#I knew nothing that happened in my school

[yslgreen]

Need Every Inch.

PAIRING : No outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

SUMMARY : Joel needs a last-minute suit for Tommy’s wedding. You happen to be a tailor, one Joel didn’t expect to be so attracted to. Maybe those definitely-not-professional jokes you make mean you're not indifferent either?

WARNINGS : 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak AU, no ellie, no y/n, slight age gap, oral m! recieving, fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it up people!), creampie, praise, pet names, so many innuendos, teasing, sexual tension, slightly insecure! Joel, fluff, slight inappropriate behaviour from reader but let’s close our eyes pls.

A/N: I wanted to write something from Joel’s POV this time, so this started as a quick oneshot & of course it ended up being much longer than I intended. Sorry not sorry about that! And because men in suits get me all hot and bothered here we are.... Full disclaimer: I know absolutely nothing about tailoring beyond what Google has taught me for this fic, so apologies in advance for anything inaccurate!

Here on AO3 | 18 k (I dont know what came over me)

Joel definitely needed a new suit.

He knew it before he even looked in the mirror. Felt it the second he pulled the damn thing on. The jacket was too short for his arms. The shoulders hugged too tight. The fabric strained across his chest like it was begging for mercy. And the buttons? He couldn’t get a single one to close.

A puff of laughter came from behind him.

“When’s the last time you wore that thing?” Tommy asked, smirking from where he sat perched on the edge of Joel’s bed, watching his brother with far too much interest.

“Years ago,” Joel muttered with annoyance, tossing the jacket somewhere in his room.

The answer was vague, but he knew exactly when it was. Almost two decades ago, the day he and Sarah’s mother said yes in a courthouse. Too young and too rushed. The suit had been bought just days before, off the rack and not even altered. Even then, he hadn’t cared about the suit itself. It was just something he had to wear.

He never bought another one. Never needed to.

Joel lived in work pants, worn-in T-shirts and if you asked his daughter, way too many flannels. Suits were for men with office jobs or lives that required polishing. He didn’t have either. And they weren’t cheap, anyway. Raising a daughter on his own meant every extra dollar went to more important things: shoes she’d outgrow in a month, school supplies, dinners that didn’t come from a can.

Spending money on something as useless as a suit? Not a chance.

He’d kept this one tucked away in the back of the closet, thinking naively that it would still fit if he ever needed it. That time hadn’t changed him that much. But years of hard living, heavier lifting, and broader shoulders had reshaped him. And the suit hadn’t gotten the memo.

Tommy leaned back on his palms, eyebrows raised. “And you were plannin’ on wearin’ that to my wedding ?”

Joel shot him a look. “Didn’t figure it’d be this bad.”

“Joel… you couldn’t button it if your life depended on it.”

Joel grunted. “Didn’t ask for your commentary.”

Tommy just smirked. “Well, I can’t have my best man standin’ next to me at the altar lookin’ like that. Sure, it’d make me stand out more, but still.”

“I’ll find somethin’,” Joel said simply.

“I’m gettin’ married in two weeks,” Tommy said pointedly. “You should’ve figured out weeks ago that thing wasn’t gonna cut it.”

Joel didn’t have much of a defence. Truth was, Tommy was right. He’d had plenty of time, but between long hours at work, planning the bachelor party, helping out with wedding errands, and just… life, it had fallen to the bottom of the list. He wasn’t proud of it.

“You need a proper suit,” Tommy continued, standing now. He looked at Joel through the mirror, their reflections side by side. “Not somethin’ off the same rack you buy your flannels from. A real one. Somethin’ that fits. Tailored.”

“I got no need for that,” Joel muttered, already unbuttoning his shirt, eager to change into something comfortable.

“You do,” Tommy said, folding his arms. “For my wedding. For Sarah’s middle school graduation in a few years. Hell, for your own funeral if Maria sees you without a proper suit at our wedding.”

Joel barked a dry laugh despite himself. “That’s a threat?”

“It’s a guarantee,” Tommy said, grinning. “And Maria’ll back me up.”

Finally in something more comfortable, a soft cotton T-shirt and old jeans, Joel turned fully to his brother.

“And where the hell am I supposed to get a proper suit,” he echoed, dragging out the word with emphasis, “in two weeks?”

“Give me a sec,” Tommy said, already pulling his phone from his pocket.

Joel watched as his brother tapped out a quick text, thumbs flying. Probably to Maria. Who else? Tommy was hopeless over her — had been from the jump — and far as Joel could tell, he didn’t make a single decision without her blessing. Not that Joel minded. She was sharp, the kind of woman who always had a plan.

He glanced at his reflection again, at the man staring back in the quiet morning light.

A new suit ?

It wasn’t like ten years ago. Hell, it wasn’t even like five. Joel had built something since then. Built it from the ground up, with his own two hands. A good life. He and Tommy ran a solid contracting business. He had a two-story house with an actual yard. Sarah had everything she needed and more. 

And for once, he had a little room to think about himself, not just what was necessary. He could afford it. A real suit. Something that wasn’t just practical or durable or bought on clearance. Something that might actually make him feel… good. Confident. Hell, maybe even a little handsome. Not that Joel thought he was an ugly man, never had. He knew how he came across. Rugged, solid. That quiet, hard-working edge that some women seemed to like. He didn’t have the easy charm Tommy had, but he held his own.  But it had been a long time since he felt it for himself. Since he’d looked in a mirror and seen someone worth dressing up. Worth the effort. 

“Maria’s got a place,” Tommy said, cutting through Joel’s thoughts. “Tailor shop over near East 6th. She says if you tell them you’re comin’ on her word, they’ll squeeze you in. Deadline and all.”

“And?”

“And what?”

Joel gave him a look. “What else did Maria say?”

A grin spread across Tommy’s face. “That you better be the world’s most polite client. Or she’ll personally kick your ass.”

Joel huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

That’s how, later that day, with the sun dipping low behind the buildings, Joel found himself standing in front of a little shop he’d never noticed before. Not that he drove this stretch of road often, but still, he’d lived in Austin his whole damn life. He liked to think he knew the city pretty well.

Then again, there’d never been a reason to notice it before.

Frank & Co. Tailoring.

The lettering on the sign was neat, understated. Just enough to catch the eye if you were searching for it. The place was classy, but not showy. The wood-panelled front had a warm, worn-in charm, the kind that said the shop had been around a while, quietly doing good work. In the window, a few sharp-looking jackets stood on mannequins, their fabrics catching the last of the afternoon light. Below them, a neat rack of ties and bow ties added colour, from deep blues to muted reds and subtle patterns,  all carefully arranged to invite a second look.

Joel leaned closer, peering through the glass. His brow furrowed; the place looked empty. He wondered, for a beat, if he was too late. He’d meant to get there earlier, but work, as it often did, had dragged longer than planned. He hadn’t even changed out of his slightly dusty clothes. Not the worst shape he’d ever been in after a day on site, but still… it felt like he should’ve made more of an effort.

But the lights were still on, and the little sign hanging on the door clearly read Open . So after brushing some dust off his pants like that was gonna make any real difference, Joel stepped inside.

A bell above the door chimed softly as he entered, and a voice called from somewhere in the back. “I’ll be there in a sec!” 

He stood there a moment, hands at his sides, suddenly very aware of how out of place he felt. The shop was smaller than he expected, but not in a bad way. Just… personal, he’d say. Wood tones, soft lighting, rows of folded shirts and fabric samples displayed with care. A few mannequins stood off to the side, dressed in sharp, clean lines, everything neatly arranged:  charcoal suits, earth-toned linens, deep navy wools. All of it well-made and tasteful.

Joel moved toward the front counter, his eyes drifting as he walked. Off to the side, he spotted what had to be the fitting area: a tall mirror framed in dark wood, a low platform in front of it, a tape measure draped over a nearby stool like someone had just stepped away mid-task. Private enough that someone standing there wouldn’t be seen from the front window. Toward the back, through an open doorway, he could make out what had to be the workroom: bolts of fabric, half-finished pieces on hangers and the low buzz of a machine humming somewhere out of sight. 

Almost without thinking, his fingers brushed over the sleeve of a red velvet jacket. Bold. Not his style in the slightest, but even he could tell it was quality. The fabric was soft under his fingertips. It made him wonder for a second what kind of man wore something like that and didn’t feel like a damn fool doing it.

“Hi! Sorry for the wait. How can I help you?”

Joel turned toward the voice. And stopped. You weren’t what he expected.

Maybe it was the movies' fault, but when he thought of a tailor, he pictured an older man, probably bald, Italian for some reason, with a measuring tape around his neck and a heavy accent like the place doubled as a front for some mafia. He didn’t expect a woman, younger than him by maybe ten years, hair a little tousled, like you hadn’t planned on more clients tonight. An easy, professional smile. Warm eyes. 

Pretty . That was the word that struck him first, clear and fast.

He cleared his throat, voice rougher than he meant it to be. “I, uh... I need a suit.”

You gave him another smile and slid behind the counter, setting the folded fabric you’d been holding onto the back of a nearby chair. “Well, you’re in the right place, then. What’s the occasion?”

“A wedding,” 

“Oh, lovely.” You reached for the small notebook resting near the register and flipped it open, pen already in hand. “When’s the big day?”

“In two weeks.”

You froze mid-scribble. Slowly, you lifted your eyes to meet his. “Two weeks?” you repeated, like maybe you hadn’t heard him right — or hoped you hadn’t.

He gave a small, sheepish shrug. “Yeah.”

You blinked once. The edge of a smile was tugging at his mouth. You were looking at him like he’d just told you he’d shown up for brain surgery with a pocketknife.

“Maria sent me,” he added, as if that might help.

That earned a very different reaction.

“Did she now?” you sighed, setting your notebook down a little harder than necessary. Joel noticed the way your brows pinched in what looked like familiar frustration. “Fucking hell,” you muttered under your breath.

But Joel heard it, and the corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close.

You spun back around a second later, as if remembering he was still there. “Sorry. That wasn’t very professional.”

“S’all right. I know this isn’t exactly a normal request.”

You exhaled slowly. “Yeah. Making a full suit in two weeks is…”

“Impossible?”

You gave a tired, dry laugh. “Definitely difficult.”

There was a pause, and Joel figured this was the part where you told him no. And fair enough, he wouldn’t blame you. Two weeks was damn near impossible, and he’d left it too late. A suit off the rack would do. Not great, not impressive, but it would do. Tommy might roll his eyes, but I'll be too busy at his wedding to do anything about it. He didn't want to think about what Maria might say to him, or the way she might scold him like he was a child. Sarah… well, he could already imagine the look on her sweet face. Disappointed, but trying not to show it.

But then, instead of sending him away, you pulled out the chair next to you and sat down, nodding toward the other one across from you.

“Have a seat.”

Joel hesitated, just for a second, then did as told.

“Do you know what kind of suit you’re looking for?” you asked, reaching for your notebook again.

“What kind?” he echoed, brow furrowed.

“There’s classic, slim fit, modern fit, double-breasted, three-piece, tuxedo, unstructured—” you rattled them off quickly, like someone who didn’t have time to waste.

Joel held up a hand. “Whoa, whoa…slow down.”

You laughed, soft but amused, and Joel found himself leaning just slightly toward the sound.

“Sorry,” you said, not sounding sorry at all. “Tight deadline. If we’re doing this, I need to get started tonight.”

“Right. Sorry.”

You shook your head, more gently this time. “Don’t apologise. It’s my job. Just trying to get a read on what we’re working with.” You clicked your pen. “Have you ever had a tailored suit before?”

“Never,” he admitted, like it was something he maybe should’ve been embarrassed about.

But you just nodded, unfazed. “That’s totally fine. Do you at least know what you like?”

The look in his eyes told you everything. You didn’t wait for him to fumble for an answer.

“Take a look around,” you offered, gesturing to the space. “Is there anything here that stands out to you? Something close to what you're picturing for yourself?”

Joel turned his head, taking his time as his eyes moved across the room. He glanced at a few mannequins before his gaze landed on one near the back.

“That one,” he said, nodding toward it. “I guess.”

You followed his gaze and gave a thoughtful little hum. “Alright. Clean cut, traditional silhouette.” You tapped your pen lightly against the notebook. “Are we talking black? Or are we open to a little colour?”

“Black,” he said, and the amused lift of your eyebrow made him wonder if you’d already guessed that would be his answer.

“Can’t go wrong with that,” you murmured with a small nod as you flipped to a new page. “Any want for the fabric?”

Joel hesitated, searching for the right words. “I want somethin’ that lasts. Somethin’ I can wear again if I ever need to.”

You smiled softly, like that was the right answer. “Timeless, then.”

Turning to one of the nearby shelves, you pulled a few fabric samples from a wooden tray and laid them out in front of him. You explained each one — worsted wool, twill and more — pointing out the subtle differences. How some were softer, others more durable. How they caught light differently. How some aged beautifully, and others needed a little more care. Your fingers moved over each fabric with ease, and Joel found himself watching your hands more than the cloth.

He listened more intently than he expected to. Maybe it was the calm certainty in your voice, or the way you clearly knew what you were talking about without making him feel dumb for not knowing it himself. You spoke with the kind of quiet confidence that only came from being good at what you did, and caring about it.

It was… nice, he thought. Watching someone be good at something. Watching you.

After a few more questions, things about budget, lapel preferences, if he wanted anything embroidered (he didn’t), you moved on, your pen scratching notes across the page. You asked about accessories next.

“Do you need coordinated pieces? Tie, bow tie?”

“A bow tie,” Joel said, watching the way your lips twitched into the faintest smile.

You nodded. “Pocket square? Always a good way to add a little pop of color.”

He gave a noncommittal hum. “Maybe.”

“Perfect way to match with your wife’s dress, for example,” you added, smiling.

“No wife,” he said quickly. Maybe too quickly?

You looked up at that, and Joel noticed the brief flick of your eyes to his hand, confirming the absence of a ring. He felt his gaze drop to yours in return. Also no ring. But that didn’t mean anything. Maybe you didn’t wear one at work. Maybe you weren’t married. Maybe you were.

“No one to match with, then?” you asked, tone casual, but there was something in the way you said it. A thread of curiosity woven in, just enough for him to notice.

Was that just good customer service? Or something more? A subtle way of asking if he was spoken for? He couldn’t be sure.

Joel shifted slightly. “I’ll check with the groom. See if there’s a color I need to match. If not…” He hesitated, just for a moment. “Might match with my daughter instead.”

Your face softened. “That’s sweet,” you said, and meant it. “Well, no rush on that. You let me know when you find out.”

You glanced down at your notes, flipping back through the pages as if checking your list, making sure you had everything you needed.

“Well,” you said after a moment, “the good news is you’re not asking for anything too over-the-top.”

“I’m not exactly known for my bold fashion sense,” Joel replied dryly.

You shrugged lightly, not even looking up. “Good-looking men don’t need a loud suit to stand out anyway.”

It was offhand, almost dismissive, like it wasn’t meant to land as a compliment. But it did. Joel’s eyes widened a little, not expecting that. You were already back on your notes, like you hadn’t just called him good-looking, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe to you, it was. Still, the words settled in him. A flicker of something quiet and pleased. It wasn’t vanity exactly, but there was something deeply satisfying about knowing that you looked at him and saw a man worth noticing. That the interest wasn’t entirely one-sided.

You were focused again, pen gliding across the page as you started drafting the order summary: measurements, fabric, deadlines, deposit terms. But midway through, your hand paused. You looked up at him, eyes meeting his again. You had pretty eyes. 

“I forgot to ask your name,” you realised. 

“I’m Joel,” he replied, reaching out his hand automatically. “Joel Miller.”

There was a flicker in your expression at the name. Something small, but noticeable. Recognition, maybe? Or something else he couldn’t quite place. But before he could dwell on it, you were already offering your own name along with your hand. The handshake was brief and professional, but something about it lingered. The warmth of your skin, the subtle firmness of your grip. When you let go and his hand dropped back to his side, Joel felt his fingers twitch slightly. 

Once you were done, you slid the document across the counter, letting Joel skim through it. Everything looked in order. He picked up the pen, signed with a steady hand, and passed it back to you.

As you stood, he did the same, instinctively mirroring your movement. When you walked around the front desk, he assumed it was to politely see him out, and turned toward the door.

But he’d barely taken a few steps when your voice came from behind him.

“Where are you going?”

Joel paused, half-turning back. You weren’t following. You were standing near the fitting area, head tilted slightly like you were trying not to laugh.

He blinked. “I thought we were done for now?” he offered, glancing toward the shop window, where the sun had all but slipped beneath the horizon. “Didn’t mean to keep you. It’s almost night out.”

“Well, Miller,” you said, tone light but pointed as you crossed your arms, “if you want that suit ready for this wedding, I need to take those measurements tonight.”

“Measurements?”

You gave him another look, amused, a little exasperated, but still smiling. “Yes, measurements,” you said, drawing the word out like he was being deliberately slow. “I know I’m very good at what I do, but I haven’t quite figured out how to make a custom suit without them.”

Right. Yeah. That tracked. He hadn’t expected it to happen tonight, though. He figured you’d give him an appointment, send him on his way, and get to it sometime in the next few days.

“And… you’re the one taking them?” he asked, and he knew the moment the words left his mouth that you caught the flicker of surprise in his tone. It wasn’t about your skill. He had no doubt you were very capable. Hell, he just spent less than twenty minutes with you, and he already thought you were excellent. It was the realisation that you were going to be the one putting hands on him. He’d assumed there was someone else. Frank — that was the name on the shop window, wasn’t it? An older man in the back room with a measuring tape around his neck, doing this part of the job.

Not you.

You tilted your head, that same teasing glint in your eyes. “My uncle usually handles the men’s measurements,” you explained, like this wasn’t the first time you’d had to say it. Men either got awkward or a little too enthusiastic once they realised that this was also part of your job. “But he’s on vacation until next week. If you’re uncomfortable, I can reschedule you for when he’s back. But...” You didn’t need to finish that sentence.

Joel did it for you. “I’ve got a deadline.”

Your smile deepened. “Then I’m all you’ve got, Miller.”

There was a beat of silence. Joel cleared his throat, the sound a little rougher than it needed to be. “Okay then,” he said finally. “Guess I’m in your hands.”

“Lucky you.”

Joel walked back the few steps he’d taken. “Where do you want me?”

The corner of your mouth lifted just slightly, like you were holding back an answer. Instead, you tilted your head toward the raised platform near the large mirror, tucked in the corner of the shop. “Over there.”

He followed your gesture, noting how the soft, golden lighting of the room caught in your hair, making it glow. He tried not to notice, but he did.

“Take off your jacket for me, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,”

You let out a quiet hum as you turned away to retrieve your measuring tape. When you turned back, he was already standing tall on the platform, his jacket draped over a nearby chair.

Your gaze moved over him. It was quick. Professional. Measured. But not entirely detached.  The subtle tilt of your head, the way your eyes lingered just a second longer than necessary. Joel told himself not to read into it. He reminded himself this was just part of the process. That you weren’t really looking. Not like that.

Even if, for a second, it felt like maybe you were.

“Well,” you murmured, your eyes sweeping over him one last time, “you’re a lot broader than I expected.”

Joel blinked, not sure what to make of that. It could’ve been a purely professional observation but the way you said it made it land differently. Or maybe that was just him, reading too much into everything.

“Is that a bad thing?” 

You didn’t hesitate. “Not in my opinion.”

Was it a compliment? Just a statement of fact? 

You stepped closer, measuring tape in hand, and gave him a quick, teasing smile. “Alright, Miller. I’m gonna need to get my hands on you,” you said, voice smooth with amusement. “Hope that’s not a problem.”

Joel opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wasn’t sure how to answer that without sounding like a teenager. Because no, it definitely wasn’t a problem. Quite the opposite. So he cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. “Go ahead.”

You gave a knowing little smile, as if you’d heard what he didn’t say, and moved into his space. “I’ll start with your neck circumference,” you said, raising your hands, measuring tape between your fingers.

Joel stood still as you moved, watching as you rose onto your toes to loop the tape around his neck. He was quite taller than you, and the platform added just enough height to make the reach difficult for you.

“You want me to crouch or somethin’?” he asked, brow lifting as he glanced down.

You just smiled. “It’s alright. I’ve handled bigger.”

Joel breathed a little heavier. He wasn’t sure if you meant it to sound that way. You didn’t seem to register what you’d just said, or maybe you did, and you were very good at pretending otherwise. Either way, you carried on.

Joel said nothing. He couldn’t trust his mouth not to betray what his brain was doing, which, at the moment, was a mess of thoughts he had no business entertaining. His jaw tightened slightly as your fingers brushed the side of his throat, the tape snug against his skin. You stood so close now, barely a breath between you. He could feel the warmth of you, could smell something faint and clean on your skin, your perfume or shampoo probably, something sweet that made his chest tighten for no good reason.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. And when you stepped back a second later, noting the number with a little nod before writing it in your notebook, he swore the air felt colder without your touch.

“Shoulders,” you murmured.

Your fingers brushed over the top of his shirt, finding one shoulder seam, then carefully extending the tape across to the other. Joel held still, jaw tense. He was looking at your face again before he could stop himself. The subtle crease between your brows, the way your bottom lip caught briefly between your teeth as you made sure the tape sat just right.

“Chest now,” you said softly after noting the new number down.

You stepped back in, close enough that the brush of your arms sent a pulse straight through him. You wrapped the tape around his chest, your fingers grazing the fabric of his shirt with just enough pressure to make him notice. Your hands lingered a second longer than they strictly needed to. You hummed, pleased, maybe even appreciative, and Joel couldn’t stop the subtle inhale that followed, chest rising just slightly under your hands. His pulse kicked harder. You didn’t comment. Just shifted lower, sliding the tape down around his waist.

“Hold still.”

You worked methodically, adjusting the tape around his midsection with firm, careful movements. Your knuckles grazed over his belt as you adjusted the measurement, and Joel had to lock his hands at his sides, fingers curling into his palms to keep from reacting. He could feel the warmth of your body near his, the brush of your wrist, the ghost of touch through his shirt. He was sure you weren’t doing anything intentionally; you were just doing your job, but Christ, his body didn’t know the difference.

Next came sleeve length and arm circumference, and still you didn’t rush. Your touch was feather-light, barely there, the backs of your fingers grazing his forearm as you measured from shoulder to wrist, then wrapped around the thickest part of his bicep.

“You go to the gym, Miller?” you suddenly asked with just enough edge to make him wonder if you were teasing.

“No?” he replied quickly, trying not to let his voice betray anything he was feeling at the moment.

You glanced up at him, one brow raised. “Could have fooled me”

He didn’t have time to respond or think about what, exactly, you were implying before you stepped around him again and moved on. You crouched slightly, measuring his wrist, your fingers circling his skin with quiet precision. Then you stepped around him to measure his hips. Joel locked his jaw and focused on breathing. Every touch made him feel self conscious. And he knew you weren’t trying to fluster him. You were just doing your job. But every so often, he caught a look: a glint in your eyes, a hint of knowing in your smile, and wondered if you weren’t enjoying this just a little.

He swallowed hard. If you were, you hid it well.

He tried to focus on anything else. The soft scratch of your pen as you paused to jot down another number. The sound of distant traffic beyond the shop window. The quiet hum of jazz drifted from a speaker in the corner of the shop. Anything but the heat crawling up the back of his neck.

But then your eyes lifted to his, a smirk tugging at the edge of your mouth. “Spread your legs for me, Miller.”

His breath caught, sharp in his throat. “...Sorry?”

You gave him an entirely innocent look, but the sparkle in your eyes told a different story. “For your inseam. I need to measure it. You know… for the pants?”

Right. Of course.

He shifted, clearing his throat as he obeyed, feet spreading slightly apart. This was normal. Routine. You probably did this a dozen times a week.

Still, Joel’s body didn’t seem to care about that fact. You crouched in front of him, and he tried, really tried, not to think about anything he shouldn’t. Not about how close your face was to his zipper. Not about how your fingers moved with quiet precision along his inner thigh. Not about what it might feel like if this were a different kind of situation entirely. Fewer clothes. A lot more touching.

He absolutely shouldn’t be thinking about the shape of your mouth. Or how those lips might feel wrapped around his—

Jesus.

Your voice broke the spiral, smooth and steady. “Open your legs just a little more…”

He hesitated, just a beat too long, and then you glanced up at him with a sly little smile that nearly knocked the wind out of him. 

“Come on, Miller,” you teased. “Don’t be shy. I need every inch .”

Okay. There was no way you weren’t doing this on purpose.

Joel stood frozen for half a second, caught between disbelief and the slow burn building under his skin. He didn’t know whether he was supposed to laugh, clear his throat, or just walk straight out the door and into the cool night air until his head stopped spinning. But he didn’t move. Couldn’t.

He clenched his jaw. He had to use every single ounce of willpower not to let the image settle exactly where it wanted to. His fingers twitched at his sides, and he forced them to stay there, not to fist in your hair, not to drag you closer, and do everything his mind was thinking about. But his body wasn’t listening. Not when your hand brushed the inside of his thigh to adjust the tape. Not when you looked up through your lashes with that smile like you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

And maybe you did. Maybe you meant for him to stand here, rigid and barely breathing, fighting the very real, very telling reaction threatening to make this whole thing impossible to ignore.

