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swiftispunk · 5 months

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autumn air | joel miller x f!reader

a your summer dream one shot

your summer dream masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | follow @swiftispunkupdates and turn on notifications for updates

The heat of autumn is different from the heat of summer. One ripens apples, the other turns them to cider.

– Jane Hirshfield, The Heat of Autumn

pairing: joel miller x f!reader rating: 18+ word count: 10.4k series warnings etc: [NO OUTBREAK] we'll call him dad's buddy!joel, fairly soft!joel, age difference (28/50), angst, smut (will specify with each chapter), fluff, alcohol, food, secret relationship until it's not. series summary: after falling head over heels for your dad's buddy on vacation, it's now time to navigate the real world together. or, a year in the life with joel miller. chapter summary: it's been a month since you returned home from costa rica and you and joel have fallen into a blissful routine. when a rude awakening threatens to disrupt that peace, together you must make a decision...or two. chapter warnings: smut, unprotected p in v sex, discussions of somnophilia, BONDAGE-ish, oral (m receiving), exhibitionism, some body/cock worship, joel miller's filthy mouth, anal play, cum play, shitty landlords and shittier roommates, being allergic to cats, feelings, almost getting caught (again), fluff, angst in the mildest sense, one little pov swap. no use of y/n.

A/N: well hello. sorry this took about a hundred years. welcome to our first glimpse of life post-vacation. this turned out to be a lot more set-up than i anticipated, so please be patient as there is lots more still to come and to happen. BUT WE GOTTA START SOMEWHERE, OK?

a forever thank you to @joelscruff pretty much just for existing at this point but also for beta'ing this bad boy

It had taken just over a month for your weekends to become this.

Lazy, dreamlike collages of playing house with Joel Miller. Learning to like black coffee and the slow, patient pace of suburbia, a stark but welcome contrast to the ceaseless stress of work and the incessant, gnawing rift that's been developing between you and your roommates.

Here, curled up on his couch or busying yourself in his kitchen, it's easy to forget. To savour the private hours you share here in his home, listening to him noodle absently on his guitar or talk your ear off about his brother's new baby. To pretend this all isn't some colossal, breakable secret.

Summer slips away and you're still living inside a snow globe. What was once a cozy hotel room now replaced by an aging Craftsman on a cul-de-sac. A new private oasis, one that feels infinitely more real.

Even if you are the only two people still privy to it all.

Well, three people.

More than anything though, your weekends have become this. Joel's broad body over yours, forehead and chest dampened with sweat, glowing in the orange-pink haze of a sunset.

His thick fingers wrap around your wrists where they're pinned against his mattress, granting a wish you'd voiced as he'd laid you down and kissed you, deep and slow.

I think it'd be so sexy if you tied me up, you'd told him and his eyes had burned with hungry fascination, fiery at your willingness.

You don't know what it is about Joel, but you just want to try everything with him. And he is equally as willing to provide

Let's try it like this first, he'd suggested, gripping your arms and manoeuvring them beside your head, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure, just the right amount of intent to lock you firmly in place beneath him. Your cunt had throbbed and your mind had gone fuzzy but Joel had still leaned in to whisper, You tell me if you like that and–Christ, you do, you really fucking do.

So you tell him. You tell him again and again and again. Every time he asks you, implores you, orders you to tell him how good he makes you feel and how wet you are for him, how desperate you are to touch him even though you love that he won't let you.

He's asking again now, you think, but it's getting too hard to answer. He's drawing it out, the roll of his hips into yours agonizingly slow, the drag of his thick cock moving in and out nearly too much to take after he's already made you come twice.

He likes it this way, you've come to learn, now that you're home and free from prying eyes, safe to take your time and truly relish in each other's bodies. And for how torturous it can feel–like right now, sticky-wet and limp below him–he knows you love it too.

"Fuck–listen," he commands you softly.

You whimper, straining your ears through a thick fog of pleasure to obey him. His brows are knitted together in concentration, plush lips parted as he glances between your bodies, encouraging you to follow his gaze to the place where you're connected, where his cock is still impaling you, glistening wet with your last release. You both watch as he pulls out before lazily pushing back in, a wet squelch filling the room as your drenched walls swallow every inch of him.

"So fucking wet for me. Always are, huh?"

He groans, catching your quiet sob as he dives forward to kiss you, licking into your open mouth with the same indulgent, unhurried pace that he's fucking you.

"You love takin' this cock," he says, dragging his lips downward along your neck, over the seashell that hangs there, nipping affectionately at the skin above your breasts before taking one pebbled nipple into his mouth. You moan, so sensitive, your body betraying you as you writhe against the sheets and his hands loop tighter around your wrists in response.

"I know, baby, I know," Joel murmurs, and you think you can hear the control wavering there in his voice, just a bit, as he moves to suckle at your other nipple, flicking the bud of it under his tongue just to hear you cry out again. You feel his smirk against your skin. "Bein' so good. So good."

You're drenched, soaked between your legs and around his length, sweat stuck to every crevice so you feel almost humid, dizzy and faraway and so fucking full.

And then Joel's lips are at your ear again, hot breath condensing on the skin there too and the air feels altogether too thick. Too foggy.

"I just wanna feel you come one more time," he whispers.

You're shaking your head before the words can even leave his mouth.

"Can't…Joel, I can't," you croak.

"You can," he assures you. "Did it last week, remember?"

You whimper and nod–he's right. With much coaxing and patience and Joel's unwavering attentiveness, he'd drawn three orgasms from you, something you'd once thought impossible. But then again, you weren't sure you could come at all by a man's hand before you'd met him.

"What do you need? Let me get you there," he pleads, teeth coming down on your earlobe and sending an involuntary shiver down your spine.

His mouth is on yours before you can answer, kissing you until your lips are numb beneath the scratch of his moustache and your will to deny him steadily wanes.

"Tell me," he says against your lips and your heart flutters as the hands around your wrists move, Joel interlocking his fingers with yours instead. A different kind of warmth spreads through you at that, a new form of ecstasy, one laced with devotion and tenderness for this man who takes such expert care of you, always.

"Need it…harder," you manage as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "Fuck me harder, Joel. Please."

"Yeah?" he grits out, thrusting into you with more force on his next stroke and pushing the air from your lungs. "That what my girl needs?"

You whine and it sounds like yes, so he does it again, just once–another quick, hard push into your spent pussy that has you gasping and keening.

"Let me hear you say it, sweetheart."

You groan, search for the words, knowing he likes this too, for you to be just as vocal as he is. To hear in your sounds and your cries and your wanton pleas how much you want him.

"Yes, yes, yes," you tell him in a rush, already feeling some tangled swell of something curl in your lower belly. "Just–just like that. Please. More."

"One more time," he grins with another deliberate rock of his hips. Fucking bastard.

"Please," you beg, fingernails digging into the backs of his hands when you squeeze down into his grasp.

"Fuck–yeah," Joel growls, taking you by surprise when he suddenly collects your hands above your head, freeing his own to tug you further down the bed and fold your legs into your chest. He crashes forward, big hands finding your wrists again and keeping them pinned where they are as he begins to fuck you with new vigour. The new angle hits somewhere deeper, each rough thrust of his cock into you nudging at that spot inside you that makes your vision blur and your mind go blank, the tangle of pleasure building in your core already threatening to unravel.

"Shit," Joel curses above you, refocusing your attention on his face, his expression almost pained as his chest heaves above you. He's trying to hang on, you realize. For you.

You moan as you lock eyes with him and you wish you could touch his face or run your fingers through his messy curls but you like this just as much, maybe even more. The unrelenting grip of his hands around your wrists, held high above your head so your body is spread long and open for him to use. You don't think you've ever trusted anyone like this before. That you've ever felt this safe and cared for.

"Come on, baby, come on," Joel's chanting as he pounds into you, his low drawl cutting through the noise of whatever lewd sounds are spilling from your throat. "Fuckin' come for me. Just one more. Yeah? God, you're so fuckin' good. This pussy's so fuckin' good."

"I wanna come, Joel–I wanna come," you whine.

Joel groans raggedly as a tear drips from the corner of your eye and pools into your ear. His fingers remain firmly curled around your wrists as he falls forward onto his elbows and then his mouth is at your ear too, breath warm and voice deep.

"Yeah?" he hums. "Show me. Show me how you come for me. Show me how much you fuckin' love this cock. How much you love gettin' fucked like this."

A broken squeak catches somewhere in your throat as your mouth falls open, Joel's cock mercilessly hitting right where you need it with each stroke and you can feel it now, as the swell begins to crest and his words echo through you, your arms still trapped under his grasp, rendering your powerless in the very best way–you're going to come again.

You cry his name and Joel only fucks you harder, determined in his efforts as you begin to tense beneath him and a fire ignites in your belly. It's a gradual build this time, clawing and bubbling till it finally erupts in a burst of blinding white warmth, Joel's voice carrying you through the haze of release.

"Yeah–good girl, that's it, honey, there you fuckin' go," he rambles as you fall apart, walls constricting around his length as wetness pools down his balls and Joel just keeps fucking you. "Fuckin'...shit, baby–fuck, m'gonna come. Where do you want it?"

Still lost in a syrupy daze, you say without thinking, "Mouth–my mouth. Joel, wanna taste you."

"Oh, fuck–"

But it breaks him, that request–those words in your shattered, weary voice, teary stare locked with his–and all too soon his muscles go rigid, cock spasming deep inside you as his climax hits him before he can grant your wish.

"Shit, shit, shit," he curses as he pumps you full of his seed, his face a mess of pleasure and shame at his unceremonious orgasm, brows furrowed almost apologetically as he rides it out. His fingers loosen around your wrists and his forehead collides with yours, his form quaking above you as the last of the aftershocks pass over him and your lips crane up to meet his in a sleepy, breathless kiss.

"Fuck, m'sorry," he sighs, shaking his head as it falls to land in the mess of sheets beside your face.

"Shh, it's okay," you assure him. And it is okay. You just wish you were touching him. "Let me go, babe."

"Oh, fuck, sorry, honey, sorry."

Joel hurriedly releases your wrists, simultaneously pulling out of your wasted cunt and curling into your side. You turn to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck and twisting your fingers into his hair like coming home. You hadn't realized until now how much you'd missed having your hands on him.

He's still catching his breath, gaze foggy as he cups the side of your face and tenderly strokes a calloused thumb across your cheekbone.

"You okay?" he asks, eyes searching.

"Mhm," you grin. "I was hoping for a taste, but I guess I'll survive."

Joel smirks, but it's a bashful little thing, and you know him well enough by now to know the pink in his cheeks is only partly due to exertion. He's embarrassed.

But hell, if he's not going to make it up to you.

You watch his face carefully as he begins to trace a line down your body with his fingers, taking his time as he draws them over the gentle curve of your hip to the sweat-laced hinge of your knee. He kisses you, slow and soft as he coaxes your legs apart, sighs into your mouth when his hand moves to the apex of your thighs. His tongue plunges between your lips at the same time his fingers sink between the wet seam of your folds, so gentle. Even so, it makes you whimper into his kiss, shudder as he dips the tips of his fingers to your sensitive entrance and coats them in the spend steadily leaking out of you. You moan softly when his tongue in your mouth is replaced by those fingers, close your lips around them instinctively and suck lightly at the welcome taste of your combined releases, salty-sweet and warm while Joel moves to press wet kisses into your cheek.

"Thanks," you whisper dreamily as Joel withdraws his fingers, trailing them over your chin before settling his hand on your waist and pulling you into his chest.

"Dirty girl," he hums, hushed and underscored by a sleepy laugh, his eyes already slipping shut above you.

"Mhm."

You feel the comforting touch of his lips against the top of your head and then he's rolling onto his back beside you, looping an arm under your neck and encouraging you to take your rightful place against his side.

But while Joel is already drifting off, you feel strangely giddy, electric and enrapt as you gawk at the rise and fall of his broad chest, the lax set of his features, his thick lashes casting shadows over his cheeks. It's darker now, the sun faded beyond the horizon outside his window–still far too early for sleep but time, you've found, doesn't mean much when you're wasting away your weekends at Joel's. Inside these hours, you cling to the memory of a Costa Rican resort; eat when you're hungry, sleep when you're tired, fuck when it feels good and mourn when it ends. Slog through the week until you're back in his arms and free to do it all again.

You know this feeling. This beautiful, tangible, dangerous feeling. You haven't voiced it yet, and neither has he. But you know.

You sigh and steer your thoughts elsewhere.

"I really do love this cock, you know that?" you muse, brushing your fingers featherlight along its veined underside, the heft of it lying soft and heavy against his belly.

He huffs a quiet chuckle, peeking down at you with one eye open while your fingers continue to trace absent patterns over velvet smooth skin, still faintly sticky with you.

"Yeah?" he smirks.

"Yeah," you nod, unable to stop yourself from ducking down to softly kiss the tip, letting your lips linger when you hear Joel sigh.

"S'yours whenever you want it, sweetheart."

You flash your gaze upwards but his eyes have slipped closed again, one thick arm slung over his forehead.

"Whenever I want it?" you press him.

Now his eyes open, his brows coming together as he takes in the mischievous glint in your eyes and your lips hovering just above his softened cock.

"Uh–maybe not right now."

"No, no, of course," you smile. "But maybe I…wake you up with my mouth some time?"

At that, Joel's eyes widen and then he chuckles somewhat disbelievingly, shaking his head above you, eyelids slipping closed again.

"Sure, baby," he grumbles. "You wanna suck an old man's cock in his sleep? I won't kick ya outta bed."

"Oh, fuck off," you laugh, lightly smacking his arm before settling back in to the space you've carved out for yourself against his shoulder.

Joel shifts before you can get comfortable though, groaning a little as he rolls over to face you. His eyes are open again and he's grinning, leaning in close to brush his lips over yours.

"Maybe I return the favour some time," he whispers. "Get you all nice and wet while you're sleepin' so I can wake you up and slip right inside that sweet little cunt of yours."

"Fuck," you shiver, unconsciously pushing your hips into his at the thought. Leave it to Joel and his fucking mouth to make you already want him again. "I–you wouldn't even need to wake me up, Joel. You could just take me in my sleep."

That seems to catch him off guard.

"Jesus," he marvels, pulling back to search your face. He's not grinning anymore. "Fuck, that's–you'd let me do that?"

"Anything, Joel," you vow as you loop your arms around his neck and clutch tightly at the curls at the back of his skull. "Anything."

You close the space between your mouths and kiss him deeply, mould your lips to his with all the words still left unsaid till you're breathless and impatient with it, unconsciously pressing your chest into his and sucking hungrily at his plush bottom lip. There's no real intent behind any of it, just a need to be close, to consume.

"Goddamn," Joel moans when you break away to kiss along the greying scruff at his jawline. "You're somethin' else."

"I know," you murmur against his skin.

"Christ, baby, I-I don't think I got another round in me tonight," he admits almost sheepishly, but you don't mind. This is enough.

"Shh," you tell him, traversing your lips lower to explore the column of his neck, tasting the even pound of his pulse below your tongue. A reminder that he's here with you, alive and well. And how that knowledge makes you sick with warmth, a twist in your guts that almost hurts, like a preemptive pain at the thought of losing this, losing him.

Oh, god. You know this feeling.

"Go to sleep," you breathe, before you say something else. "It's okay. It's okay."

As it turns out, you don't get the chance to wake Joel up with your mouth, because the next morning, he's up before you, the smell of brewing coffee luring you towards consciousness. The stand fan beside his bed blows cool air over your face and shoulders as your eyes adjust to yellow sunlight and your body aches and creaks with the reminder of last night. The sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway saves you from starting to miss him.

You can't bring yourself to lift your head up off the pillow, even as he places a steaming mug on the nightstand beside you and sits on the edge of the bed.

"Hey," he murmurs, gently shaking you to life with a hand on your hip over the covers. "You awake?"

You peek up at him, smiling blearily through the sleep in your eyes. Clad only in a pair of grey sweats, his belly–with its now fading tan–is on full display, curls messy atop his head. He's so handsome in the morning, all puffy-eyed and soft.

"Yeah, but I don't wanna get up.''

Joel smiles back, just a fleeting thing before it fades and his brows knit together. You frown in turn as his gaze drops to the hand he has on your side and his thumb strokes nervous circles into your skin.

"Was thinkin' we could go for a drive or somethin' today."

His voice is low, almost pensive, too sad for such a simple request. But you get it, know all too well where it stems from.

Because drives out of town are all you have beyond the safety of his home, the safest way to keep this thing a secret. Sunday after Sunday of Joel bailing on your father's invitations to go golfing, while guilt slowly eats away at him.

And it hurts Joel, you know it does. Truthfully, it hurts you too. But it's better this way, at least for now. You're still not even sure what you two are doing together, and you're not sure Joel does either. All you know is this feeling, this ache in your bones and this swell in your chest, that sense of fragility you always feel when you're with him. You're not ready to let anyone shatter it. Not yet.

You sigh, sit up a little straighter and place your hand over his on your hip until he finally meets your eyes.

"Where?" you ask.

"I don't know…nowhere," he shrugs, lips twitching ever so. "Lockhart, maybe, f'you want."

You squeeze his fingers playfully just to watch his smile widen–and it works.

"You craving barbeque, cowboy?" you tease and his eyes sparkle with positively endearing excitement.

"Chisholm Trail?" he suggests.

You scoff.

"Fucking–yeah, right. Kreuz all the way."

Joel laughs, throaty and genuine in a way that makes your heart swell–even if his taste in barbeque is… questionable at best.

"So s'that a yes?" he presses.

As if there were ever any doubt.

"Yeah, okay. But I have to stop in and feed Henry."

He grimaces and you smirk sympathetically. You'd be offended by his obvious distaste for your cat if you hadn't come to discover a fact about him that hadn't mattered much at all until you'd got home; Joel is allergic.

"I'll wait in the truck," he grumbles.

You make yourself at home in his kitchen, topping up your coffee and leaning against the countertop while Joel showers upstairs. Staring out his kitchen window to the quiet street outside, you sip your coffee and think about how much you like it here. How comfortable you've become in his home. How much it feels like his and how lucky you are to know him here.

Cluttered and almost haphazardly decorated, Joel's house feels like somewhere truly lived in, the art and photos that line the walls borne out of memories more so than aesthetics, a mess of disorganized posters from music festivals and surely inherited paintings.

Mostly there are photos of her, his daughter Sarah at various stages of her life. Family photos of her as a child, tucked under the arm of Joel or his brother you've still yet to meet. Polaroids of her with friends as a teenager, framed graduation photos from high school and college, action shots from countless varsity soccer games.

One custom magnet stuck to his fridge still gives you pause, pink and flouncy and faded with time. Sarah's name, ornately printed over her exact birth date and time, a constant reminder of a truth you'd rather not think too hard about.

It had made your heart sink the first time you'd seen it, when you'd come face to face with the unfortunate realization that Sarah is one year older than you.

You try not to look at it too much, if you can help it.

Of course, Sarah herself is unavoidable, since Joel had already shared with her what you're still too scared to share with anyone.

Sarah, the third and only other person to know about you and Joel. You hadn't even been mad that he'd let her in on it; if anything, you'd been envious of their trust in one another, how Joel had waited less than a day after coming home to tell her about you.

To your surprise–and maybe also his–she'd taken it…fine. Apparently, just content to see her father happy even if she'd been somewhat taken aback by his choices. You have to admire her maturity; you're not sure how you would have reacted if you'd been in her shoes.

Sarah's acceptance had crossed one gigantic, cataclysmic fear from your long list of gigantic, cataclysmic fears.

Still, your heart nearly leaps out of your chest when you hear the front door opening behind you and a familiar voice calling out as footsteps round the corner into the kitchen.

"Dad?" Sarah's voice says. "Dad–oh, hey."

She stops in her tracks and you straighten up from the counter, smoothing out your shirt–Joel's shirt–and offering her your best smile.

"Oh–hi, Sarah."

She smiles back, polite if not a little unsure.

Because yes, Sarah's been altogether more accepting than she has any right to be. But that doesn't mean it's not still awkward as hell.

"Is my dad here?" she asks.

"Uh, yeah, sorry, he's just–he's in the shower."

"Ah, okay, no worries. How's it going?"

"Good–yeah. Fine." You wrack your brain for any other details, ultimately coming up short and landing simply on, "Busy."

Sarah smiles knowingly.

"How's he?" She nods in the general direction of the stairs.

"He seems…"

You ponder it for a moment, think about Joel all giddy-eyed and soft as he'd brought you coffee in bed this morning. How every Friday since you got home, he's pulled up outside your apartment without fail, right on time to sweep you away to your own mini-version of paradise. How he does it all without pretension, just the same burning need to be together that's been plaguing you since vacation ended.

You smile. Sigh a little more dreamily than the moment calls for.

"Great," you settle on at last.

Her responding smile is genuine, sweet and full of understanding.

"Good," she says. "He seems it."

That softens you, that his contentment isn't just in your head, that she can see it too. Not that you have many doubts about his feelings for you–it's just nice to hear.

"I'm just gonna grab something from upstairs," she announces then, and you make some non-committal sound, not quite go ahead–because this was her house long before it was yours–but a dismissal all the same. She flits out of the room and you take a long, steadying breath.

It gets a little more painless every time, but you expect it'll take a while to feel totally at ease around her. You're certain you were once forced into play dates with the girl and now you're–

You shake your head to dislodge the thought, swallow down the rest of your coffee so fast your stomach burns with an acidic twinge.

How the fuck does Joel drink this stuff like this?

She's back before you can even finish washing your mug, calling your name over the sound of the faucet.

"I gotta run," she tells you. "You can let him know I stopped by. But don't tell him about this–" she winks and waves a photo at you that you can't quite make out, clearly the thing she'd stolen from upstairs, "–It's for his birthday."

She smirks slyly and you smile back, offering her a thumbs up.

"Got it."

"Well, see ya."

"Bye, Sarah."

She skirts out the door and you let out a long breath.

Easier with time, easier with time, you remind yourself. Everything about this gets easier with time.

It's hard to imagine, sitting in the front seat of his truck, how there was ever a time you didn't think Joel Miller was beautiful.

The weight of that truth had hit you like a ton of bricks that first night in Costa Rica, and it strikes you still now, in the way you stare openly at the sight of him with one hand on the wheel, the other curled casually around the nape of your neck. His legs are spread wide, dark denim stretched taut across his thighs, the sleeves of his light blue shirt rolled up to his elbows, brown eyes on the road before him. Windows rolled down so a warm, late-summer breeze plays in his salt-and-pepper curls and sunlight glows on his exposed skin.

Classic rock radio underscores the hum of the engine and you're both singing along to the sweet sounds of Creedence and there's that damned feeling again, gnawing and incessant, burning sharp around the edges of your heart.

Sometimes you can't believe he's really yours.

You sigh, a deeply longing thing as your eyes rake up and down his body. Joel catches it.

"What's wrong?" he asks, tearing his eyes from the road to turn down the music and glance over at you curiously.

What's wrong is you're fucking insatiable; you want him again already, truly mournful you'd missed the chance to get your hands on him this morning before you'd hit the road. And in the quiet confines of his truck, the smell of Joel and leather all around, his competent fingers on the steering wheel and the hand on your neck that's starting to feel almost possessive…you practically ache at the thought of having to spend a day out and about when all you really want is to be back in his bed.

"I was supposed to…" you shake your head, unsure of how to bring up your conversation from the night before. "Why'd you get up before me?"

Joel smirks, seeming to understand your train of thought.

"What?" he laughs, gently squeezing your neck. "You wanted to suck my cock that bad?"

You frown, putting on a show of petulance.

"Yes," you grumble.

Joel laughs, fiddling absently with the chain of your necklace, his fingers just barely brushing your skin. You can't help the way your eyes slip closed in response.

"How do you know I didn't take you in your sleep?" he hums, his tone light, but still enough to make you shiver with the reminder of your words from last night.

"Mm-mm," you reply, a little breathless as you lean back into his touch and shake your head from side to side. "I would know."

Joel chuckles.

"Probably right," he concedes, letting you go to grip the wheel with both hands, much to your dismay, his eyes refocusing on the road. "Anyway, I don't think I'd be able to–"

He stops mid-sentence, contemplative and then momentarily distracted as he makes a left hand turn. You ogle his hands deftly moving on the steering wheel until Joel straightens out and clears his throat, at last glancing back in your direction.

"I'd need to wake you up," he finishes.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he nods, reaching back across the seat to lay a hand on your thigh, just below the hem of your sundress. "Don't think I'd be able to come without hearin' all those pretty sounds you make–" he smirks and meets your gaze, his sweet brown eyes somehow doleful and smouldering all at once–"Without seein' your eyes."

The hand he has on your thigh moves to cup your chin, gently twisting your face in his direction. You bite your lip and make a show of batting your lashes at him.

"These eyes?" you tease but Joel isn't smiling anymore.

"Hm," he hums lowly, snaking his hand carefully back to its place behind your neck. Only this time, his grip is firm, commanding in the way it nudges you across the bench towards him. "Why don't you come over here and show me what you had planned?"

Your heartbeat stutters, arousal coursing through you in an instant, unabashedly giddy at the offer. Your mouth falls open unconsciously, as though your body can already feel the weight of him between your lips. Joel's eyes flit between your face and the road, gauging your reaction, sensing your hesitance when, in spite of how badly you want him, you find yourself peeking over your shoulder to the passing cars outside, the scattered pedestrians on the sidewalk. You're nearing downtown Austin, and the streets are far from quiet.

"They can't see," Joel assures you, easily redrawing your attention. "S'just you and me."

It steadies you, that resoluteness. Always does. You're already unfastening your seatbelt and twisting at the hip, leaning across the bench to plant a kiss behind his ear.

"Let them look," you murmur. Joel chuckles darkly, the sound laced with something like pride. He's been rubbing off on you.

"Attagirl."

You bite down lightly on the hinge of his jaw before moving lower, making quick work of his belt buckle while Joel conveniently comes to a stop at what you can only assume is a red light.

The lack of movement makes it easier to unbutton his jeans, to palm at his burgeoning bulge through the fabric of his boxers before yanking them out of the way too, at last freeing his semi-hard cock.

You think you actually moan at the sight of it, salivating openly as you grip him at the base and slip his length between your lips.

"Oh, fuck–" Joel groans, one hand moving to gently cradle the back of your skull as his cock comes alive in your mouth. "Yeah, there you go…"

You preen at the response, stroking the length of him with your fist while your tongue dances around his tip until you feel him harden fully in your grasp and your jaw begins to strain around his girth. You moan around him when you taste salt, pulling off him to lap sweetly at his slit and collect the beading precum there. Joel's fingers tighten in your hair.

"Shit, that's good, honey…" he sighs.

There's a jostling as he steps on the gas and then you're moving again, the precision of your tongue faltering as you bounce in his lap. You surrender to it, swallow him down once more and do your best to match the bob of your head with the bumps in the road.

Of course it's more challenging than you could have anticipated, and you splutter around him when he comes to an unexpected stop, Joel quick to pull you off him with a hand in your hair.

"Shh, hey, you okay?" he asks, voice strained but oozing concern. You just nod determinedly, already diving to take him back in your mouth, all the way down so your lips brush against the coarse hairs at his base and welcome tears prick at your eyes.

"Fuck–" Joel grits when you begin to move again, up and down with focused intent, eager with it, greedy. "Jesus, wait."

You pull off him, glancing upwards to the edge of his window, fearful perhaps that you'd been caught. But Joel's hand on your head is already pushing you back down so your cheek brushes against the wet tip of his cock.

"You're good–just…slow, baby," he tells you. Oops.

"Sorry," you laugh.

"Just love it that much, don't you?" he asks, stroking your hair.

"Shut up," you mumble, silencing his responding laugh when you brush your lips featherlight over his length. "But yes."

You show him as much, tilting your face and dragging your lips and cheeks along his shaft, all languid and adoring as you plant an open-mouthed kiss to the soft skin between his base and his balls. You peer up at him and your pussy throbs at the realization he's not even looking at you, eyes fixed on the road while his other hand moves downward along your spine before easing your skirt up over your waist. You sigh a breathy groan and lick a wet stripe up the underside of his cock as Joel slips his fingers below the waistband of your underwear. Then time seems to stop altogether as Joel glides his hand through the seam of your ass down to your neglected cunt.

Your breath hitches, arching at his touch, forgetting his cock for a moment as Joel dips two fingers into your slick heat with the same absent ease with which he'd been stroking your neck a moment ago. He curses under his breath when he feels how wet you are, steals your focus completely when he slowly begins to fuck his middle and ring fingers into you. You whimper as you pulse around his digits and it takes everything in you just to close your lips around his cock again, sucking him up and down, working to match the pace of his fingers moving in and out of you.

"Yeah, baby," he praises you softly, dick twitching between your lips as his truck comes to yet another stop. It crosses your mind that at a red light, the risk of someone seeing you like this–Joel's fingers in your cunt, his cock taking up your mouth–increases tenfold. You're so far gone now that the thought only makes you wetter.

Only then he retracts his fingers, making you gasp when he trails them, slick and dripping, to your other hole, coating the tight ring of muscle with your arousal.

