible as he tries to reinforce it.

Taking his chin in a firm hold, you give him an annoyed look that mirrors his own. “Why are you suddenly guarding yourself against me? Have I done something wrong?” You try to mask the hurt in your voice, but it’s too late; your eyes brim with tears.

Grimacing when he sees one fall, his hand cups your cheek as his thumb gently brushes it away. He lingers in the moment, tracing your skin as he searches for the right words to say.

Why does his touch feel so different now? Why do you suddenly ache to lean into it, to have more of it? Sylus pulls his hand back but keeps his gaze locked on yours. “I’ve spoken to you of the other two men who are tangled in her web,” he starts, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear before continuing.

His long fingers have splayed over your thigh before, but they’ve never made your heart race like this. Have his hands always been this beautiful? It takes everything in you to remain calm while he speaks. Though his tone is bored, genuine emotion swirls behind his eyes, his grip on you tightening slightly.

“After Xavier found a way to escape her hold, Mai decided she needed to tighten her grip on the rest of us.” He sighs, leaning his head back and giving you a tender smile when he sees the horror and anger in your eyes.

“Sylus…” You begin, but he cuts you off, his voice soft. “You know me, dove—while her choosing to fuck them was painful, it wasn’t the issue.”

Suddenly, he grabs your chin, drawing your face close to his. “How could you not tell me that Mai purposely put you in danger that day?” His voice trembles with fierce anger and hurt, flashing across his features.

Instinctively, you jerk back, releasing a surprised squeak when his grip tightens, pulling you back in.

Looking down at your lap, shame laces your words as you admit, “You love her so much, Sy… I just— I didn’t want to hurt you...”

Genuine exasperation takes over as he guides your face back to his, murmuring, “Didn’t want to hurt me? But you let me—” He closes his eyes, struggling to steady himself. “How do you think I felt when I found out what she did, having had my cock filling her just hours before? Did you think I would be okay knowing I made love to her for months after she tried to have you killed?”

His voice is a low, furious growl. Gently cradling your face, he searches your eyes, his expression softening when he sees the confusion and fear.

Taken aback by the intense emotion radiating from him, you can barely get your words out as you whisper, “I’m so sorry, Sylus.”

While you knew Sylus would be pissed if he ever found out what Mai did, you never expected a reaction like this. And you certainly hadn’t thought he would end their relationship over it. His head rests against yours as he releases a deep sigh. “I understand why you didn’t tell me, dove. And while I appreciate your concern—” anger swirls in his eyes as he continues, “Don’t ever do something like this to me again.”

Your eyes widen at the underlying warning in his tone. Nodding softly, you search his face, your eyes flickering rapidly over his features in an attempt to guess his next move. When his eyes drift to your lips, lingering for a moment too long, you panic, thinking he will kiss you.

But instead, he lays down on the sofa, pulling you down with him.

As his large body envelopes you from behind, you tense with thoughts of Xavier filling your mind. You kissed him in this very spot just last night. Guilt and fear consume you at the thought of him finding you and Sylus like this. Because the way Sylus is holding you is nothing like his typical friendly touches. This is intimate, and his hold on you is almost possessive.

Sensing your hesitation, Sylus rubs soothing circles on your stomach, the delicate touch sending shivers up your spine. Like honeyed whiskey, his voice wraps around your body and binds it in place. “Relax, sweetie. Your precious hunter isn’t due home for another day.” You immensely regret sharing that information. Your cheeks heat, and your heart pounds, pulling a surprised gasp from you as his breath tickles your ear.

“Consider it your penance for hurting me,” he murmurs, pulling you closer as he settles against you. You want to ask him why he’s acting this way, but the words won’t come. After a while, your body relaxes in his familiar embrace, and you wake hours later to find it dark outside. Drowsiness fades instantly when you feel Sylus’s hand on your bare skin.

At some point, his hand found its way under your shirt, resting just below your breast. Shock bolts you off the couch, propelling you a safe distance away. Disbelief floods your features when you see Sylus wide awake, an amused grin spreading across his face as he watches you panic.

“What has you so flustered, dove? I touch you all the time, do I not?”

Your lips part in surprise as you search his mirthful gaze. “You know damn well that was different, Sylus!”

He stands, shrugging and not bothering to respond. You nearly jump out of your skin when he reaches over to brush your hair back. Pulling back completely when his fingers skim your neck, anger swells up at the boundaries he’s so boldly crossing.

Narrowing your eyes, you snap, “Don’t touch me like that again, Sy, or you’ll lose the right to touch me at all.”

He looks genuinely taken aback before donning his mask, effortlessly taking on his usual calm, cocky demeanor. Gathering his jacket and keys, he grins and asks, “Are we still having dinner tomorrow, or is that not allowed anymore?”

Having had it with his attitude, you shoot him a cold look. “I think I’ll pass.”

He chuckles and nods, tossing a casual “See you later, then, sweetie” over his shoulder on his way out.

Growling and throwing a pillow at the front door as hard as possible, you imagine it’s Sylus’s face. The anger subsides much too quickly, and you collapse to the floor, cradling your head as guilt and pain overwhelm you.

“I’m here because I wanted to see you.”

“Didn’t want to hurt me? But you let me—”

Your phone pings on the coffee table like a gunshot in the stillness of your home. A picture of Xavier lights up the screen. Your heart aches a million times more as his pouty face and blue eyes pierce into you.

Xavier: Hot pot when I get home?

Xavier: All they’ve fed me R peanut butter sandwiches…

Xavier: I let them know they need to adjust their meal plan. How R we supposed to fight Wanderers on nothing but fumes?

Xavier: Please send meat

Xavier: Can’t wait to see you, angel <3

Unable to think of a single thing to say, you set the phone back on the table, retreating to the safety of your bed. Breathing in Xavier’s scent as you hug his pillow, tears form in your eyes as you shut them tight and imagine he’s holding you. Clinging to his presence in your mind, you let it wrap you in its safe embrace as you drift off to sleep.

Whether it’s due to physical exhaustion, mental anguish, or both, you sleep for eleven hours straight. To be honest, you could go for eleven more. Weighed down by thoughts and emotions, your body aches as if you’re sick. But it feels like the perfect night for wine and a movie. The horror flick plays in the background as you text Xavier back.

Xavier: R U sure ur not sick? U should try to get some more rest

Xavier: I’ll be home in the morning to take care of you

You: Tell them I’m deathly ill & need you tonight :’ (

Xavier: Will tell them I'm starving to death and have to go home

Xavier: I got U a Wanderer plushie. It's ugly, but U will like it

Xavier: Wear 1 of my sweaters until I can hold you <3

You: Already in 1 ; )

Xavier: …omw home they’ll be fine without me

A giddy grin lights your face as you start thinking about Xavier’s hands traveling under said sweater and—

A knock at the front door interrupts your growing fantasy, instantly cloaking you in unease.

Barefoot, you pad down the hall, wondering whether or not you want to open it, as there’s only one person it could be.

Sylus’s disheveled appearance pulls a startled gasp from you. His hair is messy from the grip of his hands—a telltale sign of his anxiety. Rosy cheeks and ears, his red eyes burn brightly as they pierce through your very being. The smell of whiskey is potent, but you’d know he’s drunk even without it. The unfamiliar heat brewing in his eyes as his gaze traces your curves shakes you to your core.

Sadness still clings to him like a dark cloud, prompting you to keep your voice gentle as you ask, “What are you doing here?”

You’ve never seen Sylus falter before, but he does as he searches your face. “I just—” he shakes his head, trailing off hesitantly.

Putting some distance between the two of you might be best, but you can’t bring yourself to pull away when he’s in such obvious pain. His face lifts in surprise as you give him a soft smile, taking his hand and guiding him inside.

Leading him to the kitchen, you force him to drink two tall glasses of water before sitting on the counter and studying him closely. As he observes you back, the moment feels reminiscent of the staring contests the two of you often hold. Both of you smile softly as if thinking of the same memory. Sylus is much more open and honest when he drinks this much... This may be an opportune time to get some answers.

“What’s going on with you lately? And why are you standing way over there?” you ask, noticing he still stands at the kitchen’s entryway, looking almost nervous.

Irritation flashes on his features as he replies, “I’m no longer allowed to touch you. I wasn’t sure if I have a proximity limit now, too.”

Disbelief clouds your voice as you snap, “Don’t play dumb, Sylus. You know damn well that having your hand that close to my breast was not one of your typical touches!”

Sylus tilts his head, observing you intently. His soft voice takes your breath away as he says, “I’m beginning to see that the way I touch you has never been mere friendliness.”

Somewhere between a scoff and a squeak, you choke out, “What? Sylus! You don’t mean that!” Sylus chuckles and gives you a sad smile when you make the words sound like an indisputable fact.

He comes closer, stopping just shy of your knees. Propping his hand on the counter beside you, he carefully adheres to your no-touching rule. When his eyes meet yours, they hold a desperate plea. “I need permission to touch you one last time, dove.”

Your heart cracks at “one last time.”

“Why?” you barely manage to whisper.

“I need to show you something,” he murmurs.

Confusion and unease spike at his words, but without much thought, you find yourself nodding in silent permission. The light returning to his eyes melts your heart in ways it shouldn’t.

His fingers brush your cheek and travel down your neck just like yesterday. Though he’s barely touching you, his warmth feels searing, and it’s taking every bit of your self-control to remain still.

His touch travels your arms, leaving goosebumps in its wake as you manage to utter a strangled, “W–why are you…”

His fingers brush down your arm and neck again as he asks, “How many times have I touched you like this, sweetie?”

Your throat bobs nervously as your wide eyes watch his hand travel across your body. “Um… a lot, I guess…” you admit quietly.

He hums, nodding in agreement as he traces shapes on your stomach. “And here?” You give him a clipped nod, releasing a huff of breath as you shut your eyes tight and try to convince yourself that you hate what's happening.

Slipping under your sweater, the traces a circle on your bare skin, murmuring into your ear, “Do you remember that trip to the mountains? We spent the night drinking in the pool and watching the stars.”

Sylus closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours. Slowly, his hand splays over your stomach, unsettlingly close to the spot that irked you yesterday. “I held you in my lap that night, soaking up your warmth just like this...”

His hands wrap around your thighs next as he spreads them and steps closer. Tilting your chin, he locks eyes with you, the blatant desire etched into his features stealing your breath away.

“Now tell me, do any of these touches feel simply companionable to you?” Sylus asks.

Definitely not. Not this time, anyway. But, unwilling to accept whatever is happening, you nod and do your best to lie. “They do to me,” you say, your voice much firmer than you’d expected. Maybe he’ll actually believe it.

He nods softly, inching his hands a little further up your thighs. “I thought so once, too. But—” He tilts his head, amusement playing on his features as he murmurs, “Think about it. How many friends do you know that behave as we do, sweetie?”

Fear courses through you as you whisper, “Why are you doing this?” You wish he’d stop talking and leave your house because he’s turning your entire life upside down.

His hands leave your thighs to cradle your face. “I don’t let people get this close to me. You know me better than anyone. I constantly seek your touch, your presence. I run to you without a second thought when I'm upset. Even with Mai, I found myself aching for something as simple as karaoke with you…” You can’t breathe as his agonized gaze meets yours, and he says, “I don’t know how I missed it, dove. I’m sorry.”

The compulsion to comfort him grows too powerful, and you draw him in for a hug, gasping in surprise when his arms wrap tightly around your waist, and he rests his head against your shoulder.

As you hold him, stroking his hair and rubbing soothing circles on his back, you realize that Sylus might be right—maybe your relationship has always been more than just companionship.

Gently, you push him away a bit, forcing yourself to say the words that feel like a death sentence, “I won’t do this to Xavier. And… I just don’t feel that way about you, Sylus. I’m sorry.” The words are a whisper you can barely get out.

He grips your hips tightly, pulling you flush against him as frustration flashes on his face.

Tangling his fingers in your hair, he guides your head back as his other hand tenderly cups your cheek. The kiss is nothing more than a soft press of your lips—delicate and painfully intimate.

When you pull back to look at him, his blissful expression brings tears to your eyes. The effort it takes not to kiss him again makes your body tremble and your fists ball up tightly.

Sylus gives you a knowing, concerned look when he realizes you’ve reached your limit on how much you can handle. Kissing your forehead, he backs away to give you some space.

He loathes himself for the tears tracing down your cheeks and for the hurt and confusion that have lingered around you since he began to express his feelings. But he needs you to know the truth. He can only pray that it doesn’t cost him everything you’ve built together.

His voice is gentle and reassuring as he promises, “No matter what happens, I'll never leave you. Remember that.”

He reaches out to brush your cheek back before pulling away again. “Just do me one more favor. After I leave, replay every trace of my touch on your body. Close your eyes and think of how my lips feel against yours.” His voice is desperate as he finishes, “Tell me then that you truly feel nothing for me, sweetie, and I will find a way past this.”

When the front door shuts softly behind him, the emotions you’ve been holding back rush to the surface, and panic slams into you with such force that you can’t see past it. It’s in everything you are, swirling like a storm as you choke on your breath, desperately trying and failing to get air into your lungs as your skin tingles almost painfully.

Nausea sends you running to the bathroom as your body attempts to expel your overwhelming emotions.

You don’t need to do as Sylus asked—you can remember every touch in vivid detail without trying. And though you don’t want to admit it, you are excruciatingly aware of just how good it felt.

Finding your way back to your safe place, you snuggle under the covers, holding Xavier’s pillow close again and taking deep breaths of his scent to quell your anxiety.

But this time, the comfort of feeling closer to him twists into overwhelming guilt. You force yourself to stay there, feeling terrified, ashamed, and emotionally spent, considering it a penance for hurting the two people you care the most for in this world.

Xavier arrives home the next day to find you curled up in the same spot, hugging his pillow with tears streaming down your face. You haven’t slept or moved at all.

Concern washes over him at your appearance; exhausted, worn down, and sadder than he’s ever seen you. Fear clouds your features as Xavier sits beside you on the bed. Pulling away when you cry even harder at his touch, he murmurs, “What’s wrong?”

You look down, balling the comforter around you up in your fists. You can’t meet his eyes as you say, “Sy… Sylus left Mai…”

Xavier’s stomach drops. He knows what comes next. Honestly, he's been expecting this moment for some time now. Sylus may have thought his feelings for you were platonic, but when he began to miss you so much that he couldn’t stay away for more than a week, it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. Mai’s face flashes in Xavier's mind as terror overwhelms him.

Sylus took Mai from Xavier. Why does he have to take you too?

“What happened?” Xavier repeats. It’s all he can seem to say. He can barely speak, barely breathe.

His sudden, cold, distant tone makes you flinch. “He… he kissed me,” you admit quietly.

He simply nods in response, casting his gaze away as he asks, “Did you enjoy it?”

“I don’t know.” Shame hits you full force as Xavier gives a quiet, mocking scoff and hangs his head for a moment before standing. You watch helplessly as he packs a small bag, grabs his keys, and finally looks at you. You wish he hadn’t. Genuine anger and fierce hurt lurk in his features. It hurts more than anything else has. “I won’t be back. I’m not doing this. Not again.” And then, just like that, he’s gone. You hear the front door close behind him, and the rest of your world shatters apart.

Strangled, agonized screams consume you as anger adds itself to your turmoil. The vase of forget-me-knots shatters on the floor, the blue blossoms making you unreasonably pissed. Is Xavier seriously going to leave without at least letting you explain yourself?

How can you feel so guilty yet like you’ve done nothing wrong? Why did Sylus have to tell you about his feelings? You wish he would have just kept them to himself. Most frustrating of all, you want nothing more right now than your friend’s comfort.

Sylus picks up on the first ring, and his gentle voice makes you burst into tears again.”Deep breaths, sweetie. I’m on my way.” He was already on his way out the door when he heard your ringtone. A feeling of unease had lingered in him all morning, almost as if he sensed that you weren’t okay.

He finds you curled up on the wet floor, flowers and glass scattered all around you. Your broken gaze meets his as you whisper, “Please, Sylus… I—I can’t be here right now.”

Setting you on the edge of the bed, he moves around the room, packing up some of your belongings. After hooking the bag over his shoulder, he wraps you in his arms, tucking your head against his chest. You watch yours and Xavier’s front door close behind you, the click of the lock feeling so final that it makes the reality of the situation sink in.

You’ll never wake up to the smell of burnt biscuits again. You’ll never again feel the most tender love you’ve ever experienced—the most precious thing in the world to you, gone in the blink of an eye. Xavier left you so easily that you can’t help but wonder if you meant that much to him after all.

Sylus purchased a house nearby shortly after breaking things off with Mai. He kept his place in the N109 Zone for business, but it no longer feels like home without you. Telling you this makes him incredibly nervous, but his worries are unfounded. When he sets you down on his sofa, you take a teary-eyed look around the room before turning to him and whispering, “When, Sy?”

He clears his throat and rakes his hand through his hair. ��A few months after you left,” he admits quietly.

You give him a gentle smile, tenderness playing on your features. “Do you think my best friend could hold me for a while?

In moments, he has you wrapped in his arms, carrying you into the bedroom and setting you gently on the bed.

“Sylus…” you start, as a fresh wave of anxiety flows through you at being in his room.

He smirks when he sees an adorable blush spread across your cheeks. Lifting your chin to meet his gaze, his voice is firm as he promises, “I only want to hold you.”

Relief fills you as you nod, moving over to give him room. Sylus is ripped in two at your pained whisper, “He’s gone...” Squeezing you tighter, he kisses your hair, murmuring, “I’m sorry, dove… This was never what I wanted.”

While the way he holds you feels intimate, Sylus doesn’t attempt to cross any boundaries in the slightest.

You curl up at his side, laying your head against his chest. The only touch he places on you is the entwining of your fingers, resting just above his heart.

Days turn into weeks as Sylus watches you retreat so far into yourself that he worries you may never return. He persuaded you to stay with him for the time being—he can’t bear the thought of leaving you alone like this.

When you’re not working or sleeping, he often finds you staring at the wall or television with a distant look in your eyes. He often has to coerce you into eating or caring for yourself. You’ve begun to shy away from his touch, rarely even wanting a hug for comfort since that first night. Xavier haunts your mind relentlessly, and it's clear to Sylus that his absence will likely linger with you forever.

Today, however, saw some progress. Getting up to shower and get dressed sapped most of your energy, but it made you feel a bit more human. Sylus even convinced you to watch the new season of your favorite cooking show, and after a few glasses of wine, you began to open up.

When you return from getting another bottle, you sit beside him, so close that your shoulder brushes his. An amused smirk lights his features when he sees your wide eyes realize what you’ve done. You blush fiercely and adjust slightly, but you don’t move away.

Instantly, a weight lifts from Sylus’s shoulders. He was genuinely worried that you might never forgive him. But then tears form in your eyes when the TV shows a clip of a couple caught in a passionate embrace. He chose the show because it held no romance; ads weren’t something he considered.

Pulling your knees close, you curl into yourself as the pain hits you anew. Sylus kneels before you, resting his hands on your knees and murmuring, “I can’t take the pain away, but I might be able to make it a little better...”

You search his eyes for so long he almost takes it as a no. But just as he’s about to pull away, you whisper, “Okay.” Picking you up and sitting down, he cradles you in his lap, holding you and stroking your hair as he hums one of your favorite songs.

You let him continue for a few minutes, but eventually, you pull back and, narrowing your eyes, accuse, “That is so not helping, Sylus.”

Chuckling and cupping your chin, he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. Pressing down on the plump skin, he says, “There is another way…” His lips brush over your cheeks before trailing to your lips. He kisses you softly, then pulls away, gauging your reaction.

Your eyes don’t leave his lips even for a moment as you whisper, “Again.”

This kiss is deeper, but Sylus pulls back much too soon. “Better?” he asks, hoping for a yes. He can’t bear the thought of stopping.

“A little…” you mumble, your body tingling with pleasure.

He smiles softly, tilting your head to kiss along your jawline and neck. Your eyes drift closed as your body melts against him.

He nuzzles your nose before capturing your mouth again, his tongue exploring slowly and deliberately, memorizing every inch. So this is what it's like to really kiss Sylus… The one before was nothing compared to this. You draw him closer, groaning softly at the taste of him.

He’s like the most potent drug, one that promises to be hell to let go of. He wraps around you and consumes your very being, nearly devouring you whole.

You adjust and straddle his waist, pulling him flush against you as you kiss his cheeks. His eyes flutter shut, accepting the gentle press of your mouth. When you suck on his ridiculously adorable top lip, you realize how badly you’ve wanted to do it all along.

His crimson eyes alight with happiness, and his tender smile and joyful laugh make you wish you had been doing this all along. But when his hand travels under your shirt to cup your breast, Xavier’s face flashes in your mind like a physical blow. Jumping off Sylus’s lap with a horrified gasp, your hand clamps tightly over your mouth.

He doesn’t look upset, only concerned, giving you a gentle, knowing smile. Suddenly, you long for a place you thought you’d never want to see again.

“Will you take me home, please?” you ask quietly.

Sylus walks over, gives you a gentle kiss on the forehead, and murmurs, “I’ll grab my keys.” The fact that he genuinely doesn’t seem upset with you is the only thing that holds you together.

A comfortable silence fills the car ride to your and Xavier’s house. Sylus’s eyes hold a limitless tenderness when he drops you off and promises, “I’ll stop by to check on you tomorrow, sweetie. Call me if you need anything at all.”

The dark space feels like a bad omen. What was once the most comforting place in the world is now filled with an unsettling melancholy that breaks your heart all over again. You leave all the lights off; you can’t bear seeing Xavier’s things that he never returned for. The rarely used recliner, nearly free of Xavier’s scent, is the only place of solace left here. You curl up with a blanket and pray that sleep brings you at least a little peace.

Xavier may have left your home, but he never truly left you. Sylus finds him at a nearby hotel, and when Xavier opens the door, Sylus barely recognizes him. Typically, Xavier carries himself tall with quiet confidence, but that’s absent now. He looks as if he hasn’t slept since last seeing you, and his wrinkled clothes and messy hair suggest he’s been taking care of himself as well as you have.

His eyes are emotionless as they meet Sylus’s, standing there, assessing him coldly, before moving to shut the door in his face. Sylus jams it with his boot and growls, “We need to talk.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Xavier asks in a bored tone. “You’ve got what you wanted. You always do.” He turns and retreats into the room, looking like he couldn’t care less whether Sylus follows or not.

As Xavier sits down and pours a glass of whiskey, Sylus watches him with genuine sympathy. He can only imagine what Xavier’s going through; the thought of losing you is more than unbearable.

Xavier leans back, draping his arm over the back of the sofa and meeting Sylus’s eyes. His hardened demeanor falters as he asks, “How is she doing?”

“She barely eats, barely speaks. It’s difficult to even get her out of bed,” Sylus answers honestly.

Xavier visibly winces and gulps down his drink. Sylus eyes him and asks, “How long has that been a problem?”

Xavier gives him a distant look, shrugging and changing the subject as he says, “I’m sure her pain is a little more bearable when you join her in that bed.”

Sylus laughs, but it holds no amusement. “She won’t let me touch her, Xavier. And she has her own room, with a bed I’ve never laid in.” Sylus shakes his head in frustration at the surprise on Xavier’s face.

“She’ll never entertain the notion of being with me if it costs her you,” Sylus says, resigned to that fact long ago. He'd meant it when he said this was never how he wanted things to go.

He’s been giving Xavier time to come to his senses, but judging by how Xavier is drinking his problems away, it seems unlikely that will happen anytime soon.

Xavier downs his drink and reaches to pour another, but Sylus intercepts the bottle and tucks it away. Xavier shoots him a sharp glare, his calm demeanor cracking, “Why the hell are you here?”

Meeting his gaze, Sylus replies, “There’s a way for everyone to come out happy in this, you know.”

Xavier says nothing, simply crossing his arms and sitting back, waiting for Sylus to continue.

Sylus admits, “I told Mai once that I was open to sharing if that’s what she wanted. She harbored feelings for you, Zayne, and Rafayel, and for a long time, it caused her immense pain. She decided not to pursue that route. But you seem to think I kept her from you when that was never the case.”

Xavier’s eyes widen in surprise and anger when he realizes what Sylus is suggesting. “Share? You’ve got to be kidding me. Get the fuck out, Sylus,” he hisses. He stands and heads for the bedroom, but Sylus grabs his arm.

“She won’t live without you. And I won’t live without her. Even if I’m destined to only share friendship with her, I won’t leave her side. So shouldn’t we at least try, for her sake, to make this work?” Sylus asks earnestly. Feeling his frustration rise, he pauses, breathing deeply to collect himself before continuing, “Cast your pride aside for one moment, Xavier, and consider the pleasure we could give her,” he murmurs.

Xavier shakes his head in disbelief, his eyebrows knitting together as he casts his eyes away.

Sylus sighs in exasperation and steps back. “Look. I’m not attempting to anger you by suggesting this, but watch me touch her for the first time. Watch how good it makes her feel. If your cock isn’t hard within minutes from her sweet sounds, then you’re free to walk out the door.” Sylus cocks his head and smirks, throwing in a petty dig to lure Xavier in. “Let’s make a wager on whether or not you can handle it, hunter. What do you say?”

Xavier looks at him like he’s absolutely lost it. But he sighs in resignation, nodding in reluctant acceptance, mainly agreeing to prove to Sylus how wrong he is so Xavier can put this behind him for good. Reinforcing the wall around himself, he replies emotionlessly, “Whatever. But the liquor comes too.”

Sylus steps back to let Xavier enter the house first. Pain surges through him as he walks through the threshold, a place he had hoped never to see again. Despite the darkness, he can make out your form curled up on the recliner. Aching to wrap you in his arms, he forces himself to turn away from your silhouette, heading to the kitchen for a glass.

Attempting to block out his emotions, he turns to Sylus and asks, “Where is the torture taking place?”

Sylus gives him an amused smirk, gesturing toward the bedroom. “Make yourself comfortable,” he taunts, though his look is almost understanding.

It makes Xavier unreasonably angry. He shakes his head and turns away before he punches Sylus in the face.

Once in the bedroom, Xavier feels lost in a space that no longer feels like his. Desperate for a distraction, he makes the bed and tidies up. Seeing the flowers littering the floor is a painful reminder, filling him with guilt and regret. Eventually, he settles into the reading nook nestled in the bay window, giving him a front-row seat to the bed.

Dread lingers, but mostly he feels numb. That’s why he keeps drinking—to keep his emotions at bay.

Sylus lays your unconscious form on the bed. Xavier's heart seizes when Sylus gently slips your shorts off, a protest forming on his lips. The only thing keeping him from tearing Sylus apart is that he leaves your lace panties in place.

Xavier downs his drink and pours another, trying to remain calm as Sylus settles against the headboard and pulls your limp form into his lap.

Sylus watches Xavier as his fingers slip under your shirt, traveling across your skin. “Consider this a practice round. You need to compose yourself before she wakes. She won't consent to this if she thinks it might hurt you.”

Xavier’s gaze travels slowly over your body like a phantom caress, struggling to control his emotions. How could he forget how beautiful you are? He gives Sylus a cold, mocking smile. “Your time starts now, and you don’t have long… Better hurry if you plan to convince me.”

As if there were any chance of that happening. This entire thing is a waste of time. Xavier will never be okay with another man having you.

Sylus’s voice is a low, sultry command. “Guide my hand, Xavier… Tell me where to touch her.”

Fear seizes him as Xavier watches you stir in Sylus’s arms. “I—I can't,” he whispers.

“Yes. You can,” Sylus says firmly. “We can start small, but you need to lead.” He meets Xavier’s eyes. “I concede to the fact that she’s ultimately chosen you. But it’s starting to piss me off that you seem to be taking that for granted. Now, man up, Xavier. Where do I touch her?”

Xavier’s eyes rake over your form again. Starting small is a solid idea. His voice is small as he says, “Hold her hand.”

Sylus entwines his fingers with yours, his thumb stroking your skin as he waits for the next instruction.

The pain Xavier feels when you stir in your sleep, squeezing Sylus’s hand with a soft sigh, is sharp and brutal. Somehow, he manages to say, “H-her hair is falling in her face. Tuck it back.”

Sylus is careful not to wake you as he gently tucks your hair behind your ear.

Nausea churns in Xavier’s gut, and his words come out strangled as he whispers, “Run your fingers up and down her arm.”

Holding Xavier’s gaze, Sylus complies. Xavier isn’t even aware that he says, “I… Both arms now,” out loud until he sees Sylus’s touch make slow, torturous trips along the length of the limbs.

Xavier’s throat bobs as he states, “I think I’m ready. You can wake her up now.” Ready, in reality, for this to be over.

“Keep going,” Sylus commands.

Xavier curses under his breath, resting his elbows on his knees and hanging his head before sighing in resignation. Pain clouds his blue eyes, seeming to drape over his being like a heavy blanket. Somehow, he chokes out, “Kiss her cheek, then.”

Sylus lifts your chin and kisses your cheek before resting his head against yours, giving Xavier an amused smile.

“Her lips now…” Xavier whispers on a choked breath. He needs to speed things along; he isn’t sure how much longer he can hold on. It's taking all his self-control not to rip you away from Sylus. Anger and something akin to terror buzz along Xavier’s skin, mixing with the liquor in his body to create an overwhelmingly potent effect.

Sylus hums with satisfaction as he cups your cheek, his eyes searching your sleeping face before capturing your mouth in a lingering kiss. The crimson orbs burn bright as they turn back to Xavier, waiting patiently.

“Stroke her thighs… but—only a little,” Xavier breathes out, his tone taking on a slightly different note. Sylus can see that he’s still hesitant, but there’s also a faint trace of desire in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

Sylus chuckles and shakes his head. “Maybe you are ready.”

Xavier nearly stops him when he starts to draw you out of sleep, but he can’t find it in himself to move, much less speak.

He just watches, wide-eyed, as you open your sleepy eyes, peering up at Sylus in confusion.

You sense Xavier’s presence immediately. Head snapping up, surprise and happiness light your features before worry washes them out. Searching Sylus's face frantically, your voice is barely a whisper as you ask, “What’s going on…?”

Suddenly, you notice your shorts are gone, and you’re dressed in nothing but one of Xavier’s shirts and your panties, tucked against Sylus’s chest with his hands splayed over your thighs.

Sylus can see your panic swelling like a visible force. His voice is a low, velvety murmur as he promises, “Everything’s fine, dove. Your hunter and I are just conducting a little experiment, right?” He looks at Xavier and raises his brows expectantly. Xavier keeps his face as blank as possible, meeting your eyes with a clipped nod.

Sylus grips your hips and pulls you close, sitting you up a bit to give Xavier a better view, murmuring, “Let’s continue.”

Confusion swells within you, and you squirm in Sylus’s arms, trying to break free. It’s futile, though; his grip is gentle yet unyielding. Defeated, you sink back against him and demand again, “What the fuck is happening right now?”

You look into Xavier’s eyes for an answer, but he offers none. Instead, he gives you a cold stare before turning to Sylus and instructing in a low, firm voice, “Kiss her again.”

Your surprised squeak of, “Excuse me!?” is quickly swallowed by Sylus's mouth as his tongue pries yours open for a slow, thorough exploration. He momentarily loses himself in your taste and warmth, but Xavier’s murmur of "pull her hair while you do it” drags him back.

Grinning against you, Sylus tangles his fingers in your hair. He pulls tightly, drawing out a low moan from you as he tilts your head back to deepen the kiss.

Between presses of your lips and strokes of your tongues, Sylus seeks Xavier's gaze, his glowing eyes piercing into Xavier’s to ensure he doesn’t overstep.

Sylus meant it; he has no issue with sharing you. He’s confident that, eventually, he’ll be the one who satisfies you best. He was prepared for this all along, knowing it was what you would most desire.

His only goal is to please you; everything else he can endure. However, this isn’t turning out to be the burden he was expecting. The desire blooming in the man watching from across the room is undeniably pleasant. Not to mention how arousing it is to make Xavier watch Sylus touch what Xavier considers his.

You manage to squeak, “Please let me go!” but Sylus’s hand muffles your plea as he shoots you a soft smile.

Your eyes widen when you hear Xavier chuckle quietly at the sharp look of irritation you give Sylus as you struggle in his hold before ultimately going limp, seemingly giving in to whatever this is.

You must be dreaming.

That’s the only logical explanation. You’re still asleep in your empty apartment, and your mind is inventing outrageous scenarios to cope.

Because there is absolutely no way in hell that your extremely jealous lover would look this turned on while watching another man touch you.

Fierce anger lingers in Xavier’s eyes, but something much sharper lurks beneath the surface. Sylus pulls his hand back, giving you a chance to mumble, “Is this punishment for something?” with a little pout.

Surprisingly, Xavier responds, “We all know this is far from that for you." You shoot him a sharp glare and stick out your tongue in a childish gesture.

Sighing at the situation's absurdity, you rest against Sylus, touching his thighs. Tracing languid shapes over the fabric of his pants with your fingers, you direct all your attention toward Xavier.

As happy as you are to see him, you’re also deeply upset with Xavier. He left you as if you were nothing to him. Of everything that’s happened, that's been the worst sting of all.

If they were forcing you to comply, perhaps you can get some satisfaction by pissing Xavier off. While the desire to do whatever it takes to make him forgive you is powerful, the need to make him hurt as badly as you’ve been hurting since he left is more potent.

Xavier rolls his eyes and leans back casually. His blue eyes burn with a dark, cocky amusement that is single-handedly the hottest thing you’ve ever witnessed.

Feeling defiant, you tip your head back and try to pull Sylus in for a kiss, only for him to stop halfway and look silently at Xavier for permission. Seriously? Is that how this is going to go? You’re not sure which is sharper—your irritation or arousal. Sure enough, Xavier confirms your thoughts, answering Sylus quietly, “Go ahead,” Xavier shrugs, looking almost bored as he sips his glass.

Sylus searches your gaze with such tenderness that it nearly softens your irritation. His lips curve slightly before capturing yours.

Xavier watches as you go limp in Sylus’s arms, just as you have in his so many times before, while rage simmers inside him. Perhaps this is exactly what he needs—to see your raw, unfiltered desire for the man holding you in his arms. Maybe then, he’ll finally be able to let you go.

“I think you can do better than that,” he taunts Sylus after the brief kiss.

Sylus’s eyes snap to Xaviers with genuine amusement before he adjusts you, cradling you in his lap.

Focusing all his attention on you, Sylus cradles your cheek and gives you a smile that’s as tender as his touch. “May I?” he murmurs.

His deep voice and the longing in his eyes send electricity through your limbs. Without a second thought, your hands tangle in his silver hair as you pull him down and crush your lips to his. You lose yourself in him instantly, gripping him desperately as you suck and nibble on his lips. A quiet moan of pleasure escapes you, only to be greedily devoured by his mouth.

Suddenly, you remember Xavier is watching. Jumping nearly two feet from Sylus, your anguished features meet Xavier’s stunned ones.

“I’m so sorry, Xavier. I didn’t mean to—”

“Again,” Xavier commands dispassionately.