This was dangerous. You were dangerous. 

You tilted your head, smiling just enough to make him feel like you’d noticed every one of his reactions and were choosing not to comment on any of them. 

Joel shifted slightly, widening his stance as you’d asked. And just like that, you went back to work, cool and composed, as if the heat crawling under his skin wasn’t radiating off him in waves. As if none of this affected you. Like you weren’t kneeling between his thighs with your hands so goddamn close, and your voice still lingering in his head.

He stayed quiet, letting you move around him, your hands efficient. What if you weren’t trying to rile him up? What if this wasn’t anything more than routine to you? Just another suit fitting, another client? God, maybe you said the exact same things to everyone? 

Something twisted in his chest. What if all of this, the touch, the look, the low voice, was just him seeing what he wanted to see? Reading into nothing because he was just… starved. For something as small as a look, a smile, a moment of attention from a beautiful woman like you? What if he was just a tired, lonely man letting his body betray him in a tailor shop because someone had been kind? The thought lodged like a stone in his throat.

The shame crept in slowly but sharply; hot behind his ears, down his neck. He clenched his jaw and stared straight ahead, grounding himself with the weight of it. He couldn’t afford to be wrong about this. The mere idea of you looking at him with disgust, of realizing what was going through his mind, was enough to make him freeze. Enough to shame him into stillness, into silence.

He forced himself to breathe, to think of anything else. The old woman across his street with too many cats and a porch full of junk. That goddamn client who changed his mind every  damn week and left him redoing work for free. Maria’s face if she ever found out what he was thinking right now. The disappointment in her eyes. Her fury. He’d never hear the end of it.

This was nothing. A fitting. Just fabric and numbers and tape. That’s all it was supposed to be.

Joel let you finish your work in silence. You moved around him with practiced ease, measuring his thigh, then the circumference of his knees efficiently. He appreciated that you didn’t say anything else, didn’t try to fill the space with small talk or more of those comments he couldn’t quite figure out. Just a quick glance now and then, probably to make sure he was standing right. He kept his eyes forward, staring at a fixed point on the far wall, like it might anchor him.

“Alright,” you finally said, straightening up with a soft stretch. “That’s all I need. Thank you for your patience. You can step down.”

He gave a short nod and stepped off the platform, reaching for his jacket without a word. As he pulled it back on, you were already making your way to the front desk, flipping open your notebook and jotting another thing down. Joel followed, slower this time, careful not to walk too close behind you, careful not to let his thoughts wander again.

You looked up and offered him a smile that was all business now, but still warm.

“Well,” you said, “I think I’ve got everything I need to get started. Would you be able to come back in… let’s say, a week?” You tapped your pen thoughtfully against your lip. “I should have the base of your suit ready for the first fitting by then. If we’re lucky, one fitting will be enough.”

“Sure. What time should I come back?”

“Same time works if it does for you,” you replied, eyes flicking up to meet his again. “I don’t mind late nights.”

That last part lingered in the air a half-second too long. 

“Fine by me,” he said, grateful that it wouldn’t pull him away from work.

You scribbled something final into your notes, then shut the notebook with a quiet snap. “Perfect, then,” you said, and looked up again. This time, your gaze lingered on his for a second, mouth parting like you were about to say something else, but then you didn’t. He took that as his cue to leave.

Joel tapped a knuckle lightly against the desk. “Thanks again… for takin’ this on. Appreciate it.”

“My pleasure.” You smiled softly. “See you next week, Miller.”

“Yeah,” he said, backing toward the door with a short nod. “See you then.”

The bell above the door jingled softly as he stepped out. The evening air hit him square in the chest, and he still felt warm, more than he should’ve. Like your voice was still curling in his ear, your fingertips still ghosting over his skin.

He walked toward his truck with his jacket half-zipped, hands shoved into his pockets. Trying not to think too hard. He told himself he was being stupid. Reading into things that weren’t there. He really shouldn't think about you. 

But later that night, when his cock was hard and aching in his hand, it was you he couldn’t stop thinking about. The way you’d looked up at him from your knees, lips slightly parted, like you were ready to taste him the second he let you. He imagined the soft, desperate sounds you might make with his hand tangled in your hair. The way you'd moan if he’d bent you over that front desk. And when he finally came, spilling over his knuckles and stomach, it was your name that slipped out of his lips.

The week passed both too slowly and far too quickly for Joel.

He would’ve lied if he’d said he hadn’t thought about you. In truth, your face crossed his mind more than he cared to admit. Stupid things stuck with him: the tilt of your smile, the sound of your laugh, the soft way your fingers had brushed his skin when you took his measurements. He’d spent less than an hour with you, and yet he couldn’t seem to get you out of his mind. 

Even Tommy had noticed something was off. His younger brother kept shooting him looks every time Joel was deep in thought. When one morning Tommy asked, “How’s that suit comin’ along?” Joel barely looked up from his cup of coffee. 

“Fine,” he said simply. He didn’t trust himself to say more. Tommy knew him too well. One extra word, and he’d start digging. And Joel really didn't want to explain he was like that over what was basically a crush . Christ. A crush. He was pushing forty for godamn sake. He wasn’t some daydreaming kid anymore; he was a grown man who really shouldn't be thinking so much about you.  

But here he was, exactly a week later, parked in front of the shop, leaning against his truck, wondering if he looked like a fool. 

Because this time, he had made an effort. He’d left work early just to shower, change into a clean shirt that didn’t smell like drywall and sweat, and even put on cologne. Not just deodorant. Cologne . The one Sarah got him last Christmas, the nice kind.

His hand raked through his hair for what had to be the tenth time. He’d tried to slick it back before leaving, but on the drive over, his nerves had undone most of the effort. Now it just looked tousled and unruly, and he hoped it didn’t give the impression he’d just got out of bed. 

He let out a heavy breath. He shouldn't be so nervous for a fitting. One last glance in the truck’s side mirror. One last adjustment to his shirt collar. Then he finally stepped inside, the bell above the door jingling as he did.

This time, someone else was in the shop. A man, a bit older than Joel, was adjusting a jacket on one of the mannequins near the window. He looked up immediately at the sound, turning toward him with a practised smile.

“Good evening,” he said, his voice warm and professional. “What can I help you with today?”

“Hi, I’m Joel Miller,” he said as the door shut softly behind him. “I’m here for a fitting?” His eyes flicked around, instinctively searching for you. But you weren’t out front.

At the sound of Joel’s name, something shifted in the man’s expression. His smile widened, like he knew something Joel didn’t. He turned toward the back of the shop and called your name.

“Your appointment’s here!” 

A muffled response floated from the workroom: “Coming!” At the sound of your voice, Joel stood just a little straighter.

The man turned back to him, his eyes gave Joel a once-over, just enough to feel like he noticed the neat collar, the fresh shirt, the clean shave. His smile grew just a little bit wider, and he offered his hand. “I’m Frank. This is my shop.”

Joel shook it politely. “Nice to meet you.”

“Come on, she’ll be right out,” Frank said, gesturing toward the fitting area. “She’s been working pretty hard on your suit, you know? You’re gonna look sharp.”

“Sorry if I made too much work for her,” Joel muttered, adjusting the strap of his watch.

Frank waved it off. “Don’t be. She doesn’t seem to mind. Honestly, it’s been a while since I’ve seen her this invested in a piece.” He paused, glancing toward the back room again, then added with a hint of amusement, “Especially for something as simple as a classic suit…You’d think she was tailoring for a celebrity the way she’s been fussing over it.”

Joel shifted his weight, not quite sure what to do with Frank’s comment. Surely, you were just passionate about your work? 

Before Frank could say anything else, you appeared from the back, brushing your hands on your hips. “Sorry! Just had to finish a last detail,” and then your eyes landed on him. “Hey,” you said softly, your smile warm, which Joel couldn’t help but mirror immediately.

“Hi.”

Frank cleared his throat politely, though the grin on his face gave him away. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. Unless you need me to stay and supervise?”

“I think I can handle it,” you replied smoothly, without looking at him.

Frank only chuckled, grabbing a few papers from behind the counter. “I’m sure.” His voice was teasing, and Joel caught the way you rolled your eyes at him without missing a beat. The older man moved toward the door, lifting a hand in farewell. “Call me if you need anything. And Miller?” He gave Joel a quick, almost conspiratorial smile. “I hope you like the suit.”

“I’m sure I will,” Joel said, offering a polite nod as Frank stepped out, the bell above the door jingling as he disappeared into the street.

You watched the door for a moment, then turned back to Joel, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Well, let’s get to it… unless you’re planning on staying the night.”

Joel blinked. Just an harmless joke, but the image of what a night with you would look like hit him fast and uninvited. He pushed it away before it could settle.

“Hope I didn’t give you too much trouble,” he said, clearing his throat as you gestured toward the fitting area.

You let out a soft laugh. “I won’t lie, my sleep schedule’s seen better days.”

“Sorry,” he offered genuinely. But you looked over your shoulder with an easy smile.

“Don’t be. I liked working on it.”

Joel smiled faintly. “So I heard.”

You shot him a puzzled look. “How so ?”

“Frank.”

You groaned softly, and Joel couldn’t help but smile at the mix of affection and annoyance in your expression. 

You disappeared into the back room for a moment and returned with the suit folded neatly in your arms. You nodded toward the small changing alcove at the far end of the room, separated from the rest by a simple curtain.

“Here,” you said, offering the suit to him. “Go ahead and change into it.”

Joel took it from you, careful as his fingers brushed yours. His jaw tightened at the touch. Christ, he really, really , needed to stop reacting like a teenager with a school crush.

“Call me if you need help putting it on,” you added with a small, playful smile.

He didn’t know if you were joking. He hoped you were joking. But there was something in your tone that made it hard to tell, just like last time. You gave him another smile as he stepped behind the curtain and tugged it shut.

The suit felt soft beneath his fingers. Smoother and heavier than anything he owned. He could already tell it was quality. He started undressing, taking off his jacket, then his shirt. His fingers worked quickly over his belt, and soon he was down to nothing but his boxers and socks. He stood there for a moment in the quiet of the curtained alcove, his hands paused at his hips.

Outside, he could hear you humming softly, some tune he didn’t recognise. Probably working on a mannequin while you waited. He turned toward the mirror, catching his reflection, and he hesitated.

What would you think if you saw him like this?

It was a stupid question, but it was still rooted in his mind. He looked at himself longer than he meant to. He wasn’t soft, not exactly, but he wasn’t built like the kind of man who hit the gym five days a week either. His body wasn’t bad. Broad shoulders, thick arms from years of heavy lifting and construction work, strong legs that could still carry their weight. But the soft curve of his stomach reminded him that he wasn’t twenty-five anymore. He didn’t have the abs the guys in magazines did. Never had. His muscles were earned, not sculpted. His stomach was softer now than it was in his twenties, curved slightly under the line of his ribs. A bit of age. A bit of life. A bit of beer and second helpings.

He wondered if that would matter to someone like you. Someone younger, with sharp eyes, surrounded by beautiful things all day. Maybe that’s what you liked in people, too.

He pushed the thoughts away and focused on the task at hand. He began to get dressed, pulling on the tailored trousers with care, then slipping his arms into the dark dress shirt. With the jacket on, he took a breath and turned to the mirror again to finally see himself. Dressed in all black. Clean lines. The structure emphasised his shoulders, slimmed his waist, and lengthened the line of his legs. The fit wasn’t perfect yet; he could feel it. A slight pull at the chest when he shifted his arms, the pants still a bit too long at the ankle. Even with that, it already looked very nice. 

He stepped out from behind the curtain. You turned at the sound, and your eyes landed on him. You didn't speak, just looked him over, taking your time, top to bottom. Your eyes were focused, not just admiring but evaluating. Joel felt himself stand just a little bit straighter under your watchful eyes. Then you met his gaze and smiled, proud and a little pleased with yourself.

“Looking good Miller.” 

He gave a small huff, not quite a laugh, and ran a hand down the front of the jacket, adjusting it more out of instinct than need. “That right?”

You crossed your arms, eyes lingering a second too long. “Mm-hmm. You fill it out nicely. Not every man can.”

He met your gaze, and a part of him wanted to ask: What makes me different, then? But he didn’t. 

“How does the suit feel?” you asked, stepping a little closer.

“Feels good,” he said honestly. “I like it.”

Your smile in response was warm and unguarded, a look he really liked on you. “I’m glad.” You gestured toward the small raised platform. “Can you step up? I want to see you better.”

Joel nodded and moved into place, the soft creak of the wood under his feet the only sound for a moment. You circled him slowly, your practised eye sweeping over every seam and line, noting where the fabric hugged him right and where it didn’t. 

You stepped in front of him again, pulling a small cushion of pins from your wrist. “Alright. I’ll need to mark some spots for adjustment. Don’t worry,” you added with a small grin, “I’ll be gentle.”

Joel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Hope so.”

You started at his shoulders, gently tugging at the fabric there, smoothing it, fingertips dragging just enough to feel the weight of him beneath. Joel stood still, solid as a statue, but you didn’t miss the way his jaw tightened when your hand brushed the curve of his bicep.

You tugged gently on the sleeve of his jacket, eyes narrowing in concentration. “Feels tight here?” you asked, brushing your fingers over the fabric along his upper arm.

Joel flexed just slightly. “A little. Not much.”

You nodded, pinching the seam to mark the alteration. “I’ll let it out a quarter inch. Should give you enough room to move.”

You stepped around him again, the scent of your perfume brushing past him as you moved behind. Sweet, like last time.

“Arms up,” you instructed gently. 

He did, and you took that moment to tug at the fabric under the arms, smoothing it again against his body. Your fingers brushed lightly across the fabric at his back, marking something near his shoulder blade.

“Gonna open the jacket now,” you said, already reaching for the buttons. Your fingers worked them open one by one, and Joel didn’t move, just watched you, half entranced by the quiet focus on your face and the way your hands moved.  He couldn't help but enjoy the sight of you. Couldn't help but think about how many times this week he'd imagined you late at night, undressing him slowly just like that.

You peeled the jacket back over his shoulders, and he slipped his arms free without a word. He passed it to you, and you handled it with care, folding it across one arm before setting it down neatly on the chair nearby. Then your eyes returned to him, checking how the shirt sat against his chest. You touched the buttons next, fingers sliding down the centre of his torso as if to test for tightness. You stopped near his belt line, fingers still resting there, the pressure light but still too heavy for Joel.

“Shirt fits pretty well already,” you said, glancing up at him again. “Though I might have to tighten the waist just a little.”

Joel’s voice came out low. “Whatever you think’s best.”

His hands itched to move, to adjust his watch, run a hand through his hair. Maybe even touch your waist. Just lightly, just once . But he kept them clenched at his sides.

“Alright,” you said, stepping back. “Let’s talk pants. How do they feel?”

“A little tight,” he admitted. “Mostly around the knees.”

“Okay… Take a few steps for me please? I want to see how they sit when you move.”

He nodded and stepped down from the wooden platform. He took a few slow steps toward you, then turned, walking away so you could assess the fit from behind. 

You clicked your tongue softly. “Little extra fabric here. I’ll smooth it out for a cleaner line across the back.” You looked back at him with a smile. “Thank you. Go ahead and step back up.”

Joel obeyed without a word, and he barely had time to settle before you crouched in front of him. His breath caught in his throat, same as last time. Maybe worse. 

Don’t move. Don’t think .

He stayed still, eyes anywhere but on you, barely breathing, as you pressed your fingers to the end of the pants, checking how the length sat around his ankles. “Little loose,” you murmured, half to yourself, before reaching for a pin. 

You moved slowly, your hands travelling from the bottom hem upward. Fingertips smoothed fabric over his shins, then over his knees. You adjusted a small fold and pinned it, working with quiet concentration. When your fingers skimmed over the inside of his thigh, flattening the fabric there, he clenched his jaw. 

“Fabric pulls here when you walk,” you said. “I’ll let it out just a bit.”

He nodded, stiff, afraid his voice would betray him if he opened his mouth. 

“You alright?” you asked lightly, as if your fingers weren't getting closer to the most sensitive parts of him.

“Yeah,” he managed. “Just standin’ real still.”

“Mmh,” you hummed. “You’re doing great.”

And as your hands reached the top of his inseam, fussing with a pin just inches from his growing problem, Joel squeezed his eyes shut. He could already feel the unmistakable pressure building beneath his waistband. Half hard and rising, despite his best efforts to stay grounded. He just prayed you wouldn’t notice.

But of course you did. 

“This part needs a bit of letting out,” you murmured, fingers brushing along the inseam. “Seems a bit tight here.”

Joel couldn’t help the low grunt in response. You looked up at him from where you knelt, chin tilted just slightly. Jesus, that view was killing him. How were you so pretty? 

“Too tight?” 

He cleared his throat, gaze snapping to some vague point across the room. Anywhere but you. “It’s fine.”

You smiled then, devastatingly slow, your fingertip resting right on the metal pull of his zipper. “Are you sure?” you teased. “That’s…quite a bulge.”

Your name slipped from his lips, rough, strained, close to a warning. “Don’t—”

You tilted your head, still kneeling before him, eyes full of feigned innocence that didn’t fool either of you. “Should I take that as a compliment to my work? Or…?”

“You…” he ground his teeth together, pulse pounding in his throat. “You need to stop sayin’ things like that…”

“Like what?”. 

He let out a low, shaky breath, fists clenched so hard at his sides he could feel his nails dig into his palms. “You know damn well what.”

“Why?” you murmured, fingertips still teasingly close to the bulge straining against the front of the pants. You traced just a whisper of touch along the zipper line, and Joel felt his knees nearly give. He was getting painfully hard now. There was no denying it.

“Because,” he ground out, voice rough, “I’m gonna get ideas. Bad ones. I’m gonna start thinkin’…” He hesitated, almost embarrassed to let the words leave his mouth. “That you’re hittin’ on me or somethin’.”

You couldn’t help it; you laughed, a bright, disbelieving sound that made his cheeks flush hot, the tips of his ears burning, thinking you were mocking him. But then you looked up at him again, your smile still there but your eyes warm and serious. “Miller…” you breathed, half amused, half exasperated. “I am hitting on you.”

For a beat, Joel couldn’t breathe. The words hit him square in the chest. You were? It wasn’t just in his head? He wasn’t just some starved old man seeing what he wanted to see? Hearing what he wished to hear?

“Really ?” That was all he managed to say, as if he needed another confirmation. 

Your smile deepened, and you shook your head, incredulous. “Oh my god, Miller. It’s not like i’m being subtle about it. I’ve been laying it on so thick I’m surprised you didn’t call me out sooner. I don’t think I’ve ever been less subtle in my damn life.”

He stared at you, still kneeling in front of him, one hand resting so casually on his thigh, the other one too close to his crotch and yet not close enough, like it was the most natural thing in the world, like confirming his wildest thoughts wasn’t shaking him to his core. It made him dizzy, made his mind go blank.

“Why?” he finally managed to ask, voice hoarse.

You tilted your head, studying him like you couldn’t believe he needed to ask. “Why am I hitting on you?” you repeated, and when he nodded, you huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Have you seen yourself?”

He couldn’t help the tug at the corner of his lips, a faint, disbelieving grin breaking through. The way you looked at him, he saw it clearly now. Openly, hungrily, with the same wanting he’d tried so hard to bury, made him feel like a fool for ever doubting it. You’d been eyeing him, just like he’d been eyeing you. And now that he knew for sure, it was almost a relief, like a tension snapping loose in his chest.

“You told me you were single,” you went on. “And I just…I couldn’t help it. You bit your lip for a moment, then sighed. “Not the most professional thing I’ve ever done, I admit. I was worried last time I’d made you uncomfortable since you were so damn quiet… If it wasn’t for this ,” you let your eyes flick down pointedly to where the fabric of his pants was still straining against him. “I would’ve thought you weren’t interested.”

Joel gave a rough laugh, low in his chest. “Oh, believe me. I’m interested.” He loved the way your smile widened. How you could be even prettier, he had no idea. He wasn’t complaining, though.

“Mmm, I know. I can feel it.”

There was no pretence now, no false professionalism. Your hand slowly palmed him over the fabric, and Joel grunted, low and unfiltered, finally not having to refrain his reactions. His eyes slipped closed. He was so hard it hurt. So hard for you.

“These pants,” you said with a teasing hum, “are definitely too tight now.”

Joel let out something between a groan and a laugh, his hips bucking instinctively into your touch, searching for more friction, needing more friction.

But then, you took your hand away.

He opened his eyes, chest rising and falling a little faster now, searching your face for a reason. That voice in his head, the one that second-guessed everything, wondered if he’d misstepped, if he was being too eager, going too quick, too soon.

“I’m gonna need you to take off those pants,” you said, reaching for his zipper again. “Can’t risk you staining them.”

And just like that, the voice went quiet.

“Can't have that”, Joel agreed, his tone low and amused. He didn't need to be asked twice. 

It was the right decision; he could feel the front of his boxer already stained from his leaking precum. He was almost surprised at his restraint, at how carefully he was slipping out of the pants, mindful not to damage your work. You helped guide the trousers off, taking the pants away when he was finally out of them, leaving him in his boxer where his aching cock was waiting diligently. You tossed the pants aside near the jacket, not even looking when they landed, never leaving your spot on your knees. Joel blinked at that, at how quickly you discarded them, as if your work was less important than what was in front of you. He grinned at your eagerness, as if your work was just an annoying barrier keeping you away from what you wanted. He liked this look on you, hunger mirroring his own. You looked up to him, your lips pursed a little, and he so wanted to kiss you. He was just about to ask if he could when you spoke first.

“Can I suck you off?” You asked then, and Joel felt like he could come right there. On your knees, your eyes looking up at him from under your lashes, asking him so sweetly was better than any dreams he could have. 

“You don't have to–”

“I want to. I really want to. Please?”

Oh, he could definitely get used to the way you asked, the way you looked at him as if not being able to taste him right now would truly ruin your night. 

“Of course. Fuck– Of course you can.” 

Before he could say anything more, you pulled down the last remaining barrier keeping you away from what you wanted. Joel cock sprang free, throbbing against his stomach. You looked at his hard, thick length, the tip of it glistening with precum. There was something smug in your expression, something deeply satisfied, proud of having drawn that kind of reaction from him. Your eyes found his again, steady and unashamed, and the smile that curved your lips was so soft, so achingly pretty, Joel knew he’d be thinking about it for months. And then, without a word, you finally closed the distance.

Joel inhaled sharply as your lips enveloped the head of his cock, your tongue swirling around his sensitive tip, teasing his slit. A low growl slipped from his throat, and his hand instinctively tangled in your hair, both for balance and because he could finally touch you. He felt you hum against him in quiet approval, the sound sending a subtle shiver through him. You started bobbing your head, taking more and more of him in your warm, wet mouth. One hand still resting on his thigh, the other wrapped around the base of him, stroking what your mouth couldn’t fit. 

“That’s it… Yes, just like that…” Joel panted through heavy breaths.

The feeling of you was so fucking good, better than anything he could have fantasised. He kept his gaze on you, watching you through hooded eyes as you worked him. The sight of your lips stretched around his cock, the sounds of your mouth with every thrust, it was almost too much for him to handle. When he felt you taking him a bit further, he rocked his hips slightly, feeling the back of your throat. It felt like heaven. Your nose was pressed against the dark patch of hair around the base of his cock, taking in his scent, your tongue playing around him. After a good moment choking on his length, you took him out of your mouth, catching your breath for a second, your hand never stopping pumping him.

“Taste better than I imagined,” you whispered, your eyes shining as you appreciated the dazed look on Joel's face before taking him back into your mouth.

Fuck. You’d imagined this too. You’d thought about tasting him, about doing exactly this. Had it crossed your mind last time, the same moment it crossed his? What else had you thought about? He wanted to know everything. Wanted to take those thoughts and make them a reality.

But then he felt your other hand palming his balls, applying just the right kind of pressure, and it was too perfect. Too close. He said your name in a low, rough growl, using every ounce of restraint he had to gently pull you back. You looked up at him, his hand still tangled in your hair, your lips swollen from working his length, a soft pout forming as you began to part them, to ask why. But before a single word escaped, he lowered himself toward you.

“If you keep going…I’m gonna cum like a freakin’ teenager,” Joel confessed, his voice strained. “And I really, really want to feel you come around my cock.”

And oh , if he could frame the way your pupils dilated at the sound of his voice, the way your breath caught and grew heavier with each word he spoke. It was intoxicating, watching you unravel just from the sound of him.

“You want that?” He teased, voice low. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Miller, I thought you’d never ask,” you replied with a knowing smile.

He scoffed, moving to join you on the floor, until you raised a finger to stop him.

“Take your shirt off.”

“Is that so I don’t ruin your work, or because you just want me naked for yourself?”

“Both, but mostly the latter,” you replied as he obeyed, peeling off his shirt and slipping out of his boxer and tossing them casually toward the pile of clothes. 

He looked down at you, leaning back on the floor with your weight supported by your elbows, eyes locked on him. You were still fully dressed, and there he was, towering over you, as naked as one man can be.

“Well, I definitely feel underdressed now.”

You arched an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at your lips. “Are you? Kinda like this look on you.”