"Shh," Joel coos when you falter with your movements, crying out at the welcome contact, your vision blurring when he carefully presses one thick, wet finger into your asshole.

Fuck.

Together, you've discovered how truly crazy it makes you when he does this, whether he's slipping a thumb into that tight ring of muscle while he fucks your pussy or generously offering you his tongue there whenever he eats you out. He hasn't fucked you there yet–because you haven't asked–but each time he does this, it's like a beautiful reminder of how much you do want it, how much you're still aching to be so, so full of him, everywhere.

Another time, he'd said, that last day in Costa Rica. You have every intention of holding him to that.

"Don't stop," he growls because you've apparently lost the will to do anything but keen and whine at the feeling of his fingers inside you, his cock stiff and leaking in your grasp. You steady yourself with one hand against his thigh as Joel steps on the gas and you wrap your lips securely around him again. It's overwhelming–the bumps in the road now forcing his cock deeper down your throat and his finger deeper into your hole.

"Fuckin'–yes, good girl. Don't you stop, sweetheart."

You increase your pace then, near-frantic in the way you moan around him, bobbing up and down as you swirl your tongue hungrily around the head of his cock. Joel pushes his finger deeper, nearly to the knuckle, blinding you with pleasure as you cup his balls, all weighty and warm in your palm, feeling the moment they begin to tighten and Joel's face screws up above you.

"Fuck, m'gonna–look at me," he orders hurriedly and you do, glassy gaze flashing up to meet his for just a fleeting moment before he's spilling down your throat with a ragged sigh, eyes flashing between yours and the road.

His hips jerk upwards as he empties himself, hot and salty over your tongue. You keep your cheeks hollowed around him, swallowing down everything he gives you with reverent willingness, your thoughts clouded by the image of his come filling your ass instead. It's almost impossible to think of anything else with his thick finger still impaling you there.

"Fuck," Joel almost laughs it ends, sliding his finger free from the tight fist of your hole to lay an affectionate slap against your ass. His truck comes to a stop and you feel as though you've been pulled from a dream when he cuts the engine and a hand in your hair is pulling you off his length, encouraging you to sit up. You're on your street, you realize, already parked outside your apartment. Joel hastily tucks himself back into his jeans while you take in your surroundings, still buzzing with unrelieved tension.

On your knees beside him, he finally turns to face you with a blissed-out gaze. You await his praise, certain it's coming, but instead, he places a hand below your chin, fingers coaxing at the hinge of your jaw.

"Lemme see," he says expectantly.

You smile, parting your lips and presenting your clean tongue for him. Joel smirks.

"Good girl."

You warm at those words–just like always–as he pulls you in for a kiss, long and deep, leaving you breathless when he ends it far too soon.

The click of his truck doors unlocking breaks the spell.

"Go feed your damn cat."

You huff, exasperated and far from sated, hopping out of the truck and already teeming with anticipation over what awaits you when you return.

A grating voice greets you the second you walk through the door.

"Hey! You're here."

You're not surprised to find it's Megan, the more overbearing of your two roommates, standing from her place on the couch in the living room. You are surprised to see Deena there, too, though, wringing her hands nervously in her lap and staring at Megan.

You get the unpleasant feeling you've just interrupted a conversation.

"Uh, yeah," you mumble awkwardly, eyeing the two of them suspiciously as you make your way towards the kitchen. "Just feeding Henry. What's up?"

You think you know, but you feign confusion all the same, turning your back to Megan and rummaging in the cupboards for Henry's food. You hear the familiar patter of his paws against the laminate flooring before you see him, but then he's there on the counter, nudging his sweet face against your wrists as you crack the can and scoop the nasty sludge into his bowl.

"We need to talk," Megan continues and you finally look up to find she's staring at you and Henry with her arms crossed over her chest.

"I have a ride waiting," you say hurriedly. You're not doing this now.

You toss the empty can of food into the recycling bin, pat Henry's head affectionately as he eats and make your way towards the door.

But Megan says your name before you can get there, stopping you in your tracks.

You sigh.

"I–alright," you decide.

This should only take a minute anyway. You just need to explain, for the hundredth time, that you're still figuring out the situation with Henry. Still working on finding a new apartment since you've stubbornly decided not to take the route of asking your parents to take him in the meantime. You can figure it out, and you will. Yes, you've been putting it off, but...you just need some time.

You cross the room and take a haphazard seat on an ottoman. There's a beat of awkward silence, and then Megan retakes her place on the couch. Deena stares at her feet, her incessant fidgeting putting you uncomfortably on edge.

Megan takes a deep breath.

"There's no easy way to say this," she starts.

Your eyes narrow. "Okay."

Another excruciating pause, Deena picking at her fingernails, Megan steeling herself with another, long, drawn-out sigh. Your eyes flit between them as an uneasy sense of dread begins to wash over you.

"We can't wait anymore. We've had to offer your room to someone else," Megan says at last.

And that's–well, that's not what you'd been expecting to hear.

It's quiet for a long moment as you work through what that means, staring blankly between the two of them. Deena avoids your gaze, her foot tapping out a nervous pattern into the floor that's starting to drive you slightly crazy. Megan watches your face as every emotion possible flits across your features, first anger, then confusion, then something akin to panic when it finally clicks.

"You're kicking me out?"

"Look, I know it's not ideal–"

"Where the hell am I supposed to go? I've been looking for a new place, I just need more time."

The anger seeps back in, betrayal stinging behind your eyes. They can't do this. Can they?

"You've had almost a month to figure out this cat thing," Megan contends, irritation coating her words now too. "And Steve says he'll evict us all if you don't re-home it or leave."

You know–you know that.

"I was…I'm trying to figure it out."

"Are you? I mean, most of the time you're not even here anyway. We never see you."

"I…"

Your head is spinning, denial setting in while you cling to whatever argument you have left.

"You guys let me move in here," you say meekly. "You knew about the cat."

Megan nods. "We were desperate, too, okay? It was a mistake, and I'm sorry. But we can't lose this place. Do you know how crazy rents are nowadays?"

Yeah, you really fucking do. You just shake your head, fully aware there's nothing more you can say. They've clearly made up their minds.

"I'm sorry," she repeats. "We can give you another month to find somewhere new. If there's anything we can–"

"No," you cut her off, hastily standing, humiliated and desperate to just get out of there and back to Joel. "It's fine. Sorry. I get it. Um, I have to…my ride."

Megan's nodding again, something like sympathy in her eyes.

"Of course," she says, dismissive.

You ignore their lingering stares on you as you quickly kiss the top of Henry's head and then all but run out the door, slamming it shut behind you.

Joel Miller is an observant man.

He's still learning you, studying your tells. Though, he has to admit, you're somewhat of an open book. Silent in your sadness, stoic in your frustration, tears that well up in your eyes when you're feeling small or angry. He knows. Since that day on the back of the boat, he's known.

So when you stalk back towards his truck, hop quietly into the seat beside him and buckle your seatbelt with a steely expression, wordless and hard, he knows.

"All good?" he asks, knowing right away that it's not. You face him, your smile all tight and deceptive.

"Mhm."

You nod, offering him only a cursory glance before you avert your eyes to the windshield.

Joel frowns, wonders if he should pry. He thinks you've come to know he won't, that maybe you're in the habit of exploiting that by holding fast to silence when you'd rather not burden him with your emotions. As if you ever could.

You're an idealist, he's discovered. The type to build up a plan in the image of perfection only to deflate when it fails. One crack in the foundation and you come toppling down, walls caving in, imploding in on yourself with spectacular force.

Not unlike him.

But Joel is adaptable. He's had to be. Whether it was becoming a father at twenty-one, saving Tommy's skin at every turn, or–most unlikely of all–meeting you, he's found a way to manage whatever life has dared to throw his way. To rebuild his plans until they take the shape of something resembling good.

So, he gives what he thinks you need, what he thinks he's always been for you: A distraction. The illusion of perfection.

He turns the key in the ignition, takes your hand across the centre console and drives you out of town.

The tightness around your eyes never fully disappears, your voice always escaping you in this subdued, quiet timbre. Joel, meanwhile, never falters in his steadfast positivity, even as concern claws painfully at his insides with each passing second you keep him in the dark. You smile sometimes, like when he gripes about your choice of barbeque joints or tells you how he'd grown up in a town kind of like this one. But it reminds him of how you'd smiled at him on the plane to Costa Rica. Shy. Vacuous. A little phony.

Still, he doesn't push it. He walks with you hand in hand all afternoon and talks enough for the both of you, tries to tell himself that when you're ready to share, you will. Because he knows, he knows there's something bothering you. He has to fight with every instinct in his body not to rip the answer straight from your throat, just so he can offer a solution or ten.

But he doesn't, because he knows. That when the time is right, the truth will pour from your mouth like a waterfall, and he'll be there to help you when it does.

It's not until he's pulling up outside your apartment that your anxiety seems to reach a visible fever pitch, your hands pressed tightly together, body tense under the arm he has slung over your shoulder. You're frozen where you sit, but it's not the familiar reluctance he's used to seeing on Sunday nights, that kind of yearning sadness he also feels when it's time to say goodbye for the week.

No, it's something else. Something like fear that keeps you glued to your seat, eyes fixed downwards, not at him.

Joel sighs.

"Hey," he nudges at last, unable to stop himself from tilting your face towards his with a coaxing hand on your chin. Your eyes appear far away, almost black with dread. It's been so long since he's seen them like that, and he fucking hates it. "Where'd you go, sweetheart?"

You shake your head, unconvincing as you frown and attempt to pull free from his grasp. He doesn't let you.

"Nowhere."

He sighs again and maybe he should just fucking let it go, but his own fears are creeping in now, fear that it's him that's done something wrong, fear that you're not giving him a chance to fix whatever's broken.

His hand moves to cradle the side of your face, and this time, you don't fight him. Your eyes close and you lean into his touch, soften just the tiniest bit as he lightly scratches his fingers into your hair.

"I can't help you f'you don't talk to me," he says and it sounds almost like a plea.

You take a deep breath and when you open your eyes, he sees wetness there, glistening under the dim light of a streetlight outside.

The waterfall crests…

"I have to leave my apartment," you admit in a whisper.

Joel frowns. "What do you mean? Thought you already knew that."

…and then cascades.

"No, like, I have to leave now. They're giving me a month," you go on, your voice rising in volume and pitch as the wetness in your eyes pools into bonafide tears that spill out into his palm. "I'm not supposed to have the cat–I know I'm not supposed to have the cat. But I mean, they knew too! And they let me move in. I thought they'd have my back if the landlord said anything but now I guess they're giving my room to someone else and I have no idea where the fuck I'm gonna go–"

"Stay with me," he interjects simply.

"Joel."

It's a quiet protest, a tilt of your head and a flatness in your voice as you grip his wrist and pry his hand from your face. Joel just shrugs like it's not some monumental thing, like he's offering you a morning coffee or a ride home from work.

"I got a spare room," he says but you're already shaking your head. "You're there half the time anyway."

He holds one other truth close to his chest, the fact that he wants nothing more than to have you around as much as humanly possible. That every second he's not with you feels incomplete and hollow and how he hasn't felt that way in god knows how long.

"I can't ask that of you, Joel," you argue stubbornly.

"Well, you're not askin'. I'm offerin'."

You stare each other down, a bittersweet sort of stalemate as he watches a series of emotions flit across your face. A warmth as your tears dry, a hardness as your brows furrow, concern in the way you chew the inside of your cheek and fight with what he's sure is your admittedly admirable longing for independence.

And there's the fear. There's always the fucking fear. Because he knows what the offer implies. It's fast, too much. All of it, all of this, happening so goddamn fast all the time.

"That's like...that's like living together, Joel," you whisper at last, and the fear is there too, in the hushed squeak of your voice.

Joel sighs. He knows.

"M'not sayin' you need to stay forever," he insists. Mostly true. "Just till you figure things out."

He twists to face you, reaching out to toy with the seashell that hangs from your neck, a reminder of when things were easier. It seems to placate you some.

There's a long beat, Joel smoothing his fingers along the chain of the necklace he gave you while you watch him, deep in thought.

"What about Henry?" you ask at last and Joel grins. He knows he's won.

"I'll survive," he vows, too fast. Fuck it.

You think it through for another breath and then finally, a smile cracks your stony features.

"This is crazy," you almost laugh. Joel laughs too, because it is.

"Too crazy?" Please say no.

"No."

"Good. It's settled then," he says, and it is.

Another month passes, and now your every day is this.

Hurried mornings and drives to work, a bottle of cream for your coffee and an endless supply of antihistamines for Joel. Changing leaves and kisses on cheeks and a spare room that's more Henry's than yours. What little belongings you have wind up there too; a forgotten twin bed, a cheap dresser Joel had disavowed as "practically garbage," posters that you'd hang on his walls if you weren't still convincing yourself this is all only temporary.

Joel turns fifty-one and you celebrate with take-out and your best attempt at Blue Lagoons, a neatly wrapped framed photo from Sarah of him and her, years ago.

It gets harder and harder to pretend that you're still just figuring things out with him, because Joel is now undeniably your boyfriend and you are now undeniably his girlfriend and–even crazier–you're now undeniably living in his home.

Which makes it all the more ridiculous that it's still a fucking secret.

It's fall now, the days growing shorter and cooler, your hours with Joel spent more often tucked in bed than on day trips to Lockhart. You can't think too hard about it or else it starts to feel insane–the fact that barely two months ago your heart had seemed irreparably broken and now you're sharing a home with another man, a man with whom a future still feels altogether impossible.

It should make you panic, and you think maybe it would…if you weren't so stupidly, unbearably, perfectly happy.

You know this feeling, this giddy all-encompassing joy, this certainty that nothing this good could ever be bad. He calls you his girl and it's never felt more true. You're his, and you're perfectly content, for now, to stay that way.

But, as ever, reality is tapping incessantly at the doors of your new life, and it's a Friday night in late October when the whole thing threatens to come crashing down.

You lay with your head in Joel's lap on the couch, his fingers playing softly in your hair while some action movie you've both seen a hundred times flashes on the TV. It's routine at this point, these moments of domestic intimacy that will undoubtedly morph into something else once his fingers wander to other places.

You think you feel it now, as he trails his touch down your shoulder, along your arm, finally resting his palm on your hip and squeezing. His gaze drifts from the images on screen to take in your body as your breaths begin to shorten and you nudge yourself a little closer to him.

That's when his phone rings.

You peer up at him as he reaches over you to the coffee table and glances at the little screen, your brows furrowing when he frowns at the caller ID.

"Who is it?"

Joel clears his throat, and very pointedly drops his hand from your side. "Your dad."

"Oh."

It's stupid, the surge of unease it elicits, the way you sit up and bite your nails nervously as Joel answers the call.

"Hey, buddy," he says while you hastily turn the TV down a notch or two.

Your worry deepens when Joel turns to you with panic in his eyes and asks, "Right now?" into the phone.

You stiffen–mouth the word, what at him–but Joel is looking over his shoulder, out the window behind you to the street outside.

"You're–? Uh, okay, just gimme a sec."

He hangs up and stands, reaching behind the couch to close the curtains, whispering, "Shit," to himself as he does.

"What? What's going on?" you demand, feeling suddenly frantic.

"He's, uh, stoppin' in to say hi."

"What?"

Your voice rises about ten octaves, and then you're on your feet too, Joel already flitting past you to unlock the front door, peeking through the glass there as a pair of headlights pull into his driveway.

He turns back to you, frozen in the middle of his living room.

"What are we doin' here, sweetheart?"

"I–"

You shake your head, glancing between the front door and the stairs, before your gaze finally lands on Joel, his expression almost helpless. He's leaving it up to you, just like always.

"I'm not ready," you admit hoarsely.

He nods, too understanding for his own good. "That's okay."

But it really doesn't feel like it. It feels cowardly. Guilt and fear, usually suppressed beneath layers of happiness, bubble to the surface in a white hot flush. Joel takes two steps towards and places his hands on either side of your face, steadying you.

"It's okay," he repeats. "It's your call. Always."

"I'm sorry."

"Shh, none of that," he soothes, silencing you with a kiss. "Where's the cat?"

"Hiding, I don't know."

"Okay," he says again. "What are you gonna do?"

You almost laugh, but there's little humour in the sound. "The same, I guess."

Joel smirks, offers you one last parting kiss and finally lets you go.

"I'll come get you when he's gone," he promises but you're already halfway up the stairs, fleeing in a rush as a knock comes at the door.

Exactly twenty-six excruciating minutes pass. You know this, because you watch each one pass on the alarm clock on his bedside table.

Henry's there too, you find, seeking refuge in Joel's bed just like you. You sit with him, legs crossed in the middle of the mattress, and wait. And while you wait, you stew.

It's ridiculous. This is ridiculous. Hiding from your dad like some misbehaving teenager stashing drugs in their closet, as if he still had some kind of power over you. As if the big secret you're hiding isn't the one thing making your life worth living at the moment.

So what are you so afraid of?

You ask yourself that same question a hundred different times until the doorknob turns and Joel is stepping into the room with a sympathetic smile.

He keeps the door open behind him.

"Hey, baby."

"Hey," you whisper, like you're still hiding. "How was that?"

"Fine," he shrugs. "Gave me hell for skippin' out on golf the past few weeks. Thinks I must be loved up or somethin'."

He's trying to keep his tone light, but something twists in you when he says that word, that one neither of you have said yet.

He's so good. What are you so afraid of?

"Hm."

"Almost had a heart attack when he saw the damn litter box," he laughs.

Panic paints your features but Joel raises two hands soothingly, stepping further into the room.

"It's okay, it's alright," he assures you. "Told him I was cat sittin' for a friend. He didn't think nothin' of it."

You're still frowning, but you nod, hands clamped anxiously in your lap. Joel steps closer, around the side of the bed, close enough to tilt your face upwards to meet his eyes.

"You okay?"

You shake your head. You're so afraid. What are you so afraid of?

"Feel stupid," you mumble.

Joel sighs then, his knees popping slightly as he crouches onto the floor before you, clutching both your hands in his.

"You're not stupid," he says softly, bringing your fingers up to his mouth to plant a tender kiss against your knuckles. The same spot he'd first kissed you. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

Joel sighs, long and slow. You shimmy on the mattress so you're facing him, squeezing his hands like you're afraid he'll disappear if you don't. He stares at them as he speaks.

"I know…I know you bein' here puts you in a shitty position," he starts. "Hell, I know bein' with me puts you in a shitty position–"

"It doesn't–"

"But," he cuts you off, meeting your eyes at last, something warm and intense smouldering in the soft brown. "I'm not in any rush. Okay? We can keep this under wraps for s'long as you want. I mean that. I'm just–I'm just happy you're here."

You hold his stare, cup his weathered cheek in your palm and let whatever's burning behind his eyes melt into yours. He's doing what he always does, giving you the choice. He's so good. He's so good to you.

So what are you so afraid of?

"I think we should tell them," you murmur and the smouldering burn turns to glittering anticipation, dulled by uncertainty while he looks for any trace of a lie on your face.

You know he won't find one.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You're sure? 'Cause we can wait–"

"No," you assert, clutching at the greying curls on the side of his head fiercely, tugging him in closer. "Joel, I–I'm happy too. I want them to know. They should–they should be happy we're happy, right?"

He allows himself a smile, and you feel your fears start to fade away.

"Should," he agrees.

"And if they're not then…then I don't care. I care about you. No more secrets."

"Alright," he whispers, emotion coating his words before he's wrapping his arms around your middle and burying his face into your chest. You hook your legs around him, some noise between a laugh and a sob getting caught in his t-shirt. "No more secrets."

He holds you like that for what feels like hours, knelt before you as though you were some kind of deity, safe in his arms while you stare down the barrel of whatever comes next.

At last, he frees himself, the energy shifting as he rises up off the ground with two hands on your thighs and suddenly everything realigns. Joel towers over you, strong and solid, so perfect it feels almost criminal to keep him all to yourself.

His calloused fingers stroke your cheekbones and you stare up at him, worshipful, blanketing his big hands with yours.

"I'm your girl, right?" you breathe alluringly.

Joel nods, his voice gruff, "You're my girl."

"Then let's let 'em know."

He hums, almost a growl, hinging to connect your mouths in a searing kiss and–finally–there is no more fear.

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #dbf!joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #your summer dream #vacation!joel #joel miller fluff #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x y/n #dbf!joel miller

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macfrog · 3 months

Text

champagne problems sex on fire chapter ten

i'm not sorry!!!!! you'll never catch me!!!! (im, like, super sorry)

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: the secrecy between you and joel comes to a head. one huge, explosive, painful head.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, whew boy the angst is big in this one sorry, reader has a lot of internal struggle, daddy issues and commitment issues to the max (ha), memories of parental abandonment and adultery, sort of vague mention/description of reader having panic attacks, attempts to initiate sex (but alas, only one small mention of previous sex), Big Argument, alcohol consumption, cursing, sugardaddy!joel, soft!joel, fluff and angst. angst angst angst angst

word count: 11.1k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💚

The lavender is the first to wilt.

It stares glumly at the kitchen counter. Posture hunched and drooping. You stand before it, clutching a jug of water like you’re starving the purple sprigs for information. Why did he lie to me why did he lie why would he lie to me tell me why.

The daisies look on, awkward and curious. Their petals streaked with green – still fresh and still at least trying to bloom. The news hasn’t reached their delicate stamens yet – they still have blind hope. But they’re drinking from the same rotten water their lilac neighbors are. They must know it’s futile.

You fill the vase up and fix the lace bow – the one you’d transferred from the brown paper wrap to the vase last night, after seeing Joel out. He stayed until nightfall, until the rest of your apartment faded into a pale gloom, forgotten about while the two of you watched TV and kept secrets from one another in your warm-lit bedroom.

When he leaned down and held his lips over yours, you pushed yourself onto your toes and kissed him goodbye. He ruffled your hair, clipped your bottom lip lovingly. Said, I’ll call you tomorrow. Get some sleep, pretty girl.

You lay staring at the ceiling the whole night.

He was out all day Saturday at a charity event. He called you as he arrived home – you heard the elevator’s ding through the receiver, announcing its arrival at his top-floor apartment. And you stayed on the phone, the thing discarded on your mattress, as sleep blurred the edges of the world in and out of focus all evening.

Three times you thought about just telling him to come back over, hold you until you forgot what he’d even done. Pretend that the man who, possessed by lies and jealousy or something much worse, had taken your wrist and swept you off out of Jean-Marc’s penthouse isn’t the same one who brought you tea and Chinese food yesterday. The one who held you, blood and broken wings safe in his arms, while you wept into his body.

Three times you stamped the flame out, remembering. As if you needed reminding. Your stomach still sinks anytime the reel jerks back to its beginning behind your eyes. The words unfortunately and unavailable. The rustling of the bag in the kitchen. The padding of his footsteps drawing nearer and nearer.

Your phone buzzes somewhere across the room. You set the jug down and shuffle over, tilting the screen in the morning light.

We’re outside baby. Take your time.

You haven’t mentioned it to him, yet. Haven’t breached the conversation. You’ve no fucking clue where to start. It hurts too much to look at it just yet – like scalding yourself with boiling water and clamping a wet towel to the burn until you can stomach the sight of your skin, all blistered and bubbling.

The towel is still covering the wound. You’re still frantically pacing around the kitchen clutching it, heavy and sopping. You’re not sure what it looks like, but from beneath the cold cloth, it doesn’t feel good.

It doesn’t feel good at all.

Joel’s leaning against the Rolls when you totter down your front steps. Fall plucks the leaves from the trees one by one; they swirl down to the smooth pavement, brown and amber and golden. You’re in a floral tea dress, which took you an obscene amount of time to decide on, given the cocktail of nerves and confusion and outright panic rolling around your stomach.

Your heel scuffs to a halt in front of him. He pushes off of the car and swings your door open, squints at you in the sunlight. You watch his eyes move down your frame, a misplaced desire to impress him dripping through your veins, and then he looks back up.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says, and your veins sizzle. “You look…” he shakes his head simply, “…you’re beautiful.”

Your lips betray you. Your mind – that poor, dead lavender; your body – the poor, naïve daisies. Still has blind hope.

You can’t help but reflect his expression, attempting to mask it with a soft shrug. “Are the heels too much?” you ask, glancing down and lifting your foot.

Joel shakes his head instantly. “I like ‘em. And even if they were, we’re late. You ain’t got time to change.”

“You said you’d be here at twelve. It’s ten after.”

“I run a construction company, not a watchmakers. You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say. Unconvincingly.

“I mean,” he circles a hand over his stomach, lifts his eyebrows, “you feelin’ okay? We don’t have to go – Martha wouldn’t mind, you know that.”

“I’m fine,” you chirp, and your painted lips flatten against one another as you dip into the car. “Hi, Rand.”

The driver lowers his sunglasses and tips his head in the rear-view. “Hi, baby.”

Joel shimmies along the leather, shifting his jacket from between you to scoop your body against his. You glance down, eyeing his soft sweater, the light shade of it paired against that of your dress. The glint of his watch as his wrist slips happily between your legs, hooking under your thigh. The bloody crimson of the birthday card envelope, trembling in the door pocket.

The car pulls off, dragging you from your daydream. Stealing you back from the dystopia where you and Joel match, where you go together. A couple. Removing the notion of it from your makeup, each cell in your body slowly reverting back to yours again. Just yours. No CEO boss to stake his claim to any of them.

Martha’s place sits at the end of a cul-de-sac; neighbored on one side by a retired couple who spent their entire summer arguing in the backyard, according to Martha, and on the other by a row of quaint cypress.

The front door, bordered by polished mosaic squares of glass, sits inside one of four gable roofs. Dark green shutters either side of each stark-white window frame. A smooth path snaking between neatly-fringed grass, a hierarchy of tiny bushes growing greener and greener the closer they draw to the front steps.

Come in through the back, she’d said. Gate will be open. We’ll be in the yard.

Joel makes some quiet remark just to you about how perfect the house looks. The red brick and marengo tile. How much effort gone into polishing the front, only to tell you to use the back entry. ‘s only for looking, he decides, and then offers his hand to pull you from the Rolls.

He bends over the car, hand flat on the roof, and calls back to Rand. “Do me a favor – don’t go far. Just –” he jerks his head in your direction, “– just in case.”

When he straightens up and the car purrs off, you shake your head. “I’m fine,” you whisper, and he hooks two fingers around the string of the giftbag, taking it from your grasp.

He replaces it with his hand, his huge palm against yours. “I know,” he mutters, glancing down the drive, “but it’s an excuse for when I get sick of Alan ‘n all his damn friends.”

“Henry,” you remind him.

He tosses you a half-second look, smirk scrawled on his lips. He knows.

She’s waiting for you by the French doors when you arrive – Martha. Glass of sparkling champagne in each hand. Your fingers slip free from Joel’s before you’ve even rounded the corner.

“Saw the car pull up,” she tells you, leaning to let Joel kiss her cheek. “Here,” she hands you a glass, then one to Joel, “and here.”

You sip at the bubbling drink, letting the sharp fizz assault your tongue. Letting the feeling wash down your throat, stinging and bitter. Joel seems to swallow his just fine.

He swings the bag in her direction, tongue swiping across his bottom lip. “Just a little somethin’ from the two of us.”

You frown, holding a hand up to shield your eyes from sunlight too faint to cause the stiffness of your face and the drawn string of your brows. Where is Deb? And her two sons? And their shared gift? Isn’t it totally platonic and professional after all, to sign something from you and Joel?

Martha’s hands clasp. She reaches gleefully for the bag, smiling at the striped pattern. “I got no idea where he is. Last I saw, they were all headin’ up to his room. Some zombie game on his PlayStation. He promises me they ain’t playin’ the R-rated version.”

“That’s alright,” Joel says, “I believe ‘im.” He leans closer, a weight apparent at the small of your back. It shocks like a surge of electricity up your spine, hurts like a sudden muscle spasm. And then it soothes the pain, his thumb rubbing delicately. “’s a nice place,” he tells Martha.

She feigns disbelief. “Well, thank you, Mr. Miller, C-E-O,” she sings, and then, cocking an eyebrow, “y’all want a tour?”

You both nod politely, following her towards the kitchen doors. Joel nods towards a table by the barbecue – an island amongst a sea of candy and pastries, chopped fruit and bowls of nuts: a two-tiered, sky-blue cake. The name Henry piped in red icing – the letters swirling much like a birthday card you once read in a house on Maple Street.

“Nice little cake for Alan,” Joel mutters, squeezing your waist.

A stolen laugh shudders from your lips; the two of you snicker together, and despite your best attempts to cover your grin with your champagne flute, Martha spots you.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, sidling back over.

“Martha,” you clear your throat, “would you do me a favor?”

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

“Would you please tell Joel your son’s name?”

She looks at you blankly. Blinks between you and the man at your side, both staring back expectantly. But her stone-set expression begins to crack, the lines deepening around her mouth.

“As in,” you clarify, “his real name. Not Alan.”

She makes to reply when the swish-thud of a window opening interrupts, the prepubescent bellow of an almost-teen from overhead.

“Mom!” Henry calls, his dark head of curls and long, boyish arms dangling over the sill.

Martha glares up at him. “What have I told you about hangin’ from there” she yells, fists propped on her hips. “What is it?”

