#sorry i don’t have something actually new to offer

[thecoochiefairy]

━━ 𝑘𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑙 .ᐟ toji.

warnings 𑄽𑄺 27.5K word count. toji! fushiguro! third person omniscient pov, black woman, vaginal penetration, deflowering, angry sex, rough sex, sweet sex, sweet talkin’, hair pulling, squirting, creaming, oral [f] [m], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, condomless sex, creampie, kissing, spanking, aggressive toji, caring toji, lil bit of sweet toji, violence, grief, loss, family drama, mention of suguru getou, minors aren’t welcome!

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. 𐦍༘⋆visuals. ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. 𐦍༘⋆

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. 𐦍༘ songs to play while listening‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. 𐦍༘

𝐹𝑂𝑅 𝐶𝐸𝑅𝑇𝐴𝐼𝑁—𝑃𝐴𝑅𝑇𝑌𝑁𝐸𝑋𝑇𝐷𝑂𝑂𝑅

𝐼’𝐿𝐿 𝐾𝐼𝐿𝐿 𝑌𝑂𝑈—𝑆𝑈𝑀𝑀𝐸𝑅𝑊𝐴𝐿𝐾𝐸𝑅

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. 𐦍༘

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ now look, you should know when i make a fic, that hoe definitely gon’ be long as fuck. so don’t scream at me, okay? let’s make this a lil early christmas gift to my babies. i think this my favorite fic i’ve written. i’ve chained myself to the bed to finish this. i loved this plot so much. so so much. omg y’all. please enjoy it. please. okay, i’ve said enough.

….small note for name pronunciations within fic— nozomi (NO—ZO—ME) ami (AH—ME) isamu (EE—SAH—MOO)

PARTYNEXTDOOR FILLED THE SPEAKERS OF THE ROOM, R&B CRAWLING AMONGST THE WALLS. This is where she felt most at peace, her focus directly on her regular customer. 

“This is a new color for me, are you sure it’ll look nice?”

“Stop worrying, the color suits you beautifully. No black woman should ever turn away from brown hair,” she tells her, lessening the worry upon the customer's face. 

“Even at my age?” 

“Even at your gorgeous age, Ms. Bernice.” 

She adds the finishing touches, removing the curling iron as she sat it down on the table next to her. She spruces out the layered curls as she gives her a grin, “You’ ready to see?”

The woman who sat upon the chair nodded her head vigorously in excitement. She had been trying to convince Ms. Bernice to try a wig since she complained with her age that she was losing her hair. She offered to give her an age-appropriate bob, layered in between its curls. 

Her eyes gleamed as she turned in the chair to look in the mirror, a gasp of surprise escaping her lips as she inspected herself in disbelief, running her fingers through the silky soft hair, in complete shock that it was a wig. 

Her eyes sparkled in awe before turning back to her stylist, “It’s—It’s amazing! I look better now than I did with my real hair!”

“You looked just as beautiful before. I just enhanced your beauty,” she shakes her head, “It came out perfect.”

The woman laughed as she took out her wallet from her purse, “My husband’s going to flip when he sees this, you’re gonna get me in trouble!” 

Ms. Bernice then goes to pull out a fifty-dollar bill, this being her tip after already paying her in full as she says, “Thank you, Nozomi. You’ve really outdone yourself today.” 

Nozomi instantly takes the money, reaching around to put it back into her customers purse, “I told you to stop giving me those big ass tips, put some gas in your car or something. You know I’d do this for free if I didn’t have bills.”

The woman chuckled heartily as she pushed the money into Nozomi’s hand, making sure she took it, “Of course I know you’d do it for free, that’s exactly why I’m giving you a big tip! You don’t need the money, but you sure deserve it, you work so hard everyday, it’s the least I could do for you.”

She smiled as she then accepted the money, “Thank you. I really appreciate you.”

Ms. Bernice waves her hand, “Don’t start your sentimental stuff before I start crying. Anyways, can I book you again next week for a touch up? I have an event.” 

Nozomi sighs, “I’m sorry, my love. I’ll actually be out of town, my older sister’s getting married. I should be back a week after that.” 

“No worries—oh, a wedding, how beautiful. Congratulations to her. Where’s it gonna be?”

“It’s uh… actually a surprise to me. To the entire family, damn near. We won’t know until we get the invitations, but she gave us the dates and bought the tickets, so kinda sorta a free trip,” she briefly explains, “I’d never say no to that.”

“Ooh, a destination wedding, how exciting!” The woman clapped her hands together, “It’s like a mystery vacation,” Suddenly an idea popped into the her mind as she spoke, “Maybe it’s Vegas?”

Nozomi’s neck flung back, “God, I hope not. She might as well have Elvis be her damn officiant.”

Ms. Bernice chuckled as she spoke, “From the way you talk about her, she seems a little bougie. Probably Singapore or something.” 

“Now she knows our black ass family ain’t traveling to no damn Singapore,” Nozomi chuckled, “If that’s the case—pray for me. It’ll be a shit show.”

The woman laughed once more before nodding her head and standing up from the chair, grabbing her purse that rested on the counter on the opposite side of the room, “Maybe she’ll surprise you, send everyone off to Paris or something.” 

“The girl is bougie—never said she wasn’t a little frugal,” Nozomi replied as she walked her to the door.

“And that’s why you marry a rich man like your sister did,” Ms. Bernice finalizes. 

“That we can both agree on,” Nozomi chuckles, “See you next time, take a bunch of pictures for me!”

The woman gave a wave before walking out the door, “I will, I will! Bye bye now!” She shouted behind her. 

When she opens the door to let her out, Ms. Bernice stops herself from tripping as she nearly steps over an object along the ground. Nozomi looks down as she notices a pale pink box. 

She frowns, looking around the quiet outside before she hesitantly picks up the box, taking it inside her shop. Placing it along the counter, she pulls the silk white ribbon holding it together, opening the top as it looks to be cherry blossom petals within the box, scattering beneath the pink envelope, golden words trimmed atop of it. This was her sister's wedding invitation. 

She turns down the music within her shop as she absentmindedly begins to clean, other hand occupied as she reads the invitation. Then, her phone begins to ring. 

Ami. Just like clockwork. 

She holds the phone to her ear as she answers, continuing to read the invitation. The squeal on the other line was a usual greeting, something she was used to at this point. 

“Did you get it?”

Nozomi blinks at the envelope, “I did. Uh…Kyoto, Japan, Ami? Really?”

She could hear Ami giggling on the other line of the phone, her excitement evident, “Yes, really! Isn’t it perfect?” 

Nozomi continued to look at the envelope in hand, the pink cherry blossom petals filling out the box, “I…” she sighs, “It’s perfect. I love it.”

“No, no. Say what you need to say before you start holding in your anger and it turns into an even bigger thing.”

“I haven’t been to Japan in two years, Ami. Not since mom’s passing.”

She didn’t want to ruin the mood, knowing her sister wouldn’t let her comment make her upset. She just wanted to remind her. The mention of a place they once called home made something in her stomach turn, their mother being a fully black woman, their father being a full-blooded Japanese man. Their mom met him when traveling for school, and they fell in love immediately, raising their family there up until her sickness. They’d been back and forth between Kyoto and the states, but both of them were home to Nozomi. 

 They took traits from both parents. Ami looked more like their father, fair skinned, hair more pin-straight then anything, while Nozomi looked exactly like their mom, toffee skin, only having her fathers cheekbones, freckles and eyes. Every time she looked in the mirror, her heart ached.

“I know, I know…but,” Ami began to speak, her tone now more gentle than excited, “I just wanted to have the wedding somewhere special. Somewhere that’s special to us…”

Nozomi sighed once more, setting the invitation back amongst the cherry blossom petals. Her eyes traced over the golden writing, a small smile spreading across her lips, though her heart was still aching.

“I understand. Kyoto is an amazing place to have picked, mommy always loved it there. But it’s your man’s hometown too, huh? Did he have any say in this choice?”

She could hear her sister’s soft chuckle on the other line, her smile more than likely a soft one as she spoke, “Suguru thinks it’s a good idea, his family is already here, that’s less expenses on us. Although we still had to fly out our family, it was a smart choice.” 

There was a moment of silence before she could hear Ami speak once again, her tone holding a hint of concern, “Are you upset? I feel like you’re upset.”

Nozomi shakes her head, closing the top of the box as she says, “No, no. Not at all. I’m just…I didn’t think I’d be back there so soon. It’ll feel a little strange,” her smile is weak, trying to be lighthearted. Keyword—tried.

 She then asks, “Is uh…Is dad coming?”

Nozomi and her father’s relationship hadn’t been the best since her mother’s passing. After finding out he had been cheating on her while she was sick, Nozomi didn’t have anything to say to him. Ami kept in contact—that was enough for her.

A heavy silence fell on the other end of the line for a few moments, her sister’s voice finally breaking the uncomfortable silence between them.

“He is.” 

Nozomi could feel her heart begin to ache again, her smile disappearing. The topic of their father had always been a sore subject, though she knew it was better left alone. 

“Great,” she mutters, beginning to place the invitation politely back into the box, placing her other belongings in her purse as she was about to lock up her shop.

Her sister quickly replied on the other end of the line, holding a hint of panic, “Nozomi…don’t be like that. I know you have your feelings towards him, I get it. All I ask is that you at least try to be civil with him? For my wedding? I don’t want any drama.”

“I’d never do that to you, Ami,” she tells her, “Wanna go down your list of invites since you think I’m so barbaric?”

She could feel Ami rolling her eyes, “Don’t start your dramatics. Not when I’m about to tell you that I want you to be my maid of honor.” 

Nozomi halts, dropping her wallet into her purse as she glances out the window, “Me? Your maid of honor?”

A soft chuckle escaped her sister's lips, “Well duh, who else would it be? You’re my sissy-pooh. I’ve already got your dress, don’t worry, it’s not ugly. You’re excited, right? Please tell me you’re excited.”

Nozomi nods her head as if her sibling can see her, “Of course I’m excited. I just assumed that you would pick one of your friends.” 

“Oh, true. I mean, Kim will be there to help you—“

“Kim?” 

The entire conversation halts. It’s not that Nozomi was dramatic, however the name did bring an annoyance to her chest that she couldn’t shake. This was one of her sister's good friends, a friend of hers at one point—up until she slept with her man—the same man she was about to make things official with. It technically wasn’t cheating, but it was a fucked up gesture in her playbook.

“Yes, of course Kim is going to be there. I can’t not invite her to my wedding.”

“I’m aware,” Nozomi mutters more to herself, “But if you expect me to be butt-buddies wit ‘Kim-who-fucks-bitches-niggas’ Kim? Then it’ll be a cold day in hell, bridezilla. I’ll be cordial.” 

“Well you better keep that same energy when you see the man she fucked, cause Toji will be Suguru’s best man.” 

A pen could’ve dropped. 

The name echoed in her mind. She couldn’t lie to herself and say at one point she wasn’t endlessly in love with Toji. She had always been stubborn, not as emotional as her sister or willing to be in love the way Ami allowed herself to. But when the opportunity came with Toji, she made him work for it. He was just like her—stubborn, stern, aggressive—but he knew what he wanted, and that was her. He was the only person that could soften those walls, and just when she was ready to be committed to him, she found out that he hooked up with Kim, knowing that was also her friend, Kim also knowing that was her man. Both of them could go to hell.

Nozomi’s hand tightened around the phone, “Toji is his best man?”

Ami let out a breath as she spoke once more, her voice filled with reluctance, “I…yes. I know you both went through a rough patch—“ 

Nozomi could hear her sister’s voice soften even more, her voice taking a gentler tone, “I know things didn’t end well with you two, and I didn’t mention it before because I didn’t want you to say some bullshit about not going to my wedding.”

“Girl, bye. I love your ugly ass too much not to show up at your wedding,” she tries to joke away her anxiety, “Just send me pictures of all the bridesmaids dresses so I can know how to do my hair.”

Her sister’s giggles came through the phone as her squeal calmed down, her giddiness evident in her voice, “I’m so excited. Oh my God, everything is falling together! I already picked out the flowers…this is gonna be so much fun! Kyoto! Kyoto!” 

Nozomi could hear her sister begin to ramble on about her wedding preparations, it was cute to see her so excited and in love. But the back of her mind filled with the endless possibilities of this being a disaster. Her technical ex was in one room, while her ex-friend was in the other. She didn’t know who to swing on first. But this was her sister's wedding. It would be a perfect day for her. 

….Or an extremely hot day in Nozomi’s personal hell.

                      ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.  𐦍༘⋆ ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.  𐦍༘⋆

IT SEEMED LIKE THE NEXT COUPLE OF DAYS FLEW BY, and she was now arriving back in a place her parents called home at one point—Kyoto, Japan. The minute her feet landed in Osaka’s international airport, the crisp air made chills come down her spine. Memories of her mom rushed through mind like a collage, her smile, her laugh. Her throat went tight again. 

When she brought her focus back to finding her exit, a familiar face held up a sign that read, ‘NOZOMI—OMI.’ The nickname made her smile, pulling her suitcase as she ran up towards her older brother, Isamu, wrapping her arms around his neck as she crushed him into a hug. She wasn’t the affectionate type—but she also hadn't seen him since the funeral. She was the only sibling that now lived within the states, Ami staying in Kyoto with Suguru after the funeral, and Isamu living not too far from them. Nozomi needed the space and time to grieve. But maybe family was something she needed too. 

“Woah—hey, Omi’,” he clutched her, Nozomi digging her face into his shirt. Her eyes begin to well with tears, unable to stop herself as she squeezed him harder.

Her older brother wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him as he held her, his arms holding her around the waist as he squeezed her back. She couldn’t see it from having her face buried in his chest, but his face held a soft, sad smile. 

When he spoke, his deep voice was soft, “You’re squeezing me pretty hard, Omi’. You’ scared imma’ disappear if you let me go?”

“Maybe,” she muffled softly, squeezing the tightest she possibly could’ve, “Just—a little longer, please.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

He was well aware of the emotions going through her mind. Not seeing any of her family in over two years was hard enough. But returning to their family’s hometown was even harder. 

She quickly wiped her eyes before actual tears could come, hearing his voice made her want to break down. Her and her older brother had always been close—she missed his comfort, especially with their sister too busy in her relationship.

“How are you?” She asks, “You’ been okay?”

“I’ve been good…keeping busy with work and everything that’s been happening around here.” 

There was a brief moment of silence between the two before he spoke again, his voice a little quieter than before, “And you?“

“I’m…good,” she lies, “I’ve just been working. The hair business is great, I’m just…excited to be back here and spend time with you and Ami. I didn’t expect her to want to do the wedding here, considering how hard she took mom’s passing.”

Isamu could tell she was lying, knowing her as well as he did. But he decided against saying anything about it, not wanting to push the topic. His mouth twisted into a small smile as he spoke, “I think it kind of brings her comfort. Being here and all. She says it makes her feel like a piece of mom is here with us.”

He placed a gentle hand against her shoulder, his eyes holding a sad look as he spoke, “How are you feeling about all this? About being here right now?”

That was the burning question. She could handle being here, but as far as speaking upon her mom—she wasn’t ready for that. 

She brushed off the urge to cry again, “It feels nice to be here in Kyoto. I feel at home. However, the rest of our family, Kim, Toji, and our father all in one room? Ami has lost her damn mind to think that would go over well. It’ll be one terrible ass Jerry Springer episode.”

“She’s definitely lost her damn mind,” He agreed, “She’s hellbent on it all being perfect and everyone playing nice.”

“Did you know Toji was the best man? Since when did him and ole’ boy become so close?” She questions, watching as he begins picking up her suitcase, following him out of the airport, “And don’t get to defending your little boyfriend either, I’m aware at how close y’all are,” she threatens, referring to him and Toji’s relationship.

As he loaded her luggage into the trunk of his car, he let out a gentle laugh as he closed the trunk and leaned against the back of it. 

His eyes rolled into his skull as he thought about how to reply, “Him and Suguru got cool overtime, I don’t know. They’ve known each other for a while. Ole boy got a name, dickhead. I’m not defending Toji. I could give you reasons to hate him, but I’m not going to feed into that.”

His eyes met hers, a sly look in his gaze as he spoke, “But you’re not exactly the angel that you think you are.”

“Wh—me?! The hell did I do?” 

He knew he triggered an extremely long ramble, trying to hold back his laugh as she got in the passengers seat, “I don’t fuck peoples men! That’s Kim’s slimy ass! And I’m not the one with the dick that fucked Kim! Toji’s a slimey-nasty-bitch too!”

A loud bark of laughter came from him as they were on their way to their old home, another place Nozomi wasn’t sure she could handle being at. He snickered quietly as they drove, “It’s called a joke, Omi’. Damn. Chill before you pop a blood vessel.”

He chuckled to himself again, “That was some fucked up shit though, not gon’ lie.”

“Not fucked up enough for you to still be cool with him, and definitely not fucked up enough for him to be Suguru’s best man,” Nozomi grumbled.

“I don’t expect you to play nice with him or Kim.”

“At least your expectations aren’t as high as our sisters. You should lower them to hell, considering I wanna rip Kim’s arm off her body and smack her around with it. Fuck that hoe.”

His voice held a hint of amusement, “You got a whole lot of pent up anger and aggression going on in that frame. You might wanna calm down and get that checked out.”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” she grumbled, leaning herself more into the window.

As they continued to drive, she got a good look of the city. It looked as if it never changed. The trees were still healthily green, buildings still posh, everything was always so put together. This was home for her father as well, it made her wonder where he was, but the thought of speaking to him came back to mind. She didn’t want to talk.

Isamu could see her looking out the window in her silent behavior. Even as a child, she didn’t talk as much. 

They soon pulled up to the familiar home, Isamu turning the car off before looking over to her, his voice soft as he spoke, “You ready?”

She didn’t look at him as she sighed, “I have to be.” 

When she stepped out of the car, she looked over the childhood home. A shock came to her face as it seemed to be entirely re-modeled, yet still the same. Dark brown wood on the rooftop of the white house, caramel timber holding the walls all together. Lanterns were all around, glowing the building in a beautiful sight. An aura felt carried around it, almost as if she were here.

Nozomi looked back to her brother as her eyes narrowed, “When did y’all uh…remodel the house?”

He walked alongside her towards the front door, pulling a set of keys out of his pocket as he replied, “Ami started getting it done. A wedding gift to herself, I guess.”

She nods her head, still looking up, keeping her eyes along the trees that hunched over the home. She then hears her brother ask, “You don’t like it?”

She shakes her head, “Nah, it’s perfect. Mom always wanted this place remodeled, dad always griped about wanting a traditional home. She would’ve loved it.”

He chuckled under his breath, the sound a little sad, “Yeah…she always wanted all the fancy things. She would’ve loved this home. Dad’s probably somewhere complaining about it as we speak.” 

Their father was old school, and wanted to maintain the traditional things that Japan had to offer.

“But who gives a fuck about his opinions,” she adds on beneath her breath.

Her attention was pulled as she heard a squeal coming from the top of the stairs. The house looked small on the outside, but on the inside it held about seven bedrooms, perfectly accompanied for a big family that was always usually within the house. The furniture was still pretty small, most of it low to the ground, similar to the beds within the bedrooms, more large, still being covered by Shoji screens, thankful that each room had space enough to muffle the sound next to the other. She was sorry for the room closest to the newlyweds.

When her attention came back, she was nearly tackled as Ami wrapped her arms around Nozomi’s neck, wrapping her legs around her as well as she locked her into a hug. Nozomi couldn’t help but laugh softly, holding her tightly as she said, “Hey, beautiful. I missed you.” 

She could feel her top beginning to dampen, a small laugh falling from her lips again as she said, “Ami, why are you crying?”

Ami’s voice was soft and shaky as she attempted to speak through her tears, “I missed you too. So much, it’s just—“ Her voice broke off into a sob as she buried her face in Nozomi’s neck, her small hands gripping tighter to her sister as she continued to sob in her arms.

“I’m here,” she sighed, pulling her closer, “I missed you more. Please stop crying, this is the shit we’re supposed to be doing on your wedding day.”

“I know. I know, I’m…I’m okay. I swear, I’m just…glad you’re here, Omi’.” 

“Is she crying again?” 

A voice came down the stairs, appearing to be Ami's fiancè. He was just as handsome as Nozomi remembered him, long dark hair pulled out of his face, black sweatshirt, muscles bulging through the top, a tattoo coursing along his arm. 

Nozomi said, “Yes, she is.”

“Babydoll, don’t cry,” he tells her sister, coming from behind and rubbing her shoulder.

Ami turned towards her fiancé, her eyes still watery from crying. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against his body, her face flushed a soft shade of pink as she smiled. 

Isamu clarified, “She’s fine. Just emotional.”

“Remember when you cried every-time it rained outside, because you thought God was sad at you for behaving badly at school? Yeah, shut up,” Ami insults their brother, both of them putting their middle fingers up to each other. 

Nozomi says to Suguru, “It’s good to see you. Are you happy about the wedding being in your hometown? Is your family excited?”

The soon-to-be husband chuckled quietly as he spoke, his arms still wrapped around Ami as he said, “Everyone’s excited as hell. I can’t wait to make her my wife.”

Nozomi nods her head with a smile. He was sweet. Another question comes to mind as they hear a pair of feet circling the corner from where the office was, a familiar face appearing in the kitchen. Here she was, the infamous Kim. 

Her olive toned skin was always perfect, her dark brown hair up in a sleek ponytail. Her outfits were always classy and expensive. She was a beautiful woman, Nozomi could admit that. She just wished that beauty ran deeper than the skin surface.

Kim’s eyes flicked to everyone in the room, before they landed on Nozomi. A sly smile spread across her lips as she crossed the room, her voice sickeningly sweet as she spoke, “Well…if it isn’t little Omi’.”

“Hey, Kim,” Nozomi gives her a wave, wanting to say nothing else after that. 

Ami then budges in, “That’s it, ‘Hey, Kim?’ You can do better than that.” 

Nozomi raises an eyebrow, “You’ want us to start scissoring or something?”

“Jesus!” Ami smacks her arm, her fiancè and brother laughing at her younger sister's mouth. 

Kim then shrugs, “It’s fine. It’s nice to see you. It’s been so long,” Kim gives her a scan of her entire body, “It seems nothing has changed.“

That comment has Nozomi narrow her eyes, and it seems as if the whole room is holding their breath. She could admit, her and Kim were completely different, and that might’ve tied into more of her insecurities when the man she thought was attracted to her, went after her friend behind her back.

….Did Kim seem more calm? Eloquent? Classy? Knew when to shut up? What was it? 

Even if Kim was better in some aspects, that didn’t mean she couldn’t get the shit smacked out of her. Before Nozomi could dig into her ass, a pair of footsteps interrupt her foul insults, and when her eyes lock on the dark boots that stomp down each step, her throat nearly goes numb.

Each stomp of the boots was like the ticking of a clock, time slowing as she took in the figure standing on the stairs. A feeling of dread settled in her stomach, her mouth going dry as her lips parted but no words came out. Isamu and Ami both looked at her, noting her reaction. 

Toji’s tall frame came down the steps, his expression as cold and apathetic as usual, not that it was abnormal. The man had always been so stoic, to the point that it felt as if there was no life behind his eyes. Or, as Ami had stated a million times before, “That man isn’t a person, he’s a block of ice.” 

The more he matured, the finer he got. They weren’t much different in age, him and her siblings being thirty while she was only twenty-seven, but that came with a price. She was always blamed for not being as participant or even being a hot head, and as soon as she crashed out, her age was the first reason for explanation. But Toji never saw her that way. At least, that’s how he made her feel. 

The dark shirt he wore clung to his broad frame, contrasting the Japanese words that swirled along his arm, creating an entire sleeve that went up to his shoulder, dancing up to the side of his neck, disappearing behind his ear and clothing. His onyx hair and eyebrows, always low each time he entered a room. He was scary, sexy, tempting. Damn him. 

“Took you long enough,” Suguru said to him, “‘Fuck were you doing up there, powdering your nose?”

The tall man huffs in amusement as he responds, his voice deep and smooth, “I had to make an important phone call, you annoying bastard.” 

His friend gives him a smirk, as if mocking his words, “Who were you calling?” 

Toji rolls his eyes as he replies, “None of your fuckin’ business.”

“Omi’s here!” Ami interrupted, almost as if it was something to panic over. 

The entire room locked eyes with her, as if waiting for some type of reaction. They didn’t know what to expect. It annoyed her. When his eyes locked on her, she felt like she wanted to melt into the ground. One thing he could expect from her— she was different from her siblings. She stood in a white baby tee, star shaped nipple piercings poking through the top. Her green cargo pants were slightly baggy, hair in individual braids, poking in between  wavy human hair. 

They’re bohemian goddess braids, jackass. Look it up, he remembers her telling him. 

Her glasses laid upon her freckled face, almost looking similar to an office siren, nose ring shining beneath the lights of the kitchen. Small tattoos roamed her frame, large hips never discreet in any clothing she wore. She was fucking gorgeous.

His eyes took her entire body in, her usual appearance making his eyes narrow faintly. It made the scar on his lip twitch. She looked good, too good. Her brown skin was always just as smooth, her body just as curvy and attractive as always. 

“Yeah,” he scans her up and down, “She is.”

Nozomi has the sudden urge to choke him. 

Her attitude comes first as she completely bypasses him, looking at her sister as she says, “Show me to my room?”

The air suddenly tensed as she avoided him like the plague, his eyes narrowing further at her behavior. Ami noticed it as well, and she quickly nodded. 

“Uh, yeah…follow me.” 

She gave her fiancé a kiss on the cheek before she began walking up the stairs, gesturing for Nozomi to follow her.

“Who else is gonna be staying here?” Nozomi asks, yet she gets no response. She felt a mood shift within her sister, and she knew a lecture was about to come. Once they make it in front of her door, Ami turns to her and quietly whispers, “Why did you do that?!” 

Nozomi tilts her head, “Do what?”

Ami looks at her as if it’s obvious, her tone laced with confusion as she whispers back, “Ignore Toji!” 

She glances down the hall to make sure no one can hear them as she continues to speak in a quiet tone, “You acted like he wasn’t even there!”

“You didn’t tell me he was gonna be here, Ami. Don’t act like you didn’t purposely do that,” Nozomi replies, crossing her arms over her chest.

Ami lets out a long sigh, placing her hands on her hips as she rolls her eyes, “Look, I’m sorry, but you’re both adults. I know you’re mad at him, but you can’t act like he doesn’t exist the entire weekend.”

“I actually can!” She exclaims back in a whisper, “He can fuck Kim in every Kama Sutra position known to man. I wouldn’t give a fuck if he stood there in a clown costume! I still wouldn’t have spoken.” 

“Are you done?” Ami blinks. 

Nozomi then pulls back with a sigh, realizing how she’s being. “I’m sorry. Maybe I should just get a hotel. I don’t wanna ruin your weekend.” 

Ami shakes her head as she replies, “You’re not getting a hotel. Just…can you please try to speak to Toji? Like…be mature about it? You didn’t work out, sure. That’s okay!”

Nozomi blinks, “It’s okay? It’s okay that I was practically in love with the bastard, was gonna let him break me out of my abstinence? Take my virginity? Then to find out he fucked Kim because what— her pussy was free? Fuck him!” 

Ami squints, “You’re still a virgin?”

“Ami!”

Ami looks surprised for a moment before her face becomes neutral again, her voice lowering, “Really? You and Toji never…?” 

She pauses for a moment, as if realizing something else after asking that question. Her eyes widen as she speaks, her tone now in a low whisper, “How? You literally told me you had sex before? Did you lie? Why would you lie to me?!”

“Because I didn’t want you to think I was a weirdo or something, you were all experienced and shit, sex was scary to me! Still is! And you think imma’ let that gorilla take my banana when he’s giving his for free?”

“You don’t have a banana,” Ami reminds. 

“You get my analogy, though. My point still stands, fuck him.”

Ami groans faintly, raising her hands up to rub her temples to calm her growing headache. She sighs as she speaks, “I know, I know…but I need you to be mature about it for one weekend. Please?!” 

“I will respectfully ignore him, unless you want me to be so sweet that I slice his throat in his sleep. And that’s being charitable.”

Ami looks horrified for a moment at her response, her eyes wide as she replies, “No! You will not do that! My wedding does not include any cutting of throats!”

Nozomi stands there with her arms crossed, similar to a child before she huffs, “Fine.” 

“Good! Now go change and get washed up. Matter of fact, you’ll be in the kitchen. With Toji. Helping him cook. Goodbye!”

Nozomi’s eyes go wide, “Ami!—“

Her sister makes an incredulous noise, silencing her before she walks away. She wants to throw a tantrum. Fuck.

After showering, she was now fully dressed in a gray long sleeve that hugged her upper body, matching sweats and her house slippers that wouldn’t ache her feet like her regular shoes did. Her braids were held up by a claw clip, no makeup residual on her face as she pressed her glasses up along her nose. She’d put in her contacts eventually. She was hoping that she would enter the kitchen first, but as she saw Toji standing there in a black wife beater and sweats, silver jewelry clinking along his wrist, she held her breath. She held back the roll in her eyes as she scanned the countertop to see all the prepped food, not knowing where to start. Maybe this was the time to speak. 

Thankfully, she can hear his deep, gruff voice as she seems to be on the phone, speaking in Japanese. She understood most of it, but she didn’t care enough to listen to what he had to say. She took that as her opportunity to scan over the small box in the middle of the island, holding what looked to be the recipe for dinner tonight.

Toji’s eyes were on her the moment she entered the room, watching her movements as she took her time scanning the countertop, analyzing the ingredients and prepped food in front of her. He could admit, she looked as attractive as she did the first day he met her. Her skin was still smooth, hair braided up, tattoos exposed for him to admire beneath the gray clothing she adorned. Her glasses perched on her nose, making her look naturally sexy. Damn her.

She frowns down at the recipes, realizing how familiar they sound. She takes this moment to finally speak to him, never looking up from the counter as she asks, “Did Ami give these to you?”

He was surprised she'd actually spoken, even if it was to acknowledge the recipe, and not him. His eyes scanned her, noting the way her body looked in her current clothing, and how she was still somehow just as attractive in something as simple as sweats.

“Yeah, she did.”

“I’m assuming she has you cooking everything this weekend,” she comments, eyes glancing up at him.

Toji lets out a huff, and his deep voice responds to her question, “Not everything, but I am cooking.” 

He returns her stare, gray eyes scanning her face. He could tell she was bothered just by being in the room with him, but she was holding up. 

“So what did you need help with, then?” She questions, “It looks like you have everything under control.”

Something in him became immensely irritated at how she was being. He knew that she was still upset with him, but for the sake of her sister's wedding, he hoped she would put her feelings to the side. Clearly not. 

“I’m good. You can go,” he tells her, sharpness in his tone. 

She turns to leave the kitchen, and when he sees that she’s actually leaving, he becomes pissed off. 

“You’re gonna do this bullshit all weekend?”

Nozomi halts, turning towards him with a raised eyebrow. She replies, “Call it what you want, Fushiguro.”

“What, you don’t call me Toji anymore?” He snips, a sharp tongue being one of their similarities when they annoyed each other.

“Is that what you want?” 

“I want you to stop acting like a fuckin’ child.”

That makes both her eyebrows raise as she replies with an amused huff, “Huh. A child. Well how about I get back to my playground? Kim can come assist you.”

“Stop acting like a fuckin’ brat. Don’t act like you don’t feel something from seeing me.”

“Do you think you’re a prize? What did you think? That I was gonna be happy to see you? Jump for joy? Fuck you on this countertop? Don’t be fucking stupid. Do you need help in the kitchen or not? Cause that’s really all that needs to be said between us. I was doing my sister a favor by coming in here,” she snaps, anger seeping through her that she hadn’t felt in years.

“Don’t be a smart ass. I know that you’re pissed. I get that. But the weekend has barely started, and it’s already irritating dealing with your childish bullshit.”

“Then leave me the fuck alone, Fushiguro! I was fine before you said anything to me. I’m not gonna ruin my sister's wedding by bringing my own issues with you into that. I was fine before, I will be fine.” 

When she goes to turn, she feels him lock his hand around her wrist, her other hand close enough to the kitchen counter as she warns, “My hand is seconds away from a knife. Let go of me.”

For a split moment, he wonders if she’d actually stab him. She might. He decides to test that thought and refuses to listen to her, not letting go of her wrist.

“Maybe that’ll show me that you actually give a fuck to have a conversation,” he sharply replies.

“I don’t,” she promises. 

Damn, this woman. When he goes to pull her closer, the door to the kitchen swings open, the familiar ponytail appearing that almost makes Nozomi actually want to go for the knife on the counter. Kim. If she swung forward enough, she’d slice both of them.

The sight of Kim was both a good and bad thing. It was good because the brunette would act as a buffer between the two. It was bad because it would stop him from talking to Nozomi alone, since he was unable to do so outside of the kitchen. 

Kim asks, “You guys need help? Ami told me to come assist.”

“Of course she did,” Nozomi replies, her tongue on fire, “You got it. He seems to prefer you anyway.” 

She finally snatches herself away from him, making her way out of the kitchen without saying anything else. She barely acknowledges Kim, wanting to spit on her from how pissed she was. Fuck both of them.

Toji is almost tempted to grab her wrist again and snatch her back. His eyes watch her storm out in anger, and he turns his glare to Kim, who has no idea what the hell was going on. 

She looks to Toji, blowing out a breath as she mutters, “Drama Queen,” before shaking her head, “C’mon, I’ll help you finish. I’m starving.”

Nozomi was so upset that she was shaking. She didn’t think that she would care that much about seeing him or even speaking to him, but as soon as they went back and forth, all her feelings came erupting like vomit, and she didn’t know how to deal with them. She might’ve actually hurt him had she stayed in the kitchen. When she went back into her room, she kicked her shoes off, laying within the bed as she pressed her face into the sheets. She could feel her hot tears brimming into the comforter, wishing she wouldn’t cry when she was pissed off. 

She feels as if she’s laying there for an eternity. But as she hears her door slide open, she knows it’s her older sister. 

She mutters, “Not now, Ami. Please.”

She quietly closes the door behind her and makes her way to Nozomi, lowering onto the mattress as she sits down beside her. Ami gently places a hand on her back as she speaks, her tone soft, “You alright?”

It’s like the question had something almost shatter inside of her. She wraps her arms around the pillow in front of her, digging her face into it as she cries softly, “I fucking hate him.”

“You don’t hate him.”

“I know,” she replied, voice trembling. She didn’t hate him. In fact, seeing him again, she missed him so much. Everything hit her, her doubts, her insecurities. It all stood in between him and her sister's friend. 

“I feel so stupid. I’m stupid,”  she repeats, “Crying over a nigga that dropped me because I wasn’t ready to sleep with him.” 

“That’s not what it was about, Omi’,” her sister tries to counter.

Nozomi then sits up, “Then what was it, Ami? I know it’s because she’s prettier, thinner, smarter. More money. I just—“ 

She takes in a breath, trying to wipe her red face, “I just wish it didn’t hurt that bad. That she didn’t make me feel worse about it.”

Ami’s heart hurt as her sister voiced the thoughts that had been tormenting her. The insecurities and the pain that Toji had caused. Her sister had spent two years tormenting herself as if it was her fault.  

Ami gently takes her hand to squeeze, her eyes meeting with hers firmly, “You are so so stupid if you think that’s the only reason he fell for you. You’re beautiful and intelligent and talented. He didn’t break up with you because someone was better than you. And she’s not that.” 

“Then what?” Her glossy eyes glance up at her, “How am I supposed to feel when she’s here? Being with him?”

“Toji is a man, and men are idiots. That’s the only explanation for that. Look, Kim is just here as a friend for me. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to make you upset, it was wrong what she did. I can talk to her, make sure she doesn’t make you uncomfortable. But I need you to focus on yourself. Focus on the wedding. This weekend is a celebration, alright? I don’t want you making yourself feel shitty for that idiot.”

Nozomi sighs, finally feeling herself calm down. She was right. This was one weekend and she’d never have to see him again. It was gonna be a struggle, but she was tough. She wipes her eyes as she exhales, “You don’t need to talk to her. I’m fine. Kim is always gonna be Kim. The bitch has artistic intelligence, so I know she’s making your wedding a fairytale. I want that for you. I’ll be fine. As far as Toji, I’ll…I’m okay,” she finalizes, “I’m sorry. I don’t wanna ruin your night.”

Ami shakes her head gently, a kind smile on her face as she replies, “You could never ruin my night. I’d smack you if you did. I’m happy you’re here, it means the world to me.”

She gently reaches out to give Nozomi’s shoulder a light squeeze as she adds, “Just try to enjoy yourself, alright? You don’t have to talk to Toji, but you don’t have to be rude either. I don’t want you two arguing all weekend. I’m gonna go get dinner. I can bring you a plate up?”

Nozomi shakes her head, “I’ll come eat with everyone. Just need to clean my face up. Go enjoy your food.” 

She hesitates, wrapping her arms around her sister's neck as she mutters, “Love you.”

Ami’s heart warms when she hugs her. She returns the embrace, smiling gently as she responds, “I love you too. Always.” 

When she makes it downstairs, everyone is around the table, seated along the floor as they eat and talk amongst each other. She fell back into her solitude, grateful that no one questioned her silence. She’d give a brief glance at Toji when he wasn’t looking, watching as he spoke to his best friend, laughed, joked, a bit of normalcy that she couldn’t help but miss about him. She might’ve been stubborn, but she refused to get hurt again. She also couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that they used her mother’s recipes to cook the food, an entirely different reason why she felt so down. She wouldn’t have allowed her to cry over Toji. She would’ve called him a bastard and laughed in his face.

Toji feels her eyes on him. 

Throughout the night, he finds himself occasionally stealing glances in her direction. He can’t help it, she’s right there and it’s driving him mad. She’s still so damn beautiful.

As everyone makes small talk, and Kim tells a joke to crack some laughs, Toji’s eyes remain fixated on Nozomi. Her expression remains neutral, but he can see that she’s faking a calm composure. He wished she had giggled at his jokes the way she used to, he just wanted to feel something different from her. He missed that normalcy as well.

Nozomi barely touched her food, feeling her stomach growling as she made it back to bed that night. She couldn’t sleep. If it wasn’t her thoughts running amuck, it was definitely the unfortunate muffled sounds of her sister and her fiancè…enjoying their time together. 

She stands from the bed as she slides her door open, hoping her ears would fall off as she passes by their room, making her way towards the kitchen. She passes Kim’s room as well, and when she hears that Kim also seems to be enjoying herself, accompanied by a sound of masculine grunting, she can feel her palms shaking. 

“That fucking bastard,” she mutters. 

That ruins her entire appetite. Instead of her midnight snack, it sends her right back to bed. As she goes back to her door, she notices an object on the ground. She frowns beneath the darkness, leaning down as she sees an orchid laid along the wood. She sighs, knowing her brother had probably placed it there, a habit he had with both of his sisters if he was apologetic, trying to make them feel better. She appreciated it. She took the flower in her room and closed the door, attempting to get some sleep for the rest of the night. 

When the next morning came, she was greeted downstairs by everyone. Her sister was wrapped under her fiancè’s arms as she held a coffee mug close to her face, giggling as he talked within her ear.

Kim was in the kitchen making herself tea, talking to Nozomi’s brother, while Toji was engrossed within his phone, silent in an unusual manner. 

She rubbed her eyes as she tiredly greeted everyone, “Morning.”

Everyone replied with their own greeting, smiles and kind words exchanged between the group. Well, except for Toji, who was uncharacteristically silent.

He slowly looked up, his eyes locked on her as a pang of irritation spiked through him. She was wearing a tank top paired with tight boy shorts. Toji couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way her skin was on display, or the way her shorts hugged her hips. He was forced to look away, his jaw tense as he silently stared out the window instead.

“How’d you sleep?” Ami asks, “Want me to make you some tea?”

Nozomi shakes her head, “Slept okay. On account of you two love birds, y’all make me absolutely sick.”

“Nah, for real. Imma’ have to bleach my ears,” her brother pipes in, both older siblings once again throwing middle fingers to each other. 

“Oh, fuck off. This is my weekend! And this is my man, my man, my man!” 

Everyone laughs her off, knowing how in love she was with her fiancè. They couldn’t admit it, but it was adorable. 

Ami takes a sip of her tea as she says, “So, what’s on everyone’s agenda before the rehearsal dinner tonight?”

“I’m gonna head to the restaurant that’s catering the wedding, make sure your menus are just the way you wanted them and the food is perfect, beautiful bride,” Kim tells her, nudging her friend's leg with a smile. 

Nozomi figured that as the maid of honor these things would be her job, but if Kim wanted to kiss her sister's ass, she wasn’t going to stop her. 

“Imma’ go with her, it’ll give me a chance to get out of the house,” Isamu adds. 

“Great. We’ll be checking out the venue one more time, making sure they decorated it just how I imagined it—and from all the pictures I framed off Pinterest. If not, I will be going bridezilla on they ass. Anyways, my crew, rolling out!” 

As everyone disperses from the seating area, Nozomi notices as Toji is still there, interest deep within his phone. At least, pretending to be. She can’t read him. However, she can stare at him. The way he looks within this onyx wife-beater, she could lick him. The ink on his skin swirls along his arm, broad frame nearly wanting to break the small chair he sits in. 

Her attention is pulled away when she hears him ask, “You’ going out today?”

She blinks, “Huh?” 

Toji didn’t miss anything. He saw her staring from his peripheral, watching the way her eyes had roamed all along him. 

His eyes were locked on her now as he repeated, “I asked if you were going out today.”

“Oh, uh—“ she thinks about it, hearing her stomach deeply grumbling. She realized she hadn't had a full meal since she got on the flight to Japan. 

“Yeah—Imma’ head to this little restaurant my mom used to take us to,” she briefly replies, proud of herself for being cordial enough, especially after last night. At this point, she didn’t give a fuck about what he had going on. 

“Oishii?” he asks. 

She narrows her eyes a bit, “Yeah. How’d you know?” 

“Isamu mentioned it. I told him that place burnt down a couple months after your mom passed.”

“What?” She exclaims, “What the hell? Fuck, who was gonna tell me? That was the only place I really enjoyed.”

Toji can’t help but smirk at the surprise she expressed. He replies, “Been closed up for a while now,” with a shrug, “Damn shame. It was good.” 

He leans back, Nozomi knocking her eyes down as he spreads his knees, seated in a position he usually relaxed in if he wanted her to sit on his lap. It made her throat dry. 

“There’s other places to choose from. I know one. I’ll take you there.” 

She shakes her head, “That’s not necessary—“

“Get dressed.” 

His word was his bond, it always made her clutch her lips together. He was already standing, already walking away. He was never asking. With that, she pressed her lips together, a small groan falling from her mouth as she made her way back to her bedroom to put on some clothes.

He sat within his room for a while as he waited for her, knowing she would be a minute as she did her full routine. It annoyed him that he remembered that. 

He eventually stood across the door from her room, knowing she’d be out soon. When she opened it, she flew past him to get a look at herself in the full body mirror down the hall. She adjusted the tightly fitted yellow sundress she wore, a matching headband that pulled her braids out of her face, edges perfectly sculpted. She wore her contacts today, able to see the eyes that she carried from her father. She looked more stunning each time he saw her. 

She looked up to him as she pulled her white sandals on her feet, going back into the room for her purse as her soft voice asked, “Ready?”

Toji could have eaten her in this outfit, watching as she walked past him, catching her body in the mirror as she turned. The dress hugged her curves perfectly, showing off each and every bit of her he ached to touch. 

He nods in response, his voice low as he replies, “Let’s go.”

It wasn’t as cold as it usually was in Kyoto, the weather perfect for a wedding. She enjoyed being able to walk rather than drive everywhere, needing a car back in the states. Their walk was quiet, Nozomi enjoying the trees, nature, the colorful buildings. She walks beside him for a while, watching as the cars bustle on the street beside her. 

“Uh…do you know where we’re going?” She questions him, looking to the side of herself.

Toji’s own gaze was also fixated, watching her from the corner of his eye, studying the small habits he missed, the way she observed her surroundings so intently. The way her ass looked in this dress. His hands remained in his pockets, her question earning a glance as he looked down at her.

“You askin’ if I’m taking you to some secluded area where I’m gonna’ chop you up or something?” 

His voice is low in humor, a smirk on his lips as he continues to guide her. “Be patient.”

She sighs, crossing her arms behind herself as she holds her purse in her hand, “I don’t like surprises.”

“I know that, Nozomi.” 

“I would hope the food at this place is good, my mom was picky, so it makes me picky. What if it’s nasty? I’m hungry. I’ll be sad if it’s gross,” she banters.

“You’re whining a lot today, I see.” 

“I’m just curious,” she shrugs, “Fine. I’ll shut up.” 

Toji’s eyes narrow as he notices the way cars fly past as she continues on the sidewalk, something in him annoyed with how quickly they drive by. 

“Don’t. Keep talking to me,” he says, his movement swift as he grips her by her hip, gently pulling her on the inside of the sidewalk as he now walks where the cars pass, “You’ still working on your Japanese?” 

The movement was so quick that the chill down her spine was even quicker, her entire body tingling at his rough touch. 

She nearly loses focus of his question as she swallows, “Um—still pretty shit at it, actually.”

“You’re not trying enough,” his tone low, “‘Can’t speak the language but you’ve lived here. You are Japanese.” 

“Half,” she reminds, “My dad always said that I didn’t ‘look the part’ anyways. Ami always fit for him, her Japanese is award worthy.”

“I’m not talking about looks,” he mutters, rolling his eyes, “I’m talking about heritage. You’re still half, that means something. Your father should have been proud to know you speak his language. It’s annoying hearing you struggle.”

“Then how about you teach me, Mr. I know Everything? I understand you perfectly fine! That should count for something,” she begins to walk a little faster, hips twisting as she becomes slightly agitated with him.

Toji follows after her, his own stride matching as he easily keeps up. He scoffs, shaking his head at her words as he replies, “You don’t understand half the shit I tell you. You’ make this face when you’re confused, it’s cute.”

“Whatever,” Nozomi mutters, now actually irritated.

 As they continue to walk, she notices a small boutique, the dark purple font on the sign above bringing her instant nostalgia. She gasps, “Oh my god, this is the boutique my mom used to take me and Ami too! I can’t believe it’s still here…” 

She can’t help it, but she’s already pulling on the door handle, making her way inside in full curiosity.

Upon entering, she’s met with various traditional kimonos and dresses, a familiar scent filling her senses. Toji is immediately behind her, observing the entire shop as she takes it in. He can already tell that the nostalgia is overwhelming, watching as she walks around the place, her hands gently touching some of the dresses.

She looks along the wall of the shop, seeing all the Sanrio theme plushies and characters, blossoming different colors within her eyes. She felt like a child all over again. She nearly gives herself an asthma attack when she sees a particular plushie—she thought she was gonna faint. 