“I’m sure you do. You should try it too,” he said in the same playful tone as you. Then, lowering himself to the floor, he settled over you, his bare knees on the side of your still-clothed legs. His hand slid slowly up your thigh, tracing a path from your knee all the way to the buttons of your jeans. His finger lingered on the zipper, just like you had done earlier, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I can even help.” 

“Such a gentleman,” you teased, sliding the soft cotton sweater you were wearing over your head and letting it fall away. Beneath it, you wore a delicate, lacy bra, the kind of lingerie that felt too intricate for an ordinary day, as if you’d picked it knowing someone special would see it today. Maybe you knew damn well what was going to happen. His eyes drifted over the curve of your breasts, a flicker of appreciation lighting up his gaze.

“Doing what I can now,” he murmured, leaning closer to you, “because I can’t promise I’ll be as much of a gentleman once I feel you around me.”

His fingers found the button of your jeans, undoing it slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He was completely absorbed in every subtle reaction he could get from you, the way your breath hitched, the slight parting of your lips, the flutter of your eyelashes. At the same moment, you unclasped your bra, letting it slip off your shoulders and fall softly beside your sweater. 

He felt his cock throbbing at the sight of your nipples perking for him, begging him to touch them, pinch them, bite them. He would do all that soon. 

“Don’t want you to be,” you said at last.

Joel didn’t need to be told twice. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers curling there with a tenderness that contrasted with the heat in his eyes. And then he pulled you to him with no hesitation, no second-guessing, and kissed you like he’d been holding back to do. It wasn’t gentle. It was hungry. Certain. All the want and need for you crashing into that single moment. His lips pressed to yours, firm and consuming, and you met him just as fiercely, kissing him back like you’d been waiting for it just as long. Maybe you did. He hoped you did. 

His hand cupped your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers, pulling a soft moan from you directly into his mouth. Such a pretty sound. He needed a thousand more of them. 

His other hand slipped to the waistband of your open jeans, fingers curling around the edge. He glanced up at you, waiting for permission, but you were already nodding before he could ask. The two of you shared a quiet laugh at that same urgency mirrored in each other’s eyes. You lifted your hips, and he made quick work of pulling them down, your panties sliding off with them in one fluid motion.

Finally, you were as naked as he was. Joel took a moment, a full, reverent breath, to drink you in. The beauty of your body. The way heat seemed to radiate from your skin, all of it in response to him. A faint sheen of sweat kissed your collarbone, and it made him wonder how sweet you’d taste, how you’d shiver under his mouth.

His gaze dropped, lingering between your thighs. You followed his gaze, parting them for him, unashamed, the glisten of arousal right where you needed him most catching his eyes. He loved that. That confidence of yours. Loved how you showed him exactly where you wanted him, without any ounce of embarrassment. He needed to touch you. To taste you. To fuck you. 

“The door?” he asked suddenly, the thought breaking through the haze. You weren’t exactly in a bedroom where he could do everything he wanted without caring about the outside world. The fitting area was tucked away from view, but still, Joel wasn’t in any rush to have a client , or worse, Frank, walk in on this.

“Closed it when you were changing,” you murmured against his neck, your lips trailing soft, warm kisses along his skin.

He let out a low chuckle. “Had everythin’ planned, didn’t you?”

You answered without words, just a playful nip at his bottom lip, pulling it gently between your teeth before letting go. Then you kissed him again, deeper this time, and when he opened his mouth to you, your tongue met his in a way that made Joel wonder if he had ever liked kissing someone more. 

Two of his fingers went to your cunt, parting your glistening folds, and he exhaled shakily when he felt how wet you were. It was something to see it, it was something else to feel it. To feel the concrete evidence of how much you wanted this. How much you wanted him. 

“All that just from havin’ me in your mouth ?” He murmured against your lips.

Your hand found his hair, fingers curling in deep before giving a playful tug, breaking the kiss for just a second.

“Was wet for you from the moment I saw you at the door.”

Joel couldn't help a half-choked breath. Eyes never leaving yours, His thumb found your clit immediately, pulling out a more than appreciative whimper out of you. His two fingers easily slid into your dripping cunt. He gave you a second to accommodate the intrusion of his fingers, kissing that spot just under your ear, before he started to pump them in and out of you, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot inside of you. 

“Feels good? He asked, even though the soft moans that kept escaping your soft lips were confirmation enough.

You nodded fervently, your hips moving in rhythm against his hand to feel his fingers deeper in you. You didn't have time to ask him; he gave in to you, circling your clit harder with his thumb as he picked up the pace. At the same time, his mouth explored your body, hungry to taste every inch of you. He trailed soft kisses to your jaw, under your ear, to your neck. His other hand went to your back, bringing you closer to him as his mouth met your hardened nipple, biting it, his teeth grazing perfectly. He drank in every sound you gave him, every breathy moan guiding his touch, telling him just how to please you. He could feel you getting closer, your walls fluttering around his fingers, your breath coming in ragged gasps, getting more and more shaky from his touch. 

“Come on, beautiful… let go. I’ve got you.”

With a final thrust of his fingers, Joel sent you over the edge. You closed your eyes as the sensation overwhelmed you, white spots blurring your vision. Your pussy clamping around his digits, pulsing and contracting as you let out the most beautiful sound. Joel kept his thumb circling your clit, applying just enough pressure to let you ride out your orgasm. He held you there, his other hand still on your back, as you came down from your high. 

When your breathing finally slowed down, His fingers left your cunt, and you whimpered at the sensation, already missing the feeling of fullness they brought you. You opened your eyes, as Joel's lips found yours, gently kissing you. 

“Good ?” He whispered, holding you close.

You laughed sweetly, a sound he already knew he could never forget. “Perfect.” 

Your hand found his cock, still as hard as before, just enough to pull a low moan deep in Joel’s throat. He needed to be inside you now.

“Fuck,” he realised at the same time, “I don't have a condom.” 

Even though it was hardly the time to think about his brother, Joel couldn’t help but remember all the times Tommy told him to keep one in his wallet. In case you remember how to get your dick wet, brother! Fucking Tommy and his damn advice. But for once in his life, Joel really should’ve listened to him.

He felt your hand gently trace the line of his jaw, fingers brushing over his scratchy beard. “I’m clean, and I’m on the pill…” You hesitated for a moment, searching his eyes. “If you want…”

He gulped. “Are you sure?”

“I really want you to fuck me, Miller”

He kissed you again, deeper and more urgently than before. He leaned over you, hands braced on either side of your head on the floor, pinning you gently beneath the weight of his broad frame. You brought his cock against your entrance, his tip brushing against your clit, a shared moan escaping from both of you at the sensation. Joel looked down at where he was nestled against your folds, your arousal coating his length. He couldn't look away as he started to push forward, the thick head of his cock stretching your entrance. 

“God, you're so tight… Just relax, beautiful.. Let me in.” He coaxed, one hand cupping your face tenderly.

He pressed his lips to yours, as if he couldn't stay away from you for too long, distracting you as you accommodated to his size. His other hand came up to cup your breast, kneading the soft mound, his fingers teasing your nipple. Slowly, as if he were afraid to break you, he pressed deeper, feeling how perfectly you were taking him, your walls gripping his cock.

“Fuck– You're so–” You were a breathless mess beneath him, words tumbling out in fragments. “You're so big…”

“I know Baby… I know.”

He felt the way you tightened around him at the petname, and his lips curled into a knowing smile against yours. Finally, he hilted himself entirely inside you, his heavy balls pressing against your ass. He had to wait a second before he could move again, waiting for you to relax and for him to take a second to breathe, or he would be coming undone too quickly. You just felt so good around him, so tight and perfect. When he felt both your breathing steadying, he slowly withdrew his cock until only his tip was still inside you. You whimpered under him, your hips begging him to come back. He kept you there for a second, his hands grabbing your hips hard, fingers digging so tightly it wouldn't be surprising if you bruised there tomorrow. Joel liked the idea of you having a reminder of this, of him. 

“What’s it that you said last week, uh?” He taunted, your eyes fluttering open to watch him. “When you were riling me up and I was doing everythin’ to be good?”

You mumbled something incoherent, too focused on trying to get more of him inside of you, to feel that delicious stretch again. You didn't care about last week; you cared about him, right now, but Joel's grin grew wider. 

“Oh yeah, I remember… I need every inch.” he cooed, imitating your voice. “Yeah, you fucking do.”

And then he slammed back in you, his cock hitting the deepest part of you. You let out a cry as the sensation, your arms immediately wrapping around his shoulders to bring him closer to you. He gripped your hips with a low growl, pulling you flush against him as he pounded in you, wanting to go deeper with each thrusts. 

“Joel–” you mewled between whines. “Oh fuck!”.

He wasn’t sure his name had ever sounded that good on anyone’s lips.

“Again.”

You blinked up at him, dazed. “Uh?”

“My name. Say it again.”

So you did, singing his name like it was the only word that you could remember as he kept snapping his hips against yours. His name a desperate plea, a prayer. Joel Joel Joel.

For a moment, the shop was nothing but the sound of your voice crying out his name, the raw slap of skin against skin, and the rough, reverent praise he growled into your ear.

Doin’ so good for me, baby. 

You feel incredible… you’re so fuckin’ beautiful

Sweet pussy so tight for me, so perfect..

Joel leaned down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking and nibbling the sensitive bud. His pace didn't falter, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with every stroke.

“I'm.. Joel–” You gasped under him. “ Fuck Joel– I'm close…”

He could feel you tightening around him, your body tensing as you got closer to your release. His own orgasm was building, threatening to overcome with every sound you made for him, but he was holding back, determined to make you come first, to give you the pleasure you deserved. His hand travelled to your clit, his thumb moving in half circles, making your whole body shake with pleasure. 

“Come for me, baby, please,” Joel said in a choked exhale. “I want– I need to feel you come on my cock.”

Your cunt clutched around him at his words, your sweet moans filling the room as your orgasm took over you, and Joel swore he was brought to this earth to hear those sounds. The sensation of you, fluttering around him, his name escaping your lips as you did, was his undoing. He couldn't hold himself any longer. He knew you could feel it too, your eyes opening to watch him, your hand grabbing his arm instinctively.

“Baby…” Joel started, but he didn't have time to ask. 

“Inside. Please, come inside me.” 

And if Joel were a better man, he might have refused. But in this moment, all he could feel was you, so tight, so perfectly made for him. So he wasn’t a better man, and honestly, he’d already made his peace with that if it meant having you. He buried himself deep with a final slap of his hips, his cock pulsing as he came hard inside you, your name leaving his lips as his hips jerked with each spurt of his release. He kept grinding against you, working his cock in and out of you as long as he could, prolonging both your orgasms. He could feel your mixed come seeping out of you around his cock with every movement. It was filthy. You both loved it. 

You grabbed his hair, pulling him down to capture his lips in an eager kiss as both your orgasms started to subside. His thrusts finally slowed down to a stop. He rested his forehead against yours, both of you panting and glistening with sweat. You looked at each other, both with a satisfied smile on your lips. 

“That was–”

“Fucking amazing,” you finished for him, and the two of you laughed gently. 

He finally pulled out of you with a satisfied grin, not without appreciating the sight of his cum slowly making its way out of you. He pushed it back inside with his fingers, noticing how you watched him do it with appreciative eyes. Finally, he rolled on his back next to you, your shoulders brushing against each other on the wooden floor of the shop. 

He turned his face toward you, only to find you already watching him, your body instinctively angled in his direction. Your eyes met his in a shared, dazed gaze as his chest finally slowed down. A strand of hair clung to your forehead, damp with sweat, and he gently brushed it back, tucking it away. When his hand lingered to cup your cheek, you leaned into his touch without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I…” Joel paused, unsure what the hell he was supposed to say now. “I don’t usually do this.”

“Me neither,” you said, brushing a quick kiss to his lips, too quick for his liking. “Believe me, Miller, you’re the only client I’ve ever crossed the line with. The only one I’ve ever wanted to.”

“You’re gonna make me blush,” he muttered, meaning it as a joke, but it landed closer to the truth than he expected.

Because knowing you found him attractive enough to make a move, multiples even, to risk the usual boundaries, to toss professionalism aside just to see if the attraction was mutual? It set something warm in his gut, a heat creeping up the back of his neck. He was sure it wouldn't go away for a long time, didn't want it to. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you teased, reaching for a nearby scrap of fabric nearby to clean the mess between your legs. Joel briefly wondered if the small cloth was something expensive, but you didn’t seem to care, and he didn’t ask. His attention was caught instead by the way the fabric darkened with your shared release, the evidence of how deep he was inside you just moments before. 

“I never blushed,” he muttered, eyes flicking back to your face, though the spark in your eyes told him you were just as affected as he was by the sight.

“Don’t go all shy on me now. I liked watching you try to keep it together. You were cute, trying so hard to hide it.”

“I thought I was being subtle,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair, clearly embarrassed.

“Oh, sure,” you smiled, shifting closer and letting your fingers trail lightly over his chest as you tilted your head toward his. “ So subtle. You know, most clients don’t moan when I measure their inseam.”

His brow furrowed, gaze narrowing on you. “I didn’t moan.”

“Yeah, you did.”

Did he? God, he wasn't sure. 

You gave him a wicked little smile, and he couldn’t help but pull you closer, guiding you fully onto him. The warm press of your still bare skin against his made something in him settle, his thoughts only focused on how good you felt. He kissed you again, slower this time, unrushed simply because he could. Because you were there, perfect and fitting against him as if you were meant to.

“Fuck,” Joel cursed softly between two kisses, “If I’d known a proper suit would lead to this, to you… I would have come sooner.” 

You giggled softly against his lips before turning your head toward the scattered pile of clothes on the floor, just a few feet away. Joel felt you shift slightly against him, and his hand moved in slow, soothing strokes along your back.

“I really hope we didn’t ruin the suit,” you said, glancing back at him with a hint of concern. “Should’ve been more careful with it. I seriously don’t have time to fix any major damage.”

“‘S my fault. Gave you an awful deadline, and then here I am keeping you away from your work. I’m a terrible client.”

He gave you a sheepish smile, and you let out a quiet laugh. “Then I must be a terrible tailor,” you replied, “because I really, really like when you keep me away.”

Joel felt something tighten in his chest. Did you even know what you were doing to him? He wondered if you could feel the way his heart beat harder beneath your hand, like it was answering only to you. You were funny, kind, ridiculously talented, and so damn beautiful. Was it foolish of him to think this felt like more than a simple moment of pleasure? To hope this wasn’t just a one-time thing? He wanted more. To see you again, outside this shop. Somewhere he could be the one to make you blush. 

You were saying something about the deadline, about how the wedding was creeping closer when Joel cut you off.

“You should come with me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“To the weddin’. You should come with me.”

“You want me to… come to the wedding? With you?”

Joel shifted, sitting up and taking you with him, guiding you into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. He pressed a slow kiss to the curve of your neck. He couldn’t help himself, not with your skin so close and inviting.

“I do,” he murmured against your skin, then pulled back, needing to see your face, to gauge what you were thinking. The look you gave him was unreadable, and it made his stomach twist just a little. “I mean–yeah, I probably got the order a little backwards. Should’ve taken you out first, done this right,” he said, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “But better late than never, right? And… I do have a plus one.”

There was a beat of silence where you just looked at Joel, expression unreadable, and for a moment, he wondered if he’d pushed too far and ruined whatever moment you were having. But then you gave him a curious smile.

“You want to take me on a first date to a wedding?”

He tensed, trying to sound casual. “Too weird?”

“Between that and the suit,” you teased, “I’m starting to think you’ve got a thing for rushing things.”

He let out a quiet breath, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Forget the weddin’, then. Just…let me take you out. A real date. Please,” he added, the word slipping out faster than he meant to, a flash of uncertainty creeping in. Maybe this was just a one-time thing for you?

You didn’t answer right away, and Joel braced himself for the gentle letdown. But then you said, “Once your suit’s done… I should have some time for a real date.”

Joel smiled instantly. A real, full smile. The kind he rarely gave. The kind that pulled out that faint dimple Sarah always teased him about. You couldn't help but smile back, warmed by the sight of it.

“By the way,” you said, shifting slightly on top of him, “I think you should come get your suit the morning of the wedding if that’s okay with you? I know it’s a little last minute, but I really want to make sure it’s perfect for you.”

Joel nodded as he leaned back on his elbows, his eyes never leaving you as you spoke. He wasn’t in his twenties anymore, but looking at you, naked and perched over his waist, your tits rising slightly with each breath, your pussy still wet from and for him, he knew it wouldn’t take him long to be ready for another round. His hands itched to reach for you again, to be inside you one more time.

But before he could entertain the idea, the familiar sound of his ringtone cut through the moment. You glanced toward the sound with a knowing smile still on your lips — the same lips he hadn’t finished kissing yet.

Joel let out a low groan as he stood, dragging himself away from the warmth of your body. He stepped back toward the pile of clothing, finding his discarded jeans and fishing out his phone. Tommy’s name lit up the screen.

Of course it was his brother.

Joel shot you an apologetic look before answering. “What’s up Tommy?” he said, his eyes still trained on you. You were propped on your elbows, unabashedly ogling his nakedness without any shame. He liked this look on you. 

“Hey Joel. Sorry to bother, I know you're at your appointment,” Tommy started, “but when do you think you'll be headin' home?

Joel’s stomach dropped. Tommy was at his place, keeping an eye on Sarah. His brother never called when he was babysitting. Never needed to. “Why?” he asked sharply, already reaching for his jeans. “Is somethin’ wrong? Is Sarah okay?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you rising to your feet, your expression shifting. You were gathering your clothes quietly, understanding without needing to ask that whatever you’d just shared had been cut short. He hated that, almost as much as the panic twisting in his chest.

​​“She’s okay,” Tommy said on the other end, his voice calm but laced with that careful tone people used when they didn’t want you to panic. “She’s got a bit of a fever. Nothin’ serious, I swear. Gave her some medicine, but she’s restless…won’t go to sleep.”

Joel’s chest tightened. He pictured Sarah, his sweet girl, curled up under a blanket, cheeks flushed, sniffling and tossing in bed. She needed him. She always had, and he needed to be there, to hold her hand, stroke her hair, whisper that everything was going to be alright.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, already tugging on his shirt. “Alright. I’ll be home in twenty.”

After a quick see you soon from his brother, Joel ended the call, patting his pocket to make sure his car keys were still there and not lost somewhere on the floor, before grabbing his jacket. When he turned around, you were already dressed just like him, but barely put back together. Anyone walking in could tell what had happened between you. Both of you were flushed, your hair a mess, lips still swollen from kissing, skins still glistening and carrying the scent of each other... God, he didn’t want to leave. Not when all he could think about was pulling you close again, hearing those filthy little sounds you made, and finally bending you over that damn counter the way he’d imagined since he first walked in. But reality tugged at him harder. He had to go: Sarah was waiting. 

And somehow, like you could hear every unspoken thought racing through his head, you gave him a soft, knowing smile.

“Go. It’s okay,” you said softly, stepping closer and resting your hand over his chest for just a moment.

“I’m sorry–” Joel murmured, but you were already shaking your head.

“Don’t be. You’ve got important things to do… and so do I.” You nodded toward the half-finished suit waiting on the floor. “Need to make sure we didn’t pop any stitches. The deadline’s already tight enough.”

A smile tugged at his lips despite everything. “Can’t have that.”

He lingered for a beat, then leaned in and pressed a brief but meaningful kiss to your lips.

“See you the day of the weddin’?”

You hummed against his mouth, smiling. “Yes. Now go,” you said, stepping back from him like it took as much willpower for you to leave this moment as it did for him.

He never hated the sound of the bell above the door more than that night. 

The wedding was nothing short of beautiful. Tommy and Maria exchanged their vows in a rustic, converted barn just south of Austin, surrounded by the warmth of family and friends. Sarah served as the flower girl, her laughter ringing out as she gracefully walked down the aisle in a beautiful purple dress. Standing beside his brother as best man, Joel felt his chest swell with a fierce, tender love watching his daughter so carefree and happy. He caught every word Tommy spoke, his little brother’s voice usually so steady and confident, cracking just slightly with emotion as he vowed his love to his now wife. Many wiped away tears as the couple finally said "I do" beneath a canopy of flowers and fading sunlight. 

It might have been the perfect day, if not for one thing. Or rather, the absence of one person. Yours.

Joel never saw you that morning. He’d thought about you all week, a constant pull deep in his chest, forcing himself not to swing by the shop just for a glimpse of you. Instead, he threw himself into work and wedding prep, trying to dull the itch of missing you. He cursed himself daily for not asking for your number. One night, when the longing twisted too sharply in his chest, he searched online and found the shop’s listed phone, but the thought of Frank picking up stopped him cold. He didn’t want to seem overeager, didn’t want to scare you off with his restlessness. It had been so long since he’d felt this way, since wanting someone had felt this easy and this terrifying. He missed your voice. Your laugh. The press of your body against his. And though he was certain Tommy had picked up on the shift in his mood, for once his brother didn’t tease, too focused on the biggest day of his life fast approaching.

So to say Joel had been eager to get to the shop that morning would’ve been a massive understatement. The nice cologne had been used again and he looked more put together than he had the week before, groomed for the wedding later that day but thinking only of you. He wanted to see your eyes on him again. Wanted to know if you’d look at him like you had last time, to know if you wanted him just as much.

It was the only thing on his mind as he pushed open the shop door. But instead of finding you behind the counter, he saw Frank. Joel’s heart sank a little, though he tried not to show it. Still, he asked, as casually as he could, if you were in the back, maybe finishing up the final touches. But the look on Frank’s face said everything before he even opened his mouth.

You weren’t there. 

Joel’s stomach dropped. You hadn’t kept your word. Well… "word" was a bit of a stretch, you hadn’t promised exactly, but he’d clung to that moment, to your smile and the softness in your voice when you said you’d see him on the morning of the wedding. He’d replayed it more times than he cared to admit.

He must not have hidden the disappointment well, because Frank cleared his throat and spoke up, his voice more gentle than Joel expected.

“She was working on it ‘til late this morning,” he said. “Pushed herself too hard, I think. Took the day off to rest. But it was worth it… the suit looks incredible. One of her best, if you ask me.”

So that was it. You weren’t here because of him. The irony of it twisted something in his chest.

Frank disappeared into the back to retrieve the suit, leaving Joel alone with the silence of the shop. His eyes drifted, unbidden, to the spot on the floor where just days ago your bodies had been tangled together, breathless and blissful. 

Would he see you again? Should he wait for you to reach out? Or come back in a few days with some excuses in hope of catching you? 

Maybe this was your way of letting him down easy, skipping this morning to avoid saying it out loud. Maybe agreeing to the date was something you said in the moment to smooth the goodbye. Joel wasn’t sure which version stung worse: the possibility that you didn’t mean it, or that you had… but changed your mind.

Still, he tried to tell himself he was lucky. That if this was the end, at least it ended on a high note, one that had kept him awake in bed most nights this week, haunted him in the shower, followed him even in his truck one morning when the memory of you was getting too much. 

Frank reappeared, the suit neatly encased in a protective garment bag. After settling the payment, Joel took it with equal care. Hands steady, heart anything but. There was a strange mix bubbling in his chest: anticipation to see the final product you’d worked so hard on… and the quiet ache of knowing you weren’t here to show it to him.

He was about to thank Frank and say goodbye when the older man stopped him, reaching behind the counter.

“Hold on,” Frank said, offering a small box with a knowing smile. “She picked this out for you. Took her time with it.”

Joel’s brows drew together in confusion as he gently opened the box. Inside was an elegant, perfectly folded green pocket square. He stared at it for a moment, thinking back to the first appointment with you. That made his throat tighten. With everything going on, he had never told you what colour he wanted. This choice, this detail, was all yours. 

You'd thought of him.

Perhaps you meant what you said, and maybe you’d been thinking about him just like he’d been thinking about you. A small, involuntary smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He’d be coming back, there was no question about it now. He wasn’t going to let this — you — become a fleeting moment. Not when it could be something more.

He looked around the shop one last time, his gaze lingering on the space where he’d kissed you last, a moment he had replayed more times than he’d admit. With a soft exhale, he nodded to Frank.

“Tell her thank you… for everything,” Joel said quietly.

“Will do,” Frank replied with a knowing look.

The bell above the door jingled as Joel stepped out into the sunlight, suit in one hand, pocket square in the other.

When he put it on the suit later that day, standing in front of a mirror in Tommy’s room, he allowed himself to smile. The final suit was beautiful, more than Joel could have imagined. Every stitch was precise, every seam perfectly aligned. He could feel the care you'd poured into it, the way it moulded to him like it had been made by someone who knew him intimately. And, in some ways, you did. 

He looked good, and he wasn’t the only one who noticed.

Tommy let out a low whistle when he caught sight of him. “Well, damn,” he laughed, clapping a hand on Joel’s back. “Didn’t know you cleaned up this good.”

Then came Sarah, who gasped the moment she saw him. “You look so handsome, Dad!” she giggled, running into his arms. He picked her up easily, heart swelling as she beamed at him so wide in her pretty flower girl dress. 

