#please give me some time to work through all of this

[a-b-riddle]

Runaway Love (kidnapper Price x captive reader)

cw: established kidnapping, violence, intimidation, unplanned pregnancy, miscommunicated threat of forced abortion, eventual Stockholm syndrome, housewife kink. Reader just accepts her situation at this point. Dub-con, non-con.

You couldn't think of anything except the pain that radiated with each step toward your room. You were lucky your work and home were the same place. It was incomprehensible, downright unbelievable how some of the other maids worked their shift and then either walked home or walked to the bus stop.

Granted, most of them weren't pregnant and had shoes that actually fit, but you didn't like to complain. You were lucky to have the job, even if it was back breaking. You had a roof over your head and although the pay was minimal, you were able to buy essentials and save up and with a baby on the way every penny saved counted.

Most importantly, you were free. You were safe and so was the baby. It had been the only reason that after almost a year, you had finally been brave enough to escape. Knowing that it would be hard to rebuild a life from scratch. Knowing that the consequences meant a punishment so severe you could only hope for death.

You had tracked your period religiously. Even with the stress of being held captive by a psycho military Captain, your cycles were fairly normal. So when you were five days off, you knew. In a moment in which you wanted nothing more than to be happy to finally be starting the family you dreamed about having as a little girl, fear enveloped you.

John had never mentioned kids. Only a wife. Someone to be at home waiting for him. Keeping the house in order and his bed warm while he was away.

All I need is you and the boys, Birdie. What more could a man want?

You considered telling him. Hoping that he would be as happy as you wanted to be. Yet anytime you came close to telling him over the next two weeks, horrible thoughts raced through your mind. What if he was angry? What if he blamed you even though he practically took you whenever he pleased? How would he terminate the pregnancy or would he be content in letting you give birth without any medical intervention and simply get rid of the baby after?

Would he just get rid of you altogether?

It was like the universe was telling you to run when shortly after you decided that telling him wasn't the answer, that he told you he was going on a mission. Won't be back for a couple of weeks. Sent the boys to pick up anything you'll need. I know you'll be good for me.

You had been good. For that last six months, you had behaved. Didn't pull away from his touch or put up a fuss. You lived in the epitome of domestic bliss, so John had no reason to send you down to the basement. Not when you had so many opportunities to try to escape and you didn't.

Granted, he had threatened to break your legs during your first and last stunt. You had been in the basement for three weeks. Living in near darkness as he brought all of your meals. You had been upstairs for about twenty minutes and barely made it to the door before he tackled you. Pinning you to the ground, breath hot against the back of your neck as he hissed in your ear. Ungrateful little brat.

Your apologies fell on deaf ears as he hauled you back down where you would stay for six weeks.

For months you built the relationship on a lie. A lie John deluded himself into believing. Anytime he told you he loved you, you repeated the words back. Wanting to scrub your body raw anytime he touched you and hating yourself anytime he made you come.

But it had been worth it. You were four months along, and given your ill-fitted clothes, not really showing, but knowing that in another five months you would be holding the baby you always wanted. A baby that you had went through hell for. Seeing his or her face for the first time, being their mom would be worth it.

You kept all of the lights off. It was a request of the motel owners to reduce their bills. So even if it was early December and you knew you would be walking back to a freezing room, they didn't give a shit. In truth, they were doing you a favor only charging you $400 in rent with unlimited access to their laundry services. You suppose having the pity of others did have its perks.

You hadn't even bothered to turn on the lights before pulling your shoes off your feet and plopping down on the bed. The grit and grim still felt thick on your skin, but you couldn't find the energy to care. You would shower and get on a fresh set of clothes you had gotten from the shelter when you first made it into the city, but for now you needed a moment. Just a few minutes to decompress.

A few minutes turned into five and then ten. Before you knew it, you had been laying in the bed floating in and out of consciousness for almost twenty minutes. You knew you needed to get up. Wash away the grime of the day that had settled on your skin. Your clothes smelling faintly of bleach.

Fuck you were tired.

You were always tired.

You got up and made your way to the bathroom, barely keeping your eyes opened. Not confident enough you would actually be able to take a shower without wanting to lay down in the tub and let all the strain of the day go down the train.

It's funny how the human body can make us teeter on the edge of sleep. We imagine things that may or not be there. But when you heard it, when you heard that voice coming from the corner of you room, you knew you weren't imagining anything.

"Wonderin' when you'd wake up."

[heavyhitterheaux]

Back to You

AN: angst with some fluff!

Synopsis: It's the first game of the season, and you promised your boyfriend that you would be in the audience cheering him on. But when you don't make an appearance at the game, Joe quickly grows annoyed at you until he learns the reason why

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Requested by: a lovely anon 💕

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

“If you keep giving me kisses, you're going to be late.” You told your boyfriend of two years as he continued giving you small pecks and you peeked past him to look at the clock that was hanging behind him on the wall.

“Not you complaining that I need my good luck kisses.” Joe responded while turning up his nose at you.

“I'm not complaining by any means. I just don't want you to be late. You know how much I love giving you kisses.” You told him as your arms wrapped around him as he kissed your forehead.

“I love giving you kisses somewhere else too and you’re wearing my jersey tonight, correct? I love seeing you in it and I love it even more when I take it off when the game is over.” Joe asked and you rolled your eyes.

“No, I'm wearing Ja'Marr's along with the hoodie he gave me.”

Now it was Joe’s turn to roll his eyes and suck his teeth.

“Babe? Seriously?”

“You're the one asking stupid questions, not me.”

“There's no such thing as a stupid question.”

“Hmm, Joseph, I beg to differ. Now please go so you won't be late. I love you.” You told him as you reached up on your toes to give him one more kiss which he gladly accepted.

“I love you too and I'll see you when you get there.”

“I'm going to need a huge mountain of mozzarella sticks when I do. Probably throw some nachos in there too for good measure.”

“Did you forget that you ate yourself into a food coma last week and fell asleep in the last 10 minutes of the game?”

“Nope, and I'm getting ready to do it again.”

Joe just shook his head at you knowing that you would be complaining about it later.

“See you when you get there, babe.” He told you as he played with your necklace that he had gifted you with his name on it.

“Can't wait to see you win this one.”

After Joe had gotten into his car and pulled off to make his way to the stadium, you took the steps two at a time to head to your master bedroom in order to get ready to head to the game. Your sister was coming with you since she was able to get off of work because someone switched swifts with her. Even if she was the owner of her own shop, she needed someone she could trust to handle things when she wasn’t going to be there. She was actually the reason that the two of you were together in the first place, but it was definitely a love at first sight type of situation.

Your sister just so happened to own a bakery and was very surprised when Joe walked in one day and was casually browsing the display case of treats. That day she was short staffed and you were helping her out for a few hours since you loved to bake in your spare time and knew your way around a kitchen. Natalie just loved it even more to eventually make a career out of it. As Joe was asking about the different desserts and pastries, your sister Natalie kept seeing his eyes wander in your direction.

“She’s single and I need for you to take me out of my misery because she is always all up under me.” She told him as she nudged her head in your direction. She knew how big of a crush you had on Joe with you being a huge football fan and thought it was hilarious that you hadn't recognized him yet being in the very same store breathing in the same air. She knew it was only a matter of time before you turned around and saw him.

Hearing this, Joe's eyes went wide and he began to stutter.

“What? I… um…”

“She's my baby sister. Go over there and talk to her.”

Ever since that moment, the two of you had been inseparable.

You told Natalie that you were going to pick her up so that she didn't have to worry about driving through the city which you knew that she despised and would try to avoid at all costs. Knowing her if she drove, she probably wouldn’t even make it to the game until halftime since all she liked to take were backroads.

You- Getting ready now! Leaving the house in about twenty minutes!

Natalie- Okay! Just text me when you get here. I'm excited and can't wait to eat ourselves into a food coma lol 🤣

You- Will do! And Joe will just have to deal with it

Your shower had been taken with Joe an hour and a half before so all that was left for you to do was to get dressed. Slipping on Joe's jersey as promised, you then slipped on your jeans before grabbing your black and orange converses. As you sat down at your vanity, light makeup was applied before putting your knotless braids into a high ponytail with an orange bow holding it in place.

Taking one last look in your shared bedroom, you made sure that nothing was left behind that you might need as you slipped your crossbody up over your head to rest on your shoulder.

It would take you about fifteen minutes to get to Natalie's house and then it would take another thirty in order to get to the stadium coming from that direction. As you made your way out of the neighborhood and stopped at a red light, a quick text was sent to let her know that you were on your way. The light then turned green and you promptly entered the intersection before your head suddenly slammed against your driver's side window knocking you unconscious.

There were only mere minutes until the game started and there was no sign of either you or your sister in the stands which made Joe extremely nervous. He knew you didn't mention stopping anywhere except to get Natalie so he didn't quite understand.

You had mentioned that you would leave the house about twenty minutes after he did, so you should have been there by now with Natalie and he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that he was having. A feeling that something was incredibly wrong. But on the other hand, maybe something important had happened because he knew for a fact that the last thing you would ever do is miss one of his home games.

Kickoff had now begun with the defense taking the field first. Joe was constantly looking over his shoulder every few minutes hoping that you would suddenly appear, but every single time he came up empty. Ja’Marr could tell that Joe was distracted and made it a point to ask him about it.

“You good?” He asked, breaking Joe out of his thoughts.

“Y/N and Natalie aren’t here yet and I don’t know where they could be. She literally told me that she was going to leave the house about twenty minutes after I did to get her sister and then that would make her only be thirty minutes away. She never misses a home game if she can help it. I’m worried, but also starting to get annoyed at her because she promised she’d be here.”

“Hey, I’m sure that there’s some type of explanation for all this. Hopefully they’ll be here by the time the first quarter is over. But for now we need to focus to get this win.” Ja’Marr told him and Joe simply nodded his head. Ja’Marr could tell that he was obviously still annoyed, but was hoping that this didn’t cause Joe not to focus on what was happening in front of him.

The game was now over with the Bengals winning over the Chiefs 38 to 31 and Joe was now more than annoyed with you. Pissed off was more like it as he began to get dressed to head home after taking a shower.

“Joe, get your phone, it’s been going off nonstop.” Tee told him as he walked by making Joe quickly pick it up to look at it.

Staring back at him was a total of seventeen missed calls all from Natalie as well as an unknown number that he didn’t recognize. Seeing how many there were instantly made his heart drop as he picked it up to call your sister back. One thing that did stick out to him was the fact that there weren’t any missed calls from you and the sinking feeling that he had gotten in the pit of his stomach was now more prominent.

Natalie didn’t even give the phone a chance to ring before she picked it up to answer.

“JOE! THANK GOD!”

“Natalie, what…. What is going on? Why didn’t the two of you come to the game?”

She wasted no time and was talking a mile a minute.

“Y/N was on her way to get me and I know that because she sent me a text telling me, but she literally never made it here.”

“What do you mean she never made it there?” Joe asked with a lump in his throat forming.

“I literally just got a call from the hospital. I had been trying to call her for hours, but she didn’t answer. Someone hit her car while she was crossing the intersection by the light closest to where you guys live. She has you listed as her emergency contact, but since they couldn’t get a hold of you, they called me. I’m on my way there now and oh my God, I hope she’s okay. They wouldn’t tell me anything over the phone. Joe, she is my only sister and there is no way I can…”

“Okay, Natalie. I know this is the last thing you want to hear right now, but you need to calm down and breathe. You’re driving so I want you to get there safely. Just focus on the road and I’ll meet you there. Which hospital is it?” Joe tried to comfort your big sister as best as he could when he was falling apart at the seams himself.

“University of Cincinnati Medical Center.”

“I’m on my way now.”

With a shaky hand, Joe quickly hung up the phone and got dressed in under two minutes. There was literally no time for him to do a press conference because seeing if you were okay was his main priority. Grabbing his bag, he practically ran out of the stadium and heard Tee yelling behind him.

“Joe, where’s the fire?!”

“Y/N got into an accident and I don’t know if she’s okay or not. They’re going to have to do the press conference without me and get the fuck over it.”

As Joe was driving, he started to feel guilty about being mad at you before he found out what had actually happened. He was simply praying for you to be okay when he got there and you not being at the game was now the least of his worries since there would be plenty more.

It only took him about fifteen minutes to get to the hospital as he weaved in and out of traffic and quickly parked before practically taking off running to the emergency room entrance. Once he passed the threshold and signed in at the security desk, he saw your sister down the hallway talking on the phone and quickly went over to her. Her face was red and puffy from crying, but she immediately took the phone away from her ear once she saw Joe.

“Where is she? How is she?”

“She’s okay, thank goodness. It just looks worse than it actually is. Just talking to my dad. She’s in that room right over there.” She told him as she pointed.

Joe quickly nodded his head before walking down the hallway to your room. Once he got there, the door was open and he saw your eyes closed while the television was on a low volume in the background. Your face was covered in streaks of blood and scratches as bruises were taking form on your arms on the skin that was exposed. Your Bengals jersey had splatters of blood covering it and he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It hurt Joe to see you in that state, but he was simply happy that you were alive.

Hearing footsteps, you quickly opened your eyes to look towards the door and let out a sob when you saw your boyfriend who immediately embraced you in a hug.

“I’m sorry… I…” You started to say, but he promptly cut you off.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re alive and that’s all that matters.” He told you as he rubbed small circles along your back.

“But I broke my promise. I told you that I would be there.”

“Baby, that is the last thing we need to worry about and besides, this was in no way, shape or form your fault. Do you remember what happened?”

“A little bit. I was at the light and it was red, so I sent a text to Natalie telling her that I was coming. The light turned green and I proceeded to go and that was when someone hit me. I hit my head on the window and that’s where all these little cut marks are from apparently. Next thing I knew, I woke up and I was here. They got your number out of my phone, but I told them that you were a little busy and to call Natalie.”

“I am never too busy for you, you know better.”

“I just… I wanted to be there for you, first game of the season and I missed it.”

“You have the rest of the entire season to be there for me. I needed to be there for you today.”

“There’s one more thing…” You said as you looked down and played with your necklace at the same time.

“What is it, babe?”

“My car….. Is probably totaled from the impact. He was going at a high speed and I was told that it’s a miracle that I’m even still alive to tell the tale because the car is unrecognizable.”

“As soon as you’re all healed from this, we’ll go and get you a new one. But once again, that is the last thing that we need to be worrying about. Until then, I’m driving you everywhere and I don’t want to hear any complaints.”

“Oh good, I’m probably going to make my first stop at Sephora.”

“Wait… hold on…”

“And Target too.”

Joe simply sighed before nodding his head because he knew that he would do anything to put a smile on your face.

“It looks like you were the one who needed the good luck kisses today.” He told you and you scoffed.

“Oh wait! Did you guys win?!” You asked as the thought popped up into your head.

“We did.”

“So, it looks like the good luck kisses worked both ways. I need to give them to you more often.”

It was another hour and a half before the doctor cleared you to leave the hospital and you convinced Joe to get you McDonald’s before heading home since you weren’t able to get your nachos and mozzarella sticks at the game.

After taking a shower and washing off the day's events, you quickly put your hair up and slipped on your comfy black and orange Bengals pajamas as you slid in bed next to Joe who promptly put his arms around you and kissed your forehead. He glanced down at you to see that you were looking back up at him and he reached down to kiss the tip of your nose.

“Your mind is racing, what are you thinking?” You asked as you held onto him tighter.

“That I came very close to losing the love of my life today and how thankful I am that I still get to hold her.”

You sighed and simply nodded, not really knowing what to say.

“And it made me feel guilty when I did find out what happened and why you weren’t there because I can admit, I was upset and pissed off. I just thought ‘why would she promise me that she was coming and she’s nowhere in sight?’”

“You know that I always keep my promises whether it’s big or small. But, it didn't happen today.” You softly said to him and he simply nodded.

“You came back to me and that is literally all I could have asked for.”

Taglist:

@hoodharlow

@nattinatalia

@wickedfun9

@a-moment-captured

@dandelionwrites8

@keiva1000

[jcollinswrites]

New update 27/09/24

The Captain of the Guard is playable!!! WOOOH! It was a big work, and currently only a very linear path is playable with the captain through Chapter 1, but I will add the rest of the choices later.

GOOD NEWS: It's the path that will definitely redeem poor Captain {instert-clever-insult} in the eyes of those who read the thief origin ❤️ So please give the captain a chance to do some good deeds to our resident little thief ✨✨✨

What the update includes:

Captain of the Theban Guard origin is playable! Lots of choices are still greyed out, but you can read through chapter 1 as the captain now.

16k words added to the demo, so that makes the total word count 185k.

I made a map! Well... I translated a map from my native language that I made ages ago for a similar book. It took me forever last week to find the English names for certain cities, and I'm not sure if some of them are correct or not but fuck it, it's good as it is. You can find the map in the Codex page in the Stats!

Did lots of bug and code fixes

Fixed some grammar and spelling errors

Next week, I'll add the missing choices in the captain route. Not sure if I'll have time to add all of them by the Friday update, but I'll try :)))

LINK TO DEMO

Hope you'll enjoy it! I'm especially interested to hear the opinion of those who've read the thief origin before 👀

❤️

[minkieater]

carousel – choi san ☄. *. ⋆

p. choi san x fem!reader g. non idol au, college boy!san w. smut minors dni PLS, alcohol consumption, smut is kinda kinky, toxic relationship, uhh san rocks you suck an. hello please don't be mad at me this had to happen for the lore, i also had to name you, apologies, if you share a name with shawty then congrats! if you've read luck you'll see some familiar stuff here, feel free to let me know anything you pick up on heheheh but seriously pls don't be mad at me wc. 10.7k

♫ – tear you apart, she wants revenge “it's only just a crush, it'll go away, it's just like all the others it'll go away or maybe this is danger and he just don't know”

cycle (sī-kel) noun a course or series of events or operations that recur regularly and usually lead back to the starting point

choi san regularly bounced between two moods. 

the first being a state of contentment, the second being complete and utter destruction. when he was content, the two of you were usually on good terms, and he felt good enough that he could keep his life on track. he could get his work done, he could go to classes, he could socialize with his peers with a smile on his face. 

when that peace was disturbed, more often than not by you, he was an absolute train wreck. all he could think about was you you you and when the two of you would fix things, if the two of you were really done this time, if he could reconcile the situation. sitting in class, remembering choreography at practice, being behind the bar at work… he couldn’t do a damn thing right. it wouldn’t be surprising if he forgot his own name when you were on bad terms. 

san has never been a fighter. when arguments arise he’s usually never the one that starts them, he’s the one begging to end them, opting for a peaceful compromise instead. despite the way he looks, san is a softie, something that took you by surprise and kept you by his side for almost a year.

you know him. you know his favorite color, his favorite show, his favorite album, his parents’ names, where he grew up, why he’s in school, who’s putting him through school, his biggest fear, his dream in life. you see how he looks at you, how he drops everything for you in a second, how he talks about you when you aren’t around to defend yourself. you know him better than you know yourself sometimes — you’ve been two peas in a pod since the beginning of your sophomore year, but yet the same question remains. one he’s asked you hundreds of times, one you could never find an answer to without breaking his heart. 

so instead you pick fights, argue to your heart’s content, damn near terrorize him on the regular just for the same fact to be true: choi san also knows everything about you. 

he knows exactly why you aren’t together, why you beat around the bush every time he asks you that same question, the sole reason why you freak the fuck out every time he asks you to give him just a little bit more. choi san knows very well that his love is unrequited, and he understands even the things you won’t tell him. he knows who you really love, he knows you’ve loved him since the summer before your freshman year, when you met at that concert. he notices when your eyes are the brightest, who you’re looking at when he wished you were looking at him, when you laugh the loudest. he notices everything.

if he’s anything, it’s observant. he’s been hanging out with you and your friends since way before he was your little secret, he’s been on your friends’ rooftop for parties more times than he can count. the first time the two of you slept together he couldn’t believe it was actually happening, the second you looked at him with lowered eyes and glossy lips he thought his eyes had been deceiving him for months prior. you looked at him like he was your last meal, your prey that you caught with your bare hands, you needed to have him or you’d die of starvation. he let you take the reins, took it all in with open arms, he wasn’t going to question a thing. for how long you had been obsessed with chan, he’d been obsessed with you. 

you’d met early in your freshman year, when chan had first gotten his apartment shared with three others, when they first started throwing their legendary parties that had been the talk of campus for ages to follow. san had gotten the invite through wooyoung, his best friend, whose close friend has dated chan’s roommate since freshman year. the moment he first saw you was nothing short of a movie scene, you were on the dance floor, definitely one too many drinks deep. you were dancing with felix, holding his hand, twirling your hair as he spun you in a circle. your smile, your eyes that were shut so delicately, your body that moved with such a fluidity, you were the embodiment of freedom. you looked like you couldn’t care less about anything, like the moon went down and the sun came up just so you could breathe another day. the world revolved around you. it was like everything he had ever done in his life leading up to this moment, each decision he made was to get him on this rooftop at this moment in the middle of soho. 

san had a few drinks himself and found himself on the dance floor right beside you. minho was with him, a close friend from his dance class, and then felix beside you. he couldn’t help but steal you for himself. he brought out the dancer inside of him but still followed your lead, spun you himself just as felix had, let your backside dance across his front one too many times for comfort. you picked up on how he was holding back, letting himself match you instead of taking the lead, and you couldn’t ignore how it sparked your interest. anyone besides felix that wasn’t in your group of close friends would be mindlessly grinding against you with an eyebrow raised and a smirk, but not him. 

for a moment you let yourself think the bar is deep in hell, then you introduced yourself (more like screamed your name at him) over the pounding music that could be heard two blocks down. the first thing you noticed were his broad shoulders before you took in the rest of his clearly strong build. complex, fox-like eyes that held too much power in them and a sweet smile that contrasted his hard demeanor, it all vexed you, but intrigued you so much more. 

out of everything, his hands give you the most whiplash. where they were long and limber they felt soft and warm, even the calluses on his palms somehow felt softer than every man you’ve ever come in contact with. compared to his chest which felt hard and strong, the contradicting features forced your mind straight in the gutter. there’s no doubt he’s beautiful, anyone could see that from first glance, but in that deep, hypnotizing voice he has, you could hear what kept itself hidden. it was a facade, that build and sexy voice, you could tell just from a few words that he’s not what he appears to be. 

at first glance you’d assume he was just like any typical guy, buff and egotistical and harsh. but looking for a moment in those eyes, listening to that soft voice, you could hear what he wasn’t saying, like his thoughts were being displayed for you on a silver platter. they enticed you to dig deeper, peel him open layer by layer, find out what no one else knows. beyond warm hands and a sturdy build, there was a softness to him that wasn’t inside of any other man on that rooftop. except one other. 

by the end of the night, minho had led san to the notorious smoking corner, where he’d come to learn the same people tend to gather and hangout towards the end of the night. thankfully, one of those people was you, and the rest of your little group of friends that he’d later come more than acquainted with. none of you really smoke, which was the weird part, the smokers would come and go around your seating area, but it was still named the smoking corner despite it. 

“you said your name was san, right?” you asked, an inviting smile on your face as he sat down right next to you on one of the cushioned chairs. it happened to be the only one open and had him thanking a god he didn’t believe in for the small favor. 

he nodded quickly, tight lipped smile on his face, dimples on display. even with the liquor he was nervous, he wasn’t one to spark up conversation, especially at a party like this. “you’re a dancer?”

“how’d you know?” your smile somehow got bigger, eyes widening with surprise, “i’ve danced my whole life.”

he shrugs, “one dancer to another.”

“you go to NYU?” you asked, turning your body to face him in your own chair.

“dance program, i’m in the same hip hop class as minho,” he pointed to minho who was standing somewhere to the side of the two of you. 

“ah,” you nod with a smile, “that makes sense, i’m in the theater program, i originally wanted to be in the dance program, though.”

“hey guys,” the two of you looked up at the same time, another pair of broad shoulders, massive biceps, and a beautiful smile staring straight at you. you could feel your heart rate pick up, your breath get caught in your throat, a heat cascading over you like the rooftop had suddenly raised fifteen degrees. 

san could feel his smile leave his face as he watched the scene unfold in front of him. the way your eyes lit up, the pink that raised to your cheeks, how you slightly stumbled over your words when you first spoke to him, he tried not to let his expression drop to a scowl. he knows you like him, maybe even love him, he couldn’t decide from the short interaction between the three of you. not that he wanted to know, anyways. 

san decided then and there that chan was his enemy, a one sided war he was willing to put up the good fight for. from a quick dance and a conversation, he had decided you were worth the fight, you were worth the long game, you were worth whatever it took to get you. he thinks it shouldn’t be too hard to win you over, with some effort and consistency, he should be the one you look at the way he desperately wants you to in no time. he knew he was good looking, he sees how women fawn over him left and right at parties, only sometimes letting them get any further then silly attempts to take him home. that ping of jealousy only jumpstarts his motivation, begs him to tap into whatever is making these women throw themselves at him.  

five parties and three months later, you made him feel like he was in the lead. small conversations here and there, longer dances that with each party turned more and more scandalous, once or twice you clearly felt him behind you on the dance floor and you didn’t pull away, you kept going until you made it so evident he couldn’t hide it in his jeans. moments of hands brushing and stolen glances across the smoking corner, he waited long enough, but he’d wait however long it took for you.

the night when you gave him that look that he knew meant you were taking him home, he couldn’t contain his excitement, he couldn’t hide anything from you already. you could see it all over his face, he could tell from the smirk you wore on your own lips and the cocky laugh you let out. you were playing with fire, and his specialty was water.

you knew he wanted you from the first time you met. whether he knew it about himself or not, despite his easygoing words and soft hands, you knew there was a side to him you desperately needed to unveil, you needed to experience, you needed to know like the back of your hand. it felt like tainting his innocence the more you got to know him, his personality reflected the opposite of what he portrayed on the outside. from that hard, chiseled look he has to the soft, tender persona, you wanted to tear him apart. you wanted to know what made him tick, what pissed him off, what got under his skin, how he acted when it did. 

you had him exactly where you wanted him, and he was letting it happen, fully aware of the attraction that was finally being returned. you looked at him differently that night, and unbeknownst to him, it was deliberate.

chan was out of sight, off with some dark haired girl he met hours prior. you watched the scene unfold in front of you, from when they exchanged names and phone numbers down to the moment when chan took her hand and led her inside his apartment. you watched them over heads through the dance floor, keeping your vision focused on the two of them like some fucked up form of tunnel vision. like what they say about trainwrecks, you should look away, but for some reason you can’t. your skin was burning, you were beyond angry, feeling an emotion that laid somewhere outside of what you’d ever experienced toward him. betrayal? abandonment? treachery?

none of your feelings were valid, chan had no idea how you felt, you never told him. he was more than allowed to take whatever dark haired bitch he wanted into his own damn apartment that seungmin’s dad pays for, that’s more than permissible. you have an apartment too, one that you and your roommate pay for yourselves, one that you could also take someone back to. your life didn’t revolve around him, his actions would not determine how your night would go, despite the feelings you have for him.

that’s when choi san caught your eye, across the crowd with his gorgeous face and incredible body. you felt the light bulb flash above your head, you knew exactly what would take the edge off, what would mend the heart chan had just broken in two. 

“you know, we always hangout here, but we never see each other outside of these parties,” you flipped your hair over your shoulder, looking up at him through your eyelashes. 

“never thought you wanted to,” he shrugs, lowered eyes watching your every move like he was waiting for the switch to flip.

“and why wouldn’t i want to? have you looked in a mirror recently?” it felt lame when it left your mouth, he didn’t seem to agree as a faint blush crept onto his cheeks. he turned away from you, a low chuckle leaving his lips.

“every morning at the gym, gotta make sure my form is right,” his shy smile turned into a faint smirk, and your own grows, hints of mischief creeping at the corners. you knew exactly what he was doing, mentioning the gym. like a moth to a flame, your eyes glazed over his biceps, which he flexed the moment your eyes left his. 

“every morning? very disciplined, aren’t you?” you ask, smile turning lopsided and nothing short of flirty. 

“very,” he nodded his head, “you should come with me sometime, get you some discipline, too.”

“and what about me makes you think i’m not disciplined?” your eyebrows furrow, tilting your head.

with that question his smile grows, dimples showing themselves once more. “brats always need discipline, and that’s exactly what you are. a little tease.”

your smile displays all of your teeth, exactly the answer you were hoping for. the side you knew he had in him, that version of him not many get to see, excitement flooded through you like a tidal wave. you were on a power trip, your plan worked with ease, you wanted to pat yourself on the back. 

“do something about it,” you sipped your drink through your tiny straw, staring at him through your lashes once again. 

within thirty minutes you were back at your place in manhattan, your roommate still at the party, you didn’t even let her know you left. in that one conversation you’d forgotten all about chan, the girl with the dark hair, and why you were in this situation in the first place. all you could think about was san, with his dark chocolate eyes and honeyed skin and arms strong enough to flip you around. you were overflowing with adrenaline, excitement, and greed. you wanted all of him, needed all of him, a need that has been lying dormant for months. you’d been curious about him, wanted to know what he kept hidden inside, too focused on chan to dig deeper into him.

san couldn’t fucking believe it. couldn’t believe he was in your bed, your walls that were covered in posters of rock bands and singers from the 80s, some faces he’s seen before and plenty of others he hasn’t. records cover one wall, soundtracks from different musicals, little trinkets filling every inch of open space on your bookshelves. your room was so undeniably you, from the smell to the color scheme, he took every inch of it and burned it to memory. he tried not to stare too much in his learning, telling himself to focus on you instead, he’d he back, this isn’t a one time thing. he couldn’t be more right. 

the moment his lips touched yours he couldn’t believe he’d gone so long without tasting you. a kiss so sweet, so rushed, so hungry, he’d never felt anything like it. he knew you'd wreck him, become too important to him, become a valued person in his life, for a moment he thought maybe he should stop – this was all too good to be true. 

when you whimpered in his mouth after a light grind to his crotch, he took all of his thoughts back. there was no stopping this, no hands could pry him off of you, he needed to see every bit of you. he needed to kiss every inch of your skin, inhale the scent of your sweat, he yearned to worship you. he wanted all of you, he needed to rein himself in, not get too excited so he could last. 

you fought for dominance on his lap, tongues in a rushed wrestle, strong thighs wrapped around his hips. as those soft hands of his squeezed the fat of your ass, you let out a yelp, grinding yourself into him. you wanted to hear any kind of noise, any harsh breath he might release. you wanted control, he didn’t want to give it up, at least not without a fight.

he scooped your waist with one arm, flipping you over, pressing you flat against the mattress. you mustered out a hushed fuck as the realization finally hit you: his biceps aren’t just for aesthetics, the sheer strength of one is enough to throw you around, and it’s strength he will use to his advantage. 