“Holy shit,” she mutters, pointing upwards, “You see that one? This is a Hello Kitty collectible,” she describes. His eyes follow up to what looks to be a toffee complexioned Hello Kitty, wearing a pink and red Kimono, a matching pink flower within its head. It was the biggest one of all, nearly as big as Nozomi’s entire body. 

“I literally cried all day because my mom wouldn’t buy it for me. She refused because Ami wanted one that looked like her, and because they didn’t have a collectible in her skin tone, my mom didn’t want her to feel left out. So neither of us got anything. The fact that it’s still here is insane.” 

She comes close to it, trying to squint at the price tag on its side as she mutters, “Wonder how much it is…”

“Wanna ask?” Toji questions. 

She turns with a frown, “I can ask, thank you.” 

She surprises him a bit as her tone changes, inquiring the price of the plushie as she asks within his native tongue. He couldn’t understand what she meant when she said her Japanese was shit, she sounded incredibly normal to him. Sexy, even. He wanted to hear her speak it again. 

She blinks as the woman responds, looking to Toji as she repeats back in English, “Thirty-Eight thousand yen? What is that in American dollars?”

“Shit is like three hundred dollars,” Toji replies back to her, watching as her jaw nearly drops.

“Oh hell, I don’t want it that bad,” she sighs, “Ugh. It’s so cute. My pockets will cry. Oh well.” 

She says thank you to the woman, “Let me look at these dresses for a second, then we can go,” her shoulders are a bit more slump as she searches the rest of the store, almost feeling defeated. 

As she continued to look around, her attention was along a dark brown Kimono, a pair of colors she’d never seen before. She doesn’t hear Toji speak to the woman, pointing towards the wall of plushies. She only ever realizes what he’s doing when the woman pulls down the large collectible she wanted, bringing it to the register. 

“What are you doing?” She questions from the other side of the store, nearly tripping as she makes her way back to him.

Toji can tell by her expression that she had completely given up on the possibility of leaving with that stupid doll. It was endearing, seeing the disappointment in her eyes. 

“Buying this stupid ass doll.”

He begins reaching for his wallet, pulling the wad of cash out as her eyes widen, placing her hand over his to stop him as she awkwardly speaks towards the woman, telling her not to worry about it, “No, you are not buying me that.”

Toji glances over at her as she speaks, smacking his lips at her. The woman behind the cash register pauses for a moment, looking between the two of them. 

“Didn’t you just want this shit two seconds ago?” 

Nozomi’s eyebrows furrow, “Yes—“

“So shut up.” 

When she goes to protest, the look he gives her makes her hands halt, pressing her lips together as she puts her hands behind her back. 

The older lady giggles, Nozomi understanding her as she asks if she wants a gift bag. Toji shakes his head, “She’ll hold it.” 

When he looks back to see her still standing with a perplexed expression, still shocked that he even bought it, he snaps her out of her trance as he says, “Take the damn doll from her before I choke you with it.” 

She smacks her lips now, politely thanking the woman as she has to wrap both arms around the plushie, it being a little heavy. She doesn’t know how to feel, but as he grumpily waits for the receipt, a small smile comes to her face.

When they make it to the restaurant, the lights on the streets begin to come on, the buildings and billboards bright to her eyes. She missed this feeling, almost like a child feeling Christmas air. Her plushie sits beside her in its own individual chair, Toji sitting across from her as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket, swiftly igniting it as they wait for someone to take their order. Nozomi looks down at the menu, not sure where to take the conversation. 

They’d been getting along, it was no harm in that. She couldn’t be a bitch after he spent three-hundred dollars on something she’d always wanted. 

She exhales as she looks around the crowded restaurant, looking back to him as she begins, “So…do you still live in the states, or did you move back here?”

Toji’s dark eyes remained on her while she looked around at the restaurant, his gaze always observant. He noticed how her eyes seemed to brighten at the view outside, how her mood completely changed after getting her silly doll. 

He takes a puff of his cigarette before replying, “Moved back home. Got sick of it.” 

“Sick of it? I thought you liked New York. I thought you enjoyed being a body-guard, kicking people's asses and getting paid for it,” she mentions, giving a polite smile to the man that hands her the drink she ordered.

Toji’s eyes follow her polite smile before watching her take a sip, replying as he rests an arm lazily along the back of the booth. 

“I did enjoy it. I just don’t like the people out there. New Yorkers are a pain in the ass,” he scoffs before puffing his cigarette again, continuing, “Why do it there when I can kick people's asses here and still get paid for it?”

That makes a small laugh come from her, something he hadn’t heard in a long time. She crosses her leg, leaning back within the seat as she questions, “When did you and Suguru become so close?” 

Toji’s eyes watch her body shift, taking another pull from his cigarette as her question registers in his head. 

“I’ve known the bastard since high school, but we got closer once I moved back. I thought it was funny he fell in love with your other half,” he pauses, looking at her with a smirk, “He’s a big ass softie now. Whipped, even.”

That makes her eyebrow raise, “So your perception of someone in love is being whipped, huh? Makes sense.”

Toji narrows his eyes at her snarky response, taking a moment to reply, “You’ still need me to choke you with your friend over there? I hope she isn’t ordering too, I’m good on money, but that’s pushing it.” 

She rolls her eyes as he adds with a serious tone, “And I didn’t say that. A man should respect his woman, I’ve just never seen him this way.”

“Well I think it’s adorable. Love should be all mushy and gross, that’s how you know it’s genuine. Makes me wonder what I’m doing wrong,” she admits, swirling her straw around in her cup, “I’m really happy for her.”

Toji’s expression doesn’t change as she responds, his cigarette hanging idly between his lips as his arm is still resting along the booth. 

He looks at her, really looks at her, a thought coming to his mind as he suddenly responds, “You’re not doing anything wrong.” 

He pauses, taking another pull before he changes the subject, “You spoke to your dad?”

That question almost startles her brain. She thought for a second that she could forget he’d be at the rehearsal dinner. She hadn’t seen him in two years. She kneels into the menu as she tries to deflect, “How do I tell the waiter I want this?”

Toji sees right through her, knowing exactly what she’s trying to do. He’s observant of a lot of her tendencies. He knows she’s avoiding talking about her father, and knows that she’s trying to forget. 

He’s not going to let her. 

“Show me what you want,” he mutters gruffly, nodding to the menu in her hand.

“Mmm, maybe I’ll just get ramen,” she tries to distract him. 

He eyes her as he suggests, “You can try the Sashimi.”

She scrunches up her nose, “I don’t think I’m in the mood for raw fish. No thank you.”

“You eat sushi all the time, baby. The fish is just cut differently,” he explains, ignoring the way she rolls her eyes.

He puffs his cigarette before speaking again, “Stop avoiding the subject and answer my question. Did you call him yet?”

She pulls back, letting him have the menu as she says, “I’ll see him at the rehearsal dinner. No need to call.”

“Bullshit,” he mutters, tossing the menu to the side, “He’s your father, of course you should call him.” Toji puts out his cigarette, now giving her his full attention.

“Oh hell, here you go with your family matters bullshit. I don’t need a therapy session. You don’t talk to your family either, Fushiguro,” she points out.

Toji’s expression drops at her mention of his family, something shifting in his eyes now. 

“Not the same thing, you know that.”

“Maybe,” she shrugs, “What am I supposed to say? Hey, thanks for cheating on my mom while she was sick, and then only being there to agree on pulling the plug on her? How’s your new bitch? Oh, did you figure out a tie for the wedding?” She tilts her head, sarcasm laced in her voice.

“Maybe say all that shit, it’s better than nothing. He still loves you.”

“Yeah, because I’m his daughter. Plus—it’s not my wedding, Dr. Phil.  It’s Ami’s and he loves her to death. Would do anything for her, she’s always been Daddy’s little girl,” she flatly says, “This isn’t about me.”

He shakes his head as he begins, “You don’t have to take the backseat to everything or be a doormat all the time. This is about you.” 

He moves closer, “It doesn’t matter who’s getting married. He’s your family, too. You think he doesn’t notice that you avoid him?”

“The phone is a two way street, if he wanted to speak to me that badly, he would’ve,” she crosses her arms over her chest, becoming uncomfortable with the conversation.

“Yeah, it’s a two way street. So why haven’t you called him in the entire two years? It goes both ways.”

“Because he hasn’t called me.” 

“So it’s a competition now?” 

“Fushiguro,” she warns.

Toji continues to glare her down, not backing off. 

“It’s not a competition. I’m just trying to understand your logic, or lack of,” he explains, “You keep saying the phone is a two way street. You haven’t called him either, but are pissed at him for not calling you, shit is ass-backwards.”

Her leg begins shaking beneath the table, not necessarily upset with him. The overall topic has her frustrated. Her attention is drawn back to him when Toji sees the tension in her movements, knowing that his persistent questions have stressed her. He grips her ankle gently to stop her from moving, his large hand wrapping completely around it as he places her leg on his lap. 

“All I’m trying to say is you should talk to him,” he says again, the firmness in his voice fading.

When she realizes that she’s only making herself upset, she stops. She had to face her father, and it would be happening tonight. It didn’t have to be a bad interaction, she just wished he never made the decisions he did.

 She looks down at the table as she then admits, “I love my father. But I hate what he did to our family.”

A small silence comes between them, his hand still loosely holding her ankle. 

“You don’t have to forgive him,” he finally says, “But don’t forget that he loves you. Even with his shitty decisions.”

She looks up at him, realizing his sincerity. The silence is filled as the waitress comes back, sitting down her bowl of ramen, also sitting down a plate of perfectly placed fish—raw, as she mentioned she didn’t like. 

Her arms are still holding onto her chest, realizing that for the sake of this weekend, maybe she needed to make a change. She sits up as she reaches for the chopsticks, dipping a piece of the fish into the soy sauce and popping it into her mouth. She chewed for a moment before tilting her head, “Seems like you don’t always have bad taste.”

He’s glad that she was able to open up a little bit, to talk about her family. As annoying as it was, he was beginning to worry about how she would deal with tonight. 

“See? If you weren’t so hard headed, shit would be much easier for you.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Stop talking to me.”

“Want me to feed you?—“ 

“Not too much, Fushiguro. I’m being nice to your ass right now.” 

“My bad.” 

She was afraid that their time together would be awkward, but it was the complete opposite. It was extremely natural, maybe even a little romantic. It was unfortunately creating that flipping feeling in her stomach. The one she felt if he even spoke to her, catered to her, adorned her—made her feel like she was his again. She pushed down that rush of emotions as they exited the restaurant, seeing the text from Isamu on Toji’s phone to let them know they needed to be on time to the rehearsal dinner. 

“Shit,” she mutters, “We might be late. Is there a quicker way to get back to our place from here?”

“Down this hill,” he refers, holding the large plushie in his own arm as she was too tired to carry it. 

As they continue walking, she realizes he refers to the road with a large downward path as a “hill,” and it makes her laugh to herself.

As they begin making their way down the lit up street, something within her feels giddy, and she can’t help herself. 

“Race you!” 

She’s already beelining down the road. Her body zigzags on the street as she takes off. She knew there was a small competitive bone in his body, no words as she heard his footsteps already booming behind her. Nozomi shrieks into giggles as he grips her up by her bottom half, throwing her over his shoulder as he continues running. 

She was happy and laughing, a sound he enjoyed hearing. He never wanted it to stop.

When he slowed down and was now walking, she huffed over his shoulder as she strained, “I guess this is better than walking,” gripping for her plushie to hold within the air.

Toji chuckled to himself as he felt her squirm in his hold, holding her tight so she wouldn’t fall, “You’re just upset that I always win,” he muttered with a grin, feeling her arms reaching for the plushie, pulling her up a bit so she could hold it.

Her eyes take sight of the city, another pang to her heart. She missed it here. It brought back so many memories within her childhood. Her eyes halt as she catches sight of a bridge farther down, patting his back as she says, “Hold on,” feeling as he places her down. 

She fixes her dress and hair as she catches her breath, looking over the bridge as she sees a rare sight—A cherry blossom tree. 

“They’re so pretty at night,” she sighs, “I’d kill for these in the states.”

Toji watches her as she takes in the scenery, now standing beside her. 

“I didn’t realize how much you missed Japan.” 

He looks out over the river, agreeing with her statement, “Yeah… shit is nice to look at, always has been.” 

It was then that Toji seen her shiver, his eyes glancing down as she attempted to cover her arms. 

“You cold?”

“I didn’t realize it’d be cold tonight, it was pretty warm earlier,” she says, a shiver exhaling from her mouth, “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, no. You’re not.” 

Toji slips off his leather jacket, placing it around her shoulders as he murmurs, “Stubborn ass.”

She huffs out a laugh, seeing her warm breath in the air. She’s now turned towards him as he pulls the jacket to cover her body, her head tilted up to stare in his face, his frame hovering over hers. It was at this moment that she saw him—she hadn’t looked at him this way in a while.

He meets her gaze, his face much closer to hers than just a few seconds prior. The air between them has changed, the shift is palpable. Toji watches as she shudders again, the movement making her body press closer against him. The sight makes him feel protective.

“Toji, I—“

“I’m sorry.” 

She frowns, her eyebrows coming over her eyes as she’s confused. Her stomach tumbled at his sudden apology, and she wanted to beg that it wasn’t for their past. 

“I fucked up, Nozomi. I should’ve never hurt you the way I did.” 

This is the conversation she’d been avoiding. Her throat tightens. 

“Toji…”

Toji sees the mix of emotions in her expression, his own heart feeling heavy as he continues to look in her eyes. 

“I was a dumbass. I know that. I never should have—“ he pauses, feeling his throat constrict from the emotions now bubbling up, “Never should have done what I did, and I know my actions will never undo the pain I caused.” He sighs, voice lowering, “I just need you to know that you mean a lot to me. That never changed.”

She’s unsure of how to feel. He was always too stoic for his own good, never able to say his feelings, and here he was—completely transparent and vulnerable. She couldn’t keep fighting how she felt. She missed him. She wanted to forgive him. 

Toji’s phone then buzzes. Her eyes lowered to see KIM appear on the screen. The message read, ‘Where are you? Hurry back for dinner! It’s boring here without you.’

That was the icing on the cake. It brought back the anger she felt, why she was pissed with him in the first place. All her emotions went sinking into the back of her mind. 

She gives a humorless laugh, removing his jacket and handing it to him as she says, “That must’ve meant something to you too,” referring to his text. 

She begins walking, regardless of how cold she is, “C’mon. They’re looking for us.”

He frowns as her attitude takes a 180 turn, the moment of vulnerability gone as she hands him back his jacket.  Fuck. 

“Nozomi—“

But it’s too late, she’s already walking farther into the night. That was the end of the conversation. For now, at least.

When they arrive back at the house, she feels completely empty. The moment she opened up to him, possibly ready to have a conversation and move forward, it was all ruined. She didn’t know who to blame. Her stubbornness, his idiocy, or the bitch her sister called a friend. She was trying to keep it cute, but even this was too cute for her. 

Her look for the night was more simple this time, a halter top dress, doing her makeup softer than she usually would, her sister requesting her bridal party wear white. Her golden heels with white orchids along the top, braids swimming down to her lower back—feeling pretty might’ve made her feel better for the night to come. 

She came downstairs with everyone else, more to herself this time, especially when she saw Kim talking to Toji in the corner. His black button up was similar to her brothers, silver watch along his wrist and chain matching the jewelry he wore along his neck. 

Her attention was caught by her sister who pulled her arm for her attention as she asked, “You were damn near late, where have you been?” 

“I was just running errands, I’m sorry.”

Ami looks her up and down, “You missed the fitting for your dress. Kim has been calling you all day!”

“What?” She frowns, “I never got any calls from Kim. Why didn’t you just call me?”

“I didn’t have my phone on me, I was fitting for my dress too. It’s fine, let’s just hope you fit your dress.” 

She knew Ami, seeing she was trying not to be upset. But she knew she was. Her eyes flicked over to Kim, and she thought about ripping her dress off and choking her with it.

Everyone made their way into the limousine as they arrived at the rehearsal dinner, and just as they pulled in front did Nozomi realize something— her father was here.

She couldn’t focus. Although the venue was gorgeous and looked like something you’d see in a movie, her palms began to sweat. Most of Suguru’s family had already arrived, her side of the family there as well. She greeted everyone with absentminded hugs and cheek kisses. 

The usual conversations, ‘I’m sorry to hear about your mom’, ‘Why aren’t you married yet?’, ‘You and your sister look nothing alike,’ ‘You sure you both have the same father?’. It was unbearable, but she was used to it.

When she got down to the final family member, that’s when she saw…him. 

A traditional man, stoic and frightening, the only smile she’d ever seen on his face was if he saw her sister, or her mom, but he was different when it came to her. She follows behind Ami as she hears her sister call him, ‘Otosan’ an affectionate term, bowing respectfully. She then says, “Hi, Pa. I missed you,” pulling him into a hug.

He holds Ami to his chest, giving her a tight squeeze. 

“I missed you too, my love.”

He releases her gently, his eyes shifting over to Nozomi as she stands beside her sister. He looks her up and down for a moment, studying her appearance. This was the moment of truth. 

“Nozomi,” he says, “You look beautiful as ever.”  He holds his arms out, asking for a hug.

She doesn’t expect him to be happy to see her, nor was he an affectionate man. They hadn’t spoken in two years. She bows first as before she greets, “Hi, Pa,” taking in his hug, wrapping herself around him tighter than she thought she would.

He wraps his arms tightly around her shoulders, and it feels… strange.

“My sweet girl…” 

He sighs lowly, “Too beautiful for your own good. Still not married? You know the family is getting worried…”

“Pa,” she brushes off, “I’m fine. This is Ami’s day, we can talk about my loneliness later.”

He laughs, feeling the familiarity. It was like nothing had changed. 

“You’re still stubborn as ever, I see.” 

He pats her back before releasing her, looking her up and down once more. 

“You’ve grown more, you look… different,” he says, “Just like your mother.”

The sentence made her heart ache, and she immediately felt tears wanting to brim her eyes. She quickly blinks them away, humming in response. The sweet moment is vastly interrupted as a woman appears. She was smaller in frame between her and her sister, but was definitely older in age. 

She bows affectionately to them as she greets, “It’s nice to formally meet you, Nozomi. Your father has told me so much about you.”

Nozomi holds back her frown, “Uh—nice to meet you as well, and you are?”

“This is Yua,” her father says, smiling from ear to ear, “My wife.” 

Nozomi blinks, “Oh…wife. You got married two years later…” she stopped herself, it wasn’t the time. Her sister clutched her arm to also shut her up. 

She looks at the woman, “It’s nice to meet you, Yua. I’m gonna go find my seat.”

Yua smiles kindly, a sweet tone in her voice, “Oh of course, enjoy yourself tonight.” 

One thing about her father—and maybe where she got it from—he wasn’t afraid to talk shit about anybody, including his own daughter. 

Her father clears his throat once Nozomi is walking away, sighing out, “That girl still has a mouth on her.” 

“You can’t blame her,” Yua says, looking up at him, “She’s probably still hurt.”

“She’s twenty-seven, it’s time for her to stop pouting like a child.”

She hears the small banter between the two, clutching her fist as she sits next to her Isamu at a round table that’s also accompanied by Kim, and Toji. The interaction between her and her father didn’t go entirely bad, but the comments he made still showed who he was, and now sitting close to Kim and Toji, this night still didn’t feel too good.

As soon as Toji notices her at the table, his eyes are glued to her. 

He had never realized how stubborn she really was. 

That was probably one of the reasons why he liked her so much.

“You okay?” Her brother asks. 

She looks up at him, “Yeah, fine.” 

“I saw you talked to dad.” 

She blinks, “Yeah. I did.”

The night is filled with conversations and laughs, Toji watching as Nozomi becomes more and more irritated. 

This rehearsal was becoming a little too much for her as time continued to pass. She felt like this dinner wouldn’t end, her attention coming along Kim who stood at the stage, clinking a small silverware against her champagne glass.

All eyes turned to her, the table quiet as Kim began to speak, “Thank you all for coming out tonight!”

The room responds with applause, everyone anticipating her speech. Kim smiles sweetly— the type that looks fake to Nozomi, but was entirely convincing to everyone else. 

She smiles, “I just wanted to give a little speech for the couple. The love they share started the moment they looked at each other, and they’ve been an unbreakable pair ever since.” 

The entire room is silent, everyone listening to her every word. Toji could see the anger in Nozomi’s face, her eyes almost burning a hole in Kim’s existence.

“I’m so honored to create the dream that you’ve always wanted, your perfect wedding. And as the woman closest to you,” she looked directly at Nozomi, “I’m so happy to call you my sister.” 

Nozomi thrashes her tongue within her cheek, listening as everyone claps, looking over to her sister's table as she gives a smile, which pisses her off even more.

When the speech is over, she stands from the table as she holds her dress up, going over to the open bar they had as she requested, “Got anything brown?”

The bartender nods, “Certainly. What kind?” 

He makes her a vanilla crown and Coke as requested.  She takes it like a shot. The moment she feels at ease when the drink pours down her throat, it’s like a cloud begins to shadow her sun, and here she is standing in front of her—Kim.

“Are you having fun? You barely talked to anyone tonight,” she feigns a frown, “What’s the matter?” 

She leans against the bar, her elbow perched on the counter top.

“I’m fine, Kim,” she brushes off, not ready for her bullshit. But as she takes the last sip of her drink, she has another thought, “Actually, my sister said there was a fitting for everyone’s dress today. Why wasn’t I told about that?”

Kim’s eyes widened faintly, a playful chuckle rolling off her tongue, “Oh, that?” 

She taps her manicured nails against the top of the counter, shrugging as she does so. 

“I must’ve forgotten to tell you,” she grins, “My bad.”

“Of course you did. You’re good at that little thing you do. Being all cute, acting like you’re not an insolent bitch on the inside. Maybe on the outside,” she tilts her head, giving her the same grin in return, watching as her face fell at her words.

She’s startled a bit at Nozomi’s truth. She thinks quickly on her feet as she takes a step forward, “I think the drink is going to your head, love.”

“Maybe. You should order something for yourself as well! But I suggest you wait until I walk away, cause my hand holding this glass is feeling a little itchy, and you might have a headache further into the night.” 

When she expects Kim to simply go back and forth with her, she suddenly shouts, “You’re gonna do what to me?” 

The calculated bitch, she was purposely causing a scene.

Ami, Toji and her brother came running over as Ami questioned, “What’s going on?” 

“Nozomi just threatened to hit me over the head with a glass! I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you’re scaring me!” Kim presses her hand to her chest, Oscar worthy acting as her hand shakes. 

“What?” Ami looks at Nozomi, “Did you say that?” 

“No!” Nozomi defends, “Well, yes. But not for no reason!”

“Nozomi, what the hell?” Her brother says, “What is going on? Why are you threatening Kim?”

“This bitch just said that she purposely didn’t call me for our dress fitting today!” She exclaims. 

“I would never do that,” Kim defends herself, “I called you a thousand times. You just didn’t answer. I’m sorry, Nozomi.”

“Are you serious?” She blinks, “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you—“ she goes forward, Isamu stepping in front of her. 

Ami then cuts off,  “Enough, Nozomi. I have been trying to be patient with you since you got here, but this is too much! Doing this at my rehearsal dinner? Making a scene? What the hell is wrong with you?” 

“What the hell is wrong with me? Ask your fucking friend that! Oh, better yet, your new sister! You’re seriously gonna’ blame me for this? When am I ever gonna be taken seriously, and not some fucking drama Queen?”

Everyone in the area is shocked by the commotion, the guests at the rehearsal dinner turning and whispering from their seats.

Ami’s face contorts with anger, “I always take you seriously, but look at what you’re doing right now! I’m constantly at your defense! But you’re acting like a fucking child!”

That.  

It always led back to her being the youngest. Nozomi laughed sharply, “Great. I’m a child. I’m over here pulling myself together on account of your goddamn wedding. Forcing me to be cool with your idiotic ass friend who fucked my man, and is still fucking him to this day! Not only that, forcing me to be here with him! The one who fucked your idiotic ass friend in the first fucking place, because I wouldn’t fuck him! Making me be cordial with my father who I wasn’t ready to forgive, because he fucked his new bitch behind our dying mother’s back—I’m doing all this for you! I’m holding it together for you! And I’m a fucking child? How about you wanting everything your way, but pissed off the minute something goes wrong? That’s a fucking child!” 

“What?” Toji then comes in, “‘The fuck are you talking about?” 

“Don’t be dense. I heard you fucking her the first night I came!” 

Toji blinks, confusion not even the word. His eyes narrow as he says, “I didn’t fuck Kim. This is my first time seeing her since you mom’s funeral, and since I left the states. I left right after you broke shit off with me.” 

Nozomi blinks, now equally confused. 

“What?” 

Isamu then smacks his lips, “Jesus,” chiming in to clear the air, “I was fucking Kim, okay? Toji and her only fucked around that one time.” 

That makes everyone’s eyes bulge out—including Kim’s—now realizing that this was all one big misunderstanding. 

“You’re fucking Kim? Ew!” Nozomi starts, “Seriously? Jesus Christ. When the fuck did you even have time to leave that orchid at my door?” 

“I left that orchid at your door,” Toji then clarifies, “It was supposed to be an apology. I wanted to talk to you, but you stormed back into your room and I didn’t want to piss you off more.” 

Nozomi takes all of this in. She doesn’t know what to say.

There wasn’t anything to say at this point, nor did she want to say anything else. With that, Nozomi does everyone a favor as she exits out of the building, finding her way back to the house. This had been a rehearsal dinner like no other. 

                       ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.  𐦍༘⋆ ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.  𐦍༘⋆

THE NEXT MORNING WAS SILENT, which was unfortunate. It was supposed to be a beautiful day, Ami’s wedding day—everyone was supposed to be excited. But it felt like the complete opposite. The morning was quiet. Nozomi had a lot on her mind, but all of her other bullshit could be figured out later—she needed to make things right with Ami. 

The house had been cleared of all the men as they had to get ready at the venue, the bridal party now on their way to the house, Ami within her room as the makeup artist was also on the way. 

Nozomi quietly slid the door open to her room as she asked, “Can I come in?”

Ami glanced over at the door, a frown on her face, still upset from the previous night. She sighs before nodding softly, “Yeah, you can come in…”

She slides the door closed, standing along the wall. She tries to collect her thoughts, her words. Instead of jumping into the drama, she asks, “How are you feeling? Ready to be Mrs. Getou?”

Ami smiles, her anger softening as her eyes meet her sisters. She lets out a small yawn before nodding slowly, a tired smile on her face. 

“I’m nervous…” Ami admits, “A little too nervous, honestly…”

“It’s no need to be nervous. He loves you, even if you have a crazy ass family,” she tries to poke, “Today’s gonna be an amazing day for you. It already is. It’s filled with love.”

Ami laughs, the comment causing her to snort quietly, “You’re damn right about that. But I’m still a little mad at you…”

Nozomi sighs, “Look, I’m so sorry about last night, Ami. It wasn’t supposed to go like that. I was telling the truth, Kim purposely didn’t call me for the fitting, you know I wouldn’t have missed something as important as that. When she admitted it to me, I just…mushed her being a bitch to her fucking Toji, and I kinda spiraled. You can choose who you want to be friends with, I just don’t like how she treats me,” Nozomi softly admits, looking down to the floor.

Ami sighs, her expression softening. She knew that it hadn’t been entirely her sister's fault, even though she had been the one to cause the scene in the first place. 

“Listen, I’m not mad at you, okay? I wasn’t ever mad at you, I just hate how you never think anything through before doing it. You’ve always been that way, and you need to work on it.” 

Ami stands from the bed, walking over to Nozomi, wrapping her into a tight hug, “I love you, okay?”

“More than Kim?” She questions, trying to make another joke, “I really don’t like that hoe, seriously.”

A soft laugh tumbles from Ami’s lips, a snort following that, “Yes, more than Kim.” 

She pinches her sister's cheek, pulling her head back, “You gotta’ relax, okay? Today is my day, so keep your cool, yeah?”

“Scouts honor,” Nozomi promises, raising her hand up, “I don’t know why you didn’t just make Kim your maid of honor, no shade.”

Ami laughed, “Oh hell no. I want you to be part of the special moment,” She crosses her arms, “She can just stand over there and look pretty like every other bridesmaid.”

Nozomi rolls her eyes, “Yeah. Like a Disney villain.”

“Sidebar—where did you go yesterday?” Her sister then asks. 

Dammit. She was hoping she wouldn’t ask this question. She closes her eyes as she admits, “Don’t freak out. I went out with Toji—“

The squeal was already releasing from her lips, “Oh my god! Y’all are in love again! Wedding bells, are those wedding bells I hear?” 

“Ami.”

“Oh my goodness, he bought you that big ass plushie in your room! That’s the one you wanted mom to get you! I knew your frugal ass didn’t pay thirty-eight thousand yen for that!” 

“Ami.—“ 

“And he gave you an orchid to apologize, cause you love orchids! Oh my god, I’m gushing. I’m blushing!” 

“Jesus Christ, are you done?” Nozomi squints, “It was nothing. He probably thinks I’m crazy now after I accused him of fucking Kim again. But what else was I supposed to think? I probably just fucked everything up.”

Ami rolls her eyes, grabbing Nozomi’s shoulders, her gaze firm as she says, “Listen. You did not mess everything up. If he loved you then, he probably loves you even more now. You just need to apologize to him…after the wedding. Don’t make it about you, okay? Focus on the love we’re all sharing today, alright?”

She nods her head, “Got it.”

Ami smiles, bringing Nozomi into another tight hug, “Good, now go get your hair and makeup done, the artists will be here in an hour, and you’ve gotta’ look the best you can today, alright? You’re my maid of honor, you gotta’ look like the bottom bitch next to the head honcho!” 

“You’re a mess.”

“Not as much as you. It’s really my wedding day, eeeeek!”

They were thankful to have gotten up early, giving just enough time to do everything without feeling rushed. Nozomi of course did Ami’s hair, agreeing with her request to style it within a low bun pulled back to frame her face, sculpting her edges perfectly, adding her favorite flowers within the claw clip holding her hair together. The soft makeup along her expression brought her face out more than heavy makeup would’ve. She was gorgeous without it. Nozomi could feel a lump in her throat about to create, not sure why she suddenly felt so emotional, but she refused to cry. 

Ami’s heart swells at the sight of her sister in the mirror, her eyes softening as she hears her words. Memories of their mother flood her mind—memories of her sitting on the couch, watching her daughters put their hair in intricate styles for dance competitions, or style their hair for a wedding. She felt a pang of sadness in her chest.

Tears start to trickle down Ami’s cheeks, and she quickly wipes at her eyes. “God, don’t make me cry,” she murmurs, “I’m gonna’ ruin my makeup.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she kisses her forehead, “Don’t cry. Don’t want you choking me cause your makeup is ruined. No more tears!” She tells her, taking deep breaths with her before she continues crying.

Ami laughs through her tears, wiping at her eyes as she nods, “Okay, okay, no more tears. Don’t make me start again.” 

The makeup artist began to retouch her face. Everything was silent for a moment before Ami clears her throat, her voice soft as she says, “Can I ask you something?”

“Hm?” 

“Do you love him—Toji, I mean?”

Nozomi looks up to the mirror, thinking about the question. She doesn’t lie to herself as she replies, “Yeah, I do. But he’ll never know that.”

Ami’s eyebrows furrow for a moment as she glances back at her sister, “Why not?” 

She turns her head, her eyes soft, “Why would you hold that in? After everything he’s done to show you how he feels, why not tell him?”

“Because today isn’t about me, remember? Now, let the makeup artist finish her job, you can’t keep talking while she does your lip liner,” she distracts, “I’m gonna go get ready.”

“I hate when you deflect,” Ami scrunches her nose, “Whatever. You’re dismissed!”

She began to see the bridesmaids' dresses as she exited the room, seeing that they were simple pink gowns, silky and strapless. They were gorgeous regardless, going to search for which one was hers. But as she continued to look, she noticed a dress hanging along the wall, her name attached to it. Her mouth gaped open. It was entirely different from the bridal parties dresses, the only similarity being the color. 

It was a gown, corseted all around, diamonds and jewels cascading the material all the way up to the top, fluff swimming along where her breast sat, mirroring along the side of her hip. 

“Fucking hell, Ami,” she mutters to herself. 

She didn’t have time to freak out about how extravagant this dress was—she had to get ready. 

She pulls her braids within a low ponytail to accentuate her dress, artistically sculpting her edges. It fits her entirely too well. Her hips struck out, the corset cinched her frame in a way that made her feel the most gorgeous she’d ever felt. When she looks within the mirror, all she can see is her mom. 

She exhales as she goes into the other room to show Ami, her jaw dropping at her older sibling. She’d never looked so… ethereal. 

Her dress was a pure white, covered with soft pearls that gave the illusion they dripped off her body, her entire frame equally corseted, material choking her tightly. 

“Ami,” Nozomi placed her hands over her mouth, not enough to ruin her own makeup, “Oh my goodness,” she became choked up, “You look…”

Ami smiles at her sibling, gently standing to keep her dress from being ruined. She looked down at herself, gently placing her hands along the dress, the gems and diamonds sparkling underneath the lights. 

“Good?” She asks her sister, her voice soft. 

“Amazing,” she promises, “Don’t be nervous. I’m so happy for you. Are you ready? We don’t wanna be late.”

“Let’s get going then, yeah?”

It’s now chaos when they arrive at the venue. None of them had yet to see what it looked like besides the bride and groom, the panic of getting into place leaving everything to a surprise once they walked out. The guests had already arrived, sitting within the white chairs that were covered with pink bows and flowers, wearing their own shades of her sister's favorite color. Here were the groomsmen, perfectly dressed in their tuxes, pink flowers within their breast pockets. They were ready, making sure they were perfectly lined up with the bridesmaid they were assigned to walk with. Ami was hidden within a back room, preparing to be the last one to walk out. 

Nozomi holds her dress as she speed walks out to where everyone else stands, seeing Suguru and Toji standing together. She hadn’t seen him since the chaos of the night before—she couldn’t help but not be happy to see him. Seeing Toji’s suit perfectly frame his broad physique, his best friend stands next to him, his long hair within a bun, tied out of his face. They looked handsome. 

“Ready?” She questions Suguru, “I can’t wait for you to see her. You’re not gonna cry, are you?”

Suguru smiles at the question, an almost embarrassed look on his face. However, he doesn’t deny it, “I’m most definitely going to cry.” 

Toji laughs, shaking his head, “Big ass dork.”

Suguru takes another deep breath before he stands by the door, preparing to walk out. Everyone now stands in place, and that meant it was time for Nozomi to get in position too. She turns to Toji whose eyes she can feel along her body as she asks, “What? Something wrong with my hair?”

Toji couldn’t deny that she looked incredible in that dress—more than incredible, breathtaking. Everything about her seemed to be amplified from the dress. 

She looked amazing, gorgeous, etc, etc.

“Words can’t describe how good you fuckin’ look right now,” he grunts within her ear, reaching out to grab for her hand, kissing her palm before he wraps it around his arm. 

That makes Nozomi‘s face go warm, turning her head back towards the ceremony. She watches as Suguru’s parents walk down the aisle, clicking that it was their turn. She didn’t know why she suddenly felt nervous. 

She nods, “Thank you. Um,” she twists the flower within his breast pocket, “Just—don’t let me fall, okay?”

Toji’s chuckle is attractive, still deep in her ear as he lowly promises, “Not a chance in hell.”

When he slides his arm down to clutch her fingers in his  own, their skin feels electrifying together. She hadn’t held his hand in so long—it felt so good. When they prepare to walk, she tugs his arm as she mutters, “Seriously, Fushiguro. Don’t let me fall. I’ll hurt you.”

His eyes glance down at hers as he promises, “You won’t fall, pretty.” 

They finally walk down the aisle, everyone’s eyes turning to them. The flower petals along the ground are being tread upon as they stroll down the walkway, Nozomi’s heart pounding within her chest. 

He squeezes her hand again, gently rubbing his thumb against her knuckles in an attempt to calm her. It works, but not by much, keeping her mind occupied as they walk.

She can now fully see the venue— cherry blossoms, the main event of it all. They all laid along the ground, pink trees floating above the chairs and guests, slumped down as petals swirled in the air each time the wind blew. She doesn’t realize how tightly she’s holding Toji’s hand, feeling a vast amount of emotions come to her, the sentiments of something as simple as a cherry blossom tree meaning so much more to her.

They finally make it to the end, and Toji releases her hand to go stand near Suguru, his nerves settling as he takes his place next to the groom. The music changes, signaling for the rest of the party to begin walking. Each bridesmaid and groom look perfect together—hell, even Kim and Isamu looked nice walking together.

Everyone giggled as one of Suguru’s younger cousins came tumbling down the aisle, throwing more flowers onto the ground, including a smaller baby boy, who followed after her, holding the rings close to his miniature tuxedo. 

It was finally the moment, the moment everyone had come for. When she appeared at the end of the aisle—a gasp came from the entire venue. Nozomi had already seen her, but seeing her here, holding her father’s arm as she began to walk, her veil that swam the ground, she hated the emotion that began smacking her around. It didn’t make it better that every bridesmaid was already crying—that was enough for her. The music that played, the way she could tell Ami herself was trying to hold back tears, it was the most special moment she had experienced.

Nozomi gripped the flowers in her hand, trying to stop the tears that poured like nothing. When she looked over to the groomsmen side—even they were crying, Suguru’s eyes were red as he couldn’t hold back his emotion. His best friend was of course behind him, rubbing his shoulder to comfort him. When Toji and Nozomi locked eyes, she gave a weak laugh, patting her own face to not mess up her makeup.

Toji couldn’t help but look at the way she was crying, his own eyes feeling soft as his chest felt heavy with an unknown emotion. His face felt warm, almost warm enough to make him tear up, but he tried his best to keep it down by looking away and trying to focus on the groom himself. 

However, every once in a while, his eyes would dart back towards her, admiring the way she looked in the soft lighting, the flower, the corseted dress, even her makeup. It amazed him. Seeing his best friend hold this much emotion towards a woman, it made him realize how much of a fuck up he was with Nozomi—he wanted to make things right.

The ceremony felt quicker than she expected, probably because she spent most of it crying. Everyone cheered and hollered as they kissed, cementing their love. It was now the reception, farther out into the trees, tables, menus, a selection of food, waitresses, anything you thought of at a high-end wedding, it was there. Everyone sat down as it was the bride and grooms first dance, seeing as they held each other tight, ‘SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK,’ by Joji filling the venue, Ami’s smile never leaving her face. 

Nozomi watched with a soft smile, kneeling on her arm. Others began joining them on the dance floor shortly after. Her attention was pulled as she heard her father’s voice behind her, “Omi’?” 

She hesitantly turns to him, “Yes, Pa?”

Her father had a wide smile on his face, his eyes soft as he placed a firm hand on his daughter’s shoulder, gently squeezing it. 

“Can I have this dance?” 

She gave him a gracious smile, “Sure.”

She took his arm, following him to the floor as she held one of his hands, the other going on his shoulder, while his hand went on her hip. They swayed slightly to the music. 

“I’m…really happy to see you, Pa’,” Nozomi tells him softly, “I’m sorry I haven’t called.I just…needed time, when mom passed. I know you wanted me to stay in Japan. But I couldn’t.”

Her father gently squeezed her hip, his eyes soft as he nodded his head, “I know.” He says, “I know it was hard. I remember how distraught you were when mom passed…it was hard on all of us. I couldn’t force you to stay in Japan. You needed some freedom after all that, and you found it in the states.”

He halts for a moment, trying to find his words as he says, “I miss your mom everyday. Despite my bad decisions. She’s always with me, just like she’s here with you.”

Despite his infidelity while their mom was sick, she knew how much he loved her. It wasn’t an excuse, but it could’ve been a way of coping with knowing she was going to pass, it was a loss for everyone. 

“I’ll do better at calling, Pa’. I promise.”

A small chuckle tumbles from her father’s lips, as he shakes his head, “No, you won’t,” he teased, “I’ll just have to keep calling you until you finally answer.”

“You know me so well,” she chuckles, continuing to sway with him. 

The moment was something she couldn’t ask for twice. To make up with her father, it brought a weight off her shoulders. She felt at peace. Maybe she needed to come back home. 

Her final conflict she had to resolve appeared, Toji stepping in as he politely asked her father, “May I?”

Her father nods gently at the man, patting his daughter on the hip one last time as Toji steps in front of her, holding his hand out. His eyes slowly drift downwards, examining the beautiful maid of honor, his chest feeling almost tight.

“There you are,” she says softly, bringing her arms around his neck, an eyebrow raising as Toji questions, “You were looking for me?” 

“Maybe.”

He places his hands on her hips, a smirk forming on his face, “You’ve been avoiding me,” he reminds, “The whole damn time. Barely said shit to me.”

“Wanted to make sure you weren’t mad at me,” she deflects, pulling his neck down, wanting him to be closer to her than he was, “The rehearsal dinner was a shitshow.”

Toji’s hands tightened on her hips as he pulled her a bit closer, their chests nearly touching. His dark gray eyes pierced into hers, almost staring into her soul.

“I’m not mad,” he mutters, “I’m used to your bullshit by now. It’s expected.”

She exhales, “That doesn’t sound like much of a compliment.” 

“Cause it isn’t.” 

The same song plays, distracting her for a moment. She rolls her eyes, “So what do you like about me then, since I’m such a problem?”

“You’re a smartass,” he stated bluntly, “A smartass that knows how to press my fuckin’ buttons. A smartass that’s stubborn as all hell. A smartass…that also happens to be the prettiest person in the fuckin’ building. The only person I see here.”

Nozomi blinks up at him, her eyes glittering underneath the lights they have within the ceiling. 

“You’ really wanna be with me?” She asks softly, knowing the answer, maybe just needing reassurance.

“Don’t ask shit you already know the answer to,” he grunts, mouth lowering closer to her ear. 

His forehead pressed against hers, Nozomi giggling as he pulled her heels along his own shoes, holding her close. This might’ve been the moment she needed from him. 

They stayed like that for a while. 

The reception is in full force, different family members dancing together, Suguru and Ami inseparable, the music and food perfect for the environment. Nozomi had found a small moment to pull her and Toji away from the reception as the newlyweds took pictures, pulling him deeper into the trees, away from all the people—away from an audience. 

She leans herself against the bark, fidgeting her hands against his tux as she rambles, “My mom actually wanted her burial to be a cherry blossom tree,” she says softly, keeping her eyes along the material of his tux.

She continues, “We didn’t know until we found her wishes hidden inside the mattress. A weird place to put it,” she laughs, but it’s weak, nothing actually funny, “I think that’s why this whole wedding has been so…emotional for me. Besides seeing my sister be in love and so happy. This entire weekend has brought so many memories for me. Things I’ve realized about myself. Things I wanna fix…”

Toji couldn’t help but watch her closely as she opened up. This was the first time in a while that she’s been so…honest. So vulnerable. 

“I don’t think I ever thanked you for the orchid you left at my door,” she says quietly, “Despite the way I treated you, you still tried. And tried, and tried…” she giggles, Toji grunting as he presses his forehead along hers. She then says, “I also haven’t apologized.“

It was as if everything that happened after that was an unfortunate cue.

 Their attention is pulled away from each other as Isamu and Kim walk up to them, her brother loud as he calls, “Yo, where y’all at? Sneaking out already?”

She tries not to be irritated with her sibling. But as she notices Kim beside him giving her the nastiest look, her blood pressure spikes. 

“Just talking,” Nozomi replies, keeping her hand along Toji’s suit. 

“Got him under your claws so I don’t get to him, I see,” Kim sharply replies, and it’s quick, so quick that Nozomi almost doesn’t catch it. 

She slightly sits herself up as she raises an eyebrow, “Excuse me?”

Kim shrugs, “You assumed I’ve just been fucking him all weekend, is my comment too far off?”

“No, actually, it isn’t. You fucked’ him before, makes no difference now. A hoe is still a hoe.”

“Who are you calling a hoe?” Kim fires off, coming closer. 

But that wasn’t a problem, Nozomi was ready to put her in a headlock as she came around Toji, “ You know what— I can blame a man for his stupidity. But what I can’t handle, is a stupid ass bitch like you that would do anything for the idiocy that is a man’s attention. You knew how I felt about Toji, and yet you fucked him anyways, and you were suppose to be my friend. You’re lucky I didn’t fuckin’ shoot you.”

“Alright, knock it the fuck off,” Toji mutters, bringing his arm around her hip, lightly pulling her back from Kim who was in arms reach of the girl. 

Kim then says, “Don’t blame me that you couldn’t keep your supposed  man in check. I wouldn’t want you either if you didn’t wanna fuck me, Ms. Holier Than Thou.” 

Yup, that was it.

Nozomi laughed humorlessly, taking a step back as she moved Toji’s arm to let him know she was calm, but it was the complete opposite. 

Her eyes quickly scanned the scenery, seeing no one else around, locking her eyes back on Kim. She steps forward, plummeting her knuckles clean into Kim’s jaw, the crack heard in the echoes of the trees, Kim immediately dropping to the ground from the impact. 

“Yo, Nozomi, what the fuck!” Isamu exclaimed. 

Kim holds the side of her face, turning to the side as she spat blood on the ground. Nozomi’s anger had seeped over her. She didn’t mean to hit her, it just happened. Her knuckles stung, but it’s unfortunate that she didn’t feel satisfied. When she lunges forward to finish her off, her feet are suddenly off the ground, Nozomi grunting as she’s being thrown over Toji’s shoulder again, being pulled away from the reception. 

“Put me the fuck down!” 

She didn’t realize how close they actually were to their family’s house, practically feeling the fire off Toji’s body. He carried her into his room, Nozomi grunting as she hit the bed, breathless as her dress was already tight. 

She glares as she sits up, “What?”

Toji was absolutely livid. He could feel the anger radiating off himself as he stepped into the bedroom, his eyes piercing into the woman on the bed. He had never seen her like this before. He didn’t have the time for her bullshit. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He questioned, anger laced in his voice, “You trying to get arrested at your sister's wedding?”

“I wouldn’t have gotten arrested,” she scoffed, “Don’t be dramatic. I been letting that bitch talk crazy to me all weekend. The bitch has literally been flirting with you, all up your fuckin’ ass, and you just—let her,” she spits.

“What part of I didn't reciprocate anything isn't getting through your thick ass skull?” He snapped at her, “I don’t give a fuck if she flirts with me. I wasn't interested. I only give a fuck about you.”

“Oh? So fucking her two years ago showed that you weren’t interested? You know what— let’s talk about it!” She exclaims, “Let’s just put it all out there. We were talking, it was becoming serious. Kim was my friend, a close friend at the time. Just when I was ready to bring my walls down, make things official, be with you, I find out you fucked Kim. And conveniently? It was right after I told you I wouldn’t have sex with you unless we were officially together. You couldn’t commit to me, but you could fuck her. Are we on the same page? Am I missing anything?” 

Toji's eyes darkened. The air between them was thick with tension. He never wanted to talk about this part of their relationship again, but if she was going to bring it up—he had to deal with it. 