Throughout the reception, a few other guests surprised Joel with compliments. Some people he knew, some others he didn't. A few words on the quality of the suit, or just telling him how handsome he looked tonight. He wasn't used to this kind of attention; he was a man usually more at home in jeans and work boots, and felt a rare heat rise to his cheeks with each kind word. It was a strange thing, being the centre of attention, but beneath the initial awkwardness was something deeper. Some kind of pride. Not just in himself, but in you . People were admiring your work, and by extension, they were seeing him the way you had.

Joel was leaning against the bar, his eyes on the dance floor where Tommy and Sarah were spinning in tight little circles. His daughter stood on her uncle’s feet, clinging to his hands as she laughed with that bright, unfiltered joy only kids could muster. Her giggles rose above the music, and Joel couldn’t help but smile into his glass as he took another sip of whiskey. He wondered how long he had before Sarah would come barreling back to pull him out for another dance. At least now, in this new suit, he wouldn’t look like a wrinkled mess doing it. The thought of the old thing made him grimace; he would’ve been sweating through it by now.

He adjusted that deep green pocket square you'd picked for him as his mind drifted again. To you. It kept happening every time someone complimented him tonight, when a couple swayed close together, and he imagined you in his arms instead. When he caught sight of that guy across the room, who looked vaguely like Frank, when–

“I do love a man in a suit,” a soft voice said behind him. “Even more when I’m the one who put him in it.”

Joel turned so fast he nearly knocked over his drink, his heart jumping into his throat. His eyes widened the moment he saw you. There you were, smiling at him like a dream.

“Hi, Joel,” you said gently, stepping closer to him. You were in a stunning green dress that hugged your body in all the right places. Just devastly beautiful. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words dried out before they could form. Before he could ask you anything, How did you get here? How are you even more beautiful than last time? Did you miss me like I missed you? A voice from the side cut in.

“There you are!” Maria’s arms were suddenly around you, pulling you into a tight hug. “I was starting to think you’d skip the whole thing.”

“I missed the ceremony already,” you said with light guilt showing in your voice, pulling back and taking in her look, “I couldn’t possibly skip the party too.” Your eyes lit up as you looked her over. “You look incredible . That dress…it’s perfect on you.”

Maria grinned and spun in place, holding out the sides of her dress as if she were on a stage. “I know, right?” she said with an almost disbelieving laugh. Then, eyes shining, she added, “Can you believe it? I’m married !”

You leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I can, and I couldn’t be happier for you. Congratulations.”

It wasn’t until the laughter faded that the two of you seemed to remember the man standing just a few steps away, watching in silence. Slowly, you turned back toward Joel. He was staring between you and Maria like he was trying to solve a puzzle he was missing a piece of. You. At the wedding. Hugging Maria like you belonged here.

Maria glanced over and smiled. “I believe you two have met?”

“We did,” Joel prayed his voice didn’t betray his confusion.

You looked at him calmly, maybe even amused by his reaction. “How are you liking the suit Miller?”

Joel met your eyes. “It’s perfect,” he answered truthfully. The way your smile deepened at his words made something in him stumble. His heart, maybe.

“He really does look amazing,” Maria added, throwing you a sincere look. “You did such a great job. Hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”

You held Maria’s gaze for a beat before turning your eyes back to Joel, something unmistakably teasing flickering behind them. “Not at all,” you said, your voice smooth. “He was very… memorable.”

Joel swore the collar of his shirt suddenly felt too tight. His hand instinctively tugged at it as a flush crept up his neck. Before he could say anything, someone called out Maria’s name from across the dance floor. She gave your hand a quick squeeze before she was swept away into the crowd, off to hug another relative or accept another congratulations. 

You turned toward the bar, ordering something light and fizzy from the bartender and Joel’s eyes followed you, tracing the line of your dress, the way the soft fabric hugged every part of you he hadn’t stopped thinking about all week. Just minutes ago, he’d been wondering if he’d ever see you again. Now here you were, real and stunning and close enough to touch.

He stepped closer, barely thinking before the words left his mouth. “You’re here.”

You turned, now holding your drink, and leaned against the wooden bar as you gave him a faint smile. “I’m here.”

“I don’t understand…” Joel admitted as he mirrored your position. “You know Maria?”

“Old friend from college…well, roommate actually,” you said with a small shrug, watching him closely. “Honestly, I thought you knew, since she’s the one who sent you to me. Well… I did right up until you invited me to the wedding.”

Joel huffed a soft, breathless laugh. “A weddin’ you were already invited to,” he said, shaking his head.

You gave a small, almost guilty nod, lips tugging into the faintest smile.

Joel stared at you for a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your eyes lingered on his, a teasing glint there, but also something warmer underneath. “Didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Joel’s smile twitched at the corners, but he couldn’t help himself. “Is that why you weren’t there this mornin’?”

You winced just slightly at his words. The regret in your expression was clear, and you stepped in closer. Close enough that he noticed your perfume was different from what clung to his memory. Spicier, but just as enticing. It wrapped around him, and it made him ache to lean in, press his mouth to the hollow of your neck and find out if it tasted the same.

Your fingers brushed the front of his vest, then slowly traced down the line of his jacket. Joel felt his pulse stutter. “I’m sorry,” you said gently. “I really meant to be there. But I was working on this until the sun came up.” You gave the lapel a small tug, grounding your words. “I needed a few hours of sleep if I was going to be any good for the party tonight and–”

“And you knew you’d see me tonight,” Joel finished for you, his voice laced with something hopeful he couldn’t quite hide.

You nodded, your hand still resting lightly against his chest. His eyes followed the movement as your fingers drifted downward until they found the silk of his pocket square. You let your touch linger, smoothing the fabric with a kind of absent affection that made his heart thud harder in his chest. His gaze flicked between your hand and your face, catching the subtle lift of your lips as your smile teased at the corners. 

“It’s the same colour,” he finally murmured, more for himself than for you, as he glanced between the green silk and your dress in that same shade.

You looked up at him then, meeting his gaze fully. The smile you gave him wasn’t coy. It was bold, just like you. 

“Did you… pick this so I’d match you?” he asked then, his voice a little breathless.

“Maybe,” you said in a softvoice, eyes not leaving him. “I wanted to see if you'd wear a little piece of me.”

Joel swallowed hard, warmth blooming in his chest. It was something he’d nearly forgotten how to feel, to be this openly wanted. He wanted to reach for you. To rest his palm against your cheek just to see if you’d lean into the touch. He wanted to kiss those tempting lips of yours, just to feel that low, breathy sound you made when he last had the pleasure of touching you. He wanted to take your hand and find somewhere quiet, somewhere he could reach under that dress and do everything he’d been thinking about since last week. But the night still belonged to his family, and he didn't want to be that guy missing out on this special occasion. 

He turned his head, letting his eyes follow the sound of Sarah’s laughter. She was still on the dance floor, now sandwiched between Tommy and Maria, the three of them a perfect painting of joy. And then his gaze slid back to you. Somehow, he was sure the canvas could only be better if he took your hand and led you into the light. Would you let him? 

“Does Maria know?” Joel wondered, nodding subtly toward the bride. 

You didn’t even blink. “About you fucking me dumb on the shop floor?” you said casually, and Joel nearly choked on nothing but air, coughing into his fist.“No, didn’t really come up yet.”

“Yet?”

“Mmhm.” You nodded slowly. “I mean, you’re still taking me out on that date, right? Then I’ll consider telling her…if it goes well, of course.”

“Of course,” Joel echoed, his hand settling gently at your waist, his thumb absentmindedly tracing the fabric of your dress. Just then, the music that was playing faded into something softer just in time for Joel to lean in and ask: “Can I have this dance?”

You raised a teasing brow. “You got moves, Miller?”

“Plenty of 'em.” 

“Perfect, I’ve been waiting to see this suit in action,” you smiled as Joel took your hand, guiding you toward the dance floor. You leaned closer, your voice dropping to a teasing murmur only for him. “But I do have a question about it…”

Joel raised an eyebrow, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

“Will you let me take it off you later?”

Thank you for reading! Please tell me what you thought! Leave a comment, a reblog, or even an ask! It would mean a lot :)

[sugarmuseum]

THE INVITATION | P.JS

PAIRING: Park Jisung x female!reader

GENRE: smut, college!au, halloween!au, thriller!au.

SUMMARY: Your crush on the introverted Jisung reaches its limit after several failed attempts to get his attention, so you use your last card and you invite him to a Halloween party without knowing what you've really gotten yourself into.

WARNINGS AND CONTENT: explicit smut, dirty talk, creampie, pussy eating, squirt, mask kink i guess?, unprotected sex, fingering, mentions of blood, murder and death, mentions of past bullying, reader is kinda obsessed, jisung big dick agenda.

WORD COUNT: +17k.

AUTOR'S NOTE: enjoy a halloween fic in august!! also shout out to the bat jisung this is for you baby

‘’Oh my God, not again,’’ Yeji snapped his fingers at you, huffing. ‘’Hellooo, are you even listening to me?’’

‘’Are you gonna actually study or just sit there and glare all day?’’ Seonyun added, bumping you with her knee under the table, making you jump. 

You averted your eyes from the other table, from the boy that was receiving all your obsessive attention since you sat with your friends to study earlier. Park Jisung was just sitting there, looking hot and handsome, completely oblivious to the fact that you were losing your mind over him on the other side of the library.

‘’I wasn't glaring, I was… observing,’’ you defended yourself, smiling softly as you closed your notebook and started camping out your things, over with the study session. You were mildly irritated and tired. ‘’It's different.’’

‘’For fuck’s sake,’’ Yeji exasperated again, whining as she also started getting her stuff and gave you a side eye. A very judgemental side eye. ‘’Not you still crushing on that weirdo!’’

You wouldn't call yourself a desperate girl. You never needed or craved attention, because that just came naturally to you your whole life. You grew up being the cute, kind girl that everybody adored. Soft spoken but firm, a natural leader who invited everybody to her birthday parties and it was the event. Good at sports but never the captain, more like the glue that kept everybody together, often praised for being a good teammate who was the spirit of the group and went home with a medal for amazing sportsmanship.

Teachers talked good about you, you were super friendly to all of your classmates who had nothing to say about you but good things, your parents were smug and proud about your reputation and of course, your grades at school. It wasn’t about popularity, because that came and went, eventually. Everything would come to an end sooner or later. It was about being remembered. It was about being a presence in everybody's lives, positive and reassuring. A name that leaves a sweet taste, a girl who never hurt anybody. 

You feared that everything would change after you moved to another city with your family for your father’s work, but luckily that didn’t happen. It was a new beginning for your family and you knew that being the new girl brought its benefits, like a new wave of people wanting to meet you, interested and curious, as your life was settling back in. But also it had its challenges for sure, you were flesh meat in a place you didn’t know a single face and high school felt like a jungle sometimes. Things could go south real fast. You had something to prove and worked hard for it: you studied a lot to catch up, you won your place into the fencing team, not without gaining some unfriendly glances from the competition. Your grades didn’t suffer nor did you in the end, and your social life started functioning again when a new group of friends gathered around you once you were approved. Things just escalated from there. 

As time passed and you matured even more, you started noticing how you could play with people. Well, maybe play it’s a ugly word. More like you started noticing how people wanted to make you happy. Or at least make you smile, or gain your sympathy, hopefully waiting for you to wave at them in the hallway as you walk to your class. 

It was easy, really, how you could make them do things. First, starting with just simple favors like boys holding your books, girls bringing you water after fencing practice or somebody telling you the best books for the upcoming exams. It didn’t come from malice, really, but it was so easy, they were happy to win a minute from you, even just a glance. A soft ‘’thank you’’.

Your teenage years came and so did your stable position in the reign at high school, even if you pretended it didn’t exist. The power was there, but you weren’t an evil, manipulative person. With years and experience you realized that it wasn't the route you preferred or worked in your favor, center in the middle of the spotlight, a pretty doll for everyone to whisper about and pull your parts until you broke. A sort of queen enemy to the public, a tyrant so pretty it caused distrust. No. You knew better than that. You knew what it worked and what not. 

You weren’t hiding from the spotlight exactly, but you knew when and how to take a step back and let someone else bathe in the glory and the lights. To you, it was better to sit and observe, starting to collect strings and stories like an ambitious puppeteer. 

You created and manipulated people’s trust and so the secrets started coming to you: who hooked up with who, how your best friend Yeji rigged the coronation of the spring princess into her favor, who bought the exam’s answers, how Mrs Kim was fucked in her office for a good grade and an even better recommendation letter, who paid the school to kept the bully case buried. You weren’t hunting for the information, it just came your way and of course, you were a tomb. You didn’t leak anything. You had tons of weapons but chose peace, just looking at your puppets and dusting them with a soft smile, giving them a moment of life.

You didn’t need the queen B title, to be honest. You didn’t care. Your power came from another source, as you realised when you grow up. Men's eyes lingered in you with interest and barely contained lust, girls looked at you up and down and smiled at you, friendly but cautious of your beauty. You were used to enter a room, a class, a coffee shop and the whole world would tilted to your favor; classmates saved you a seat and passed you notes, a kind stranger would pay for your order - hell, you were sure the cute barista from the place you always go was a free coffee away from making the company bankrupt. 

But you weren’t a show off, nor all the attention went to inflate your head into an insane ego. You knew that wasn't the most intelligent thing to do and it would just deteriorate everything. You just lived your life, taking all the privileges that came your way silently with soft eyes and a kind smile. At least, until someone really dared to cross you. That was another story. 

So, yeah, you wouldn't call yourself a desperate girl. Except you fucking were. And the culprit had no idea, so that was worse, lost in his head with those big headphones and his eyes devouring a book, acting like you weren’t making holes in his head with your eyes.

‘’What about it?’’ You said nonchalantly as you could, trying not to open your jaw and bite at her head. You stole another glance at Jisung. ‘’Weren’t you supposed to be my friend, Yeji? Support me without judgment and all that?’’

Both of your friends shared a look, but it was Yeji who dared to talk after a moment. 

‘’Did you hit your head? This is not a judgement free zone, babe. Like at all,’’ she gave a small nod at Jisung’s direction with a frown. ‘’That guy is weird, always alone and has no social life. He’s just a ghost that goes to class and disappears. You think I want that for you?’’

‘’We don’t really know anything about him’’, Seonyun whispered, big eyes full of conspiracy and gossip, ‘’like, he doesn't go to parties, doesn't do any sport… He’s not in any team, not even in the loser's one! Like, he could be in the chess team or something at least.’’

You weren’t impressed. You shrugged with no effort to hide your boredom, lips pressed. ‘’So? Maybe he’s shy or introverted. Just because he’s not an alcoholic jock doesn’t mean he’s a freak,’’ you defend him, feeling protective. ‘’He’s just some guy, Seonyun.’’

Yeji rolled her eyes, giving Seonyun a look that screamed listen to this dumb bitch. ‘’Well, I was classmates in elementary and high school with him. So I do know things about him.  Little Jisung was a freak then too. Quiet and always in the corner alone, no wonder nobody liked him.’’

That picked Seonyun's interest. ‘’But Yeji, if he went with you that means he’s rich, right?’’

‘’He was on a scholarship, Seonyun. And that ungrateful rat threw it away when he left in the middle of the year. Guess he couldn't take the pressure,’’ Yeji scoffed.

You were barely listening. 

Your obsession started when you saw him at campus a few months ago. And holy fuck. Jisung, with his height, his deep voice, his perfect jaw and that mysterious aura turned you into a pervert. Really. You had your fantasies just like everybody and a normal sex life, but you weren’t a horny monster full of hormones. At least that was what you thought. You didn't believe it was that healthy to spend hours thinking about Jisung’s large and veiny hands on your neck while he railed you. Especially not in class, where you were literally disconnected from the world just to have your horny thoughts in peace. But there you were, your head completely full of images of him.

You tracked him down campus, gained information about his classes and what he was studying, and so you learned he was a future physical therapy doctor. Perfect. He would blend perfectly in your family of doctors. Maybe he could work in your father’s clinic after you two get married. 

Since you two shared some classes you couldn't control the way your mind would float and fantasise about him in a series of different scenarios. Like him fingering you under the table in the middle of an exam or him fucking you in the farterst and darkest corner of the library. You were often planning your life together and wondering what his favourite colors were or if he would agree to have the walls of your shared house painted juniper green. And then fuck you against them.

But there was one problem. Park Jisung was completely unaware of your existence. 

At first you thought that maybe he had a girlfriend or was another fuckboy who played hard, but you were completely shocked to know that he didn’t had a file of pretty girls waiting for a turn to fuck him. And that, to you, was completely ridiculous. He was just or even more handsome like other popular guys on campus. There were athletes, fuckboys and regular students that belonged in frats, but Park Jisung made them all look so… common. Boring. 

And you were going insane. 

You didn't get it. Anytime you would see him on campus he was alone. Sometimes he would talk with Zhong Chenle, the captain of the basketball team and a member of Neo Center Tech, but Jisung wasn’t a pledge there or in any other frat. So your only opportunities to see him were in class, at the library or maybe in the hallway, where you obviously gave him the flirting eyes with no success. 

To make things worse (on the verge of being catastrophic), you couldn't just forget about him. Bury him in the back of your brain and continue with your life. You tried, of course, but you knew yourself and knew that it wouldn't work. Your sorority was sister to NCT, so big parties were common in your life and a pretty big part of it. Chaotic, funny, wild parties that were legendary on campus started to mean nothing to you. It was background noise that annoyed you. Not that you loved them before but now being surrounded by people, especially drunk people, just made you too agitated. Like there was something missing, or maybe you weren’t supposed to be there. You sat on these parties pouting and falling into a silent pity party for yourself just because Park Jisung, the ghost of the campus, didn't look in your direction? Yeah. A lot of times.

You weren’t discreet at all in your interest for him and of course, Yeji and Seonyun noticed with horror. You were one of the popular girls and Yeji was mortified that you just even thought about involving yourself with such a lame loser, as she called him. She called it an early life crisis and even considered you were on drugs too. One night your friends organized a very drunk attempt to play seven minutes in heaven in the middle of a party and pushed you and Na Jaemin into a closet, thinking that it was a natural solution.  

That was when you remembered that inconvenience.

Jaemin had been chasing after you since high school. He was popular and wealthy, the kind of rich with so much power and influence that life to him was as easy as breathing. Things were just given to him. The perfect golden boy that was good at everything and controlled every corner of the world with his sharp smile, calculating eyes and a cruel brain. He was intelligent in a twisted way. He reminded you of yourself sometimes, except he was cold and his armor showed cracks, a fake smiling persona that enjoyed spreading fear on people. Everybody knew what he was capable of and kissed his ass anyways.

If you managed to get some puppets on stage he was the owner of the theatre. And that’s the thing with kings and queens and reigns and power: someone else could have a bigger army and more horses than you. And that meant that sometimes you had to bow. 

So you entertained him. Gave him your firsts, kissed him so hard until he believed you were his and moaned his name everytime he was between your legs trying to sew himself into your soul with no success. You weren’t his girlfriend and Jaemin never asked, not even once, because he was smart enough to never put himself in a position of weakness and he was good at reading you too. It takes one to know another, right? He knew you weren’t the pretty and caring princess you painted yourself to be and he actually liked that. Jaemin liked the chase and honestly, that you gave him freedom. He knew that with the right amount of time and pressure you would bend, if you knew what was good for you and your family. He would call you a game, but you were more than that. He was keeping you out of your cage for the moment, but not forever. Nobody would dare to touch Na Jaemin’s girl anyways. 

Jisung was still in your mind and it cost everything in you not to scream his name when Jaemin fucked you so hard in that closet you actually cried tears of pleasure. 

‘’He’s always wearing black and don’t get me started on that annoying sad boy vibe. One time I had to sit next to him in class and he was listening to Radiohead,’’ Seonyun implored you with her eyes, whispering like it was a huge terrible discovery. ‘’You can’t find that hot.’’

‘’It’s giving serial killer,’’ Yeji joked and Seonyun agreed with a small laugh. ‘’He checks all the boxes, if you think about it. A solitary loser ignored by the world, he only needs a prom and then boom.’’

‘’I think you guys have seen too many slasher movies. Just because he’s not in a damn frat and listens to rock doesn't mean he’s weird,’’ you rolled your eyes, wishing for more patience. You were exhausted from having the same chat over and over for weeks. ‘’Or a serial killer.’’

‘’Alright, babe, whatever you say,’’ Yeji laughed, looking at you a little defiantly. Her pretty eyes sparkle condescendingly, like a mother dealing with a rebel child that will come to her senses. ‘’But you have to admit that he has totally that vibe.’’

‘’Listen, we get it. You like your men tall, all Michael Myers-ish and looking like a catatonic Victorian child. No judgement here,’’ Seonyun added, trying not to laugh but failing miserably when her eyes found Yeji’s and both started giggling making you eye twitch. 

‘’Don’t come crying to us when he stabs you,’’ Yeji warned you. 

You said nothing as you just stared at them blankly waiting for them to finish, except that they found that cute and more laughable, cooing at you and your annoyed expression. 

‘’No judgment here!’’ Seonyun repeated, smiling. ‘’I mean, Yeji hooked up last week with Hendery so do we actually have a saying on who’s weird or not?’’ 

Yeji snapped her head at her, giving her a pinch in her arm and hissing as she looked around hoping that nobody listened to that. She huffed and looked at Seonyun between mortification and fury. All traces of mockery gone. ‘’Jesus fuck. Can you keep your fucking voice down? Nobody needs to know that.’’

‘’Especially not Jaehyun, right?’’ You asked Yeji, smiling down at her all fake. She tensed a little and reciprocated your smile, knowing that his boyfriend wouldn't find that threesome very funny. Poor Jung Jaehyun was one of the big fish on campus, a handsome lacrosse player with connections so good that Yeji actually had to work very hard for months to finally entangle him in her nets successfully. 

She recomposed quickly, adjusting her long hair with a sigh, ready to change the subject. ‘’I just don’t get it. You have Jaemin behind you since we were like sixteen. Na Jaemin. Why the hell are you acting like a lovesick puppy for Park Jisung?’’ 

You didn't say anything, the tension slowly building up between two queens who didn’t fear each other. History with you was all the way back since being teens, both knowing everything from the other. You liked Yeji or at least liked that she didn’t feel like interfering in your life and annoyed you, but sometimes tense moments will arise when she encountered that you weren't the obedient right hand of hers. And that, sometimes, bothered her. Maybe Yeji felt threatened by you or envious of your situationship with Jaemin and maybe you didn't like that Yeji thought she called the shots. You could knock her down from her tower if you want it to. 

Poor Seonyun was in the middle of it, a little uncomfortable but also knowing that these moments of crossed fire were pretty common. And her part was to cool things down as the good friend and peace maker she was, so Seonyun broke the tense silence with a cute laugh as she showed you both her phone in an attempt to distract the two dobermans in front of her from ripping their throats. 

‘’Oh my God, Jeno just texted me! He’s asking about the Halloween party!’’ She squealed, writing a response fast. You didn’t say anything but the tension calmed a little, a crisis averted. ‘’I can’t wait, I wanna show him what I’m wearing so bad.’’

A moment of silence passed and Seonyun watched you both with a frozen smile, waiting for any of you to catch the bait. Expecting.

‘’Nana texted me earlier, he wanted to know what we’re gonna wear too. But we don't even know that, hmm? Are we going to the store tomorrow, right?’’ Yeji asked you, a picture of calmness and diplomacy. Calm enough to be the first to give an olive branch.

‘’Sure,’’ you said, turning your head to watch Jisung again and noticing he was packing his stuff too. ‘’Tomorrow.’’

You were tired of wanting and not having. He wasn't doing any move and you started plotting another plan, a plan he couldn't resist. You noticed that the last couple of weeks Jisung had started to look at you. Dead in the eyes. Something had shifted and you wouldn't let it pass. So you had to initiate the approach slowly but surely. First, you advanced some seats in class which wasn’t easy because you were a late student and most of the seats that Jisung used - the first rows - were obviously occupied. 

Then, the little smiles and softs ‘’hi’’ started purring out of you and then questions about some paper or book or whatever, answers you didn’t listen to because you were busy staring at his cute mouth moving and his soft but deep voice that actually made you blush. Next part of the plan was your revealing but cute outfits to catch his attention. Nothing extreme or obvious, just enough to make your tits really good, short enough to show your soft legs and thighs. You would lean on your table and push your tits while you played with your pencil and kept your eyes on him. 

Jisung realised and looked, as sometimes you felt and even caught his eyes eating you. And then, he would barely smirk in a knowing way and you would end completely disarmed by that. Waiting for him to make a move, but you kept waiting. You were getting frustrated, all horny and bothered. But no more.

You didn't say goodbye as you left your friends, following Jisung out of the library with decisive steps. 

‘’Jisung!’’ You called after him, walking fast down the hallway to catch him. He wasn't wearing his headphones anymore and so when he heard his name being called, he turned around doubtfully. 

Once he realized it was you, his soft eyes traveled up and down your body, focusing on your pretty top that showed a good amount of cleavage. You smiled at him feeling like the cat that was about to eat the mouse. 

‘’Hi, Jisung,’’ you said, a little shy, blinking at him. He muttered something you didn’t quite catch under his breath, averting your eyes as he moved a little nervous. A soft pink colored his ears. 