Hurt courses through you in vicious, painful waves. Is Xavier seriously going to let this happen? Does he really not care at all if someone else claims you? Sylus sees something die a little inside, your face falling as tears swell in your eyes.

Sylus is trying to bring you back to life, to help trade your tears of sadness for ones of ecstasy. If Xavier is determined to continue being cold to you, maybe he doesn’t deserve to take the lead.

Sylus pushes you back onto the bed, his body settling between your legs and pressing you into the comforter. He doesn’t waste a single second. Hand caressing the nape of your neck, he angles it to place gentle kisses and bites on every inch of skin he can reach.

Your taste, your scent, your softness—you’re fucking addicting. Sylus groans deeply against your mouth when your quiet sounds turn into needy little whimpers that you fail to hold back.

You push weakly at his chest and meet his gaze, longing clouding your voice even as you say, “Please, Sy. T-too much…” Worry fills you as your gaze flicks quickly back to Xavier, whose silhouette is barely visible in the room’s shadows. Not knowing how he’s feeling makes you feel sick with unease.

Sylus grabs your chin and gently pushes his thumb into your mouth, murmuring, “Suck, sweetie.” Eyes widening in surprise, you do as he asks, simply unable to resist. You watch lust take him over when you swirl your tongue around his skin and suck harder.

Turning to Xavier with a flash of genuine anger, Sylus declares, “I wasn’t lying when I said she hasn’t allowed me to touch her. You’ve buried yourself so deeply into her psyche that she calls out for you even in her sleep.”

His smile is cold and emotionless as he continues, “You left her. And without a second thought at that. If you agreed to this so that you can treat her as if she’s done something wrong—then you can get the fuck out.”

Shutting Xavier out completely, Sylus wraps his hand around your neck and squeezes tenderly. He nuzzles your nose and presses his lips to yours. The kiss starts slow and soft. Xavier senses your hesitancy but isn’t surprised when you give in to your desire. Body arching into Sylus, you deepen the kiss, pressing yourself as close as you can.

Sylus’s words echo in Xavier’s mind, further muddling his feelings. Knowing that you’ve remained loyal to him even when you had every opportunity and reason to forget him thaws Xavier’s heart just a little. Perhaps that’s what guides him as he moves around the room, flicking on fairy lights that shine like gentle stars in the darkness.

You watch him with narrowed eyes as he sits at a safe distance. He can see you so clearly in the gentle glow of the lights.

Xavier realizes it's the first time he’s really looked at you since he arrived, and his heart drops at what he sees. You look like you haven’t slept since he left, even though that’s practically all you’ve done. You’ve lost weight, and the light behind your eyes that’s so dear to Xavier has disappeared completely.

All Xavier sees now is pain, anger, and a sharp hint of betrayal. It’s fair—he knows he should have given you a chance to explain before leaving your life without looking back. But he was so scared… He couldn’t bear the thought of going through another situation like with Mai ever again. It was a boundary he had to set, no matter how much it killed him. Did he put both of you through this hell for nothing, though? It’s an agonizing thought. This plan of Sylus’s isn’t likely to end well, but at that moment, Xavier decides he can give it a chance for you.

Tears fill your eyes as Xavier’s demeanor softens, his features filling with deep regret. Setting your jaw and looking away, you try to hold onto your anger. His tender and infuriatingly beautiful gaze puts a crack in your defenses that you aren’t ready for yet. When Xavier meets Sylus’s eyes, Sylus is pleased to see they’re resolute, and that Xavier’s voice is firm yet tender as he says, “Make her feel good for me—I haven’t earned the right to touch her yet.”

In agreement, Sylus’s lips capture yours in a searing kiss. You jump in surprise when his fingers begin a languid path between your breasts. “You have no idea how much I care about you,” he says earnestly.

He pulls back, searching your eyes. You can hardly breathe as he murmurs, “I know you haven’t accepted me like this. Not yet.” You open your mouth to argue, but his thumb presses on your bottom lip, keeping you quiet. He asks, “Will you give me a chance to show you why you should?”

Body heating painfully, you fight the urge to give him exactly what he wants. Xavier notices your eyes flicker to him at Sylus’s request as if silently seeking his permission. He can see in your eyes that if he asks you to stop, you will without hesitation. But the only way that ends is with you unhappy when you inevitably have to choose between them once again. Giving you a smile meant to convey comfort and acceptance, Xavier feels his heart thump at the light that returns to your eyes.

“I’ll be right over here,” he assures you before retreating to his spot.

Sylus almost looks worried you might reject him. A grin lights your features as you tease, “Well, what are you waiting for then? I told you I only see you as a friend, Sy… I’m going to need a lot of convincing.” You inhale his soft laughter as your tongue dances with his.

This is the first time you’ve kissed guilt-free, the first time you’ve touched his body without your desire being overwhelmed by shame. Although Sylus’s kisses are deep and unhurried, when he pulls back, both of you are flushed and breathless. Hands cradling your head, he guides it as he pleases.

Kisses cover your neck and shoulders, interspersed with nibbles and flicks of his tongue that make you whine quietly beneath him. Hands fisting into his shirt, you pull him closer. When you turn toward Xavier and meet his eyes, shock courses through you. His expression is a mix of desire and restraint; he looks like he wants to break Sylus’s hands as they trail your body, but there’s an unmistakable arousal simmering there, too. He gives you a faint, reassuring smile before returning his attention to Sylus’s mouth, which is trailing dangerously close to your clothed breast.

Xavier’s breath quickens, his hands clenching tightly as his heart races impossibly fast. Sylus sits up and settles against the headboard again, his eyes sin incarnate as he tilts his head slightly, gesturing for you to come closer with a finger. His eyes light when you crawl to him with a teasing grin before settling on his lap, a startled squeak leaving you as he playfully smacks your ass. The way he bites his lip and groans at the sensation makes you absolutely feral. Wrapping your legs tightly around his waist and drawing your face to his, you bite and suck on his perfect lips until they’re slick and swollen. You had no idea how badly you needed him...

His soft, alluring sounds and the touch of his hands are so perfect they’re almost painful. But you force yourself to calm down, stopping to hug him close and slow your pounding heart. He holds you tight, his deep chuckle rumbling against you when you bury your face in his neck and groan in frustration.

You want to devour Sylus whole, but you’d still rather not do it right before Xavier. The rumble of Sylus’s laugh vibrates through your entire being. “What’s the matter, sweetie? Have I convinced you a little too well? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re flustered.”

Your bubbly, playful smile shines back at him. “I just think it’s amusing how creation made you utterly flawless yet couldn’t make it possible for you to carry a tune.” You earn a playful nip to the neck as Sylus mutters, “Watch it.”

He frowns when he cradles your neck, trying to bring your lips back to his, and you hesitate. “I can tell you want this. So why are you still holding back?” His deep murmur against your ear stokes the flames within you.

“I just—” Your gaze flickers to Xavier before settling back on Sylus as pain threatens to wash out your desire.

Sylus gives you a knowing look and guides you to rest between his thighs so you face Xavier instead. Xavier curses quietly as your back settles against Sylus’s chest with a guilty, nervous expression.

Sylus studies Xavier through languid, sultry eyes as he slowly draws your hair back and nips the shell of your ear, trailing kisses down your neck. Xavier looks pained; he already knows what comes next. “Choose where we go, hunter. It seems our little dove is still worried about your precious feelings.”

Sylus wholeheartedly expects Xavier to refuse. This is the pivotal moment in this scheme, and if Xavier is going to back out, now would be the time.

But instead, Xavier’s burning gaze pierces into you before wandering to your clothed chest.

“Lift her shirt. I…I’ve really missed those perfect tits,” Xavier instructs, though a hint of regret lingers in his words.

Pain and betrayal wash over you as you shoot Xavier a withering look, earning a startled one in return. “What happened to me being ‘all yours,’ Xavier? Or was that a lie, just like loving me was?” you snap.

Xavier is completely taken aback, his voice low and strangled, “I’m doing this because I love you…” Huffing in annoyance and casting your gaze away, you hear Xavier’s voice fill the air again. “I don’t like this. But I just…” He looks at Sylus as he finishes, repeating quietly, “Lift her shirt.”

Sylus grins, knowing he has Xavier exactly where he wants him. “Should we show him, sweetie? I don’t know if he deserves it…”

Feeling incredibly pissed off and petty, you answer, “He doesn’t, but you do,” guiding his hands to the hem of your shirt.

Sylus chuckles as he lifts the fabric, and you turn your gaze to Xavier. “Isn’t this your shirt, Xai? Sucks that you have to watch another man take it off of me, huh?” You smile innocently as anger flashes in his eyes.

It's taking every ounce of Xavier’s restraint not to put a stop to this. His uneasy groan fills the room as Sylus slowly lifts the fabric, his intoxicating gaze locked on Xavier until you are fully exposed.

His gentle fingers circle your belly button before traveling up. Sylus asks Xavier, knowing you need to hear it, “May I?” Xavier’s eyes flash, and he hangs his head for a moment before nodding reluctantly. Humming in approval, Sylus's hands continue their journey. Pressing his cheek against yours, he murmurs, “Watch me, dove.”

You whine quietly when he cups the bottom of your breasts, his thumbs making gentle sweeps over your nipples. The silky buds instantly harden under his touch, the sensation pulling a pained groan from Sylus.

Xavier, compelled by something he can’t quite understand, says, “Slap them a little for me—they’re so pretty when they bounce.” Genuine arousal seeps into his eyes as Sylus delivers gentle smacks to your breasts, both of them entranced by the way they move. Groaning softly, you reach up to drag Sylus down for a kiss.

Xavier’s strangled voice breaks in. “She likes it when I tug and pinch her nipples… And if you tease the soft spot under her ear while you do it… she’ll be weak and whiny in seconds.”

A gentle moan of “fuck,” slips from you as Sylus’s thumb and finger start teasing your nipples. His touch is firmer and much more hungry now. Xavier was right—the slow, tantalizing licks of Sylus’s tongue and the warmth of his mouth do have you whining within seconds.

Xavier wants to touch you so badly… He wants to be the one drawing out those beautiful sounds, but he can’t find it in himself to move. Somehow, he can still speak: “Spit in her mouth.”

You groan in ecstasy as Sylus tilts your head back, and Xavier instructs, “Open wide for him, angel.” Feeling like you might spontaneously combust, you obey, and Xavier mutters heatedly, “Good girl… Now swallow.”

Sylus is extremely proud of his self-control. It’s taking everything in him not to bend you over fuck you senseless, whether you want him to or not. To distract himself, he glances at Xavier, giving him a provoking smile while tugging on your nipple. “Angel, huh?” He kisses your ear and asks, ‘Angel or dove, sweetie? Take your pick.”

You refuse to lie. “Angel,” you answer without hesitation, your stomach fluttering when a bit of light returns to Xavier’s eyes at the earnestness lacing your words.

Sylus’s low, unbothered chuckle brushes against your cheek as he kisses you softly. “We’ll see.”

You know what this is—a test run that decides everything. Xavier and Sylus are trying to make this work for you, and it’s the most heartwarming thing you’ve ever experienced. Your anger toward Xavier melts away as you look at him with magnetic eyes and ask, “What do you want to see him do to me next, Xai?”

Sylus gazes down at his palms, which glide over the curves of your hips and stomach, waiting for Xavier’s answer. Fingers gripping your soft flesh, he pulls you closer with a soft, “Come here…” When his erection presses against your ass, you burst into a fit of giggles, earning a surprised look from both men.

Sylus narrows his eyes and flicks your cheek. “What exactly is so funny, sweetie? And be very careful with your answer.”

You squirm, grinding against him and giggling again. “It’s just that… It’s your dick, Sylus! I can’t wrap my head around it.” Your giggles turn into full-blown laughter, but you fall silent when Sylus slaps his hand over your mouth and grabs your hip, moving you against him. He frees you and moves to your breast when your head falls back with a sigh of pleasure.

Looking down at you, he mumbles, “Are you finished?” Your eyes roll back as he makes a pointed thrust against your ass. You can feel him so well through the thin fabric of your panties. “So big, Sy,” you murmur dreamily. “Much better,” Sylus’s voice is a low, decadent growl as he continues his movements against you.

You lift your head off Sylus’s chest and peek at Xavier through eyes filled with need. You reach out for him, and he hesitates, desire and nervousness flickering on his features. “Please?” you whisper, searching his face.

Both of you move simultaneously, his long legs covering the distance to reach you in an instant. Jumping into his arms before he can climb into bed, you wrap your legs around his waist, clinging on as he sits on the edge. Tears flow down your cheeks as he hugs you back. Pulling away, you punch him hard in the arm, earning a surprised gasp and a pout as he massages the tender spot.

“You owe me breakfast for the rest of our lives, Xavier. And if you try to leave me again, I’ll tie you up and make you stay.”

Narrowing your eyes, Xavier smiles teasingly. “Is that meant to be a punishment?” His innocent voice makes you want to kiss and punch him again.

“Don’t be cute. You aren’t out of the water yet,” you mutter.

“But won’t being cute help get me rescued?” he asks with a questioning tilt of his head.

You playfully roll your eyes, heart soaring at being teased by him again.

Sylus stands and approaches you, cradling the back of your head and kissing you deeply before murmuring against your lips, “I’ll be back in a minute, dove.” You watch him leave, your heart swelling with gratitude for the privacy. Turning back to Xavier, you find his cheeks and ears bright red. He wasn’t ready for Sylus to kiss you in such proximity yet. He’s so adorably flustered you can’t help but kiss him, too. Hands resting on your back, he presses you against him as his tongue pries your mouth open. The kiss is hungry and hurried, as is your touch on his body. Every move is to savor him so his essence can quench your weary soul.

After a few minutes, though, Xavier reluctantly pulls back. Cupping your cheek, voice full of longing, he says, “We’ll have time alone later.”

Xavier needs to know the truth in your heart before proceeding. Brushing his hair back, you kiss him tenderly, basking in the happy lift of his face. “You know we don't have to do this, right?”

He casts his eyes away, sadness filling them again as he murmurs, “But I can see how much you want him—”

You silence him with a finger to his lips, locking on to his gaze with a fierce, earnest expression as you promise, “There’s nothing in this world I want more than you, Xavier. And that will never change.” Nuzzling his nose, you rest your forehead against his. “I was going to tell you that, but you never gave me the chance,” you whisper painfully.

Tears swim in his eyes as he holds you tighter and asks, “You mean it?”

You smile gently and nod, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding him close. Pain and guilt play on Xavier’s face as he whispers, “I’m so sorry… I just panicked…” Wiping away a tear and tracing his cheek, you softly assure him, “It’s okay. I’ll hold a grudge for a little longer, but I understand.”

His head rests on your shoulder as he gives a quiet, relieved laugh, kissing your skin tenderly.

Feeling like a weight lifted from your reunion, you start to get up, telling Xavier, “I think I’ll ask Sylus to go home for the night. We can all talk tomorrow.” The thought alone makes you feel ill. But Xavier grips your hips tightly, looking conflicted as he holds you in place. Unable to meet your eyes, his quiet voice skitters across your skin. “No. It’s okay. We can continue,” he says quietly.

Concern fills you as you tilt your head in confusion and assure him, “I never want you to do something you don’t want to, Xai.” Still avoiding your eyes, his cheeks heating, he mumbles, “I don’t necessarily not want to...” Xavier groans as your face lights up with glee, poking him in the side, teasing, “I see, I see…” He pins your hands down, capturing your mouth in a passionate kiss.

The urge to tease him lingers. Slowly licking the shell of his ear, you murmur, “So, does only my pleasure turn you on, or does Sylus as well?” Knowing Xavier has been attracted to men before and considering Sylus’s allure, it’s a fair question.

Your touch is gentle as you brush your fingers through his hair, and your warm, accepting smile makes it easy for Xavier to open up.

His eyes grow heated as they find your lips, casually shrugging before kissing you so intensely it steals your breath away.

Arousal sweeps through you as you murmur, “My naughty boy… you are so perfect, you know that?”

“No... But I might start believing it if you say it some more,” he replies with a heartbreakingly radiant smile.

Your fingers begin traveling under his shirt, reveling in his warmth and the softness of his skin. Moving slowly, you deliberately commit every inch to memory this time, just in case you ever lose him again. Memories don’t do Xavier justice, though. He allows you to slip his shirt off before his hand squeezes your breast, taking it into his mouth. Holding your gaze, his tongue and lips turn the bud red and sensitive before moving to the next. Xavier expertly blends purity and filthiness into an art, using his puppy-dog eyes and faux innocence to mold you into putty in his hands. Sucking on your breasts with a look that says, “You know you like it,” when he notices your wince of pain at the sensitivity.

Releasing your nipple from his mouth, he captures your lips instead. When he finally lets you up for air, you plead, “Promise you’ll tell me if you get uncomfortable? I don’t want to hurt you...” With a mischievous grin, he replies, “I don’t think I’ll be the one getting hurt tonight, angel.”

Sylus’s deep laughter fills the air as he strides confidently, leaning in to kiss you without hesitation. The possessiveness of the gesture pisses Xavier off, but he clenches his jaw and says nothing, instead taking in your blissed-out smile when Sylus pulls away.

You have no idea how irresistible you are, especially like this—your skin flushed, eyes bright, wanting nothing more than to give and receive pleasure. Xavier still fucking hates this. He detests that you need something more than what he can provide. Every time Sylus touches you, he wants to run him through with his lightblade.

But he can’t deny that your uninhibited ecstasy is stoking more than just his jealousy. When this started, he wanted to run as far away as possible. The tender way you regard Sylus and the fierce admiration in your eyes bring a potent pain that Xavier is sure he can never move past. But things began to shift when he instructed Sylus to touch and please you. It’s confusing to feel so helpless yet in control of a situation.

Xavier suspects that Sylus let him take the lead because he knew Xavier needed it, which softened Xavier toward him just a bit. Sylus treats you respectfully and cares for you nearly as much as Xavier, making this easier to bear. Not to mention it's turning out to be an excellent test of his composure. He takes pride in his restraint, and pushing himself to his limit has become strangely enjoyable.

Xavier guides your back to arch, making your pretty tits point toward Sylus. With languid eyes, he gives Sylus silent permission. Lips curling into a soft, pleased small, Sylus leans down to flick his tongue over your nipple, giving it a teasing nip before pulling it into his mouth.

Sylus’s hand replaces Xaviers on your back as Xavier’s hands squeeze your breasts while Sylus’s mouth worships them both. Xavier’s heart flutters when he replaces Sylus’s mouth with his own, and your quiet sounds of pleasure turn into needy little whimpers as you grind against him.

Xavier glances at Sylus and murmurs, “I think I stole your turn.” Tilting your sultry gaze towards him, he asks, “Do you want her back?”

Sylus’s pupils dilate, the surrounding crimson burning brighter as a pleased groan escapes him. Lifting you off Xavier’s lap, he wraps your legs around his waist instead.

Your lips find his immediately, and your touch becomes greedy, with nothing left to hold you back. Hands gliding over his body, you memorize how every muscle feels beneath your fingers. When you run out of bare skin to caress, you slip his shirt off without hesitation and toss it carelessly aside. The sight of his sculpted chest elicits a deep blush from you, and an amused grin from him.

“What’s wrong, sweetie? It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” he teases. Your eyes, filled with desire, meet his as you mumble, “Yeah, but it’s different now...”

Wonder tinges his voice as he places your hand over his heart, whispering, “Yeah.”

Xavier sits on the bed with his legs spread, motioning to the spot in front of him at the edge. “Sit her here,” he says softly. Sylus obeys, and Xavier moves closer, pressing you against his back. His hand rests on your stomach, fingers tracing the edge of your panties.

His voice is gentle as he looks at Sylus and says, “Take them off for me.” Sylus’s fingers replace Xavier’s as they hook under the lace and gently slip the fabric down your legs.

Sylus’s eyes trail down your body, but Xavier closes your legs tight, his lips curving slightly. The possessiveness of the gesture sends heat flooding your body and anger flaring inside Sylus before arousal quickly takes its place. Sylus, who usually asserts dominance in the bedroom, isn’t opposed to reversed roles, even enjoying them. He tilts his head slightly, his eyes flitting over Xavier’s form with an amused, almost impressed smile. Xavier’s eyes hold a silent challenge as he softly instructs, “Stand in front of her.” Sylus is more than happy to comply.

He runs his hands along your legs, smiling at you before asking Xavier, “So what do I have to do to earn a look?”

Seeing the lust in Sylus’s eyes makes your body shudder with pleasure. If someone had asked you to envision this scenario, it wouldn’t have been like this….

Sylus exudes dominant energy, a stark contrast to Xavier’s quiet dominance. Their roles reversed from what you would have expected.

Brushing your hair back, Sylus tilts your chin, locking eyes with you. “Where do you want him to kiss you first, angel?” You whimper at Xavier's words, gazing at Sylus as you respond, “My lips.”

Sylus leans in, teasing, “We’ve been here, sweetie. Why not try something new?” Despite his words, he gives you a tender kiss, exploring your mouth with his tongue. Xavier grips your thighs tightly, his body tensing as he watches Sylus bite and tug on your lips. But when you sigh blissfully, and your hands tangle in Sylus’s hair, pulling him closer, the heat of desire overtakes a piece of the lingering anger.

When Sylus pulls back, your bright, glassy eyes flick toward your breasts in a silent request. Sylus’s eyes follow suit as he pinches your nipple, rolling the bud between his fingers. Xavier cups your breasts in a playful jiggle before offering them for Sylus to suck.

Xavier’s hand slides slowly down your body, seeking the warmth between your thighs. Cursing softly upon feeling your slick, satiny skin, his voice is strained as he says, “Baby… You’re so wet for us." Holding his sticky fingers up, Sylus intercepts them, sucking them clean while locking eyes with him, suggesting, “I think I’ve earned a taste, don’t you?”

Xavier blushes, glancing away as he adjusts behind you. Sylus's tone is innocent, “Oh no, did I overstep?” Instead of answering, Xavier kisses your cheek and slowly opens your legs, exposing you to Sylus’s gaze. Surprised, Sylus drops to one knee, squeezing your inner thighs apart for a better view.

He's eager to explore further, yearning to feel your warmth wrapped around his tongue. “What a pretty pussy, dove,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your thigh before looking up at Xavier for guidance. “Do you want to make her cum? She’ll taste even better,” Xavier suggests quietly. The suggestion elicits a needy groan as you wiggle down to get closer to Sylus’s face. “Please, Sylus,” you beg, desperation lacing your voice.

Sylus’s eyes darken as he locks onto you with a soft growl of approval. Xavier pulls your legs to either side of your head, holding your folds open for Sylus. Sylus delicately brushes over your soft skin, his throat working quickly as he admires the warmth and wetness. “One or two, sweetie?” he asks. Blushing, you whisper, “Two.”

Holding your gaze, Sylus slides his fingers inside you, delicately exploring your velvety walls. Your pussy tightens around him, eliciting a nearly desperate sound from Sylus as his composure falters. Unable to contain himself any longer, he teases your sensitive skin with warm breath before licking a flat stripe across you, replacing his fingers with his tongue.

Your body clasps onto him tightly, making his cock throb almost achingly in his pants at the thought of taking his mouth's place. His touch carefully maps out every spot that makes his little birdie sing. Initially tender and unhurried, soon his tongue is moving within you as his lips and teeth embrace you wholly.

Xavier’s fingers instinctively tangle in Sylus’s hair, holding on tightly. Realization dawns on him, his eyes widening as his hand hesitates on Sylus’s head, embarrassment washing over him. Just as he considers pulling back, Sylus glances at him through glassy eyes before they drift closed again in acceptance.

The sigh of Xavier pressing Sylus’s face against you, his nose brushing your clit just right, is almost overwhelming. Your release surges and engulfs you completely in seconds, leaving you trembling in Xavier’s embrace, tears brimming in your eyes. “Holy shit,” you whine, pulling Xavier down for a kiss. “Can he be inside me, Xai? Please?” you plead.

Kisses trail down your neck while his fingers explore your folds, playing in your essence with a pleased hum. “You can have anything you want, angel. You’re being so good for us,” he murmurs.

Sylus bites his lip, a small sound escaping him as he quickly frees his cock. A needy moan slips out at the sight, his impressive length promising the most perfect kind of destruction. Positioning yourself between Xavier’s legs, lying on your stomach, you kick your feet in giddy anticipation of tasting him.

Your heart races when Sylus wraps his large hand around himself, stroking slowly as he approaches you with a teasing smile. “Someone’s excited,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek with affectionate eyes.

You playfully respond, “I want to see if I can take it all in my mouth.” But upon taking him in your mouth, the playful mood evaporates. He's warm and velvety soft, the prominent vein driving you absolutely wild, urging your tongue to flick out for a taste. A single taste evolves into greedy licks and kisses as you savor his essence.

Wrapping your hand around his shaft, you gaze up at him dreamily and whisper, “Does it feel good, Sy? Really wanna make you feel good…” You already know—he’s gripping your hair tightly, holding back from taking control, releasing intoxicating sounds that make you dizzy. But you still cherish hearing him say, “It’s fucking perfect, sweetie,” before succumbing to ecstasy with each flick of your tongue.

Xavier's fingers fill you, establishing a slow, steady rhythm. Moaning around Sylus, you arch your back to grind against Xavier’s hand. His approving hum accompanies him grabbing your ass with a gentle shake, lust gleaming in his eyes as he witnesses you taking Sylus’s cock.

Sylus eases his hold and affectionately strokes your hair, his head falling back with a quiet curse as you take him halfway. You whimper around him, your lips cracking slightly as you struggle to accommodate his girth.

He caresses your cheek and says softly, “Don’t force it, dove. Not many people can take me all the way.”

You narrow your eyes and pop him out of your mouth. “I know you did not just say that.”

His low chuckle fills the air. “I didn’t mean anything by it, sweetie. It’s simply a fact.”

Determined, you spit on his cock and coat it messily around, gritting out, “Just watch me, asshole,” earning an amused snort from Xavier. This time, it’s easier to slide him in halfway. You plan to keep him there for a moment to prepare yourself, but Xavier gently pushes you down until your nose presses against Sylus. Tears fill your eyes as you choke around him, cupping his swollen balls with a little whimper. Sylus gives Xavier an amused look, to which Xavier shrugs innocently, his lips curling slightly as he kisses your pussy before sliding his tongue inside.

Sylus’s fucks your throat slow and deep as his fingers massage your head soothingly. “Can you take it for me?” Excitement fills you, and you nod around him eagerly, pushing his cock further as you grind against Xavier’s mouth. Sylus groans, his hand fisting in your hair again as he murmurs, “Tap me if I hurt you, sweetie.” He pulls out, coating your lips in his essence before snapping his hips and pushing all the way in. He repeats this several times, his brows knitting together as his movements turn hungry.

He reaches beneath you to grab your swinging breast, his burning gaze locking onto Xavier’s face pressing against you. Sylus’s thrusts are sharp and quick, aiming to bring more pretty tears to your eyes and ruin your perfect face. His body stills, though, when you tap his thigh frantically. He pulls out quickly, concern swelling until you look at him through glassy eyes and plead, “Wanna finish with you inside me…”

You spin around in Xavier’s lap and lean back against him again. He catches your lips in a tender, searching kiss before nuzzling your neck. “Hold my legs back again? I—I really liked that..” “Of course,” he murmurs, gently cupping under your knees and pulling them to your head.

Xavier admires your body, taking in the sight of your tight, dripping hole and your clit pulsing every so often with need. Your thighs are spread wide open, his fingers trailing down to rub your sensitive bud. “You know what you look like right now, angel?” he asks, spanking your clit lightly, desire and praise lacing his tone as he finishes, “Our perfect little fuck toy...” You’ve really missed him calling you that.

Sylus leans over you, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as he guides his cock through your sticky folds. As his precum mixes with your essence, you become even wetter, the combined warmth creating an intoxicating sensation. He lines himself up and reaches for Xavier’s hand, wrapping it around his length. “I need help fitting inside here, too.”

Xavier blushes fiercely, his eyes meeting Sylus’s. “Can I just—just for a minute…” he asks hesitantly. Sylus nods, his thumb brushing over your nipple. His eyes roll back as Xavier’s firm grip begins stroking his cock perfectly, tempting him to want more than just a minute. But Xavier clears his throat, gathering himself before asking, “I… Okay… are you ready?”

Sylus’s erection is painfully hard as Xavier aligns it with your entrance. With gentle fingers, Xavier slowly guides Sylus inside you, pausing whenever you squirm or whimper in pain. Just like with your mouth, Sylus gets halfway in before your body resists accepting the rest of him. Wrapping you in his arms, Xavier's hand rubs your clit while the other provides Sylus comfort until you can take it all.

A hoarse, strangled sound escapes Sylus as his hips pump slightly into Xavier's hand, pressing him a little deeper into you. Xavier kisses your cheek, his voice sinful, “You were made to be fucked, weren’t you? Look how well you’re taking him, baby… Drenching his cock and sucking him in deep. I bet you feel so good…”

Sylus’s hands slip under your thighs, needing something to hold on to as he endures the pressure of you squeezing him. “She’s so fucking tight. So…so warm,” Sylus murmurs. He moans softly, biting your leg as Xavier pushes his cock a little deeper. “Almost there, dove,” Sylus promises, nearly bottomed out. He gives a hoarse shout as Xavier grabs his ass and pushes the rest of his length into you.

Xavier glances at the base of Sylus’s cock, slick and stretching you open before his eyes drift to your tits, squished together between your thighs. He continues teasing your clit with one hand, roughly flicking and tugging your nipple with the other. “You can be rough if you want. That’s how she likes it,” Xavier assures Sylus. He places your hands on his legs and murmurs, “Only touch me right now,” his voice laced with a silent plea. Your teary eyes brim with love as you whisper, “I promise.” He leans back a bit, allowing you and Sylus more room.

Sylus presses your legs all the way back, settling his weight over you, digging his cock a little deeper. You squeeze Xavier’s legs tightly when Sylus’s thrusts turn unforgiving as he ruts into you. Capturing your mouth in a kiss, his breath ghosts over your lips as he asks, “Rough enough, sweetie?” Honestly, yes, but you still want him to fuck your harder. “Nope, not enough,” you choke out amid the force of his thrusts.

Sylus chuckles softly, pulling back and fucking into you so hard you can barely breathe. “Just like that…” you whisper.

Sylus eyes lock onto where you join, his cock stretching you so wide he can’t believe your body is allowing it. It’s incredibly challenging not to draw Sylus close. You cling to Xavier, trying to maintain self-control. Xavier’s soft voice fills your ear, “Is he making you feel good, angel?”

You whimper, nodding frantically, your tits bouncing wildly with the force of Sylus’s thrusts. Xavier kisses your cheek and whispers, “Do you want to show him how good you feel when you cum?” You groan, your pussy squeezing so tight it pulls a hoarse shout from Sylus. Xavier spanks your clit, then rubs in time with Sylus’s hips.

“Go ahead, baby,” Xavier says, giving your cheek a little nuzzle. Xavier guides Sylus by the chin, bringing his lips to yours. Sylus responds immediately, consuming you like a man starved.

You look into his eyes as you bite his lip with a teasing smile, seemingly driving him feral. Pressing you deeper into the sheets, his sweaty face rests on Xavier’s shoulder as his cock relentlessly hits your sweet spot, trying his best to hold back until you find your release.

“You feel better than I ever could have imagined, dove,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with ecstasy and desire. “So do you…” you whimper, yearning to hold him tightly as you fall over the edge.

Sylus nearly cries in relief when he feels you clench tightly around him, a cry of his name on your lips as your pussy throbs wildly. His hips slow slightly as he asks Xavier, “C-can I finish inside?”

Xavier’s body tenses, his hand leaving your clit as pain fills his features. He isn’t ready for you to be claimed that way. He’s unsure if he ever will be. His voice is quiet, and his arms tighten around you as he whispers, “Please. I can’t—”

Sylus gives him an understanding nod and grunts softly, continuing fucking into you mercilessly. “Guess I’ll have to paint this pretty body white, then.” He pulls out, fisting his cock roughly as thick ropes of cum warm your stomach and cunt.

His groan is painfully delicious as he continues to work out his essence. Releasing your legs, he squeezes your cheeks in his hand, kissing you deeply. Having your lips on his as his cock spasms in ecstasy is the best thing he’s felt in a long time. Sylus can’t help but smile when he sees your blissed-out expression and barely-open eyes.

The way Xavier cleans you up with a warm rag is so tender that it’s a shock to your system when he finishes and roughly pushes you onto your stomach, lifting your ass in the air with a sharp slap. You whimper softly when three of his fingers fuck into you forcefully. Sqeezing and shaking your ass, he watches where he enters you, desire and possessiveness in his every touch.

His nails dig into your skin a little, pulling a sharp gasp from you as your walls tighten and tremble around him. You didn’t realize how badly you missed the way Xavier fucks you—how he can be so tender and delicate, only to turn around and shower you with filthy words and perfect pain. As usual, your body yields to his will instantly, relaxing with a sigh of relief as you allow him to use you as an outlet for his frustrations.

A pleased hum leaves him when he feels your body go pliant in his hands, shaking your ass again and watching it bounce for a moment as his eyes darken. His voice is deceptively gentle as he asks, “So, baby, was he worth the punishment you’ll get for letting him fuck what’s mine?”

He grips your hair and turns your teary gaze toward Sylus, who you give a blissful smile before Xavier turns you away. Sylus hesitates nearby, his body tense as he watches Xavier manhandle you like you’re nothing but a doll. Xavier cocks his head slightly and assesses Sylus with a bored, amused look, gesturing toward the bed with a nod.

“You should sit. You need to make sure you can handle this,” he says in a low, calm tone that contradicts the way he fucks his fingers into you mercilessly. He pulls a sharp cry from you as you clutch helplessly at the bedsheets to fight the sting. Biting and sucking at your skin roughly, he leaves bruises and teeth marks littering your ass and thighs.

Sylus’s low growl fills the air as Xavier presses a finger onto your spot so hard that your vision swims and you squirm beneath him, whining, “It hurts, Xavier… please—” Sylus steps forward to intervene, but Xavier shoots him a warning look before asking you, “Please what, baby? Do you want me to stop?”

“No! Please, Xavier! please don’t stop…” you beg, ecstasy and longing evident in your very being. Xavier gives Sylus a cocky smirk as if to say, “See?”

Xavier waits for Sylus’s decision as he kisses your skin tenderly, murmuring, “Don’t forget your safe word, angel.” Nodding in response, you're unable to speak as your release builds and crashes, its intensity shattering you completely.

“That’s my girl,” Xavier praises gently as he pulls his fingers out of you, sucking them clean before driving his cock into you with a pointed thrust. Your tears flow harder when his hips start to move, overwhelmed by the sensation of feeling so whole again.

You wish so badly that you could touch him, but the way he’s pressing your cheek into the sheets as he takes you doesn’t really allow it.

Pussy clenching impossibly tight around him, your words are an incoherent stream filling the air, “Missed you—Missed you filling me up so much… so perfect…” Xavier sees stars as your words wash over him, your body reacting eagerly to his touch as you sync your movements with his.