“Mike brought Blood Cry III; can we play it?”

She shakes her head indignantly. “I have told you – how many times? No!” She holds her hands out in apology to you and Joel, and then scuttles off into the kitchen. “Go explore,” she waves, “I trust ya!”

Joel wordlessly takes your hand, leading you in Martha’s wake through the kitchen to the living room: its navy walls and white paneling, bookshelves spanning the entire length of one wall, and a pale-brick fireplace centering two leather couches. Very pristine, very perfect. Very Martha.

You amble around, slowing in front of the mantelpiece above which a gallery of framed photos hangs. Henry as a toddler on a green trike; Martha’s stepdaughter and her kid; Alan on a golfing trip. Your eyes jump from plump cheeks to missing teeth, sunhats and Thanksgiving meals, until they land on a photo of Martha and Alan on their wedding day – her veil pinned neatly into a permed updo, her puffy-sleeved dress and the lemon bouquet spilling from her hands.

Joel’s shoulder brushes against your own, his eye journeying across the photos, too. “Ha,” he tosses a finger towards the wedding photo, “nineties Martha. Nice hair, huh?”

You smile, lazily swatting his arm. “She looks beautiful. They seem happy.”

Joel agrees. “Wonder what their first dance song was.”

“I bet it was something classy. Sinatra or something. Martha wouldn’t be breaking the marriage in to anything cheesy, that’s for sure.”

He laughs, spinning off towards the dining room. “You ever thought about what you’d pick?”

You hesitate, rounding the table on the opposite side. “Uh…no. Not really.”

“Not your thing? Marriage.”

You chance a glance at him over a vase of lilies in the center of the mahogany table. The smell twists towards you, leering as it coats your skin and your clothes and the back of your throat in a sickly film that makes your head spin. “I guess not. I’ve never – Not since…”

He nods. He knows. “That’s fair,” he says, hands finding his pockets. The idea of Blake – his name, his shaking hands, the tiny box in his suit pocket – the thought of those images flitting through Joel’s brain pinches the air from your lungs.

You watch the silhouette of him as it crosses over the bay window, looking out onto the trimmed grass and smooth asphalt street. Something cracks deep in your chest. Something begins to unbind.

“What would yours be?” you ask him, and he turns.

“Depends,” he shrugs, “on when I’m gettin’ married or not. Makes no difference to me.”

You bypass the point he’s making. Turn away from it like you would a shadow in the night. “If you were,” you insist, “what would you pick?”

He nears you, never breaking your stare. His confident matches your nervous, his steady gaze on your shy. “Somethin’ special to me ‘n her. An our song kinda thing.” And then, as he brushes deliberately by your shoulder to head for the stairs, “AC/DC or som’.”

Your heels stick like they did that night in the dive bar. Ears hurt with a ringing loud enough to blur the edges of your vision. Your skin feels the same hot – only, not from the crowded room you’re in, or the mix of alcohol and sweat and something akin to lust seeping through your pores.

You stare fixedly at the view from the bay window, the perfect little cul-de-sac with its perfectly smooth roads; perfect for kids learning to ride their first bikes, perfect for couples wandering arm in arm, perfect for angry fathers taking off in cars packed with belongings.

When you were a kid, buckled into the back of your dad’s car, you used to fight sleep to watch the moon race you home. Her white glow surviving being split over and over again by the trees you’d whip past. Your eyes would flit from hers to the windscreen, watching the road up ahead as it threatened to twist and turn. No matter how fast you thought your dad must be driving, no matter which direction he turned – every time you looked for her, there she’d be.

It makes sense now. The notion of staying. Occupying somewhere in space or in time, and forgetting how to leave. Forgetting how to try. Forever fixed there, glowing in a brilliant melancholy, singing to nobody in the dark expanse of the sky. Waiting for the sun to make her return. Just waiting waiting waiting.

You – the moon, and your sky – that fucking driveway. The Toyota, the rust on its underside so bitter you could taste it like blood on your tongue. Searching all over for the scraps of yourself, the pieces he tore away as he fled: veins tangled around spokes, severed fingers tinged crimson and hooked around the steering wheel. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.

And then, the sun – some sharp-suited, quick-witted Texan; enough charm and ease to lift himself over the horizon, to give you something other than the glimmer in your own tears to reflect.

The moon stares down at you now as you sit, perched on your balcony. Your knees tucked under your chin, watching two cats wrestle down on the street below. It’s just gone two; Joel’s in bed fast asleep. You slipped from his grasp and crept out of your room, a blanket over your shoulders, and disappeared between the sheer curtains. Your chest tight, your breathing short.

It keeps happening, that thing from Paris. Your head begins to spin, your voice withers to nothing. Your legs push you to your feet and force you to flee, though you’ve still to figure out where to or what from. All you know is that blue-eyed stare of your ex-fiancé has been wiped, replaced by the dusted beard of your boss instead. The plastic ring between his fingers. The creaking leather of his office chair.

Those same four words keep circling your head, replaying on a loop between your ears: why did he lie why did he lie why did he lie. Like white noise droning around your skull, bubbling nausea in the pit of your stomach. No, darlin’. Why would I lie to you?

Why did you lie to me?

Why did he do any of it? Take you to Paris, let you meet his client. Why has he been sleeping with you, treating you like some kind of girlfriend? The word plucks goosepimples all over your body. His body around yours at Aspen Heights – what you wanted so badly to believe was endearment, was comfortability and generosity, now feels like territory-marking. Feels like the white-knuckled tightening of a leash in his wide fist.

The leaves of the trees across the street tremble, lit luminous green by the 7-Eleven sign they fringe. You watch as two men swagger out of the store; their chatter drowned by the buzzing of the fluorescent sign. They split off with a quick handshake at the curb, disappearing into two different cars, driving off in two different directions.

You sniff. Some skunky smell hangs low in the air. So thick that you can feel it coating your lungs from the inside out. You sink back into your chair, push your fingers into your eyes until you’re watching a mirage of stars pull across your vision. Blow a cracked, nervous breath into the sky. Slip your nose beneath the collar of your tee.

Joel’s tee, which pools in the dip between your stomach and thighs. You suck his scent in like one hit of some intoxicating drug, for every three hits of clean air. Just seeing you through. Pretending there’s no addiction there.

But fuck, if you’re not screwed. One half of you holding back on mentioning the email because – what the fuck do you even say? How do you begin to ask him about it? How do you approach the topic, without prefacing it with feelings you’re too afraid to admit even to yourself?

And the other half – for fear of what you might cause. What you might make him do. For the pure, cut-throat fear that he’ll become the third in a list of men to just – leave. To let you down, to let you go. Change between couch cushions. Wild flowers torn from the earth’s scalp.

Then, the fracturing realization that you don’t want him to go. That you’re used to him, now, in a way you never were with your dad or with Blake. Your dad – who would choose poker night over parents’ night. Who would choose a drink with his buddies over a movie with you and your mom.

Or Blake – who would schedule sex on the nights he figured he’d have enough energy to fuck you until at least he came, and would buy you chrysanthemums on your birthday even long after you’d told him you were pretty sure you were allergic.

And then there’s Joel. Joel fucking Miller. Who turned up at your door less than thirty minutes after Martha told him you were sick. Who said in the car ride to her house earlier, Tell me your favorite flower.

Why? you asked.

Just so I know.

Joel – who has never asked anything more than you’ve chosen to tell him about your father, but whose face still screws into an angry grimace anytime he’s forced to think of him. Who reaches out to adjust the broken heart around your neck, slip the clip back to your nape without you asking Who offers you the last slice of pizza, and when you refuse, compromises by splitting it. Giving you the bigger half.

Joel – with whom sex feels like a form of communication: Here are all the things I don’t know how to say, yet. Yet yet yet. A conversation, each movement deliberate; each nip and lick and bite weighted with purpose and meaning. It lives under your nails, behind your teeth. Here – I don’t know what else to do with all this longing.

Joel – who has not only set every foot right, but has carved his own path through your heart. Explored the caves himself, a lonely lamp hanging from his fist as he carefully, gently, politely weaved his way through a jungle of valves and tissue, monsters and darkness, slowly winding his way to the center.

Joel. Who has never let you down. Until that fucking email.

A 7-Eleven employee, some scrawny kid with a mop of black hair and a polo hanging from his skeleton, drags a cloth in wide circles on the inside of the windows. He swipes his forehead along his wrist, thick tresses disturbed, and stares out at the empty street.

You blink twice, and a figure materializes at your balcony door.

“Baby?”

“Jesus!”

“Woah, woah. Easy – ‘s just me.” The pale drapes surrender to his wide frame, letting him pass. “Sorry, pretty girl. You okay?”

“You scared the crap outta me.”

Joel bends before you, a sweet little chuckle in his throat, and presses a warm kiss to your forehead. You lift your chin, letting your eyes close over and your thoughts melt away on his lips. He pulls the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

“What are you doin’ out here at this time of night?”

You shrug as he settles into the wireframe chair opposite. Groans as he leans back. His wide chest constricted by a tight, gray hoodie splattered with paint.

“Just can’t sleep. Nice hoodie.”

His eyes dip to the mounds of your chest under plain cotton, the blanket slack around your breasts. “Someone stole my T-shirt. Stole somethin’ of hers back. Why can’t you sleep? You hurting?”

Yeah. “No. Just – not tired enough, I guess.”

“You want company?”

Not really. “Sure.”

He laces his fingers over his stomach as he settles back, studies you as your gaze skims the street below. He knows you’re lying. But it’s two a.m., and you’re weeks into an affair that you’re both pretty sure has gone past the point of no return, and so, voice plain, he asks, “What’s on your mind, angel?”

“How d’you know there’s something on my mind?”

“There’s always something on your mind. It’s you.” And then, readjusting in his seat, “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

You scrunch your nose with a sniff. Pull your arms inside the sleeves of his shirt and cross them under your breasts. “Your dad,” you say, locking eyes with him.

Joel lets it hang for all of three seconds. “My dad?” His face curls into a perplexed smirk, jaw tilting. He thinks you’re so fucking adorable, or maybe you think he is, and you’re not sure which one scares you more.

You laugh, chest lightening disobediently. It felt more comfortable when you couldn’t breathe. “What he did,” you explain.

“What he did,” Joel repeats, lifting his chin. Like a dog, sniffing out the truth. Something concealed in your fist.

So you unfold your fingers, holding it out in the palm of your hand: “Do you think he would’ve done it, still, if he knew what would happen?”

And then he really shakes off the humor. Sits forward, elbows leaning on his bare thighs. “What’re you talkin’ about, pretty girl?”

“Like,” you sigh, “if he knew he would split his entire family in two. You and your mom cut him off; Tommy moved halfway across the country. Was it worth it?”

“To me, or to him?”

You shrug again. He’ll choose the one he wants to answer. You’ll figure him out either way.

“Look,” Joel says, and hooks his fingers under the seat of your chair to pull you closer. He takes your ankles and you stretch your legs out, heels propped in the boxer-clad valley between his legs. A deep breath, hazel eyes pointed upwards like searching the skies for the words, and then: “People want what they want, right? They’ll do whatever they think is necessary to get it. He wanted to cheat, so he did. And he paid the price.”

“He wanted to cheat?”

It seems obvious to him. As though people seek out ways to hurt the ones they’re supposed to love all the damn time. The silver glint of a Labrador’s teeth as he sinks them into his owner’s skin.

Joel nods. “Wanted it badly enough that he did anything.”

“Lied?” you offer.

“Lied, cheated, left. Yeah.”

“And he risked everything.”

His head tips in agreement. “I guess he did. He was a damn idiot, you know? Had a wife who loved him, had two kids. He had the whole world in that house, and he threw it all away.”

“And,” the soles of your feet rest gently on the curve of his stomach, “would that – would it stop you? If you at least knew you were riskin’ something?”

“From cheating?”

“Anything. If you knew what you were risking was everything to you – would it stop you doing what you really wanted?”

His face tightens, brows knit with confusion and something else more difficult to place. “It depends. I wouldn’t risk something like you. I would n–”

“Somethin’ like me?” you interject.

Joel clears his throat. Looks up to the pitch-black sky again. “You…” He sighs. His answer is simple, black-and-white. There’s no way to hide it anymore. “I wouldn’t risk you, no. Not for the world.”

You fall silent. The moon stares down, seeming to melt around you. Her light like two steady arms holding you together, nudging you to ask the last question – the one spiraling around your mind like circling a drain.

Joel squeezes your ankle. “Where are you goin’ with this, baby? Are you asking me if I would cheat on you?”

Your heart jumps. The moon scatters.

Does he fall into the category of people who could cheat on you? Two months ago, he was just your boss. Two months ago, you hadn’t touched him more than a slap after a witty comment, the brushing of fingers as you handed him his morning coffee. But now…now, you’ve kissed his lips to shut him up. You’ve felt him come inside you. You’ve set foot inside his childhood fucking home, for Christ’s sake.

He makes you feel as though your heart is made of glass, delicate and laid bare but safe in his hands. He makes you feel as though a part of you exists outside of your own body – like there’s a piece of your soul wandering the earth by itself, touching base every time his hands are on your hips, his teeth in your neck.

Yeah. Fuck – yeah. He’s someone who could cheat on you. The way that email made you feel – he’s someone who could break your heart.

“I know you wouldn’t cheat on anyone,” you say, voice breaking. “No, I just – I don’t know what counts as a good enough reason to hurt someone you’re supposed to…supposed to love.”

Joel sits back in his chair again, the frame creaking under the weight of him. He reckons he gets it, now. You reckon he’s still wrong. “Come here,” he says, fingers flicking.

“What?”

He leans forward, takes your waist in his hands and pulls you from your chair into his lap, curling you up between his thighs. Safe. Protected by the shell of his body, protected by everything except from the thing scaring you most: the quickening of his heartbeat when you settle against it.

Your head slots under the curve of his chin, his voice a deep rumble over your skull.

“Your dad,” his chest swells, “he did what he did because he wanted to do it. Wanted it badly enough that he gave up you and your mom. And there wasn’t nothin’ you or her could’ve done to stop him, or convince him otherwise. You hear me?”

You turn into his neck, letting your tears fall hidden from view of streetlight or moonlight. You feel fucking tiny – a kid again, sat in a grownup’s lap, asking a never-ending series of why questions. Then, why did he do it? Why did he leave? Why are you staying? Why did you lie to me?

Joel presses his lips to your head, shushing you quietly, his body rocking back and forth like a boat on light waves. When he hears you sniffling, he holds you closer. Tighter. Your heart melds to your chest wall, desperate to seek his out. The hoodie he’s wearing smells like you, smells like him, smells like the chemicals of paint and the poison of love.

“It wasn’t your fault, darlin’, none of it.”

His arm hooked over your bare knees, the cotton keeping you warm. The other around your back, keeping you whole. You unstick yourself from his embrace, pulling your body straight until you’re straddling his lap, face to face with him in the light.

He looks up at you, almost afraid to blink. Afraid to lose sight of you at all. Your thighs lean heavily against his, your bodies locked together. You link your arms over his shoulders, anchor yourself to him as though the storm in your mind might sweep you away. And in the glimmer of light in his eye, the dazzling bulb of a lighthouse – you see the reflection of yourself.

Joel notices the shift in your expression. Holds you by the hips, follows the turn of your head. “You okay?” he asks, and you look down, avoiding his eye.

Glowing brilliant and lonely, blinking slowly. Your towering silhouette and caged-glass top. Drawing ships nearer just to ward them off when they pull too close. When they begin to notice the jagged shape of your shoreline, the ugly mess of your soul. Casting a blinding light on them, warning them to flee. And he didn’t fucking listen.

He docked anyways. Drew up on the beach, pulled himself into your body time and time again. You kept moving, kept warning him with each flicker of light, kept daring him to leave. And he never did. And there are pieces of you now living in him because of it, pieces you don’t understand how to take back. All you know, all you’ve ever known about Joel, is –

Your body sinks, hips lowering until you’re sure you’ve proven yourself right.

A stubborn weight between his legs. Not quite as hard as you’ve felt him before, not quite as heavy, but – a shape which sends a hot hiss between his teeth when you move over it, when the thin strip of your underwear courses over the thin cloth of his.

“P-retty girl,” Joel says, a groan seeping from the corners of his lips. A groan he holds onto with his molars, letting it snap like elastic when your hips circle again.

A weight as stubborn as the need slowly swirling in your chest. And pulled up into the cyclone are those same words: It wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t nothin’ you could’ve done to stop him. Why did you lie to me? It wasn’t your fault.

It hits you at once, the sudden realization that you’re lighter than you were before you first touched one another – really touched one another. Parts of you missing, passed over gladly the second his hand reached for them. The taste of you behind his lip, gums absorbing you like nicotine.

And you’re kissing him, your lips harsh against his, his stubble hurting your skin. Your tongue seeking out those parts of yourself. No. You don’t have me anymore. I’m taking me back.

“Hey,” Joel whispers into your mouth, steadying your hips. He pulls back and holds you still. “Why don’t we slow down? It’s late, you ain’t feeling too good –”

“I feel fine. I want to do it.” You lick again between his lips though he doesn’t budge; your attempts to move again, ineffective. “Joel.”

“It’s been a long day, you’re tired. Work in the mornin’, baby, I just don’t think we oughta –”

“You don’t wanna fuck me?”

He pauses, his tongue between his teeth. His brows pinch, almost painfully. “That is not what this is, ‘n you know it. I can see how tired you are – you ain’t even slept yet.”

“I don’t care. I want you to –”

His voice lifts to something you’ve only heard within the four walls of his office. Like chiding one of his guys, like snapping back at their red ties and crumpled collars. “I know what you want me to do. I just think we should go back to bed.”

“’n what if I don’t want to go back to bed?”

Joel sighs, looking out across the street. His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek.

“I don’t get what the problem is,” you complain, still holding onto his shoulders. “You’ve fucked me in public before.”

“It ain’t that.”

“Then what is it?”

“Why don’t you go grab a sketchbook or something? Show me some of this artwork you been promisin’ since Paris?”

You blink back at him, watching the lighthouse swirl. The black waves begin to carry him off, sweep him from your view. “Maybe some other time,” you mumble, pushing yourself off of his lap.

Joel watches you, defeated. Keeps ahold of your hand when you stand between his knees. He swings your interlocked fingers gently. “Can you…can you tell me what’s wrong? Do you know?”

Your lungs pull in a deep breath, your shoulders rolling. “Same thing as always, I guess. Let’s just go back to bed.”

“Wait, pretty girl,” he tugs on your hand, reeling you back in, “waitwaitwait.” And then he’s standing, enclosing you in his arms again, asking, “What can I do to fix it?”

That same shrug. Tired. Deflated. Terrified. “If I only knew.”

You wait for Joel to move first, a sigh falling from his lips as he pulls the sheer curtains back, taking you by the hand and ushering you between. He follows your lead back into your apartment, sliding the door closed behind.

The living room is flattened by a gray silence, the liminal night swallowing up the air. Joel’s hand comes to rest at the nape of your neck, and when you turn to him, he says, “You wanna know if he thought it was worth it?”

You pause, fingers playing with the hem of his tee at your thighs.

He’s close enough that you can feel the heat near enough sizzling from his body. The right side of his face is shrouded in darkness; the chalky wash of streetlight painting the left. “My dad.”

You swallow hard, blinking in the shadow cast by his tall figure. The light clings wearily to his beard.

“She left him after two weeks. Went back to her husband. My dad died alone in an empty four-bed in Rosedale. You tell me.”

And then he pats the small of your back, takes you back through to bed – where you let him fall asleep on your chest, listening to make sure your fractured heart is still beating.

Joel Miller is in your shower. For the second time this weekend.

He’s not fucking you, not holding you against the rough tile wall as his cock draws come and blood and tears from your body. He’s not wrapping a towel around you, handing you a fresh tampon, kissing the parts of your skin still alight from your orgasm.

He’s just showering, before work. Using your peach-scented soap, pushing suds under his arms, over his stomach, between his legs. Lathering your shampoo like treacle between his palms, hair slick and foamy white between his fingers. Fixing the head so that his height fits under the stream of water, turning the knobs until it’s as hot as he likes it.

You’re lying across your bed, suffocating in the smell of his side and pretending none of it’s really happening. Face buried in his pillow, waiting for the intoxication to throw you under or wipe your mind clean or maybe just cut the air supply from your lungs completely. Whichever’s quickest.

The bathroom door opens; the sound of footsteps padding over to you. His weight sinks into the bed by your hip, then hovers over your back. His nose, still steamy and damp from the shower, nuzzles into the spot behind your ear. His lips leave a wet trail down your neck.

“You need another day?” Joel asks, kissing.

“I’m good,” the cotton absorbs the nervous edge of your voice, “just coming.”

“Stay home if you want, angel,” he says, hands roaming south to hold your waist. Like warning the pain, tempting it to show back up. See what he does about it. “I gotta go take this shareholders meeting, but I can come back as soon as it’s done.”

“Nah,” you groan, pushing your heavy frame up. Joel’s grip slackens. “I need the distraction, I think.”

He sits back, smiling dumbly when you straighten. His tongue runs along his teeth.

“You can use my toothbrush,” you mutter, heel of your palm wiping sleep from your eye.

“Hm?” He’s fixing the mess of your hair. Brushing one side flat, then the other; leaning back and forth with this dumb, half-there smile on his face. And your chest heaves, and you almost surrender to the impulse to throw yourself into his arms, almost lean into his cupped hands and burning caresses.

“I owe you. From Paris. You can use it, just this once.”

He scoffs. “I won’t use your toothbrush, darlin’. It’s alright.”

But you’re indignant. You already have every other part of me, don’t you? What’s one more? Just fucking –

“– use it. I swear I don’t mind.”

Joel’s head tilts, conceding. “Alright. Come get ready, then.”

Martha’s at her desk when the two of you wander back into the office. “Wait!” she calls, clicking around her desk as you pass by. She twirls a blue envelope between two glittery nails, holds it out to you.

Joel takes it, examining the childish scrawling of your names. “Nice, but – your calligraphy needs a little practice, Martha.”

“Hilarious,” she drones, sitting back against the desk.

You drift over to your own, dropping your back over the back of your chair, and shrug the coat from your shoulders.

Joel’s voice draws nearer as he speaks. “He have a good time?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Martha replies, and Joel sits the card from Henry by your monitor, “barely saw ‘im the entire day. Thanks for comin’. For his gift, too – y’all really…You ain’t gotta do that.”

“Was all my idea, wasn’t it?” Joel asks, smirking to you.

An airy laugh pushes from your chest, loose with nerves. “Som’ like that. Glad he had a nice birthday.”

Joel saunters back toward his office, hands in his pockets. Fucking casual, like the world isn’t crumbling beneath your feet. Like the walls aren’t closing in, the sky lowering by the hour, the sun being steadily eclipsed minute by minute. He nudges the door closed with his foot, leaving you, Martha, and an awkward mist of realization between you.

“Your idea,” she muses, once you’ve plucked up enough courage to face her again.

You pick up Henry’s card, staring at the smudged handwriting to mask the horror peeling its way across your face. “Thought it was easier that way, y’know?” You gulp. “Don’t make it into anythin’.”

She grunts, something shaped like Ha. Her arms cross over her body, her eyes flitting between Joel’s office and you. “I sure as hell don’t remember me ‘n Alan ever doing something like that before it meant anythin’.”

“What are you saying it means?” you ask, rhetorically, dryly – a little meaner than you want it to sound. “What’s…?”

Her plucked eyebrows lift, forehead creasing. “Nothing, sweet. I’m just saying – you two are close, now. It’s nice.”

“We were always close.”

She holds her finger up. “Uh, no. Not turn up at my son’s birthday party together, leave together, then turn up at work the next day also together close.” Her eyes narrow, and you almost believe she might’ve been hidden between the trees last night – hell, for a second, you believe she might’ve been that scrawny kid wiping down the windows of 7-Eleven.

“I’m just saying,” she continues, when your throat closes around your nothing answer, “if something’s happening, I’m rooting for it.”

It shoots from your jaw like a bullet. “Nothing’s happening.”

Martha’s just as quick. “Okay,” she says, sweet and light. Breezy.

And then she shuffles back to her chair, resumes focus on some email. Twists the dial on her radio and fill the tense silence in the office with some smooth seventies song which lifts the hairs on the back of your neck the same way it did in that Parisian hotel. The dark suite, his eyes black and seeking. His hands on your body like he knew every curve and dip already.

Didn’t you believe that he might? That his hands were sculpted to fit the space below your ribcage? The plush cushion of flesh above your hips. The hinge of your jaw between his fingers.

Didn’t you think, for one fleeting moment, that maybe he was made just for you? As if you were so fucking lucky. As if anyone might stick around long enough to earn that label. Yours.

You settle back into your chair. The bubble writing on the front of the card stares menacingly back at you, the shapes seeming to swell and shrink in size the longer you stare at them. A bad trip, you think, this whole thing is just a bad trip. I’m gonna sober up any second, and I’m gonna be in bed, still dizzy after that night at the bar.

And none of it’s gonna be real. It’s not fucking real.

But then – lying on the opposite side of your computer, delicate and tiny, sparkling in the sunlight from over your shoulder: your ring. Your ruby ring, two euros in a gumball machine by the Seine. Like it’s winking at you, the accent rhinestones a taunting smirk. And the sight of it slings a thin wire around your heart, tight tight tightens until you’re sure you feel the tissue slice in half.

You take the ring in two shaking fingers, eyes bleary with sleep and salt. Blinking the dispersed light away, red rays bleeding all over your vision as you tilt the plastic. Joel’s voice muffles against his office door, like fists echoing against the flimsy walls of your little daydream. Time’s up. Hand him back over. It’s not fucking real anymore.

You roll the prize back onto your desk, letting it scatter shards of ruby until it hits the keyboard, the rattle echoing around your ears as you pace over to his office door. Your knuckles drum once, twice, three times against the wood before he opens it, and then he’s –

Staring down at you, breath shallow between slack lips. And he reads it all over your face, the panic and the words swimming around the tears in your eyes, and he steps back, and you step forward, and then the door’s closing again, and you’re settling against the arm of his couch.

“Ken? Hey, Ken?” Joel strides back over to his desk, hastily reaching for the phone. The voice from the receiver doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow. “Ken. Can I –? Jesus Christ.” He lifts the handset and drops it less than a second later, cutting Ken’s fucking droning, cutting the only sound in the room, cutting your blood short in your veins.

And then – “Alright. Talk to me.”

You don’t reply. He seems to tense up. Moves almost robotically over to you, lifts his hands to hold your shoulders. And when you lift yours to push him away, he almost flinches.

“Baby.”

Your jaw shakes once. You wrap your arms around yourself, squeezing the breath from your lungs.

“You’ve been actin’ off since yesterday,” he mutters, giving you some space. He’s moving slow, like he’s afraid you might lunge for him. “You gotta tell me. You’re scaring me, now.”

You haul your gaze from his open arms, his broad chest, the idea of letting him pull you in and calm you down. Your eyes land on his monitor. The text of that email flashes before you again. And your shell hardens.

“Is there anything you wanna tell me?” you ask, staring at the Apple logo. Your voice sounds timid, sounds so little that you swear you see Joel catch the words as though they’re made of glass.

His head tilts. His eyes narrow. It’s genuine confusion, you think. The penny hasn’t dropped yet. “…What?”

It pisses you off. Seems to shatter that glass into fifty angry shapes, brittle and sharp. The shards cut like a knife through the air between you. “Nothing you think I oughta know?”

He shakes his head slowly. “No, baby, I don’t…”

Your glare finally lands directly on him. Piercing straight into his eyes. But your jaw locks shut around the words.

“What the hell are you about to accuse me of?” Joel asks, mirroring your stance. Pulling his arms over his chest, jaw tight. “Cheating on you?”

Your chest jumps with a tiny laugh. “Why would I accuse you of cheating on me?”

“Sure sounded like that’s what you were thinkin’ last night.”

“No. I don’t think you’re cheating on me.”

“Then what is it?”

The gun fires. Gates open. Thunder rumbles. A fire lights in your stomach, blazing through your entire body.

“When were you planning on telling me about Jean-Marc?”

He goes quiet. Still. Realizes exactly what you mean in almost an instant. “How did you…? Where did you –?”

“I saw the email. On Friday. Gave me your phone to look for Alan’s Twelfth fucking Birthday, didn’t you?”

His face drops; a broken sigh falls from his lips. He looks up to the ceiling, something of a disbelieving, disappointed, fucking dismayed laugh loose between his jaw. “I wasn’t,” he eventually concedes.

“You weren’t?”

“No.”

You can’t believe him. You actually can’t believe him. Fists balling to hold your nerve, to hold the tremble in your voice steady, you ask, “Why?”

Joel’s body twists, rolls like some awkward wave as he readjusts, searches the surrounding room for an explanation. “There’s – there are a number of reasons why.”

“Start with the first one.”

“Alright.” He grips the wooden desk either side of his hips. Meets your stare, and it’s almost fucking admirable, the bravery with which he’s walking into this. You don’t scare him at all, not yet, anyway. Not even in the midst of a standoff in his office – guns loaded, eyes never blinking.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and then lifts his arm, waving his palm like he’s swatting the image of the Frenchman away. “He’s…He freaks me the hell out.”