‘’H-hey. Do you need anything?’’ Jisung asked, clearing his throat. You could see his hand tightening in the strap of his bag, wary and tense.

‘’Well, actually, yes. I need your presence,’’ you explained to him, taking a step closer to him. You smiled at Jisung, thinking how cute he looked being a little startled. ‘’There’s a Halloween party this weekend and… wait, do you have any plans?’’

‘’Uh— I… Halloween?’’ He murmured, playing with the strap of his bag nervously. He looked like a tall deer lost in the middle of a fucking speed highway. 

You giggled and took something out of your purse: it was a black envelope with a red wax stamp sealing it. You dared to take his hand and pushed into his palm the invitation to the party. ‘’Yeah, Halloween. I would love it if you come,’’ you whispered, staring deep into his eyes. ‘’To the party.’’

Jisung was a second from combusting from awkwardness or anxiety, you didn’t quite know. But, against all odds, Park Jisung finally studied the invitation with curiosity for a moment that felt close to eternity to you, until he nodded a little. Still, there was something unreadable in his eyes, maybe suspicion? It sparkled so fast it may be you just imagining it.

‘’It’s a costume party, so you’ll have to find me that night,’’ you bite your lip, trying not to smile too much and explode right there. ‘’I won’t tell you what I’m wearing.’’

‘’How I’ll know it’s you?’’ Jisung stared at the invitation in his hand scanning it and then at you again. He played with the envelope between his fingers, indecisive. Like he expected to explode at any second and burn him.

‘’That’s easy,’’ you chuckled, holding his gaze. ‘’I will be the one who doesn’t look away,’’ you whispered to him, slow and deliberate. Your words lingered in the space you two shared.

Jisung swallowed. ‘’Then how you’ll know it's me?’’ 

You blinked a little taken aback, but actually thought about it. Jisung wasn't flirting or teasing you. He was actually curious, waiting for your answer. You tilted your head and stepped into his space, smiling softly when you heard him inhaling sharply. You leaned in slightly, and he didn’t step back. 

‘’I’ve been watching you, Jisung. I see you. I’ll know if it’s you.’’

Jisung stayed still, eyes fixed on you, like he was trying to find or resolve something. His expression wasn’t one you were used to. Intensity shined in his eyes and for a second, something dark crossed his face and left just as fast. A black shadow that made him look more like a wolf than a deer, but It didn’t scare you, it lured you. You wanted to see it again. 

But then his posture sagged a little and took a step back, looking away from you. 

‘’You don’t know me,’’ he muttered, a touch of defiance in his tone. ‘’How could you know?’’

You smiled up at him, no mask. Not pretending, not trying to grab at his strings and making him another pretty puppet to play with. A sincere smile that lights up your pretty face. Heart beating fast just from standing in front of him, dying to touch him. You looked at him like you were about to whisper a life secret, just for him to hear.

‘’I know exactly who you are,’’ you said, lifting your fingers to trace his cheek gently. ‘’And I know what you can become.’’

You felt him shudder a little under your touch, his eyes didn’t leave yours until the moment broke when more people came out of the library, students you didn’t know. You smiled at Jisung again, this time, more playful and flirty, taking a step back. The hallway was spinning from the rush you felt, heart jumping from excitement. 

‘’Don’t get lost, yeah? I’d hate to go looking out for you,’’ you said softly, passing by Jisung to leave, your body brushing his like a whisper. A soft trace of your perfume engulfed him.  ‘’Don’t make me wait.’’

You didn’t see him crumpling the card in his closed and shaking fist, staring at you until your figure disappeared with burning eyes and his jaw pressed tight. 

In life, sacrifices had to be made. And you supposed one of them was shopping with your frenemy in a random, old costume shop. You liked the place and thought it had his charm, but some find it creepy. And well… it kinda was. Mr Lee’s Costumes and Mascots apparently froze sometime in the eighties as it was obvious from the decoration and the vibe, but time kept going outside the store so it turned into a weird combination of really old and very new items. It had a lot of racks of costumes spread throughout the store, going from classic and cute costumes for kids like clowns and skeletons to the most wild and modern, like a sexy Pokemon. 

There were mascot costumes displayed too and even the first one ever from your high school behind glass, like the precious piece of history it was. The place was poorly lit and full of old stuff that no one ever buyed, mirrors and nostalgia buried in dust. Old mannequins wearing costumes full of spiderwebs and long hallways where the fittings rooms were. Shelves were full of masks, wigs and accessories that had seen better decades. 

There were clowns everywhere too, and that was indeed creepy. Life size clown figures. You wondered what crossed in Mr Lee’s head to think that was a good decoration theme. Sometimes you thought maybe Mr Lee had cameras in their eyes from preventing stealing, because every time you moved you felt watched. You came close to one of the clown figures in the corner, staring at his face up close and studying his empty eyes, holding your breath. Waiting for something to happen. 

‘’Shit,’’ you said, jumping startled when your phone made a loud noise. You took a step back and frowned at all the messages from the Devil accumulating.

dickhead na jaemin: are you trying on costumes without me? i'm hurt dickhead na jaemin: i’ll paid for it so let me pick. dickhead na jaemin: are you ignoring me now? dickhead na jaemin: do us both a favor and don’t wear anything innocent it doest fucking fit you anyway. dickhead na jaemin: im starting to think you like making me wait. you: jesus go bother somebody else dickhead na jaemin: i like bothering you. let me pick your costume. i’ll behave you: you’re disgusting and im busy dickhead na jaemin: and yet you still answer me. cute. dickhead na jaemin: busy doing what exactly? 

You rolled your eyes and moved to the next rack of costumes, actually not knowing what to wear. Halloween was a special night to you and you wanted to use the best and most beautiful costume. What would Jisung like? Sexy? Classic? Bloody? You were scanning the options when your phone rang again, making you tighten your jaw. 

dickhead na jaemin: im being dead serious. i don’t want anybody staring at you. don't dress like a whore.

you: i’ll dress to make whorever i want stare

dickhead na jaemin: let me fucking guess. Tall? quiet? freak? 

You almost dropped your phone, staring at the screen with a shiver down your spine. The three dots on the screen moved and another text from Jaemin came. You could imagine him grinning triumphally, thinking he set a game and was about to win it.

dickhead na jaemin: ding ding ding! your little friend can't keep quiet, doesn't she? 

Your eyes snapped to Yeji across the shop, where she was trying on a pink wig and taking photos in the most clean mirror that was.

you: i don't know what are you talking about but leave him out of this  dickhead na jaemin: why? can’t take a joke? he never could either. you: leave me alone and stop texting me dickhead na jaemin: god you’re so dramatic and fun. enjoy your shopping princess.

The air around you felt colder, suffocating. You watched her looking at her photos and giggling, so unaware of the chaos and fury inside you brewing slowly. You stepped forward towards her, seeing red. Hands itching to hit her against the mirror and taint it with her betrayal until she cried bloody tears. You stood behind her, watching her silently in the mirror until she lifted her eyes and smiled at you.

‘’Did you find something slutty?’’

You ripped her pink wig and threw it at her face, seething. 

‘’You told Jaemin about him,’’ you said, voice cold. Yeji's face didn’t fall, just keeping her smile in place and shrugging. She didn’t deny it. She rolled her eyes in the mirror and turned around, facing you smugly with zero intent of hiding it. 

‘’Don’t act like it was a secret. You go around acting like a slut and you think your boyfriend won’t find out?’’

‘’I don’t have a boyfriend,’’ you reminded her, taking a step further into her space and pushing her against the mirror. ‘’Don’t try to spin this on me, Yeji. What’s your damn problem? Why do you care so much?’’

‘’Ohhhh, not the serious face,’’ Yeji purred, pushing your buttons when she wrapped her arms around your neck. She watched you get more furious with a satisfied smile, giggling. ‘’You should be grateful, you know? You have everything but of course you don’t play by the rules. Oh, no, you’re so different and good.’’

‘’Don’t push your luck, Yeji,’’ you said, smacking her arms out of you, voice dripping with venom and barely contained rage. ‘’You really fucked it up.’’

Yeji booed at you, laughing a little and then pouting mockingly. She tilted her head and dropped her smile, turning a little serious. ‘’Why? Because I don’t want you to fall from grace or because I warned Jaemin you’re a cheater slut?’’

‘’If you want Jaemin so much just fucking take him and leave me alone,’’ you snapped, fisting your hands. ‘’You’ll be making me a favor anyways.’’

‘’Please, I could have him if I wanted it, babe. Don’t need your permission. What I want is for you to stop acting like you’re better than us,’’ Yeji hissed, pushing her off the mirror to come close to your face. ‘’You’re as fucked up like me, but you love playing the good girl. And now what? You wanna get the nerd and pretend you’re above us?’’ 

You laughed bitterly, huffing. ‘’Oh my God, so that’s it? That’s what bothers you, Yeji? You can’t control something and you think you have a say in my life? You are really something.’’

‘’I do have a say in your pathetic life because I’m your friend and you’re being reckless.’’

You turned around and took a breath, trying to control yourself from strangling her. You didn’t want to do that in Mr Lee’s shop but things were getting difficult and your patience was thinner by the minute. You just didn’t get it, how she couldn't back off and leave you alone. You snorted and shook your head.

‘’I’m being reckless with what? My taste in men?’’

Yeji’s body came closer to your back, soft breasts against you. She moved your hair back and rested her chin on your shoulder, looking at you with those sharp, vixen eyes that softened just enough. She hugged you from behind and you didn’t move. 

‘’Don’t want you to drag Park Jisung back into our lives,’’ she warned into your ear, venomously. ‘’He’s in the past and belongs there. This is your last warning. Don’t piss me off, babe.’’

You didn’t say anything as you stared in front of you, a slow smirk forming on your lips. With a short snort your body relaxed a little and you looked over your shoulder, your nose brushing hers. ‘’I think you’re really confused here, so let me be clear,’’ you said softly, staring at her eyes. ‘’Don’t get in my way, Yeji. I don’t wanna fight with you, just like I don’t wanna show Jaehyun’s family what you do in Professor Suh's office. Getting on your knees for a better grade…’’ you sighed, shaking your head, ‘’I don’t think Mrs Jung will appreciate that, Yeji. It’s a little vulgar.’’ 

Yeji’s face fell and she paled a little, but still maintained her composure. You could see how the wheels in her mind were speeding in panic and confusion, the way her body trembled with anger gave her away. Your smile got bigger, enjoying how her determined exterior was crumbling right in front of you like a house of cards hit with a strong wind. Your threat hung there, cold and mocking. ‘’How do you know that?’’ 

‘’Girls!’’

Mr Lee appeared from behind the counter with his coat on, looking in a hurry but wearing his characteristic kind smile anyways. He couldn't sense the tension between you and Yeji, both smiling at him like nothing, separating like a bomb wasn't about to go off just seconds ago and take the store down. He jogged a little to the door, watching you both with a frown.

‘’I have to go home, our cat climbed to the roof again and my wife is worried,’’ he explained with a sigh. ‘’I swear that animal wants to bet his nine lives and gave us a heart attack at the same time.’’

You smiled politely and Yeji did the same, but it was forced and stiff, like you both were hiding a mess behind your backs. Mr Lee pointed at you and Yeji with his keys and gave both a stern look, like a dad scolding his daughters. 

‘’I’ll come back in ten minutes, max. Don’t burn the place down, no drama and boys while I’m gone, understood?’’

‘’Yes, Mr Lee,’’ both you and Yeji replied. Mr Lee stepped outside and left with the bell of the store ringing behind him, leaving the store in charge of two very mad girls.

Yeji picked up the pink wig from the floor and threw it on the counter as she passed by, making a bee line to the door, fuming and red.

‘’You’re leaving? You didn’t pick a costume,’’ you called her, standing in your place.

‘’I won’t waste my precious time dealing with you,’’ she huffed, not looking back. ‘’Jaehyun is waiting for me. Have fun finding something that fits your pathetic ass,’’ Yeji taunted you, sending you a flying kiss before closing the door with a loud bang that made the shop windows shake. 

You stood there, alone, in the middle of the still and silent store. You enjoyed the loneliness of it for a while, shopping quietly and trying to dissipate the tension that seemed to follow you like a shadow, heavy at your shoulders. Luckily, no other customers entered the store but you could see through the big windows that people started filling the streets, buying and preparing for Halloween, stores giving free samples of new candy and coffee that tasted like pumpkins. A group of people dressed as Ghostface passed by the costume shop and they hit the glass with their plastic knives, running away afterwards they caught your attention like it was the most funny thing in the world.  

You went deeper into the store, to the racks in the back where there were the long dresses. Some mannequins lined the hallway wearing antique costumes, dresses with masquerade masks and porcelain decorating their faces, like they froze dancing in the middle of a mysterious ball. A gown caught your attention and you took it, feeling how soft the black velvet was in your hands. It was vintage and kinda gothic, something created for a woman that wanted to torment her lover. The fabric cascaded to the floor, dark and dramatic, creating a smooth silhouette. You studied the dress with a smile forming on your face, imagining how it would look on you and how it fitted with Jisung style. You moved back into the store and to the change rooms, when the sound of the bell on the door stopped you before you could get far.

‘’Mr Lee? I was gonna try on this dress,’’ you called, walking again. The old man hadn't answered you and made you frown, a little worried. ‘’Mr Lee?’’

You stopped on your tracks. 

A man was standing in the middle of the store. Tall and silent, wearing all black and a mask on his face— a clown mask. It wasn’t like the ones you saw in the store. This one seemed really old, a vintage mask, the kind that looked like it belonged to a circus maybe hundred of years ago and filled kid’s hearts with laughter back then. But now, in the present, it caused an unsettled feeling, uncanny and intriguing. It gave the impression that it didn’t belong there, in the present. It was both haunting and wrong.

The mask was broken with black cracks from use, maybe a little dirty too. Like it was just picked out from a forgotten box filled with dust and time. The clown wasn't smiling but not serious either, frozen in a strange expression, closer to nostalgia. To you, it almost looked sad, a lost Pierrot waiting for the last applause, like the end came too fast and was confused by it. A quiet rage. 

So you were in an almost empty costume shop at night and a stranger was blocking your way. The realistic feeling was for sure to panic, or felt definitely in danger, but you weren’t someone who fell into fear like that. Instead you breathed in and out and kept your head cold, remembering how common it was for frat boys to run around scaring girls, luring people into their parties, doing mischief and pranks on everybody. This was just a customer and you were overreacting a little, startled by his disturbing, silent presence. 

Still, your pulse was accelerating and your throat felt dry, feeling his eyes on you. 

‘’Uh, are you… looking for a costume?’’ You asked, holding the gown onto your chest like it was armor. Your voice quivered enough to make it obvious that you were a little taken aback. ‘’Mr Lee isn't here.’’

The stranger moved his head. No. Silence filled the store and you didn’t dare to say something else. He started to walk slowly to you, moving through the racks and getting closer and closer, not rushing. But there wasn’t hesitation either, those black eyes from the mask fixed on you. 

‘’Well, Mr Lee should be coming soon, so,’’ you vacillated a little, turning around quickly. ‘’Wait for him, I guess.’’

You went into the last fitting room, the one that was at the end of the aisle, far from the world. You catched a glance of you in the huge mirror that decorated the aisle and gave you a vision of the whole store, seeing not only yourself but the man with the mask not far behind you. He followed you. The velvet curtain shut behind you and you stared at it, waiting. But nothing happened or moved, the curtain still and the store silent. You started to undress slowly, skin tickling with anticipation, your heart pounding heavily. 

You sensed his presence behind the curtain, slow steps taking the stranger there. A flash of fear stroked you, your senses sharpening with each second. The only sound was your breath and every rush of the clothes you were dropping to the floor, just standing in your white lingerie, lace innocent and angelic, delicate. You were pretending that the stranger wasn't right there. Waiting and listening. Breathing behind the mask. 

Maybe it shouldn't be making you wet and you shouldn't rub your thighs together with a sigh. It was wrong to feel a little thrill when you should be shuddering with fear or screaming, but you didn’t care. You were listening to your body and not your mind, trying to imagine what the stranger was thinking outside. What did he wanna do to you? How would he touch you? Your questions were interrupted when you saw long fingers peeking from outside, like crawls trying not to scare a prey, moving the curtain aside unhurriedly, the dark figure stepping into your space not long after. He filled the small fitting room and towered over you.

Your eyes stared at him in the mirror, feeling his warm body glued to your back. You gasped when the stranger raised his hand suddenly and something shone on it, something sharp and dangerous, too fast to stop it. Not that you were quick enough to even try to stop him. Your body froze as the masked man traced the lines of your collarbones with the end of his knife, moving it slowly to your chest, like a lover’s caress. A sharp feather exploring your sensitive skin, kissing it with softness. You held your breath, biting on your lip to not make any sound, not that you trusted your voice. Or what you were capable of saying to him. You let him explore your body and your curves, his knife tracing your stomach and your belly button like he was testing the limits. How far would you let him go?

You pushed back your ass tentatively, testing the waters as you rubbed his cock slowly, feeling him hardening against you. A breathless moan left you when his hand closed around your throat and he moved his knife precisely, too easy for him. He cut the straps of your bra and exposed your tits, giving them a hard squeeze with his hand. With a firm push he cornered you against the mirror and pushed your face there, now rubbing himself more freely in your ass and making you moan while he played with your tits. He pinched and twisted your nipples until you whined and pushed against him, feeling how your pussy was dripping and throbbing. 

The stranger tore off what was left of your broken bra roughly, like he was personally offended by the lace against your skin. With a firm movement of his hands he stretched the fabric and used it to cover your eyes, tying a tight knot at the top of your neck that sent you into darkness.

‘’W—what are you doing?’’ You whispered a little breathless, bringing one of your hands back to try to touch it, but the stranger slapped it off fast. 

Both of his hands folded your arms behind your back and gave them a firm squeeze, and you understood immediately: don’t you dare move them. You heard him moving behind you but couldn't see anything from the position and the blindfold, heat pooling in your stomach. The man grabbed your ass cheeks and squeezed them roughly and possessively, giving you a hard spank that made you gasp loudly and the mask drowned his chuckle. You parted your legs and bended a little, offering yourself to him, letting him see the sticky mess between your thighs. His long fingers caressed your aching pussy over your panties, making you clench around nothing. 

‘’Are you gonna do something or are you just keep haunting me?’’ You said mockingly, pushing onto his hand, whining. You swear you heard him saying something, but when he moved your panties aside and his fingers pushed deep into your dripping cunt, your mind went blank. 

The stranger moved them in and out slowly, opening your hole with two fingers that reached deep, making you moan loudly. He curled them and stroked the point that made you tremble and curse, the stranger fucking your cunt more quickly and hard, making wet noises everytime he thrushted his fingers inside you, daring to add a third. He relentless his thrust, now taking his time to stretch your hole slowly. You were making a mess in his hand, dripping and moaning without a care, feeling a delicious pleasure fill your veins and mind. He took his fingers out and slapped your ass again, making you whine and jump when suddenly you felt something different— wet and soft against your warm core. 

‘’Oh my God,’’ you gasped, his hands grabbing at your hips and pushing his face between your legs, mouth lapping at your folds like it was a dessert. ‘’Yes.’’

His tongue moved in circles around your clit, mouth slurping licking your sticky folds like he couldn't get enough. The stranger’s nose bumped into your hole every time he dived in and ate you like a starving animal, pushing his tongue and flattening it, recollecting your juices with it. You were dying to grab his hair and ride his face but you obeyed and didn’t move your arms, but that didn’t mean you didn't try it. He caught you fast and growled against your pussy, sending vibrations that weakened your legs, making you whine when he spanked you again in punishment. The stranger shoved his fingers inside you, ruthless and rapid, using his other hand to circle your clit at the same rhythm, making you shake from the pleasure and the pressure forming inside you. 

Your cunt throbbed and wetter even more, letting the stranger push your limits when his tongue licked your ass. You jumped a little but melted quickly, pushing your ass to his face and whimpering, craving more and feeling how the stranger’s spit was leaking down your slit. His finger caught it and shoved it into your hole with his fingers, creating a damp mess from his saliva and your slick, making you combust on the spot with a breathless moan when it was too much.

You came hard as you grinded the stranger's face and rode his fingers, pushing your throbbing pussy against him, whimpering with need. He removed his fingers and replaced them with his mouth and his flattened tongue, using him to prolong your orgasm until it made you feel overwhelmed. He gave you soft and long licks, making figures with his tongue on your soaked folds and thighs, like he couldn't get enough of tasting you. 

The stranger drove his fingers still wet from your slick past your lips, until you closed around his knuckles and sucked them. He moved his fingers on your mouth slowly and profoundly, making you taste yourself and gag a little when he pushed his veiny fingers too far up your throat. His other hand traveled down your body, barely rubbing your clit, your body twitching from the sensitiveness, moaning around his fingers.

‘’Girls, I’m back! Did you find something you like? I see the store still standing, so that’s good.’’

Mr Lee's voice ruined the dream you were floating and you whined a little in panic still sucking the masked man fingers. Holy shit. You stumbled a little when you straightened up in a hurry and tried to take the blindfold off, only to be stopped by a pair of firm hands. You both waited a moment, hearing Mr Lee was far away still and that’s when he let you go, pushing you softly against the mirror again and retrieving the knife forgotten on the wooden floor. You took off the blindfold just in time to see him leaving like nothing happened, mask on and walking out of the store without Mr Lee realizing as he was hanging his coat behind the counter. Just like a ghost unnoticed, taking advantage of the shadows of the night that engulfed the old store. 

You stood in the fitting room, breath caught and body tingling with desire, aching for more.

If hell existed on Earth, for sure it was located exactly between Jaemin and Lee Donghyuck, drunk and annoying. 

You sipped from your cup of coffee with too much sugar, not really in the mood for drinking in the middle of the week like your friend group. It was a pre party, something to give a taste of what’s coming for and pass the time. Meaning, a reason to get drunk in the middle of the week, not that the frat actually needed an excuse for it. Music pulsated loud, drowning conversations and smoke filled the room, but your mood didn’t fit the other’s, students coming with Halloween costumes, making out in the corners, playing beer pong with vodka. 

Yeji’s techno house playlist was giving you a headache and the smell of liquor wasn’t doing any good either, nor the loud laughs that sounded like a bunch of crows. You were more silent than normal, maybe a little nostalgic, body still imagining the masked man tongue on you. Reviving it over and over like a dream, like if you concentrated enough you could feel his hands again on you. A wave of longing hit you and you sighed, which caught Jaemin’s attention next to you. You weren’t on talking terms with him or Yeji and it was for the best, not in the mood to be annoyed by them.

Even if he was pretty high the sharpness didn’t disappear from his eyes or his smile. You weren’t fooling anyone, but especially not him. You were the image of a statue, tense and looking more like you preferred to be anywhere but there, pretending to listen Donghyuck talking about the last girl he fucked at some party with blank eyes blinking at him. Maybe your body was reacting on its own, because you were sitting on the edge of the couch like you were about to run out of there at any minute. 

‘’Are you bored?’’ He wondered, palm coming to rest on your tight and making you flinch slightly when he squeezed it. Jaemin took a sip of his beer without taking his eyes off you. He had his look on his face, slightly annoyed from being ignored for too long and a little playful, and that meant trouble. That meant he was about to start a game with you.  

You forced yourself to relax more and shrugged a little. Still, you nodded and everted his gaze like it was nothing, taking another sip. ‘’Mmm, yeah, kinda,’’ you fake yawned, stretching your legs a little. ‘’It was a long week and I’m tired. I think I’m heading out.’’

Donghyuck stared at you frowning. ‘’Awww, what? It’s not even midnight,’’ he whined, shaking your arm. He looked around the room lazily, like some king choosing some interesting paws to entertain him and his friends. ‘’We should play a game!’’ 

‘’Let’s play questions!’’ Some girl squealed excitedly, coming to sit on the arm of the couch. You didn’t even remember her name. Soojin? Sooya? Your brain gave up and didn’t function enough to recall her name, easily forgotten in some dusty storage in your head. 

The girl came to sit in the arm on the couch next to Donghyuck, giving him a flirty smile that he matched right away, stealing a glance at her pretty legs crossing. 

‘’That's a good idea, baby,’’ Donghyuck smirked, putting his arm around your shoulders and giving you a little shake, like he was trying to wake up. ‘’C’mon, don’t be so boring. This is my party and you’re hurting my feelings.’’

‘’Don’t bother our girl, Hyuckie, she’s not in the mood these days,’’ Yeji warned him, joining the group, followed by her boyfriend. Her pretty dress sparkled when she moved to the other couch to sit there, next to Seonyun and Jeno. Jaehun stayed behind her, smirking and fixing his disheveled hair. ‘’You should know better than mess with her.’’

Donghyuck listened and tilted his head, moving his eyes to you more scrutinizing. ‘’What is it, pretty girl? You can tell me. This asshole isn't making you cum lately?’’ Hyuck sent a mocking sympathy look from above your head to Jaemin, who responded by simply pulling his hair until he yelped and twisted in his place trying to get away. ‘’Alright, man! Chill, I’m sorry, fuck, it was a joke!’’

‘’Wait, are you still with her, Jaemin?’’ The girl from before asked, looking at him with so much unhidden hunger. She played with the straw from her drink with her tongue flirty, completely ignoring that you were sitting right next to him. ‘’I thought you were single, you know.’’