“I could barely commit to you at the time,” he stated angrily, “You told me you wouldn't be intimate with me unless we were together. What the hell was I supposed to do?”

“Wait for me!”  She shouted back, feeling her throat becoming tight. 

“You were supposed to wait for me! You said that it wasn’t important, that you loved me! If you didn’t, you should’ve never fucking led me on! That's why I hated you. I hated you for it. You sit here now, talking about ‘what was I supposed to do’— you haven’t fucking changed!” She continues to keep her voice raised.

Her anger seeps through so quickly that she can’t help the vast punch she throws into his chest, fist shaking as she turns away from him to control herself. She wanted to be violent.

He reached out and grabbed her wrists, spinning her around to look at him. His eyes locked onto hers with a dangerous glare as he spoke, “I’ve changed. But you’re acting too fuckin’ stupid to see that. It’s like you’re looking for reasons to push me away. To end what we have.”

“Oh? You’ve changed. Typical. Say it a couple more times and maybe you’ll believe yourself. You haven’t fucking changed. You’re a bitch.” 

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth, Nozomi.” 

“Make me.” 

He could set off a bomb with the fear-inducing look he gave her, practically enraged at this point. 

“You made your bed. Be a fucking man and lay in that shit. You wanted pussy so bad you had to fuck a bitch that fucks everybody, my friend at the time. Now look at your bitch on a string, onto the next, fucking my brother when I wasn’t even worried about you. Now you wanna come back to me on some change bullshit. Fuck you.” 

“I'm not that same man anymore,” he spat, “But I guess that doesn’t matter to you, huh? No matter how much I fuckin’ change. No matter how much I try. Your stubborn ass still thinks I’m the same man I was two years ago. You haven’t changed either.”

“And how the fuck haven’t I changed?”

“You’re still the woman who runs from every single emotion. Pushing everyone away from you. You can’t even stand to deal with your own fuckin’ feelings, so it’s easier for you to push everyone out of your life. You’re weak.” 

The words hit her. Actually, hit her. It all mushes together. The loss of her mother, shutting everyone out when she needed support in her time of grief. Toji. Her father. All of it. 

The tears finally come up, dropping down her face as there’s nothing but pure malice behind her voice as she lowly spits, “Fuck you.” 

“I’m sorry I hurt you, Nozomi. I would never hurt you the way I did before.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“I love you.” 

Her heart stopped, hearing those words come from him. He was gruff in his tone, but meant exactly what he said. He wasn’t gonna let her push him away. 

“No you don’t,” she says, her voice cracking as she says that, “No you don’t. Stop lying to me!” 

He comes forward, gripping her tighter by her wrist and tugging her towards him, causing her to try to yank out of his hold as she panics, “Let go of me!”

“Say it again,” he challenged, his voice a low growl, “Say that I don't love you. Say that shit again. Say that you hate me.”

“I fucking hate you!” She exclaims, her voice trembling, slamming her fist into his chest as he takes hold of her other arm, “I hate you…I hate you…” 

The tears won’t stop, and she can’t believe her own words. It gets to a point where her entire body trembles, and she throws her hands over her face, sobbing, “Let me go, Toji…”

Toji's heart tightens in his chest when he sees her crumble before him. This was the first time he’s ever really seen her break like this. He pulled her into his arms, wrapping them around her tightly as he held her against his chest, letting her cry into him. 

“Cry, baby. I want you too. Need you too. I’m here to let you.”

She felt extremely overwhelmed, covering her face to mask her embarrassment, but that quickly fades. She reaches up, wrapping her arms around his neck, clutching her fingers in his hair as she cries. 

He could feel her pain, her hurt, her anger. It practically radiated off of her. But there was one emotion that he could feel clearly. Fear. She was scared.

She didn’t want to be hurt again like the first time, she didn’t know if she could trust him with her heart again. But there was only one way she could find that out. Her crying eventually subsides, tears still along her face as she breathes into his neck, her hand still clutching within his hair.

 She says softly, “I…I love you too…”

Toji felt his breathing stop for a moment as he listened to her words. The three words he’s been wanting to hear for so long. 

“Again,” he mumbled against her skin, “Say that shit again.”

The sound of his voice. It’s different. She hadn’t heard him sound like this in a while, and when he did, it intimidated her. Sex didn’t necessarily scare her, it just scared her with him, for him to be her first. 

“I love y—“ 

It’s interrupted, Toji lowering down as he locks his mouth with hers, clutching a grip along her throat as he filthily kisses her. It’s abnormal. He wanted to entice her, he needed her.

He didn’t hold anything back as he slipped his tongue inside of her mouth, his fingers fully wrapping around her neck as a way to keep her still. He was enthralled, and he was going to show her just how badly he was. 

When he pulled his mouth back, her skin felt on fire. Her eyes blinked residuals of tears, teeth digging into her lip as he kept yanking her forward for another kiss, his mouth on her throat, her chest, her jaw, tongue dragging up her skin, aching for her. 

Her breath hitched as he picked her up, carrying her onto the bed. Her mind is spinning as he hovers over her frame, grasping her by the back of her neck and holding her up, kissing her so fiercely that it made her entire body tremble.

Toji’s mind was reeling. The feeling of her against him, her scent filling his nostrils, the way her skin felt against his lips. He felt like he was in a dream—a hazy, lustful dream. 

He pulled back from her mouth, leaving a trail of kisses down her jaw before moving to her neck. His lips left marks along her skin, wanting her to feel them the next morning when she woke up. 

She finally lets her mouth drop words out as she nervously exhales, “Fushiguro, wait…”

When her words came out with a breathlessness to them, Toji felt his mind go crazy. He pulled back, his hot breath fanning against her skin as he locked his eyes on hers. 

“What?” He questioned in a low tone, his gaze flicking down to her lips as he waited for her to speak.

“You know I haven’t…” she feels embarrassed, “I just…I don’t want to look stupid.”

Toji’s expression softened as he heard her words. He knew her concern, he understood it. But in his eyes, she was anything but stupid. She was perfect. 

“You won’t,” he assured her, his hand moving up to grip her chin, “You don’t look stupid. Let me take care of you.”

She blinks. Her hand slowly reaches back for his hair, nodding her head as she asks him quietly, “Can you…kiss my neck again? It…It felt nice.”

A low grunt of approval rolled from his lips as he heard her request. He leaned in, hovering just above her skin, teasing her, watching her reaction as he finally planted his lips along her neck, right under her ear. The feeling makes her breath hitch, her head kneeling back slightly to rush off the burn she gets from his mouth. 

He left a trail of kisses down to her collarbone, his tongue slowly dragging along one part of her skin in the most torturous way. She shifts beneath him, her chest rising, trying to appear normal—but her skin is buzzing.

He nips at the skin just below her collarbone, and that’s when he hears a sound that sets him absolutely off. 

A gasp. It escapes from her lips as she tries to bite it back. The sound makes his ears go crazy, and he’s instantly driven by one thing now. More.

The dress she wears instantly feels tighter. She’d been around Toji many times, but never fully naked. She kneels her head up, mouth close to his as she murmurs, “Need to um…take my dress off…”

“I know.” 

Her throat goes dry as he flips her body over beneath him, effortless as if she weighed nothing. He begins unzipping the dress, sliding his hand inside the material, his mouth now along the back of her neck. He uses his free hand to grip her hair, fisting it into a ponytail beneath his palms as the dress hits the ground with a thud. Her entire body was now bare to him from behind, only being covered by the ballerina pink thong she wore.

Her skin was like fine porcelain, smooth and delicate. He could see some ink that stretched along her skin, and he instantly was curious to see all of it later. For now, he would leave those questions for another time. His mouth trailed up along her neck before he whispered into her ear. 

“I wanna hear my name from your mouth.” He demanded lowly. “Need to hear it.”

He still holds her hair within his fist, his mouth along her skin again, now along her spine, causing her eyes to flutter closed, unable to respond just yet, only arching her back to show she enjoyed the feeling. Chills rushed down her body as he locked his fingers around her ankle, twisting her towards being on her back again. His mouth was now crawling on the back of her thigh. 

She shivered, a reaction coming from her as she gasped softly, “T—Toji, w—wait—“ 

Yet he didn’t stop, grunting as he continued making out with her leg, dragging his lips across her skin, running his tongue up to reach the back of her foot, repetitively making her lower body throb in a way she hadn’t felt before, like she needed something from him.

Toji was drunk with the feeling of her beneath him. His lips were famished on her skin, marking her up in places that he knew no one would see. When she was now on her back, Nozomi couldn’t help but press her arm over her breasts, her other hand pressing in between her legs to cover herself. She wasn’t insecure in her body, but this was the first time he’d officially seen her naked. She felt…shy.

“Nah, don’t cover yourself from me,” he grunts, “I wanna see my woman.” 

Toji felt her shiver underneath him. He had to taste more of her, to see what else he could make her react to.

His mouth trailed up her leg, lingering near her core. His expression made her entire lower body warm. He leaned forward, darting his tongue out to tease her clit through the fabric of her panties. A low growl came from him in response as he felt her tense underneath him. He lifted his head, looking up at her with a smirk as he tugged her panties to the side, revealing her wet opening to him.

"You're so fuckin’ wet already,” he groaned. 

Her legs nearly locked together when he gave her clit the softest kiss, admiring the pink nub. Her pussy was pretty. Just for him. Leaning back down to lick at her folds, his tongue swirled around her clit before he sucked it into his mouth.

Nozomi’s body shuddered, the feeling almost ticklish, like she wanted to push him away. He instantly locked his hands along the back of her thighs, pressing her knees against the bed as he grunted, nudging his mouth farther into her clit, a slurping sound creating at the way his lips moved. Her hand went to grip his hair if she couldn’t escape, a soft gasp leaving her lips as she whimpered, “Toji…”

The moment she called out his name, Toji felt something stir within him. It wasn't just lust anymore, it was desire. A need to claim her, to mark her as his own.

He continued eating at her, his tongue delving deeper into her folds as he tasted every inch. His hands tightened around her thighs as he held her open for himself, letting her feel his hot breath fan across her sensitive flesh.

"Fuck...you taste even better than I imagined," he murmured, his voice muffled as he dragged his entire mouth along her core, Nozomi jumping as he harshly spanked the side of her thigh in approval. 

Her legs lightly clasped around his face, twisting his head a bit as it felt overwhelming, gripping his hair harder as her body trembled. She whimpered again, pleading to him, “Baby…”

But that didn’t do anything to stop him, if anything it made him continue. Her breath hitched as one of his hands came up, gripping her breast within his palm as the other kept her legs spread.

Toji felt her squirm beneath him, her pleas only spurring him on further. He loved the way she sounded, begging for him to stop yet unable to pull herself away.

“I’m sorry, baby. Can’t help myself,” he groans to her. 

She's trapped beneath his relentlessment as he sticks his tongue out, pushing it inside of her walls, warm and gummy as they fold around his mouth. His eyes nearly rolled as he groaned again, feeling Nozomi’s thighs trembling as she softly cried— He could taste her arousal, thick and potent. It was intoxicating, making him drunk with desire.

“Pussy is so fuckin’ pretty,” he grunts, holding her thighs apart as he circles his head, deepening his tongue inside her, the sight to Nozomi’s eyes completely filthy.

She throws her hands over her face as she softly cries, “Fushiguro….stop…”  her face was entirely red.

The more she begged, the more Toji wanted to hear it. He liked hearing her pleads. He had the intention to make it worse. 

"Shut the fuck up,” he grunted out, “‘Gonna put your whole pussy on my face,” his tongue delving deeper into her. He could feel her walls clenching around him, her juices coating his face as he ate her out.

His hands gripped tighter onto her thighs, holding her open for himself as he continued to feast on her. He could feel her trembling beneath him, her pleas only serving to fuel his desire.

"Oh fuck...you're so tight," he groaned, his tongue curling as he pushed it further inside of her, “Not gonna be able to handle all this dick. Gonna fuckin’ cry,” he won’t stop talking, she wants to punch him at this point. 

Toji couldn't get enough of her—the taste of her. He lapped at her hungrily, his tongue plunging into her depths as his hands held her legs up. He could feel her tightening around him, her juices flowing freely as he devoured her.

"Oh my god, baby, gonna make you cum..." he growled against her pussy, his voice muffled by her folds. "Then I’m gonna fuck you up until you can't walk straight. Can’t think straight.” 

His words in her mind— it makes her legs shake even harder, trapping his head within her thighs again. He snatches them open, the sight of his eyes closed, tongue dipping in and out of her, she felt like she was going to faint. He gets a good leverage of her hips, dragging his tongue back up her clit, sucking it between his lips as the sound echoes in the room, sliding back down as he yanks her pussy against his jaw, practically bouncing her against his mouth. Her abdomen shakes as waves of pleasure come crashing down, something like his tongue making  her feel a stretch in her walls, how was she gonna survive? 

It didn’t help that Toji was beneath her, moaning as if this pleased him entirely, head swiveling around, bottom of his face completely soaked. Toji was lost in the taste of her, the feel of her body writhing beneath him. Her cries filled his ears, her juices coated his tongue, and the way her body shook beneath him drove him wild.

He sucked harder on her clit, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub as he worked it into his mouth. His hands gripped her hips tightly, holding her in place as he rolled his lips, sucking all at the same time, practically drinking between her legs. 

The moment her legs opened a bit wider for him, Nozomi reached up for her ankle that quivered, her hips matching the jitter as she looked down to him, panting, “Agh…Fushiguro…I—baby…” 

“About to cum, pretty baby?”

“I—I don’t know…” her throat grasps for the oxygen in the room, “F—Feel like I have to pee…”

That makes him grunt, clutching his palms back around her ankles, hovering his mouth above her hips as he makes contact directly with her clit, sloppily slurping at the sticky and wet flesh, dropping his lower lip against her entire core as he slows his mouth down, head motioning in a circle so effectively that he should’ve been dizzy. The sight, the sound, all of it makes Nozomi’s eyes flutter. She tightly snatches his hair as her abdomen tenses up, a sense of defeat as she gushes along his face, Toji reaching up as he sticks his fingers within her mouth, pulling her up by her teeth to make her watch. 

“Cum just like that. Good fuckin’ girl,” his voice is still muffled, entrapping her pussy with his mouth, lapping up her arousal mercilessly, worshipping her body for the pleasure she releases. She jumps as he raises his hand, spanking the side of her ass, gripping the flesh to watch it faint a color of red. 

Her eyes are low, body tired—but they’d only just begun. 

He comes up as he snatches the side of her face, plunging his lips against her own as he messily makes out with her. Nozomi attempts to keep up with him, but her body feels paralyzed, wondering if this was her time to plead the fifth. This man was trying to kill her. 

“Eyes,” he tells her, gripping her chin to look at him, “You’ okay? Need me to stop?”

Despite her own mind in fear of what was to come next, her body was on vibrate, and a bigger part of her wanted more. Needed more. She shook her head, pulling her eyes open as a response.

 She gasps softly as spanks her ass, “Nah. Fuck all that no talking shit, tell me everything you feel. Tell me you want me to keep going.” 

The thought of being vocal made her nervous, embarrassed even. She said softly, “Keep going…” 

He smacks his lips with a grunt of, “You can do better than that,” pulling her into another kiss before he backs up, standing at the edge of the bed to begin removing his own clothes. Nozomi only watches, her face warm and flustered, thinking back to running out of the room each time this man even took his shirt off. 

Now here he was, dark eyes intently on her as he aggressively tugged off his tie, never as gentle with himself as he could be with her. Her eyes drop down as he begins removing his pants, trying to hide the way her eyes want to fall out when he pulls down his boxers—he definitely was…gifted, if she could find the word.

“Don’t look at me like that if you don’t wanna come play with it.” 

She keeps her eyes to herself. 

He almost chuckles, feeling her gaze pull away as he stands before her, now completely naked. His entire frame was beautifully sculpted, abdomen hard, nearly sharp within her sight. He comes back onto the bed, his large arms caging her in by the sides of her head.  

“Like what you see, huh?”

 His lips are close to hers again, lightly brushing along the baby pink of her mouth. Her face is warm again, looking everywhere but between his legs. She says softly, “Don’t do that,” too nervous for his teasing. It’s the little things he does, brushing his mouth against hers instead of actually kissing her that drives her crazy. Her mouth is parted as she wants him to make out with her, but instead he presses light kisses along her jaw, watching as it makes her chest heave up and down, wrapping her arm around his neck, reaching for his hair from behind.

He chuckles, enjoying just how much he can get her worked up. Her need for his mouth on hers was obvious, it only made him want to tease her even more. 

 “You want my mouth?”

His fucking voice—the way he slowly begins locking her legs over his shoulders, it makes her clutch tighter for his hair. A small whine comes from her mouth, breathing into his throat as she begs beneath her breath, “Want your mouth, so bad…”

She’s so vulnerable like this, so vulnerable beneath him. 

“I know you do.” He mutters against her skin, his mouth now trailing up to her ear, “You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this, you know that? Begging for me, whining to have my mouth on you.”

Her legs being separated by his shoulders make her ache even more, unable to squeeze them together anymore. He still doesn’t give her what he wants. He needed the perfect moment. Her heart beats within her chest, hoping this isn’t as painful as she imagined it to be. 

Toji’s face hovers over hers, face stoic as he watches her expression. He locks his palms around her ankles while trapping her along the bed. The moment feels like an eternity. He takes his tip within his hand, rubbing it against her clit, watching as she shudders from that. He then slaps it along her opening, listening to her pussy squelch, needing to be filled. The silence was deafening at this point. 

Slowly, dreadfully, achingly, he begins to push inside of her. Nozomi’s eyes twitch, her mouth parts open a little after, and she starts to feel a deep pinch in her lower body, a sweet pain that she’d never experienced before. Toji keeps his eyes up, gently placing his forehead on top of hers as he moves a bit, the hold she had along his hair clutches even tighter, and finally, a whimper comes from her lips.

The sound of her whimper causes him to pause, closing his eyes momentarily to control himself. He was already engulfed in her pleasure, but it was the fact that he knew he was her first that was making him absolutely feral. 

Toji felt his breath get caught in his throat the moment he heard that sound come from her. It was a mixture of pain and pleasure, and it sounded so damn good to his ears.

Her legs instantly began trembling. Her arms around his neck tighten as she leans her head back, pulling him forward to press his lips along her neck. The mixture of the two feelings made her legs tremble even more, a shuddering whine coming from her mouth. 

She gasped, deeply, her eyes closing as she could feel tears brimming in them, a pleasure she had never experienced before filling her body.

The sight of her so sensitive causes his mind to snap. Her body is like a piece of glass; he has to hold her with care, otherwise she’d break. He had to be gentle with her, and he had never been this gentle with anyone. 

She’s gasping along his ear, Toji unable to help himself to talk to her as he grunts, “Shit feels good, doesn’t it? This is my pussy, huh?” 

His voice in her ear sends her into panting softly, keeping her grip on his hair. His grip along her ankles doesn’t falter, spreading her legs a little wider, Nozomi pulling his face deeper into her neck as she trembles, “Oh my…ohmygod.”

Her trembling beneath him only makes his heart race that much faster. She’s so reactive, every subtle movement he makes as he’s between her legs brings a new response. He lets her claw into his hair, needing her to mark him in some way as her hands stay there. 

Toji’s mind is hazy as he pushes deeper into her, a low groan leaving his mouth near her ear. “You’re doing so good, baby.”

Her inhales are short, but her exhales are long. She pulls his face up to meet hers, lightly pulling their lips together, trying to kiss him, unable to as her head spins, eyes rolling to the back of her head. She whines softly, “B—baby…I…”

He can’t help the grin that comes to his face as she tries desperately to kiss him, but her body is too sensitive to it. She trembles, her hair sticking to her skin, a glow of sweat along her body. 

It’s pleasure, and only Toji can give it to her. He’ll give her all of it. 

“What, baby?” He muttered against her skin, peppering kisses along her neck as he continued his slow movements. “You’ gonna say my name again?”

He’s barely moving, but the moment he does, she cries softly, dragging her nails into his back, “Toji,” she whimpers his name in the most desperate way, as if wasn’t allowed to.

Each time she says his name, he can’t help but feel heat fill his body. Each cry, each whimper, each breath from her skin as she says his name, it makes him hungry for more. 

His grip on her ankles tightens, using them in order to drive himself deeper. When she cries his name, Toji can’t help but groan against her skin, kissing where he can as he whispers, “Say my fuckin’ name just like that.”

His left hand reaches up for the headboard, finding a grip along the wood as his other hand still holds her ankle. Nozomi keeps her nails dug into his back, face within his shoulder as she brokenly moans, feeling that she’d be embarrassed about the sounds she made later. 

She gasps softly, “I…I feel…different…”

It’s obvious that she’s still new to the feeling. Her whimpers are filled with a hint of pain, but Toji was determined to make this as good for her as possible. 

He wants no thought to be in her mind but him.

“How do you feel?” He asked her between breaths, his chest pressing against hers, his head buried in her neck as he began to pick up rhythm, their flesh creating a clapping sound. He slowly moved her leg, moving it to a spot that would make her feel even more.

Her leg trembles at the movement of her leg, mouth right against his as a genuine, “Ughn—shit,” scatters desperately from her lips, eyes fluttering shut, losing the side of her brain to answer the question.

The sound of her swearing has a dark chuckle fan against her mouth from him. Toji wants to ruin her, and he intends to do just that. He wants to make her so sensitive that she’d be unable to handle just one more touch.

His lips brush hers as whispers to her, his movements deliberate and calculated. “You feel good, baby?” He muttered against her skin, “You’ hear me fucking you? Hear your pussy, baby? She sounds so pretty, doesn’t she? Sucking me in like she can’t let go. Listen.” 

The clapping sound of their skin, the way his hips bury into her, sloshing each time he pushes inside. She inhales deeply, eyes rolling to the back of her head as she breathlessly whimpers, “Yeaah,” she drags the word out a bit to her disadvantage, clutching his hair again, sucking her breathing back to silence as she hears herself losing her sense to talk.

Her voice makes Toji groan. She sounds absolutely wrecked. 

“It’s too much, huh?” He cooes, the bastard, his hand moving from her ankle to her thigh, “Who’s making you feel like this?” 

“You, baby,” she says, eyes rolling back ever so slightly, “You, baby. Fuck, it’s you, baby,” she repeats, as if she didn’t hear herself the first two times.

“That’s fuckin’ right,”  He muttered against her skin, his hand rubbing up and down her thigh as he continued his movements, making her feel every each inch of him, “Nobody else is gonna fuck you the way I do.” 

She’s the one who’s begging for him. She’s whining for him, and only him. She’s saying his name and only his name.

“You feel so good, baby.” He whispers to her, “Pussy made just for me. Wanna eat her again, miss that shit gushing all on my mouth.” 

She’s gripping onto him for dear life. Her reactive moans  is the only thing he can hear as he continued, “You’re so sensitive. If I eat you out, I know you’re gonna cream, might even squirt. Fuck, baby…” 

“Oooohshit,” her mouth parts, Toji grasping a rough kiss at the opportunity of her mouth opening, “Fuckin’ feel you, baby,” she clutches his hair tighter, “D—Don’t mean to pull your hair like that…m’sorry…”

“Pull harder.” He orders her, his voice low as his lips now give company to her ear. 

She tugs a little more in response—soft, making sure she doesn’t hurt him—which causes Toji to chuckle, the deep sound fanning against her lips. 

She nearly pouted, “Don’t laugh at me…”

He kisses her shoulder gently before grunts, “You’re so fuckin’ cute like this. Fuckin’ needy ass. So tough, so mouthy—all you needed was some dick.”

“You’re making fun of me…” she whimpers, turning her face down to his shoulder, becoming a bit

more vocal as her body relaxes. 

“I am,” he admitted against her skin, “But you’re taking my shit so good, baby. You’re being such a good girl, it’s so fuckin’ sexy.”

It seems that his voice is what triggers her, because when she takes in his tone, a particularly deep gasp comes from her chest, her head kneeling back, hips squirming in response. Her pussy tightens. 

Toji grumbles against her neck, “You like my voice, baby?”

She nods her head, “I—agh—like it, baby,” she agrees softly, “Like when you talk to me…” she tries to find her words, feeling her face warm as she also adds, “Like when you’re a little rough with me…”

He chuckles against her skin, her confession only furthering his drive, “Rough, huh?” He muttered against her skin, “I’m trying to be gentle, baby. Don’t do that.” 

“I’m okay,” her voice is soft, but it’s a protest, “Feels good, baby. I…” she drags her nails down his back, “Want more of you.”

The sound of her voice is so soft and needy, so desperate for more of him, Toji can’t keep himself from groaning against her skin, her nails digging into his skin just making him all the more greedy. 

“You want more of me?” He muttered against her neck, his lips brushing along her pulse, “You can barely take the dick I’m giving you now, whimpering and shit. You don’t need more.” 

She pulls him down by his hair, tugging it the way he asked before, her tongue dragging along his skin as she whimpers, “Please, Toji…”

The tug on his hair makes his breath get caught in this throat, and the way her tongue drags along his skin is only adding more gasoline to the fire that’s already burning inside of him. 

“Please what, baby?” He asked her against her skin, her whimpering driving him further over the edge, “You gotta tell me what you want, baby. Use your words.”

She thinks for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what she wanted. She then tells him, “‘Wanna get on top.”

The statement takes him by surprise, his movements pausing as he lifts his head to look at her. Being on top would give her a position of control. But one look at her face, her expression, he finds that he’s unable to say no even if he wanted to. 

“You wanna ride me, baby?” He grunts to her, Nozomi nodding in response as she persuades, “‘Wanna show you I can handle you…” a desperation to her tone, “Want you to feel good too.”

“I feel good as fuck, baby. Don’t worry about that. Come here.”

He leans himself back along the bed, pulling her above him as he states, “Prove that shit, then.”

Now she was actually nervous. Her legs feel numb, and there’s a very faint cramp in her lower abdomen, but the pleasure she felt—a rush of it came over her body seeing him now laid on his back, dark eyes watching her every move. She wanted more. 

She slowly crawls towards him, curiously eyeing the monster that stood at her attention, it jumping when she looks fully at his dick. It was veiny, probably heavy in her hands. She can’t help it. She leans forward as she wraps her lips around his tip, dipping her head down as she drags spit along his entire length, pulling her mouth back with a pop.

 As she runs her tongue over her lips, she feels him clutch her jaw, grunting at the sight of her sucking his dick as he growls, “You’re not ready for that. Come bounce on my dick.” 

She listens— although something in her prefers to be defiant—coming onto his lap, reaching behind herself as she runs her palm along his tip, guiding it towards her opening as she spreads herself with her other hand.  

She sinks herself down, the newfound feeling causing her eyes to drop lower, a soft gasp leaving her lips. It was an aching pinch in her body all over again. She adjusts her hips as she moans, feeling Toji’s hands grip the skin of her ass, balancing her weight.

He groaned at her walls tightening around him, opening his palm as he slammed it against her ass with a gruff, “That’s it, baby…” 

She leans herself into him, placing her hands along his chest as she looks behind herself, slowly raising her hips, gently dropping her ass back down. Her entire abdomen felt on fire, her eyes fluttering closed as her legs throbbed, pulling her hair behind her ear as she shuddered, “Like that?”

He groaned the second she began to move, and he was barely able to hold himself back from lifting her hips himself, making her move. He’s letting her set the pace, making sure to give her as much time as she needs to adjust herself. 

His hands found her hips again, guiding her gently as he let out a husky, “Just like that, baby…” His voice is a harsh whisper, his eyes unable to leave her. “So fuckin’ sexy…” 

The way his voice sounds is different from before, a vulnerability that he didn’t have when she was beneath him. She moved her hips up and down a couple of more times, the final connection sending a wave of pleasure over her body, her breath hitching before a soft moan released. This is where she began to find her rhythm, moving a little faster, her fingers sinking into his chest, digging into the skin as she dug her teeth into her lip, eyebrows furrowing as she attempted to hold back the whimpers that wanted to drop from her lips.

As she found her rhythm, Toji allowed himself to let out a low groan, his eyes closing as he savored the feeling of her body against his. The dig of her nails into his skin only drove him farther over the edge, his hands on her hips only holding her, fighting the demon that wanted to take control. He could feel her slowly gaining more confidence—he was loving it. 

“Riding my shit like a fuckin’ pro, baby…” 

She wasn’t sure why was so shy at this moment, and in order for her to feel good, she needed to relax. She swirls her hips around, running her fingers over her body in a way that makes her hips tremble, immediately placing her hands back along his chest as she moaned, “Need you to touch me…” as she takes one of his hands, placing it along her throat, face warm as she does so.

He clutches his palm around her throat immediately, still holding onto her hip, spanking her again, “Like that? That’s what you want?”

She nods, “Mhm,” sucking in a breath as she feels him using her throat as leverage to hold onto her, her breathing going back to quick inhales, and slow, heavy exhales, “Yeah, baby…love when you touch me like that.”

He’s becoming impatient—he can’t help himself. He gives her a new way to move, pulling her feet flat along the bed, raising his hands higher under her thighs to have a good leverage on her, before he’s lifting her up, dropping her down, bouncing her on top of him, the harsh movement causing their skin to make a loud noise, the impact making Nozomi fully gasp. It causes her to place her hand behind herself along his leg, the other still in front of his chest. 

She understands what he wants, doing just that, moving her entire body as her ass recoils to the slam of his abdomen, something she entirely was too sensitive for, but powered through in order to feel the pleasure that came with it. Her head was down, whining as her lower body shook, dragging up and plopping back down, a heavy groan dropping from her lips as her hair fell around her face and shoulder. 

She squeezed the skin she held onto as she messily moaned, “Oh my goddd—baby. baby, yeah—“ she squeaks, connecting their hips in between, “I can’t….” She pants, “Feels so…aghh.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

He was supposed to be letting her have her time on top, but he can’t hold back any longer. He growls against her skin, his voice almost a command, “Lean forward. Let me fuck you.” 

She leans into him, feeling as he wraps his arms around her lower back, his own hips thrusting upwards, the sound within the room like no other. Nozomi places her hand against his bicep, digging into the skin as she bleats, “Ooooh, shit, Toji—“ she gasps to herself, locking her hand over her mouth, shuddering wildly as she then wraps her arms around his neck as she cries, “Mmmm, wait, baby,” she whimpers out, unable to hold her voice back.

He buries his head into her neck, kissing, licking, biting, leaving a mark as he continues. 

“Nuh-uh, thought you could handle it? Thought you were a big girl?” He grunts in her ear, “Take my fuckin’ dick, big girl.”

He takes advantage of his movement, fully locking his arms under her legs, pulling her knees over his shoulders as she’s still on top of him. Her arms are still wrapped around his neck as he sits himself up a bit, holding her fully as he guides her roughly. His palms are hot as he holds the flesh of her ass, lifting her within the air as he yanks harshly, pussy sopping arousal as he slams her down onto his dick, his balls drenched in her cream.  Nozomi gasps against his mouth, blabbering cries faltering against his lips. She can only listen to the sounds their bodies create together, mewling in defeat. 

She pouts along his mouth as she whimpers, “Fuckin’ love you, babyy.”

He captures her lips with his own, his teeth gently tugging on her bottom lip as he grunts against her mouth, “Stop all that whining shit. Thought you hated me.”

She presses her forehead to his, “Don’t bring that up…” seeing how messy she was against him, her hand back in a deep grip on his hair. She goes silent for a moment, holding him close as she listens to their skin stickily connecting. But that didn’t mean he was done talking to her.

He moves himself slightly, shifting their position just enough for him to get a good angle to give a particularly aggressive thrust, enough to force a cry from her lips, “I know you fuckin’ hear me talking to you.”

Her heavy panting goes into a particularly long and raspy moan, her breath sucking in as she tries to fight it, back to pressing her forehead against his as she whimpers back, “Don’t hate you. Can’t hate you, when you’re fucking me like this…” she groans, eyes wanting to roll back again, “Sorry, baby…was so mean to you…”

He relishes in her groans, her whines, the way she’s unable to speak normally, the way she’s falling apart completely because of him. “You should be sorry. Now look at you.” 

He doesn’t halt at all, her small frame being carried effortlessly, lifting her up and down on his dick, his tip damn near reaching her throat. Her breathless pants are embarrassing to hear, but the squeal she makes when he swirls her hips down with a hard drop onto his hips, that's even worse. 

Her arms tremble as she tightens them around his neck, another aggressive moan pushing out her body, pleasurable tears triggering from that one. She gasps, “Oh my—“ she holds herself back, looking him in his eyes as she whines messily, “Forgive me, baby. So fuckin’ sorrry. Imsosorry,” cheeks hot as she listens to his arrogant laugh.

“Sorry, huh? You don’t mean it.”

“Mean it, baby. Fuck.” 

“It’s cause I’m fuckin’ you stupid,” he grunts, tugging her down, her walls gushing through his thrusts, spurting out suctions of air. 

She drags her tongue up his jaw, reaching his mouth as she pleads, “Said sorry already, baby. Know you wanna forgive me…”

He groans at that, keeping his composure as he talks to her, “Say you won’t be mean to me again,” he demanded against her lips, his grip on her hips tightening.

“Always gonna be nice to you, baby,” she whimpers, “Wanna be sweet to you…” she sucks on his lower lip, giggling in a way that makes her feel insane, so full of pleasure, she couldn’t even think.

“Yeah?” He asked breathlessly, his hands grasping a harsh and unforgiving grip on her hips, “You promise?”

“Promiseeee,” she moans back, “Fushigurooo,” she panics, gripping onto him, “I….my body…I feel numb.” 

She didn’t understand the feeling. She had experienced a certain amount of pleasure, but this was different. While all of this had been symphonies of pleasure, this was an entire orchestra. She was having her first orgasm.

“Just let it happen, baby.” He muttered against her neck, his lips against her skin, “It’s a good thing, I promise.”

Her entire body jolts, shivering in a defeated pleasure, a short scream releasing from her mouth as she holds onto him, her legs trembling as if she’d been electrocuted. Her knees shake over his shoulders as her eyes drop down to see her squirt against him, nails digging into his chest as she cried out, “Tojiii.” 

He presses his forehead to hers, his own body feeling like it’s on fire as she moans, “Ooh, fuck baby. You’re squirting. Keep cumming. Keep cumming. Keep. Fuckin’

Cumming,” he talks in between thrusts, sending her in a state of psychosis. 

The tears that drop from her eyes make her sob in pleasure, knowing his skin was welted with the way she clawed him, her face pressing into his neck as a warmth filled her cheeks. His brain is muffled as she whines, “Cum in me, cum in me. Cum in me.”

He tries to knock sense into himself, but with her in his ear, he grips her skin as he bottoms out, moaning as he cums to her voice. She made him insane.  

Both of them feel exhausted, but not as much as Nozomi. When she finally felt that her mouth wouldn’t release anymore shouts, her body still trembled as she whimpered, bringing her face deeper into his neck.

“Fuck, baby. You’ okay?”

She brings a hand over her face as she nods, unable to do anything else. All her vulnerability returns, realizing she was bare against him, realizing what’d she just done. What they’d just done. 

Her sudden shyness makes him careful. She��s vulnerable like this, and he wants to take the time to handle her, to treat her. He gently guides her body against his, rolling them so she’s against the mattress and he’s laid against her. He gently pries her hand away from her face, his fingers gently tracing over her cheeks. 

“Hey, pretty,” his deep voice greets her. 

Her face turns away, hiding within his shoulder for a moment. Silence goes between them as she softly says, “Hi.”

He lets out a soft laugh at her shy greeting, his hand gently rubbing the side of her body, his fingers gently tracing over her back. 

“You’ okay, baby?” He asked her stain, placing a gentle kiss against her temple, “You with me?”

“Mhm,” she replies gently, “I’m here.”

She whimpers as she feels him spank her attention to him, flicking her eyes as she says, “I’m just thinking.”

He can see the way she twitches from the smack, his voice dropping into a deep chuckle, “Thinking?” His tone is a tease, a playful taunt as he speaks, “I fucked you that good, huh?”

“Fushiguro,” she warns, “Jesus. Fuck off. Is this your way of pillow talk?”

“You’ got an attitude?” he raises an eyebrow.

He hikes her up as he growls into her neck, snatching her skin in a kiss that makes her giggle. She then says quietly, “I just…am curious to know what this means for us. Going forward…” 

She traces her finger over his chest, “If this just happened in the moment, or that you really wanted to be with me…”

The questions almost pissed him off. He’s never wanted anyone as much as he wants her. 

He suddenly captures her chin in his hand, bringing her face up to meet him as he spoke in a deep and serious tone, “I want you. I want all of you.”

The words are genuine, and her heart swells. She leans closer to his face as she grins, “Say it again.” 

She giggles as he raises her leg over his shoulder, spanking her again as he grunts, “I love you, Nozomi.”  

His words make her body warm, feeling as he gruffly kisses her neck, trying to prove his point. The way she smiles, the way the grin looks on her face…he’s completely smitten.  

“Say it back,” he grunts against her skin, his words like a breathless demand, “Say you love me.”

“I love me,” she says softly, giggling louder as he hovers over her now, growling against her skin as he spanks her a couple more times.

He chuckles against her skin at her sarcastic words, his hand gently digging into the flesh of her thigh as he pressed another possessive bite into the skin on her neck, just hard enough to make her squeal. 

“I swear. Say you love me, baby,” he teased her, nipping against her skin, “Please.”

She finally becomes serious, holding up his chin to look directly at her as she says, “I love you, Toji.”

A low groan drops from his lips as he captures her in a deep, hungry kiss, his mouth attacking her own as his hands tug at her body to pull her closer to him, “Again.” 

“I love you,” she muffled, giggling against his mouth, “I love you.”

His body is craving her even more after hearing her words, her voice a drug that’s suddenly driving him crazy, suddenly making him desperate and needy. His tongue forces its way into her mouth, desperate to fuck her. Eat her out. Something. 

She then pulls him back, “We need to get back to the reception before my sister kills me,” she giggles throughout his kisses, “Seriously, Fushiguro.”

He pauses, pulling back from her neck as he groans into her skin, pulling back to grumble against her skin, “Fine.”

“One more kiss,” he bargained with her, “Just one, before we go.”

“One,” she agrees, accepting the kiss from him. He then leans down, “Or two,” kissing her again, “Or three.” 

He can’t help but want to make her giggle. It had been so long since he heard it, he’d never make her stop. She sighs as she says, “Help me with this dress, please?”

“We’re really leaving? For real?” 

“Did you think I was joking?”

“A little.”

“Boy. Let's go.” 

“Didn’t you say you were gonna be nice to me earlier? You were like ‘aghhh, baby! imma’ be nice!’—“ 

“Fushiguro!” 

“…My bad.”

[misctf]

Me and my buddy get along well but I don’t have a father and for some reason I feel like I look up to him. He’s a brunette hockey player who really cares about his body and tracks all of his cals. Any way you could spike one of his beers and give me the best exjock dad ever?

“Let’s go!” Your bro throws down his game controller and looks over at you. His confident smile adorning his handsome, angular face, “I used that same move on the ice the other day.” His clear excitement is infectious and you can’t help but smile.

It was another one of your usual game nights with your bro. The two of you sitting on the couch, controllers in hand, playing some hockey videogame. And even though he always seemed to win, you just enjoy the moment. Your friendship started out when you were younger- the two of you meeting in grade school. And as the years went on, you grew closer. You’d go to his hockey games and cheer him on. He’d fill in as that male role model you needed. When you went to college, he’d continue playing hockey, while you focused on your studies. But you continued to enjoy each other’s company. But this was your last year, and he planned to move across the country. The very thought was painful. Losing him would be tough.

“Hey, you good?” He asks, “I told you I wasn’t going easy.”

You smile, “I was wondering,” You begin, “I know you don’t like beer...”

“Gotta keep these toned.” He says, running a hand down his exposed abs.

“But it’s bro night.” You continue, “I got some special beers for us.”

He seems to consider the offer. Part of him looking a bit apprehensive. After all, he spent much of his time focusing on maintaining his body. His lean muscles and thicc hockey butt were all products of his careful diet and dedicated workouts. But he could tell it would mean a lot to you. He nods slowly.

“One won’t hurt.” He says with a grin, “Cheers to another game night.”

Part of you feels relieved. Another part of you feels somewhat apprehensive. If the man you bought this beer from was telling you the truth... well, you didn’t know what to think. It was probably some prank anyway, and you probably wasted the money. You hand him a solo cup with the beer in it.

“To bro night.” He smiles and takes a sip of the beer, “You know, I’m gonna miss this.” You feel a pang of sadness in your chest, “But we’ll always be bros.”

You nod, taking in his words. Feeling a sense of impending loss. Wishing you could just enjoy these moments forever.

“I’m gonna miss this too... dad.”

He looks over at you and raises an eyebrow, “What did you just call me?” He chuckles.

And you can see it. A few hairs starting to emerge from his once clean-shaven face. A few greys appearing in his brunette locks. Was it true? Was this stuff really going to do what the man said it would?

“Nothing, dad.”

And as the words leave your lips, your buddy groans. His youthful skin starts to lose its glow. A few wrinkles appear on his forehead. And the hair on his face sprouts into a full beard. His hands rush to scratch his new facial hair and his eyes widen.

“Bro, what the hell...” He whispers, “Something’s wrong...”

“What do you mean, dad?”

You watch as his brunette locks begin to recede and his tan vanishes. All the while, small, itchy hairs start to sprout from your buddy’s chest and abs. At this point, he stands up and runs his hands down his new body hair. There’s a look of disgust and confusion on his face, and you can’t help but feel bad for him. After all, he did pride his clean-shaven look.

“You keep calling me dad.” He says, staring at you, “And now...” He catches a glimpse of his receding hairline and aged skin in the mirror, “Bro, please. Whatever you’re doing, you gotta fuckin’ stop.”

You could tell he was getting angry. But you were still marveling over the effects of this drink. You couldn’t believe it was actually working.

“Bro, are you even listening to me?” He says, “Please! You can’t...”

“Sorry dad.” You reply, putting even more emphasis on “dad.”

The effects are more dramatic. Your buddy lets out a pained moan and falls to his knees, gripping his abs. You can see tears fall from his eyes as he realizes his firm abs are feeling softer. And in only a few moments, his abs are covered by a thick layer of fat. And another. And another. And although your buddy is too busy squeezing his new flabby stomach, you can see his pecs fill with fat and sag, resting atop his new gut.

“This can’t be...” He winces at his new, gravelly voice, “Oh god, I sound so old.” He looks up at you, tears still staining his eyes, “Dude, come on... please... I can’t be this.”

A part of you feels bad, even guilty. Your friend’s anger replaced by fear. His confidence shattered. His toned physique truly replaced by that of a middle-aged dad. Part of you wants to reverse this. But you don’t even know how.

“I...” You bite your lip, “Look, I don’t even know if I can undo this, dad.”

Your buddy shuts his eyes and shakes as the short hairs erupt into longer follicles. You watch as a forest of hairs emerge from under his shorts and travel down his legs. His new gut and soft chest are covered in a forest of gray and dark hairs. And you realize now there’s nothing left of your old buddy, at least physically. His receding hairline, gray hairs, gut, and hirsute form all scream middle-aged dad. He slowly stands up, wincing at a pain in his lower back and knees, as he becomes more familiar with his new age.

“Dude...” He whispers, “What did you do?” You can hear the anger return to his voice.

“I didn’t want to lose you, bro.” You say, “And I’ve always looked up to you. And truthfully, I’ve always wanted a dad and the beer promised it could do that. Just as long as I called whoever drank it dad.” Your friend looks shocked and picks up the solo cup.

“Good one dude.” He laughs, “Okay, okay you got me. Maybe if I drink the beer and you call me bro or something, I can return to normal.” He says hopefully, “I promise we can forget all about this.” The desperation starts to creep back into his voice, “Just... please I don’t want this.” He begs.

You’re not a bad person. You even feel a bit guilty. And part of you even wants to do as he suggests. But another thought enters your head. Would he be able to forget all about this? Would he forgive you? You bite your lip and sigh.

“I’m sorry,” You can see his eyes widen in terror, “Dad.”

He drops the beer in his hand, causing the beer inside to spray everywhere. His eyes glaze over and his jaw goes slack. A part of you worries for a moment, but slowly he smiles. There’s no evidence of concern on his face.

“Ah sorry, I spaced out there for a second.” He chuckles, “Looks like I made a mess.” He goes to bend over to pick up the cup, but winces, “Damn back’s been acting up.”

“Don’t worry dad.” You say as he sits back down on the couch, “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m good, I’m good.” He reassures, “Come on, we have to finish our game.” He says with a grin, grabbing the game controller, “You know, I was quite the hockey player back in my day. Well before this.” He chuckles, patting his beer gut.

“I know.” You reply, sitting next to him, “You tell me all the time.” The two of you start to play, and you immediately notice his videogame skills are not where they used to be. But you’re enjoying this moment- going on as if nothing changed.

“Look at that!” He cheers when he scores a goal, “I told you not to take it easy on me, son.”

You go to reply but you feel a warmth coarse through your body. You quickly shake your head and return to the game. And only a few minutes later, he scores another goal.

“You doing okay there, son?” He asks.

And again, you feel a warmth coarse through your body. You look down at the controller and can’t help but notice that your forearms look a bit thicker- your hands meatier. You shake your head and look up at your dad.

“Uh, I’m good dad.” Your voice even sounds deeper- somewhat dumb too, “I-I gotta go to my room.”

You stumble towards your room, feeling somewhat off balance. Entering your room, you’re immediately hit by the smell of intense BO. The same way your bro would smell after a hockey game. There’s gear on your bed and random posters of hockey players on your walls. You barely have time to comprehend what’s going on, when you hear your dad’s voice.

“Hey son, are you okay?”

You groan as your muscles begin to contract violently and your shirt tears from your growing musculature. You can see yourself in the mirror- abs, thicc ass, and lean muscles- the body of a hockey player. And you realize that you’re becoming your dad’s ideal son. Somehow, the beer that splashed on you had the same effects as drinking it.

“Wait dad!” You call out, wincing at the oafish jock-like tone that saturates your words, “Please...!”

“Son?” He asks opening the door.

And your eyes glaze over. Your jaw goes slack. And you feel your mind warping and changing. Any memories you had of your old life or self are being forced into the very back of your mind- all to make room for your new existence as a smelly, ripped, hockey jock. Your dad’s perfect son.

“God it reeks in here.” Your dad laughs, patting you on the back, “Must be workin’ hard out there.”

“You fuckin’ know it.” You reply, eyes dull, “It’s gonna be a good game tomorrow, pops.”

“You learned from the best, champ.” He smiles, “Now come on, we got a game to finish.” You smile, “I want to show you one of my favorite moves. Worked every time. Maybe you can try it out on the ice tomorrow.”

“For sure, pops.”

You follow your dad back to the couch. The two of you playing videogames late into the night, filling the air with boisterous cheers as you played. You couldn’t have asked for a better dad. And he couldn’t have asked for a better son.

