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atzaurora · 5 months ago

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heyy! i really love your writings i was wondering if you could do a fwb!mingi x reader x roommate!seonghwa fic!! theyre all college students and mingi secretely sneaks into reader's dorm to fuck her everytime seonghwa is not there due to extra classes <3 one day seonghwa finished earlier since the teacher was absent and when he got back in their dorm he caught mingi and reader fucking, gets turned on and joins in <33 you can add anything you please, has to be ROUGH 😩 please thank you in advance!!!

[˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗] join in

❥ 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓: Seonghwa, Mingi

➤ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: roommate!seonghwa x fem!reader x fwb!mingi

➤ 𝒕𝒚𝒑𝒆: imagine (smut)

➤ 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑: roommates/friends, fwb

.ᐟ.ᐟ𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔.ᐟ.ᐟ: rough sex, unprotected sex, threesome, getting caught, m & f receiving

➤ 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Y/N and Mingi were having one of their almost daily 'meetups' again. While those 'meetings' really only consisted of sex while her roommate was away. Just as Mingi was taking her, Seonghwa finished classes earlier and walked in on them...

➤ 𝒘/𝒄: 2.9k

➤ 𝒂/𝒏: ohhh I love this idea!!! thank you sm for requesting :P hope you like the story :33 enjoyyy

if you have any ideas or wishes let me know, requests are open

here's my [𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕]!

[𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕] here!

[about me] + [guidelines]!

It was a typical Tuesday afternoon, and the college dorms hummed with the soft background noise of students immersed in their routines. The distant echoes of laughter, study sessions, and conversations created a comforting atmosphere of communal life. After your last class, you made your way back to the dorm you shared with Seonghwa. The room greeted you with its familiar mix of textbooks, scattered clothes, and the lingering scent of his cologne—a fragrance that was both soothing and intoxicating, stirring something deep within you.

With a sigh, you flopped onto your bed, scrolling absentmindedly through your phone, trying to shake off the day’s fatigue. Your thoughts, however, drifted to Mingi. Over the years, what began as a close friendship had evolved into something far more intimate and thrilling, a secret connection that added an exhilarating edge to your life. Mingi had a way of igniting a fire within you, his touch leaving you trembling, his kisses pulling you into a whirlwind of passion that you craved more with each encounter. It had become a well-guarded secret, a ritual you both indulged in, hidden from everyone—including Seonghwa.

You glanced at the clock, a flutter of excitement stirring in your stomach. Seonghwa had an extra class today, granting you the luxury of having the dorm to yourself for a few precious hours. The anticipation of Mingi's impending visit quickened your heartbeat. You could almost feel his strong arms around you, his body pressing against yours, and the way he would devour you with his hunger.

As the time approached, a soft knock echoed through the quiet room, pulling you from your thoughts. You sat up, quickly checking your reflection in the mirror to ensure your appearance was flawless. When you opened the door, Mingi stood there with that familiar mischievous grin, his eyes dark with desire. He didn't hesitate, stepping inside and closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

Without wasting a moment, Mingi closed the distance between you, his body exuding an energy that made your breath hitch. His gaze locked onto yours, the intensity of his need unmistakable. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both fiery and tender, igniting a spark that spread through your entire body. His hands roamed your form, every touch deliberate and knowing as he undressed you with practiced ease, his fingers brushing your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

Mingi’s hands moved with purpose, stripping away the last barriers between you. He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to your bed, laying you down gently on the soft mattress. The heat of his body against yours was electrifying, and his whispered praise—"You look beautiful, baby"—made your heart race even faster. His lips traveled across your skin, leaving a trail of heat as they moved from your neck to your collarbone, each kiss stoking the fire that burned within you.

Mingi’s arousal was evident as he discarded his clothes, his cock already hard and eager. He wasted no time, positioning himself between your legs, his eyes drinking in the sight of your body laid out before him. There was no need for foreplay; the two of you had done this enough times to know exactly what the other needed. With a low groan, Mingi lined himself up with your entrance, pushing into you with a single, powerful thrust.

A gasp escaped your lips, your back arching off the mattress as pleasure coursed through your veins. Mingi’s hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he set a steady rhythm, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body. The room was filled with the sounds of your coupling—skin slapping against skin, mingled with the breathy moans and whispered praises that spilled from Mingi’s lips.

He started slow, savoring the feel of you wrapped around him, but it wasn’t long before his thrusts grew faster and more intense. The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard tapping against the wall in a steady rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart. The force of Mingi’s movements drove you closer to the edge, the coil of tension tightening in your belly with each passing second.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Mingi groaned, his voice rough with lust. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, his hips never faltering in their relentless pace. You could feel the sweat beading on his skin, his body slick against yours as he poured every ounce of his desire into you.

Your hands found purchase on his broad shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh as you tried to ground yourself amidst the overwhelming pleasure. Mingi’s cock hit all the right spots, pushing you closer and closer to the brink. You knew he could sense it—the way your walls clenched around him, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He quickened his pace, his hands moving to cup your breasts, kneading the soft flesh as his thrusts grew more frantic.

“I’m so close,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper. Mingi growled in response, his lips trailing down your neck as he drove into you with renewed vigor. He was rougher than usual, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises, but you didn’t care. It was exactly what you needed, the kind of raw, primal sex that left you feeling utterly consumed.

Your climax hit you like a freight train, the world around you fading to white as pleasure crashed over you in waves. You cried out, your nails raking down Mingi’s back as your body convulsed around him, your pussy squeezing his cock as if trying to milk him dry. Mingi wasn’t far behind, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased his own release. With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you, his cock throbbing as he emptied his load deep within your core.

The room was filled with the sounds of your ragged breathing, your bodies slick with sweat as you came down from your highs. Mingi stayed buried inside you for a moment longer, his forehead pressed against yours as you both caught your breath. But he wasn’t done yet.

A smirk played on Mingi’s lips as he pulled out of you, leaving you feeling achingly empty. He rolled you over onto your stomach, his hands guiding your hips up so that you were on all fours. “One more,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. “We’ve still got time until Seonghwa gets back.”

You barely had time to process his words before he spread your cheeks, the tip of his cock pressing against your tight hole. The anticipation sent a thrill of excitement coursing through you, the promise of more sending a fresh wave of arousal flooding through your body. You’d done this before, but the anticipation and the pleasure that came with it never waned.

Mingi didn’t hold back. He slammed into you with a force that made you scream into the pillow, your body stretched to accommodate his girth. The initial pain quickly gave way to pleasure, the sensation of being filled so completely overwhelming your senses. You moaned loudly, unable to hold back the sounds of your pleasure as Mingi set a brutal pace, his cock driving into you over and over.

The pleasure was all-consuming, your body trembling with each powerful thrust. You were so lost in the sensations that you almost didn’t hear the soft click of the door opening. But when you did, your eyes widened in shock. Through the haze of pleasure, you managed to glance up from the pillows, and what you saw made your heart stop.

Seonghwa stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes glued to the scene unfolding before him. His expression was unreadable, a mix of surprise and something else—something darker. His books slipped from his hands, thudding to the floor with a dull thud. The room grew eerily quiet, the only sounds now were your ragged breaths and the rhythmic slaps of Mingi’s hips against your ass.

For a moment, the three of you were caught in a tense standoff, the air heavy with an unspoken tension. Mingi paused, his eyes flicking up to meet Seonghwa’s. There was a flicker of surprise in his gaze, but it was quickly replaced by something else—something more confident, almost challenging.

Seonghwa’s eyes darkened as he took in the scene before him, a slow smirk forming on his lips. He let out a low chuckle, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “So this is what you’ve been up to while I’m gone,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. He took a step forward, his eyes raking over your arched back, your flushed face, and the way your body trembled under Mingi’s relentless pace.

Mingi grunted, his cock twitching inside you as he adjusted his grip on your hips. “Well, someone has to take care of this pretty cunt,” he growled, his voice filled with possessive pride. He continued to fuck you, his pace never faltering even as Seonghwa approached, a look of intense curiosity in his eyes.

Seonghwa’s hand reached out, his fingers tracing a line down your face, his touch gentle despite the lust burning in his gaze. “Does he feel good, yeah?” he asked, his voice low and seductive. Your breath hitched, your body trembling as you nodded, unable to form words as pleasure continued to course through you.

Mingi’s thrusts grew more deliberate, his cock driving deeper with each movement. “She’s a good little slut,” he murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction. “Always so eager to take whatever I give her.” His words sent a thrill of excitement through you, the mixture of praise and degradation pushing you even closer to the edge.

Seonghwa’s eyes never left yours as he stepped closer, his hand moving to cup your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Do you want to know what I feel like, too?” he asked, his voice thick with desire. There was no hesitation in your answer this time, your need for more overwhelming any rational thought. “Y-Yeah, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation.

Seonghwa’s smirk widened as he quickly stripped off his clothes, revealing his own impressive erection. The air grew heavy with anticipation, the tension between the three of you crackling like electricity. Seonghwa stepped forward, positioning himself beside Mingi, his eyes never leaving yours.

Mingi pulled out of you, allowing Seonghwa to take his place. The loss of his cock left you feeling achingly empty, but the sensation was quickly replaced by the stretch of Seonghwa’s cock sliding into you. The feeling of being filled by a different man, so soon after Mingi, was overwhelming, your body trembling with the intensity of it all.

Seonghwa’s strokes were long and deep, each thrust sending pleasure shooting through your veins. Mingi stepped back for a moment, watching with a pleased smirk as his friend fucked you, his cock disappearing into your tight pussy. But he didn’t stay on the sidelines for long. He leaned down, pressing his lips to your neck and leaving a trail of hickeys that would be impossible to hide.

“Good girl,” Mingi whispered in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. His hands found your breasts, kneading them roughly as he whispered more dirty words into your ear. “You’re doing so good, taking him like the little slut you are.” His words sent shivers down your spine, the mixture of pleasure and degradation pushing you even closer to the edge.

The two of them took turns, fucking you with an intensity that left you feeling completely overwhelmed. You were caught between them, your body a vessel for their pleasure, each thrust, slap, and bite sending you spiraling closer to your next climax. Your body trembled with the effort of holding back, the pleasure building to an unbearable level.

Seonghwa’s cock hit your sweet spot over and over, his pace relentless as he drove you toward your peak. You could feel your orgasm building, the tension coiling tight in your belly as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. Your mouth hung open, drool escaping as you whimpered and moaned, completely lost in the pleasure.

“You like that, huh?” Seonghwa growled, his hips slamming into you with a force that made you see stars. “Such a brat, getting fucked by both of her friends at the same time.” His words only fueled the fire inside you, your body clenching around him as you hurtled toward your release.

Seonghwa’s thrusts became more intense, his hips snapping against yours as he pushed you over the edge. Your body trembled, every nerve ending lit up with a mixture of pleasure and pain. The sensation of being filled so deeply, with both men’s attention on you, was overwhelming. You could barely keep your thoughts straight, the only thing grounding you was the relentless pleasure that Seonghwa was giving you.

Your walls clenched tightly around him as your orgasm built to a crescendo. The room spun, your vision blurring as you were consumed by the intensity of it all. Seonghwa groaned, feeling you tighten around him, and with one final thrust, he buried himself deep inside you. His cock pulsed as he reached his peak, his hot seed spilling into you.

You came hard, your body shaking uncontrollably as the waves of your orgasm crashed over you. Your voice caught in your throat, the only sound that escaped was a strangled moan as you clenched around Seonghwa, milking every last drop from him.

Seonghwa pulled out slowly, his breath heavy and labored as he collapsed onto the bed beside you. His body was slick with sweat, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Mingi, who had been watching intently, wasted no time in reclaiming his position. He didn’t let any of Seonghwa’s cum escape, pushing it back into you with his cock as he thrust inside you again.

Mingi’s movements were frantic, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pounded into you. The room was filled with the sounds of your wetness, your pussy now filled with a mixture of both men’s cum, making his thrusts even more intense. You were beyond words, your mind hazy and clouded with the overwhelming pleasure.

Seonghwa, despite his own exhaustion, leaned in close to your ear. “You’re doing so well,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing against the chaos of Mingi’s rough thrusts. His fingers found your swollen clit, rubbing in tight circles that made your back arch off the bed. You whimpered at the sensation, the combination of Mingi’s hard cock and Seonghwa’s gentle touch driving you to the brink once again.

Mingi’s thrusts grew erratic as he chased his own release. He could feel you trembling beneath him, your pussy fluttering around his cock as another orgasm built within you. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his hands digging into your flesh as he pounded into you mercilessly. “Take it, baby. Take all of it.”

Your body obeyed his command, your muscles tensing as you reached your peak once more. Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your entire body convulsing as you came around Mingi’s cock. He wasn’t far behind, his cock swelling as he emptied himself inside you, his cum mixing with Seonghwa’s in a messy, sticky blend.

Mingi collapsed onto the bed beside you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. You lay there, completely spent, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your multiple orgasms. Seonghwa’s hand stroked your back gently, his touch comforting in the aftermath of such intense pleasure.

The room was silent, save for the sound of your labored breathing. The three of you lay in a tangled heap on the bed, the events of the last hour catching up with you. You felt Mingi’s hand find yours, his fingers intertwining with yours as he pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

“You did so well, baby,” Mingi whispered, his voice soft and full of affection. “So fucking good.”

Seonghwa chuckled, the sound low and soothing. “I think we’ve discovered a new favorite pastime,” he teased, his fingers brushing over your flushed skin. “What do you say, Y/N? Ready for round two?”

You laughed softly, the sound filled with exhaustion but also contentment. “Maybe after a nap,” you replied, your voice weak but happy. “I’m pretty worn out.”

Mingi and Seonghwa both chuckled, their hands continuing to caress your body as you all settled into a comfortable silence. The air was heavy with the scent of sex and sweat, but there was also a sense of peace that settled over the three of you.

As you drifted off to sleep, nestled between the two men who had just taken you to heights you hadn’t known existed, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction. You had no idea what tomorrow would bring, or how this new dynamic would change things between you, but for now, you were content to just be.

And as you lay there, with Seonghwa and Mingi’s arms wrapped around you, you knew that this was just the beginning of something new, something exciting. And you couldn’t wait to see where it would lead.

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thydungeongal · 5 months ago

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There's this idea floating around the general TTRPG space that's kind of hard to put one's finger on which I think is best articulated as "the purpose of an RPG is to produce a conventionally shaped satisfying narrative," and in this context I mean RPG as not just the game as it exists in the book but the act of play itself.

And this isn't exactly a new thing: since time immemorial people have tried to force TTRPGs to produce traditional narratives for them, often to be disappointed. I also feel this was behind a lot of the discussion that emerged from the Forge and that informed the first "narrativist" RPGs (I'm only using the word here as a shorthand: I don't think the GNS taxonomy is very useful as more than a shibboleth): that at least for some TTRPGs the creation of a story was the primary goal (heck, some of them even called themselves Storytelling games), but since those games when played as written actually ended up resisting narrative convention they were on some level dysfunctional for that purpose.

There's some truth to this but also a lot of nuance: when you get down to the roots of the hobby, the purpose of a game of D&D wasn't the production of a narrative. It was to imagine a guy and put that guy in situations, as primarily a game that challenged the player. The production of a narrative was secondary and entirely emergent.

But in the eighties you basically get the first generation of players without the background from wargames, whose impressions of RPGs aren't colored by the assumption that "it's kind of like a wargame but you only control one guy." And you start getting lots of RPGs, some of which specifically try to model specific types of stories. But because the medium is still new the tools used to achieve those stories are sometimes inelegant (even though people see the potential for telling lots of stories using the medium, they are still largely letting their designs be informed by the "wargame where you only control one guy" types of game) and players and designers alike start to realize that these systems need a bit of help to nudge the games in the direction of a satisfying narrative. Games start having lots of advice not only from the point of view of the administrative point of view of refereeing a game, but also from the point of view of treating the GM as a storyteller whose purpose is to sometimes give the rules a bit of a nudge to make the story go a certain way. What you ultimately get is Vampire: the Masquerade, which while a paradigm shift for its time is still ultimately a D&D ass game that wants to be used for the sake of telling a conventional narrative, so you get a lot of explicit advice to ignore the systems when they don't produce a satisfying story.

Anyway, the point is that in some games the production of a satisfying narrative isn't a primary design goal even when the game itself tries to portray itself as such.

But what you also get is this idea that since the production of a satisfying narrative is seen as the goal of these games (even though it isn't necessarily so), if a game (as in the act of play) doesn't produce a satisfying narrative, then the game itself must be somehow dysfunctional.

A lot of people are willing to blame this on players: the GM isn't doing enough work, a good GM can tell a good story with any system, your players aren't engaging with the game properly, your players are bad if they don't see the point in telling a greater story. When the real culprit might actually be the game system itself, or rather a misalignment between the group's desired fiction and the type of fiction that the game produces. And when players end up misidentifying what is actually an issue their group has with the system as a player issue, you end up with unhappy players fighting against the type of narrative the game itself wants to tell.

I don't think an RPG is dysfunctional even if it doesn't produce a conventionally shaped, satisfying narrative, because while I do think the act of play inevitably ends up creating an emergent narrative, that emergent narrative conforming to conventions of storytelling isn't always the primary goal of play. Conversely, a game whose systems have been built to facilitate the production of a narrative that conforms to conventions of storytelling or emulates some genre well is also hella good. But regardless, there's a lot to be said for playing games the way the games themselves present themselves as.

Your traditional challenge-based dungeon game might not produce a conventionally satisfying narrative and that's okay and it's not your or any of your players' fault. The production of a conventionally satisfying narrative as an emergent function of play was never a design goal when that challenge-based dungeon game was being made.

#long post

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netherfeildren · 1 year ago

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Greener Memories of Better Men

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Best Story of the Day! South Austin elementary school started a “Breakfast With Dads” program but many dads couldn’t make it and several students didn’t have father figures. The school posted fliers at the local YMCA’s for 50 volunteer fathers… 600 different people from all backgrounds showed up…

Joel Miller is one of them.

-OR-

Sarah’s gone and Joel wants to feel close to her again. He reconnects with someone he used to know along the way.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak; Grief; Child loss; Emotional hurt/comfort; Angst; Fluff and smut; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Oral Sex (f!receiving); Size Difference; Size kink; Dirty talk; Truck sex; Praise kink

A/N: This was planned for a long time, and then just happened all at once today without prior thought. Enjoy! :)

Word Count: 10.8K

Read on AO3

When she got very sick, towards the end, they used to listen to “The Weight” by The Band all the time. He’d sit at her bedside playing it for her over and over again, and he’d watch her breathe. For hours, he’d sit there and watch the rise and fall of her chest, the slow, weak thrum of her pulse in her neck beneath the wan and clammy skin, listen to the sound of her fight to continue existing. Sometimes, when she was a little more on this side of lucid, when she’d let him look at those gorgeous green eyes, she’d mouth the words at him through cracked, parched lips. Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed? The still beautiful sound of her laughter, not made any less lovely despite its weakness now, when she adapted the lyrics to suit herself, take a load off, daddy.

And sometimes, when she was keen on showing that superior and tremendous wit, that intelligent mind, the eye she had for seeing within and through him, she’d say that Fanny was the friend they’d always needed, but had never had. Like she knew, she knew there were times, only sometimes, where there was something missing, an imaginary figure that would have been nice or helpful, that was sometimes wished for. A mother, a wife, a partner, a friend, something they might have both needed or liked to have, perhaps, even especially, now, at the end.