“He freaks you out,” you repeat, voice flat. “Really, Joel? Big guy like you?”

You can’t help yourself. This is so fucking insane, it’s laughable. You’re like a snake shooting sharp shots at the ankles of a bear – and it’s too easy to take jabs when you’re still in disbelief at what’s fast turning out to be the truth.

“He’s sleazy, and inappropriate, and he doesn’t respect boundaries.” He counts them with three steady fingers. “Not mine, certainly not yours. I don’t like him, darlin’.”

“You like him enough to go have two meals with him in one weekend. Fly all the way to fuckin’ France for ‘im.”

“That was business. At least, the lunch was. The breakfast was a mistake.”

“What’s the second reason, Joel?”

He licks his lips. You can’t tell if it’s anxiety or anger. “You’re too good at your job. I didn’t wanna lose you.”

It’s simple enough. It’s more believable than six-foot-two Joel being afraid of five-foot-two Jean-Marc. You accept it a lot quicker.

“Any more?”

His expression drops. Yeah. There’s one more. And he doesn’t know how to say it.

“Joel.”

“I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Got that one.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. Expression unmoving. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

You suck in a deep breath, chest wobbling as your lungs fill. The snake retreats from the bear, jaw slackening. Your eyes sting, Joel’s figure blurs a little, and then you rein it back in.

“I didn’t want you to go. That’s all,” he offers, plainly. “Just…wanted you to stay here. With me.”

“’n what if I wanted to leave?”

“Then…” Joel’s arms lift again, gesturing to nothing, “…then we’ll work something out.”

You lift your chin, some sick expression pushing your eyebrows up. “We’ll work something out?”

He nods.

“Who’s we?”

And it’s the first time you see him falter. The first time he has to catch himself. “You said it yourself,” he says, “you ‘n me. This.”

You shake your head. No no no no. Not this. Not now. The snake coils up, preparing to strike again. “What, us sleeping together?”

“That’s…What?”

“You don’t think there are plenty other women you could be sleeping with here, ‘n plenty other men I could be sleeping with over there? You really want me to stay here just so you got someone to fuck?”

Joel’s lips fall apart. His grip loosens on the desk. “That’s all this is to you?”

“Uh, yeah. Last time I checked.”

You don’t believe yourself. You know you don’t. You don’t believe a fucking word being tossed out of your mouth. You’re being an asshole, deliberately being a dick to him, and you can’t stop. There’s a wall being built at rapid pace, shutting him out. Shutting you in. Bricks made of angry words, each one separating you a little more, hiding you from his view.

And then his mouth closes. Lips form a thin line. Brows lower, blocking any of the light you’re so used to seeing from his eyes. Dark, cloudy, angry. “Got it,” he snaps. “Anything else?”

“Huh?”

“Do you need anything else? Or are you just in here to piss me off?”

You lift from the couch, arms loose, hitting your hips with a slap. “Fuck off, Joel.”

“Oh,” he nods, “right. Fuck off, yeah. Keep goin’, baby. Tire yourself out. ‘s all you’ve been doin’, ain’t it? All this time? All you’ve been using me for?”

Good. It’s good. You want him to argue back. You want him to hate you as much as you hate yourself right now. You want to see the bear’s claws; make all the hurt you’re dragging up through yourself, just to dish at him, worthwhile.

“You know what?”

“What?” he spits.

“I knew you were gonna do something like this, eventually. I knew it. I fucking knew it.”

Joel follows suit, pushing himself off the desk in one motion, and then the pair of you are chest to chest, squaring up to one another atop his five-thousand-dollar rug. “You knew what?”

“Knew there was something about him. Knew you couldn’t stand him. And this is why, right? All ‘cause he wanted to hire me?”

He turns away and laughs, almost recognizable as the same laugh you could draw from him with a silly look on your face – except sharper, colder. “Not even close,” he says, reeling back in. “You didn’t see the way he looked at you? The way he talked to you? About you?”

“Of course I saw it, Joel, I’m not fucking stupid.”

“Then use your good sense ‘n catch up, baby. You’re right: you’re not fuckin’ stupid. You were like fresh meat to him, and what? You reckon I should’ve let him just – sink his teeth deeper? Really?”

It lights something in the back of your mind; a memory flickers to life. Loops like a static radio message through your ears. “Right,” you nod, “right. Because you don’t like other people’s hands on things that belong to you, do you?”

His head jerks back, face warped with confusion and…disgust. “The hell are you talkin’ about?” he demands, voice muscled with anger.

“Martha said it once. You don’t like people playing with your toys, or whatever.”

And that seems to hit him low in the stomach. Seems to knock the wind from him.

“Are you kidding me?” he asks, and you swear his breath cuts in his throat. “That’s what you think?”

No, you think, it’s not. You know him better than that. But admitting that you know him better than to use you as some little plaything – something he had any control over, some accessory to wear on his arm – would mean admitting that the problem lies elsewhere. Lies with you.

And that’s not something you’re prepared to do right now, either.

Maybe before you found that email. Before you found out he’d been keeping you on some invisible leash. Maybe when he had you in his arms, kissing you so soft you thought you might die right then and not even notice.

Maybe when he looked at you, twirling chopsticks clumsily in his fingers, face lighting in a grin when you giggled at him – and three words floated through your head. Dared to dance over the tip of your tongue before you caught them and hissed, What the fuck are you doing here?

But – no. It’s all fucked up now. And you can’t break the tightness in your jaw to admit any different.

“You don’t think there’s a chance I actually care about you? That I – Jesus, that I respect you? Are you this goddamn hellbent on convincing yourself that everyone’s out to hurt you?”

“Joel,” your voice says, and it’s not you controlling it. Some gravely, pained thing. A shriveled part of yourself, cowering from the light. You’re recoiling, physically backing up from him.

“Darlin’, I can’t –” He reaches for your wrist.

You whip it away. “Stop.”

“I am trying to understand you,” he pleads. “I’m tryin’ to figure you out. Why won’t you let me –?”

“I don’t want you to.”

A laugh ejects from his throat and plummets straight to the floor. “Yes, you do,” he says. “You don’t do everything we’ve done unless you’re in it.”

“In it?” you seethe. “In what? What are we in?” You pinch your fingers: air quotations around the words, or possible claws digging four more wounds into the same chest you wept into last night.

Your head shakes rapidly as you speak. “We were just sleeping together. We were just having sex. That’s all. We were just having sex,” you repeat under your breath.

“I wasn’t,” Joel says. Matter-of-fact. Like reading from a contract. He takes a deep breath, and then repeats, “I wasn’t.”

The words splinter painfully from your tongue. “Well, I was.”

And though your eyes are pinned to the buttons of his shirt, though his expression sits just too north for you to see the way his face pulls – you notice his head lift. Know that there are creases digging between his brows at the same rate cracks appear across his heart. You feel the warmth of his gaze slowly cooling. Freezing over.

“I’m sorry,” he says, holding a shaky palm out. The fear begins to sink in, plunging through ice water. He’s beginning to bargain. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should’ve, I should’ve told you ev–”

Your body moves as the words ricochet, refusing to let him finish his plea. “Glad we got that cleared up, Joel,” you say, near-leaping for the door.

But he’s faster. He steps in front of you, blocking your exit path. “Please hear me out. Please listen to me.”

Your body writhes under his gaze, twists like some little creature under a microscope. He waits for your go ahead before he continues. You toss your head, acquiescing.

“I just – I couldn’t stomach it. I couldn’t sleep at night thinkin’, what if you went for it? What if he managed to swindle you into taking him on? I wanted to get you the hell outta that penthouse the second he laid eyes on you.”

“So why take me in the first place?”

Joel scoffs. “I ain’t in control of you, baby! You had to figure him out on your own – and I thought you had. Christ, one minute you want me to step back ‘n let you make up your own mind, next you’re askin’ me why I took you somewhere? The hell am I supposed to do here?”

Read my mind. Don’t let him near me. Don’t let me go.

And at the same time –

Mind your fucking business. Let me make my own decisions. Keep your hands off me.

The truth is: you want him to go back in time. Take you back with him. Never touch you, never look at you any more than to ask for a coffee, or thank you for fixing up his office. Never make your heart skip that first beat, never set your skin on fire with that look in his eyes.

You want him to go back in time, and undo every knot he ever tied in your body. Let go of every string of your heart he has his fist around, every nerve which undoubtedly belongs to him, now.

Undo it all, so you might have a half-decent reason to hate him.

In the deepest, darkest parts of yourself, echoing around the caves you were always too frightened to explore yourself – you want him to tell you why he kept it from you. The real reason. And you want him to grab your wrist and pull you back into the room, back into his arms, when you inevitably flee at the sound of his reasoning.

Because you fucking know why he didn’t tell you. It’s scrawled on his face right now. And even though Jean-Marc is all of those things – sleazy, inappropriate, a scumbag in thousand-euro moccasins – that only makes up for part of the reason.

There’s a bigger piece to the puzzle, and you both know what it is, only neither of you will turn to face it. You’re simply cast in its shadow, playing blind chess under the silhouette of something you both refuse to acknowledge.

“You’re supposed to be my boss, and nothing else.”

He just stares at you. As if he’s waiting for you to say, Kidding! and laugh. As if he’s waiting for what you really mean to shove what you just said out of the way and tell the truth. It hurts all the more.

After a few seconds of awful silence, his breath falls from his lips in the form of a sigh, staggered with a laugh of disbelief. “I don’t…I don’t get it.”

But you’re tired now. You feel drained. You’ve less fight, energy gone to waste before you could make it to the real contest. Kicking his door down and yelling at him over Jean-Marc was the pregame show.

“What don’t you get?” you whisper, slumping back against the arm of the couch.

His answer terrifies you more than anything.

“You.”

You sigh, eyes falling closed in time with the drop of your head. Your breathing labored, your heart pounding. Fear. Adrenaline. Anger. Fear. Fear. Fear.

“You never let me in, did you? All that stuff you told me – your dad, your ex – like you want me to know. Like you’re lookin’ for me to do somethin’ about it. And then when I try, you slam the door closed again.”

“I don’t…I don’t want you to do anything about any of it,” you cry, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.

Lie number one.

“Then what do you want? Tell me, pretty girl, ‘cause I’m – I’m at a loss here.”

“I want you to – fuck, Joel, why can’t you just –? I want you to back off.”

Two.

“I can’t,” he whispers, leaning closer. “’s the thing. I care ab– I lo– I…”

He rubs his eyes with his palms. Maybe his head hurts as bad as yours does. Maybe the office is becoming too bright for him to look, too.

“You think you’re broken,” he mumbles, “you think all that stuff makes you – I don’t know, what is it? Unlovable?”

There’s a spotlight creeping over you – bright white and burning. Lighting every inch of you up, every dark shadow uncovered. The monsters and the phantoms and the six, eight, twelve-legged beasts scuttling off in search of refuge.

Jeers and cackles from an audience behind him as he cranes the neck of the lamp and positions it right on you.

“Don’t –”

“…Worth nothin’? I don’t know, angel, but I can’t do anything about it if you won’t let me, and –”

“Joel –”

He’s not listening. He never fucking listens. He’s still going on, but your ears are ringing, and your vision is whitening, and your chest is constricting, and your throat is dry and your lungs are closing and your skin is hurting and your –

“What the fuck did you even expect?” you hiss, before your brain catches the words.

Joel halts. He finally stops talking. The room finally dims again. You can hear cars on the street. Your phone is ringing at your desk.

You repeat your question, quieter. Heavier. “What did you want from me?”

He’s frozen. Looks concerned. Looks…afraid of you. “I never wanted anything from you,” he says.

“No? Sure sounds like you wanted something.”

He doesn’t say a word. It gives you time, you think – time you know you should put into backing up, thinking it through, not saying it. But you don’t do any of those things. You fucking say it anyway, don’t you? You are your father’s daughter. The anger is woven into your skin, ivy around your bones. The fire behind your eyes isn’t love, or passion, or determination.

It’s rage.

“Is this what you did to Avery? This why you didn’t wanna marry her?” And then, steeling yourself, gritting your teeth: “What secrets were you keeping from her, Joel?”

He still doesn’t bite. Avery’s not the sore spot, and you know it. There’s a different weakness to him, now. Newer. She’s stood right in front of him.

“I mean,” you scoff, incredulous, “what did you think – that we were gonna end up married or something? AC/DC first dance? Big wedding in Italy, three kids and a fucking prenup to save your ass ‘n your millions?”

You swear you hear the crash from here. The bear hitting the ground, or the door of the Toyota slamming shut, or Joel’s heart falling apart, maybe. He gathers it up, sweeping it into his hands with what little dignity you’ve left him with, straightens, and –

He’s angry. Looks it, sounds it. Feels it. A way you’ve never seen him before – not directed at you, anyway. Accounting, when they fuck up the budget for the year. Jean-Marc, when he flirts with you too much. Never you. He’s never this mad at you.

Like kids in a playground, coming up with the worst, most poisonous insults to throw at one another – your words swing fast, and he only just manages to swerve them, hitting straight back with a punch made up of his own.

“Naw, you’d probably say yes to my face ‘n then break it off two days later, wouldn’t you?”

It’s low. It stings. Shocks the life back into you, once it’s looped twice around your ears.

Joel knows it. Sees the glint in your eye before you have the chance to clear away the tears. Hears the tiny gasp that escapes your lips. The bear just stepped right on top of the snake.

“Fuck,” he says instantly. As soon as the sentence leaves his mouth, he’s undoing it. “That wasn’t – I didn’t mean…” He’s stepping forward, trying to wrap his hand around your arm. “Baby, I’m so sorry –”

Your wrist slips from his grasp. “Don’t – don’t touch me. Don’t.”

“Hey,” he says, almost cooing, almost trying to fan the burn with light breaths, “look at me. Please look at me. I did not mean that, alright? I was just –”

You shake your head, staring off past him. “It’s fine, Joel. No, I knew exactly what you meant.”

He staggers backwards, running his hands through his hair; almost growling into his palms when he drags them down his cheeks. “Darlin’,” he says, and leans in again. He speaks slow and seriously. “I would give you anything. There is not a thing in this world that I wouldn’t do for you. I would do anything. In the whole damn world. This is – It’s not –”

“Anything?” you ask, your stone-set gaze refusing to meet his.

He mirrors your curious expression, his own brows lifting. He can’t believe you’re even asking him. “Yes. Anything. I care about you more than anyone in the fucking world.”

He probably says more to convince you. Probably promises a load of stuff, apologizes a couple more times. Probably says sentences that would lodge themselves between your vertebrae and paralyze you with fear, if your hearing weren’t muffled and your mind elsewhere.

Your shoulders tighten. Jaw ticks. When you pull your eyes to finally meet his, you nod. “Alright,” you interrupt, pursing your lips, “okay.”

“Okay?”

Another nod. Yeah. You’re about to do this. Father’s daughter aren’t you just your father’s daughter always running out always running off –

“This is over. It’s done. You don’t look at me, you don’t touch me, you don’t talk to me unless it’s somethin’ in your job description or mine. Hell, even then – see if Martha can do it before you ask me. We’re done.”

It wipes him clean. Every thought, every desire, every motivation – gone. Dissolved, by the venom seeping from your fangs. No more bear. He stares back at you, eyes glossy, lips trembling. He flattens them against one another, steadies himself. Angry, upset, fucking – heartbroken.

“Is that what you want?” he asks. His voice breaks. It sends a blade through your chest.

You hesitate. Your eyes are searing. Between your tears and the nauseating tilt of the room, you can barely see him.

The third lie rolls from your tongue like a marble.

“Yeah. It’s what I want.”

And you know it, better than anyone: you’re lying through your fucking teeth. The way you have been this entire conversation. Pasting over wounds and scars, bricks laid over sodden sand foundations. But you’re petrified – stood on your own, fighting your own corner. The only person who ever managed to make you feel safe, calm you down, lower your gloves for you – now stood opposite with his fists up, too.

Joel nods. Anything in the whole damn world.

“Fine,” he says, eventually. “Fine. We’re done.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #ceo!joel miller #ceo!joel #sugardaddy!joel miller #the last of us #the last of us fic #pedro pascal #sex on fire

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greycaelum · 3 months

Text

Kaleidoscope Series—Clouds and Mochi Chapters: { Welcoming }

—Gojo Satoru X Wife Reader

𑁍 Genre: pregnancy journey, parenthood

𑁍 WC/CW/TW: (4.4k)—/suggestive hints, pregnant reader, labor, fluff, domesticity, subtle talks of clan matters, dad satoru, set on winter—/

𑁍 A/N: this took a while because—my holiday turned to a rollercoaster of events and gatherings, anyways happy 2024~ everyone! let me take you to the first chapter of this year~ ☕︎✍︎,

WEEK 10: Kumquat

"Oh... you bought a kumquat? Did you go to the grocery, Love?"

Satoru looked up from the net of kumquat he bought and shuffled towards you, leaning down excitedly to litter butterfly kisses on your tummy.

"How are you, my babies? Did you miss Dada? Bet you missed me more though?" Satoru stood up and grinned at you. "You're 10 weeks, Honey, our babies here are as big as kumquats!"

You can't burst his bubble when he is sparkling in excitement as he leans back down and kisses your belly over and over and over until you get annoyed by the smooching sounds and pull him up. Satoru pulls you up to still on the kitchen stall while he peels some kumquat for you. He pushes a bowl with three peeled kumquats.

"Two kumquats for my sunshines and one for my pretty wifey, hehe, imagine, they're so tiny like this... and and... they're all curled up and..." He started mumbling as he giggled tracing patterns over your still small belly while you ate a piece of the kumquat.

"Don't start Satoru." You can't help but reign him down before he starts something.

"Try me." He giggled and kissed you, sneaking a lick to taste the kumquat zest on your lips.

WEEK 12: Lime

"Mama! Mama! We bought you a green orange!" Saika ran towards you as you joined in their stroll after Satoru told you they were in the shopping district just near the meeting you had. She collided with your leg and grinned up to you.

"A green orange? You mean a lime, sweetie?" You took the net with three limes inside. Bending down to kiss her is starting to be taxing with your growing belly that's a bit bigger than normal since you're having two of them inside.

"Papa said sunshines are as big as limes. When are they gonna get big enough so we can play with them, Mama?" Kouki held your hand as Satoru subtly kissed your forehead before taking your bag.

"We're gonna wait until winter, maybe by then our lil' sunshines here will be ready by then."

"Winter?! That's too long!" Saika bemoaned making you and Satoru laugh.

"Believe me, sweetie, it'll fly by."

WEEK 14: Peach

"Look what I haveeeee~" You didn't have to turn around as your feet were swept off the ground.

"Hey! 'Toru?! Put me down!"

Satoru giggled and pushed you up the counter standing between your legs to kiss your belly.

"Our babies here are as big as these peaches~" On his hand, there's a clutch of three peaches. "Lemme peel them first. Bet you missed me the whole day."

"Of course... I did not."

He held his heart and feigned death before chuckling as he peeled the sticky peach.

"How was the clan meeting? I heard they've been a pain in the ass regarding the new education system for the kids in the clan?"

You hummed and held your belly while he opened the fruit, and there were two seeds inside. "Love, keep those seeds and have someone plant them in our villa at the estate."

"Why?" Satoru looks up to you in curiosity.

"Nothing much, it's a good omen." You shrug. "Anyway, the kids in the estate like the idea of it, but you know the elders, I understand that they worry that more and more kids in the Gojo clan would prefer to work in civilian jobs rather than the jujutsu society. I'm still gauging on what extent this will benefit the clan but mostly it'll end up compromising some of the kids with higher potential with their curse energy."

Satoru placed the bowl with three slices of peaches in it.

"I'll drop by the estate training grounds tomorrow, have the kids come around for a light spar." He hums as you bite in the sweet fruit.

"What for?"

"They gotta be strong enough to defend themselves before leaving the nest." He shrugs making you raise a brow. "I'll bring Kou and Sai along, gotta learn whatever they can learn." He chuckles as he hears the kids running down the stairs.

WEEK 16: Avocado

"Honey?! Why didn't you tell me you're coming over? I could've sent someone to pick you up from the foot of the mountain." Satoru shuffled from his seat and rushed to the door where you were standing with a bento box at hand. "You smell so creamy." He buried his nose in the space of your neck taking a good amount of inhale before letting go and looking at you up and down.

"You can't keep me in bed all day besides walking is good for pregnant women." You scrunched your nose at how stuffy his office is. "I brought you lunch too, it's been quite a long time since I dropped by to bring you lunch."

Satoru excitedly opens the bento box you got.

"Oh!!! You made me a tako wiener!" He guffawed at the octopus-shaped sausages you added in the lunch box popping one of them immediately to his mouth and chewing with gusto. "I'm so glad you married me." Behind that blindfold, you could already imagine the puppy eyes he was giving you.

"What the heck?" You chuckled as he started to eat without sitting down.

"Y'know, I bought something for you later, but since you're here, lemme get it for you? Just, sit right here..." He guides you to sit on his super comfy and soft swivel chair while he grabs something from his small fridge hidden from plain sight by a sliding door. "I saw this in the convenience store earlier and thought about you."

He places three rows of sliced avocados in front of you with a small bowl of tuna flakes. Satoru sat on the table facing you—sitting on his chair.

"Just eat as much as you can, I'll eat the rest if you can't finish it."

"And you keep telling me to stay still? If you keep feeding me and not let me work, I'll be a whale." You pouted as you savored the avocado and a bite of the tuna flakes.

"No, you won't be, I'll have you exercise in the bedroom under my supervision." He winks making you kick his shin and he lets out a laugh. "Just kidding, don't be pouty my pretty Mrs. Gojo, okay?"

WEEK 18: Capsicum

"Before you judge me, I have my reason." Satoru took off his apron and sighed.

"Put that apron back on." You sighed, it's one of his tactics in distracting you... wearing nothing on top but just his apron and cotton pants, barefoot in the kitchen with his bedroom hair.

Hormones... You fanned yourself and looked away from the sight of his hard abs and pecs.

"No, and okay, I'll explain." He chuckles, leaning closer to give you a man's eye view of his pecs and abs ridge, stirring your attention on his body rather than the plate before you. "I wasn't sure what to do with the bell pepper, okay? I didn't know if you want to eat spicy food while pregnant so don't judge me if I made it a garnish instead."

"Love..." You bit your lips, you weren't angry or even annoyed, it's just that Satoru didn't happen to like your stifled giggle at his artwork. "You massacred the capsicum..."

"It's a flower! Look these are the petals and the spinach is the leaf." Satoru frowned, reasoning with you as he showed you the YouTube video tutorial, he based his work on. "It looks the same to me."

WEEK 20: Banana

"Banana for you, for me, for you, and you, and those two~" Satoru held two bananas and danced towards you while playfully aiming the banana at you, and the two munchkins cuddled beside you.

"Is it banana week now?" You chuckled and reached to kiss him welcome home as he bent down to accept your kiss with a wide grin.

"Well, our sunshines here must be as big as a banana now." Satoru kneels down and kisses your pointy belly. "You want banana shake, Honey?"

He strips off his dark turtleneck uniform leaving him in his white compression shirt, holding three bananas as he walks to the kitchen.

"Mama..." Kouki opens his eyes from sleep, rising from your lap still somehow a bit groggy.

"Hungry, Sweetheart?" You kissed his forehead making the boy beg for more as he clung to your neck.

"Mama..."

"Mnnn?"

"Mama, Mama, Mama..." He mumbled over and over, hugging you tight and burying his face in your neck.

"My Sweetheart needs some lovin'?" Kouki nods and whines. Your 5-month baby bump proves to be hard to hug your little boy closer so you opted to kiss his face all over and rub his back soothingly. "How was your sleep?" Lately, he's been so sleepy that it's worrying sometimes since he used to hate sleeping when his curse energy was all over the place.

"T'was nice... I dreamt of playing with babies all day... we'll sleep in the crib together... and..." Kouki hums. "It's a good dream."

"Really?" You chuckled before letting him go as he saw his Papa holding a tray of banana shakes.

"Papa!"

"My Kikufuku's awake! Gimme a kiss and a hug, fluffball." Satoru sets the tray on the table before sweeping off his son from your arms and throwing him up in the air giving you a small heart attack as he perfectly catches the boy and blows raspberries on Kouki's tummy much to the boy's delight.

You sighed. Boys will be boys. You satisfied yourself in sipping the banana shake while combing through Saika's long hair while she slept peacefully unbothered by the noise of her father and brother. Halfway through you'll also have your little ones in your arms, joining the huddle filled with love.

WEEK 22: Lebanese Cucumber

"I wasn't sure when I got this but I remember we could enjoy this together." Satoru squirmed a bit with his hand clasped over his stomach. "'s coldddd brrrrr!" He shivered.

"Yeah? Well, I'm not complaining." You chuckled as you put the slices of cucumber over his eyes. Beside him, Saika is lying on her father's leg with cucumber slices over her eyes too.

"You like it, Sweetie?"

"Yes, Mama, will I look pretty like you after this?" She asks confidently.

"You'll be pretty like me Cat." Satoru pipes up, blindly patting his daughter's head.

"I don't want Papa, Mama is prettier."

You could see the pout on Satoru's lips as he whines.

"But you have to take care of your eyes because I love that you and Papa have the same eyes."

That easily blew the pouting between your cats.

"Kouki don't eat that!"

No wonder your son was so silent he was already eating the bowl of cucumber slices behind the bed and ran away when you saw him taking the bowl with him as he laughed.

WEEK 24: Ear of Corn

"Grilled."

"Stir-fried."

"Grilled!"

"Kikufuku, it's better to grill corn."

"No, Papa, we need stir fry."

"Mama!"

"Baby!"

They chorused and looked at you.

"Me?" You look up from the corn pudding Satoru's mother sent over. You wiped your mouth and cleared your throat.

"Mama, I want stir-fried corn." Kouki immediately ran to you and hugged your leg, blinking up to you with his puppy eyes.

"Honey, grilled corn is better, I promise you." Satoru took off his blindfold and also flashed you his puppy eyes."

"Why don't you just make both? Grilled and the other stir fry?" You hummed.

"No way... I'm tired." Satoru pouted.

"Mama... I want stir fry, pleaseeeeeeeeee."

Really... you gotta do what the light of the house does.

"Let's have some corn soup. So, no one fights."

WEEK 26: Green Onion

"How are you feeling?" Satoru opens the door with a tray in his hand.

Your body feels so heavy and your nose is clogged up, to put it simply you're feeling under the weather.

"Must be from working in the backyard all afternoon." Satoru sets the tray beside you and helps you up to sit. "The kids are asleep, I need to go out for a bit for work, I'll be back by 9 o'clock." He gets the thermometer to check your temperature.

"38.2... should I change your fever patch?"

"No..." You shook your head and opened your mouth for the egg drop porridge he made with lots of green onions on top.

"Should we... go to the doctor? Or I can make the doctor come here." Satoru blows on the spoon before feeding it to you. He looks tame and gentle with how he cares for you.

"It's fine... it'll go down by tomorrow." Hopefully... your pregnancy with Kouki and Saika was fairly smooth, even though Saika was a bit harder without Satoru and that incident with the Tachibana Clan, still... those pregnancies were still easy compared to now.

You feel twice the effect at the same time, so much heavier that even walking for 10 minutes is physically taxing already. There are nights when you are simply restless, unable to sleep with the heat pooling in your body despite the full-blast aircon.

You tried to reach for your phone on the bedside when something constricted.

"Ouch!" Your leg stiffened as you tried to flex your feet.

"Lemme..." Satoru quickly put down the bowl and held your cramping feet, easing the muscles.

"Gently..." You hissed at the crawling tightness in your muscles as you gasped for air.

"There, there... still hurts?" Satoru looks up to you as he gently massages the muscles to loosen up.

"A bit..." a sigh left you as your cramps gradually subsided.

"Hey, Honey..." Satoru took you in his arms and rubbed your back. "It's okay, you're good. It's going to be alright."

You listened to the way he breathes, following Satoru's calm breathing as you also calm down.

"Will you come back soon?"

"Baby, I'll be back by 9 or even before 9," Satoru assures you, pressing kisses to your head. "Want me to bring you some fried chicken from that new kaarage place you mentioned last time?

You shook your head and stared at the bowl of egg rice porridge, and the glass with tall green onions inside.

"What's that for?" You pointed to the green onion.

"I asked Mom—your Mom—what to do with cold and she said to wrap a green onion around your neck, but I can't do that to you." Satoru grimaced at the thought. "So I put it in a glass and put it in your bedside so you can sleep better instead. Hopefully, it works."

"Did you really have to call Mom?" You can't help but find it amusing.

"Of course, who else am I supposed to call?" He grumbles and feeds you another spoonful.

"Funny because remember that one time you got a really bad case of diarrhea?"

Satoru gave you a dry look at bringing that event again.

"What about it? It's not funny, that expired bread was so good even though it was already bad."

"That time I also called your mother what to do about you."

WEEK 28: Eggplant

"Mama, did you know that if Papa dyes his hair green he will look like an eggplant?"

You let out a strangled choke to keep the orange juice you are drinking from spurting out your mouth. Your daughter has another strange observation once again. You're sitting on the couch watching some horror movie together.