[passengerprincessblog]

“Lewis, Next Door”~ pt 1 Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Warning: age gap, alcohol?

Summary: Coming home from university, Y/N expects a quiet reunion with family—until she finds herself face-to-face with the enigmatic Lewis Hamilton, her dad’s famous neighbor and friend. What starts as a dull evening soon turns unexpectedly electric when Lewis offers more than just small talk.

I hadn’t been home all semester. Between studying, late-night group projects, and the occasional breakdown, the past few months at uni had been… a lot. I’d pushed through, and even though I’d missed my parents, there was something about finishing this term that made me feel a little invincible. I was finally here, though, bags slung over my shoulder as I hugged my mom in the doorway and let my dad ruffle my hair in that way he always did.

Home sweet home.

After the greetings and settling in, I noticed someone else was around. Our neighbor, Lewis Hamilton, was back too. Usually, he was off racing, so it was a rare sight. I wasn’t someone who followed F1 religiously, but I knew Lewis was a big deal—and the whole “dad’s friend” thing only made it more surreal. The few times we’d run into each other, I’d been struck by how effortlessly confident he was. Attractive? Absolutely. Intimidating? Without a doubt. But, honestly, I’d never thought much beyond that. He was just Lewis, the neighbor.

That night, my dad was throwing a big party to celebrate his latest product launch. Fancy guests, fancy decorations, fancy everything—the whole nine yards. I’d barely unpacked, and here I was, getting ready to play dress-up and smile politely for a parade of strangers. My friends were out clubbing tonight, living it up, and I couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy. But I loved my dad, so here I was, hair styled, makeup on point, feeling like I’d stepped into someone else’s life for the night.

As the party got into full swing, I did my best to stay interested, though I kept glancing at my phone, imagining my friends dancing somewhere with loud music and neon lights. Instead, I was here, weaving through clusters of my dad’s colleagues. He was chatting with a group of important-looking men, so I took my chance and approached him, feeling like a little kid again as I asked, “Can I please just have one drink?”

He shot me a disapproving look. “No. You know the answer.”

“Fine,” I muttered, trying not to let my frustration show. I wandered around a bit, catching snippets of adult conversation that were all about business deals and tax write-offs. Glamorous.

Finally, I spotted a lonely champagne glass on a table. I glanced around, and with a little thrill of rebellion, I picked it up, taking a sip. It was cold and crisp, and even though I’d never been a huge fan of champagne, it felt like a tiny slice of freedom. A few more sips, and I was actually starting to relax.

That’s when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned, and there he was—Lewis, giving me a knowing smile.

“I see you like my drink?” he teased, eyes glinting with amusement.

My stomach dropped. Oh god, I’d taken his champagne? “Oh my god. I’m so sorry… I didn’t know… I can get you a new one if you want, I just—”

He chuckled, shaking his head. His laugh was low and warm, and something about it made me relax, just a bit. “Nah, I’m messing with you. It’s fine. I don’t even really drink anyways.” He grinned, flashing a glimpse of a gold grill that made him look both mischievous and effortless, a vibe that seemed distinctly Lewis.

I managed a shy nod, suddenly unsure of what to do with my hands. “Oh… good. Thanks.” I couldn’t believe I was so nervous. But he just kept looking at me, his gaze both curious and relaxed.

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You bored? I’m so bored. No offense to your dad, of course.”

I let out a laugh, surprised at how blunt he was. “It’s boring,” I admitted, feeling a little guilty, but somehow knowing he understood. He had this whole wild, glamorous life, and a party like this was probably as dull as watching paint dry for him.

“So, what? You’re back from uni, huh? That’s crazy. I remember when you were like, ten,” he says, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

I feel my cheeks heat up with a pang of embarrassment. Here I was, feeling all cool and grown up, and he still saw me as a kid. Great.

“Yep,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light but failing to hide the faint annoyance.

“Well, you’re better than me,” he shrugs. “I never finished school.” I glance at him, surprised he’s trying to keep this conversation going. Usually, we barely exchanged two words, and now, here we were, alone, talking like… friends? Something more? I didn’t know.

“Well… yeah, but you’re a millionaire,” I say, trying to sound casual, though there’s a little hint of playfulness in my voice. I’m not exactly flirting, but maybe a little. Just testing the waters.

He raises an eyebrow, smiling at me but seeming almost uncomfortable at the mention of his money. He shrugs again. “You’re not exactly struggling either,” he teases back.

Was… that a flirt? Or was I just imagining it? It’s just the way he said it, the way his gaze lingers a moment longer than it should. My pulse quickens, but I try to play it cool.

“No… not exactly,” I say, catching his hint and matching his tone. I glance around, making a point about how dull this party is. “Just right now.”

He chuckles, and there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe next time, you come to one of my parties,” he says. It sounds more like a command than an invitation, like he’s decided I’ll be there.

I nod softly, trying to hide the thrill in my expression. He’s really inviting me? He seems amused, almost as if my reaction is endearing.

“Yeah, maybe,” I say with a slight shrug, finishing off the champagne. I feel his eyes on me, and when I look up, he’s studying me, like he’s considering something.

Then he breaks into a grin. “I could give you my number,” he says, casual but direct.

I raise an eyebrow, trying to mask the excitement bubbling up. “Oh?”

“So you can tell me next time you’re bored,” he adds, giving me a cheeky wink.

I feel my cheeks flush as I pull out my phone. He takes it from me, putting his number in. My hands are shaking just a bit when he hands it back.

“There,” he says with that familiar grin. “Now you’ll be set.”

“Cool. Thanks,” I say, somehow managing to keep my voice steady. Inside, though, I feel my heart racing.

He glances back at the party, then back at me, giving me one last wink. “I should probably go talk to your dad. See you around, Y/N.”

And then he’s gone, leaving me standing there, still holding the empty champagne glass, my mind spinning. His number. His number. A part of me feels like I’m floating.

———————————

Oo La La 🙈

Lmk of you like?!!??

Like and follow 💜

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Helo there! What do you think about Harry's and Neville's friendship? And the aspect of both of them possibily being the chosen one?

I like Neville and his dynamic with Harry, even if I don't think they're that close.

Like, Harry is more of a mentor for Neville with the DA rather than a friend who's a peer.

in fact, he barely spoke during D.A. meetings anymore, but worked relentlessly on every new jinx and countercurse Harry taught them, his plump face screwed up in concentration, apparently indifferent to injuries or accidents, working harder than anyone else in the room. He was improving so fast it was quite unnerving and when Harry taught them the Shield Charm, a means of deflecting minor jinxes so that they rebounded upon the attacker, only Hermione mastered the charm faster than Neville.

(OotP)

And I think Neville keeps looking up to him as a symbol and a leader less than as a person.

Nevertheless, his battered visage shone with happiness as he let go of Hermione and said again, “I knew you’d come! Kept telling Seamus it was a matter of time!”

(DH)

Neville kinda idolizes Harry in a way.

That's why I don't think they are particularly close, but they do care about each other. Harry feels a bit sorry for Neville and a little protective over him:

A hatred such as he had never known before was coursing through Harry like poison. He could see Black laughing at him through the darkness, as though somebody had pasted the picture from the album over his eyes. He watched, as though somebody was playing him a piece of film, Sirius Black blasting Peter Pettigrew (who resembled Neville Longbottom) into a thousand pieces.

(PoA)

“Doesn’t matter. They don’t want to spill too much pure blood, so they’ll torture us a bit if we’re mouthy but they won’t actually kill us.” Harry did not know what was worse, the things that Neville was saying or the matter-of-fact tone in which he said them.

(DH)

And he does trust Neville a lot. Both Harry and Neville have full faith in each other which I really like:

Dumbledore had died knowing that three people still knew about the Horcruxes; now Neville will take Harry’s place. There would still be three in the secret. “Just in case they’re—busy—and you get the chance—” “Kill the snake?” “Kill the snake,” Harry repeated. “All right, Harry, You’re okay, are you?” “I’m fine. Thanks, Neville.” But Neville seized his wrist as Harry made to move on. “We’re all going to keep fighting, Harry. You know that?” “Yeah, I—” The suffocating feeling extinguished the end of the sentence; he could not go on. Neville did not seem to find it strange. He patted Harry on the shoulder, released him, and walked away to look for more bodies.

(DH)

They have a sort of quiet understanding and while their friendship isn't super close, they do care about each other and like each other. They could've probably been good friends if they were given the chance to interact more. (That's another reason why I love DADA professor Harry with Herbology professor Neville to give them that chance)

Their dynamic, if they were to get closer, kinda reminds me of an older brother & a younger brother due to how much Neville looks up to Harry and how Harry is protective over Neville.

As for both of them being the Chosen One, well, they aren't both the Chosen One. Only Harry was Chosen at the end of the day. But, I think that by the end, Neville is a truer Gryffindor than Harry.

In book 7 Harry failed to retrieve the Sword of Gryffindor:

When Ron offered the sword, however, Harry shook his head. “No, you should do it.” “Me?” said Ron, looking shocked. “Why?” “Because you got the sword out of the pool. I think it’s supposed to be you.” He was not being kind or generous. As certainly as he had known that the doe was benign, he knew that Ron had to be the one to wield the sword. Dumbledore had at least taught Harry something about certain kinds of magic, of the incalculable power of certain acts

(DH)

The sword that only appears to a Gryffindor in need:

What was it, Harry asked himself (walking again), that Dumbledore had told him the last time he had retrieved the sword? Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat. And what were the qualities that defined a Gryffindor? A small voice inside Harry’s head answered him: Their daring, nerve, and chivalry set Gryffindors apart.

(DH)

rejected Harry, but embraced Neville:

In one swift, fluid motion, Neville broke free of the Body-Bind Curse upon; the flaming hat fell off him and he drew from its depths something silver, with a glittering, rubied handle—

(DH)

Add to that Harry's use of Unforgivables in book 7, and I feel like Harry was supposed to embrace his Slytherin characteristics in this book as a theme of the narrative, you know? Like the rejection from the sword and Harry needing to be more cunning than ever should've been this sort of closure. Of Harry's understanding, not all Slytherins are evil and he himself is a bit of a Slytherin and embracing it. It would've worked so well with Snape's story and the themes of the book, truly a missed opportunity to not make this idea of Harry finally saying "yes Slytherin" instead of "not Slytherin", and embracing the fact he is a bit of a Slytherin while Neville, who was terrified to be in Gryffindor, who asked the hat to place him someplace else, embraced being a Gryffindor fully. They have kind of small parallel barley-there arcs in a way that I found interesting in my current reread of Deathly Hallows. Like, I feel there was an intention there, as Harry does feel he is less of a Gryffindor throughout this book, even though he still is, I'm talking about his feelings on the matter.

I think this idea is there, just not as explored as I would've liked it. It is just interesting that the Sword of Gryffindor chose Neville as the true Gryffindor but rejected Harry who is the Chosen One because he was chosen by the Heir of Slytherin. Idk, I feel like there is something there.

[joelscurls]

best kept secret

pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 6.7k

summary: In an attempt to keep your relationship secret, Joel agrees to a blind date set up by his best friend / your father. You don't take it well.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, pre-outbreak, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel is 36), secret relationship, angst, explicit smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, semi-public sex, car sex, creampie, some fluff; lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: so sorry it took me almost a month to post something new ffs - life got busy and my inspiration simultaneously disappeared. but we're back, baby! anyway, dbf!joel owns my ass, so here's my rendition of him. as always, ty to my baby @javisashtray for reading this over for me and helping me through the creative process <3

Joel’s bedroom window offers a perfect view of the sunrise; of shy, pink light creeping over treetops and the roof of your dad’s house across the street.

It’s gorgeous — breathtaking, even — maybe because you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve actually seen the crest of morning. You’re far more privy to late nights and sleeping in as long as you can push it,  never been one to be up with the lark, so to speak.

You don’t mind the early wakeup call, though, not when it’s this: Joel’s head tucked between your thighs, his tongue rolling lazily over your clit, your eyes still adjusting to the light as he spreads you open for him.

He’s humming against you, his coarse beard tickling soft skin, thumbs dug into muscle to hold you in place as your back bows reflexively off the mattress. He looks so sweet like this, so eager to please, staring up at you with blown pupils.

“C’mon baby,” he purrs. “Just gimme one before you go.”

They’re the first words he’s said all morning, the first thought that’s necessitated utterance. His voice is hoarse and deep and drips honey-sweet at your core. 

Even so, despite how badly you want to — because you always want Joel’s mouth on you — you’re not sure you can. 

Because you need to get home before Denise next door leaves for her early shift. Before Susan a few houses down takes her dog out for a walk.

Before the neighborhood wakes and somebody sees you leaving Joel Miller’s house. Or worse, before your dad catches you slipping into the house in yesterday’s clothes, your car in the driveway still cold.

But with another experimental flick of Joel’s tongue, you forget all that, a content little sigh slipping past your parted lips, betraying you.

Just one, you tell yourself, and then you’ll head out.

“Fuck, okay — yeah,” you breathe, twisting your fingers into the roots of his curls.

With your permission, he buries his nose in your mound. Licks at you again — with more purpose, this time. One long, drawn out lap followed by another.  

He’s so gentle with you, so careful, caressing your folds with his tongue like they’re made of paper. It’s a dizzying juxtaposition to the way he laid you down last night and fucked you, teeth scraping your neck and cock bruising your cervix.

You’re still sore, your walls tender where he stretched them, but your pussy is drooling nonetheless, surely making a mess of the bedsheets underneath you.

Because you’re insatiable when it comes to Joel. 

For the past few weeks, since the first time you’d found yourself in his bed, you’ve craved him. Regardless of how sated he’s left you each and every time, you’ve needed more. 

It’s dangerous and stupid and undeniably wrong, having a fling with your dad’s best-friend. But you’re finding it difficult to consider the morality of it all when just his tongue makes you come harder than any other man’s cock ever has. 

That tongue, now dipping into your apex, drawing more slick out of you as his thumb finds your swollen clit — It’s overwhelming how good it feels, how good he is at this.

He’s bringing you to the edge languidly, savoring the taste of you, the feel of your silky flesh. It’s like he doesn’t want this to be over, needs to stretch the moment as far as it’ll go, milk every last second before you slip from his grasp.

But it’s going to end soon; it’s inevitable with the way he’s laving your pussy, the crushed velvet of his tongue gliding through your folds so wet and warm. Your orgasm is building, and you’re powerless to stave it off any longer.

“Joel,” you warn, his name a high-pitched whine. 

“Shh, I know babygirl; it’s okay.” 

Two of his fingers hook at your entrance and push in, pacifying you as his thumb continues working your clit. “I got you. Let go for me, sweetheart.”

The soothe of his voice floods your senses like nitrous; renders your body loose and your head foggy. You come apart with a string of shattered breaths, eyes rolled back and fingers twisted into the duvet.

Joel talks you through it: that’s it, pretty girl; so good for me; always so good for me, and though he sounds so far away, his words are the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

The world comes back into view slowly. Air settles in your lungs. And you can’t help but laugh at how fucked-out you feel when you peer down at Joel, his gaze already locked on you, expectantly.

“Okay?” he asks, rubbing at your inner thigh.

“Yeah,” you exhale, corners of your lips pulling taut. “More than okay.”

He smiles back at you. Props himself up with hands planted either side of you on the mattress and hovers over your feeble form.

“Good,” he whispers, dipping his head down to kiss your forehead, your nose, your mouth. He licks into you, letting you taste yourself on him — a little sweet, a little bitter — and his lips are so soft that you nearly melt. “Did so good, angel.” 

You want nothing more than to spend all day in this bed with him. Return the favor a few times over. Learn what he looks like in the afternoon sun against the backdrop of navy blue sheets. What he tastes like after his coffee rather than before.

“I don’t want to leave,” you admit against his mouth and he frowns, taking one of your hands in his. He presses a kiss to each of your knuckles, one by one, his eyes never straying from yours.

“I don’t want you to either, darlin’. But you can come back tonight, yeah?”

Tonight. Hours away. A whole day between now and then. But it’ll have to do. 

“Tonight,” you repeat. Solidify it. 

You slink home just as the street lights dim.

The house is quiet when you enter, apart from the incessant ticking of the grandmother clock in the living room. It sets off a throbbing in your head, a dull pang right at the front of your skull that you massage with two fingers as you ascend the stairs.

You move cautiously up each step, wincing at every creak of old wood. It must take minutes to reach the second-floor landing, and then you’re tiptoeing past your father’s room, listening for signs of sleep behind the seal of his door. Sure enough, you catch it, a single, drawn-out snore, loud enough that you let your feet fall, shuffling the rest of the way to the bathroom across the hall.

You immediately crank the shower on, climbing in as soon as you see steam. Lathering your skin with citrus-scented body wash, the smell of sex washes off your body and down the drain.

The warm water soothes your sore muscles; bittersweet relief. You stand there until the stream grows icy, stepping out and toweling yourself off just as you hear the familiar blare of your dad’s alarm on the other side of the wall.

By the time you’ve dressed and made your way downstairs, he’s already in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee with his back to you. 

Sink empty, counters borderline sparkling, a coaster tucked under his warm mug — your father is a neat man. He does not take kindly to mess.

God forbid, anybody disrupt the sacred balance of his home; move something and forget to put it back, break something of his that should be kept intact.

“Hey.”

“Hey, kiddo,” he yawns. Turns to face you. “You were up early. Heard the shower going.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you lie.

“Something on your mind?”

Heat blooms across your chest and up your neck. There’s no way he knows — you’ve been far too careful. Still, you’re on edge, and the question lodges itself between your ribs uncomfortably as you frantically search for an answer.

“Uh, n-no,” you stutter. “Just work stuff, I guess.”

He seems to buy it, reaching for the percolator and re-filling his mug with a sigh, “Just gotta give it time. You only just started. Plus, it’s your first job out of school. They don’t expect you to know it all right away.”

It’s good advice, if not misguided. You nod as if you’re absorbing it, taking it straight to heart. As if your mind isn’t preoccupied.

You grab a mug from the cabinet. Fill it with coffee and creamer. Perch yourself at the breakfast table and take a slow, steadying sip.

The caffeine has just about seeped into your bloodstream when-

-there’s a knock at the door.

Your dad shoots you a puzzled look, one which you immediately return. Who could that be, so early on a Wednesday morning?

And when he pushes open the door to reveal none other than Joel, you just about fall out of your chair. Your nails absentmindedly dig into the wood of the table in an attempt to brace yourself.

“Oh, buddy — hey! Come on in,” your dad says, patting him on the back as he steps over the threshold. “Wasn’t expecting you.”

You grasp the handle of your mug like a lifeline. For a fleeting moment, you worry the ceramic will shatter in your hands.

Joel is dressed — blue cotton t-shirt covering his broad back and the deep, red scratches you left there when you dug your nails into skin, your legs hiked over his hips and your face tucked into his chest.

The pair of boxers peeking over the waistband of his jeans are different from the ones you pulled off of him last night, the ones he shimmied back into before you slept cradled in his arms.

He’s a different Joel here, now — your father’s friend, your neighbor — not the man who breaks you down with his tongue or the one who calls you his good girl while you take his entire, throbbing length. 

No, this Joel, standing in your kitchen in the presence of your father, has never betrayed him. Hasn’t tasted his friend’s daughter or felt the tight embrace of her wet, warm cunt around his cock. This Joel is reliable, honest, not one to do harm.

You do not desire this Joel, cannot. You must look at him with apathetic eyes. Must keep the boat of your longing at bay. 

Easier said than done. It’s as if your desire for him is a feral beast, fed by his touch and left starving in its wake. You feel like you’ve just run a marathon, sweat beading at your collar as you not-so-subtly follow the subconscious flex of his hands, the bunching of fabric over his biceps.

His voice bounces off the backsplash, and your fingers tighten around the handle of your mug.

“Yeah, I uh — I went to make myself coffee and realized I was out. Was hopin’ you might have some to spare?”

He can’t be serious. He came over for coffee? He couldn’t get some on the road?

“I’m afraid she took the last of it,” your dad’s eyes point to you, and you ignore the burn of Joel’s gaze when his follow.

“Ahh,” he says. “‘ts okay. I’ll grab some on my way in.” 

His fingers taptaptap on the edge of the countertop, bottom lip tucked between his teeth like there’s something else. Another reason he came here.

And then you spot it — your wallet, dark red leather, poking out the top of Joel’s back pocket. 

You must’ve left it in his room before you hurried home. Somewhere amongst the mess of trinkets and trash on his dresser. You half-remember dropping it there last night as he’d kneeled in front of you and peppered kisses up the length of your leg.

Thankfully, your dad is oblivious as ever, giving Joel the perfect opportunity to inconspicuously slip you your wallet when he turns around and crosses the kitchen, placing his empty mug in the sink. 

Joel sidesteps once, twice, extending his arm and snapping it back as soon as you have the wallet in your grasp.

Your father clears his throat. Spins to find Joel exactly where he was. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts, wrestling a slice of bread out of the bag and dropping it into the toaster, “I gotta set you up with this co-worker of mine, Deb.”

Joel freezes. You watch as the color drains from his face and his large hand anxiously cards through dark curls. You’re pretty sure you freeze too, breath caught somewhere in your throat until your dad turns to you and you remember to exhale. 

“You know Deb, right, honey?” he asks. You mentally flick through the rolodex of your dad’s coworkers. 

There’s Leanne, tall redhead, hosted a potluck a few months back at which you tasted the worst mac & cheese you’ve ever had. And Barbara from accounting, who he got into a heated argument with over who makes the best BBQ in the city. You only remember her name because he hadn’t shut up about how wrong her opinion was for a full week. 

This woman actually thinks the Smoke Shop has got better ribs than Lou’s. I said to her, Barbara, your taste buds must be absolutely torched.

But Deb? You don’t recall a Deb. Still, you’re pretty sure you hate her, just in hearing her name in this context. 

You shake your head, no. 

“Well, I guess you haven’t seen her in a while. She was there that day I brought you into the office.”

“When I was ten?” you retort. 

“Yeah, I guess it was that long ago, huh?”

You shrug. He returns his attention to Joel. “Anyway, Deb – she’s around your age, just got divorced about a year back, and she’s a real nice woman. I think you two would really hit it off.”

“Is that so?” Joel replies. You swear his voice wavers. If your dad notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“You’ll like her Joel, I promise. I mean, when’s the last time you went out with a nice lady? Not since – what was her name — Jean? And if things were going well with her, I’d hope you’d tell your old friend.” The toaster pops, and he retrieves his slice of toast. Grabs a butter knife from the utensil drawer.  

“No, I ain’t seeing Jean,” Joel sighs. Flashes you an apologetic glance as your dad slathers his toast in artificial purple jam, blissfully unaware.

“Well, you gotta get back out there!” 

Joel’s gaze rolls to the ceiling. “I don’t know – I’m just not real interested in datin’ right now.”

You exhale, then — a quiet declaration of relief that seems to go unnoticed — unperturbed even when your dad continues his pitch. 

I’ve known this woman for years Joel, I’m telling you, the two of you’d be the perfect match; she’s a looker too, real pretty.

Ew. Tuning him out, you check the clock, find that you only have a few minutes before you need to get going. You stand from the table and make your way toward the sink with your now-empty coffee mug in hand.

Would I ever lead you astray? your dad is asking just as you brush past Joel. His hand, idle by his side, catches the fabric of your blouse and you have to fight to ignore the pinprick of electricity it ignites under your skin.

“No, I know,” Joel grumbles. “I trust your judgment ‘n all, ‘ts just-”

“Will you just give her a chance?”

“Jesus; fine.”

The mug slips from your grip, falls into the sink with a clang.

Your dad glares at you, expression softening only when you gesture to the still-intact ceramic lying on its side in the basin.

He’s quickly distracted, then, jotting a series of numbers down onto a scrap of notebook paper, the blue ink pressed in so hard that it’s beginning to bleed through. 

“Atta boy,” he drawls, sliding it across the counter. Joel pinches it between two fingers, folds the paper without looking at it and stuffs it into his front pocket. 

“Promise you’ll give her a call tonight? I may or may not have already talked you up, and I need to know you’re not gonna make me look bad here.”

Joel has to see you staring at him out of the corner of his eye. He must. If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under already. But he’s refusing to meet your gaze, eyes glued to the cabinet directly in front of him as he nods. “Yeah, I’ll call her tonight,” he says, a small, unconvincing smile pulling at the corner of his lips. 

He’s actually agreeing to this?

You need to get out of here before you say something rash.

The anger bubbles in you slowly, then all at once, threatening to boil over as you slip on your shoes and sling your bag over your shoulder. 

Marching toward the door, you offer a half-hearted bye, not bothering to look back before you leave.

The office is already milling with people by the time you stroll in, ten minutes late. 

The conversation between Joel and your dad is still running laps in your head as you sneak past your boss’s door.

It sticks there through the morning and well into the afternoon, your dad’s words an incessant earworm: I think you two would really hit it off.

The thing is — you can’t blame Joel for saying yes to the setup. Not really. Your situation is complicated, messy, bound to end badly.

Maybe he’d be happier with Deb. 

They could take walks together, stroll through the grocery store or down the street  hand-in-hand. Throw dinner parties and shamelessly gush about their relationship to their friends. All without fear of being caught doing something wrong.

Because that’s what this is, you and Joel — it’s wrong. Not like you weren’t already well aware of that. Leave it to some woman you’ve never met to rub it in.

The day passes infuriatingly slow.

The pile of emails in your inbox only grows larger by the time you’re due to clock out, stack of reports on your desk barely touched. You wince when your boss stops by your cubicle on her way out, eager for an update.

“Sorry, Linda; a couple of these were more time-consuming than I’d hoped,” you lie. But you can tell she doesn’t buy it, not one bit, her expression souring as you shuffle through papers.

“I need these done by the end of the week, no matter what.”

“Of course,” you mutter, face heating with embarrassment. “I’ll get them done and on your desk by Friday.”

“Thanks.” Her heels are already clacking on tile when you open your mouth to apologize again, your sorry lost to the ether.

You gather your things and scramble to your feet as soon as she’s out of view, not sticking around to watch your computer power down. By the time you get to your car, Joel’s number is already dialed on your phone.

He picks up after two rings.

“Darlin’ — are you okay?”

It’s admittedly uncharacteristic for you to call him so early. You usually wait until after dark, when you’ve both retreated to your respective bedrooms, away from listening ears.

But this can’t wait. It’s been eating at you all day, digging into your work. If you don’t talk to him about it, you’re going to end up unemployed. You don’t bother to ask if he’s still on the job site, around other people. “You’re going on this date.” It’s not a question. More of an accusation.

“Baby,” he sighs. You try your best to ignore his molasses drawl and the way it seeps into your chest. 

“Why didn’t you say no?” 

“How could I?” he groans. “There’s your dad, askin’ me if I’m seein’ someone, sayin’ he’s already told this lady about me – what am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice comes out a whine. “Make something up. Tell him you’ve taken a vow of celibacy.”

He laughs, low and breathy on the other end. “Yeah, baby. Think he’d believe that one, f’sure.”

“Fuck,” you huff. “I just— I don’t-“

You want to tell him not to go. To cancel. Fake his own death. Do whatever it takes to get out of this. But you have no right, not really. The two of you aren’t dating. You don’t have any control over what he does or who he sees. And you don’t want that, no. You just want him to choose you.

“I don’t wanna go, darlin’. I really don’t. But if I do this, I think it’ll get him off my back for a while. He won’t have a reason to suspect that I’m foolin’ around with his daughter.”

Fooling around. His phrasing is a metaphorical punch in the gut.

It’s not exactly a lie. You haven’t put a label on this thing, whatever it is. It’s been purely physical: lips slotted to lips, tongues pressed together, swapped sweat and saliva. But hearing it reduced to two words, words with such a casual connotation — as if you haven’t been driven by overwhelming desire — makes your stomach churn.

Joel doesn’t seem to clock it when you go quiet, a cocktail of rage and sorrow sloshing around your insides. “It’s for the best,” he adds, a shot of hard, burning liquor. 

“Yeah,” you say defeatedly. Choke back the pathetic tears that creep up your throat. “For the best.”

He ends the call with the excuse of bad cell reception. Promises to talk to you later. You’re not sure that you believe him.

The phrase fooling around curls up in your head, a wet dog, its fur dripping into the crevices of your rattled brain the entire drive home.

You dodge Joel’s calls for the remainder of the week.

There’s no use in talking to him when you have nothing to say, when you know any words you attempt will be overtaken by tears.

Even so, it doesn’t stop him from trying. His number lights up the screen of your phone at least twice a day.

He leaves voicemails that you do not listen to. You can’t. The last thing you need is his syruppy drawl in your ear. You’ll break; you know you will.

So instead, you delete them. Rid yourself of temptation.

But you still ache for him — a devastating truth. You lumber through the days, bones heavy with hurt. Find yourself kept up at night by thoughts of Joel and the infuriatingly soothing timbre of his voice, the intoxicating callous of his fingertips against your soft skin. 

It’s a lonely thing, yearning for Joel Miller.

On Friday, your father beams at the dinner table. He’s grinning like a child as he stuffs a forkful of rice into his mouth.

“Joel and Deb’s date is tomorrow,” he says. “Think they’ll really hit it off, don’t you?”

You’re dumbfounded for a long moment — can’t believe that this is your life now: being asked about your thoughts on Joel and the ever-elusive Deb as a couple. When it takes too long for you to answer, your father’s fork stills pointedly on his plate, and you sputter.

“Oh! I mean, I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t remember Deb.” You can’t help your condescending tone. Your dad doesn’t seem to catch it anyway. 

“Well,” he says, “I think they’ll be a match. Hoping so, anyway. The man has been such a hermit lately — maybe if he has a lady, he’ll get out more!”

“You sound real excited,” you grumble. Stab four peas on the prongs of your fork.

“It is exciting. I’ve never set anyone up before. And the best part is, the place they’re going to — the Tavern — it’s got rooms you can rent out for wedding receptions. Just imagine if down the line, they got mar-“

“Dad,” you stop him. You think you’ll be physically sick if you let him finish that sentence. “Sorry, I just — I’m really tired, all of a sudden. I think I’m going to head to bed early.”

It’s not a complete lie. You’re emotionally exhausted as a result of the past couple days. Sleep sounds like a much-needed, blissful escape right now.

Your dad doesn’t question you. He just nods. Swipes your plate from in front of you and brings it to the sink along with his.

Of course, you find it impossible to actually drift off that night. Tossing and turning, you battle the glaring urge to get up, slink into the home-office and look up directions to the Tavern. 

Not that you’re planning to go there anytime soon — you’re just curious. That’s all. 

Around midnight, you give up, pad down the hallway and into the room parallel yours. The computer dials up slowly, and you chew your bottom lip as you wait. 

You snatch a piece of paper from the printer and a pen from the #1 Dad mug that sits next to the monitor. Click on the internet icon and type the words into the search bar.

This is definitely a bad idea. Maybe the worst you’ve had in a while.

You jot the address down anyway.

Downtown Austin is buzzing with life. 

Patrons spilling out of bars, tourists striding down the street in their brand new Stetsons – it almost distracts you from the task at hand. 

At just past seven, you’d told your dad you were going out, meeting a friend for drinks. He’d been a bit taken aback, seeing as you’re not very social these days, but he’d seemed happy. Relieved. 

That’s not what you’re doing, of course.

No – in reality, you’re turning into the parking lot attached to the Tavern. It’s packed to the brim with cars, but you still manage to find Joel’s truck, its license plate number burned into the back of your mind after countless mornings of absently reading it as you snuck past.

It’s idle and empty when you inch by, and even though you knew he’d be here, on this date, your heart still sinks. Because maybe a tiny part of you had hoped he’d stand Deb up. 

You should leave. It was stupid to come here in the first place. What are you going to do — storm inside and demand that he leave with you?

You consider it for half a second, groaning when you realize how pitiful you are. Defeated, you swing your car into a spot at the back, facing the building, and shift it into park. You hug the steering wheel dejectedly.

From here, you have a straight-shot view of the restaurant’s entrance, a set of double doors at the side of the building. Groups spill out every so often, every pair that emerges causing your back to arch reflexively.

Joel and Deb are probably discussing their interests right now, bonding over a shared connection with your dad. You can vividly picture the smile likely plastered across his face — the same one you’ve elicited with sweet filth whispered in his ear.

And you’re here, sitting in your running car, watching the door. Your pulse thumps obnoxiously loud in your ears.

Minutes pass like molasses, slow and thick. You watch the clock on the car radio obsessively, betting with yourself on what time they’ll leave. After thirty minutes of nothing, you’re convinced that they’re going to close the place out.

But then the door opens again, and you straighten up, immediately met with the sight of Joel and Deb. 

She’s talking animatedly, eyes widening every few words, blonde hair wafting around her narrow face. It’s undeniable that she’s stunning, even from far away; possesses the kind of beauty you see on magazine covers in line at the grocery store. The jealousy that pools in your gut burns like acetone in an open wound.

She takes his arm as they walk toward the parking lot, and he lets her, despite the rest of his body appearing strangely rigid.

You wonder if he’ll take her home. Lead her to his truck, help her up the step to the passenger seat and sneak a look at her ass under her dress before shutting the door. If they’ll leave her car in the lot for the night, come back to retrieve it in the morning once he’s helped her forget about her loser ex-husband; let the scent of her perfume seep into the bed sheets to cover up yours.

But he doesn’t lead her to his truck. You watch as they unexpectedly turn down a row of cars, disappearing from your view completely, his arm still locked with hers. 

He could still kiss her. Press her against the car. Promise her that he’ll call — and he will, first thing tomorrow. He’s probably just being a real gentleman. Treating her like a woman he might want to marry someday. 

Maybe he knows, after just one date, that she’s his soulmate. He’ll buy the ring in a couple weeks. They’ll be engaged in a month’s time, and he’ll say he just couldn’t wait any longer. 

She’s the one thing I’ve been missing.

You stew in the agonizing unknown for what feels like hours before Joel materializes once again, backside illuminated by headlights as he strides toward his truck.

And then — he stops. You see the exact moment he notices your car in the parking lot, his eyebrows threading together and his hands splaying over his hips.

He’s staring directly through the windshield. At you.

Fuck.

He takes a few slow steps. Stops in front of the hood. Narrows his eyes and flexes his jaw.

With a deep breath, you unlock the doors. Gesture for him to get in the passenger side. 

He immediately rounds the car, prying the door open and climbing inside just as a SUV pulls out the row he and Deb had walked down. 

The door slams when he yanks it closed. The sound echoes through the cab of the car.

“You wanna fuckin’ explain what you’re doin’ here?” he snaps. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, embarrassment and now, anger, spooling hot behind your ears.

You know you’re in the wrong. You shouldn’t have followed him. But does he have to be so hostile?

When your gaze finally meets his, he looks — distraught — jaw clenched and lips set in a straight line. His fingers absently dig into denim-covered thighs.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, “I just wanted to see how you were with her.” And it’s the truth; not one you want to be admitting right now, to him, but it’s the truth nonetheless.

“Doesn’t give you the right to spy on me.”

“So what was I supposed to do? Sit at home and mope while the guy I was seeing is on a date with someone else? Oh no, I’m sorry,” you throw your hands up, form air quotes with your fingers, “the guy I was fooling around with.”

This seems to strike a nerve. His jaw twitches, and his fingers still on his lap.

“It wasn’t like that,” he grits

“No? Isn’t that all this was to you: fooling around?”

There’s a beat. Joel sighs. 

“No — fuck, no. Of course not.”

His expression softens. A crack in solid stone. “I tried callin’ you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” you admit.

He nods. Another beat.

“Did you kiss her?” you ask.

“No.” He says it with intent, with promise, eyes firmly locked on yours now. 

Your mouth goes dry.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats. “I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want to.”

“You don’t want her?” 

“No,” he says flatly, his pupils bulging in the lamplight, black bleeding into the brown of his irises. “I don’t want her.” 

“Why not?” 

He leans forward. His weight presses into the center console and his breath fans your face — warm, tinged with the scent of cheap beer.

“I don’t want her,” he says, voice an octave lower, “because I want you. I thought you knew that?” 

The radio drones between the two of you, some classic rock song you think you recognize flitting through the speaker. Your pulse beats staccato in your throat, off tempo.

“You want me?” you ask, a little breathless, and the next words you say are beyond dumb, beyond reckless, but you say them anyway. “Prove it.”

Joel doesn’t hesitate. He closes the slight distance between you and kisses you, hard, his tongue frantically sliding against yours through parted lips.

It’s sloppy, and desperate, and you feel drunk on the taste of him, on longing laced with carnal need. He’s groaning into your mouth, grabbing your head with both hands, burying his fingers in your hair — as if he can’t get close enough, as if he’ll only be satisfied once he’s swallowed you whole. You’re pretty sure you want him to.

Your hands move frantically to his t-shirt, then, bunch into the fabric and pull. You need to feel the skin underneath, need to rove your hands along his bare chest. He accommodates, tugging the shirt by the back of the collar, lips separating from yours ever-so-briefly to bring it over his head and toss it onto the backseat. 

And then he’s back on you, licking into your mouth again, eliciting a whimper from you when his hand wraps around the side of your throat, just under your jaw. 

Your palms splay across his torso, wander over warm, golden skin. You’ve missed this, god, you’ve missed this — but it’s still not enough. You need to feel more of him. In your mouth, in your hand, in your cunt — you’re not picky. Just need him in whatever way he’ll provide.

“Joel,” you whimper into his mouth, fingers winding around his bicep. 

He pulls back. Peers at you through hooded eyes. “What is it, baby?” he asks through labored breaths. 

“Need you — please.”

He immediately unbuckles your seatbelt. Lowers his seat back and manhandles you onto his lap. You go easily; slot yourself to him with legs folded on either side of his thighs. 

Wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, you grind down into his lap. His cock strains against denim underneath you. He groans when you swivel your hips and brush the heft of it again with your clothed heat.

“You gonna let me fuck you?” he asks into your mouth, his forehead pressed to yours.

Your breath catches. 

You know what he’s really asking: are you going to  let him fuck you here, in the parking lot of a public establishment, where anybody could see?

But you don’t care. In fact, you’re way past caring, the emptiness of your cunt too painful to ignore any longer. Let them watch him take what’s his.

You nod frantically. “Yes,” you pant. “Please.”

Joel nods too, as if he’s accepting his fate. He’s going to fuck his friend’s daughter in the passenger seat of her car. There’s no way around it — not when you’re begging for it. He’s going to give you what you need.

“Okay,” he soothes, “I got you baby.” 

He helps you out of your pants, then; clumsily maneuvers them down and off your legs along with your panties and tosses them aimlessly into the back.

He doesn’t bother to take his jeans off. Lets you unzip them and pop the button open, your nimble fingers making quick work of it. And then you’re pulling his cock out of his boxers, stiff and leaking in your grasp.

You steady yourself with hands on his shoulders just as he begins to pepper placating kisses along your neck. “Go ahead baby,” he whispers into your ear. “Take it; it’s yours.”

His head falls back against the seat as you stroke him a few times and line his cock up with your dripping entrance, his hands clasped around your waist. 

You sink down slowly, savoring every inch of him as he burrows in deeper. He’s so thick, stretching you like it’s the first time again, your walls fluttering as they relax around his cock.

“Fuck,” Joel slurs, fingers digging into your skin impatiently when you still, fully seated on him.

“Gotta move baby — please move.”

He’s so fucking deep, though, his cockhead bumping your cervix, and your entire body feels gelatinous atop him. A cloying sort of heat hangs around your head. You swivel your hips weakly, your forehead falling to rest on his with a heavy sigh.

Joel is happy to take control, bucking up into you so hard you see stars. You can’t suppress the string of moans that spill from your mouth, and Joel doesn’t seem to mind. He’s just as loud, anyway, his broken sounds bleeding into yours, bouncing off glass and leather.

Neither of you can muster an actual word, though, not with him rutting up into you, sheathing himself in your pussy over and over again. He’s relentlessly hitting that spot — the one that has you practically clinging to him for dear life. 

It’s approaching too quickly; he’s going to make you come.

One of your hands flies to the roof of the car in an attempt to brace yourself, flat palm pressing into it so hard you worry it’ll pop. 

Joel takes the opportunity to drag you down in his lap, spearing you on his cock, and the sudden change in angle makes you cry out.

“Oh f— ahh, oh my—“

“That’s it,” he coos, “you got it, babygirl.”

His words tip you over the edge, your entire body locking up as you gush around him. You’re wetting his lap, slick splattering his thighs, and he loves it, his fervid moan telling you so.

His movements begin to falter then, hips stuttering underneath you as he chases his own high.

“Cmon, baby,” you goad, “please fill me up.”

He grunts when he spills inside, his face nestling in your chest, heaving as he works through it and begins to come down. You don’t move, not that Joel would let you, still holding you on his lap like he’s afraid to let you go.

You nuzzle into his embrace as his cock softens inside you.

You stay like that for a while, probably too long given that anybody could easily look into the car and see you straddling him. You don’t have the energy to care.

Eventually, you lift your head from its spot on Joel’s chest. Look up at him with bleary eyes.

“Joel,” you say.

He meets your gaze, face shiny with sweat and his hair a mess. He looks gorgeous like this, you think. The way only you get to see him.

“Yeah?” He grazes along your arm with featherlight fingers. His touch raises goosebumps on your skin.

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“About wanting me.” In truth, you’re not sure you want the answer. But you need to know, definitively, if Joel is yours. You’re done sharing him.

“Oh, baby,” he drawls. “Of course I do. You’re all I want. Do you want me?”

And it’s a stupid question. He has to know that. You’re nodding before he can even finish it. “Yes,” you breathe. “I want you, Joel”

“Then it’s settled. It’s me and you. No more…interlopers.”

You giggle. Reluctantly separate yourself from his body and re-dress. You settle back into the driver’s seat with achy legs.

You’ve never felt more content than you do in this moment.

Still, you’ll have to hide — won’t be able to share the news of your new relationship with friends or coworkers, your dad — and neither will Joel. 

You don’t care much, not as long as he’s yours, but you need to be sure he feels the same.

“Joel,” you stop him as he opens the passenger-side door to get out. He stills with one leg swung out the door.

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“Are you sure you don’t mind…being a secret? Don’t mind keeping me a secret?”

He looks at you like you have two heads.

He pulls his leg back into the car. Shuts the door and leans over the console again.

Taking your chin between his fingers, he forces your gaze. Makes sure you’re listening.

“I want you — doesn’t matter who knows or doesn’t know. Long as you’re mine.”

Your chest tightens, and your heart squeezes inside your ribcage.

“I’m yours?”

He smiles. Presses a chaste kiss between your eyes, on the tip of your nose, on your lips. The same way he did the other morning. 

It all feels somehow sweeter, now.

“Yeah, angel. You’re mine. My girl.”

end notes: tysm for reading! please consider commenting and/or reblogging if you enjoyed! I've been toying with the idea of turning this into a series so lmk if that's something you'd be interested in hehe.

Also, I hopped on the bandwagon and made a sideblog for notifs! I'll be doing away with a taglist from here on out, so follow @joelscurlsupdates & turn on notifications if you wanna be notified when I post a new fic :-)

tag list: @janaispunk @amanitacowboy @fhatbhabie @frannyzooey @lola8888673

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter one ♡

Summary: Joel Miller has been your best friend for four years, and your trust in him is as solid as ever. However, things go awry one night after a heated argument, and you find yourself in a position you never thought you'd be in: naked, underneath him, with his eyes devouring you like there's no tomorrow. And when you wake up the next morning, you know it right away, reality piercing your chest; things will never be the same again.

Word count: 9.4K

A/N: Okay, I was planning for the first chapter to be 4K words MAX, but my imagination went crazy with this lol I really hope you like it. I really enjoyed writing this <3 don't forget to leave feedback, tell me what you think!

If you want to be on the tag list, let me know too.

You met him on the night of your twenty-second birthday, at the small party Cassie had put together for you in her dimly lit apartment. You hadn’t wanted much of a celebration, nothing bigger than a few close friends, and certainly not a group of strangers. But when Brianna swept in, holding hands with a man you didn’t know, and introduced him as her boyfriend, you felt a vague flicker of annoyance, the kind that accompanies unmet expectations.

"I thought it was just going to be us," you mumbled to Cassie, catching her in the kitchen as she poured herself another glass of wine.

She looked at you, her cheeks already flushed, eyes bright. "They're a few of my friends, too; they’re nice—you’ll like them if you give it a chance." She smiled, urging you to relax, as though she could tease you out of your mood. "It’s your birthday; don’t be so sullen."

"I didn’t know Brianna was bringing her boyfriend," you said quietly, as Cassie started back to the living room.

She paused, giving you a half-smile over her shoulder. "Neither did I, actually," she admitted, lowering her voice. "Apparently, they've been together for about a month. She’s really into him."

And she was. Brianna clung to him all night, her laughter spilling out freely, unrestrained and buoyant from the wine. It wasn’t long before someone suggested karaoke, and as voices rang out in the next room, you slipped quietly back into the kitchen, craving a moment of solitude. You were surprised to find Brianna’s boyfriend there, leaning against the counter, scrolling absently through his phone with a glass of water in hand.

He looked up, straightened, and offered you a tentative smile. “Oh, hi. Happy birthday,” he said, his voice warm but reserved. “Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to say it earlier…”

“No worries,” you replied, your tone reassuring. “Thanks.”

He hesitated, as though weighing what to say next. “Are you having a good time?”

You gave a slight shrug. “It’s…” but before you could finish, he cut in with a knowing smile.

“It’s okay. I don’t love my birthday either.” His eyes glinted in the soft kitchen light, and you felt a small smile tugging at your own lips.

You looked at him then, really looked at him, allowing yourself the indulgence. “I didn’t want to admit it,” you said, feeling the faintest hint of heat rising to your cheeks. “What was your name again?”

“Joel,” he answered, his gaze drifting briefly back to his phone. “Sorry, I’m a little on edge tonight. Left my daughter with a new babysitter. I think she’s having a rough time.”

Your eyebrows rose in mild surprise; you hadn’t pegged him as a dad. You moved closer, pouring yourself a glass of orange juice and asked, “How old is she?”

“Four. Her name’s Sarah.” He ran a hand through his hair, and you could tell he was tense. “It’s only the second time she’s been with this sitter, and apparently, she’s been crying all evening.”

“Oh, poor thing,” you murmured sympathetically. “She’s little. Changes like that must be hard on her.”

He sighed, his gaze drifting to the side as he typed something quickly on his phone. “I should probably get going. Brianna won’t love that idea; we’d planned to stay out…” He paused, eyes flicking up to meet yours, worry etched across his face. “You think she’ll be too mad?”

“No,” you assured him, though you knew Brianna wouldn’t be pleased. “Go be with your daughter. She’s little; she needs you. Brianna will understand.”