It had been a slow crawl towards death, for a long time, and then, suddenly, a mad dash to the finish line she’d seemed desperate to win.

At times he’d been angry, angry and resentful and so fucking filled with a rage so deep it terrified him at the unfairness of it all. Sometimes there were parts of Joel that wished it was him lying in that bed, rotting away from the inside out by that invisible poison crawling through his little girls veins, but then the idea of Sarah being the one left behind, the one left alone, seemed an equally terrible fate, and he could not discern which was the worse of the two evils. And so he was left with nothing but this terrible impotence warring inside of him against his equally terrible anger.

If he could have carried the weight of her illness for her, he would have. If he could have bore the pain and suffering of it, he would have. He would have eaten his own heart, cut off his own limb, forsaken everything he’d ever known, to have taken her suffering from her. He’d told her they’d be brave together, that they’d get out of it together. Eventually though, that mad dash had ended, and after it was all done, she’d been the only one to be brave, and he’d been the only one to get out of it. If that’s what it could even be called. Sarah had died and Joel had been left with nothing more than whatever half life he pretended at now.

It’d been a year and a half since then, five hundred and sixty seven days since he’d put his only child in the ground. Days of living his life as if a thousand raging gladiators screamed and readied for battle in his mind while he lay limp and motionless in their midst. While he lay limp and motionless as the rest of the world went on around him. He failed all the time now, it seemed. Failed at being a father, a man, a brother, in his waking hours and in his dreams. And sometimes he wondered or worried at what she’d think of him now, if she saw what he’d let himself become. A limp and useless thing in the shadow of the memory of what he’d always been or wanted to be.

But he remembered love, he remembered loving her, and he thought that if he held onto that, perhaps, he could be something again. Certainly not himself, or who or what he’d been before, but he could find the wherewithal or the strength or the conviction to be something, surely, he could be something again. How could death have the ability to touch such perfection? He could not understand. So, if he could no longer be a father, Sarah's father, then he could find it in himself to at least be alive, couldn’t he? For her, at least, for that memory of loving her.

He sees the flier at the YMCA one evening, after he’s finished his workout. For months he’d gone from work to bed and bed to work. Gotten soft and lazy and horrible, half dead, but he’d had a dream a few weeks ago, a memory of them at Lady Bird Lake when they’d go and feed the ducks. She’d wanted to burst into the water after them, catch one for herself. Skinny little arms and legs flailing as he caught her around the waist, stopping her from rushing in after the poor things as they paddled madly away from the lovely little terror that she was. The thing he was now was not the man, the father, he had been before, not even a fraction. And he’d felt disgusted and ashamed and frightened with himself at the thought of her ever seeing the creature he’d become. He’d gone for a jog that evening after work. As exhausted and beaten down from the day as he’d been, he’d tied on his sneakers and forced his body to move. It had felt terrible and cathartic and he’d thrown up in his front yard afterwards, pathetic, heaving sobs wracking his body as he emptied the contents of his stomach in the overgrown grass and tears dripped down the tip of his nose, right there for the whole world to witness. But he’d gone out again the next day and the next and the next, and then he’d gone and gotten a membership for the Y, paid the thirty dollars and promised himself he’d make it there a few days every week. Pushed himself week after week to exhaustion and tears, even, sometimes. Wilting into bed at the end of the day like a felled weed, but he couldn’t stop.

Don’t stop to think, don’t interrupt the scream.

So he tried to not think, and he tried to keep going.

They used to walk down there all the time before, to the Y, Joel, Sarah and Tommy. She loved to swim, and the three of them would jump in the pool together and play for hours every summer. They were good memories he knew he needed to keep fresh in his mind, like a muscle that needed to be exercised constantly. He couldn’t, didn’t want to lose them.

The flier called for volunteers to show up for an event at Sarah’s old elementary school, “Breakfast with Dads” requesting fathers who could show up for those children who didn’t have a father figure in their lives. He’d stood still as a statue, reading the poster over and over again for almost ten minutes there, in the middle of the bustle of the busy gym around him. He could still remember the last time he’d picked her up at school with perfect clarity, the way she’d looked, curls bobbing around her, green eyes shining, shooting out the double doors towards him. She’d always been good in school, smart and lovely and friendly. He’d had to make the difficult decision to pull her out almost a year before she’d died, when she’d started getting too weak from the treatments to continue going in person. He’d not been back to the place since. Didn’t know if he was capable of walking through those halls she used to walk through, where she’d been happy, had friends, been a kid.

He thinks about it for days afterwards, afraid and unsure and awkward with himself. Worried the children will be able to smell the deceit on him, the fact that he isn’t really a father anymore, lying on the soft purple rug of her perfectly preserved bedroom. A mausoleum to her memory that he meticulously cleans every Sunday to maintain exactly as she left it, staring up at the stick-on stars of the ceiling. He thinks that perhaps it would be good for him, that perhaps he would like the chance to feel like a father again, to remember what it is to have some spunky little kid talk at him for hours on end the way Sarah used to. And if nothing else, he thinks that there might be some child out there without the commodity of a father, the way he is without the blessing of his daughter, who would appreciate the fact that he’d shown up. Perhaps, he can make some kid not feel as alone as he always feels now.

The morning of the breakfast dawns bright and warm, but with the faint scent of impending rain in the ether. She’d died on the same kind of sunny, tremulous day, and Joel’s hands shake as he walks up the steps of the elementary school. Flashes of the memory of her running out of these same double doors, skipping down the steps, curls flopping and gap toothed smile more luminous and sillier than any sight he’d ever beheld before. His heart beats like a hummingbird in his chest, hands clammy and shaking and ridiculous. He cries all the time now, at any and everything and it embarrasses him but is also so strangely freeing. He’d watched that ridiculous, but not really, movie Uptown Girls last night and had wept like a child at the end of it, all throughout it if he’s being honest. Huge mistake for the night before he was supposed to show face bright and early and have some kid inspecting him. Tommy’d shown up this morning with coffee and burritos and told him his face looked swollen, fucking asshole, and he’s once again ridiculous and embarrassed and awkward and shaking with nerves as he takes a few deep, calming breaths, before stepping into the Sarah’s old cafeteria.

The large room is loud and chaotic, the bright sound of children’s voices and laughter and commotion, and people, there are a lot of fucking people. Two different lines of men, traversing the entire wide room, starting at a long table on one end and snaking through the lunch tables. It seems he wasn’t the only one who’d seen the posters, who had felt the need to come here today. He’s inspecting the lines, deciding which one seems to be moving faster when he hears his name, soft and breathy and incredulous, voice like a fucking angel: “Joel?”

He turns and there you are. “Joel Miller?” You almost stumble towards him, hand almost outstretched, eyes almost swimming. The last time he’d seen you was the last time he’d picked Sarah up here, and there’d been real tears in your eyes that time as you got to your knees, and his daughter buried her face in your neck, your soft hair, as she cried and told you how much she’d miss you, how much she didn’t want to go. You’d been her last teacher before she’d had to leave school – she’d never gotten to finish the year with you, and it had been a painful and difficult parting for the both of you. One he’d not appreciated fully in the moment, but now, looking at your shocked face, like you’ve seen a ghost, the memory rears its head in his mind, the sound of your voice trying to soothe her, trying to remain strong, stifle the sound of your own tears. You’d gone to the hospital once, near the end, the nurses had told him, in the quick hour he allotted himself to go home and shower every day, to say goodbye to her. Had sat at her bedside and laughed with her, brought her a card and a bright bouquet of yellow daisies in a pretty, blown glass vase from her entire class. It had been near the end of the school year, what would have been the end of Sarah’s second grade year, and he’d been glad, after the nurse had gushed about the pretty young woman who’d come in, made Sarah laugh and smile, perked her up for even a few brief moments, he’d been so fucking glad he’d missed you. He hoped he’d never have to see you again, could avoid the memory of his daughter in your care, the way the two of you looked at each other, like you shared a secret, a friendship, a connection, that of pupil and teacher, but also just two girls, something special and sacred. He envied it and resented it and was glad he’d missed you and grateful he’d not had to see you, but he was also grateful for the fact of you, that you’d been able to give her something she’d needed and he could not provide.

He whispers your name, and you finally reach him, hand fully outstretched now, not an almost anything anymore, and your small, delicate fingers grasp at his thick forearm. The soft touch burns.

He places his big hand over yours, completely engulfing you, and when he whispers your name back he feels a tremble in your limb. “Joel, I’m so glad to see you,” said with so much sincerity he feels the backs of his eyes pinch. He did not think the hardest part of this day would be seeing you again, a person who’d known and cared for his daughter so deeply.

“I– I’m glad to be here,” he chokes, coughs, tries to take a steadying breath. “I saw the posters– just thought… I just thought it’d be nice for me to come around.”

“Yes,” you squeeze his arm gently, “Yes, of course. Welcome, please, I’m really so glad to see you here. There are so many great kids here today–” you cut yourself off, and your face does a funny sort of uncertain thing, you shake your head, try and give him a small smile. A deep breath, and then: “There are so many kids here that need someone. It’s a real good thing you came.”

“Yeah, well… I just wanted to– to feel– to remember–” he shakes his head too, unable to continue, but he sees that you understand. You slide that small hand into his, wrapping around two of his thick fingers and pull him around and further into the room. Nodding your head and smiling back at him like you’ve got the best sort of secret you’re about to let him in on. “Of course. Come on, I’ll show you to your seat. I know just the person for you.”

“Joel, this is my niece–”

“Who the fuck is this guy?” All the sass in the world and a scarred eyebrow to boot.

“Ellie,” you say nice and slow, voice soothing as if trying to calm a wild banshee on the verge of revolt, it makes him smile a small smile, “We’re gonna be nice. You promised this morning.”

“Ugh, fine,” she drops her head back on her neck, and he can see the whites of her eyes flash as she rolls them as far back as they can surely go. “Stick me with the dinosaur, what do I care?” Christ, he mutters under his breath, trying to hide his scoff of a laugh with a rough cough. He turns his head to rub his chin against the hill of his shoulder, running a hand over his whiskered face.

“Ellie– Mom said you can’t go to the sleepover tonight if you aren’t nice. Right?” You try and reason with her.

“Fine. Whatever – nice.” And she flashes a big old, saccharine grin, wagging her eyebrows at you.

“Okay,” you turn back to him, bringing your hands together in a soft clap beneath your chin and giving him a small and painfully sweet little smile – worried and probably a little afraid for him. He shakes his head, “It’s alright, we’ll be okay,” he says low, distracted by the sight of your small hands, fine and delicate looking, and the dainty gold necklace that sits at the hollow of your throat, a little golden pendant of your initial.

You nod your head slowly, turn back to give the kid, Ellie, one more stern look, and then turn to walk away, leaving him to face her alone, and no, he most definitely does not glance at your ass as you walk away from him.

He turns back to look at the kid, and she rolls her eyes again, turning back to flip open the book she’s got infront of her on the lunch table, a one Will Livingston’s No Pun Intended: Volume Too.

He snorts a little, sighs and settles into the cramped bench made for a child, thick thighs barely squeezing into the space between the table’s edge and the seat, knees bumping the underside. “Well aren’t you a pleasant one.”

“Yeah, a ray of fuckin’ sunshine. What’s your problem?”

“Jesus, kid. How old are you?”

“Thirteen. How old are you?”

“Forty eight.”

“Old.”

“Yeah.”

“So, why'd you get stuck with the leftovers? Where's your kid?”

He clears his throat, “Uh well, she– she’s not here anymore. Or I mean– she doesn’t go to school here anymore. She died. A while ago.”

“Oh, shit.” She’s quiet for a beat, looking down at the open page of the book, It doesn’t matter how much you push the envelope. It’ll still be stationary. “That sucks, man. I'm sorry.”

He supposes the correct response is: “Thank you,” he nods his head awkwardly, still unaccustomed to going through the motions of having to tell people and accept condolences. He doesn’t think it’ll ever be something he gets used to.

“I think…” she tilts her head side to side, letting the thought slide between her ears, flips to the next page, I walked into my sister’s room and tripped on a bra. It was a booby trap. “That my dad is dead, or at least a dead beat or something,” she snickers. “Don’t know. My mom never talks about him.”

Dead or a dead beat, he mutters, shaking his head, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s hard– being a parent, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah… hardest thing in the world–”

“Is it like – like weird… to not be one anymore?”

He feels his stomach drop out from under him, coughs roughly, “Dunno… I guess– I guess in ways I still feel like a parent. Think I’ll always feel like that. But in other ways, yes, it’s… weird.”

“Yeah… I guess that makes sense. You don’t forget how stuff feels, right?”

“Yeah, you don’t forget how stuff feels.”

“Do you like space?” she asks suddenly, very seriously, knocking her head to the side, looking up at him with big, baleful, hazel eyes. His heart twists in his chest.

“Sure, yeah. Space is alright.”

And then another seeming one eighty: “If you could do anything you wanted, where would you go? What would you do?”

“Don’t know, never really thought about it. Maybe… an old farmhouse, some land, a ranch.”

“Cool. What kind?”

He shakes his head, Jesus, I don’t know… “Sheep. I would raise sheep.” She nods, doubtful, unimpressed look on her face, and he frowns at the look, “They’re quiet, do what they’re told.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. So, just you and a bunch of sheep. Romantic,” she says sarcastically.

“What about you? What would you do?”

She points a single finger up towards the ceiling, ah, space… “Probably because I’ve always been here, never left Austin, single mom and all, ya know– I’ve read everything I could in the school library… Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, Jim Lovell. But you know who my favorite is?”

He could understand her on this. He felt, too often, like he was still right where she’d left him. “Sally Ride,” he says, of course.

“Sally fuckin’ Ride!” She slaps her hands down on the table, “Best astronaut name ever,” Shakes her head, whistling through her teeth appreciatively.

He nods his head, yeah, figures. “So, your aunt…” and he feels a hot flush spread over the tops of his cheekbones, real smooth, Joel. At least he’d waited this long.

“She’s my mom’s sister. She’s great. The three of us live together – kind of like my second mom, I guess. Or like they take turns being mom and dad. We’ve always been together.”

“That’s great, kid. She’s great. She– she was my daughter’s teacher, I’ve known her for a while now.”

“Yeah, she really is. I punched this girl last year,” she says way too excitedly, “Bethany,” rolls her eyes, “For being a huge dick, man, like seriously, she was. And she got me out of it. Backed me up with the principal, Mr. Kwong. No one else would’ve stuck up for me that way.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Seems like her style–”

“Protective,” she snickers.

“Yeah–”

“And good. Her and my mom, they’re a unit, the three of us. Don’t know, I’ve never seen anyone take care of each other the way they do. Sometimes…” she looks away a little shyly, “I misbehave,” she says slowly, “Like the fighting. For no reason, I guess. And I know it worries them. But I’m trying to be better, not fight as much. My friend Riley, she’s a good influence. She stops me when I get too riled up.”

“I reckon it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, is what I’d say. I’m sure being thirteen is difficult,” he says a little sarcastically, but giving her the approximation of a small, warm smile.

“Fuck you, man,” she laughs, “It’s difficult as shit.” It hits him then, suddenly, that the kid just needs someone to talk to, someone other than perhaps her mother or her aunt who she knows love and worry for her so much. A third, impartial party. Joel had come here today and been able to be that for her, and as inconsequential as it may seem, after all he’s lived through, it’s everything to him.

The teachers and school administrators begin the process of handing out the breakfast: pancakes and bacon and sausage and fruit, and Ellie tells him about her book, full of terrible puns he pretends to frown at but also can’t really help but laugh at with her, and about a comic she loves Savage Starlight. Endure and survive, she tells him, is the motto, and he can’t help but think the idea is far reaching and significant in its truth. They sit and talk and laugh together, and it’s easy, this surly kid who pretends at being angry, hiding her charm with a potty mouth and a scowl, but who’s really nothing but sweet. It makes his chest ache and his throat go tight. So much so, that after a while he needs to excuse himself. He tells her he’s going to the restroom and runs off like a coward, the devil and his memories on his heels to take a few deep breaths, a moment alone to collect himself.

He rushes out of the cafeteria, bursting through the double doors and out into the hallway, scurrying to find a lone corner to hide himself and his shame and grief away in. He makes it to a shadowed alcove at the mouth of an empty hallway of classrooms and presses his hands to the concrete blocks of the wall, painted a soft blue color. He stares at the pockets in the aggregate and tries to take deep breaths, feels the air pass through his lungs, inflate his belly, and then back out, transformed into the world as something else. Sometimes he wishes he had the ability to transform his grief into something else – a non-memory, perhaps. Sometimes he wishes he could forget the whole thing, a terrible, selfish, disgusting thought. But pain makes terrible creatures out of us sometimes, and Joel has existed in a pool of such pain these past five hundred and sixty seven days that sometimes it’s difficult to recognize himself anymore, his desires, his goals, if he even has those anymore. Like he’d said to the kid, it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, and he was trying so very hard to be good, better.

“Joel?” That soft voice again, a shiver claws its way down his spine, and he shakes his head at the wall, letting his hot, pinched eyes fall closed.

He coughs, trying to clear his throat, “M’fine. Just needed a second–” Coughs again. And then he feels that small hand from before, at the small of his back. You rest there, gifting him that brief, comforting touch, and he reaches behind himself to clasp you around the wrist, keep you there with him, silent for a moment while he tries and fails to collect himself. His fingers wrap entirely around your wrist and something different and hot and alive flutters deep in his belly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it. I’m just– It’s overwhelming being here. I’m sorry. I’m okay,” he rambles.

“It’s okay, Joel. Just take your time.” Your voice is too soft and gentle for a hard and broken thing like him.

“She’s a good kid,” he tries and fails to keep his voice steady, comes out all hiccupped and cracked instead, and he feels you step closer, not touching him anywhere else, but he can feel the heat of you against his back.

“She is,” you whisper.

“S’got a fuckin’ mouth on her.”

“Yeah…” You try and laugh, fail.

He cracks and splinters: “I didn’t think it would be like this coming back here… seeing you,” voice breaking, “She was sick for so long, and I knew she didn’t want to leave me. I knew she was so fucking tired, but she kept holding on just for me. And I told her it was okay, I told her to go and that I’d find her again one day, and now I don't know who I am or what I’ve become, and all I can think about every single day is that if she saw me now I worry she wouldn't recognize me anymore.”

“You’re trying, Joel. That's all that matters. I know you are. I can see it now even just here today, you being here–”

“I wish I could see her smile again, just once–” he cuts you off, not really listening. His ears filled with static noise, chest heaving. Your other hand comes to his flank, and it’s too much: this place, your touch, the kid, all of it, all of his memories and all of his grief, and he shouldn’t have come here today. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, and for a second, right before he pushes you away, he squeezes your wrist tightly, as tight as he can without really hurting you, lets the heat of your skin burn him, and then lets go of you, harshly shaking you off.

“I’m fine. I shouldn’t have come here today, I’m sorry. This was a mistake.”

“Joel–”

“Tell Ellie I’m sorry, but I have to go.” And like a fucking coward, like a man his daughter’d be ashamed of, he leaves, runs away from you and the memory of her and another child who needs something he is not equipped to give.