“as much as i want to be thrown around,” you broke the kiss for a moment, “save it for the next time.”

you wrapped your legs around his waist and lunged yourself forward with your hands, hips on top of his once more, your bodies sitting upright. as much as you wanted to revel in the gain of dominance, you knew he just willingly allowed you to do that, he could’ve stopped you with ease if he wanted to.

“see what i mean? brat,” he broke the kiss again with a huff, a smirk painting his own lips for a moment before returning them to yours. 

your right hand moved up to grip his throat, pushing him an inch away from you. on his lap you were taller, staring down at him, he looked up at you with a spark in his eyes you haven't seen yet. his eyebrows furrowed, not in confusion or hurt, but want. need. he liked this, he wanted this, and you couldn’t help the wicked smile that touched every feature on your face. 

“watch your mouth,” you tilted your chin up, looking down at him at a harsher angle, the act itself a display of dominance. in combination with the harsh tone to your words, he nearly quivered in your grasp. a strangled groan left his lips as your grip tightened for a moment, blocking his airway, before releasing him completely. you reached for the hem of his shirt, ripping it over his head with ease. 

“look at you, so fucking sexy,” you said as the cotton hit the floor, examining his exposed upper half in awe. chiseled abs, even sitting down, and a chest you’re sure could knock you out if it came in contact with your head. he was beautiful, perfect even, not an inch of him unsculpted. 

his breath turned heavy under your stare, eyes lowering into a different version of himself, a submission of sorts. he had no fight left in them, he gave up control, let you take it, and you were going to run with it. 

you brought your lips to his jaw, kissing down his neck, hands running over every inch of bare skin. he tugged at your top at the same time, tugging it over your head, unclasping your bra with just one hand. 

“done that before?” you asked with raised eyebrows and a playful smile, and he chuckled. 

“once or twice,” his reply was mindless as you fumbled with his belt buckle beneath you, slipping it out of the loops, throwing it to the floor. 

“hungry?” you asked and his eyes quickly met yours, confusion crossing them before realization set in. you didn’t wait for an answer as you pushed him back on the bed with your index finger to his chest, not having to muster up any force at all. 

you quickly sat up and slipped off your jeans and underwear, leaving yourself bare in front of him. he leaned up on his elbows for just a moment before you crawled back on top of him, further up his body until you sat right over his face. 

“no touching unless i tell you to,” your voice was stern, he nodded in understanding and you took that as the green light to plant yourself on his awaiting face. 

you moaned the moment his tongue came in contact with your soaked center, lapping up everything you had to offer. you stilled for a moment, letting him work himself on you, his tongue gliding through your wetness. 

“fuck, sannie, so fucking good,” you moaned out, a hand reaching down to tug at his styled black hair. he groaned in response, hands lifting off of the bed, but they didn’t touch you, didn’t even come close. 

you started riding his face and he stuck his tongue out in response to your movements, letting you have your way with him, grinding back and forth to use him for your own release. if you weren’t gone in your own pleasure you would’ve smiled at the eagerness, the willingness to please you. 

“fingers, please baby,” you gasped out, babbling your words, “need you to make me cum. you wanna make me cum, don’t you? all over your face?” 

his right hand came between your legs to slip two fingers inside of you, mouth moving up to your clit, wrapping his lips around the bundle of nerves. he curved his fingers toward himself immediately, hitting that one spot inside of you that made you see stars, you started babbling and whining praise like you’d been doing this together for years. 

“so fucking good sannie, fuck,” you cried out, grinding yourself against him, the knot in your stomach tightening with every harsh suck to your clit. he brought his other hand up to smack your ass and you moaned out, the dam bursting, your release coating his fingers, past his knuckles. you rode out your high, his fingers and mouth working in tandem to get you through it before overstimulation set in. 

“mm, taste so fucking good baby, could eat you all night,” he announced the second you lifted yourself off of him, his voice octaves lower than earlier. you watched as he licked his lips so erotically, the action making you want to sit yourself back on his face and ride him until he couldn’t breathe. 

you sat next to him on the bed after climbing off of him instead, your orgasm took the need for control right out of you, you had your fill. you wanted to be taken care of, filled up, you didn’t want to think about anything other than your own pleasure. always observant san picked up in your change of energy, letting his own switch to another before continuing. 

“need to be inside you,” he said as he sat up, taking his jeans and boxers off in one go, “you have a condom?” 

you shimmied yourself down the bed, head hitting the pillow before you shook it, “‘m on the pill.” 

“dirty girl, where did that energy from earlier go? hm?” that dangerous smirk returned to his face, his dominance returning in just one sentence, “did i eat it all out of you? wanna be a good girl for me now?” 

he leaned himself over you, strong arms beside your head caging you in. you lifted your knees up to your elbows, spreading yourself for him.

“shut up,” you mumbled, feeling the tinge of embarrassment, “fuck me already.” 

“that wasn’t very polite, thought you were ready to behave,” he shook his head, “only girls with manners get fucked. should i put my pants back on, go back home?” 

“no! no, don’t go,” your arms came up to grab onto his, your eyes widening, “i’m sorry, i’ll be good. please, san, i need you.” 

a wicked smile crossed his face before he leaned down to plant a kiss on your own, “good, i hoped so. breathe for me, okay?”

you glanced down between your legs, realizing you hadn’t even seen him. you nearly gasped at the size of him, eyes widening, his length was perfect but the girth of him was more than intimidating. he spit into his hand, stroking himself, lubing himself up to slide into you easier. you nearly drooled at the sight, mouth agape, pussy clenching around nothing.

the whole act felt so sinful, so carnal, you so easily opened up to him with a side of yourself you don’t show until you’re fully comfortable. you blame your adrenaline, your hormones, how horny you were when you arrived, ignoring the real fact of how comfortable he made you feel to show so much of yourself to him. 

as he lined himself up you couldn’t ignore how it all felt right, you’ve had undeniable attraction to him for months now, but this… this was something entirely different. this was a beginning, the prologue chapter of a novel, the first episode to seasons spent with him. when he pushed himself into you and you had to physically remind yourself to breathe, you had to acknowledge that he fit so perfectly with you, his body felt like it was meant to be above yours. these weren’t feelings of a quick fuck, feelings from a one night stand, this was raw, intimate, unique. special. 

“so fucking big,” you huffed out, voice strained, eyes squeezed shut, fingers clawing at his biceps. 

“breathe, baby, you got it,” he praised you, encouraged you, and it did what it needed to. you breathed in and out, let him sheathe himself inside of you. as he bottomed out he groaned, a beautiful noise, one that could lure you to sleep if you heard it enough. he stayed there for a moment, letting you get used to the stretch, letting you relax around him. 

“so fuckin’ tight, baby, breathe,” he instructed, leaning down on his elbows to kiss you, distract you, take your mind off of the stretch. you tried your best to relax your muscles, unclench yourself from around him. 

“there you go,” his praises were a sweet song, easing you out of discomfort, “tell me when i can move.” 

you waited a few moments, returning your lips to his before grinding yourself against him. you felt your slick coating him, helping you glide up and down, and he let you for a moment — just a moment before he knew for sure you were comfortable. 

he pulled all the way out before bottoming out once more, and you yelped into his mouth, breaking the kiss to let your head lean back into the pillow.

“there it is, there we fucking go,” he mumbled as he started on a rhythm, “good fucking girl.” 

a string of moans left your lips, your hands still clawing at his biceps, body reacting to him without your brain allowing it. “so fucking good sannie.”

“thought you were so fucking badass earlier, huh? ordering me around like i’m your bitch?” that smirk returned to his lips again and all you could do was moan, staring at him through half lidded eyes, “look at you now, baby. all lifeless and limp, all for this dick?” 

“yes, san, all for you. just for you,” you mumble, words jumbling together, not knowing if your words even sounded clear. 

“yeah, baby, just as i thought, all for me,” he pistols himself into you, grabbing your hips, making you meet his thrusts. you were losing your strength, letting him have his way with you, just an incoherent mess beneath him. 

he reaches forward and grabs your jaw, “don’t go anywhere, eyes on me.”

you look up to him, eyes wide, that fuzzy space you were slipping into locked away for now, “you can go there eventually, not yet, not this time.” 

your eyes started to roll back as he shifted his hips upward, the mushroom tip of him rolling against that one spot so deliciously. with how quickly that knot formed once more in your stomach, you were surprised that drool wasn’t slipping down your chin. 

“right there, please don’t stop, gonna make me cum,” you can’t even hear yourself, so drunk on his dick, his assertiveness, you loved it. you’d never had your energy matched like this, never had a fuck like this, never had someone know you so quickly and easily. 

“hold it,” he ordered, and your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. how could he expect you to hold it, when he was hitting that spot too perfectly, doing everything in his power to get you there?

“i swear, do not fucking cum,” he smacked your hip and tears formed in your eyes trying to hold it, fighting every nerve in your body to not release around him. 

“i can’t! i can’t,” you babble, tears falling down your cheeks, and he released a long fuck, his voice dropping even lower. 

“cum for me, want you to cum around me, please,” his orders turned to begs quickly after he saw your tears. he leaned forward to wipe them off your face, bringing his fingers up to his lips. the string snapped and you gushed around him, legs shaking, a loud cry leaving your lips, probably heard in queens from the sheer volume of it. 

“where do you want me?” he quickly asked, his own words sounding shaky, slurring together. 

“inside, inside,” you begged, reaching up to cup his cheeks. he leaned down to kiss you as he released himself inside you, filling you up, thrusts slowing as he worked himself through it. 

he stayed there for a moment, forehead pressed against yours, heavy breaths being poured into each other’s mouths. he sighed as his forearms began to shake, finally pulling out of you, laying next to you.

“you okay?” he turned his head at the same time as you turned yours, eyes sharing too much of something yet saying nothing of it.

“‘m great, you?” you cracked a smile, the both of you still somewhere that wasn’t here, slowly coming back from two completely different headspaces. he nodded, returning the smile, and the two of you laid there for what felt like ages. 

sleeping with san was something outside of anything you’ve ever done. you’d slept with plenty of people, had plenty of experiences, explored what you liked and didn’t through many trials and errors. to have such an incredible first experience with someone, to have it flow so easily, to match each other so perfectly… it was almost unbelievable, it set unrealistic expectations for anyone you’d ever sleep with again. 

you needed him that night, needed that experience, needed whatever was going to distract you from whatever the hell chan was doing – and it worked. you needed that distraction for months to follow as chan continued to see the dark haired girl, who’s name you came to find out was eden, always hanging around on the rooftop, following him wherever he went. like a roach, never wanted, yet never went away. 

months you spent cooped up in your room, anger flowing through your blood as you watched his instagram stories, cute pictures of her posted every day. posed pictures together in times square, clubs on the weekends, clips of them getting drinks together on a random weekday afternoon. you couldn’t help but pick everything apart – what they were doing was touristy, corny, nothing you would do with him, nothing you would enjoy. you knew chan didn’t enjoy any of that, either. 

every time you pictured dates with him or fantasized about any time spent with him alone was always private, intimate, enriching – you’d be painting together, drinking wine in your living room as you played your favorite board game, watching a tv show from start to finish together. you were in the same major, maybe even studying together, bouncing ideas off of one another for assignments or projects, but nothing so flashy. chan hates time square, hates drinking in the middle of the day, and especially hates clubs unless there was a special occasion. you knew all of these things, you knew him, you felt the same way as him. yet he was still doing all of those things with her, playing in her garden, wasting his time when he should be focused on school, his career, his future, you.

in those months there was only one thing that could make you forget about chan, forget about eden, forget about the situation altogether. during class you were frustrated, in auditions, rehearsals, you couldn’t even study without the tv on and music playing simultaneously. if you had a singular moment of silence your brain took you back to him, took you back to what you could’ve had, what you never tried for in the first place. it was debilitating not being able to get anything done, being so one track minded, the only thing that could make you focus was san. you’d text him daily, always asking him to come over, always ending the night between his thighs. 

he always came, he always said yes, he never once said no to you. he didn’t ask any questions, didn’t make you explain your frustrations, only listened when you did speak about trivial things like school or rehearsal. you didn’t want his opinion, didn’t want his advice, only his company and the pleasure he never had any difficulty in giving you. it was perfect for those months, in your own world, the sanctuary you created in your bedroom with choi san. 

the moment when your relationship changed, you didn’t notice. there was no light bulb, no moment where you consciously started looking at him differently, yet it changed without your knowing or consent. you didn’t acknowledge it when you did notice, you didn’t want to, your heart was saved for another. yet you still talked about everything together, did all of those little things you dreamed of doing with chan. your fears, your dreams, your childhood, your favorite things, you began to know him so intimately without being aware of it. you watched grey’s anatomy with him, you played video games, you drew funky little doodles of each other on your notebooks. 

you started to crave him when he wasn’t around, and not just because he was your distraction, but a friend. he was good for you, he encouraged you to be consistent with school, you practiced lines with him, sang duets from different musicals with him. your relationship was raw, it was truth, it was naked, it was everything you wished for, it was everything you needed at that time. 

san fell for you. he fell so fucking hard, so headfirst, it was a bottomless pit with no end in sight and he couldn’t stop himself from digging further. everything he saw in you that first night was still there, only amplified into something he couldn’t hide anymore. he was at your beck and call, anything you needed, any time of day. he knew why you were so attached to him, he figured it out the second he went to the rooftop with wooyoung again, high off of his night spent with you, ready to see you again. when you were nowhere to be seen and he caught chan with his arm around the girl from his contemporary class, he put the pieces together quick. he knew you must be heartbroken, knew you needed support, a friend who knew nothing about the situation. it quickly made him realize his place in your relationship. 

he fought through the horrific realization with optimism, the returning thought that with time you’d see, you’d realize he was better for you than chan could ever be. as he spent more time with you and got to know you better, it only made his feelings deepen. your laugh, your thoughts, your competitive side, the way you’re so quick to fight back and assert your dominance, but give it up even faster… it was like an addiction, it wasn’t good for him, he knew it wasn’t, he knew it when his grades first started to slip. when he wasn’t on point at practice, too sleep deprived to remember choreography. minho read it all over him, knew something was wrong, knew san had gotten into something he shouldn’t have. 

“what’s up with you, man? this isn’t like you,” it was a rough practice that day. san was sat on the floor with his knees hugged tight to his chest, rubbing his eyes to force the exhaustion out of them. 

“just an off day,” is all san mumbled before he stood up slowly, grabbing his bag to sling over his shoulder.

“off day? you’ve been fucking up for the past week, san, you’re center,” minho put his hand on san’s shoulder, stopping him before he walked away, “they’re gonna put someone else there if you don’t get your shit together.”

“i get it, minho,” san turned his back, and minho’s grip only got tighter.

“what the hell is going on?” he asked, turning san to face him, “you can talk to me, we’re friends, you know.”

san’s hand returned to his face, trying to rub off his discomfort, this feeling that he should keep everything to himself, “it’s a lot.”

“is it a girl?” minho was quick with the question, eyes lowered, seeming to read san before he could get any words out. he started to walk, keeping his hand on san’s shoulder, encouraging him to walk alongside him. 

san answered with a coy nod, the answer seeming too taboo to say out loud. minho was a direct link to chan, he should be happy to talk about the fact that you were sleeping together. what he couldn’t shake off was the fear that you’d be angry at him for telling anyone. 

“did you get her pregnant or something?” humor was laced in minho’s tone, trying to ease up the straightforwardness of the question, but he was genuinely worried by how san had been acting.

san gasped, “preg- no! god, no,” he shook his head, “i hope not.”

minho laughed, “that doesn’t sound convincing. if she’s not pregnant then there’s no reason to be so torn up, why are you?”

they walked out of the building into the wet humidity of the city air, “like i said, it’s a lot. it’s my fault, though.”

“quit beating around the bush and tell me,” minho stood still, staring at san expectantly, “you can trust me.”

“if i’m going to tell you, i need a beer.”

an hour later they were seated at prince, not a popular dive bar in the city, but popular amongst your group of friends and whoever they introduced to it. san nursed his beer, barely getting two sips in before he was spilling everything about the last six months to one of his best friends. 

“i can’t wrap my head around why you keep fucking her if she loves another guy,” minho shrugs, “especially chan, at that. she’s been close with him since he moved to the city.”

“it’s not about fucking her,” san sighed, “i’m in too deep, i think i love her. even if i didn’t, and it was just about sex, it’s too good to stop.”

minho’s jaw physically drops, mouth hanging agape for a moment before he snaps it shut, straightening his left hand to start counting on his fingers, “so you love her, she doesn't know you love her, she loves someone else who’s in a relationship, and you spend every free moment with her. and you have so much sex you don’t sleep.”

san’s lips pull into a tight line, giving minho one long nod in response.

“there’s no way she doesn’t love you back if you’ve spent that much time together in six months, i can’t believe you kept all of this shit hidden for so long. you need to talk shit out, man.”

it was music to his ears, san’s entire body filled with a joy he’d never felt before when no way she doesn’t love you back left minho’s lips. he felt like he was putting a puzzle together in his brain, that actually made perfect sense, how could you not return anything he felt for you? you also experienced all your time together, got just as close to him as he did you. 

he barely gave minho another half hour before he was barreling out of prince and on his way to your apartment. 

“hey baby, how was practi-”

“i need to ask you a question.”

your head whipped to your front door, never hearing san sound so desperate outside of the bedroom. his eyes were blown, his eyebrows raised, fully out of breath from running up the flights of steps to your apartment. your blood ran cold, you knew this question was coming eventually, you were savoring every moment he didn't ask it. you stood slowly, facing him from the couch, eyes expectant.

“i’ll give you an answer,” you replied casually, keeping your voice steady. 

“do you want to be with me?” his words felt empty, as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to say them, yet he still sounded like he’d been dying to ask the question for months. he didn’t blink, kept his shoulders back, dance bag dangling from his fingertips.

“san,” you said calmly, taking a step towards him. 

“i don’t want to freak you out, please don’t freak out, it’s just been six months and i really enjoy you and your company and i love being around you, i love spending nights with you, the sex is incredible, everything just seems right,” a smile graces his lips with a pause. when you stared back at him in disbelief he panicked, his heart in his throat, “i’m sorry if i freaked you out, this is too much, isn’t it?” 

you took a breath, closing your eyes for a moment. the day you’d been dreading had come – the end of a perfect half year. 

“i can’t be in a relationship right now,” you blurt the first thing that came to mind, and his face dropped immediately. “i enjoy you, i love our time spent together, i love that you’re around all the time, you’ve been a huge help to me these past six months. i couldn’t of done it without you.”

you’ve been told these words before, you’ve been in his position before, you’re spouting the same venom that’s been thrown at you. you felt  as if you were shoved in a corner, not fully believing your own words, but you needed an excuse more than you wanted to say the truth. 

a sad smile crosses his face, “i get it.”

“i don’t want to stop whatever this is,” you walk closer to him, grabbing his hand, “and it could grow into something really great. i’m just not in a position to open my heart to anyone right now.” 

“i know, baby. the last six months have been rough on you,” his heart melted, even if he knew the reason why, he also knew that it really did hurt you. you needed time to heal, time to focus on yourself, time to get back into the dating scene. he’d be there, first in line when you were ready. 

“i knew you’d understand, thank you,” you stood on your toes, attaching your lips to his. ten minutes later you were on your knees, right back to normal like that conversation didn’t even happen. 

in just two weeks you’d started going out more regularly again, meeting your friends at prince, going to chan’s rooftop whenever felix told you to come. your friends that noticed, despite you keeping your appearances up, asked where you’d been, why you’re back, and you gave them the sophomore year bullshit of classes were hard and summer is here again! at your age, parties were a dime a dozen, you had plenty of excuses to be out of the house and away from your issues, stopping reality from hitting you that you were playing with fire once again.

you did have feelings for san, even if it was your own fucked up version. there was no way you couldn’t with how much time you spent together, how much you know about him, how much you care for him. but the other problem that you will never forget is still there, staring at you from across his own rooftop. 

you care for san, but the love you feel for bang christopher chan is so much fucking more.

“hey! i feel like i haven’t seen you in ages!” his smile is huge as he crosses the crowd, clinking his drink with your own. you blushed, that was basically him saying i missed you. 

“same here, how’s everything been? happy classes are over?” you asked, gripping your drink a little tighter. 

“incredibly happy classes are over, even happier this terrible fucking year is over,” he chuckled, “me and eden broke up, i don’t know if you heard. she cheated on me with some columbia architect, whatever.”

broke up? he’s… single again?

your jaw dropped, and you fought to keep the excitement to a minimum, “no, i didn’t know, i’m so sorry, channie. fuck her and that architect!”

he laughed again, a belly laugh that made you want to jump his bones, “what about you, though? seeing anyone?”

his question took you by surprise, “i- uh, no, i’m not,” your giggle was nervous, wanting to change the subject immediately. san crossed your mind, a thought you quickly shut down.

“you’re never seeing anyone, dude, we have to set you up with somebody, can’t go through your whole college experience without a shitty boyfriend or two,” it was a joke, a bad one, but it still made heat rise to your whole upper half. why was he asking? he’s never asked about your love life before. 

“i’m good off a shitty boyfriend, i’d rather be alone if that’s the case,” you shake your head, then sip through your tiny straw. 

“suit yourself,” he palmed your shoulder with a hand that completely enveloped it, and you felt the skin underneath burn. 

you felt eyes boring into your head from behind you, and you quickly turned, scanning the area. you saw your roommate and her boyfriend in the smoking corner, minho and han, then san, who was leaning against the concrete of the wall separating the rooftop from the drop to the ground below. like a hawk, he watched you through lowered eyes, taking in every move. you quickly turned back around, expecting chan to still be there, but he was gone, probably off being a good host to his party. you wiped the chill off of you, finishing off your drink, dismissing the guilty feeling creeping up your spine because chan is single again. determination washes over you, this time you’d be hell bent upon telling him how you feel, finally getting your chance to be with him. it was your turn this time. 

san was beyond frustrated. watching you talk to chan after all of these months, even from afar, picking up your body language, he was sick to his stomach. the way you shifted from foot to foot, unconsciously leaned into his touch, flipped your hair behind your back to show off your décolletage, san could pick up on exactly what you were thinking and he hated it. 

san wasn’t in the lead, he was forever the number two, your favorite best kept hidden secret. he was sick of it, sick of being with you behind closed doors, sick of dropping everything for you, sick of being under your spell. he knew his place, knew it enough to where he didn’t even approach you on the rooftop. he knew there would be a call, a text, a fucking messenger pigeon that would get him in your bed tonight, he was sure of it. when chan went back inside the apartment for the night and didn’t have a soul beside him, he knew exactly how the outcome of the night would go, and he was excited for it. 

as san slammed your apartment door shut behind him, you jumped nearly a foot in the air, turning to furrow your eyebrows. the two of you ended up leaving together, an outcome that wasn’t on his list of possibilities – no messenger pigeon needed. he was surprised, he didn’t think you’d even want to be seen getting in the same car as him. 

“what was that for?” the slam startled you, it was unlike him, he was delicate with everything he did.

“i’m sick of this, ri,” he shook his head, standing by the entrance to your kitchen, not following you into the living room. your stomach dropped, you should’ve seen this coming.

“what do you mean?” you opted for obliviousness after a pause, unsure of how to go about this conversation again after your last one was just two weeks ago. 

“i’m sick of being your secret, whatever the hell i am to you,” he ran a hand through his hair, “actually, that’s a good question. what am i to you, riley?”

you gulped, your eyes widening, coming to yet another moment of silence. you didn’t know how to answer, didn’t know how to tell him what you didn’t know yourself. 

“you don’t know? or you know and can’t say it?” he understands your silence, using his hands as he speaks, “tell me the truth.”

“i don’t know, san, a friend?” your voice is unsure, small. you wanted to shrink yourself, wanted to be anywhere but here, having this conversation. this is the first time you’ve seen this side of him, you and san had never argued before, the last time you had this talk it didn’t have any anger or frustration. 

“a friend? i’m a friend?” he laughs, a sarcastic chuckle that you’ve never heard leave his lips. you must’ve gotten away with it two weeks ago, this was really the end, there was only one way this talk could go. “a friend that knows every inch of you, a friend that’s spent more time here the past six months than the apartment they still pay rent at? that’s a fucking joke, riley.”

tears gathered in your eyes, ones that you weren’t exactly sure why they were there, you felt caught. bombarded with a choice you didn’t want to make. he was finally understanding your web of lies, finally over it, over you. you weren’t ready to let him go, you wanted to continue to live in your bubble with him, you wanted him to stay. you didn’t let them fall.

“what do you want me to say?” you don’t have a rebuttal, you don’t have any sly words that could change the topic, even momentarily change what he’s feeling. you chose anger, deflection.

“i want more, ri. i want you, i’ve wanted you since i met you. there’s no way you don’t know that,” he sighs, turning around, running that same hand through his hair. 

“and i can’t give you more, san, so what do you want me to do? force myself into something i’m not ready for? i’ve told you my piece,” you walk towards him, standing just a few steps from him.

“no, riley, i don’t want you to force yourself into being with me, that’s ridiculous. when we’re in public you barely look at me, let alone speak to me. what are you so afraid of? why can’t anyone know about… this?” he turned around, his own eyes glossy, looking down at you through damp eyelashes. your blood ran cold, colder than it had been from the moment he slammed the door, that familiar guilty feeling sitting in the pit of your stomach. 

“why do you need people to know? why do you need our relationship to be publicized? is being with me, here like this, not enough for you?” the laugh you let out was dry, calculated, “if it’s not enough then maybe we shouldn’t see each other anymore.” 

a small gasp left his lips, barely audible it could’ve been just an intake of air, his visage twisted the moment you spoke those words. with his lips and eyebrows turned downward, that slight anger, frustration, morphed into a sadness you never wanted to see again. 

“that’s not what i want,” his voice is smaller than you’ve ever heard it, a shy mumble, his gaze pointed downward at his fingers which played with his rings. “i don’t want to fight with you.” 

“i know, baby,” you stepped forward, placing a hand on his soft, reddened cheek, “i don’t want to fight with you, either. want you to be happy.” 

“i’m happy with you,” his voice cracked, a raw tone, as he glanced back up at you. his eyes red, glossed over, full of emotion, it broke your heart. you could never truly make him happy, you knew that, but you could momentarily.

“then let me take care of you,” and that you did, like you always did, the same way you did two weeks ago. you rode him to oblivion, until he forgot why he was upset in the first place, the same thing he did for you six months ago. 

a week later, you’d fought again. plenty of times.

almost every day for the whole week you started an argument over something so fucking stupid and you couldn’t stop. everything he did pissed you off, every time he tried to fix it, it pissed you off even more. you were overflowing with so many different emotions you couldn’t breathe, you needed space, you needed him, you needed chan. you were too overstimulated to think clearly, if you were ever thinking clearly to begin with.

the guilt from not returning his feelings, but not being at ease when he isn’t sleeping in your bed.. it didn’t make any sense. you felt insane, suffocated in the overwhelming feelings you couldn’t bring yourself to return. you liked san, you liked everything about him, but the fervent feelings he had towards you mirrored what you felt for chan. 

there was now nothing left unsaid. there was no unspoken deal between you anymore, no weapon left to use to let yourself get off without consequence. you were uncomfortable, uncomfortable with his feelings, uncomfortable with your own, you felt shoved in a corner you couldn’t walk away from. 

the only things that stayed consistent in that week were chan’s rooftop, chan’s living room, and his incessant need to talk to you every damn time you were there.  

san felt like he was losing his goddamn mind. 

he wished he could go back in time and take back everything he said, his confession, his feelings, he had ruined everything. you would go from not answering him to getting pissed off that he answered your text with ok instead of okay… it seemed like he couldn’t do anything right, in a constant state of fear that today would be the day you break it off with him for real. 

his day to day life was only getting worse. he was making cocktails wrong at work, not replacing ice, handing the wrong beer to patrons at the bar. he got replaced again in his spot for his dance class, reprimanded by his teacher, minho gave him not one but two additional talks about getting his shit together. 

he hadn’t seen you since the night you argued two weeks ago, he hasn’t even been going out for just a glimpse of you, he’s been playing catch up for what felt like weeks. to make matters worse, he was pent up, he’d been so used to a consistent sex life, he needed release. he needed a night to let go of you, all of the whiplash he’d endured for weeks now, he needed a night to just be himself. to forget.

he called wooyoung, his best friend who was always out in the city, always had plans. thankfully he was going to a club that night to celebrate your roommate’s recent internship acceptance. wooyoung assured him that you wouldn’t be there, it would only be a couple of your roommates' close friends. he didn’t ask why you wouldn’t be there, he tried to convince himself he didn’t care, he needed to start forgetting now.

he hopped out of bed and got ready fast, the clock already past eight, and headed over to meet the group before going to the club. they were all familiar faces from the rooftop, despite him only knowing wooyoung super intimately. all of the nights he spent at your apartment your roommate was usually at her boyfriend’s, and if she wasn’t, her and her boyfriend were cooped up in her bedroom.

but here he was, in a club he’s never heard of in the middle of manhattan celebrating her.

“have a drink, sannie, do something,” wooyoung slung his arm around san’s shoulder, bent behind the booth he was sitting at, “don’t just sit there and mope.”

san nodded, not having much to say if it didn’t have to do with you. he sipped his beer mindlessly, listening to everyone talking around him, their conversation had to be more entertaining then the jail he created for himself in his own mind. 

“...i’ve been trying to get them together for years! i’m so happy it’s finally happening!” your roommate says loud, drunkenly, talking to yunho’s girlfriend. 

“years?” yunho’s girlfriend asked, brushing her hair behind her ear, “why the hell did it take so long?”

“when they met they were all just good friends, then i was introduced and started dating jeongin pretty much immediately, i’m the one who noticed how she felt about him. she wouldn’t admit it for ages, until i finally got it out of her, and pretty much immediately after that chan started dating eden, you remember her, right?” san’s ears perked up at that, his stomach dropping immediately. he put the pieces together quicker than ki could run her mouth. the drinks from the pregame clearly made her filter pretty much nonexistent, this is a conversation he wasn’t supposed to be listening to, something he wasn’t supposed to hear. she didn’t notice the extra ear, but her boyfriend did.

“ki,” jeongin interrupted, eyes glancing back and forth between san and his girlfriend, talking over yunho’s girlfriend.

ki ignored him, too deep in her own conversation, “yes! like two weeks ago or something it finally clicked, they’ve been seeing each other since.” 

“who?” san interrupted, panic in his voice. 

he knew who, from the bottom of his heart. a little over two weeks ago was when san started the fight between the two of you, ever since then you’d been off. he hasn’t seen you. he knows damn well who.

ki’s eyes were wide, her jaw agape, and jeongin’s hand went to his forehead. 