‘’Oh my God, is that true?’’ Another girl squealed, eyes gleaming from the juicy gossip unraveling right in front of her. She looked at you with curiosity and a little glint of envy, eyes scanning the figure of Jaemin sitting on the couch like the king he was, legs parted. ‘’That’s like, crazy. You’re totally boyfriend material, Jaemin.’’

You resisted the urge to laugh at their faces and instead sipped from your coffee again, drowning your thoughts with the oversweet taste of cold brew. If they only knew. 

‘’Hold on, you’re actually single?’’ Jeno asked Jaemin, settling on the edge of the sofa with his elbows on his knees, suddenly interested in the conversation. He raised his brows, smirking slowly. He barely glanced at you. ‘’So she’s fair game now?’’

Seonyun smacked his arm and her expression turned sour, trying to remind Jeno that she was still there, glued to his side. Trying to pretend that she wasn't bothered by his comment. ‘’That’s so dumb, everybody knows they’re together since always,’’ she insisted, sending a look your way. ‘’Right, honey?’’

Yeji snorted, laughing to herself a little too drunk to notice your murderous eyes on her when you heard her. 

‘’How about we hear it from the bachelor himself?’’ Donghyuck proposed, opening another bottle of beer. He took his heart dramatically, looking at Jaemin with hooded eyes, completely drunk. ‘’Tell us, Romeo, is there true love there in your tiny heart?’’

‘’There is love, Hyuck. And it burns just for her,’’ Jaemin said, brushing some hair from your face, tricking your ear with a low chuckle when he came closer. ‘’But I’m heartbroken. She doesn’t want me.’’

The group gathered around went crazy. The girls giggled and screamed with delight, envious but enjoying the gossip. Jeno laid on his back lazily, tracing your body with his gaze like he was planning to put a bet on your head and get the prize. Donghyuck was hardly sober to catch quickly on the drama and looked at you like he expected to laugh it off and joke about it too, but you stayed there silent and fuming. Jaemin enjoyed the little chaos he caused, smiling like he was actually a sheepish little boy rejected by his first love. He loved your irritated face and wanted more. 

‘’I know a lot of girls that would want you, Jaemin,’’ another girl chimed in, barely containing her excitement or intentions. ‘’I can take you to—’’

‘’I only want her,’’ Jaemin silenced her fast, tone sharp, smile tight. You recognized the anger and the mocking burning in his eyes, too familiar and calculating. Like he didn’t know if to play with you or cut your head first. ‘’But she has a crush on somebody else. I bet you can’t even imagine who he is,’’ he taunted, laughing. ‘’It’s so sad.’’

Another explosion of laughter and chaos erupted. Jeno and Donghyuck roared with laughter, completely entertained with the mess Jaemin was making. Yeji and Seonyun shared a somewhat worried look and then looked at you, the first shrugging a little like saying you know this was coming. They weren’t about to throw you a life jacket, that was for sure. Thinking that they were capable of defending you was ridiculous. You tried to stand up but Jaemin’s hand shot up too fast, yanking down with strength, so smooth that nobody noticed how his hand squeezed your wrist with warning. You said nothing as you kept your composure knowing that there was no exit, squeezed between Jaemin and Donghyuck.

‘’Who’s the lucky bastard?’’ Jeno asked. He was too interested, ignoring how Seonyun snuggled to his side. 

Jaemin smiled slowly, showing all his perfect teeth. He basked in the atmosphere, delaying the drama and making himself a shot before answering all the attention on him. He sighed loudly while looking at you, then a Jeno. ‘’Fucking Park Jisung.’’

‘’Shut the fuck up,’’ Jeno wheezed, shocked. A loud laugh escaped him, staring at Jaemin like he couldn't believe it. ‘’Park? Dude… that’s the most crazy downgrade. You gotta be kidding.’’

Donghyuck frowned, too drunk to catch on the name. ‘’Uh? Who the fuck is Park Jisung?’’ 

‘’You know who he is, you dumbass,’’ Yeji rolled her eyes, laughing a little. ‘’He was our classmate, remember? That tall, pale kid, the one who always cried.’’

Recognition flashed through Donghyuck's face, like he suddenly put a face on that name. Jaemin said nothing but his silence did, making Donghyuck straight up laugh even harder, covering his mouth, still shocked. ‘’Oh, shit. No way. Pee Pants Park?’’ 

You straighten up a little, frowning at Donghyuck. What?

‘’Your girl left you for Pee Pants Park? This is the best fucking day of my life,’’ Donghyuck wheezed, clapping his hand on Jaemin’s shoulder like he was consoling him. 

Everybody ignored you, but that comment made all the group laugh again, sharing knowing looks and grinning like they were replaying a shared joke in their heads. You tensed and waited, an odd feeling tightening your stomach, making you feel anxious. This little scene wasn’t over.

‘’Oh my God, I forgot about that one,’’ Yeji gasped, grinning. She baited her eyelashes to Jaehyun, who was close to her, listening. ‘’You gotta hear this, baby, it’s so funny.’’

‘’That shit wasn’t that funny,’’ Jeno said, getting himself a new cold beer. He smiled anyway, snorting. ‘’Okay, it kind of was.’’

‘’What are you talking about?’’ You asked suddenly, making everybody go silent for a second. Your sharp tone made everybody share some looks again, smiling behind their drinks and acting like you were out of their little sphere. It made you grind your teeth, irritated, knowing that they weren’t up to no good. 

Jaemin was the one who finally spoke, his face a mask of mock sympathy. ‘’Oh, right, you weren’t here around that time,’’ he murmured, pretending like he realized that just in that moment. He clicked his tongue and shook his head, frowning. ‘’Ah, poor little Jisung. Someone thought it be funny to prank him, push him inside a gym locker and leave him there for the weekend.’’

‘’That’s too much,’’ Jeno said, pouting a little. He chuckled. ‘’And fucked up. I bet he cried a lot when he heard the lock closing.’’ 

‘’He begged like a little bitch,’’ Donghyuck cleaned fake tears, acting like he was sobbing. ‘’Nooo, don’t leave me here! Come back! It was so sad, guys.’’

A new chorus of laughter erupted around you, sick and maniac, crawling at your skin like millions of needles. The realisation hit you like a punch. They locked him up, they left him there for days. Confined, alone and scared in the darkness.

‘’He always cried, like, take a joke for fuck’s sake,’’ Yeji added, huffing. ‘’Have some sense of humour, you know. It’s not that deep.’’

Jaemin chuckled and nodded, moving his attention to you again. ‘’When the janitor found him, he was drenched. This loser actually pissed himself,’’ he laughed, unable to continue. He took a deep breath. ‘’He couldn't even speak! He broke or something.’’

‘’It’s not like he was the biggest talker in the world anyways,’’ Yeji snickered. ‘’Not a loss, if you ask me.’’

‘’Park didn’t show up the next day, or the next, or the next,’’ Jeno explained, ‘’just disappeared like that. He left a mark on the locker and left,’’ he joked.

‘’He lost the scholarship and everything,’’ Donghyuck whistled, faking pity. He clicked this tongue, taking a sip of his beer. ‘’Damn. Poor dude. It must suck being a little bitch,’’ he added. ‘’That couldn't be me.’’

‘’Don’t be so sure,’’ Jeno joked, laughing when Donghyuck gave him the middle finger and fake-threatened to throw his bottle at him. 

Your knuckles were white from holding onto your skirt, barely listening to what they were saying. Disgust and sadness dripped down your body, engulfing you in a sea of something thick and cold that made your heart freeze and break. The repulsing feeling was too strong, filling your eyes with tears, not able to stay there no even a second longer.

‘’You’re all sick,’’ you started, standing and throwing what was left on your coffee on the table. Everybody went silent, one of the girls yelped when coffee splashed her a little. ‘’The most disgusting people I’ve ever met,’’ you snapped, voice steady even if your boy was shaking a little. 

Donghyuck broke the silence with a wheeze of laughter and everybody followed him, staring at you like you were the most ridiculous thing in the world. Jeno couldn't even form a sentence, doubled over in laughter with Seonyun. 

Nobody tried to stop you when you stormed to the door, seeing red and heartbroken, fists shaking with the desire to punch them and erase their horrible laughter. You didn't see Jaemin coming after you, nor did you expect him to throw you against the door and close it with a bang, preventing you from leaving and making you yelp with surprise and pain. 

‘’Don’t fucking touch me!’’ You seethed, pushing him hard. 

‘’Yah, are you mad for real? We were just telling a little story,’’ he smiled, holding you tightly. ‘’Just remembering our school days, princess. I didn’t think it would bother you like that.’’

You stared at his wide, fake innocent eyes, seeing how they shone with mockery and something darker and evil. You knew right there it was him the culprit, the one who was enjoying it even after so many years passed. ‘’How could you do something like that?’’ You whispered.

Jaemin frowned, tilting his head confused. ‘’Like what? It was just a joke. You’re overreacting,’’ he said, voice still tainted with amusement. ‘’Just like him.’’ 

‘’Don’t ever touch me again,’’ you spat, pushing him again until he finally let you go. ‘’Get your fucking head checked and leave me alone, Jaemin.’’

Jaemin's smile deepened, all unhinged and entertained. His jaw was tight, traces or anger in his eyes, not enjoying your challenging tone. ‘’Shit, you do like ruined stuff, don’t you? Maybe Yeji was right and you’re too pathetic for me.’’

‘’Fuck you,’’ you responded, staring face to face to him. ‘’And make your miserable head understand this— stay away from him too. Don’t even try it, Jaemin.’’

He chuckled, slamming his hand next to your head with force. He leaned in, smug but menacing. ‘’Or what? What are you gonna do, huh?’’

‘’Don’t think I won’t ruin you, Jaemin,’’ you warned him, low. ‘’I know too much shit.’’

‘’You think you can threaten me over him?’’ He laughed in your face, scoffing. Jaemin’s expression faltered slightly, enough to make any trace of fun disappear. ‘’You’re more lost than I thought. Don’t start something that will end you, princess. I don’t wanna play like that, you know what I’m capable of.’’

He came closer to you, brushing his lips in your clenched jaw, barely kissing. His other hand cupped your cheek and caressed it with his thumb, staring at you with more of a soft expression. Jaemin tried to kiss you and you shierked, pushing him and turning your face to the side, filled with disgust.

‘’I know exactly what you’re capable of, Jaemin,’’ you whispered, grabbing his wrist and moving away from his touch like it burned it. ‘’That doesn't scare me. The thing is, you don’t know what I’m capable of.’’

‘’We both know you can’t let me go, not for long,’’ he insisted, turning serious. Lighting flashed in his eyes, a storm that made him quieter but deadly. ‘’You always come back. You belong to me, not to a ghost. A freak with a pathetic past and no future.’’

You chuckled tired, opening the door. ‘’That freak is more human than all of you combined, Jaemin,’’ you muttered, not bothering to close the door when you stepped out.

He called your name but you didn’t turn back, steeping into the rain and walking fast, wanting to leave everything behind. Your body was shaking a little but the cold rain wasn't the culprit, something inside you was setting, heavy and icy. Tears fell on your face, blending with the rain, heart tormented thinking about what they did to Jisung, what other things you didn’t know? Why couldn't you have arrived earlier in the past and protected him, made things different for him? It hurt you knowing how alone he surely was back then, betrayed and pranked with cruelty. 

You weren’t that naïve to believe that things ended with your exit, because you knew them all too well. Jaemin wasn’t someone to have as an enemy. Stepping out was just out of order, and sooner or later they will make sure to tighten your strap to learn your lesson. But when that happened, you would be prepared. Waiting. 

Protecting. 

The day before Halloween you were on a mission. 

‘’Oh! I found you!’’ You smiled out of breath from the stairs, staring at the man sitting on the floor. ‘’Here you are, Ji.’’

He looked up from his book, brushing the bangs that fell into his vision. The black hoodie was too big for his body, hanging and drowning him. Jisung didn’t seem surprised, more like he was waiting for you to appear. He went back to his book, unimpressed. ‘’You followed me.’’

You fake gasped, stepping more into the book aisle. ‘’That’s a little rude,’’ you defended yourself while you studied some books, reading their titles one by one, humming low until you found something you liked. You grabbed Carrie and you flipped the yellow pages, barely reading some sentences. ‘’You make it sound like it’s bad.’’

Jisung was tucked away in a far corner of the library, too quiet and dusty. The place where people didn’t go and some whispered that it was haunted and others suggested it was the best point to make out. It was where the old books were sent to die of forgetfulness, close to the system ventilation that hummed nearby like a continuous low lullaby. The distant hum accompanied the rustle of old pages and distant conversations in the library, creating what to you seemed like a cozy corner, warm by the sundown that entered by the big window. 

Sitting cross legged on the floor, Jisung watched you come closer until you settled down next to him. ‘’I don’t like people cornering me,’’ he said with a sigh, a little annoyed. But he didn’t tell you to leave, nor did he move away. He closed his book and leaned back, careful. ‘’What do you want?’’

Funny. ‘’Keep you company,’’ you simply responded, your arm brushing his. You peeked closer. ‘’What are you reading, Ji?’’

Jisung smothered his palm over the old cover that was barely holding on from the use and time, stitched everywhere with pieces of tape trying to keep it together. ‘’Why did you invite me to the party?’’ He blurted. 

His expression turned unreadable, pressing his lips like he regretted asking that but couldn't control his curiosity. Jisung didn't look at you when scoffed quietly, opening his book again. 

‘’Nevermind—’’

‘’Because I want you there,’’ you answered, trying to catch his eyes. You stretched your legs and smoothed down your perfect skirt with an unknown sensation that made you a little fidgety, needing to do something. Nervousism. ‘’I already told you, Ji. I wanna spend Halloween with you, is that so terrible?’’ 

‘’You should spend it with your friends,’’ Jisung disagreed, unable to disguise the bite in this tone. Like saying left a sour taste in his mouth. He huffed tiredly. ‘’I don’t know if they sent you or what—’’

Jisung stopped talking suddenly, a weird tension settled between you and him, his posture stiff and cautious, like a cat about to run away at the first movement. You released the remaining air in your lungs until you deflated against the wall. You bit your lip, thinking of the best way to express what weighed on the tip of your tongue, not quite sure how to face the fragile situation in your hands. 

‘’Jisung, nobody sent me,’’ you said, looking at him. ‘’I know everything that happened, what they did to you—’’

‘’Stop.’’

‘’I heard it all and I’m sorry. They’re not my friends,’’ you reassured him, eyes begging for him to believe you. ‘’I wish there’s something I could—’’

‘’So that’s it? You pity me?’’ Jisung accused, jaw tight and closing the book with force. His ears were red from the growing anger, still he didn’t dare to look at you.

‘’What? No! Jisung— that’s not it. Just… I wish I could do the same to them. Make them pay.’’

That made him look. Really look. Jisung stared at you with too many emotions flashing on his face, fighting for dominion like his mind couldn't choose just one. Anger, surprise, vulnerability, relief, even pain. They break free from being caged away. Jisung’s gaze studied you, from your lips to your eyes, searching for something, maybe doubt or a lie. Relaxing a little when you didn't laugh cruelly or drove him to some kind of prank, but not trusting yet.

You covered his hand with yours carefully, sensing how cold it was. You stroke it gently, trying to warm it, outlining every vein and knuckle in silence. Just breathing with him, waiting. His hand twitched a little and you stopped the tremor holding his hand closer, moving it slowly to your thigh, fingers intertwined. 

‘’They’re untouchable,’’ he whispered with spite, bitter and angry. ‘’They believe they can get away with it forever.’’ 

Some heartbeats passed until you spoke again. ‘’Then maybe it’s time for some payback,’’ you pointed out, giving him a squeeze and smiling a little when he didn’t remove his hand from your grip. ‘’Don’t you know that nothing last forever?’’

You didn't see it coming, the way he pushed you and leaned over your body, caging you with a firm push. A gasp faded in your throat, still and silent when you noticed Jisung was too close and your body reacted immediately, lax and surrendered to him, looking at him even playfully. Well, well, he was exactly where you fantasised so many times. Your hands reached for his face but Jisung grabbed both your wrists, pushing them down to the carpet floor. 

‘’What are you playing? You think I’m the same kid they hit and bullied? The kid who cried and stayed silent? The one they pushed into lockers?’’ He asked you, low and with a calm that was too disturbing, dangerous. A mask with something dark hiding behind it, but still, you could see a small part of him wondering. Could he trust you? Asking for answers, begging for something or someone to believe him. To anchor him. ‘’You think you know everything about me?’’

You untangled yourself from his grip carefully and gently stroked his hair, brushing it back so you could see his black eyes staring back at you intensely. Jisung didn’t move, staring at you with a frown and a muscle in his cheek, like he was holding himself from snapping again. 

‘’No,’’ you whispered, playing with the black strands softly. ‘’You’re different, a stronger version. And they should be scared of it,’’ you pushed his nape down, trying to kiss him. 

‘’I told you I don’t need your sympathy,’’ Jisung sneered, brushing your lips with every word. ‘’You’re not my savior.’’ 

You chuckled amused and dragged him down roughly, heart fluttering with butterflies. ‘’I’m not here to save you, Jisung.’’ 

Jisung frowning a little, doubtful and hissing when you pushed up your hips, grinding slowly against him. You kissed and bitten along his jaw, holding him prisoner between your legs, trying to relax him, to make him understand. Your tongue circled his ear and sucked the earlobe, biting under it and making him suck a breath. 

‘’I’m here to stay,’’ you continued, tracing his neck with more kisses and love bites, trying to mark his pale skin. A low sound left him and you smirked, dragging your nails down the nape of his neck and sending shivers down his spine. ‘’I’m here to hold you.’’

His mouth crashed into yours, hot and consuming, taking you by surprise. He wasn't gentle nor soft, just taking ownership of your lips with possessive kisses that took away your air. His tongue moved deeply, playing with yours as his hands roamed down your body, squeezing your waist and thighs, rubbing himself shamelessly against your clothed pussy. A small part of you, maybe a tiny piece of common sense reminded you that you were in the library still, open to whoever wanted to see you and him grinding in each other and kissing until your lips were swollen in a lost corner.

‘’Ji—’’ you moaned, silencing yourself when Jisung suddenly flipped your positions. You ended up sitting on top of him, a little breathless, with his hands slipping under your soft cotton shirt. You didn’t waste a second, kissing him again eagerly and holding onto his hoodie as you licked his mouth and tongue, desperate for more. 

‘’You tempt me this whole time, acting like a pretty slut,’’ he mocked you, chuckling low. His hands were quick, unbuttoning your shirt until your pretty and pink lacy bra was in sight, making him groan by the view. Jisung pushed his face onto your chest, licking and biting your smooth skin, pushing your bra down with a harsh tug. ‘’Offering yourself to me like a needy girl.’’

You pressed your hips down, rubbing yourself on his cock, feeling his length under his pants. A whimper left you, too soaked and hot to care if somebody listened. You moved back and forth, grinding on the shape of his dick slowly and torturing. 

Jisung’s mouth latched into one of your nipples and sucked hard, tongue wrapping around it. He made a low content sound and you pushed him closer, moaning just for him as he flipped his tongue and sucked over and over, fine lips closing around the bud. ‘’What would Jaemin think if he sees you like this? Dripping and desperate for another man?’’ 

‘’I don’t care,’’ you gasped, opening your legs even more to rub faster, but it wasn't enough, you needed more. You were glad from his sweatpants and how easily it was to slide your hand inside it, mouth watering at the feeling of his hard, warm cock in your hand. The slow strokes made Jisung moan, muffed by the way he was pressing his face on your chest, kissing and licking your tits until red marks appeared. ‘’I’m not his. I just want you, Ji, please—’’

‘’You’re just an easy slut, don’t you? So easy and desperate,’’ he clicked his tongue disapprovingly, hands reaching to grab your ass and give it a firm squeeze under your skirt. ‘’Dying for me to fuck you. Take my cock out,’’ he gave you a spank and you barely held your loud moan. ‘’Now. Don’t make me wait. Now you’re shy?’’

‘’Mmmh! Somebody could hear us,’’ you panned, looking behind you. The sundown had ended long ago and the library was plunged into darkness, with only a few traces of warm light from a few lamps on the tables downstairs. Even so, they didn't reach the corner where you and Jisung were, but you didn't know if anyone checked these places around closing time. That sent you a thrill and you stroked his cock faster, mouth watering for him. ‘’I’m not shy.’’

‘’Then keep quiet,’’ Jisung rasped, smirking. He leaned his head back and looked at you so boldly and confident it made your pussy throb, your grip on his cock strengthening. Your hand moved up and down more quickly, making him groan and moan, breath stuttering when you let a string of split fell on it. ‘’Fuck— that’s it. Keep touching me.’’

You pulled down his pants enough to free his cock, staring at it with big eyes, moaning softly. He was… huge. Long and thick, with a pink head and veins, one of the prettiest cocks you've ever seen, just for you. You lifted your gaze back to his face, pouting a little. ‘’I don’t know…,’’ you fake hesitated, rubbing your thumb on the tip delicately. ‘’You’re too bossy for somebody who acted like he didn’t want me.’’

He grabbed your arms and held them behind your back with a groan, making you arch for him. His mouth descended to your neck, sucking biting hard, not a trace of gentleness. ‘’And you’re too mouthy,’’ Jisung said, moving his free hand down. His fingers moved your panties and slid through your folds, soft and wet with your arousal. ‘’Dripping too much to pretend you don’t need my cock.’’

You bit your lip when he brushed his fingers on your clit, massaging it slowly, making circles. Jisung bit and licked your collarbones hearing your soft moans every time he applied just the right pressure, rubbing your clit faster until your thighs tightened around him. 

‘’So soft and pretty,’’ he whispered, moving his touch and pushing his fingers inside you too easily, slow and deep, chuckling when you took a shaky breath. You tried to free your arms but it was impossible, Jisung could hold you down with just one strong hand. 

Your eyes closed and your forehead touched his, inhaling. ‘’Mhm, Ji— feels so good.’’

‘’Let me open your little hole,’’ he whispered against your cheek, feeling how you coated his fingers with your slick. Your gummy walls clenched around his fingers moved faster, searching so deep it made you squeal a little. He kissed you and ate your moans, a war of tangues and spit, exploring and conquering. A dirty kiss between you too that made you crazy with need. Jisung sucked and played with your tongue as the wet noise your pussy made every time he shoved his fingers into your hole echoed around, too obscene, so loud. ‘’That’s it, let me in, just fucking gave it to me.’’

Jisung curled his fingers, so far inside you you could barely think. Your body was hot and burning, crying against his lips when he pushed too quickly, too deep, just right, making you chase that feeling. Your hips rolled, needing to push him even further, moaning as you fell into his chest, breathing in his neck. The pressure was building deliciously and heated, the pleasure mixing with the adrenaline of somebody hearing how you soaked Jisung’s fingers. 

‘’You're gonna cum like a good girl, don’t you? Opening yourself to me, giving me this pretty pussy,’’ he muttered with a raspy voice, kissing your cheek and jaw, pumping his fingers fast and deep, making you moan again when he added another. The stretch was too good and your hips moved against his fingers, riding them urgently. ‘’That’s it, make a fucking mess. Keep going,’’ he demanded.  

‘’Jisung— fuck, don’t stop,’’ you moaned, still chasing the pleasure. The tension inside you broke and you crushed under it, whimpering when your orgasm hit you and you clenched around his fingers, overwhelmed when he didn’t stop. Jisung made sure to prolong your orgasm, still bumping his fingers in and out lazily until you whined and tried to push him apart, making him chuckle. 

‘’Don’t run from it,’’ he said as he fastened the pace, fucking your pussy again. He let you go off your arm and you didn’t doubt a second to hug him, shifting in his lap. You hold onto him whimpering but keeping your thighs apart, hole clenching and dripping, sensitive and pulsing. ‘’You’re gonna take it and make a mess on the carpet.’’

Your eyes widened and you shook your head. ‘’I can’t— Jisung, stop, I never done that—’’

His big palm pressed firmly against your mouth to quiet you. You never saw that look on him, so mean and hot, dominant, only able to blink a little surprised by it. You knew Jisung wasn’t what he was showing to the world, but this side was everything you could dream of and exactly who he was. Suddenly you were pushed on your back, spread on the carpet. Jisung towered over you and shoved his fingers inside you again while his other hand closed around your throat, keeping you down while he thrusted inside you ruthlessly. 

‘’I didn’t ask you,’’ he taunted you, coming closer to your mouth and licking it. ‘’You're gonna squirt around my fingers until you drench the carpet,’’ Jisung shifted closer, staring at your eyes. ‘’And if you don’t, I’ll keep going until you do. Don’t make a sound, yeah? We don't want somebody finding you like this, skirt up and legs opened, letting some freak use your pussy like he wants.’’

His words made you moan his name, hole tightening when he loosened the grip on your throat, just to move it onto your lower stomach. He pushed his palm there, curving his fingers inside you until he reached the point that made you whine and go crazy, bumping it over and over. Overstimulation wasn’t enough to explain how your body felt, burning and clenching, a sensation accumulating inside you that you tried to control but failed when Jisung moved a fourth finger inside you, dilating your cunt with no mercy. It was too much, too deep and fast, your mouth opening with no sound and nowhere to run. 