He listens to the sound of your voice calling after him, and he is nothing but sorry and nothing but too much of a man he wishes he’d never been made into.

You’re on your second margarita when he walks in. Trailing his brother, serious, sullen look on his handsome face. When you’d seen him this morning, after all that time, after the last time which had been so painful and so sad and so full of regret for the circumstance of it, you’d felt like your heart was about to burst through your chest. You thought about him so often, about her, more often, probably, than was warranted or healthy, but the experience of having a child such as that in your care, such a special little person, and having to witness the extinguishing of such a bright flame… Well, calling it a tragedy was entirely inadequate in the face of all it truly was.

Anna was kind of dating the bartender that worked here, and with Ellie away at a slumber party tonight, the two of you’d decided to have a girl’s night out that you were almost certain was going to turn into a slumber party for Anna with her bartender, Ben, as well.

You eye the two brothers as they find their spot at the far end of the bar, watch as Tommy, you remember she used to talk about him all the time, flags down Ben to order them two beers, appreciating the way Joel pulls on the glass bottle with that soft, frowning mouth of his.

He’s so sad. There’s no other word for it. Sad and hurt and made into a sort of tragedy of a man that you wish desperately, and even though it’s not your place, that you could do something to help. The sound of him choking back tears this morning, the sight of him laughing with Ellie, she’d warmed to him immediately which was a miracle all on its own, and he is, you think, a man with so much tenderness to give that has nowhere to go now. And it is nothing but the gravest and saddest sort of tragedy.

“Hi, Joel.” Eventually, you muster up enough courage, after one more margarita, to approach him. You think that, perhaps, he’ll be annoyed to see you again, another reminder of his past and the difficulty of the morning, but you need to just talk to him one more time. To thank him again for being so brave, to reassure him that he’d done good. Tommy’d abandoned him to brave the waters of the bar a while ago, and he turns in his stool at the sound of your voice to peer over his shoulder. You love his beard, thick and lush and so soft looking, his thick, dark curls, slightly threaded with silver at the temples, and his ridiculously broad back. He’s wearing a dark green button down that brings out the colors in his eyes, tight around the swell of his thick biceps. He’s gorgeous and so fucking hot, and he makes you feel silly with nerves and fizzy bubbles deep in your belly.

“Hey–” he clears his throat, says your name softly, with a hint of apology. “Hey.”

“I saw you come in earlier, and I– I just wanted to come over and say hi and thank you again for this morning. It was a real nice thing of you to come today.” You try and swallow the shyness and nerves in your voice, but you’re pretty sure you fail spectacularly, can just picture Anna’s mocking giggles as she watches you twist your fingers and fidget in front of the man.

“You already thanked me,” he says gruffly, “And besides there’s nothing really to thank me for.”

“I know, but again, or anyways,” you stutter, “And there is.” There’s absolutely no reason for these nerves, you know this man, have known him for years, “It was a good thing of you to do. Ellie really liked you–”

“You gave her my apologies, right?” He cuts you off, a thing akin to desperation and worry coloring his tone.

“I did, don’t worry. She understood.” He looks like he wants to ask what excuse you gave her but forces himself into silence, looking down at his hands in his lap sullenly. “I don’t know… I just wanted to say thank you again.”

“Alright. And I’m sorry too, about earlier – after. I was an ass.”

“You weren’t. I shouldn’t have gone after you, should’ve given you your privacy. I’m sorry. I was nosey.”

He shakes his head, looks up at you with those hazel eyes, “No, I wanted you to come after me.” His voice is rough, like it costs him something to admit this truth to you, “Thank you.”

You have to look away, glancing back at Anna who gives you a wide, cheesy grin and a thumbs up, followed by a much more inappropriate hand gesture. You roll your eyes at her, a hot flush burning your cheeks. “That’s your brother, right? Tommy?” You turn back to him.

“Yeah, it is… You wanna sit?” He gestures to Tommy’s empty stool.

“She used to talk about him all the time.” You take the offered seat, nervous for a second that he’ll resent you bringing her up, react badly, but he gives a soft laugh, looking after his brother. “Yeah…” he says slowly, “They were real close.”

“That’s really nice,” you say sincerely. You catch Ben’s eye, and he nods his head at you, turning to get the two of you another round. “You two having a boys night out?”

He gives a short laugh, bringing his beer to his mouth again, pressing the lip of the bottle to his smile, “Guess he was just trying to do the same thing you are right now, distract me, make sure I’m alright or somethin’,” a quick shake of his head, and then takes another drag, and you watch the thick muscles of his neck work as he swallows. You have to look away from the sight, cross your knees together tightly, pulling down the hem of your wrap dress to keep it from riding too high.

Ben comes around at that moment to place two shots in front of the two of you. “Here you go, baby girl,” a wink and that smarmy little smirk that makes Anna lose her head, for some inexplicable reason, “Tequila for you and your friend here.”

“Baby girl?” Joel eyes you, as you push the shot towards him.

You roll your eyes, “Ignore him.” He takes the shot from you, fingers brushing yours briefly and you swear you feel a slight jerk move through him. You want him to want you so badly, you think suddenly.

“Shall we?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him, and he gives you a soft laugh.

“Seems I don’t got much of a choice,” before clinking his glass against yours, touching the base of it to the bar’s surface, and then shooting it back, not even an insinuation of a grimace as he swallows the strong alcohol, while your face puckers ridiculously.

Gross. You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut and sucking on the lime Ben had left also. “He sweet on you or somethin’?”

“No, not at all.”

“Huh, not so sure about that,” he eyes your sister’s boytoy almost sourly, and you get brave or reckless or something, all of a sudden, when you press right up to his ear, your breasts against his arm, emboldened by the liquor or the soft hazel of his eys, or the breadth of his shoulders when you whisper right into the peach fuzz covered shell of his ear, “He’s fucking my sister. Not me.”

He freezes, a soft, masculine sound rumbling deep in his chest before he clears his throat. He sets the glass down, and then slowly turns to face you, gripping your knee briefly as he spins on the barstool to bring your legs between the space of his spread thighs. He’s so thick everywhere.

“Is that so?” The place on your legs where he’d gripped you burns and throbs and the other, softer place between your thighs drips and aches. You nod your head at him, temple resting in your palm propped on the edge of the bar. Ben walks by again, snagging your attention from Joel’s molten gaze, “Gimme permission to come over tonight?” he says as he passes.

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh after him, and you swear you feel the whisper of Joel’s touch on the curve of your bare knee again. When you turn to look back at him he’s staring down at you, a flush sitting high on his cheekbones.

There’s something slightly bold or desperate or sad stirring inside of you, and you need to hear the sound of his voice. You wish you could make things better for him. You wish that perpetual look of grief didn’t sit so deeply embedded in his gaze all the time now.

“You know that feeling of knowing someone, but not knowing them?” He asks you suddenly. “You and I, we’ve known each other for years. You were Sarah’s teacher, and she talked about you all the time – her last teacher – and I felt like I knew you, even though I didn’t really, not in a way that mattered, not in the way I would have liked, if I’m bein’ honest, but we knew each other peripherally. And I wanted you, all that time ago,” he laughs a boyishly shy little huff of laughter interrupting the rush of his confessed words, the crests of his cheeks flushing bright, “In that way you want someone you don't know but see all the time and want to know better. And now, it’s like… like we’re meeting again for the first time, but in a different way, in a way we’ve never met before, and yet you know so much about me already. You knew my daughter, spent time with her, you cared about her – it’s… I don’t really know what it is I’m trying to say, to be honest. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, another unsurely shy laugh, and you reach out to set your hand softly on his knee, rubbing the thick, muscular ball of it. It’s okay, you nod and shake your head at him at the same time. Confused also, with what you’re trying to convey, but knowing you want him to continue anyway. “You knew me before in a different way, and I’m not that man anymore. And I don’t know who I am now, or I’m beginning to relearn, but I’m not there just yet,” He trails off, and then softly: “Have you ever not known yourself?”

You tilt your chin slowly, watching the slow rove of the leftover tequila in the glass as you roll the base of it along the grain of the bar. “I’m… I’m not sure. Would it be very naive or arrogant or shallow to say, no? That I’ve always known myself, that even when I was lost or afraid, I was still certain of who I was, or at the very least, who I wanted to be? Like… like sometimes when you’re uncertain of the next step, or– or of what it is that you want to do next, but you still know the direction, maybe? Or what ending you’d like?” You give a brief huff of laughter, not really meaning to laugh, but expelling the air anyway, glancing down at where you’re still gripping his knee. He lays his own large paw over your much finer hand, calluses on his palm that you can feel on the back of your knuckles. “I think now we’re both, maybe, not making sense. But I think that sometimes happiness is only the peripheral thought, the peripheral ending, like obviously we all always want to end up happy. I was always open to the journey, open to the different avenues my life could take, but all I’ve ever wanted was for me and Anna, and then later, Ellie, to be okay, to be happy. Nothing else matters after that. The way I get there, the way I’d make it happen never mattered. Only that, in the end, we’re okay.”

“No… I know exactly what you mean.” His brow caves in on itself, “I know exactly what you mean because I failed at that. That was all I ever wanted too, and look at what I ended up with. She’s gone, I failed her.”

“But you didn’t, Joel,” you say with all the fervor you can pull from your heart, all the certainty you absolutely know that he’s wrong with. You bring your other hand to his other knee, leaning forward to make absolutely sure he’s understanding. “You can’t honestly say that. You’re right, I did know her, and that little girl was an exceedingly happy child. If anything, you were nothing but a triumph, and you need to hold on to that, and think of it every single day for the rest of your life. You were triumphant in that girl. Never forget it. There is not even a shadow of failure in the memory of that child and the life she led.” And this does not seem like the appropriate environment to be having such a conversation, but you push on. His hand tightens over yours almost painfully, his blunt rough nails digging into your soft skin. “When she died – was she scared? Or peaceful?”

“She was so fucking brave,” he chokes. “She was so fucking brave. There wasn’t an ounce of fear in that heart. I’d swallowed all of it. I’d swallowed all the fear either of us could ever carry. She’s the one that held me while I fell to pieces. While I lied through my fucking teeth and told her it would be okay, that I’d be okay, that she could rest, she could go. And held me and tried to soothe me and told me she’d see me again one day, but not too soon. Eight years old, dying and comforting her father, cracking jokes. She was so fucking brave, and I’d promised her that we’d both be – that we’d both have courage and both get out of it, and in the end, I ended up being nothing but a goddamn liar.” And there are tears in his eyes, and maybe you shouldn’t and maybe you’re overstepping and maybe it’s the alcohol, but you lean forward in your barstool, that boldness and that desperation and that sadness pushing you along so that your knees are sliding further between his spread thighs to wrap your arms around his neck to hug him tightly to yourself, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, big hand coming up to cup the back of your head.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, even though you know the words are redundant. Even though he’s probably heard them an antagonizing amount of times. You are so sorry, and you have to tell him that you wish you could help him in some other way, that he’d not have to bear this alone, that he’d never have had to live it at all. I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m sorry that you lost your daughter, and I’m sorry you’re alone now, and I’m sorry we didn’t know each other better before, but maybe we can know each other now. I’d like to know you now more than anything else.

You feel the rattle of his wide back as he takes in a shaky breath, and you slide your hand soothingly up the broad expanse to tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” he laughs wetly into the warm space beneath your jaw, rolling his forehead against your shoulder, “I’m killing the mood,” and you feel the wet press of lips to the soft spot beneath your ear, right at the vulnerable hollow. Your heart stutters, and you shiver a syrupy sweet little jitter down the line of your vertebrae in the clutch of his arms, letting your head fall to the side to open yourself further to him, you smell good, whispered into your skin, but the two of you are sitting at the center of the crowded bar, industriously dedicated patrons hooting and hollering around you, and you can feel Anna’s nosey gaze zeroed into the back of your head so you pull away, letting your hand on the back of his head drag around along the edge of his jaw, fingernails pulling through the soft whiskers of his beard so that you can feel the snick, snick, snick of each bristle beneath your nail.

“Let’s go outside,” you whisper, made only of boldness and desperation and want now. Wetness pooling at the center of you.

He pulls back, and his hand slides to grip your jaw in his wide, rough hand. The architecture of you feels inconsequential and without strength or steel in his grasp. “For what?” Voice serious but also knowing, also provoking.

“I wanna kiss you.” Might as well be honest now that you’ve got his hands on you.

“I think that if we go out there, I’m gonna do more than just kiss you. You prepared for that?”

“Yes, let’s go,” and you’re already pulling him out of his barstool before the words are even fully out. His hand goes to your elbow to steady you as your feet meet the ground, and you can’t help but give him a small laugh. “Are you okay?” Just making sure.

“Yeah, I’m okay, sweetheart. Are you?” His gaze is so warm.

“Yes.” And you can’t help but smile widely up at him. He gives you a huff of laugh through a half crooked smile that looks a little bit like the sliver of the moon when it’s nothing but a silver crescent in the sky, hand wrapping entirely around your bicep to tug you closer. You feel a little bit out of control when you slide your hand over his belly, and his eyes go immediately dark and molten, rubbing slowly up his chest. He makes a deep, rough sound, low in his throat. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He pulls you along behind him, and as you’re making your way together out the door, you hear the sound of Anna whooping and whistling loudly behind you right before the bar door slams shut.

He tugs you along behind him, and then passes you gently in his hands to walk in front of him as he weaves through the crowded parking lot, his wide chest, smoldering hot through his clothes, pressed up against your back, big hands wrapped around the soft of your hips. You feel him nosing into the curtain of your hair, smelling you and humming appreciatively, and you realize that he’s steering you towards the back of the parking lot, his familiar truck tucked into the far dark corner, and you twist, suddenly, in his arms, walking backwards and reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. His hands go to the small of your back, bunching your dress in his hands tightly so that you feel the humid night air against the uppermost backs of your thighs. The look in his eyes is so dark, so wanting, and he presses you tight against his chest, your breasts squished up against the hard planes of him. He’s not even looking where he’s going, and your feet are barely touching the ground anymore as you tiptoe backwards, guided by his embrace. One of his hands comes up to grip the curve of your jaw, and then you feel the side of the truck against your back. He hoists you higher up towards his mouth, “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, and before you can even think about saying yes, yes, please, finally, he’s swallowing your breath in his mouth, eyes still slightly open to watch you as he does it, pushing his tongue into the wet gleam of you to taste everything you so desperately want to offer him. He nips at your full bottom lip, then laps at it soothingly, and you moan for him, head falling back on your neck to open further for him, cradled now in the palm of his hand. Your hands smooth down the sides of his neck and then curl to scrape your nails down his stomach, and he groans into you, one thick thigh shoving between your knees. One of his palms slides over your hip to grip the curve of your ass, the other coming up, gentle yet unyielding, to circle your throat and tip your chin up to him as he pulls back to look down at you. The hand on your ass tips your pelvis into his and pulls your core along the broad expanse of his thigh so that your pussy slowly rides the hard muscle, once, twice. “Joel–” you gasp.

“Back seat,” he orders, tugging the truck door open and hoisting you inside. Are you really about to let this man fuck you in the back seat of his truck in a crowded parking lot? Yes, yes, you are. He follows in after you, and then slams the door shut behind him, encasing the both of you in this quiet, paused moment before he’s pulling you forward to straddle his lap, spreading his legs wide to widen your own stance perched atop him. You listen to the sound of your panting breaths as he runs his hands over your curves, squeezing and kneading as he goes, and you plant your palms on his strong chest, smoothing them down over his belly, reaching the line of his belt to tuck them inside, he growls low, leans forward to lick at your throat and you feel the tug of his fingers at the tie of your wrap dress, then the pull of the fabric as he bares you for his eyes. You pop the first few buttons of his shirt as his wet mouth moves down the thrumming line of your neck, over the wing of your clavicle to the tops of your breasts where he pulls back to take you in. You’re wearing a soft pink lace bra and a matching thong, and as his eyes move down the length of you, the fire already smoldering within seems to ricochet up to a burning inferno. There is something about the look in his eyes, compared to before, compared to the usual look, that is even more thrilling than just the fact of him gazing upon your naked body. He’s always so serious, melancholy and sad and straightforward, in a way. But taking him in like this, the way he’s looking at you now like he wants nothing more than to devour you, to push inside of you, it makes it all the headier. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, look at you,” he murmurs, smoothes his hand over your breasts, thumb catching and flicking at your nipple, down the soft swell of your belly, stopping at the little bow at the front of your thong. He pushes the sleeve of your dress over one shoulder and tugs you forwards, you feel him lift the back of your dress over the curve of your bottom, his hand following the path of bared skin, taking in the tiny scap of lace disappearing between your asscheeks, and he makes a breathy, desperate sound, “Where the fuck are the rest of your panties, little girl?” He pinches the lush of your ass, smoothes his hand down and around to cup you between your legs, and you’re sure he can feel the soaking wet there because you listen to the sound of his gasp, and then he’s pressing there, seeking out your clit and rolling gentle circles to the swollen, throbbing nub. You run your hands up his chest into his hair, gripping there, pressing your nose into the thick curls to take in the scent of him and then running them down the heavy swell of his biceps. He’s so masculine, hard in all the places you’re soft, and wet, for him. His other hand grips your hip to pull you closer, rolling you onto the thick line of his erection, and oh God, he’s big. You can tell just like this, thick and long. Your hand moves to his belt buckle, pulling at the leather and the zipper of his jeans, and then you’re slipping your fingers beneath his boxers and wrapping around the thick heft of him. “Jesus, fuck–” he gasps.

You fist him tightly, squeezing at the thick root of his cock and sliding up to the fat head to twist there gently. His fingers move beneath the line of your panties, finally making contact with your bare skin.

“Fucking wet little cunt. Shit, you’re soaked for me, baby.” All you can do is moan as you pull him out of his jeans. He’s heavy in your palm and your mouth waters as you take in the sight of his big cock. Thick and long, wide, drooling head an angry red verging on purple. He hooks the gusset of your panties to the side and slides the underside of the shaft through your swollen lips, pressing the fat tip to your clit, and then sliding along your slit to catch softly at your opening. “Joel, please–” you moan. The head of his cock catches again and again, and you’re so wet, coating his thick length in your slick. He reaches to pull both cups of your bra down, exposing your breasts to his gaze and when his mouth latches onto one peaked nipple, sucking sharply, his other hand wrapping around the heavy weight of your other breast you cry out, fingernails digging into his thick shoulders. You use your grip on his shoulders to drag yourself along the length of his shaft while he sucks and nips at your breasts, pulling back to gently slap the full side of one, sending a jerking shiver through you while he watches how it jiggles and sways for him. “Shit, you’re too fuckin’ pretty,” he groans, and you’re about to come just from this, just the feeling of his thick cock sliding through the lips of your sex, and you tell him so, wet mouth presses to the arch of his ear, you tell him you’re about to come, but he changes the angle, presses his hips up and then the tip of his cock is breaching the dripping mouth of your cunt, stretching you wide to take him and you both pant and gasp, burying your face in his neck as one wide hand presses at the base of your spine, forcing you to take more of that impossible length. You feel the pinch and snap of your thong around your hips as he rips the scrap of lace off of you, and you think you must shake your head or something, make some soft sound because he tuts his tongue in a gentle reprimand, “All of it, baby. The whole thing.” He squeezes your breast, strums at your nipple, presses a feather light kiss to the hinge of your jaw, and you feel your cunt flutter around him, sucking him deeper so that he can wedge that thick cock further inside of you. “Yeah… Fuck, yeah. Just like that, good girl. You asked for this, sweet girl.” You hitch and sob into his neck, clawing at his shoulders as he finally forces you down all the way onto him, buried balls deep in your weeping, fluttering pussy. “Now you’ve gotta take the whole thing, no cryin’” He sounds like he’s spitting the words through clenched teeth, struggling to get them out despite the demand of them. “You’re doing so good,” he whispers, “Taking my big cock in this tiny little cunt.” He kisses your ear, your throat, pulls back to suck on your nipples, all while his hands on your ass start to rock you on his length, working you loose and wet and pliant.