“san, i-”

“who are you talking about, ki?” san sat a little straighter, his chin jutting out, “who’s been seeing chan for the past two weeks?”

“i think you already know who, san, i didn’t realize you didn’t know?” ki’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, her hand holding her drink a little bit tighter. yunho’s girlfriend looked between san and ki, also confused, too nervous to ask any questions. the tension was thick in the air, too heavy for a night of celebration. san could feel the control he had over himself lessening by the second. 

san laughs, a dark chuckle, and something inside of him shifts. he’s done, he’s so fucking done. he feels stupid, it’s always been chan from the start, it’s always going to be chan. he tried telling himself months ago that you would see he was better for you than chan ever could be, but he was clearly so fucking wrong. chan would always be your endgame, it would never be him, no matter what he did for you. no matter how much he tried for you. no matter how much he begged for you.

everything he’s been feeling for the past two weeks, the confusing feelings, the constant begging just to see you, the amount of apologies he’d given to someone who didn’t fucking deserve them. how many times had you texted him when you were next to chan? how many times had you ignored him because you were next to chan?

san doesn’t get angry, san isn’t a fighter. san’s always been a peacekeeper, a problem solver, water to put out the fire. 

he is so fucking over it.

he thought about his grades, how long it’d taken him to bring them back up. his rehearsals, his performances, the center positions that had been taken away from him. how many bottles of beer he’d thrown away at work from constant fuck ups. how many times he’s gotten grilled from more people than he can count on his hands. 

he ignored ki, instead he looked into the crowd, suddenly remembering exactly where he was. he reached forward and grabbed one of the bottles yunho bought and took a long swig from it. he looked out in the crowd again and spotted a pretty little blonde thing almost immediately, and took a moment to reflect.

he remembered his life before you, before chan, before that fucking rooftop. how women fawned over him, flocked to him, how obsessed they were. how he didn’t have to try for anything or anyone. he passed the bottle to wooyoung behind him who was so taken aback he hadn’t said a word. 

“san, we can leave, we can go, it’s okay,” wooyoung said, bent over once more, taking the bottle from san’s hand, “we don’t have to stay here, let’s go.”

“if you’re not going to drink that then give it back,” his reply is so curt it sliced through the air like the knife ki just put through his chest, “we are not leaving.”

wooyoung took a swig of the bottle, a proud smirk growing on his face, “finally, man. let’s be done with it already.”

2:27 am ri: u up? ri: i miss you

[warping-realities]

A Night in the Devil's Den - Part I

“I still think we should hit up somewhere else, Jamie. There are tons of bars that would look the other way and let us grab a few drinks.” One of the three young men passing through New York during college break said as they made their way to the old building housing the Devil’s Den, apparently the most hyped club in the city, which had a strict policy of keeping anyone under 21 out.

“Stop being such a fag, Fred! We’re gonna get in, trust me, man of little faith.” Jamie, the group leader with light brown hair, same color as Mark, shot back. Fred, on the other hand, was blond, and more sensitive, which didn’t mean he couldn’t hold his own when it came to arguing; on the contrary, the debate skills of the former debate team captain were legendary.

“Chill, Fred. The worst that can happen is the bouncer looks at the IDs that Jamie’s buddy hooked us up with and realizes we don’t have the right age and kicks us out. But I doubt that’ll happen; in a few months, we’ll all be 21.” Mark commented, always the peacemaker.

“Another reason to wait until we’re actually of age. I don’t want any trouble, guys.” Fred tried to argue again.

“I can’t believe you came all the way here to chicken out, man. If you wanna bail, I’m cool, but think about all the work I put into getting these IDs. And I didn’t even charge you guys!” Jamie grumbled.

“That’s just because your buddy did it for free, asshole. Who the hell is he, anyway?” Mark jumped in before things got heated between the two.

“Some dude I met at the hostel; he’s the one who told me about this place. Apparently, this is the spot for anyone looking for a good time.”

“You mean you trusted someone you barely know? Doesn’t that seem kinda sketchy to you?” Fred asked, outraged, totally shooting down Mark’s efforts.

“I’m sick of your attitude, man! If you’re so unhappy, why don’t you just head back to the hostel?”

“Hey, hey, chill out, you two! We’re here to have a good time! Fred, let’s check out the place, and if we don’t like it or they kick us out, we’ll head back to the hostel, and I promise I’ll be your wingman with those hot Italian chicks who showed up yesterday, alright? And Jamie, you dumbass, he’s not entirely wrong; it was pretty stupid to trust a stranger, but it’s done now, so let’s just try to have fun, please?” Mark chimed in again.

“Fine, but you know that your parents would kill us if anything goes south, Mark.” Warne Fred, whose parents had already passed away, and, in Jamie’s opinion, was the last one who should be worried instead of acting like a little pussy. Not that he’d say that, at least not now that his buddy finally decided to man up.

“Finally acting like a man, Fred, and not like a little bitch!”

“Hey, man, that’s enough!”

“Chill out, Mark; you’re starting to sound like your dad. Sorry, Fredster, I just want an unforgettable night with my best buds.” Jamie said, hugging Fred on one side to encourage him while Mark did the same on the other.

As they approached the ridiculously long entrance line, Jamie commented.

“Since we’re talking about those hot Italian girls, it’s funny that if we were in most other countries, we wouldn’t even need to convince Fred here; we’d all be of age to drink until we drop without a care in the world.”

“I don’t think your dad would be too happy about hauling his kid from the gutter.” Mark remarked.

“He’s not as strict as your dad, man, but yeah… maybe it’s best not to push it. Damn, look at this line! No way I’m waiting all this crap! Oh, wait, I just remembered something; follow me!” Jamie said, signaling for his friends to follow him to the front of the line, where a huge black guy, looking like a muscle mountain, was running the door, checking IDs and occasionally greeting a buddy with a half-smile in his otherwise stern face. He saw the guys approaching and crossed his arms, giving them a menacing smirking look.

“Hey, fellas, what do you want here?”

“Good evening, sir! Jerome told us to go straight to the bouncer at the main door and, said… said that he hopes you have a… a hell of a night.” Jamie said, sounding unsure for the first time.

“Jerome, huh? IDs?”

“Here you go, sir.” Mark replied, handing over the fake IDs, which the guy scrutinized for a few seconds.

“Any problem, sir?”

“Nope, on the contrary, looks like you guys got VIP passes. Jerome must’ve liked you a lot.” He said while fiddling with a walkie-talkie before speaking again. “Jerome’s group is on the way.” He radioed someone before handing the IDs back to the guys and cracking a smile. “Boys, looks like we’re all in for a hell of a night!”

As they stepped into the spacious lobby, the guys were hit with the sounds of music and excited screams, along with flashing lights. And the most impressive thing of all was a guy with olive skin, well-groomed beard and black hair, and a distinctive aquiline nose that hinted at some mediterranean ir middle eastern heritage. But what really stood out about the guy was his stunning build, partially covered by a sharp suit and shiny black pants, with his muscular torso on display for anyone who wanted to see, staring at them with disconcerting eyes and a mischievous grin that made the three feel like they were really inside the Devil’s Den.

“Dude, they really know how to set a mood.” Jamie remarked, eyeing the imposing figure. “Alright, first drinks, then we hit the dance floor for the hot chicks!”

“Actually, I think I’m gonna hit the bathroom; my bladder’s about to explode!” Fred said.

“Then it’s a wonder you didn’t piss yourself from fear before we even got in.”

“Go fuck yourself, Jamie!” he shot back, irritated, as he blended into the crowd on the dance floor.

“You really can’t pass up a chance to be an idiot, can you?” Mark commented, following his other friend through the crowd. “Let me talk to him; you do something useful and grab the drinks. You know a few shots will loosen him up.”

“It’s not my fault he needs booze to stop being a little bitch.” Jamie yelled to be heard over the noise, turning heads with expressions of disbelief toward him, but he was too hyped about the night’s promises to notice, heading for the nearest bar, closely followed by the sinister figure from the entrance. It wasn’t until he reached the bar that he noticed the company.

“Hello, James.” The man said over the cacophony, though his voice didn’t need to rise for Jamie to hear him.

“How do you know my name?” Jamie shouted back.

“Jerome gave me a heads-up about your arrival; I’m Mr. Shay the manager of this place. And I know you shouldn’t be here tonight, kid.”

“Damn… then why didn’t you stop us at the door?”

“Because I understand the need for a young man to rebel. Especially when his dad is such a major buzzkill.” The man said with bright eyes.

“I… he just wants what’s best for me… a decent job for a real man and… and sometimes it’s a drag.” Jamie replied in a whisper, not realizing the man knew way more about him than he should.

“Oh, I get it, kid, and just when you finally have a chance to chill, your friends leave you hanging.”

“Pussies!” The kid grumbled, not seeing the man’s eyes flash dangerously.

“You seem to have a problem with gay people. What’s that about?”

“I don’t have a problem with gays; I have issues with little faggots, those sissy boys who take it up the ass like they’re chicks. My dad raised me to be a real man.”

“But it’s tough living under the weight of other people’s expectations, under the rigid standards taught by someone, isn’t it? Sometimes all you wanna do is chill out, let loose, and be happy, right? And have your friends be able to enjoy that with you.”

“Yeah…”

“Well, it’s settled! Poncho, a shot of tequila for my buddy here.” The man said as the spell seemed to break while he glided through the crowd with ease, almost floating, and for an instant if one looked closely one would catch a glimpse of his true form.

Still a bit dazed, Jamie turned to the bar and bumped into a Latino guy in his late thirties, with a chiseled, muscular chest completely exposed except for a bow tie around his neck, sipping a drink while the shot of tequila the other guy ordered was held in his hand.

“On the house.” The guy said with a smile. Without thinking twice, Jamie downed the shot.

“Nice one, hermano.” The man commented, grinning.

“Gracias, tio.” Jamie replied, smiling as he left the bar with a dreamy look.

There was definitely something extra in that tequila, Jamie’s rational side thought, a side that seemed to shrink more every minute. He wandered aimlessly through the crowd, seeing colors and smelling scents he’d never experienced before, while that rational side tried in vain to shout inside his head, drowned out by an overwhelming numbness.

“Mierda, que guapo…” he murmured in Spanish, watching a muscular guy dancing shirtless. Without even stopping to think how out of character that was for him.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, with an unspeakable desire taking hold of him, making him vibrate and tremble inside he made his way toward the guy, and just like that, in the blink of an eye, Javier, the latino 21 years old man, approached the older man.

“Hey, papi, want some company?” He asked with a vacant look and dreamy voice that the other guy didn’t seem to notice, and in a few seconds, they were both dancing to the rhythm of the music.

“So, kid, where you from?”

“Right here, raised in El Barrio.” Javier answered.

“But where did your family come from?”

“My grandparents came with my dad and my uncles from Colombia in the early 90s. Maybe you know my uncle. He works as a bartender here; they call him Poncho, even though he’s not Mexican, but he says he doesn’t care.”

“Oh, so that’s why a kid like you is in here.” The man commented.

“I’ll show you who’s the kid.” Javier replied, kissing the man, who returned the kiss with passion.

Neither of them seemed to notice that the kid’s shirt seemed to evaporate in the air or the inches he gained in height or the facial hair sprouting on his face. After a long moment of pleasure, the two pulled away.

“So, papi, am I man enough for you?” Javi asked with a grin, while the other guy stared at him, breathless.

“Now I gotta bounce; my shift’s about to start!” Javi said, walking with a smile toward the bar. His muscles growing and expanding into an athletic, well-proportioned physique, with just the bow tie of his uniform to cover up.

“Hey, you didn’t even tell me your name, boy!”

“If you want to find me, just head to the bar. And don’t call me boy; do I look like a kid to you?” He replied, flexing his muscles. Only a man could call him that, and that certainly wasn’t this one.

When he got to the bar, his uncle greeted him with a smile but also with a warning.

“If your dad finds out about this…”

“What my dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him, tio. Plus, next year I’ll be graduating, and the boss is gonna put me to work in accounting, although I think I’ll still take a few shifts with you just for fun.”

“Javi, you really don’t get it, do you? If not your dad, then because of that musclehead you’re seeing.”

“It’s his fault for not showing up yet. And right when the main attraction’s about to start.” He said, looking at the club’s stage lighting up. “Though to him no attraction compares to my ass.” He concluded with a grin.

[a-new-romantic]

paris ♡ (azriel x reader)

a/n: heavily, heavily inspired by paris by taylor swift. lyric for lyric, in fact. IF YOU HATE IT, DON'T READ IT! i love taylor swift, her music is my inspiration.

summary:

azriel lounged in the living room at the house of wind, shadows resting beside him as he flicked through a book the house had recommended to him. the sun shone softly on him as he hummed quietly as he drunk in the words, captured by the story.

his peace was suddenly ruined as cassian came bursting through the double doors, closing the book azriel was holding and placing it down on the table.

"AZ! did you hear?" he asked hurriedly, as if the news couldn't wait.

"what?" azriel replied back, calmly as if he already knew what cassian was on about.

"your ex friend's met someone at a club, and he kissed her!" cassian began.

azriel nodded, his mind already wandering off, away from the gossip that cassian was spewing and towards you. thoughts of you reading, sleeping, eating, anything really. he is utterly in love with you.

"turns out, it was that guy you hooked up with AGES ago! some inner circle wannabe," cassian continued, eyebrows shooting up to emphasize the absurdity of the situation.

azriel did nothing but stare blankly at cassian, a short "mhm," escaping him.

"nesta even said that their outfits were terrible, 100 years ago unbearable," cassian stated, no room to disagree.

azriel opened his mouth to respond, before he felt that familiar bond tug in his chest, and feelings of need flowed in from you. you were in your home and you wanted to be with him as you cooked dinner for that.

"did you see them? i'm sure rhysand can show you, let me get him-" cassian started, interrupted by azriel not shortly after.

"no i didn't, but thanks though." he stated, rushing out of the room to fly off on the balcony towards velaris.

cassian stared at the retreating form of his brother. "what the hell?" he said outloud before he too left the living room.

-----

"where have you been azriel? we've been worried sick about you. you've been taking more breaks from spy work than usual-" feyre asked, wanting to know the reasoning behind azriel's seeming detachment.

"yeah, have we been giving you too much to do? i can cut back, brother,"rhysand assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

feyre nodded before continuing, "you've been missing important meetings and now you're telling me you just didn't know some of the biggest news regarding our social relationship with the autumn court? this isn't like you azriel. we're all really worried."

the whole inner circle stared at the interaction with wide eyes, nodding along to what the high lord and lady were saying.

azriel knew in that moment that there wasn't much else he could do. he had to tell his family about you. with a gentle tug sent down the bond, he began.

"i found my mate," he stated simply. everyone gasped in either joy, awe, or wonder.

"that's great, but why is it distracting you this much from the court?" rhysand asked, high lord as ever.

"please rhys," azriel pleaded, "like you never felt this with feyre? i'm so in love that i might stop breathing." he said breathlessly, as if even the thought of you took his breath away.

he turned to feyre and continued, "no i didn't hear the news, i was busy being in love."

"why didn't you tell us?" cassian asked, seemingly butthurt at the witheld information.

privacy sign on the door, on my page, and on the whole world.

"i think i wanted to keep this one to myself for the time being," azriel admitted. "after all, romance is not dead if you keep it just yours," he muttered.

he knew that he had to field his family's questions, have them meet you, and go through the formalities. but feeling you tug back on the bond was all he needed in that moment.

a/n: this sucks, i'm sorry.

[tortureddarkstar]

✩ IN BLOOM

AND HE LIKES TO SING ALONG / / AND HE LIKES TO SHOOT HIS GUN

DEAN WINCHESTER X F!READER

18+ CONTENT. MINORS DNI.

summary: dean teaches you how to shoot a gun. amongst other things.

this was a very much ‘fine i’ll do it myself’ kinda feat. not enough dean fics out there esp since its spn season. this is also my tumblr debut x

lots of smut, not a lot of plot. hope u like x

“hey, focus.”

your attention snapped back to the ‘x’ dean had etched into a tree.

dean had his arms around you, thick hands encompassing yours which aimed his white colt at dean’s makeshift target.

“hm? oh, sorry.” you blinked your eyes a few times, drawing in on the target.

“no. not ‘sorry’. focus.” he grunted in your ear. “sure thing you can use a knife, sweetheart, but what happens when you’re too far? y’gonna throw your knife at a ghost?”

“well that’s why i have you and sammy.” you shrugged, to which earned you a jab in the back from dean.

“keep your back straight.” dean rumbled, eyes rolling at your overt smartness.

“ow.”

“yeah, you’re gonna feel an ‘ow’ when you’ve got claws down your body. back straight, eyes on the target.” you took note of how his father’s drill training peeked through his orders to you, even after all these years.

you huffed, fixing your posture and lining up dean’s colt.

there was something twisted about such a pure, little thing using dean’s favoured weapon.

not only had he used it on countless demons, ghosts, werewolves- heck people too. but you remembered the first time time he had used it on you.

on a hunt, not too long ago, he caught you staring a little too mindlessly towards him.

well, not towards him. more so the colt.

and when you had told him later that night that you wanted him to use it on you, he seemed, at the time, a little taken aback, hesitant even.

however, you watched, writhing under him, as that hesitance turned into malevolence and instead of giving himself to you that night, he gave you only his gun.

“come on baby, work for it.” dean coaxed, admiring your contorted face and your wanton whimpers.

“you gonna shoot that anytime soon?”

fuck, now you were wet.

“sorry, m’just distracted.” you mumbled, furrowing your brows, determined to actually shoot now. “focusing now.”

dean was still behind you, heavy grip on your elbows, heavy breath in your ears.

yeah we’ll see about focusing.

dean had no intention to distract you by any means, in fact it was his idea for you to learn how to use a gun- “sam and i aren’t always gonna be there. and i don’t plan on you leaving anytime soon either.”

but you were taking way too long trying to shoot a target less than six feet from you, and dean never has any objections to a bit of fun.

he watched as your index finger finally began to apply pressure over the trigger. his mind calculating when exactly to introduce some fun into this little training session.

dean slowly took his hands off yours, letting it snake down to rest on your waist.

“dean, what are you doing?” your voice had already begun to shake, the weight of the colt feeling heavier as your palms started sweating.

“nothin’. focus.” dean dismissed, his hand traversing down, down, until he found the buttons on your jeans, toying with them until he hit the band of your panties.

“dean.” there was no way you were concentrating at all on that tree anymore.

“let’s play a little game, huh? the closer you are to the target, the closer i get to where you really want me.” his fingers slipped under the waistband of your underwear. “that sound fair, sweets?”

instead of answering, you pulled the trigger, the bullet burning a hole in the tree 20 centimetres above from where you wanted it to go.

“that a yes, huh?” he grunted in your ear “but, i said the target, baby.”

“dean.. please.” you huffed out, eyes rolling as your head fell back onto his shoulder, the gun almost slipping out of your hands.

“monsters are more distracting. shoot. right in the middle, i know you can do it baby, come on.” dean’s voice was gruff in your ear, sending an entire wave of shivers down your spine.

you glanced down as his hand crept closer to where you craved him, edging around your clit, but never touching it.

inhaling, you straightened your back, shook away the shivers, and regained your grip on his colt.

“that’s a girl.” dean whispered, nipping your earlobe before granting you a sickly sweet kiss, stark in contrast to the current situation. he felt you whimper into the kiss before pulling away, not yet granting you any such reward.

this time you tried not to think as hard. yes thinking too hard would send you over the edge, resulting in a punishment from dean, but you also tried to rationalise- you wouldn’t be thinking too much if you were being chased by a demon, right?

the second shot was much better and much closer, not smack in the middle like he wanted but close enough for dean to finally reward you with attention to your aching clit.

“come on baby, third times the charm.” now dean was moving his right hand from your right elbow, allowing it to slip under your shirt and rest upon your left tit.

“s’too much, dean. please.” he could tell from the whiny tone of your voice that you had begun to tear up.

oh, he’d give you something to cry about.

without warning, he stuck his middle finger into you, letting the heel of his palm push against your core.

“see how nice i am? hmm?” he grunted, digging his finger and palm into you. “now, you make that shot and i’ll give you what you want. if not, all you’ll have tonight is that there colt.”

now that drew a moan out of you.

“we’ve a deal, pretty girl?” dean nosed at the side of your face, grinning slightly at your torment.

nothing but a pathetic hum, bordering a grumble, came out.

a mumble of ‘good girl’ came out of his mouth and into your hair as he resumed his movements inside.

just like the previous two times, you repeated your actions. straight back, tight grip. and just like the last time, you tried your damndest to clear your mind. even though it was harder now with his finger in you, moving with more fervour and more dexterity.

you bit your lip in both concentration and suppression of a throaty moan. your finger, once again, gripped the trigger as you pressed down, your eyes following the bullet as it hit the target.

smack. in. the. middle.

you began smiling but your celebration was cut short by dean finally moving as fast as you wanted, adding another finger, just as you wanted and finally, turning you around so he could kiss you. just as you wanted. finally making you cum, just as you wanted.

“atta girl. knew you could do it. baby just needed a bit of encouragement, huh?” dean goaded. through your concentration and your post-orgasmic haze, you hadn’t noticed that dean had taken himself out of his confines, allowing you to feel just how hard he was.

with as much might your jelly-legs could muster, you jumped onto him, caging him as you pushed him backwards on the hood of his impala parked conveniently behind you.

“you want this, baby? want me to fuck you on my car?” he tugged your head back by your hair to watch your reply- jaw slack with a hastened nod and moan. “dirty girl.”

you let his mouth envelop yours before he spun you both around, setting your back onto the car. from here, you could see just how desperate you were for him, a collection of your juices had darkened his boxers, a little on his open fly, catching the light of the cloudy sun.

you carried on staring, eyes glazing over as he lined himself up with your entrance, that beautiful sting electrifying as he settled deep into you.

“dean.” you whined. your hands had moved from holding his midsection to cradling his face as your nails dug into his neck, bringing him into a kiss that was purely teeth and tongue, encouragement for him to keep moving.

a few, albeit long, minutes pass of dean rocking in and out, in and out of you with the occasional kiss or tug at each others hair, all the while your moans of his name and other incoherencies fill the air of the murky woodland dean had sought out for your ‘lesson’.

oh what a lesson this was.

dean found himself moving faster now, his hands and hips most likely bruising you. he would be lying if he said that’s not what he wanted. swallowing one of your breathy moans once again, his thumb moved to your clit, bringing you to the edge right next to him.

the twittering of crows were now drowned out by mumbles of ‘dean’, ‘so good’ and other mismatched phrases, stark in contrast to your usual eloquence.

“come on baby, cum with me. come on.” dean goaded, his thrusts getting harsher as his words got more strained.

obedient as always, you took the thumb of the hand cradling your head into your mouth, sucking, licking, biting on it as your brow-bone tilted up- both signs of your ever-approaching orgasm.

soon enough, ramblings of heated compliments were overtook by the increasing pitch and tone of moans, the last articulate sentence being dean’s- a simple warning of his seed spilling into you falling from his pout lips, enough to push you over the edge you’d been teetering on for the past ten minutes.

ever eager to please, you let go.

spasm after spasm washed over you as dean watched from above, cheshire cat-smile across his face as he watched yours contort when he pulled out to stand and admire his handiwork.

he waited and watched as you sat up on the impala, leaning on your hands. dean revelled in the way your hair tangled, your tits spilling from the tank you wore, matching the dark-wash jeans that had bunched up around your knees.

you were in bloom. and oh how he basked in it.

[justalovelyblackgf]

CLARK KENT HELPING YOU TAKE OUT YOUR BRAIDS HEADCANONS

pairing: henry cavill!clark x blackfem!reader

fandom: DC

this was brewing in my head while actually taking out my braids today. plus, i wanted to give my baby henry a shot at this.

summary: it’s that time again! time to take down those 1-2 month old braids to prepare for your next fresh set. the only problem is, it’s raining, you’re tired, and you know it’s gonna take forever to get your hair taken down, washed, detangled, and dried. fortunately, your fiancé clark is always happy to help with the process.

contains: lots of words, some things are based on true events, self insert, fluff, romance, established relationship, you and clark are simps, you and clark being fine, nudity but no smut, clark being a green flag, cuddling, kissing.

taglist: @rosiestalez @afrowrites @afrogirl3005 @simply-the-best23 @jkr820 @zombiehe4rt @elitesanjisimp @sabrinasopposite @gxuxhdjdu @tryingtograspctrl @ellethespaceunicorn

(i know i didn’t ask if ya’ll wanted to be tagged, but y’all are mutuals that consistently interact with my posts, so this is how i’m showing my appreciation! thank you! let me know if any of yall want to be tagged in my next blurb. again thank yall and i love my mutes)

• work was work today.

• it’s raining like hell.

• but good news, you’re getting your hair done this weekend! ain’t nothing like a fresh set of braids.

• the bad news, you gotta take out the old braids, wash/condition/detangle, and blow dry your hair all before your appointment. (yk how these new hair stylists be)

• girl, you’re dead tired, but you know you need to start asap!

• good news again though! your man clark kent is already home and you know he’s always down to help with your hair.

• ya’ll have been dating for 4 years before he popped the question a month ago on your anniversary.

• one thing about clark kent, he’s gonna hype up your hair no matter what style.

• he believes you’re stunning whether you have braids, twists, a lace front, locs, a slick back ponytail, a silk press or, your natural. he loves it!!

• he loves to watch you style it on your own or if you’re following along to a youtube tutorial.

• you’ve taught him a thing or two like taking down braids, detangling, applying edge control, and even helping you to wash and condition it!

• he catches on pretty fast and follows your instructions to a tee.

• his love language is acts of service and when it comes to your hair, he wants to make sure he does it properly.

• he told you he wants to continue learning because he can see himself helping out with your future daughter’s hair, so why not start with his future wife?

• this man is going to be the death of you.

• you see clark sitting on the couch with his laptop. as soon as he hears the door shut followed by your sigh of exhaustion, he’s already putting that to the side and zooming in your direction to take your bag, umbrella, and jacket off your hands.

• this man is teeth rotting sweet. how’d you get so blessed?

• he greets you with a warm embrace and plants a kiss atop of your head. he peeps that new growth, but he won’t mention it until you do.

• you both take a seat on the couch and have a brief conversation about each other’s day. you sigh again and run a hand through your hair one last time.

• “it’s about that time, clark. i’m getting my hair done soon and i need to start taking my braids down, but i’m so tired!”

• you whine and lean your head on his broad shoulder before you peer your “please help me” doe eyes into his blue ones that were hiding behind his glasses. he doesn’t hesitate to keep that eye contact either. it’s so intense yet intimate. you almost look away because even after 4 years, clark can still get you a bit flustered from time to time.

• “baby, would you like to help me out again? i promise you’re not gonna have to do all the work. i just need some assistance to get this done faster.”

• you playfully pout and bat your lashes. you already know the answer, but this brought you joy. you knew he was waiting for an opportunity to help with your hair again.

• he shows off those pearly whites before he enthusiastically responds, “i’d never thought you’d ask. you go change into something more comfortable, i’ll handle the rest, and we can get started.”

• he lays a chaste kiss to your lips and pats your behind to signal for you to handle your business and you don’t hesitate to do so.

• by “handling the rest”, clark gathers the necessities: 2 pairs of scissors, a detangling comb, 4 hair ties for sectioning, a plastic bag from that one drawer in the kitchen, your satin bonnet, and an order of chinese takeout placed on doordash.

• clark was waiting on the couch and he gleamed when he saw you come back clad in a white tank, no bra, grey cotton shorts, and one of his oversized, plaid flannels.

• as soon as you found yourself comfortable on the couch, clark handed you a pair of scissors and ya’ll got to work at cutting the braids shorter before you both section off your hair into 4 parts and start unbraiding from the front.

• you started on the right side, while clark took over for the left.

• you obviously know of clark’s abilities, his extraterrestrial heritage, and his intense duties as superman. he makes sure his powers can be of help in the most important areas of his life, one of them being your relationship.

• he’s had some practice with unbraiding and his fingers moves like clockwork. he moves at a delicate, quick pace and uses his keen eye to make sure your hair doesn’t get tangled or pulled, so there’s no unnecessary breakage. braid by braid, each one is removed out of your head and into the empty, plastic grocery bag that’s placed between you two.

• he’s seen you sometimes get it tangled and you would be quick to just cut it off, but with his aid, you’ve been doing that less frequently.

• after about 30 minutes, clark can already hear the doorbell ring and footsteps walking away. the food’s here.

• he opted for contactless delivery this time because he knew he just had one more braid….and done!

• he urges you to give your hands a break from unbraiding your side and to wash them because your dinner has arrived. he chuckled as you perked up hearing that because you were hon-grey!!

• he also takes it upon himself to gently place your satin, royal blue bonnet on your head.

• it’s his absolute favorite because it’s patterned with his iconic red and gold family crest!

• you have a friend who owns a small business of designing bonnets, durags, and head scarves with the cutest patterns imaginable for black nerds like you.

• they got some with superheroes, anime characters, hogwart house symbols, disney, you name it!!

• 2 years ago, you asked them to commission a bonnet to match his heroic attire.

• this was to show him that you’re proud of his kryptonian roots and that you 100% support him being one of the world’s most selfless heroes along with the other members of the justice league.

• you sometimes worry for his life, but he always tries his best to make it back to you in one piece.

• but girl, that bonnet had him geeking when you showed it to him!! his face heated with a bright hue of pink before he plants a billion kisses all over your face. his voice never ceasing his appreciation and eternal love for you.

• you both chill for a few minutes to eat and watch some tv.

• you stretch your hands, placed your bonnet on the coffee table and resumed to unbraiding the last strand on the front before sectioning it off with a hair tie and starting on the back of the right side. it seems that time moves slower (or faster) as your fingers meticulously unravel each braided strand.

• clark is half way done with his entire side. his brows raise at the sound of your soft groan of what seemed to be pain and exhaustion.

• “babe, my fingers are starting to cramp and so are my arms.” you gripe and pause your movements to massage out the stiffness in your fingers.

• clark also pauses what he’s doing. he delicately grasps your hands into his, sprinkling tiny pecks on each aching knuckle. his pink lips lingers on the rock that adorns the fourth knuckle of your left hand before those baby blues gaze into your own eyes.

• you could clearly see your worn reflection in his pupils, but you lovingly smile as you know what he’s about to say.

• “c’mere, beautiful. let me take care of the rest while you sit and relax. it’s just a few more and it’s nothing i can’t handle, so it’ll be my pleasure.”