Your pussy pulsated and gushed, both of your hands pressed in your mouth to control your moans and whines when you cummed again. Jisung’s fingers were relentless, claiming you and leaving no other choice than to obey him, back arching and a wet feeling exploring inside you. 

‘’Fuck, that’s it, let it go,’’ Jisung commanded you, smirking at the liquid bursting out of you. You were lax on the floor, breathing heavily and spent and too sensitive to respond. He licked his fingers looking down at you, an arrogant glint in his eyes when he hummed your name. ‘’You taste so good.’’

Your eyes were teary from the pleasure and bliss, blinking dumbly at him, so cute and used that made Jisung smile. Steps on the stairs made him pause and listen, straightening up enough to spy from the bookshelf hidden in the shadows. A student was there, leaving a book where it belonged and lingering in the aisle, searching for another title. 

‘’Don’t make a sound,’’ he whispered in your mouth, kissing you as he pressed you to the carpet. He kneaded your tits and kept your legs apart, making you whimper softly. His touch was gentle but possessive, kissing you deep but soft, your body melting against his. ‘’We got company.’’

‘’Don’t care,’’ you responded, kissing him and rubbing your body against his. Your hands found his cock and you kept stroking it with swift moves, smiling when he shuddered and gripped you tightly. ‘’I need you’’, you complained. He hissed and he dropped his head on your shoulder, inhaling your smell and brushing your hair back to bite onto your neck. A low groan left Jisung when guided his cock to your pussy, rubbing it in your folds and slapping the tip on your clit. ‘’Please Ji. Just the tip?’’ 

Another voice joined in and Jisung groaned when another student joined the other, helping him looking for a book. Jisung sighed and held you close, driving his length onto your hole and covering your mouth with his hand as he slid the tip in. ‘’Fuck, your pussy didn’t loose, did it?’’ 

You were tight and warm, too inviting and tempting. You held a moan as he pushed a little more than just the tip, making your cunt stretch around him, barely taking it. ‘’It’s too big,’’ you whimpered, holding onto him. You loved the feeling and the burn, getting wetter because of his size, feeling small. 

The two students turned their heads around, thinking that they heard something, maybe a whisper or a step. Totally unaware that you were being stretched out a few aisles back, trying to keep silent. They found the book that they needed and quickly left the place, hurrying to the stairs and hushing about how maybe those old aisles were indeed haunted.

‘’You can take me,’’ he whispered in your ear, hands cupping your tits and leaving kisses there, tongue circling your nipples. He squeezed them and kissed your neck next, letting you get used to his thickness before sliding in more, making you moan again. ‘’Fuck, you’re so tight, let me— I know you can take more.’’

Jisung pushed his cock further and way past the tip and your mind went blank, just feeling his cock opening you completely. He thrusted a little and you arched, body burning and drowning in the intense sensation, never felt this close to anyone. You creamed around him and clenched, too desperate to take it slow. ‘’Just fuck me. Put it all in, Ji.’’

He thrusted again, burying himself inch by inch until you whimpered and took him— too deep and big, overwhelming you. Your fingers circled your clit lazily, staring up at him with blurry eyes and lips swollen from kissing so hard. 

‘’Mmh, fuck, Ji— you feel so good,’’ you moaned, sobbing when he pressed his cock deeply, thrusting slowly and eyes focused in the way your pussy was tightening around his lenght. ‘’Keep going baby, use my hole, use me.’’

Jisung groaned and slammed himself in, holding your tights up and opened, keeping his moves slow and profound. The sensation of being inside you was too much, so tight and warm and his, it made him lose his mind. It was impossible not to fuck you harder, no when you were so opened and begging for him, for his cock. You were moaning and babbling, eyes rolling back every time he hit that spot inside you fast and hard, your pussy dilatating and creaming. The sight destroyed Jisung, who was ramming into your pussy like a mad man, too gone to even care if someone listened to him fucking you raw and deep, balls slapping. 

‘’Tightest fucking pussy in the world, you’re sucking me in,’’ he moaned, shoving his cock with no mercy onto you. ‘’This is what you wanted? Now take my cock like a good slut.’’

A new orgasm hit you and you sobbed, hearing the wet sound you were making and the way his balls hit your ass every time he shoved his cock onto your pussy. You clenched around him and made him groan, fastening his pace. The pleasure swirled in your body driving you insane, too full and opened, swearing you felt him in your lower stomach. Your wildest, filthiest dreams were coming true and you couldn't help the lazy smile that formed in your lips, an intense desire to mark him forever and made him yours. Knowing that he was just where he belonged and you planned on keeping him there with you.

‘’Cum inside me,’’ you whispered, holding his gaze with imploring eyes, lips searching for him. ‘’Please Ji, fill me up, I want your cum dripping from me,’’ you begged, too stimulated and mind cloudy from the pleasure. ‘’Please, please, please.’’

Jisung’s pace faltered a little and his thrust turned sloppy, ears red and sweaty, just as destroyed as you were. ‘’Yeah? You want me to fill you up? Make you mine?’’ 

You nodded with another moan when he pounded your pussy harder and fast, taking everything from you. ‘’Need your cum, baby,’’ you panned, ‘’fill me up until it flows.’’

He slammed his cock deep and his body jerked when he came, buried inside you with a low groan. His cock twitched and you whimpered at the sensation of being totally full, your pussy milking every drop of his cum eagerly. You never let anybody cum inside you and the warm, wet feeling made you moan. Just knowing that it was Jisung breeding you made everything better and you hold onto him with a smirk. He thrusted again, lazy and slow and you whimpered when you felt how some of his cum leaked from your hole, thick and warm. 

You held his face and kissed him, caressing his back and shoulders as he enjoyed the aftershocks of his orgasm, caging you to the floor with his weight. ‘’Mmmm, don’t pull out, Ji. Don’t move, just stay like this.’’

‘’We’re in the middle of the library,’’ he replied, but obeyed nonetheless. He stayed buried deep, pulsing, making you feel filled and happy. Too tired to move, you kissed his jaw and lips, smiling softly as you both came back from the high, breathing together. A silence settled between you and Jisung, but it wasn’t awkward or tense. He stared back at you, moving a strand of your hair out of your face too gently. ‘’You’re really pretty,’’ he whispered. 

You stole another kiss, soft and featherly. ‘’Does this mean you’re going to the party?’’ 

Jisung let out a quiet laugh, hiding his face on your neck, rubbing his mouth where your pulse beat quickly. ‘’I'll make time.’'

You were alone in your room doing your makeup too concentrated, listening to your favourite playlist, humming to the songs while you painted your face. You were buzzing with energy and excitement, eating way too much Halloween candy during the day to try to extinguish your nerves. Fucking with Jisung in the library didn’t mean that your crush on him calmed a little, it was more like throwing gasoline at an uncontrolled fire. Just because he rearranged your insides didn’t mean that you were calm about seeing tonight and you wanted to cause an impression on him and eat him up completely after, dress prettily and make him go crazy. You sighed and stared at your wall with stars in your eyes, studying the pictures decorating it like every time you felt a little anxious or sad. There were a lot of different pictures in different locations, like the campus, buildings, the library, even the coffee shop or him in his car. But your favorite was the one where Jisung was attacked by a blast of wind and his dark hair was everywhere, him frowning cutely with his nose scrunched and holding onto his coat. He was just so cute. 

Maybe you should give some kind of late bonus to the photographer who followed and took all your precious photos of Jisung during the year. You were almost done with your makeup, studying yourself in the mirror, comparing it with a photo of Morticia Addams you downloaded to your phone looking for perfection. The foundation shade was way too much lighter, almost white. Your cheeks were contoured with a grey color and your lips painted a deep shade of red, eyes sharp with dark eyeliner and too much eyeshadow, looking theatrical and dramatic. The dress hugged on your body tightly, elegant and royal, a velvet dream created to seduce and kill. 

You were ready and giving yourself the last touches, applying perfume and admiring your dress once again on you in the mirror with intern giggles when your phone ringered. Messages from Zhong Chenle were there, coming one after the other, new and urgent.

CXZ: you there?? yo i heard your friends after practice talking shit about jisung CXZ: jaemin was saying something about old school traditions? whatever that mean. i dont have a good feeling about this CXZ: theyre looking for an empty locker now  CXZ: why im the only one panicking i see you reading my texts you: thank you. turn off the cameras please and go to the party x CXZ: 👍

You replied instantly, your fingers trembling as you hit send. A wave of silent fury surged through you, violent and hot, still your chest felt icy with a quiet rage that slowly took over you. Stay calm, breathe. They were really going to do it. They were going to touch him. After everything. After all the warnings. They had chosen to cross a line so deeply carved in you it might as well have been bone. Your ex friend group was dead set on testing you and daring to touch Jisung, and what was worse, you didn’t know where he was. A shaky breath left you like a sob, wondering all the possibilities, could they grab him before you? What if they already did? The thought cut deep, pure panic that sent you running through the door.

You did know where they were. 

The campus was deserted, obviously, as it was a Saturday night and everybody was in parties all around town, costumes and cheap liquor and a promise for a good Halloween eve. No witness could see the way you were walking like you owned the place, stepping into the corridors with your wheels clicking loudly in the silence, the darkness swallowing your black figure like a veil. The cameras weren’t running thanks to Chenle, you didn’t want any trace or proof of you or Jisung there, making sure there were blind spots everywhere. You never went to the locker room before or the sports building, feeding your nerves when it took you some minutes to finally reach the place, now stalking the corridors like you were the one chasing them. 

You stopped suddenly as if you had crashed into an invisible wall, shocked. Your eyes followed something on the floor, dark and gross, moving across the ground like a snake. It was a puddle coming from the girls' bathroom and extending down the hallway with a strong flow. Blood. You ran towards it, dodging the puddle of blood although the hem of your long dress caught some of it, heart threatening to leave your body. No, no, no. Please, they can’t hurt him.

The moment you pushed the bathroom’s door you thought you were actually about to die. The idea of seeing Jisung hurt like that, bloody and alone, was too much for your mind to handle, sending a chill down your spine. Tears filled your eyes, imploring whoever god was listening to you not to take Jisung away from you when you stepped into the bathroom. 

A scream threatened to leave your throat when you saw somebody on the floor, broken and spread in an awkward position. Her long, red hair floated on the floor like a doll who fell from a shelf, waiting for someone to pick her up. Her witch costume was drenched in blood but untouched, covering her delicate and stiff figure. Her neck was slided open, clean, a wound you never saw before and it made you tremble. The worst part was her mouth, wide opened and empty, her tongue laying next to her head like a forgotten piece.

‘’Oh my God,’’ you whispered, taking a breath. Relief filled your body and you leaned on the wall, huffing. ‘’It’s just you.’’ 

The mirrors in the bathroom were all broken, some parts on the floor or fallen on the sinks. But one was intact, the one behind Yeji. You read what was written on it, red letters that were dripping with blood that didn’t dry yet. Fresh. 

Silence suits you. 

You went to the main corridor, determined in your search of Jisung. A part of you knew that he was there, somewhere, but you couldn't hear anybody. When you turned a corner you spotted the door gym, half closed, like it was inviting you. Your principal plan was to find Jisung and get the hell out, but curiosity was a strong attraction that you couldn't control. You weren’t so much in a hurry now, feeling more cautious as you walked there, knowing that it was obvious that you weren’t alone in the building. Jaemin and the others could still be there. 

You entered the gym slowly, expecting something to jump out in front of you, but there was no noise or anyone. The place was too dark to see anyways. When you turned to leave a sudden noise stopped you in your tracks, a loud one. The scoreboard came to life out of nowhere like a game just began, music echoing the place and its red and green lights flashing the bodies of Donghyuck and Jeno hanging from the basketball hoops. Tied and beaten, blood pooling below each hoop, still wearing their hockey jerseys, now completely ruined and tainted. 

Their eyes were opened and frozen forever, like they couldn't still believe what came to them. Donghyuck’s head was slumped to the side, showing a huge hole in his head, part of it missed it. Jeno was different, just as broken but his face was carved, ugly cuts everywhere like they were a last thought, ruining his beauty. Both of them hang slowly, balanced by their own weights like forgotten puppets. 

You didn’t look back when you left, feeling the air grow cold and heavy, still not a trace from Jisung. You knew that the principal stage was what Jaemin most likely wanted to repeat and you went straight to it. The locker room wasn’t far from the gym, and surprisingly, it wasn’t immersed in darkness. 

The fluorescent light bulbs were on, humming a little with their annoying buzzing sound. The place was what you expected, wood branches and trophies behind glass, the coach office closed, a faint smell of sweat and the floor scraped from being walked on so many times, missing some pieces of paint.

‘’Jisung? Are you here?’’ You called softly, stepping more into the room. Your voice was too calm to compare to what was going on inside you. Fear and anxiety filled your veins, making you fidgety and nervous. You hated playing hide and seek when you were little. 

You started seeing the signs of what happened there. A branch was thrown, blood droplets started to become large stains that made a horrible trail towards a locker, like somebody was dragged there. The red, syrupy blood flowed like a river from the locker’s base, slow and haunting. Your whole body froze, heart stopping for a whole second when panic filled you so hard it gave you whiplash.

You reached out, trembling, not caring if your dress was caught in the pool of blood. You pulled at the locker trying to open the old metal, trying several times until the door gave way and suddenly opened. 

You blinked your tears and sniffed when you encountered the body inside it or well, what was left of him. Jaemin was… ruined. Broken in a way so brutal and wild it was difficult to know what actually killed him. His body was twisted and pushed into the locker in an unnatural way, blood everywhere. His throat was opened with a deep slice, face blue and violet, cut from maybe hard punches and jaw too wide, like it was yawning. It fell too low, broken and out of place. 

You swear, this little game was giving you a headache and a little heart attack every time you entered a room, stress and discomfort tugging at your body. 

Inside the locker were scratches and hand-shaped bloody marks, like he was trying to escape even if there was no way out. You stared at Jaemin’s dead body, turning your head when you heard a door opening slowly.

Your breath was caught when you saw someone coming from the coach office, standing not far from you and just looking at you. He was wearing the same outfit from the costume store, but now the delicate and old mask was tainted with blood everywhere, ruined. It was a shame, really. You didn’t know what he was expecting, maybe for you to run and scream, still like a statue waiting for you to make the first move. It felt like an invisible clock was ticking, or maybe it was just your heart fluttering. The stranger’s hand was gripping a knife, low but firm, shaking a little. 

Your eyes traced the killer’s figure slowly in silence, like a warm caress. A scoff left you and you shut the locker’s door, caging Jaemin there again. 

‘’You’re lucky I like you, because this was expensive dress.’’

The masked man tilted his head, cautious and unsure. He was still grabbing the big knife, dripping blood from its edge, twirling it on his palm like it was still alive and hungry for more, for another victim. You came closer, calm and steady, trying to show him how open you were, reaching surely. Still, you doubted a little, remembering how he didn’t like to be cornered, trying to give him space and don’t come too fast to him. You dared to cover his fist with your hand and your thumb brushed the skin of his wrist, smiling up at him softly. 

‘’If you kiss me right now, I might forgive you,’’ you whispered, your fingers tracing his mask and wiping away a red spot. ‘’I’m a little jealous, you know. You were chasing another girl while I was home getting pretty for you.’’

His chest trembled and you heard a little scoff, like he was laughing under his clown mask. He dropped the knife and grabbed at your waist with both hands, pressing you against him. It felt a little surprising, yet not quite doubtful, but his touch relaxed and turned more slow and deliberate. No hesitation, no doubt, touching you with a hint of possessiveness he dared to set free. His hands were warm against your bare back as he brushed his mask against your cheek, trying to catch your perfume.

‘’You were looking for me?’’ He asked, voice low and rasp, muffled by the mask he still was wearing.

You hummed. ‘’I’m always following you, Ji.’’

With a tentative move you lifted your hands, carefully taking off his mask and smiling when his bangs fell onto his eyes. The embrace was intimate, charged with tension and desire. You wrapped your arms around his neck, staring at him like he was your everything, so obsessively in love. Jisung smiled a little timid, pressing a kiss to your lips. 

‘’Let’s go to the party,’’ you whispered against his lips, kissing him softly. ‘’'You can rip my dress this time.’'

[rubythecrimsonwriter]

One of my favorite professors in college was named Mr. Miller. I'd had him for multiple classes as well as him being my academic advisor and the head of the honors society I was in, so by the second year of college came, he and I knew each other pretty well.

I was on track for engineering, which means just All The Math. So much math. Four calculuses, differential equations, and linear algebra, on top of all the classes that had new and horrible applications to the math we theoretically already knew in them. I was a fucking nerd and took AP Calculus in high school and passed the test with a 4 (out of 5) so I could have theoretically skipped straight to Calculus 3. I skipped to Cal 2, since that's where the bulk of any issues with calculus stem from, just to make sure I wouldnt have any issues in the future.

If you're not familiar with the higher math classes, you have no reason to know that of the six math classes you're supposed to take for higher math, Linear Algebra is supposed to be the easiest of them all. Id been flying through my Calculus and calculus-based classes with high As. Most of my peers were floundering with Bs and Cs. The other people with As were part of my honors group and only one was on par with me for grades. My peers got to Linear Algebra and flew through it with like 98s as averages.

I got to Linear Algebra and got a 67 on the first of only five grades of the semester. I might as well have stepped on a garden rake like a Looney Tunes character. Mr. Miller was my professor and he pulled me into his office and showed me the results of my test before he handed it out to the rest of the class and asked, plainly, "what the fuck happened?"

The 67, to be quite clear, was a shock to me, too. I did the homework, I studied my ass off, I understood the concepts of what was supposed to be happening. However, Linear Algebra is a math of matrices, and generally speaking? Not small ones, either. 5x7 matrices tended to be about average for my class. I learned math very linearly, from right to left OR top to bottom, this blocks and diagonals bullshit had brought to light something that hadn't come up before:

My dyslexia that I spent four years conquering before I could read books that my peers breezed through came with a little friend called dyscalculia. Not nearly as bad as my dyslexia and largely got trained during those same years, but no one tells 6-11 year olds about this fucked up fun thing called a matrix.

I realized this while sitting in shock while he paged through my test saying, "I don't know what you were doing here...? This one just came from no where, and this thing got zeroed out when there was nothing to zero it? This matrix looks like you flipped it upside down, but missed a few numbers along the way, but I dont know why you would do that in the first place?"

My Gran worked a phone for 22 years. She has a habit of putting dots under her verified numbers, because if she doesn't verify them, she has a fifty-fifty shot of transposing some, if not all, of the last four of someone's phone number. Ma can do addition, subtraction, multiplication, division, and fucking percentages (and not easy ones, either, she regularly does the math for taxes at the store, 7.25%) in her head, but don't ask her to put it to paper. I don't know why we were surprised. Maybe because I had a harebrained scheme to become an engineer and got through three calculuses without incident by this point.

"Mr. Miller," I said, looking up from my test full of dyscalculia laid out for the world to see, "have you ever had a dyscalculiac person in Linear Algebra before?"

He looked at me, and he looked at my test full of transposed numbers, and he said, very comfortingly, "Well, shit."

The short answer? No. Mr. Miller had never had a dyscalculiac person in his Linear Algebra class before.

Turns out, thirteen minds bent towards problem solving a disability gets you pretty damn far. My honors group that I was part of helped a lot for sanity checking where numbers were supposed to be, as well as offering ideas for what might help keep the numbers pinned down. Mr. Miller helped during the rest of the time when they were in class or absorbed in their own thing, sat down with me for hours on end just watching me work and telling me when I transposed something. I wish I was exaggerating when I say I'm pretty sure that man was putting in sixty hour work weeks mostly because of me.

I consistently passed the other four tests with Bs and one A. Taking a whole fucking rainbow of highlighters to rows or columns of matrices while multiplying, rotating, or doing whatever the fuck to them seemed to mostly do the trick for keeping the numbers nailed down. I remain very proud of that one A. Mr. Miller did not take it easy on me because I had a newly realized disability. I expected a B or a high C on my report card at the end of the semester, and honestly? I was kinda bummed about it, but I also knew that I had actually learned the material and sorted out my issues with my dyscalculia, which is more important than a grade that likely no one would ever see or care about other than me.

Mr. Miller gave me the A. He watched me and helped me over the hurdle of the newly realized disability, didn't let me off easy for it, and worked with me enough to know that I knew the material even if my grades didn't reflect my actual ability, and gave me the grade that did.

Next semester I took calculus 4 and differential equations with him. And the beginning of that semester started auspiciously with my dying for a month in the hospital and spending the rest of the semester in a wheelchair. I had a lot of issues that semester, but the dyscalculia wasn't one of them, and neither was getting As in both classes on my own grades once I got caught up on the coursework.

Anyway. Mr. Miller remains my favorite teacher for his profound ability to find his students' limits and push a precise thumbtack where it is, and not letting you wiggle into setting your goal lower, and actually reflecting the quality of effort and work into the end result, regardless of what the end result "should" have been. And having that duality, of being kind of a hardass but willing to put in the work if you are, and will reflect the effort given in the grade that matters? That's a really fucking good teacher.

So I want to become a teacher (will start studying in October) and I just wondered: Who was your favourite teacher and why? Or what does a good teacher do in your opinion? How does a teacher motivate you?

[batsandbirdbrains]

Okay okay okay I had another idea for like post season 2 young justice. This is going off what was my usual set up with Dick only being like 15/16, he went undercover as Renegade to be Kaldur’s backup instead of Artemis, he still ran the team, he trained Tim, he was moonlighting as Batman a couple nights a week or whenever the JL needed him to make it look like he was still in Gotham/on Earth, and he was still in high school. I’m probably missing a couple things but he was a very busy boy. He had a lot going on. He pushed off like three mental breakdowns out of sheer stubbornness.

So now you have the end of season two. What feels like everyone is blaming him for everything that went wrong. They’re saying they don’t trust him. Bruce is giving him a hard time for not being perfect while he was gone. And n one is acknowledging the fact that Dick and Kaldur’s plan and actions are what saved the entire fucking planet, and without them they’d all be slaves to the reach.

And Dick has spent the last however many months being Deathstroke’s apprentice. Slade knew it was all a ruse, of course, but he went along with it because it meant getting Dick to be his Renegade. He’d always had a soft spot for Dick, always had his eye on him, always treated him differently than all the other sidekicks and heroes.

But he’s tired. He’s so so tired. He’s exhausted, and everyone is yelling at him and telling him how horrible he performed and how risky the whole thing was and how stupid it was.

And somehow, maybe it’s Bruce, but someone lets out the little nugget of information that Dick is Deathstroke’s biological son.

“Of course he played along with your plan, he’s your father!”

Dick’s breath catches in his chest. He blinks at Bruce, at the cowled face that’s practically snarling at him. Because he doesn’t understand.

“What?” His voice is so small. He feels so stupid, like a dumb kid, because now everyone is quiet and staring at him. “What are you talking about?”

And Bruce, angry at himself for the slip up, just explodes. Lets it out that he put Dick’s DNA into his own database when he first took Dick in. That he ran it not long after and he came up as a match for Deathstroke the Terminator, that it showed Slade Wilson was his father.

And Dick can’t stop staring at him.

“I don’t,” he stammers, unable to look away from Bruce. “I don’t understand.”

Dick’s mind is reeling. Because that can’t be true. It isn’t true. John Grayson was his father. He’s a Flying Grayson. Slade Wilson can’t possibly be his father.

Everyone is yelling again, calling him a traitor, a mole, a plant. They’re blaming him for everything that’s ever gone wrong.

He shares a look with Kaldur from across the room. Because Kaldur’s father is a villain. If this is true, Kaldur will understand.

Kaldur looks about as shocked as he feels, and once they catch watch others eyes, Kaldur motions for him to come over. To escape the growing hoard of angry heroes.

Kaldur gets him out. Kaldur promises him that everything will be okay.

“Everything is going to be fine,” Kaldur tells him. “Just lay low for a couple days. I’ll try to smooth things over with the others.”

Dick tries to go back to the manor, to talk with Bruce’s to find out what’s happening. But by the time Bruce realizes his mistake in letting this all come to light publicly, it’s too late.

Because they’ve all already pushed Dick away. They called him a traitor. They spat in his face, kicked him out, and said they wanted nothing to do with him. That he was just like his father.

Dick is left spiraling on his own. And he ends up right back on Slade Wilson’s doorstep, unable to speak, unable to make a sound as Slade pulls him inside and asks him what’s wrong.

He breaks down on the couch in Slade’s living room, gasping for air, clinging to the man he promised he’d never go back to.

Only to find out that Slade already knew he was his son.

“I found out not long after I first tried to recruit you,” Slade tells him, smoothing back Dick’s hair, holding him close. “I’d gotten your DNA and I’d been curious, so I tested it. And you were a match. Just like I suspected you would be.”

Because Slade’s youngest son went missing when he was two years old. Was kidnapped by the nanny. He was gone without a trace, and Slade had never stopped looking for him. It’s why he was so adamant about making Dick his apprentice. It’s why he had such a fascination with him.

And that’s when Dick finds out he’s actually only 15. He thought he was 17, but his age had been a lie. His whole life felt like a lie.