Sylus isn’t sure how to feel as he sits in front of you. He can’t seem to shake his unease at you being treated this way. While Sylus is all for rough sex, Xavier is on another level entirely. Sylus can almost see the bruises forming on your skin under Xavier’s unforgiving touch.

“You okay, sweetie?” Sylus asks softly, smiling as you bury your face against his leg with a shaky “mhmm. Feels soo good…”

Xavier chuckles, his fingers digging into your ass as his hips piston inside you, drawing out another intense release as you cum around him. “Such a good girl,” he praises. Reaching around to stroke Sylus’s cock, Xavier grips your hair to meet your eyes. His soft, commanding tone makes you shiver.

“Make him cum for me, baby. I want to see him fall apart inside that pretty mouth,” he murmurs, guiding your head toward Sylus’s length. He can’t help but watch Sylus as you wrap your warm mouth around him—his crimson eyes fluttering shut, lips parted on a silent sound as Xavier pulls your hair tighter, bobbing you up and down.

Xavier takes Sylus’s chin in one hand while pushing your head down with the other, burying Sylus deep as you choke and drool around him. He meets Sylus’s gaze, his voice soft and strangely calm. “Does she feel good?” To his surprise, he genuinely wants to know the answer.

How is he opening up to Sylus so quickly? Xavier has never held anything but hatred for the man, yet it’s surprising how rapidly that seems to be changing. Sylus’s beauty has always pissed Xavier off, seeing it as nothing more than a tool he used to win Mai—and now you—over. But now, he finds it difficult to draw his eyes from Sylus’s face and enjoys touching him perhaps a little too much. He has to admit this newfound attraction is making things a lot easier.

Sylus lets himself go pliant in Xavier’s hand as he presses on his bottom lip. Xavier’s eyes catch there briefly before returning to Sylus’s gaze. “Well?” Xavier asks with a smirk—the answer is evident on Sylus’s face and in the way his body trembles with the effort of holding himself back. But Xavier wants to hear him say it. He grips Sylus’s chin tighter, eliciting a groan and a strangled “She feels fucking incredible…”

“Good boy,” Xavier says softly, patting Sylus’s cheek before pulling back. Sylus’s eyes widen momentarily before his lips curve into a wicked grin, and he murmurs, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, hunter?” Xavier shrugs in reply, slapping your ass before gripping your waist and fucking you harder. He keeps bobbing you on Sylus’s cock while his gaze locks on the way your pussy eagerly sucks him in.

It’s almost too much—the taste of Sylus, their warmth filling you, and the insanely hot dynamic developing between the two of them. Your release builds and builds, savoring the delicious feeling of dangling over the edge as Xavier kisses your back, moving fast and deep inside you.

“I can feel it… getting so fucking tight. Come on—cum for me, angel,” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. Your very life is knocked out of you as your muffled cry rings out, and you spill all over Xavier. He murmurs in awe and giddy excitement, “Shit, baby… so mmuch! Look at you…”

His cock plays around messily for a while, slapping against your wet folds, squelching sounds filling the air as if he’s trying to be as noisy as possible.

He’s effectively working up both you and Sylus, whose eyes linger on Xavier before drifting to you and the way his cock stretches your pretty mouth out.

You look so damn beautiful when you’re choking around him. This may be the most stunning you’ve ever been, giving in to your raw desires in a desperate search for pleasure.

This has to end as planned because he isn’t sure he’ll actually be able to give you up. And how can he possibly return to being just friends now? Any part of him that remained hesitant to accept his love for you is long gone. He’s fallen for you completely, and there’s no return from it.

Sylus doesn’t look away from you, ecstasy clouding his features. “P-pull her off me now if you don’t want—” Sylus’s body begins to tremble. He’s trying to respect Xavier’s boundaries about finishing inside you, but Xavier is making it really fucking hard. Sylus’s voice is a low, warning growl, “Xavier—” but Xavier cuts him off.

Almost hesitant, Xavier murmurs, “I don’t mind if you finish in here.” You whimper at Xavier’s words, feeling Sylus’s cock throb in response. Xavier’s hips pause as he guides your head up and down. You squeeze your throat tightly around Sylus, excitement swirling at the thought of truly tasting him.

Xavier leans over you, kissing your shoulder and murmuring, “You’re doing so well, baby. Just a little bit longer for us…” Sylus muscles tense and quiver, his head smacking against the headboard as his breath leaves him on a sharp exhale. His hand takes Xavier’s place on your head, moving you just the way he wants as he pushes deep, filling your throat with his warmth.

Xavier grips your ass, his hips continuing their punishing pace. “Our good girl better take it all,” he commands. Needy moans wrap around Sylus as you eagerly swallow every drop he gives you. He pulls your hair gently and lifts you off his cock, his eyes flashing with desire when he sees your abused lips and blissful expression. He traces this thumb over your bottom lip before kissing you.

“Never in my wildest dreams would I have pictured you to be so perfectly filthy, sweetie,” he teases. “Happy to impress…” you mumble with a smile, squeaking as Xavier suddenly flips you onto your back before thrusting into you again. His hands brush your hair back before cradling your face, his forehead resting against yours.

You grip his arms desperately, trying to prove he’s really here with you. His absence left such a large wound that it’s proving difficult to heal, like a thirst that can’t be quenched.

“I missed you so much…” His voice is small and filled with regret as he continues, “I’m so sorry. I never should have left you. I was just… I was sure you were going to leave me...” It’s clear from his frantic, needy movements and the strength of his hold on you that he’s also trying to heal from the loss of your presence.

His deep kiss is a balm to your soul, pulling soft, pretty sounds from the deepest parts of you. The ability to speak has eluded you completely, and though you want to reassure Xavier that everything is okay, all you can do is deepen the kiss and convey it through your touch.

Sylus still rests back on the bed, his arm propped behind his head as he watches you closely. Tears flow silently down your cheeks, yet more joy shines on your face than Sylus has seen in weeks. Xavier is no different; he’s no longer the broken man Sylus walked into this house with. Earlier, his eyes were nearly emotionless, and what little emotion did bleed through was chilling and furious.

Now, Xavier is nothing but emotions—regret, love, pain, and an intense, raw desire that’s incredibly attractive. Xavier’s voice is a desperate plea, “Can I cum inside, angel? Need… Need to make you mine again. Please?” The words are almost nonexistent as they force themselves past the blinding pleasure consuming you. “I never stopped being yours, Xavier.”

Kisses cover your cheek and neck before Xavier buries his face against your skin, thrusting harder and harder, his labored breath panting softly against you. The most adorable, strangled sound leaves him as he rides out his orgasm with tiny, sharp thrusts before he buries himself deep, his heat melting every bit of you.

Murmuring his name, your body convulses with a gasp of pleasure, your warmth flooding his cock again. “T-twice, angel? … You are so fucking perfect,” he groans softly as he pulls you down onto the bed. Motioning for Sylus to lay next to you, Xavier rolls you to face him as they sandwich you between them. Both rest on their elbows—Sylus’s gaze tracing your form while Xavier’s lingers on Sylus’s face.

The desire in Sylus’s eyes is strangely arousing, a force he can’t seem to fight. Xavier’s finger brushes your bottom lip before it slides into your mouth for you to enjoy. Sylus’s lips part, and he seems to stop breathing entirely as he watches you suck Xavier’s finger like it’s his cock. “She’s so pretty, isn’t she?” Xavier murmurs. He slips his finger out of your mouth, gently guiding Sylus to take his place.

Lust clouds Sylus’s features as Xavier guides him in and out of your lips with a featherlight touch. Hooking your leg over Sylus’s hip, Xavier’s fingers brush Sylus’s shaft before slipping him inside you. Xavier carefully pays attention to Sylus’s reaction to his touches, not wanting to overstep. Gripping Sylus's hip, he guides his movements.

Sylus lets out a pleased groan, his eyes falling shut as he sinks into the blankets, resting his forehead against yours. He stays there a while, kissing your lips every so often as he savors the sensation of you being wrapped around him with Xavier's firm touch.

A strong sense of relief settles in Sylus when he sees Xavier kiss your cheek, his eyes filled with love as he focuses on every expression of ecstasy that crosses your face. Each sweet sound you make brings a small, proud smile to Xavier’s lips. This is working. Not only can Sylus see the acceptance in Xavier, but he can also feel it. You’ve all begun to move seamlessly, anticipating each other's needs effortlessly.

Sylus slips out of you, keeping your leg hooked over his as he firmly grasps Xavier’s cock, earning a breathless curse in response. Sylus smirks, his honeyed voice brushing against Xavier’s skin. “What’s wrong, hunter? I thought you liked it rough…”

He circles the tip of Xavier’s length around your entrance, earning pitiful sounds from both of you. As Sylus presses Xavier inside you, your pussy eagerly sucks him in. Xavier pulls your hair gently, arching your back so that Sylus can easily suck on your breasts.

Xavier’s touch grows tender as he reaches around to brush your clit. Long past overstimulated, the delicate touch is a shock to your system. Sylus captures your mouth in a deep kiss, his tongue twirling around yours as you cum. His hand travels over your body again, fingers pinching your nipple lightly before squeezing your breast with a soft groan and a kiss to your cheek. You think you give him a smile but you can’t be sure.

They take turns slipping in and out of your warm pussy while their lips and teeth tease your skin. Xavier’s breath ghosts over your ear as he murmurs, “My perfect girl…” He catches Sylus’s heavy-lidded gaze, searching his face for a moment before correcting himself. “Our perfect girl,” Xavier says before blushing and glancing away. He’s pretty sure he’s gone insane, yet he’s strangely okay with it.

“I won’t last much longer,” he tells Sylus. Crimson eyes burn languidly as Xavier tilts his head slightly, eyeing Sylus’s lonely cock. “Want me to help?” he asks, kissing your cheek. Sylus doesn’t answer; just props onto his elbow and guides Xavier’s hand to his length, urging him to take it in a firm grip.

Xavier presses his face against your hair, grinding deep inside you, as Sylus gently grabs your throat, his mouth languidly searching yours. Soft sounds of pleasure fill the room as you move together, a pretty tangle of sweaty limbs and ecstasy.

Sylus comes first with a huff of air caressing your face as he holds you close. Xavier works every drop of Sylus’s warmth out as he feels his orgasm inching closer, covering your stomach and the sheets in the stickiness as he fucks you harder. Xavier falls the moment he feels your body grip him tightly, grinding against him with tiny movements, fervently riding your pleasure.

Wrapping you in his arms, he moves deep with slow, loving strokes as his cum spills inside you, its presence healing your heart a little more. Xavier nuzzles your neck, kissing your skin softly. “You’re a mess, baby…” he murmurs, giving you a teasing smile. Pouting, you pretend to be irritated. “And whose fault is that?”

You huff and turn away, prompting Xavier to tickle your side in retaliation. Sylus’s fingers brush your cheek as he gives you a tender, amused look. “Are you going to try and tell us that you didn’t enjoy yourself, sweetie?”

Cheeks heating, you try to hide your face as you mumble, “There’s really no hiding that.” Sylus chuckles, tucking your hair behind your ear and smirking at Xavier. “I suppose not. Our little birdie sings so loud... You may be better at holding a tune than me,” he teases.

You snort, cracking an eye open in amusement, “There’s no “may be” about it.” Xavier gives something between a laugh and a groan as he slips out of you. “Neither of you can sing,” he offers, trying to hide his smile. The scoff of disbelief you both give him is comical, as is Sylus’s low warning— “Watch it. Or you might not find me so gentle next time.”

Xavier smirks, helping you from the bed and toward the shower, tossing a casual “Promise?” over his shoulder on the way out. Part of Sylus wants to follow, pushing Xavier against the shower wall and showing him just how rough he can be. But he’s mentally and physically exhausted. The weight of worrying about how this would end has lifted, leaving a bone-deep fatigue in its place. It might be the first time he’s felt entirely at ease since he left Mai.

He showers quickly after you and Xavier, stopping by the bedroom again on his way out. Sylus figures the two of you need some time to yourselves, and if he sits back down, he’s afraid he won’t be able to get up. Wanting to take up the spot next to your sleeping form so badly, he forces himself to meet Xavier's eyes and say, “I’m going to head home… I’ll stop by in the morning.”

As Sylus leans down to kiss your cheek, Xavier's soft voice brings a wave of immense relief, “You can stay if you want.” Xavier’s eyes hold no malice for Sylus anymore. They’re just gentle pools of blue that burn bright once again. The corner of Sylus’s lip curls as he pulls his shirt back off and snuggles against you under the covers.

Xavier cuts the bedside lamp off, turning the room into a twinkling night sky of fairy lights before nestling in.

For the first time in weeks, you all fall easily into a deep, dreamless sleep, wrapped in each other’s comforting presence.

જ⁀➴°⋆ Three weeks later

Your morning wake-up call, in the form of burnt food, has two sources today. They stand in the kitchen, arguing over why the food is burnt in the first place. Sylus leans against the counter, his arms crossed and a smirk on his face as he watches Xavier become increasingly flustered.

“How did you do everything exactly as I instructed, yet still ruin the meal?” Sylus teases, his voice a deep, melodic taunt.

Xavier glares at him, pouting, “It’s not me. It’s your recipe's fault.” He tosses the food into the trash and hands Sylus the spatula. “I want strawberry pancakes,” he mumbles, grimacing when Sylus ruffles his hair.

Their warm smiles greet you as you enter, only to be met with your grumpy morning face. “I’ll just make you what he’s having, sweetie. I’m too scared to ask.” Sylus comments. You narrow your eyes at him as you start the coffee pot. “Stop talking to me before I’ve had my coffee,” you tell him for the millionth time.

Truth be told, though, it’s nice to wake up to this in the mornings… To wake up to them. You've been nearly inseparable for the past couple of weeks, with Sylus staying over most evenings. There was never a discussion about what would happen next after that night. It was just a silent agreement, a rhythm you all fell into, one as easy as breathing.

Xavier is surprisingly comfortable with Sylus’s new place in your lives, but whenever the two of you are alone, he likes to fuck you like he isn’t. Whispers of “mine” are chanted against your skin as he makes you take his cum over and over. He likes to tell you what a bad girl you’ve been, fucking you so hard you’re limping the next day.

A couple of days ago, Xavier ordered takeout for you and Sylus, offering you the night alone while he went to see a movie. Both of you stared at him in shock as he turned to Sylus and warned, “You know the rule. Break it, and you die.”

The following day, Xavier punished both of you, forcing you to edge each other to the point of tears while he watched. When it was almost over, Sylus was about to pull out, but Xavier grabbed his ass and pushed him deep inside you as Sylus’s cum filled you up. You’ve lost count of how many times Sylus has recreated that memory since then.

Honestly, you figure it’s only a matter of time before they ask for a night alone—a vision that makes your knees weak and stomach flutter. This all feels so surreal, like the most perfect dream you could imagine, one you’re sure to wake from at any moment. But it certainly feels real when Xavier wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close for a kiss.

You pull back slightly to see Sylus watching with a warm smile, his eyes reflecting the same affection that makes your heart swell. The burnt food, the bickering, the tender touches—it’s all part of an intricate dance you’ve found yourselves in, one that feels more like home than anything else ever has.

Taking a sip of your now-ready coffee, Xavier’s hand finds yours as Sylus returns to the stove. As you watch them move around the kitchen, your heart brims with certainty. This isn’t a fleeting dream but your beautiful, messy reality. A future filled with shared laughter and endless mornings just like this one.

And so, you settle in for the day ahead, knowing that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together—burnt pancakes and all.

જ⁀➴°⋆ Requested bonus scene of Sylus and Mai ♡

The day has been long, but the night is young and serene. Its quietness offers a brief reprieve from the unease that’s plagued Sylus since the day you left with Xavier. Pale moonlight filters through the window, casting a gentle glow on Mai’s mahogany skin. Sylus traces his finger softly along her arm, meeting her deep amethyst gaze.

Her skin dewy from hours of lovemaking, she looks almost scared as she searches his face, her eyes darting nervously as if trying to memorize every detail. Sylus cups her cheek, his thumb brushing an unshed tear as he murmurs, “Talk to me, kitten. Let me help...”

Mai’s eyes cloud with guilt, haunted and regretful. She shuts them tightly before Sylus can truly grasp her turmoil. In a soft whisper, she confesses, “I did something, Sylus.”

Confusion overwhelms him as he lightly grips her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “And what exactly did you do?”

Tears begin to fill her eyes as she admits, “I… I slept with Zayne. And—and Rafayel.”

Sylus releases her and sits up in the bed, letting her words sink in. Resting his head on his knee, he breathes deeply and slowly, fighting the urge to put his fist through the wall.

In a broken whisper, he asks, “Why?”

Mai is now in full-blown tears, reaching out to Sylus, but he jerks away from her touch. “Xavier left, and they—they’re both seeing someone. I… I didn’t want them to leave me too…”

Anger and disbelief course through Sylus as he shoots her a withering look. “Is something wrong with the idea of them finding their own happiness, kitten? Everyone deserves that right. Who are you to decide for them?”

Hurt flashes in her eyes as she whispers, “You’ve always said that you don’t mind if I—”

Sylus cuts her off with a low growl. “I said I was up for sharing, kitten. I never intended for you to fuck them without me.”

Mai winces at the raw pain in Sylus’s voice, attempting to reach for him again. Allowing her to hold him close this time, she cradles his face, brushing away a tear as she murmurs, “I’m so sorry, Sylus. I promise it won’t ever happen again...”

He allows her to kiss him, their tongues dancing together, but his movements feel mechanical and forced. Fingers pressing into her hips, he gently pushes her back in a desperate search for space. Confusion flickers across her features as she clutches the comforter around her nervously.

He tries to reassure her, but his voice is too emotionless to be comforting. “I’m okay. I just need a minute.”

Quickly retreating to the bathroom, Sylus runs his hands through his hair, pulling at the strands as pain threatens to consume him. His mind drifts to you, and he realizes you’re the only one who can ease this ache. Your warm, comforting embrace seems to pull him in from miles away, filling him with the resolve to visit you tomorrow. The thought of seeing you is the only thing that gets him through the rest of the night with Mai.

Mai prods him about his feelings all night until Sylus is forced to ask her to give him some space and time to process. She respects this boundary and even gives him adequate breathing room, which he greatly appreciates. Despite her efforts, her touch makes him feel ill, like he’s become a repellent magnet. The TV, tuned to your favorite cooking show, helps keep him sane until he can see you again.

Unfamiliar feelings hit him once more, the need for you feeling different and much more potent than usual. Confusion fills him when his mind lingers on visions of you comforting him with more than just a hug. He’s touched you so many times that he can practically feel your skin beneath his hands as he closes his eyes, soaking in your image to calm the storm inside him. Guilt swims in him for getting so upset at Mai for cheating when all he can think about is you.

Mai’s soft voice breaks through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality with an agonizing jolt. “Want to go out and do something tomorrow? We could try out that new hiking trail,” she suggests, a hopeful gleam in her gaze as he reaches for his hand. Sylus stares at the ceiling, his voice void of emotion, “I’m going away on business. I’ll return in a few days.”

Her body stiffens, and she narrows her eyes. “It’s not for business… You’re going to see her again, aren’t you?” she accuses, anger filling her features. He turns to her with a bored look, “Is that a problem?”

Mai yanks her hand from his limp grip with a disbelieving shake of her head. “You desire her too…” she murmurs heatedly, searching for his reaction. Sylus sighs in frustration, his tone icy and bland, “Does it really matter after what you did?” When she snaps back with, “fuck you,” before walking away, Sylus plans to let her go.

As she makes it to her room, unaware that Mephisto is watching from the shadows, she mutters, “I should have taken care of the bitch myself.” His evol sneaks across the house, rearing up like an angry beast as it wraps around her, carrying her struggling form to drop before his feet. “Care to repeat that, kitten?” In all her lifetimes with Sylus, she’d never heard his voice hold such fury before.

While Sylus wields terrifying power and is feared across galaxies, Mai has never been afraid of him. But she certainly is right now, and Sylus revels in seeing her fear overtake her. “I’m assuming you didn’t consider how losing her might affect me?” he hisses.

“You’re immortal, Sylus. Inevitably, she’ll die, and you’ll lose her anyway. Really, I was saving you from her loss being so much worse down the road.” Her tone suggests she truly believes her words.

But it’s the carefree way she delivers them that irks Sylus. Suddenly unable to look at her, his feelings swarm in distress as his quiet voice fills the air. “This is the last time you’ll see me. Take care of yourself, kitten.” He cups her cheek and kisses her forehead before resting his against it. Tears stream down her cheeks as she stands still as a statue. Sylus breathes in her scent, though it no longer holds the comfort it used to. His heart shatters into pieces around him as he murmurs, “Get out.”

Luckily, Mai makes a hasty exit because moments later, Sylus’s fists litter the wall with holes as furious screams echo through the house. Furniture breaks, and glass shatters as agony consumes him. When the front door shuts behind Mai, the bond linking them pulls painfully tight before snapping. Sylus falls to the floor, his hands lying limp at his sides as the sound of him quietly crying fills the air.

He realizes suddenly that there’s no way he can let you see him like this. There’s no way he can be near you and not snap, knowing you withheld such vital information from him. Disgust swells as he remembers his moments of intimacy with Mai.

She tried to kill you, and he… How could you not tell him? You’ve been each other's confidant and sounding board for years. You tell each other everything.

Sylus doesn’t visit you for a while, choosing to communicate only by text. You notice his distance but don't pry, knowing he’ll open up when he’s ready. It takes a while for Sylus's anger to simmer down, and for him to process his feelings about Mai and you.

Part of the reason for staying away had been in a hopeless attempt to temper his feelings for you. The thought of ruining your friendship was unbearable. But the pull to you was compulsive, steadily chipping away at his resolve.

When he finally sees you walking toward him from across the bar, he’s surprised by how wildly his heart thumps and how badly he aches to hold you in his arms. He smiles at your exasperation as he presents you with another gift, much to your dismay. When you tease him about his singing skills, he decides he wants you to nag him about his lack of talent for the rest of the time.

“Ever heard of personal space, dove?” he teases, feeling strangely nervous about your sudden proximity. Though he’s hesitant, it’s so easy to wrap his arm around you and pull you close, letting your presence ease his sapped soul. For the first time in a long while, when your fingers entwine with his, Sylus feels a sense of hope and peace.

302 notes · View notes

lupinqs · 6 days ago

Text

CHAPTER EIGHT ━━ Be You, Be Great

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 6.2K

❀ ━ warnings: angst, mentions of a panic attack/anxiety, underage drinking

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: this one is kinda all over the place i was gonna split it in two but i tried and i didn’t like that either so here this is anyways. also not proofread at all soooo

THE END of October brings a drought. Not the kind that wilts leaves or cracks the ground, but one that seeps into Jo’s chest and leaves her feeling parched in a way she can’t quite explain. It’s been weeks now since things between her and Paige started drying up, and, no matter how much Jo tries to ignore it, to act like everything’s fine, the ache of it gnaws at her.

It started just before Paige went back to LA and only worsened when she was there. All Jo got from her was clipped texts and dodged FaceTimes scattered with weak excuses about being busy with rehab. Jo had tried not to overthink it, convincing herself Paige was genuinely overwhelmed and that things would go back to normal when she came home.

They didn’t.

Paige still avoids her—not entirely, of course, because they live together, and avoiding her completely would be impossible. But she’s rarely in the apartment anymore, and when she is, it’s brief and transactional. She’s quiet during their rare interactions, offering half-hearted “hey”s and “what’s up”s before disappearing into her room or heading out the door again.

It’s just so different to how things used to be. Before, Jo could count on Paige to be there—physically, emotionally, all of it. They’d talk about anything and everything, share late-night snacks on the couch, or marathon stupid shows just because they could. Paige was Jo’s favorite person to spend time with. But now, it’s like there’s been a complete flip of a switch.

What makes it worse is the not-knowing. Jo has no idea why Paige is pulling back, why she’s suddenly so distant. She’s racked her brain trying to figure it out, wondering if she said or did something wrong. The thought of it eats at her, but she’s too afraid to bring it up. She’s terrified of making it worse or of Paige telling her something she doesn’t want to hear.

So, she says nothing.

Instead, she busies herself with other people. Ice, for one, has been in a bad place ever since dislocating her knee a few weeks ago. She’s out for the season, and Jo knows all too well how isolating that kind of injury can be. She’s been spending a lot of time with her, trying to cheer her up, keep her distracted. It’s been good for both of them, but not the same.

Nothing is the same without Paige.

And Jo knows that Paige is probably out hooking up with other girls most nights—she’s not stupid. Paige never brings anyone back to their apartment, which Jo is grateful for, but the idea of it still stings in a way she can’t explain. It’s probably just the principle of it, that Paige can go out and entertain these other girls every night while simultaneously acting like Jo doesn’t exist.

And this stupid drought lingers even under the bright lights of Gampel.

It’s First Night, the annual event kicking off the basketball season, and the whole arena is packed. The men’s and women’s teams have been split into two groups for the evening’s competitions, with Andre Jackson and Paige as the respective captains. Jo is on Andre’s team.

The evening kicks off with a dizzying mix of games, dances, and contests, the crowd roaring with every half-court shot and mascot stunt. Jo participates in a few challenges with her team, laughing when Andre attempts to dunk it over one of their managers and fails spectacularly.

It’s fun. It should be fun. But Jo can’t help but feel the weight of Paige’s attention—or lack thereof—throughout the night.

When the three-point contest rolls around, Jo is the last to go. Her name gets called, and the crowd cheers for their new freshman. She steps into her corner, shaking her limbs out. She doesn’t look at Paige—can’t, really—but, somehow, she still feels her gaze from where she stands at half-court. Jo doesn’t know how or why she always seems to register it, but the feeling is continuously at the edge of her awareness.

The contest is a blur. Jo doesn’t miss much, her muscle memory doing most of the work, and when the buzzer sounds, Andre and her teammates swarm her, lifting her arms in victory. She grins, basking in the win of it, but her eyes inevitably find Paige.

The blonde is clapping along with the rest of her team, grinning wide and hyping up the crowd, but when her gaze flicks to Jo, something shutters behind her eyes. She doesn’t approach, doesn’t tease her about beating her team. Doesn’t say a single word.

It hurts more than it should.

Jo retreats back to the sidelines, the cheers still echoing in her ears, though her head has started to hurt a little. Since the day she got here, Paige was always the first to hype her up—always the loudest voice in the room for her. Clearly not anymore.

The rest of the event passes in a haze. Jo keeps up with the energy of her team, but her chest feels heavy, weighed down by everything unsaid and unknown. By the time the night ends, she’s exhausted—not from the competition, but from the effort of pretending that everything’s normal and fine.

As the crowd filters out and the teams gather for a final photo, Jo finds herself standing a few feet from Paige. The photographers are shouting directions, rearranging players into rows, but Jo hardly listens. She risks a glance at Paige, who’s laughing at something Alex Karaban just said, her smile radiant and gummy and perfect under the bright arena lights.

But when Paige’s eyes meet Jo’s, probably having sensed her creepy staring, the smile falters. It’s brief—barely noticeable—but Jo sees it. She feels it. And it twists something deep in her chest.

Jo doesn’t know what she did to deserve this distance, but it’s killing her. Whatever is going on with Paige, clearly it might be bigger than anything Jo can fix.

And as much as she hates to admit it, Jo’s starting to wonder if Paige even wants her to try.

IT’S THE first game of the season—a guaranteed blowout against Northeastern—and the energy around campus is full of excitement. Paige should be, too. The start of a new season is always her favorite time of year, a chance to do what she loves most and remind herself why she worked so hard to get here. But this year, it feels more like a countdown to a role she doesn’t want to play.

Paige knows she should be grateful. Grateful that her recovery has gone smoothly so far. Grateful that she’s still part of the team she’s always dreamed of playing for, even if it’s from the sidelines. But sitting out isn’t what she was built for. She misses the adrenaline of the game, the weight of the ball in her hands, the feeling of sneakers skidding across the court as she runs a fast break. She misses the pressure—real pressure—and the way it forces her into focus like nothing else. Without it, she feels… aimless.

So, she’s determined to channel her energy elsewhere. If she can’t play, she’ll hype. She’ll coach. She’ll be Coach P, the way everyone loves her to be. It’s easier that way. Easier to focus on everyone else than to deal with the mess she’s made for herself.

Jo is a big part of that mess.

Paige hasn’t spent a single night in their apartment since she got back to LA—not one. It’s not like she doesn’t want to. She misses the way things were before, how easy and natural it was to be around Jo before everything got so damn complicated. But the thought of sitting in bed with Jo beside her, watching a movie or eating takeout like they always did, feels like far too much.

So, she stays away. She’s made a habit of bouncing between other people’s beds—random girls whose names she barely remembers by the morning. Paige has always been a little reckless when it comes to that stuff, but lately, it’s spiraled into something worse. A distraction. A way to drown out the feelings she doesn’t want to deal with.

But even in that, she’s careful. She doesn’t bring anyone back to her and Jo’s apartment—not after Jo saw Celeste sneaking out during the summer. Paige doesn’t want to do that—doesn’t want Jo to be dragged into her mess.

Paige tells herself she’s protecting both of them by keeping her distance. If she gives herself a little more time, maybe the feelings will face. Maybe they’ll go back to being normal, just friends, the way they’re supposed to be.

But the truth is, Paige doesn’t think it’s working.

She still catches herself watching Jo during practice, noting things she shouldn’t. The way her hair falls into her face when she’s running drills. The soft laugh she lets out whenever Nika says something characteristically stupid. The way she moves on the court—so quick and sharp, like she’s always a step ahead of everyone else. It makes Paige’s stomach flip in a way she hates.

And the more time that’s passed, the more Paige has wondered if she’s just fooling herself. That maybe these feelings aren’t going anywhere at all. That maybe this is just who she is now—stuck and restless, with a hopelessly crush on her roommate, teammate, someone who’s supposed to be her best friend.

She shakes the thought off as she walks into Gampel for shoot-around. Her teammates laugh and joke as they warm up, excited. Paige pulls on her best version of normal, slinging her arm around Azzi and teasing Nika about her taped-up finger.

It works for a while. Her voice rings out as she cheers for Lou’s perfect three-pointer, then for Aaliyah’s easy layup. She’s Paige—bright and loud and focused on everyone but herself.

Afterward, the team files back into the locker room, their chatter bouncing off the walls. Paige trails behind, mentally cataloging what she’ll say during the pregame huddle. But when she glances around the room, she realizes something’s missing.

Someone’s missing.

Jo isn’t there.

It’s not entirely unusual for Jo to slip away for a few minutes—she’s probably grabbing water or something. But Paige’s chest tightens anyway. She leans toward Ice, who’s scrolling through her phone on the bench.

“Hey, you seen Jo?” Paige asks, trying to sound casual.

Ice shrugs without looking up. “She couldn’t have gone far.” Then she glances at Paige, and gives her a look. Her eyebrows lift just enough to make the blonde feel like she’s been caught in a lie she hasn’t even told yet.

Paige’s jaw clenches. She straightens and brushes it off with a quick, “Thanks,” ignoring the unspoken why do you care now? hanging in Ice’s expression.

She slips out of the locker room before anyone else can ask questions, her sneakers squeaking faintly on the polished floor. The back hallways of Gampel are quiet except for the muffled sound of the crowd filtering in through the concrete walls. Paige assumes Jo’s probably just off clearing her head.

But then she hears it.

It’s faint at first, just a sharp, broken sound that makes her pause mid-step. She tilts her head, frowning as she listens harder. For a moment, there’s nothing, just the distant murmur of the arena. Then it comes again—a soft, muffled sob.

Paige stills.

Her chest tightens as she slowly scans the hallway, her eyes narrowing. She knows that sound. It’s raw, unfiltered, the kind of cry that comes from deep inside. Her feet move before she can think, her pulse quickening as she rounds another corner.

And there, huddled in a little alcove off to the side, is Jo.

Her head is buried in her hands, her shoulders trembling violently as her chest heaves with shallow, rapid breaths. Even from a few feet away, Paige can see how hard she’s struggling, her whole body curling in on itself as if trying to disappear.

Paige stops dead in her tracks.

She doesn’t know what to do. Jo isn’t supposed to look like this—broken and vulnerable and so completely unlike herself. Jo’s the happiest, brightest, smiliest person she’s ever met. But here she is, falling apart right in front of Paige, and it feels like the air’s been sucked out of the hallway.

“Jo?” Paige asks softly, hesitantly. “What’s wrong?”

Jo’s head snaps up, her tear-streaked face whipping toward Paige in a startled panic. Her wide, glassy eyes lock on hers for a split second before she looks away, hurriedly wiping at her cheeks with the sleeve of her warm-ups.

“It’s fine,” Jo blurts, her voice cracking as she waves Paige off. “’M fine. Nothing’s wrong. Just—it’s okay. You can go.”

But Paige isn’t going anywhere.

She steps closer slowly, cautiously, her heart pounding as she watches Jo’s chest rise and fall too quickly, her breathe shallow and uneven. Jo’s hands tremble where they’re clenched in her lap, her knuckles white, and Paige begins to recognize the signs.

“Jo,” Paige says again, firmer this time. She crouches slightly, trying to meet Jo’s gaze. “Hey, it’s okay. You can talk to me. I’m here.”

Jo shakes her head violently, her lips trembling as she stares down at her hands. “I don’t—I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she stammers, her voice shaking. “I just—I can’t—” She breaks off, gasping for air as another sob wracks her body.

Paige’s stomach twists. She drops to one knee, her hand hovering awkwardly near Jo’s arm before she finally touches her, rubbing gentle circles on Jo’s sleeve. “Hey, hey, just breathe,” she says softly, trying to keep her voice steady even though she feels like she’s about to unravel herself. “Slow and deep, yeah? Just breathe with me.”

But Jo can’t. Her breaths are too fast, too shallow, and the tears keep coming, spilling down her flushed cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Jo chokes out. “I’m so sorry, I don’t even know why—I don’t know why I’m like this. Maybe it’s because I forgot to take my anxiety meds today, or—or maybe it’s just everything. I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Paige says gently, nodding even though she feels completely out of her depth. “Okay. That’s okay. Just take your time.”

Jo sniffles, and Paige watches as the younger girl’s nails dig into the fabric of her warm-up pants. “I’m just so nervous,” she admits, her words coming out in a frantic, breathless rush. “Even though I know—it’s so stupid, I know—we’re gonna win by, like, forty points. But I can’t stop thinking about. I don’t wanna mess up. I don’t wanna disappoint anyone.”

Paige’s heart cracks a little more with every word, though she knows it’s not entirely abnormal for a freshman to feel this way. That doesn’t matter. She doesn’t want Jo to feel this way.

The brunette’s breathing stilts again, her voice rising a little as she continues. “Especially not you,” she says. The words come out so soft, so sad, that Paige almost doesn’t hear them. “I don’t wanna disappoint you.”