• that’s true. clark’s an invincible kryptonian. unless your hair was laced with some green k, a cramp within the joints of his digits wouldn’t be possible. if you ask, he would one day take out your braids all by himself without you having to lift a finger and he’d be in pure bliss of taking that burden off your plate.

• he spreads his thighs apart. the large palms of his hands encircle around your waist to shift your body in between his legs before his fingers get back to tenderly remove the last remaining braids.

• as he does so, you simply enjoy each other’s presence. ya’ll would be cracking jokes, planning suggestions for the wedding, your jobs, and a myriad of other topics to kill time.

• about 30 more minutes pass by and your braids are finally out! he leans back feeling accomplished and marvels at how much your hair has grown over the month.

• “may i?” he politely asks. his expectant eyes glancing into yours for approval.

• “of course, kal.” you grin. it’s like seeing a child light up in a candy store, he’s so elated.

• you feel more at ease and lean into his touch as his fingers lovingly caress through your natural hair and scalp.

• you know that he just wants to feel your hair in it’s natural state. it’s not out of a fetish, but out of pure fascination, so you let him!

• you love that even though you’ve been together for 4 years and he’s helped you with your hair on multiple occasions, the curious kryptonian wonders why he always has to ask you before touching your hair.

• as a journalist, he’s gonna conduct his own research.

• he educates himself and he understands the history of that one boundary in your community, so he always asks you before touching your hair or he waits for you to offer.

• he’s not even human and he understands the basic human decency of not to reach out and touch someone’s hair out of nowhere.

• you sigh in relief and thank clark with a kiss before you go to dispose the plastic bag of worn out braids to the kitchen and into the large garbage can. you turn around and lean up against the sink.

• now it’s time to wash, condition, detangle, and dry.

• clark already knows the next step. he stands from his position on the couch and stretches his back muscles. he moderately saunters to the arched threshold that separates the kitchen and living room. his tall stature works in his favor as he casually raises his arms with his hands gripping the arch that’s a few inches above his head.

• you know exactly what pose i’m trying to poorly describe to the best of my ability. it happens to be one of those non-sexual turn ons that men do without them realizing.

• you go into a bit of a hypnotic state as you stare at his bulging biceps. you also take notice of how his white t-shirt raises up to expose a small section of his sculpted abdomen. the raven tresses on his skin that perfectly matches the messy curls on his head form a trail straight down to his—

• the trance is broken by the baritone voice of your fiancé.

• “my eyes are up here, angel. were you even listening to me?” he flirtatiously quips and tilts his head with a playful smirk curving on his lips, lowering his arms to cross them over his chest.

• like some suave lady killer, he approaches you and places his index under your chin to shift your gaze to his.

• girl, not you getting caught in 4K! you know that man is fine, but you got to finish off your hair. there’s no time to waste when it comes to that, so you must stay focused.

• you can’t help, but feel the heat of embarrassment rush on your melanated cheeks and giggle nervously before you confess.

• “i’m sorry, clark! after all of these years, you still get me sprung. now, what were you saying, boo? ”

• “it’s no worries, (n/n). don’t doubt that you’ve got the same effect on me too.” he blushes himself, beaming at the compliment and pecks your forehead, nose, and lips before he resumes his question.

• “would you like to wash in the sink or shower?”

• he bursts into a joyous laugh as you don’t hesitate to choose the shower.

• of course he was hoping you’d say that, but you shut down the idea because you just want to kill two birds with one stone, wrap this up, and cuddle in bed.

• he understands where you’re coming from and it’s no pressure at all. you both love when you two get down in the bedroom, but you share a common belief that spending quality time is the key to true intimacy.

• he takes your hand and leads you both to your shared bathroom.

• he puts his glasses on the sink, switches on the shower and checks for the perfect temperature that’s not too hot for your scalp, but not too cool for your body.

• you go to obtain large drying towels, african net wash cloths, and disposable shower caps. you then seek out the shampoo, conditioner, and detangling cream to nourish and clean your hair.

• you return to the bathroom with the items and clark gets your second opinion on the water temperature. you get a feel and let him know that it’s just right before you both strip of your clothes until you’re both completely naked. you make sure your engagement ring is placed in the velvet box it came in and set it on your drawer before you both step under the running water.

• clark reaches up to detach the shower head. before making a move, he asks if you need any further assistance in this step and you gladly accept, closing your eyes as he handles the shower head to pre-rinse both of your heads for a well deserved cleaning.

• as he puts the shower head back where it belongs, you let him know that you want to do the shampooing for both you and him.

• yep, clark uses your products on his hair!

• one time after your fifth date, he hugged you and his sensitive nose stealthily picked up on the natural, sweet, and intoxicating scent of the hair lotion that seeped into your scalp. he thought at first it was your perfume, which he loves too, but he was mistaken!

• “my god, you smell amazing.”

• clark takes you out to dinner and feeds your ego! okay, kal-el!

• he couldn’t get enough of it!

• this aroma— it was like something fresh and made from natural ingredients without any harsh chemicals.

• it reminds him of the homegrown warmth and love that his parents, jonathan and martha raised him up in back in smallville.

• if it wasn’t so soon (or the fact that he hasn’t told you his secret then), he would literally fly you out there in 10 minutes.

• when you moved in together, he would sometimes sneak a bit of your shampoo and conditioner in his hair routine once or twice a week until you finally caught up to him!

• you scolded clark a bit for using your products without permission because you would’ve let him use a little if he’d ask and plus, that stuff was expensive!

• he looked genuinely remorseful and apologized. “i’m sorry, (f/n). it was wrong of me to sneak like that, but i just wanted to use it because it’s like i’m taking a part of you with me everywhere i go. that way even though we’re apart, i don’t feel so alone in this universe anymore.”

• that almost had you crying and throwing up. he’s as big a simp for you as you are for him, so you couldn’t stay mad at him!

• you had an agreement to share or double up as long as you both are putting in for it.

• it was definitely no problem for clark because besides it’s sentimental value, it does wonders for his hair! it looks healthier, shinier and it feels softer compared to those 2-in-1 shampoo/conditioner concoctions that he’s been using since high school.

• he loves your weekly beauty supply store excursions. he doesn’t care if the 6 items in your cart is $35, he’s paying for it all!

• clark’s aqua pupils observes from behind as you pour a generous amount of shampoo into your palm, rubbing the other against it, and massaging the bubbly, white substance through your scalp. your fingers work to make sure every single hair on your head is lathered in the coconut scented liquid and he notices that you’re careful not to tangle it.

• his own trance is broken by a “your turn! now lean down a bit, my love.” you’re now waiting for him to follow through, leaning his head down and forward to make his now drenched, dark hair right in your view and in your reach.

• he exhales at the contact of the cold shampoo descending on his scalp. as your fingers massage through his hair, his eyes close and a smile of ecstasy plays on his lips.

• your touch, the scent of the product, and the fact that if he opened his eyes again at this very moment, your breasts would be right in his face is clark’s idea of his personal heaven.

• you both take turns to rinse your own hair and each others to double check that all of the suds of the shampoo are gone.

• you repeat the process again, but this time it’s with conditioner. once that’s applied, you both put on the shower caps to let it rest and do its thing.

• you both use that time to talk some more and thoroughly clean your bodies of the filth of the work day using the african net wash clothes and aromatherapy body wash.

• after one last rinse of ya’lls hair, you cut the water off and grab the towels set out to wrap around your soaked bodies and dripping hair before walking to your shared bedroom.

• fortunately, you and clark have your own respective hair dryers, so that step doesn’t take too long before you take on the final boss: detangling.

• still clad in your towels, you and clark apply the detangling cream through your scalps. as he uses his comb to effortlessly rake through his noir mop, you just kind of stand and stare at the detangling brush in your hand.

• if you’re tender headed, you’ve probably lived the nightmare over and over with your heavy handed mother tugging the comb through the knotted ends, jolting your head and neck forward as you whined in pain. of course she got mad at you for that and said that it didn’t even hurt.

• you’re grown now! with your own bills, home, car, job, and man. there’s way more stressful things in the world than getting some knots out.

• you start the teeth of the comb from the root of your hair and hear the wet stickiness of the detangling cream as it glides to the end.

• okay, we’re getting somewhere! no pain or the pulling of knots for the next few strands near the front. now let’s start on the back. comb one, comb two, comb three—

• “ow, ugh!” you yelp. cringing as you hit a knot at the end.

“ woah! sweetheart, are you alright?”

• clark immediately halts his actions and puts his comb down. he takes one step behind you to examine the situation.

“please, lord, don’t tell me it’s tangled that bad.”

• you attempt to comb without breaking your hair out and the more you try, the more painful it gets. your arms and hands started to stiffen again.

• you lowkey wanted to cry because you just want this to be done and sleep peacefully in clark’s arms for the rest of the night.

• you immediately ask clark for help and he once again, comes to the rescue. he was gentle and comforting, but straightforward when it came to getting those knots.

• he talks you through it to make this a little easier.

• “i’m so sorry, honey. this is gonna hurt a bit, but we’re gonna knock these out and go straight to bed in no time, okay? i love you.” he kisses your temple before he proceeds with the task.

• several minutes of detangling are over! clark gets a second shower of kisses all over his face as you thank him again.

• you discard your towels and replace them with your nightclothes. clark’s shirtless with his sweats and you’re comfortable in another one of clark’s shirts with a fresh pair of cotton shorts.

• you put your hair in an afro puff ponytail and as always, you let your fiancé do the honors of placing your superman patterned bonnet on over your hair like a king crowning his queen.

• he looks at you with such pride and joy. seeing you happy feels so good it hurts. it makes him feel as weak as when he’s around green k. maybe even more.

• clark wouldn’t feel too comfortable to wrap his hair up just yet, so you suggested he uses a satin pillowcase instead.

• speaking of pillows, you look at the clock and realize it’s gotten late. you and clark shut off the lights and retire your exhausted bodies into your bed.

• you lay in a fetal position and turn to face him. kryptonians don’t usually need that much sleep as humans do, so you weren’t surprised that he was still awake.

• you both gaze and admire each other in comfortable silence. your hand reaching to his jaw. your brown toned fingertips caress the pale yet angelic face of the man you love. he closes his eyelids and leans into your warm touch.

• like a magnet, you drew closer to his face until your, full yearning lips rested on his. it doesn’t take him a second to melt into it, his hands clinging to your waist to rest your figure on top of his. your palms find themselves to rest on each side of his jawline.

• between each kiss, the moonlight illuminates the wide smiles you exchange to each other.

• after you two get your fill of each other’s affection, you lay your head on clark’s chest with his arms still acting as a shield around your back. he pecks your temple and is pulled in by the music of your steady heartbeat. he looks down to see your eyes pointed toward his and your hands folded flat on his chest.

• “thank you, clark. thank you so much for your help, your patience, your kindness, your love, and your compassion. not to mention that you are so fine, you still get me giggling like a schoolgirl at my big age! whether you’re superman, clark kent, or kal-el, i just thank you for being you. i love you, clark kent and that’ll never change.” your lips curve with a beaming smile.

• “(f/n), you need to know that everything i do, i do it for you and i’d do it again. you’re the most beautiful person and i’m not just talking about your stunning beauty. your heart is golden. despite everything that we’ve been through, it’s always been you. you understand me, you give me grace and hold me accountable, you still believe in me when i don’t even believe in myself. that’s how i knew i had to ask you to marry me, so i love you more, (f/n) kent and that’ll never change.”

• “look at us! we’ve only been engaged for a month and it sounds like we’re exchanging vows already.”

• “that sounds like a great start to me.”

• you both laugh and he gives you one last lingering kiss on your lips. your heads drop and your eyelids close before you take your peaceful slumber in each other’s presence.

[moeswriting]

mine | 3. we'll never make my parents mistakes

pairing: young!no-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

chapter summary: you and joel are finding things out about each other’s pasts and figuring out how to deal with your presents,

or meeting sarah miller and the after effects

warnings: THIS CHAPTER EXPLORES SOME VERY DARK THINGS BUT IS ALSO VERY SOFT, READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION AND PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS; discussion of maternal suicide/postpartum depression, alcoholism, and parental neglect (reader); joel is 22 and reader is 20; reader is described a small amount (has hair, able-bodied, wears feminine clothing, is going to school for secondary english education, has a heavily-detailed background); joel being The Single Dad™; character joins the army, conversation about a dead father and general daddy issues for the Miller brothers, including military PTSD and fraternal death from lung cancer; tommy being a little shit; HEY THESE TWO IDIOTS HAVE SEX!!! (not explicit)

word count: 11.5k

a/n: happy late birthday to my favorite fictional boy, have some trauma <3 this has been a long time coming (u see what i did there? ;) ). to all who have been begging me for the next chapter in my inbox, this is for you <3 . again, just wanna say: please read the warnings on this chapter. i am not usually a “traumatize my characters” kind of writer, but i was feeling feral while writing this over the past few weeks and it kind of just happened… so be warned. (i’m sorry in advance)

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Flash forward, and we're takin' on the world together

And there's a drawer of my things at your place

You learn my secrets and you figure out why I'm guarded

You say we'll never make my parents' mistakes

✦ ✦ ✦

November 1994

It’s a couple days later. A Tuesday. Arguably the worst day of the week and a day that he’s been dreading since the text had graced his flip phone that night.

“... we need to talk”??

It sent shivers down his spine, made him want to run and hide, and never leave his apartment again. Talking wasn’t really Joel’s strong suit– sure, he could sweet talk Mrs. Nelson into giving him a better tip, but talking about how he felt? God, it was like dragging his toddler around a store when she wanted to go home– frustrating and near-impossible.

You’d texted him afterwards, making plans to meet at the diner when his shift was almost over to talk. But the past two days had been an absolute blur.

Sarah had noticed her dad’s change in demeanor and had decided to follow him into it, nonstop crying and small fists banging on the floor and his chest and anything she could take her anger out on. It made sleeping borderline impossible. He has had to sit in her small bed with her laying on his chest until she wore herself out the past two nights.

But here he is, at his usual Tuesday shift just after the lunch crowd has dispersed and he’s hiding in the kitchen while Don gives him a lecture about something that he’s honestly not listening to. He does, however, catch the sound of the bell ringing as someone walks into the diner and then he hears your cheery voice as you speak to someone.

“Go out there, there’s a customer,” Don says as he cleans the grill.

“I–” He cuts himself off. He doesn’t want Don to know about what’s about to happen.

The burly man looks up at him, nearly a foot shorter than him and he still scares the crap out of him sometimes, “It’s your girl, isn’t it?”

Joel clears his throat and sighs, “Yeah.”

“You two been fighting?”

He shakes his head.

Don slices his hand through the air as if to push Joel’s gesture aside. “Bullshit. I can tell.”

“Wha–”

“You been actin’ different. I’ve known you almost four years, Miller. I could tell when you started datin’ her and I could tell yesterday when you came into work that something was wrong.”

Damn Don and his out-of-character perceptiveness.

“Go face her, Miller.” He nods once, a finality to it.

“I-”

“Get out of my kitchen, you coward!”

He pushes him out of the swinging doors and into the dining area. When he sees you, he freezes.

✦ ✦ ✦

You arrive at the diner at three and sit in your usual spot by the window that no one else likes but you. It’s bright. You think maybe that’s why no one likes it, but you adore the way the reflected light warms you down to your toes. It’s quiet– weirdly quiet, like even the building itself is getting ready in anticipation for whatever is about to happen. The only other patron is Mr. Cassini sitting in a corner with a cup of coffee cradled in his trembling hands. You wonder where Doreen is.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Cassini,” you yell across the diner.

His face lights up, like it always does when he sees you, “Hello, dear! How are you doin’?”

“Oh, I’m doing as good as I can. How about you?”

“Oh darlin’, I’m doing amazing. Best I’ve felt in years.”

You smile at him, “That’s amazing, Mr. Cassini.”

“Oh, look at me talkin’ you up when you probably have work to do. I’ll let you get to your studying.”

You huff, “Thanks, Mr. Cassini.”

You can hear clattering coming from the kitchen. You suppose that’s where Joel is, or where he’s hiding. You’d tried to get a grasp on how Joel was feeling about all of this when you had been texting him to make the plans to meet here after his shift. Text messages aren’t very good at communicating emotion, but you couldn’t get yourself to call him– face him.

“Get out of my kitchen, you coward,” you hear Don yell in his obnoxiously loud way, a deep chortle following Joel as he exits the swinging doors.

He freezes like a statue, eyes wide and brows raised. Tired is the word that comes to mind– he so obviously hasn’t slept right in days. Bags under his eyes, shoulders slouched, skin paler than his usual tan glow. Maybe he’d seen a ghost.

He looks at you with his evaluating stare. You always wonder what Joel sees when he does this. Does he know how terrified you are?

Turning around, he points a finger towards the counter and grabs a clean glass from the cabinet behind him. You sigh, sling your backpack over your shoulder, and get up to go sit where Joel directed you to. He likes it when you’re closer to him while you visit him at work, especially if it’s slow and he’s bored, but when you need to study or do homework, you sit at the booth by the window– less distractions, you tell him. Really, you just know you won’t get any work done if you have easy access to him and you like the noise of the diner while you’re studying.

He doesn’t turn back towards you until you’re already settled in the tall stool, backpack precariously balanced on the seat next to you. Sliding the glass across the counter towards you, now full of iced tea exactly how you like it, he sighs.

“Hey, sugar.”

His nervousness surrounds him– hand pulling through his sweaty, messy hair, lidded eyes darting around the diner in an effort to find something to distract himself with, teeth worrying his bleeding lower lip between them. 

“Hey,” you breathe out. In a way, his nerves comfort you– you’re not the only one.

“I got another few minutes before Don will let me out.”

“I know, Joel,” you mutter.

“Gotta wait for Dorreen to come back from her smoke break too.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

He leans on the counter, facing you, “I’m nervous.”

You give him a soft smile, “Me too.”

“Good. Good.” He nods to himself, pushing a straw towards you from the apron around his waist.

“Miller! I need more coffee,” Mr. Cassini’s gravely voice echoes through the empty diner, making Joel jump up from his position on the counter.

“One second, Mr. Cassini–” he holds up a finger directed at you– “I’ll be right back. Gotta do a couple things before I leave.”

You know. You nod.

You pull a book out of your bag, The Secret Garden, desperate to avoid the awkwardness of the quiet. You absorb yourself in the story of Mary as she explores the hidden garden her new caretaker’s late wife once walked, dead and gray. It’s the millionth time you’ve read it– page corners bent and the spine cracked in multiple places. The pages are a dark yellow, almost matching the deep color of the faded cover. On the front page, the name Virginia swirls in a beautiful cursive right above your own name in your not-so-delicate print. The ink of her fountain pen is a deeper black than the one of your ball-point, faded by the twelve years it had sat on the page.

A hand pops into your field of vision and taps on the page of your book, “Ready to go.”

You hum and stash the book into your bag, between your hardback textbooks so it gets better protection from the mess that is your bookbag.

You watch Joel pull his apron off and stuff it under the counter, exposing the parts of his jeans that have gone untouched by the mess of his shift. The square outline around his crotch almost makes you giggle, but you bite your lip to suppress it.

He comes around the counter and, without looking in your direction, pushes open the front door. Following behind him like a puppy, you quickly do the same, throwing your backpack over your shoulder.

He stops suddenly, turning around, looking for guidance.

You sigh, “Let me walk you home.”

“No–”

“What direction is it?”

He looks you up and down, a habit you guess he learned from trying to determine if he needed to make Tommy back down from a fight or not. His hesitation is so blatant, bringing his hand up once, twice, before he points in the opposite direction from the route he takes to walk you back to your dorm. Of course, he was going out of his way to bring you home. That is the most Joel thing you could think of.

“Let’s go.”

You start to walk, determined steps taking you down the street. You turn to look at Joel over your shoulder and he hasn’t moved an inch. Your footsteps falter.

“Really?”

He huffs out a breath, “I– I just–”

You shrug your arms up, exasperated, and slap them back against your sides, “What, Joel?”

“I don’t… I’m not ready to do this yet.”

What?

You furrow your brows and squint in his direction through the waning sunlight.

“What in the world are you talking about?”

He runs a hand through his curly, sweaty hair, sucks in a large breath, and slurs his words together in one long exhale, “I’m not ready for you to meet her yet.”

Oh. Oh.

“Joel, that’s not– that’s not what I was trying to do. I just wanted to walk you home.”

Now that he’s admitted his secret to you, that other part of him no longer hidden, everything about him is so obviously catered to a four-year-old. His expressions are controlled, but also so kind and open, like he’s keeping his real feelings at bay but wants to make sure you know that you can tell him anything and he’ll listen. His shoulders are hunched over from hard work, but he never falters, he always shows up for you, for Sarah. He’s nervous in everything he does, whether he shows it or not, but he would do anything to make sure his friends and family get whatever they need. He’d fight a bull for you if you asked him to. He’d tear the earth in two for his baby, you can tell.

This is the same Joel you’ve come to like. He hasn’t changed into a whole new person just because you learned he’s a father. He was a father the whole time you’ve known him, which is weird to think about. What else didn’t you know about him?

You continue, dragging your feet back to him, “I would never, ever try to force you into anything– especially when it comes to your daughter. I have no right to demand anything.”

“I do want you to meet ‘er.”

“I want to meet her too.”

“Someday. I jus’… not now. I need to make sure we– I wanna make sure we’ll last before I introduce someone else into her life.”

“And I agree with you.”

“Good.”

“Yup.” You kick a rock in front of you.

You both stare at each other, waiting to see who will break the silence first. 

Joel tilts his head in the direction he had originally pointed in, “Can we go somewhere to talk?”

You nod. 

The two of you walk in silence to a park down the road. You wonder if his apartment is near.

There are a few benches scattered around the park, surrounded by flowers and shrubs alike. A playground is busy with children as they scream and chase after each other with smiles on their faces.

He flops down on a bench facing a water fountain, far enough from the kids that you’re pretty sure they won’t hear you.

You sigh, pressing your palms into your eyes as you join him, small flakes of wood on the old bench press into the backs of your thighs.

“I’m upset that you didn’t tell me right away– I just want you to know that.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Apologizing is good. An explanation would be better.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He crosses his arms, staring out at the glaring sun, “‘Cause I didn’ want you to run.”

You scoff and scuff the concrete beneath you with your sneaker in emphasis, “What makes you think I would’ve run?”

His eyes dart over to you. He gives you a look that screams, “Are you seriously asking me that?” Eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched.

“‘Could tell you were nervous when I first met ya. And I knew you were young and in college and most college-aged girls aren’t interested in gettin’ in a relationship with a dad.”

“Oh, I know for a fact that that is not true,” you huff, mirroring his position– slouched, arms crossed. You knew plenty of women your age who would love the stability and the experience– knew Elaine had had a few chance encounters with DILFs she had met at the bar. She claimed it was some of the best sex she’d ever had.

He scoffs, “Whatever, you know what I mean.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, I do.”

Rubbing his hands together, he continues.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to keep her from you forever. I was always going to tell you.”

You flatten your lips into a line. “Yeah, well, it would’ve been nice to know from the get-go.”

He’s looking you in the eye again with a genuinity and softness and places a hand on your thigh. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll stop apologizing for that for a long time. I just– it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

You sigh, placing your hand on top of his, a smirk starting to take over your lips, “I’m not going to say it’s okay, but I might be willing to forgive you.”

His eyebrows quirk up, “Might be?”

You fix your posture, now sitting taller than him, and look down into his pretty eyes, “You take me out again and I might be willing to look past this indiscretion.”

He opens his mouth to speak again, but you interrupt before he gets the chance, pointing a defiant finger in his face– “But–! You have to promise me you won’t keep shit from me anymore. We gotta lay it all on the table. I’m not going to do this with you unless you’re honest with me.”

He nods, “I think I can do that– both of those.”

You nod, “Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

He fixes his slouch so that he’s level with you again, his hand never leaving the comfort of your own.

“But, y’know that means you have to be honest with me too.”

You furrow your eyebrows.

Turning his hand so your palms face each other, he laces your fingers together and squeezes. “I know you’re hiding stuff from me too. Big stuff.”

You hum. 

“Why won’t you talk about your family?”

Well, shit.

You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut, “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’... but we don’t have to do this right now.” His eyes are wide with fear, scared he might have pushed you too hard. Maybe he has. But, it’s weird, for the first time in your entire life, you want to share things about your past.

“No, it’s okay. Might as well,” you reply, taking your hand out of his and rubbing your eyes aggressively with your palms.

Without looking up at him, you start, “I– I don’t really have much family. It’s just pretty much been me and my dad since I can remember.”

“You said your dad lives back in Seattle, right?”

“Yeah. He uh– he isn’t my favorite person. That’s why– that’s why I don’t talk about him.”

He doesn’t say anything, giving you time to think about what you’re going to say next.

“My mom died a couple weeks after she gave birth to me. She– she, uh–”

It’s hard to spit it out. To talk about it. Only a few people knew about what really happened– the rest all just knew she was dead. But you know that Joel should know– know why this is so hard for you.

“She had postpartum depression really, really bad. Couldn’t get out of bed, couldn’t shower, couldn’t eat, couldn’t feed me or hold me or look at me– Dad says she was like a statue, like a ghost of herself.”

You can’t get yourself to look at him– can feel the guilt running down your spine and into your bone marrow like it always does when you think of her. You hide your face behind your hands, elbows leaning on your legs.

“She had been so excited. They both were. Just out of college and newlyweds– dad says her pregnancy was the best year of their relationship.”

You gear yourself up for what you’re about to say. You’ve only ever told one person about this before: Elaine, and that was after a year of friendship. You’ve only known Joel for a little over a month. But, you want to tell him– need to tell him.

“But she– she killed herself. Didn’t leave a note or anything, she was just… gone.”

You can’t see his face, don’t want to. You’ve seen enough sympathetic eyes to last a lifetime of grief. “Oh, sugar…”

You shake your head in your hands– you’re not done yet. “Dad was pretty much gone after that. I never remember a time when he was ‘there’, but my grandmother said he used to be different– ‘more alive’.

“I knew he blamed me before he ever said it. He’d drop me off at my grandmother’s house and disappear for days and when she died and that wasn’t an option anymore, he would just leave me at the house with a ten dollar bill for food for a couple days at a time.”

He scoffs, like  your father could hear his anger from here. “That’s not fair–”

You cut him off, you don’t want to hear one more person say your life isn’t fair, “And when he was home, he was angry all the time. He has his good days, but he– he’s not my favorite person.

“So, that’s why I was scared when you told me about Sarah,” you continue, “Because I– I don’t exactly have a good track record with the whole ‘family’ thing. And I don’t… I don’t really know anything about being a… maternal figure.”

You can’t say “mom”. Can’t think it.

It takes a moment of stunned silence for Joel to reply, but when he does, he lays a hand on your shoulder, “Baby, I… I wasn’t askin’ for you to jump into being a mother. I wasn’t… I wasn’t even asking you to be a mother at all. I just wanted you to know my priorities, because if this relationship is gonna continue, you have to have a relationship with my daughter.”

“I know.”

“But, I understand now. Thank you for tellin’ me about your mom.”

You sigh, closing your eyes and leaning your head back on the bench, “Thank you for listening and being patient with me.”

You can feel him looking at you, hear the smile in his words. “I’d wait forever for you, sugar.”

Your cheeks heat up, eyes wide open, and turn to him. The look in his irises tells you that he’s being completely genuine.

“Anyways, I gotta go. I’m not tryin’ to get away from you or this conversation, but my momma has to get home.”

You nod your acknowledgement, standing up. He holds a hand out for you to take and you pull him up from the bench, but you don’t let go– you guide him towards the exit of the park and then he takes the reins from there, leading you in the direction of his apartment.

“Your mom watch her when you’re at work?”

“Yeah, Tommy does too sometimes when he’s not gettin’ his ass beat in alleyways after school,” he rolls his eyes. 

You huff out a breath of amusement, “Well, that’s very kind of them.”

You squeeze his hand. It’s calloused from hard work and dry from the hot Texas weather. His larger fingers engulf yours.

“Tell me about her.”

He starts to shake his head, “Oh, we don’t–”

“No, no, I want to know about her.”

He’ll always take an opportunity to brag about his baby girl.

In the few minutes walk, he tells you about Sarah. How she turns five in July. How she smiles with her teeth, showing off her two front teeth that they just pulled. How he very unsuccessfully pulled a Tooth Fairy heist, which resulted in him having to admit to his daughter that the Tooth Fairy wasn’t real. How she looks just like her mom, but is just so beautifully unique in her own way. How her hair never cooperates with him, so he has to take her to the salon down the street so they can braid her hair. How she likes pink the most and requests the same pink butterfly hair clips every morning despite the large collection of hair accessories she’s amassed. How he loves her with everything in him.

You arrive at your destination, or at least you think so, as you approach a small bakery and Joel takes out his key.

“I rent the apartment above the bakery from the owner. She has a house with kids and a husband so she doesn’t need to stay here, and she’s an old family friend, so she lets Sarah and I stay up here for fairly cheap.”

You smile, “That’s very kind.”

“Yes, but she loves to come visit way more than she’s actually welcomed. She likes Sarah a lot, I mean, most people do because she’s a great kid, but y’know…”

He suddenly perks up, holding his hands up in a “stop” motion.

“Wait– stay here.”

You watch him run up the stairs two at a time, before the door closes behind him. You stay in your spot.

He comes back down the stairs with his seashell in his hand– the gray one with the brown stripes, the one he had so proudly presented to you two days ago on the beach. The one he told you was simple, didn’t need to be flashy to get the job done. The one that was so obviously him that it hurt to think about the last couple of days of avoiding him, of the time wasted.

You cradle it in your palms and look up at him through your eyelashes.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter.

“For what, sugar?”

“For making you think I didn’t want you.”

He sighs, grabbing your wrists and pulling you into his chest, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“Don’t be sorry– wasn’t your fault. I got lots of things to work on, and so do you. We jus’ need to communicate better, like you said.”

You nuzzle your head into his chest. He smells like leather and freshly-cut wood.

He feels like home.

“Yeah, we do.”

✦ ✦ ✦

December 1994

It’s the middle of December when your 21st birthday rolls around.

Elaine throws a party in the basement of your dorm building, approved by your RA as a “floor event” for the end of the semester (which in a way isn’t a lie because most of your dorm floor is there anyways) the day before your birthday. You had convinced Joel to come too, all of your friends swooning over him and winking at you when you introduced them to him. He’s blushing the entire night.

But on your actual birthday, Joel takes you to his apartment for the first time, dropping Sarah off at his mom’s house for the night.