“Fuck– fuck, Joel–”

“I know, I know, it’s so much, isn’t it? But you can take it– deep breath, you can take it.” He fucks up into you, holding your hips steady as he feeds you his cock over and over again, and you drip down onto his balls and the leather seat beneath. “Does that feel good, sweet girl? Tell me–”

“It’s so– it’s so good. Wanted it so bad–” you slur, wet cheek pressed to his shoulder, you mouth at his neck, little teeth digging into the thick line of muscle so that he’s growling, thrusting up quick and a little painful into your cunt, tip punching right at your cervix.

“Lemme see you– I’ve gotta see you,” he says suddenly and presses you back. You reach back to plant your hands on his spread knees, arching your back to present yourself to him. His gaze is almost manic, licking over your skin, your bouncing tits as he fucks up into you, the swell of your tummy glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, down finally to the place where he’s fucking in and out of your swollen, blushed cunt, stretched obscenely around the base of him. “You’re so goddamned lucky we’re in a car right now,” he growls. He jerks you back into him, both hands squeezing your ass in each palm and rolling you hard and fast onto his impaling cock, your swollen clit presses into his pelvis on every thrust in, and you feel your cunt pull tight and then go loose as you start to come around him. Yes, yes, yes, fuck, yes – just like that. His cock kissing your g-spot with every press inside. You sob into his neck, pull at his hair, scratch at his shoulders and neck as you gush around him.

He surges up then, orgasm not entirely abated, and flips you over onto your back, laying you down on the truck’s bench. He pulls his dripping cock out of your still grasping clutch to kneel down on the floorboard, hulking form entirely too large to fit in the tight space, and drags the broad, flat of his tongue through your drenched sex, tasting the echoes and throbs of your climax, sucking your clit and your come into his mouth while you sob up into the roof of his truck. He pushes your knees up to your chest, displaying you for himself entirely and devours you. “Fuck, there ain’t enough room in this fuckin’ truck to eat your cunt the way I need to,” his accent suddenly heavier, a sharper twang cutting off the end of his words, lost to the taste of you and the feel of you and the scent of you. You lean up onto your elbows, sweaty face burning bright hot with shyness as you take in the sight of his mouth wrapped around your clit, lapping at your leaking sex. He looks up at you, reaches up to wrap one hand around your breast, one of your legs is hanging down the length of his back over his shoulder, the other hooked at the bend of his elbow to keep you open and spread wide for him, and the two of you hold gazes for a moment. His eyes flash with something… different to desire or lust, something more in tune with whatever it is that’s happening here between the two of you right now, something more than just a quick fuck. You whisper his name, and his eyes flash again, predatory and desperate, and he’s pushing up, the wet sound of his mouth unlatching from your pussy and crawling back up onto the seat bench, pressing his slick wet mouth to yours and licking into you, sloppy. “Taste–” he orders, he pulls back, fists the root of his cock and feeds it back into your gaping cunt, “That’s what it tastes like when you come for me.” His voice is a growl, something like a commandment or a promise, something else that hums beneath the mere words, something that says this is happening again, I need this to happen again, I’ve wanted this longer than I can say. He fucks into the very end of you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, let him maneuver and manhandle you to his liking so that both of your ankles lay limply over his shoulders, pressed entirely in half for him to pound into you.

“Open your fucking eyes,” he pants. “Look at me,” he begs. You do, and you watch a bead of sweat roll slowly down his temple, over the curve of his jaw to the point of his chin, and then drip and splash down onto the swell of your breast, seep into your skin.

He’s so deep like this, right at the heart of you, and it hurts and it feels good and you can’t help but think about the next time already, hope that this can happen again. “Yes, Joel,” you gasp, “Please, don’t stop.”

“Yeah?” He grits, lifting one hand to hold on to the edge of the window above your head, the other gripping at your ass to pull you onto him harder. “Yeah, just like that– Taking me so well, baby. Taking the whole thing like such a good girl.” He’s so big, maybe too big, and he pounds into your cunt, forces you to take the entire thing, thick thighs bracketing your frame, cock punching at your womb over and over again. You feel cock drunk, Joel drunk, and you turn your face to press into the back of the seat crying, telling him you’re about to come again.

“God, yes, yes, you’re such a good girl. Come on my cock again, one more time for me.” His thrusts speed up, harsher, stronger and he’s saying your name while you sob out his, while you leak around him. “Hey,” he grips your jaw, gives your head a little shake, “Hey, baby– you gotta tell me where. Where can I come? Inside? Can I come inside?” It sounds, a little bit, like he’s beginning.

You nod your head, yes, gaze delirious, unfocused, the swell of his anchoring bicep is so thick and distracting, and you start to milk his thrusting cock inside of you, muscles squeezing tight, fluttering loose – please, please, please, come inside of me, please, I want it so bad. He groans, grits a curse, your name, something that sounds like gratitude, and then he’s filling you, thick cock kicking and jerking and spitting his come right at the mouth of your womb, inciting your own orgasm to throb again, again, harder, deeper.

He drops his head to the damp crook of your shoulder, takes in the heady scent of your sweat and sex, licks a path up the side of your throat. He’s careful not to ask you to bear the full, heavy weight of him, and he pulls his hips back, shivering at the sensitive slide of his spent cock falling from your wet cunt. He sits back, grasps your knees to keep you spread and watches the flutter and clench of your hole as the thick white leak of his spend starts to drool out of you. He gives a low, appreciative hum, and then bends forwards to press his face into your tummy, nuzzling there softly. Your hands come to his hair, panting chest heaving, and he mouths and sucks at the skin of your stomach, the undersides of your breasts as you both catch your breaths. He looks up, then, suddenly, a thought occurring to him, “You’re going to have dinner with me, right?” Voice a little frantic.

You give him a slow, lovely smile, eyes sparkling, “Think we’ve gone and done things a little out of order here, haven’t we?”

He frowns in mock severity, then presses his face back into your tummy, another soft kiss, and shakes his head slowly, “No,” another kiss, this one to your hip, “Not at all. This morning counts as breakfast together.” He looks up to give you a quick, boyish grin. “How I see it, that’s actually an extreme dedication to order. Breakfast, sex, dinner.”

You sigh, laugh softly, “You know… I’m actually a little hungry right now,” you say contemplatively.

“Burgers? Fries?”

“Milkshake?”

“Well, we’ve gotta have somethin’ to dip ‘em in, right?”

“Of course.” Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him up towards your mouth, “You’re so smart.”

“Very true. You’ve gotta stick with me now, I’ll teach you everything I know.” A kiss, another and another.

He rests his face back on your belly, looking up at you, and you run the pad of your thumb over the fan of his lashes, and he feels so happy.

It’s been months since then… and still even now, when he looks at you, all he knows is that he’s sure you saved his fucking life.

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3nni3 · 5 months ago

Text

What happens in teledisko, stays in teledisko...

cw: +18, nsfw, rpf, consumption of alcohol, smut (handjob), cursing, lowkey exhibitionism. f! reader

a/n: when the idiots get an idea for a story, i make it happen. this is my first smut i've ever published, and english isn't my first language, but i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing this. also if you find any mistakes, no you didn't 😅

no word count because idfk i wrote this in my phone's notes app👍🏻 kinda short one

okay let's go

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The night had started out with getting drinks at the nearest Späti. You two had been wandering around Berlin for a few hours now, getting drinks at every corner store. After seven different spätis, and six beers (one stop was to get a bottle of water, even though the tall man who accompanied you wasn't that excited about your drink of choice) you started feeling tipsy and tired.

Sightseeing in Berlin was amazing, but tiring. You felt the energy being drained from your body and ready to return to your hotel, but the man who was sat next to you in this tram had other ideas.

"Found it!" he basically dragged you after him, holding your hand gently but firmly as you approached the teledisco booth. This was a mutual agreement earlier today, before you felt too tired, but your time together was getting closer to an end so you pushed past the exhaustion and enjoyed the moment.

You stop in front of the screen to choose a song, and he stands next to you, his hands now in his pockets.

Scrolling through the music lists, looking for the perfect one, you find something. "Can we do Gimme Gimme Gimme by ABBA?" you ask and press the button, without waiting for an answer. He grabs you by your shoulders and pushes you in the booth, closing the door behind him laughing.

The first notes of Gimme Gimme Gimme starts playing, lights flash and the vibe is intense. You scream out the lyrics together, your arms against each other as you feel the beat of the music in your body.

The space is small, not much air left between you two as you glance up at him, noticing his eyes on you, the hot air in the booth making him sweat and his face glisten. 'He looks so fucking hot' you think to yourself as you suddenly get pressed against the wall, startled. His chest is flush against yours as he gently tilts your head up, feeling his breath against your lips as you look him in the eyes.

"You're gonna be the death of me..." his voice is a whisper, but loud enough for you to hear. He captures your lips in a heated kiss, the music fading in the background as you feel his tongue brush against your lower lip. The intensity of the moment drowns your thoughts and your mind gets blurry. The blonde man's hands explore your body as yours find their way to his hair, pulling slightly as he moans against your lips. That must be the most gorgeous sound you have ever heard. You pull away to breathe, he smiles against your lips as the song nears it's end and you hear the last chords of it playing.

"Another song or do we get the fuck out of here?" he asks smirking. You push him away, laughing, as you pass him and step out of the booth, going back to the screen to choose another song. Joost stands behind you, and you feel him take a step closer. His chest pressing up against your back and you feel lips on your neck, making your breath shaky. Shaking him off of you, you open the door to the booth. "Ladies first," you joke as he rolls his eyes laughing, entering the booth.

Stepping in the booth after him as Call Out My Name by The Weeknd starts playing, and everything feels like a fever dream. Beautiful man in front of you, smiling his charming smile, you both surrounded by music and flashing lights.

"So this was your song of choice huh?" his voice low as he presses you against a wall once again. You feel his hand dragging down from your chest, over your stomach, to the hem of your skirt, lifting it up as his fingers trace your inner thigh. Whimpers leave your mouth as he grins at you, pressing his lips slowly against yours.

"What's up with all the teasing?" you ask, pulling away for a moment, playing with the buckle of his belt, and it opens...accidentally? Oops. Your fingers find their way to the waistband of his boxers, sliding ever so slightly underneath it. As a shaky moan escapes his lips, he laughs quietly, his eyes closed and his head slightly tilted back, mouth staying open. You slide your hand a bit further and his eyebrows furrow as he whimpers, begging for any kind of friction with the desperate sounds leaving his mouth. He drags his hand up your thigh, thumb getting dangerously close to your heat, turning the tables as you're now the one who's desperately trying to hold back the whining.

"Oh so this is how you wanna play?" you smirk as you slide your hand fully in his boxers, placing your fingers firmly around his length as your thumb brushes over the tip. He lets out a loud moan, slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle the beautiful sounds as you stroke him up and down. His head falls back, eyes squeezing shut and his concentration drifting away enough so he drops his other hand down from your thigh, fully at your mercy now.

"You sure you wanna keep doing this here?" you ask as he moans again. "I truly do not give a fuck." he answers with his head still tilted back and eyes squeezed shut. You grin and move your hand faster, as he grabs your shoulders to gain some kind of balance. As if it wouldn't be hard enough to maintain your own balance with how tipsy you are, you now need to hold up the man who's literally towering over you. His head falls forward on your shoulder as your thumb brushes over his tip again.

"I'm not gonna last much longer, liefde..." he lets out a chuckle, but not amused one. More like an 'embarrassed about how strongly he reacts to your touch' one. Proud smile creeps up on your lips as you try to hold the man up while he moans shakily in your ear. "The song isn't that long either." you remind him, and the exciting realisation hits you both that anyone could open the door any second and see this all.

You feel yourself getting more wet by every moan he lets out, every breath you feel against your neck. He presses his mouth on the soft skin of your neck, nibbling as he tries to muffle out his begging whimpers. You work your hand up and down, earning more and more beautiful sounds that get louder by every stroke.

You feel him twitch in your grip, his teeth on your neck making sure there's going to be a mark to remind you of this later. "Don't stop... please liefje, please don't stop," his weak words can be heard repeatedly against your neck as your strokes get faster and faster. His hips thrust up to meet the movement of your hand, chasing the high. The last chorus of the song starts playing in the background and your hand works it's magic on his length, feeling the twitching again.

With a final few strokes you feel your hand being coated by his warm release. High pitched whimpers leave his mouth, turning into breathless chuckles as his forehead remains rested on your shoulder. "Fuck...liefde..." he tries to catch his breath, "you're insane..." he finally manages to mumble, still chuckling, as he lifts his head up from your shoulder to meet your eyes.

You laugh, pulling your hand out of his pants and fixing his belt as the song's final chords fade out. He opens the door, places a soft kiss on your lips and steps out as you walk behind him, wiping your hand to a tissue you found in your purse.

#joost klein #joost klein x reader #joost #f! reader #joost x you #joost x reader #joost klein smut #joost klein x you #joost smut #joost klein fanfic #joost fanfic #joost klein fanfiction

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zosin-ya · 3 months ago

Text

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 11 - ʙᴜʀᴅᴇɴ

Summary: It had been weeks since you had talked to Law, feeling drained from the past events. You needed time to figure the relationship out, which caused you to run away from talking completely and be confronted with a storm, none of you were ready to face.

tags: Law x Reader, Modern AU, angst, a lot of tears baby, confessions,

a/n.: I wanted to write about Law expressing more intense emotions, hope all of you enjoy this cuz I rewrote this so many time ;; (i fkn cried writing this omfg send help;;)

[ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ɪɴᴅᴇx]

The last two weeks had passed in a haze. You couldn’t quite put words to it. Somewhere between numbness and exhaustion. Since that incident at the ceremony, you kept your distance towards Law, hoping time might help you make sense of things.

Slowly however, you started to question whether this thing with him was worth pursuing. You knew being with Law wouldn’t be easy. You were ready to face any storm he was battling. But the way Law kept you at arm’s length—never letting you in, yet exposing you to his world without a warning—cut deeper than you’d expected. The idea of ending things twisted painfully in your chest; you didn’t want to let him go. But maybe it was for the best… or maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t.

“Miss Y/N!”

The sharp voice jolted you back to reality and ripped you out of your thoughts. Startled, you looked up to see the clinical professor staring you down through her thin glasses, an impatient expression on her face. You felt the eyes of your classmates on you as well, and even the patient in the hospital bed, a faint trace of amusement in his gaze. Your stomach twisted with embarrassment as heat crept up your neck.

“I asked you a question,” the professor said, her tone laced with disapproval. “If you’re serious about becoming a doctor, you don’t have the luxury of drifting off in your head.”

The comment stung, and you forced yourself to hold her stern gaze, giving a small nod of acknowledgment.

“Apologies, Professor,” you replied, quickly gathering your focus. “For a Pseudomonas infection, kanamycin.”

The professor’s expression softened slightly as she nodded, and a flicker of approval crossed her face. You’d gotten it right—barely.

Clinic hours were proving to be tougher than you’d expected. Instead of simply memorizing facts, you were constantly moving from one department to another, shadowing doctors, working alongside nurses, and having to think on your feet with real patients in front of you. Every case was a test of your knowledge and intuition, and every question was a reminder that this wasn’t just theory—it was real.

And there was clearly no space to be distracted by personal matters.

With a quiet sigh, you finished up your tasks and left the patient’s room together. The professor gave you a few last-minute reminders, her voice fading into the background as you fought off the wave of fatigue. All you could think about was going home, collapsing onto the couch, grabbing something to eat, and letting your mind go blissfully blank.

As you made your way back to the lockers to hang up your white coat and grab your belongings, a flash of movement caught your eye.

You paused, squinting down the hall, and felt your stomach twist. Just for a second, you thought you saw him. Law.

He passed by with a group of students, their chatter filling the hallway as he trailed a few steps behind. You couldn’t see his face, but his posture told the story—you could tell he was drained. You’d come to know him well enough to notice the subtle signs.

You felt a pang of concern. A part of you wanted to walk over, to stop him, maybe even say something. But then the memories from the ceremony flooded back, bringing with them a surge of tension, of unresolved words and feelings. You hesitated, torn between the impulse to reach out and the instinct to keep your distance.

In the end, you turned away, your heart heavy as you continued down the hallway. The hospital doors closed behind you, a finality that sank in as you stepped into the cool evening.

The walk home was uneventful, the same routine of passing streetlights and faded storefronts. By the time you reached your apartment, you felt like you’d run on autopilot the whole way. You kicked off your shoes, let your bag slide off onto the floor, and grabbed your phone to order takeout. Cooking was out of the question tonight.

The moment you hit the order button, a thought flashed through your mind: there was a chance Law could be the one delivering it. You were pretty sure he still worked that job. For a brief, dizzying second, your heart skipped, a mix of nerves and anticipation stirring in your chest. But you quickly suffocated the feeling, refusing to let your thoughts linger on him. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that it was just an order—nothing more.

“Ah, fuck it,” you muttered, flopping onto the couch with a heavy sigh. You weren’t about to change your plans just because of the awkward, unresolved tension hanging between you two. You knew a conversation was inevitable, but for now, avoiding it seemed easier.

A few quiet minutes passed, each one stretching longer than the last, until the doorbell rang, making you jump. You cursed under your breath—maybe you weren’t as good at pretending as you’d thought. The thought that Law might stand in front of your door made you freeze at the spot. The seconds dragged as you sat there, heart pounding, almost daring yourself to ignore it. But the bell rang again, sharper this time, each chime pulling you closer to the reality you were trying to ignore.

You took a deep breath, got up, and crossed the room, your pulse hammering louder with every step. What would you say if he was there? Would he say something, or ignore you completely? Each footfall seemed to echo the questions swirling in your mind, but you shoved them down, focusing on the task at hand. With one last inhale, you gripped the handle and pulled the door open.

...it wasn’t him.

A strange mix of relief and disappointment washed over you as you started at the stranger, hitting harder than you’d expected. You let out the breath you’d been holding, managing a polite smile.

The delivery person gave you a confused look, irritated by how you had just swung open the door and seemed relieved.

Weird chick, he thought, yet stretched out the warm paper bag of food towards you and waited for you to pay.

You took the bag and handed over the money with your usual tip before closing the door. For a moment, you simply stood there, as your heart was slowly settling back to it's calm rhythm. Did you actually want him to show up? You’d been so anxious about it, and yet… here you were, feeling let down that some random guy brought you your food.

Why hadn’t you reached out to him, did you want things to end like this? Law had tried more than once, always patient, until you’d finally told him you needed some time. And, true to his word, he’d respected that boundary, hadn’t pushed or chased after you, as if he understood you better than you understood yourself.