"Don't say that to your Papa, he will sulk." You hum as you eat the doughnuts.

"But he always wears his weird long uniform, he should wear our new shark onesies," Saika pouts.

"I think Papa looks very handsome in his uniform though." Makes it a bit easier to hide his body from any possible homewreckers. But you didn't say the last part.

"Papa! Mama said you look handsome!" Saika giggled and ran behind the kitchen wall where Satoru was grinning ear to ear his arms were on his back as Saika clung to her Papa's leg, giggling.

"You little snitch." You chuckled as Saika ran to hug you back on the couch and Satoru got on one knee before you and cleared his throat. He brought his hand forward and offered you a basket filled with eggplants.

"Will you have my eggplant?"

"What the heck?" You laughed and took the basket from him.

"So your answer?" He grins and caged you between his arms on the couch. Saika giggled and ran upstairs talking to her brother about having some stir-fried eggplant for dinner.

"You're so obscene." You chuckled at the three big eggplants in the basket. "It's a yes, isn't it obvious?" You cradled your heavy belly.

"Right..." Satoru laughed and kissed you. "Got you pregnant with my eggplant eh?"

You end up taping his mouth as you cook some fried eggplants for dinner.

WEEK 30: Cabbage

"You're buying too much."

You watch him keep adding to cart maternity dresses to the cart. It's the kind of dresses that cost above than what you would spend on clothes. You don't have to say much knowing how much he spends on his T-shirt which you don't complain much, Satoru spends a lot but he makes a lot besides the bank account used for the spending in the home is enough to maintain everything.

"But you will look cute in these dresses." Satoru hums his hand resting on your hips while the other scrolled through the iPad on his knee.

"You know that I won't get to wear that much anyway because I'm due in two or three months. Besides, my gifts from friends and family were more than enough." You lay your head on his shoulder, watching him scroll for a new baby clothes set.

"It's okay, we can always have them fixed so you can wear them after. But for now, as much as possible you can have as many dresses as you can choose from." Satoru kissed your forehead and added.

The doorbell rang and Kouki ran to get it followed by Satoru. When they went back they holding a grocery bag.

"For our sunshines and Mommy!" Satoru walks inside and Kouki runs to give you the long bag.

"What's this?" You chuckled seeing three big cabbages inside of the bag.

"We're having okonomiyaki tonight, like it?"

"Okonomiyaki? With cabbage?"

"Yes, just wait here, I'll make dinner."

You didn't complain as you watched him make his way through the kitchen, wearing an apron as he skilfully chopped through the ingredients he was going to use, soon Kouki came over to help with well, sneaking some bites of the carrots and shredded cabbage.

"We don't have a teppan." You sighed as you stood up, holding your heavy belly as you walked to them, kissing Kouki's head as you stood beside him.

"I'll use the regular pan." Satoru hums and finishes making the batter of the pancake.

"I can't wait for my baby sister and brother, Mama. Do you think they will like the squishmallow I bought?" Kouki kissed your belly and rubbed it gently.

"They will love it." You assured him.

Satoru gave you the first sample of his pancake which you took a bite and gave a thumbs up.

"It's very yummy, Honey."

"I promise I will be a good brother to you too sunshine..." Kouki rested his chin on your belly and grinned at you.

WEEK 32: Small Pumpkin

"I can't believe I'm currently having two babies this big inside."

You marveled at the small pumpkins Satoru gave you.

"How are they? Did they kick you or anything?" Satoru rubbed your belly and kissed you before bringing the three pumpkins he brought to the kitchen and went to the common bathroom to change.

"Not really, they were very good." You caressed your bump and smiled. "What are we gonna do with those pumpkins?"

"C'mere, Baby." Satoru pulled down his shirt and opened his arms for you. "Anything you want to do with it?"

"Mnn, not really." You inhaled his scent and gave him a thumbs up. He smells nice.

"Y'know my students are asking why I smell like the dishwashing liquid. And I have to explain that we don't have detergent liquid because I don't want them to know you don't like my smell."

You laughed, rubbing your face in his chest inhaled his scent, and put your hand on his waist making him squeal in tickles.

"Don't start." He bit your ears in exchange and hugged you tight before you could escape. "My mother sent a pumpkin pie for you, she said you called last time about wanting some pumpkin pie."

"She did?" You chuckled and looked at the side looking for the box of pie.

"Yeah, don't worry I tasted it and there's nothing in it just... pumpkin."

"What the heck?" You laughed. "Of course, there's pumpkin, last time Mother also made a coconut pie for me, it was delicious."

"Mama! Mama! It's so yummy!" Saika came running from the kitchen with some crumbs on her lips with her brother trailing behind holding a plate of the pie slice.

"You want one Ma?" Kouki offered you the slice.

You accepted the slice and ruffled your son's head for thanks.

WEEK 34: Cantaloupe Melon

"That's big..." You stared in awe at the cantaloupe he just brought home.

"Want a shake, Baby?" Satoru hums.

"Yes please, it's so hot here."

Satoru looked at the aircon already in full swing.

"Mnn..." Satoru pulled the blender out and started prepping the ice and cream. "Baby, I've been thinking... You're now close to your due date and we should probably stay in the Gojo Estate for now."

You look up to him.

"Or maybe in the hospital itself," Satoru added.

"I'm fine, Love..." You sighed. "There could be someone more in need of the room I will be staying in the hospital and besides, I feel more comfortable in our home."

"But, Baby... this is not your usual pregnancy... I can't sit still at work worrying about you..." Satoru stopped making shake and walked over to you, holding your hand as he brought it to his lips. "Please? If you don't want the hospital, then the house in the villa... It's near the main house where the machines needed for childbirth are ready.

"But I wanna stay here, I even starting a little cuddle nest here." Sure you did and it was in the kids' nursery room. You pouted and looked up to Satoru.

"I'll stay in the hospital three days before my due date or maybe in the villa, okay? If ever I feel something is off I will go there as soon as possible but not for now. Okay?"

Satoru sighed and nodded, accepting the peck you gave him.

"Okay... Still want that melon shake?"

"Yes!"

WEEK 36: Romaine Lettuce

"We're having yakiniku tonight!" Satoru held three bunches of romaine lettuce as he barged in the door only to find you on the couch with the two kids by your side holding two bags... the unmistaken baby bags he packed himself.

"Oh, what's this?" Satoru put the grocery bag on the table and looked at the three of you. "What happened, Baby?"

"We're having the babies I think~"

Satoru gasped and the two munchkins giggled.

"Then why are we still here?! Wait, where do you want to go? Hospital? Villa?" Satoru stood up.

He grabbed the bags and kneeled to put on your shoes.

"I don't think I'm going to give birth yet, besides my water didn't break yet." You held the hem of his shirt. "I will go to the hospital..."

You know more than anyone that this pregnancy and childbirth will be different from the previous one you had. You don't want to ever take the risk despite knowing Satoru will never hesitate to ensure all your needs are met, and yet it is better to be in the hospital since this is an uncanny situation you have...

"We're going now, kids you'll have to stay with your grandparents." Satoru barely listened as he called someone and soon enough the car rolled up to get you both.

"Satoru, breathe Love." You chuckle when you feel he's barely breathing as he holds you.

"I am. What do you think I'm doing?" He huffs. Sweat beads were forming on his temples

"I dunno, you're not breathing when you're holding me." It's one of the few times he's genuinely panicked for a bit.

"Right, doesn't matter, let's go." He huffs and closes the door.

"What's gonna happen to the romaine lettuce?" You raise a brow.

"I dunno! All I know is that's supposed to be the size of our baby coming out of you."

WEEK 38: Mini Watermelon

"Love, I want a watermelon."

"Baby, you're in labor." Satoru stood up from the couch offered by the hospital and went to your bedside. He took your hand in his. "I could go ask the doctor if it's okay..."

"We've been here since last week's Friday and it's Thursday now... I deserve to eat before my active labor starts Satoru."

You didn't have to tell him twice with how your eyes narrowed. He swallowed before nodding.

"I'll ask someone to buy—"

"No, I want you to buy it."

"Baby!"

"Sa.To.Ru."

"Fine..." His imaginary tail fell down and his shoulders slackened. "What if you give birth and I won't be there?"

"Do I look like I'm giving birth in the following hour?" You pointed to your belly as he helped you sit on the bed. "I feel like I could do cartwheels and the babies would still be sleeping in my womb. Besides, the watermelons are just in the cafeteria, just 10 or 20 minutes and you'll be back here."

Satoru looked at you doubtfully but followed your cravings.

"I'll be back, sit tight, okay?" He walks to the door, like a kicked pup. "You call me okay? Or the nurse."

"I know, I know, go already." You waved to shoo him out. When he's out you finally stand up, somehow walking around the private room for a bit to move your muscles. Kouki and Saika have been very excited to meet their sibling, especially Kouki who kind of remembers that you also had to stay in the hospital for some time before you gave birth to Saika.

Your OB doctor decided not to induce you at 36 weeks since your other baby who is still developing might be affected, instead, you all decided to wait it out since you are still in your prodromal labor. At this rate, you might even give birth at full term to both of them... It's 4 in the afternoon already.

You reach for your water jug on the table. It's a bit heavy. You drank a bit. Some spilled down... and some more... and more...

You looked down at your legs and the puddle of trickling water on the floor.

"Satoru!"

—GreyCaelum

PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME

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All rights and credits of the Jujutsu Kaisen character(s) mentioned images(s) and songs(s) used, belongs to their respective owner(s)

General/Kaleidoscope Series Taglist: @ice-icebaby @aeanya @gummy-dummy @tender-rosiey @lexiene @nevermoresworld @loml-riri @pelicanpizza @emichou-chan @patat-gurl

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yuna542 · 1 year

Text

Connected (OT8 x reader)

Part 1

Pairing: 3Racha x reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

Warnings: 18+, Suggestive Themes, Swearing

Word Count: 3.3k

Note: That‘s the first chapter of a series, I‘m writing. It‘s my first time on tumblr… So I‘m a bit confused 0.0

On your first day of your new job as the personal manager of Stray Kids, you didn't expect to be standing in front of the man you made out with last night in a club. But it soon becomes clear that the Stray Kids don't just want you as their manager.

Will this passionate arrangement end your career?

It was one of those goldfish nights where you felt the need to drift in the waters of ecstasy and then forget everything naughty you had done. As if it had never happened.

Everyone did that when they shut down for an evening and dropped all inhibitions.

You'd go to a club, surrender to the neon lights, the sound of the music, and the alcohol, only to pretend the next day that you'd never danced close with strangers, drunkenly ripped your clothes off, or disappeared into a dark corner with the next best guy.

Tonight was one of those nights.

Your group of friends from university had invited you to go to one of the best and trendiest clubs in town, as they said. You didn't go out partying often, but when you did, you left all your worries at home for one night, and tonight was exactly the night you had something to celebrate.

After years of unsuccessful job hunting, you had finally gotten an acceptance letter.

Tomorrow afternoon would your first day at the new company start. Since you had only been living in Korea for a few months, you didn't know the company, so you were even more surprised when you got an acceptance letter for the job after only three days. It seemed like, they liked your profile so much, that they immediately chose you.

You had experience as a music and media journalist and had worked all over the world. Maybe that was exactly what they wanted.

So, to get rid of the excitement, you had accepted and gone to this club with old friends to have fun.

The bass vibrated in your ears and the lights immediately lulled you into the boisterous atmosphere.

Only after a few minutes you stood at bar and ordered the drinks for everyone. There was a group of seven people and you had lost three rounds of scissors-stone-paper. So now you had to take care of the drinks.

Once you ordered everything from memory and remembered the extra requests, even the bartender was impressed.

While he mixed the drinks, you leaned against the bar and looked towards the table that your friends had meanwhile conquered.

"You were able to memorize all that?", asked someone to your left, who was apparently also waiting for his drink.

"Sure... I have a pretty good memory”, you returned, giving the young man a curt look.

He smiled and that's when the bartender came over and set three drinks out for him.

His dark hair fell into his forehead and you looked at the silver rings on his fingers.

"That makes me jealous. I keep forgetting important things..."

He was cute, you had to admit. Although he was obviously trying to look tough with the tank top and leather jacket, his features were soft and his eyes sparkled like buttons in the spotlight. He was a weird mixture between hot and adorable.

You were served your first drinks and averted your eyes from the odd stranger.

"But I'll definitely remember your face!"

Your eyebrows shot up, as his pickup line was actually quite smooth. You turned back to him and couldn't help but smirk at his expectant look.

That's when you spotted two other guys behind him. They were whispering and giggling like kids while watching their friend. Apparently, he hadn't come to the bar just for the drinks.

"Are you flirting with me?", you asked, leaning back against the counter with a teasing grin.

He tilted his head and the corners of his mouth lifted mischievously. In fact, he was really attractive and you couldn't help but stare at him.

"I don't know... Does it work?”

This time you actually had to laugh.

"I gotta go, but feel free to tell your buddies I'm all over you”, you replied, nodding in the direction of the other two, who couldn't avoid to look over at us unobtrusively.

He glanced over his shoulder briefly and then grabbed his forehead with one hand.

"Those idiots..." he muttered more to himself and then put on an apologetic smile.

So you waved at a couple of your friends to help you with the drinks and carry them to the table.

"See you around”, you said goodbye and he just raised his hand sheepishly.

Back at your table, your friend Aiki grabbed you roughly by the shoulder and shook you.

"That guy at the bar! Were you talking to him?"

Confused at her excitement, you glanced again at the bar, where he was now carrying drinks to his friends.

"Yeah, why? He tried to flirt and obviously failed... Although he's really cute," you said with amusement, swirling the straw in your drink.

“No way!”

Her eyes nearly fell out of her head and you still didn't understand.

"What's so special about him?"

"I'm pretty sure that's Han", she explained, as if you had the slightest idea who she was talking about.

When you didn't reply, she said:

"Han Jisung! He is a member of this new K-pop band. They won a big survival-Show a few years ago, and everyone's been really into them ever since."

Sometimes you forget that in addition to her job as a journalist in Korea, she also had a fondness for all K-pop bands. She was almost obsessed with them. BTS was the reason she had gotten into the media world in the first place.

You, on the other hand, had only recently returned to Korea. Even though you were born here, you had spent very little time in the country.

The evening took its course and soon the shot glasses were piling up in front of you, the music sounded more and more enticing and eventually you were magically drawn to the dance floor with a few of your friends.

Another passion of you was dancing.

You had even given dance lessons in America to teenagers and young adults your age. You missed dancing here in Korea.

Therefore, it hardly took a second for you to move your body to the music. It was your very own therapy that brought your mind and body back into harmony.

The music flowed through the speakers directly into your blood and with the alcohol, any inhibitions fell away. Soon you lost your girlfriends somewhere among the people and danced alone. You didn't mind, but that's when you felt someone approaching from behind.

"Don't be startled", a soft voice murmured, and you looked over your shoulder into a frighteningly beautiful face.

Torn from your movement, you stumbled against his chest and he placed a hand firmly on your hip to keep you from losing your balance.

Astonished you turned around completely and the man looked as if he already regretted having approached you. He ran his hand through his dark hair and his biceps stood out.

He was wearing a simple shirt with a denim jacket and the broad shoulders and shy smile didn't quite want to match.

"My friend didn't mean to scare you away earlier. If he said something stupid, I'm really sorry."

That's when you finally recognized him. He was one of that K-pop-Han's friends.

"His pick-up line actually wasn't that bad", you admitted, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

In front of his broad shoulders, you suddenly felt small.

Now he looked genuinely surprised.

"Oh... Okay. Do you want to maybe have a drink with us? He could apologise and you seem a little lost all by yourself."

Judging by his engaging aura, maybe he was also part of that band you had never heard of. However, you highly doubted it. Idols were not that friendly. In all the interviews you had done with K-pop bands, the members had always been reserved and cold.

The man in front of you, on the other hand, radiated warmth and his eyes reflected a gentleness that contrasted completely with his massive appearance.

You nodded, after all you didn't feel like looking for your friends. You might as well use the time to meet new people. And the guy made you really curious.

Relieved, he exhaled loudly and let you walk ahead. He led you to a sitting area, where black sofas stood. There you already discovered the guy from the bar, who was talking to the third person.

When he spotted you,he fell silent and looked at you as if he had been hit by a punch.

"I'm Chan, by the way”, the man next to you introduced himself and gave you a soft smile.

"My name is Y/N”, you introduced yourself as well. He smiled broadly and you could only stare at his dimples for a moment.

As you got to the others, his buddy now looked to you and immediately grinned like an idiot.

If Chan was broadly built, this guy was a wall. He wore a tight black shirt under which his defined muscles were very present and the sleeves were so tight around his upper arms that you feared they would burst at any moment.

But he was also unusually attractive. There was something about them all that made it impossible to look away.

"Guys, this is Y/N”, Chan introduced you, and the muscleman stood up to bow curtly.

"I'm Changbin. So our Hannie didn't scare you away too much?"

Said Hannie was still sitting frozen on the sofa, looking at you as if you had flown across the room on a unicorn.

"No, he was actually quite charming. A little awkward, but nice”, you replied with amusement, glaring at him.

"You hear that? She didn't think it was as terrible as it looked from here."

Changbin patted his friend on the shoulder with a chuckling laugh, and he just puckered his mouth in embarrassment.

Then suddenly Chan was standing next to you again with two drinks in his hands. You hadn't even noticed he was gone.

"I didn't know what you wanted, so now I just got a strawberry margarita and a caipirinha. Have whatever you want! I'll have the other one then."

Surprised by his kindness, you blinked at him a bit surprised. Never had a guy been so accommodating in a bar.

"I'll have the margarita. Thank you.”

You sat down and ended up between Jisung and Chan. It wasn't long before Han had regained his confidence back and you were toasting, chatting, and you completely lost track of time.

The guys were really friendly and even though you were the only woman, you didn't feel the least bit uncomfortable in their presence. You even felt quite safe, which was naive considering that you had met them only a few hours ago.

But the alcohol helped to throw all worries overboard.

"I've seen you dance.... Do you do it professionally?", Chan asked, and you felt his thigh brush yours.

Restlessly, you tugged at the hem of your black dress. It reached your thighs and nestled comfortably against your body. Han looked at your legs and cleavage when he thought you wouldn't notice.

Chan, on the other hand looked so deeply into your eyes that you feared he could read your mind.

"I'm a dance teacher. But it's just a hobby."

Changbin leaned forward with interest and nodded.

"What do you do for a living?", asked Han now, and you tried to ignore Chan's hand resting on his thigh, almost touching your leg.

"I'm a music journalist. In fact, I moved back to Korea because I got a job here."

"That sounds exciting!" said Chan, his knuckles seemingly inadvertently brushing you bare skin. Your foggy mind immediately wondered what he would look like without the tank top.

Before you got even more lost in his eyes, you asked:

"And you guys? How do you know each other?"

"We were trained together and we also work together now”, Changbin began, and you noticed the warning looks from the other two.

"So you're self-employed?", you probed further.

Maybe your friend had been mistaken and they weren't in a band at all. Chan nodded quickly before Jisung could open his mouth.

"Yeah right. Us and some friends developed our own brand."

"Sounds cool”, you replied, as the alcohol gradually drove you away from the conversation. You were finding it harder and harder to focus between the men.

So you asked: "Are you guys coming to the dance floor?" You had to do something to get away from Chans teasing hands, Jisungs sweet glares and Changbins biceps.

Han pouted and shook his head.

"I'm going to stay here. Unfortunately, I hurt my foot and need to take it easy."

He really looked like he wanted to sprint out onto the dance floor but couldn't.

"I'll stay with Hannie”, Changbin said, leaning back on the sofa.

"Just the two of us, then", you said to Chan.

Before he could talk back, you pulled him to his feet by his arm and dragged him toward the dance floor.Once there, you turned to him and began to move automatically to the beat of the music.

The alcohol made all the people, the music and the lights melt into one mass and before you understood it, you were dancing pressed tightly against Chan.

At first he was timid, as if he was afraid to touch you, but gradually he became bolder. He also moved smoothly. Controlled and conscious.

Like a dancer.

"You can dance?", you asked amused, wrapping your arms around his neck. He laughed sheepishly and put his hands on your waist.

"A little”, he replied close to your ear so you could hear him over the loud music. Up close, his lips looked even more enticing and you wondered if they tasted as sweet as they looked. His eyes were now roaming up and down your face as well.

You turned and leaned back against his chest and pressed your ass agains his body. A knowing grin spread across your face as you felt his fingers digging harder into your sides as you rolled your hips against his.

He moved with you and with every little touch, the air charged electrically. You were insanely hot and his shirt was also sticking to his body by now. You grinded your ass harder against him and he immediately had to gasp right at your ear.

That's when he quickly turned you around so that you bounced against his chest.

"What are you doing?" he murmured in your ear and you let your fingertips trail over his chest.

"Nothing...", you replied, looking at him through your long lashes. The corners of his mouth slowly lifted and he began to get into the game, letting his hands wander down your back until they were firmly pressed against your ass.

The alcohol breathed carelessness and desire into the two of you.

His lips hovered in front of yours and suddenly you didn't hear the music anymore. His hot breath bounced against your lips and that's when he started spreading kisses on your neck. Overwhelmed by the sudden tension on your skin, you curled your fingers into his shirt.

His lips brushed over your skin as light as a feather, down to your collarbone and finally to your cleavage.

He looked up at you, and the same heat that tightened into a ball in your stomach was reflected in his eyes.

Without thinking any further, you grabbed his hand and pulled him off the dance floor. As soon as you were a little off to the side, in a corner that was dimly lit, you felt his hands on your waist.

Stormily, he pressed you against the wall and that's when his lips finally collided with yours.

That embarrassed, charming boy from before was gone. In its place had come a passionate and wild tornado that swept you helplessly along with it.

His lips moved hard against yours as you buried your hands in his hair.

His broad shoulders shielded you from the rest of the club, and your heart beat so loudly it felt like it wanted to jump out of your chest.

His hands were everywhere, exploring your body, every curve and every patch of skin not covered by fabric.

For a moment, he broke the kiss so you could both catch your breath. His forehead was pressed firmly against yours and there he was grinning again as sheepishly as before.

You were breathing heavily and he shook his head slightly.

"I don't usually do this", he muttered and that's when your eyes met.

"Yeah, me neither", you replied.

That was the truth.

It took a long time for someone to pique your interest, and you usually didn't let people get to you that easily.

But with Chan, suddenly this heat was flowing in your veins and you couldn't turn off the desire even if you tried.

"Actually, I wanted to help Jisung.... I'm a horrible wing man."

"Yeah that's right. Your pretty bad…”

As if he actually had a guilty conscience, he pressed his lips together.

That made you laugh and you had to put your hand over your mouth as he eyed you with those dark eyes.

"Do you regret it?", you asked after a short silence.

Directly, he shook his head.

"No. Definitely not. You're stunning."

That did bring a blush to your cheeks.

Not wanting him to see how much his words flattered you, you pulled him closer again and kissed him intensely.

He pressed you against him until you felt his bulge clearly against your already soaked cunt.

"I want to fuck you right now”, he growled with a deep voice, that turned you even more on.

An excited moan escaped you and you rolled your hips harder against his growing bulge. It would have been easy to push your panties aside and free his dick so he could fuck you in the dark corner against the wall like a slut.

Your head was spinning and you wanted to tear his shirt off his body here and now. But the wild smooching quickly found its end when a voice sounded behind Chan.

"I really don't want to disturb you, but we have to go, Chan!"

He merely released his lips from yours and hung his head, not releasing you from his grip. His hands gripped even harder into your hips.

"Already?"

Changbin had a big grin on his face and you stared at the floor.

"Yeah... You know what's coming up tomorrow. And Han had way to much drinks."

There was a certain professionalism returning to Chans body as he heard about his friend.

"Hannie is already waiting in the cab. Hurry up!"

Chan nodded, then Changbin turned to you again.

"It was nice meeting you."

With that, he awkwardly said goodbye and left.

"I'm so sorry, but I really have to go", Chan said, as if he needed to justify himself, and you suppressed a disappointed sigh.

Instead, you simply nodded. It was getting late for you to go home as well. After all, you had your first day of work tomorrow.

And so the mysterious charming man disappeared and you remembered much too late that you hadn't asked him for his number.

The two rappers raised their eyes as their friend finally got into the car. After they drove off, Han asked while rubbing his eyes with one hand:

"What took you so long? We were supposed to be back at the dorm by now. We have a busy schedule tomorrow..."

Chan swallowed and was glad he was sitting in front of his friends and didn't have to face them. So they couldn't see that he was stained red up to his ears. With his arm he tried to hide his erection that won’t get soon if this girl won’t stop to ghost around his head.

He knew that tonight had been a big risk. If someone had recognized him and taken pictures of him with the young woman, he would have been screwed. He didn't know himself what had come over him.

"Hyung?", Han tried again, sounding annoyed. There was silence for a few minutes until Changbin couldn't take it anymore and it just burst out of him.

"I just caught Chan making out wildly with that girl."

The oldest whirled around in his seat despite his seatbelt and stared at Changbin. But Han looked surprised, not angry.

"Really?" he asked, and that's when one corner of his mouth began to lift.

"We just kissed for a second", he justified himself, and Changbin couldn't help but laugh.

"From what I saw, it was a miracle you were still wearing clothes at all. You almost fucked her right next to the dance floor."

Chan lashed out, but couldn't reach Changbin in the back and hit the air. This now made Jisung laugh as well, and they continued to tease him all the way to their apartment, where the rest of the Stray Kids were sleeping.

But in the next morning all of them knew the story of their leader fiercely making out with a hot girl at the club and did not stop teasing him.

-> Part 2

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1K notes · View notes

stabortega · 6 months

Text

NO SURPRISES — CHAPTER TWO

Summary: Having to deal with the aftermath of that situation was definitely worse then finding out the truth.

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Fem!G!P!Reader

Warnings: NSFW. Implied fem reader, she/her pronouns used. Mentions of sex, dirty talking and sexting. Knife play. Mentions of kinks, nothing explicit. Top!Reader x Bottom!Jenna. MDNI.

Author's Note: Still think my writing is trash but you guys seem to like it. 💜

MASTERLIST.

"What the actual fuck?!" Jasmine almost yelled as Jenna shoved her inside one of the dressing rooms in the set, while she tried to shut the other actress up. "Thank god someone's paying that poor girl's college."

"This is not fucking funny, Jasmine. I shouldn't have told you." Jenna locked the door behind her, looking at her apprehensively. She made a terrible mistake by telling Jasmine what went on last night. "And now they expect me to work with her? After I-"

"Seen her dick? Oh god, what will be of you?" The black girl laughed, while sitting down on the couch. "Chill, alright? She probably doesn't even know you donated. I mean, what was your username?"

Jenna gulped. "I don't wanna say it."

"Come on, was it that obvious??" Jasmine rolled her eyes, waiting for an answer.

"It was my first name then the first four digits of my birthday."

"I cannot fucking believe you."

Living in New York wasn't easy. Every apartment was obnoxiously expensive, so you had to resort to leave the city and start living in Brooklyn. It was a nice neighborhood, the best you could afford if we're being completely honest. Moving to the big city was by far the best and the worst decision you've ever made. Other than starting college, obviously.

I mean, you loved every second of it, but it started to fuck your financial life right up the ass.

"You should create an Only Fans or something." You almost spit the whiskey shot you were drinking right back to your cup, looking at your friend as if she just told you that she had killed three men with a needle. "I'm serious, (Y/N). Do you know how much money you can get just by posting out some feet pics, or whatever?"

"I'm not gonna sell pictures of my feet for cash, Liana." She shook her head no while taking a sip of her Appletini.

"Then don't. Sell your dick pics, or livestream. Come on, I know how much you're struggling and you know you're putting that body to waste. What's the worse thing can happen?"

And she was right. You started out with just an account on that website, posting some pictures here and there; until one of your followers suggested livestreaming and said she would pay some good money just to watch you cum on your stomach (which obviously, she did). It happened so fast that, when you realized it, you were able to get yourself a better place right downtown, pay off your college debts and buy a professional video camera to shoot some amateur movies. And no, not the pornographic kind.

You wanted to be a director someday, but you were also really good with a camera; which is why you got the opportunity to work in the upcoming Scream movie as an assistant videographer (and because Liana put in a good word for you). It was your first real gig in your area of interest, you couldn't be more excited.

The first day was just like any other. You got to meet a few people and get a hold of the equipments you were going to use.

"Ay, (Y/N)! Come here for a sec!" Your boss, Dave, called your name while you were looking at one of the IMAX cameras, which you've never got the opportunity to film with. You realized he wanted to introduce you to some people, which he did. You just didn't expect it would be one of the protagonists (and the newest it actress of Hollywood). "It's a pleasure to meet you, Jenna."

You extended your hand for her to shake, which she did after looking at it for a couple of seconds, almost if she was analyzing you. "Nice to meet you too, (Y/N)."

And that was pretty much it, you guys didn't exchanged any other words besides that on that particular day. You even thought that she could be avoiding you, for whatever reason. All throughout the day, you felt her gaze on you multiple times, but everytime you looked at her, she just looked away.