When you first walked in, you think that even if you hadn’t known this was Joel’s apartment, that you could’ve easily picked it out in a lineup. The ceilings are vaulted, popcorn textured walls that are painted an off-white that makes the space look larger than it is, a kitchen off to the right and a bedroom door straight ahead. There’s a painting of horses that Joel has described to you before above the mantle in the living room, it was his dad’s. You can tell he’s cleaned up, because all of the pink toys that he told you were usually scattered all over the floor for him to stub his toe on, which he did constantly, are neatly piled in a basket in the corner of the room. The couch is old, sagging in the middle, but it looks comfortable because of all of the quilts thrown all over the back.

After a dinner of your favorite food, which Joel painstakingly made to perfection, he guides you to the living room couch and hands you a present.

It’s a big cardboard box with a purple bow stuck on top. Before you can even think about opening it, he takes the bow off and puts it on top of your head.

“It’s for your birthday and Christmas ‘cause it’s a pretty expensive gift, and y’know I don’t make a whole lot at the diner, but I think it was worth it.”

You open the box with a smile and what sits waiting for you is a pair of cowboy boots. And they are beautiful.

They’re made of a thick leather that feels smooth beneath your fingers as you pick them up and cradle one of them in your hands. It’s heavy in your grip, sturdy and obviously well-made– stitches tight and leather buffed. The sides are a light purple with white sprigs of lavender stitched into the leather.

“They’re work boots, so they're steel-toed and waterproof. I treated the leather already, but you can bring ‘em to me every couple months and I’ll do it again. Figure that you needed shoes that weren’t your half-destroyed Converse and I love my boots, so I thought, you know, maybe you’d like a pair too,” he chuckles stiffly, carding a hand through his hair.

You’re speechless, to the point that you can’t even point out that he had implied a future two months from now where you’re still dating. There’s about a hundred words you want to say to him, but none of them seem good enough.

Gently placing the boot back in the box and on the floor, you stand up and move in front of Joel and in-between his thighs. He’s looking up at you with wide eyes and you want to devour him whole.

“What’re you doin’, sugar?”

You climb into his lap and smirk down at him, “Lookin’ at ya.”

He grabs the outsides of your thighs and squeezes them, “Oh, really?”

“Yup,” you pop the ‘p’ with a smirk, throwing your arms around his neck. Pushing yourself further into his lap, your nose brushes against his.

If someone asked you what your favorite thing about Joel was, you would tell them that it’s his eyes. Those defined crows feet that kiss the corners of his gorgeous honey-brown irises are enchanting– evidence of a life, so far, well-lived.

You adore him. You–

“I love you.”

He pulls back slightly with wide eyes.

“I– sugar, you don’t have to say it if you’re not ready.”

That’s so like Joel– to think he doesn’t deserve this.

You weave your fingers into the curls that stick to the back of his neck and your smirk turns into a smile, “I’m ready and I love you.”

You nudge his nose with your own and lean in, lips connecting in a simple peck.

“I love you too– so much, sugar,” he whispers, pressing your lips together again.

“Thank you for the boots, Joel. They’re beautiful.”

“I hope it’s okay– gettin’ you one gift. I… you know I’m not exactly the richest person in the world.”

“Oh baby, is that why you’ve been picking up all those extra shifts with Tommy?”

“Yeah,” he draws out bashfully.

You kiss him again, “Miller, it is more than okay for you to give me one gift. In fact, it would’ve been okay if you hadn’t gotten me anything. Just you being here is enough for me.”

“Oh, really?”

He sighs, squeezing your thighs again, pulling you in closer until your chests touch. You can feel him beneath you. Your cheeks heat up.

“Mhm.”

It’s gentle, the way he lays you down on the bed, legs hanging off the edge. He stands between your shaking legs. Your body is buzzing with the electricity of the moment, as he looks down at you with hooded, black eyes– hungry and soft.

He takes his time kissing up your body, starting where your skin is exposed at the top of your pajama pants and making his way up, up, up, in between your heaving, clothed breasts, shirt long gone on the living room floor, and finally up to your lips. He pecks them once and sighs, arms bracketing your head.

He says your name sternly, “Are you sure you want to do this? Because you know, I am very okay with waitin’.”

You look up into those eyes, the ones you fell in love with first, and you know. You know this is what you need.

“Please,” you whine, hips stuttering under his.

He holds your hip down with his large, sturdy hand and speaks softly, “Baby, I need a yes or no.”

“Yes, yes! I’m ready, Joel, please.” 

With all the energy you have left in your buzzing and needy limbs, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss that says all the shit that’s always left unsaid. You’re my other half, I don’t think I can live without you anymore, I am yours, You are mine.

And it’s gentle, because that’s who Joel is. A father, a caregiver, a lover– he is gentle. He takes care of you, loving you down to the tips of your fingers, taking his time to savor the taste of you. It’s not perfect– there’s both of your awkward giggles while Joel pulls the condom on and your hisses as he goes a little too fast– but, to you, it’s perfect in all the ways it matters and you’re seeing stars multiple times before Joel finally finishes with a loud and gorgeous moan.

After Joel wipes you both down with a warm washcloth, you’re laying in his arms, playing with the wispy, brown hair just below his cheekbones and he’s humming in delight like a cat purrs.

“I love you,” he whispers, eyes closed.

“I love you, too,” you whisper back, kissing his chest just above his heart where you wish you could burrow yourself forever. Moving out of this bed is tomorrow’s problem. Today, you can pretend that you’re nestled in his heart chambers as his breaths slow and he falls asleep with his arms wrapped around you in a tight embrace, like even in his sleep he has to keep you close enough to feel your breaths, make sure you’re still next to him.

✦ ✦ ✦

March 1995

It’s not until three months later that Joel agrees that it’s time for you to meet Sarah. You’re not sure why it takes him so long to make that decision, but you try not to think about it too much or else you start to panic and you promised Joel that you would trust him more and this is one of those moments where you just need to tell your brain to ‘shut up’ and trust him. So, you trust him.

It’s a Friday evening. You pick him up from the diner and walk the short trip with your hands intertwined. You can feel the sweat pooling on his palms, despite the cool spring weather, but you don’t let go.

You’ve been to his apartment before, many times in fact, but it’s so different when it’s not just the two of you. Walking into high-pitched giggles and the low groan of the old stand mixer that usually sits dormant on Joel’s counter is odd, but it feels right– like this is how it’s always supposed to be.

Your heart is racing. He pulls you into the apartment and you see her for the first time.

Her light brown curls bounce, confined near her temples by the two butterfly clips in them, as she jumps up and down in her sparkly pink, plastic, princess heels that clack obnoxiously on the tiled floor of the kitchen. She’s wearing a pink, long-sleeved shirt– the red top of Elmo’s head just barely peeking out of the top of her jean overalls. Her tawny-brown, chubby cheeks are pulled taught by her unending smile. She looks just like the numerous pictures Joel has shown you with pride in his eyes, but now, in front of you, she is real.

And it doesn’t scare you. It excites you.

“Papi, is that you,” you hear a graveled, feminine voice cut through the static-filled radio that’s attached to the underside of the cabinet.

And now you’re scared.

Not only is Joel’s little girl in front of you, but so is his mother. Her dark brown hair, already graying at the roots despite her young age of forty-five, is pulled into a braid that runs all the way down to her lower back. She has a blue dress on with intricate white floral designs on the skirt, long and flowing. It moves gracefully as she glides around the kitchen. In a weird way, it is so obvious that Joel is her son.

Sarah’s eyes light up when she spots her dad, hands flying over her head.

“Daddy!”

Joel’s nervous demeanor is quickly discarded, leaving a smile in its wake.

“Guppy!”

She runs to her father, heels clacking and hair bouncing, and slams into his calves. Wrapping her arms around his legs, she squeezes with a grunt. All Joel does is chuckle at her violent affection.

From her position attached to her father’s legs, she turns her head towards you with her eyebrows crossed and a frown on her face, “Who’s that, Daddy?”

You sit on your calves to get down to her level and tell her your name with a smile, “It’s really nice to meet you.”

You’re good with kids. It’s why you wanted to be a teacher in the first place, besides the joy you got from sharing your knowledge. You used to babysit for your neighbors constantly (which was a good way to make money, but also an excuse to leave the house when your dad was having one of his really bad days). So, you should be good with Sarah. Right?

Joel nudges her off of him and kneels down to her level as well, “She’s my girlfriend.”

He doesn’t beat around the bush, doesn’t talk around it, because his little girl is smart and he wants to tell her the truth.

She looks you up and down suspiciously with her big brown eyes, “Girlfriend?”

“Yeah, baby. She’s my friend that I kiss sometimes.”

Her face scrunches up in disgust, “Ew!”

You copy her expression and whisper, “It is kinda gross sometimes.”

She looks you up and down with her eyebrows furrowed. For a second, you think she might be offended by you calling her father gross; based on what Joel has told you about her, you thought she would appreciate a joke at her dad’s expense, but maybe she didn’t when it came from someone she didn’t know–

Her face lights up and she starts to giggle, hands pulling at her father’s shirt.

“You’re gross, Daddy.”

He looks down at his clothes, covered in grease and sweat and laughs, “I guess I am.”

“I wonder how I can get clean,” he draws out, tapping his chin as if in deep thought. He scoops her up into his arms and starts to rub his face and hair, covered in grime from a long shift at the diner, all over her overalls.

She screeches, her laugh boiling over and filling the little living room. Her smile is radiant.

“Daddy, put me down!” She pushes at his shoulders with her tiny hands, which, of course, doesn’t move Joel an inch, but she continues pushing as hard as she can.

“But, you said I was gross! I’m just trying to fix it!”

“You’re makin’ me gross!”

“What?!”

She looks desperately over at you, grin taking over her chubby face, and reaches for you with the arm that isn’t restrained by Joel, “Help!”

“I’ll help you!” You stand up, grab her arm, and pull lightly, making sure not to hurt her.

“He’s too strong,” you cry out dramatically.

Her voice bounces as Joel jostles her around, “Ask him to stop! Politely!”

She adds “politely”, as if she’s repeating a mantra she’s held close to her heart. It’s endearing and it makes your heart ache for the kindness that Joel has taught and shown his daughter.

You oblige her. “Gross man, can you please let go of the princess?”

He stops suddenly, placing her down on the ground with a stomp of her feet. She prances away from him and over to you, hiding behind your legs.

“Anything for the Queen,” he salutes to you and looks at Sarah with sympathy in his eyes, “I’m sorry, Princess. I thought that you wanted me to get clean.”

She giggles again, wiping her hands down the bib of her overalls, “Daddy, you have to get clean in the shower!”

He throws his hands up in the air, “The shower?! Why didn’t you just say that?”

She copies her dad, throwing her hands up in the air, laughing still.

Turning to you, she curtsies, emulating lifting a skirt with her hands, “Thank you, kind lady for saving me. I’ll ‘emem- ‘emember this.”

She struggles with the word ‘remember’, nose scrunching as she knows she isn’t saying it right, but can’t quite get the syllables around her tongue.

“Anything for the Princess,” you curtsy back at her with your real dress.

Silent up to this point, Joel’s mom finally decides to put her two cents in.

“I like your boots, mija.”

You look down at your feet and see those gorgeous cowboy boots with the embroidered lavender sprigs and the lavender leather on the sides and you’re reminded how much Joel loves you– that this is a moment to celebrate, not to ruin with your overthinking. Joel adores his mother and Sarah– it is a privilege to meet these people.

“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Miller! Joel got them for me for my birthday.”

She smirks and winks at you, “I know, I helped him pick them out.”

She throws a towel over her shoulder and pops a tray in the oven. Joel and Sarah are talking behind you in soft voices. You can’t really make out what they’re saying, but you don’t really mind. Whatever made Sarah the most comfortable in this situation is good with you.

“Well, they’re beautiful. Thank you for helping him.”

Shutting the oven door with her hip, she pulls another tray from the counter and places it on top of the stove. She does all of this while making direct eye contact with you, like she is so familiar with the space that she could move around it with her eyes closed.

“I help papi with whatever he needs and he doesn’t know the first thing about what a girl likes– that’s why I buy all of Sarah’s clothes… and don’t call me Mrs. Miller– makes me feel older than I am. Call me Essie.”

Your face heats up, “Okay, Essie.”

“Momma–”

“You–” she points at Joel, stern look on her face– “are late.”

Joel looks so guilty, you almost think he’s killed someone. “I’m sorry, Momma. Don kept me later than usual.”

“Only reason I’m mad is that you took my time away from meeting your beautiful girl.” She walks up to you and hugs you.

Oh.

You stiffen, not because the hug is unwelcome, it is very welcome, but because you can’t remember the last time you’d been hugged by anyone but Elaine and Joel– by a mother.

And you can feel all the softness of a mother that you never got to have pour through her and to you. You know she knows about what happened to your mom; Joel tells his momma everything, but you hadn’t expected her to be this kind to you. Because you’re you, of course you had expected the worst, that she would hate you, tell you to get away from her son, tell you that you weren’t good enough, but here she is, showing you all the gentleness that she had taught her son to show others. You relax into it.

An embrace can say a thousand words, and you think this one says a thousand and one.

You can feel the heat on your face climbing further down and into your chest, straight to your heart.

“Sorry, Momma,” he mumbles.

She lets go of you and you feel the loss of her. You hope that she’ll show you her kindness again– you crave that affection.

“It’s okay–” she grabs your face and puts her forehead to yours– “You’re here now.”

Her dress swishes behind her as she returns to the kitchen to continue her cooking.

“Thomas is coming over,” she yells, her voice cracking slightly at the end with the effort.

Joel’s eyes go wide, “What?”

Sarah screeches, jumping up and down, which just seems to be her blanket response to excitement, “Uncle Tommy!”

Essie laughs, her whole face lighting up with the force of it, “Your brother wanted to meet your girl.”

You’ve heard lots of things about Tommy from Joel: how he gets regularly arrested for starting fights with people, how determined and head strong he was, how much he loved Sarah, and how massive of a flirt he was. At 17-years-old, Joel’s younger brother was a huge pain in his ass, but he loved him regardless.

“So he invited himself?”

She shakes her head, “No, toro, I invited him when I told him my plans for today before he went to school.”

“But–”

A knock on the door interrupts his protest. There’s the jingle of a key and then the door slams open with a kick.

“Hello, brother!”

Joel’s face falls into a blank stare, “Hello.”

Sarah, ever the aggressive greeter, runs to her uncle with a scream, “Tom-Tom!”

“Sarah,” he yells as he picks her up and spins her around in his arms. Her screeches turn into rambunctious laughter.

Tommy is a handsome young man. He has the same unruly brown curls that Joel does, but his are more structured and lay more securely on the top of his head, unlike Joel’s where it cascades down to his neck. Big, brown eyes and strong, dark eyebrows make him look more innocent than he actually is. He’s got a flannel and a stained wife-beater on.

“Nene, I told you to dress nicely,” Essie yells, leaning out on the entryway to the kitchen.

Tommy’s confident look quickly fades from his face, the same guilty look his brother had just sported taking over, “I’m sorry, Momma.”

She hums and goes back to the kitchen.

“Shit,” tumbles out of Tommy’s mouth.

“Sh–” Sarah starts to repeat, before Tommy claps a hand over her mouth. You can hear her giggling from behind his hand.

“Tommy!”

“Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to– ack, gross,” he exclaims as Sarah licks his palm.

He deposits her onto the ground and she runs into the kitchen, screaming. He rubs his hand on his dirty jeans.

“Tommy. This is my girlfriend,” he sighs, telling him your name, which Tommy repeats as he takes your hand in his (not the one that was just licked by Sarah) and kisses your hand.

“Well, seems you already know my name, sweetheart. It’s a pleasure to meet you after all these months of Joel talkin’ ‘bout ya.”

What you wouldn’t give to be a fly-on-the-wall when Joel talked about you. You knew he’d never speak badly of you– he never spoke badly of anyone, including Tommy–, but you were curious what he could possibly be saying to them, especially the young man in front of you.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Tommy.”

He drops your hand lightly and looks over at his brother. You think you see him wink, but you’re choosing to ignore whatever you just saw. You do, however, see the blush crawling back up Joel’s neck, as you turn back to him.

Joel takes your hand in his. You lace your fingers through his and squeeze lightly, an acknowledgement of his social awkwardness.

“Well, I’m gonna go see if I can help Momma with dinner, see if she can forgive me for dressin’ like an idiot.”

Joel’s lips form a line, “See ya.”

“Oh, brother, you’ve outdone yourself. Don’t know how you managed it.” He points to you, turns on his heel, and walks to the other room.

“I’m sorry about him,” Joel mutters, eyes downcast to the floor.

You shrug, “It’s okay. He seems nice.”

Guiding your shoulder towards him so that you’re fully facing him, he kisses your forehead, “Tell me if this is all too much, okay? Meetin’ my whole immediate family at once is a lot.”

You shake your head, “Joel, I am honored that I get to meet them. It’s a little overwhelming, but I can handle myself– don’t worry about me.”

“Okay, sugar,” he sighs into your hair.

The rest of the night goes off without a hitch. Sarah spends the whole meal screeching and throwing food at her dad. Tommy spends the whole meal laughing at Sarah throwing food at her dad. Joel patiently reminds Sarah that she’s not supposed to throw food, which, of course, she doesn’t listen to and continues to throw food at her dad. And you and Essie are in your own little world, discussing everything from your schooling to how she grew up in Columbia, but met Joel’s father when she moved to the States in 1970. She is an amazing listener and an engaging storyteller, face clearly displaying her emotions as she tells you about her brilliant life so far.

Joel tells you on your walk back to your dorm that he’s pretty sure that his mom likes you more than him now. You joke that you like her better than him too. He groans, “My momma’s gonna take my girl from me.”

“Your girl?”

“Yeah, sugar, my girl.”

✦ ✦ ✦

April 1995

“Are you ever gonna hang out with me again,” Elaine whines, watching you pull a flannel out of your closet and stuff it in your bookbag next to your books that you’re bringing to study with. It was Joel’s, but it was starting to lose his scent and you were going to demand he wear it tonight so that the leather smell would seep back into the fabric.

“Lane, we hang out all the time.”

Hair fanned out below her in a halo of sorts, Elaine lays on her bed with her head off the side, feet in the air. She scoffs and throws her hands up in exasperation.

“No! That’s not true! You are never here on the weekends anymore and that’s when all the good parties are going on.”

You deadpan, “When have I ever gone to parties with you?”

“You went to some parties!”

“I went to one party and left an hour in because I got completely overwhelmed and started crying after one drink.”

“Okay… but that was freshman year and I bet you could hold your booze much better now that you’re legal.”

“Elaine, baby, sweet girl, love of my life, I do not want to go to a party.”

She pouts and crosses her arms, “Yeah, you wanna go hang out with your boy and his four-year-old all weekend.”

You clear your throat and mutter, “Actually, Sarah is staying with her abuela this weekend.”

Elaine gasps, flipping around and sitting up on all fours, “No fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way,” you reply flatly.

“You are going to be in Joel’s apartment all weekend. Just the two of you.”

“Yup.”

“All by yourselves. For an entire weekend.”

“You just said the exact same thing twice and my answer is still yes.”

She bounds over to you and grabs your face in her hands, “Oh, my sweet baby, you are getting your brains fucked out all weekend, aren’t you?”

“Good god, Lane,” you shake her hands off her face and continue your packing.

She hops in place a couple times, her wild hair doing flips as she does, “You are, aren’t you?! Oh my god. This is so great, I cannot wait for you to tell me every detail when you get back.”

You glare at her for a moment and shake your head, “Fine.”

She shrieks, throwing her arms up in the air and running around your small shared room like she’s doing a victory lap.

Pumping a fist in the air, she flops backwards onto her bed and stares at the ceiling, face suddenly serious. But, you’re used to this by now, her mood changes like the wind– she has some of the most intense ADHD you’ve ever seen.

She raises her hand up.

You sigh, “Yes, Elaine?”

“I have a question.”

She sits up again, hands fidgeting in her lap, “What are you gonna do about Joel when you go back to Seattle for the summer?”

“I–” Oh.

You’d been thinking about summer break constantly since the moment you started dating Joel. It’s been a looming threat over everything you two have shared over the past 6 months, a near-constant reminder that you’ll be leaving to go back to your dad’s house in less than a month. You’d just pushed it to the back of your mind. No one ever mentioned it, so you just never brought it up.

But now that Elaine is here, sitting in front of you, confronting you with something you’ve been avoiding for months, it hits you like a ton of bricks.

“I don’t know.” You sink down into your desk chair, bag slapping on the tile at your feet.

“You really like him– don’t you, baby girl?”

You nod, staring at the floor. Two years of living in these dorms and you’d never noticed how uneven the tile was. You feel your heart beating in your ears.

“You know, you could stay with me and my parents this summer?”

“No, no, I don’t wanna bother them.”

She purses her lips, “Well… I kind of already asked them and they said that it was okay.”

You gasp, turning towards her, “What?”

“Yeah, baby, it’d be like a whole summer of sleepovers, except y’know, you’d have your own room.”

Elaine’s parents were cattle farmers. They owned a small ranch just outside of Austin with a wide expanse of land and multiple small houses throughout. Elaine didn’t live with her parents– she lived in her own small farmhouse about a quarter of a mile down the dirt road that ran through their property. You’d been there before; it was beautiful.

And not having to go back to Seattle: that would be great. If last summer was any indication of your dad’s excitement at you coming home, you had been dreading what this summer would bring.

But here’s an out. A way to avoid your father and his horrible rage. A way to stay near Joel and Sarah. A way to celebrate Sarah’s birthday with her in July like she’d been begging you to.

“Maybe.”

She grins, hands still fidgeting in her lap, but more aggressively like she’s trying to hold herself back from a big reaction to your “maybe”, which you both know just means “yes”.

“Thank you.”

“Don’ even mention it, baby. You’re the love of my life– I couldn’ bear another summer without you.”

Later that evening you're talking to Joel in his apartment over dinner, candles lit between you, Joel snug in your favorite flannel of his. You tell him about Elaine’s idea. He insists that you take her up on her offer. You send her a text that you’re going to stay. She replies with, “!!!” and then another text a few minutes later that reads, “go get sum, bb ;)”.

You make sure Joel can’t see that text.

When you’re done with dinner, you’re doing dishes together. He’s washing, you’re rinsing and drying. When you have dinner here, you switch who does what task– it keeps it fair, that’s what Joel had said when you started coming here a few months ago.

You can’t believe it’s been months with this amazing man. It makes you giddy: that time seems to pass so quickly with him.

He’s been quiet– well, more quiet than usual today. You think it might just be that he misses Sarah, but that theory quickly becomes dust when he finally starts to speak.

He clears his throat and breaks your comfortable silence.

“Talked to Tommy today.”

“Oh, yeah?”

He sniffs, “Yeah.”

“And what exactly did you two talk about?”

You know Joel and Tommy have never exactly gotten along. When you’d met Tommy the month before, that had been blatantly obvious. Joel loved Tommy. They both knew it– they’d never say it out loud though. But, their “talking” usually involved Tommy rambling about whatever he wanted and Joel grunting every other sentence so that he knew that he was still listening.

“He, uh– he says he’s gonna join the army.”

Your head whips towards him, “What?!”

He flattens his lips into a line and sniffs again, nodding.

“Was he fucking with you?”

That wasn’t an uncommon occurrence with Tommy. He regularly said things he knew would make Joel upset just to mess with him. Once, he had told Joel that his girlfriend at the time was pregnant just after his 17th birthday. Joel didn’t talk to him for a couple weeks after that.

He shakes his head, putting the sponge down into the lukewarm water.

Exasperated, you sigh, “Did he say why?”

“Says he wants to honor Dad or somethin’.”

You’d had discussions about Joel’s dad before. They were few and far-between, mostly because it was obvious that his father made him uncomfortable. He had died just six months after Sarah had been born– lung cancer caused by twenty-five years of smoking a pack a day, according to Joel.

Mark was a Vietnam veteran, left home at 18 to join the war effort. He’d met Essie when he was discharged with a prosthetic limb and a purple heart in 1970. Joel doesn’t know exactly what had happened to his dad in Vietnam, but he knew it was bad. He would wake up in the middle of the night to his dad screaming in his sleep– telling someone to move and then begging God to let his friend live.

Joel says he was terrified of his father, that he treated him like a “man” before he was old enough to have coherent conversations. What that meant was beyond you, but you understood that he wasn’t ready to talk about it and you were willing to wait. You would always wait.

“Do you– do you think he’s going to do it?”

He sighs, massaging his temples, “’M not sure. He… seemed pretty determined.”

Picking the sponge out of the water, he goes back to scrubbing, but now he’s doing it rougher, sponge squashed in his hand, dish squeaking aggressively. His eyebrows are scrunched together and you think you see a glint of something shiny in his eyes.

“Miller, what’s going on in that head of yours?”

He hands you the plate he was maiming to rinse and dry. You do so as he collects his thoughts.

Two more dishes are washed and dried before he says anything.

“Dad was a lot more gentle on Tommy than he ever was on me. He treated Tommy like his son, but he treated me like a soldier. Tommy had a dad, I had a General.”

He avoids eye contact with you as he continues.

“I think Tommy idolizes him too much, especially now that he’s gone and he never really saw the version of Dad that I did. The traumatized veteran.”

His shoulders shake as he sobs, choking on his words, “I don’t want Tommy to end up like Dad.”

Fuck, if that didn’t make you want to sob too. You hold yourself together for him, at least you try to. You can feel your emotions climbing up your throat, desperate to choke out of you.

You put a hand on his bicep and lean on his shoulder. The dirty water splashes when the sponge falls back into it, flicking water up and onto both of your shirts

A tear escapes his eye and lands on the top of your head, soaking into your hair. 

“Did you tell him that?”

Another sob claws out of his mouth, “Yeah. He wouldn’ listen.”

“Well, baby, you did all you could do. Seems like there’s no stopping him.”

He doesn’t say anything. His wet hand wraps around your forearm and pulls it around his back so that you’re hugging him. You squeeze your arms around his waist as he runs his fingers through your hair, clings on to the strands and guides your head to his neck. You can feel the dish water from his hands soaking into your scalp.

You press a kiss to the skin under your lips and he sighs, pulling you in even closer.

“Things will work out. Whatever happens, I’m always here.”

He nods his head into your shoulder. A high-pitched whine tumbles out of his lips involuntarily.

“It’ll be okay.”

Shit.

✦ ✦ ✦

July 1995

Friday, July 14th, 1995 marks Sarah’s fifth birthday. She invites all her friends from preschool and Joel invites everyone he knows would want to be there for his daughter. Joel told you that he had gone to text Tommy to invite him, forgetting that his brother had left for basic training a month ago. He sent him a text anyway– asking him how he was doing. He hadn’t gotten a response yet.

When you walked into the apartment, with the key that Joel had given you a month ago, to help Joel and Essie set up the party this morning, Sarah had stopped you at the door with a smirk on her face and something held behind her back.

“Hello, Queen Sugar!” She curtsies to you with her large puffy, pink dress that Essie had painstakingly spent the last month making her.

You curtsy back with your own dress, the purple sundress you had worn to the beach all those months ago, “Hello, Princess Sarah! May I come in?”

You really know she’s up to something when her smirk turns into a maniacal grin.

“No.”

Hm. Where the hell is Joel?

You get down on your knees so that you’re eye-level with her, “Why not, your highness?”

She finally pulls whatever is behind her back out and holds it out to you. It’s the silver plastic crown with the pink jewels that she had worn on her fourth birthday. The one she wears whenever she’s feeling particularly royal. It’d been slightly too big for her then, but it fit her like a glove now. 

“Because you aren’t wearing your crown yet. And you know it’s improper to attend a social event as the queen without your crown!”

Well, you didn’t know that. But you knew now. Joel’s doormat was really uncomfortable to kneel on.

“Well, of course, your highness, how could I forget that?”

She nods her head once resolutely.

“But I must ask, why aren’t you wearing a crown?”

She puts her hands on her hips, “I’ve decided that since it is your first Guppy birthday, your majesty, that you must wear the crown! It’s only fair that I share.”

Holding the crown out in front of her, she declares with determination, “All hail, Queen Sugar!”

You hear Essie’s graveled voice call through the apartment behind Sarah, “Mariposa, come help your abuela with decorating your cookies!”

She plops the crown on your head and runs into the apartment, leaving the door wide open. Well, so much for decorum.

“Hey, sugar.” A hand pops into your vision from the stairs beside you.

He’s got a couple bags of decorations in his left arm and is holding out the other for you to take.

“Hey,” you groan as he pulls you up onto your feet, “You want some help?”

“Nah, I got it.” He urges you inside with a wave of his hand and he walks in behind you.

The furniture that usually is cluttered around his living room is pushed to the walls, so that there’s more space for the kids to play. You notice a basket full of her toys sits in wait in the corner of the room, filled past the brim with pink.

“Lovin’ the crown, baby,” he smiles, setting the paper bags on the couch.

It’s crooked, askew from Sarah’s hasty exit.

“Thanks. Apparently I wasn’t allowed to attend a public event without one because it was ‘improper’.” You put quotes on the last words with your fingers.

“Well, if the princess says…” Coming around the side of the couch, he stands in front of you. You look up at him through your lashes as he adjusts the crown so it sits straight on your head. He’s done it enough with his little girl to know how to get it just right so the tight plastic doesn’t dig into your scalp.

“Thank you,” you whisper and press a chaste kiss to his lips.

He chuckles, snaking his arms around your waist, “Anything for the queen.”

You hum as he presses another kiss to your lips, longer this time, soft. You love these moments with Joel– the ones where he’s put himself in the moment, so that he isn’t thinking about the millions of things he needs to get done. But really, you love every moment you get to have with Joel.

“Daddy!” Sarah’s running into the living room with frosting smeared on her hands and all across her cheek and Joel puts himself to work getting it off her in the bathroom as you start to pull decorations out of the bags. Her birthday party this year is Sesame Street themed. When Joel had suggested it to her, she had jumped around the room screeching about all the decorations she needed and where to put them and how she needed to invite Elmo now so he would get his invitation on time. You had been in charge of the return letter from Elmo where he reluctantly declined her invitation with a crude drawing of himself in the bottom corner (Joel didn’t stop laughing at how horrible it looked for a week afterwards, “He looks like he got run over by a semi, baby.”). She wrote him back saying she understood and drew a heart and a smiley face at the bottom.

“Elaine’s gonna be late, she got held up with something.” You tell Joel as you hand him a freshly-blown balloon. He’d gotten the frosting off Sarah and then urged her into a nap so that she could be at full energy for her party.

He chuckles, “Oh, really? And what was that?”

Rolling your eyes, you sigh with a grin, “Robin.”