Paige opens her mouth to say something, but Jo keeps going, her voice trembling as fresh tears begin to fill her eyes. “I—I know I’ve disappointed you—or—or made you mad,” she stumbles, her breath hitting on a quiet sob. “I had to have, right? Because, I mean—why—why else would you be ignoring me?”

Paige’s heart stutters at the words.

Jo’s tear-filled eyes finally meet hers, and Paige is struck by how wide and vulnerable, like every signal wall Jo has ever built is crumbling down. Her lip trembles as she whispers, “What did I do to make you hate me, Paige?”

The question lingers in the air, hanging heavy between them, suffocating Paige with its weight. The words pulse in her chest, beating against her rib cage, and suddenly, she feels like she can’t breathe either. The guilt crashes into her like a tidal wave, a suffocating, all-consuming force.

She should’ve been more considerate. She should’ve seen this coming—Jo’s feelings. She should’ve taken the time to explain, to talk it out. But instead, she had pulled away, had put this distance between them, thinking about all of her own feelings without even giving a thought to Jo’s. And now Jo thinks she hates her. Hates her. The thought slices through Paige, a sharp pain that she can’t shake. It feels like a punch to the gut. The fact that Jo—perfect, pretty, happy, sweet, smart, everything that’s good in the world Jo—could ever believe that makes Paige realize just how much she’s fucked this all up.

I’ve never hated you, Paige thinks desperately, but the words feel so empty, so hollow. They’re not enough. They’ll never be enough.

The irony of it hits her like a ton of bricks—Jo thinks she hates her, but the truth is far more complicated. Because it’s the exact opposite. I like you too much. The thought pops into Paige’s head unbidden, and her heart skips a beat.

She takes a shaky breath, her hand instinctively reaching up toward Jo’s face. The movement feels foreign, almost bold, but her fingers are gentle as they sweep under Jo’s eyes, wiping away some of the tears that still stain her cheeks. For a moment, Jo doesn’t react, her eyes still unfocused, the remnants of panic still visible in her expression. But then, slowly, her gaze meets Paige’s. Brown on blue, the contact feels like a jolt, like electricity running through her veins.

Paige’s heart stumbles, and she can’t stop herself from cupping Jo’s cheeks in her hands, cradling her face softly. She needs Jo to understand, needs her to hear this. She needs to make it clear—I don’t hate you. The words are stuck in her throat, tangled up with everything else she’s been feeling, but they finally tumble out, heavy and full of suppressed emotion.

“God, Joey,” she whispers thickly, “I could never hate you.”

Jo’s eyes are wide, filled with confusion and hurt, and she opens her mouth as if to protest, but then she asks, her voice barely a whisper, “Then—then why have you been ignoring me?”

Paige feels the weight of that question settle into her bones. She wants to tell Jo everything, to be honest, but the words fall down her windpipe as soon as they’re formed. You’re the reason I’ve been pushing you away, she wants to say. It’s you, Jo. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you. But she’d never admit that. It’s not fair—not when Jo’s happy with Asher. There’s no need to complicate things further for something that will never happen.

So, instead, Paige forces herself to breathe, to steady herself before speaking again. She looks at Jo, trying to read the sadness in her eyes, the confusion, the vulnerability that still lingers despite the panic subsiding. Paige feels another hot sting of guilt—how could she have let Jo feel this way? How could she have been so careless?

“I’ve just been in a bad place in my head recently,” Paige says, her voice quieter now, more measured. It’s not exactly a lie. It’s just that the full truth is too messy, too tangled. She needs a reason that makes sense, something Jo can understand, something that doesn’t risk breaking everything between them. “I’ve been frustrated with my knee, and… I guess it’s just all piled up.”

Jo listens, nodding slowly, her expression still tight with uncertainty. Paige adds, carefully, feeling the weight of the words press down on her, “And—and I really like this girl who doesn’t like me back.” She pauses, her stomach twisting with the admission, even though it’s only half of the truth. “And all of it together—it’s just… it’s made me pull away from almost everyone. I don’t really know how to deal.”

Jo takes in the words, her gaze dropping to the floor for a moment, her fingers twitching nervously against her thighs. Paige watches her closely, hoping that Jo can make sense of everything she’s said, that she can understand why Paige has acted the way she has in some capacity.

“But,” the blonde adds, knowing it’s necessary, “it’s not excuse. None of it is. I shouldn’t of pulled away. I shoulda talked to you, told you what was goin’ on. And I’m really fucking sorry I didn’t.”

For a long moment, there’s silence, and all Paige can do is wait, her heart hammering in her chest. Jo’s breathing has finally evened out, the tension in her shoulders beginning to ease, but there’s still an underlying fragility in the air.

Finally, Jo says quietly, “Okay.”

Without thinking, Paige reaches out, pulling Jo into a tight hug. Her arms wrap around Jo instinctively, holding her close, and for a moment, Paige can’t help but think about how perfect Jo feels in her arms like this. How soft and warm and real she is. The weight of Jo’s body against hers, the way Jo fits into her arms, feels so right that it almost takes Paige’s breath away. She buries her face in Jo’s hair, breathing in the familiar scent of her strawberry shampoo, the feeling of Jo finally grounding Paige in way that she hasn’t felt in far too long.

“’M sorry,” Paige murmurs into Jo’s hair. “’M so sorry for making you feel like that.”

Paige isn’t sure how long they stay like that, locked together, before she feels Jo’s hands move, shifting just slightly, gently beginning to pull away. The movement feels like a cold wind cutting through the warmth of the hug, and Paige immediately feels the absence, the space between them growing far too wide. She wants to reach out and pull Jo back into her, to hold her tighter and never let go, but—obviously—she doesn’t.

Jo’s eyes are still slightly red, but as she pulls back, her lips curve into the softest, most forgiving smile, a smile that feels so Jo—genuine and kind, even when everything else is unraveling. It’s almost unbearable to see, because Paige knows that Jo doesn’t deserve to be this forgiving. She doesn’t deserve to feel like this was all just something to brush off.

“It’s okay,” Jo says, her words wrapped in warmth, in that same kindness that makes her who she is. But Paige knows that it’s not okay. She knows that, even if Jo’s forgiven her, Paige is not so quick to forgive herself, because what she’s done is not okay.

It goes silent between them again for a long moment. Paige can’t think of what to say. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She wants to apologize again, over and over, to make sure Jo really knows. But the clock is ticking. The game is still ahead of them. The pressure of it presses in on her chest, and she knows that they can’t have this conversation now. Not before the game. Not when the adrenaline needs to take over and the court demands focus.

Paige takes a steadying breath, feeling the air fill her lungs, forcing her thoughts to calm down. She needs to help Jo. She needs to get her head in the right space before the game. Jo is here, with her, needing her. And as much as the emotional weight of everything is damn near overwhelming her, Paige pushes it aside.

She reaches forward, gently but firmly placing her hands on Jo’s shoulders, giving her a soft but decisive push to meet her eyes. Jo’s gaze lifts to meet Paige’s with a quiet, uncertain trust, and Paige feels the familiar surge of responsibility that always floods her when her teammates need her. She’s a leader. She has to lead. And right now, Jo needs her to.

“My dad texts me before every game I play in,” Paige says steadily. “‘Be you, be great.’ That’s all you gotta do today, Joey. Just be you, and it’ll come to you.”

It’s simple, but true. Jo doesn’t need anything more than to be herself. She doesn’t need to try to be perfect or live up to expectations that aren’t hers. She just needs to trust herself, trust her game.

Jo’s eyes shift slightly, a flicker of understanding crossing her face. It’s there, but it’s still guarded. The smile that Paige so desperately wants to see doesn’t fully reach Jo’s eyes yet, but it’s a start. She nods slowly, a small motion, but enough to let Paige know she’s listening.

“Josephine fuckin’ Jacobson,” Paige continues, saying her full name for emphasis, “you are such a good basketball player. And you’re gonna do great. Okay? Be you, be great.”

Jo takes a deep breath, and Paige watches as the tension seems to slowly ease off of her. She nods, more definitively this time, the hint of a real smile tugging at her lips. It’s small, but it’s there.

“Okay,” Jo says quietly, before repeating the word more firmly. “Okay.”

PAIGE’S MIND is fuzzy, her limbs heavy with the after effects of one too many dirty shirley’s. Despite the November chill, she feels hot, and her feet shuffle unevenly as she and Jo stumble back toward their apartment. They’re both absolutely hammered—there’s no other way to describe it. The world feels a little hazy, like everything around her is softly swaying. Her head spins, and it’s all a bit much, but it’s also freeing in a way. She hasn’t felt this loose, this light, in a long time.

Their win against Northeastern and the start of the season fills the air, hanging around them like a celebratory cloud. Jo played like Jo—21 points, 5 assists, 4 boards, 4 steals—just as Paige knew she would. A great collegiate debut, and Paige had watched every second of it from the bench, locked in. She’d felt so proud—and even a little awestruck—that Jo went out there and did that, after having such an emotionally charged pre-game.

Now, as they weave their way back to their apartment, arms brushing, legs tangling as they trip over their own feet, that sense of pride is still lodged in Paige’s chest, warm and comforting, like a glow that won’t fade. She can’t stop giggling, low and breathy, as Jo laughs along beside her. Their words are slurred, but that doesn’t stop them. Everything is funny—every little thing. Every misstep, every giggle, every second of pure chaos that they’re living in right now is a spark of joy after having been without it for too long.

Paige’s thoughts drift lazily, floating between the haze of the alcohol and the warmth of the night. She’s not sure when they’d started leaning into each other—just that they are now, and it feels comfortable. Familiar. Nice. Perfect. Great.

“You good?” Jo asks in a voice that’s too loud as she unlocks the front door to their apartment, then bursts into giggles again.

Paige snorts, stumbling a bit more dramatically than necessary. “I’m so good,” she says, her voice sounding more slurred than she means it to be. She throws an arm around Jo’s shoulder to steady herself, but the weight of her makes Jo stumble, and they both neatly collapse into the wall. They’re laughing too hard to care.

As soon as the door shuts behind them, Jo gasps suddenly and jerks her arm away, running ahead, the sound of her feet echoing down the hallway. Paige, still a bit off balance, blinks in confusion for a moment, then laughs drunkenly. “Bro—where you goin’?” she asks, her voice trailing off into giggles as she watches Jo hurry toward her bedroom.

Paige follows slowly. It’s odd, in a way—this whole night, this whole feeling. This morning when she woke up, she never expected to be here with Jo, giggling and laughing and things feeling normal again. She probably assumed she’d just be in someone else’s bed. But she’s not, she’s here—with Jo.

Jo. Jo, Jo, Jo, Jo, Jo. She’s so good at basketball, and she’s so good at being there for Paige, even when Paige fucks up. She’s still here, still making everything feel lighter than air.

Paige leans against the doorframe of Jo’s bedroom, watching the younger girl move around her room, back and forth, rifling through her closet with purpose. Clearly, she’s looking for something.

“Joey, what’re you doin’?” Paige asks. Her question hangs in the air, teasing, but it’s laced with affection—Paige can’t hide that part. Especially in her tipsy state, Paige can’t help but stare at Jo with a smile that feels like it’s stretching her face.

Jo doesn’t answer. She’s clearly very focused on something, her movements a little clumsy but endearing. Paige watches her closely, and she lets out another small laugh without meaning to. Her eyes stay glued to Jo, to how everything she does seems to command Paige’s attention. It shouldn’t be a surprise though—even without alcohol in her system, Jo is always there, always occupying every inch of Paige’s thoughts. Maybe it’s starting to get a little pathetic, actually.

Then, Jo suddenly straightens up, a gleam in her eyes. She pulls something out of the depths of her closet—a gift-wrapped box. She bounds over to Paige with her infectious energy, and before Paige can fully process what’s happening, Jo grabs her hand and tugs her into the room, practically pulling her off her feet in her enthusiasm. The force of it makes Paige stumble a little, but it doesn’t matter—Jo’s laughter fills the room, a sound so bright that it makes Paige’s chest swell.

The door slams shut behind them. Paige watches as Jo shoves the gift into her hands, still grinning, still beaming like she’s giving Paige the greatest gift in the world.

“Happy late birthday!” Jo’s words are slurred but joyful.

It is late. Very late, in fact. But Paige had been in LA during her actual birthday, and when she got back, Jo didn’t really have time to give her her gift for… obvious reasons.

But she’s here, giving her one now, and Paige feels so cared for and seen that she can barely even focus on what’s in her hands. The wrapping paper crinkles under her fingers as she tears it open, the motion slow and clumsy, but she feels her heart beat a little faster as Jo watches her do it with those wide eyes full or excitement.

The gift is a Lego set.

It’s one Paige has wanted for months, one that she’d seen in the store and practically drooled over, but she’d never let herself buy it. Jo and Aaliyah and Ines had been with her there, watching her ponder over whether or not to buy it. She decided not to, deeming it too expensive even if she certainly could afford it. But she already had, like, five sets in her hands—so, it was definitely a no-go that day.

But now she’s holding that set, because of Jo. Jo spent money on it, just for Paige. Just because she knew how much it would mean to her.

“Joey!” she exclaims, her voice full of awe and genuine surprise. She turns to Jo, blue eyes wide.

“Do you like?” Jo asks, voice soft but still excited.

“I love!” Paige responds with a wide, goofy smile. It’s true. She loves the thought behind it, the gesture, the fact that Jo cares enough to get her this, let alone anything.

It’s not long before Paige flops onto her back on Jo’s bed, the Lego set abandoned to the side, her arms stretched out like a starfish. Jo plops down next to her, the mattress dipping under her weight, and Paige has to fight the instinct—drunk and probably sober, too—to pull her closer. It would be so easy. One hand on Jo’s waist, the other around her shoulder, tucking her against her chest. It’s a dangerous thought, one Paige shouldn’t even entertain, but the drunkenness isn’t helping her self-control. Instead, she keeps her hands firmly to herself, pressing them into the comforter. She stares up at the ceiling for a moment before her gaze inevitably shifts to Jo.

Jo is staring at the ceiling, too, wide-eyed, like she’s marveling at the sheer existence of it. Her mouth falls open in an exaggerated “wow,” and Paige bites her lip to stifle yet another laugh.

“The world is spinning,” Jo announces, her voice filled with awe and disbelief, like she’s just uncovered some profound universal truth.

Paige can’t hold back her laughter this time. It bubbles out of her, loud and unabashed. “Bro, you’re so drunk,” she says, turning her head to look at her more directly.

Jo grins and shifts her gaze, meeting Paige’s eyes. “No, you’re so drunk!” she fired back, her words slurring slightly as she pokes Paige in the shoulder for emphasis.

They’re both laughing now, the kind of laughter that comes from being young and carefree and absolutely wasted. It’s the kind of moment Paige wants to capture and keep forever, this version of Jo so happy and light and hers, if only for now.

But then, the sharp trill of a phone cuts through the moment, jolting them both from their drunken bubble. Jo groans, her head tipping back against the mattress as if the mere thought of moving is too much effort. “Ugh, noooo,” she whines, squirming around to try and reach into her back pocket where her phone is ringing insistently.

Paige sits up slightly, propping herself on one elbow, laughing at Jo’s struggles. “C’mon, champ,” she teases, watching the younger girl twist and wriggle until she finally manages to pull her phone free. Jo squints at the screen, her tongue sticking out a little in concentration, before she lets out a soft, “Oh. It’s Asher.”

The name hits Paige like a splash of cold water, instantly sobering her. She forces her face to stay neutral, her heart sinking just slightly as Jo answers the call. She tries to brush it off, but it feels like someone just yanked her back to reality.

Jo’s voice brightens as she presses the phone to her ear. “Hiiii, what do you want?” she greets, the words teasing but affectionate. Paige watches her closely, her eyes scanning Jo’s face, cataloging every expression as Asher’s voice hums faintly on the other side of the line. She can’t make out the words, but she doesn’t really need to. Jo’s smile tells her everything she doesn’t want to know.

“Yes, I’m drunk,” Jo says with a laugh, rolling her eyes playfully. Another pause, another response Paige doesn’t hear. “Okay, yes, I will.” Jo giggles, the sound light and airy, and Paige’s chest aches. “Yes, I love you, too. Byeeee!” Jo hangs up with a flourish, tossing the phone toward the foot of the bed. It bounces off and clatters to the floor, but Jo just laughs. “Oops.”

Paige tries to laugh with her, but it doesn’t come as easily as before. She’s too caught up in the sting of hearing Jo say those words so effortlessly. I love you too. It’s not like Paige hasn’t heard it before, but tonight, when they’ve spent the whole evening laughing and leaning into each other’s space, it feels sharper, harder to ignore.

Before she can think too much, Jo scoots closer, collapsing onto Paige with a happy sigh. Her head rests on Paige’s chest, and Paige freezes, her heart slamming against her robe as a Jo mumbles, “Boys,” in an exasperated tone, as if that single word explains everything.

Paige forces a chuckle, but it’s quieter now, more subdued. Her mind races, but she doesn’t move. She can’t. She doesn’t trust herself to touch Jo, even though she wants to, desperately. She wants to wrap her arms around her, hold her tight, tell her that boys are stupid and unnecessary and that Paige could love her better, so much better. But she doesn’t.

Jo’s breathing slows and it seems within moments, she’s out cold, the alcohol taking everything out of her, her body heavy and warm against Paige’s. Paige shifts slightly, careful not to disturb her, and lets out a shaky breath. She hesitates, then lifts a hand, brushing it gently through Jo’s hair. The soft strands glide through her fingers, and it’s soothing in a way she can’t explain, even if it makes her chest hurt.

She stares at Jo, at the peaceful expression on her face. She shouldn’t feel this way. She knows that. But knowing—or the stupid space shit she tried that was clearly bad for both of them—doesn’t stop the feelings. It doesn’t stop the yearning or the way her stomach flips every time Jo looks at her. It doesn’t stop the way she knows Jo is happy with Asher, that Jo loves him, that Paige will never be anything more than her best friend.

But she decides that it’s enough. That it has to be. If this is the only way she can have Jo, then she’ll take it. She’ll take the laughter, the late nights, the moments like these where Jo trusts her enough to fall asleep on her. She’ll take Jo in any way she’ll give her, even if it breaks her heart a little more every day.

Because loving Jo, even from a distance, even like this, feels like the most natural thing in the world.

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers fic #uconn huskies #wcbb #wbb #uconn #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers series #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers x reader #wcbb x reader #ncaa wbb #nobody gets me #wlw #lgbtq

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mermaidgirl30 · 2 months ago

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✨Saving What Was Lost Part 3: You Trust Me?✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: I’m so excited to bring you the next chapter! This has been one of my favorite series to write, and I have so much more in store for these two! Joel is so so soft for reader 🥹 Happy reading! I love nothing more than to read your comments on what you thought, so please consider leaving me comments and reblogs 💕

Chapter Summary: You’ve got so many reasons not to trust another man again in your life, but Joel seems to give you ten for why you should trust him. One of them being calming a panic attack in the middle of a parking lot.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 9.7k

Chapter Tags: Mentions of being trafficked, flashbacks of being abused, angst, soft and protective Joel, PTSD, no use y/n, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Joel is late 40’s), pre-outbreak au, mentions of an acoustic guitar, panic attacks at the store

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The long days seem to dwindle by with your heart still lodged deep in your throat. It doesn’t seem to matter that the calming rain patters on your foggy window, doesn’t matter that fall used to be your favorite season. You feel hollow, torn apart piece by piece with every second that brushes past your icy skin.

You feel broken. You are broken. And you’re not sure anything will ever fix that.

Every day you find something new that’s too hard to manage to get your body to do. Brushing your teeth, getting yourself dressed, making yourself eat when all you can stomach is the empty feeling inside you. You’re just so tired of fighting, so very exhausted of trying to just get by. But your body screams at you to fight.

Fight for yourself. Win. Get out of bed, eat, make an effort to survive. So, you do. You try because that’s all you hear ringing in the back of your mind. You have to keep going. Don’t let Angela or any of the ones that dragged you down keep you from thriving.

Live.

Today is like all the other days you fight to not let your depression win. Except today marks two weeks that you’ve been here. Two weeks that you’ve survived. And as much as you feel like giving up every second of every day, you always seem to find one tiny reason to get out of bed. Joel seems to be that reason.

Joel… and his warm cups of coffee. The kind that he douses in creamer and sugar and caramel just for you. Because that’s how you like it. And it never fails. Every single morning your cup is there just waiting for you, including Joel’s warm smile and soft brown eyes…

That’s your reason for getting out of bed. Joel.

You discovered that Joel reported you as found to the police department a few days ago. You should feel relieved that he did that, but it didn’t matter. There was no one looking for you, so it didn’t make a damn bit of a difference. No one was coming to get you… Nobody even tried reaching out which makes you feel that much worse.

You battle with yourself, wrestling your way to slide on a pair of black leggings, along with a long cashmere sweater that falls clear down your thighs. You fight to comb the knots from your hair, clenching your teeth with every painful drag of the brush.

Fight. Win. Don’t let them control you.

Flexing your trembling hands, you squeeze a generous amount of spearmint toothpaste onto your purple toothbrush and jam it into your mouth, scraping it back and forth until you don’t taste the bitter aftertaste of almost two years in captivity.

Your fingers tremble beneath you with every slide of the toothbrush, every clinking noise against your teeth making you gag at the memories of you being left alone with disgusting men in a tiny bathroom against your will. It’s too much, this is too much. So you rinse your mouth and scamper out of the bathroom, closing the door until you can’t feel the goosebumps rising on your skin anymore.

You’re safe. They’re not here. You’re free. But you don’t feel free because those painful memories are alive in your mind, painting vivid pictures that make you instantly want to vomit and recoil into bed. But you don’t let the monsters take you back down into the darkness. You flee to sunlight and hope. You make your way to something that makes you feel lighter, where you can breathe easier, to something that gives you hope.

And that something is Joel.

You smell the fresh coffee brew in the air, inhaling the rich scent as if you can already taste it. When you turn the corner you see Joel’s broad back to you, busy with the coffee machine and the daily newspaper, his large hand brushing past the blur of small-print words.

Instead of stopping to say good morning to him, you decide to venture down the hall. You haven’t been brave enough to really take in the house and explore, but now? Maybe you could try.

The sunlight shines through the open glass windows, making the photographs and hanging art glitter like specks of gold surrounding the black frames. Your eyes skim the family photographs, taking in Joel’s big smile in each of them. One is of him and Tommy, arms clasped around each other’s backs with a little girl standing in front of them, who you suppose is Sarah. Her dark curls spiral to her shoulders while she wraps an arm around her dad.

They look so happy, like a normal family who has never been broken. You wish yours looked like that. But again, it never was. You were always surrounded by screaming parents, right on the brink of a divorce while you’d stay tucked in your room with your hands covering your ears, praying for the noise to just stop.

But it stopped alright. It stopped the moment they crashed their car on top of a mountain and left you to fend for yourself at your uncle’s house. An uncle that never loved you. An uncle that abandoned Washington the moment you moved out at just eighteen-years-old. And then he did too…

You keep moving, holding your composure and tears in. Even though you feel like collapsing right in this spot, right under Joel’s family picture. A family that was still together to this day while yours was nonexistent.

You wish you still had a family, but you never really did in the first place. Did you? No. Mom was always too busy with looking perfect, constantly obsessing with lessening her wrinkles and getting plastic surgery. And dad? Well, he was always too busy working at the law firm and hooking up with his assistant behind mom’s back. You were always left to fend for yourself, so now isn’t any different than it’s ever been.

You’re alone. You’ve always been alone, always just survived. Ever since you were little, that’s all you’ve known — how to be independent and just make it. So what’s different now? Now you just have to swim through the trauma and hope you don’t drown in the process. Because this right now is too much to handle, even for you.

It’s too fucking much.

Choking down the held back tears, you make your way down the long hallway, your body moving on autopilot just to escape the visions that blur into muted noise. The pristine white walls clash against the polished floors, painting you a picture of hope. Something you’ve never really had before.

Keep fighting. Live. Make a change. Break the cycle.

Holding on to new hope, you keep going until you turn the corner and find a large, open room that makes you audibly gasp. All memories of broken families and internal fears are suddenly forgotten, pushed aside to take in this glorious sight.

Holy shit.

Towering mahogany bookshelves sit stacked against the white walls, the cascading windows letting in enough sunlight to reflect off the broken-in spines of each book. Two plush ivory oversized chairs sit in the corner of the room, one opposite the other. An electric fireplace sits idle against one of the bookshelves, draped in vines from the tropical plant that splays atop the bookshelf nearest the fireplace.

This room is… magical. Exactly what you needed. An escape from reality. An escape from your mind.

You trace lines against the smooth covers of the various books, feeling the cracked spines and intricate cursive letters on some of the older books. There’s genres of everything you could ever imagine. Starting from ancient history and going all the way to popular fictional books that you’d see on New York’s best seller’s lists. This room has everything.

You could get lost in here.

Forgetting where you are, your hand snaps back when you hear a deep chuckle behind you. “Thought I heard you come down this mornin’. See you found one of my favorite rooms.”

When you turn around, you see him smiling over at you, the glow of the sun making his brown eyes sparkle an almond brown honey color. If you’re being honest with yourself, it makes you feel a little lighter because his eyes are so warm.

He’s warm.

“These are all yours?” you ask with a gasp as your finger continues to trail against the golden spine of an old history book.

“All mine. Well, a lot of ‘em I got for Sarah. You see, she’s a bit of a bookworm, and she might’ve got me into the classics. So, now I’m jus’ as bad as her,” he laughs as he leans against the bright wall, his smile light and easy like the relaxed state he’s in now.

“This place, it’s incredible,” you breathe out, continuing to skim over the spotless shelves, your fingertips clashing with leather and the feel of worn pages. It smells like freedom and escape, someplace where you could stay buried for days.

He runs his fingers through his slicked back curls, bicep flexing against his dark blue flannel, an easy smile hanging on his lips. This might be the most relaxed you’ve seen him since you came here. He looks almost… happy the way he’s looking at you all light and carefree, like he’s enjoying the view. Like he’s happy that you’ve found something else you lost.

“You like it?” he asks, his eyes caramel pools that you could almost sink into.

“I love it,” you reply enthusiastically, your voice almost unrecognizable.

A warm smile spreads on his mouth, making his brown eyes sparkle that much more in the dewy sunlight. “Then it’s yours, sweetheart. Borrow anything you want, read what you want.”

“Really?” you ask with a raised brow, sliding a book back into its place on the second shelf.

“Really,” he nods with a smile.

“Joel, thank you. This is… this is perfect.”

“Jus’ glad I found someone I can share my books with again.”

You stay just like that for the next minute — Joel on the other end of the room, looking back at you with the warmest smile you’ve ever seen. It makes your heart flutter, makes you want to smile back, but you just give him a tight-lipped smile and look back at the cream rug covering the floor, suddenly too shaky to say anything else.

Your eyes snap to something hidden in the corner of the room, a ray of sunlight hitting at just the right angle to make out something you missed entirely when you walked in. You guess you were too enamored by the books to notice the acoustic guitar sitting neatly on a stand right by the sheer curtain hanging over the window.

“Is this yours?” you ask, pointing to the acoustic guitar.

“Oh. Yeah, s’mine.” His eyes fall to the dark wood, the body glossy and sleek as it shines against the draped curtain. A splash of sunlight makes it shimmer for just a moment, until rain clouds cover the sun and cast the guitar back in shadows.

“You play guitar?” you question curiously as he takes a long, slow stride across the room.

“I used to. A long time ago.”

You watch him make his way over to the guitar. It’s like he’s tiptoeing across glass, careful in his steps to not trip and cut his tanned skin up. That’s how it seems when he hesitantly reaches out to glide his fingertips down the tight strings, skimming his thumb meticulously against the smooth surface of the polished neck as if he’s memorizing every single particle of the instrument. Like he’s reliving something he keeps hidden away from the rest of the world to see.

He’s quiet as he analyzes the guitar, almost like he’s reliving memories that only he can see. Were they good or bad ones? Judging by his wary stance and slow movements, you wonder if maybe they’re fragile memories.

“Used to?” you ask quietly, careful not to disturb whatever storm’s blowing through his mind.

“‘S’right. Haven’t played in quite some time,” he answers defeatedly as his thumb tracks along the outline of a carved moth. He lingers there for a moment, pinching his eyebrows together as if he’s trying to fight off whatever images are haunting his mind.

He looks… sad. Looks as if that guitar holds years of painful memories.

“Why’d you stop?” you push, afraid you’ve just struck a nerve by the way his back muscles tense and his jaw clenches up.

His hand wraps around the neck of the guitar, veins bulging in his neck as his eyes grow a shade darker. In the flit of sunshine that creeps through the window, you see a glimmer that looks a lot like a held back tear in the center of his right eye. That in itself sends a shot of pain through your chest.

He clears his throat and takes a step back, just enough to where he can only graze the edge of the guitar. His dark brown eyes are in a faraway place when he replies hesitantly. “It jus’—it… I guess it’s got a few memories attached to it that makes it hard to play now.”

When he drops his hand to his side and looks up at you, you see a man who’s hurting deep inside. You can see it in his weathered stare, in the dark circles beneath his sad brown eyes, in the way his bottom lip twitches each time his gaze falls on that acoustic guitar.

There’s something he lost, too. You just don’t know what.

Before the room gets too stifling and stuffy, he shakes off his frown and nods toward the hallway. “C’mon, I’ve got your coffee waitin’ on the counter for you. Don’t want it to get cold now.”

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

He gives you a tight-lipped smile and exits the room, leaving you all alone once again. You find yourself looking back at the guitar, your eyes feeling heavy as you stare at the little moth ingrained into the smooth wood. There’s just something about it that makes your stomach drop.

This guitar was special to him, maybe it still is. You just wonder what can make a big, strong man like him crumble. You don’t want to see him turn to dust like you; you’ve got enough pain for the both of you. He doesn’t deserve pain. He’s too… good. And while he doesn’t technically wear his heart on his sleeve, you can see he keeps the pain hidden behind a mask.

Maybe one day he’ll show you his scars, too.

When you make your way back to the kitchen, your warm cup of coffee is sitting right there on the quartz island, the steam billowing out as if he just poured it. As you slip into your chair, you notice his shoulders are more relaxed and the weathered stare he had back in that room is nearly gone. Whether he put on a mask or tucked his feelings deep inside his pockets to where you can’t see, you still notice the dark lines that edge beneath his brown eyes.

Something hurt him, and it still haunts him to this day.

Slowly taking a sip of the sugary drink, your eyes snap up to him when you hear the deep timbre of his voice. “Used up the rest of the caramel this mornin’.”

You swallow the coffee down your throat and shift forward on the barstool. “Already?”

He chuckles and nods his head your way. “Apparently someone who’s got a sweet tooth used it all. Can’t imagine who that was.” He winks at you, and you can feel the bright blush stain your cheeks the wider his smile gets.

Clearing your throat, you push a lock of hair behind your ear and try to stop the red tint from spreading any further. “Looks like you found the culprit.”

“Looks like it,” he smiles, his lips tugging at his tanned skin, making a deep dimple press into the middle of his cheek. You can’t help yourself, so you give him a shy smile back in return. It seems to make his brown eyes sparkle that much brighter as he stares at you.

You take a few more sips of the caramel drink, enjoying every single drop like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Joel sets down his glass cup and bites his bottom lip, chewing nervously as he glances over at you. “I need to go pick up some things at the grocery store today. Shouldn’t take long at all, but I was wonderin’ if you wanted to come along with me?”

You choke on a sip of coffee and struggle to find your words. You haven’t been out in the real world in a very long time. You don’t even know how to even interact, nonetheless see strangers passing by you.

Tapping your nails nervously against the glass cup, you fight to get the words out. “Oh. You… want me to go to the store with you?”

“Only if you want. Figured you’d wanna pick some things out.”

“Umm. Okay. Sure. I can go with you,” you breathe out nervously, pushing all your fears down as you swallow back the answer you really wanted to say.

“Alright. Well, how’s ‘bout you finish up breakfast, and we can go after you get ready?” His thumb brushes over the curve of his coffee cup, and your eyes track his movements as he slowly brings the edge to his lips.

And then you’re swallowing back fears again and dropping your eyes to the floor, awaiting the panic that’ll surely flood your system when you get to the store.

You can do this. Fight the fear.

Biting the bullet, you look up and give him a slight nod. “Okay, after breakfast.”

Joel grins and turns back to the refrigerator, away from your now wide eyes. You’re suddenly regretting your choice, but you have to go through with it. You have to be brave. For yourself.

You can do this.

Light rain patters on the passenger window, sending water droplets splashing along the side mirror. It’s only sprinkling, but the thunder in the near distance makes it seem like it might pour down at any second.

The engine hums as the wheels roll on the pavement, green trees blurring as Joel drives along the long, straight road. An old country song seeps through the speakers as Joel’s thumb taps along to the catchy tune. It’s oddly peaceful, driving with him in his truck. It almost makes you forget the nerves crawling up your spine.

“Does it always rain this much in Texas? I thought it was supposed to be like a desert here,” you ask, your eyes tracking the sea of trees outside your window.

“Usually is. Hell, we’re usually in a drought. But for some reason, we’ve been gettin’ a record amount this year. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” he says as he continues driving through the mist.

“That’s strange.” You trace the condensation on the window and draw little lines, hoping you’ll forget you’re about to go out in public.

“You must’ve brought some rain from Washington.” He smiles over at you and continues tapping his thumb along to the rhythm of the upbeat song.

“Guess I did,” you laugh under your breath as you finish off your window art of a blooming flower.

The music goes silent as Joel turns down the radio with the pad of his index finger. When you turn to look at him with questions in your eyes, he clears his throat and looks warily over at you. “Do you… do you miss it?”

“Miss what?” you whisper, letting your fingers pull against the edge of your warm sweater.

“Washington,” he responds back, eyes flicking between you and the road ahead.

You take a moment to envision the forest green trees, the frigid air by the edge of the sea, the cliffsides you used to hang over to stare into the deep blue ocean. And that’s when you feel a sharp pain jab inside your chest. “Sometimes… I miss the waterfalls, the salty breeze of the ocean, the beautiful nature. I’ve never seen a state as gorgeous as Washington. And how green it is? Yeah, I guess I do miss it…”

The front of the truck grows quiet as Joel takes in your answer. His palm rakes against his dark beard slowly, brushing across his mouth like he’s thinking really hard about your answer. And just when you think he’ll drop the conversation, he says something that leaves you speechless.

“I’ll take you back.”

Your eyes blow wide as you repeat the sentence in your head. I’ll take you back. Why would he do that…

“What?” you ask, jaw dropped like you just got slapped in the face.

He gives you a small smile and looks over at you with the softest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. “When you’re ready, that is. And only if you want to go back. I could help you get your feet back on the ground, find you a nice place where you’ll be comfortable. If that’s what you want.”

You stare at him dumbstruck, your words lodged deep in your throat with every second that ticks by. He’ll take you back. But why would he do that for you? Why would he do what no one else would? Why does he care what happens to you…

“Joel, that’s—that’s too much. I can’t ask you to do that,” you protest, shaking your head like what he just said is impossible.