"You're definitely not subtle." Jasmine whispered in Jenna's ear, while she watched you handle one of the camera films. "I'm pretty sure that she can physically feel your eyes on her butt as we speak."

"She's definitely gonna find out that I was on her stream last night." The Ortega took a deep breath, looking away when she realized you looked at her again.

"She's not, don't get paranoid. You have the most obvious and boring username ever? Yes. It would take just one Google search to figure out your identity? It would. But still!" Jenna got up from the chair she was sitting, realizing that all she wanted to do was to smoke this off.

"You're not helping, Jasmine." She took out her pack of Marlboro's and her lighter once she was outside. "I never even watched porn before, not even by myself."

"And now you donated $1500 to a complete stranger just so she could cum while moaning your name. That's a character development." Jasmine stood beside Jenna, who had just started smoking so she could even try to forget that she wanted to sit on her coworker's dick less than 24 hours ago.

"I'm never doing that again, Jasmine. It's inhumane and gross. It was the first and the last time."

jenna2709: thought about you a lot today.

"Oh, did you? Good to hear that." She locked the door behind her and sat on her bed. That was Jenna's, at least, 10th day of watching your streams nonstop. And she had just "caught" you in the beginning of your livestream (which meant that she had the notifications of your page on and was too much of a chicken to admit it). So that meant that you weren't even undressed yet, you were just rubbing your dick over your sweatpants and chatting a litte bit with your followers before you started your actual show. "What exactly were you thinking of, huh?"

jenna2709: of me sucking your cock under this table while you tell me how much of a good girl i am.

Jenna realized what she said after she already sent the message. Where did that came from? She thought while looking intensely at the livestream, hoping you would just stop with the teasing and take your cock out of your pants for her to see (and drool). "Oh baby, I'm sure you're very good with your mouth. Wanted to cum right on your throat and make you swallow every drop."

jenna2709: i would be honored to be your cum dump.

"Okay, I crossed the line." She took a deep breath, not even recognizing who was that person inside of her, the person that would say the most obscene and erotic shit that she ever heard. It was almost if something awakened inside of her everytime she saw you. Every couple of days, at exactly 10PM, she would lock herself in her hotel bedroom and fuck her pussy so deep until she passed out from having like, five orgasms. And that was the easy part, obviously. The hardest part was definitely waking up in the morning and having to look at you as if she didn't saw your dick inside of a fleshlight the night before.

Jenna grew up christian. In a american dream type of household. But getting in touch with Hollywood and all of the film industry made her get out of her bubble and quite literally, discover the world. She drank, she smoked, she went to 2AM parties at some A-List celebrity's house that she never even met before. But sex? Never sex. She met a few people here and there, but nothing further. It made her think about that, the fact that she couldn't even be interested enough in someone to actually have some sort of contact with them; but with you, she would stay all night thinking about you fucking her raw and senseless until she couldn't remember who she was.

"Stop teasing, Jenna. We both know you were born to be my cum dump, and mine only." You were so horny imagining having that stranger on her knees while she had her mouth open, waiting for you to dump your cum inside of her pretty little throat. You took your cock out of your pants, a little bit earlier than you've expected, but you were getting so worked up that you didn't even thought about your stream routine. You started to stroke the member gently, feeling your dick pulsate right on the palm of your hand. "I know that you're the only one who can take care of this right, don't you think?"

jenna2709: if you were mine, i would make you cum on my pussy everyday.

Jenna started to get scared. Who was this person that was hiding inside of her? Was she really like that? Is she the female version of Christian Grey and doesn't know it yet? How the fuck she got so horny all of a sudden?

She knew that the reason you were playing that little game with her was merely money. But there was a part of her, a tiny part that hoped that you felt attracted to her as much as she felt to you. Even if you'd never seen her face, or her body. It didn't mattered if she had just met you a couple of days ago; she wanted you to want her, the same way she wanted you.

"And if you were mine, I would carve my name on your belly so everyone would know who you belong to." Oh yes, the knife play.

Jenna wasn't naive or innocent, she knew about fetishes and BDSM practices; and thankfully there was the option of marking your kinks on your own profile when you created your account. The actress spent an embarrassing amount of time researching some of your kinks that were listed on your profile (there was so many things she didn't even knew existed, to be completely honest). And the thought of you doing all of those things with her got her aroused in a matter of seconds.

jenna2709: you could carve your name on my face, for all i care.

jenna2709: i would definitely want people to know that i'm yours.

The rest of the livestream went as usual, you doing all of the things that your subs asked you to, Jenna being awarded as the number 1 tipper for the 5th time in a row, nothing out of the ordinary. You were just about to cum for the second time when Jenna tipped you again with a request.

Wow! "jenna2709" donated $2000 with the message: i want you to cum for me, again.

"You know I never decline your requests, baby. But, let's be fair this time around?" You answered, a little bit breathless, masturbating your cock as hard as you could. "I'll give you a private livestream if you show me your face."

Oh, a private livestream?

Jenna had been following your for awhile now ever since her first time watching your stream. She knew that private livestreams weren't something you did. And yet, you were here, offering one for free, just to see Jenna's face in return. It was a really good offer, but Jenna couldn't accept. If you found out who she was, the shooting would be the most awkward work experience for both of them. It would be like, "Hey, (Y/N)? Can you get this camera ready for me? Also, I've already seen your dick and I'm having wet dreams with you fucking me like the slut I am." So, she took one last breath after she decided to stick with her original plan and decline.

jenna2709: it's a deal.

#scream #jenna ortega smut #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday #the fallout #you #scream movies #pwp

937 notes · View notes

valeskafics · 6 months

Text

"Dance Of The Dragons" Chapter One: Lost In Stereo - Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader (Rocker AU)

Summary: Aegon and Jace put their plan of breaking Aemond and Alys up into action when they meet you.

TW: profanity, innuendo, afab reader, she/her pronouns, mentions of addiction/getting sober, alcohol consumption, mentions of toxic relationships

Word Count: 3,000 words

Rating: 18+, MDNI

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST HERE 💕

Songs Used In This Chapter: "Lost In Stereo" by All Time Low (here, written by Aemond), "Rebel Yell" by Billy Idol (performed as a cover by Dance of the Dragons)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the songs listed in this chapter nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

Aegon Targaryen, despite everything, loves his younger brother. Sure, the little sanctimonious fuck may get on his nerves from time to time (read: always), but he’s family. Jace feels much the same way, and the two hate how upset their bandmate looks every time he returns to their flat after yet another argument with his girlfriend.

Alys and Aemond have been together since high school, and neither of the boys is particularly fond of her. The relationship has always seemed rather toxic to them, and it’s as if Aemond doesn’t realize it or remains willfully ignorant to his girlfriend’s manipulative, narcissistic personality.

Despite the obvious tension about Alys, the boys have enjoyed their time together as a band. Aegon is the charismatic lead singer, Jace is the friendly and adorable drummer, and Aemond is the cool and mysterious bassist. Needless to say with three handsome, talented guys together in a band, the girls of the Crownlands go absolutely crazy over them. Their rise on the indie rock scene has been fast and steady and they feel confident that they’re going to get a record deal any day now, considering their family’s connections.

The only thing that would make everything perfect? If Aemond dropped Alys.

Jace gets his first glimmer of hope when he visits the massive Guitar Center in King’s Landing to buy some extra picks for Aegon and Aemond in preparation for their upcoming gig. He sees you before he hears you. You’re wearing a black and white baseball shirt, ripped denim shorts, and fishnets with a pair of converse. You hair is messy and you look like you probably haven’t had a good night’s sleep since you were thirteen, but holy fuck are you attractive. He sees you biting your thumb and glancing between two different sets of guitar strings. He watches you give a dirty look to some poor guy who smirked at you while checking out your ass.

Okay, you’re kinda scary. But, that’s kinda hot too. You would be absolutely perfect for Aemond, he thinks.

He walks up to you, smiling, “Hi!”

You stare at him unimpressed, crossing your arms, “Hi?”

“My bandmates swear by the Ernie Ball strings,” he says with all the energy of an overenthusiastic golden retriever, practically wagging his tail at the prospect of getting Aemond a new girlfriend, “They say the D’Addario’s break really easily.”

You hum in acknowledgement, glancing back at the wall of guitar strings, “It’s for my acoustic, I’ve been using D’Addario forever, but the last few times they’ve broken pretty fast.”

Jace grabs a set of Ernie Ball Aluminium Bronze strings and hands them to you, still smiling brightly, “Trust me on this.”

You stare at him, suspicious, which honestly, he doesn’t blame you for, “Why are you helping me?”

Jace shrugs, “You love music, obviously, I love music. We should be friends!”

He watches as you bite back the smile playing at the corners of your lips and hold out your hand, giving him your name.

Jace grins widely, taking your hand, “Jace.”

You feel how calloused his palms are and smirk at him, “Drummer.”

“Lead singer,” he retorts, “Your hands are too soft.”

You snicker, “He’s got jokes.” You give Jace a wry grin, taking your hand back and giving him a wave, “See ya around, Drummer Boy. Thanks for the strings. If they break, I’ll hunt your ass down.”

Jace shakes his head, biting back a laugh before an idea comes to him and he calls after you, “Hey. Uh, my band’s playing a gig Friday Night at White Worm. If you’re not busy,” he smiles confidently, “You should come. I can put your name on the list.”

You shrug, “Yeah, maybe.”

“Cool,” he smiles, tongue flicking out to lick at his lip ring, “Hope to see you there. I’ll come find you by the sound booth after my set.”

You flash him a peace sign and you’re gone.

Aegon ends up meeting you later that day too when he runs into you at the local mall. He’s running late for his meeting with his sponsor, panicking. Ever since getting sober, having a set schedule has been critical for his recovery, and his AA meetings and weekly chats with his sponsor are a big part of that. He bumps into you, sending your drink spilling all over the front of your Nirvana shirt.

“Whoa, what the fuck!”

His jaw drops in horror.

“Holy fuck, I’m so sorry, I was running late to something important and I… Fuck, I’m so sorry-”

He sees your eyes go soft in understanding upon seeing his panic and visibly relaxes, “Hey, man, no harm, no foul. Happens to the best of us,” you say, giving him an easy grin, “You’ve just given me an excuse to take a longer lunch break.”

He wishes the ground would swallow him whole when you bend down to grab his sobriety chip that he dropped when the two of you collided. He’s not ashamed of the fact that he’s in recovery, but when he meets a cute girl, it’s not really the first thing he wants them to find out about him. But you barely give the chip a second glance, instead, handing it back to him without saying a word. You don’t look at him any differently, you don’t talk about it. You just tell him to take it easy and go off on your way, grabbing a few napkins to clean off your shirt.

Aegon knows he’s not in a place to get into a relationship, no matter how hot you may be.

However, a certain little brother of his? He thinks the two of you could be absolutely perfect together.

When he sees Jace that evening, while Aemond is moping around in his room after yet another fight with Alys, the two exchange notes on the mysterious girl they met that day. Aegon is elated when he learns Jace took the initiative and invited you to their show.

Phase one of their “save Aemond” plan has been set into action.

After you dropped out of college to pay full attention to your band, The Doom of Old Valyria, you knew you were going to have to get a job. Your drummer, Baela, suggested you go apply for a job at the record store at the mall, considering how much you know about good music. Baela’s always been the smartest of your bandmates, so you listen to her suggestion.

You love your job. You get to listen to music all day, talk about music all day. Your boss lets you work with your headphones on, you only have to take them off if a customer needs your help. He likes for you to be in the know on all the newest bands, so it’s multitasking at its best.

Plus, you love pulling out your acoustic for at least one song during your sets, so this helps you maintain the old girl, as well as pay for food and rent for your shitty Flea Bottom apartment that you, Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena share. On your breaks, your boss even lets you tune your guitar and write. It’s seriously the best job you could ask for.

While you might be having a pretty decent day, Aemond is having a totally shit day. Alys has been riding his ass about going to some fucking dinner with her annoying ass family who don’t even like him. Her older brother gives him the creeps and is always asking after his mom. Weird fucking behavior. Needless to say, he and Alys are currently off. He just wants to go and get a copy of the new Direwolves album.

Aemond enters the record store, resting bitch face in full throttle, and stomps to the back where the indie bands usually sell their records, combat boots clomping on the vinyl floor. He passes by the checkout desk, but it’s on his blind side, so he doesn’t notice the store’s newest employee. He looks through the stacks of albums, letting out a huff of frustration when he can’t find the one he wants. The stupid store probably hasn’t even heard of them. They’re one of the most popular bands on the scene. He really digs their sound and their vocalist, Cregan Stark, has an awesome voice.

He’s interrupted by someone asking from behind him, “Hey, can I help you mind somethin’?”

“Doubt it,” Aemond scoffs, “You probably haven’t heard of the Direwolves, so I’m quite sure you are the last person who could help me.”

He hears an annoyed scoff followed by a monotone voice, “Fucking try me, bitch. You’re looking in the wrong section. We reorganized last week. They’re over in indie rock. This is indie punk. Follow me.”

He turns to face whoever spoke to him, only to see the retreating form of someone in a black tank top, black skinny jeans, and checkered Vans. He reluctantly follows and a moment later, a copy of “Psycho Killer” by the Direwolves is being shoved into his hands.

You’re already off again and he’s trailing after you to the checkout counter. And when he finally sees who this standoffish employee was?

Let’s just say he was not expecting the most fucking gorgeous woman he’s seen in his entire life. Your eyeliner game? Impeccable. Your eyes? Hypnotizing. That red lipstick? Holy shit.

You chew your pink bubblegum and stare at him expectantly, “That’ll be $22.89. Cash or card?”

He stutters, “C-card.”

Aemond hands you his credit card and you quickly ring him up, tossing the album and card back at him; you give him the most venomous, saccharine sweet smile you have ever given to another human being in your entire life as you speak, “Thank you, please don’t come back ever again.”

Within a few seconds, your headphones are back on and you’re sitting at the counter once again, tuning your guitar. He stares at you for a minute, making you glance up at him. You roll your eyes and give a rude little gesture for him to leave. He feels his face turn red as he quickly makes his escape.

When he comes back the next day, hoping to see you, he’s disappointed to learn it’s your day off. He leaves without buying anything. But the following day, there you are. In another black tank top, Green Day emblazoned across the front, blowing a huge pink bubble that, when it pops, he’s right in front of you. You don’t seem the least bit surprised as he speaks.

“Do you have any indie rock recommendations similar to the Direwolves?”

You don’t take your headphones off and simply walk away. He trails after you.

And so it becomes your daily routine. The hot but 100% pretentious asshole rich boy with his platinum Visa card coming in and asking you for recommendations.

“Don’t you have a life? Or friends?” you ask him dryly one day, “Sexy girlfriend or boyfriend maybe?”

He’s an objectively good-looking guy, with that nose ring, that long blonde hair which he sometimes sweeps back with a bandana, the whole bad boy aesthetic he has going. Why the fuck does he keep coming to bother you? Surely, he has something better to do than hang around the mall.

“I just like your recommendations,” he grouses as you ring him up, “See you later.”

“It’s my day off tomorrow,” you call after him, laughing, “Don’t bother, blondie.”

“I just don’t see why you can’t just be happy with dumping Alys and getting with the girl we’re trying to set you up with instead of pining after this chick who’s obviously a total hag,” Aegon says, placing his guitar down to take a sip of water.

“You wouldn’t call her a hag if you saw her, she’s fucking gorgeous,” Aemond insists to his brother and cousin at band practice that night, “And she always has the best rec’s for new bands. And she’s just… Forget it, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Sounds like you’re in love,” Jace teases, “What’s her name?”

“It’s,” Aemond pauses, “You know what? She never gave me her name. She just puts her headphones back on.”

Aegon and Jace look at each other and burst out laughing.

“Oh my God,” Aegon cackles, “He doesn’t even know her name.”

“Price you pay for love, I guess,” Jace snickers.

“Wait,” Aemond pauses, before scrambling for a piece of paper, “Try this chord progression.”

The boys look at each other and shrug as they begin playing and Aemond starts singing, showing Aegon the melody.

“She works for the weekend, mixtape of her favorite bands, tearing up the radio, lost in the stereo's sound,” Aemond sings.

Aegon nods, getting the gist of it and takes over, “She’s trouble in a tank top, pretty little time bomb blowing up, take you down. Living in the radio, lost in the stereo’s sound,” Jace starts slamming on the drums as Aegon begins getting into the song completely and Aemond sings backup, “She’s dancing alone, I’m ready to go but she’s so-”

“Lost in stereo, lost in stereo,” Jace and Aemond sing.

“She’s out of control, so beautiful.”

“Lost in stereo, lost in stereo.”

“And I’ve been waiting for so long she’ll never know,” Aegon all but screams, “I’m losing hope, but she’s so…”

“Lost in stereo, lost in stereo…”

When you, Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena enter the White Worm club, you head to the bar and grab yourselves some drinks before watching the opening act with interest, hanging back away from the crowd.

“You didn’t tell us who your friend is who invited you,” Rhaena teases, “He your new boyfriend or something?”

“As if,” you scoff, “I don’t have time for men in my life. I have my job, the band, and the three of you.”

“You don’t have sex,” Baela retorts, “Bet you miss it. You need a good dicking. Or to get some pussy. You’re so tense that it’s starting to piss me off. Get laid, woman.”

“Shut up,” you sigh, giving Helaena a dirty look when she giggles along with the twins, “C’mon, let’s go to the front. I wanna see my friend.”

“Which band is he in again? My brothers are-”

You get separated from the girls as Helaena is speaking in the rush to get to the front of the stage and somehow, you end up directly in front of the lead singer/guitarist.

And it’s the guy from the mall. You give him a friendly wave and he smiles back, introducing the band as Dance of the Dragons.

The lights on the stage are so bright that you can’t really see Jace or the bassist, just your friend from the mall, who soon introduces himself as Aegon. Their set starts and you’re entirely impressed. They start out with a cover of a song you know pretty well, and so you’re able to dance along with it, sipping on your drink and vibing to the music.

“Last night a little dancer, she came dancing to my door. Last night, that little angel, she came pumping on my floor,” Aegon croons into the microphone, strumming his guitar and giving you a wink which you roll your eyes at but grin in spite of yourself, “She said, ‘Come on, baby, you got a license for love and if it expires, I pray help from above.’ Because,” the song really kicks off now and you find yourself banging your head, dancing along with the rest of the crowd, “In the midnight hour, she cried more, more, more. With a rebel yell, she cried more, more, more. In the midnight hour, babe, more, more, more. With a rebel yell, more, more, more. More, more, more!”

Their original songs are pretty great too, you think, and make a mental note to grab a copy of their album if they have one out.

After the set is over, you hang out by the sound booth, where Jace had said he’d meet you. But, it’s not Jace who meets you.

“Hey, it’s you!”

You turn and see… Oh, God.

“Ugh, what is it, asshole day?”

It’s that rich douche from the record store.

“This is that girl from the record store I told you about,” the blonde informs Aegon, who has just now approached, making you frown.

“Um, why are you telling people about me? We’re not friends-”

“Hey!” Jace cries, “You made it!”

He runs up and pulls you into a hug, making you laugh, “Ew, you’re all sweaty and disgusting!”

He grins, “I’m so glad you came! I know you’ve met Egg, but Aem, this is that girl I told you about from Guitar Center,” he pauses when he sees Aemond’s death glare, “Huh?”

Eventually, the girls find you and the band by the sound booth.

“Great set guys,” Helaena says, hugging all three guys; Baela and Rhaena do too.

You look between them in confusion, wondering what the deal is here and how everyone knows each other.

“Did you not know this is my brothers’ band?” Helaena laughs.

“The slutty brother?” you raise your eyebrows, pointing at Aegon, who snickers, “Him, right? I get the slut vibe from him for sure. No hate, just an observation.”

“Both of my brothers, and Baela and Rhaena’s stepbrother, my cousin,” Helaena giggles again, “All three of them.”

“Wait, so your drummer brother is Jace?” you question, “Oh…”

“Wait, you’re their lead singer?” Jace grins at you.

You nod, “The one and only.”

“Wait, the girl from the mall is your lead singer?” Aegon asks, “The one-”

“Who the three of you said has the voice of an angel?” Helaena teases, “Yes.”

You look around at everyone in confusion as Helaena suggests hanging out in the green room.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Aegon and Jace exchange a look. It seems their little plan to get you and Aemond has either just fallen into place.

Or, judging by the way you glare at Aemond, it’s become exponentially more complicated.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond fic #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond x reader #my writing #dotd fic

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loveshotzz · 9 months

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All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap six/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday

I Don’t Know You, But I Want To

summary: Sometimes curiosity has consequences.

wc: 2.8k

warnings: 18+ series for future chapters, mentions of death, hints on how Steve’s wife died, bouts of self consciousnesses.

authors note: sorry guys, you knew this chapter had to happen. i promise i’ll make up for it! enjoy a few more easter eggs from @carolmunson ‘s orange colored sky in here. I’ve had so much fun talking about these two old men’s friendship with you!

🌇 <- chapter five -> chapter seven

The Masterlist / The Playlist / The Tune:

End of June

You didn’t realize when Steve asked you to water his plants, that he meant in just three short days after the almost kiss in his kitchen. The opposite schedules the two of you seem to always work made it so you hardly got a glimpse of him before he and Bandit disappeared to Starved Rock for what you learned was their annual camping trip.

The Good Morning Tough Girl texts started the next day after your number exchange, waking you up with a kaleidoscope of butterflies twisting and turning in your stomach and a smile so big it made your cheeks hurt. It helped you get over only getting to physically see him one time through your living room window before he left. Your phone had vibrated at your feet while you watered your now flourishing Ivy thanks to the new curtains you were proud to say were installed by yourself. You chanced a glance down at your lit up screen, his name flashing with a text that said: How’d I never realize how pretty my view is from the front yard?

The corners of your mouth twitched, flames licking underneath your cheeks when your eyes caught his out your window. The big dopey smile that took over his face made you giggle as he waved eagerly, dressed nice like he had been the morning you ran into him last week. You wiggled your fingers, biting your bottom lip at the way his dark navy button up looked tucked into the waist of his black slacks. The leather belt looked nicer than the last one, the silver of the buckle blinding in the setting sun. His hair was freshly done, free of any signs of those big hands of his. The stubble on his jaw was gone again, but you learned that was never for very long.

Another buzz: Going to dinner with a client, wish it was fish tacos with you instead.

Steve feels like he won the lottery when he can see the way your face lights up from his spot in his front yard. Eddie’s voice rings loudly inside his head, sticking to every single one of his negative thoughts like glue telling him it’s okay and he finally starts to believe it, especially when he gets a text back from you.

Maybe next time 😉

It’s thunderstorming the day you go over, the key tucked away in a lockbox by his door. He gave you access by texting the code the night before with a promise to take you to dinner as a thank you when he got back. The nerves that dance inside you feel like they did the first time you came here when you stand in front of the stained glass of his front door even though he’s five hours away.

It’s quiet, the lively energy from a few nights ago gone with the man. The cedar of his candle still lingers thick in the air and you can’t help but inhale deeply. It smells like him. You leave your shoes and umbrella on his front porch, closing the door gently like you were scared to wake someone up. The pattering of the rain on his windows fills the silence, your shoulders dropping in the serenity. Pulling your phone from your back pocket you look through your texts with the list of the rooms the plants were in.

Only three — his office and living room on the first floor and his bedroom on the second.

The coffee white oak floors creak under your socked feet as you take your first apprehensive steps past the entryway. He left the watering can on the kitchen island just like he said he would, your skin pebbles when you’re brought back to the last time you were in here. The sun fights to shine through the thick storm clouds outside, making the lighting that bleeds through his windows soften everything up. The water from the sink hits the metal of the can, mixing perfectly with the rain.

You wish he was here.

The can is heavy in your hands when you stop at the doorway of the living room, the contents inside sloshing around and daring to spill onto his floor. You curse under your breath with a pause to take in the room you only got a glimpse of before. There’s an electric fireplace, tall black steel that takes up most of the wall next to the sliding glass door that leads to his small backyard.

Two large beige area rugs cover most of the wood floors in here, a cream frayed trim lining them. Bandit’s bed sits big, fluffy and dark brown nestled by the fireplace, giving him a perfect view out the window. Strands of his lighter hairs leave behind evidence that this might be his favorite spot in the house. A woven basket filled with various chew toys that look freshly tossed in isn’t very far from it. The rain comes down harder but you can still see the spots of lime green littering the grass where the rambunctious German shepherd left his tennis balls. Spoiled.

The cognac color of his leather couch set is rich, and it shines even in the dim lighting like it was freshly lotioned. It looks like the kind of comfortable where the cushions mold against the weight of your body - soft, inviting, the one in the middle looking a little more worn in than the rest. This must be Steve’s favorite spot.

Your eyes meet the 65” TV mounted to the wall in front of it and realize why. The coffee table matches the dark color of the floors. The candle that was the culprit for the smell of his house sitting in the middle next to three remotes lined perfectly next to each other.

There’s a long, taller companion table that sits at the other doorway that leads back out to the landing of his staircase. Framed pictures, bottles of various liquors of all shades and crystal cocktail glasses cover the top of it.

What does he think of your place?

You try to push the intrusive thought down as you make your way to the lush Monstera plant that sits in a white pot on top of wooden legs next to the sliding glass door. Its leaves hang heavy, clearly taken care of. The deep emerald of it reminds you of what Steve’s eyes look like sometimes. The soil takes what you give it greedily, barely leaving enough for the few smaller plants that rest on shadow shelves along his gray walls. A few of them make you stand on your tiptoes to reach.

Curiosity wins on your way to refill the can, crossing the room to look at the framed pictures. You aren’t surprised when you see one of Eddie and Bandit as a puppy, it looks like the first day they brought him home. Eddie’s dimples show in a bright smile as he looks at the camera with Bandit’s big bubble gum pink tongue pressed sloppily against a clean shaven cheek.

The other is of Steve and a curly haired boy at a college graduation, they both look like they were caught in the middle of laughing at something. You can’t help your own smile when you look at it. Steve looks a little younger, a little less gray in his hair like it had only just started. He’s wearing wire rim glasses, and that crisp white dress shirt you like him in so much. He looks happy.

The last one is of Steve and Bandit. A selfie taken at sunrise, Bandits tongue sticks out and you swear he’s smiling just like his handsome owner that has him pulled against his side. A part of a tent peaks over his shoulder and you wonder if this is where they’re at right now.

You’re hit with the smell of his cologne when you open his office door, your thighs pressing together when you imagine him sitting in the big black leather chair behind an even bigger, matching colored desk. Glass cased baseball memorabilia takes space on one of his walls, along with plaques of achievements from his job. There’s framed pictures of him shaking hands of baseball players you couldn’t name, but you’re sure a normal person who liked sports could. There’s a tall bookshelf on the other side of the room. The spines all glossed, bright bold wording of sports memoir’s, marketing guides, and what looks like college course advertising books.

The floor of this room is carpeted with the same color as the area rugs in his living room. Your footsteps are a little more careful as you try not to spill any water on it as you make your way to the three hanging spider plants in the window that overlooks his front yard.

Your nose catches a hint of the cigars you know he smokes as you get closer to his desk. He must keep them in here. A silver closed MacBook sits on top of it, another baseball — only this one is signed and kept safe in a glass case. There's a Polaroid of Bandit with a cubs hat on his head with a laughing Peach barely visible behind him. The obvious closeness of the three of them makes you realize how much he let you into his world the other night.

A world where he wanted to kiss you.

You curse under your breath when you almost spill water on the carpet, too lost in realization of what this could be.

When you reach your final destination on the second floor, you stop at his closed door. Your hand hovers over the knob, heart hammering so hard in your chest like he was waiting for you on the other side. Taking a deep breath through your nose, you exhale through your lips - willing your nerves to give you mercy. There’s a soft click when you turn the knob and the quietest noise from the hinges when you push it open.

The crisp white of his fluffy duvet that covers his king size bed, mutes the gray of his walls. The olive green throw at the end of it that matches the area rug under the bed, the warmth of the color relaxes your senses. Your breathing evens out, your heart rate slows down.

There’s another dog bed at the foot of his that matches the one downstairs and you wonder how often Bandit really sleeps in this one at night. The lack of hair on it compared to the other one tells you not very often. Your cheeks tingle fiercely when you see the mirror you got a glimpse of his bare chest through, your eyes quickly finding the bathroom he had come out of.

“Jesus Christ,” you grumble to yourself, trying to push back the memory while standing alone in his bedroom.

There’s another Monstera by his window that you can see your bedroom out of. The last one on the list. You have to pass by another large dresser on your way, even more pictures sit on top of it, taking up the space that was left next to a cherry wood watch box. Another cedar candle sits behind the framed pictures, the scent lingering in the air despite not being lit.

The plants take what’s left in the watering can, and you peek out the window just to see what he sees. The navy curtains you’d hung up are half open giving you a perfect glimpse into your room, the pile of dirty laundry you plan to do after this perfectly visible. You gulp audibly.

The can swings loosely in your hand when you walk to the dresser, a smirk already forming on your lips at the thought of what these ones will tell you about him. Your eyes land on one of him in between Eddie and Peach on what seems to be their wedding day, both of them placing sloppy kisses on either cheek. The big dopey grin face doesn’t hide the tear stains. The White Chapel sign behind them tells you it’s Vegas, and the way Steve is dressed as a much sexier Elvis only confirms your suspicions.