Setting the food on the coffee table, you absentmindedly grabbed your phone and opened your chat with him. The last message was from Law, two weeks ago. Just a single word: "Ok."

Nothing more.

You bit your lip, staring at the empty message box, fingers hovering over the keys. Before you could think about it, your fingers moved on their own.

You typed a simple “Hey,” then deleted it. Typed a different message, something longer, only to erase that too. You could practically feel the weight of the unsent messages pressing down on you, the silence between you two growing louder.

Avoiding him had only made reaching out harder. Now here you were, caught in a web of your own hesitations, unable to even send a god damn text. The thought of finally talking it all through tightened its grip on you, a knot of anxiety you couldn’t shake. You stared at the empty message box, frustrated with yourself, wondering when—if—you’d ever find the words.

“Fucking hell…” you muttered, letting your head drop, shoulders sagging under the weight of this shitshow. You were on the verge of losing him, and that thought scared you more than you’d allowed yourself to admit. You didn’t want things to end, not like this. But you needed answers—an explanation that only Law could give you. And you’d never get it if you kept silent.

A flicker of courage rose within you, shaky but determined.

You typed out a simple, “Can we talk?” and hit send before anxiety could tighten its grip on you again. The message was out there, hanging in the ether between you, irreversible.

Staring at the screen, your heart pounded in your chest, each beat growing louder, more urgent, as you waited. You couldn’t stop your leg from bouncing, a nervous twitch you couldn’t shake. Your eyes stayed glued to the phone, biting your nails, praying he wouldn’t leave you hanging.

A minute passed. Then another. Five minutes.

This was torture.

Frustrated, you tossed your phone aside, hoping the noise of the TV would drown out the growing anxiety. But it didn’t. Your appetite had vanished, and the food sat untouched on the coffee table as you mindlessly flicked through streaming services. Every few minutes, you glanced at your phone, your stomach sinking each time the screen remained dark.

An hour passed, then another. It was getting late, and the hope that he’d respond had dimmed. You were just about to turn off the TV and drag yourself to bed when your phone finally lit up.

"When?"

The message startled you so much that you almost crashed against your coffee table as you reached for your phone. Heart pounding, you unlocked it, fingers hovering as you processed his reply. Before you could reply, the typing bubbles appeared, and you held your breath, leg bouncing in anticipation.

"I have time if it’s not too late."

“Now?”

A pause. Then, simply: "Yea."

You felt like your heart was going to jump out of your chest as you stared at his response. This was it. The nerves churned in your stomach, but you felt a small spark of relief—he was willing to talk. You didn’t know where this would go or if it would make things any clearer, but at least you wouldn’t be sitting in silence anymore.

“I'm home. Come over.”

Law arrived quickly. You opened the door, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you felt heavy, thick with all the words that lingered but hadn’t yet found their way out. His eyes met yours, a flicker of something unreadable passing between you before he looked down.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“...hi."

He slipped off his shoes with a familiar ease but without his usual energy, and you gestured toward the couch. He nodded, moving past you, the faint sound of his footsteps almost disappearing into the silence. You followed, sitting down beside him, both of you careful, leaving a strange, deliberate space between you on the cushions.

Now that he was here, you saw him more clearly. Law looked… rough. Dark circles sat under his eyes, his hair was disheveled, and a stubble cast a shadow over his jaw. His eyes were dull, as if they couldn’t bear the weight of whatever he was holding inside. His shoulders slumped, the tension in his frame draining him.

A tense silence stretched between you, filling the room with a charged stillness. Law’s gaze was fixed on his lap, his fingers tracing slow, restless circles on the back of his hand. At first glance, he looked calm, almost still, but a closer look revealed the tension woven into his every movement.

Finally, he drew in a shaky breath, the silence cracking as he let out a heavy sigh. He forced himself to look up, his eyes meeting yours.

“I’m sorry…” His voice was low, almost hoarse. “For what happened. For all of it.”

You stayed silent, arms wrapped around yourself as you pulled your legs close. The memory of that day crept back, clear and sharp—the way he’d exposed you to his family’s turmoil without any warning, leaving you to navigate a situation you hadn’t been prepared for. As much as it pained you to see him like this, you still needed answers.

“I’m sorry about…” Law continued, his voice faltering. “...about leaving you alone in that situation.”

You tilted your head slightly, absorbing his words. It wasn’t quite what you’d hoped for. Law, who seemed to understand others so well, still struggled so much with his own emotions. You’d expected him to say more—to address the actual issue.

“...That’s it?” you asked, voice soft but pointed.

Laws eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked almost hurt, like he hadn’t realized how his apology might come up short. He blinked, seemingly searching for what else he could tell you, but for once, he was at a loss. He had two full weeks to think what to say, and the only thing he came up with was a cheap sorry.

“I know what I did was wrong. Just… give me some time to work on it. Please.” His voice softened, almost pleading, his gaze searching yours for a sign of forgiveness.

More time? You bit your lip, hesitating, and the silence seemed to weigh on him, making him sink even deeper into himself. Everything depended on what he had to say, and the start of this conversation wasn't convincing you yet.

“I’ve been patient with you, Law. But … I’m not sure. I don’t even know what we are.” You gave him a sad, brittle smile that faded almost as soon as it formed.

He leaned forward, desperation flickering in his eyes. “You know I care about you,” he said, his voice thick, as if willing you to understand. But his words felt hollow in the face of everything that had happened. This wasn't what you wanted to hear. It was the same answer you had gotten at the ceremony.

“Do I?” Your voice starting to quiver as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. The frustration of him being so emotionally dense was finally catching up to you. “Because it sure as hell didn’t feel like it. You left me to fend for myself, in a situation you knew I wasn’t ready for.” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t look away, holding his gaze steady with a simmering mix of pain and defiance.

Fuck.

He was making it worse. Law closed his eyes and let his hand run over his face as if the weight of his own mistakes pressed down on him. Why couldn't he get this right? He wanted to fix this, truly, but he couldn't find the right words to convince you. “I know,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “I know I messed up, alright? But it’s not easy for me.”

"Easy for you?" Your voice trembled as you took a shaky breath, forcing the words out even as anger and hurt fought to spill over. You couldn't believe what you just heard. Was he serious?

"You didn't tell me how fucking crazy your ex was, so crazy that she'd put me into danger just to make sure I was out of the picture. Or that your parents didn’t even know I existed, that they’d look down on me and my friends. And then there’s...,” you said, voice wavering. “There's the way your family looks at Yuki, like she’s everything I’m not. You threw me into all of this without a warning, without even a way to defend myself!"

Law’s expression crumpled, torn between guilt and helplessness as he slightly flinched at every point you made. Valid ones, he had to admit. He looked away, his fists clenching so tightly his knuckles went white. He opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly wrestling with himself before muttering, “I never wanted it to happen this way.”

“If you actually cared about me, you could have just told me!” You threw your hands up, unable to hide the frustration building inside you, the desperate feeling that no matter what you said, he was refusing to hear you. “If you would have told me I could have prepared myself! I wouldn’t have followed Yuki blindly, I wouldn’t be so fucking hurt at what your parents said! Non of their behavior is your fault, but you made it worse by hiding this from me!”

“Okay, what if I fucking tell you, huh?” Law’s voice rose, the edge sharp, almost dangerous. His eyes flashed, but you didn’t look away, holding your ground. “Tell you how fucked up this whole situation is?” He let out a bitter laugh, almost scoffing at the thought. “You think I’m going to drag you into this shit? This is my burden. I carry it. Not. You.”

His words hung in the air, a raw, jagged tension between you two. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, as if he was trying to push you away—to protect you, or maybe to protect himself.

As much as his words made sense to him, you could see right through them. You knew the damage he was causing by holding onto this alone, and you aimed your response straight at the heart of it.

A scoff escaped you as fresh tears welled in your eyes. “You didn’t drag me in, you threw me into the fire for fucks sake! Multiple times! You are hurting others by trying to handle it alone, can’t you see?“

Your words seemed to knock the wind out of him. His whole posture shifted—his shoulders sagged, his jaw unclenched, and the fire in his gaze softened as he looked at you, stunned, as if he’d never considered this before.

He was hurting you. He’d done this to you.

You could see it—how torn he was. He didn’t want to hurt you, but something deep inside kept him from letting you in. His eyes flickered around the room, as if he could find the answer somewhere in the empty spaces. But there was no escape. He was trapped, caught between the fear of losing you and the fear of letting you get too close.

Swallowing hard, you pushed on. “Why?” you asked, desperate, the question trembling as it escaped. “Why is it so impossible for you to let me in?”

Law stayed silent, but you could see him tense up, his composure unraveling with each word you spoke. His leg bounced restlessly, and his brows knitted together in frustration. It was as if every sentence you spoke struck a nerve, pressing him closer to a breaking point he clearly wasn’t ready for. But you didn’t give in.

“Seriously?” You let out a bitter laugh, a shaky, painful sound as tears streamed over your face. “You’ve had two weeks to think about this, and you still can't tell me?“

He exhaled sharply, looking anywhere but at you, as if his mind was already miles away, trying to escape the conversation. His fingers dug into his knee, and his jaw clenched, but you didn’t waver.

„Why even try to fix something if you can't give me an answer! Why are you even here, Law?”

“Because I fucking love you, okay!”

It ripped out of him like it hurt to say, as if every syllable was dredged up from some dark place he’d kept locked away. His chest heaved with labored breaths, and the walls he’d held up for so long were suddenly, violently crumbling.

You froze, his confession hitting you with the force of a tidal wave. For a moment, you were lost. Completely speechless.

He ran a shaking hand through his hair, pulling at it, as he struggled to contain the overwhelming emotions. His voice, now quieter but still shaking with intensity, softened, almost pleading.

"I love you...," he repeated, barely a whisper now, but the words were filled with so much pain it felt like they could break you. "And I can’t… I can’t let you drown in this with me. I can’t watch you suffer with me."

Law took in a shaky breath, you could see tears forming in his eyes, before he hid his face in his palms.

"I don't want you to see me like this-” He broke off, his voice thick with self-loathing, muffled as he whispered, “I didn’t want to drag you down with me. I can barley handle it, how are you supposed to?”

He was unraveling, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. Every word seemed to crack something deeper within him, and he looked up, desperation spilling over.

The look he gave you was everything—so broken and vulnerable, that you knew, it would be burned into your memory forever. You saw it then, in his glassy eyes, the battle he was fighting, the fear he couldn’t outrun, the love he didn’t know how to handle nor believed he deserved.

“I want to protect you not hurt you, I-” He shook his head, not able to speak as choked sobs left his throat.

You moved closer, hesitantly reaching out and placing a hand on his arm. Law stiffened, the tension practically vibrating from him, his shoulders hunched, fists still clenched. But he didn’t pull away.

“Law,” you said softly, feeling your own tears slipping down your cheeks. “This isn’t handling it. This is letting it destroy you.”

He looked at you, eyes wide and filled with an almost childlike vulnerability. There was no resistance left, no armor, only the shattered young man he was.

“Let me help you carry it. I can’t stand by and watch you tear yourself apart, just because you think you have to go through it alone.”

He closed his eyes, tears still slipping down his cheek as he let out a broken, shuddering sob. Your words hit deep, right where it hurt the most. He hid his face in his palms again as shame washed over him. He never wanted you to see him like this. But Law couldn't control it any longer. It was too much.

You pulled him into your arms, holding him close as if anchoring him to solid ground.

“Hey… I’m here,” you whispered softly, one hand stroking gently through his hair, the other rubbing soothing circles on his back. “You don’t have to do this alone. Not anymore.”

Seeing him like this, so raw and vulnerable, hurt to witness—but it also felt like a bittersweet gift, a piece of him he’d never shown anyone else.

You held him close for what felt like forever, letting him pour out everything he’d kept buried, everything he’d held back for so long. His broken sobs, the way his breathing came in ragged gasps, and the warmth of his tears soaking into your shoulder—all of it shattered your heart. Every sound and shudder cut deeper, each one a reminder of the weight he’d been carrying alone.

But you knew you had to hold steady, to be his anchor. Right now, he needed your strength. So you tightened your grip, pressing a gentle hand against his back, letting him know without words that you were here, that you weren’t going anywhere.

As Law’s breathing finally steadied after a whil. You loosened your hold on him and slowly pulled away, giving him some space. He rubbed his eyes as he glanced down, a flicker of shame shadowing his gaze. His vulnerability lay bare, and you could tell how uncomfortable it made him, exposing himself like this.

But to you, it was anything but uncomfortable. You reached up and gently cupped his face, your thumbs brushing softly over the rough skin of his cheeks, grounding him. You gave him a small, reassuring smile, letting him see the love in your eyes—the acceptance, the gratitude that he’d let you into this part of him.

“Hey…” you whispered, your voice gentle as you held his gaze, unflinching. “I love you too.”

He looked back at you, and slowly, a weak but genuine smile broke through his exhaustion. He gave a small nod, leaning into the warmth of your touch, his shoulders finally relaxed. And as he let himself fall into the moment, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his in a kiss so soft and tender, it made your heart ache. It was a promise, an unspoken vow to stand by him through whatever storm lay ahead.

“I won't do this again...I promise.” Law’s voice was tentative, a hint of vulnerability still lacing his words. He knew he owed you more—a real explanation of the tangled mess of his past relationships and complicated family. It wasn’t an easy conversation, but he was determined to get everything out this time, to rip off the bandages before another wound formed. He couldn’t risk putting you in another situation where his silence hurt you.

You nodded slowly. The weight of the conversation hung between you, leaving both of you visibly drained—but Law looked even worse. His eyes were bloodshot from the tears he’d shed, and he was still letting out soft, stifled breaths. He seemed calmer now, the tension in his shoulders released, but he was unmistakably exhausted.

For a while, you both just sat there in silence, staring at the blank TV screen.

“Wanna go to bed?” you asked quietly, your voice soft and reassuring. Law’s gaze flickered to you, and for a moment, something like relief washed over his face.

He couldn’t believe he’d almost lost you because he’d been too closed off, too guarded. His head was still a mess of thoughts, spiraling in countless directions, but he was too worn out to follow any of them. He just nodded and got up with you.

He followed you down the hall, each step heavy and slow, and the confidence he usually carried seemed to be missing. You knew that tonight’s talk hadn’t solved everything—far from it—but it was enough for now.

When you reached the bedroom, he sat on the edge of the bed as you rummaged through your closet. You found a pair of his spare clothes and tossed them over to him.

Law caught them, looking almost… surprised.

“What?” you asked, a little confused by his expression.

He shrugged, looking down at the clothes in his hands. “Just… kinda thought it was over between us. Figured you’d thrown my stuff out by now.”

You let out a sigh, sitting down beside him. “Couldn’t bring myself to do it,” you admitted. You weren’t holding a grudge against him; you were just hurt. Seeing his things around the apartment while there was so much tension between you had been painful, but even then, you hadn’t wanted to let go completely.

Law twisted the fabric between his fingers, seemingly a bit lost in thoughts as you watched him. His shoulders rose and sank as he let out a sigh.

“Guess I’m just… used to different shit,” he muttered with a short, bitter laugh.

You scooted closer to him, your hand lightly touching his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“Wasn’t rare for me to have to grab my stuff off the street after a fight… with her.” He kept his eyes fixed on the clothes in his hands, as though they brought back memories. He wasn't sure if mentioning his Ex was the right thing to do, yet after the conversation he was so drained it just slipped out of his system.

You blinked in surprise. You’d heard bits and pieces about his ex—never anything good—but you’d never understood why he’d stayed with her or endured the emotional punishment she put him through. Law was sharp; he could read people better than anyone. So why had he missed it with her?

“Why?” you asked softly, not accusingly, just… curious. “Why did you stay with her?”

Law’s gaze drifted, his shoulders slumping slightly. Though he wasn’t one to open up nor understand his own feelings too well, he seemed to have thought about this one a lot, maybe even rehearsed the answer to himself. “I met her when someone in my family got sick,” he murmured, a distant look in his eyes. “Guess it was… desperate times.”

You swallowed and didn’t press further. Instead, you watched as he stood up and pulled his hoodie over his head, folding it with that meticulous care he always had. Then, to your surprise, he went on, as if talking helped ease the ache a little.

“It was my sister,” he said, his voice softer now. “There was no cure. And I’d just started uni, miles away from home. I met her around that time. She was…” he paused, choosing his words carefully. “She was a distraction. Gave me comfort when I was too far from my own family. But things… fell apart after my sister passed.”

You felt the weight of his words settle in, understanding now just how much he’d been carrying. The realization hit you hard, and you understood what he meant with not wanting you to drag you down with him.

This was heavy, and you felt it.

“Law…” you whispered, voice choked. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

He nodded and sat back down beside you, running a tired hand through his hair. You deserved to know, especially after what happened moments ago. Even though, exposing himself like this, twisted his gut.

Silence between you settled. Law couldn’t help feeling a pang of regret. He hadn’t meant to leave you speechless. He wanted to tell you about his sister one day, but not like this. Seeing you at a loss for words was exactly what he feared.

Fuck, why did I tell her this out of nowhere?

His teeth grazed the inside of his cheek as doubt crept in. He was starting to feel uneasy about opening up. He could see the empathy in your eyes, the way you seemed to feel even a small piece of his pain—he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to pull you down with him or make you feel sorry for him.

But then, you placed a gentle hand on his cheek, pulling him back from that spiral of doubt. “You should tell me more about your sister sometime." Your touch, light and reassuring, calmed him, and your smile—warm and unwavering—let him know that you could handle this. You weren’t going to pity him or wallow in his grief; you were here to help him bear it, to remind him that he didn’t have to carry it alone.

It was like you were telling him that his memories could stay, just as they were—the good ones to cherish and the bad ones to heal from, but not to hide.

A soft, almost shy smile crept onto his face, the edges of his mouth lifting in a way that was both loving and grateful.

taglist: @mars-mizuko , @tadomikiku , @hopelesslover06 , @loraleiii @mwhahahalasagna , @ttalgi , @metonimia-de-bellota , @parkquimin , @ephemeress , @not-a-glad-gladiator , @littleleelee , @chillerkiller

(Let me know in the comments and I’ll add you)

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 9 months ago

Note

CW: incel-like behavior

WIBTA if I brought up a topic from our group chat to my therapist?

Important background: this story does not take place in the US and everyone (except my therapist) is autistic. Names are fake in case anyone from the story uses tumblr for some reason. English is not my first language.

Six years ago, my therapist convinced me to join a therapy group organised by her. The idea behind the group is to help autistic people like myself get better at social interactions, managing our emotions, things like that. It’s been quite fun, and I enjoy the monthly sessions.

My therapist encourages us to talk to each other and meet up in between and/or after sessions, so we have a group chat for that. In that group chat, we essentially talk about whatever we want without the fear of being judged. Last couple of days we had, let’s say, an unfortunate conversation.

One of the members (Peter, 20sM) went on a rant about a girl who rejected him in favor of some ugly guy (we never got to see pictures of said guy) and that he felt “betrayed” and began believing he won’t “find any woman who will love him”. Some of us consoled him, saying that it sucks but he should focus on other things he enjoys to cope/move on. Another member (John, 19M), however, gave him “advice” which sounded a lot like incel talking points – how most women are selfish and superficial, how he’d need to be tougher/more selective to find “one of the good ones”, things like that.