A grateful smile spread across Joel’s face, and for the first time, you noticed the faint dimple on his cheek. For a fleeting second, you wanted to reach out, trace it with your thumb.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on you in a way that felt unintentional, yet steady. “I hope your night gets better once karaoke is over,” he added with a quiet laugh. "Wish me luck."

You chuckled, meeting his gaze. “Good luck, Joel.”

He left with that same soft smile, and you watched him go, his warm brown eyes leaving an odd impression, like an unclaimed memory. And, as expected, Brianna didn’t understand. She spent the rest of the night sulking, casting sharp words at Joel through her bitterness.

“You knew he had a daughter when you got with him, this was bound to happen at some point,” Cassie told her, fed up with the other's complaints.

You didn't hear the answer, as you were distracted by watching the colorful pictures someone had put on the television.

You heard nothing more from Joel for a couple of weeks, until Cassie blurted out the gossip one morning while you were having lunch at her house.

“He broke up with her,” she began to tell you. “He told her she wasn't being empathetic and that he couldn't drop everything to party with her as if they had no responsibilities.”

It was no surprise. Brianna was a woman who lived at night; she was twenty-three years old and enjoyed it with the freedom that was rightfully hers. You couldn't blame her for wanting to have fun with her boyfriend. But Joel lived a very different reality than she did; at twenty-eight, he had a daughter to take care of, routines to follow, and a lot of work to do.

Although you thought it would take her longer to get over him, it wasn't long before she met a guy at her gym and got into it with him, outgrowing Joel in a matter of days. But for some reason, Joel’s warm, steady gaze stayed with you, like a whisper that hadn’t fully faded.

Years passed quietly, slipping through your fingers like sand until, suddenly, it was your twenty-sixth birthday. This time, the scene was different: you’d moved into your own place just two days earlier, and there was little thought of celebrating. Instead, the weekend found you alone, arranging your things and attempting to bring order to the chaos of a new home.

It was a crisp Saturday morning, and you stood in your front yard with a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice in hand, humming along to some eighties tune drifting in from the living room. The song—one of those upbeat ones that made even housework feel light—had lifted your spirits, and you moved rhythmically as you pushed plastic flowers into the dirt along the front path, sending little puffs of air to make the petals flutter.

You were lost in your task when you heard soft footsteps behind you, instinctively making you turn.

“Oh, hello,” you said, quickly masking the slight surprise the girl’s sudden appearance had given you.

She looked at you with wide, curious eyes, seemingly unfazed by her solo adventure.

“Hi. What’s your name? Do you live here?” she asked, her gaze shifting from your face to the flowers in your hands.

Glancing around for any sign of her parents, you noted her relaxed stance, like she’d been coming here all her life. Smiling, you nodded and gave her your name. “Yep, I just moved in.”

She looked unimpressed. “This house was empty for a while. I didn’t like the kid who lived here before. He was a pain in the ass—”

“Sarah!” came a sharp voice from behind, making you jump slightly. Heavy footsteps approached, and you squinted against the sun to see a figure striding toward you, his features obscured by the bright morning light.

When he stepped closer, his face came into focus, and your breath caught. You knew him.

“Sarah, you can’t just leave the house like that,” he said sternly, a furrow in his brow, his tone more parental than reproachful.

He turned to you, and the scowl softened as recognition dawned.

“Joel,” you murmured, the name slipping out before you even meant to say it aloud.

His expression shifted into a surprised smile, and that was all it took to break the ice between you. You explained that you’d just moved in and were still settling. Joel offered to help with anything you needed, including taking a look around the house to ensure everything was in order. He formally introduced you to Sarah, now eight years old, who had nearly scared him to death by sneaking out. She had his same lively spark in her eyes, a brightness that seemed familiar.

That evening, Sarah invited you to dinner with them, leaving Joel with little choice but to agree. And one dinner became many, as evenings blurred into weekends, and you found Joel’s presence in your life weaving into something inseparable from your routine. He started popping by to help with small projects, fixing kitchen cabinets or adjusting the wobbly front steps, visits stretching into movie marathons or lazy conversations with cold beer in hand. Days flowed into evenings of chatting over the meals you cooked to share with Sarah, and sometimes her uncle Tommy. Though Joel claimed he was no cook, his barbecues were legendary, and you couldn’t deny you looked forward to them most of all. And soon enough, he was there for everything, from driving you to doctor’s appointments to accompanying you on those grocery runs he pretended to hate. He even started showing up early on days he knew you’d need a ride. Over time, he became the best friend you’d ever had, a safe place, someone who felt like family. With everyone else scattered—Cassie overseas, old friends moved away—Joel became your rock.

It wasn’t something you dared to admit to yourself often, but you couldn’t imagine your life without him. And maybe that’s why you never allowed yourself to voice those little fleeting thoughts, the ones that flitted through your mind every now and then: how safe you felt whenever he threw his arm around your shoulders, or how good he looked reclining on his couch after a long day. Or how perfect it felt when the three of you—Sarah dozing on his lap, you leaning into his shoulder—sat together in the warm silence of a Sunday afternoon. There was an ache, too, a quiet pang whenever he mentioned another woman. Thankfully, that was rare; Joel once told you, with a shrug, that he “wasn’t really looking for that sort of thing.”

Sometimes, you watched him carefully as you talked about your own dates, hoping to catch a glimmer of jealousy in his gaze, some subtle cue that maybe he felt the same way. But there was never anything you wanted to see, and you always felt silly for looking. So, you buried it all. The risk of ruining things with Joel wasn’t worth the confession.

One afternoon, however, your emotions almost escaped your eyes when, while preparing Joel's birthday cake, Sarah dropped a piece of news that caught you off guard. She told you, with her usual nonchalance, that Joel had gone out the night before with someone new.

“Yeah, it’s like… the third time they’ve gone out,” Sarah mentioned while spreading cream on the sponge cake. “I don’t know her name or anything, just that he met her in line at the bank,” a laugh choked in her throat, amused at imagining her father flirting with some woman in a public space.

You forced a smile, laughing along like it was funny.

"And who stayed with you last night?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual.

Not that Sarah was necessarily a baby; she was already twelve and extremely independent. But Joel never left her alone if he went out for the night, he knew how much she loved spending time with you watching movies and eating junk food. Then, when he arrived, you would pester him with gossipy questions and he would pretend to get angry and then answer every one of them.

“Uncle Tommy," she said, eyeing her work with satisfaction. “We had fun, but I kinda wished you’d come too. Hey, what do you think?” she fingered the cream neatly arranged with the angled knife.

“It's perfect,” you smiled at her, not waiting too long to ask the question you wanted so badly. “Why didn't you call me then?”

Sarah started sprinkling colorful sprinkles on top of the cream and looked at you for a second when she noticed the tone in your voice at the last word. She didn't seem to think much of it.

“You were busy, weren't you? Dad said you had something to do.”

Her answer hit you like a small weight to the chest. Joel had purposefully left you out. He’d even made an excuse for Sarah’s benefit. So, there had been three dates—three times he’d kept this woman a secret. A small knot formed in your stomach as you forced yourself to smile, still watching Sarah as she concentrated on the last of the sprinkles.

In the kitchen, you were running your hand through the steam from the beef stew on the stove—Joel’s favorite—when the door opened. His footsteps grew louder, approaching, and you nervously adjusted the dress you’d chosen, one you knew he liked, though he’d never said it. It was your favorite too, a cream-colored sundress with delicate shoulder ties.

Sarah sprang forward, covering his eyes. “Don’t look, the table’s not ready.”

You hurried to set the glasses in their places, your hands a little shaky as you moved, hoping he wouldn’t notice the flush creeping up your cheeks.

“I don’t need to see it—I can smell it, and it smells incredible,” Joel grinned beneath Sarah’s tiny hands, which she’d plastered over his eyes, half to keep him from sneaking a glance, half just because she could.

“Too bad you don’t smell incredible,” Sarah retorted with a smirk, wrinkling her nose. "Go take a shower!"

You laughed, catching Joel’s raised brow at her.

“You’ve got five minutes,” you said, placing the lid on the simmering pot.

Joel snorted, brushing Sarah’s hands away from his face.

“That’s the smell of a hardworking man,” he replied, feigning offense as he turned for the stairs. “Y’all oughtta know.”

*

Later, the three of you sat around the table, and Joel took his first bite of the stew, eyes widening, a kind of bliss washing over his face. He tossed his head back and groaned.

“Sweet Glory,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “Thank you for this.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, though part of you couldn’t help but feel a pang of something between irritation and flattery. “You say that every time I cook for you.”

He shook his head, smiling as he chewed, then spoke softly, his gaze slipping downward.

“I’m not exaggerating—I love everything you do.” A pause, and then a quick, awkward clarification. “I mean, everything you cook.”

The clarification was like a line drawn in the sand, a boundary etched by his voice alone.

You smiled weakly and inwardly thankful when Sarah spoke, telling you about something that had happened at her school that week and distracting you from the question that was spellbinding your tongue. You were dying to ask it, to look him in the eye and ask: who did you go out with last night? Why didn't you tell me? Is it someone I know? Is that it?... But you didn't, you stayed quiet and participated in the pleasant conversation, celebrating his birthday as he deserved. After all, no matter how much it angered you that he kept things from you, it was still his special day.

After dinner, Sarah forced Joel to sit in front of his cake, two lit number candles glowing in front of him. You turned out the lights, watching as the light from the flames reflected beautifully in your best friend's dark pupils.

Joel was wearing a black T-shirt and dark jeans, his hair was still barely damp from the shower he'd taken before, and his sun-kissed tan face looked smooth, decorated by the beard and mustache you loved so much. Behind him, his shadow vibrated and spread across the wall with grandeur.

“Make a wish!” Sarah cheered, bouncing with excitement as she placed her small hands on his shoulders.

Joel smiled, closed his eyes, and blew out the candles. In the dimness, you leaned in and kissed his cheek softly.

“Happy birthday, old man,” you whispered, your hand resting gently on his neck.

He reached for your hand, pressing a warm, lingering kiss into your palm. “I’m not that old,” he muttered with a mock frown.

Sarah giggled, holding a knife to cut the cake and licking a dab of frosting from her thumb. “You’ll be forty in four years,” she teased, catching your amused expression.

Joel scoffed, scratching his stomach as he stood back up, turning to you with a smile that made you forget, just for a moment, all the questions you were holding back. There was only Joel, his rumbling laugh, Sarah’s delighted giggles. It felt like home.

Sarah gave him his gift first: a copy of Curtis and Viper 2 with the deleted scenes and a mystery box. When he opened it, a smile formed on his lips.

He pulled out a weathered wristwatch, broken for months, now polished and repaired.

“I took it in to be fixed. Do you like it?” Sarah asked, eyes wide with anticipation.

Joel nodded, eyes softening as he extended his wrist for her to put it on. “It’s perfect, baby.”

“Let's watch the movie later,” Sarah said. “You can't fall asleep.”

“Let's see which one of us falls asleep first,” you joked, and you were right. Joel had been working all afternoon and Sarah had been yawning for hours.

You turned and picked up the box resting beside your feet, handing it to him. When he opened it, Joel pulled out a black cloth garment and a paper envelope. He tugged at the cloth, revealing a thick, soft jacket. He read the label and a smile appeared on his lips.

“I saw it and thought of you,” you said, mimicking his gesture.

“How much did you pay for this?”

“Don't worry about it, it had to be yours,” you noted as you stood up and took it from his hand. “Here, stand up. Let's see how it fits you.”

“And what if it doesn't fit? Do we have to travel to Rome to exchange it?”

You laughed, then helped him slide it over his shoulders, a comfortable, familiar movement.

“I know you by heart, I couldn't be wrong.”

“So?” he asked, smiling coquettishly. Your stomach tingled and you decided to ignore it.

“Lookin’ good, Dad,” Sarah chimed in, her innocent smile lighting up the moment. “Bet someone special will love it, too.”

Joel smiled weakly, as if he was trying to tell her something with his eyes, and for a second you hated the thought of your gift being enjoyed by someone else. You imagined him getting ready to go out with her -whoever she was-, running his hand through his hair and perfuming his neck as he did from time to time whenever he went out with someone. You knew that perfume perfectly, you'd recognize it anywhere, though you were sure it wouldn't smell the same on anyone else. Joel added his own scent to it, and you loved it.

“Okay, now, open the envelope,” you urged, your voice unintentionally sharper than you meant.

Joel sat back down and opened the blue paper envelope. He read the note carefully and when he looked up, you and Sarah were looking at him excitedly.

“Sunshine, did you pay for this?” he asked you, a soft disbelief in his tone.

Inside were three plane tickets. Sarah had helped you pick the destination—somewhere none of you had been but would love.

When you nodded, he let out a soft sigh. “Let me cover part of it.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “It’s my birthday gift to you, Joel. It’s all settled. You need a vacation, and we certainly do too, don't we?”

“That's right,” Sarah confirmed, smiling complicitly.

He sighed, shaking his head. “You’re too good to me.”

But he smiled, tucking the tickets back into the envelope.

Time with Joel and Sarah was easy. When you were with them, hours slipped away, and the heaviness of everything else seemed to dissolve. You felt at home, and sometimes it left you wondering about Sarah’s mother, about how anyone could have left them. Didn’t she see how extraordinary they were? Didn’t she realize what she’d lost?

You thought about this as you relaxed on the couch beside Joel, Sarah curled up with her head on your shoulder. Her breathing had slowed, and you smiled, realizing she’d fallen asleep. Three glasses sat on the coffee table: the wine Joel had opened just before dinner—a bottle you’d brought back from your last trip to Italy—and Sarah’s lemon soda. Joel snorted softly, glancing at his daughter with a smirk, then leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Fallen soldier,” he whispered, smiling.

You laughed, brushing a hand over Sarah’s hair. “She’s tired. She was up all afternoon making your cake, you know? Tried the cream three times before she got it right.”

Joel sighed, an apologetic note in his voice. “I know, sorry I was late. I know she wanted me here sooner.”

Curtis and Viper 2 was halfway through on the TV, forgotten in the background. Joel straightened, signaling he’d take Sarah to bed, and you shifted to make room as he lifted her, carrying her toward the stairs. You watched him disappear down the hallway, and as the house fell into a quiet lull, that familiar disappointment stirred in your chest. Now, without Sarah’s chatter, you’d have to keep pretending that nothing was wrong.

You took a long sip of your wine, finishing off the glass just as Joel returned. He sat down heavily beside you, causing the cushions to sink as he let out a sigh, rubbing a hand over his eyes before giving you a grateful look.

“Thanks for today, I had a great time. Sarah was very happy,” he said quietly, a warm smile appearing on his lips.

“I'm glad, hun. Although the credit goes to her, I just made dinner.”

“Doesn’t matter. You helped her, and I’m grateful. I mean that. For today, and for… all these years.” His voice softened, almost reverent.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you whispered, feeling your pulse pick up as he leaned closer, his brown eyes unreadable but soft. “You’re my family, both of you. Really, I’m the one who owes you thanks.”

He shook his head and leaned back, taking another sip of his wine.

“Not at all,” he replied, leaning back again.

You watched him for a moment, turning the weight of your question over in your mind. If you said something, he’d make an excuse. If you kept silent, the doubt would eat at you. You tried to fix your gaze on the TV, on anything other than his profile in the dim room. But the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

“So, what did you do last night?”

He tensed beside you, so subtly that only you could’ve noticed. “What?”

You tried to keep your tone even, hoping you didn’t sound like you’d spent all day thinking about it. “I just… didn’t see your truck out there, thought maybe you were gone or something.” It was a lie; you had fallen asleep on your couch last night, you hadn't even noticed Joel was gone.

Joel seemed to measure his words carefully. “Oh. Yeah… I just went out for a beer with Tommy,” he answered, his tone a little too casual.

Heat crept up your face, disbelief taking root. He really was holding out on you for some reason, wasn't he? The man was lying to you, and not very cleverly. Tommy had been with Sarah, what if you had seen him, hadn't he thought of that? Apparently not. 

It took a moment before you could bring yourself to say anything, watching as he glanced at you with an uneasy smile, waiting for you to believe him.

“Joel,” you murmured, not quite able to keep the accusation out of your voice. “You’re lying to me.”

He gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, but you didn’t let him off so easily. Before he could say anything, you spoke again.

“Tommy was with Sarah last night, here,” you pointed out, your voice firmer this time. His silence told you everything, his face drawn and uncertain as he realized you’d caught him.

After a long pause, he looked down, his voice unusually flat. “Alright, yeah. I know.”

The admission was so casual it took you by surprise, but you shook your head, feeling the ache of frustration and betrayal creep in.

“Why would you lie to me?” you pressed. “We’re friends. Why wouldn’t you tell me you’re seeing someone?”

Joel sighed, avoiding your gaze, his eyes instead locked somewhere in the distance. “It’s… it’s nothing serious,” he mumbled. “Just getting to know her. Don't make such a fuss out of it.”

“What? what you're saying doesn't make sense. You’ve kept it hidden, avoided every chance to be honest about it. Why?” you asked, trying not to let the hurt seep into your voice.

“It’s not like that,” he insisted, but his voice sounded unsure.

“So if I call Tommy right now, he’ll tell me the truth? Or did you ask him to keep this from me too?”

Finally, he met your gaze, his eyes scanning your face, reading the frustration and hurt you’d tried to keep buried. You could see it in his eyes, that familiar tug of defiance, a flash of something deeper than guilt or secrecy.

“What if I did?” His voice was almost philosophical, his gaze intense and challenging. “This is my private life. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone, not even you. Do I?”

You drew in a sharp breath. His words struck like a slap, but you steadied yourself. “You’re right, Joel. You don’t owe me explanations. But you don’t have to lie to me, either.” You looked down, feeling your voice start to waver. “You’ve never hidden your relationships from me before.”

He sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face and slumping back against the couch.

After a few seconds, he finally looked at you, a look of exasperation crossing his face.

“Because of this.” He gestured between you, his tone gentle but firm. “This reaction, right here, is exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

What Joel was saying didn’t make sense. Your frustration wasn’t over him seeing someone else; it was something else entirely, something more fundamental.

“Oh, just stop,” you snapped, voice sharp. “I’m not mad because you’re dating someone, Joel. I’m mad that you lied to me. They’re two completely different things.”

He took a breath, settling back on the couch, and turned to face you, a guarded expression crossing his face. “No, it’s always the same thing. Remember the last time I was seeing someone?”

And you did, briefly. A year ago, one of his friends had introduced him to his cousin—a woman who had just moved to town. She was polite enough, but her smiles had a brittle quality to them, and when she met Sarah, her warmth never extended beyond a single, dismissive greeting. The indifference was obvious, at least to you, and maybe you’d let that show a little too openly. Joel had caught on quickly, and after that, things with her fizzled out.

“That was different,” you argued, exasperated. “She wasn’t nice, Joel. She had zero interest in Sarah.”

He gave a bitter, half-smile. “Maybe, but it wasn’t your job to manage that. I can handle my own relationships. But you always—” he paused, thumping his chest with a finger, “you always step in. Always get defensive.”

“That’s not true!” Your voice rose as anger crept in, heating your face. “You’re just making excuses. Date whoever you want, Joel, I don’t care. But don’t lie to me, don’t insult me with these flimsy excuses. Or if you’re going to lie, at least make it convincing.”

He clenched his jaw, his gaze hardening, something fierce sparking in his eyes. “Are you sure about that?” he asked, his voice low and measured, the words hanging between you like a dare.

“Sure about what?” Your brow creased in confusion, the pulse in your chest picking up, a flurry of anger and… something else you couldn’t place, mingling with the haze of the wine.

His eyes narrowed, holding yours, unflinching. “That you don’t care. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Because I know you, i know you to well to know you’re just jealous.”

Jealous. He thought you were jealous.

He had missed the point completely. Your feelings for him were complex, that much was true. But you had learned, or thought you had learned, to carry them quietly. Your friendship with him had come to feel like a sturdy house you could live inside without having to ask too much of it. Having him in your life was enough.

But now, you felt that house shift, cracks spreading through the walls. His inability to trust you hurt more deeply than you’d expected. The openness you’d once trusted was fracturing. You felt the sting of tears prick at your eyes, the words he’d thrown out so casually cutting to the quick.

“Fuck you, Joel,” you muttered, standing abruptly, storming to the door and slamming it shut behind you. You barely heard him call your name as you left, fury driving you down the front steps, the cool night air biting at your cheeks.

Honestly, he could go fuck himself.

Just as your hand reached your front door, his footsteps closed in behind you, his strides fast enough to catch up. You tried to close the door before he could reach you, but his hand caught it just in time, his voice heavy with irritation.

“Just go away, Joel,” you said, barely glancing at him. “I don’t want to see you again.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.” His voice was calm, almost pleading.

You stepped back, reluctantly letting him into the foyer. He’d have come in anyway.

“I mean it, God. Go home,” you insisted, your voice wavering, betraying the anger mixed with something else.

He shook his head, taking a few steps closer, his jaw tight. “Can we just talk?”

“Talk?” you repeated incredulously. “Talk about what? About how wrong you are?”

He didn’t flinch, but his eyes darkened. “Don’t act like what I said was crazy,” he said, voice steady but a little sharper now.

You scoffed, throwing your hands up. “Oh, so now I’m jealous, is that it? Then, by your logic, you must’ve been jealous too, right? Like last month, when Travis asked me out. Because if that’s the case, then we’re having the same conversation, aren’t we?”

Joel clicked his tongue, tilting his head with an exaggerated sigh. “No, Travis is just a jerk. And I don’t like him, plain and simple.”

Travis Dunn, your neighbor, had moved in a few months after you did. Handsome, tall, and friendly, everyone on the street adored him—everyone except Joel. He couldn’t seem to stand him, though Travis was always polite to him.

Last month, when Travis had asked you out, Joel had practically laughed in your face when you told him about it, muttering something dismissive as if the very idea was absurd. You’d told Travis you were busy, though deep down you knew the real reason you hadn’t accepted was because of Joel’s disapproval.

“Then everyone’s as much of an idiot as he is, sunshine.”

You shook your head, exasperated. “Travis isn’t a jerk, Joel, you just don’t like him. He’s nice, honestly, much nicer than some people, if we’re being honest here. Everyone loves him; you’re the only one who has a problem with him.”

“Oh, really? Or maybe… you’re jealous of him?” Your tone was teasing, but you felt the shift as soon as you said it.

Joel’s mouth twitched in a half-smile, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. He ran his tongue over his lips, shaking his head slowly, twice.

“No?” you shot back, voice edged with challenge. “So if I go tomorrow and say yes to him, that wouldn’t bother you at all, right?”

“Don’t turn this on me,” he said. “This isn’t about Travis or me.”

He stepped closer to you, his eyes dark with something you’d never seen in him before. The air seemed to thicken, his presence so intense it felt as though it wrapped around you. He leaned in, his face close enough that his words brushed your skin.

“You can do whatever you want, baby. It’s your fucking life.”

“And you can do whatever you want too, Joel. That’s the fucking point!” you nearly shouted, hands pushing against his shoulders, shoving him away. “I don’t care what you do! It’s already clear you don’t get it, you don’t get anything, ANYTHING!”

Joel staggered back for a split second, but it wasn’t long before he closed the distance again, though he didn’t get as close this time.

His voice was lower, a thread of something hard in his tone. “If you’re so insulted by the idea of being jealous, maybe that’s something for you to think about. Ever thought of doing a little introspection?”

“Are you drunk, Joel?” you asked, eyes narrowed, softening your voice a fraction. The argument was exhausting you, and the anger left you feeling hollow.

He laughed, an odd, choked sound. “Oh, c'mon, you know one bottle of wine ain't enough to get me drunk.”

“Yeah, but you’re tired, and you’re not exactly young, Joel,” you said, brushing past him, his gaze glued to you the entire time. “Alcohol hits you differently now. Just go home, leave me alone.”

“Fine. I’ll leave you alone, and maybe then you can run across the street and fuck Travis Dunn, if you want it so badly,” he shot back, impatience tinging his voice as he turned toward the still-open door.

The words hit you like a slap. You froze for a moment, the anger washing over you in a wave. Before you could think twice, you rushed up to him, gripping his arm tightly to force him to turn and look at you.

“What the hell did you just say, Joel?” you hissed, grabbing his shirt, fingers bunching in the fabric as you backed him up until his shoulders hit the wall by the door. “Go on, say it again!”

Your breaths came fast, chest rising and falling as the rush of anger pushed tears to your eyes. You couldn’t believe he’d actually spoken to you like that, cutting right through to something raw and vulnerable. He’d never spoken to you like that before. Maybe he was a little drunk, or maybe he was losing his mind.

But there was no softness in his gaze, no hint of the Joel you knew. His stare was sharp, almost wild with something simmering underneath, something you didn’t understand. To you, this whole argument made no sense, at least not his reaction.

Joel’s grip on your wrist was firm, almost grounding, as he pulled you closer, pressing your palm against his chest. “I can’t stand that asshole, but go ahead and fuck him if you want,” he spat, voice laced with frustration. “Go fuck the whole neighborhood while you’re at it. I really don’t care anymore.”

His words were harsh, designed to cut, but they only drew a laugh from you—sharp and derisive. A tear slipped down your cheek, uninvited.

“What, did you ever care?” you asked, your voice trembling on the last syllable, thick with emotion.

But Joel didn’t respond, and the silence ignited a fire in you, something that swirled beneath the surface, ready to boil over.

“Do you know why we’re friends, Joel?” Your pulse quickened, each beat like a drum in your ears. “Because it just works between us. There are no ulterior motives. You know why? Because I don’t like you like that. You’re not even my type, and you never will be. And no, I’m not jealous that you’re dating some woman you’ll probably dump in less than a month, so get the fuck over it and leave me the fuck alone!”

You watched as his gaze flickered between your eyes, uncertainty warring with something darker. Suddenly, with an unexpected strength, Joel tightened his grip on your wrist and pushed you back hard against the wall. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping as your back hit the unforgiving surface.

His expression had transformed, those deep, dark eyes piercing you like arrows. His breath quickened, crashing against your face, and you could feel your lower lip tremble as he pressed even closer, pinning you against the wall.

“You don’t know how to lie,” he murmured, his lips almost brushing against your cheek.

The sensation was unbearable; his body pressed against yours, heat radiating off him and melting you inside. You could feel the edge of something primal, something that could tip either way. But suddenly, clarity surged through you. With a burst of strength, you pushed him away, breaking free from his grasp, forcing him to pull back just enough for you to gasp for air.

But the distance felt worse. In his eyes, you recognized something you’d never seen before—desire, raw and unfiltered. It clawed at you, igniting an inexplicable need. A sigh escaped your lips, and like a match struck in a dark room, it was enough to set off an explosion. In an instant, Joel lunged at you, and you found yourself wrapped around him, mouths colliding in a desperate kiss filled with moans and the urgency of your racing hearts.

With a loud thud, Joel kicked the front door shut, his hands moving feverishly down your body, fingers skimming your thighs, slipping beneath your dress. He caressed your skin before squeezing your ass hard, drawing a moan from your lips that echoed in the small space between you. You clung to him tighter, his hands fitting around you as if they were made for this very moment.

He pulled back for a breath, the sound wet and chaotic against the walls of your home, and then his lips descended down your neck, unraveling what little sanity you had left. A moan rumbled in his throat as your hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently to tilt your head back, giving him better access to the tender spot just below your ear, your blood pulsing beneath his hungry mouth.

Joel seemed to want to devour you whole; his hands roamed erratically, trembling as his mouth kissed and bit your jaw, pressing your bodies together in a way that felt impossibly intimate. When you lifted your right leg and wrapped it around his side, he was quick to respond, hands securing your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto his hips, burying his face against your chest.

Another moan escaped you, and he pulled you down just enough to find your lips again. “Joel,” you whispered, breathless as you parted from him, pressing your forehead against his, eyes searching his.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he said, his voice low, almost broken, each word laced with a vulnerability you’d never heard from him before. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you replied in a small, desperate cry, feeling the heat radiating from him, the thin fabric of your underwear igniting a fire deep within you.

You were dying of thirst, and he had just asked you if you would refuse a sip of water. Was he mad? You wanted to drink it all. 

No sooner had you answered than Joel pulled you off the wall, striding toward the stairs with a confident grace. You lowered your legs cautiously, meeting his lips again in a frantic, wet kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with urgency.

You walked to your room with the agility of one who knows where to step, and once inside, you grabbed the shirt you had angrily grabbed earlier and lifted it up his body in a desperate attempt to rip it off. Joel raised his arms, letting the fabric pass over both of you and then fall to the floor, and as quickly as your hands returned to his chest, he kissed your neck again, desperate, pressing his fingers into the tender flesh of your waist, seeking a physically impossible closeness. 

His hands found your thighs once more, fingers gripping and kneading with a measured intensity that sent electric shivers through you. As he moved lower, his fingertips brushed the thin fabric of your underwear, inching closer to where you ached for him, squeezing you tighter as if to draw you in.

In a single, decisive motion, he grasped the hem of your dress and pulled it upward, the fabric sliding along your skin as he lifted it away, tossing it aside with a casual disregard that only heightened the tension in the air. He took a step back, his gaze roaming over you, from the soft curve of your face down to the tips of your toes, a look of hunger that felt almost consuming.

You weren't wearing a bra (your dress didn't require it) and your breasts fell beautifully in front of him, hard nipples and soft skin. Your chest flushed with warmth, a rosy hue creeping into your cheeks as you swallowed hard, feeling vulnerable yet exhilarated when he stepped closer.

“I’ve always loved that dress,” he said, his voice trembling with an emotion that was both reverent and raw.

“I know,” you replied, a smile curling at the corners of your lips, the moment igniting an intimacy that made your heart race.

His eyes swept down your body again, glittering with an unmistakable lust, and when he closed the distance, standing right before you, your breath caught in your throat.

His hands slid around your waist, firm yet tender, pulling you into him with a deftness that sent a thrill coursing through you. In one seamless motion, he lifted you off the ground, your feet barely grazing the floor as you instinctively stood on your tiptoes, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

Joel’s eyes darkened with a hunger that left you breathless, and he leaned in, his lips finding one of your breasts with a soft kiss that felt both electrifying and reverent. The warmth of his mouth sent a rush of heat through your body, and before you could gather your thoughts, he nipped your nipple gently, a teasing bite that sent chills racing across your skin.

His teeth grazed you just enough to elicit a gasp, a shuddering reaction that echoed in the space between you. But he didn’t linger on the sharpness of that moment; he quickly replaced the sensation with the soothing warmth of his lips, enveloping you entirely.

He sank to one knee, lowering himself until his lips brushed your stomach, the warm sensation sending ripples of desire coursing through you. His face lingered dangerously close to where you needed him most.

Joel placed his hands on your hips, fingers gripping the elastic of your underwear, his gaze locking onto yours for a moment that stretched into eternity before he slowly began to lower it, the fabric sliding down your legs and pooling at your feet. You felt his breath hitch at the sight of your now bare center, the anticipation thickening the air between you as he inched closer, finally brushing his lips against your mons pubis.

“Precious,” he murmured, and the warmth of his breath washed over you like a caress, drawing a small, needy moan from your lips. His hands parted your legs slightly, his fingers digging into your thighs, holding you firmly in place.

You cupped his face gently, as if afraid you might break him, and then, without warning, Joel licked his lips and plunged forward, his mouth connecting with you in a surprise that made your eyes flutter shut. You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging him closer as he devoured you, his tongue working its magic as he sucked and kissed you whole, with an urgency that left you breathless.

He growled into you, the sound reverberating through your body, and you felt weakness seep into your legs, trembling under the weight of his relentless attention. Joel was eating you like a hungry man, tasting you and soaking in your juices with a fervor that felt primal, kissing you as if his life depended on it.

“Fuck,” you gasped, feeling every muscle in your body tighten as a building pressure coiled inside you.

He pulled away for just a moment, his eyes darkened with lust, a playful smile creeping onto his lips before he returned to you, closing his mouth around your clit, sucking and licking with a skill that made your head spin.

“Ah—Joel, I’m going to—I’m going to—” You struggled to articulate the intensity of what was building within you, your words stumbling over the tide of pleasure washing over you.

His voice vibrated through you, trailing off into a soft, “Mhm.”

You pulled at his hair, tugging harder as a wrenching moan escaped your throat. The world around you faded as his movements grew more frantic, his tongue flicking at you with a desperate fervor. One of his hands released your thigh, and a low groan escaped his lips as his finger found your entrance, sliding inside with an ease that made you gasp.

“Fuck me, you’re so wet,” he murmured, pausing for a moment to take in the sight of you—your cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling with lust. A satisfied smile broke across his face, and you thought he had never looked so gorgeous.

From your point of view, he looked beautiful. His bright eyes worshipped you intently, his mouth and mustache glistened bathed in you, his hair tossed by your hands mingled in all directions. Joel Miller had never looked so good.

Another finger joined the first, and you closed your eyes, surrendering to the sensation as he curled them just right, hitting that sweet spot that made you gasp for air. You gripped his hair again, pulling him closer, and he let out a throaty laugh, clearly reveling in the sight of you completely undone.

You felt his mouth on you again, the warmth of his lips kissing and sucking with an insatiable hunger that left you breathless. The sound of it was utterly obscene, echoing around the room like a carnal symphony, and it drove you to the brink of madness, your mind spinning in a dizzying haze of pleasure.

His movements grew more intense, a rhythm building that sent waves of ecstasy rippling through your body. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, your hips moving in desperate undulations, surrendering to the climax that Joel savored with unrelenting focus. Your fingers clenched around him, digging in perhaps a bit too hard, but he welcomed it, desperate to drink in every last drop of what you were offering, to savor you whole.

With a low grunt, he squeezed your hips before pulling away, the wet sound of his departure from you hanging heavy in the air. You barely registered his rise from the floor, lost in the aftershocks of pleasure, your eyes still closed as the vibrations coursed through you. It wasn’t until his hands gripped your waist that you finally blinked awake, lifting your eyelids to find him gazing down at you, his face mere inches from yours.

He leaned in, capturing your mouth again, a kiss that was both desperate and tender, igniting a fire deep within you. You could taste yourself on his tongue.

Your hands found their way around his neck, pulling him closer as you melted into the kiss. As the intensity built, you let your fingers drift down his chest, trailing lightly until they found the leather of his belt, the sensation sending shivers through you as you tugged him closer.

Joel vibrated against you, a low growl escaping as he nipped at your lower lip while you fumbled with his steel buckle, the sound of it being released becoming your new favorite melody. You unzipped his pants, your heart racing as you slipped your hand inside, finally touching him for the first time.

Your pulse quickened as you wrapped your fingers around him, feeling the heat radiating from his velvet soft skin; big, hot and throbbing in your palm. A rush of desire flooded you, and you pulled away from his lips, dropping to your knees before him, your eyes wide as you took in his form. 

There he stood, beautiful and swollen with need, and your mouth watered at the sight. You cupped him gently, drawing him closer to your lips, placing a soft kiss on the tip. Joel closed his eyes at the sensation, surrendering to the moment completely, and you traced your tongue over him, tasting the salty sweetness of his pre cum that made your insides tighten with longing.

With a hint of effort, you attempted to take him fully into your mouth, but he was too large, stretching you in ways you hadn’t expected. Joel lowered his gaze to you, his fingers caressing your jaw as you struggled to adjust.

“Slow, baby,” he urged, his voice silky yet strained, and it sent another rush of need through you. "I know you can do it."

You matched your hand to your mouth, stroking him where you couldn’t quite reach, while your other hand gently caressed his balls, moving in a synchronized rhythm. Joel tensed beneath your touch, his fingers shifting from your face to tangle in your hair, guiding you as he reveled in the pleasure you were giving him.

The sounds in the room became a symphony of pleasure, every moan and gasp echoing off the walls, and you watched as Joel's pleasure climbed. The image was enough to drive him over the edge; your pink, swollen lips covered him and his cock glistened with your saliva, dripping from your chin with every move you made. Your teary eyes looked up at him desirously, and he could take no more; his gaze was filled with a primal hunger that threatened to unravel him. He finally withdrew from your mouth with great reluctance when he felt his stomach tighten, a low complaint escaping your throat in protest.

His breathing was heavy, and a flush colored his cheeks as he lifted you effortlessly, holding you at the waist, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. In one swift motion, he laid you back onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he moved closer; Joel kneeling and settling between your legs which you instinctively opened for him. 

You needed him, you needed him to fill you whole. You had never needed anything as much as you needed him at that moment. And as if he was reading your thoughts - or maybe he needed you as much as you needed him - he leaned in, taking your mouth with his once more, his moans blending with yours as he lost himself in you.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as he deepened the kiss, the taste of him igniting a fire in your veins. You felt him positioning himself at your entrance, his heat pulsing against you, and an intense sigh shot through your chest as Joel entered you in one thrust, burning and stretching you around him. 

“Oh God,” he groaned, burying his face into the crook of your neck, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. His right hand traveled to your left leg, lifting it and resting it high on his shoulder, while without hesitation, his other hand mirrored the movement with your right leg, bringing you into a position that felt both intimate and vulnerable. You were completely folded under him.

A cry escaped your lips as Joel began to move on top of you, his face hovering just inches above yours, the heat between you palpable. No one had ever penetrated you so deeply; it felt as though he was everywhere, filling you completely, every inch of you alive with sensation.

Joel's right hand gently squeezed your neck, seeking your mouth for a kiss as his movements took on a more urgent pace. The rhythmic collision of his hips against your buttocks created a beautiful sound that echoed off the walls, each thrust punctuated by the soft, desperate gasps that slipped from his mouth. Your own cries mingled with his as your body tightened again, your hands moving frantically up and down his back, your nails digging into his flesh, leaving little marks that he would surely wear like badges of pleasure. 

A broken sound escaped from Joel, raw and primal, as he sank his face into the crook of your neck once more, increasing his thrusts with a fervor that felt animalistic, as if the world outside had fallen away and this moment was all that mattered. He fucked you into the mattress with an intensity that left you breathless, as though he were trying to ground you both in this fleeting reality, where nothing else existed except for the two of you entwined together.

You melted around him, your juices mixing with his as you enveloped him completely, and just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he lifted his head, your forehead resting against yours, his wide eyes locking into yours. You had never seen them so dark, so filled with intensity and strength.

And then it hit you: It was Joel, your Joel, the one who had been your best friend for four years, and here he was, fucking the life out of you like no one ever had before. What could possibly come after an experience like this?

“I thought you didn't like me,” he said, his voice choppy, strained with effort. A smirk played at the corners of his swollen lips. “Such a bad liar, baby, look at you.”

You growled in response, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him towards you with a mix of force and anger. Your lips found his in a kiss that was anything but patient, igniting a spark between you. You felt him tense above you, one of his hands quickly moving to your center, exerting immense pressure as he leaned his weight on his other arm, holding you captive beneath him.

His fingers found your clit, tracing gentle circles that made your back arch involuntarily, another wave of pleasure building inside you. Your mouth was still on his, consuming him completely, when your second orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. You felt your insides tighten around him, squeezing him with a ferocity that pulled him closer to his own climax.

Joel gasped into your mouth, and the intensity of it sent your vision spiraling into darkness for a brief moment, the sensation so strong it felt as if the world had collapsed around you. When your breathing finally steadied, you found his hot body pressed against yours, moving in tiny tremors, quickened breaths brushing against your jaw.

He stayed inside you for a few moments longer, savoring the closeness, your hands continuing to caress his back, each touch a silent promise. Then, slowly, he pulled out of you, leaving you feeling achingly empty, his cum trickling from your entrance.

He fell limply beside you, his body slick with sweat, and pulled you close to him, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. His breaths, still heaving, crashed against your damp skin, wrapping you in warmth. Unable to muster the energy to move, you let your eyes flutter closed, surrendering to a deep, exhausted sleep that you would not remember when you woke up...

No, you didn't remember any dream, Because when you opened your eyes the next morning, you stirred in place and your muscles ached pleasantly, reminding you of the night before. And as you stretched your arms across the bed, your fingers grazed the sheets, feeling an emptiness beside you.

When you looked to your sides, the realization hit you hard.

Joel was gone.

taglist: @orcasoul

[vampiefemme]

a/n: surprise! here’s a little somethin’ while i work on my next fics. mwah mwah happy saturday!

cw: 18+ as always, minors dni. sub!ellie, dom!reader, oral sex (e receiving), choking, tribbing, some…controlling aspects, multiple orgasms

ellie’s got it bad for you.

so bad, she doesn’t have it in her to be embarrassed when jesse and dina catch her staring at you in the middle of band practice, eyes glazed over, nodding along with whatever they’re saying even when she’s got nothing in her head but you you you.

it’s frustrating sometimes, what you do to her. she’s less efficient as a songwriter and guitar player—always casting glances at you in the middle of practice, chewing her lip till it damn near bleeds because it’ll keep her from making a mess of her boxer briefs. always picturing your pretty lips around her strap, you kneeling before her while she face-fucks you till you gag and choke. always tilting her head when you stand up from your seat beside her, going off to rifle through your purse for something, just praying she’ll get a glimpse at your panties when your skirt rides up.

when the rest of the band filters out and it’s just you two, she gets you in her lap, kissing you silly. you’re so perfect in her arms, smiling shyly when she pulls back and covers your face in chaste, adoring kisses.

“we should go,” you say, glancing at the clock on the wall. she frowns and you catch it, adding, “i really need to study, finals are next week.”

“you’re gonna kill ‘em, babe,” she assures you, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. your cheeks go pink. she could eat you whole. “smartest girl i know. smartest person, actually.”

you giggle, a sound that makes ellie’s stomach flip. and then your expression shifts from carefree to hesitant, and she furrows her brows. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing, i’m sorry—i was gonna ask if you wanted to help me study? i have flash cards.”

ellie grins. “i can do flash cards.”

it’s not the first time ellie’s been at your house, but it is the first time she’s pulled into the driveway and noticed that your parents aren’t home. she casts a glance at you in the passenger’s seat while she pulls the keys from the ignition, but if you notice that she’s wondering about the lack of two mercedes in the driveway, you don’t let on. you give her one of those sickeningly sweet smiles and her heart hammers.

inside, you stop in the kitchen to fix a couple glasses of pink lemonade with twisty straws and fresh lemon slices, then lead her up the stairs to your bedroom. ellie tries (and fails) to avert her eyes from the place where your thigh-highs squish into the meat of your legs, the skin pooling out of the fabric good enough to eat. she has to think about the worst things to keep her cunt from throbbing. dead puppies, shit like that.

“i’m so stressed,” you confess as you open the door to your bedroom, ellie striding in behind you.

“why, princess? you’ll do great.” she takes her glass of lemonade when you offer it, sips from the straw and beams at you.

your room suits you perfectly. all shades of white and pink, floral print everywhere, heart-shaped pillows, cute bunny plushies organized carefully on the bed. it smells like sugar cookies and your perfume. ellie watches you locate your study materials, then sort through them till you find the necessary flash cards. she starts looking through them while you climb onto the bed, your skirt riding up to expose a new sliver of your thighs. if there is a god, he’s got it out for ellie today.

“come here, el,” you pout, holding out your hands for her.

“don’t be impatient, now.” she joins you on the bed despite her better judgment. looks down at the flash cards and struggles to read the first one because her blood is rushing south at a dizzying rate.

“uh—eukaryotic cells.”

“cells which have a nucleus enclosed within the nuclear membrane.”

ellie gapes at you. “okay, smarty pants, you got it. prokaryotic cells?”

you answer and she shuffles through to the next card, continuing to prompt your spot-on definitions until it becomes clear that you’re more than ready for your final. it only takes five minutes to make it through the entire stack of cards. and then you’re asking her to kiss you.

“baby,” she mutters, leaning over the side of the bed to set the flash cards onto the floor, “i’ve been waiting for you to ask.”

just like every other time, your mouth tastes like heaven. sweet from the pink lemonade, your tongue dances over hers, soft moans leaving your lips for her to swallow eagerly. the two of you have made out more times than ellie can count on both hands, but it never leads any further. something always comes up—you have to get to bed, dinner’s ready downstairs, things like that. more often than not, you stop because ellie feels like she’s going to lose control of herself and scare you away.

but this time, it’s different.

your hands, soft and warm, skate up ellie’s tattooed arms. your perfectly manicured nails rake through her hair. your eyes are blown nearly black with lust when you pull away, staring up at ellie like you’re silently begging to be fucked.

“ellie,” you whisper, frustrated by the sliver of mattress that separates the two of you.

“yeah, yeah, angel, i’ve got you.” she closes the gap, climbing between your spread legs until she’s hovering over you. she nudges her nose against your cheekbone. “so pretty underneath me.”

and god, you are so pretty underneath her. white off-the-shoulder top skewed from her touches, lips swollen, soft locks of hair splayed around your head. that look in your eyes that says i’m yours, please take me. she wants to hear you scream her name.

the lewd, wet sounds of your make-out sesh go right to her cunt; she doesn’t even realize she’s grinding down against you until she feels your hips move in response, in search of friction. the sensation draws a ragged moan from her, and then she’s grabbing at your thighs with a touch that will certainly bruise. you won’t be wearing a skirt this short tomorrow.

“take this off,” you breathe when you pull back from the heated kiss. you’re tugging at her tattered band tee. “and your pants.”

a surprised huff of laughter leaves her lips. “whoa there, sweetheart. you sure?”

her eyes find yours. she’s just as turned on as you are, but she can still stop while she’s ahead. now, if you get her down to her boxers? that might not be so easy to come back from.

you stare back at her, unblinking. “i’m sure.”

sitting back on her heels, ellie keeps her eyes on you while she works her shirt up over her head. she revels in the way your eyes leave hers, only to admire the sight of her naked torso, her ample tits with dusty rose nipples. your tongue swipes over your lips. her clit twitches.

she has to get up to take her pants off, and when she does, she notices that you’re not making any efforts to undress yourself. she stops with her belt unbuckled, button undone, zipper pulled down. “what, i don’t get to see my girl naked?”

“only if you’re good,” you say with a wicked smile. it catches her off guard, hearing a comment like that from you, but it does encourage her to push her jeans down to her ankles.

when she gets back on the bed and kisses you again, you’re not as soft. not as pliable, like putty in her hands. no, you’re insistent—your tongue breaches her mouth almost instantly and you lick into her until he’s nearly panting. you’re sitting up in your disheveled clothing, holding her face and kissing her like you’re going to swallow her whole. given the fact that you’re usually the one on the receiving end of kisses like this, ellie’s surprised. she breaks the kiss and gives you a look - one you feign ignorance to.

“i’m—sorry, am i reading this wrong? i thought… aren’t you a virgin?”

you smile at her, eyes heavy-lidded. “oh, ellie, baby.”

the way you sound makes her go dizzy for a second. sultry, raspy, sexy. your voice must’ve dropped a couple octaves. you’re not a virgin, she suddenly realizes, not even close. not when you’re dipping your head into her neck and smothering her with hot, wet kisses, your hand moving to grope at the wet spot soaking through the thin fabric of her boxers, fingertips tracing heavy over the outline of her pussy. a moan leaves her lips before she can think to stifle it. worse, she bucks her hips up to chase your touch.

you suck your teeth. disapproving.