The mean blonde you had met in November in your dorm room after finding out about Sarah has been slowly worming her way into your heart. While you’ve been spending most of your summer with Joel, Elaine’s been spending most of her’s with Robin, who had stayed on campus this break to take summer classes. At first you’d been hesitant to encourage the relationship, Robin hadn’t made a very good impression, but Elaine seemed really happy, happier than you’d seen her in your entire friendship, and Robin’s grumpy attitude was growing on you.

“Good for her.”

“Yeah, good for her, but not so good for my sleep schedule.”

Turns out living in a house alone with Elaine all summer was great, except for the fact that the walls were a little too thin for your liking. You’d been learning a bit more about Elaine’s sex life than you wanted to know.

You watch as Joel attempts to wrap the string around the knot on the balloon with little success, his large fingers getting in the way of themselves.

“Gimme,” you mumble, holding your hand out.

He reluctantly hands the balloon and string over with a bashful smile.

Deftly, you string the balloon and watch it rise to the ceiling as you let it go. It wobbles back and forth and then finally stays in place.

“You could stay here tonight if you wanted? You’ve got those extra clothes you left in my drawer just in case.”

The drawer.

The drawer had been a very big deal to you when he first offered it casually one night when you’d realized you had forgotten to bring an outfit for the next day. 

“You already left a toothbrush here, just leave a couple outfits here too. I’ll clear a drawer for you.”

Joel was very confused when you had started to cry. Through heaving breaths and tears you had explained to him that you had never been given a drawer before.

It didn’t help that you were PMSing really bad that day (which had been the entire reason you had come over in the first place).

You give him a smile, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, baby.”

You know there won’t be any sex, Joel made it pretty clear the first time you had stayed here when Sarah was home that he was not comfortable with that while she was in the apartment. The wall's thinness didn’t leave anything to the imagination and her room was right next to his. That was okay though, you enjoyed sleeping on the heater that was Joel Miller and that was good enough for you.

“Okay.” You stand up and give him a kiss on the cheek.

He pats your ass as you walk towards the kitchen. You send him a glare back with a smirk.

Everyone starts arriving at four, except your best friend, and you watch as Joel tries his best to wrangle six toddlers to do the activities that he’d planned. He bought some coloring books and told the kids to bring their own crayons because he had thought that maybe that would be a calming activity, but as you had predicted two weeks ago when he told you his plan, it had quickly devolved into drawing on the fold out table and somehow finding markers and drawing on each other. You helped him toss the drawing stuff in his room when the kids were distracted by Sarah telling the story of how you had almost “improperly” walked into her birthday party without your crown on. The kids thought she was hilarious.

Sarah is instantly captivated when Elaine walks through the door, like everyone is when they first meet her.

“Your hair is so pretty,” Sarah squeals, balancing on the balls of her feet.

Elaine gasps, a smile lighting up her face as she hands you her bag to put in Joel’s room, “Oh my god, your hair is so pretty too, baby girl.”

“I’m Sarah Esperanza Miller.” She recites her full name with a smile on her face, proud of her name.

Elaine holds her hand out for her to take, “Hi, Sarah. I’m Elaine Jo MacKenzie.”

She perks up, her whole body suddenly standing at attention. “Wait here!”

Elaine grabs your elbow and pulls you into her body, giving you a light kiss on the cheek while you both watch Sarah run to her room across the house– weaving and dodging through the crowd. She peeks around your body to look at Joel, a dreamy grin on her face.

“She’s beautiful, Joel.”

He smiles, running a hand through his hair, “Thank you.”

She looks up at you, “You’re a lucky motherfucker.”

You laugh lightly, “I know.”

She adjusts the crown on your head.

“It’s crooked,” she explains, nodding when she determines that it’s perfect.

You nuzzle your nose into her hair; it smells like strawberries.

“Thank you.”

When Sarah comes back, she’s hiding something behind her back, an excited smile taking over her chubby cheeks.

She goes to Elaine, pulling her arm out of your own and down so she’s kneeling in front of her.

“Can I touch your hair?”

Joel sighs, “Baby, that’s not–”

Elaine doesn’t break eye contact with her as she answers her, “Of course, you can. Thank you for asking. That was really polite.”

Sarah looks up to her dad, silently asking him for permission and he nods his head.

“As long as she says ‘yes’, then it’s okay.”

Elaine nods too when she turns back to her and Sarah tucks Elaine’s puffy mess of hair behind her ear and sticks a small, pink butterfly clip just above her ear. Joel recognizes it as her favorite hair accessory, one of the only ones that Joel can easily style her hair with.

Elaine gasps, jumping up and finding the nearest mirror, and smiles when she sees herself in it. She delicately adjusts the clip so that it is more secure. “Oh, baby girl, I love it! Thank you!”

Sarah giggles uncontrollably, “I knew it would look pretty on you!”

“Well, of course, you knew– you’re a genius, baby!”

She kneels back on the ground and holds her arms out, an invitation for a hug. Sarah runs into her arms and she huffs with the force of her tiny body colliding with her chest.

You knew that Sarah would love Elaine; her eccentric joy was so magnetic that this automatic connection between the two of them just made sense. She had always made friends easily, but Elaine was an expert at entertaining children.

Sarah runs off to go play with her friends, so Elaine comes back up to take your arm again.

“Hey, we’re matching,” she points out, flicking the big jewel on the crown on your head.

“We are.”

Elaine’s eyes soften as she looks down at you, always taller than you when she actually straightened out her spine (which she so rarely did).

“Sarah’s girls.”

You nod.

Sarah’s girls.

series masterlist | masterlist of all masterlists 🌼 | eras masterlist 🌻

[evanchantingpeters]

How I met Evan Peters (Fanfic - Part 7 - Final)

Pairings ─ Evan Peters x Y/N (fem reader)

Summary ─ A couple of months after Jake’s (Evan’s friend) tragic accident left him fighting for his life in intensive care, Evan is spiralling, lost in despair, a shadow of his former self. Just as a sliver of good news about his condition offers a ray of hope, Y/N steps in, determined to bring some light into Evan’s shattered world. She starts with a seductive dance and builds to a night of passion. But Evan has a surprise—one that will change everything in a way Y/N never saw coming.

Warnings ─ Obscene language, lap dance, oral (both receiving), overstimulation, mild daddy kink, nipple teasing, spanking, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cowgirl, missionary, extra smutty—like you like it.

Read Part 1 | Read Part 2 | Read Part 3 | Read Part 4 | Read Part 5 | Read Part 6

Word count ─ 5.1K (I had a lot to say 🤫)

18+ This is ADULT content. I’m not your mummy to supervise your net access. If you’re a minor, do NOT read!

@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. Please do not modify, translate, or plagiarise my content.

Previously on: How I met Evan Peters (Part 6)

“W-what’s up, Jeremy?” he stutters, his voice barely a whisper. “It’s Jake,” Jeremy blurts out, his expression twisting into one of anguish. “He’s fallen off the roof.” Jeremy’s words hit like a punch to the gut, the colour draining from Evan’s face. The room goes deathly quiet, the weight of his words sinking in. The room spins as everything comes to a screeching halt.

Two months after Jake’s accident 

Thursday, 16:42 pm 

You settle into the cosy corner of his New York apartment, the city’s hustle muffled by the soft hum of the radiator. A rustic wooden desk hosting your work setup and a quirky lamp, which has seen better days but adds to the character, stands against the wall. A plush bean bag chair invites you to sink in while a baroque rug sprawls beneath your feet, and a bookshelf stuffed with books and random knick-knacks lurks by your side. Sunlight streams through light, breezy curtains, making it a perfect workspace for your remote routine. With Evan busy with press and meetings for the next few weeks, this place feels almost like a retreat—if only you could shake off the looming frustration of the Excel table before you.

You’d think by now you’d have mastered the art of not losing your shit at work, being the corporate girlie you are, while dealing with this stupid spreadsheet, but nope. Here you are, puffing like the Big Bad Wolf trying to blow down formulas that refuse to behave.

As you’re fighting and suffering through, your hand drifts toward your phone. You know how it goes. Brain’s fried, and next thing you know, you’re aimlessly scrolling through the endless pit of Instagram reels without even realising it. Well, this time it’s Evan’s name glowing like a beacon of your favourite “distraction,” and your stomach flutters, your heart racing.

Oh, hello, messages!

You open the chat, expecting a quick “I’ll be back in 10’, baby. Can’t wait to kiss you” text or maybe a meme about cats judging people (you know, standard fare). Instead, what do you find? A picture. But not just any picture. Oh no, this man, YOUR man, is standing there in a white tee, his pose giving swagger “yo” next to Todd McFarlane, a comic book legend. The whole shebang.

And here comes the string of messages:

“Babyyyy, look - Todd McFarlane in da house for the press conference!!” 

“he’s signed the Amazing Spider-Man hardcopy!!” 

“ill bring it home and we frame it ;)” 

“we’re going live.. tune in xx” 

“changed into the blazer and stripy tee you picked for me. Love you so ♥️”

Let’s pause here. Not at Todd McFarlane – who, mind you, is hands-down a god in his domain, but no. Your eyes, traitors that they are, keep sliding back to that picture of Evan.

Because damn.

Todd’s cool and all, but Evan in that white tee and messy curls? Where do you even begin? The man looks like he rolled out of bed straight into a photoshoot and decided to smoulder for no apparent reason. You know the one—that half-cocked sly smile that screams, “Yeah, I know what I’m doing to do, and you’re welcome.”

You catch yourself zooming in and drooling over him like a total goofball. The scrunched-up grimace. The luscious Tarzan hair. The way his eyes carry a hint of sadness and fatigue but with residues of that familiar spark he always has. It’s weird how something as simple as a picture can make your heart do that silly backflip thing over and over again after more than a year with him. 

Snap out of it, girl. Spreadsheet’s waiting. But no, instead of getting back to formulas, your brain takes a little detour down Memory Lane. Suddenly, you’re remembering the last time Evan was kneeling in front of you. Not in some adorable, “let me tie your shoes, princess” way, but more of an arousing “let me worship you, queen,” Roman Empire situation.

Oh, yeah. That night. 

You’d seized your throne aka that big armchair in the middle of the dimly-lit living room. And there he was, on his knees, completely surrendered to you. His tongue was lapping on your wet folds like you were the sweetest cake frosting he’d ever tasted. His slender fingers were plumping in and out of you in all the right spots as he slurped up your syrups and juices, sucking on your clit like it’s cherry on dessert.

His tongue would thrash and french kiss your puffy sobbing walls up near the throbbing bulb of your sensitive clit. You tugged on his hair, his brown curls wrapped around your fingers like reins as he pulled you apart, inch by inch. Your jaw tightened as his tongue and fingers mercilessly rutted into you, giving you crazed whiplash as you squirt, all while licking you clean with eager choked moans. 

Your body tremors and orgasmic vibrations were seismic… just like they are now as your cunt pulsates and aches for him, even though you’re sitting at the dining table, fully clothed and miles away from him. 

Funny how memories can sneak up on you like that, isn’t it?

But here’s the kicker. As much as you’d love for a repeat performance, that’s not where you guys are at these days. Not since Jake fell off the roof at the party he hosted at his place. You get it–one of Evan’s best friends is in a hospital bed, clinging to life while in a coma, and Evan’s drowning in his own sea of emotions and sorrow. The man is dragging so much weight on his shoulders right now. 

And you respect that. You really do. Your sex life has justifiably taken a backseat, but you’re not here to push or force him. What you have and share with him isn’t mere lust; you love him, and you acknowledge that he’s having it rough at the moment. You’ve been trying to be his rock, the one who keeps him grounded while he navigates the heavy blizzard of the tragedy. 

But you can’t help it. 

Sometimes, your mind slips back to those sizzling moments where your bodies speak in a language only you two comprehend. Because, let’s be real—he might be wearing the blazer you chose for him in the morning, but under all that fabric, you’re the one who gets to undress the real Evan. And if that’s not worth waiting for, you don’t know what is.

You sigh, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, but you’ve left the spreadsheets and work far behind with all those cheeky little fantasies that gnaw on your brain. Still knee-deep in wet daydreams of Evan and his—well, *coughing* talents, when the universe decides to slap you in the face with reality. 

That “we’re going live, tune in xx” text blinks back at you from the chat, practically yelling to stop fantasising and actually be the supportive girlfriend you claim to be. 

Gasp.

Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. Gasp again.

The press conference! You need to watch it. Like, now. 

You scramble up from the table so fast, you’d think the chair is lava, and launch into a desperate hunt for the TV remote. The remote is like a cryptid—always hiding in the most inconvenient places at the worst times. Last week? In the fridge. Don’t ask. Today? Who knows. You’re flipping couch cushions like you’re on an archaeological dig.

“WHERE IS IT?!” you yelp, your high-pitched voice bouncing off the walls like you’re a banshee in panic mode. Female rage core.

Nowhere. Absolutely nowhere. It’s like the remote’s decided to pack its bags and set off to Narnia with no return ticket.

Curse you, technology masterminds.

Plan B. 

You rush back to your laptop, slide your fingers along the trackpad to wake it up, and—oh no, what’s this? Your whole screen’s been hijacked by the most evil of phrases:

Software Update: 30% Complete.

Are. You. For. Real. 

You stare at the loading bar like you can will it to go faster. Or pretend you’re not watching, so it speeds up. Smart but nah, that’s placebo—no such luck. This thing is moving slower than a Monday morning during rush hours, and if you wait for it, you’ll be watching Evan’s interview in the past tense or through his narration once he’s back home. 

You let out a huff that could probably power a small wind turbine and whip out your phone, praying to every deity that your Wi-Fi doesn’t fail you amidst crisis. 

“Come on, come on,” you mutter through gritted teeth, frantically tapping apps like your fingers are on caffeine overload. And just when you think someone is playing another cruel trick on you—boom, there it is. The live stream. 

The screen lights up, and there comes baby Evan on stage, looking all sleek and profesh in his blazer (you knew the combo with the stripes underneath would work wonders *proud stylist smiling*). He’s sitting on a stool along with his co-stars, all of them gathered in this massive amphitheatre for their upcoming movie press tour. 

He’s got the mic in his hand, finishing up a sentence with that smooth, husky tone. You know, that voice that sounds like a lullaby wrapped in velvet. But there’s also the twist of dorky humour and the cute brow furrows he taps into when he’s either totally in his element or way too awkward. 

The interviewer gives him a nod, then sighs. Your stomach drops.

The next question is about Jake, as he’s guy well known for scripting some of the most beloved TV shows. If there were a Hall of Fame for TV writers, his star would be as big as a small planet. He’s adored by fandoms for his wit and creativity, and now you’re all grappling with the fallout from his misfortune.

You can see the shift in Evan’s face from media charm to something… darker, melancholic. He’s trying so hard to stay composed, but you know him. That tiny flicker of anguish behind his eyes filters through the cracks.

Evan takes a sharp breath and clears his throat. “Yeah, Jake was moved from LA and remains in ICU here in New York,” he admits, voice steady but edged with quiet vulnerability. “But there’s… a... there’s a glimmer of hope. He moved his hand today.”

For a second, the world stops spinning. Did he just say—? He moved?!

Your heart does a somersault, and you can’t help it—you cheer and clap right along with the audience, even though you’re alone in the living room in your mismatched socks, overstretched yoga shorts, and messy bun. Who cares, honestly? Jake moved his hand. 

Evan lets the crowd’s enthusiasm bubble up for a second before he delicately taming it. “It’s good news,” he continues, his voice like a fuzzy blanket, soothing yet cautious. “But let’s not start planning the parade just yet—there’s a long road ahead for him. We’ll have to see how his health evolves from here. I just wanted to share this little nugget of hope. His family’s already spreading the word, and they gave me the green light to pass it on to all of you.”

There’s a tightness in his voice, and you can tell he’s got a fortress built around his emotions, probably fighting not to let it crumble in front of all those people and cameras. Your baby’s always been strong like steel this way, the type who carries everyone’s baggage on his shoulders without ever letting on how heavy it is. 

You sit there, phone in hand, staring at his face on the screen. There’s so much going on behind those eyes, and you know he probably feels like crap underneath that calm exterior. 

You wish you could reach through the screen and just be there with him in a “I’ve got you, you’re not alone” kind of way. You’ve been weathering this storm together, and it’s been tough as hell. It’s taken everything in him just to stay afloat, but he’s doing it. He’s really doing it...

There’s something about post-work Thursdays that sends you into this frantic, impulsive must-clean-everything-in-sight mode. Not that Evan cares if there’s a pile of laundry in the corner or if the dishes are threatening to stage a rebellion in the sink, but still. He doesn’t expect you to tackle it all just because you’re working fully from home; he can do it himself, but you want the place to look neat and tidy. You know, like “I have my life together and didn’t just spend the last two hours binge-watching cooking videos on YouTube” level of very demure, very mindful adulthood.

So here you are, in full-on cleaning tornado mode—scrubbing the counter with the kind of intensity that could probably burn calories—when your ears perk at the rustling sound. 

That magical jingle of keys. The ignition. The click of the door unlocking.

Baby Evan’s home.

You drop the sponge like it’s on fire and just bolt. You don’t even think. It’s pure instinct, like you’re a puppy who heard the treat jar open. Your pulse leaps, your feet fly, and before you know it, you’re flinging the front door open just as he steps in. And there he is.

Your man. Your whole heart.

He’s got his arms full—takeout bags in one hand, his backpack slung over his shoulder, looking more mouth-watering than anything that could possibly be in those containers. His hair’s a little ruffled, his shirt rumpled from the day, but to you, he might as well be walking straight out of a rom-com.

“EVIEEEE!” you squeal, pouncing at him with the enthusiasm of a kid on a sugar high.

“Whoa!” he chuckles heartily, catching you mid-air. He spins you around even though you can sense the stiffness in his body as he battles not to drop the dinner. He’s out of breath, but he holds you tight, like he’s afraid to let go. His backpack slides down his arm, and for a second, you’re just tangled together—glued around him, his hands grasping on you firmly.

“Couldn’t wait to see me, huh?” he teases, his voice hoarse from the long day. But you can see it in his eyes—he’s just as hyped to be back in your little cocoon as you are. 

“You have no idea,” you breathe, and before you can utter anything else, his lips are on yours, kissing you like he’s been starved for weeks. You’re pretty sure you hear the bags crinkle between you two, but whatever… they can wait.

It’s not just a kiss. Oh no, this is the you-just-got-kissed-senseless kind that says, “I’m never letting you out of my reach again.” It’s deep and sloppy, and you feel it all the way down your toes. Little lewd moans escape your bodies as your tongues greet each other, swirling around in a lustful dance. He tastes like toffee, baby powder, warmth, comfort, and home.

You melt into each other, completely forgetting about the bags or the fact that you’ve still got soap on your hands. You twirl faster together as his hands mischievously squeeze your ass, making you giggle into his mouth.

“I was counting the hours to get to you, Y/N, and time was a total bitch today,” he grumbles, and it’s a husky purr near the nape of your neck. Your plump lips curl into an “awh, my poor baby” pout, cupping his cheeks in your palms as you swarm his face with little pecks. 

When he finally sets you down, you’re both grinning like idiots. Your heart’s doing cartwheels, and your stomach feels like you’ve swallowed a whole bunch of butterflies. You missed him. Not just having him around, but all the little things tied in—his laugh, his hands on you, the way he stares at you like you’re a precious gem.

Closing the door behind you, you pace together towards the kitchen, and get the itch to drop the question, “Did Jake really move?” Your voice is hopeful, but there’s a little tinge of fear there too. You know how much this means to Evan, so you need to tread about cautiously.

He pauses, chucking his backpack aside before turning to you. His eyes soften, and he nods, stepping closer. His hands find your waist again, his face buried in the crook of your neck. “Yeah. He really did.”

Before you can even process the relief, Evan’s lips are on yours again, soft whimpers rolling off him. This time, the kiss is slower, more tender like silky ribbons on your mouth. His lips trail from your mouth down to your neck, his breath tingly against your heated skin. “Gosh, how much I needed you today,” he whispers between kisses, his voice dense with emotion as he presses his mouth lower, toward the neckline of your sports bra. His fingers gently graze your sides and rest on your hip bones before massaging your ass, and your breath hitches.

You thread your fingers through his hair, feeling the tension melt out of him as his body leans into yours. “Me too,” you huff out, because honestly, you feel like you’ve been holding your breath all day, just waiting for him to come home.

But then you pull away slightly, the thought of Jake scratching the back of your mind. “Can we go see him now?”

Evan sighs, resting his forehead against yours for a moment, his breath warm and steady. “Not tonight,” he exhales, taking a couple of steps back. “It’s just family. They wanna keep it low with the visits.”

You shake your head in acknowledgment, nervously biting your fingernail. You get it—you really do—but there’s still that little sting of disappointment tugging at your chest. “How ‘bout tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, glancing over at you again as he tears the bags apart and unpacks the food. “We’ll try tomorrow afternoon. His family’s still adjusting, but I’ll talk to them.”

The relief that washes over you is like a pleasant, summer breeze, calming your frayed nerves. Tomorrow. You let out a breathy, “Okay, great,” your shoulders finally loosening. As you approach him to help dispose of the bags, Evan’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist in one quick, playful motion, pulling you flush against him. 

You barely have time to gasp before his lips crash against yours, his tongue barging in your mouth without warning, assaulting yours in tantalising ways that are better left unsaid. You loop your arms around the back of his head and drag him closer, your tits cushioning his shredded chest.

“Don’t leave, please,” he hushes, his lips caressing yours. His voice is huskier now, a bit rougher around the edges, and you can feel the warmth from his body merging with yours. His free hand slips down to the supple flesh of your waist again, fingers curling just under the hem of your top to tuck underneath.

You smirk against his mouth, tilting your head slightly. “You know, we do live together, sir” you tease, playfully pinching the tip of his nose.

“That’s a reminder in case you forgot,” he quips, nuzzling into the slope of your neck. His broad shoulders are curved over you from behind like a shield, throwing every organ in your body on high alert, your heart drumming violently.

He pulls back, and before you can react, he gives your ass a quick, cheeky smack that makes you jump. Your mouth drops open in surprise, but he just grins smugly, like he’s fully aware of what he’s done, and he’s proud of it.

“Hey!” you whimper, swatting at him, but there’s no denying your pulse thumps fiercely.

“What?” he squeaks sheepishly, throwing his hands up in exasperation, but the glint in his eye gives him away. “You look too good to keep my hands off. Plus, guess who was stuck in my head the whole day. Hint—it’s not the burgers,” he fires back, waggling his eyebrows at you. 

You roll your eyes comically, but your heartbeat is up now. There’s something about the way he’s staring down at you—like he’s hungry, and it’s not just for the takeout. You notice it when he leans in again, this time with a heat that wasn’t there a moment ago. His lips trace a line of open mouthed kisses from your jaw to your collarbone. Your fingers twist around his shirt, gripping it, as his hands roam a little lower, tugging you closer until you can feel every ounce of him pressed against you.

“Speaking of burgers, if food’s your love language, then you’re speaking mine fluently,” you chuckle, but the second you catch the look Evan gives you—whoa, buddy. Food’s officially second on his menu. His eyes are a pair of flamed balls, fixed onto you like you’re the main course, dessert, and everything in between—like you’re the most appetising thing in the room.

And, let’s just say, he’s a lot more “warmed up” than usual. His kisses grow deeper, rougher, and the way he’s touching you are the real giveaway… The man’s practically simmering.

And oh, honey, you’re more than pleased to help him get away tonight. So, in your most casual, not-at-all-planned-in-your-head-already way, you decide tonight’s the night to put up a show… Literally. 

You let your hands glide down his chest, feeling every erratic beat of his heart beneath his shirt. “You’ve been through a lot lately,” you murmur softly, your fingers dipping lower until you’re just hovering over his belt buckle, toying with the metal. “How about I pamper you tonight?”

You let your tongue slide over his upper lip, and damn if he doesn’t shudder. His eyes flash with thrill and curiosity—mixed with something darker, more primal. “Oh?” His voice comes out in this sexy rasp like he’s intrigued but still playing along, letting you lead for now.

You bite back a smug grin. Oh, you have no idea what you’re in for.

With a playful wink, you step back, making sure to drag your hand across his chest one last time. “Sit tight, big boy,” you purr, backing away with just the right amount of sway in your hips. “This show’s just getting started.”

You saunter down the hallway, feeling his gaze burning a path down your back. You can feel your heart pounding as you head into the bedroom, closing the door behind you. The second it clicks shut, you lean against it for a second to catch your breath. The adrenaline makes your hands quiver a little as you rummage through the drawer.

There it is: that little black number you’ve been saving for a night just like this. 

A lacy, black lingerie piece, sheer in all the right places, hugging curves like it was made for you. You shimmy it on, adjusting the straps, making sure everything’s sitting just so. 

A quick glance in the mirror as you set your hair free from the bun—tousled, sexy-but-effortless vibe, check. The lace hints at more than it conceals, and your lips curl into a slow smile. Oh, yeah, he’s done for. You toss on a silky robe, leaving it untied, the lace peeking through just enough to give him a preview. A little fragrance spritz and a light touch of your lipstick, and you’re sorted.

When you open the door and walk back into the living room, you find him perched on the couch, his eyes snapping to you like magnets, intense and feral, as you come into view. His posture is stiff, knuckles blanched as they grip the cushions like he’s holding on for dear life. His pupils, wide and black with want, devouring the sight of you as if you are something forbidden, yet irresistible.

His gaze lingers, darkening when it catches on the soft peek of skin where your robe parts. He swallows hard, audibly, and when you let the silky fabric slip from your shoulders and pool at your feet, his jaw clenches—hard (hint: and not just his jaw).

The low light of the room encases you as it casts a sensual glow over the room, deepening the shadows and sharpening the tension between you two like a blade.

“F-fuck,” he wheezes, like the breath’s been knocked clean and shallow out of him. He tries to maintain some semblance of self-control, but the sharp despair in his voice betrays him. He sinks deeper into the couch, spreading his legs slightly, shooting you this look that’s pure, unfiltered desire as he drinks you in. 

You want to torture him, enjoying how his gaze rakes over every inch of you, so you slowly strut over to him. Each step is deliberate, your hips swinging in a slow, intoxicating rhythm that’s nothing short of tempting. His composure slips just a little more—a twitch in his jaw, a harsh swallow, the way his chest rises and falls, faster with every second. His eyes flick down to the curves, then back up to your scandalous tits before snapping back to your face.

The heat from his body radiates into yours as you come to a stop, your thighs rubbing against his knees, and his hands instinctively move to grab your waist. But you’re not giving in that easily. “Uh-uh,” you purr, wagging a teasing finger at him, your lips forming a sly smile. 

His fingers freeze, but his eyes burn with frustration as you stretch, purposely slow, letting your ass hover just above his lap. The unmistakable press of his hardness through his jeans sends a jolt of arousal through you, and you can’t help but smirk. “I’m in charge tonight, remember?” 

Evan lets out a furious groan, his head falling back defeated against the cushions, hands flexing in silent restraint. The power you hold over him tonight? Oh, it’s delicious, addictive. You throw him one last, seductive glance before turning around, giving him the full view of your barely-there lingerie—delicate straps criss-crossing down your back and framing your ass like a gift he’s dying to unwrap.

You hear as a muttered curse slips past his lips, low and guttural. He’s so close to breaking, and you haven’t even actually started yet. You scroll through your phone’s playlist, cueing up the perfect song for the occasion. The room is soon filled with the slow, sultry beats of Beyoncé’s ‘Dance For You,’ wrapping around both of you like a spell. You start slow, letting the music guide your hips, rolling in hypnotic circles. 

You saunter towards a nearby chair, aka your prop, bending over it as your body flows like liquid heat to the beat. His eyes religiously follow every motion, waiting, his breathing growing heavier like he’s holding on a thread with every flick of your hips, every arch of your spine.

You roam your fingers up my body, teasingly stopping at your hips before dragging them higher, skimming over your breasts. With agonising slowness, you untie your bra, holding his attention and eye contact hostage. The second the lace slips off your body, you toss it in his direction with a devilish grin. He catches it with a hungry grunt, burying his face in the fabric like a man possessed, his smirk turning malicious as he inhales deeply.

“God, you’re killing me,” he groans, eyes exploding with thirst for you. The sight of him, chest heaving, lips slightly parted—oh, it’s so sadistically satisfying. 

You’re gonna make him beg for it. 

Leaning forward, just enough for your bare breasts to graze his chest, you bring your lips up to his ear, hot breath fanning the side of his face, “Good,” voice dripping with a promise for more. You pull back just a fraction, your lips curving into a wicked smile. “I’m just getting started.” 

You circle behind him, and he twists his head, tracking your every move, but you’re not finished (no pun intended).

“Please, Y/N. Come sit on my lap, or my face…just—” His voice breaks, raw and pleading, his body squirming as he shifts, desperate for release. The power thrumming through your veins is out of this world, and you bite your bottom lip knowing you’ve got him right on the edge. 

You start with the lightest touch, dragging your fingers over the hard lines of his shoulders, tracing down the sculpted muscles of his chest, feeling the shudder that runs through him as you slide lower. Your fingers brush over the taut muscles of his thighs.

His stiff length twitches beneath your touch, his growl of desire low and animalistic. His hands stretch again, desperate to reach for you, but you chuckle softly, knowing he’s at your mercy tonight. His usual command is gone, flipped on its head, and that hunger in his eyes tells you he’s loving every second of it.

The music pulses through the room as you circle back around to him. You bend low, your curves on full display, just close enough for him to grab a handful of your ass with an eager groan that rumbles through his chest. He finally pulls you into him, lips attacking your skin, trailing down your spine with feverish kisses as he peels your thong off. His breath brushes against your slit and clit as he descends, his lips so dangerously close it sends your body humming with desire. 

He can smell your fertility; the pheromones emitting from your body intensify his animal instinct to breed. His breathing is erratic now, his body practically vibrating with need to take you, but you still “hold the leash.”

He breaths come out in heavy bursts as he watches you straddle him, knees planted on either side of his hips. You grind down slowly, feeling the friction as you move in slow, sensual circles. His hands latch onto your thighs, his grip harsh and desperate, leaving marks that make your skin tingle. But still, you don’t let him seize control. Not yet.

Leaning in, you pepper steamy kisses along his neck, feeling his rapid pulse beneath your lips, your teeth tracing the sharp edge of his jawline. You tenderly bite at his earlobe, and he growls lowly, his hands spasming with despair to grab you, but even then, you won’t allow him to touch you the way he wants.

“The more you resist, the harder I’ll fuck you,” he warns with a hiss, his voice dark. It’s a threat and a vow all rolled into one that sends a heat pooling between your thighs.

“Perfect,” you retort in a hushed whisper against the shell of his ear, lips barely brushing the corner of his mouth—teasing but not quite giving in. “That’s the idea, baby.” 