There are 4 girls in the group chat including me, and none of us said anything regarding that (we sort of pretended that didn’t happen). Neither did the 8 other guys. Personally for me, I didn’t feel safe doing so because I’ve had a bad experience with a guy who wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I decided to just not talk about it and block both Peter and John. I don’t know how the other girls felt about that conversation because they didn’t talk about it with me.

I’m thinking about bringing this topic up the next time I have solo therapy (after this post is up, at least). I’m worried I won’t be well received for two reasons:

1) My therapist has explicitly said she doesn’t care about what we do in the group chat and we should solve problems ourselves.

2) Other members will find out about this and accuse me of leaking information and generally being hostile towards me.

WIBTA if I brought up this conversation to my therapist anyway?

#aita #am i the asshole

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lowaltitude · 29 days ago

Text

Dial Tone 5 | Matt Rempe

- NHL, New York Rangers - x Reader

❪ FEM! ❫

───── ❝ description + disclaimer ❞ ─────

𖥻 Matthew Rempe x FEM!reader, in which a wrong number friendship is more than you'd hope for. OR he falls first, he falls hard, he's NYC's biggest enforcer.

𖥻 PART ONE HERE. PART TWO HERE. PART THREE HERE. PART FOUR HERE. 5.2k words

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

We hugged briefly, and it felt oddly natural—like we’d done this a hundred times before. When we pulled apart, he gave me a once-over, his grin turning playful.

“You know,” he said, tilting his head, “you’re a lot shorter in person.”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “You’re a giant. Everyone’s short compared to you.”

“Fair point,” he said, stepping aside to let me lead the way toward the counter. “But I think you owe me an apology for all the grief you’ve given me about my height.”

“You’ll survive,” I shot back, glancing over my shoulder at him.

We ordered our drinks, and while we waited, the conversation came easily. It was almost disarming how normal it felt, standing there with him, joking about the ridiculous fake names on the order screen (“Rempe with a P? Really?”) and arguing over who would pay (“Matt, it’s coffee, not a Michelin-star dinner”).

Once we had our drinks, we found a quiet table in the corner. I’d picked this coffee shop intentionally—low-key, tucked away from the busier streets—and it seemed to work. No one gave us a second glance, even as Matt adjusted his baseball cap like he was expecting paparazzi to burst through the door at any second.

“So,” I said, leaning back in my chair, “does this count as me giving you the grand tour of San Diego?”

He smirked. “If this is your idea of a tour, I’m disappointed.”

“Okay, Mr. Critic,” I said, raising a brow. “What do you want? Beaches? Tacos? Both?”

“Both sounds good,” he admitted, taking a sip of his drink. “But let’s not rush it. I’m enjoying the coffee and company.”

My cheeks warmed at the way his tone softened on the last word, but I kept my composure. “Well, lucky for you, I have an entire day planned.”

“Oh yeah?” His brows lifted, and I could see the faintest hint of surprise behind his confident facade. “You’ve been planning this?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” I said, smirking. “I just figured it would be better than watching you pace around the hotel room.”

He laughed, the sound low and genuine. “Touché.”

We spent the next hour talking about everything and nothing. He told me stories about life on the road with his team—carefully avoiding any specifics that might give away his identity to anyone listening—and I shared some of my most ridiculous college anecdotes, which had him laughing so hard at one point he nearly spilled his coffee.

“Okay,” he said finally, setting his cup down. “I’ve got to admit, this is way more fun than I expected.”

“Wow, what a glowing review,” I said, feigning offense. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

He grinned. “It is. I just didn’t think hanging out in a coffee shop could feel…easy, you know?”

“Maybe it’s the company,” I suggested, my voice light but my heart hammering.

“Maybe it is,” he said, holding my gaze just a second longer than necessary.

For a moment, the noise of the coffee shop faded into the background. The banter, the jokes, the nerves—it all melted away, leaving only the quiet, unspoken connection we’d built over the months.

He broke the silence first, leaning back in his chair and flashing me a crooked smile. “So, about this grand tour…”

“Yes?”

“Think it includes tacos and a sunset?”

“Definitely,” I said, matching his grin. “But only if you can keep up.”

“Challenge accepted,” he said, standing and holding out his hand to me.

I took it without hesitation, his touch warm and grounding. As we stepped out into the sunny San Diego afternoon, I couldn’t help but feel like this was the start of something I didn’t quite have the words for yet—but whatever it was, I knew I wanted to see it through.

The day flew by in a blur of laughter and stolen moments. We grabbed tacos at a local stand he immediately declared “life-changing,” walked along the beach with our shoes in hand, and watched the sun dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink.

“You know,” he said as we stood at the water’s edge, his hands shoved into his pockets, “I wasn’t sure how this would go.”

“Why?” I asked, glancing up at him.

“Because meeting someone in real life…it’s different,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual. “But this? You? It’s better than I imagined.”

His words caught me off guard, and for a moment, I couldn’t think of a clever response. So instead, I just smiled, the kind that reached my eyes.

“Same here,” I said softly.

He smiled back, his expression open and unguarded in a way that made my chest ache.

As the waves lapped at our feet, I realised something: whatever this was—whatever it could become—I was ready to take the chance.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

By the time we got back to the coffee shop parking lot where we’d left our cars, the city had gone quiet, the hum of the day giving way to the stillness of the evening. Matt leaned against his car, arms crossed, watching me with that same unreadable expression I was starting to recognize as his way of holding back.

“I guess this is it,” he said, his voice light but tinged with something deeper.

“For tonight,” I replied, clutching my keys a little tighter than necessary.

He tilted his head, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, San Diego.”

“Good,” I said before I could stop myself.

His smirk softened into a smile, the kind that made it hard to look away. “So,” he said, pushing off the car, “what’s next? Another tour? A baseball cap-and-sunglasses situation?”

I laughed, the sound more nervous than I wanted it to be. “We’ll see. Depends on how much trouble you want to cause.”

“I’m not the troublemaker here,” he teased, stepping closer. “You’re the one sneaking around with a professional hockey player.”

“Oh, please,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. “If anyone’s sneaking around, it’s you.”

“Fair,” he admitted, his grin widening. “But for the record, I like sneaking around with you.”

The weight of his words hung between us, heavier than the teasing tone they’d been delivered in. For a moment, we just stood there, the quiet of the night wrapping around us like a cocoon.

“I had fun today,” I said finally, my voice softer than I intended.

“Me too,” he replied, his gaze holding mine. “You’re pretty good at this whole real-life thing.”

“Thanks,” I said, grinning. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

We stood there for a moment longer, neither of us seeming ready to leave. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice lower than before. “Drive safe, okay?”

“You too,” I said, stepping back toward my car.

As I opened the door, he called out, “Hey.”

I turned to look at him, my heart doing that stupid fluttering thing it always seemed to do when he was around.

“This doesn’t count as our only tour, right?” he asked, one hand resting on the roof of his car.

“Not even close,” I said, smiling.

He nodded, looking satisfied. “Good.”

I slid into my car, the warmth of his gaze lingering long after I drove away.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

That night, lying in bed, I stared at my phone for what felt like forever before typing out a message.

Tuesday, September 10, 2024 Today, 11:51PM ME: Today was fun.

It took him less than a minute to reply.

MATT: It was. MATT: So…next time tacos are on me?

I smiled, shaking my head.

ME: You’ve got yourself a deal.

His response was almost immediate:

MATT: Finally I get my chance to woo you like a true gentleman

I set my phone on the nightstand, a quiet laugh escaping me as I pulled the covers up.

It was still new, still uncertain, but for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The next day felt like it dragged on forever. My morning classes passed in a blur, and by the time my last lecture ended, I was practically buzzing with nerves. It wasn’t every day that a 6'8" hockey player casually showed up on campus to meet me.

When I stepped out of the lecture hall, Matt was already there, leaning against the bike rack like he belonged on a billboard instead of a college campus. He was wearing a dark hoodie pulled low over his head and a pair of sunglasses, the kind of look that screamed “trying not to be recognized” while also being ridiculously conspicuous.

“You know,” I said as I approached him, “if you’re trying to blend in, you’re doing a terrible job.”

He pushed his sunglasses up onto his head, revealing that lopsided grin of his. “Hey, this is my best incognito look. Don’t knock it.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the way my stomach flipped at the sight of him. “You look like you’re about to rob a convenience store.”

“Well, I’ve got to protect my reputation,” he said, falling into step beside me as we headed toward the parking lot. “Can’t have anyone finding out I’m sneaking off campus with the coolest girl here.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Yeah, I’m sure people are lining up to take pictures of me.”

“Maybe they should be,” he shot back, his tone light but sincere enough to make my cheeks warm.

Before I could respond, a familiar voice called out behind me “Y/N! Hey, is that you?”

I turned sharply, spotting my friend Rachel walking across the quad toward us. My stomach flipped, and not in a good way. Rachel wasn’t the kind of person to let something like this slide without a million questions.

Matt glanced at me, his brow raised in silent question.

“That’s my friend,” I muttered, already feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “We need to go.”

“Why?” he asked, though he was already moving with me as I grabbed his arm.

“Because if she sees us together, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Without thinking, I laced my fingers through his and tugged him along, my heart racing as we half-walked, half-jogged toward the parking lot.

“Y/N!” Rachel called again, her voice closer now.

“Move faster,” I hissed, glancing over my shoulder to see her gaining on us.

Matt didn’t say a word, but his hand tightened around mine, his long strides easily keeping pace with me. It wasn’t until we reached his rental car that I realized how ridiculous we must look—a frantic girl dragging a guy who could probably pick her up with one hand.

He unlocked the car with a quick press of a button, and I all but shoved him toward the driver’s side. “Get in, get in!”

He chuckled as he opened the door, sliding into the seat. “You’re surprisingly bossy when you’re in panic mode.”

“Just drive!” I said, slipping into the passenger seat and slamming the door behind me.

Rachel reached the edge of the parking lot just as Matt pulled out, her confused expression shrinking in the rearview mirror. I exhaled a long breath, leaning back against the seat.

“That,” Matt said, his tone amused, “was the most exciting escape I’ve ever had on a college campus.”

I turned to him, realizing our hands were still joined. I quickly pulled mine away, my cheeks burning. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” he said, glancing over at me with a grin. “I kind of liked it. Felt like we were in a spy movie or something.”

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “She’s going to text me like twenty times asking who you are.”

“Just tell her I’m your overly tall, very photogenic friend.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in my chest finally easing. Despite the chaos, it was hard to feel anything but light when I was with him.

As we drove toward the movie theater, I stole a glance at him, a small smile tugging at my lips. Maybe this wasn’t how I imagined today going, but holding his hand—even for a moment—felt like the start of something I hadn’t dared to dream about before.

The drive to the movie theater was filled with a mix of banter and quiet moments that felt just as comfortable. He’d picked a smaller theater in a nearby neighborhood, one that wasn’t likely to attract too much attention.

“I thought we’d try to keep it low-key, and Google said this cinema gets an average of 12 customers a day,” he said as we pulled into the parking lot.

“Smart move,” I replied, glancing around at the unassuming building.

Matt climbed out of the SUV, and as I unbuckled my seatbelt, I watched him scramble around the front of the car to the passenger side. He paused dramatically before opening the door for me, and I raised an eyebrow.

“Chivalry’s not dead, huh?”

“Not when I’m involved,” he said with a wink.

Inside, we bought our tickets and a ridiculous amount of snacks, Matt insisting on carrying everything because “it’s the least I can do.”

“You’re single-handedly keeping this theater in business,” I teased as he precariously balanced the popcorn, candy, and drinks.

We found seats near the back of the theater, and as the lights dimmed, I couldn’t help but steal a glance at him. He was focused on the screen, a faint smile on his lips, but as if sensing my gaze, he turned his head and caught me.

He leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “Just…it’s still weird seeing you in real life.”

He chuckled softly. “I could say the same about you.”

The movie started, and for a while, we both fell into the story, sharing laughter and the occasional whispered comment. It felt easy, natural—like we’d done this a hundred times before.

At one point, his hand brushed mine as he reached for the popcorn. Neither of us moved away immediately, and I could feel the warmth of his skin against mine. My breath caught, but I forced myself to focus back on the screen, my pulse racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the movie.

When the credits rolled, we lingered for a moment, neither of us in a hurry to leave. But eventually, we made our way back to his car under the soft glow of the streetlights, the air between us buzzing with unspoken words.

“So,” he said as we climbed in, “on a scale of one to ten, how bad was that movie?”

I laughed. “Solid six. But the company made up for it.”

“Good save,” he said, his grin widening as he started the car.

The drive back to my apartment was quieter, the kind of silence that felt companionable rather than awkward. When he pulled up to the curb outside my building, I hesitated for a moment before unbuckling my seatbelt.

“Thanks for today,” he said, his tone softer now. “I had fun.”

“Me too,” I replied, feeling the truth of it settle in my chest.

He leaned against the steering wheel, looking at me like he wanted to say something more. Finally, he asked, “See you tomorrow?”

I nodded, my smile growing. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

As he drove away, I stood on the sidewalk for a moment, the cool night air brushing against my skin. My cheeks ached from smiling, and my heart felt a little lighter.

Whatever this was between us—whatever it might turn into—I couldn’t wait to find out.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The next day came faster than I expected. Between classes and trying to focus on a group project, my mind kept drifting back to Matt. I hadn’t told my friends much, only that he was “someone I’d been talking to for a while.” It wasn’t a lie, but it definitely wasn’t the full truth.

When my last class ended, I stepped outside into the warm late-afternoon sun, scanning the parking lot for Matt. I spotted him leaning against the rental car, sunglasses on and arms crossed casually. He looked so effortlessly cool that I almost laughed.

“You trying to be in a movie poster or something?” I called as I approached.

He grinned, pushing the sunglasses up onto his head. “What can I say? I aim to impress.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” I said, rolling my eyes but smiling anyway.

He opened the passenger door for me—again—and I didn’t bother teasing him this time. “You’re really consistent with this chivalry thing,” I said as I climbed in.

“Hey, I have to make up for all the times I couldn’t do it over FaceTime,” he replied, shutting the door behind me before jogging around to the driver’s side.

The drive to the beach was easy, the salty air growing stronger as we got closer. He’d suggested a sunset picnic, complete with food he’d picked up from a local spot he’d “googled extensively.”

“So, how was class?” he asked as we walked down to the sand, a blanket slung over his arm and a bag of food in hand.

“Pretty boring compared to this,” I said, gesturing at the ocean stretching out before us. “You’re setting the bar pretty high, Manhattan.”

“Good. I like a challenge,” he said, spreading the blanket out in a spot with a perfect view of the water.

We sat side by side, unwrapping sandwiches and chips as the sun dipped lower in the sky. The conversation flowed easily, moving from his last game to my classes to random trivia.

“You know,” he said between bites, “I was worried this might be weird.”

“Weird how?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Like…what if we didn’t click in person the way we do over text or FaceTime?” He hesitated, then added, “But it’s not weird. It’s better.”

His words caught me off guard, and I looked down at the sandwich in my hands, suddenly hyperaware of how close we were sitting.

“I feel the same,” I admitted quietly.

For a moment, the only sound was the gentle crash of the waves. Then he turned to me, his expression soft but serious. “So, does this count as a date, or do I need to up my game?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You tell me. You’re the one who planned it.”

“Well, if it is a date,” he said, leaning back on his hands, “I think it’s going pretty well.”

I didn’t have a clever comeback for that, so I just smiled, letting the moment settle around us. The sky darkened as we lingered on the blanket, the distant sound of seagulls fading into the rhythmic crash of waves. Neither of us seemed in a hurry to leave, the easy flow of conversation filling the space between us.

“I’m impressed,” I said, gesturing to the now-empty food containers. “You didn’t oversell this picnic thing. It was actually really good.”

Matt smirked, brushing some sand off his hands. “High praise coming from someone who almost turned me down for this.”

“Almost,” I emphasized. “But I didn’t.”

“And aren’t you glad you didn’t?”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible to resist, maybe,” he shot back, his grin widening.

Before I could respond, a gust of wind whipped past us, tugging at my hair and sending a shiver down my spine. Without a word, Matt shrugged off his hoodie and held it out to me.

“Here,” he said.

“You don’t have to—”

“Just take it, San Diego,” he interrupted, his tone playful but insistent.

I gave in, slipping the hoodie over my head. It was warm and smelled faintly of his cologne, a mix of woodsy and clean that made my stomach flip. “Thanks,” I mumbled, tugging the sleeves over my hands.

“You’re welcome,” he said, leaning back again, his gaze drifting out toward the ocean.

We sat in comfortable silence for a while, the stars beginning to dot the darkening sky. I glanced over at him, his profile outlined by the soft glow of the moonlight.

“You look like you belong here,” I said without thinking.

He turned to me, one eyebrow raised. “What, on a beach?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I mean…just, here. Like this. Relaxed. Happy.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, he looked at me like I’d said something important, something that mattered.

“I think that’s because of you,” he said quietly.

My heart skipped, the weight of his words settling in a way that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

“You don’t have to say things like that,” I said, trying to play it off, though my voice wavered slightly.

“But I mean it,” he replied, his tone steady.

The vulnerability in his gaze made it impossible to look away. For a brief, reckless moment, I considered leaning in, closing the small distance between us.

But then he broke the tension with a smirk. “Plus, if I said it’s because of the sandwiches, I’d sound like a jerk.”

I laughed, grateful for the reprieve. “You’re lucky you’re funny, Rempe.”

“I’m lucky for a lot of things,” he said, his voice softer now.

The words hung in the air, and I didn’t know what to say in response. Instead, I leaned back, letting the sound of the waves and the warmth of his hoodie wrap around me like a shield against the uncertainty of whatever this was turning into.

As the night deepened, he finally stood and offered me a hand. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll drive you home before you freeze.”

I took his hand, the touch grounding me in a way I hadn’t expected. “Thanks,” I said, letting him pull me to my feet.

“For what?”

“For tonight,” I said, meeting his gaze. “It was…perfect.”

His smile was small but genuine. “Good. Because I don’t plan on this being the last time.”

And as we walked back to the car, I realised I didn’t want it to be, either.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The next morning, I strolled into my lecture hall, clutching a coffee and running a little later than I’d planned. The classroom buzzed with pre-class chatter, students flipping through notes or scrolling on their phones.

Sliding into my usual seat near the middle, I tugged the hood up and slouched in my chair, trying to fight the remnants of sleepiness still clinging to me. Matt’s hoodie—warm, soft, and ridiculously oversized—felt like a comforting cocoon.

“Okay, spill.”

I glanced up to see my friend plop down in the seat next to me, her eyes immediately zeroing in on my outfit.

“What?” I asked, playing innocent as I took a sip of my coffee.

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” she said, leaning closer. “That hoodie is not yours. Whose is it? And why are you wearing it like it’s a security blanket?”

I shrugged, trying to keep my expression neutral. “It’s just a friend’s. No big deal.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “A friend? Since when do you borrow hoodies from friends?”

“It was cold last night, okay?” I said, lowering my voice. “He let me borrow it. End of story.”

Her eyes sparkled with interest. “He? Oh, this just keeps getting better. Is it the same mystery guy you keep texting during literally everything? Because if it is, I need details.”

I groaned, knowing there was no way she’d let this go. “Can we not do this here? Class is about to start.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said, smirking. “We’ll circle back.”