“eager, aren’t you?” you move to climb off the bed, kneeling beside it. the sensation of your fingers, skating right over the waistband of her boxers, makes her whimper. she whimpers.

“baby, you’re killing me,” she chokes out. you run a french-tipped nail over her sparse happy trail. she bites her lip.

“i know,” you respond, and your voice is still sickly sweet. “but i’ll take care of you, el. don’t you want that?”

she’s not sure what that means exactly, but she finds herself nodding quickly.

turns out that it means eating her pussy like a fucking porn star.

you’d ripped off her boxers in one swift motion, then spit a glob of saliva onto her flushed, aching clit. wasting no time at all, you’d slid your fingers through her cunt with the lubrication of your own spit, and finally, when she didn’t think it could get better, you’d put your mouth on her. and that’s what it’s been like for the past few minutes. you’re tongue-fucking her now, face buried so deep between her legs she can’t imagine how you’re not gasping and sputtering for air.

“jesus christ, babe,” she gasps, involuntarily thrusting her hips up. your tongue pushes further into the constricting heat of her cunt and she throws her head back, overcome with bliss. but then you’re pulling back, mouth leaving her soaked pussy. the loss makes her whine again.

“wh—what happened?” she’s dazed.

“you’re being a fucking brat,” you respond as you rub a hand over your mouth to wipe away the wetness. “can’t just let me eat you out, huh? have to push it. god, ellie.”

you sound genuinely pissed off, so she flushes red with embarrassment and gives you an apologetic look. “i’m so sorry, i couldn’t—”

“—couldn’t control yourself?”

she stares, mouth hanging open. you laugh, a humorless chuckle. and then you’re standing up, reaching under your skirt to slide your panties down your thighs.

“listen, baby,” you say as you step out of your underwear and move to straddle your girlfriend’s thighs. “if we’re gonna fuck, you need to learn how to control yourself. be a good girl for me. can you do that?”

in all of her daydreams about your first time having sex as a couple, she’d never imagined this.

“yes,” she hears herself say. “i can do that.”

“do what?”

“i can…” ellie’s cunt weeps another rush of wetness. “i can be a good girl.”

satisfied, you reach down to swipe your fingers through her folds—still sticky and wet from your unfinished head. “when i ride you, i don’t want to hear a sound. okay?”

“o-okay.” she’d agree to anything at this point. she’s under a trance. your rose-scented, strawberry-flavored hypnotism.

when you finally slide into a comfortable position, bare, soaked cunts sliding against one another, she bites her tongue so hard she swears she tastes blood. a strangled, ragged sigh leaves her nose, nostrils flaring as you lift your hips and move them back again. you’re wet, soft, and skilled with your hips. everything she’s dreamed of and more. she wants to moan your name, but the way you’re looking at her, like a siren ready to drag her underwater, it keeps her from making a single fucking peep. she lets you take what you need, content to stare in awe as your tits bounce beneath your pristine white shirt.

“doing so well for me,” you praise, hips circulating in a good rhythm now. “you can talk, baby—tell me, how’s my pussy feel?”

“fuuuuck,” she practically wails, “you’re so good, god, feels s’fucking good.”

“mm,” you hum. you’ve found a rotation to hit a spot that fills you with white-hot pleasure, and each time you lift your hips and rub against her again, you feel yourself getting closer and closer to an orgasm. “your cunt feels good, el. might come soon, would you like that?”

she nods. you can feel her hips twitch, like she’s dying to fuck herself up against you, but you’re so close to the edge that you don’t have it in you to chastise her. you do, however, have it in you to tell her, “beg for my cum, then. be a good girl, you said you’d be a good girl.”

“please,” she gasps, feeling your cunt twitch against hers, “please, baby, need your cum.”

she’s getting close too, so she doesn’t feel embarrassed that you’ve got her whining, desperate for you to cream all over her. it’s hot, actually, the fact that she’s begging for you. her sweet, innocent little girlfriend, giving her the ride of her life and making her beg for you. she’d never considered this. stupid of her.

emboldened by her impending orgasm, ellie reaches for one of your hands and moves it from her shoulder to her throat. her eyes are wide and pleading when you look down at her. relief overcomes her features when you adjust your grip and then squeeze, her pulse thudding beneath your fingertips.

this is new for her. it’s all new for her. but when you come with your hand around her throat and your cunt sliding, drenched, against hers, she can’t help but scold herself internally for not doing this sooner. you don’t whimper or cry when you come, but you do say her name, drawing it out in that low, gravelly voice of yours that she hadn’t heard until today. and that’s enough for her to reach her own high, coming with a ragged groan. a mistake that she doesn’t process until she’s spent, panting, still dizzy with the fading pleasure that leaves her in waves.

you’ve gone still on top of her.

she looks at you and finds your expression displeased.

“i’m—shit, i’m so sorry. i’m so sorry, sweetheart, I really wasn’t thinking.”

“i can tell,” you say, voice flat. she moves to lift you from her lap, intending to get up and clean you both up, but you swat her hands away. “did i say we’re done?”

she stutters for a second before she can get out real words. “no, you…didn’t.”

“i can tell you’re going to be a tough one,” you sigh, “but you’ll learn.”

and with that, you start moving your hips again. the overstimulation on ellie’s still-sensitive clit makes her jolt, but one pointed look from you has her going still again. your hips form slow, narrow circles. cum seeps out of your cunt and leaks down onto hers.

after an agonizing minute or two, the pain of overstimulation melts into pleasure. you notice ellie’s expression change, a wrinkle forming between her brows again.

“there’s a good girl.” your praise is music to her ears. her lips open to allow her to breathe as heavy as she needs to, heaving gasps that go straight to your sopping cunt. you gush even wetter.

“mmph, fuck,” ellie groans. she shoots a worried glance up at your domineering face, but when she finds that you’re gazing down at her with unbridled lust in your eyes, she relaxes again.

“you can make as much noise as you want now, pretty girl,” you assure her. “i wanna hear how good i make you feel. even when you’ve—mm, even when you’ve been a bad girl. and you don’t deserve it.”

if she weren’t already turned on again, she is now. you start to ride her in earnest again, fucking down onto her in a rhythm that has the entire room ringing out with sounds of skin slapping against skin. she grabs your hips to hold herself steady, but then you push her shoulders until she falls back onto the mattress. your hands grab her wrists, and she’s entirely unsurprised when you pin them above her head and ride her faster, harder—she’s unsurprised, but it still makes her cry out in pleasure.

“baby, i need you to apologize,” you coo down at ellie as you continue your relentless riding.

“h-huh?”

“apologize for coming without permission,” you clarify, voice just a little strained.

“oh,” ellie says. her brows are pulled together; her face is all twisted up in an absolutely sinful expression, one that makes your cunt feel impossibly wetter. “i’m sorry, babe, i already said sorry.”

“then say it again, if i tell you to.” you lift your hips until you’re barely touching her, and when she starts to sputter pathetic, whiny apologies in an endless stream, you drop your greedy cunt back onto hers.

“you really are a brat,” you tell her. it’s getting harder to talk to her like this, straight-faced and patronizing, because you’re getting close again. but you steel yourself and go on. “such a bad girl, what should i do with you, hm?”

“anything,” ellie blabbers, wrists flexing in your grasp, “i’ll do anything—i’ll let you do anything to me.”

“oh?” you smile, still gasping lungfuls of air, exhausted but chasing your second climax. you lean forward and lick along the angle of ellie’s jaw, up up up to her ear. she shivers violently as you whisper, “you’d let me fuck your tight little hole?”

you can’t see her face with your mouth against her neck, kissing and sucking and biting at her sensitive skin, but you imagine that she looks shocked. and you don’t blame her. you’ve got your good girl act down, you have for years. and ellie fell for it, bless her heart. she probably thought this would go differently; probably imagined she’d be the one overstimulating you and making you whine and beg and whimper, shaking like a leaf as you near another orgasm. but here you are.

and you’re glad she so obviously likes it.

“yes,” ellie hisses through her teeth. “yes, yes, i’d—you could fuck me, whatever you want.”

“bet you’d love it,” you tell her honestly. “you’d love having your pretty pussy stuffed with my cock, wouldn’t you?”

you’re practically dripping sweat at this point from the exertion of tribbing, clothes clinging to your body with perspiration. under your skirt, ellie’s pelvis is drenched with sex.

“yessssss,” she cries out, eyes squeezing shut. “i’d l-love it, yes, fuck…”

“are you gonna come for me, pretty girl? you can—you’ve already made such a mess.”

she’s nodding, gasping. crying, even. you don’t notice until she sniffles, drawing your attention to her reddened face. her cheeks shine with tears. you coo a gentle good girl at her and she lets a high moan loose.

“come, el. come for me.”

she doesn’t need much encouragement, she really doesn’t, but your command pushes her over the edge. coming with a cry that nearly tears her throat apart, she shakes and shivers in your hold until you finally let up and slow your rolling hips. ellie looks so beautiful when she comes, and right after, too. dazed, pussy drunk, eyes foggy. lips chewed raw. tears still wet at the corners of her eyes.

“you didn’t come again,” she points out. she sounds so small.

“i know,” you agree. “but you can fix that, sweet girl.”

finally releasing her wrists from your grip, you roll onto the bed beside her on your back. you reach a hand between your legs and swipe your fingers through the puffy folds of your cunt, releasing a satisfied hum when you feel how soaked you are.

you’re surprised when you look up and find her already making her way between your legs, eyes glued to your pussy.

“i can fix it,” she repeats. “can i taste you?”

“oh, ellie,” you say, “i knew you’d be a good girl. go ahead.”

[kamaluhkhan]

THE GRUDGE (or: the 7 things luke castellan hated about you)

read part two GET HIM BACK! (or: the 7 reasons you want revenge on luke castellan)

pairing: luke castellan x child of nemesis!reader (gender not specified)

word count: 8.5k

summary: luke hated your guts. he really did. he just hoped that no one could tell how, even after all this, you're still everything to him.

warnings/disclaimer: luke's POV. spoilers for the lightning thief and season 1 of pjo. some heated make-out sessions but no actual smut - MDNI / 18+. mentions of blood + death + alcohol. luke is 19 during tlt but i wrote this with him + reader being 21 by the end of this (this is important for the next part lol). anyways, luke + reader share clothes and lots of intense emotions they maybe possibly don't process in the best way. lots of ANGST - it's a greek tragedy fr!

author's note: welcome to my new hyperfixation! this fic is LONG but i hope she's worth it ♡

♪: the grudge by olivia rodrigo

(i. you have a sharp tongue)

fourteen year old luke was overwhelmed when he first stepped into the hermes cabin. it was loud and overcrowded and no one really seemed to care that they had a new cabinmate. the head counselor showed luke to an empty bed at the back, told him to get settled in, and left without another word. luke dropped his backpack before collapsing on the mattress. it was so thin that he could feel the springs dig into his back.

"you'll get used to it."

luke sat up to see you climbing through the window. 

you had a band-aid stuck on your chin, chipped nail polish the color of blackberries, and leather combat boots that looked way too heavy to be wearing in the heat of summer. 

“the shitty mattress?”

“i meant the whole chaos of cabin 11, and the way things work around here in general. if you can get used to the shitty mattress, all power to you.” 

your tone was friendly enough, playful even. you smiled at him so comfortably it made luke nauseous. 

“good to know.” he tried to smile back at you, but his heart wasn’t in it. “i’m luke, by the way.”

“yeah, i know. i’m —”

“y/n!”

you seemed entirely unfazed as the blond who called your name stormed over to you. you rolled your eyes, something only luke could notice, before turning to her.

“someone stole my candy.”

“i’m very sorry to hear that, maddy. gotta be careful around here.” your voice dripped like poisoned honey, deceptively innocent and sweet.

maddy was not having it. she huffed at you. “it was you, wasn’t it?”

“that depends. did you cheat at poker last night? again?” 

some of the chatter throughout the cabin paused, heads turning to listen in. 

“what? n-no!” 

“then you have your answer, maddy.” you exaggerated a sigh, as though you had already won the fight and were annoyed that she came back for more. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i have a new camper to show around.”

chiron had already given them a tour, but luke didn’t protest when you grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the window with you. your hand was warm in his as you dragged him along to the corner of the cabin where a poorly made ladder waited for you. 

“come on.” you started climbing, and only stopped to look down when you realized luke wasn’t following you. “best view of camp. trust me.”

a shiver passed through luke. trust didn’t come easy to him. he also didn’t particularly want to return to a stuffy cabin where all he would do was count reasons he did not want to be there.

 so, luke followed you. he sat down next to you on the roof and looked out at the sun shining on his new home, but he couldn't help but be slightly bitter. the gods had gotten all of you into this life of endless danger and battles and monsters, and this was all they had to offer in return: a summer camp. 

it just didn't seem fair. 

there was something else he noticed then. what was it that chiron had said? camp half-blood was supposed to be a safe haven for all demigods. 

“i don’t get it. there are only twelve cabins, but aren’t there, like, a million other gods?”

you straightened your posture then, and turned to luke with a newfound interest. 

“camp half-blood only has cabins representing the twelve olympians. apparently, they’re the only ones important enough to have children worth recognizing, and they can’t even do that half the time,” you explained, impertinence laced throughout your words. it seemed like something you could never quite get off your chest. 

every  demigod knew that the gods didn’t appreciate sarcasm. they  didn’t particularly like being called out on their bullshit, either.

you didn’t seem to care; you even rolled your eyes up at the sky, as if challenging zeus himself. 

“anyways, that’s why the hermes cabin is so crowded. it takes in campers who are unclaimed or whose parent doesn’t have a cabin at camp. like me.”

“so, who’s your godly parent?”

you fiddled with the leather cord on your neck. it held a few clay beads like the other campers, but there was one silver charm he noticed only you wore — scales, by the looks of it. you clutched onto it.

luke realized that, despite your own advice, maybe you resented having to get used to the way things worked around here, and having to hide your resentment. maybe that was worse than having to sleep on an uncomfortable bed for the rest of your life.

"nemesis. goddess of revenge."

"that's....hardcore."

you scoffed and moved on to twisting the silver ring on your index finger. "a lot of people take it that way, and i think it scares them a bit.”

“so that’s why you’re extra nice to new campers, huh?” 

“no, i was just in a good mood today.” you smirked.

“guess i was just lucky, then.”

luke couldn’t help but smile at your laugh — sharp, biting. you nudged your boot against his sneaker, which shifted you closer to him, shoulders practically touching. 

“what people don’t understand is that it's more about balance, you know? you do good things, and good things happen to you. at least, they should. you do bad things and….” you pulled out an outrageously big bag of candy, dropped it between you and luke, and winked at him. “you face the consequences.” 

“that makes sense.” luke leaned over to grab a handful of gummy bears. “like karma.”

“yeah. exactly.” 

you bit the head off a red bear, both of you chewing in silence before you added:

“by the way, i’m sorry about your friend.” you swallowed and caught luke’s gaze. 

chiron warned him that word would travel fast around camp about what happened to thalia, and luke had prepared himself for anything — anything but your reaction. there was no pity in your eyes; instead, there was a hint of rage, as though thalia had been your friend, too. 

“she deserved more.” 

luke’s eyes caught the glint of a knife strapped to your belt. he took another handful of the candy you stole, and he thought about the fire and fearlessness behind your words, and, despite everything, it felt right to be with you then and there. 

“yeah,” he finally whispered back. “she did.”

we all do. 

neither of you said those words, but the suggestion was there, and it felt like a promise. 

(ii. you hold on to every stupid, little detail)

“slow down, tiger.” 

your voice echoed throughout the arena, and if luke had been fighting a real opponent, it might have gotten him killed. instead, he just stopped mid-swing, sparing another straw dummy from losing its arm. 

“left hand,” you noted as you walked past him towards a bench. “you, my friend, are in need of a break.”

luke loosened the grip on his sword. the only time luke fought with his non-dominant hand was when he had overworked the other. he must have switched an hour ago, but judging by how heavy his arm felt, it could have very well been two.  

his curls were stuck to his forehead with sweat, his shirt soaked through. he could feel a dull pain behind his eyes, and luke was worried that if he stopped to catch his breath, he would pass out. or, even worse, have to face the reality of the shitty news he’d gotten early that day. 

“come sit with me,” you urged. “you’re exhausted, tiger.” 

luke bristled at your nickname for him. 

sure, luke loved that there was something only you called him, a secret kept between you in plain sight, but it was also a reminder that it was harder to hide behind the hero act when you were around.

everyone else at camp figured the nickname was a playful attempt at calling him strong and charismatic. the truth was that luke once told you that his favorite cereal as a kid was frosted flakes and that he would dream of playing sports as well as tony the tiger. for better or for worse, like most things, you wouldn’t let it go. 

case in point: if it was anybody other than you trying to get him to take a break, luke could have just brushed them off with a charming smile and continued swordfighting until his arms fell off, but in the two years since meeting you, luke had never met anyone as stubborn and convincing. like him, it seemed you were willing to fight and shed blood to get your way. luke was never really in the mood to make you bleed, even when feeling like he could burn the entire world down, so he usually gave in to your demands.  

as soon as he sat down next to you, you handed him an orange flavored energy drink — his favorite. anything other than water was hard to come by at camp without the enchanted goblets in the dining pavilion, or the right connection in the hermes cabin. he ran out of his stash the other day, but you must have noticed and gotten one of the stoll brothers to smuggle more in. 

“thanks,” luke said, ignoring the jolt of electricity that passed through him when your fingers brushed together briefly. 

 the two of you looked out at the sword arena, and all the straw dummies that luke had destroyed. you wait for him to take three big gulps of his drink before speaking again. 

“i guess chiron and your dad decided you weren’t ready for a quest.”

luke exhaled sharply. “how did you —”

“the only time you’d skip out on capture the flag is if something really shitty happened.” you looked down at luke’s clenched fists, and that seemed to be all the confirmation you needed. “you promised annabeth you'd be there, and it's not like you to let her down."

fuck. he had completely forgotten that tonight was annabeth's first time as team captain. this entire week, she had been prepping a winning strategy. it wasn’t like annabeth needed him to win, but luke was her big brother, and he should have been there. you were right — he had let her down. 

the realization made luke’s day go from bad to worse. 

"i told her you were helping a new camper with an emergency. she didn't believe it, but she adjusted her strategy and we still won.”

“well, thank the gods everything worked in the end,” luke grumbled. 

“don’t thank the gods,” you quipped. “thank annabeth chase for her brilliant mind, and me for covering for your sorry ass.”

when luke didn’t indulge in your usual playful banter, you moved closer to him and brushed some curls away from his eyes. your skin warmed his forehead, and the small gesture made him feel better than he had all day.

“look, i’m not going to give you some bullshit inspirational speech about how the gods don’t get to define what a hero is, or how you don’t need a quest to prove that you’re worthy of being one. we’ve each been through that before, and i have a feeling this won’t be our last time, either.”

“then why are you here?” the question came out harsher than luke had intended it to.

“because she’s trying her best to hide it, but annabeth is really hurt that you didn’t show up for the game. i figured the least you could do is suck it up, come to the campfire, and make her those signature luke castellan s’mores. you could probably use one, too, since you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.” 

you were right, again. luke was exhausted, he was furious, but most of all, he was starving.  

later that night, luke sat next to annabeth and vowed to make her as many s’mores as she wanted. you’d gone to sit with the hephaestus kids, trying to convince beckendorf and nyssa to join your cabin’s post-campfire party at the beach, even though they had to work in the forges early the next morning. 

when chiron made his weekly speech, congratulating the winners of capture the flag and thanking the gods for keeping everyone safe, you and luke caught each other’s gaze from across the fire. you rolled your eyes and luke bit back a smile as you turned back to beckendorf. he noticed your knees were practically touching. did you sit that close to everyone? 

luke was looking at you for so long that the marshmallow he was roasting fell into the fire, despite annabeth’s warnings. she handed him another one. 

"you should tell her how you feel," annabeth said. "stop being a coward." 

whether it was the smell of burnt sugar, the heat of the fire, or annabeth’s comment, luke started to feel dizzy. he did his best to shake it off, asking annabeth for a play-by-play of her strategy earlier that night, but he couldn’t quite get rid of the thought of you. 

(iii. you don't care if your clothes are stained with blood)

“i just….i can’t fucking believe you, luke.”

“i don’t get why you’re so upset — you’ve never cared about quests before.”

luke was hoping to break the news to you after capture the flag. unfortunately for him, word travels fast around camp. 

annabeth had the two of you scouting the east side for the flag, while she and some other athena kids took the west. you hadn’t found anything so far, which meant that you’d spent the better part of an hour bickering over luke’s choice of companions for his quest. a choice that included charles beckendorf and chris rodriguez, and purposefully did not include you, much to your fury.  

before you could continue arguing, luke heard the sound of footsteps approaching. he looked over to you, and you already had your shield and sword at the ready. 

a few red defenders emerged from the trees. one charged at luke, but you stepped in so he could deal with the other two. one of his opponents went down fairly easily, but the other put up much more of a fight. metal clashed behind him as you kept fighting as well. you might not have been as skilled a swordfighter as luke, but he knew that you could hold your own, at least until he was finished with the person in front of him. 

luke parried his opponent’s strike, causing them to take a step closer. he was preparing to disarm them, just as he heard you yelp and stumble to the ground. it only took a millisecond of his attention, but it gave his opponent the opportunity to elbow him in the face. luke felt a crack upon impact, and pain radiated from his nose; he powered through. 

he had to finish this fight, and he had to do it fast. you needed him. 

his ears were ringing as he finally knocked over his opponent, kicking away their sword and keeping his foot on their chest. luke turned around to see you having turned the tides, the blade of your sword dangerously close to your opponent’s neck.

you locked eyes with luke, and you both understood — it was time to go. the two of you ran through the forest, as far away as you could before having to stop and catch your breath.

luke removed his helmet to get some air, and dropped his weapons. you did the same. you looked at him, brows furrowed.

“your nose.”

luke licked his lips, tasting blood. the triumph of winning that last fight overshadowed the ache of his potentially broken nose. in fact, he liked the image of a ruthless warrior emerging from the glory and gore of battle, that even though he did not bleed ichor like a god, he still had power. 

you, on the other hand, didn’t look impressed. instead, you stepped forward and offered the sleeve of your shirt to wipe away the blood. 

“you don’t have to —”

“i know you think you’re a badass walking around all broken and bloody, but you shouldn’t deny your admirers your pretty face,” you teased. 

it was no secret that luke had numerous admirers around camp, a fact you loved to tease him about. he was sure that you relished in how flustered that made him. all you had to call him was pretty boy, and luke could be reduced to a blushing mess. 

it was pathetic how much power you had over him.

“besides, i wouldn’t have gotten out of that last fight if you hadn’t taught me that disarming technique earlier. i owe you. it’s what we do. we take care of each other, right?”

he couldn’t argue with that.

a few moments of silence passed as you cleaned his face. something shifted as you worked, the flirtatious grin fading away. when you pulled away, your sleeve was stained a dark crimson. 

“just tell me honestly,” you finally murmured. “why don't you want me to join your quest?” 

luke was genuinely taken aback by the softness of your voice, now devoid of its usual fire. you wouldn’t meet luke’s eyes, but being that close to you, he noticed they were slightly glazed over.

he had expected you to be angry at his decision. he expected you to yell and argue and try to change his mind. luke hadn’t expected you to be so hurt. so broken. 

he hadn’t planned on it, but luke decided to tell you the truth then.

“look, karma, if you come with me, my heart wouldn’t fully be in the quest. i’d be so caught up in….well, you.”

a pause.

“is that a bad thing?”

“not usually, no.” 

you smirked a little at that, and luke’s heart skipped a beat. it also made his decision even clearer. 

“but i need to be focused for this. i need….” he let out a deep sigh. “i need to prove myself. this is my first real chance, and i can’t fuck it up.”

you met his gaze and smiled brightly at him, your signature spark of confidence returning.  

“you won’t.”

you reached a hand up to play with his necklace. luke hadn’t noticed how close you’d gotten until your fingers started tracing over those four clay beads. it made his entire body burst into flames.

“i’ve been wanting to do something for a while. and, aphrodite save me, it might be really stupid, but —”

luke took a lucky guess as to where you were going, and crashed his lips against yours. aphrodite knows that he'd been wanting to do that for a while, too. 

he often got drunk on the adrenaline of battle, the glory of winning, but nothing was quite like the rush of kissing you for the first time. 

it was messy and urgent, both of you aware that, at any moment, you could be interrupted. your noses were bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. the metallic tang of blood lingered on luke’s tongue, but neither of you seemed to care. you even bit his lip slightly, as if you wanted more. armor sat heavy and cold between your chests, preventing you from getting closer. luke had never loathed the protective gear more. 

he made up for it by lodging one hand underneath your jaw, and snaking the other beneath the celestial bronze, beneath the cotton of your shirt, admiring how your pulse quickened under his thumb when he grazed the soft skin of your stomach. you tangled your hands into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. he groaned and felt you smirk against his lips. 

luke had kissed a few people before, sure, but never like this: like a knife to the gut, and if you pulled away, luke would surely bleed out and die. 

it wouldn’t be a hero’s death, in the traditional sense, but at least he’d die happy. 

how many heroes could claim that?

when luke ran out of air, feeling like his lungs were burning, he had to pull away. 

you glanced down at luke’s kiss-bitten lips, then back to his eyes. luke flushed under the intensity of your gaze. 

“just promise me something, tiger,” you whispered, voice hoarse. 

“anything.”

“come back alive.”

luke leaned forward and placed another kiss on your lips, this one much gentler than before.

“i promise.”

(iv. you love like a scar that won't fade)

the nightmares were getting worse. 

luke woke up in a cold sweat, taking gulps of air in an attempt to steady his breathing.

“luke.” 

your whisper did little to quell the pit of dread growing in his stomach, but it did enough to bring him back down to reality. 

he was at camp half-blood (fuck the gods of olympus), in the hermes cabin (fuck you, dad), in a bed next to yours (fuck, if he could tell you what — who — was going through his head, he would).

“i’m…i’m fine,” he murmured back, voice catching slightly on the lie. 

like clockwork, you shifted from your bed to his, slipping under the covers. it didn’t matter that it was a hot summer night, and the minute your legs touched his, he could feel himself starting to overheat. 

your thumb brushed over the thick edge of his scar, up his cheekbone to the corner of his eye. it had been a year, living with this reminder. a reminder that he had failed, just as much as his father and the olympians had failed him. 

luke tried to pretend that he didn’t come back from his quest as a shell of who he once was. after all, it was meant to be his shining moment as a demigod, meant to gain him all the glory and father’s praise he once wished for. 

what a fucking joke.

every morning, luke would crawl into a different skin. he welcomed new campers and taught sword-fighting. he laughed with chris and his other siblings and strategized with annabeth for capture the flag. he would be the easy-going, charming, skillful senior counselor who respected the gods and honored them in everything he did. 

again: a fucking joke.

nights were different, though, with you so close to him, you who could always see right through him.

every night, luke was a fourteen-year old boy again, with so much rage and resentment he didn't know what to do with it. 

of course, you were always you - a bleeding heart underneath layers of armor. you didn't care about fate, or the gods, or the titans. you cared about justice, you cared about what was right and fair. 

most of all, you cared about luke.

“you were screaming,” you told him, voice barely cutting through the soft snores and sleeptalkings of your other cabinmates. 

“sorry,” he managed. looking at you in the dull moonlight, luke noticed the deep shadows under your eyes. 

“it’s fine. you just….you scared me, tiger.” 

your hand still rested on his cheek, and for a second, luke hoped you would kiss him, but you didn’t. instead, you told him to try and get some sleep, and sank further into his bed before closing your eyes. 

for the hundredth night in a row, luke hoped you couldn’t hear his heart hammering in his chest as you fell asleep next to him.

since coming back from his quest, luke didn’t have it in him to suggest being anything other than friends, and you didn’t push it. there had been a few....moments between you, sure, but nothing more.

luke thought you might have changed your mind, because who would want to be with a bitter, worthless, wannabe hero? then again, that voice haunting his dreams…. luke could change that. 

but, at what cost?

(v. you protect people as ruthlessly as a starving dog)

luke could hear you talking to percy jackson outside. though he couldn’t quite determine what was being said, as much as he tried.

you entered the bathroom and instantly caught luke’s eyes in the mirror. you were wearing your faded pyjama shorts with cartoon crows, and a flannel shirt that luke had a sneaking suspicion might have been his. you smiled at him before setting up at the counter, one sink between you. 

“what was that about?” luke asked after spitting out a mouthful of minty toothpaste.

“oh, nothing.” you were searching through your toiletry bag for something, and seemed to come up short. “hey, do you have any extra dental floss?”

luke threw some over to you. as you effortlessly caught it, he noticed your knuckles, bruised and bloodied.

“what happened?” 

you finished flossing and briefly examined your hands before pulling out your toothbrush. 

“it’s not a big deal,” you assured. “some ares kids were picking on percy, and then they started pushing him around, like, really pushing him around, so….” 

“....you decided to send them to the infirmary.”

you squeezed some toothpaste on your brush before continuing. “i don’t need you to lecture me about how i shouldn’t be fighting with other campers because i’ve been here longer and i should be a good role model. you know what a good role model does? not let kids beat up other kids and think the worst punishment they’ll get is no dessert for a week.”

luke watched carefully as you jammed the toothbrush in your mouth and brushed with such force, he was worried your teeth might dislodge. he knew that you would shed blood for someone you loved, and that you didn’t particularly care if you had to break rules in doing so, because you believed that what was written was not necessarily what was right. 

in fact, luke loved that about you.

no, it wasn’t the fighting that luke cared about — it was who you were fighting for. 

percy was a good kid, he really was. luke just didn’t want you getting attached. 

“i wasn’t going to lecture you. i’m guessing chiron already did?” 

you nodded and spat out what looked like a combination of toothpaste and blood. you rinsed your mouth until the water lost its pinkish hue. once you were done, luke continued his train of thought.

“i just didn’t realize you cared so much about him.”

“about percy?” 

luke could tell that he didn’t have your full attention. you were packing your stuff back up, accidentally tossing luke’s dental floss into your bag, but he had more pressing matters to deal with.

“yeah. the kid’s only been at camp for three days, and you’re already acting like his guard dog.”

you finally turned to luke and glared at him. 

“maybe. but percy’s sweet and he doesn’t seem like the type to put up with bullshit. he’s been through a lot, and annabeth seems to like him, too. as far as i’m concerned, percy’s one of us, and i’m not going to let anyone push him around.”

luke raised an eyebrow at you. “he’s sweet?”

“yeah. like, just now, he gave me some blue raspberry jelly beans as a thank you. said his mom used to work at a candy store. he also wanted me to apologize to you for him. he feels bad about beating you in sword-fighting earlier.” 

you scoffed, like you resented luke for having to apologize to him on percy’s behalf. you definitely did not appreciate that guard dog comment. luke clenched his jaw, seething over what you had just said. 

satisfied with his reaction, you gave luke that nauseating smile of yours, tilted your head towards the exit. a truce, because you never liked to fight with luke for too long, and a order, because you knew luke would always follow. 

the two of you began walking back to your cabin in the warm mid-june air. 

“i wouldn’t say he beat me,” luke huffed. “it was beginner’s luck.”

“sure, tiger. it was beginner’s luck that disarmed the best swordsman we’ve had in the last 300 years.”

you nudged luke’s shoulder with yours, but he recoiled from your touch. 

“are you trying to make me feel worse?” luke tried his best to avoid snapping at you, keeping his tone measured.

“i’m just saying that maybe the kid has natural talent and that doesn’t make you any less talented. there’s no need to get jealous.”

luke resisted the urge to growl at your suggestion. 

to be clear, he was not jealous. it’s just that luke had spent years of blood, sweat, and tears getting to where he was then, and percy jackson had just gotten to camp. 

and, to be even more clear, luke was not jealous of how you were already defending percy with your whole body and your whole heart, the way you did for him. 

by then, you reached the front of the hermes cabin. luke could already hear the commotion of what he would need to deal with as soon as he walked in. the burden of being head counselor, one he approached with an elastic smile that could snap at any moment. 

you tugged on luke’s sleeve before he could open the door. 

“hey. are we okay?”

luke looked down at your fingers grasping the fabric of a sweatshirt he was just realizing was yours. your nails were painted a dark red, now chipped after a week of wear. you had begged luke to paint his nails then, and once again, he gave in. he even started to like the purple you had chosen just for him, so deep it was almost black. the same color you were wearing the first time you and luke met.

he smiled at the memory — a real smile, no plastic — and then smiled back up at you.

“we’re fine, karma.” and he moved to enter the cabin. luke could hear the threat of an argument bubbling up, what sounded like a petty one over a prank gone wrong.

“wait.” you tugged at his (your) sweatshirt once more. “there’s something i wanted to talk to you about, about tomorrow night—”

“annabeth called a meeting during free time.”

“yeah, i know, it’s just —”

“she’ll run through strategy for capture the flag then.”

“one of the aphrodite senior campers asked me to the campfire,” you blurted it out, and luke decided to ignore the sound of a fight breaking out from behind the wooden door.

what in the name of hades were you talking about?

“they asked you out? like…like a….” luke didn’t even want to speak the word, scared it would make it real.

“a date,” you said casually, as if that one word didn’t rip luke’s heart in a million pieces. “i said yes.” an admission that took all those pieces and set them on fire. 

sure, in the seven years since you and luke met, you’d each talked about boys, about girls, about dating and kissing them and going further. but there was something about this one that felt different. something about the way you told him.

“but, listen, i wanted to let you know it’s not —”

“good for you,” was all luke said through gritted teeth before someone started calling his name again, louder and more urgently, and he had to duck inside.  

(vi. you taste like burning cherries and righteous anger)

your team had won capture the flag, of course. the biggest news of the evening, though: percy jackson was the son of the sea god. 

he was a forbidden child, the hero of the great prophecy. 

everything was falling into place. 

all luke should be thinking about is kronos’ plan, and his role in it, and how a world without the gods of olympus was that much more in reach.  

unfortunately, for the time being, he was so consumed by you. 

you, from across the campfire, sporting cutoff denim shorts and fresh wounds from the game earlier. you, who had wrapped your knuckles in gauze, concealing their bruising, fixed the chips in your nail polish and stacked rings on your fingers. (for the record: luke had gifted you the one on your left thumb.) you, with dark lips that whispered too closely and laughed too loudly with a child of aphrodite— jordan li.

you hadn’t so much as looked at luke since congratulating each other on another win. when chiron announced his weekly gratitude to the gods at the start of that night’s campfire, you didn’t punctuate your resentment with your usual eye-roll or biting remark. you were too busy giggling at something jordan said.

luke wanted to be the one to whisper jokes in your ear. he wanted to be the one you left lipstick stains on later, along his jaw and down his neck. he wanted to be the one who kissed the blade mark on your shoulder and the bruises on your knuckles. 

and yet, hours passed and it seemed that the thought of luke had never so much as crossed your mind. he found himself at an after hours party with a few senior campers on the beach. a lethal recipe: a poorly crafted bonfire, some contraband drinks and you in jordan li’s lap, playing with their hair and pretending luke castellan did not exist. 

meanwhile, luke had katie gardner’s full attention. she was talking to him about the strawberry season, potentially leaning a bit too close into luke’s personal space, definitely flirting with him. 

luke could have done a lot worse than the head counselor of the demeter cabin, who always smelled like fresh lavender, whose eyes were the bright green of spring grass and whose lips tasted like golden honey. 

the problem was that luke only wanted you, and his eyes kept sliding over to where you were kissing jordan’s cheek, and he accidentally called the girl he was kissing by your name, which did not make her happy. 

katie threw her drink in his face, told him to wake the fuck up, and walked away.

a chorus of gasps and chuckles erupted as luke stood there, diet coke and vodka seeping into his shirt. the commotion seemed to capture your attention, because you suddenly appeared next to luke, an empty bottle of cherry soda in your hand.

“rough night, tiger?” your voice, that nickname, made luke sick, his face twisting into a frown. you don’t seem to notice or care. instead, you switched your bottle with luke’s and took a sip.

“looks like you were having a pretty good time,” luke practically sneered. “where’s your date?” 

 “they went to bed.” you swallowed a mouthful of beer, grimacing at its bitterness. “gods, this is terrible. you and i should go on the drink run next time — we have better taste.”

“so, are you and jordan like a thing now?”

you gave luke a smile he didn’t quite understand, but made his stomach churn in ways only you could. “would that be a problem?”

“of course not.” he answered way too quickly for that to be true. 

“let’s get out of here,” you suggested. “i think katie is about this close to strangling you with a tree branch.”

luke glanced over your shoulder to where green eyes glared back at him. 

nowhere could luke find it in him to care. he wasn’t even sorry. he just shrugged, took the bottle back from you, took his first sip all night. luke almost gagged (because of course you were right, and the stoll brothers had better fake ids than they had taste) but he suppressed it. 

“no. i’m good.”

biggest lie he ever said. like there wasn’t anger caught in his throat and jealousy swelling between his ribs.

“go find jordan,” he taunted. “kiss them, show them a good time! isn’t that the reason why you got all pretty?”

you narrowed your eyes at him carefully. your nostrils were slightly flared, and luke took a bit of pride in being able to rile you up.

“look, we haven’t really talked lately, and i think we should.”

“go find jordan,” he mocked once more. “almost all the aphrodite kids are here, and i’m sure you can be quiet enough to sneak into their cabin and if you want a quick fu—”

“luke.” you clipped his name, obviously getting to the limit of your patience with him. “if you want to stay here all night and be an asshole, you’re welcome to. you should know, though, that your happy-go-lucky hero mask is starting to crack and i don’t know if you could deal with the fallout from it shattering completely.”

you leaned in close and whispered that last part, very aware of the chattering that stopped and the eyes that watched the pair of you anxiously. luke was usually good at hiding that part of himself who wanted to burn the world down. 

in ways you didn’t realize, you were right: he couldn’t risk revealing it, not now.

not yet. 

“do whatever you want, castellan,” you spat out his last name, the combination of letters foreign in your mouth.“i’m leaving.”

luke should be proud of himself. he waited a whole two seconds before following you like a stray dog. 

luke didn’t know if he’d ever felt you that enraged by him, and it horrified him. it also made him hungry for more. 

“i’m not sure that jordan would want the two of us alone together at night,” he shouted after you, words echoing into the starless sky.

“gods, enough about jordan!” luke practically ran into you with how fast you turned around to confront him. “i was helping them with that stupid aphrodite tradition!”

“you….” luke faltered, all the snark leaving his body. “what?”

luke remembered silena beauregard once explaining the rite of passage to him: to prove themselves, a child of aphrodite had to make someone fall in love with them, and then break their heart.

“why…why would you agree to do that?”

you had reached the dining area by then, and you sat on one of the steps leading to the pavilion. luke stayed a few feet away, looking at you cautiously. 

“jordan and i are already friends, and they figured a fake relationship would be the way to avoid anyone from actually getting hurt in the process.”

“you seemed so…so into it, though,” luke stammered, the memory of you in jordan’s lap, laughter bubbling from your lips, still fresh.

“it’s called acting, dumbass.” the camp didn’t rely on electricity, but there were enough torches around that luke could see you roll your eyes. “anyways, i was trying to give you a heads-up last night, but you wouldn’t listen.” you took a deep breath. “and, honestly, i didn’t push it because….i figured i should test a hypothesis.”

a hypothesis? you’d known annabeth for too long.

“what hypothesis?”

you hesitated. 

“it doesn’t matter. fuck, this was stupid,” you muttered, and without another word, stormed through the dining pavilion, a short cut to the hermes cabin. your footsteps fell heavy against the marble, and luke’s not far behind. 

“what hypothesis?” he asked again.

nothing but rushed footsteps.

“what hypothesis?” luke finally yelled.

third time was the charm, because you stopped in your tracks and faced luke once again. a fire burned in the bronze brazier, where campers were forced to offer up portions of your food to the gods at every meal. its roaring seemed to captivate you, and the flames danced across your face, illuminating all your curves and edges.

“i’m angry at the gods,” you stated. 

this caught luke off guard. from the day the two of you met, luke knew you shared that feeling. you’d gotten quieter with your rage as you’d gotten older. luke supposed he got better at hiding it himself, as well. 

“i’m angry at the gods for letting bad shit happen even if they can stop it, and for building this world in the fucked up way they did. i’m angry at your dad for the way he’s treated you, but — you, luke castellan.” you finally met luke’s eyes with a gaze so sharp, luke almost felt himself bleed. “i’m also angry at you, and not just for your bullshit tonight.” 

your admission felt like a punch to the stomach, and luke was left with no air to breathe.

did you know?

“you haven’t been the same since your quest,” you continued, words slow and deliberate, the way you spoke when you were worried your voice would shake. “and i’ve come to terms with that in the past few years, but you….you’ve never tried to ice me out before. you’ve been acting distant since december, and it’s been driving me insane. do you realize how much i miss my best …..” you swallowed the word friend. “how much i miss you?”

luke hesitated, because what could he say? i know i’ve been distant, but i’ve been busy trying to start a war between the gods. sorry babe! 

would you hate him, if you knew? 

you had to have known that, despite the distance, luke missed you. for tartarus sake, in the last two days, he’d driven himself mad at you calling a fourteen year old boy sweet, and he was about to combust at the image of you dating someone else, with little care as to the collateral damage. 

"you can't just avoid me, makeout with katie fucking gardner, and then….” you trailed off, hiding your face in your hands. whether it was to hide embarrassment or tears, luke wasn’t sure.

a smirk spread across luke’s face at the revelation that he hadn’t been the only one jealous at the bonfire that night. it lit luke up with the confidence he needed to not completely fall to his knees in front of you, beg for your forgiveness for everything he’s done.

“why do you care if i make out with katie fucking gardner?” 

as he waited for a response, luke walked towards you until your back hit one of the marble columns. 

“why do you care if i’m with jordan fucking li?” you clenched your jaw and looked right through luke. a clear indication that you wanted him to break down first; it wouldn’t be you who yielded this fight.

“because i want to be the one you’re with.” at that point, luke was so close to you that he swore he could hear your heartbeat. he reached out and played with the hem of your shorts. “why do you care if i make out with katie gardner?”

“because.” you drew in a sharp breath when luke’s fingers brushed underneath the denim, across the warm skin of your thigh. you closed your eyes. “don’t make me say it, tiger.” 

the desperation in your voice made luke want to do unholy things with you, to you. luke knew you didn’t think of him as a saint, and you never expected him to be one. the reality was that you weren’t much better, either. what was essentially an altar to the gods burned bright next to you, but it seemed neither of you had ever cared less about it than in that moment. 

luke would watch olympus fall. he would dethrone the gods and watch their glass castle shatter and find glory in a new world. in the grand scheme of things, he was willing to lose this battle.

in fact, he would have rather betrayed the titan lord himself than waste another second not kissing your lips. 

so, he kissed you, and you kissed him back with such force, such hunger, it was ungodly.

no, you certainly weren’t a saint — but you were divine, in the most brutal, intoxicating way. in the way you shuddered when luke lodged a leg between your thighs; in the way you threaded your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans to bring him closer; in the way the metal of your rings burned through the skin of his hip, right to the bone, which made him shudder, and you smile triumphantly against his jaw.

the more he tasted your smirk flavored by cherry soda and the ashes of nearby flames, the more he felt your feral teeth against his neck and your wicked nails digging into his shoulders, the more you tugged on his curls, the more luke thought: maybe. 

maybe you would give into your seething resentment, live up to those eye-rolls and snarky comments that got you in trouble with chiron, on the edge of hot water with the gods. maybe you would join the titan army. maybe, just maybe, this time, you would follow luke.

and yet — maybe wasn’t enough if it meant he could lose this. luke wouldn’t risk it, not until he kissed every battle scar and bruise on your body, and you did the same to his. 

“wait.”

it was the last thing luke wanted to do, but he complied. he took the opportunity to appreciate the chaos he created: your shirt in disarray, your lipstick a mess, your chest heaving and desperate to catch a breath. 

“i promised jordan that we’d keep up our charade for a week, two at the most. do you think we could keep this…” you tightened your fist around the fabric of his shirt. “a secret until then?”

luke responded by pressing his lips to yours once more, because there were definitely worse secrets to keep.

(vii. you wouldn’t hesitate to make him bleed)

luke had just left percy jackson to die.

he should be leaving camp, now, but he needed to see you one last time. 

the universe works in mysterious ways, because you were out on a run through the forest, and you crossed paths before he even had time to wonder where you were.

“hey, tiger.” you smiled as if this was a regular afternoon. the two of you would teach your afternoon activities, sneak away during dinner so luke could kiss you in that spot that made you gasp. “wanna join me? i was just wrapping up, but i could be convinced to go longer.”

for a second, he was tempted to. very tempted. 

“i don’t have much time.”

you seemed to notice luke’s sullen mood and you dropped your playful demeanor. 

luke explained: the messages from kronos in his dreams, him stealing the lightning bolt and helm of darkness to start a war between the gods and framing percy. the plan to destroy olympus that luke had pledged his life to.

percy was surprised at what luke had done, and luke could imagine that the rest of camp would be, too. luke was the golden boy of camp half-blood, everyone’s big brother. 

you, on the other hand, didn’t express any sense of shock. 

“luke.” you said his name like you weren’t quite sure it was poison. “i’m going to give you five seconds to tell me that you’re joking.”

five seconds of silence passed. you took a few steps back from luke.

“i….i should have told you sooner.”

“yeah,” you scoffed. “you should have. but, you didn’t. did it feel good, having the titan king whispering sweet nothings in your ear? all the lies about how this war is the only way to get the glory you so desperately want? it’s fucking delusional.” 

“it’s not delusional—”

“yes, it is!” you glared at him. “you’re on the wrong side of a war you made the mistake of starting.”

luke straightened his posture, thinking about how hypocritical you were being. 

“isn’t this what you’re all about? revenge, karma. your mom will probably join us, too. don’t you want to see the gods finally get what they deserve?”

“not like this. i can’t believe how desperate you are, to believe that kronos is going to make everything right. it’s pathetic,” you spat. “i’m not saying the gods don’t deserve to be taken down a notch. their fucking obsession with power and glory….it’s sick and twisted, but i don’t think your titan king is any better. i don’t think you are any better.” 

“it’s time that the gods fall. this is the only way, even if it isn’t perfect,” luke countered. his voice was firmer now as he absorbed your anger. your mother was the goddess of revenge, but you clearly didn't understand the sacrifices, pain, and blood that was required to make the world a better place.  

luke just needed to convince you.

“we’ve talked about this for years,” he continued. “nothing is balanced! there’s no justice here, for anyone.  we can build a better world where we don’t have to burn our scraps and throw ourselves at monsters to get attention. we can fight together like we always have. y/n, i love—”

“don’t,” you snapped. “don’t you fucking dare. you should have died on your quest.” your voice laced with venom. one hand gripping the knife you always kept on your belt. “that dragon should have fucking sliced through you and saved us all the trouble.”

something pricked in the back of his throat, down to his stomach.