You’re serving cunt, and he knows it well.

With a slow, calculated slide, you lower yourself down his body, your hands stripping him of his blazer as you go. You let your hands trace over his thighs and the hardened, erected mound in between. Kneeling between his legs, you lock eyes with him, watching the way his breath stutters, anticipation swirling in the air. Slowly, you unbuckle his belt, your fingers stroking his length just enough to drive him nuts as he lets out a shaky gasp.

You pop the button on his jeans and pull down the zipper with your teeth. The second you free him from the tight confines of denim, his aching cock springs out, pulsing with raw desire for you, the fabric of his boxers barely able to contain him.

You glance up at him again with a smug smile before leaning down, your lips brushing along his head. His hips buck instinctively, a ragged groan tearing from his throat. But you take your time, taunting him with light flicks of your tongue. 

Finally, you wrap your lips around him, licking his sensitive red tip with the end of your tongue. You swirl it around and lap up the shiny little pearls of precum that keep seeping out in his pent-up arousal. “F-fuuuck, Y/N. You’re gonna make me blow in a sec,” he grunts out with a hitched voice as you take his whole size in your mouth. 

Your eyes flash up at him, filled with mischief as you take him deeper, your lips stretching to fit his full size. “Isn’t that the point?” you murmur, your voice on a seductive octave. “I want you to cum hard... fucking hard all over me.”

Your fingers trace the thick vein along the underside of his shaft before squeezing his hardness and pumping with a fast and firm tempo. Your hand works in sync with your mouth as you suck the upper half of his delicious cock, pulling him in and out, each movement making him gasp and buckle uncontrollably.

His head falls back, eyes screwed shut, muscles tensing. Some inaudible drabble slips off him as he thrusts into your mouth. Pools of saliva are pouring out of the edges of your lips, your eyebrows knitted together as you keep gagging at his cock hitting the back of your throat. You push further, your lips tight around him as you meet his gaze once more, your eyes wild with intensity. His fingers weave into your hair, but he doesn’t force you—he doesn’t have to. You’re in the saddle tonight, guiding him closer to his magical release.

Your hand reaches for his, fingers intertwining as your head bobs up and down on him, earning little moans of delight from his chest. He’s a hot mess; trembling under the weight of the pleasure you’re generously giving him as you slide your mouth down his dick, your cheeks hollowed in a blend of sensual sucks and frantic pumps. 

The sound of you gagging, the wet slurp of your lips, and the way you glance up at him so innocently, brow furrowed with effort, has him reeling. “Ahh, yeah, keep going,” he breathes out, biting his bottom lip.

He gets a good yet gentle grasp of your hair, thrusting into your mouth in shallow, desperate strokes, but you maintain control, building him up slowly, methodically. He adores your lips, especially the way they loop around his dick and release these mewling sounds against it.

But now, his whole body is shuddering, his cock jerking inside, and you can feel the tell-tale sign he’s about to bust his load in your mouth. The blood rushes to his dick, draining any sane thought and cell in his brain, leaving him driven only by his primal instinct and craving for climax.

You slide onto his throbbing cock once more, gobbling on it like the insatiable whore you are. He presses your head down and keeps you there for a few seconds. As you detach from his member to draw a breath, his body immediately locks up, his abs contracting, and then—he’s there. 

His head snaps back as he erupts shivering whimpers of your name, painting your face with copious amounts of his thick, white, and deliciously salty cum, his release spilling over your lips. 

You open your mouth, tongue stretched out, catching the last drops as you pump him, milking every ounce of his release. His cum drips down your chin, and you let your fingers swipe off the remnants from your face, licking them off slowly, savouring the taste. Nothing goes to waste as you look up at him, lips wet, cheeks flushed with the aftermath of his orgasm.

“You’re one hungry bitch, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice strained, still shaky from the intensity of his high. He laughs weakly, dragging his thumb across your cheek with a tender caress, though his hard-on still convulses, not quite ready to soften. He winces as he tries to adjust himself, zipping up his jeans with difficulty, but the look of satisfaction on his face is unmistakable.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, licking your lips as you flash him a sly, knowing smirk. His chest rises and falls heavily, his face reddish, eyes droopy, still lost in the haze of afterglow. 

Without wavering your eyes from him, you crawl up and climb to his lap, feeling your pussy drip with every inch of his skin that presses against you. He ogles your naked torso like a dog drooling over the bone. You position yourself just right, his semi-clothed swollen tip nudging against your slippery entrance.

“I am hungry for you, baby,” you purr with a pout as your fingertips draw lazy circles over the ridges of his abs. His eyes darken, filled with a renewed lust as he watches you, licking his lips like a predator eyeing its prey.

Letting out a dark, throaty chuckle, he wastes no time—he hammers his lips against yours, shoving his tongue deep into your mouth and kissing you with reckless abandon. His hands greedily paw at your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers, tugging them just hard enough to make you moan against his lips. 

The arousal between you is electric as your body grinds against his, the friction sending sparks flying through you both; it’s like static rubbing off against each other, and you are about to feel yourself short circuit any minute. 

His hands hook around your ass cheeks before delivering a sharp, stinging slap that makes you yelp in pleasure, the sound echoing through the room. You press your lips harder against his with a mewl, tongues tangling.

“Evan,” you hush out between sloppy kisses, barely coherent amidst loud teeth smacking and clashing together. All thanks to his fingers dipping between your legs, teasing your clit with maddening eights as he grins victoriously, knowing he’s got you right where he wants you.

“My slut’s ready for me?” he hums, giving your ass another smack, the sound of flesh against flesh making you quiver with delight. Your hips swerve on his raging boner, the body-against-body friction igniting an ever-powerful spark within you both. To say you’re a ‘mere’ tease for him is an understatement. 

“You’re doing so good, my baby girl,” he gruffs, and his rough, veiny hands glide possessively toward your rocking waist as you begin to rub yourself against his thigh, slowly... teasingly. Every roll of your hips has him biting his lip, his eyes glued to the way your body moves against him.

“You’re in night care, baby boy, remember?” you hush, your voice laced with dominance as you lift your hips, fingers deftly undoing his trousers again. Your hand wraps around his cock, positioning him at your slick slit. Slowly, achingly slow, you sink down onto him, inch by inch. The stretch forces a moaning gasp out of you as your body adjusts to accommodate his size. Fiery electricity surges through you both, and he hisses watching as your pulsating pussy desperately tries to swallow his cock.

His hands tighten on your hips as you take him deeper, your nails digging into his biceps when he bottoms out, filling you completely. The fullness makes you shudder, your breath leaving you in a jagged burst as his tip presses snugly against your cervix. The deep groan that escapes his throat vibrates through your body, making you clench around him involuntarily, his hips stilling cautiously.

You start to move, rolling your hips in slow, languid circles, setting a rhythm that’s equal parts torture and bliss for both. His hands grip you harder, leaving faint red imprints on your flushed flesh, but he doesn’t push or pull—he’s letting you have the upper hand in riding him, his eyes dark and hungry as he admires you, mouth parted. The way he’s looking at you though? Like you’re a goddess descending from the heavens just for him. Oh, that does something to you.

“Look at you, baby. So fucking gorgeous, taking me like that,” he murmurs, pride and desire dripping from every word. A crooked smile is etched on his face hearing the sloshing whines squawk out of your poor needy folds as they cling to his cock. Every thrust, every grind, every little whimper from your lips makes his large member throb inside you, stretching you deliciously as you plop up and down on him.

You lean down, sealing your lips in a hungry, desperate kiss, your tongues twirling in a messy dance. It’s all teeth and moans again as he hits that sweet spot deep inside. It’s the type of kiss that makes time stop, like nothing else exists except for the raw, primitive connection between you two. 

His hands trail up your bare back, fingers tangling in your hair, keeping you close as you grind down harder. Your bodies move in sync, perfectly attuned to each other, and you can feel his cock twitching inside you with every movement. His eyes dart down to your bouncing breasts and toned stomach, but you quickly grab his jaw, tilting his head up to meet your gaze. “Nu-uh,” you whisper against his lips, your voice tinged with authority. “Eyes on mine, boy.”

He lets off a hearty chuckle, even going so far as to wriggle your ass back against him. “You feel so damn amazing, baby,” he huffs, voice rough with desire, talking over your whiny babbles. He cranes his neck to kiss the edge of your jaw before tenderly nipping at the skin.

Panting heavily, you exhale, “I could do this all night.” Your hips move faster, sliding up and down his thick length, the friction sending bolts of euphoria through you. His breathing grows ragged, and you can feel the tension rising, winding tighter and tighter. You’re so soft—sweet gummy flesh compressing around him with such ease, wringing him tight like a vice. He chokes when your pussy flutters—the way you clamp down on his dick makes his body go slack and his eyes roll back.

He lets out a low groan, barely holding himself together as your walls squeeze around him. “Thaaat’s it, hngh. This pussy knows it’s place,” he grouses, and your eyes widen, realising the shift in dynamic—he’s reclaimed control, already winning ground, sis. Before you know it, his plumpish tip drills further between each corner of your dripping cunt. Your small sobs amplify as he starts to move beneath you, his hips thrusting up harder, making your entire body quake with each deep pound.

“I love fucking you so much,” he grunts, nearly whining, his head tilting back as his cock jerks inside you.

Before you can fully catch your breath, Evan’s grip tightens on your hips. With one fluid motion, he lifts you off him, his arms hook beneath your thighs. You gasp, caught off guard, your body hanging in his grasp as he stands up, practically growling with primal need.

“You’re mine now,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, sending a bolt of excitement straight down your spine.

Without hesitation, he spins you around, carrying you across the room, your legs instinctively bundling around his waist. You’re in such a sweet, sexual brain fog that it takes you a second to get what’s going on. With one swift movement, he sweeps his arm across the dining table, sending glasses, cutlery, and whatever else is there crashing to the floor in a chaotic symphony of clatters.

“Evan!” You giggle dazedly, hands clasping on his shoulders as he sets you down on the table, the cold wood against your back making you shiver—but not nearly as much as the fire blazing in his eyes.

He leans over you and shushes you with a kiss, his lips brushing against yours as he pushes your legs apart. “I’m not done with you yet.”

You don’t have time to argue—not that you want to. He grabs your hips, yanking you to the very edge of the table, his body wedged firmly between your legs. There’s no remorse in his eyes—just pure, animalistic desire. One hand snakes under your ass, the other glides down your left thigh, lifting it effortlessly over his broad shoulder. The way he leans down and looks at you now, almost in slow motion... gosh. It’s like you’re the only thing he’s ever needed… like nothing else matters but taking you right here, right now, and it sets your entire body on fire.

He wants to smash, and he’ll get it.

The scent of your cunt is intoxicating, stirring every primal instinct inside Evan that he knows he must keep in check. He draws his hips back slowly, only his tip nestling inside you, then jams just once inside you. Your whole body jumps at the impact, your pleading eyes boring deep into his, a breathy hum punched out of you. He pulls back and slams forward again, growling through his teeth. Your pillowy walls are cuddling him, his heavy balls aching to be drained, eager to breed the fertile womb his tip is wedged against.

His hands roam up your thighs, grasping you like he can’t get enough. With each slow, deliberate stroke, he sinks deeper into you, your body arching off the table in response. The sensation of him rutting in and out of your sobbing sex is overwhelming—every movement has your breath hitching, your fingers clutching the edge of the table, desperate for some kind of anchor.

Your orgasm is building again, fast and intense. As the pressure inside you give way to climax, tears cascade down your burning cheeks, your features contorted in ecstasy. 

“E-Evan, I can’t take it! T-too much!”

He smirks, shaking his head. “Say please, baby,” he grits out, his voice low and commanding. His hips thrust into yours harder, making you lose all sense of logic. Your mind is blank, mouth hanging open, unable to form words as the pleasure consumes you.

“P-please,” a pained mewl tumbles out of you, and that single word tips him off the edge. His hips stutter, and with a series of deep thrusts along with a carnal chant of “ah, ah, ah, ah” pouring from his lips, he gushes inside you—creamy gooey ropes of cum dribble into you, not missing at all.

He’s panting heavily, hips jerking involuntarily as he empties himself, filling you to the brim with thick, sticky cum.

His groans of satisfaction blend with your breathy moans as you cling to him, feeling his weight stick against your skin like it’s adhesive. You bite into the soft skin of his neck, muffling your whimpers as he continues to thrust lazily, drawing out every last bit of his orgasm.

“Come for me,” he demands, his voice low and raspy, each word filled with the same raw desire that’s coursing through your veins. “I wanna feel you.”

That’s it—the words, the intensity, the feeling of him completely owning your body, claiming you in a way that makes your head spin—have you on a chokehold. You suck in lungfuls of air as the incoming pangs of orgasmic waves smash over you with impossible force. You can’t hold back the loud moans spilling from your lips, your body arching up and writhing beneath him as you come hard, your walls spasming around his cock.

He presses his forehead to yours, his hand gently stroking your cheek, his breath hot against your lips. Your body convulses uncontrollably in his arms as he rides out your climax with you, his cock still throbbing inside your over-sensitive core. 

As you come down, your breaths laboured and uneven, he buries his head to your chest, his mouth warm against your skin as his kisses travel down to your boobs, his tongue flicking over your sensitive nipples. Each subtle touch sends aftershocks of pleasure through you, your body still buzzing from the intensity of it all.

You huff, a breathless laugh escaping your lips. “You’re a menace, you know that?” you whisper, still trying to catch your breath. But he’s not done yet. You giggle softly as he moves lower, planting tingly smoochies to your skin, his breath like a warm breeze against your thighs.

“You smell like honey… I wanna taste you,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose into the soft curve of your inner thigh. His fingers part your sloping folds, spreading you open for him as he watches the glistening cum leak from your swollen pussy. His primitive need to eat you up tests his sense of control. 

His tongue plunges between your labia, stretching them up with a slow and deliberate lick. Your thighs quiver around his head in the aftershocks of your climax, straining moans and semi-shrieks falling from your lips as his tongue dives deeper between your folds. The wet sound of him slurping up the mix of your juices and his cum is obscene, but it only drives you wilder, especially as he mumbles the moto, “Y/N... Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

Your fingers lace in his drenched thick, curly brown locks, holding him in place. The untamed animal inside him is finally sated, fed well at the meal between your thighs. His teeth sink ever-so-lightly into the plump pout of your lips, and you can’t stop the desperate little wails flipping from your throat. 

Your eager pussy can’t help but drool. Streams of your slick cascade down between the crevices of your thighs and coat the entirety of his fingers. With a rosy flat tongue, he pads and licks you clean, taking every few seconds to pull his fingers in—only to push them right back out. As he re-enters, he pokes against your g-spot again, and again, and again…

That’s all it takes for the sharp twisting coil to snap within you for the second time, and your thighs turbulently shake within his feeble grasp. “Fuck, fuck,” you choke out, your breath coming in hollow bursts as you feel his hushed praises and loving words ghost against your clit. You can’t stay still for the life of you—it’s as if every muscle in your body rips apart once you come into his mouth, your jaw slackened and your eyes widened.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” you ramble, and Evan’s still flicking his tongue against your sobbing slit.

You’re making a mess out of him, and he’s still eating it up—the dedication. His chin got such a pretty glimmer of shine all thanks to your slick running down. With an echoing pop, he slides his fingers off your pussy, stretching his digits further apart just to see how your sap glues against them. The shaking from your multiple orgasmic release keeps on, the ringing in your ears never subsiding. 

“Mmph, Y/N. So beautiful,” he cries out, his voice cracking with emotion as he presses a kiss to your swollen, sensitive lips. Your sweet slickness smears against his stubble even more, but he couldn’t care less. All that matters is you, lying there beneath him, glowing with the outcome of your pleasure. 

Evan’s gaze lingers on you for a long moment, his chest still heaving as he melts in the sight of you—flushed, trembling, thoroughly wrecked from the intensity of what just happened. His hand gently strokes your thigh, trailing up and down in soothing circles as the both of you come down from the high together.

Propping your weight on your elbows, you stare down on him, a lazy grin playing at the corners of your lips. You pull him up for a sloppy, rough kiss. Your fingers pinch on his well-defined jaw as he rests on top of her. You can feel his stiff length press against her stomach, and it feels great. 

You reach up to brush his damp hair from his forehead. “You really know how to leave a girl breathless,” you mumble teasingly, though your voice is barely above a whisper, still catching.

A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest, and he leans into your touch, nuzzling his cheek against your palm. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispers, and you giggle softly, the sound light and airy.

You lay there for a while, the after-sex haze still buzzing through your veins. Evan’s sprawled out on the sofa, shirtless. His hair is all tousled, looking like some kind of model from a cologne ad—except sexier, and definitely more accessible. You watch him, feeling a dopey grin spread across your face. This man… God, this man.

You pull yourself up, snuggling into that familiar blue blanket from the edge of the couch—the one you always steal when it’s movie night, or when you’re feeling cosy after a particularly intense workout (aka “fuck time”).

“You look like a smurf burrito,” Evan quips, his hand lazily draped across his abs as he watches you pace around the room.

You snort, cuddling deeper into the blanket. “Better than looking like a sweaty, shirtless disaster.” You throw him a wink and a brow waggle, but honestly, the view is prime real estate right now. That man should charge admission.

He smirks smugly, running a hand through his messy curls. “Sweaty, shirtless disaster, huh? I was under the impression you were enjoying said disaster inside you just a few minutes ago.”

“Touché,” you giggle as you flop down the sofa, letting your head fall back against the armrest. “But the jury’s still out on whether I enjoyed it or tolerated it.”

“Oh, is that so?” His eyebrow quirks, and that playful gleam you love so much flickers back in his eyes. He leans forward, crawling towards you on the sofa with that predator-like grace, his hands landing on either side of your bundled-up self.

“Maybe.” You bite your lip, trying to keep a straight face, but your heart's already doing flips at the way he’s looking at you. Damn, those eyes.

“Hmm. Well, maybe I should just—” Evan dips down, his lips grazing your ribcage, making you gasp. You wriggle away playfully, pulling the blanket up higher as if it’s some kind of armour.

“Okay, okay! I loved it. Five stars on Yelp, glowing review and a side of fries.” You’re laughing now, barely able to keep up the act.

Evan chuckles triumphantly, that warm, rumbling sound that makes your pulse leap in your throat. “Five stars? Well, that must make me the Michelin Man of love.”

“Please,” you laugh, “the only thing you’re qualifying for is most likely to be found with a pizza slice in hand.”

His grin widens, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head. “Well, speaking of pizza, how about we start planning our wedding menu? I’m thinking pepperoni and extra cheese for the wedding cake. You know, something to make the guests feel like they’re in a pizzeria.”

You roll your eyes, giggling at his ridiculousness. “So, pizza-themed wedding, huh? What are we going to serve? Breadsticks as the bouquet?”

“Absolutely! And the best part? I’ll have a pepperoni ring!” He starts mimicking a ring toss, and you can’t help but crack up.

“Oh wow, my future husband is a real romantic,” you say, shaking your head in mock disbelief.

But then Evan leans in closer, his expression turning serious, and you feel the air shift. “But really, I want to make sure I don’t just slice into this whole ‘life together’ thing. I want to do it right. So, how about we order that wedding cake now because…” He reaches into his pocket, and your heart skips a beat as he pulls out a small velvet box.

You narrow your eyes in suspicion as you sit up. “What are you doing? Is this some kind of prank”

“Well, not exactly a prank. Unless you think proposing is some kind of joke.”

Your heart stops.

“What?” The word barely squeaks out, and you’re pretty sure your brain just exploded. Did he—did he just say proposing?

Evan’s mouth pulls into this soft smile, and before you know it, he’s dropping to one knee on the sofa. “I mean, I’ve got the ring and all that the protocol requires,” he mutters and your eyes bulge, mouth agape. “...and I don’t want to waste another minute from making you my wife!”

Your heart stops.

You leap up from the sofa, shaky hands flying to your mouth, shock flooding your system. The blanket almost slips off, eyes wide and heart pounding like you’re on the world’s most chaotic and steepest rollercoaster. Did he—did he also just say wife? “Are you serious?”

“Y/N,” he starts, his voice a little shaky but full of that Evan confidence that always makes you feel like the only person in the room, “I’ve been through a lot lately. We both have. But the one constant through it all—through the tough days and the good ones, the sleepless nights and the mornings I wake up next to you—is that I want every single day to be with you.”

Your eyes are already welling up, and you try to blink back the tears because oh my God, he’s really doing this.

“From the moment I saw you in that club, I never looked away. We started off with a bang, quite literally, but I’ve felt like I’ve known you my whole life and won the love lottery. You’re my jackpot. The reason I smile—even when I feel like I’ve hit every bump on the road. You make even the ordinary feel extraordinary, and I want to make this last forever.”

Your eyes are already welling up, and you try to blink back the tears because oh my God, he’s really doing this. Your pulse hammers so loud you swear he can hear it. And then it hits you. Yes.

“So here I am, making it official, ready to take a gamble on the biggest bet of my life. Will you marry me and make me the luckiest man on the planet?” He opens the little box, revealing the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen—a subtle and stunning band with a sparkling diamond that seems to catch the soft light of the room just right.

You can’t even form words. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, and your heart throbs so hard, you’re sure it’ll burst out of your chest.

“You drive me crazy in the best way possible. You’re my best friend, my partner in crime, my favourite person to order burgers with. I want to spend the rest of my life making you laugh, making you mad, and maybe every now and then... sweeping plates off the table to get to you faster.” He smirks, his eyes twinkling.

“Evan!” you gasp, half-laughing through your tears, remembering the chaos from a few minutes ago.

He chuckles heartily, but there’s something so tender in his expression now. “So, will you do me the honour of marrying me?” He opens the little box, revealing the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen—a simple yet stunning band with a sparkling diamond that seems to catch the soft light of the room just right.

You can’t even form words. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, and your heart is pounding so hard you’re sure he can hear it. And then it hits you. Yes.

“Yes!” you shout, your voice breaking with joy as you toss the blanket aside and fling yourself into his arms, knocking him backward onto the sofa. He laughs as you straddle his waist, hugging him tight, tears of joy streaming down your face.

“I love you,” you whisper breathlessly, kissing him hard, your heart swelling with so much love it feels like it might burst.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, smiling up at you as you kiss him again, both of you tangled in this beautiful, overwhelming moment.

He slips the ring onto your finger, and you hold your hand up, marvelling at how perfectly it fits—how perfectly it all fits.

And as you both lie there, wrapped up in each other and the ridiculousness of the moment, Evan chuckles. “So, Smurf burrito, looks like you’re stuck with me for life.”

You laugh, smothering his face with smoochies of aggressive cuteness magnitude. “Lucky me. Now... about those burgers? I’m still hungry.”

Evan grins, pulling you closer. “First, how about I show you just how well I can speak your love language?”

“Burgers first, then more disaster sex,” you tease, giggling as he tries to tickle you.

“Deal,” he whispers, stealing another kiss, because honestly, in this moment, you’re the best thing on the menu.

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Taglist: sillysillygyal, junkie4weezer, frankiesweird, divinerulerz, nickrhodeslittledarling, @babymazz

@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. Please do not modify, translate, or plagiarise my content.

Announcement

This might not be a forever goodbye, and who knows, a spinoff of this series might pop up someday, but this is going to be the final part, y’all. I’ll admit, I sometimes feel like I’m navigating through a tiny room with towering walls in this digital space; like my creative expression is being restricted and policed, and I cannot fully communicate or channel my “writing persona,” if you will, in here. Still, every bit of your love and support has made it worth it. I’ve poured so much into this world, and Evan, well… he’s been an incredible muse through it all. So, thanks a bunch, truly. xx

[nxtaliaistyping]

eddie getting his brains pegged out?

The Riddler getting pegged <3

Authors note: I’m physically unable to resist any edward requests atm omg, I’ve nearly collected all his trophies in Arkham knight I need him so bad.

18+ nsfw, fem reader, reluctant sub eddie lmao

A man like Edward, someone so prideful, so narcissistic, so egotistical, it’s hard for him to let go of the sense of control that permeates his desires. So you have to start slow.

He usually takes the lead during your sexual escapades, enjoying seeing you submit to him and give him the praise he believes he deserves. But you slowly start to push back, praising him in specific ways that have a confused blush painting his cheeks before he scoffs dismissively.

You know you have to take it slow; but you're in it for the long haul, teasingly pulling his hair occasionally, or pinning him down as you both make-out on the bed sloppily. Pushing and pushing, eventually you broach the subject, leading him to scoff at you.

"You seriously think I, The Riddler, would willingly debase myself to such an extent as to allow you to do that to me?"

At your slight pout, he rolls his eyes, "you'd have to be a very good girl in order for that to happen."

But what you don't know, is the thrilling lurch in his stomach that unfolded at the suggestion. As he dismissively leaves the room, he tries in vain to cover up the fact his bulge is pressing firmly against his suit trousers, straining the green material.

So you keep pushing, keep gently needling until the time finally comes when the genius is laying on his back, toes curled slightly as you work two lubed fingers inside of him.

"Is this it? I must say for someone so eager, you don't seem to be putting in much effort." he says snarkily, always feeling the desire for control.

"Don't wanna hurt you." you reply.

"...as if you could." he says, but his tone is soft, as if he's subtly thanking you for your care.

With the help of extra lube, you push three fingers inside, prodding around for that certain spot. He wriggles, about to make another comment before his breath stutters and his eyes widen. Found it.

"Again." he demands, and you can't help but smirk a little smugly as you repeat the motion, a soft breath escaping your lover. You keep going, scissoring him open. Each brush of your fingers around his prostate has him tightening around you, a gasp releasing itself from the narcissist. You keep a steady rhythm, wanting to pleasure him as well as just prep him to take something bigger.

“…get on with it, if you wanted t-to fuck me, you might as well do it.”

The impatience bleeds through his tone, but you relent and remove your fingers, retrieving the strap on from the closet. His eyes are firmly fixated on the toy, a little nervous (although he would never tell you that, of course). You lube it up, positioning the fake cock at his entrance.

“Get a move on, I thought you wanted to-“

As you push the cock head inside, his voice trails off into a stuttery whine. It can only be described as a whine, as it’s higher pitched and breathy as it claws its way out of his throat. His fists rake their way against the sheets below, as you keep slowly pushing. Watching his hole accommodate your fake dick is a sight to behold.

Eventually you bottom out inside of him, watching the way the sweat shines on his skin, his red hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes can’t decide whether to remain open and wide or screw themselves shut tightly.

“Fuck…m-move. Do something…fuck me.” He demands, attempting to regain some semblance of control. But you’re always one to please, so you start to slowly pull out before pushing back in.

A moan escapes him, feeling your fake cock fill him up so deliciously. You can’t help but smile down at him, watching his chest rise and fall as you repeat the slow motion a few times. Inside, his chest tightens at how good it feels, but most of all how safe he feels with you; truly a disarming realisation.

“Feel good Eddie?”

“You…fucking know it feels good you little brat-“

He’s cut off once again by a particularly harder thrust. Laughing softly, you keep up the increased pace, determined to get him to make those lovely noises.

Edward hates being laughed at, but he’s finding it difficult to snap at you when you’re nailing his prostate with every thrust. “Fuck…I-I’ll get you back for this you know…nobody laughs at me…”

Your hands travel the expanse of his chest and abdomen, feeling the skin beneath you as well as his little twitches. Having the time of your life, your fingers travel to his nipples, circling them and causing his back to arch a little.

“Ah…m-more.”

You could have been mean, made him beg for it…but there’s plenty of time for that later. At this point, you wanted to see your lover achieve ecstasy, so you play with his nipples in time with your thrusts. His hands release the sheets only to find their new home grabbing your arms.

He isn’t used to this, feeling so…out of control, so pleasured despite being so vulnerable. It’s an addictive feeling, he can understand why you love it so much.

It isn’t long before the twitching increases in his muscles, and you reach down to pump his cock, hard and angry looking; pre cum dribbling out of the head. Truly, he’s in heaven now, the sensations fulfilling desires he didn’t know he had.

“You close Eddie? Gonna make a mess?” You can’t help but tease.

“…yes…yes…gonna make a mess.”

His tone is quieter than usual, a little more broken. Seemingly his pride has leaked out of his ears with what feels like his brain as he’s railed, or at the very least is now lying dormant for now.

Moving your hand up and down, you use your other to grab his hip, allowing you to bear a little of your weight down to thrust with more vigour. Noises are truly being pushed from his mouth now, his mouth constantly slack at the dual stimulation.

“So close…” he says quietly, a lot more quiet than you’re used to him being, which makes you nod and smile.

“Want you to finish eddie, want you to feel good.”

He cums with a strangled cry, truly making a mess of himself as he comes thick ropes all over his abdomen, some reaching his chest and even as high as his collarbone. It looks like he’s shivering, clearly the experience was intense. You pull out gently, cunt throbbing at the whimpered hiss as he suddenly feels empty.

“You did so well Edward.”

“Yes yes I know I did.” He remarks dismissively, although his tone betrays how spent he really is. With an uncharacteristically soft look, he glances at you. “You didn’t do too badly either.”

High praise coming from Edward, as you dutifully grab a washcloth and clean his cum off himself. “I really should have made you lick it off, a reward for me for letting you do that.”

As if his reward wasn’t getting his brains fucked out and cumming all over himself. But you know…you know you’ll be able to do this again, and you know that next time you’ll be able to do something about his brattiness.

[i-like-forcefem]

17:00

“Hi darling!!! Congrats on the big win!!! I’m so so proud of you! I know you have to get a flight at 22:00 but I thought we could get dinner at my place to celebrate!”

16:30

“Here we are! Just make yourself at home cutie, you’ve worked more then hard enough for the day, give me your luggage too I’ll make sure it stays properly safe!”

17:00

“I hope you enjoy lasagna! It’s the only thing I know how to make… what do you mean it tastes a little odd? No i didn’t put anything special in there, being a winner really makes you paranoid doesn’t it?”

17:15

“Oh I’m so sorry dear! I ruined all your clothes! I feel so bad! I’m such a kluts! I shouldn’t be allowed near any glasses. Finish up the last bite of your lasagna and go take a shower hun! I’ll make sure desert is ready when you leave”

17:30

“Oh hun you need some clothes? Well you can borrow some of mine if you want!”

“What do you mean you gave me your luggage? No you didn’t? You told me you left it at the apartment? I know you’re in a big high right now after today, but it’s really making you very forgetful”

“Here throw your old clothes through the door and I’ll give you some of mine!”

“Oh honey of course it’s a skirt! I don’t own any pants! Sorry, would you rather have a dress?”

“You look so lovely dear!!! Oh I knew this would look amazing on you I’m so glad to be right!”