As the professor started the lecture, I tried to focus on the material, but my friend’s amused glances made it nearly impossible. I could feel her scheming from two feet away.

Halfway through class, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Subtly, I glanced at the screen under the desk.

Friday, September 13, 2024 Today, 9:15am MATT: Good morning, San Diego. MATT: Hope my hoodie’s getting a better education than I ever did.

I bit back a smile, quickly typing a reply.

ME: It’s sitting through Intro to Philosophy. I think it misses the rink.

His response came almost immediately.

MATT: Pretty sure it’s thrilled to be near you.

Heat rose to my cheeks, and I tucked my phone away before my friend could notice.

After class ended, my friend caught up with me as we walked out of the building. “Okay, so who is he?” she demanded.

I sighed. “He’s…a guy I’ve been talking to for a while. It’s nothing serious.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re wearing his hoodie in public. That’s at least medium serious.”

“Fine,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He’s someone I met through mutual friends, and we’ve been hanging out. That’s all.”

“For now,” she said knowingly. “But if he’s making you smile like that, I want to meet him. Soon.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that “meeting him” might come with a whole host of complications neither of us was ready for. Instead, I just nodded, tucking my hands into the hoodie pocket and thinking about how things felt a little less complicated when it was just me and Matt.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of lectures and assignments, but my mind kept drifting back to Matt. Every time I reached into the hoodie pocket or caught its faint scent, it was like a little reminder of him, tugging at my thoughts.

By the time I was in my last class of the day—a dull elective I’d taken mostly to fill a credit—I was practically counting the minutes until it ended. That’s when my phone vibrated in my pocket.

Frowning, I glanced down at the screen. It was Matt.

Normally, he’d text, especially if he knew I was in class. My stomach tightened as I slipped out of my seat, mouthing a quick “bathroom” to the professor before ducking into the hallway to answer.

“Hey, everything okay?” I asked, ducking into the hallway.

“Not really,” he said, his voice rushed and tinged with frustration. “I’m on my way to the airport.”

“What?” I stopped in my tracks, clutching the phone tighter. “Why? I thought you were staying through the weekend.”

“I was,” he said, letting out a sharp breath. “But they’re making all the Rangers players fly back to New York ASAP. Something about scheduling changes and needing to finalize practice rink times. It’s a mess.”

My heart sank. “Matt…”

“I’m so sorry,” he cut in, his words tumbling over each other. “I didn’t want to just leave without saying anything. This wasn’t supposed to happen, San Diego. I swear, I thought we had more time.”

“It’s okay,” I said softly, though disappointment clawed at my chest.

“No, it’s not,” he insisted. “I feel like an ass. I dragged you into this, made plans, and now I’m bailing. I hate it.”

I leaned against the wall, wishing I could reach through the phone and shake him out of his guilt. “Hey, it’s not your fault. Stuff happens, right? It’s not like you’re choosing to leave.”

There was a pause, filled with the muffled sounds of an airport terminal. Then he sighed. “I just… I don’t want this to mess things up between us. This weekend was supposed to be about spending time together.”

“Matt,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “it’s fine. Really. We’ve been friends this long, even across time zones. What’s a little more distance?”

Another pause, then a low chuckle that was more sigh than laugh. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“Just call me your personal pep talker,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. Then, with a wry grin, I added, “Besides, it’s Friday the 13th. What did we expect? Things to go smoothly?”

That got a real laugh out of him, warm and familiar even through the phone. “You’re probably right. Should’ve seen it coming.”

“Definitely,” I replied, my smile lingering even as my chest tightened.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, his tone firm now. “As soon as I can, I’ll be back. And next time, we’ll do things right.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” I replied, forcing a cheerfulness I didn’t entirely feel.

“Okay,” he said, softer now. “I’ll text you when I land. And thanks for…you know, not being mad.”

“Safe travels, Manhattan,” I said, my voice quieter.

“You too, San Diego,” he murmured before the call ended.

I stared at my phone for a long moment, the empty hallway feeling just a little colder, before heading back into class. If the past few months had taught me anything, it was how to keep moving forward—even when the person I wanted most was miles away.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

to be continued (one last time)... hehehe

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bernadette-laurent · 26 days ago

Text

Twisted Wonderland OC

"Don't worry, I'll do what I can…although it probably won't be much." Grade: First year, Class 1-A (special student) Age: ??? Height: 1.50cm Hobbies: sewing Dislikes: loud noises Favorite food: roasted vegetables Least favorite food: cookies. Special Ability: Tactical Intuition (React before the enemy attacks) -sing -create dresses, bags and plushies. Club: Gargoyle Appreciation Club

Small description:

They describe her as a ghost just out of the basement, but she has no bad intentions, she just wants to be happy.

Don't miss her, she comes from a different world so it's normal that she doesn't know anything at all, just guide her and you'll see a sad but sincere smile. She is open to doing all kinds of things (never you dare overdo it) anything is fine, she just wants to be a better person than she used to be before.

She seems to be very lazy, rude or even angry but she is actually a very good person (get to know her and you will see a kinder and more peaceful side) she loves art and nature and will care more about you than herself.

Although he has an exaggerated side, he will alter any situation to get his way.

Background Story:

Bernadette was born from a relationship between young people, they fought daily and the breakup only made things worse.

Her father wanted to be a famous actor and her mother simply wanted to live without complications, when she found out about the pregnancy they immediately separated.

Her father abandoned them and her mother daily got angry or did everything possible to get rid of Bernadette in her womb, although without any success she had her and never took care of her, Bernadette had no limits in her childhood so she was very naughty, until one day her mother looked for her father and decided to abandon her with him.

He had no idea how to take care of her, so he tried to leave her on the streets but he regretted it and took her to his older brother.

The uncle was not far behind, many in the city feared him, no one knew what he did, he and Bernadette lived in an old and rusty camper near the forest, and many abuses towards Laurent began that continued for many years, finally she stopped being the girl without limits and her gaze faded.

When she arrived to her new world she was afraid of everyone at school, she did not trust anyone and was so pessimistic that no matter how much she suffered she never complained because everyone could have a worse time than her… until everyone silenced her and told her that they worried every day about the way she expressed herself and that she should never be afraid of anything.

Extra information: -She failed many subjects in high school at the cost of little work and unjustified absences. -She does not usually shout due to multiple scoldings from her uncle, so when she does so her throat hurts a lot. -Her previous school was divided into men and women. When there were special days everyone got together.

#twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #twst mc #twst yuu #disney twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland original character #twst eeyore

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cryngemania · 9 days ago

Text

Any lingering sounds from the city all but vanished, leaving a convincing facade of an actual forest.

Mini world building story under the cut!

Gone.

He was always gone at the worst of times.

What kind of king just up and vanished without telling his advisor where he was going? Martyn groaned in annoyance, shaking his head as he walked down the darkening corridors of the empty citadel. He should have expected this, considering the quiet he was subject to for a majority of the evening; the King was usually one for chatter, either making small talk to one of the seats, whispered remarks to himself, or offering any comments whenever an awkward silence filled the air. His boots clacked against the tile floor, the dusk giving way to almost a sheer darkness where the stars could finally come to play. It was surprising that the town got any stars at all, considering the population, but Lizzie had done well at trying to keep the city healthy, even if that meant using candles at night rather than the lights more often than not.

The walls that the second-in-command passed were filled with various paintings or photographs of historical events; the origins of the town, first council meeting– As he walked, Martyn felt himself hesitating as he passed the photo on his left; the first of two crownings that the city had held. A king, they had decided. Martyn snorted, picking his pace back up as he looked away from the frame, eyes darting away from the two children in the background. He had a man to find, whether he wanted to be found or not. He would not be getting away with making Martyn sit in alone to one of the most boring guild meetings he could have been in.

The air was crisp and shocking as Martyn stepped out of the building, the chill taking some of his urgency and locking it back in the meeting rooms behind him. He made his way down the stairs, the great wooden door of the citadel slamming shut behind him. In this part of town, it always felt the most like home to the man; the fountain at the center of town had been one of the first “upgrades” that had been made since the town’s growth, a commemoration of the well that the early settlers used. Martyn knew a lot of various tidbits of knowledge about the town, something he was quite proud of. He had to pay back his debt somehow.

His pace quickened as he wandered through the winding roads of the town, the brisk summer night sending a chill down his spine. Autumn would be coming soon, a passing thought to match the passing street lamps, glowing dimly in the near-abandoned city streets. Through alleys, down winding staircases, Martyn made his way through the historical district, growing more and more certain that he knew where his lord was. To his side, the great clock tower chimed a quiet tune, marking the end of the 10th hour. Why was this man even out so late? Martyn shook his head as he drew closer to his destination; why was anything that man did what he chose to do? He was an enigma, had been for as long as Martyn had known him. Unpredictable, out of pocket, and overall a goofball.

Lizzie, the elected seat for environmental specialisation (Martyn himself considered the group the town janitors), had made the decision that due to the size and nature of the town, and for the benefit of the canals to “actually touch grass,” there needed to be more parks in the city. What she had meant, which Martyn hadn’t expected, but the king was all in for, were little patches of forest strewn about the town that some canals could run through as a pseudo-river. Martyn himself hadn’t had the time to go investigating in any of these pockets of the wilderness, the city had loved the idea, pushing for more greenery mixed in with the mechanical workings that everyone was surrounded with. Those sorts of greenery the advisor had seen. Vines up buildings, gardens on roofs, it did add a sort of overgrown beauty to the town. He hadn't much time to look at those beyond his normal route, either.

However, he knew that his liege had. And, he knew that the man loved the areas. Martyn walked through the winding paths through the patch of forest, looking around for any sign of the king. Of course, the area had to be dense with trees; he’d have to walk the whole place just to check everywhere. Which is what he did. In a sense, it was a bit relaxing; with the canals trailing a majority of the paths, any lingering sounds from the city all but vanished, leaving a convincing facade of an actual forest. Maybe that was why he liked it, the thought lingering in the back of Martyn’s head as he slowed his pace a bit, taking in the area a bit more. It felt like an escape.

He had walked all but two paths before he saw anyone else. The man sat on a bench near the bend of the trail, another small canal trailing beneath the seat; had Martyn not been paying attention, he would have walked right past him. The man looked to be asleep, long hair trailing for a bit before ending up in the hood of the man’s cloak. He seemed peaceful. As Martyn drew near, the man opened an eye, blue meeting blue. Ren didn’t seem to react, simply closing his eye again and leaning his head back.

“Have fun with your meeting?” Ren asked plainly as Martyn came to a stop next to the bench. Martyn just snorted, earning a chuckle from the man. “Can’t have been that bad.”

The advisor shook his head. “You’re supposed to tell me when you’re going to vanish,” he responded. “We had a deal.”

Ren opened his eye again, looking towards his second in command. “Thought I left a note.”

“‘Be back soon’ with an abandoned crown doesn’t read the way you think it does.”

Nodding, Ren hummed a response and folded his arms. Martyn stood next to the bench, looking around the park for a moment before turning back to his companion. “We should be heading back, my lord.” Ren audibly sighed; he had made his distaste of the formalities known as soon as Martyn started doing it, but Martyn made it clear that they were on two different levels, thus formalities were required. Not for lack of trying to get him to stop, short of royal decree, on Ren’s part.

“I think,” Ren eventually started, removing the shades from his face, “we can stay here for a bit longer.”

Martyn just looked at the man. “Sir, you’ve—”

“You haven’t. You’ve been here for about ten minutes.”

“It's eleven at night.”

“And? We don’t have any meetings until noon.” Ren grinned, canines sharp against the moonlight. “Unless you scheduled me for another 8AM one.”

There was a beat of silence. Sighing, Martyn all but fell into the bench, taking a seat next to the king. “No,” he eventually responded. “But I will if you vanish again.”

“Clearly, Martyn,” Ren retorted, “I didn’t vanish well if you found me.”

“That’s not the point.”

Ren sighed, once again leaning back, taking in the stars above them. It was peaceful at night, one of the few places of refuge he could have. Martyn knew it, he knew Ren’s thoughts, hell, he had grown up with the man, he could tell you almost anything he would say or do with a certain level of accuracy that nobody save for Ren’s father could compete with. He did feel bad, always trying to reign the king in. But that was his job. It was what he was supposed to do.

Martyn flinched as something flicked his forehead, his thoughts a jumble as he looked over to the man next to him. Ren stared at him, blue eyes scanning as his hand hovered in the air, poised for another flick if so needed. “Dude,” he started. “Get out of your head.”

“I-”

“No.”

“Sir–”

Ren rolled his eyes, folding his arms. “Listen, dude, midnight means I don’t have to be king right now, and you don’t have to be lieutenant. So stop worrying like one for five minutes and just chill out.”

With a huff, Martyn folded his arms. “Y’know, what if I don’t want to chill out?”

“Then you can sit and consider your problems in silence.”

A beat of silence.

“I was kidding,” Ren eventually commented. His leg bounced, balanced on his opposing knee. He was always moving, in some way; Martyn couldn’t recall a time when Ren wasn’t moving in some subtle or obvious way. “Do you remember when we convinced my dad to let us go camping?”

“You mean when we slept in your garden?”

“It was still camping,” the man responded. “Two kids under the stars, fire in the air—“

The advisor chuckled. “Sir, you sound like—“

Ren could see how the sentence ended before his friend finished it. “Hey. If my father can move to the Outskirts when he gets old and just live life, then I can live life that same way.”

“My lord, your father was in his sixties and had no ties to the crown once you were instated. There’s a bit of a difference.”

The man just sighed. “I’m not just a king, Martyn. You understand that, right?”

Martyn made eye contact with the king, blue eyes practically glowing in the dark. “Of course I do,” Martyn responded. He could see the disbelief in his friend’s eyes. It was something Martyn had decided long before Ren took the throne, the formalities, but he thought they were necessary. Being advisor to the king meant so much more to him than he could possibly imagine, something he was guaranteed near the second “soon to be king” Orion Volkov had seen him. It was his way to pay back the debt he owed to the family, and he wasn’t going to let something so trivial come between that.

And Ren could see the thoughts running through Martyn’s head as he sighed, standing up and stretching out before looking out towards the city surrounding them. “Alright. You win, dude. King never takes a break.” He started along the trail, not looking behind him as Martyn stood, stretching his pace to match the King’s stride. “Remind me what my meetings are for tomorrow.”

“Well, you have a…”

#trafficblr #renthedog #rendog fanart #inthelittlewood #aspau #aspen au #cry.posts #my art #treebark

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atinyslittleworld · 4 months ago

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Unleashing Desire

demon!mingi x f!reader

Summary: A shy college student, Y/N, is drawn to Mingi, a demon. Their mutual attraction intensifies, leading to a passionate, feverish encounter as Mingi unleashes his dark side, igniting an uncontrollable desire.

Word Count: 1,732

Genre: dark romance, paranormal, fantasy

Warnings: MDNI 18+, mingi is described as a demon, the story explores themes of losing control and surrendering to darker impulses

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons or actual events is purely coincidental. The characters, settings, and events are entirely imaginary

The cold air brushed past Y/N as she walked through the crowded college hallway, her books clutched tightly against her chest like a shield. She was used to feeling invisible, always melting into the background, unnoticed. But today, she felt something different—something unsettling but not unwelcome. It was a pull, a magnetic force drawing her attention to the figure walking toward her.

Mingi.

There was something about him that no one could quite place, and yet, everyone was aware of it. He wasn’t like the others—he carried an aura that was dark and mysterious, a brooding intensity that clung to him like a shadow. He never spoke much in class, but when he did, his voice resonated through the air, deep and haunting. His eyes, dark as the night, seemed to pierce through whoever they landed on. And yet, it wasn’t fear Y/N felt when their eyes met. It was something far more dangerous.

As they passed each other, Mingi’s gaze flicked toward her, just for a moment. It was quick, subtle, but it sent a ripple of warmth down her spine. Every time they crossed paths, it was like this—glances, brief and fleeting, but enough to set her pulse racing.

Mingi noticed her too. Every time she passed by, his senses sharpened, his demon instincts flaring. She was different from the others—her energy, her quiet presence. There was a pull he couldn't explain, an invisible thread that seemed to tie him to her, and it unnerved him. The more they encountered each other, the stronger the connection felt, leaving him unsettled yet intrigued.

But tonight, things would change.

The college party was in full swing, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and the thrum of music vibrating through the walls. Mingi had come, though he wasn’t sure why. Parties were never his thing, especially when his demon side felt more agitated than usual. The house the party was being thrown in carried an odd aura, something that unsettled him from the moment he arrived.

As the night dragged on, the energy in the house seemed to press in on him, suffocating. His demon instincts were growing harder to control, his eyes darkening as the power surged within him. Needing to get away from the overwhelming chaos, Mingi slipped upstairs, finding an empty room. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands gripping his thighs, trying to calm the storm brewing inside him.

But it was no use. His demon side was too strong tonight, spurred on by whatever strange energy lingered in the house. His eyes darkened further, turning pitch black as he felt the hunger rising, the need to let go, to release the darkness that had been building for so long.

Just then, the door creaked open.

Y/N stepped inside, her breath catching when she saw him sitting there, his head lowered, his darkened eyes barely visible through the strands of his messy hair. She had no idea what had pushed her toward the room, only that she had felt compelled—drawn toward something. Toward him.

Mingi looked up slowly, his black eyes meeting hers. For a moment, time seemed to stop. The air between them was thick with tension, an electric current running through the space that neither of them could ignore. Y/N closed the door behind her, locking it without a second thought. Something about the way he looked at her, the way the darkness in his eyes mirrored the heat she felt inside, made her body move toward him on its own.

Her breath was shallow, her heartbeat erratic as she approached. Mingi’s eyes tracked her every step, his chest rising and falling heavily as his control slipped further. He felt the pull, stronger than ever before, and it scared him. But the moment her hand reached out, her fingers brushing the sharp outline of his jaw, something inside him snapped.

Y/N stared at him, her voice barely above a whisper. “Beautiful.”

Mingi’s dark eyes widened, his breath catching at the unexpected word. He had never been called beautiful before, not when his demon side was so close to the surface, not when his eyes were black with power. But Y/N wasn’t afraid. She stood there, her touch soft, her gaze steady as if she could see past the darkness, past the monster inside him.

Without warning, his hands shot to her thighs, gripping them tightly as he pulled her onto his lap. Y/N gasped softly, but there was no hesitation in her. She straddled him, her body pressing against his as their lips collided in a kiss that was raw and desperate, filled with an intensity neither of them could contain.

Mingi kissed her hungrily, his hands roaming her body as if he couldn’t get enough. Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she pressed her chest against his. The heat between them was unbearable, a fire that seemed to burn brighter with every touch, every kiss. She could feel the darkness in him, the wild, untamed power that threatened to consume them both, but instead of pulling away, she leaned into it.

Her body moved instinctively, her hips grinding against his in slow, deliberate movements that made Mingi groan into her mouth. The friction between them was maddening, and Y/N’s skirt swayed with every roll of her hips, brushing against his thighs as she pressed herself harder against him.

“I’m burning up,” Y/N whispered against his lips, her voice trembling with desire.

Mingi’s grip on her hips tightened as he pulled her even closer, his breath ragged as he felt the same heat coursing through his veins. His core burned, the hunger inside him growing stronger, more uncontrollable. Y/N’s hands moved to the hem of her shirt, and before he could process what was happening, she pulled it over her head, tossing it aside.