“you don’t mean that.”

“i do,” you promised. “at least you would have died with all of us thinking you’re a hero instead of the traitor you really are.”

you grabbed your knife, took a fighting stance. 

“i’m not going to fight you,” was all luke could say. he noticed your hand tremble, and you tightened the grip on your knife to prevent emotion from slipping through your invisible armor. 

in that moment, you have could slice through luke, and it would hurt less than everything you just said, less than the murderous look you were giving him, like he was just another monster you wouldn’t think twice about sending to tartarus.

luke didn’t even have a chance to unsheathe his sword before you charged at him, but he quickly had you pinned to the ground, the tip of your own knife pointed at you. he hesitated. the blade pressed harder against your cheek than he intended, enough to break the skin and let a few droplets of dark crimson escape. 

“please come with me,” he pleaded. you didn’t answer, but you did seem surprised by the softness of his voice. 

a few moments passed, the celestial bronze still between you. luke waited for you to see his way, to yield to his proposal.

you didn’t. instead, you took advantage of the situation. you wrapped your leg around his and flipped your position. in the process, you regained possession of your knife. without the hesitation that held luke back, you sliced through his cheek, deep. luke bit his lip to suppress a groan, tasting blood. your gaze set his whole body on fire as he waited for your next move. that was when you glanced down at his camp necklace, and the new clay bead added to commemorate this summer.

a turquoise trident.

“percy told me he was on his way to see you,” you realized. “what did you do?”

luke didn’t answer. he knew then that a choice ran through your head. 

and it stung, just a little, watching you sprint away through the trees in a last ditch effort to save percy’s life. 

there was a small, pathetic part of luke that wanted you to choose him, even if it meant you would have plunged the knife into his chest.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

can i request cregan stark modern au, with jaces younger or twin sister and maybe they like hide the relationship and its like fluffy and maybe smutty

Request: five times cregan and jace’s sister almost get caught and one time jace does find out about their relationship. I don’t think he would be too mad. He knows cregan is a good guy and would treat you well. 

I usually dislike body hair (personal preference) and beards, but Cregan has a short beard in this one (as he does in all of my fics for him) because I said so, and because he’s a Stark. I think it is mandatory and missing for his character — manifesting for a beard in season 3.  Also, this is 6.6k words...idk how that happened

p.s. You can find this fic on AO3 under the title Who are we to fight the alchemy

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f receiving), mention of a fight and blood, short appearance of Larys Strong (he needs his own warning),

—

When you started college and moved in with Jace, he had warned his teammates that his sister was off limits and that if he caught any of them looking at you, he would not be afraid to throw hands. He may be smaller than a lot of his teammates, but Jace was very protective of you. 

They were good guys, brothers to Jace, but he also knew their history with girls. He knew the dirty secrets; the dramas, who they had sex with, where, and details that he wished he could forget about. They were not boyfriend material — at all. 

You were not going to lie, Jace’s teammates were hot hockey players. It was tempting to turn your life into a cliché book trope and hook up with one of them, but you refrained from doing so. They were not worth being another name on their list. 

Until one of them changed your mind. 

It was a Tuesday night. You were in your room, reading on your bed while Jace had friends over playing video games. You could hear them shout at the TV and each other. After a few chapters, you wandered to the kitchen to get a cookie from the cookie jar, but found its content empty. 

‘’Jace,’’ you said under your breath. 

Living with your brother had a certain strange familiarity to it, a comforting echo of home despite the newness of being on your own. But some things hadn’t changed. Like how Jace never mentioned when he emptied something. Like that one time you wanted to make spaghetti, only to discover he had left an empty pasta box in the cupboard. Or when he used your shower towel because his was in the laundry. These moments made you miss your mom's presence — she’d always been there to keep the peace and enforce some order.

As you stared at the empty jar with frustration, one of Jace’s friends walked in behind you, his eyes immediately landing on the same spot. You could not see who it was, but his tall shadow was towering over you and you could smell a faint woodsy cologne. 

‘’If you’re looking for a cookie, Jace ate them all,’’ you said, throwing your brother under the bus.

‘’That was me, actually,’’ admitted a deep voice with a northern accent from behind you. You turned to see Cregan standing there, his expression sheepish. ‘’Jace said to get anything I wanted. Sorry.’’

You forced a smile, the irritation fading as your eyes met his gray ones. ‘’It’s fine. I’ll get something else.’’ 

Cregan watched as you moved to the freezer above the fridge to get the ice cream out. You opened the lid and saw that it was almost empty, so there was no need to put it in a bowl. 

‘’Did you make them?’’ he asked as you reached for a spoon in the cutlery drawer.

‘’I did,’’ you answered with a smile. 

‘’They were really good.’’ 

‘’Thank you. If Jace baked them himself, they would have turned out like hockey pucks: black and hard,’’ you joked.

Cregan offered a light chuckle as he stepped towards the counter, his gray eyes studying the details of your face. He hadn’t really looked at you until now, respecting Jace’s warning, but now he was struggling to look away and go back to the living room. 

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・° 

Two months later, you found yourself making out with the Wolves’ captain in his big jeep. His hair was damp and he smelled strongly of soap and deodorant, having showered twenty minutes ago after practice. 

The windows were beginning to fog as you were kissing, your hands all over Cregan's shoulders and chest. His tongue slipped into your mouth, causing you to grip his shirt when it grazed yours. You could drown in his kisses. 

Getting frustrated by the gear shift separating you, you attempt to climb over it and fumbled your way to the driver seat onto Cregan’s lap without breaking contact with his lips. You bumped your head and legs along the way, and let out a little curse. Cregan laughed, pulling back his seat as far as it would go so the steering wheel would not press in your back. 

From his new angle, you could feel the warmth of Cregan’s body against yours. It wasn’t as effective as cuddling in bed, but Jace would get home soon and Cregan’s small dorm bed was not made for two. He barely fitted himself. 

He slipped his large hands under your shirt, his thumbs inching up and up your sides, feeling your soft and warm skin while his mouth locked itself to your jaw. ‘’Your brother would kill me if he knew about us,'' he said as his mouth trailed down your neck, leaving wet kisses up to your collarbone.

You rolled your hips to meet his, the friction causing Cregan’s breath to stutter. His hands were still in your shirt, large and warm, leaving trails of fire over your back. He felt like he was sixteen and in high school all again, not twenty-one and in college. 

‘’Gods, you’re going to kill me if your hand keeps going rubbing against me like that.’’ 

You smirked and tipped your head back to give him more room. ‘’Jace is not the boss of my relationships. I can see whoever I please,’’ you replied, raking your hand through his hair and grazing the side of his short beard.

Cregan scoffed against your neck. ‘’Then what are we doing in my car instead of your bed?’’ 

He was only teasing, but it still made you sigh. You didn’t think living with Jace would put a wrench in your dating life. He meant well, but gods was it frustrating. 

Not waiting for your response, Cregan continued to shower your neck with kisses, his teeth nipping at the skin before his lips soothed it. You didn’t think kisses would make you feel like this, but this man had an effect on your body that you could not explain. You pulled at his hair when he bit at the sensitive flesh there, leaving a small mark you will have to conceal later. 

You wished you didn’t have to hide your relationship. You wished you could kiss him whenever you desired, go to his games and wear his jersey and cheer for him loudly when he scored a goal, cuddle with him on the couch without looking at the door every five minutes to check if Jace was coming home. 

Cregan pulled back suddenly, looking up at you with his gray eyes. ‘’I should go, Jace is gonna come home soon. Walking from campus to here takes less than thirty minutes,’’ he said in a hushed tone, his breath coming in short puffs. 

‘’Just a few minutes more,’’ you bargained, stealing a few kisses from his lips, not yet ready to part. ‘’I have a class at 8pm tomorrow and you leave for your away game Saturday morning. I won’t be seeing you until Sunday or Monday.’’ 

He let out a sigh, also dreading the moment he’ll leave you, and held you for a moment, his hands gently running up and down your back. You drinked in his scent and warmth, winding your arms around his neck and pressing your head in his neck. 

The moment was ruined as you shifted and accidentally hit the horn with your ass, the loud sound echoing  in the parking lot. 

Startled, you jumped and then burst into laughter, but Cregan didn’t join in. His expression was stone serious as he stared intently at something in the distance. Confused, you followed his gaze and spotted Jace standing by the doors of your apartment building, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. He was scanning the parking lot, clearly trying to figure out which car had honked, but with the lights off and the evening darkness, there was no way for him to tell which one it was.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・° 

The second time you almost got caught together was before a hockey game. The team the Wolves were playing against was strong and Cregan texted you to come outside the locker room and give him a good luck kiss.  

You smiled at the text and sent a quick ‘coming’ to your boyfriend. ‘’I’m gonna get something to drink,’’ you told your friends. 

You snaked your way through the students and families waiting in the entrance to get to their seats and quickly made your way down to the locker room. You knew where it was from bringing over Jace’s skates last Saturday at practice. They were essential for getting on the ice, how could he forget them? 

Family, friends — and girlfriends — were not allowed in that area of the arena, so you kept an eye out for anyone from staff. You could always play the ‘I was looking for the bathroom’ card, but it would add another lie on top of the others you and Cregan were piling up since the beginning of your relationship. 

You found him leaning against the wall, waiting. He was in his compression pants and an old Wolves tee shirt, looking like a complete snack. You could see everything in those tight pants. And the way his hair was tied at the back made him look sexier. 

He looked up when he heard someone approach and a soft smile curled on his lips. ‘’There you are,’’ Cregan said, his voice low and gravelly as he stepped to you and pulled you to his chest. You fit against him perfectly, like a missing piece snapping into place. 

He leaned down and pulled you into a kiss, his hand cupping your face gently. It was supposed to just be a quick kiss — a quick ‘good luck’ smooch, not anything too serious. But the moment your mouth met his, you both got carried away. 

Cregan grabbed you with ease by your thigh, lifting you up, and you winded yours around his neck, almost forgetting that he had a game to play in twenty minutes.  

‘’Okay, that’s enough,’’ you decided, breaking the kiss. ‘’You’re gonna be late for pre-game talk.’’

Cregan sighed but gently lowered you back down. Your boots hit the floor, but he didn’t let you go without stealing one last kiss. You smiled into it, then stepped back just as Jace came barreling down the hallway, clearly in a rush.

He came to a stop, frowning when seeing you. ‘’What are you doing here?’’ His gaze shifted to Cregan, suspicion creeping into his voice. ‘’And why are you talking to my sister?’’

Cregan didn’t miss a beat. ‘’She was looking for you, actually,’’ he lied smoothly. ‘’Baela asked her to tell you she wouldn’t make it to the game tonight. She and Rhaena drove home for the weekend for their dad’s birthday.’’

You made a mental note to thank him later for the quick thinking. Baela had mentioned her trip, and Jace had been sulking and pouting ever since, upset that his girlfriend would miss a big game. 

Jace nodded, still catching his breath. ‘’Yeah, I know. She already told me.’’ 

‘’Oh?’’ you played along effortlessly. ‘’She must have forgotten that she already told you. She has a lot on her mind right now, you know.’’ 

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°  

Your breathy 'ah's and whimpers were bouncing off the walls as Cregan's strong hands gripped your thighs and held you in place while he lapped at your pussy like a starved man. The intensity of pleasure forced you to grip the headboard. The scruff of his beard was rubbing against your sensitive skin, chafing, but you kind of like it. 

It was your first time having the apartment to yourself for more than two hours, and you were going to make the most out of it. Jace was at a bar in the city with some guys from the team. He won't be back until at least 1am...or even later. 

When you heard about the night out at the bar, you texted your man and let him know so he could come over after Jace leaves. His teammates were disappointed that he was not joining, but Cregan told them to have fun for him. 

He’ll have his own fun with you in the sheets.

The moment he crossed the door, your mouth was on his and you were unbuttoning your shirt, eager to feel his hands on your tits. 

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, mewling at the way he was suckling on your clit. No one ever made you feel this good before. Not that you had a lot of experience to compare with.

His sweet assault on your pussy continued, the sounds you were making making him rock hard. He loved it — pleasing his girl. 

''I'm gonna— I'm gonna come soon,'' you whined, feeling your core tighten and rocking you body forward in the same rhythm, fucking yourself on Cregan's tongue.  

The hockey player let out a low grunt below you, encouraging you to use him how you wished. He let go of one of your thighs to run the back of his hand up your stomach and grab your breast the way you liked, his calloused thumb and finger capturing your peaked nipple, rubbing it as he flicked your clit again. 

Your orgasm hit and you made circular jerks of her hips, pushing down on Cregan’s tongue and chin, drenching both. His name fell from your lips and you continued on like this for a moment, toes curling and legs tensing. Until you had nothing else to give.

He pressed a last kiss to your sensitive clit, then helped you clamber off him. ‘’You remember when I said the cookies you made were really good?’’

You hummed, although confused where he was going with this. 

‘’This is better.’’ 

Your face flamed up at his words, not expecting such a vulgar thing to come out. ‘’Shut up.’’ You smacked his chest, his laugh rumbling under your palm. 

The sheepishness he sported in the kitchen that day had disappeared, revealing a dirty sense of humor you never expected from him.

You thought you would get a breather, a moment to catch your breath between your last orgasm and the next, but Cregan — insatiable — had other plans. He rolled onto his side, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and began kissing your body with a slow, deliberate intensity. His lips trailed all over your chest, down to your breasts, and then to your stomach, each touch igniting your desires all over again. You arched into his touch, the warmth of his mouth and the gentleness of his caresses melting away any resistance.

Under his tall and broad stature, Cregan Stark was a teddy bear. A Costco sized teddy bear. On the ice, he was known for his strength and leadership, but off it, he was all heart. He was kind, caring, and protective. His caresses were gentle, and his kisses tender and loving. It was impossible to not feel his love.

Speaking of feeling his love, you felt his hardness twitching and poking at your thigh through his tight boxers. You reached down to slip your hand inside, jerking him slowly. In response, Cregan squeezed your hip and let out a low groan.

‘’I need you,’’ you gasped, feeling him suck at the skin under your left breast. 

It was one of your rules: no leaving visible marks that could raise suspicions. 

He gave one last swipe of his tongue over your nipple and peeled off his boxers, his delicious cock springing up immediately. Your pussy was weeping at the sight. 

You spread your legs to accommodate him, offering yourself to him. He teased at your entrance, his movements deliberate as he bumped against your clit, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you that made you whine. His amused chuckle filled the room, clearly tempted to draw out your anticipation even more, but as you shot him a warning glare, silently urging him to stop teasing. 

Cregan shushed you, rubbing your thigh, and just as he was about to breach your walls, you heard the door of the apartment open and Jace’s voice echoing. 

You froze, eyes widening in panic, and Cregan cursed under his breath, realizing that Jace was back much earlier than expected. ‘’Shit. That’s Jace.’’ 

He called your name again and you quickly slipped on a shirt and got out of bed, answering your brother's calls of your name. You couldn't risk him coming into your bedroom and catching his best friend in your bed in his birthday suit…with with a raging hard-on and your juices all over his beard.  

‘’You’re home early,’’ you pointed out, coming down the hallway. 

You studied him as he grabbed a bag of chips from the pantry, trying to guess his state of inebriety. He seemed barely tipsy. 

‘’Drama at the bar. Ben got into a fight with some guy over a girl — which he did not know was someone's girlfriend — and we all got kicked out,’’ Jace explained, rummaging through the bag of chips and taking a handful to pop into his mouth before leaning against the counter. 

You shook your head with a sigh. ‘’Typical Ben. He really needs to stop going after girls that are taken. Has he not learned his lesson?''

Your brother laughed, taking more chips. “Whose shirt is that?” he asked, his eyes narrowing as he glanced down at the large shirt you were wearing, then back up at you.

You followed his gaze and saw that you had grabbed Cregan’s tee shirt instead of your sleep shirt…

‘’Dad’s,’’ you blurted out quickly.

Jace frowned, not remembering your dad ever wearing that shirt, but let it go. ‘’What were you up to? I thought you would invite the girls over.''

‘’Eh, no. I...I was having fun by myself,'' you stammered, clenching your thighs and hoping your face was not too flushed. 

It wasn't entirely a lie, but it wasn’t true either. You were having fun, just not by yourself. 

His face twisted in disgust. ‘’Ew, that’s gross! I did not need to know about that.''

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°  

Unlike Ben, Cregan wasn’t the type to get into fights — especially on the ice. He thought it was stupid and pointless, a quick way to end up injured or benched for a few games. As the father figure of the team, he was usually the one stepping in to break up the scuffles, keeping cooler heads prevailing. But sometimes, no matter how careful you are, you get caught in the crossfire and take a punch that wasn’t meant for you.

You shot up from your seat immediately, your heart sinking to your stomach as Jason Lannister’s gloveless fist accidently connected to Cregan’s face. It was aimed at Ben — unsurprisingly —, who had played a foul, unnoticed by the referee, and got his brother Tyland in the penalty box.

Chaos erupted on the ice. The referees were shouting and blowing their whistle, trying to break up the fight. Seeing Ben implicated, Cregan had rushed over, taking it on himself to pull him back, but that's when Jason punched him. 

More players skated over, helping the referees. One grabbed Jason, and another went for Ben. He was lean but feisty, a scrappy fighter who never backed down. He shot a taunting grin at his opponent and spat blood on the ice, right at his feet. Jason tried to free himself, but the closest referee put his hand on his chest, shaking his head. Enough.

Cregan turned to Ben and wiped the blood off his nose, glaring at darkly.  

You didn’t see him until Sunday afternoon. You were coming back from the laundry room, arms full with a basket of freshly cleaned clothes, and forgot how to breathe when you saw Cregan sitting on the couch across from Jace. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a hoodie, and his pretty face was decorated with a bruise close to his nose. 

Your feet froze, unable to take another step. You wanted to fucking punch Jason Lannister.

‘’Hey, you’re back,’’ Jace noticed, turning his head towards you.

You nodded, trying to regain your composure. ‘’Yeah. I was doing laundry,’’ you explained, lifting the basket slightly as if to prove your point.

‘’Can you do mine next time? I’ll pay you ten dollars,’’ Jace offered with a grin.

You scoffed, shaking your head. What did he take you for, a housemaid? ‘’Ten dollars to wash your dirty underwear and smelly socks? Never.’’ 

‘’Fifteen,’’ he countered, still hopeful. ‘’My clothes smell better when you do it. It’s like when Mom used to do it.’’

‘’That’s because I use fabric softener,’’ you replied, rolling your eyes.

Jace frowned, clearly puzzled. ‘’What’s that?’’ 

Before you could explain it to him, his phone beeped with a notification. He paused the game and checked his screen. ‘’Food is here. I’ll go get it,’’ he said to Cregan.

The taller one nodded, waiting for Jace to be out the door to glance at you. Without saying anything, you set the basket of clothes down on the beanbag chair that had seen better days and went straight to Cregan, cupping his face gently. His eyes softened at your touch, seeing your look of concern. He reached up with one hand to lightly hold onto your wrist as you examined the bruise on his face.

Cregan gave you a soft smile. He could see that you were worried about him. ‘’I’m fine,’’ he said, yet you couldn’t help but notice a hint of stiffness in his expression. ‘’I’m fine. I promise.’’ He kissed the inside of your hand. 

‘’I’ll fetch you some ice.’’ 

He tried to protest, saying that it wasn’t necessary, but you were resolute. You hadn't been able to take care of him after the game, so you’ll do it now. 

You put some ice cubes that you used for your iced coffees in a plastic bag and brought it to the living room, gently pressing it to the bruise. ‘’Here.’’ 

Cregan winced at the cold, his face sensitive. ‘’Thanks, love.’’ He reached out and put a hand on your hip, tugging you closer, but retracted it as the door opened and Jace returned with the food. 

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・° 

During the course of your relationship, you found yourself in a lot of risky situations, but letting Cregan sleep over was playing with fire. 

You didn't mean to. It was an accident. 

The two of you were watching a movie in your bed while Jace was on a date with Baela, and he fell asleep forty minutes in. You should have woken him when your phone showed close to 11pm, but you didn't have the heart to. You locked your door, turned off your laptop and cuddled against him. 

When you woke up to pee at 1am, you saw that your brother was back and was asleep on the couch with his phone in his hand, the TV playing some older kids cartoons and his leg off the couch. Jace was a light sleeper, it would be too risky to sneak Cregan out.

Morning came and you woke up alone. A sad pout graced your lips. It was your first time spending the night together and you didn’t even get to have morning cuddles or hear his sleepy voice. 

You grabbed your phone, checking if he left any messages, but there was nothing. Just a text from your mom asking if you were coming home for your dad’s birthday this coming weekend. You rolled over, breathing in the sheets where Cregan slept in last night, and left her on read and got up. 

Your morning coffee was calling your name.

Running a hand through your hair, you walked down the hallway, looking forward to that first sip of coffee, and grinned when you found Cregan in the small kitchen, standing in his tight boxers and a tee shirt and drinking black coffee from a Disney mug. It looked Polly Pocket sized in his hands. 

You wrapped your arms around him from the back, your body flush against his. You pressed your face into his back, and the warmth of your body against his made his shoulders relax. 

He smiled to himself, covering your hands with his free one. ‘’Good morning,’’ he said in a groggy voice.

‘’I thought you had left. What of Jace? If my brother sees you in your underwear in his kitchen he’s gonna flip.’’ 

Cregan set his coffee down and turned, his gaze soft as his eyes met yours. The bruise on his face had significantly faded, barely there. ‘’He’s not here. I heard him leave.’’ 

His strong arms wrapped around your waist, drawing you close, and you let yourself relax against him. The warmth of his body seeped through his tee shirt, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. Cregan's hand slowly traced down your back, his fingers rubbing gentle circles at the base of your spine.  

‘’Don’t you have classes?’’ you asked, glancing up at him with a small smile.

He hummed softly. ‘’Not until later. My 10am class got canceled. I thought I’d hit the gym instead...but there’s no rush.’’

‘’I’ve gotta leave in one hour,’’ you sighed, wishing you could linger in this moment longer.

Cregan’s grip tightened slightly, as if to keep you close for as long as he could. ‘’I can drop you off,’’ he offered. ‘’That way we’ll have more time together.’’

You nodded, pressing a kiss over Cregan’s sternum in thanks. ‘’I’ll make us breakfast...in five minutes.’’ 

To ruin the moment, you heard the loud buzz and a voice coming from the intercom. 

‘’Are you up? Please be awake. I tried texting you and calling but you didn’t respond so I’m taking a chance here.’’ Jace called your name again, louder. 

You groaned in annoyance and went to the door to press the intercom button. ‘’What do you want?’’ 

‘’Yes! You’re awake! Eh, I left my laptop on the counter, and I also forgot my keys...’’

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・° 

When Jace left for college, your parents didn’t see the use of getting a car when everything was close to campus and within walking distance. What they didn’t think through would be the possibility of the bus riding home being full and not being able to make it for your dad’s birthday. 

Jace: Pack your bag. We’re leaving at 4pm. I already told Mom

You: You found us bus tickets? 

Jace: No. I found a ✨chauffeur✨

You: Please tell me it’s not some random person you found on a co-driving forum. I don’t want to spend two hours in some creep’s car 💀

Jace: He’s not

You should have known it would be him. 

Jace called shotgun, forcing you to take the backseat. You didn’t mind. In fact, you preferred it. If you had sat at the front, you were scared your hand would have slipped and revealed your relationship. Or that Jace would have noticed the familiarity between you. You were supposed to be his best friend’s little sister, not someone he knew like the palm of his hand.

Although it was only two hours, the drive felt never-ending. Your back ached from sitting in class all day and your stomach was impatient to be filled with your mother’s cooking. Every now and then, Cregan would sneak glances at you through the rearview mirror, and each time you couldn’t hide your smile. Your brother didn’t see, too busy on his phone or switching the music. 

This weekend was looking to be long and difficult. 

Your mom was more than happy to have another guest over. Cregan was as polite and charming, easily winning her heart when he complimented her infamous lasagna and asked for a second serving. 

''Of course! Help yourself,'' Rhaenyra said, smiling warmly. She glanced between Cregan and Jace, who both emptied their plates quickly. ''It's like they don't feed you at college.'' 

''I live in a dorm,'' Cregan explained in defense. ''It's hard to cook when the only appliances allowed are a mini fridge and a coffee pot.''

Your mother turned to Jace with raised eyebrows, clearly waiting for his excuse. ''And you? What do you have to say for yourself?'' 

Jace grinned sheepishly, swallowing his last bite. ''Can I take the leftover back to college?'' 

At the head of the table, your father let out a hearty laugh, shaking his head.  

When you were seven, you used to sneak out of your bedroom at night to eat a bowl of cereal. It took your parents several months to figure it out. At eighteen, you were sneaking to join your boyfriend in the guest room. 

You waited for everyone to be fast asleep, and avoided the creaking floorboards in the hallway. It was dark inside as you closed and locked the door behind, but you made it to the bed without stubbing your toe on any furniture. 

Cregan stirred when you pulled the covers and slipped in, feeling your cold feet on his calves. ''What are you doing?'' he asked, half-asleep and eyes still closed. He didn't need to see you to know it was you. He simply knew. 

You said nothing and cuddled against him, sighing happily when he reciprocated. 

Morning came faster, the early rays of sun peeking through the curtains. You cursed at yourself, having once again slept longer than planned. You checked both sides of the hallway, and once you deemed it safe, you exited. What you didn’t see was Luke leaving the bathroom, his hair unruly and barely awake. 

‘’I…’’ you stammered, not knowing what to say. 

He was fifteen, you could not trick him like Joffrey. He knew what you were doing in the guest bedroom. 

So you bolted to your own, praying he would keep his tongue.

‘’Luke knows,’’ you blurted out as you descended the stairs for breakfast, the weight of the confession lingering in the air.

Downstairs, your mother had gone all out, setting up a massive brunch spread — eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, and even pancakes. Grandfather Lyonel would be coming over...along with your uncle Larys. The thought of him made your stomach twist; you had never been at ease in his presence, but he was your father’s half-brother, and that meant you had to force a smile and be nice. 

Cregan furrowed his brows, concern creeping across his face. ''How?''

You quickly recounted the incident, watching as Cregan ran a hand through his dark hair, his expression growing tense. ‘’You think he’s gonna tell Jace?'' he asked, his voice dropping. ''Or worse...your dad? We got along well last night, but when he’ll find out—’’

‘’My dad is not the one we need to worry about,'' you interrupted softly, trying to ease his anxiety. ''Sure, he’s protective of us, and he might look like the kind of guy who could knock someone out with one punch, but he’d never do that to someone I care about. Not unless he had a damn good reason.''

As you reached the bottom of the stairs, Joffrey got down from his chair and dashed over to you, his small face lighting up with excitement. ‘’Mommy made pancakes!’’ he announced, his big brown eyes practically glowing. ‘’There’s blueberry ones, your favorites.’’ He grabbed both your hand and Cregan's, tugging insistently, messing up your plan to arrive separately.

At the table, Luke was talking — bragging — to grandfather Lyonel about school while Jace was helping your mom bring all the food to the table. And of course, Uncle Larys was just sitting there, observing everything with his usual quiet, unsettling presence.

At Joffrey’s urging, Cregan took a seat next to him. The little one had taken a strong liking to the hockey player, and you couldn’t help but hope that this budding friendship might work in your favor when it would all blow up. 

‘’Careful, it's hot!'' Rhaenyra called out, entering with a plate full of bacon. ''Jace, can you bring the orange juice? Oh, and a small fork for Joffrey?'' 

You interrupted Luke and made your way to Grandfather Lyonel, wrapping him in a warm hug like you always did. ‘’Where’s Dad?’’ you asked, noticing his absence.

The burly man looked around for his son, not knowing either. 

‘’I'm here, I'm here,'' Harwin’s familiar voice rang out from the sliding door as he entered, carrying a bowl of freshly picked strawberries. On top of his head was a handmade birthday crown, obviously crafted by Joffrey. ‘’Your mother forgot the strawberries. I had to fetch some from the garden.'' 

You grinned, stepping up to greet him. ‘’Happy birthday, Dad,’’ you said, kissing his cheek as you wrapped him in a hug. 

Everyone sat around the table, and began filling their plates with food. 

You mostly took blueberry pancakes, and some fruits from the garden. You had a sweet tooth this morning. From the corner of your eyes, you could see Joffrey talking a mile a minute between bites of pancakes and bacon. Cregan was trying his best to listen to your little brother — what he could make out of his words, anyway — but his attention was completely focused on you.

Two seats down from you, Luke was watching. You could feel his gaze on Cregan, and there was an unsettling tension beneath the surface. He knew something. He could let it slip at any moment and throw the whole breakfast into chaos. But, for now, he stayed silent.

‘’So,’’ Grandfather Lyonel began casually as he sipped his coffee, ‘’how's your first year of college treating you? Found yourself a boyfriend yet?''

The word 'boyfriend' had your bite of pancakes catching in your throat. Grabbing your coffee, you took a long gulp to wash it down, buying yourself a moment.

You shook your head, managing a calm smile. ‘’Not really. I’m keeping my focus on my academics,’’ you replied, briefly raising your eyes at Cregan, who was focussing on eating the content in his plate. The last time he had a home-made breakfast was with you. 

You thought you were being discreet, but your grandfather noticed the short glance, as did your father who was right next to you. 

Joffrey, oblivious to the tension, piped up, ‘’Jace has a girlfriend. Her name is Bella.’’

‘’Baela,’’ Jace corrected with a fond smile, shaking his head at the enthusiastic six-year-old.

Grandfather Lyonel smiled, happy for his grandson. ‘’That’s a lovely name.’’ He then turned to Cregan. ‘’And you, Cregan? Got a girlfriend? A handsome, well-mannered lad like you cannot be single.’’ 

Before he could answer, Joffrey piped up with the bluntness only a child could muster. ‘’I think you should date my sister,’’ he declared.  

Jace’s head shot up, eyes wide. 

Before him, Cregan chuckled uncomfortably, clutching his fork. ‘’Why is that, little one?’’

‘’Because you look at her like papa looks at mommy.’’ He said it so pure and innocently, yet it was true. 

The silence that followed was so loud it didn’t take long for Jace to connect the dots. The truth hung in the air, undeniable and clear. Cregan shifted awkwardly in his seat, and you felt your heart pound in your chest.

Jace glanced between you and the one he called his best friend. His nostrils were flared, shock and outrage painted across his face.  ‘’How long has this been going on?’’ His brown eyes glared daggers at Cregan, waiting for an answer. ‘’How long have you been keeping this from me?’’

‘’Jace,’’ your father’s voice cut through the tension, firm but gentle, an attempt to stop the situation from spiraling any further.

But Jace wasn’t listening, angry at his friend’s betrayal. ‘’How can you betray me like that? I would have expected it from Robb or Theon, not from you. You pride yourself to be loyal and honorable, but where is your loyalty in this? Where is the honor in disregarding my one and only rule?’’  

He was allowed to be upset that you and Cregan spent the last two months seeing each other behind his back. It’s a reaction that was expected. But you hated that he was painting his best friend as the villain. Cregan never used you, it was never his intention. He knew what he was risking when he kissed you back that rainy afternoon in his car. Yet, he couldn’t ignore his feelings — and neither could you. 

‘’How can you make this all about you?’’ you asked, shaking your head in disbelief. ‘’Can’t you see past your own selfish feelings that maybe Cregan does love me for me and not just to piss you off? This is exactly why we didn’t tell you anything.’’ You gestured around the room.

Cregan, who had remained silent until now, took a deep breath before speaking, his voice calm but firm. ‘’You know I don’t play around with girls. I would never use your sister the way you think I am. Come on, Jace. You know me.’’ There was a pause, allowing Jace to absorb his words, then he continued. ‘’I’m truly sorry for keeping this from you, but can you blame me? Put yourself in our shoes. You think I wanted to sneak around and lie to everyone about the girl I love? It might look cool in movies, but it’s not in real life. It’s just stress and pain.’’  

The room was so quiet you could almost hear a pin drop. No one dared speaking around the table. It was only silent glances. 

What a way to ruin your father’s birthday…

A few hours later, you found yourself sitting outside, your heart heavy. The house had grown quiet after the earlier commotion, the celebratory mood from the family gathering long gone. Grandfather Lyonel and uncle Larys had left. The former had apologized for starting the conflict, but you told him it was not his fault. It was bound to happen anyway. 

You apologized to your father — and mother — for ruining his birthday. It was his turn to shake his head and pull you in his arms. 

The air had gotten colder as it neared sundown, but you didn’t want to go inside. You liked the soft stillness of the open air. It was a calming contrast to the fight from this morning.

The drive back to college was going to be tense tomorrow. You already dreaded it. 

Unbeknownst to you, Jace was watching you through the glass of the sliding doors. He stood there for a moment, observing you and Cregan sitting quietly together on the patio furniture. Your head was leaned on his shoulder, curled up at his side, and his left arm wrapped around you. He recognized the Wolves hoodie on your back, Cregan’s number and name on it. 

It wasn't until he saw Cregan kiss the top of your head and the soft smile that instantly bloomed on your face that Jace realized that maybe Cregan was good for you.

—

House of the dragon taglist:@khaleesihavilliard@domoron  @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios@lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden @memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron   @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08  @mymultiveres  @secretsthathauntus  @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas  @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit @blublock404 @Icefyre19 @paulilvsremus @mfedits @aemondwhoresworld @angrybirdxx @YarianyIrizarry @frutiloopslupin @minedofmoria @aleemendoza2425-blog @quinquinquincy @Rosey1981 @maria-reads-everything @eddieslut69 @barnes70stark @baybaybear @prettyduckling22 @Briefwinnerpersonaturtle @darlingcharling-blog @deliaseastar @Wolfgirl-205 @visenyareads @Nanaldy @Lovelywiseprincess @not-neverland06 @newtmyhusb @mikimimic

All and more taglist:  @kenqki @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @black-rose-29 @fudge13  @cece05 @laylasbunbunny  @gemofthenight  @beautyb1ade  @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3   @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs  @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis  @katherinejess  @rafesgirlstuff   @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity  @Anouk nani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21 @Spacexdrago @nhlfs

[princesssmars]

you sometimes forgot how… slightly obsessive, violet could be. nsfw.

when you were younger you had a love hate relationship with her tendency to become so completely fixated on something. staying up for hours at night thinking about their next score, holding a grudge for years against anyone who got piss drunk and pissed off vander in the bar, planning and fidgeting over the perfect way to ask you out for weeks before you finally took the step yourself.

even if it got her into danger, got her and her siblings into a temporary struggle that made your heart stall with the thought of nearly losing them, you always reminded her that you thought her fixation on things was cute, and a useful tool about half of the time.

(you even said that the trait reminded you of powder, always blabbering to you for as long as she could talk about her new ideas for gadgets and bombs. the girl was overjoyed in sharing something in common with her big sister, immediately climbing on her back to ramble about something new.)

but then you actually you lost her. you lost all of them. and you wished you had told her that that insecurity she had, all the insecurities she had, were stupid and inconsequential to how perfect you thought she was.

but maybe you’ll get the chance to tell her (and tell jinx that yeah, you were right, i did start seeing ghosts too) because a scarily realistic replica of your ex is standing in front of you and before you can shoo it away she’s hugging you so tight you think your ribs will break.

you follow as ekko gives her the tour of the firelights base, admiring each and every way she’s changed. she’s taller, obviously stronger, wearing a prison uniform that you don’t if you’re allowed to say looks good on her and a red jacket she stole from some guy because of course she did. you stifle a laugh as she tells the story and she smiles at you, indiscreetly wrapping your hand in hers.

it’s obvious by the look on his face ekko is so going to tease you about this later, but you don’t get a chance to care when she turns to you and ask where she and her enforcer friend can sleep. and janna knows you want to offer for her to sleep with you, but it’s been years and you don’t want to make her uncomfortable so you lead her and caitlyn to the newbie dorms.

but it seems like you’ve forgotten just how damn stubborn she is, because not even half an hour later a loud banging at your draws you from your bed, her flushed and nervous face shocking you into silence.

she asks to come in, but with her it’s always more like a demand then a question. you try to ignore the burning feeling of her eyes trained on you as you lead her to your bed, rolling your eyes as she aggressively flops back onto it.

“holy fuck, i haven’t been on something this soft in years. i think i’m gonna fall asleep right now.”

“i wouldn’t be mad if you did.” well, you’d be a little upset. you have so much to talk to her about everything, anything that’s happened since she disappeared. granted a lot of it was bad but there were still a few things you think would cheer her up. she’d already told you enthusiastic she was to eat jerichos again, just wait till she found out that-

you must of zoned out for a minute because you’re shocked back to reality by soft lips pressed to yours, vi’s bandaged hand cupping your cheek like you’ll fade into dust if she lets go. you mentally kick yourself in the head for not responding quicker when she pulls away and looks at you with that sad puppy look she gets.

“i, i’m sorry. it’s just, you were staring at me for a while! and it’s been so long since i’ve seen you and i don’t even know what we are or if we’re still girlfriends but you’re even more beautiful than the last time i saw you-“

you cup both of her cheeks in your hands,(maybe a little too hard) give her a second to back away if she wants, and pull her back in. her arms wrap around your waist and she lets out a whimper when your hand travels to the back of her neck to pull her closer and closer-

and now it’s around one hour? maybe two? it’s a while later, and as her hand travels back into you for the fourth time, yeah, you’re starting to remember how obsessive she could be.

“vi, baby - oh my gods, y’know you can slow down!” your voice pitches when her fingers, her beautiful long and big fingers push up against that spot inside you, her other hand keeping your hips down when you involuntarily raise them off the sheets.

“don’t think i can, princess.” she groans into your breast as she sucks another path of bruises down your chest, slate eyes amused at how your hands grip the bed like it stole from you, how your mouth opens so cutely before you bite your lips to hold back your sounds.

her mouth finally closes around your clit and the increased sensitivity from your past orgasms combined with the almost growling sound she makes when she tastes you sends you right over the edge, thighs clamping around her head as she carries you through it.

the rubbing of her rough hands over your thighs and her gentle words of praise merry drag you into the beginnings of a soft slumber.

until you can feel the damn brute lift your legs onto her shoulders and stick her tongue inside you, laughing at your shocked squeal and resumed grip on her hair.

“besides, we’ve gotta make up for lost time, don’t we?”

writing a drabble based on the fic you’re writing instead of finish the fic i’m such a genius like 😍😍 glad her tag is coming back but i want content coming out like a factory line ok everyone get to work 🙏🏽

[katsu28]

"Squeezing their hand reassuringly and holding their hand throughout an intense social situation" for Lando if you are still taking requests! I love your writing sm!!❤️❤️

thank you so much!!!

lando norris x reader, 1.5k. request something from here!

“I have good news and bad news. Which one do you want first?” 

You tilt your head at Lando as he slides back into his seat across from you, curious. He looks uncharacteristically serious. “What, did your card get declined or something?” 

“That’s—uh, excuse me? No.” Lando scoffs, scrunching his nose at you at the same time as he flips you off playfully. “My card did not decline, thank you very much. I’ll say it again, good news or bad news first?” 

“Good news first, always,” You insist firmly. 

Lando sighs, propping his elbows up on the table. “Good news, you got a free meal on me again. Bad news, there's a whole crowd of cameras and fans outside the restaurant right now and no way out the back.” 

“Oh.” 

Even just thinking about having to push through the whole gaggle of paparazzi outside has an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. You know you should be used to it by now, seeing as you’ve been with Lando for a while and known him even longer, but it’s not something you go through on a regular basis. You’ve tried your very best to avoid it, really. 

Without him, nobody notices you. You can blend in with others and not have to worry about whether or not your life is being looked at through a microscope. 

With him, you feel thrust into the spotlight. Even though you know they’re not here for you, they’re here for him, it doesn’t seem like anyone cares so long as they get a picture of Lando. Of course, not all of the fans are like that, but in your experience, things can get out of hand very quickly. 

“I’m sorry, love. I know how much you hate crowds.” 

“Um, yeah, it’s alright. I can handle it.” Your voice sounds breathy, even to you, and Lando takes notice, his brow creasing in concern. 

“You sure? I can leave now and you can wait here til it all dies down. I promise I’ll circle back for you,” He offers, tilting his head. He reaches across the table to take your hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. Half of you wants to play it safe and take him up on the offer. It would be easier on yourself to take that route. 

At the same time, you don’t want to hide anymore. The greater part of you feels like it's about time you mustered up the courage to embrace the very thing that makes you nervous. Lando has to do it everyday, surely you can handle it once. 

“No. We’ll leave together,” You decide, firmer this time. He smiles and stands from his seat, ever a gentleman as he helps you up from your own seat. Your previous confidence takes a rather large blow when you get to the waiting area of the restaurant and actually see just how large the crowd outside is. You stop suddenly.

“I’ve got you,” He says softly. “I won’t let go of you.” 

“Promise?” 

Lando holds out his pinky towards you in a silent promise, a pre race tradition you’ve adopted to help him settle his nerves before a race. You study his completely sincere expression for a few moments before letting out a sharp exhale through your nose, hooking your pinky around his. Both of you bring your linked hands up to your mouth, kissing the side of your fists to seal the promise. 

A silly gesture from way back in his karting days, but the significance it holds now is set in stone. 

“Okay. Okay, fuck, let’s get this over with!” His fingers slide into yours now, squeezing your hand reassuringly just for good measure. 

It feels like a full body assault on all your senses coming from all sides the moment you step outside. Flashing cameras, screaming fans, being jostled around even as Lando pushes through the crowd first to try to clear the way for you. You make the mistake of looking out into the crowd instead of keeping your head down like him, and instantly you’re blinded by a series of photos being snapped inches in front of your face. 

You can’t see a thing anymore, vision swimming with white spots no matter how much you blink to try to get rid of them. You stumble on the uneven cobblestones, and Lando’s grip on your hand tightens, his other arm slipping around your waist to steady you before you trip again. 

“I’ve got you, don’t worry,” He says into your ear, holding you close. He’s the only thing keeping you from panicking, your anchor in the ocean of people as he forges on towards the car waiting at the edge of the sidewalk. “Here, step up. Yeah, that’s it, grab there. Watch your head.” 

You scramble into the backseat of the car as quickly as you can so Lando can climb in after you. The door slams shut, and all that remains is silence. No more clamoring, no more screaming, just the rumble of the car under you and the telltale lurch that you’ve started to move. 

Collapsing back against the headrest, you laugh, high pitched and disbelieving. 

“Are you alright?” Lando’s voice sounds strained, tinged with concern, and his hand squeezes yours again. “All in one piece? All your limbs still attached?”

“Ha ha. Very funny. I’m okay, I just can’t really see anything right now,” You sigh. Your vision is still fuzzy, even in the darkness of the car. If you focus hard enough, you can kind of make out faint outlines of your surroundings, but you know it’ll be a bit until you’ll be seeing things clearly again. Lando makes a worried sound, and you're sure if you could see him his head would be cocked to the side, brows pinched in the middle. “Just the flashing cameras, probably. Now I know why you wear sunglasses everywhere you go.” 

He laughs then, giggles at you like you've said something absolutely hilarious. “I told you why I always have them on me! Did you think I was joking?” 

“No, I just always thought you were being a douchebag.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Only douchebags wear glasses indoors, Lando. And blind people, but you're not blind.” 

“You might be after this,” He snickers. You shove him with a huff. Well, your smack hits something firm and he yelps, so you assume it’s him. “Ow, jesus—fine, I’m sorry. That was rude of me. I shouldn't be making fun of blind people.” 

“You shouldn’t be making fun of me! Why didn’t you bring them today?” 

“I did!” He insists. “I just…left them right here on the seat. Whoopsies.”

“Whoopsies.” 

The car returns you to Lando’s building, and thankfully by then your vision has returned so you can make your way up to his floor on your own. Lando’s gone quiet on the elevator ride up, which is a bit uncharacteristic of him. After a good meal like the one you’ve just had, usually he’s talking about how he wants to dive into bed and sleep for ten years. This time, he just stares at the changing numbers above the door silently. 

He wanders to the couch as soon as you get into the apartment, whereas you make your way over to the kitchen to grab some water. You grab a glass from the cabinet, not turning around as you ask, “Water, Lan?” 

“Do you ever regret it?” Lando sounds small, unsure. You freeze, wait for him to keep going, but he doesn’t. Confused, you turn around with the glass still in hand to see him not even looking at you, instead focusing hard on picking at a loose thread at the edge of his sleeve. 

He fiddles when he’s upset, something you’d learned quite early on in just being around him. He’s actually quite easy to read, really. Or maybe it’s just because you love him so much you’ve become attuned to his body language, what he does when he’s sad, mad, and everything in between. 

You give an acknowledging noise for him to elaborate, and he drops the thread, finally looking up at you. “Being with me.” 

“Now why would you ever think that?” You’re the concerned one now, rushing over to sit beside him on the cushions. 

He shrugs, letting his shoulders drop heavily. “I dunno, just…everything that comes with me, it’s a lot to deal with, y’know? Sometimes I wonder if you wish my life wasn't so…public all the time.” 

You take Lando’s face in your hands firmly, tilting his chin up so he's looking directly at you. “I will gladly take you and everything you come with. No matter what it is. I never want you to doubt that, my love.”

“I don’t,” He says softly, a flicker of a smile gracing his face. “How did I ever get so lucky with you?” 

“I think it was the knobby knees and giant head that really made young me go, yeah, I want that one. I think the sentiment still stands too.” 

Lando's smile disppears. Now he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're mean. You're mean and I hate you."

"That was for making fun of me earlier!"

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :)

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

TW: implied noncon, desperate starved reader, God!Gojo

gn reader

based on this by @hawnks

He's worshipped, but worship alone doesn’t make those who pray by his shrine his belongings.

Even pets run away when they don't like the food.

He could take lives, which suppose some of his fellow gods might view as ownership, but right when he ran out of places to wash the blood off his hands, he’d sooner found it to be an empty pastime bearing no merit.

After all, taking lives doesn't mean they belong to you—it just means they’re dead. 

He'd come to realize that the power to take is a far cry from the prospect of actually owning something—something he can truly call his. He could level a forest and everything in it, crush mountains to deserts, drink the entire ocean dry—but it wouldn’t make any of it his.

It leaves him feeling stingy when yet another measly human comes before him—on your knees with your forehead bowed in the dirt, skinny hands shaking while laid flat out before you, cracked lips crying his name.

With his chin propped in his palm, he yawns while listening to you, and with jaded eyes, he nearly dismisses you altogether. But there’d been a question he’d been mulling over lately—one that had found its way to the tip of his tongue.

“What do I get in return?”

You’re only asking for very little—one of the humbler humans who still bother praying to him. You might see it as greedy of him to ask you for something in return—a poor soul with nothing but your sorry name. But what you don’t understand is that you and he are the exact same.

Dirt poor.