He shakes his head, making a sandy lock of hair fall against the side of his forehead. “It’s not too much, and I’d do it in a heartbeat. S’no trouble,” he says adamantly, like he won’t hear anything else about it. It’s settled for him.

“Thank you…” you whisper out, your voice barely audible above the hum of the engine.

He arches an eyebrow and looks over at you, tugging his lips into an easy smile. “Ya know, gonna have to get you your own car, too.”

“Joel,” you warn through clenched teeth. He is not getting you a car. Absolutely no way.

“What?” he shrugs. “You can’t get around without a car.”

You shake your head unbelievably and open your mouth wide. “I can’t pay for a car.”

“‘M not askin’ you to. I’ve got money.”

And again, you can’t believe how insistent and easy-going he’s taking this. “Joel. I can’t ask you for a car. Absolutely not. And besides, I’m not ready to drive yet.”

He flashes you a smile and gives you a nod of encouragement. “S’alright, sweetheart. You’ll get there in time. And when you do, you’ll have a car.”

You lick your bottom lip, frustrated slightly that he’s being so kind to you. No one has ever been this nice in your entire life. Not even your parents… Why is he treating you like you’re important? You’ve never been important. So why does he act like you’re the only thing that currently matters?

“There’s no stopping you, is there?” you give up, your back flush to the warm seat as you stare into deep brown eyes that belong to the kindest man you’ve ever met.

He thinks you’re important.

“Not a chance,” he chuckles, his airy laugh floating through the cabin of the truck, striking another nerve in your heart.

He’s so kind, more than that. He genuinely wants you to thrive, to live. That takes a little weight off your heavy chest.

It’s quiet for a moment, only the light wind and patter of raindrops taking up the space. But then he shifts uncomfortably and flicks his wandering eyes back over at you. There’s a deep crease between his thick eyebrows, and that look has you back on the edge of your seat. “Can I ask you somethin’?” he asks delicately.

You swallow back nerves and nod your head in response. “Umm, okay. Sure.”

“What, umm. What happened to your parents, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

The question makes you tilt a little off your axis, throws you off just enough to where your right hand is discreetly clenched so tight around the side of the seat that you swear it turns pale white. You weren’t prepared for that question. You’re never prepared. But, you might as well just spill it. What else do you have to lose?

“They—they died when I was fifteen… Crashed their car on the side of a mountain, and they ended up rolling off the edge. On the very same day they were driving to get a divorce…”

His eyes blow wide for a second and in the next he’s dragging a heavy hand over his mouth. “Oh, sweetheart. ‘M so sorry. That’s… traumatic.”

You can’t help but to puff out a pathetic laugh from that. Your life has been nothing but traumatic; you just learn to live through it.

You silently nod and continue on. “After I found out, the judge decided I’d go live with my uncle. An uncle who barely talked to me. He didn’t even want me there, but I had no other options. So, I left as soon as I turned eighteen and moved into a dorm when I went to college.”

“Is he still…”

“He moved out of Washington as soon as I left. Last I heard, he died from a heart attack. So I’ve just kinda been on my own since I was eighteen. But really, I’ve been alone for much longer than that.”

The inside of the truck goes completely silent, except the quiet hum of the purring engine. You don’t exactly like talking about your family drama and your awful past, but it’s easier when you already feel dead inside. Maybe if you talk enough Joel will decide to drop you off on the side of the street and leave you with a good luck wave.

He wouldn’t do that, though. That’s just your unhinged mind spiraling like your entire life is.

“That’s… fuck. No one should ever be put through that. What you did, what you had to do. M’so sorry.”

You shrug it off and act like you’re just fine, but really you just don’t want to cry. You don’t want to show him how weak and pathetic you truly are. You used to be stronger than this…

Holding in a sob, you play it off like it’s nothing. “It’s alright. I mean, I’ve been through a lot worse since then. I guess I’m good at being alone…”

It gets quiet again, only light breathing and shifting uncomfortably in your seat, trying to hide the pain that’s serenading through your body. Joel’s eyes keep flicking over to you, a pained expression masking his tanned face. He’s clenching his jaw, running his fingers through his dark locks, fisting the steering wheel until his knuckles are white.

His head turns to you when he’s stopped at a red light, and his eyes turn a lighter honey color, and those soft eyes nearly shatter you in your seat. “You don’t have to be. Alone. You don’t have to be alone anymore...”

You swallow back the tears building in your eyes while your mouth drops open in awe. Before you even get the chance to say anything, he’s stepping on the gas and looking back into the fog of the rainy day.

You don’t have to be alone anymore.

The rest of the ride is silent as you contemplate his words and their meaning. You don’t have to be alone. He means you don’t have to be alone because he’s here now. He won’t let you be alone. Joel is the one person who isn't giving up on you.

He’s so patient, so generous, so good. He’s too good for you but here he is, wading through the rough waters to make sure your head’s above the waves. He won’t let you drown. Not today, maybe not ever…

After a few more minutes, the truck is abruptly stopping, and Joel is cutting the engine. Your head lurches up, and you stare vacantly at the semi-busy parking lot.

The parking lot…

It looks just like the one you got taken from… Rows of parked cars sit along the damp cement, empty carts are scattered ahead in the little blue cart holder, people rush to and from the store back to their cars. And then you see a man exit his white Sedan with a black baseball cap backwards on his head. The sight has you flinching, your nails digging into the leather of the seat when he turns his head and looks directly at you. It’s only for a second, but you feel those black pits searing into your skull just like that day they took you…

“Well, here we are. A little more crowded than I thought it’d be for a Wednesday afternoon. We can jus’—.”Joel’s hand clasps the side of the driver’s door as he steps out, looking back at you with worried brown eyes. “Hey, you okay?”

It’s like your voice is lurched deep in your throat as water consumes your entire vocal cords. You can’t swallow, can’t speak, can barely even blink as you watch the shady man cross the road, taking one look back at you until he disappears behind the clear sliding doors of the store. And it still feels like he’s watching you, planning his next move to where he can get you alone.

You remember that day all over again, just like it was yesterday. And now, all you can think of to do is panic.

“N… no. I—.” You can’t even finish your sentence, only able to throw your seatbelt off and claw at the door handle, feeling like you’re suffocating on thick air that nearly strangles you to death.

You need to flee, run until your lungs collapse, but you have nowhere to go.

Tears well in your eyes as you fight to push out the images of the day you were taken, but they only push back harder, igniting your memories into fresh ones. You’re hyperventilating, holding your chest so tightly that you feel your heart skyrocket as you shake in your seat while your feet are planted on the wet cement of the parking lot.

Joel hurries around the side of the truck and throws your door open, trying his best to calm you down. “Hey, hey. It’s alright, sweetheart. You’re alright. Breathe for me.”

“Joel… I…”

“Breathe,” he coaxes in a soothing bravado voice. He kneels down in front of you to where he’s looking right up at you, and he’s got those soft brown eyes — the ones that always seem to calm you down. And when you have enough courage to lift your eyes, there they are. Warm, brown, soft, soothing. He’s soothing.

“That’s it. Take a nice deep breath for me. Jus’ like that. Attagirl,” he praises, keeping his honey-colored eyes right on you.

“I—I was…” you start but like always, you can’t finish.

You’re pathetic.

“S’alright, sweetheart. M’right here. Jus’ breathe for me. And when you’re ready, tell me what’s wrong.” His hand brushes past your feet, close enough to touch your exposed ankle, but he never does. Because he knows better. He knows it’ll just set off a string of catastrophic events that’ll only lead you into a deeper black hole than you already are.

But yet, you can’t help but want it. Because you feel how warm he is. Just like that night he carried you to the bathroom. You remember how warm and comforting you felt with your face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, remember his woodsy cologne drowning out your fight or flight panic, remember how gentle he was with you…

You slowly lift your eyes up and push away the screaming voices in your mind. They seem to come to a jarring halt when you meet those soft brown eyes and a face you swear has an angelic glow about it. His fingers flex against the floorboard, just enough to where you can feel the warmth from his tanned skin, and just that motion causes your heart to still for just a beat.

Warm. He’s so warm.

After a few more seconds of steady breaths and his heavy gaze honing in on you, you get enough courage to shakily let your words out. “I was—I was taken in a parking lot just like this. In the middle of the day. And I—I guess I wasn’t quite ready to see another one.”

He falls silent, and his face drops like he’s just seen a ghost. His eyes glaze over as a heavy hand rakes down his clipped beard, slowly dragging it over his lips as he takes in your words. “Oh. Christ, m’so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t even think ‘bout that before I brought you here. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Shaking your head back and forth, you swallow and grimace. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t tell you. I didn’t—I didn’t think I’d freak out. But then the memories hit me and I—I… it’s my fault. It’s all my—.”

He leans into the side of the truck, careful not to touch you, but still close enough to where you can almost taste his woodsy breath. “Shh. Don’t for a second think of apologizin’, sweetheart. None of this is your fault. Not one fuckin’ bit of it.”

He looks at you so intensely, so cautiously that you can clearly see the amber flecks that swirl under the cloudy skies, his jaw flexing back and forth as he searches for more to say, but he doesn’t have to say anything. You feel what he’s feeling. Regret, rage, sorrow. He wishes it never happened to you.

You take a shaky breath and glance up behind him, right as an older couple with two kids clinging to their arms passes peacefully by. A car door slams shut across the way, and it makes you jump in place, remembering that very moment you were corralled into a black van as the door slammed shut behind you, warning you that you were trapped.

As you cringe in your seat and feel your knuckles go white, you whisper, “I’m scared, Joel. I can’t—I can’t...”

“Hey. Can you look up at me?” he asks gently, slightly brushing the pad of his thumb against the side of your shoe. When you look up with watery eyes, he gives you an encouraging nod. “There ya go.”

Your body is trembling with every swift movement and every screeching halt of tires in the parking lot. You start to drift back into a panic, but Joel sees right through you and pulls you right back out with his chocolate brown eyes.

“Keep your eyes on me. Right on me. That’s it. Such a brave girl,” he coos; his voice sounding like a melodic tune that vanishes all your dark thoughts from wrapping their tangled vines completely around your stirred mind.

As you continue to stare at those beautiful caramel eyes, you get lost in the sound of his Southern drawl. “I want you to focus on one thing. It can be anything. A scent, a color, whatever brings you comfort. And I want you to focus on that one thing until your mind starts to quiet down.”

You look around the truck, searching the fresh leather, letting your eyes wander to a nearby green tree, focusing on some drifting stormy clouds that cover the sun. But none of that makes you feel good or even remotely calm, so you let your eyes wander to the rugged, Southern gentleman who’s kneeling right in front of you, begging with those soft brown eyes for you to get even just a semblance of a second of peace.

Warm. He’s so warm.

You get lost in his cinnamon, woodsy scent, fade into his coffee-colored eyes and feel like you’re crashing right into him. You can’t seem to stop staring, almost like you’re under a lovesick spell, but really it’s just your body telling you he is what brings you comfort. Joel Miller, the man who saved you from your impending doom.

So, that’s what you focus on. Him and his warm brown eyes.

“Okay,” you finally whisper out, never dropping your eyes from his.

He looks at you a second and tilts his head, making sure he heard you right. “You got it?”

“Mhm,” you hum back.

A faint smile appears on his mouth and then his hand is skimming the brim of the floor, close enough for you to feel the electricity from his touch zapping your leggings. But still, he doesn’t dare touch you. He’d never do it without your permission. You know this now.

“Now, close your eyes and picture that one thing that’s gonna drown out everything else,” he says through the light rain pattering on the tips of his broad shoulders, right onto his soft blue flannel.

“Joel…” you reply back leery.

“You trust me?” he asks with knit together eyebrows.

You chew your bottom lip for a second before you answer, throwing the question back and forth between your brain. “I—yes.”

He gives you a smile and nods. “Close ‘em for me then. Jus’ for a second.” You do exactly as he says.

When your eyes are fully shut, his Southern drawl floats through your ears. “Focus on my voice, sweetheart. Focus on how still it is; make your heart that same rhythm. Slow it down, jus’ like my words.”

You focus on every breath he breathes, every sound of the shift of his shoulders, every whisk of the wind sweeping through his tousled curls. For this moment, every single other restless sound outside the truck is silent. For the first time, all you hear is him.

You center your mind on him and him alone. And when that whiff of cedar trees and mahogany swirl all around you, you relax and breathe him in like he’s the last thing you’ll ever smell.

“Now, open your eyes,” he says after you lose track of time.

You slowly lift your eyelids and look out beneath your lashes as those bright brown eyes send you into a cloud of serenity. And in that moment, you really do feel like you’re home.

“There ya go, nice and slow. Feel that? Things are a bit quieter now,” he says gently, giving you a soft smile that makes you choke back tears.

Nodding, you reply, “Yeah, it actually is quieter.”

It’s quiet for a beat as you sit there, your palms on your thighs, fingers digging into your leggings, but his presence right in front of you is oddly calming. Just like taking a deep breath of Washington air in the mountains. You swear you almost smell those pine trees like you’re there, but it’s Joel you smell.

“You feel a little better?” he asks, scratching his fingers down his greying scruff, brown eyes flicking up at you like you’re the most important thing in the room.

“Yes,” you nod, still trying to wrap your mind around how quickly Joel was able to calm you down.

“See? Knew you could do it.” His smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and it makes you give him a shy smile in return.

When’s the last time someone was able to get you to smile? You can’t even remember.

“I did it because you helped me,” you confirm, wanting to make sure he knows he was the reason you had the courage to break through your panic attack.

“That’s right, sweetheart. I helped you, but you were the one that broke the panic attack. You’re so very brave, and I hope you know that.”

You’re so brave. He called you brave.

The way he’s looking at you makes your heart skip a beat. All soft and gentle and warm. You’ve never been around a man like Joel. Never once knew how good a man could be. But Joel, he’s like an angel sent from Heaven’s gates just for you. Or so it seems.

You swore to never trust a man again, but you can trust him.

“Now, you think you can make it in the store?” He tilts his head in the direction of the sliding doors, just as a young couple walks in with an empty grocery basket.

Gulping some courage down, you nod. “I—I think so.”

“Attagirl. Now, c’mon.” He holds the door open for you and calls your name softly, giving you that jolt you need to exit the truck. “It’s alright. Nobody’s gonna hurt ya. Not while I’m here.”

“You promise?” you ask when your feet hit the concrete, your voice shaky like you don’t quite believe him, but you do.

“Promise,” he nods, his crow’s feet pulling at the corners of his bright eyes. It’s enough to get your legs moving.

“Okay,” you whisper.

You follow closely on his heels, your fingertips grazing the bottom of his flannel, close enough to grab on if you need to. Your heart is galloping a thousand miles an hour with every step you take, but his woodsy scent is just enough to quiet down the yelling in your head.

When you get to the edge of the sliding doors, you freeze when they open to a busy grocery store. The loud noises of rustling bags and screeching wheels of carts is enough to make you want to run the opposite way.

Joel must sense your worry because he brushes his arm next to yours and looks down at you with knitted eyebrows. “S’alright. I’m gonna be right by your side every step of the way. You can do this.”

You can do this.

Looking up into his syrupy brown eyes gives you that little bit of strength to get you moving again. And when he grabs a shopping cart and beckons you to follow him, you do.

“Thanks for believing in me, Joel,” you say graciously.

“Always.”

You keep right by his side, the fluorescent lights feeling like spotlights shining down on you. It’s like every single person shifts their eyes toward you, faces distorted and smiling like they’re laughing at your fear. The music that filters out of the speakers makes your ears ring. Children run rampant around a restless mother, a tall man with a backwards baseball cap reaches across a barrel full of pineapples, and it’s as if he’s reaching for your wrist.

Without thinking, you grab on to the end of Joel’s flannel and tug it toward you, digging your fingers into the soft cotton as if it’s a safety blanket. The smell of fresh firewood and green grass envelops your senses and for the moment, everything becomes a little more still.

“You keep tuggin’ on my flannel and you’re gonna pull it right off,” Joel chuckles, giving you a small smile as he looks back at you.

“Oh, sorry,” you apologize, dropping your fingers as if you just upset him.

“Don’t gotta apologize. You jus’ hang on if that’s what you need right now.”

You slowly reach back up and flex your fingers around the blue material, peeking up hesitantly beneath your lashes.

“Your flannel, it smells like the forest. Reminds me of the mountains in Washington. It umm… it calms me down.”

“Well then, it’s yours, sweetheart.” Those pools of honey liquid melt you on the spot; his warm smile takes the edge of fear off your chest for just that moment. And when that whiff of autumn from his white t-shirt floats through the air, it’s like he saved you all over again.

He drops his hands from the shopping cart and starts unbuttoning his flannel, carefully shrugging it off his broad shoulders as you stare blankly up at him. And then, he’s holding out the faded blue material to you.

“No, I can’t. I’m fine. I—.” You take a step back and press a palm his way.

“Here, put it on,” he insists, stretching his arm until you have no option but to take it.

“Are you sure?” you squeak out, unsure of yourself.

“Mhm. Want you to feel safe. And if this makes you feel a little calmer, want you to wear it.”

Hesitating, you carefully pluck it from his reach and end up sliding your hand against the back of his, feeling a tingle of a spark from his worn, calloused skin.

“Thanks, Joel,” you whisper above the monotone music playing over the store speakers.

“Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime.” He nods his head toward the produce section and smiles. “C’mon.”

You stay right beside him, almost flush to his hip with every wavering stride you take, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind. No, he just keeps his brown eyes flickering over to you every minute that ticks by, encouraging you with that kind smile of his, telling you with the curve of his lips that you’re doing so well. You can almost hear that Southern drawl sliding off his tongue.

I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Doin’ so good. Look at you, bein’ the bravest girl I know.

Even though he’s not verbally saying those things at this second, you can tell he’s thinking it with the way his doe eyes soften every time they look your way. You can tell by how warm and kind his essence is, how his smile seems to send a flicker of sunshine your way even behind a thick wall of grey clouds.

He’s just… safe. You feel so safe around him, and that’s something you’ve never felt in your entire life. You’ve never been safe. But with him, you just might be.

The clicking of heels and the stare of curious eyes makes you physically cringe and tense your shoulders, thinking one of them will snatch you away yet again. You keep your mind busy by counting the threads of Joel’s blue flannel, training your eyes on his slicked back tan curls, meticulously staring at every single strand that’s wrapped in a silver glow. It seems to help, gives the impression that maybe you can do this. And you are.

At times when he strays too far, you reach for him unintentionally. It’s like your hand is magnetized to the feel of his cotton shirt, your fingers curling into the thick material. And again, he doesn’t seem to mind, only smiles and goes on with gathering groceries.

He doesn’t forget the caramel, doesn’t forget to grab a few bottles of vanilla creamer and extra sugar. In fact, those were the things he went for first.

He doesn’t forget things. Doesn’t forget what you wanted. And that in itself proves something. What, you’re not sure. But it proves he cares, that you do know.

You follow him to the produce section and watch him shift his focus on picking the best meat, promising to get the best steak for dinner. You haven’t had steak in years, and you don’t doubt for one second that Joel can cook a mean one.

Averting your eyes from his pensive stare and flexed jaw, your gaze wanders over to the cereal aisle, and you suddenly have the biggest craving for a box of Cocoa Pebbles.

Saliva gathers in your mouth as you think of how sugary and good and delightful a mouthful of chocolatey goodness would taste right now. Without thinking, you pull on the end of his shirt, stretching the material mindlessly as your brain transfixes on the mountain of sugar just a few feet away. It’d be so easy to go grab a box, but your feet won’t move, your words won’t form because you’re terrified to be alone for even a second in a grocery store of all places.

With one more slight tug on the edge of his t-shirt, he turns with a soft expression and questions, “What is it, sweetheart?” No anger or hint of annoyance in his Southern drawl, just pure warmth.

Your voice stays silent, your immense stare fixed on that aisle of sugar and thousands of calories you’d happily inhale. You’re sure your frail body would thank you, even if it was just junk. Joel’s eyes trace over yours, following to where yours end, and then a small chuckle leaves his lips. “You wanna go grab some?”

“Yeah.”

“Go on then. Why don’t you go pick some out?” He nods to the empty aisle, encouraging you on. But you stand there like your feet are cemented to the shiny floor, and you have no intention of moving.

Fear pulses through your blood, and anxiety is trickling down your spine. Joel takes a step forward and drawls in a low but soothing voice, “S’okay. I’ll be right here watchin’. You can do it, sweetheart.”

You look up and see warm pools of honey staring down at you and a smile that makes your knees feel weak. He’s so fucking soft with you.

Nodding, you take a step forward and then another, dragging your feet toward the aisle of boxes of sugary goodness. The further you get away from him, the more anxious you get.

What if someone takes you, gets too close to your liking, grabs your arm and drags you away? Looking back toward Joel, he gives you a small nod, telling you it’s okay. You’re okay.

Turning back to your task at hand, you start scanning the shelves, your appetite suddenly stimulated as you scavenge for what you’re looking for. Saliva is coating the back of your tongue, your stomach rumbling. There’s too many choices, too many kinds you want.

When you finally spot a box of Cocoa Pebbles, you see two more kinds you want. Lucky Charms and Cinnamon Toast Crunch sit right next to each other, calling your name for you to take them. Gritting your teeth together, you make a choice. You want all three, so you dip into your impulses and grab them all up. Hopefully Joel doesn’t mind.

A middle-aged man passes you in the row, and your muscles tighten around you, making you squish the boxes together in your arms. You focus on deep breaths, telling yourself he’s not going to hurt you. Not every man is out to get you, but it certainly feels like that now. Maybe one day you’ll be able to break the cycle of thinking that.

Quickly passing the stranger, you prance up to Joel, all three cereal boxes shoved together in your arms, just like you’re a kid in a candy store. You hear him chuckling before you lift your eyes up to him, and then he lets out a belly-aching laugh.

“Look at you with three boxes. You really do have a sweet tooth, don’t ya?”

You feel your cheeks grow warm as you set the boxes down in the cart. Nervous laughter filters out of your mouth. “I couldn’t quite decide what I wanted. I can put some back if…”

“No. I’m jus’ teasin’, sweetheart. You get as many kinds as you want. Ain’t got a limit with me.” His wide grin and crow’s feet makes a small smile tug at the corner of your lips.

“Thanks,” you say shyly. “I guess it’s been a while since I’ve had any cereal, or really any kind of sugar. So, this is different. I’m not used to any of this.”

Understanding hits his brown eyes and his jaw clenches as something tosses through his mind. “Well, we’re jus’ gonna have to change that, ain’t we?”

Pursing your lips, you nod. “Call me a work in progress.”

He gives you a soft smile and wraps a large hand around the cart. “You’re doin’ jus’ fine, sweetheart. Makin’ plenty of progress jus’ by steppin’ foot in this store today. Proud of you.”

He’s proud of you.

“I wouldn’t have even made it into the store if it wasn’t for you…”

He takes a long look at you and just stands there for a few seconds, searching for the right words to say. “It was all you, sweetheart. You jus’ needed a little push in the right direction and someone to be there for you.”

“Thank you for being there when I needed someone, Joel…” you whisper, your eyes a little misty with emotions running rampant through your body.

It looks like he wants to reach out, but he just grips the handle of the shopping cart tighter and tips his head. “‘Course, sweetheart. Whenever you need me.”

Whenever you need me. The words get stuck on repeat in your brain as you follow him through the rest of the grocery store. You think you’d follow him anywhere.

When you’re all checked out and the bagged groceries are sitting inside the cart, you realize Joel’s flannel is still wrapped around you. You don’t want to take it off necessarily. It smells like him, and it’s so warm and cozy and basically drenched in forest air. But, it’s not yours. You slowly start to shed the warm layer, but he stops you before you can get it past your elbows.

“Keep it, sweetheart.” He presses a palm out, pausing you in your tracks.

“Don’t you want it back?” you ask with knitted brows.

“Nah, you go ahead and keep it,” he answers. Before you can walk out the door, he turns and smiles warmly at you. “Besides, it looks better on you.” And then he continues on, like he didn’t just give you a compliment.

It looks better on you.

You hug the blue flannel back against your body, breathing in the very essence of him that seems to calm every single nerve in your body.

He gave you his flannel.

Once the groceries are all packed away in the back of the truck and both you and Joel are buckled up, he turns to you before driving out of the parking lot. “So, you wanna go get ice cream?”

“Ice cream?”

“Mhm. Ice cream,” he confirms.

“Whatever for?” you giggle.

“Don’t you like ice cream?” he inquires, flicking his brown eyes over your way.

“Well, yes. But…”

“I think brave girls deserve ice cream. Don’t you?”

You study him, looking for any sign of lies in the crow’s feet that pull tightly around the edges of his chocolate brown eyes, but you find none. He isn’t messing with you or your mind; he’s being completely sincere when he uses the word brave. “You think I’m a brave girl?”

“The bravest.” He smiles, his eyes twinkling like golden orbs under the grey skies, and it just confirms how warm he is.

You gawk at him, your lips parting as you just stare and stare at him. He thinks you’re brave, and he wants to take you for ice cream? Who even is this man?

“What?” He catches you staring and probably wonders why you’re just marveling over him. He must not realize you’re completely mesmerized by every single thing he does.

No one’s ever treated you so human. Like you’re important and matter. Joel sees you. He really sees you. Your layers and all. Just like transparent glass.

“You just surprise me, that's all,” you answer hesitantly, eyes still focused on his tanned skin and wrinkles that line like maps across his face. Something you could trace easily. “You’re not exactly what I expected, I guess.”

“And what’d you expect?” He quirks an eyebrow up as the engine hums under your seat, his eyes making their way back to your face.

“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think you’d be so… kind.”

He curls his lips into a sideways smile while he taps his thumb against the leather steering wheel, eyes still focused directly on you. “I try my best, sweetheart.”

“You don’t even have to. You just are. Just like that first night I saw you sitting there across the room. Your eyes seemed so… kind.”

Everything seems to quiet down for a moment, only the sound of your heart, the slow motion of the tires hitting the wet pavement, the thick tension coursing through the air, and Joel’s clear brown eyes that are smothering your insides. They speak louder than tidal waves, those deep brown irises. And right now, they’re making your heart clench in your chest.

He clears his throat and then the tension dissipates. “So, how ‘bout that ice cream?” He wraps his large palm around the steering wheel and smiles over, making you mirror one right back to him.

“I’d love some ice cream.”

“Attagirl. Let’s go get you sugared up, then.” As he pulls out of the shopping center and drives down the smooth road, you giggle silently and watch the trickles of raindrops drip down the side of the passenger window.

“Have you ever tried espresso ice cream?” you ask, shifting your weight so you can see the question roll over his brown eyes.

“As a matter of fact, I haven’t.”

“I think you’d like it,” you chirp.

He turns his head and looks at you, pulling his lips into a smirk. “Reckon I would. That what you recommend?”

“Mhm,” you hum. “Since you like coffee so much, might be your new favorite flavor.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Well, looks like that’s what I’m gonna have to get. Let’s see what other recommendations you have for me.”

As you lean against the window, you place the back of your hand over your mouth to cover the blush that's building in your cheeks. Who knew this is where you’d be in the middle of Wednesday afternoon this time of year? In a truck, wearing Joel’s flannel, getting ice cream, being free of your captors… And all you can smell is the fresh woodsy scent of him surrounding you.

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller angst #healing fic

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johnnysuhbmarine · 2 months ago

Text

Knowing a change of scenery was what your mental health needed, you transferred to where your brother, Mark, goes to college. The good news is, he’s not too cool for his younger sister, so he lets you join his friend group immediately. The bad news is, Haechan is in that friend group, and a brief encounter four years ago was enough for you to understand he does NOT like you. Even worse news, he’s a lot hotter than he was four years ago…

Chapter Sixteen: smol bear - six images, 1.9k words - heads up, this has about the same vibe as last chapter

As soon as you opened the door to Haechan, you were ready to fall into his embrace, already having worn yourself out from crying prior to his arrival.

However, what you’re met with is a pint of Ben & Jerry’s The Tonight Dough extended out for you to take, and you flick your gaze up to Haechan in question. “You had enough time to run to the store in the past five minutes?” You ask with a laugh of disbelief, wiping away at the stray tears running down your face, his presence alone enough to start calming you down a bit.

Haechan uses his hand that's not holding the ice cream to scratch at the back of his neck in embarrassment. “No, I just- I keep a pint of it in my freezer in case you’re ever over and...want some, and I figured you’d probably uh- want some now.”

That was all it took before sobs immediately wrack your body again and Haechan just sighs, moving slightly to place down the pint of ice cream before coming back to wrap you in a bear hug. You can hardly think to be embarrassed about your tears staining his shirt, but you knew he would have been adamant that it didn’t matter in the slightest.

Slowly, he brings a hand up to run over the back of your head and through your hair. “What’s that silly brain of yours up to?” He whispers, and you shake your head against his chest.

“Currently? Telling me that I don’t deserve you,” you answer, rendering Haechan still for a moment.

“I can assure you, that’s a lie,” he responds seriously. You let out a heavy sigh against his body before speaking again, trying to ignore how your voice was cracking.

“I don’t like myself very much right now,” you sniffle in his hold, and Haechan is baffled that you couldn’t hear his heart breaking in his chest, though he figures he should be grateful for that. He takes care in maneuvering the two of you so that he could rest his forehead against yours for a moment, his thumb now gliding softly across your cheek.

“Don’t worry. I like you enough for the both of us tonight,” he says gently, and your grip around him tightens as you hide your head back in his chest to try and stifle more sobs. He runs a hand up and down your back in the meantime. “Thank you for texting me,” he continues, and you shake your head against his chest.

“I needed you,” you manage to say through a whimper, forcing Haechan to take a deep breath before tears could end up sliding down his face, as well.

“I’m always gonna be here,” he responds, and you knew he meant it with every fiber of his being - you could feel it.

When the two of you finally broke from the hug, Haechan immediately turned your attention to various board games and movies. Eventually, this led to the two of you laying down on top of your, much more comfortable, couch; with you almost entirely on top of Haechan as his arms wrapped around you loosely.

You were half-way through his comfort movie (the two of you already rewatched The Aristocats while playing board games) when he softly spoke up for the first time since it started.

“You can talk to me about it, you know? I told you your heavy feelings aren’t gonna scare me away, and just taking your mind off of it isn’t going to work forever.” His head is still turned to face the TV as he spoke, and you know it’s an attempt to make it feel more casual - less threatening of a topic.

You hold your breath for a moment before letting out a light sigh, giving in. “You’re not gonna get it, though. I feel like no one gets it. Sure, meeting you guys has been the biggest blessing and my mental health is honestly miles ahead of where it was…though that’s probably hard to believe given the situation. But- you guys always want to hang out with me, and my SM friends did, too, but I don’t get it. Half the time I just want to lay in bed and do nothing, and it’s like you guys know that and purposely don’t let me. I don’t know why you guys don’t let me. I don’t want to eat or see the sunlight all the time. I'm doing better but sometimes I just want to be here, and everyone acts as though it's the end of the world.”

Haechan takes a sharp inhale as his hands cease rubbing circles across your back and you’re terrified you messed up telling him all of that, figuring it paints you as ungrateful for your friends - a classification that he himself fell under, and now you’re worried you upset him. Though, moving your head up to look at him, you catch as he licks his lips in contemplation before pulling his gaze away from the TV and towards you, raising his eyebrows as he asks a question. “Do you step on flowers when you see them blooming?”

You look at him quizzically as you respond with a faint, confused ‘no.’ Haechan lets the softest of smiles cross his face as he shakes his head to emphasize your negative response, continuing to his point as he does so.

“We all try our best to take care of beautiful things, y/n. And even if you don’t see how your actions, or lack thereof, equate to you not taking care of yourself, think about the five year old who tramples over flowers without realizing any harm was done…but the rest of us know. The rest of us grieve. So, we’re all just trying our best to take care of you - before your mental health starts affecting your physical health and you have to stay in bed all day. I mean, I take you out to lunch all the time and I know you don’t want to eat, I know. But what you don’t know is that you eat a little bit more off your plate every single time. So, I never stop inviting you out, cause when I take care of you, you take care of yourself, too. The same thing when Jeno and Jaemin go exploring with you. It’s a huge part of why you’re miles ahead of where you were mentally. You’ve gotten stronger, you just don’t know it. So yeah, we like hanging out with you all the time - cause every time we do, we see you healing, and it gives us the chance to take care of you and fill all the gaps in between.”

If the two of you were breathing once he got done talking, you wouldn’t have been able to tell. The only sound breaking the silence was from the movie. You and Haechan seemed instead to be frozen in time. You watch as he takes a moment to study your figure, opening and closing his mouth a few times, apparently not satisfied with leaving off how he did.

He dodges eye contact now as he begins his next spiel, but his words come out slower, even more decided, than they previously were. “And if it’s the ‘beautiful’ part you’re having a hard time wrapping your head around…well, I’d tell you to think of art museums. Not everyone gets it, but there’s a reason for every piece that’s on display. Someone’s found it beautiful…even those weird modern art pieces that no one seems to get because they’re just red squares half the time. But you? If you feel like a red square painted on a canvas, just know that I get it - it was never even a question. I know you’re beautiful,” he says, moving a hand to gently tuck a piece of hair behind your ear so he could make unobstructed eye contact with you.

You don’t say anything back in reply. You can’t. Instead, you lay your head back on his chest to face the TV, squeezing your eyes shut, though it doesn’t do anything to stop the small shakes of your body with each soft sob that picked back up at his words. Haechan never said anything else, just holding you tightly to him as he resumed tracing shapes over your back until you fell asleep in his arms.

When you woke up the next morning in bed, what you weren’t expecting was to walk out to the living area and see Haechan standing in the kitchen.

At the sound of your footsteps, he turns to face you with a smile. “Hey, do you want coffee?” He asks casually, as if it were his own place and you were the guest.

You can’t stop the small laugh from leaving your system. “What are you doing here?” You ask playfully, and Haechan just shrugs as if nothing were off.

“Well, you fell asleep on me last night, so I carried you to bed and tucked you in and all that cause I figured your bed is more comfortable, but I didn’t want to just- leave you…in case you woke back up and needed me. So, I slept on the couch; unless you think that's weird!! In which case, I went home last night after getting you to bed, then came back here about ten minutes ago to make you coffee...and your friendly poltergeist roommate let me in.” He states plainly, and a fond smile paints its way across your lips as you stare at his figure, currently turned away from you as he resumed his task of making coffee.

“Thank you,” you reply seriously, and Haechan figures it was for the best that he wasn’t facing you anymore because just your 'thanks' had sent blush across his cheeks.

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing,” he answers, finally turning towards you again once the warmth in his cheeks dies down. “Do you wanna hang out today, too? Or are you about to kick me out of your kitchen?” He asks with a bashful smile and embarrassed laugh.

You shake your head and let your eyes roll playfully. “Well, you’re already here…we might as well hang out.”

Haechan lets a grin cross his face but he shakes his head at you. “Oh, no, I’m getting you out of here today; making you take a break from the confines of this place," he states with a lilt of seriousness.