Left in nothing but her bra and skirt, Y/N’s skin glistened under the dim light, her body flushed with heat. She leaned into him again, her hips grinding harder against his lap as she whispered, “I’m still burning…”

Mingi’s control shattered completely.

With a low growl, he gripped her waist and flipped her onto the bed, his body hovering above hers as his demon side took over. His blackened eyes bore into hers, wild and untamed, but Y/N didn’t flinch. She welcomed it, her hands reaching for him, pulling him closer as her legs wrapped around his waist.

Mingi’s lips crashed against hers, the kiss rough and desperate. His hands roamed her body, exploring every inch of her as if he needed to memorize the way she felt beneath him. He was lost in her, lost in the heat and the fire that consumed them both.

Y/N gasped as Mingi’s hands moved to unclasp her bra, his fingers skilled and quick. The garment fell away, and Mingi wasted no time, his mouth moving to her chest as his hands gripped her hips, pulling her against him. Y/N moaned softly, her body arching into his touch as her hips began to move on their own, grinding against him in a slow, rhythmic motion that drove them both wild.

“I can’t… stop,” Mingi groaned against her skin, his voice thick with lust and something darker.

“Then don’t stop,” Y/N whispered, her voice low and commanding. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Her words sent a shockwave through him. Mingi growled, his hands gripping her thighs as he pressed himself harder against her, his body moving with a force that left Y/N gasping. The room pulsed with energy, the darkness between them swirling, growing as their bodies collided in a feverish rhythm.

Y/N’s breath came in ragged gasps, her moans filling the air as she moved against him, her hips grinding faster, harder. The friction between them was unbearable, the pleasure building to heights she had never known. She could feel Mingi’s hands on her body, rough and desperate, his lips leaving a trail of fire wherever they touched.

“I’m still burning,” Y/N whispered, her voice thick with desire as her hips rocked harder against him. “I’m still burning…”

Mingi’s demon side surged forward, fully unleashed. His eyes darkened even more, the hunger in him becoming something primal, something untamable. He growled low in his throat, his hands gripping her thighs as he thrust against her with a force that left her gasping, her back arching off the bed.

In one swift, urgent motion, Mingi reached down, his fingers working quickly to unzip his pants. He fumbled for only a second, the need overwhelming, his breath catching as he freed himself, the tension between them unbearable. The sound of the zipper breaking the air made Y/N’s heart race, her anticipation spiraling as she watched him with darkened eyes.

Mingi’s breath hitched as he moved against her, his control hanging by a thread as he pressed his body against hers, their heat merging as one. Y/N's hips ground against him harder, her skirt moving with the rhythm of her movements, driving them both closer to the edge.

Y/N’s body trembled beneath him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she cried out his name, her movements frantic and desperate. The pleasure between them was overwhelming, pushing them both to the brink of madness. Mingi’s breath was ragged, his chest heaving as he lost himself in the wild rhythm of their bodies, the fire between them consuming everything in its path.

And then, everything shattered.

Y/N’s body tensed, her breath hitching as the pleasure reached its peak, her back arching as she cried out his name. Mingi followed, his body shuddering above hers as the heat between them exploded into something neither of them had ever experienced before. The air around them crackled with energy, their auras intertwining in a way that felt both terrifying and intoxicating.

When it was over, they lay there together, their bodies still entwined, the room thick with the remnants of their shared passion. Y/N’s fingers brushed over his cheek, her breath still coming in soft, uneven gasps as she whispered, “I’m not afraid of you, Mingi. I never was.”

Mingi stared down at her, his chest tightening at her words. She wasn’t afraid of him—of the demon he had become. Despite everything, despite the darkness inside him, she had embraced it. And somehow, he knew deep down that this was only the beginning.

#ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez fic #ateez #song mingi #song mingi imagine #song mingi x reader #mingi imagines #mingi x reader #mingi

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zenkindoflove · 6 months ago

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I have a new hypothesis about why the ACOTAR fandom is so weird.

And I think it's because there is a difference between the people who enter this fandom as shippers and the people who enter because they like the romance genre*.

I think many life long shippers enjoy romance. Maybe they don't always seek out the genre but they see romance in whatever media they are engaging with and they take those characters and put romance spins on them even if those characters aren't from a romance story. You ship because of a feeling. You see a dynamic or maybe you think about what a dynamic could be and then suddenly you're pulled in. Like falling in love. But you're falling in love with the idea of a couple. How that couple ends up becoming in canon is independent about how thinking about them together makes you feel.

I think romance readers aren't necessarily shippers*. They enjoy reading romance in a romance canon but they don't necessarily ship in the way shippers do with obsession and devotion regardless of what the canon says. They ship because they see that this couple is good together and it does make them feel squishy inside. Similar to a shipper. But they weren't necessarily going to see that until the canon actually played it out. To me that is responding to a romance plot as the author intended.

And maybe that is something different than shipping. I know for myself, I can read and watch romance and feel pulled in by the love I see but I don't "ship" them in the way I have shipped my OTPs with the level of obsession and devotion and need to construct my own head canons and fanon.

And I think that is a big issue when people from different backgrounds try to talk about shipping and the ship war in ACOTAR if they aren't coming from a similar experience. As I discuss a lot on this blog, there is history and culture behind shipping. And shippers have developed a common language to discuss shipping in a way that respects others shipping habits while also maintaining your devotion to your own ship.

It seems like those who are in this fandom because they enjoy canonical depictions of romance only are often confused by people who are taking characters into their own fanons and playing around with them or are devoted to them regardless of what the canon validates or not.

If you are used to shipping generally it seems very weird for people to say things like "I ship this because they're end game" or "I'll stop shipping if they don't end up together". Because shippers tend to not ship because of end game. They would LIKE end game because having canon validation is great. But it is not necessary (I also am tempted to make a whole post defining the differences between canon vs. fanon vs. end game ships because I frequently see the ACOTAR fandom using these terms incorrectly).

I think sometimes we are talking across each other and not to each other because we don't share a common cultural understanding of fandom or approach to shipping.

*obviously people can be both. Maybe the first couple you shipped is because you got into a romance series. But the point is that shipping at its heart comes from a feeling. How thinking about these characters together makes you feel squishy inside. And that can exist with or without canon. Shipping canon couples does come with many rewards, and canon can validate and be positive feedback on your shipping feelings, but you don't ship because they're end game. You would ship them regardless because you saw something special in their dynamic and whether the canon gets it or not isn't going to stop you. I like reading romance but I find romance in any genre because my shipping brain never stops.

#acotar #acotar fandom #fandom shipwars #elucien #gwynriel #elriel #tagging all the major shipwar ships #also i want to reiterate there is no right or wrong way to ship #this is me trying to make sense of how shipping and fandom is mkre mainstream than ever #and i see lots of people not understanding the nuances in shipping culture who are new to fandoms through acotar #fandom wank

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kikyoupdates · 3 months ago

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Indebted ⭑˚🥀⭑ 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡

yandere!ocs x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, yandere reverse harem, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, isekai

Following your mother’s recent passing, you are visited by a group of men claiming that your father abandoned all his debt and obligations, leaving you to take his place.

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The car ride was unsurprisingly tense. You were crammed inside the same vehicle as Ryu, with his broad shoulders pressed up against yours in the back seat. He’d said that he intended for you to work and pay off your father’s debt, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he changed his mind and decided to kill you instead.

And yet he still had the nerve to try and make small talk with you.

“Oh, I suppose I should apologize for how sudden our visit was,” he commented offhandedly. “I am sorry for your loss. You must still be in the process of grieving, but life goes on, as they say.”

His tone was dripping with insincerity, and you had every right to want to knee him in the balls, but you also had no desire to accelerate your death. So, you stayed quiet. Avoided eye contact, avoided his questions. You just stayed as still as possible and tried to keep from breaking down.

After a little while, the car parked right outside your apartment. You couldn’t even pretend to act surprised. They’d looked into your family’s background and tracked down the location of the funeral; it went without saying that they had an idea of where you lived too.

Well, not for much longer, by the sounds of it.

“Pack a few belongings, and then leave your keys with one of my men,” Ryu instructed. His dark eyes narrowed. “And don’t even think about trying to run away. You don’t want to find out what happens when you test my patience.”

You nodded briskly. Two of his subordinates followed you up to your apartment and waited as you grabbed some clothes, your laptop, and a few other valuables. You didn’t want to drag this out too long. Ryu had already hinted that he wasn’t a particularly patient guy.

Once you were finished and had everything packed up in two suitcases, you looked back over your shoulder. It was a small, cheap one-bedroom place, but you’d been living here for a while now. Leaving so suddenly just didn’t feel natural. Well, not that any part of this arrangement was natural to begin with.

One of the men extended his hand out. “Give me the keys,” he ordered. “We’ll make sure the lease is settled.”

“What are you going to do? My contract isn’t up yet.”

“None of your business. All you need to do is listen up and keep your mouth shut. If the boss says to do something, you do it.”

They didn’t seem to care much for your company. Then again, you hadn’t really expected for a group of yakuza to be all that friendly.

Keeping your gaze low to the ground, you stepped out of the apartment, dragging your luggage behind you. They loaded all your belongings into the trunk, and then you were back in the car again, right by Ryu’s side. Much to your immense dismay.

“All good?” he asked.

You nodded.

“What, are you mute all of a sudden? When I speak to you, you’d better answer properly.”

“Everything’s good,” you affirmed, swallowing uncomfortably. Ryu stared at you for a few moments before eventually scoffing in your face. You didn’t really know what he expected. Your mother had just recently died, and you were scared for your life. It was taking all your strength not to cry in front of these people again.

The drive took a while. You had no clue where you were heading, but it wouldn’t have made a difference anyways. Ryu’s lackeys had taken the liberty of confiscating your cell phone, so you couldn’t call for help even if you were willing to take the risk. Ironically, the most frustrating part in all of this was not that you were being taken against your will, but that your father’s words from all those years ago were playing in your mind on a loop.

“Those men are going to take care of us. Once I become a fully-fledged member, things will turn around.”

What a fucking joke. In the end, he couldn’t even commit to the group he’d chosen to abandon his own family for. He’d messed everything up and destroyed your life in the process. He wasn’t even around anymore, and he was still ruining things for you.

Your expression shifted into a scowl without you even realizing it. Beside you, Ryu let out an amused chuckle.

“There’s finally some life in your eyes,” he hummed. “You look upset, sweetheart. Are you upset with me?”

“No. Not with you.”

“Really?”

“You’re only taking care of business,” you reluctantly admitted. “I know it isn’t personal. It’s just about money. And I… don’t have any money to give you.”

His lips curled into a smile. “Who are you upset with, then?”

“My father. He was a terrible person back when I knew him, and it seems like that still hasn’t changed.”

“It looks like that’s something we can agree on. It’s good for you to have someone to direct your anger towards. Anger, resentment—those are all things that will make you stronger. But don’t direct those emotions towards me,” he warned. “Never towards me.”

You pressed your lips together. You hadn’t exactly been completely honest. You did resent him, but he was a criminal to begin with, so you couldn’t expect for him to do the sane, rational thing. It didn’t matter how you felt about him, anyways. He was the leader of a group of dangerous, violent individuals. You didn’t stand a chance against any of them.

The trip dragged on, to the point that you were starting to feel quite groggy. All of the adrenaline that had kept you going until now had just about run out. It was late in the night, and you were exhausted. You just wanted to lay down and sleep, wherever that may be.

“We’re here,” Ryu finally said. “Get out of the car.”

You did as you were told. The area didn’t look too familiar, but you tried not to panic immediately. You were in front of a large, traditional-style home. It was possibly one of the biggest you’d ever seen.

“Are we still in Yokohama?” you asked.

“What did I say about asking questions?” one of the men snapped.

“Yes, we are,” Ryu mercifully answered. “It’s a ways off from your old apartment, but we haven’t left the city. Come on. Let’s go inside.”

You grabbed your suitcases out of the trunk and followed behind him. It would be your first time staying in a traditional home. Most of your friends had gone on vacation to seaside inns and hot springs, but you’d never had the money growing up to take any trips like that. If nothing else, you would at least get to see what you’d been missing out on. Disregarding the fact that you’d basically just been kidnapped.

It looked even bigger inside than on the outside, and you could already predict that you would be getting lost trying to navigate the long hallways and countless sliding doors.

“In here,” Ryu gestured, sliding one of the larger doors open. He looked back over his shoulder, addressing his subordinates. “Wait around for a while longer. I need to deal with her first.”

“Yes, sir.”

He patted you on the lower back and roughly pushed you inside the room. You yelped a bit, nearly tripping over your own feet. Ryu slid the door to a close behind him.

It was just the two of you now. Granted, the place was very big, but you didn’t much like the idea of being left alone with him. At least in front of the rest of his group, you could tell he was acting out the part of a leader. Now… there was something eerily sinister about his expression. You didn’t like it one bit.

“This will be your room,” he said. “Mine is right next to yours. There’s still some stuff I need to clean out, but it should be more than big enough. Any concerns?”

You shook your head. “No. You’re right, this is plenty of space for one person. Thank you.”

“Thank you?” he repeated, laughing a bit. “You’re thanking me? After I basically told you that you have no choice but to work for me in order to pay off a debt that isn’t even yours in the first place?”

“I just meant… thank you for giving me this room. It’s a nice room. I’ve never had such a big place all to myself before.”

“Hm. Well, it’s certainly easier than having you struggle and try to make things needlessly difficult. We still need to figure out how exactly you’ll be earning my money back, though.”

“I have two part-time jobs,” you perked up. “It’s not a lot, but once I pay off my loans, I should be able to send you my earnings.”

Ryu stared at you in disbelief. “Seriously? You think two measly jobs that a university student qualifies for are going to be anywhere near enough to cover your debt?”

“I-I’m not sure. How much did he steal?”

“You don’t want to know, doll. I can guarantee it’ll only freak you out even more.” He brought his hand to his chin, dark eyes scanning you over from top to bottom. “Well… come to think of it, you’re very cute. You have a pretty face, and your figure is also nice, from what I can see in that dress. I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who’d be willing to pay a nice sum to get better acquainted with your body.”

At first, you were dumbstruck, but the gravity of his words quickly set in.

You stared at him in horror. “Y-You want to pimp me out?”

“I’m considering it. Granted, it may be somewhat of a hassle given your lack of experience, but we could have someone show you the ropes. Get you settled in real nice.”

“No!” you cried out, easily the loudest you’d spoken since being kidnapped. You thought of your mother, who was still fresh in her grave. If she was watching over you from a better place right now, her poor heart would break to see you selling your body out. “Please,” you begged, dropping to your knees before him. “Anything but that. I’ll work as many jobs as you need—I’ll go without sleep, without rest. Just please… please don’t make me do that.”

Ryu stared down at you, eyes filled with mirth. “You can be really adorable at times, you know that? Look at you, already so docile and submissive. That’s a good selling point. The customers will like that.”

“Please,” you cried, “please don’t make me…”

“You seem to be forgetting something. It’s not for you to decide. From this moment onwards, I own your life. You can either do as I say, or I kill you.”

“I would rather die,” you told him defiantly. And you meant those words. You were no stranger to hard work, sleep deprivation, struggling not to buckle under all the stress. But this? You weren’t going to cling to your life only to live on in humiliation. You would rather go out with your dignity still intact.

Ryu gave you an unimpressed look. “You say that now, but that’s only because you haven’t looked death in the eyes yet. You don’t know the pain of torture, the fear of fading into nothingness. So, don’t get smart with me. Whatever you do, it’s my call, not yours.”

You dug your fingers into the fabric of your dress. You felt so small before him, so insignificant. Even more so when you were kneeling. It was true that you knew nothing of the world of the yakuza. But even as misinformed as you were, you weren’t completely ignorant. You saw full well the cruelty in Ryu’s black eyes. That wasn’t the look of a man—it was the look of a beast, a predator hunting for its next kill.

You were nothing to him. Absolutely nothing. He could kill you in a heartbeat and forget you’d ever existed the very next day.

“Relax,” he said, crouching down before you. He reached his hand out towards your head, and you involuntarily flinched, but held your ground. Ryu smiled coldly, running his fingers through your hair. “I still haven’t decided what I’m going to do. If you work hard, maybe you’ll change my mind. As long as you obey, I have no reason to hurt you.”

You were full-on glaring at him now, no longer trying to hide your animosity. He chuckled, clearly amused at your little show of defiance.

“Unpack your things and try to get some sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll show around our main office.”

He turned away from you, and you felt a small sense of relief knowing that he was finally about to leave you alone. He didn’t leave, though. At least, not right away. His eyes scanned the corner of the room before he reached over and withdrew what looked to be a yukata.

Without warning, he began changing out of his suit. Your eyes widened, and you hurried to avert your gaze. He probably didn’t even care. As far as he was concerned, you were just an object to him, not a real human being. Still, you waited for some sort of signal that he was done changing, but that signal never came.

Cautiously, you peered back over your shoulder, just in time to see him pulling the yukata up over his shoulders. His back was exposed for a few moments, long enough for you to make a very big, discernible tattoo. It was a dragon, in black and green ink, coiled around itself as if it were dancing through the air. Bright dashes of crimson stood out amidst the dark ink, snaking around the dragon’s body and burning as vividly as a flame.

Ryu tightened the belt of his yukata and stepped out of the room without another word.

The next morning, Ryu stayed true to his words and brought you along to the group’s offices.

As members of an organized crime syndicate, you’d always known that the yakuza didn’t really bother with hiding from the public. If anything, it was a thing of pride for them to display their organization’s identity on nameplates outside the buildings. They skirted on the wrong side of the law, but were able to get by through their connections and the sense of fear they instilled in the authorities.

Still, you were surprised to find out just how normal everything looked.

The offices were no different than what you would see in any ordinary corporate building. Dressed in their suits and working at desks, they almost gave off the air of your day-to-day salarymen. Of course, you knew better than that. You couldn’t say for certainty, but you had a strong feeling that the majority of the members had killed someone before.

Everyone bowed as they greeted Ryu. You had to admit that the respect he commandeered was impressive. He walked with a quiet, strong sense of confidence. You could tell by looking around the room. No one would ever think of opposing him.

Except for your shithead of a dad, apparently.

Ryu eventually stopped in front of a desk. “Here we are. Yuki. I’m putting you in charge of [Name] for now. Show her around the place and teach her how to file all the paperwork. And make sure she doesn’t get any funny ideas. I don’t need another headache to deal with.”

The young man he’d just addressed stood up in a hurry. “Of course, boss. I’ll take care of her.”

“Good. Get to work.”

Ryu walked away, heading to what appeared to be his own private office near the back. You were relieved to know that he wouldn’t be supervising you himself. It felt you could finally breathe again.

“You’re [Name], right?” the man said. He turned towards you and extended his hand out, smiling pleasantly. “I’m Yuki. Maeno Yuki. It’s nice to have you on board.”

He looked to be around your age, much more boyish than the majority of the members. He had wavy golden hair that was practically shining, and pretty emerald eyes. You knew first impressions could be deceiving, but for now, he was definitely much more welcoming than the scary, buff middle-aged men that were all glaring you down.

He looked normal. You liked normal.

You shook Yuki’s hand and forced a smile. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ll do my best to keep up.”

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