In many ways, he has it a lot worse. You could die. He could not. Infinity would pan on forever and drag him with it as if with a ball and chain—and he’d remain destitute and alone for the entirety of it all.

Which is why…

“You can have me, I guess…”

It sounded so sweet—like a vow.

You say it with such defeat, as though you’ve already accepted his rejection—as though you’re about to offer yourself to the forest next—as though you're worth nothing more than returning to soil again. 

You don’t notice the new light in his eyes that threatens to swallow you whole, nor do you hear the growl in his gut like a beast awoken from a deep slumber—starved to death if he only could. His tongue swells with sweetness, it nearly runs over and spills down his chin.

Your offer hangs still in the air, poised and waiting for him to grab it, brighter than a star. It nearly frightens him—how much he wants it—how desperately he yearns for it. His fingertips buzz with thrill as he reaches out. He’s never held something like it before—soft and warm and flickering with something fleeting and precious. It almost feels wrong for him to hold it in his blood-soaked hands. Eyes all but blacked out as he looks down at it.

“Mine, you say?” 

You feel it, too, but it’s not close to the same sense of elevation—how he reaches into your chest and scribbles his name on your soul. Each letter is heavier than the last and leaves you curling in on yourself in agony, screaming before you fall silent.

Panting once you look up, you clutch your chest, only to see his sneer gone, replaced by something worse—something haunting.

The regret is palpable. You pick yourself up and take to running away—but by then, it’s too late. You don’t make it more than two steps before something has you tugged right back—this time into his embrace.

“I accept your generous sacrifice, little human.”

His words weigh awfully heavy while you shudder in his lap. His skin is like marble—shimmery and cold as his hands wrap around you, holding you tightly as he puts his lips to your neck.

"I'll take precious care of you..."

You feared he’d bite, but the kisses that commence feel no less like a collar being fastened snug around your throat. As well as his promise—like being sentenced to spend eternity right there, hand-fed under that awful smile on his face.

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 5

in which spencer reid and fem!reader are reunited, but the worst kind of sparks are flying. you meet a man named randall. derek morgan buys you a drink (sort of). it seems that some things can't be unsaid.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: r goes to a bar but doesn't drink alcohol, gets hit on by weird men, dramatic, angst, sorry in advance a/n: surprise! i'll see myself out. love you! lmk your thoughts on this bad boy! i KNOW you'll have some! i'm locking all my doors and the cops are on speed dial after posting this. stay tuned for part six tho

You don’t call Spencer for four days. 

Spencer doesn’t call you for four days. 

It’s scary. 

There’s some texting—mostly him giving you updates on how things are going and when he expects to be back. Mostly you giving the messages a thumbs up and saying nothing else. 

Finally, on Thursday afternoon, his ringtone (the Bill Nye theme) makes you jump as you’re sitting on your bed staring into space. 

His caller ID photo—which is simply his passport photo, because you’d thought it was adorable—stares at you. You stare back. Contemplate not picking up. 

But you’re not quite there yet. 

And you cannot keep listening to Bill Nye the Science Guy. 

The answer button is cold under your thumb, but not as cold as your greeting. 

“Hi.”

You barely recognize your own voice. 

It seems to send Spencer for a loop as well, because his reply is halting. 

“Hey! Hi, um—how are you? I feel like we’ve barely talked this week.”

That would be because you told me my feelings for you are stronger than your feelings for me and I don’t know how to stop making every single word I say secretly mean I love you. We can’t have a conversation without me loving you. It will always be in the room or on the phone with us. To ignore the presence of it is impossible, and I don’t know if I can ignore the absence of yours, either. 

“Uh… yeah. I’m fine. What’s up?”

There’s a pause. 

“We wrapped up this morning. We’re getting on the jet here in a few minutes, and, um—I know it’s not ideal, but we missed Derek’s birthday and Penelope is insisting we all go to his favorite bar tonight. And he told me that for his birthday he wants to meet you. So… would you be up for that?”

“You want… to take me to a bar?”

“No. I mean—I know it’s not really your thing, but we missed Derek’s birthday three years in a row, and—and I understand if you don’t want to meet him tonight, but we wouldn’t have to stay very long and I really, really shouldn’t skip it. Derek has saved my life on more than one occasion.”

“You could go without me.”

More silence. Every second hurts, but you don’t understand why he wants you to come meet his best friend if he thinks the two of you are in different places emotionally. 

But maybe he’s not going to break up with you just yet. Maybe he’s going to keep inviting you to bars and foreign film festivals and bookshops. Maybe he’s going to treat you exactly the same as he always has but with this new added layer of knowledge that the way he treats you isn’t actually love, and it never was, and you’re not sure if it has the potential to ever become love. Because if it did—wouldn’t it have already? What more do you have to offer than what you’ve already given him?

Breakup or no breakup, you feel sick. 

When he speaks his tone is similarly chilly. It’s welcome. You want him mad. If he can’t reciprocate your adoration, then the very least he can do is have the decency to reciprocate your reproach. 

“I could. Is that what you want?”

No. I don’t want any of this. I need you to know me well enough to know that. And if you can’t love me then at least get angry. At least show me you feel something other than passive contentment. 

“Yeah. Sure. I don’t know.”

A pause stretches so long your heart pounds. You watch the elapsed time of the call tick by, second by second, and you wait for the anticipation to crack under the weight of silence, to give way to some terrible jump scare or to give way at all. 

But the words that end the conversation (if you can even call it that) aren’t any great relief. They’re just sad, and chalk full of defeat. 

“Alright. I’ll… I’ll call you later.”

You feel like you’ve swallowed an ice cube. All the words you’d like to say are frozen in your stinging throat. 

“Okay. Um… I’ll let you board now.”

“The jet’s not…” but he trails off. When he speaks again he sounds just as hurt as you’d wanted—and it doesn’t make you feel better at all. “Okay. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The line goes dead, and your face is burning as tears fill your eyes for the hundredth time this week. That call was terrible and poisonous and you don’t feel like yourself. 

Things have gone so wrong so quickly, and all you know how to do is ice him out so he can’t do it to you first. But it’s not going to make this better. No matter how mean you are to him, at the root of it all you feel unloved and scared and alone and Spencer knows things about love and relationships that you don’t. He’s confusing you with all this talk of feeling differently about each other and I’ll be home tomorrow I miss you and things get complicated when one person likes the other more and let’s talk in person and will you come meet my best friend tonight. All of it leaves you motion sick and ugly crying in the fetal position. 

All you have to get through this is who you’ve always been, a little of the person you’ve become, and the love you harbor for Spencer which rattles around in your chest like a nail in an empty toolbox. At the moment it hardly seems helpful. It mocks you, pointing out the pathetic hilarity of your paradox. The only person who can comfort you, the person you want more than anything, is the reason you’re so upset in the first place. But you can’t help being drawn to him. 

Maybe the love you have for Spencer is more like a magnet in a compass. 

Even if he doesn’t feel it for you, you do love Spencer. And that goes beyond just loving the parts of him that like you. To hide from that love would be a gross disservice to yourself and all the work you’ve done to get here. It’s not as if you suddenly know exactly what the answer is—but you’re sure that hiding is the most childish, cowardly thing you could do and the furthest you could get from a resolution. Even if you can’t make him love you back, you refuse to allow yourself to fizzle quietly out of his life. This relationship deserves something more than that. 

So maybe you don’t have a plan when you wipe your eyes and pick up your phone. Maybe there’s no strategy behind your actions as you text Garcia for the bar location. But if you keep running from everything you’ll never get anywhere. All you can do is show up. It seems like the next best step. 

------

The pub isn’t too crowded—but for a Thursday night, you suppose it’s a bit busy. 

Boot heels hooked onto the metal foot-beam of the stool you’re sitting on, elbows resting on the polished mahogany surface of the bar, you’re staring into an untouched mixed drink. Then you glance down the bar to your right, at the man who’d bought it for you. 

Maybe your ensemble gave him the wrong idea. 

Coming to this gathering had required bravery, and you came armored. Your ensemble projects significantly more confidence than you’re currently feeling. It was intentional, a form of self-protection—but now you’re wondering if it’s projecting a little too much confidence. 

All done up, clearly still a little rough around the edges, and sitting alone at a bar was bound to draw the wrong pairs of eyes. 

“Hey, darlin’,” the gruff man says, approaching when you inadvertently catch his gaze. “Are you gonna drink that, or should I? Otherwise I’m lookin’ at eleven dollars right down the drain.”

You avert your eyes, scanning the groups dotted here and there. 

“I’m waiting for friends.”

“Does that make a free drink less appealing?”

He takes the stool next to you, off-gassing the scent of cigarettes and leather. 

“I’m not drinking.”

“Really? I’ve never seen a girl who looks as sad as you do come sit at the bar to stay sober.”

You frown, looking back up at the man next to you. He seems like the Hell’s Angels type—tattooed knuckles, leather jacket, grey beard, and a weathered face that’s clearly spent decades with the sun. Fifties, maybe younger and just looks more rugged. What does it say about how I look tonight that this is the kind of man I’m attracting, you wonder. Maybe you look desperate and just as lonely as you feel. As he claims you do. 

“I’m not sad.”

“Alright. I’ll take your word for it. But a happier girl wouldn’t be all alone.”

“I’m waiting for friends,” you repeat, letting the words drip like venom from your tongue. 

“I’m Randall. See? Now we're friends.”

“I don’t need more friends. I like the ones I have.”

Something catches Randall’s attention long enough to catch yours. He raises his bottle vaguely, gesturing beyond your shoulder. 

“Are those angry lookin’ guys in the suits marching right over here the friends you’re talking about?”

You turn your head, brows furrowed, and immediately see the gentlemen to whom your new pal is pointing out. 

Spencer is storming across the bar looking close to furious (which for him, means an expression so placid it gives you chills) followed by Derek Morgan—a man who you’ve only seen pictures of and is even more impressive in person. 

You hate how your breath catches, how your heart is already beating a little faster than usual at the sight of him even though you’re not exactly pleased with each other right now. 

Suddenly the bubbles in your cocktail are once again fascinating.

“Those are the ones.”

“And why are they dressed for church?”

Church?

“They’re FBI.”

“Ah. My lucky fuckin’ day.”

You almost snort. 

“Hey,” Spencer says sternly, hand settling on your back as he partially fills the small space between you and the strange man. “Who’s this?”

You shrug, sit up a little straighter, and take a shallow breath—not because you’re scared of this man but because Spencer is suddenly so close to you and you can feel his warmth and the air bending around him and the scent of him is genuinely dizzying to you. 

“Randall,” you exhale unenthusiastically. But the odd thing is that you’re rather grateful for Randall’s presence. Because now Spencer is here and you have no idea what you’re going to say to him. 

“Oh,” Randall says, sipping his beer unhurriedly before using it to gesture to Spencer. “You’re the boyfriend. You know, that’s funny, because she didn’t mention a boyfriend.”

“I didn’t mention anything. We weren’t having a real conversation.”

Randy holds his hands up defensively, fingers still wrapped around the neck of a sweating bottle. 

“I’m just saying it’s in-ter-esting. Not trying to start anything.” He stands, pauses for another sip—Spencer obviously isn’t sure what to make of this man because he says nothing. “But listen, man to man—you better buy her some flowers or a real pretty fuckin’ necklace or somethin’ because a happy girl in a happy relationship does not come pout at the bar all by herself.”

“Get out of here, man,” Derek finally speaks up. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He sets his empty bottle down and fishes in his pocket for a cigarette, sticking it between his lips. “But—just for the record—I have a wife. I wasn’t gonna do anything weird. Sometimes when you’re my age you just gotta live a little. Buy a pretty girl a drink. Piss off some Mormons, or whatever the fuck you are.”

This guy sounds like a bad Bruce Springsteen song. But part of you would almost rather hang out with Randall than be forced into a conversation you’re not prepared for with Spencer. 

And whose fault is that, you remind yourself. You decided to come be mature. Suck it up. 

“Goodnight,” Derek emphasizes. 

Spencer doesn’t say a word. You can feel his eyes boring smoking holes into the side of your face, and you look anywhere else.  

“I’ll be here next week after physical therapy like clockwork,” the stranger waves as he ambles away—but not before pointing at you. “You enjoy that drink, friend. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

What a weird man. 

There’s silence for a moment—in which Spencer refuses to stop watching you and you refuse to acknowledge that. 

“And here I was thinking Spencer made you up.” Derek has a beautiful smile and a warm, charming cadence as he holds out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Derek.”

You take the proffered hand and shake, offering him a shy smile and introducing yourself in kind. 

“Happy birthday, by the way. Sorry for crashing your party.”

Really, he’s stunning. 

“Thank you, sweetheart. And you’re not crashing anything. I told pretty boy here I wanted to meet you the second he started talking about a friend. But nah, he just wanted to talk and talk and talk about you—” 

“Alright,” Spencer mumbles, blushing, eyes finally torn from your profile. You smile slightly, brows knitting as Derek magically melts some of the terrible tension.

“Pretty boy?”

Before either of them can explain, someone shrieks in your general direction. You startle backward in your seat, and Spencer steps closer, hand sliding up your back as Penelope, JJ, and Emily join your little huddle. For only a second you allow yourself to shrink into him—before you’re straightening your posture like your spine is a metal rod and his touch burns. It’s a knee-jerk defensive reaction for which you have no explanation. You can’t see him, but you don’t feel his hand on you again. 

“Oh my god! Look at this beautiful person who I love!” Penelope exclaims, pushing past Derek to grab your face and kiss both of your cheeks. “Oh my god,” she says again, wiping sticky lipgloss away with her thumbs, “I totally meant to ask before I did that. But your face is just so kissable. I’m so glad you decided to come!”

“Hi, Penelope,” you smile half-heartedly, incapable of reciprocating her cheery mood. Fortunately, she’s cheery enough for a standard commercial flight’s worth of people, and probably thinks of Derek’s birthday as a national holiday—so she doesn’t pick up on this. 

Emily and JJ offer you tamer although perfectly kind greetings. 

“Ooh, what are you drinking?” Emily asks, leaning closer to examine the forgotten beverage in front of you. 

“Not that,” Spencer mutters, grabbing the glass and sliding it away from you. You give him an affronted look—and immediately wish you hadn’t, since you’re meeting his eyes for the first time since he left. His words stall for just a moment as his eyes dart between yours before he’s saying, “you shouldn’t accept a drink if you didn’t watch someone make it.”

The audacity of him to be acting protective makes you scoff. 

“That guy didn’t spike my drink. He was harmless.”

“People thought Ted Bundy was harmless, too.”

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say that you don’t even have a response—your eyes simply narrow and you shake your head. A claustrophobic silence falls over the small group. 

“Okay…” JJ murmurs. “Um, do you guys want to go check out the jukebox with me? We have to play all of the birthday boy’s favorites.”

Several enthusiastic yeses go around, but you’re too busy having a stand off with your boyfriend to take much notice. 

Soon, it’s just the two of you. 

“Controlling isn’t a good look for you,” you finally say, spinning to rest your elbows on the bar once more and studying the bottles of liquor on the shelves beyond. 

“Evasive and avoidant isn’t particularly flattering, either. I was under the impression that you had no intention of coming after that phone call earlier.” 

You scoff again as your blood heats. Already the conversation is going worse than you’d expected—and your expectations were not high. 

“Do you think the cab driver was a serial killer, too? Or maybe the bartender?”

He’s still behind you and slightly to the side—but he leans down, resting his own fists on the bar right next to you and speaking lowly, directly over your shoulder. 

“Why don’t you try speaking to me like we’re adults instead of starting meaningless arguments in order to get under my skin?”

From him, that hurts. 

It’s a branch on the tree of your greatest insecurity—the fear that you’re too inexperienced with relationships and that makes you too immature and he’s been lying every time he says it’s not an issue. Because of course it’s an issue. It’s why you fell in love with him, it’s why you don’t know how to fix it, and it’s why you’re incapable of actually expressing any of your feelings to him.

“Why do you think I’m here right now?” you whisper—as sharp and stinging as a poison dart. “I’m trying to be a fucking adult. I don’t want to be here.”

Silence. 

“Then why did you come?”

His voice is so calm it burns like dry ice. 

“Because! Because you asked me to, because—”

You can’t bring yourself to say it aloud. 

Because I’m obviously still in love with you and I can’t just turn that off. I tried to do the right thing. 

Instead you bury your face in your hands and let it hang in the air, unspoken. You know he knows. You just don’t know why he’s acting like you’re so unreasonable for being upset. 

“Let me make this very clear to you,” Spencer murmurs, brushing your hair away from your ear so tenderly, speaking so softly you could convince yourself that he’ll say something kind. It’s the closest he’s been in days and now that he’s here you feel how much you missed him in your bones. And even though you sense a trap, you can’t help but sit up straighter. You’ll be complicit in your own undoing if it means you can have him close. His breath shakes slightly as he inhales and you brace as best you can. “Nobody is forcing you to be here. You told me you weren’t coming and then you decided to show up. I was ready to give you the space that you were too scared to ask me for. But I can only take responsibility for so much of what is ultimately your bad behavior and your adolescent volatility. You can only blame so much of your bad behavior on inexperience before I run out of patience because I don’t find thoughtlessness and emotional immaturity compelling. I told you that if there is a disparity in the way we feel for each other, that was fine, and I meant it. But if you can’t cope with how I feel about you then don’t let me hold you back. I am not holding you hostage. You can leave whenever you want. So don’t waste your time punishing me because you don’t want to be here. And if you do want to be here, good. I want that too. But act like an adult and make a decision. My leniency has limits, even for you. I am asking that you do not push it any further than you already have.”

You don’t know how long it’s been since your last breath by the time he finishes his address.

Long enough that you’re dizzy when you push away from the bar and shoulder through the throng of patrons as quickly as you reasonably can without outright running. 

Long enough that when you burst out the door into the biting-cold night air, and finally take a deep, gasping breath, it burns and stings and aches and so does your head and your eyes as they well with hot, furious, heartbroken tears. 

You speed-walk to the end of the block, hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your cries and all the curse words you’d love to scream. 

Part of you knows you walked away from the bar in case he decided to try and follow you—but when you look over your shoulder the sidewalk is empty. You should’ve known better than to think he’d follow you after that. But at least it means you can have your breakdown by the relative safety of the bar, leaning your back against the dirty brick facade next to the entrance alcove and sliding down until your butt hits the cold concrete and you don’t even care. 

Who the fuck was that man in the bar who looked like Spencer and sounded like Spencer but spoke to you like this is all your fault, like it’s your fault you love him and he doesn’t love you back, like it’s ridiculous that you’d be upset, like you’re cruel and petty for having feelings about it, about him—for having any fucking feelings at all? And to think that was the man who you let know you more intimately than anyone ever has. Every insecurity you’d ever admitted to him was hurled back in your face like it was nothing. Hell—he even handed you the ones you’d never mentioned. He proved every terrible thought you’ve been having about yourself right. 

How could he be so unabashedly mean to you?

Spencer doesn’t have to love you. It seems clearer now than ever that he doesn’t. But part of you wonders if he suffered some sort of traumatic brain injury because that’s the only explanation for why he could go from treating you how he did before to treating you like he doesn’t even like you. 

You feel like you might throw up. 

“Called it,” a rasping, grumbling voice says from a few feet away. 

You look up, and spot fucking Randall standing under a street light ten feet away, still smoking. 

You go back to studying the tar spots on the sidewalk through bleary eyes. Pebbles sting as they press into your palms. Another one of the universe’s terrible jokes, you suppose. Just earlier you’d thought that you’d rather talk to Randall than Spencer and now here you are and here he is. 

“That kid as much of a dipshit punk as I thought he was?”

Hearing Spencer described as a kid and a dipshit punk is so jarring you almost stop crying. 

“He’s not a dipshit,” you sniff, voice thick with tears as you find yourself explaining Spencer Reid to this stranger for no reason at all. “He has an IQ of 187. He’s a genius.”

“Ah,” he scoffs dismissively, flicking ash from his cigarette. “Dipshit-ism don’t discriminate. Anyone can be one. Even your genius punk boyfriend. As a recovering dipshit myself I know what the work of a fellow dipshit looks like. And this has dipshit written all over it.”

You sob harder. 

Randall speaks calmly around his cigarette. 

“You know, I’m sorry for whatever you got goin’ on. But I’ve never not been the asshole when I got a hysterical woman in front of me. It’s nice that I can confidently say this time it is not my fault.”

The bar door opens, letting a warm burst of jovial music and chatter into the otherwise still night. Steps that are too heavy to be Spencer’s hit the concrete next to you—you look to your left and see Derek Morgan before he looks down and sees you. 

“Hey—you okay out here?”

“Why don’t you go ask your Jehovah’s Witness buddy? He did this.”

Derek makes a face, locating the source of this interjection. 

“Sir, I asked you to leave her alone once and I don’t appreciate being made to repeat myself. Are we clear?”

“Yeah, whatever. Fuck me for making friendly conversation, I guess. Gonna have to call my wife and tell her to pick me up down the street. I don’t want her on the damn phone while she’s driving.”

Randall wanders away again, still muttering to himself and smoking. Derek watches him go, staring daggers into his back until he turns his gaze to you. 

Goodbye, Randall, you think. Great. Now I have neither of them. 

“Hey,” he softens, crouching down to your level. “You okay?”

You sniff, wiping your cheeks and attempting not to smudge your makeup. It’s impossible not to feel awkward—you just met this guy and now he’s here trying to do emotional labor for you on his birthday. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. This is embarrassing.”

“You don’t look fine. Can I do anything for you? Do you want some food? A drink?”

“You really don’t have to—”

“I know, I know. But look—Reid is always talking about you. You’re important to him, and he’s important to me. I’ve never seen him this happy and I’ve known that kid a long time. It is in my best interest that someone maintain you, and if it’s not him, it’ll be me. Call it a favor to him, if that makes you feel better.” Derek is sporting a slightly more modest Cheshire grin again by the end of his sentence. Listening to him speak that way about Spencer speaking about you, it’s impossible not to feel a teeny bit lighter. Even if you’re not entirely sure where you stand on all things Spencer related at the moment. “So I’ll ask you again. Is there anything I can do for you?”

You sniff again. 

“Sure. A ginger ale or something might be good.”

“Got it. I’ll be back. And come inside if Randall tries to run up on you again, okay?”

Despite yourself you manage a laugh at the way he says the name. His warm smile flickers warmer at this.  

“Will do.”

When Derek returns a few minutes later, the plastic cup he’s holding looks decidedly not like ginger ale. 

“Penelope insisted that this is what you would want. I don’t even know.”

You smile slightly as you take the cup, full to the brim with bubbles and thick red syrup. A cherry bobs underneath the layer of cubed ice. 

“Shirley temple,” you chuckle. “I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he says, flashing that brilliant smile again, and you look into your cup as you drink. Maybe your face warms just a bit. You’re still shy around men, you realize. Especially attractive ones. And Derek Morgan definitely qualifies as attractive. 

“So,” he begins, and to your surprise, crouches down in front of you. “I have to be honest—I came out here in the first place because Reid sent me to check on you. But now I’m wondering what the hell he did.”

Spencer sent him. A considerate action that would theoretically signal his care for your feelings. You take another sip, staring into space and trying to digest this information, but it only jumbles with the rest to confuse you more. 

Of course, you don’t know how to convey this to Derek in a way that’s not overly-familiar for just having met the man, so you go with an old standby. 

“I’m probably just overreacting.”

“Uh-huh. I have sisters. I know what an overreaction looks like and if you were overreacting you wouldn’t be out here hiding. What’d he do?”

You can only keep up the facade of emotional stability for so long. Your chin wobbles in a horribly embarrassing way and you look down again. 

“I’m not sure—I’m not sure if he really did anything or if I’m just being dramatic and I don’t want to make him seem—”

“Why don’t you stop defending him and just tell me what he did?” Derek urges. “Trust me—I love that kid to death. But I also know he can be a dick sometimes. You don’t need to worry about making him look bad in front of me.”

Part of you is glad Spencer has such a good friend on his side. And Derek is right—Spencer is an adult. You don’t need to worry about besmirching his reputation. So you take a shuddering sigh, staring into the red of your drink. 

“He just doesn’t like me as much as I like him. Which isn’t his fault, like I said, but—he’s being such an asshole about it.”

Derek pulls a face, strong eyebrows making an impression as they knit.  

“Did he tell you that?”

“Over the phone,” you nod emphatically. “And just now he gave me this whole fucking speech about how immature and horrible I am for not being 100% happy about it. And maybe he’s partially right, I mean—I know people feel things differently and maybe he just was asking for more time. I worry I fucked it up so bad because I couldn’t handle that—but at the same time he didn’t say he wanted more time. He was really fucking unclear and vague about what he wanted, and he asked me to come to this bar like it was nothing when I’ve been worried he was going to break up with me all week. So yeah, I guess he’s right and I have been a bitch about it because I was upset that he didn’t… like me as much. And I wanted him to feel bad because I was so embarrassed, and I also didn’t want to act like everything was normal if he was just going to dump me, I…” you realize you’ve been hardcore rambling and your face heats. “I don’t know.”

There’s a pause, and you worry you’ve done exactly the thing you didn’t want to, which was overshare to this man who seems like he’s significantly more normal and well-adjusted than you. You drink deeply, swallowing sugar and the rest of your words. 

“That’s… bizarre. I don’t mean to invalidate your feelings, but… that just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, projecting annoyance so you won’t start crying again. “I was confused too. I thought he really liked me.”

“No, sweetheart, I’m saying—that doesn’t make sense because he does really like you. Really, really likes you, more than I’ve ever seen him like someone before. I mean, last week I finally finished that Tesla biography he’s been on my ass about for months and when I told him, all he wanted to do was talk about your thoughts on it. And then it wasn’t even about the book anymore. I have never, ever seen Reid pass up an opportunity to talk about Nikola Tesla. I’m talking never in my life. He finds a way to make every conversation about you. I can’t even follow the connections sometimes but he always finds a way.”

Your nose wrinkles. 

“Sorry you’ve had to hear so much about me,” you mumble. Though you’re not really sorry. It feels good. A twinge of joy in all the murk. 

“I’m not. Like I said, I’ve known Spencer for a long time and I’ve never seen him this happy. I’m not about to let him fuck it up.”

“If I make him so happy then why did he tell me we don’t feel the same?” you whisper, reaching into the puddle of syrup and ice at the bottom of your now empty cup. 

“Is that exactly what he said?” Derek asks, after a long pause. You bite the maraschino cherry off the stem and nod morosely, grinding a long-gone stranger’s cigarette butt with your boot just to crush something. There’s another beat of silence. “Alright. You know what I think?”

You raise your head to meet his gaze, your own wide-eyed and expectant. 

“I think you two need to have an honest conversation. You’re both confused and hurting—I promise Spencer is feeling it too. If you talk to him he won’t be unkind to you.”

“He already was,” you admit. 

“I apologize if I’m out of line here, but you just told me you’ve been icing him out all week because you want him to feel bad. I’m willing to bet you don’t realize how sharp these claws are.” Derek grabs your hand as he says it and you marvel at how much he is the opposite of you. Everything he does and says seems so natural and reasonable and charming even if it would piss you off from anyone else—and you just met the guy. You can see why Spencer and Penelope speak so highly of him. “I think you’ve probably both had your moments these past few days. But that doesn’t mean neither of you deserve any more chances.”

He puts your hand back on your knee and pats it. 

“Besides, Spencer‘s not good at mean. I bet he’s inside worrying himself sick over whatever dumb shit he said to you. He’s probably hyperventilating as we speak.”

“It was really out of character for him,” you concede. 

“Yeah. He’ll be apologizing for a long while. It will get annoying. But he sure as hell won’t be doing it again, I can tell you that much. If he does, let me know. Emily and I will whoop his ass and call it a fitness evaluation.”

“I think that’ll be unnecessary,” you laugh thickly, pulling your sleeve over your hand and wiping away the few tears that haven’t quite dried. “But thank you.”

“Anytime. Now, it’s my birthday, and as a grown man I should not be getting involved in someone else’s relationship drama. I was supposed to be on the dance floor a while ago.” His tone is so warm and sugary by the time he finishes it could rot his perfect grin. It’s futile to hide the way your mouth twists into a reluctant smile as you look down and fix your hair—praying he can’t tell how fazed you are by his kindness. “You’re going to talk to him, right?”

“I’ll—yeah. Right,” you say quietly. But the sinking feeling in your stomach knows it’s a thing easier said than done. 

“Good,” Derek grunts, taking your empty cup before pushing himself back up to his feet and offering you a hand. “Do you want me to send him out here or do you want to come find him inside?”

You balk.

“Like—right now? I have to talk to him now?”

Before he can give you an answer you think you’d rather not have, the bar door is opening. From your spot you can’t see who it is right away, but Derek turns over his shoulder and does a double take before looking back at you. 

Spencer steps out onto the sidewalk, eyes scanning for until he realizes you’re a few feet shorter than usual. Sitting on a filthy public walkway is probably his worst nightmare, you realize, as you scramble to your feet and dust the crumbs of concrete from your palms against the back of your cold jeans. He begins to say your name, and it sounds like relief and regret, but you stop him. 

“I have to go wash my hands.”

It’s monotonous and mumbled and comes out too quickly but you don’t have time to worry about that as you brush past both of the men on your way back into the bar, making an immediate beeline for the bathroom. 

Your face burns with anxiety as you shut the door behind you, immediately drowning in the yellowish lighting which is so harsh but seems to illuminate almost nothing. Who paints a bathroom red? It’s suffocating. You feel like you’re inside an aorta. 

Water runs cool over your hands as you sniffle, rinsing the bits of dirt from red indents made by pebbles and things, and the soap is too floral and powdery but you wash twice anyway. Maybe you’ll just stay in here and wash your hands forever. 

There’s a light knock on the shiny wooden door and it makes you jump. Your name is muffled from the other side. 

“You in there?” 

Quickly you wipe under your reddened eyes in the mirror, trying to fix the slightly smudged makeup. 

The door opens when you don’t respond, and there’s Spencer, looking weary and tense all at once. Is that your fault?

“Hey,” you sniff, trying to effect casualness, but it comes out too quickly and your posture is too stiff. Under his all-seeing gaze you cross and uncross your arms, look at him and look away. Your hands end up in your pockets. He’d say crossed arms are a sign of self-soothing. 

“Hey.” His is more measured, and of course makes you feel embarrassed in comparison. The door swings shut behind him as he enters the small room and makes it feel that much smaller. “Are you… hiding from me in here?”

Yes. 

The graffitied toilet stalls to your left suddenly look fascinating. 

“Nope. Just washing my hands.”

This is not what Derek told you to do, you scold yourself internally. Stop being so scared. Be honest with him. 

Silence rings. All the brutally honest things you’d like to say choke you until your throat hurts and your eyes get hot. Yet again you feel like a stupid little girl who’s too emotional to communicate. 

You cross your arms. It’s an indulgence you feel you’re owed. 

Spencer says your name again and it’s too much. He never says it this often. When he does it feels good but now it’s too formal, makes you too aware of your own inadequacy, and how he must be seeing you—a wraith of a girl in a dingy bar bathroom with clammy hands and smudged eyeliner, practically shaking with fear under an unforgiving light. Someone who is too scared and much too sensitive. 

Spencer attempts to speak again. 

“What I said before, it was—”

“Can you just take me home?” 

It comes out on one exhalation and seems to stall him with all the effectiveness of a slap to the face. 

You don’t know where it comes from, either. 

Easier said than done, you’d thought a few moments ago. All the bravery Derek had tried to instill in you is gone, swallowed down the drain like soap scum. And now you’re choosing to let your fear win—because at least that’s a known quantity. The fear will never reject you. It will always be waiting with open arms. 

Too scared. 

The end feels imminent. You try to press yourself back together, fingernails biting into palms, trying to make something feel more tangible than the terrible knowingness that you’re careening toward an end which was supposed to be a beginning. It’s stifling and you wonder if Spencer is breathing it too. 

You can’t look at his face, but you watch him pocket his hands in his pants and there is so much impossible space between you in such a tiny room. 

“Yeah. I can.”

Something breaks. It’s small, and without fanfare. But it feels final. 

It’s just a ride home. Just a ride home. 

That’s all you have left, and you don’t know how you know it but you do. 

Something so important is being left in this stupid, dingy bathroom. Something that was at one point beautiful and shiny and so arrogant in its newness that it seemed it would never become ugly. And now you’re abandoning it without dignity on the chipped tile floor and in the cobwebs on the walls. It was bigger than you, it was you—and now it’s going to be nothing. 

A vehicle honks on the street. A boisterous group laugh explodes somewhere beyond the door. Water drips from a faucet. 

“I’ll… I’ll bring my car around.”

“Okay.”

But he just stands there for another moment. Like he can’t get himself to move. 

If only time would freeze before he could walk away. 

But it doesn’t. 

He sucks in a decisive breath. 

“Okay,” he murmurs. 

It’s that fucking phone call all over again. 

Then he spins on his heels and leaves you there.

Your time is up. 

-

part 5.5

[halfwayhearted]

omg i love ur account soo bad, i would rlly like to read about Spencer being jealous of Derek, for the reader to comfort him and try to help with his insecurities, lowk sad ik but pleaseee 🙇🏻‍♀️

Do You Realize? — Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Summary: After the constant small, friendly touches between you and Derek, Spencer can't help but feel a pang of jealousy, wondering if there was something between the two of you.

Word Count: 615+

Disclaimer/s — Slight angst—not really, comfort (?), mutual pining, and teasing from Derek because hello.

A/N: HI. HI. HI. ALSO, I LOVE YOU SOOO, THANK YOU??? :3 I also struggled a little (a lot) and I’m aware that your request wasn’t done much justice, I’m sorry, but I hope you like, hey…

Spencer hated the sight before him. He did, a lot.

It was of you and Derek messing around—like always. Nothing new. His hand lifted to grab your arm so you could reciprocate his handshake after he had blatantly insulted you, making you drop it. But with one glance at his playful grin, you knew you couldn’t actually be upset with him, so you took his hand in yours, holding it for a second longer as you started to speak. Your voice stern.

“I better not hear a word from you,” you warned, “Like, seriously. If I find out, Derek, I’ll get Garcia.”

His grin widened, “Not a peep from me, lover.”

That was when you dropped his hand, your eyes narrowing in feigned annoyance as you turned and walked away. You stopped when you caught the gaze of Spencer. “No paperwork, I assume?”

He stiffened at the sound of your voice. You had caught him. Clearing his throat, he shook his head. “I, uh, I finished early. What about you?”

“Handed them in earlier. Are you heading home?”

Offering you a tight-lipped smile, the brunette nods his head, the only thing he can actually manage right now. He then grabs his leather messenger bag and slings it over his shoulder.

“Me too,” a short pause, adding, “Walk with me?”

‘Walk with me?’ Walk with you? Well, of course!

He nods again and walks up to you. You grab your own bag and make your way toward the elevators. The silence between the two of you was… quiet—quiet, but comfortable. At least, that’s what you had thought. Could Spencer say the same?

No. No, he couldn’t.

No, to Spencer, it was absolutely torturous. He was too busy over-analyzing things that probably weren’t even real problems.

It was just… he didn’t know. “You and Morgan seem close. Just last week, you were arguing.”

Your eyebrows pinched together. “Arguing? No, we weren’t arguing. It was more like... I don’t know, but it wasn’t arguing, I can assure you of that.” You trail off. “Did it really seem that way?”

“Well—no, not really. It didn’t seem that way. You guys just weren’t as touchy then. That’s all.”

That was when you became extremely confused. Since when did he, Spencer Reid, care about you being touchy with someone? Especially Morgan, for that matter. It was simply a friendly bond.

“It’s nothing,” you tell him. “If he needs a hug, I’ll give him one. A handshake? Sure. I’m sure he’d do the same; he would for anyone else on the team.”

Letting out a small hum, his grip on his satchel tightens. So, you decide to speak some more.

“Spencer, what’s on your mind? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m fine. Just thinking is all.” He replies, voice uncharacteristically stoic.

That’s when Morgan’s words from before come into play. He had basically insulted you, calling you dense for not seeing how the man beside you looked at you. How you looked at him the same way, yet you wouldn’t act on it for some reason.

It’s not like he would act on it either it seems.

Should matters be taken into your own hands?

You thought they should be.

When the elevator doors opened and you knew you’d be heading in opposite directions, you stepped out and turned to him, “Hey, Spencer?”

Meeting your gaze, he furrowed his brows and took his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You have nothing to worry about.” And with that, you simply walked away, too soon to notice the flush of his cheeks rising by the second.

Realizing he had yet to exit, he cast you one last glance before hastily making his way out.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

DT(s) — @planetpedri ! ౨ৎ

[luveline]

Hey my lovely, could i equest a blurb where reader seeks one of spencer's hugs and he's all soft and mushy about it!! I just think he'd give really warm hugs and want one so bad!

shy!reader + post!prison Spencer have a hug

Spencer understands why you might find him intimidating. He did go to prison for a few weeks, and even if the idea of his being a potential felon didn’t scare you, there’s nothing wrong with being nervous around the unknown. You’ve had a few more weeks to get to know the others on the team. He tries not to take it personally that you’re closer with some of them than you are him. 

Plus, you’re awfully shy. 

Spencer’s been trying to communicate that he’s an idiot. He was shy, once, and he tends to be shy about things now, too, even if he’s taken to hiding that. He hides a lot, these days. 

But things aren’t hopeless with you. You’re inarguably his best work friend now that Morgan’s not around, taking the desk next to his —through coincidence or insistence, he has no idea. 

“What flavour do you have today?” he asks. 

You show him your bag. The convenience store outside of work has the strangest sweets from all sorts of places. You’ve been bringing in a different bag each day, and you always share. “Today is apricot and peach ‘millions’,” you tell him, shaking the bright pink bag like a rattle. 

Inside, the millions bounce against each other like miniscule polystyrene balls but with a heavier weight. 

“Awesome!” he says, holding out his hand. “Please?” 

You rip the corner and tip a generous helping of candies into his palm, doing the same in your own hand. “Ready?” you ask. 

“Three, two, one.” 

You both tip your heads back at the same time. Apricot and peach are similar flavours, and Spencer can’t tell the difference when they’re both in play. He can also taste apple juice and the sharp citric acid flavour they put in every candy. 

He can’t tell if you like them. He quite enjoys it, will happily eat the leftovers if you’re not interested, but your attention isn’t on the candy when he looks up. You’re staring straight at him. 

“What?” he asks, perturbed. 

“Nothing, just. Had a rough morning. Thanks for trying the candy with me.” 

He frowns. “I’m sorry. Let me know if there’s something I can do to make you feel better. I can make you a cup of hot chocolate?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

Spencer’s sure that to an outsider, he and the team appear to travel to a hundred cities a month. In reality, cases aren’t as densely packed, especially with the government expanding their profiling teams, and the majority of Spencer’s day is spent answering emails and giving advice to agents, law enforcement, and his colleagues. He doesn’t see much of you (where you’re forced to work ViCAP calibration as newbies usually are, almost like a hazing) but he does take you that hot chocolate around lunch time. Just to make sure you have the option. 

It’s sometime past four PM when you appear again. 

“Hey,” he says, turning to you where you’re paused behind your desk chair, “you're finally done?” 

“Not yet. So many case files to transcribe, opinions to cross check, signatures and…” You wince. “It’s a lot. You already know.” 

“I don’t, actually. I only ever had to do ViCAP as punishment, and I was extremely well-behaved. For a while, anyway.” 

You hesitate with something heavy on the tip of your tongue. You’re like every profiler wherein your tells are self-identified and quelled, but you’re still so new, and Spencer’s an expert. You want to ask him for something, but you don’t think you’re allowed. If he presses the issue you’ll shut down, and if he offers you another cup of hot chocolate you’ll simply drink it without letting him in on the real secret. 

Spencer waits. 

“Spencer, you don’t have to say yes, just… You’re the nicest friend I have, and you always know what I need to hear. Um, I know you don’t like touching people and I wouldn’t ask you to if you don’t want to, but it’s been a really long time since someone hugged me, and…” Your voice gets quieter and quieter, until you’re whispering, and then fizzling out. 

“You want a hug?” he asks, surprised. 

“If that’s okay.” 

“I give really good hugs,” he warns, climbing from his chair immediately, arms opened, an unmissable invitation. “You’ll never get over it.” 

“Really?” 

He can’t believe you came to him specifically for a hug. He’s gonna lose his mind. Gentle, Spencer ushers you into his arms, head quick to duck down, his thumb on your shoulder. 

You could’ve asked anybody in the office for a hug. Penelope would have hugged your brains out. Emily, Unit Chief and secret sweetheart, would’ve taken you off of ViCAP and given you a loving pat on the back. But you didn’t ask Penelope or Emily, you asked him. 

“You don’t have to ask me first,” he says quietly. 

“You don’t like touching.” 

“That’s more to do with germs, and I’m not worried about yours,” he says. “Unless you’re about to tell me you have a headache.” 

“It’s like this pounding behind my eyes,” you say with a laugh. 

Spencer smiles, his mouth and nose to the side of your head. He gives you a good ten seconds of quiet, his palm warming your shoulder, before he murmurs, “Any better?” 

“You’re really warm,” you murmur back. 

Spencer resists the urge to squeeze you. “It's the oxytocin.”

“Or you’re just really, really warm.”

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

56 / 1.2k / medic reader + Ghost + coworkers with benefits

kinktober keywords: subtextual authority kink, workplace smut, rivals to rivals who fuck, coworkers with benefits?, voyeurism (mentioned), actual smut in part 2

...

You watch your would-be beau walk away, shoulder knocking against Simon’s as he goes.

Simon, for his part, doesn’t even bother casting the man a sideways glance. His frosty glare is reserved for you. "This is a military base. I don't think I need to repeat myself when I say that this isn't exactly the place to bring men back to your room."

"I'm familiar with the concept.” You make your tone as chilly as his. “I fail to see how what I do is any of your business." Behind him, you see someone else poke their head out of an open doorway and look around. There’s no way she misses the Ghost standing inside your room, staring you down. You hurry to close the door behind Simon.

"Who was he?"

"A friend from another regiment."

"Yeah? Really? A little late for a friend to be visiting, isn't it?"

"We had dinner. It ran late. I offered tea."

"Right," he drawls. "And all he wanted in return was a good cup of tea? Nothing else? You didn’t cozy up together?"

You cross your arms, saying nothing.

His mouth tightens. "You didn't."

"No. How could we when you barge in uninvited? As if what I do is any of your business.”

"It is my business when I spend my nights on the other side of this wall."

"That's not my problem, Simon."

He resists the urge to use his lieutenant voice. Or hit something. Medic or not, he won’t have you brushing him off. "It is your problem," he snaps, stepping up to stand squarely in front of you. "Don't talk back to me."

You say nothing, but don't back down. Instead, you glare up into his eyes and concede nothing. He’s not your boss and you don’t answer directly to him, but fuck if he’s ever tolerated your sass. Or you his strictness. You’ve never managed to be normal about each other.

He lets out a heavy breath, though it does little to calm him. "I shouldn't be hearing you with other men late at night. Do you get that?"

"Then don't listen."

You can feel his patience wearing thin. "It's kind of hard to," he says through his teeth, "when I can hear every damned sound you make."

Your eyes narrow. Does he mean…

"Everything," he says. You blush from your cheeks to your toes. "And I've been hearing it for a while, medic."

You cross your arms tighter, embarrassment bubbling up in your gut. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you could hear so much. That must be... annoying." you turn away and rub the back of your neck sheepishly. "I haven't really been with anyone since my last— well, the last year or so. I've been frustrated. But that's no excuse for disturbing others."

The sudden lapse in your defensive attitude seems to catch him off guard. He softens his tone, though his glare is still locked on you, stern as ever. "You haven’t been with Soap, then?”

Soap? That’s weirdly specific. You shake your head. "No. Look, don't worry about it. It's a personal matter. I won't bother you again."

There's a moment of silence.

"Look at me, medic."

You turn to him, your back stiff and your face as impassive as you can manage despite the sheer embarrassment coursing through you. "I'll keep it down, Simon."

His lips twitch. "The sound isn't what bothers me. What bothers me," he says, narrowing his eyes and leaning closer, "is that you want company."

"I know. I know. Relationships are off-limits."

He continues to watch you with what you’d swear is the beginning of a smirk. "You never told me that you missed being touched.”

A new flush heats your face immediately. God, the mortification.

"Frankly, I would rather die than admit that to anyone. Let alone my lieutenant."

He studies your reaction for a moment. Then he speaks again, his voice lower. "I'm happy you're comfortable enough to admit it to me," he says. "You're right. I am your lieutenant. I need to know what ails you because it's my job to take care of you. You can rely on me. For anything."

You look up at him again. You think you hear the implication in his words, but surely he's not saying what you think he's saying. Not Simon. Not Ghost.

He takes in your bewildered expression before letting out another heavy breath. When you still don't say anything, he takes a step back.

"Medic..." His tone of voice grows softer. "I'm offering you comfort. If you’d like it."

The longer you stare at him, the more the truth sinks in. He's really offering to get you off. To relieve tension. Ostensibly. Simon, of all people.

You look away. "That's against the rules, isn't it?"

He can't help the smirk this time, though his tone remains warm. "Relationships are against the rules, yes. But this isn't a relationship. This is an arrangement to alleviate tension. Nothing more."

The usual generic protests and reassurances die in your throat when Simon rolls his sleeves up, peeling his gloves off. You’ve never seen his bare hands before.

He chuckles at your expression. Then he reaches back and locks the door.

Your heartbeat accelerates. Your eyes travel up his muscled forearms to see him looking at you with deliberation, like you're the object of his next mission. But the anticipation in his eyes isn’t so clinical.

"Sit down."

Anticipation floods your nerves. Seemingly of their own accord, the back of your knees hit the edge of your bed. You sit.

His eyes never leave yours as he approaches. The room gets warmer with every step he takes, sizing you up. When he reaches you, he stops just before his leg can brush the insides of your knees.

"May I?"

Your fingertips tingle. You want to say yes. You didn't know how much you’d want to say yes until right now. But...

You shift, pressing your thighs together, fighting the urge to ring your hands. "I'm not an easy or particularly fun woman to please, Simon." You glance up at him, trying not to look pained. You’re not trying to challenge him. You’re just trying to let him down easy and give him an out. You’re trying to tell him he doesn't want to do this; it’s too much effort. After all, you yourself have been trying to give yourself an orgasm for months without real success.

Still, your warning doesn’t seem to deter him. "Then I'll put in the time and the work," he says. "I need your permission. Yes or no. Do you trust me to take care of you?"

You swallow, your heart skipping. You want that very much. You honestly wonder if he can feel the selfish want rolling off of you in waves. But do you trust him with this kind of vulnerability?

It's not much of a question.

You look him in the eye, your voice even. The tension between you tilts. "Yes. I do."

"Good." He takes another step forward. The air thickens with your proximity. His boots nudge your bare feet. "Lay back. Let me do my job."

...

[part 1] / part 2

more Ghost / masterlist