You let out a sigh, though you knew arguing would be futile. “Well, I’m sorry to report that it’s a little early for lunch,” you joke, and Haechan rolls his eyes before answering with a cup of coffee extended out for you to take.

“I didn’t ask to go out for lunch, I asked to hang out. I’m ready for whatever it is you want to do, just let me know,” he says firmly, clinking your coffee mugs together in a mock 'cheers' before taking a sip through the stupid grin he currently bore on his face.

You roll your eyes in an attempt to negate the smile on your own lips. “Let me go get ready,” you say, but before you can take two steps back toward your bedroom, Haechan catches your wrist in his hand, forcing you to turn his way again in an instant.

“We have all day. Just stand in this kitchen and drink coffee with me for a bit first,” he pleads softly. That was all it took for you to move the mug up to your lips, laughing at the man in front of you who was now incredibly too invested in whether or not you liked your coffee.

[previous] -> [masterlist] -> [next]

a/n: sorry about this being posted slightly off schedule hours-wise…I was busy being thankful for my family (and I still don’t trust scheduled posts) but I’m also very thankful for all of you! I hope you enjoy this chapter and the holiday season :))

a/n (x2): you guys would not BELIEVE how long it takes for them to get together after this...

Taglist: @fullsunstrawberry @choizzn @raevyng @dudekiss3r @yewshi @artsenthusiastk77 @injunnie-lemon @markeroolee @chan-yeoldelling @sunflowerhae @mystverse @urlovelily @luvandletter @jeonghansshitester @dinonuguaegi @untilthesunrises @clean-soap @andassortedkpop @dlin3 @roseangelxfuma @gomdoleemyson @simmsunshine @swanyvess @awktwurtle @t-102 @kukkurookkoo @haefelt

@hahaechans @ypoom151999 @goldenclosethobi

#on the same page #haechan #nct haechan #lee haechan #donghyuck #lee donghyuck #haechan x reader #nct #nct dream #nct 127 #haechan smau #haechan social media au #nct smau #nct dream smau #nct social media au

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suhkusa · 6 months ago

Text

EGOIST 20.

PAIRING. Atsumu Miya x f!Reader

CW. angst, hurt no comfort, the aftermath of past chapters

A/N. me when

-> MASTERLIST.

Everything you did was on impulse.

You acted before thinking things through rationally and it was chaotic.

Your heart and head hurt so bad, you felt like there was nothing more that you could do except sob and mull over your mistakes.

Mistake.

You felt absolutely stupid for thinking something was different. Something would change. But the universe came around and found the worse way, the worse person, to prove you dead wrong.

To make matters worse, you were depressed and jobless. At this rate, you’d have to move back home with your family and work at a local retail store, and you were not going back to that lifestyle if you could help it.

On the brighter side, your emails from news outlets and your notifications from social media had finally begun to slow. At this point, it’s been a week since the initial incident.

The only person you’ve kept in touch with from your former job was Kiyoomi. According to him, the emails hadn’t slowed on his end, but that was to be expected since he was the center of many fangirls’ attention.

He’d keep you at least a little sane when you felt your mentals decline.

As for the other man, you hadn’t heard or seen anything of him. Which was definitely for the best. You were actually surprised he hadn’t shown up at your door, because your threat to call the police if he came was half-empty.

And you absolutely hate yourself, because even though you know he did you extremely wrong, there’s a sliver of you that misses him. That wishes that he hadn’t been the cause of all your hurt so that he could be the one who is comforting you.

But the world is cruel and so was Atsumu.

———

You had expected it to take months to find a new job, but after you had helped manage a champion team, the calls came in faster than you could answer.

There were too many good offers, even offers from teams that MSBY had beaten. You took the easy way out of each call by telling them that you’d get back to them ASAP. You’d probably have to research the teams and players before really considering or accepting a job offer.

Other than job-hunting, you found yourself at home nearly all day. You’d play video games with Sakusa or just do some cleaning around the house. You’d found a new hobby with gardening in your spare time. Though, you weren’t very good at keeping them alive.

If not doing any of that, you’d be caught up in your head. Whether it be thinking of the past or worrying about the future, your line of thought would somehow find its way to him. You’d scold yourself every time, but you couldn’t stop the intrusive thoughts. You’re scared that if you were to see him, you’d crumble all over again. You don’t know if you had it in you to turn him away, even after everything.

A knock at your door causes you to jump. You quickly get up to open it to Kiyoomi.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” you bow to him jokingly, before he walks in.

“I was here two days ago, not too much,”

You laugh before the two of you walk to your living room, making yourselves comfortable.

“How has the unemployed life been treating you?” he asks as he begins to connect his Nintendo Switch to your TV.

“Good, actually. I got like almost 8 different job offers, I think one of them is actually from an overseas team,”

His eyes widen at that, “Impressive,”

You nudge at him, “Yeah, I’m actually considering that one, it might be in California? But it’s far, but at the same time maybe that’s not a bad thing,”

“Could finally get away from all this madness,” Sakusa adds, taking your remote to switch the source.

“Mm, yeah. But at the same time this is my home and I don’t feel like I got closure with—”

Sakusa’s head snaps your direction, his eyes look at you knowingly causing you to stop. “Don’t start,”

You groan in distress, “I can’t,” you throw your head back, “I’m a mess,”

He uses the Switch controller to select a game, giving you the other controller. “Maybe you should seriously consider that overseas offer. It’d be a nice change of scenery, and it’s not a forever thing. At the end of the day you could always come back. I think you being here reminds you too much of him, and it’s not doing you any good,”

Your eyes widen, “Woah, so serious, Omi,”

His eyes squint at you, “I am serious,”

You laugh, taking the controller into your hands.

“I will though,” you continue, “You’re probably right, I might just need to untether myself from this god forsaken country for a while. Too many bad memories,”

“Thank you, Kiyoomi,” you smile, clicking the button to ready up your character.

“Anytime,”

———

Atsumu considers going on hiatus. Contrast to you, you’ve been on his mind 24/7. Atsumu always hated those stupid “everything reminds me of them,” jokes, but now he seriously relates.

He can’t drown himself in other women or alcohol. Because it feels wrong. He finds himself needing and wanting to be loyal to you, even though he hasn’t seen you in more than a month.

Atsumu avoids asking Sakusa about you. Mostly because the last time he did ask, Sakusa told him off. He opted to make burner accounts to see what you were up to on social media. Unfortunately for him, you stopped posting almost entirely before turning your account private.

He knew he was getting borderline obsessive but he couldn’t help it. He was already fighting the urge to go to you himself everyday. To try and ask around to anyone and everyone who may know what you’ve been up to.

Atsumu knows all of this is wrong of him. He was the one who did you wrong. Nothing he’d do would ever make it up to you.

Everything was working against him.

After you left that day, he had told Angie off and blocked her once and for all.

When he found out you had resigned, he almost considered quitting.

He wanted to curse every higher being for allowing things to turn out this way.

But nothing could compare to how he felt the day he eavesdropped on Kiyoomi’s phone call. His phone call with you. He stood by the doorway of the locker room as he listened as closely as he could.

After so long he’d finally gotten something, crumbs, of what you were doing. Though it was definitely not what he had expected or what he wanted.

“You’re taking the job?” Sakusa sounds excited, Atsumu assumes he’s talking about you getting a new job, “That’s good, sounds like a good offer,”

There’s a pause, and he guesses that you’re probably saying something in response from the other end.

“Are you nervous though? The U.S is pretty far, but California is cool from what I’ve heard,”

Atsumu’s heart sinks to his stomach. California? You were leaving the country?

His mind is running wild. Atsumu obviously knew you’d eventually find a new job, but he had thought you’d still be within arms reach. Close enough for him to reach out to you when he feels like the time is right. But across the globe? Atsumu is so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn’t register the sound of Sakusa ending the call with you or him coming out of the locker room.

Atsumu nearly jumps at the other man’s voice, “Oh, you,”

He has no words, and just stares at Sakusa. “You heard, huh?”

“Good for her, she’ll finally be able to get away from you.”

The words from Sakusa are like a slap in the face, and if he was talking about anyone other than you Atsumu would’ve let him have a piece of his mind. But Sakusa was right.

He didn’t want to sound conceited or boost his own ego, but he probably had some part in your decision making. And while in the past, he probably would’ve felt some sick gratification from driving you far away. But now it just made him feel sick. Just sick.

Atsumu is stuck between a rock and a hard place. He wants to see you, to try and change your mind, he knows his efforts would be wasted.

Still, would it really hurt to try?

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #atsumu x reader #atsumu angst #haikyuu series #haikyuu atsumu series #atsumu x reader angst #haikyuu x reader angst #raeworks #atsumu fanfic

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avonne-writes · 8 months ago

Text

High School AU - Timeline

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Year 9 Of High School

The boys meet on their first day of high school

Gale's growing out his hair to rebel against his dad

Bucky's eager to find new friends because Brady is the only one he knows

They're seated next to each other in one of their classes and become friends

They both think the other is cute and develop crushes on each other quickly

Bucky tells Brady and his mom everything about his crush

Gale doesn’t dare believe that Bucky likes him, he thinks they're just friends

Daydreams

But the way things develop during Christmas and New Year's Eve get his hopes up

Bucky makes a resolution to ask him out

They go on their first date in January

You don’t need wings to fly (drabble about their third date)

dive for dreams - chapter 1

Happiness, you’re a cat - part 1

Their relationship develops, but Gale keeps his family issues a secret, sometimes even lying

They fight about it and break up

But, upon his mom's (Georgia's) encouragement, Bucky approaches Gale again and they make up. Gale tells Bucky about his parents

Gale sleeps over at the Egans' place for the first time

Early relationship headcanons

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Year 10 Of High School

Someone catches them kissing in September (drabble - Truth or dare) and spreads the rumour around school

Since Bucky already wanted to come out anyway, he’s not worried or anything, and convinces Gale that it's fine

Bucky kisses Gale in the middle of the hallway

Bryan ("RAF prick" in the show) and his friends try to bully both of them but mostly Gale since he’s not on any popular sports team

Bucky and Curt track them down and get into a fistfight

Bucky gets suspended for a few days

dive for dreams - chapter 2

Gale gets mad at Bucky for drawing attention to them, but the bullying stops not too long after that fight

The boys get braver with the PDA over the course of the year

They also start exploring sexual intimacy gradually - Hands-on Biology

Nsfw headcanons

Self-care

Around May or so, Georgia does a motorcycle course and meets Neil (Harding)

Bucky and Gale have their first time at the end of May/beginning of June

dive for dreams - chapter 3

They keep exploring new things about intimacy during the summer, taking advantage of having the house to themselves a bit more often because Georgia goes out with Neil

morning after drabble

Georgia introduces Neil to the boys. It takes some time but they warm up to him eventually

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Year 11 Of High School

The school year starts really well, it's a very happy period for them. Gale stays over every Saturday night, sometimes other nights too.

Gale has a platonic crush on a teacher

Lunch Break

Sweet Tooth

The first time Gale mentions he doesn’t want to have kids - You melt my heart

Gale spends Christmas Day and Boxing Day with Bucky and his family, including extended family

Words of Wisdom

Towards the end of spring, Gale’s dad relapses again and ends up in alcohol rehab. It really messes with Gale's emotions.

Gale starts going to the school psychologist, but his mental health gets worse. He develops the habit of going out alone in the evening and spends a lot of time in random parks, public libraries and the pool, when he's not with Bucky.

dive for dreams - chapter 4

Gale's dad comes out of rehab and promises to stay sober. The summer goes relatively well, Gale feels momentarily better

Gale bonds with Neil and asks him to teach him how to ride a motorbike

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Year 12 Of High School

Around October, Gale’s dad relapses again and physically abuses Gale

Broken Things (Gale almost commits suicide)

Bucky tries to help him cover up his bruises with his mom's makeup - drabble by @swifty-fox

Georgia and Neil talk to Gale, then also to his mom and get everyone to agree to Gale moving in with Bucky and Georgia

Gale has an emotional moment with his mom when they move his things

Georgia figures out a way to get Gale a therapist outside of school

Silence (Bucky and Gale talk about death)

Gale and Bucky get into arguments sometimes because Gale needs more space due to his vulnerable situation, but Bucky's triggered fear of abandonment wants to keep him close at all times. The fact that high school is coming to an end soon exacerbates it.

Gale and Georgia have an argument

dive for dreams - chapter 5

Gale's 18th birthday (drabble)

Gale starts getting better. He gets his motorcycle driver's license in secret, conspiring with Neil. He also starts working part-time to save up.

He offers Georgia to pay for his own food but he ends up with another long conversation where Georgia tries to make him understand that she does this for him out of love and doesn’t want him to feel like he owes her.

Conversely, Bucky starts getting worse as the end of the school year approaches. He’s scared that he’s going to lose Gale because they will be going to college. He gets really clingy and irrational.

Leaving

What touches linger by @hogans-heroes

Mid-spring, Gale borrows a bike from Neil and takes Bucky on a surprise date. They end up sitting in the grass somewhere and have a serious talk about the future. Gale tells Bucky that he needs to do something about his attachment issues. Bucky agrees, feeling bad, but reassured about their college plans.

Pre-prom drabble

They go to prom together:

Prom night drabble

They spend the summer hanging out with their friends

They get into different colleges but in the same city.

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First Year of College

Gale cuts his hair. To him, it's not just a sign of change but a symbol of his freedom from his father's dark shadow

He and Bucky move in together into a small apartment

Gale switches to calling Bucky John because it carries more emotion and connection to him

Although they’ve been living together since the previous fall, this is different, and only now do they learn a lot of things about each other. Like how bad Gale is at decoration, what triggers him and what bothers Bucky

There’s a lot of friction between them during their first semester, and they get close to breaking up, but eventually, they start communicating the right way and address their biggest problems

Basically, their relationship needs to shift into a mature adult relationship. It takes some time but they succeed (see - college transition headcanons + sexual issues headcanons)

dive for dreams - chapter 6

Gale blossoms at university

He and Bucky enter a steady and happy phase in their lives.

Gale wearing Bucky's soccer jersey

Later Life

Bucky faces the source of his fear of abandonment - his father. He goes through a lot of personal development (some headcanons + another post)

Happiness, you’re a cat - part 2 (when they’re 21)

Bucky asks Gale to marry him after their 3rd year of college - my world, my true

They get married about a year later. (wedding headcanons)

Gale studies Physics and does part of his Master's/doctorate course abroad. He and Bucky call almost every day, but Bucky still misses him a lot. (some headcanons about this, + more headcanons)

Later, Bucky claims that their reunion at the end of the programme was almost as happy as their wedding day.

Gale dedicates his PhD thesis to Bucky.

Georgia and Neil get married and she takes his name.

Headcanons about the boys' jobs after university

Birthday headcanons

Anniversary headcanons

When they're 30, Gale has something of a mid-life crisis because Bucky realizes that having kids is more important to him than he originally thought.

During the above situation, their relationship gets really tense and strained, and they fight a lot. Gale antagonizes Bucky. (argument headcanons, more headcanons about their fight)

However, they do figure it out eventually, and they build a happy future together.

Gale's NASA ID situation

A few thoughts about their last moments together.

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A/N:

Thank you if you got this far! 🩷 This timeline post will be continuously updated as new stories and drabbles are posted. It will be linked in my masterpost.

TLDR - Chronological Reading Order:

Daydreams

You don’t need wings to fly

dive for dreams - chapter 1

Happiness, you’re a cat - part 1

First sleepover

Truth or dare

dive for dreams - chapter 2

Hands-on Biology

Self-care

dive for dreams - chapter 3

morning after drabble

Lunch Break

Sweet Tooth

You melt my heart

Words of Wisdom

dive for dreams - chapter 4

Broken Things

swifty-fox's drabble

Silence

dive for dreams - chapter 5

Gale's 18th birthday drabble

Leaving

What touches linger by hogans-heroes

pre-prom drabble

prom night drabble

dive for dreams - chapter 6

Short college morning drabble

Happiness, you’re a cat - part 2

my world, my true

Thank you so much for reading this AU! You can find more headcanons on my blog under #hs au 😊

Moodboards and gifs 💕

Gifset by @carnevol

Moodboard by @hogans-heroes

Moodboard by @bucking-mustangs-with-wings

Fanart by @swifty-fox

#mota #buck x bucky #clegan #gale cleven #john egan #hs au #hs au timeline #will be updated after each new fic #🥰🥰#i hope this is helpful!#this took me such a long time 🙈

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padfootagain · 2 months ago

Text

Love in Verses (XXXII)

Chapter 32 : ‘How dense it is, how it carries inside it the memory of collapse. How difficult it is to move then’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! This is part 2 of The Party, we’re going through the same events, but from Y/N’s point of view!

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3256

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Watching my friend pretend her heart isn’t breaking

On Earth, just a teaspoon of neutron star would weigh six billion tons. Six billion tons equals the collective weight of every animal on earth. Including the insects. Times three.

Six billion tons sounds impossible until I consider how it is to swallow grief – just a teaspoon and one might as well have consumed a neutron star. How dense it is, how it carries inside it the memory of collapse. How difficult it is to move then. How impossible to believe that anything could lift that weight.

There are many reasons to treat each other with great tenderness. One is the sheer miracle that we are here together on a planet surrounded by dying stars. One is that we cannot see what anyone else has swallowed.

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

It was working, you were certain of it.

Frank was stealing glances in your direction, he wasn’t being particularly discreet about it.

George was good-looking, you had to give him credit for that. Good-looking and quite funny and charming. You genuinely laughed at one of his jokes, and he took it as permission to rest his hand on your arm. Your first thought was to push him away but you didn’t. That was the point. To make Frank jealous, so he would realise that he still wanted you. So, you let George run his fingers up your arm, his touch feathery. When you looked up, you noticed that Andrew was staring, saw him turning away in a hurry, reaching for a drink…

Samantha was with him now. Your reaction surprised you, you felt the distinctive pang of jealousy echo through your ribcage.

“How do you know our couple then?” George asked.

“I’m a friend of Frank’s,” you lied. “And you?”

“A distant cousin on Samantha’s mother’s side,” he explained with a humorous smile. “Pretty happy with the connection tonight, to be honest.”

“Yeah?”

“It means I get to talk to a very pretty woman, indeed,” he answered with a charming smile.

God, you wanted to throw up at that line… You couldn’t help but lean back, your face falling a little.

Frank was staring now, you could feel his gaze on you. When you looked past George’s shoulder, you noticed that Andrew was still talking with Samantha, his back to you. Still, you only had to wait for a couple of seconds for him to glance in your direction. You felt safer all over again, knowing he was watching over you, that he would help you get out of this mess if you needed.

You noticed that Samantha was standing closer to Andrew as well, that she touched his arm and that he let her do so.

Was your plan working? Was she trying to get closer to Andrew all over again?

How much you ached at the sight…

In a flash, you pictured Andrew kissing her, touching her, and you felt nauseous all over again. Worse than George’s intentions, the image of Andrew being with her…

You noticed that George had been talking, but you hadn’t been paying attention to his words, had no idea what he was on about. You faked interest, but when he moved closer again, you took a full step back… Andrew didn’t see you doing that, he was talking with Samantha…

You were surprised when Frank’s voice suddenly appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. And indeed, Frank was now walking towards George and you, but he didn’t seem to pay you any attention. He turned to George instead, pushing you out of the conversation. You felt invisible then, you could only stare at Frank while he ignored you so completely.

If always felt like you were heard and seen whenever you were with Andrew…

“Hi! Oh, I’m such a terrible host, I don’t think we’ve met before,” he said with a polite smile. “I’m Frank.”

“George. One of Samantha’s cousins…”

“Oh, yes! Of course! How lovely to have you, thank you for coming! And on such short notice, I know everything happened kind of quickly between Sam and I.”

You clenched your jaw at his words as you were pulled right back into the whole mess of your breakup, of his rejection, of him calling off your wedding just to announce his engagement to someone else…

All this was so fucked up… and now he was talking to this guy like you weren’t even here, like you didn’t matter, like you hadn’t been together for six years…

Your eyes drifted on their own accord beyond the two men talking before you, to reach Andrew’s tall figure on the other side of the room. Would he ever behave like this towards you? Would he ever be able to do something like that to anyone?

And what were you doing, trying to make Frank jealous? You thought about all that had happened, how Frank had shattered your heart, your self-esteem, all traces of love you had been putting in your relationship. All you took for granted in this world crumbled when he left, when he cancelled your wedding. You had spent years waiting for a proposal, had accepted to remain engaged for a year and a half because he wanted to focus on his career, when he didn’t care about yours. And then he was breaking up with you like it didn’t matter, like there was nothing in your love worth fighting for. He threw it all away for a woman he had met a few weeks before… and you were trying your best to get a man like that back?!

What the fuck were you doing?!

And Andrew was standing right over there, with his ex, that asshole you dreamt of punching in the face for how poorly she had loved him and treated him at the end of their relationship. But you weren’t better, trying to slither your way back into Frank’s heart.

Was it worth it?

Was Frank really what you wanted?

You hadn’t paid much attention to Frank and George, and their casual chit-chat. You were surprised when Frank took a step closer to George, seeming almost menacing now. He said something, but his voice was too low for you to hear him. Still, it seemed to work, as George left, without sparing you a glance.

Frank finally turned to you, a smile he thought must have been charming on his lips, but you saw the syrupy side of it; how it seemed too sweet to be savoury, too good to be true.

“You’re alright, babe?”

Babe… you thought of all the times he had called you that before, and you couldn’t help it, couldn’t refrain your want to hear it again… you had thought he would spend his life calling you that.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you nodded.

“The guy seemed to be bothering you.”

“I could handle it, but thank you.”

“No worries. You know you can always count on me.”

Could you? For what? Count on him for what? Breaking your heart?

God, it was working… you couldn’t believe it was working… Frank had come running to the rescue, he was giving you the attention you had been seeking, so why were you not falling for him all over again? Why weren’t you happy about his reaction?

You glanced over at Andrew. His cheeks were flushed, you guessed partly because of the empty glass in his hand and the way he glowered at Samantha. He seemed so angry, you had never seen him like this…

What was going on?

“Thank you for coming tonight, it means a lot,” Frank said, and you forced yourself to focus on him again.

“Of course. I said I would come to the wedding, so…”

“Yeah, but… you’ve been of great help and… I’m glad we can remain friends despite everything that happened.”

Everything that happened because of you, Frank…

“Yeah…”

You should have added something about you not caring about the past, or about caring about him anyway… but you didn’t feel like it was the truth.

“Saw that you came with Andrew, too! I’m glad you two are getting along. I take it that it’s going well at work?”

“Yeah, it’s going great,” you nodded. “Andy has been of great help when I arrived, he’s explained how all the administrative stuff worked, and helped me around the campus as well. Even if I studied there, there are many places I didn’t go to as a student, and the place is a labyrinth. And my research is going great! I’ve found an interesting article that I’ve discussed with Andy, and it’s been of great help for my own work…”

“That’s nice! Sounds great!”

It sounded like an encouragement, but he was still interrupting you. He sounded supportive and yet he wasn’t listening to you, because he didn’t care.

Andrew was right. He had been right all along…

“He seems like a nice guy, that Andrew,” Frank went on, and you narrowed your eyes at the sound of his tone. It sounded casual, but you knew to recognise a bit of mockery too, something poisonous in its undertone. “A bit boring, maybe.”

You let out a breathy, humourless chuckle.

“Boring? No, Andy’s definitely not boring. He’s a little shy, but he’s great fun once you get to know him. And he’s very smart, always has interesting things to say. And he’s just… nice. Really nice.”

Frank raised a surprised eyebrow.

“You almost make him sound like a catch.”

“He is one.”

Frank didn’t seem to like that answer, you saw how he clenched his jaw. You were surprised when he moved closer though, rested a hand on your waist. And you used to like that touch, but not right now. Right now you didn’t like it at all.

“You look beautiful tonight, by the way.”

It was working. Your stupid plan was bloody working…

From the corner of your eyes you saw that Andrew was moving away from Samantha now, until he was drinking again and making a bee-line towards the exit. He walked by you, you noticed how he extended his fingers in your direction as he passed by, but he didn’t reach out. He walked out of the venue instead.

You moved away from Frank. Andrew seemed devastated and very, very drunk…

“I’d better go,” you mumbled.

“Wait, Y/N…”

“Andy doesn’t seem well, I should check on him.”

He chuckled.

“Who are you? His mother? He probably had too much to drink, that’s all.”

But he seemed to read it in your stare that there was more to it than that. He glared, but you didn’t care.

“I’ll go check on him,” was your only answer, before walking away.

You hurried after Andrew, leaving Frank behind. You didn’t look back, didn’t check his expression, didn’t try to guess if he was jealous, or considered what he was thinking. Truth was, you spotted Andrew again, staggering across a patch of grass near the parking lot, and you were too worried about him to care about anyone else.

“Andy!”

You called after him, and he spun around, tripping over his own feet. You reached out to steady him, even if you were a little too far to help. You hurried by his side, and noticed at once that he was indeed drunk. Very drunk.

“You’re okay?” you asked while you walked closer.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” but his voice was weak, almost shy. He was clearly lying, and not doing a very good job at it.

“Are you drunk?”

It was a stupid question, it was obvious that Andrew had been drinking too much. You still asked, and perhaps it was just to hear his voice again. It was soft, and kind, and warm… soothing. Filling up the air with something safe and quiet, instead of Frank’s booming tones.

“A little bit,” he admitted, averting his eyes in a sheepish way.

“Do you want me to take you home? I didn’t drink at all tonight…”

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, opening and then closing his mouth. He stared at you, gaze intense and unwavering, and yet he seemed to see more than just you in that moment. Like he was playing a scene in his head, like he was getting lost in thought, even though his thoughts were about you.

He staggered, looked away to sit in the grass.

“I think I’m… gonna stay here for a couple of minutes,” he answered, voice distant and words slurred by too much whiskey.

He seemed sad. Sad and angry. You wanted to hug him, to wrap a blanket around him and tell him everything was going to be okay. Instead, you merely sat down by his side.

“You’re okay?” you asked again, voice gentle, caring.

He seemed to lean a little closer, but didn’t reach out, he folded his arms around his legs instead. And you hated seeing him like that, you knew what he was doing. He was shrinking, trying to disappear, trying to bend to conceal how tall he was, to hide, so that no one would notice him anymore. And you hated when he did that, because there was nothing in him worth hiding…

“Aren’t you supposed to be with Frank?” he asked, voice strained with pain, and you didn’t quite know what to do with that sound aimed at you.

Was he sad because of Samantha, or because of Frank? Perhaps both…

“You didn’t seem well,” you explained.

“I’m fine. This is your chance, it was working…”

You clenched your jaw, looked away. Andrew was right, it was working. Frank was being jealous, he was giving you the attention you had craved for… you could have used that opportunity to make him see how crazy it was for him to leave you for Samantha, and then to decide to get married after only a couple of months, to rush this wedding…

But you didn’t want to. Because Frank was never paying attention to you. This was another proof. It was all about him, and not about you. And there was Andrew, who was obviously in pain, obviously angry and sad and drunk, and… and he was still thinking about you.

You were a fucking fool, for still wanting Frank or… or rather, for convincing yourself that you still wanted him. Andrew was right, Frank was a fucking prick. And you deserved better than him.

“I’d rather stay with you for a while,” you breathed, something pained and aching in your voice.

Andrew’s gaze hardened, but you knew it wasn’t aimed at you. That his burst of anger that made his eyes darker than usual was not your doing. You took a moment to stare at him, to study his features bathed in the dim lights of the evening, a mix of orange streetlights, of silver moonlight, of white neon lights from the venue. He looked so handsome, despite his tiredness, despite his sorrow…

“I saw you talking with Samantha? What did she say?” you asked, changing subject, trying not to think of how much you wanted to run your fingers through his untamed curls, brush your fingertips across his cheekbone…

You saw him clenching his jaw and immediately regretted your question. But he seemed in so much pain, you insisted, asked again.

“What did she say?”

He shrugged. You didn’t mean to push him, but this was important. You knew he wanted to talk about it, you could read it in his eyes.

“She cheated on me with Frank.”

Your eyes grew round, you were too stunned for a moment.

The fucking bitch… she had cheated on Andrew?! What was wrong with this woman?! Was it really so hard to end things before moving on? How could she hurt him like that… God, you wanted to punch her straight in the face.

“He didn’t cheat on you,” Andrew hurried to add, and you guessed he wanted to reassure you, but the truth was, you hadn’t even thought of Frank, of the possibility of him cheating, you had to admit you didn’t care about it at all, you were too infuriated by Samantha. “It happened right after he broke up with you, but she hadn’t broken up with me yet… so technically…”

“What a fucking bitch…” you spat, and he was visibly surprised by the harshness of your words, so much so that he giggled.

“Yeah, you can say that.”

“I’m so sorry, Andy,” you breathed, reaching to rub his back.

“It’s okay. I just… I just want to forget her now.”

You nodded but looked away. You should be doing the same. Especially after tonight… but a part of you still wanted this life you had built for yourself. You realised then that you didn’t even want Frank, you wanted the life he had taken from you. You were not ready to grieve that part yet…

Why couldn’t you just… move on?

“So… I’m losing my partner in crime?” you joked, but there was something strained in your voice.

“I’ll still help you with Frank, that’s alright. If… if that’s what makes you happy…”

What would make you happy… You didn’t know what could make you happy now. You were too lost for that. Your past was haunting you too much for you to yield in your impulsive thought now, the one that could make you feel something. So, you just stared at Andrew’s lips for a moment, caught in a stillness you couldn’t free yourself from. You leaned closer, rested your head on his shoulder. He didn’t move away, let you rest your weight on him, like an anchor, something you could rely on. Better yet, he reached out, extended his arm until you were wrapped into his embrace, and he pulled you closer, gently, like he was afraid you would pull away if he let on how much he wanted to have you close. He didn’t seem to know how much you wanted him to hold you. And for a while, you bathed into his warmth, into the feeling of his hand on your arm, into his scent, into the soothing rhythm of his breathing. You felt so safe in his arms, sheltered, and you realised then that there had been few people with whom you could feel so safe, so free. You weren’t nervous about being vulnerable in front of him, you trusted him not to mock or dismiss your fragility. You trusted him to stay and listen, you trusted him not to hurt you. You trusted him not to leave you, not tonight, at least...

You tried to remember a time when you saw Frank this way, a safe haven. At the beginning, maybe. A little. That wasn’t fully true, though. You had always been worried that he would get bored, and leave…

“Let’s get you home, Andy,” you broke the comfortable silence that had settled around you, broke his embrace to get up. You offered him your hand and helped him up, let him lean on you while you walked to your car.

And you wanted to tell him about Frank, about how you weren’t so sure you wanted him anymore, and especially, about how you thought of him all the time. How you didn’t long to see Frank these days, but you couldn’t wait to go to work because then you would see Andrew. About how you had never been able to talk about what truly interested you with Frank, you realised that now… now that you could talk about all of it for hours with Andrew. How you wanted to hold his hand, and tug his hair behind his ear, and kiss his cheek, and kiss his lips. How you dreamt of him sometimes, which sounded crazy, but it was true. How you dreamt of him touching you, of him holding you, of him loving you. And you wanted to tell Andrew that you longed to forget about your exes, but you weren’t sure to be ready to admit the feelings you had for him, because then it would make you vulnerable in front of a man all over again, and considering how it had ended with Frank, you weren’t certain you wanted that once more…

God, you wanted him. You wanted to kiss him now, in the streetlights, even if he was drunk. But you were afraid, and so you didn’t.

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier fanfiction #hozier fic #hozier series #hozier au #hozier professor au #professor au #fanfiction #fanfic hozier x fem!reader #fanfic #writing #series

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 6 months ago

Text

Love and War III

Summary: Trapped within the Illyrian War Camp, Reader must decide the best course of action to get home, even if it means trying to seduce the enemy

Content Warnings: Mentions of Past Abuse, Descriptions of Scars/Blood, Canon Typical Violence; NSFW (a little bit of SMUT, just a tease 😈) at the end.

Previous Chapter/Masterlist

__________________

I can’t sleep.

It’s not because my enemy sleeps with his back to me, inches away, only a couple of furs and pelts between us, though it certainly doesn’t help. All night, staring at the tent wall, the strange patterns etched into the dark leather, the images of my parents, my brother, my people, flash behind my eyes every time I close them. I can hear Tamlin calling me a traitor; hear my parents final, dying screams. They are gone and the male that killed them sleeps inches from me.

My dagger is next to my boots near the edge of the bed. Several times over the last couple of hours I’ve debated on crawling for it, imagining the heavy feel of it in my palm before I drive it between Rhysand’s shoulder blades and pierce his heart. I have never killed anything but game before, it’s the specifics and all their complications that stop me. What if I miss and he wakes up? What if I manage it but can’t get past the ward, condemning me to the mercy of his entire camp? And worse yet, what if it is not enough for Tamlin to take me back?

I chew my lower lip as I roll over onto my back. I know he would do just about anything to have Rhysand’s head delivered to him on a platter, or at the very least, those great wings to keep as a trophy. But killing a warlord doesn’t remove the threat of his camp, shy of slaughtering every last male, women, and child here, there would always be a chance of retaliation. A new lord would take his place if there was so much as a single survivor, and the bloodshed would start all over again, even if it took a few decades to get to that point.

No, my people deserve peace, to not have to look over their shoulder every day expecting an ambush. I would not live to see any children I might have, grown and subject to the cruelty of this war band. I would not birth anything into a world where my pain could be their own. So killing him is out of the question, at least for now.

So what can I bring in lew of that? Camp movements? Numbers? Do I try to steal some horses or resort to outright sabotage so that someone else is always to blame when things go wrong?

My head hurts from all the questions.

My chest hurts from all the things I know I might have to do. My mother would be ashamed of me. And yet, I hear my father’s voice, telling me to stop being so useless and do something. He tells me I am selfish for hesitating, stupid for not seeing the opportunities in front of me.

I roll over onto my side so I can get another look at the male who claims to be my mate, the male who ruined my life. He’d brought me more food than I’d seen in years last night, had stumbled through the most awkward conversation of my life before offering the whole bed to myself if I was uncomfortable having him near by. An insane notion really, the bed was big enough for us to sleep in without being in arm’s length of each other. Even then, he’d wrapped his wings around himself and slept on the opposite edge, never once rolling any closer, even in sleep. It was an awkward kindness, but a kindness I had not prepared to face. I had spent the better part of the evening with him wondering how I’d deter him from trying to sleep with me, since he’d been so casual with touching me earlier in the day, but it had never come up. Maybe today it would, but for now, he had not entirely made himself as bad as I remembered him to be.

Again, it is my father’s voice in my head, “He’s a male, there’s a clear way to get him to reveal his secrets.”

He is a dangerously attractive male. I have to admit I’m surprised he has not taken after many of the other warlords and formed a harem of captive brides. Between his power and his looks, he could have had dozens of wives already, yet this tent is void of any feminine objects to imply he’s anything other than single. He would not be hard to seduce, he is already so eager to have me nearby.