Next to that one is a picture of Steve, only he looks really young- fresh out of high school young. Biting your lip into a smile at the volume of his hair, he’s leaning against a maroon BMW with pants so tight you're sure they made all the girls flustered. You shake your head with a roll of your eyes before taking in the brown curly haired girl sticking her head out of the back seat window. Another girl with honey waves pushing her head out in the small space next to her, you swear you can hear the giggles that are so evident on their faces.

Thunder cracks loudly outside, bringing you back with a jump. You’re dreading the short walk home. You glance out the window wearily before bringing your attention back to the little bit of Steve scattered over the top of his dresser. Then you see it. You see her.

The frame that holds the picture is silver, the words ‘always and forever’ etched across the bottom. It’s taken somewhere tropical and Steve looks like he’s your age in it, his jaw somehow sharper, his hair blonder. His smile is so big it shows all of his teeth, a bright yellow short sleeve button up that makes his skin look golden. The top two buttons undone revealing the chest hair you’d gotten a few glimpses of. He’s glowing.

She’s just as beautiful, big bright green eyes and dark chestnut hair that falls in effortless curls down to her chest. They look natural, like she didn’t have to do it herself. She’s tucked into his side in what looks like seats in the back of a boat, the coral dress that flows over the curves of her body makes your stomach turn. The big rock on her hand rested purposefully on his chest tells you exactly what this picture is.

Jealousy twists green in a tight knot inside of you, guilt you weren’t expecting makes you feel nauseous when you see what’s hanging off the corner of the frame. A dark teal rubber bracelet with the words Team ALS Chicago 2022 in white font.

Lightning flashes white hot, making something gleam and catch in the corner of your eye from his watch box. Taking a closer look, the tightening of your chest at what you find makes the air leave your lungs all at once when you see their wedding rings tucked in between the soft white cushions inside the box.

The reality of the situation hits you like a ton of bricks. Steve had a whole life before he met you. A life with someone beautiful, someone he didn’t fall out of love with, someone who didn’t break his heart, someone who, if things were different he’d still be with.

If you moved next door in that reality, you’d just be someone he’d maybe wave to from time to time, not paying any mind to the thirty year old girl already suffering through a midlife crisis next door. The girl who moved to the city with no friends and no plan. The college drop out. The opposite of the well put together woman that belonged hanging off his chest like that, with a ring on her finger that could pay off your credit card debt and then some.

How can you compete with a ghost? The nagging feeling that you’ll always be second best already stings and he hasn’t even picked you yet.

You try to blink away the tears that threaten to spill out, feeling stupid for being this upset over what started off as a silly crush, it really shouldn’t hurt this much. The cedar that comforted you feels like it's suffocating now. Like he’s here. The thought of bringing the watering can down doesn’t even cross your mind when you leave it on the dresser to make your escape.

The breath that comes out through trembling lips is shaky, still, you're proud of the fact that you haven’t cried yet.

Tough girl.

When you open the front door, it's windier than when you first got here, the sun starting its disappearing act for the moon. It makes the summer storm match the one brewing inside of you. You shove your feet into your shoes before pulling the door shut behind you. You lock the key back into the box, before grabbing your umbrella. Your vision goes blurry but you don’t give into it, telling yourself it’s stupid to be so upset. The buzz of your phone in your back pocket is what stops you from taking the first step off his porch.

Steve

Found a spot with some service on our hike, just wanted to check in. Hope you got into the house okay. Bandit says he misses you.

The dam that you’d worked so hard to build breaks, tears falling down your face like the rain falling from the sky. You sniffle, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand before you reply to him for what you tell yourself is the last time. It’ll hurt less like this, it’s better for both of you this way. At least that’s what you try to tell yourself before you hit send.

Plants are watered 👍

beta’d by: @superblysubpar

dividers by @newlips

chapter seven

#my writing #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington series #steve harrington slow burn #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #older!steve harrington #older!steve #all i really want is you series #Spotify

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doobea · 7 months

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SWEET / I THOUGHT YOU WANTED TO DANCE - NAGI SEISHIRO

synopsis: Your boyfriend doesn't realize how important little things are to you until it's a bit too late.

contents: established relationship, slight hurt and comfort??, slight jealousy, sfw, nagi struggling trying to process emotional needs of others - what else is new, also nagi centric, college au, mentions of fraternity formals, gn!reader, idk i hc'd nagi to be a compsci major but up to debate ig word count: 1.6K a/n: title is based off of tyler the creators song hehe its my fav from his album and omg thank u nagi for breaking me out of this writer's block, inspired by @celestair for the idea!!

Nagi hadn't really expected you to get so excited about attending his chapter formal. Hell, he didn't even know that they were going to have one in the first place if it weren't for Reo bringing it up in a passing conversation last week in your dorm room.

"We should go!" You said, and he remembers you hopping out of your seat, abandoning your assignment, and dashing immediately towards your closet for an outfit.

"Should we?" Nagi questioned, a frown creeping its way to his lips.

Reo slumped his arm over Nagi's shoulder, tugging the male slightly into his chest. "C'mon, why are you even paying the dues if you don't attend our events?" Reo sounded annoyed.

Nagi shrugged and went back to his phone, resuming the level of whatever popular gacha game that was released for that month. "Because you said it would look good on my resume or something." He answered flatly.

Of course, Nagi knew that he couldn't say no to this. As much as he would love to, once you and Reo were both set on something it's almost impossible to try and coax you two out of it. Nagi is pretty sure that this formal is going to be the bane of his college existence and that his computer science classes are, arguably, now the easiest part.

"It's too loud in here." Nagi wanted to go home the moment he stepped out of his best friend's rented limo. He feels too stiff with the suit he's currently wearing, the cologne is starting to overwhelm his senses, and he really didn't like the fact there's already a fuckton of people inside the venue.

Everything feels too congested.

The three of you take a seat at a table shared by Nagi's other 'brothers' and their dates. He really doesn't remember anyone's faces aside from maybe one or two from his classes, so he's confused when a handful of them start greeting him with fist bumps. All of which he awkwardly returns. Something about long-living brotherhood? Nagi didn't quite catch what they said.

"Do you guys want anything to drink?" Reo shouts over the music as he starts to get up.

"A cranberry vodka would be nice." You gently tug on Nagi's sleeve, attempting to break his unyielding attention from his phone. Reo had set a rule before they left, and it's a mobile game and social media app ban at the table. So, naturally, Nagi is stuck analyzing the weather app. "Do you want anything, Sei?"

Looks like tomorrow there's going to be a slight chance of rain which is pretty awesome, he thinks.

"Hm? Oh, whatever you're having, I guess."

Nagi misses the way your smile fades. "Um, make that two cranberry vodkas?"

"Ah," Reo stumbles around with his words for a bit before nodding away. "Sure, be back in a minute."

"Sei," Your voice is closer this time, lips almost pressed up to his ears to minimize the booming music in the background. "Wanna go on the dance floor later?"

Nagi pauses his thumb, hovering over a random European map, and he's already internally shrinking from the idea. "Do I have to?"

You laugh, it sounds a little forced. "Only if you're up for it."

He shrugs and eyes the surrounding area. The dance floor looks semi-packed at the moment and everyone looks equally semi-buzzed. Sitting at the table sounds better in his head. "I think I'll stay here but you can go on ahead."

"Oh," You exhale through your nose and laugh again. "Okay, if that's what you want!"

"Mhm," He hums back and settles his head down at the table, feeling almost exhausted despite not having to do much today.

Nagi doesn't notice that he's alone at the table until the DJ starts signaling everyone in the venue to pay attention to a couple on the dance floor. He only looks up when he hears Reo's name getting called out and starts to straighten his back when he sees you dancing hand in hand with him. The sight leaves Nagi gnawing the insides of his cheeks.

"Hey," Nagi turns to see two of his fraternity brothers looking at him with a bit of concern and he's not sure why that's making him feel uneasy.

"You good there?" Isagi asks, careful to sound casual, but Nagi picks up on it.

"What?" Nagi frowns, connecting the dots together. "It's fine. I don't really care about them doing stuff together anyway." It's a vague statement. Maybe purposefully vague.

"Eh? You sure about that, Nagi?" Bachira presses.

Nagi frowns again, tips his head down, and is in deep thought. "I'm actually not sure." He finally admits. Nagi is currently fighting off a weird feeling in his stomach. Maybe it's just the drink he had earlier.

He's always been fine with Reo keeping you company whenever he isn't in the mood. Whether it be eating with you in the dining halls, attending movies together, going to the mall, and so forth. Dancing isn't off the list either. He's seen the two of you dance before but isn't sure why this is setting him off. Maybe it's the thought of you being happier without him in your life that is eating him away.

"Shit, he's walking over."

"Waah, let's go!"

It doesn't occur to Nagi that Reo's in front of him until his best friend clears his throat. Reo puts a hand on Nagi's shoulder and gives him one of those looks. A look that insinuates something big that he can't place a finger on but knows it's full of negative nuance.

"Don't be an ass right now," is all that Reo says.

"An ass?" Nagi echoes.

He allows Reo to tug him out of his seat and Nagi almost feels lethargic from how long he's been sitting down. A final push towards the edge of the dance floor is when he catches your sullen figure.

"I'm surprised that you haven't caught on," Reo continues after a while. Nagi recognizes the tone. He doesn't say anything more, and Nagi appreciates it that much, at least.

It's funny how much his mood is able to shift. First from feeling annoyed, to borderline sleepy, to determined. Nagi thinks he's finally learning how to read his relationship with you.

It's only when he's inches apart that he realizes that you're on the verge of tears. Nagi instinctively reaches out his hands and softly cups your cheeks, rubbing his thumbs across in his attempt to calm you.

What's wrong, he wants to ask but he already knows the answer to that. He feels bad for complaining all week, but he feels even worse for essentially abandoning your needs for god knows how long.

Nagi chews on his lips as a new idea starts to brew. It's an uncharacteristic idea. An idea that pushes him to become a new version of himself—the person he wants to be but struggling to understand.

"Hey," Nagi calls out your name slowly. "Can I dance with you?" You open your mouth—probably to say it's okay and you'd rather not make him uncomfortable—but Nagi continues before you can get a word in, before your tears start falling. "I'm sorry, I should've paid closer attention." He says in a whisper.

You fall silent and Nagi is wondering if he's said something he shouldn't have. He quietly peers over at Reo who's aggressively nodding his head, throwing a thumbs up across the room. You shift awkwardly in place before giving Nagi a faint smile.

"I would like that," You sound a little hesitant, but surprisingly welcoming to the suggestion. "I mean, if you're okay with it?"

"Don't worry about what I think, you've done plenty for me already." And he means it.

Nagi migrates his hands from your face to your waist as the music shifts to something slower, more tender, and sweet. It's obvious to everyone in the room that you two are a little nervous and it's almost laughable. He's been dating you just shy of a year and has never once offered to dance with you. It comes as no shock to him that you're growing shy under his touch and movements, despite being together countless times. This feels different to Nagi, and he's positive you're thinking the same thing.

It takes a while, maybe because you're both getting used to this foreign feeling, but you eventually wrap your arms around his neck and hug closer to his body. Somehow, that short circuits Nagi's brain and he freezes in place.

"Sei, is everything alright?"

There's a wave of guilt that washes over his eyes. This act is weighing Nagi down, more than he wants to admit, and he has to pull away. Eyes glued to the ground because if he looks at you he'll start to feel nervous, confused, and small.

"Sorry, I'm... trying my best."

"Sei, it's okay." It's your turn to rub your hands across his cheeks and he doesn't realize that he's flushed in the face until you comment. "You're warm."

"Sorry," He doesn't know why he's apologizing again. For being flustered? Not knowing how to dance? Or afraid of disappointing you again? He thinks it's a mixture of all three.

"Hey, as long as you're trying then I'm proud of you." You reply with ease.

You're always kind to him. Most times, you don't push him more than what he's willing to give and maybe that's why he's comfortable around you. Even if he does know you're silently judging his actions but it's okay, because it's you. But he also knows that he's been taking advantage of this trait and it sucks having to find this out tonight.

Nagi nods. You're right, he doesn't need to worry about anything else but you in this moment.

#bllk #blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #doobea writing #blue lock imagines #blue lock headcanons #nagi seishiro #nagi seishrio x reader #wow nagi debut on my blog #i hope hes not too ooc here #dating guys like nagi requires uuh a lot of communication ig #i mean look what he did to reo #blue lock scenarios #blue lock fluff

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lavendermunson · 1 year

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enchanted | knight!eddie munson x princess!reader

summary Eddie never saw you again after that night, you both were ten years old and sitting in a piano, just a couple of kids enjoying each others company but since you were a princess with an arranged marriage, you got trapped in a castle. You never saw Eddie again but he did, getting close to your windows to watch you, you grew to be the most beautiful he has ever seen. A re-encounter might change the world, even put upside down two different kingdoms.

tags +18, afab!reader, perv!eddie, mentions of jason craver sorry, best friends to lovers kind of relationship, masturbation reader and eddie, mentions of food in a nsfw way, set in some fairytale, mention of low self-steem. one use of y/n just one i swear it’s you won’t even remember it. i tried to be as inclusive as possible so i didn’t mention anything about the reader’s, no skin color, no hair color, no body type, if i missed something tell me! i want everyone to read this and picture themselves as a princess, although i did used she/her pronouns and the reader was born in autumn. mentions of death eddie’s mom

a/n i pictured a lot of princess from disney and also toon inspiration from bridgerton, it’s the first time i write something so long so forgive me for any mistakes. if you want me to keep writing this story don’t forget to mention it :)

wc 2.4k… i surprised myself

moodboard | next chapter

A few years ago two kingdoms decided to unite, building a wall to protect them both and agreeing on sharing everything. With this agreement also came the rule of “arrange the marriage of their second born children at the age of 20” The two of them being born in the same year made it easier for it to be more under control, thanks to their older siblings being already married or out of town.

Prince Jason, from the Craver family, was born in the light of the summer, and with it came his whole personality. He isn’t much of a charming young man, his soft hair shines under every light, even the fire, what’s supposed to be aggressive and dangerous. The boy used it in his favor, lighting his room every time he got a new girl on his bed from one of his famous parties.

From the second kingdom, Princess Y/N from the Willow family was born in autumn, just in time when the trees start to let go of their orange-colored leaves. She was a quiet girl, always surrounded by books, avoiding parties, and helping her mom grow all kinds of flowers. She’s never had a boyfriend, and always tried to keep herself busy until the day of her wedding, which she named “the end of her life”.

She didn’t like Jason, at family dinners, he always had a girl in his arms, he wasn’t polite and he was irresponsible. Didn’t have what it took to be a good prince, let aside the new king. The princess was about to turn 20, in three weeks exactly, she was scared of her future because she had too much more to learn, to see, to experience.

—

At the start of the cold winter, Eddie was born, the same year as the prince and the princess, his friends always joked about that “If you were born into the Craver family, you would’ve married the princess” he always laughed about that, knowing that only happened in his dreams, one time, after a private Christmas dinner with the Royalty, when his uncle Wayne became the Willow king’s right hand. Eddie was being trained by his uncle, in sword fights, first aid, horse riding, everything to serve as a knight to the Willow kingdom and to keep him close, but the long-haired boy hated it, he wanted to play guitar, play piano, conquer every instrument in existence, he loved music thanks to his mom who unfortunately died when he was a little boy.

Eddie had an innocent crush since that dinner, he was 10 the same as you, and you showed him the piano and started playing with it.

“You should come here and take classes with me, I'm pretty sure you’re going to be better than me. You have talent, Eds” You said.

“She said I can take classes with her, Wayne.” little Eddie begged his uncle to let him go “Pleaaase”

“No way son, you have to start training,” the older man said, with a frown on his face.

Since that day, you never saw Eddie again, but he did, when he gets a little too close to the kingdom and stares at your living room window where you read, every day, at 5 pm. He watches you bite your bottom lip when you flip the pages gently, your fingers rub the words as you furrow your eyebrows, he realizes he is head over heels for you.

—

It was a Sunday, the air was cold and the clouds were getting in the way of the sun making its light a little bit dim. Eddie grabbed a horse and some grapes, to keep him company while he watched you read, it wasn’t weird, right? He wasn't doing anything wrong, just an innocent act of… spying. His uncle stopped him after hearing the loud steps of the horse.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going for a ride, just to clear my head”

“No, you get back here young man” The voice of his uncle was louder, firmer, Eddie whined at the old man with a frustrated look on his face “Did you forget tomorrow you start working for real? We have to get you ready”

“Ready? I’m ready Wayne I just need a little time to myself”

“Nonsense, get back here you have to clean your armor”

They both get back in the little house, Eddie sighed as his uncle showed him the new armor.

“But it’s clean!” Eddie whined again, Wayne eyed his nephew annoyed, and tossed a cloth into the young boy’s chest.

“It’s not, it has to shine,” he said, Eddie sighed again, defeated. “C’mon”

Eddie stayed home that day, the first day he skipped his little spying routine, and thank god he did because what happened that day at 5 pm would’ve broken his heart.

“Just one kiss, please?” Jason said to you, getting the book out of your hands and throwing it aside.

“You are drunk at 5 pm? What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing! Just kiss me” he leaned in closer to your face, fingers touching your jaw “We are getting married, don’t you remember?”

“I do, I think about it every day and it makes me so sick, now I have a migraine because of your little tantrum” You push him away, and with all the strength in your body, gravity played a little turn and betrayed you, making you fall on top of him on the floor.

“Are we going to practice?” Jason had a grin on his face, his hands tightening on your waist. You get up quickly at the feeling of his touch, fixing up your dress you leave the room, not after scoffing at him and his absurd behavior.

—

On Monday, the kingdoms were throwing a celebration in honor of King Craven’s 60th birthday. Everyone in town was celebrating, having a big party for themselves with the excuse of their least-favorite King. The servants were getting the party started, Queen Craven decided to go with a ball instead of a casual dinner, where people from other towns would come to see the castle and have fun with beautiful gowns and expensive jewelry.

After Eddie met with the Willow king and queen, his new job was taking care of their little princess. He was excited about it but also nervous. He’s getting a chance to spend time with you, to watch you for a few more minutes than usual. It was a new sensation for him, some kind of anxiety mixed with enthusiasm, walking around with a heavy metal armor over his body relaxed him a bit, it was making pressure on his chest so his heart wouldn’t burst out, the only ‘bad’ thing was he didn’t have to wear a helmet, he was afraid his grin was too big on his face and decided to look for an empty room to make a little dance of celebration.

Finally one of the doors opens, and thanks to his bad luck he finds your room. You are currently in a large undergarment, looking at yourself in the mirror and making a disgusted face. You didn’t have a corset on because you hated them, but something was off with your self-esteem that day.

“Sorry, sorry i-” he said, stunned to speak at the sight of the beautiful princess. He also dreamed of seeing your body, it was better than his imagination would have pictured. The parts of your naked skin were glowing, he closed his fist trying to keep himself on edge, the desire of touching you, feeling your soft skin with his fingertips, and placing kisses all over you made Eddie turn around quickly, closing his eyes in an attempt to memorize what he just saw.

“Wait! Don’t go!” you said, getting in your dress as quickly as possible as he touched the door handle “Can you tie up my dress? It’s pretty difficult for me since i can’t reach”

Eddie opened his eyes wider, trying to ease his breathing and slowly coming up to you ‘Your wish is my command’ he said to himself.

He nods in your direction and gets closer, you move your hair to one side so Eddie can tie up the dress easier, and with his big fingers, he takes the laces of the dress tightening up a little, and makes a secure knot on your back.

“Please make sure you add a bow, i-it looks better that way” You peek your head over your shoulder for a second, he nods again and tries to make a proper bow, but it turned out nicely than he thought.

He rests his hands on your waist, looking at your reflection in the mirror, you keep checking if the dress looks good and trying to fix some parts of it that look loose. You didn’t mind Eddie’s touch, you knew who he was and what he was doing here (kind of). You were happy inside, you always wanted Eddie as a friend since that night when you were kids, and now you can keep him close, even better, speak to him and get to know him.

“Thank you, Eddie,” you say, getting out of your pool of thoughts.

“You remember me?” he asks, eyebrows crinkled on his face, and you giggle looking at his surprised face.

“How could I forget such a pretty face?” Eddie flushes instantaneously.

“Me? You are the one who looks speechless” you blush, the little flirt game making your heart flutter.

“You think so? I believe this dress has something wrong, do you?”

Eddie takes his time to reply, looking at your reflection again he keeps looking for the mistake you were searching for earlier, but he seems to miss it. He gets brave enough to trace your waist and torso with his fingers, going up from your back and resting his hands on your exposed shoulders, rubbing them delicately. You shiver at his touch, something that you have never felt before, your tummy starts to feel funny and your breath hitches, the boy behind you is quick to notice your little squirm, he laughs at it and gently takes his hands off you, you miss his touch already.

“I don’t think so, it looks… you look really good” he says, giving you a look of reassurance. He misses your skin too, it’s been just a couple of seconds since his fingers ignited with your warm skin and now his hands are too cold for his liking. You turn around in a quick twist, locking eyes with him.

“So… you work here now,” you ask him, getting lost in his chocolate eyes.

“Yes, from now on”

“What do you have to do?” His cheeks feel warm being close to you, now he hates the armor that protects his chest from the warmth of your body.

“I have to take care of you, actually” You are quick to notice he is trying to hide a big smile “Your mom kept talking about your little trips to the outside and she wants someone to protect you”

“You think I need protection?” you cross your arms in front of your chest, Eddie brings his attention to your little act trying to look tough and he gets lost in your cleavage for a minute.

“N-no, I’m sure you are fine” he shakes his head and finds your eyes again “Since you’ve been back without a scratch i know you got everything under control, i mean… she only wants to keep me close to you so she can relax” he curses at himself for feeling so nervous all of a sudden, the fact that he didn’t know about your trips to the woods outside the kingdoms makes his blood boil, he kept tabs on you every day, all day, how did he miss this?

“I’m pretty sure she thinks there are monsters out there” you laugh, covering your mouth with your hand “i only go out to read, sometimes i need to clear my head and be somewhere new, you know?” He nods, he understands perfectly, that’s what he said to his uncle just yesterday.

“Yes, but now I'll be doing my job and watching you” ‘like i used to’ he thinks to himself.

“Alright, i don’t mind you doing your job” You roll your eyes and turn around “I have to keep getting ready, can you wait outside?”

“Yes, of course” he leans his head to the front and you giggle at his movements “I’ll leave you to it”you giggle at his movements “I’ll leave you to it”

“I’ll take a lot of time, you can just go get some food and I’ll find you in the kitchen”

“If you need something i’ll be there, i have to take you to the Craven kingdom in an hour”

“Perfect, i’ll find you there” he leaves your room after listening to your words, you look at him with a soft smile before he closes the door and you run to the bathroom to clear your head.

You quickly realize you miss his touch on your body, the pool on your panties confirms it. You lift your dress and sit on the edge of the bathroom, reaching for your pussy and rubbing your clit over your clothes with your fingers, closing your eyes, and trying to focus on him. His masculine scent comes back to you, remembering his fingers touching you and the way he looked so good in that armor, you made sure to remember he had been working out to get the job. Your imagination takes you far beyond, it was almost as you were listening to his moans, but no, it can be, he is in the kitchen at this moment. Maybe he is eating a tiny cookie with his big hands, crust getting all over his mouth, maybe he is eating a cupcake while he gets frosting over his fingers and he sucks them clean, eating the bottom part while licking at his sugary lips.

But you were wrong, he wasn’t in the kitchen, he came back a couple of seconds after you went into the bathroom. He wanted to ask you something before you had to be in a public space, surrounded by people he didn’t like. But you weren’t there, he got worried for a second until his ears started ringing, recognizing your voice through the bathroom door and your shaky moans. His cock got hard just hearing you breathe in and out with a fast rhythm, he quickly got his hand under his pants and started to rub his dick, moaning at your pretty noises not noticing you could hear him, he managed to run to a bathroom close to your room to release his cum and wash his hands after. You did the same in your bathroom, quickly cleaning your cum so it doesn’t drip onto your clothes.

If that’s how both of you get after seeing each other for less than an hour, it would be worse when you have to be together day and night.

sorry i ended up like this :) if you want more i’ll be happy to write it, leave some ideas of what should happen next i’ll be reading you ♡ feedback is appreciated! don't forget to REBLOG TO SUPPORT THE AUTHOR!

tags: @stephanie-nicks76 ty for commenting luv. join my taglist in the form or comment here

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ao719 · 1 month

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Vancross

Vancross - Rescue You (Chapter 23)

Most of the characters belong to Pixelberry.

Summary: A group of friends embark on their final year at Vancross Institute with the hopes of making it their best year yet. When a new face with a complicated family plagued by secrets and rumors arrives on campus, new friendships are formed, a new relationship blossoms, and threatening challenges arise.

Title inspiration: Rescue - Lauren Daigle

Main Pairing: Liam x F!OC

A/N: Multiple crossover series. There will be random sprinkles of canon throughout this story, but for the most part, it’s pretty much out the window. Not beta’d. Please excuse any errors.

Rating: M • Warnings: This series will contain nsfw material, language, some alcohol and drug use, and is not suitable for minors. If you read, you acknowledge you are 18+

Catch up here

“Are we there yet?” Trystan cut his eyes up to the rearview mirror and stared at Blaine. “I’m just kidding. Everyone is just so fucking quiet and it’s starting to make me a little uneasy.”

“Nerves are good. Gets the adrenaline going,” Leo quipped.

They’d been driving nearly an hour with Amalas checking in every 15 minutes since they crossed over the Drakovian border to ensure their earpieces were still working. Thankfully, they hadn’t had any issues so far.

“We’ve got to be close,” Simon said.

Trystan had been quiet the entire ride, trying to get himself into the zone; he’d have to become a slightly different person once he entered the lion’s den and he needed to get himself into that mindset. But as the marker Everett placed to signal his upcoming turn came into view, he figured it was time. “We’re close …”

Trystan slowed the SUV, turned onto a dirt road, and shut off the lights, leaving the path ahead visible only by the silver moonlight from above as they moved at what felt like a snail’s pace. The path was lined by a thick forest of trees on both sides, giving nothing away as to what lay beyond them.

“I’m just gonna say it … this feels very fucking ominous,” Blaine whispered.

After several long moments, lights flickered from a vehicle parked up ahead, and the SUV rolled to a stop just as Amalas’ voice crackled in their ears.

“I see that you’ve arrived. Everything clear?”

“Good here,” Trystan confirmed, and the other three repeated his words.

Trystan and Leo exited the vehicle first, and Blaine and Simon gave one another a look before they followed suit. As they approached the other vehicle, they watched as a familiar face came into view.

Jonas, Croía’s former guard, bowed to Trystan. “It’s good to see you, sir. If only it was under better circumstances.”

“Agreed,” Trystan said. “Thank you for your willingness to help.”

“Of course.”

“Is everything set on your end?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Trystan turned to look at the other three. “Don’t forget to stay alert and don’t draw attention to yourselves. Wait it out until the time comes, and once each of you has your spin as we’ve planned, you slip out through the side exit of the ballroom. Everett will be waiting to lead you to the tunnel … and I’ll meet you back here. Try not to get caught or, worse, die.” Blaine’s and Simon’s brows rose and Leo snorted. “Kidding … mostly.” He looked at each of them, not needing to say what he was thinking; the gratitude in his eyes at what they were risking for his sister said more than enough. “See you soon.”

They all shook his hand before the three of them slid into the other vehicle with Jonas, who was getting them through the gates with the help of Everett.

As they drove off back down the path, Trystan turned and walked in the opposite direction before veering off onto a smaller path in the woods. He hadn’t been down there since he was a teenager when he would hide from his lessons or escape the constant watchful eyes of his parents. It was clear no one else had been down that way in quite some time, evident by the brush covering the path.

After walking roughly a mile, Trystan came to the end of the trail where the entrance to the tunnel was located. It had been closed off over a decade ago, but he knew there was a way to open it, and instructed Everett on how to do so. He spotted the thick piece of wood that was keeping the heavy door wedged open just enough, and he smiled triumphantly when he slipped through.

“You made it.”

“Did you doubt me?” Trystan asked as he shook Everett’s hand.

“Not at all,” Everett smiled as they started walking down the dark passageway with his flashlight guiding them. “Guests started to arrive roughly 15 minutes ago.”

“And you’re going to the gate?”

“Yes. Jonas just sent me a message, so I’m headed there now.”

“Perfect.” Trystan glanced over at him. “How’s Croía?”

“I don’t know,” Everett shook his head. “I haven’t seen her today. She’s been with your mother since this morning.”

Trystan’s jaw tensed, but he nodded. When they rounded the first corner, Trystan stopped Everett. “Once you get back inside, there’s something I need you to do …”

****

Jonas waited in the car line going through the front gates of the palace where a guard was doing clarification checks of the guest list.

“A guard is circling the vehicles while the other does the clarification checks,” Jonas said quietly. “If they tap on your window, roll it down and act bored and annoyed by their presence.”