“Plan this? Of course not! Please stop being so suspicious, here I understand that you’d rather no one sees you like this so do you want to give me your room keys so I can go get your luggage?”

“Honey we’ve been over this I don’t have your luggage!”

“Alright good! I’ll be right back dear!”

20:00

“I’m sorry dear, I couldn’t find it! I know, I know, I’m sorry, I really looked everywhere believe me!!! You’re sure you didn’t leave it in transit somewhere?”

“I know dear, you are a klutz, but that’s okay!”

“Listen I know you’d rather not go on a plane dressed this cutely, but I don’t think you have any choice right now! Your baggage will turn up later!”

“I have an idea! What if I do your make up and style your hair? Then I’m sure no one will recognise you! They’ll only see a beautiful girl!”

“Put some trust in me dear! I know what I’m doing!”

21:00

“There we go! I must say I’m proud of myself! Take a look at yourself!”

“I know right??? You make such a beautiful girl! You’ll be turning so many heads at the airport!!! And best of all we finished on 22:00 on the dot, the perfect time for to leave and get your plane!”

“What do you mean the planes leaves at 22:00? I thought you just had to leave at 22:00!!! No dear you don’t understand I never bothered to update the clocks time for daylight savings! It’s an hour forward!”

“Oh I am so sorry honey!!! If only you communicated better!!! Now you’re lost here in a country where you don’t speak the language without any luggage for at least another week…”

“But don’t worry! I’ll let you stay here for that time! I’m sure we can get to know each other a lot better in that time!”

“What do you say cutie?”

“Good Girl”

“Huh? No I didn’t say anything, you must be imaging things again, let’s watch a movie and then get to bed dear, I’ll make sure you’ll enjoy your time here!”

[freakinator]

I'm so interested, but I don't know where to start watching UU. I'm so confused. Could you please advise me how to watch it properly?

honestly the best advice i can give you is to just search unstable universe and click on any of the playlists (i recommend diya's since it tends to be the most up-to-date one), if you wanna watch just one pov then feel free to do so but be warned youd be missing a part of the experience by doing so mainly through missing context/part of the story for certain scenes (although tbf that pretty much goes for any lets play but if you dont mind that aspect then go right ahead)

a few warnings before you get started tho:

its a huge time investestment, all but the first 4 episodes are more than 3 hours long with most of them either halfway through or nearing 4 hours

some vids are uploaded later than they actually take place on the timeline, i have a guide here if you wanna know at least from what i can tell the actual order is

theres a few supplementary materials (can be found in the extras part of the sheet i linked, not complete yet cause theres some vids i havent linked yet and im still on the lookout for more since some vids get added retroactively in addition to the ones uploaded explicitly for uu), you dont need to watch them to enjoy the story but theyre a cool bonus

if you wanna watch only one pov heres a guide on each of the povs specialties before doing so

general:

they all shift in style as the eps go on, nothing jarring but if you dont like more scripted storylines you may find the later eps a bit lacking

plot themes get used and reused a lot, for example spoke often goes on quests to destroy important landmarks, parrot often goes on scavenger hunts/get imprisoned/some combination of the two, and wemmbu often does things related to civilizations/kingdoms/factions

certain editing styles also get copied from each other, parrot and wemmbu in particular like to do this with each other

themes and styles can also switch around sometimes which can affect future eps on some level

certain exploits and mechanics dont work as intended so dont bother replicating how certain mechanics work according to actual mc cause chances are youll be disappointed by the results (unless youre into that sorta thing i suppose lol)

the main povs tend to stick to the same set of ppl, most likely due to scheduling reasons, so dont expect a whole lot of crossover casting (tho obv there would still be some esp if theyve got a pre-established role already)

spoke:

redacts some important events from his eps but may recount them later on depending on how the story plays out tho not in detail

not a lot of pvp in his pov and when there is chances are hes trying to run away or someone else is handling it (mainly mapicc)

doesnt upload nearly as consistently as the other two, consequently his shift in style is more obvious comparatively but so is his character development

thematically his eps tend to be about personal growth of some kind

lorewise his eps tend to focus more on server meta, for example his pov is the only one where there is clear confirmation of the server being unstable codewise, his pov is the only one where just how large of a problem duping on the server is can actually be seen and felt, and so far his pov is the only one that shows who ash is and what his goals are. basically if spoke introduces some kind of threat in his ep, chances are it'll be a threat to the server meta and youd have to think of the bigger picture in order to grasp how dangerous they actually are

his pov is also the only one you get the full picture of what a soggy little rat he actually is since in both parrot and wemmbus povs spoke is seen as a serverwide threat, directly for parrot and theoretically for wemmbu

if you like ls s4 zam and/or ls s2 spoke then youll most likely like him as well lol

has a small reoccuring cast and tends to stick to one person when going on quests while also taking note of another one

you will feel the ghost of jamatoP haunting this kid wherever he goes even if he never directly references him

parrot:

tends to get dragged along plot points, not in the sense that he doesnt have agency cause he very much does but more like he takes it upon himself to clean up other ppls messes if that makes sense

tries not to get into pvp but he still does get into them quite often, usually tries to run away but when he doesnt/cant he doesnt really have the best fighting techniques

his character development tends toward introspection which leads to a lot of "quiet" and assumptive character development, you gotta use a lot of psychological analysis when watching a parrot episode basically

thematically his eps tend to be about the willingness to get in danger in pursuit of something (whether it be for something greater, knowledge, or the safety of the other players on the server whether it be their life or memories) vs the predictable and stagnant comfort of safety

lorewise the threats he faces are ones that focuses on the actual players themselves, if one is introduced on his episode then chances are that they specifically target and affect players. an interesting example of this is zam, seen as a threat but never actually treated like an actual problem to be solved unlike the other threats he faces and it just so happens that zam is in a really interesting place antagonism-wise when it comes to wemmbu but is otherwise not a huge threat to unaffiliated players not even parrot who he apparently has beef with

has a large reoccuring cast who come in and out of his life, each of whom are important the same way cogs are important to a machine (applies to parrot himself as well). wifies sticks by him no matter what tho

wemmbu:

literally only one episode of his so far does not heavily feature or center around zam and its the one that takes place before they meet, if you do not like seeing/hearing about zam every 10 minutes or so do not watch wemmbus eps or you Will get pissed off

gets into fights quite often and is the best at pvp among the three main povs but isnt the best in terms of the server at large (hes somewhere more along the lines of average)

his character development is. rocky. and cyclical. be prepared to see him spiral and get better and spiral again over and over again basically lol

thematically his eps tend to be about princezam. i wish i was joking. but besides that, theyre also about retaliatory safety, morality, and sacrificing everything just to try and accomplish a singular goal

lorewise he causes a lot of ripple effects that affect the other two povs to a level that neither of them have ever affected him like for example him terrorizing spoke and parrot is what drove them to their current paths (anti-exploit exploiter for spoke and player protector for parrot)

has. A reoccuring cast. most of them are enemies and/or dont matter to him a whole lot personally tho... that doesnt mean he doesnt have friendly relations or allies of any kind, just that the only two you Really need to take note of are eggchan and princezam

i think thats p much all i can say about uu in terms of how to get into it but if youve got any questions of some kind feel free to ask :D

[mlmxreader]

Sweet On You | Arthur Morgan x m!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ "Maybe I'm just an idiot and thought you cared'' with Arthur Morgan please? ( good ending if possible) ❞

: ̗̀➛ You and Arthur have to spend a lot of time together, but he isn't sure how you feel about it.

: ̗̀➛ swearing, smoking, guns

↳ if you can, please consider giving to Fadi's family; they're currently in Gaza, and need to raise funds in order to escape the genocide. So far, they've raised $39,380 of their $62,500 goal!

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Arthur sat by the campfire, twiddling his thumbs as he looked around nervously; it wasn't like he was jumpy on hunting trips, but when he was near you it was a different story. You made his heart pound and his hands go all sweaty and sticky, his throat would get dry and he would struggle to speak a single word, let alone a whole sentence.

Yet he loved being near you; hearing you speak about all the different animals and plants and what they did in the world. Listening to you hum softly as you brushed your horse; that animal didn't like Arthur a single bit.

A loyal and faithful companion, it seemed strong enough to carry at least thirty men without breaking a single sweat; it looked dignified and noble, but was certainly also a strong and powerful animal.

Whether it was cougars, wolves or bears, the horse did not ever shy away or spook when it came to battle.

In the right lighting, the horse looked red in colour, with a dark, almost black, mane and tail; its dark eyes were keen and focused. With its bright green and white saddle, it looked every bit the noble steed it truly was.

"Manawydan," the horse's name was. Arthur liked to draw him, though; he had an almost medieval artistry about him when he grazed and he interacted with Arthur's horse - like he belonged in some mythic tale about kings and wizards, not in the outskirts of Lemoyne hunting cougar and boar.

Slowly, Arthur looked up from the campfire when you moved, curiosity etched into his features as the dull light flickered in his eyes; he looked away the second you turned slightly towards him, awkwardly returning back to the orange and yellow before him and the soft warmth.

He swallowed thickly.

"Y'know," you started, "wouldn't kill you to look at me."

Arthur spared you an all too quick glance. "Hmm?"

"Said," you pulled your rifle from Manawydan's saddle, and sat opposite Arthur. "It wouldn't kill you to look at me. You do this every time we go out together - do you hate me that much? I'm not worse than Micah, am I?"

He smiled for a split second as he shook his head. "Nah, nah, you're much better than him."

You shrugged, examining your rifle; the way that you yielded it and how you always used it for everything and anything, it was akin to how knights used to wield swords in the stories that Arthur had heard and read growing up.

A fantastical weapon used loyally; the wood finish was a beautiful dull red and dark brown colour, and looked like it was wrapped leather thanks to the brilliant craftsmanship. The metal was a fine, almost sparkling, silver colour, with a distinct rune on either side of the barrel in black.

"Gorau tarian, cyfiawnder" on one side, and "Golud gwlad rhyddid" on the other - at least, that was what you had told Arthur they had meant.

Yet your skilled hands worked the metal and the wood so acutely and carefully that it wasn't difficult for him to see that you had skill; you were precise and methodical, getting rid of every scrap of dirt and every bite of dust.

Arthur could only watch, his head tilted slightly to the side as he focused as best as he could. But then he heard you hum, and he perked up slightly.

He knew that song.

You sang it a lot when you were fishing, and whistled it even moreso when you were meandering through towns with him; he knew that it meant you were in a good mood. Hopeful, Arthur cleared his throat, and slowly removed his hat so he could place it on his knee.

"It ain't you," he started quietly, "it really ain't you... I just... I feel things when I'm around you, and it ain't like I deserve you..."

You stopped, quirking a brow as you looked over at him through the fire. You shook your head. "Arthur. C'mon. When you met me, I was a fuckin' assistant to Trelawny - it ain't like I've been holed up in a fuckin' mansion, eating fucking geese and shit all my life."

"I know, I just..." he shrugged, struggling to talk so much and struggling to find the right words even more. He sucked in a harsh breath. "I ain't a good man. And you deserve a good man, to get outta this life and-"

"Fuck's sake, Morgan," you growled, shaking your head. "I'm not being funny here, but you need to quit that shit. You are a good man, you've just done shitty things - I ain't getting out of this life any time soon, so it's entirely down to you - I mean, shit, I used to think that maybe I'm just an idiot and thought you cared... and now you're saying you do, but you're shitting all over it. I wanna love you, Arthur, I do. I enjoy being around you."

He frowned, clearing his throat awkwardly. "You do?"

"Of course I do, you silly bugger!" You all but howled, a whisper of jovial playfulness to your voice. "I like being near you, and spending time with you... my horse might not, but I do."

He laughed softly at that, moving a little closer so he could sit next to you. "You sure you wanna do this?"

You sighed heavily, putting your hand on his knee. "Yes. I very much fucking am... now, let me finish polishing me rifle, and afterwards, I'm gonna get you to lie down, and I'm gonna cuddle into you to see if you're as warm as you seem. Alright?"

Arthur nodded. "Alright... that, erm, that does sound good."

"Light up a cigarette a second," you hummed, fumbling in your pockets and tossing him the packet. "Help yourself if you want one."

He didn't hesitate, lighting two of them and gently passing one over. "Thanks."

"Hey," you whistled softly to grab his attention. "I'm sweet on you, Arthur. You remember that, yeah?"

[brynnewithane]

Kaiju No. 8 Light Novel: Closely Observed! Unit 3 [Translate]

This is an UNOFFICIAL TRANSLATION of the Light Novel Kaiju No. 8. The translation and proofreading were done by me. Since my bias is Hoshina, I only plan to translate his story.

Hoshina's chapter is split into six parts. The following post includes my translation of parts 1 and 2.

***The translation that follows is not translated from the original Japanese, but rather from Vietnamese to English. Since this is my first attempt translating literature and English is not my first language, if there are any parts that seem unnatural or out-of-place please feel free to point them out. I’m open for feedback!👾 ***There are some segments that I've referenced from the translation of Kaiju No. 8: B-Side posted on the Mangaplus website.

Chapter 3: Vice-captain Soshiro Hoshina

[PART 1/6]

“Phew, alright…”

With a soft thud, Hoshina set the stack of papers down on the table and took a deep breath. In his hand was the report on Kikoru’s match from the day before. He was evaluating it, through the lens of a vice-captain.

“Who would’ve thought it’d take this long, huh.”

Finishing off the last sip of his now-cold coffee, Hoshina made his way out of the room. Although work hours were over, he still had other plans await. As he strode down the corridor, he spotted the Metro TV crew heading towards him.

“Director! How’s the filming coming along?

The director nodded in return, “It went pretty well, everyone has been very cooperative after all. Mr. Hoshina, would you mind if we get a few words from you?”

“Me? But I’ve already been around the block though.”

“Ha ha ha. No, I just wanted to ask about the rookies. All of the officers this year are really something. The performance that Officer Shinomiya did yesterday was truly remarkable.”

“Well, that’s ‘cause the West Tokyo entry exam was way tougher this year, probably the hardest we’ve ever had. Plus, there were way more standout talents than usual this time around."

“I see. But now I’m more curious.”

“Curious ‘bout what?”

“It’s about Officer Kafka Hibino. Compared to the others, his basic physical strength seems pretty lacking. Would you mind telling us why he’s accepted to the Defense Force?”

The director couldn't help but wonder; it was no surprise at all. For days Kafka had shown no significant improvement to the crew. Whether it was marksmanship or obstacle courses, he consistently ranked last.

“Of course, we don’t just recruit folks based on combat abilities, y’know? We take a lot of other factors into account too. One of the reasons we accepted Kafka Hibino is…

“Is…?”

“Comic relief!” Hoshina smirked.

“C, comic relief, sir?” Hearing such a response, the director’s eyes widened.

“Novelty, y’know? He’s entertaining does he not? The impulsiveness and silliness and all. I’ve never seen anyone with an unleashed combat power of 0% before, and despite being physically weak, he’s bursting with energy. Not to mention he’s completely oblivious to his true potential, so he kept ended up running around like a headless chicken on the field.”

“T, That’s quite the harsh evaluation…”

“But I don’t dislike dummies like him.”

“And why is that?”

“Back in the day…” Hoshina scratched his cheek. "I met someone who was just like that. This idiot was constantly told to give up on bein’ a member of the Defense Force, yet he just kept throwin’ himself into it, no matter what.”

“So there really was a recruit like that? What’s that officer doing now?”

“Beats me. He’s likely assigned to some other unit.” Hoshina flashed a brief smile as he started to walk off. “Oh right, I’m about to hold a private training session at the dojo. The rookies will be there too, you could drop by if you’re interested.”

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

“Yaaaah!”

The soldiers’ exhort resonated throughout the wooden dojo. Apart from the outdoor training area, the Defense Force base also featured an indoor training room. Many officers would come here to train after dinner.

“My, my... It’s so crowded even during break time.” The director mumbled in admiration.

“This year’s rookies are really proactive.”

Hoshina was scanning around the dojo when he saw two individuals, both wearing armour(1), fighting intensely near the entrance. One of them caught an opening and leaped forward, swinging his bamboo sword(2) and striking his opponent. The victor removed his mask, revealing none other than Haruichi Izumo.

“Not bad Reno. Have you done kendo before?”

“I picked up a bit during middle school… But I couldn’t see that last strike of yours coming at all.” Reno, Haruichi’s opponent, also lifted off his mask and let out a sigh.

“Nah, you almost had me there too, man.” Haruichi smiled gently.

Nearby, a match took place between two individuals with distinctly different builds. One was a kendo expert senior, yet he was outmatched by his bulkier opponent who launched many heavy knocks from overhead.

“Woah that officer is really impressive. Is he a rookie too?”

“Maybe it’s hard for you to tell with a mask on like that, but it’s ‘she,’ not ‘he’, and yes she’s a rookie, her name is Hakua Igarashi.” Hoshina shook his head and replied to the director.

“Igarashi… Oh, is she the younger sister of Officer Jura from the Second Division?”

Igarashi Hakua is a promising rookie and Kikoru’s close friend.

As Hoshina looked around, a male officer approached. This young man had a muscular physique, piercing eyes, and tanned skin. He’s Aoi Kaguragi, a former member of Japan Ground Self-Defense Force.

“Vice-captain Hoshina, would you mind having a sparring match with me?”

“Sure thing, let’s have a match.”

Once clad in his armour, Hoshina got into a ready stance, facing Aoi. As the referee signalled to start the match, a palpable tension filled the air. Others instinctively paused, as their attention was drawn to the two of them as well.

The fight began with two swords sharply clashing. Attacking first was Aoi.

“Ha-yaaa!” Aoi shouted as he charged forward, instantly closing the gap. He moved with a speed that left amateurs struggling to keep pace.

Hoshina skillfully parried with his bamboo sword and countered back. Aoi’s attack was neutralised. The two returned to a standoff, maintaining their distance once again.

Hoshina took the initiative this time. In response, Aoi swung his sword, attempting to strike first. Seizing the opportunity, Hoshina deftly flicked Aoi's sword upward, breaching his defence. A loud “thud” rang out as Hoshina landed a perfect hit onto Aoi’s mask.

“Men strike! (3)” (Face hit)

The referee’s voice rang out. The two exchanged bows at each other as the match ended. Once their mask was removed, Aoi’s face was glistening with sweat, in stark contrast to Hoshina, who remained calm and composed.

“Thank you, sir… I will strive to improve even more.” Aoi said, earnestly bowing his head.

“Nah, you did great! You’ve got some serious talent, y’know.” Hoshina complimented. Aoi was a rising star in the Ground Self-Defense Force, with relatively good kendo skills; he could even be ranked among the top in the Third Division.

(The rookies this year sure are outstanding.)

Applause sprang out as people enjoyed the duel between two formidable figures. Meanwhile, at the dojo entrance, an entirely different kind of match was unfolding.

“Heeeyaaah!!”

A man stumbled forward, ferociously swinging his bamboo sword. His wide, sweeping motions were all over the place, making it easy for his opponent to dodge, counter, and raise his sword high before slamming it down with force.

“Gack!!??”

The hit landed with such power that the mask seemed as though it was about to shatter. The man dropped to one knee on the floor.

“Sure-kill attack: Iharu Blade! How’d you like the power of my strike, old man!?”

“W, why you! Take it easy on me, won’t ya!?” Kafka stood up, removing his mask.

“That was me going easy. Seriously, why are you so ‘green,’ old man?” Iharu tilted his head.

“Well duh, I’ve never practised kendo once in my entire life. So, everyone else has, even Ichikawa huh… I guess all the Defense Force recruits are pros at this stuff…”

“Since you have zero experience in kendo, I assume you chose judo instead, yes?” Reno approached, striking up a conversation with Kafka.

“Hm? Nope, I don’t know judo either.”

“Huh? You weren’t required to take any martial arts class?”

“What martial arts?”

“Didn’t they require you to take either judo or kendo in middle school?”

“What’re you talking about?”

As the conversation drifted off course, Hoshina tucked his mask under his arm and walked toward them.

“Martial arts were made mandatory after the curriculum reform, which is why y’see nearly all of our rookies this year have some sort of experience—except you, Kafka.

“What, is that how it is!? Grk, even this has a generation gap!” Kafka stood up abruptly, clenching his fists. “Damn it, that means I need to train way harder. Vice-captain Hoshina, could you please instruct me as well? Let’s have a match!”

“Vice-captain, could I request the same for myself?”

“Hey Reno! Tryin’ to one-up me, aren’t ya!? Count me in too, sir!”

“Iharu, that wasn’t my intention.”

Seeing the rookies got all excited, Hoshina nodded, “Alright then. I’ll take y’all on—line up!”

A sharp "Thwack!" echoed through the air.

“Gack!”

A sharp "Thwack!" echoed through the air.

“Gurk!”

A sharp "Thwack!" echoed through the air.

“Agh!”

“All righty practice over. Y’all need to work on your basic skills.”

Upon the dojo floor, three members of Kafka lay scattered, their skill levels markedly inferior to Hoshina’s. After a lengthy observation of the scene, the director made his way toward them.

“Impressive! It’s clear that no one can even come close to your skill with the blade, sir. I wouldn’t expect anything less from someone hailing from one of the most renowned kaiju-slaying families in Kansai. Speaking of which, when you first enlisted, you weren’t here, were you? You were in Kansai, right sir?”

“Yeah, I got promoted by Captain Ashiro and transferred here.”

“I see! You must have been making a name for yourself since your early days then.”

“... That’s not the case at all.” Hoshina chuckled, looking a bit flustered.

This hesitancy of his somewhat confused the director.

“Vice-captain Hoshina.”

Hoshina shifted his attention when he heard a voice ring behind him. Kikoru stood there in her armour, her stern gaze peering through the mask.

“May I spar with you next, sir?”

“... ‘course.”

Raising her sword, Kikoru formed a ready stance. Judging by her form, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that her kendo technique was exceptionally polished. One could confidently assert that her skill was on par with Aoi’s.

(She's skilled in both firearms and swordplay. Truly astounding—a complete contrast from me.)

As Hoshina gazed at the rookies before him, memories of his own early days came flooding back—days before he joined the Third Division.

❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅••❅───✧❅

*NOTE:

(1) Here, they are wearing a type of protective gear specifically used in kendo known as bōgu (防具) or kendōgu (剣道具). Since I saw most Western websites tend to use the terms “bogu” or “kendo armour,” I decided to simply use the word “armour” here for a smoother reading.

(2) Similar to that, I’ve chosen to use the “bamboo sword” here to make it easier to understand even though the proper term for it is shinai (竹刀).

(3) Men strike (面打ち) in Kendo is one of the most fundamental and commonly used attacks aimed at the opponent’s head. Other primary strikes include kote (wrist), dō (torso), and tsuki (throat thrust).

❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅••❅───✧❅

[PART 2/6]

Hoshina was usually stationed in Kansai. However, on that day, he travelled to Tokyo for a meeting about a friendly kendo match with the Third Division, which was set to occur in a month. The kendo instructor of the Third Division was someone his father greatly respected, and a figure Hoshina had known since childhood.

“Sir, I’m glad to see you’re still doing well.”

“Not at all! I’m not as sharp as I used to be nowadays. I’ve been planning on stepping down as an instructor soon. So what do you say, Soshiro? Do you want to come and carry on my work?”

“Ha ha ha, I’ll consider it, sir.” Hoshina chuckled, quickly changing the subject.

Hoshina had received countless recommendations to become an instructor. Everyone in the Defense Force recognised his exceptional swordsmanship, yet they all believed it wasn’t suitable for practical combat. His father, superiors—everyone urged him to take on the role of a kendo instructor, suggesting he withdraw from the battlefield. Despite this, he still longed to remain on the front lines.

(I’m well aware… that my desires are selfish and stubborn.)

The meeting ended, and just as Hoshina was about to leave, he received a call from the general affairs office, informing him that the captain of the Third Division wanted to see him in the office.

(The captain? Wants to meet me?)

Even though Hoshina was completely perplexed, he had no choice but to go. Anxiously, he knocked on the captain’s office door.

“Come in,” a calm female voice replied.

As he opened the door and stepped inside, Hoshina was greeted by the sight of a young woman seated at the desk. It was Mina Ashiro, who had become the captain of the Third Division at a remarkably young age. The two were not far apart in age. He had seen her before, during the joint training sessions, but this was their first opportunity to talk directly.

“I apologize for interrupting you during your busy schedule. Soshiro Hoshina, at your service, ma’am.” Hoshina straightened his back and saluted to the captain.

“Third Division Captain, Mina Ashiro. I appreciate you stopping by.”

“Happy to do it, I have time to spare after all. I was planning to take a look around Tokyo for a bit before returning to base. Now then, what was it that you need me for, Captain?”

Ashiro turned her back, her gaze drifting toward the sombre sky beyond the window. 

“I’ve seen you in joint training before. Even from a distance, I can tell that your swordsmanship is exceptional.”

“Oh, thank you captain…”

(Why is she bringing that up all of a sudden?)

Hoshina couldn’t help but feel sceptical.

“Soshiro Hoshina, I heard that you’re a sword specialist.”

“Yes, that is correct.”

Hoshina could already sense what Ashiro was about to say. He let out a small sigh.

(Here it comes. She’s definitely going to tell me to give it up…)

The Third Division was in dire need of a new sword instructor during this time. It seemed that Ashiro would soon suggest that he leave the front lines and take on that role.

“I need your abilities. Will you join my force, Hoshina?” Ashiro said as she gently turned back to face him.

The gloomy sky gradually dispersed, and shafts of sunlight entered the room. Her gleaming eyes gazed directly into Hoshina’s.

“Huh…?” Caught off guard by the unexpected proposal, Hoshina felt as though his mind had gone blank.

“We cannot overlook the possibility that more powerful miniatured-size kaiju might emerge in the future. Also, unlike you, I’m awful with bladed weaponry. I wouldn’t even want to pick up a kitchen knife.”

(Okay but isn’t kitchen knives are a complete different matter…)

“When I pierce through the enemies, will you clear a path for me?”

“...”

No one had ever spoken to Hoshina like that, not even his father. He felt his heart racing intensely, unable to suppress the thought that, just by serving under her, maybe…  

(No, stop…)

Hoshina took a breath and exhaled slowly. He quickly regained his composure, and his heartbeat returned to a steady rhythm.  

(Don’t take it seriously; it’s just lip service. If I accept the offer, I’ll only become a laughingstock.) 

Since they were being courteous, one ought to return their gesture. That’s just how things should be done.

“I am truly honoured, but…”

Right after that, the shrill wail of the alarm echoed through the hallway.

“Excuse me, captain!” The door swung open as a bald officer rushed in. “We’ve received reports of a kaiju attack in Oume City. Miniature class, but there are large numbers of them, and over a dozen civilians were reported dead. About the details...”

Listening to the report, Ashiro nodded. “Understood. Ebina, rally the entire team, including those off-duty.”

“Roger!” Ebina responded promptly to the order. “Man, we’re still in the middle of restructuring the division and issues just kept cropping up.”

“We’re againsting the kaiju, they wouldn’t care less about our situation.”

Ashiro picked up the phone from the table and quickly issued orders. However, as she had just recently been promoted to captain, the chain of command was still in disarray. If they were to engage Kaiju, her unit would probably face a severe troop shortage. That was why she could stolidly make such a proposal.

“Captain Ashiro, I could head to the site as well if you will.”

“Wha!? You’re the guy who’s here for a business trip, right? You’re from a different division is it not?” Ebina frowned.

“I carried my suit and weapons. I can at least help with disposing of the yoju.”

“Yeah, but even so…”

Ashiro cut Ebina off. “Hoshina, as the captain of the Third Division, I’m asking for your aid. I’ll make sure to run it by your division as well.”

“Captain, are you sure about this!?” Ebina raised his voice. “Based on the kaiju’s estimated fortitude, this operation is going to be extremely dangerous.”

“He’s a close-combat specialist; he can definitely be able to help us a great deal. Isn’t that right, Hoshina?”

"Right." Hoshina nodded. "I'm the best there is when it comes to neutralising miniature kaiju."

────────────────────────────────────────────────

[risingsoleil]

did linzin ever fight? And i mean big fights and they stopped talking to each other for days even their kids noticed? If yes how will they fix it

100% yes.

I'll break down a couple they've had:

#1 is one of the most common ones they have. It's Lin disregarding her own safety and putting herself on the line to protect others (not their family). They've had loud arguments about it.

Tenzin: do we mean nothing to you?! Do I mean nothing to you?! Lin: Stop saying shit to hurt me! I know what I'm doing! I wouldn't put myself in danger if I thought I'd end up dead! Tenzin: You owe it to me and the kids to not put yourself at risk. Why don't you let someone else die?! Lin: That's so rich coming from you--an airbender who's supposed to value all lives.

I'm not sure how they've solved this. Tenzin steps up to protect Lin so that she's not the one taking hits. But then Lin gets pissed at him. Then they fight about it. The cycle continues. Lin brings up "We can't both put ourselves on the line, otherwise our kids will end up as an orphans!!"

#2 - Tenzin wanting to take Jin and Areum on a long trip for airbender studies. Lin is frustrated because she knows that he only wants to pass down the knowledge of his culture to their kids, but she worries about how this will look to their other kids who might feel that he's showing favoritism. Tenzin argues that it's like an airbender rite of passage, and there are just specific things that airbenders will relate to. The kids overheard this one and would slide little notes under their parents' door. "Please don't fight ♡" Lin and Tenzin have definitely ignored each other for a while with this fight. It doesn't last long, but they definitely want a break from the other.

#3 - One fight that I think would be interesting is Tenzin being jealous that Lin is getting more respect in her workplace than he does. As an officer, Lin is good at being stoic and abrasive when she needs to be. She earns and commands respect over the years--even before they had kids. Tenzin struggles to find his own authority in politics. No one takes him seriously and constantly compares him to Aang. He's trying not to let his temper come through and once it slips a bit, City Hall uses that against him. Eventually, he kinda takes it out on Lin. And she can't understand what his problem is, and why he's being so snarky about her work. At first, she thought it was just jealousy over guys checking her out and things like that. But eventually, she hears from a little birdy (or maybe she just interrogated a worker) that no one sees Tenzin as a strong legislator on the Council.

#4 Not feeling prioritized in the relationship. This has happened on both parties. Both of them with their work schedules, but especially after Aang died. That period of chaos before the next Avatar is discovered was crazy and a bit of a blur for them.

The way they resolve or work through some of these fights changes. Sometimes, swallowing your pride and getting on your knees to give head to show you're sorry will work. Other times, it requires compromise and talking things through--Lin's *favorite* method.

Linzin tries to keep their fights/arguments away from the kids as much as possible. I think the kids have heard more fights than Linzin thinks they have. But Linzin's determination to work through these fights reinforces their love for each other to the kids.