I roll over onto my stomach, trying not to huff my annoyance. It is not as if I’m some blushing virgin, I wouldn’t be giving anything over to him that I hadn’t already offered, in secret, to other males. He’d be the most attractive male I’d ever bedded, at that. I shouldn’t need that much convincing, or alcohol, to tumble into the sheets with him. Especially if it means he lets his guard down and tells me something useful. Especially if the distraction keeps him from thinking about asking me to take his mark again. What need for it would there truly be if I’d already surrendered myself to him?

Yet, my stomach rolls at the mere thought of it. Those hands had shed my peoples’, my parents’, blood! In a matter of minutes, those hands had stolen the only security and safety I had ever known, and I haven’t felt a shred of it since, and I was going to let them touch me?

A shiver runs down my spine. No, there has to be another way to get information out of him without trying to seduce him.

I lay there, mind spinning, as soft gray light starts to filter in through the small gap underneath the tent. Rhysand will have to leave me alone in here eventually, I will just have to wait for the right opportunity to start snooping through his stuff and then maybe a better plan will come to me. Perhaps something in one of those stacks of untouched chests in the corner will reveal a weakness I can exploit, some hidden secret I can use to my advantage. I have to hope they hold something, I have little options otherwise.

With that plan in place, I finally close my eyes, and try to let sleep fill the void. No amount of worrying will make him up and leave this early in the morning, there is little else I can do at this moment other than sleep. But it’s not even a full minute after I close my eyes that the tent flap is tossed open, the stiff leather slapping so hard against the wall Rhysand springs up with a dagger in hand, wings flaring behind him, so large they nearly span the expanse of the tent.

“We have a…” I feel eyes on me, over Rhysand’s shoulder, as I sit up, “situation.”

Rhysand lowers the dagger to his side, hand shaking, knuckles white from how hard he’s gripping it. Strange, did he often expect to be attacked in his own tent?

“Ready the men,” he orders and the intruders withdraw before I can get a good look at them.

He smooths a hand through his hair, loose now from the knot it had been tied on, the braided strands drifting over his sharp cheekbones. His wings droop until they’re dusting the floor, like a giant leather cape. “You’ll stay in here,” he says, voice still thick with sleep. Dark circles rim his eyes and I can’t help but wonder if I was the only one drowning in my thoughts last night.

I nod, biting down on my cheek to keep the grin pulling at my lips away. Perhaps the Mother is looking out for me after all! This is just the opportunity I need! “You…” I need to play it safe, sounding too submissive too early might get suspicious. I don’t want him to think I’ve so readily accepted this arrangement, but I don’t want him thinking I’m going to try and run off either. I let the words come out slowly, like I’m unsure to say them. “You don’t want me to come with you, like you said yesterday?”

He rubs a hand over his face as he goes to a chest at the edge of the bed and starts pulling out his fighting leathers. “Not yet, not until you’ve taken my mark and I can guarantee it’ll protect you.”

Shit! I need him to stop thinking so much about that stupid mark.

He peels off his shirt, the early morning light coming through the open door illuminating the swirl of dark ink tattooed across his bare chest. I’d been too panicked about our sleeping arrangements to get a good look at him when he’d changed last night, or else I also would have seen the scar across his side, the four lines like claw marks across his bronze skin. There are other, smaller marks, a burn on his hip, a jagged slash across his collarbone, but none are so pronounced as the claw marks.

My hand goes instinctively to my own side. I know those claw marks. I know how they scar, because I have the same ones on my side. “Stupid, useless girl!” I know them, because like the voice that keeps ringing in my ears, they came from my father.

I don’t know if that’s a sign of what I need to do, as if, even in death my father’s will is still forcing itself on my life, or some cruel twist, like the matching stars on the back of our hands.

“Are you all right?” Rhysand asks.

By the time I’m able to focus on him again, he’s already laced up his leathers and sheathed that massive sword between his wings. I give myself a little shake, let my hand fall back down into my lap. “Yeah.”

Like last night, he looks like he might say more, but then thinks better of it as he tightens a belt of knives around his waist. “Stay here, you’ll be safe. I’ll be back soon.” And then he’s gone.

I stare out the empty door long after his large form is no longer visible, sunlight slowly creeping further and further into the tent’s cave-like darkness. No guards. I eventually crawl out from under the mountain of pelts, the lack of heat obvious as a draft of icy wind blows through the open door. I wrap one around my shoulders as I pad, barefoot, over the rug covered floor to the door. The encampment around me still slumbers, no drum beats to be heard this early. Some of the other tents nearby have their doors open, I glimpse a body or two still sleeping in their own fur covered beds. No guards. No horses. Beyond the camp, the mountain walls of this secluded haven are dusted with early morning mist, the path the men had taken out invisible from this angle.

I do not want to trek through those mountains on foot and see just how well the shield holds up, not yet anyway. Holding the fur a little tighter around my shoulders, I turn back to the tent and decide the best place to start snooping is here. The outside world can wait a few more minutes.

I go to the chest at the end of the bed first. It’s full of more fighting leathers, some worn and battle scarred, some shiny and new; an old pair of boots, some mismatched socks, another cloak and two, pitted daggers, the wyvern carving in the handle worn down from years and years of use. Nothing interesting or useful. I close the lid and head to the table to assess the piles of random collections Rhysand has made. It’s a lot of books on strategy and star-charting, I flip through a couple of them, looking for things written in the margins or scraps of paper tucked within the worn pages, but there is nothing but dust.

“Come on,” I whisper to myself as I move to the next stack. There’s a book of poetry and things written in Illyrian I can’t read, the only thing in the margins of the old paper is some random swirls and markings that match the tattoos on his chest. If I have to learn Illyrian just to find useful information, I am going to be here for years, and there’s no way I’d make it that long without being forced to take Rhysand’s mark.

The remaining scattered items on the table are trinkets and gloves and a couple scarves with stains that look suspiciously like blood. Not a map or log book among them. Does he not keep records of his fighting men? Does he not chart supply lines and keep tabs on his merchants?

I rub my temples as I go to the stack of dust covered chests in the corner. This might make it obvious that I was snooping, considering the dust is thick enough to be drawn in, but if he asks, I can lie and say I was looking for extra clothes, considering I’m still wearing the clothes I came in.

The top chest is filled to the brim with swords and knives, a couple of bows and arrows, and a wicked looking mace. All well polished and cared for, the blades carefully wrapped as not to be damaged in transit. I pull a knife out to examine it, the ruby in the top casting rays of light over the tent walls. It’s an expensive weapon… if I start collecting enough things, could I find a place to barter them and bring the money back to Tam? Mother knows we could use the extra cash for supplies!

I put the blade back. If I start stashing things now, I’ll have nowhere to hide them and nowhere to take them until I can be sure that I can get out of these mountains, but it is comforting to feel like I have options here. The more things I can bring back, the better my chances at appeasing Tamlin are.

I’ve just closed the lid when someone clears their throat behind me and I all but throw the pelt around my shoulders at them in surprise.

“Snooping are we?” Laughs a feminine voice.

I keep a hand pressed to my racing heart, even as I inch over to where I’d left my hunting dagger. “Mother’s tits!”

In the doorway, stands a blonde female, her hair braided and tossed over one, bare shoulder. The strapless red top she wears, made of lace, baring just a strip of midriff and a swirl of ink, disappearing over the hem of a flowing skirt stitched in gold thread, must be expensive. I’ve never seen anything like it in our markets; I’d never dare touch it even if we had. I hate the spike of envy that bubbles up in my chest. I’ve never particularly cared about such things, not when the comparison wasn’t so in my face every moment. How was it fair? These people took so much from us, and yet they faced no punishment, it was starting to feel like they’d been rewarded for it even.

“Don’t worry, I’d snoop too,” she says as she steps in, holding a tray of something steaming that smells divine. “I’m Mor, by the way.”

“Hi,” I’m not totally beyond pleasantries, even if I do feel like biting the next stranger to come marching into my life as if they have free reign. “I’m Y/N.”

“My cousin says you’re his mate, is that true?” She sets the tray down then sits and puts her feet up on the corner of the table, sprinkling mud everywhere.

“I don’t know,” I admit. I don’t want it to be true, but this is a chance to do something for my people, and I’ll play that part best I can, but it would feel fake if I just suddenly pretended to believe it after my comments on the way here. Better to play it safe.

Mor pats an empty seat next to her in invitation, or perhaps demand, there is a regality to her that doesn’t make me feel I have room to tell her no. I am used to people moving me wherever they see fit, my feet start moving as directed before I can decide that I actually want to. “Show me this scar of yours.”

I sit and offer my hand. Hers are soft as she inspects the eight point scar atop my hand, not a callus to be felt. Definitely some form of royalty.

“How did you get this?” She asks, turning my hand this way and that to get a better look, as if I’m a piece of meat at the market in need of inspecting.

I bite my cheek to keep from yanking my hand out of her grip. “I was young and stupid, and my father had sent me out to hunt as a punishment, I stumbled into the Middle, and came across the Weaver. When I tried to escape, she threw a hot poker at me, the end was shaped like a star, I guess. She basically branded me.”

“You fought the Weaver?” A mythical monster, no one really knows where she came from, all we know is she lives in the Middle, in a place where other monsters hunt, in a cottage dripping in dark magic known to lewer in weary travelers, as I had been.

“Fought? Goddess no! Played a very terrifying game of cat and mouse, yes.”

“I’m sure your father was proud of such an accomplishment,” she says as she finally releases my hand and pushes a tray of steaming buns, meats and cheeses, and what looks like tea my way.

My hand drifts over my scarred side subconsciously, and I do not miss the way her blue eyes track the movement, even as I blurt, “Yeah the beating I got when I got home was a little shorter than usual.”

She drops her legs off the table so she can turn and look at me fully and I wince as I realize my mistake. “My father is like that too,” Mor confesses with startling gentleness.

I’m even more surprised when she reaches out to take my hand, not to inspect this time but to comfort me over our shared past. My chest tightens; a lump forming in my throat. My father was not the worst male in the Grasslands by any means, he kept us all fed and alive, and sheltered for the most part, but he was never kind.

Mor gives my hand a squeeze. “You are safe here, Y/N. I promise. Rhys won’t give you any trouble.”

I’m supposed to hate her. She is a part of this warband, she answers to Rhysand, she bears his mark--a swirl of stars across her right arm--she is my enemy. I aim to steal all her secrets and use them against her, to take from her all the luxuries my people were never afforded, a life we were never blessed to live. We have nothing! They had everything because they took it. And I wanted to take it from them, from her. So why, when I looked into her eyes did I suddenly feel so godsdamned guilty?

When I don’t say anything, Mor pushes my plate towards me again. “Eat. You’re thin as a board. Then maybe later, I can show you around camp? I’m sure my cousin will give you his tour or whatever, but it’s never the same without a girls’ perspective, right?”

I snag the tea, hoping the heat will burn away the lump still lodged in my throat. Why is she being so nice to me? These people are not supposed to be nice! They’re supposed to be cruel! They’re supposed to be evil, ruthless monsters!

“That sounds like fun,” I say, the words as bitter as acid. I am a terrible person. She is genuine and kind and going out of her way to be nice to me and I intend to manipulate all of that.

Mor grins as she walks back to the door. “Holler if you need anything, ok? My tent is just down the way.”

“Thanks,” I say as I reach for a warm, sticky bun. It’s so sweet and gooey in the center and I don’t think I’ve ever eaten anything so good in my life, yet, when I swallow, it might as well be sand. What have I gotten myself into? What kind of monster am I if I do this?

I set the bun back down on the tray and put my head in my hands. If I do this, am I just as bad as Rhysand?

------

Rhysand doesn’t come back until nightfall. Mor had come by hours ago with a tray for dinner, and had stayed for over an hour, talking about a lot of nothing, just to keep me company. I found out that she’s married to someone named Cassian, though she confessed after a bit of wine that Rhysand had orchestrated the union to get her away from her father, and that neither of them cared for each other in that way. It served the both of them to have the title, and while they shared a tent, there was little more than friendship between them. She’s very talkative, even with the smallest bit of wine, not that I minded, after several hours alone with my thoughts, it was nice to have something else to think about other than how I might sell my soul to get out of here. By the time she’d left and I’d made myself comfortable in the massive bed, I could only faintly make out the sounds of hoofbeats in the distance.

I’d be a liar if I said my heart rate doesn’t spike at the sound.

It isn’t like I was still snooping through his stuff--truth be told I’d forgotten there was still stuff to look through--but I sit up in a panic all the same, trying to figure out where I need to be to look the most innocent. Had I left anything out of place?

I’m about to jump out of bed and double check the locks on the chests when Rhysand stalks back into the tent, completely covered in blood.

I can’t do anything other than stare, unsure if the blood dripping from his hair and down his face is from the gash across his temple or the gore that looks like it had been hurled at the left side of his head, chunks of something clinging to his ear.

There’s a small area behind the bed with a basin of water and some clean towels and he goes right to it, tearing off the leather gauntlets at his wrists and then his very damaged chest piece. Both make a heavy thwack as they hit the rug, a puddle forming beneath them.

“Are-are you ok?” There are too many questions in my head, this one slips out first as I twist to look at him over the headboard of the bed.

He winces as he pokes at the cut on his temple, “Fine,” is all I get before he cups water in his hands and does his best to clean the gore off his face. He’s making a mess. I’m tempted to crawl out of bed and throw a towel on the floor to spare the rug from damage, but the shadows that drift from his skin make me think better of it.

Powers aren’t rare, especially among warlords, most of the fae need them to survive this barbaric society we live in, but I’ve never met anyone with such an obvious manifestation of them. Shadows trail off his shoulders, over his wings, twining around his powerful thighs. I can almost taste the darkness that leaks from him, even with the space between us. It is palpable and tangible and tied to his anger. A button I don’t want to push in any way. I sink a little lower into the mattress, using the headboard as a shield, just in case.

“What happened?” I ask softly.

He yanks a towel off the little drying rack next to the basin so hard it snaps like a whip and I flinch a little involuntarily. “We got ambushed.” He wets the towel and starts running it over his hair. When he unties the braids in the back, clumps of gore fall to the floor. “My sentinels spotted some enemy scouts this morning, when we followed them back, they led us right into a trap.”

Please don’t be Tamlin. Please don’t be Tamlin. “Did you find out who it was?”

“I have my suspicions,” he tosses the ruined towel on a floor and reaches for another to wipe off his arms and chest. “But none of them were marked.”

Not typically my brother’s style, but I can’t be totally sure. My anxiety sits like a weight in my stomach. “Any casualties?”

“None of mine,” he growls. “Just some scrapes. Even unprepared, my men are lethal.”

Not as reassuring as I assume he thinks it is.

“We brought a few survivors back, I’ll know who sent them by morning at the latest.”

If I can get a good look at them, I can know for sure they’re not Tam’s men… “What will you do with them?”

He starts untying the laces of his pants and I hurriedly turn away, a blush creeping up my cheeks. I know he thinks we’re mates, but Cauldron have a little decency!

“Azriel will get the information I need out of them,” he says and I hear the sound of his boots and pants hitting the floor. “And then I will make an example out of them.”

It’s suddenly colder in here than it was a moment ago. I grab a pelt and pull it up to my chin as I draw my knees up to my chest.

There’s a beat, the only sound the scraping of a towel over his skin, and then I’m suddenly very aware of his presence at my back, his shadow looming over me. I sink a little deeper into the mattress, heart in my throat.

“This bothers you?” He asks quietly.

I’m glad there’s a thick layer of wood between us, it means I still have time to reach for my knife. “I-” Mother’s Tits what am I supposed to say?! It’s not like it matters, and maybe I could spin it to fit the narrative I need him to see in me, but the words escape me. No one has ever asked me what I think of the senseless violence that has plagued us since Hybern destroyed the world. Regardless of our boundary lines and markings, we all kill and maim each other to survive; we bleed and die and force others to do the same all for the slightest chance that we might escape that fate one more day. And I hate it! I’ve always hated it. I clung to my parents’ stories of better worlds because I’d wanted so desperately to be in one.

“I don’t like violence,” I whisper. The first unaltered truth I’ve given him; the only unaltered truth I’ll give him.

He leans against the headboard, the wood groaning beneath his weight. “I don’t either,” Rhysand confesses.

I almost laugh. Death Incarnate hates violence? But when I tilt my head back to look at him, I see the weight of that burden in his eyes. He places his forehead atop his hands, sighing heavily and it’s like I can feel that weight in my chest.

“I didn’t…” another breath, “I will do what is necessary for my people, no matter what it costs me, but… but it is heavy.”

I know the burden of leading a people is heavy, I have watched it tear Tam apart for decades. My brother had been kind once, had loved and laughed and had stayed up for hours teaching me how to play the fiddle when we were kids. Becoming the leader of our people had taken all those good and kind things and hardened them. The brother I had grown up with and the one I now answered to wouldn’t recognize each other. I hated myself for it, but the empathetic part of me can’t help but wonder if Rhysand had been like that too? Had he been kind and happy before he took over this position? Had becoming a lord stripped him of the things that had made him loveable and turned him into the monster that I knew?

Would being here turn me into a monster I didn’t recognize?

“It must be hard, to carry it alone,” I say slowly, weighing each word like it could be my last. This is a very vulnerable and volatile position to be in. I’m still very aware of the power that drifts off, his still bare, skin. I cannot upset it. But, can I find something useful here?

I’m playing with fire and I can feel it.

“I am used to it,” he replies.

Another beat and then he softly adds, “It’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

His response simultaneously makes my heart ache and my mind spin. I hadn’t found anything of use in this tent, despite the hours I’d spent searching, and maybe that was a sign. Maybe there was nothing in this tent, because the information was all contained to one thing: The male standing behind me. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was a coincidence that this morning I had been wondering if I should try and seduce him. My assessment about it being easy to do was already confirmed with this conversation, he was vulnerable, now more than ever, all it would take was a push in the right direction…

I push myself back up onto my knees and turn so I can face him. He looks small here, the wet strands of his hair clinging to his face.

His violet eyes watch my every move like a snake tracking a mouse.

There’s still a headboard between us. Still time to change my mind. Still time to keep my soul intact. What kind of person am I if I do this?

I swallow the lump in my throat as I tentatively reach out to take his hand. At least there is no more blood on them. Touching him doesn’t immediately make fire rain down from the heavens so maybe that’s a sign the world won’t totally end if I do this. This male took everything from me, and yet, under his own admission, he’d damn his soul for his people. If a monster could do that, couldn’t I do it for the sake of my people?

“How can I help you?” I ask softly. I hope it sounds convincing, that the shakiness in my voice sounds like a lack of confidence and not because I’m trying not to throw up. This was not the plan this morning! But I’ve gotten nowhere all day and suddenly there’s an opening before me and I have to try and take it, don’t I? It might be my only chance, especially if there is fighting on the horizon. If I can distract him, or figure out who Tam needs to join forces with to finally be rid of Rhysand once and for all, I have to take it.

His violet eyes widen as they settle on the placement of my hand on top of his, as if he hadn’t thought it possible that I would willingly comfort him.

Am I doing this too fast?

“If… if this thing between us is real, I want to be useful. I want to be a good mate.” Kill me. Please, put me out of my misery, what in the Seven Hells am I doing?! “Please, show me how I can be a good mate?”

My parents are rolling in their graves.

He moves faster than most fae should be able to, hand sliding out from under mine to reach out and thread into my hair, pulling my body flush against the headboard as his lips meet mine. Cauldron, for a male who looked so awful seconds ago, his lips are sinfully soft. It takes a second for me to even register what I’m doing, and by the time that my brain catches up, he’s sliding his tongue past my teeth and I’m letting him, lips parting, head tilting to give him more access. Having the headboard still between us is both an uncomfortable angle to be at and a relief, because at least I have a little time to accept the fact that I just told Death he could bed me if that would make him feel better.

Tamlin can never find out this is how I saved our people.

But this is for my people. I can play with fire for them.

There are worse ways to do it, I suppose. He’s certainly not a bad kisser.

Hell, he’s actually a really, really good kisser, if I let myself stop thinking for two seconds and just relax, I might actually enjoy it.

He pulls away by a mere fraction, forehead resting on mine, chest heaving as he catches his breath. “Distract me?” He asks, voice so low and husky I think he might actually be begging.

I hate to admit it, but I do get a thrill of seeing such a powerful male so desperate in my hands. Of course, I can’t let him know that. “Show me?”

It’s all the prompting he needs to release me long enough to climb into bed. I’d forgotten he was already undressed until he was pulling the blanket off and climbing on top of me, all warm skin and damp hair and more desperate kisses. Large hands slide under my sweater, exploring every inch of me as he continues to kiss me like a man starved.

My reservations begin to slip with each new brush of his callused hands over my skin, trailing higher and higher. It’s been awhile since I’ve taken anyone to bed, even longer since I’d had the time to let anybody explore my body so meticulously. It’s good. My eyes drifting shut, body arching into his touch. I don’t know which of us comes up for air first, or which pulls the other back for more. As easy as it is to end up in this position, I’m surprised how readily I want it, him. Something tugs at the skin beneath my breastbone, like there’s a thread being yanked on, warmth flaring down that little spot, hotter and hotter with each passing second. I don’t have enough time to consider what that is, what it means, before his lips trail down to my neck, teeth scraping my tender flesh.

I instinctively drag a hand through his hair as he nips and bites at my throat, surely leaving marks. If I ever had any intention to push him away, I lose it as his large hand kneads my breast, slender fingers moving to tweak my nipple. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter as a moan slips out of me.

Aren’t I supposed to be distracting him?

Before I can ask, he’s yanking my worn sweater over my head and tossing it over his shoulder. Those intense violet eyes run over me, a grin stretching across his handsome features as he gives my breast another squeeze, but the teasing stops when he spots the scar across my abdomen. Or maybe the fact that you can count my ribs. Maybe both. His hands drift lower, methodically, not teasing but studying, like he might crack open my rib cage and dissect whatever is beneath my skin.

“Who did this to you?” He growls, hand trailing over the scar.

My whole body trembles under his touch, mind reeling as I try to make sense of the sudden shift in tone. I don’t want to talk about this. Not with him. I’d already admitted too much to Mor earlier. We need to get back to the distraction. “Hunting accident,” I lie.

His hand remains over the scar, “Don’t lie.”

This is too intense, I’m too vulnerable in this position, I’ve lost all my power. My head spins, trying to think of something clever, trying to get myself back on track. Why did I think I could do this? Seduction is not my skill set. Outright anything is beyond me. I move behind the scenes, quietly with my head down, I am not anyone’s first line of defense. I’m not even sure I’m the last line of defense.

My heart’s pounding in my chest and I know he can feel it beneath his hand, because his face softens. His free hand comes to brush my cheek, pushing a few wild strands of hair from my face. Now I’m really shaking. This is far, far too intimate.

“You’re my mate,” he says gently. “I will kill anyone who hurts you.”

I don’t want that kind of power looming over me the rest of my life. I swallow the lump in my throat. “You wanted a distraction. This-”

The tent flap bursts open without warning, a flurry of shadows rushing in. Rhysand barely has time to grab a blanket to cover the both of us before a male steps out of those shadows.

“Azriel!” Rhysand snarls. “This better be fucking important!”

The male stands at the edge of the bed, fighting leathers splattered in blood, his dark hair falling over a set of deep hazel eyes. He spins a bloody dagger between hands scarred beyond repair. “They’ve talked.”

Shit.

Rhysand is still leaning over me, body and wings shielding me from Azriel’s view. “And?”

Hazel eyes flick to me before returning to his lord. “Amarantha.”

I don’t know if I should sigh with relief or not. Tamlin is still safe. My people are still safe. But having Amarantha knocking at the door while I’m trapped inside here is not on my to do list. My whole life we’ve avoided her and Hybern’s forces by not making too big a fuss. If they want some of our territory, we push into another lord’s to make sure there’s space for us without any direct confrontation with her. We keep our heads down. We don’t make deals or bargain with the other more tolerable lord’s for aid. We stay within our own borders and we stay out of her way. But the Illyrians? They pick fights with her. They apparently have no qualms with torturing her men.

“I’ll be right there,” Rhysand says in dismissal and his shadowy companion disappears as quickly as he came.

“I have to deal with this,” he sighs, leaning back on his knees.

I’m relieved, I really am. I tried to do this way too quickly. I am relieved.

So why do I feel a knot in my stomach?

Rhysand leans in long enough to press a kiss to my forehead, the move tender and gentle, and nothing like the male that had entered this tent covered in blood just moments ago. It makes my head hurt. I know the kind of male he is. I know the monster that lies behind this pretty package. So why is he pretending to be anything else? Why act like this with me? What game is he playing?

“Maybe we can finish this later?” There’s a hint of teasing there, but it feels more like an apology.

I want a later. I want to feel those full lips on my skin again.

I absolutely don’t want a later. This whole thing is a mistake.

“Yeah,” I saw anyway.

He’s dressed and gone before I can ask myself why I agreed to it again. I put my head in my hands, palms pressed into my eyes. What am I doing here? And why is it starting to feel more complicated than it should be?

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

Taglist:

@judig92, @randomperson1234sblog, @nyxbranwenn, @lilah-asteria, @barb00235, @landofpetrichor, @hjgdhghoe, @buttermilktea11, @yourforeveryoungblog, @sassyn , @zoeisdreaming6

As always, let me know if you want to be added to the list :) Thx to everyone who has liked, commented or reblogged you're all angels <3

#rhysand x reader #Rhys x reader #Rhys x you #rhys x y/n #rhys smut #rhysand acotar #rhysand acotar smut #rhys x reader smut #rhys x reader imagine #acotar smut #love and war series #my writing #my fanfic #enemies to lovers #warlord!rhys #warlord!Rhys smut

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kanmom51 · 7 months ago

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JM Muse Blooming

Concept photos and clip

JM's first concept photos dropped, and what can you say? The man is 🔥🔥

Walking in the Smeraldo flowers garden.

Wearing this belt:

Same belt?

The minute I saw this photo it felt a little familiar.

And then it hit me.

JK's 2D shoot.

Now, I'm no photography expert, but it looks like the same kind of slow exposure technique is used for this photo.

And then we have this:

How far will you go for love

To the moon?

To tell the whole world that you want that one person you love, even if your love may be considered as wrong or ugly to some?

To enlist together, being the first idols EVER to do so?

I guess pretty far.

Yeah yeah, I know not everything is about Jikook. This is JM's album, JM's photo concept, JM's creation. And yes, not everything is about them as a couple. There is definitley plenty that isn't. But with saying that, we have seen, time and time again, referencing, coding and mirroring of one another. Not everything is about them as a couple, but yet, I do believe that some of it is.

And then we have this next photo.

Now really?

If you are sitting there and denying the second you saw the tie you didn't envision this:

then you are lying. Either out right or to yourself.

The tie, the crop top. Even the pose with the shoulder tilt and the lifting of the chin gaze looking down.

Reminds me of someone else that had some mirroring going on and was called a copycat and so much more and worse.

I can assure you that was one among many photos taken in that shoot, and yet, that was the photo chosen by JM.

Third photo.

Besides the fact that JM is beautiful, no need to even state the obvious, we get a few more details from this photo.

First we get the 13 on his cheek.

In the Face shoots he had the studs/thorns and scar under his eye, and now he's proudly wearing the number 13, a number that means so much to him that he has it permanently tattooed on his arm.

His nail art.

In the teaser clip we had the crescent (probably right hand) and now we get two parallel lines. An equal sign perhaps?

We also have a little bit more sharing going on.

I guess Jikook do love to share their outfits and accessories when it comes to these solo shoots specifically.

Another coincidence? I think we are way past the point of believing that it is.

We have shared belts.

Same pants.

Different parts of the same outfit.

Same singlet.

Same necklace.

We also got this message:

ARMY! Who knew a baby chick could be so dangerous? One look at these concept photos and you might have a heart attack 🐥 10 years of this boy and he’s still finding new ways to be beautiful? 🤦‍♀️ 🐣: Is that how you see me?! 💜: Exactly that, yes. Hope you’re all pumped up for another new chapter in our lovely shared story!!

I find a few things curious with this one.

First of all, using the terms "boy" and "beautiful".

JM being an almost 30 yo man choosing the work boy is a little strange here, and knowing that every single thing he does is done with thought, just like the use of the non binary singer emoji for the 30 minute reminder or the tteokbokkibyjk.

And what about the use of the term beautiful, a term usually used as an expression of feminine good looks rather than masculine (not by me, btw, but by many).

Another curious thing I found was the dialogue, and more so, the question asked by JM: "Is that how you see me?!"

Question mark exclamation mark.

Is he asking us if we see him as a boy? Is it about age or gender? If we see him as beautiful? Is this about me overthinking? 🤣🤣

And then we have the clip:

So, JM in the dark, looking away from us.

Then the place lightens up and the camera goes into a close up of JM's face, and he's looking into the camera, or at us.

He's literally looking into my soul.

What to expect?

With JM I think we have gotten used to expecting the unexpected, in the very best way possible.

D-19

#Jimin #PJM2 is coming #PJM2 #JM #JM Muse #PJM Muse #Jikook #Kookmin #Minkook #Jungkook #JK #JM Muse Blooming

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starmocha · 2 months ago

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I took one for the team and retraumatized myself by reading Sylus' myth again, specifically to understand the memory, Abyssal Blossom, since... there is a bit of confusion about what it means, and I made a reference to it in this post. I'll be covering the event leading up to the memory and the aftermath.

@unluckywisher @lavlynyan I have some distressing news 😔😔😔

SPOILERS FOR SYLUS' MYTH - BEYOND CLOUDFALL, CHAPTERS 6-8 + ABYSSAL BLOSSOM MEMORY

[Quick recap of end of chapter 6] Sylus had been injured by MC after succumbing to his instincts and attacking her in The Sanctuary, causing her to act in self-defense and unwittingly summoning the greatsword. They're both horrified by their actions, and as soldiers arrive, MC hides Sylus from them. Sylus isn't even fazed by his injuries. He is more horrified that the curse almost came true and he almost killed her. He flies away to Tarus City.

CHAPTER 7

Words spread that the Fiend is gravely injured, so every single opportunist is hunting Sylus down, hoping to be the one to make the kill

MC hides among the crowd to search for him, and eventually, she recalls the blind merchant's information that "The Fiend and his destined archnemesis will meet at a black chapel".

MC finds Sylus there gravely injured and barely conscious.

As she tries to stop his bleeding, he awakens and tries to attack her, still under the influence. MC does manage to get through to him.

At this point, though, the voice in MC's head is also urging her to kill him and devour him. Sylus awakens and taunts her about their destiny, to which she rejects vehemently.

They both confront one another about why 1) Sylus saved MC from the Abyss in the beginning even though he knew they were destined to kill one another 2) Sylus questions MC why she didn't kill him earlier. They both know the answers.

MC rejects her destiny and declares that she will save him instead. She starts to resonate with him and heal his wound.

Sylus: Save me? Are you aware of the cost? Once we hold hands now, our lives will be bound together, along with our deaths. We must offer half of our soul to the other. They'll be merged... to forge an unbreakable bond. To share your life with a fiend—it might be a punishment worse than having your soul devoured. Will you truly not regret it? MC: I said I'Il live, didn't I? No matter the cost. If following our hearts is a sin, then you and I must be the last of our kind in this world. Sylus: In that case.. Stay by my side until the end of time.

They fall asleep in the chapel—in each other's embrace with Sylus shielding them from the cold with one of his wings.

CHAPTER 8

This is where it gets a little murky about what is reality, a memory, or a fantasy. Unfortunately, I am going to be leaning towards Abyssal Blossom is a fantasy MC made up to cope with the guilt and pain of Sylus being gravely injured because of her as well as the trauma of their fated demise. (Note: Sylus is not dead in this scene) [ETA: This scene is also the dream main story MC has in Continuous Symphony.]

The next scene is exactly that. A fantasy. She imagines she and Sylus decorating the chapel and making it more homey. She even presents Sylus with a present: a flower crown she had made after gathering the few flowers available in Tarus City.

Sylus: So you stayed up late these past few nights to make this? MC: ...You didn't sleep either? Sylus: Do you like flowers? MC: Yes, I guess. But there aren't a lot in Tarus City. I had to scour the entire woods to get this much. Sylus: The forest barely has any flowers. MC: What do you mean— Sylus: Hold on tight. [Sylus carries her and flies away. Abyssal Blossom kindled scene begins.]

As this is continuing from the scene MC fantasizes about making the chapel a home, unfortunately, it does point to Abyssal Blossom as being a fantasy as well.

In the end, MC herself does acknowledge that this was indeed a fantasy.

As MC is kept imprisoned in the courtyard of the Sanctuary, Sylus occasionally visits her. She notices his injuries are healing.

When she asks Sylus why he didn't wake her all the other nights she fell asleep waiting for him, he reveals this:

Once again, this seems to point at Abyssal Blossom as being nothing more than a dream MC had.

MC also counters and questions if Sylus had ever dreamt of her. They banter back and forth a little bit, before MC switches the conversation.

MC: Since you've taken half of my soul…Even if the world turns its back on you, I'll always stand by your side. You're not even allowed to think about leaving me. Sylus: All right.

MC says they should make a pinky promise: To never betray each other.

In conclusion: FUCK DESTINY. FUCK THE STUPID CURSE. AND ALSO FUCK THAT CUNT THE SACRED JUDICATOR. I'm gonna go cry myself to sleep now. Good night 😔

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lnds ramblings #lnds recap #lnds analysis #lads — beyond cloudfall #lads — abyssal blossom #lnds spoilers #lads spoilers #videos #this took me like three hours to write #if anything messed up i don't want to hear it #😔😔😔😔😔#abyssal blossom was supposed to heal me why the writers do that #💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

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hungermakesmonsters · 2 months ago

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Devotion & Desire

Chapter Eight

Plot summary : When you, a lone omega, move in across the hall from alpha Bucky Barnes, he knows that his life is about to get a lot more complicated, but he has no idea just how much you’re going to turn his life upside down. You’re both devoted to fixing your past mistakes, but will desire for something more get the better of you?

Pairing : Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader

Story Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Angst and smut (but it's not angsty smut). All chapters will contain the usual omegaverse and A/B/O tropes, and explicit smut. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.

Word Count : 7.9k

A/N : 😭😭 This is the last chapter which is why it's so freaking long (I probably should have turned it into two chapters but nevermind). I hope you love it.

MASTER LIST

Chapter Eight

You didn’t sleep.

Despite knowing that, for the first time in years, you were finally safe, you didn’t sleep.

Every time you closed your eyes you saw him, you felt his teeth on your neck and his hands on your body.

Every time you closed your eyes you felt helpless and alone.

So, instead of sleeping, you dug out your sketch pad and started to draw. It was a mindless task to begin with, your hand seeming to move of its own accord, drawing the same thing you’d drawn countless times before; the Winter Soldier.

It had started as a way to remember, a way to get the violent images of your brother’s murder out of your head but, now, the man you were sketching wasn’t the cold, mechanical assassin who tortured your brother without blinking. He was Bucky. With soft blue eyes, filled with care and sadness. And, now, you needed to get him out of your head for very different reasons.