Blaine, Leo, and Simon nodded their agreement from the backseat as they fixed their masks into place; each mask was designed to conceal most of their face, giving off phantom of the opera vibes.

When the first of the three vehicles ahead of them finally pulled through the gate, Jonas drummed his fingers anxiously against the steering wheel; Everett had yet to come and replace the one guard checking the guest list. After a few moments, the next car pulled through the gate, leaving one more ahead of them.

“Come on,” Jonas mumbled under his breath. He watched as the other guard slowly circled the vehicle in front of them and felt the sweat beading his brow as they got closer to finishing. The guard circling the vehicle tapped the back of it, signaling them to go ahead. “Shit.”

Just as the car ahead started to roll through the gate, Everett appeared, and Jonas released a breath of relief as he slowly began pulling forward. He watched Everett say something to the guard, who then handed him the tablet with the lists before hurrying toward the palace as he rolled to a stop in front of him.

“IDs,” Everett said curtly, falling into character.

As Jonas spoke with Everett, Leo, Blaine, and Simon watched as the other guard slowly circled their vehicle; their eyes tracked his every movement until he stopped in front of Leo’s door and tapped a knuckle against the window.

Leo’s jaw tensed as he rolled it down. “What?” he snapped.

The guard peered inside. “Just checking the vehicle, sir.”

“Make it quick,” Leo spat in feigned annoyance. “I don’t intend on spending my evening sitting in the back of my damn car.” The man met his gaze, but unlike the guards he was used to dealing with back home, this one arched a brow almost in a challenge. It didn’t deter him, however. “Well, are your eyes fucking working? Or do I need to tell Queen Viktoria that we were late due to being held up at the gate by her incompetent guard?”

The man stared at him for another heartbeat before offering a curt nod. “Enjoy your evening, sirs.”

Leo rolled his eyes before rolling up his window. When Jonas pulled through the gate, Simon let out a snort. “Dude …”

“I just know that guy has a list of nobles he wants to kill and Lord Sterling DuPont was just added to it,” Blaine chuckled.

Leo grinned. “Gotta give ol’ Sterling a reputation.”

“Everyone still connected?” Amalas’ voice crackled in their ears.

“Good here,” Blaine answered. “We just got through the gate.”

“Good on my end,” Trystan’s voice came through. “But I’m probably going to lose you here in a second. I’ll let you know when I’m back on.”

“What do you mean?” Blaine questioned. “What if you need—”

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Just get inside.”

“That’s fucking great,” Leo grumbled. “We’re not even inside and he’s already going rogue.”

“I can still hear you, asshole,” Trystan said.

“I’ve got eyes on him for now,” Amalas interjected, reminding them she was watching the security feed. “If he needs assistance, I’ll let you know. You three just worry about what you need to do.”

Leo sighed just as the SUV came to a stop outside the front entrance. “I’ll see you back where we met up,” Jonas said quietly. “Good luck.” Blaine patted his shoulder right before a staff member opened the door.

Leo slid out followed by Blaine and Simon, and each offered a curt nod as they buttoned their suit jackets before making their way up the stairs. As they stepped through the front entrance, while some guests were led straight into the ballroom, they were instructed to take their place in a line.

They glanced around the foyer, dimly lit by the two gothic-style chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. In front and behind them in the line stood other masked guests … the men who would be vying for Croia’s hand that evening.

And suddenly, the full impact of what that evening was about hit Blaine like a ton of bricks. Croía was, in a nutshell, supposed to be auctioned off to one of these men … like some prized fucking animal.

It made his throat burn with bile.

“Remember, it’s not the Princess you need to impress this evening,” one man in front of him said quietly to another beside him, but not quietly enough for Blaine not to overhear. “It’s Queen Viktoria who will be choosing. And considering the Crown Matrimonial is in play—”

“I’m aware, Father,” the other man interrupted. “I’ll have no problem showing the Princess exactly where her place is and will be if I’m the one chosen.”

Blaine’s hands balled into fists at his sides as his jaw tensed. Confirmation of these men being aware of the power being offered to them had just been given. They had no intention of showing Croía any sort of respect that evening. Why? Because they weren’t trying to gain her favor but Viktoria’s.

Tonight, they needed and were expected to show Viktoria that they’d be both willing and able to keep Croía in line.

Anger flared in Blaine’s chest at the thought of any of these assholes crossing any sort of line with his friend. And more bile rose in his throat at the idea of Liam having to hear about it.

“Blaine?” Simon whispered.

Blaine snapped from his daze and looked at Simon and Leo; both their eyes flickered down to his balled-up fists. He cleared his throat and flexed his hands open. “I’m fine.”

After several long moments, they finally stepped over the threshold into the ballroom, and they all immediately searched for Croía as the line slowly moved. They finally saw her standing at the front of the dais, dressed in a black and gold gown and a matching gold mask.

Behind her were six figures seated on the dais.

The two in the center were the unmasked King and Queen, dressed in black regalia; two chairs sat on either side of them, each one occupied by a figure dressed in a hooded black garb, and their identities were concealed entirely by full-face masks, each of a different design.

“That’s not unsettling at all,” Simon quipped.

As Simon, Blaine, and Leo grew closer to the dais, they adjusted their masks, ensuring they stayed in place. Leo’s eyes were locked in a side-long stare on the King and Queen while Blaine’s remained on Croía. Some suitors simply bowed without a word and walked away. Others, however, like the asshole in front of them that Blaine overheard in the foyer, seemed to deem it necessary to assert their dominance.

“Your Highness,” the man bowed when he made it in front of her.

Blaine watched intently. Croía didn’t move, even as the man took her hand in his without her permission. He brushed his lips against her knuckles before lifting his head, and Blaine saw the corner of his mouth quirk up in a smirk as his grip on her hand tightened. “After tonight, you’ll be the one bowing, and hopefully to me.”

A low growl left Blaine’s throat, and Leo inconspicuously nudged him at hearing it. “Chill.”

“He just—”

“I know.” Leo’s jaw tensed. He’d heard it, too. And he’d give anything at that moment to beat the living audacity out of the guy, but they had to stay focused.

It was finally their turn.

Simon stepped up to Croía first, silently bowing at the waist before stepping away; he had been worried his voice might give him away should he say anything.

Leo followed behind him. “Your Highness,” he bowed and quickly stepped away.

When Blaine stepped up in front of Croía, his eyes found hers, but she didn’t meet his gaze; she was looking through him, staring straight ahead instead as if in a trance. He quickly scanned over her for any sign of injury or distress, but nothing stood out other than her thin, statuesque posture. When his eyes fell on her face again, his jaw ticked when he saw a lone tear trickle down her cheek from beneath her gilded mask. We’re here, Croía. “Your Highness,” he said quietly to mask his voice as he bowed before stepping away.

****

Lydea closed an open stateroom door as she made her way down the hall; she was doing one last cursory check of the upper levels. When she rounded the corner, she stopped short and furrowed her brow. “What are you doing?” she called out.

Everett turned and met her gaze, offering a bow as she approached him. “Just doing a cursory check of the corridors, ma’am.”

“I’m doing the cursory checks. Your post is downstairs in the ballroom.”

“I just thought — with all the guests this evening, I mean—”

“I’ve got it handled. Now get your ass downstairs.”

“Of course, ma’am.” Everett gave another stiff bow before hurrying for the stairs. He waited a moment before glancing over his shoulder, seeing her still watching him; he quickly looked away. Once at the stairs, he inconspicuously slid his eyes in her direction once more, watching her disappear down the corridor he’d come from when she spotted him … and he smirked.

She’d done exactly what Trystan said she would.

Lydea let her gaze flicker around as she walked the length of the corridor; the guards were all stationed downstairs, either in the ballroom or on the grounds around the palace. Not in the third-floor corridor. And certainly not the one that led to the private suites of the Thorne progeny.

Once at the end of the hall, Lydea turned and started checking the doors to the rooms.

Vasili’s and Sebastyan’s doors were locked as they usually were. Marguerite’s door was locked, the same as it had been since her last visit more than a year ago.

In the next hall, Emika’s and Kaspar’s doors were locked. Astrid’s door was locked. Her own door was locked. She bypassed what was once Trystan’s room without a second thought and peered around the corner at the lone door at the end of the small hallway.

Croía’s room.

By itself.

Away from the others.

Lydea approached it and jiggled the knob. It, too, was locked. She sighed as she turned back and started to make her way back to the ballroom, but she halted a step after passing what was once her eldest brother’s room. Her brow furrowed as she turned back around, confirming what she thought she saw.

The door was cracked open.

With one hand on the hilt of her dagger, Lydea pushed open the door with her free hand and stepped inside; she glanced around, taking it in for the first time in eight years. She froze again and tilted her head to the side when her eyes fell on the oil painting on the far back wall; the portion of the wall it was hanging on was ajar and she could feel the draft coming from the stone passageway … the passageway that only she and her siblings had access to through each of their suites.

Lydea slowly moved toward the opening; Kaspar and Emika were the only ones she knew who still used the passageway from time to time, and it was entirely possible they entered Trystan’s old room for whatever reason their twisted minds felt necessary. Hell, they could be having weekly slumber parties in there and she wouldn’t know or even care for that matter. Being that Kaspar was told not to be near the palace that night and Emika was charged with keeping him away, however, she was curious if her two younger siblings had managed to sneak in.

Stepping through the opening in the wall, Lydea made her way into the passageway; she stopped once inside the darkened stone hallway, listening for the echo of voices or footsteps, but heard nothing. She stopped again at the end of the stone hall, staring at the wooden door that led to the massive chamber beyond it.

It was open.

“What the hell are those two up to now?” Lydea whispered to herself as she started for the door. She stepped inside, expecting to find her two younger siblings lounging in the secret sanctuary they used as children, but her brows rose at who was there instead.

Leaning against a column at the edge of the room, Trystan nonchalantly — and expertly — twirled a dagger in his hands. “Hello, Lyddles,” he smirked. “Long time no see.”

“Well, this is certainly a surprise.” Lydea feigned indifference while her mind raced with how the hell he’d managed to make it inside completely undetected. “I can say that you’re the last person I expected to find here.”

“You know how much I love surprises,” Trystan grinned. “You’re looking rather official in your uniform.” He tilted his head in thought. “It suits you.”

“Cut the small talk,” Lydea said as she stopped a few feet away from him. “How did you get in here? And considering you’re not supposed to step foot inside the palace, let alone the country unless summoned by the King or Queen — which you weren’t — what are you doing here?”

“To answer your first question, I have my ways. As for your second question … I think you already know the answer to that.”

Lydea stared at him. “Croía …”

“Still sharp as a whip, aren’t you?” Trystan grinned.

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but you’re not going to get very far in your task, I’m afraid.”

“You almost sound convincing.” Trystan offered a menacing smile as he skillfully flipped the dagger in his hand. “Almost.”

“The guards will be up here in a moment,” Lydea said, “and unfortunately, I’ll have to take you into custody.”

A low, sardonic chuckle escaped Trystan. “Lyddles, give your big brother a little more credit than that. You haven’t alerted your guards. And even if you tried with that silent trigger on your fancy little radio — yes, I know about it — this chamber, if I recall correctly, doesn’t emit signals for shit because we’re too deep inside the palace and these concrete walls are too damn thick. That’s why Astrid stopped coming in here because she couldn’t get a signal on her phone.” He saw the flicker of irritation in her eyes from him remembering those details, and he grinned triumphantly. “Now … we can do this the easy way or the hard way. The choice is yours.”

“No, dear brother, the choice is yours. I’m either taking you with me freely or against your will.”

Lydea kept her voice steady and expression indifferent despite knowing this was a battle she would more than likely lose. This was Trystan. She’d never admit it out loud, but her big brother could outsmart her both intellectually and physically.

“Your confidence is inspiring. Truly,” Trystan teased with a smirk. “But I’m going to call your bluff.”

“Trystan, you don’t want to do that.”

All facetiousness left Trystan’s face and his glare on his sister turned sinister as he took a threatening step forward. “Let me put it to you this way … I’m not leaving here without Croía. I’ll burn this palace to the fucking ground if that’s what it takes. And you know I’m crazy enough and feeling pissed off enough to do just that. So we have a couple of options here. I’m either going to take you out and continue on my way … or I’ll give you a chance to do the right thing and you can help me.”

“The right thing is for Croía to—”

“Don’t,” Trystan spat. “You know nothing about her and what the right thing for her is. This … she is not built for this. And I don’t mean the crown, I mean this place. You and I both know that.” The brief flicker of guilt in her eyes told him everything he needed to know. “She’s not me or you. She is good, Lydea. Let her stay that way.”

“Trystan, my duty is—”

“I don’t give a fuck about your duty,” Trystan took another step forward. “You know this isn’t right. She’ll never be the person they’re trying to mold her into no matter how hard they try. This is going to do nothing but break her. But you’d rather stand there and watch her crumble than give her a fucking chance at a life away from here because of your high and mighty duty?” He paused, tilting his head. “Or is it because you’re afraid?”

“I am not afraid,” Lydea ground out through gritted teeth.

“Huh,” Trystan hummed. “Could have fooled me. Because the way I see it, you’re acting like a fucking coward because you’re afraid of what mommy dearest will say. You never could stand to be a disappointment, even if it was in the devil’s eyes.” A breath escaped Lydea as she held her brother’s gaze. “I’ve never asked you for anything. Even when my entire reputation was on the line, even when the lies started to spread like wildfire and I knew you were probably the one person who could prove my innocence if I begged you to really look into it … I never asked you for a damn thing. I’m asking you now. Not for me but for her.” His voice dropped to a dangerously threatening tone. “And I’m only going to ask once.”

Lydea’s jaw tensed, and Trystan braced himself for a fight that would be grueling but that he knew he would win. She held his gaze for a few more heartbeats before closing her eyes and releasing a sharp breath. “What do you need?”

Trystan straightened. “You better not be toying with me, Lydea. I’m in no fucking mood for games.”

“I’m not toying with you,” Lydea chided. “Croía asked me to help her … to get her out … and I wanted to, but …”

“Well, here’s your chance to make it up to her,” Trystan interrupted.

“Again … what do you need?”

“I’m not telling you what I’m doing,” Trystan said pointedly. “Because one, I don’t know if I can truly trust you. No offense.”

Lydea crossed her arms but shrugged. “None taken.” She couldn’t blame him there.

“And two, the less you know, the better. I’m not asking you to directly insert yourself,” Trystan explained. “I only need you to help create a diversion …”

****

Long after the guests had made their way through the receiving line, Croía remained standing at the front of the dais. She wasn’t allowed to sit. She was the spectacle of the evening, the trophy for those not vying for her hand but for the crown her mother had dangled in front of them.

The “suitors” would come and stand in front of her; they’d ogle her and talk about her and make comments as though she wasn’t right there and could hear their every word. She felt like a prize up for grabs.

She felt used.

She felt disgusting.

In the last few days leading up to that night, Croía had given up; that sliver of hope she’d held onto to somehow find a way out had completely vanished after Lydea declined to help her. She hadn’t necessarily accepted the fate being forced on her that evening, but she had come to accept that there was nothing short of death itself that was going to get her out of it. And up until that night, she’d been in a daze of sorts. The days had been a blur. She’d been numb.

Now, she was scared.

Croía felt her throat burn and her eyes sting when two of the “suitors” finally turned away from her and headed back into the crowd after sharing would-be plans they had for her with one another. She felt sick. She fought the instinct to glance over her shoulder to where her mother was on the dais. Why she’d want to look to her for comfort, she didn’t know. She wouldn’t get it.

She had no one.

She was alone.

Croía’s breath hitched in her throat as she fought back the emotions threatening to spill out; she closed her eyes and thought of the one thing that could calm her … yet simultaneously wreck her.

Liam.

An ache rippled through Croía’s chest as she envisioned his smile, his kind blue eyes, and the sound of his laugh. Her mother’s words about him forgetting and giving up on her had infiltrated the deepest parts of her the past few days; as she slowly lost what little hope she had left, those words burrowed themselves into her soul.

He’s forgotten you.

He’s given up on you.

What she wouldn’t give to tell him how sorry she was. She didn’t mean to let him down. She should have listened when he warned her not to come back here. She had no one to blame but herself for where she was at that very moment, and she couldn’t and wouldn’t blame him or anyone else for feeling the same. She’d made the stupid decision to come, all to seek some form of approval and affection from her parents that she knew deep down she’d never get.

I was a fool. A naive fool.

A voice pulled her from her daze and her eyes snapped open as her body went rigid under the scrutinizing gaze of another “suitor” now standing in front of her.

****

Blaine, Leo, and Simon stood in the back corner of the ballroom, casually sipping drinks as they scanned the crowd.

They’d kept to themselves save for a few curt nods of acknowledgment that they returned to other guests. They all found themselves on edge, however. Each time one of the guests approached Croía — who had yet to move from her place at the front of the dais — they watched them intently. When the King, Queen, and their creepy hooded cronies stepped off the dais and made their way around the room, they managed to dodge them entirely, making sure to stay huddled in an area they already bypassed. When the King and Queen returned to their seats on the dais, the others remained mingling with the rest of the crowd before they slipped out; Amalas confirmed they had left, having seen them on the security feed.

“It’s almost time.”

Leo released a breath of relief at the sound of Trystan’s voice crackling in his ear. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“Handling something.”

“Handling what?” Simon asked.

“Lydea. I’m moving into my spot now. They should be starting any moment. Everett is in position waiting for you.”

As if on cue, a bell chimed, signaling that it was time for the Drakovian waltz. They had worked this part out so that no matter where they were positioned, they knew where they needed to end up. They watched as Croía finally moved from her place at the front of the dais to the center of the dance floor while the other guests took up positions around her.

As they made their way to the dance floor, out of the corner of his eye, Leo saw Lydea stride into the ballroom with another guard following closely behind her, making her way toward the dais. “Are you sure you handled your sister?” he whispered. “Because she just walked in and is headed right for your parents.”

“Just do what we planned. Don’t worry about her.”

As the music started and slowly began to swell, Lydea stepped onto the dais with the other guard and they stood in front of her parents, blocking most of their view. She leaned forward, appearing to start some deep discussion as the dance started.

Other guests besides those vying for the Drakovian crown were now on the dance floor, but the idea was to give each “suitor” a dance with the Princess.

The asshole that had been in front of them in the line earlier had somehow managed to end up as Croía’s first partner.

As they went through the steps, Simon, Blaine, and Leo kept their eyes on Croía, and during each switch, they moved closer, throwing some off as they cut them off and took their respective partners, but it was easy for them to rectify and not enough to draw attention.

Croía was being spun around from one guest to the next. When she switched partners again, the man she had been supposed to go to was cut off as another swept her away into a twirl. She glanced over at her mother on the dais, knowing the slip-up would infuriate her, but she hadn’t seen it; she was busy speaking to Lydea.

When she looked back at her dance partner, he smiled. “Nice moves, darl.”

Croía’s eyes slightly widened, recognizing both the voice and the silly term of endearment. “Si—”

Before she could finish, Croía was twirled away into another pair of arms. She glanced around for who she could have sworn she’d just been with, but she couldn’t spot him in the crowd of tuxes and masks. Her chest burned where the brief spark of hope had started to ignite but was abruptly put out. She knew it wasn’t possible and her mind had just been playing tricks on her.

Blaine had Croía now, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything to her, not knowing how she or himself would react. He just wanted to get her the hell out of there and away from this place and these people as soon as possible.

A few moments later, Croía was spun away again, landing in another set of strong arms. She knew something wasn’t right; she should still be at the center of the dance floor, but she had somehow shifted and was now near the back edge instead. She glanced at the dais again to gauge her mother’s reaction to her having somehow messed this up, but she was still distracted in conversation with Lydea.

“Looking fancy, Cocoa Bean.”

Croía’s gaze snapped to the man in front of her at the instant recognition of the nickname; when she met his piercing blue gaze through his mask, her eyes welled with tears as her heart pounded. “L-Leo?”

“Shhh.” Leo looked around, feeling her start to shake in his grasp as he continued to shuffle through the waltz steps. “Breathe, Croía,” he whispered. “Focus and don’t draw attention to yourself right now. I’m going to pass you off here in a minute and you need to go. Do you hear me?” She gave a quick nod, holding his gaze through the mask as if she were afraid this moment wasn’t real. “Good. I’ll see you soon,” he winked.

With that, Leo spun her away from him with a bit of force, sending her stumbling backward toward an alcove at the back wall. Before she could register what was happening, an arm wrapped around her waist and yanked her through a secret door. She went to scream, but a large hand clamped over her mouth to silence her. Her eyes snapped up when she was spun around and they widened when she saw his face.

“Trystan,” Croía choked out as he pulled her to him.

“I’m here, kid,” Trystan replied. “I’m right here.” He closed his eyes when she clung to him, fisting his suit jacket in her hands; he could feel her trembling and hear her breath hitch but forced himself to refocus, stepping back from her and gripping her shoulders as he looked into her tear-filled eyes. “Listen to me. We don’t have a lot of time. I’ll explain everything, but we need to go. Now.”

Croía’s mind and heart were racing but she had enough sense to nod in reply.

Trystan gripped her hand like a vice as he pulled her down a dark and musty passageway, moving through it as if it were second nature. The sound of her heels clicking against the concrete floor echoed against the old stone walls; he was moving so fast that she had to practically jog to keep up with his long strides. She had no idea where they were or where they were going.

After turning a few more corners, they rushed toward a door at the end of the passageway, and when Trystan pulled Croía through its opening, she was outside. She watched him turn and pull out the thick piece of wood that had been there. The heavy door slammed shut with a resounding thud.

“Let’s go,” Trystan said as he turned back, grabbing Croía’s hand again and pulling her into a pathway in the woods.

Between the still lingering panic and moving so quickly, Croía was gasping for breath as they rushed through the dark woods. Her gown had snagged on branches and brambles, tearing the fabric in places and sweat beaded the hairline of her no longer elegant updo.

Soon, they burst through the end of the pathway onto an abandoned dirt road, and Croía skidded to a halt when she saw two SUVs and the silhouette of a man standing in front of one … a man she didn’t recognize.

“Trystan,” Croía’s voice cracked as she stumbled back.

“It’s ok,” Trystan said. “Everett has been helping me … feeding me information to help get you out. He’s good. He’s coming with us.” He looked at the guard as he gave a quick bow. “Everyone ready?”

“Yes, sir,” Everett nodded.

“Good. Let’s go.”

“Where are Leo and Simon?” Croía asked.

Trystan ushered Croía to the first SUV, opened the back door, and helped her in while Everett slipped into the driver’s seat. “They’re in the other SUV with Jonas and Blaine.”

Jonas and Blaine, Croía thought as she was hit with another wave of emotion.

As he yanked the seatbelt across her chest and buckled it, Trystan could sense her gaze on him, and he looked up; he lifted his hands and pulled the mask off her face. “Are you ok? Are you hurt anywhere?”

“I …” Croía trailed off as a lump swelled in her throat. She was overwhelmed and confused. Too much was happening all at once and she couldn’t think straight.

Trystan. Leo. Blaine. Simon.

How they managed to get in or what exactly they had done, Croía didn’t know. But for a brief moment, she couldn’t help but think … if they were there, did that mean someone else was there?

Those words that had made a home in her soul filled her head once again.

He’s forgotten you.

He’s given up on you.

“I’m ok,” Croía finally choked out just above a whisper.

Trystan nodded. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” He stepped back and shut her door. “Amalas … we’re on our way,” he said as he walked around to the other side. He chucked Croía’s mask on the ground of the dirt road before he slid inside.

****

Amalas and Olivia looked at one another with grins. “Do you want to tell them or should I?” Olivia asked as she gestured in Liam’s and Alia’s direction; they were both pacing on the deck outside.

“You can do the honors,” Amalas replied as she looked back at the screen and began typing. “I need to get this footage onto a USB before I wipe their security feed.”

Olivia nodded as she pushed back her chair and stood, making her way toward the sliding door. When she opened it and stepped outside, both Liam’s and Alia’s gazes snapped in her direction. “They’re on their way back.”

“They … they got her?” Liam’s voice cracked.

Olivia felt an unmistakable sting in her eyes at the look on her friend’s face. She nodded, “They got her.”

Alia squealed through tears and ran inside, throwing her arms around her sister.

A sharp breath, one he felt like he’d been holding all night, escaped Liam. And suddenly, he was trembling. “They got her …” He needed to hear her say it again.

“They did.”

In the next moment, Liam sank to his knees and covered his face with his hands. Weeks worth of suppressed worry mixed with more gratitude than he’d ever felt in his life and it all poured out at once.

Olivia placed her hand on his back as she crouched down next to him. “She’s on her way, Li.”

****

Thirty minutes into their drive back to Rivala, Trystan glanced over at Croía beside him, watching her as she stared out the window. His hand was clutched in hers; she hadn’t let it go since he got into the SUV.

But she’d been silent.

And that worry Trystan had about how far inside her shell she would be gnawed at him because he hadn’t been able to gauge her.

Trystan hadn’t expected her to ask him questions about any of what took place that evening, not right now, not with Everett in the vehicle, someone she didn’t know. But it was her emotions — or lack thereof — that had him worried.

While Croía had shed some tears, it wasn’t anything like what he’d braced himself for. She’d always been an emotional person, and considering what she’d been through, to be honest, he expected her to break down now that she was out. But she hadn’t. He knew she probably had a lot on her mind and that she had to be feeling beyond overwhelmed after everything that happened just that night alone, but he wasn’t sure if he could chalk her lack of emotions up to that or not.

As she stared out the window, Croía’s mind and heart felt heavy. She wasn’t sure where they were headed, but as long as it was far away from the place she once called home, she didn’t care. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, but she continued blinking them away and pushing those emotions threatening to unleash back into their bottle; she feared if she allowed them just a little bit of freedom, she wouldn’t be able to get them back under control. So she coated herself in a blanket of numbness … but it didn’t stop those words from breaking through.

He’s forgotten you.

He’s given up on you.

Croía wished she could drown them out, but they played in an echo on repeat in her mind. And each time she heard them, that thread holding her together would fray.

Those words wouldn’t allow her to make sense of Leo, Blaine, and Simon being there. They offered excuses as to why else they chose to be a part of it, reasons that didn’t involve Liam …

Because he’d forgotten … he’d given up.

****

Sitting inside the living area of the cabin, Alia and Liam stared out the window, waiting for the slightest glimpse of headlights to shine into the darkness outside and signal that the others had returned. Amalas and Olivia had made them stop watching long enough to force both of them to eat something, but as soon as they finished, they both returned to the sofa facing the window.

Liam’s eyes flickered between his watch and the window; he’d been counting down the minutes since Olivia stepped onto the deck to tell them the news. It’d been just over an hour … they should be there.

Just as his eyes slid down to check his watch again, Alia sprung up, and his gaze snapped back to the window; the trees outside were illuminated by a light that grew brighter with each second.

Then two SUVs rolled to a stop.

Liam slowly rose to his feet as his eyes shifted between the two vehicles.

Alia was already rushing for the door. She flung it open, ran out onto the porch, and paused, watching as the back door of each SUV opened. Trystan emerged from one, and Leo from the other. When Trystan reached into the vehicle, she saw a hand take his, and a moment later, he helped Croía out.

Alia flew down the stairs, making a beeline toward her. “Croía!” She threw her arms around her.

Croía returned her embrace as her vision blurred. “Hi,” she choked out. Her eyes snapped to the front porch when two figures appeared from inside.

Olivia and Amalas.

Something inside Croía’s chest twisted, both with gratitude and heartache.

Alia drew back to look at her. “You’re ok?”

“Yeah,” Croía nodded before she was pulled into another hug. She closed her eyes, trying to compose herself.

Alia stepped back again, tearfully smiling as she tucked a loose strand of Croía’s hair behind her ear. Hearing the soft crunch of gravel behind her, she glanced over her shoulder, and when she looked back at Croía, her smile was broad.

When Alia stepped aside … there stood Liam.

Croía felt that dam inside her start to crumble at the mere sight of him.

He didn’t forget.

He didn’t give up.

He’s here.

Suddenly, that thread that was barely holding her together snapped and the last several weeks crashed over her all at once. Her heart felt as though it was folding in on itself, making it hard to breathe. Croía pressed her palm to her chest and bowed her head as a sob ripped from her throat and her knees buckled beneath her, and she began to sink to the ground.

Before she could hit the gravel, Liam was there, wrapping his strong arms around her and pulling her up to him as she fell apart, trembling through broken sobs in his embrace. He bit his lip, rapidly blinking his eyes to rid them of the sting in an attempt to hold himself together for her because, at that moment, she needed him to.

Trystan chewed the inside of his cheek, watching her finally drop that veil and break down.

With an arm wrapped securely around her and holding her against him, Liam cradled the back of her head with his hand and tilted his head, pressing his lips to her ear. “I’m here, love,” he whispered as she continued to cry into his chest. “I’ve got you.”

When he glanced up, Liam saw the misty eyes of the others as they stared at her … at the two of them. And in the next moment, he scooped her into his arms.

Croía tucked her head into the crook of his neck, clinging to him as he turned and carried her into the cabin.

***************************************

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