The hours blurred until, finally, you fell asleep at the table, pencil dropping from your hand.

A few hours later you were woken by the sound of a door closing and you crept to your peephole just in time to see Bucky leaving his apartment.

Your heart almost stopped as he paused and stared directly at your door as if he knew you were there. Then you saw him inhale through his nose like he was trying to find your scent. Only it wasn't there, with your gland gone, your scent was too weak to linger, and that thought made your chest hurt.

A moment later, he was gone.

For the first day you remained hidden away in your apartment but you knew you couldn't survive like that. You were still owed a fortnight's worth of wages from Gracie’s and you knew that you would need the money if you were going to find a new place to live.

The second day, you managed to slip out of the building unnoticed and get to Gracie’s without being recognised, and lingered outside in the cold for five long minutes, working up the nerve to step inside.

The moment Gracie saw you, her arms were around you and she was babbling about how worried she'd been and how the handsome alpha who used to walk you to work had told her you'd been hurt. Bucky. Bucky had been in to tell her that you were hurt - who else had he told?

You kept your hood up, covering your neck and most of the bandaging. She barely let you get a word in edgeways and, even though you knew it should have been heart-warming that she cared so much, all you felt was numbness knowing that you'd deceived her.

“I just need my last paycheck,” you finally managed to tell her.

“I'll get it for you and don't you worry you can come back to work whenever you're feeling up to it.”

“Back? No, I - I'm not coming back,” you said, confused and feeling worse than ever.

“I know it probably feels like that now, but you'll start to feel like yourself again in no time.”

You stood dumbfounded, not wanting to argue, not wanting to tell her that this was you and there was no going back to the person you'd been pretending to be. Gracie had always been so sweet and kind to you that you didn’t have the heart to ruin things between you.

With your paycheck she gave you an apple pie, commenting on how you looked like you hadn't been eating. You tried to refuse, then tried to offer to pay, but Gracie wouldn’t have it. She ushered you out the door, telling you to head home before the weather turned.

Unfortunately, you could have done with that warning sooner, as the skies seemed to open the moment you were halfway home. Cold rain quickly soaked through your clothes and threatened to soak through the pie box too.

And that wasn’t even close to the end of your bad luck.

“Mouse!”

You heard the call just as the elevator doors were closing and, for a brief and wonderful moment, you thought that you’d get away, but a hand slipped between the doors before they could close.

Nikki stepped into the elevator and you found yourself shrinking back.

“Didn’t you hear me?” She asked.

“I -” you didn’t know what to say so you stopped talking and just let out a sigh.

There was a moment of silence and you didn’t even notice that Nikki didn’t hit the button for her floor.

“Bucky told us what happened,” she said.

“Okay,” was all you could think to answer with.

Again, you felt like you had at Gracie’s; like the moment was happening to someone else and you were just watching it unfold, knowing that there was nothing you could really do to change the predetermined outcome.

“You lied to us.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” She asked.

The elevator dinged, the doors slid open and you started to move towards your door, completely on autopilot. Nikki followed after, not saying another word. And, as you stepped into your apartment, you left the door open so she could follow.

Kicking off your wet shoes, you made your way to the kitchen to put the pie box down before shrugging out of your wet hoodie, letting it drop to the floor. You didn’t realise your mistake until you heard Nikki inhale sharply at the bandaging around your neck.

“What happened?” She asked.

“I thought Bucky told you.”

“He said you’d been hurt, but he didn’t know how bad it was.”

You almost shrank back as she closed the distance to look at you, and you saw her face drop as she took in the sight of you.

“It's fine,” you muttered, shivering.

“Nothing about any of this is fine,” she said, ducking her head a little as she tried to get a better look at the bandaging.

You sighed knowing that she was right, but also knowing that it didn't matter anymore.

“What do you want, Nikki?”

“I wanted to see if you were alright, which clearly you're not.”

For the first time since you’d met her, you heard anger in her voice; anger that was directed at you. Your stomach knotted as you were, once again, stuck confronting the life you could have had if you hadn’t gone after Bucky.

“Does it matter anymore?” You asked, not bothering to hold back a tired, resigned sigh.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Bucky told you that I lied about everything, so why do you even care if I'm alright?”

“Because you're my friend.” She said friend, but the tone of her voice didn’t exactly carry the warmth of friendship.

“I'm not though, am I? You don’t even know me.”

“So you’re telling me that it was all lies? Every single second?”

Were you? Some part of you wanted to say yes, to act like you hadn’t enjoyed her and Jade’s company, that you’d just used the pair of them. But you couldn’t. It wasn’t true. It hadn’t all been an act, you did like them, and you regretted ever lying to them.

“No, but -” you took an awkward, shuddered breath, trembling from the cold of your damp clothes, “- I’m not that person. I’m not just some weak, dumb omega.”

“I never thought you were weak or dumb,” she countered, sounding genuinely offended. “None of us ever thought that.”

You could have had this, they would have accepted you. The thought comes to you unbidden and unwanted, and it’s enough to have you turning away from her, bracing yourself on the kitchen counter.

“Is that really what you thought?” Nikki continued. “That we only wanted you around because we thought you were some silly little omega who couldn’t look after herself?”

“That’s all anyone ever sees,” you answered back, tone turning sharp. “Poor little omega who needs to be protected because she can’t take care of herself, silly little omega who just needs an alpha, dumb little omega who -”

“Shut up. You’re the only one here who thinks any of that shit.”

“No, I’m not. Bucky thinks it,” you said softly, keeping your back to her. “He only sees me as an omega.”

“You’re wrong,” Nikki said, continuing when you let out a huff of disbelief. “You haven’t even seen him since you got back, have you?”

“No, why would I?”

“He’s a mess because of you, because of what happened to you. He cares about you.”

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t matter anymore either.”

“How can you say that, after everything he’s done to try and help you?”

The anger had been slowly building, but now it seemed like it had reached a boiling point. Nikki was pissed and some part of you felt like maybe you’d been deliberately trying to rile her so she’d lose her temper and leave. But instead of leaving, she was standing her ground, trying to convince you that you were wrong.

“Because it doesn’t matter anymore,” you said again, finally turning back to face her, letting her get a good look at you, at how broken you were. “Even if I wanted to be what he wants me to be, I can’t. The man who took me, he...” tears seemed to come from nowhere, your voice breaking despite your best efforts to stay in control. “They had to remove my gland, I - I can’t even... I can’t...”

You started to turn away again, not wanting to face her until you had your emotions in check again, but before you could, Nikki’s arms were around you, pulling you into a tight hug.

“It’s okay,” she said softly.

“It’s not - it’s not. He broke me and I - I fucked everything up. Bucky just wanted an omega and I can’t even be that any more. I’m... I’m nothing now,” you sobbed.

It all started to come out, the upset and the trauma, the part of you that couldn’t come to terms with what had been done to you.

“You’re not nothing,” Nikki told you firmly. “You’re my friend.”

It didn’t matter, the words barely even sank in. You were lost to your spiralling thoughts but, after a few minutes, you managed to pull away from her.

“I’m - I’m fine,” you said, awkwardly scrubbing at your cheeks with your sleeve, doing your best to pretend your little outburst hadn’t just happened. “You should... you should go.”

“No,” was Nikki’s answer. Straight to the point. “I’m not leaving until I’ve gotten some answers.”

For a few seconds you just stared at her, wanting to argue but too exhausted to even get the first word out.

“Go sit down before you fall down,” Nikki ordered. “I’ll make a pot of coffee.”

You did as you were told, going along with it simply because it seemed easier than arguing. From your seat, you watched her moving around your kitchen as she had done so many times before. You were so tired that you didn’t even think to clear the table as she sat down and pushed a mug towards you.

“What’s this?” She asked, reaching for the stack of sketches you’d left on the table before you could stop her.

You felt your cheeks start to warm as she looked over the first few pages; some newer ones of Bucky, and some older of the Winter Soldier the night he killed your brother. For a few seconds you felt frozen before awkwardly trying to claw the sketches back.

“It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” Nikki countered, her expression somewhere between a smirk and worry.

“You said Bucky told you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m starting to think maybe he didn’t tell me everything. So, why don’t you start from the start?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re adamant that I shouldn’t think of you as my friend anymore, and I want to know exactly why,” she answered with a shrug.

For a moment you looked down at the drink she’d placed in front of you, your cold hands wrapping around the mug as you let out a heavy sigh.

“Fifteen years ago, the Winter Soldier killed my brother...”

You started from the start, telling her about your brother’s murder and how your quest for revenge had landed you with Rumlow, before explaining how you’d tracked Bucky down after the blip and concocted a plan to get close enough to kill him.

Then, in less detail, you explained the last couple of weeks, and how Bucky had cared for you during your heat. Nikki stayed silent, letting you explain it, right up to the hospital, then you just trailed off into a shrug.

“You didn’t let him see you?” She asked.

You shook your head and, instead of answering, you lifted your mug and took a drink. You’d been speaking for so long that your coffee was almost cold.

“Why not?” She asked.

“I don’t want him to see me like this, I don’t -” you hesitated for a second as you voice broke and your eyes threatened fresh tears, “- it’s just too much. Everything’s changed and there’s no way to fix it.”

“You’re not the only one who’s hurting,” Nikki said softly. “No matter what you think it’s pretty fucking obvious that he cares about you. And you -” she waved at the stack of sketches, “- you’ve clearly got unfinished business with him.”

And then, without warning, before you could even think to say anything, she was getting to her feet.

“Nothing you told me has changed anything,” she said decidedly, “we’re still friends.”

Speechless, you could only watch as she started to head towards the door. You didn’t know if she had somewhere to be or if she’d realised you desperately wanted to be alone - whatever it was, you were glad she was leaving.

“But,” she started again as she reached the door, glancing back at you over her shoulder, “as your friend, I think you owe it to yourself to talk to Bucky.”

She left before you could protest, before you could even tell her that you were planning on leaving and that it really didn’t matter anymore. You were left more confused than ever, not understanding how she could just shrug off everything that you’d done and declare that you were still her friend.

Didn’t you get a say? Didn’t you get to decide how she - how anyone - saw you?

(No. No, of course you didn’t. All this time you’d been trying so hard to control other people’s perception of you, but you were starting to realise that it was impossible.)

You spent the rest of the day in your apartment, looking for new places to live that you could actually afford (there was nothing). You ate some of the pie that Gracie had given you and, in the evening, you ended up at the table again with a pencil in hand.

You just wanted him out of your head; you wanted to forget the softness in his eyes before he’d kissed you that last time, and you wanted to forget how that softness had been replaced by fear and worry the last time you’d seen him as he’d been handing you off to paramedics. You’d always felt empty, but never like this before.

Again, you woke up slumped over a half-finished sketch, a half-hearted attempt to capture his smile on paper. Looking at it in the cold light of day, you weren’t happy with it. It seemed flat and dull, and it didn’t fill your stomach with butterflies the way his rare, happy smiles did.

A hot shower and a change of clothes had you feeling... well, not entirely human but functional at least. Washing around the bandages was a nightmare that had you choking back tears. It was almost funny how you could force away the thoughts of what had been done to you, only to find yourself retraumatised the moment you saw the bandages or moved your neck in such a way that it caused you pain.

The next issue to overcome was your kitchen. You’d never been one for stocking up and, what little you had had in the fridge had gone bad in the weeks that you’d been away, leaving you with nothing but the last of the apple pie to eat and, as much as you liked Gracie’s apple pie, even you knew that you couldn’t survive on it

So, again, you decided that you’d brave the outside world.

You pulled your hood up and slipped out into the hallway but, as you went to lock the door, the keys slipped from your fingers. As you leaned down to pick them up, you heard Bucky’s door open and you froze, caught between thoughts of diving back into your apartment and fleeing down the hallway.

Indecision saw you doing neither and, instead, you picked up your keys and remained awkwardly frozen. You didn’t turn to look or lift your head, you just stood there.

“They let you out of the hospital,” he said, though there was an unspoken question behind his words; why didn’t you tell me?

You let out a soft sigh. “No, I - I checked myself out.”

“You checked yourself out?” He repeated, almost sounding worried. “Are you - are you okay?”

The shrug you gave was lost somewhere beneath the oversized hoodie. It was pointless to get into it and you were certain he wouldn’t understand. You’d never be alright again,

“Can we just -” he started again, an awkwardness filling his tone, “- can we talk?”

What was there to talk about? What was left? Still, you didn’t look at him.

Oh.

“I’m not going to try to kill you again if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Of course that was it. Of course that was all he cared about.

Not waiting for his answer, for his relief, you started to walk away from him, feeling like you’d said all that needed to be said to him.

“Wait, that’s not -” he sighed, following after you, his hand finding your wrist and stopping you in your tracks, “- that’s not what this is about. You know that’s not what this is about, don’t you?”

His hand gave a tug on your wrist and, before you could think better of it, you obliged him and turned back towards him, still keeping your head down and your face obscured by the hood.

“Then what, Bucky?” You asked, not sure you wanted him to answer. “What happened was - you said it yourself, it was just biology. I’m an omega, you’re an alpha. Neither of us were thinking straight.”

“I was. And I think you were too, at least for the moments that count.”

You shook your head and took a step back, pulling away from his grasp.

You knew what he was talking about, all those little moments when you’d let your guard down; the night you’d slept in his arms on the floor, the time you’d fallen asleep with your head on his lap as he talked you through the pain, and the way you’d fucked him that final time, offering yourself to him.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” you answered back bitterly, knowing he wouldn’t want you if he knew about your injuries.

What alpha in their right mind would want an omega that couldn’t be claimed or mated?

“What are you talking about? Of course it still matters, it’s -”

“He ruined me, Bucky,” you interrupted. “They had to remove my mating gland. Now, I - I can’t even...”

Your voice broke and you forced yourself to stop, unwilling to cry in front of him, unwilling to show any more weakness.

While you’d never liked being an omega, never liked feeling like your only purpose in life was to be mated to some alpha, now you felt like only half a person. You weren’t even an omega anymore, you were something less than that. If you couldn’t be mated, you’d never be loved.

Three weeks ago that wouldn’t have bothered you but, since coming to terms with your brother’s death, you suddenly felt like your life was empty and there was nothing left for you.

“Let me see,” he asked softly.

You shook your head but made no effort to stop him as he stepped closer, and you didn’t pull away as his hand slowly pushed your hood down. You looked off to the side, refusing to make eye contact as his fingers ghosted over the bandaging. When you still refused to look at him, his hand cupped your cheek and he silently urged you to face him.

“This doesn’t change anything,” he told you with a certainty you hadn’t expected.

“Of course it does,” you said, taking a step back, out of his grasp again, acutely feeling the warm touch of his hand on your cheek. “I can’t even pretend to be a good little omega for you like this.”

Realisation hit him like a ton of bricks, almost flooring him. Those three little words that he’d let slip in the heat of the moment, exposing what he wanted, what he wanted you to be for him - not you as you were, but a good little omega.

His mouth opened but, for a few seconds, no words came out.

“That’s why you ran? Because I said that?”

It didn’t matter how he meant for it to sound, you only heard it the way you wanted to hear it; he thought you were stupid, he thought it was your fault for running off and getting yourself caught by Rumlow. You only had yourself to blame for not wanting to be a good little omega.

You turned and started walking away, feeling sick to your stomach.

“Stop, c’mon, just talk to me. Please,” he pleaded, following after you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve said it. I didn’t mean it like -”

“I’m not what you want, Bucky,” you said as you hit the elevator call button. “I wouldn’t play the good little omega for you even if I could.”

“Good,” he said, moving to stand in front of you, between you and the elevator doors, desperately trying to get you to look at him. “I don’t want an omega, I want you. The rest doesn’t matter.”

“What about biology?”

After all, that was what had started all of this, wasn’t it? If it hadn’t been for your heat the two of you would never have started getting close. And, now, you couldn’t satisfy his biological desires to mate and claim.

“Fuck biology. I’m not exactly a regular alpha, am I?” He answered back before repeating; “this doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes everything for me, Bucky,” you tried to explain. “I’ll never belong, I’ll never be loved, I’ll -”

“I love you,” he admitted clumsily and, suddenly, you felt like you were suffocating.

You took a step back, shaking your head, the emptiness inside you feeling like it was growing bigger, turning into a gaping chasm beneath your ribs.

“Don’t say that! Don’t lie to me!” You said, your voice cracking and breaking under the strain of it all.

“I don’t need to put a mark on your neck to know that I love you,” he carried on. “I don’t need you to belong to me, I want you to want to be with me.”

“Stop it! Stop saying that. You don’t love me. You can’t.”

Before he could answer, the elevator doors slid open and you quickly pushed past him, trying to get away. But Bucky followed after you, not willing to let you walk away.

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” he said, almost snapping. There was an anger in his tone that you hadn’t really heard before. “I’ve spent enough of my life being told how to think and feel, and I’ll be damned if I go back to that.”

“You don’t love me, Bucky. How could you? You don’t even know me,” you replied, hitting the button for the ground floor, far harder than necessary. “It’s not love, it’s some dumb alpha urge to claim an omega, and you can’t. No one can. Brock saw to that.”

“Will you just fucking listen to me? I don’t care about claiming you. I care about you,” he answered back without hesitation. “What are you so afraid of that you won’t even hear me out?”

Something inside of you snapped at those words and, before you could think about what you were doing, you were shoving him, your open hands slamming against his chest, barely moving him. Again and again, as hard as you could and, when he still didn’t move, you balled your fists and started to bring them down against him.

You weren’t afraid.

You weren’t weak.

You weren’t that scared little omega who hid away while her brother was being murdered.

You weren’t the pathetic little omega that Brock Rumlow had kept for all those years.

You weren’t the weak and tired little omega who couldn’t stop him from tearing your gland.

And you weren’t the sad little omega who’d cried because Bucky had left her to get breakfast.

You weren’t those things anymore. You couldn’t be that person anymore.

“I’m not afraid! I’m not afraid of anything!” You screamed as you hit him. “I’m not some scared little omega who needs protecting. I’m not -”

His arms closed around you, pulling you close, stopping your assault on him.

A sob clawed its way from your throat as you tried to escape his hold, but Bucky just held you tighter. Everything started to come out. You just couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“I know,” he said softly, “I know you’re not. You’re the bravest person I know, and I’m so sorry that I fucked up. You’ve always been so much more than an omega to me. I only said it because I thought that was what you wanted; I thought you just wanted an alpha. When you asked me if it was just about biology, I should have been honest. It was never about biology for me.”

And, just like that, he managed to turn everything you’d believed on its head.

You had thought that you were nothing more than an omega to him and, all the while, he’d thought he was nothing more than an alpha being used to help you through your heat. How had you both gotten it so wrong? You managed to look up, at him, at the pained look on his face and all you wanted was to understand.

But it was too late.

You knew that you couldn’t handle the pain of almost having him and losing him again, not now, not after everything that you’d been through.

“Mouse, I -”

He didn’t get a chance to finish.

The elevator doors slid open and you squirmed from his grasp, heading for the door and out onto the street, pulling your hood up as you went. You didn’t even stop as almost knocked over Nikki and Jade on their way into the building, and you certainly didn’t stop when you heard voices calling after you.

You lost yourself for hours, wandering through New York, ducking into the busy crowds of the city, losing yourself in the noise and the bustle - anything not to think about what had happened and what Bucky had told you.

It felt cruel. It felt needlessly nasty for him to tell you that he loved you now that you couldn’t ever really be with him.

But, on the other hand, there was something else, something hopefully that you didn’t dare think about.

What if he really could love you as you were; unclaimable, unmateable?

It was dark when you returned home, exhausted and without the food that you’d originally left to get. You slipped into your apartment and wanted nothing more than to fall into your warm bed and sleep until all of your problems went away.

So, of course, you should have known that wasn’t how the evening was going to go.

The knock on the door came about fifteen minutes after you got in. At first you tried to ignore it but whoever it was wouldn’t stop.

Finally, you checked the peephole and saw Nikki and Jade standing in the hallway, not looking like they were planning on leaving before seeing you.

“Go away,” you muttered loud enough for them to hear.

“Not happening,” Jade answered. “Open up, we’ve got Thai food.”

“I don’t want -” you started only to find yourself interrupted by Nikki.

“You can either open up, or we can spend the rest of the night out here banging on the door, mouse.”

You knew that they would. You knew that you wouldn’t get a moment of peace until the pair of them got what they wanted.

With a sigh, you unlocked the door and slowly started to open it. That little gesture was more than enough to have the pair of them barging into your apartment before you could even think about reconsidering.

The moment you were hit by the smell of Thai food, your stomach let out an uncomfortable grumble.

As you closed the door, they made their way to your kitchen, grabbing plates and cutlery, before moving to the table and starting to set out the food. And you just watched, knowing there was nothing you could possibly say or do to stop them. You didn’t even flinch when Jade started to stack your sketches, taking a moment to look at them.

“You were right, these are really good,” she said to Nikki, and your cheeks instantly started to warm. “Have you shown them to Bucky?”

Your head shook and your gaze dropped, not wanting to think about the alpha across the hall or his declarations of love.

You were beckoned to the table and you took a seat as your favourite Thai dish was placed in front of you, along with a glass of wine.

“Not that this doesn’t look great but... why are you doing this?” You finally asked.

“Because you’re our friend and I saw how empty your cupboards were yesterday,” Nikki shrugged, tucking into her own meal. “You’ve been through a lot and we wanted to make sure you’re looking after yourself.”

“And you looked upset earlier,” Jade added softly.

“And that,” Nikki agreed. “So, are you gonna tell us what happened, or should we ask Bucky?”

With a sigh, you slumped back on your chair, not even managing to take a single bite of food before the conversation shifted to that awkward place. They were Bucky’s friends, you had to remind yourself, of course they were worried about him.

(But, clearly they were your friends too, otherwise they wouldn’t have brought you your favourite food, right? Could it really be possible that they wanted the best for you and Bucky?)

“He told me he loves me,” you confessed, voice quiet, feeling uncertain about saying it aloud as if you were scared it would sound completely ridiculous coming from your mouth.

“And what did you say?” Nikki prompted.

You stalled by reaching for your wine glass and taking a long drink, but they waited, neither of them saying a thing.

“I told him that he couldn’t love me, I’m not -”

“That is such bullshit.”

“Nikki,” Jade said, chastising her girlfriend for her tone, but Nikki didn’t seem to care.

“Of course he loves you. Look at everything he’s been through for you,” Nikki said. “If you don’t love him, that’s fine, that’s your choice, but you don’t get to dictate how he feels about you.”

She was right.

You hated that she was right, hated that it reminded you of what he’d said about people telling him how to think and feel. You were no better than the people who’d hurt him.

“I can’t be what he wants me to be,” you tried again, not really sure who you were trying to convince anymore.

“What does he want you to be?” Jade asked.

“What did he ask you to be?” Nikki added, almost as if she could sense you were going to answer with what you thought rather than what Bucky had told you himself.

“Me,” you answered, your voice turning quieter still. “He said he just wanted me to be me.”

Your stomach hurt and it wasn’t the hunger pangs causing it.

Bucky wanted you.

He was the first person to ever want you.

He wanted you even now with your gland gone.

He wanted you, even though you had nothing to offer him.

It was never about you being an omega or him being an alpha. He saw you as a person and he’d let you see him as one too. And, for that, you’d tried to push him away.

A tear rolled down your cheek and, instead of continuing the conversation, you reached for your fork and started to eat.

Nikki and Jade stayed silent, letting you process everything, letting you reach your own conclusions in your own time. You didn’t look at them, but you could feel their gazes wandering to you every now and then as they ate. There wasn’t much to say after that though, for the rest of the meal, you found yourself thinking over every little moment you’d shared with Bucky, re-examining it under a new lens.

He’d brought you your favourite cereal.

He’d held you under the freezing cold water of the shower to help with your fever.

He’d always let you decide what you wanted from him, he’d never once tried to push or tried to convince you, and he’d only ever kissed you when you let him.

He’d trusted you enough to tell you about his time with Hydra.

If he’d wanted an omega, he could have claimed you the last time you’d had sex. You’d offered him your neck, your gland, and if he hadn’t said those three little words, you would have let him claim you.

When the conversation started up again, it was muted and you only half listened as Jade and Nikki spoke, clearing up the mess before letting themselves out. Nikki lingered in the doorway, telling you she’d be back tomorrow and all you could offer in response was a nod.

Already, you were starting to understand that there was no getting rid of her and, now you’d had a chance to think about it, you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to be alone anymore.

You were left with your thoughts and you kept circling back to the same thing. Bucky.

A few hours had passed since Nikki and Jade left when you found yourself slipping out of your apartment and into the hallway, eyes fixed on Bucky’s front door.

His scent lingered outside his door, stronger than you remembered it ever being. You found yourself closing your eyes and breathing it in, remembering what it was like to be wrapped up in his arms, face pressed against his neck, basking in his scent.

Before you could second guess or change your mind, you stepped forwards, knocking on his door.

Ten seconds passed - long enough for you to take a step back, to start to think you might be making a mistake. But then the door opened.

Your eyes went wide when you saw him, wearing nothing but his boxers, his skin flush. He took one look at you and, suddenly, you felt breathless, smothered by his scent and inexorably drawn to him. Shit, you realised entirely too late, his rut had hit.

“What?” He asked.

You could see his knuckles turning white where he gripped the door, anchoring himself in place, like he didn’t trust himself not to reach for you.

“I just - I -” you started and stopped, struggling to find the words. “I wanted to say I was sorry.”

“For what?”

And that was the million dollar question, wasn’t it?

“Everything. What I said earlier, how I’ve been acting, I -” you shook your head. A moment later, you noticed the way his chest was rising and falling and you knew that it was a stupid time to try and have a heartfelt conversation. “A-are you okay?”

“Fine, just -”

“Your rut?”

Bucky nodded.

Part of you wanted to shrink back, to retreat to your apartment, but another part of you was sick of running.

Instead of stepping back, you stepped forward, pushing against the door and into his apartment. Bucky moved out of the way, a confused expression on his face. But, despite his uncertainty, you could tell he was still in control of himself. You could tell that you’d always be safe with him.

He let the door fall shut as he turned to face you, not moving towards you, letting you decide what you wanted - if you wanted anything at all.

And that was precisely why you took a step towards him, closing the distance so you could place a hand on his bare chest, right above his racing heart. His skin was hot to the touch, clammy, but it was nowhere near as bad as you had been expecting. His rut must have only just started in the last couple of hours.

“Did you mean it?” You asked softly.

“Every word. I love you.”

You leaned closer, wrapping your arm around his waist and resting your head on his chest. Bucky pressed his nose into your hair and inhaled deeply, as if you were his and your scent alone would see him through this. But the second he realised what he was doing, he pulled back a little.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

“You helped me...”

“Help? Is that all it is?” His voice betrayed his pain at the thought and had your stomach tying itself in knots.

“I - I don’t know what it is, Bucky,” you confessed, lifting your head to look him in the eyes again. “I want to be here. I want to be with you, but I can’t be yours...”

“I don’t need you to belong to me. I just want you to let me love you.”

“What if I can’t?” You asked, giving away your insecurities. “I don’t know how. What if I fuck it up?”

“You won’t,” he answered. “Can we just try?”

Despite your fears, you managed a nod, and it was all the sign that Bucky needed.

His hands framed your face and he kissed you. He kissed you like it was the first time all over again, he kissed you like a man starved of affection, like a man who really did love you. You pressed closer to him, both arms wrapping around his waist as you finally surrendered to what you wanted.

“Tell me this is okay?” He muttered against your lips. “I don’t want to rush you or hurt you.”

Your heart bled at his compassion, the way he was putting you first even though he was going through his rut, and you knew that he’d stop if you asked him to. But you didn’t. You didn’t want it to stop. No, you wanted something good to finally come from all the bad.

“It’s okay,” you said. “Please, don’t stop.”

He lifted you off your legs quickly wrapped around him as he carried you into the bedroom.

It felt like that first night all over again, only this time you weren’t going to ruin it.

He sat with you on his lap and, already, you could feel the press of his erection between your thighs and it was enough to cause you to squirm, your hips eagerly rocking against his. Little moans and whimpers quickly started to spill from your lips and into his, but it wasn’t enough.

(When it came to Bucky, nothing would ever be enough.)

Pulling back a little, you sank to your knees between his legs, tugging his boxers down. You were sure to keep your hands where he could see them, your fingers gripping his thighs as you bowed your head and parted your lips. Bucky’s fingers tangled in your hair, but he didn’t try to move you, he let you go at your own pace.

A low and breathy groan spilled from him as the tip of his cock slipped between your lips and you started to lightly suck, running your tongue over his slit and lapping up everything that leaked from him.

Looking up at him, you felt yourself wanting to submit, wanting to give yourself to him in whatever way that you could. His heavy scent already had slick pooling between your thighs, eager to feel him inside you again.

One of your hands moved to grip the base of his cock as your lips sunk down it and you felt him twitch in your mouth, the thick vein on the underside of his shaft throbbing with every little move you made.

You started slowly, bobbing your head and dragging your lips up and down him, letting out the sweetest little moans for him, while Bucky panted and groaned like he was already on the brink. Your eyes watered as he nudged the back of your throat, but you didn’t let that stop you, you just blinked and carried on.

His mouth went slack and you could see him fight against himself, desperately trying to hold back. That was when you doubled down. Hollowing your cheeks against him, you moved faster, chasing your lips with your hand, making sure no inch of his cock went untouched.

“Fuck, mouse, I’m -” he tried to warn you but it was too late.

Bucky groaned your name as his cock started to pulse, his hip bucking upwards as he started to fill your mouth. You stayed where you were, lips wrapped tight around him, your eyes fixed on his.

(Fuck. How were you only just noticing how beautiful he was when he came?)

Finally, you sat back on your heels, wiping your lips with the back of your hand as you looked up at him.

“So that’s what that feels like when you don’t try to stab me,” Bucky joked breathlessly, a ridiculous grin tugging at his lips.

You tried your best to suppress a laugh, but it managed to escape you. And it reminded you why him, why you wanted this (whatever this ended up being).

He reached for you, helping pull you back onto his lap so he could kiss you again, groaning as he tasted himself on your lips. Almost immediately, he was hard again, and you were quickly tugging off your shirt and bra.

“Mouse, are you sure?” He asked again, barely able to pull himself from your lips.

“Yes, Bucky,” you told him just as desperately. “I want you.”

He turned, dropping you onto your back on the bed and pulling off your leggings and panties, leaving you completely bared to him. Without thinking or waiting for him to say anything, you got on all four, presenting yourself to him, but you quickly found yourself flipped onto your back again.

“I want to see your face, mouse. I want to see all of you,” Bucky told you.

You watched as he crawled onto the bed and over you, his hands and lips skimming up your stomach and over your chest until he was above you.

As you pulled him down into another eager kiss, he slipped a hand between your legs. You gasped against his lips as two fingers slid into your slick pussy and started to grind yourself against his hand, desperate to show him that you wanted this.

You were already so worked up from sucking his cock that you easily fell apart for him, and you knew that was precisely what Bucky wanted from you. He wanted you to be ready for his cock and, while he was doing everything he could to try and make this about your pleasure as much as his own, you could tell his rut was taking its toll on his patience.

You moaned his name when you felt the press of his cock at your entrance and arched your back at the all too familiar feeling of him slowly filling you. Your arms wrapped tight around him and your thigh hitched on his hip. It was perfect, amazing. It was all you’d ever need.

He stilled inside you once you’d taken every inch, staring down at you, checking for any signs of discomfort.

“It’s okay,” you said in a low whine. “I’m okay. Bucky, please -”

Bucky didn’t make you beg (though you were sure you would have). His hips started to move, slowly at first, but the gentle pace didn’t last for long. You eyes rolled back and your back bowed, pressing your body against his as he finally gave in to his base instincts and let his rut control him.

It didn’t take much for you to come again, crying out beneath him as he fucked you through your orgasm, letting out the filthiest sounds you’d ever heard from him as he did. Every drive of his hips forced a moan from you, and every sound was in worship of him and what he was doing to you.

“Fuck, Bucky!” You almost screamed, not even caring to think about how half the building might be able to hear you.

He kissed you to stifle some of the noise that you were both making and it wasn’t long before you were coming again for him, your body seeming to want to completely submit to him and everything he was doing.

After an unspecified amount of time, his thrusts started to become shorter, more desperate.

“Mouse...” he warned, his voice an awkward gasp, not stopping or slowing.

Rationally, you knew what letting him come inside you meant during his rut, but you didn’t want to think rationally. You wanted this. You wanted Bucky. You wanted to submit to him and take his knot.

“Don’t pull out,” you finally gasped, your fingers pressing into his back, holding him tight against you.

There was no telling if it was your words or just the fact that he’d been close, but the moment you finished speaking, you felt him start to pulse inside you. The sensation alone was enough to push you into another orgasm, your walls fluttering and trembling as you felt his knot start to swell inside you, trapping you together.

Your eyes rolled back and a series of desperate moans spilled from you.

“Alpha,” you groaned, giving yourself over to him completely, your eyes closing.

Your head moved, presenting your bandaged neck, even though you knew he couldn’t mark you or claim you. His hand gripped your chin, turning your face towards him as he leaned in and kissed your lips.

“I love you,” he groaned into your mouth before kissing you again.

When he finally came up for air, he pressed his forehead to yours, still panting, still completely overwhelmed. You reached up, fingers running through his sweat-damp hair, just as overcome by the moment as he was. You’d never experienced a moment like this and you quickly understood why.

“I - I love you too, Bucky,” you confessed.

Your arms gripped tight around him, letting him know that you didn’t want him to move, that you were happy with the weight of him on top of you while his knot locked into place and he came inside you, his cock twitching as it pumped you full. You nuzzled against his neck, intoxicated by his scent, completely overwhelmed in a new and amazing way.

“Stay with me,” he asked breathlessly. “Not as my omega, but as the person I love.”

“Yes,” you answered without a second of hesitation.

End Note : And that's the end😭 I've had a blast writing this. I never thought I'd enjoy writing omegaverse this much so that's been an interesting discovery. I might come back to this and write an epilogue but I'm actually pretty happy with where this ended; it's open enough that I can come back to it for a second fic but it's also sweet enough that I don't think (or at least I hope) no one is disappointed??

Thanks so much for sticking with this, I really hope you've enjoyed it. I know I'm not great with comments and reblogs but I promise I do read every response that I get even if I don't get around to replying and it's really meant so much to read everything you've all had to say about this one! (also same goes for comments on Ao3)

I do have a potential idea for another Bucky fic in future, so feel free to stick around for that (it won't be until the new year because working retail over the holidays is draining enough without starting a new fic).

As always, reblogs/comments/likes/asks are always appreciated. Thanks so much for reading, hope you have a great day!

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@thecraziestcrayon @silas-aeiou @danzer8705 @notpotatocap @prttylight

@skittslackoffilter @mcira @chimchoom @highwaytomichelle

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #alpha!bucky barnes #marvel omegaverse #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #tfatws #devotion ff

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