But now that Slade had his son back, he wasn’t going to let him go so easily.

It’s okay though. Dick doesn’t think he wants to leave again, anyway. Maybe being Deathstroke’s apprentice is exactly where he belongs.

[musaa34]

✩“𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 ?“✩

The train had barely left the station, and Y/N had already ditched her friends to hunt for coffee like her life depended on it. The hallway was bustling, students settling into their compartments, and she, still in her skirt and oversized cardigan, barefoot in her slippers, marched with purpose and a sleepy pout.

She passed by a half-open compartment—and paused. Inside, sitting alone, was him. Draco Malfoy. Of course she knew who he was. Everyone did. Though she was surprised by the sight of him alone. He was always with his friends so that made her stop for a moment.

Hair like he was in a shampoo commercial, that annoyingly elegant posture, and a reputation for being exactly the kind of cold she secretly found fascinating. But right now? He was reading.

A real book. Paper. Ink.

That was it—curiosity won. Without thinking (she never does), she slid the door open like it’s her compartment and not his.

“Hi” she smiled politely. He blinked, looked up, visibly confused. Did hogwarts include the attendance service this year ? No way, Dumbledore would sooner pour galleons into castor oil for his beard than spend a knut on this school..

“…Hello?” He said, opening his eyes like a creature got into the compartment.

The ‘why-are-you-here’ practically echoed off the walls. She didn’t even flinch. Just plopped herself down beside him as if they were lifelong train buddies.

Comfortable.

“I’ve read that,” she said, gesturing at his book. “What did you think when the guy tried to—”His hand was suddenly over her mouth. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up,” he said, deadly calm. “Respectfully, please.”

She blinked, her eyes wide…then giggled. Like he was the most adorable little grump she’d ever seen and not like she almost got killed politely.

“Oh my god—I’m sorry! I was gonna spoil it, wasn’t I?” She smiled. “Yes.” He dropped his hand and sighed like he aged ten years. “Tragically.”

She tucked her legs under her, sipping her coffee as if nothing happened. “It’s so good though, right? The pacing in the middle’s a bit slow, but the ending ?-“she caught herself. “I’m not saying anything. Promise.”

He side-eyed her like she was an unpredictable storm cloud made of caffeine and spoilers.

And yet… he shut his book.

Set it down.

That’s when the real chaos began.

She talked.

And talked.

And talked.

About book covers, café aesthetics, the tragedy of fictional men, how she cries over characters but not real people, and whether Hogwarts needed a better espresso machine. Draco just stared for a while a bit stunned also slightly offended.

But maybe..maybe..a little entertained.

“So… who’s your favorite author ?” she asked brightly, chin in her hand. He shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t have one. I read what looks interesting. I’m not obsessed with books or anything.” He said by, clearly aiming at her.

She nodded like he hadn’t just committed a crime. “Fair enough. Do you like the one you’re reading, though?”. He smirked, eyes narrowed. “I was enjoying it… until I was ambushed and nearly spoiled in my own train compartment.”

“Fair” she grinned, completely unbothered.

He blinked again.

“…Do I know you?”

She sipped her coffee, smiling innocently. “Nope.”

He stared.

She winked

And for the first time in a while, Draco Malfoy didn’t mind being interrupted. Not if it meant something could make his day interesting like this. Draco blinked, still mildly disoriented by the fact that someone had willingly walked into his quiet space, chattered non-stop, spoiled his book and was now treating him like an old friend she had coffee with every Tuesday.

She was halfway through rambling about another book she loved when he finally interrupted, voice low, a bit cautious:

“…What’s your name ?”

But she was on another planet, a totally different one..“Oh, but before that ! You have to read this one I just finished last week. You’ll adore it. Like—it’s heartbreaking in a good way. You’ll hate me for making you love it. I’ll lend it to you if you want.”

He blinked. “Adore it?”

“I swear,” she insisted, eyes wide with excitement. “Even if you’re not a book guy..which, ew, by the way—you’re going to fall in love with this one. Promise.”

He had never been this aggressively recommended something before. He wasn’t even into books like that..but… she was. And instead of stopping her, he leaned into his palm, eyes trained on her animated face. Her hands moved when she spoke. She had a spark in her eye.

She didn’t just like stories..no..she lived in them.

He didn’t get her name. But suddenly, he really wanted it. Just then, the door slid open with a chaotic clatter. Blaise, Regulus, Theo and Lorenzo strutted in like the train was their runway.

Y/N stood up in a soft little rush. “Oh-sorry!”

In her attempt to step aside, she accidentally stepped on Blaise’s foot.

“OW—” Blaise yelped dramatically, hopping like he’d been hexed. “My foot, woman ! I need that to walk !” He scowled and his expression dropped when he saw her face. Wow

She gasped “Oh my god-I’m so sorry !”

Her cheeks flushed. Not bright red but soft pink, like morning light. Draco sat back, amused now. Regulus raised a brow, Theo just… stared and Lorenzo blinked, clearly trying to figure out if they’d just walked into the middle of a moment.

Y/N smiled politely, the charm still glowing off her without trying. “Have a nice…lecture—I mean, journey !”

She gave them one last smile before slipping out like the scene had never happened, leaving behind the scent of coffee, vanilla, and too many unanswered questions.

The compartment went quiet.

Blaise turned, narrowing his eyes at Draco.

“…Why was that pretty girl sitting here like you two were discussing your wedding playlist?”. Draco just exhaled through his nose, biting his bottom lip, gaze still on the door.

“…I don’t know.”

But he wanted to.

What’s her name ?

[fvedyetor]

guys.... my hairline may have begun to recede already.......

[pittsick]

── KILDARE'S CAMPUS KILL .ᐟ

PART V "WE DON'T TRUST YOU."

summary: a masked killer is stalking students at Kildare University. the parties keep happening. the bodies keep showing up. Rafe Cameron? he throws the one that changes everything. people are dead. someone’s lying. and you? you might be kissing the killer.

pairing: rafe cameron x college!reader.

cw: murder, blood, trauma, stalking, manipulation, grief, unreliable narrator, implied sex, emotionally toxic dynamics, knife imagery, fear of death, survivor’s guilt, gaslighting, power imbalance.

join our newsletter for more information right now! @imperishablereverie, @userhotd, @lvve-talks, @prismozo, @bluestrd, @shahabaqsa0310, @222col, @yardofbrunettes, @lexiiscorect, @rafesgreasycurtainbangs, @peachy-skully, @nonbeliever1, @tinythebunni, @cherryzweig, @davinashifts333 @deansbeer @a-lovers-card @rafe-cameronswife @challengers4ev

Four days had passed and the moment you saw her alone, you knew you wouldn't let it go.

Mira stood near the journalism building, scrolling through her phone like nothing ever happened. As if she hadn’t vanished during the worst night of your life. As if she hadn’t disappeared while two people were slaughtered just a hallway away during the party. You didn’t bother easing into it.

“Where the hell did you go that night?” She looked up slowly, chewing her gum like you were nothing more than a Tuesday morning annoyance.

“Excuse me?” You stepped forward, heart thudding. “At the party. You disappeared. I texted you after. Called you. You left us there, Mira. How did you leave?”

Her eyes flicked to the side. “You’re acting like it’s my fault two people died.”

“No—don’t twist this.”

Mira laughed. Laughed. It was hollow, the kind of laugh you give someone when you’re trying to make them feel stupid. “You really think I planned all that? God, you sound unwell. This is exactly why people talked about you in high school.”

Her words slapped harder than they should’ve.

You sucked in a breath. “I don’t care what people said. I care that you’re acting like I imagined everything.”

Mira leaned in with a cold smile. “Maybe you did. Maybe it’s easier than admitting how desperate you looked, clinging to Rafe Cameron of all people.”

She turned and walked away, just like she did that night. You didn’t stop her this time. There was something wrong with her and you couldn't get what it was at that point; was she hiding something? Did she saw something during the party?

What happened?

Later that night, you sat in your dorm staring at your phone, spinning your ring around your finger the way you did when you were anxious. A knock pulled you from your spiral. You opened the door to find Rafe standing there in a hoodie and backwards cap, hair messy like he had touched it all day.

“Hey,” he said, voice rough. “Can we talk?”

You nodded, stepping aside.

You hadn’t spoken much since the lakehouse. You both had left that morning pretending you could ignore what happened—the sex, the softness, the quiet apology he gave you with his hands more than words. But now, sitting on your bed across from each other, it felt inevitable.

“I wasn’t lying, you know,” he said after a long silence. “That night. About the girl and the mask kink... or whatever you want to call it.”

Your brows pulled together. “You think this has something to do with her? Isn't she dead?”

Rafe shook his head, then nodded. “Yeah but... I don’t know. That’s not what I wanted to say, anyway.” He stared at the floor for a second, jaw tense. “Last semester… I was messed up. After my dad called, after that fight with Sarah—I spiraled. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

You stayed quiet.

“I ghosted you. I know I did. And I think I hated myself for wanting you more than I wanted to fix myself.” Your chest ached a little. It was always like this with Rafe—messy, ruined tenderness. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” you said quietly. He looked up, eyes more vulnerable than you’d ever seen them. “I wanna try again. Like… for real. No bullshit.”

You didn’t answer right away, just reached out and let your fingers rest on his. He closed the space between you first—this time, the kiss wasn’t messy or desperate. It was slow. Certain. It tasted like maybe you were both tired of pretending.

The next morning, Rafe was gone. You both had fell asleep in your bed—Jess had slept with one of her friend. He kissed you goodbye before leaving and you grabbed your phone.

You stared at the post, a sick feeling settling in your stomach. Then the name came in a next tweet: Harper Langley.

It made your blood run cold.

Harper Langley. Ex-high school royalty. Student council queen. And the girl who made your life a living hell sophomore year.

You hadn’t heard her name in years—not until you passed her a week ago near the south quad, laughing with a coffee in her hand. She didn’t even look at you. And now she was dead.

You couldn't believe that someone so close to you was now dead. Someone from your past; someone that had hurt you. The idea didn't even comfort you at all. This was just a big nightmare.

That night, your phone buzzed.

It was blurry—low light—but unmistakable. The track field of Kildare's campus and you could swear that Harper's body was visible in the pic, far away.

Your breath caught and your hand shook at the texts. You immediately pulled Rafe's contact and texted him.

You weren't sure what scared you more—Ghostface promising you'd be next... Or the look in Rafe’s eyes when he said he’d stop it when he got to your room a few minutes later.

Because something in that gaze wasn’t just protective. It was possessive.

And when you fell asleep with him cuddling you that night, it was with your phone under your pillow, a knife tucked beneath your mattress, and the feeling that the killer wasn’t just closing in...

They were already inside the story.

[sweetbunpura]

By Proxy... Ch. 2

The end of the school year is upon NRC. With all the overblots taken care of, the last remaining months should go by without much problems… Right?

WC: 928

Ch. 1

Spoilers for the end of book 7 ahead

"Outside of her stress levels, I'm not seeing anything magical based in her body."

Currently, the dorm leaders and their vices along with Crowley at in the infirmary as Chestnut gave Yuu a check up. Yuu was quiet, seemingly trying to grapple with the fact that she had magic.

"No magical injuries? Something that wasn't there before?" Lilia asked.

Chestnut shook his head and took off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "How did you learn that she had magic?"

"The Dark Mirror."

"So this is undeniable."

"But, she has no showings that she HAS it." Crowley argued. "Perhaps it was reading Mr. Kingscholar's magic."

"Forgive me for speaking so bluntly, Headmaster." Rook smiled, although Yuu could see that the hunter was anything but happy. "You're quite adamant about Madam Trickster not having magic. Why is that, hm?"

"N-No reason!" Crowley defended himself. "Nothing like this has ever happened! We HAVE to be sure."

"More like if Yuu-rin has magic then you can't take advantage of her anymore." Idia muttered.

"I wish I could tell you more." Chestnut gained everyone's attention. "But you forget, my glasses scan for health." He put his glasses back on. "Although… Ms. Homura, please take off your jacket and roll up your sleeves for me."

"May I ask why you're asking her to disrobe?" Rollo crosses his arms.

"Do you speak for her, Mr. Flamme?" Chestnut stared at him. "I did not take you as a white knight."

"I'm not this supposed 'White Knight'-"

"Rolls, stop it." Yuu took off her jacket and tossed it to Leona, who caught it. "He's checking the overblot scars."

"Excuse me, your what?" Rollo blinked in surprise.

"…Did I not tell you?"

"No, of course you didn't. I knew of the overblots but not the scars that they had left."

"Oops." She rolled up her sleeves. "My bad."

"How can you just brush that off-"

"Oh… there are NO scars."

Chestnut's voice caused everyone's heads to snap towards Yuu, who was staring down at her arms with wide eyes. The usual ink like scars that normally decorated her dark skin, which where tales of what she had survived, were gone and had returned her skin to its usual unmarked form.

"By the sevens…" Trey muttered.

"Did… did the blot absorb into her skin?" Vil spoke. "Is that why she has magic now?"

"We need to know the output of her magic." Chestnut got up and began looking through his desk. "I need to know how severe this is."

"Hold on." Idia said. "I'll get Ortho here, he can do a scan of her."

"Do it. Until then," He pulled out a magical pen and handed it to Yuu while Idia pulled out his phone "I need to see where her levels are at now."

Yuu mindlessly took it, everyone watched as the colorless gem in the pen flashed to orange and stayed there.

"No blot build up. At least that's something good."

"Are you alright, Child of Man?"

"Just…in shock, Mal." She tossed the pen around in her hand and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"So what happens now?" Trey asked. "It's too late in the school year to enroll her into NRC."

"If she did enroll, she'd have to repeat the year." Jamil added as he places his hand on his chin. "And that's not accounting for Grim."

"Would they be counted separate now?" Kalim pondered.

"Now, now." Crowley tried to gain their attention. "They'll stay as one student and continue the school you as thus!"

Vil crossed his arms. "And for her second year?"

"Uh…" Crowley looks off to the side. "She won't be here for her second year. She'll be safety returned home, remember?"

"Why do I feel like you're lying?"

As the arguments and conversations about Yuu's potential future began to rise in volume, the young woman gritted her teeth.

"Enough!" She shouted, causing various things within the room to get picked up into the air via her wind magic. "Can we worry about this shit later?"

"Uh, Yuu-rin?"

"What?"

"Your shoulder is on fire."

Yuu blinked out of her anger, causing the items to drop to the floor, and looked at her shoulder. Indeed, it was on fire which she hasted to put out with wide eyes. Once it was out, Yuu slowly glanced over to where Rollo was looking at her with a pale look on his face.

"R-Rolls-"

"I-I need to leave." He clutched his chest as his breath started coming out in shaky pants. "E-Excuse me."

"Rol-"

Rollo quickly left the infirmary, slamming the door behind him and leaving the NRC students standing there stunned.

"What was-"

"Someone go check on him, please." Yuu's voice was soft."Please."

"I shall do it." Rook bow and tipped his hat before leaving the room.

"Why did he have that reaction?" Leona looked at her.

"…." She looked off to the side before sighing. "You already know Rolls doesn't like magic."

"Yeah."

"…he doesn't like it because he had a little brother… a little brother who died to his own magic because he couldn't control it. He burst into flames in front of Rollo's eyes and begged him to help him, but Rollo was unable to."

The room was silent, save for the ticking coming from the clock.

"And he believes…" Lilia spoke. "That the same thing will or could happen to you?"

"No doubt."

"Then that shall never come to pass." Malleus vowed. "We'll teach you how to control magic."

Yuu gave a soft smile. "Thanks, Tsunotaro…"

[thefemmefatalexo]

Toji SMAU - When love was always there

Chapter 25 - I Miss You, Still

Summary: You see him again on your first day of college. Fuck. Toji Zenin has been the bane of your existence since your first day of kindergarten. Over the 15 years you’ve had the “pleasure” of knowing him, he’s made it his personal mission to make your life a living hell. From chopping off your hair in kindergarten to pushing you into a pond on your first day of high school, Toji has done it all. You’d always thought he would choose a college far away from you, but as it has always been, fate came to kick your ass. Hard.

warnings: cursing, sexual language, mentions of bullying

an: hey guys!! First of all I’d like to thank you all for your patience! I’m very sorry about my irregular posts but I haven’t managed to workout a schedule which works for me yet. I kind of lost track of the taglist so I’d appreciate it if you guys could let me know under this post if you’d like to be added/ removed!! Thank you again!! So some of you may have noticed but all of the Y/N‘s in this Universe are sort of connected to each other and play a role in each of their stories! I was thinking of posting a mind-map showcasing their personalities, their partner and their connection(s) to the other characters!! I saw other creators doing this as well and @reignpage version was the one that inspired me the most! Please check out their work it’s amazing and it’s what got me into writing! Enjoy this chapter!! SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 24} ; {next}

taglist: @jinxiewritings @actuallyvalerie @clp-84 @reneinii @magalimachete @mysteriaqueen @linny-bloggs @loveislost @amybarnes12 @1ennj4 @shycreatorreview @ruokolainenanni @shroom-cudii1 @el-lise @scarletssecrettt

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

You tried. More than you’re willing to admit out loud.

The first message was typed out with trembling fingers. You rewrote it six times. Deleted it twice. Sent it anyway.

No response.

So you tried again. And again. A voice note you never dared to play back. A blurry photo of something you thought might make him laugh. A “hope you’re okay” you knew sounded desperate, but sent anyway. All of it met with the same thing: nothing.

Eventually, you weren’t just talking to yourself: you were talking to no one. He blocked you. Quietly. Coldly. Without so much as a “fuck off and leave me alone.”

You don’t blame him.

You don’t even try to. Because somewhere deep in your chest, right under the weight of everything you didn’t say when you should’ve you know: this is your fault.

You pulled away. You shut him out. You brushed off his touches, flinched when he got too close in public, changed the subject when it started getting too serious. You told yourself you were protecting something fragile.

But you were just scared.

And he knew it.

You remember his face when you avoided his hand in the hallway. When you dropped his fingers like they burned you. That flash of something bitter in his eyes. And then nothing.

Now, the days blur.

You wake up, go to class, fake conversations. You laugh when you’re supposed to. Nod when people ask you how you’ve been. You scroll past pictures of him without pausing except you do. You always do. You always stop. You always look.

He looks fine.

Smiling at parties. Surrounded by people. There was even a girl in the last one someone pretty, with long legs and a red cup in hand. Her body angled toward him. His head tilted, listening.

You zoomed in on the picture. Twice.

You’ve memorized the comments:

“Toji back on the market??”

“Player’s back fr 😂”

“wonder what happened to that one girl he was always with…”

You.

They’re talking about you.

But you don’t argue. Not out loud. Because they’re right. You had something. And you threw it away. Like you didn’t know you were doing it until it was already done.

He didn’t owe you a second chance.

He doesn’t owe you anything now.

But it still hurts… this silence. This emptiness where his voice used to sit. The memory of his hands resting easy on your thigh when no one was looking. The way he’d lean in, mouth near your ear, like he was about to say something dirty and didn’t care who saw.

And now it’s all gone.

You keep thinking maybe this is temporary. That maybe he just needs time. That maybe he’ll show up at your door like before, annoyed but present. Maybe he’ll say something awful and mean and kind, all in one sentence, like he always does.

But he hasn’t.

And if he does?

You don’t know if you’ll be brave enough to open the door.

Not after what you did.

Not after how easily you let him slip away.

It’s been a week of the same. Silence from him. Noise everywhere else. And none of it matters.

Until the knock at your door.

It’s soft at first. Then sharper. Like whoever’s out there knows you’re ignoring it on purpose.

You drag yourself out of bed in the hoodie you haven’t changed out of in two days and open the door with no energy to fake a smile. Shoko stands there, arms crossed, chewing on gum like she’s got better places to be and that she’s annoyed she had to come here.

“Your mom let me in,” she says casually, brushing past you. “Said you’ve been ‘in a mood.’ Which is code for: you haven’t left your room since the “Toji thing”

You don’t answer. You just follow her to your room and sit at the edge of your bed while she kicks her feet up on your desk like it’s hers.

“You look like shit,” she adds after a beat. “Worse than that time you cried over that guy with the SoundCloud.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks.”

Shoko just shrugs. “I’m not here to baby you.”

You sit in silence for a while. She’s the only one who could do this — sit in your space, surrounded by the heaviness you can’t seem to shake, and not try to fix it. Just be there.

Still, she doesn’t let you wallow.

“You blocked everyone out,” she says eventually. “Even me.”

“I wasn’t in the mood for a pep talk,” you mutter.

“Good,” she replies, “because I didn’t come with one.”

You glance at her.

She sighs. “Look. I’m not gonna pretend like Toji was perfect. He’s an asshole. But he gave a shit. Which is more than I can say for most guys.”

Your throat tightens. “I know.”

“You pushed him away.”

“I know, Shoko.”

She leans forward, voice flat. “Do you?”

You stare at the floor.

“You ghosted him. In front of people. After sleeping with him. After talking it out. And now you’re sitting here, shocked Pikachu face that he doesn’t want to look at you.”

Ouch.

She lets the silence hang, then softens just barely. “I get it. You got scared. You didn’t know what to do with something real. And he’s a lot. But you gotta stop pretending this is just happening to you.”

You press your palms against your eyes, trying not to cry. Again.

“Anyway,” she says, standing. “There’s a party next weekend. Gojo’s throwing it with that weird girl he calls his girlfriend. Me, Nanami’sReader, and Gojo’sReader are going. You should come.”

You look up. “I don’t know if—”

“Don’t care. You’re going.”

You blink. “You just said I pushed him away and ruined everything.”

“You did.” Shoko shrugs. “But sulking in bed like a sad Victorian wife isn’t going to un-ruin it.”

You manage a weak laugh.

“Get up. Put makeup on. Wear something hot. Look like a bad bitch even if you don’t feel like one. That’s the bare minimum.”

You sigh. “I’ll think about it.”

She points at you, grabbing her bag. “You’ve got two days. Make up your mind before I drag you out by the ankle.”

She’s already halfway down the hall before you can respond. You hear her call out to your mom something about forcing you into society again and then the front door shuts behind her.

And you sit there, quiet.

Thinking.

A week later, you find yourself standing in front of your closet, staring at clothes you haven’t worn in weeks. You don’t feel like going. You don’t feel like seeing him.

But maybe you need to.

You pull out a dress you haven’t worn since before everything went to hell and whisper to yourself:

“Just for one night.”

The music hits first. It always does.

Bass you can feel in your ribs before you even get out of the car. Neon lights bleeding onto the sidewalk. A line of people waiting to get in, but Shoko just pulls you past them like she owns the place. Maybe she does — in her own quiet, cynical way.

Inside, the party is already alive.

People are laughing too loud, leaning in too close. The smell of cheap beer and expensive perfume lingers in the air, mixed with something unidentifiable and artificial. A playlist you’ve heard a hundred times before loops from the living room speakers, but tonight, it all feels… sharp. Edged with something unfamiliar.

You stick close to your group.

Shoko disappears for a drink and returns with two. One for you, one for her. She doesn’t ask if you want it. She just hands it to you with a knowing look.

Nanami’sReader is talking a mile a minute, glowing about how he took her out for dinner after his study group and bought her a book “just because he saw her eyeing it.” You smile, genuinely because it’s sweet, and because she looks happy, and because for a second it feels good to hear about love that isn’t yours.

Gojo’sReader shows up a few minutes later, slipping between conversations and cracking jokes at Gojo’s expense. “He’s flirting with the mirror again,” she says flatly, sipping her drink. “I really need at least ten drinks after dealing with him all day.”

Everyone laughs. Even you.

Gojo walks by not long after, dressed in something outrageous and 100% on brand. “You all look stunning,” he announces. “But not as stunning as me of course.”

More laughter. More drinks. Shoko rolls her eyes and leans into your shoulder. “Still think you should’ve come dressed in that sexy mini skirt you got a while ago,” she murmurs. “Would’ve been perfect.”

You snort and bump her hip with yours.

And for a moment, just a moment, you almost forget what’s been sitting on your chest all week.

Almost.

Because even when you’re laughing, even when you’re nodding along to someone’s story or posing for a group picture, your eyes are wandering. Searching. You don’t even realize you’re doing it at first.

But you’re waiting for him.

And when he doesn’t show, you tell yourself that’s good. That you don’t need to see him. That this night can still be yours.

Except then you do.

It’s late, past midnight, when the music is a little louder and people are starting to spill out into the yard. You head outside, needing air. Needing something quiet.

And that’s when you see him.

Toji.

Leaning against the fence at the side of the house, half in shadow. His head tilted. One hand on a girl’s waist, her face hidden behind his. But you recognize the curve of her body. The hair. The way she’s clinging to him.

His ex.

You freeze.

You want to look away. You should look away.

But your body won’t move.

He pulls back slightly. Just enough to glance in your direction. His eyes meet yours, steady, unreadable.

And then he does it.

His hand slides lower on her back. He grips her like she belongs to him. And without breaking eye contact, he pulls her back in and kisses her harder.

It’s not passion. It’s not love.

It’s punishment.

You feel it in your stomach. Your chest. Your throat.

Like something unraveling all at once.

The air is thick and too warm. The sounds around you distort, voices echoing too loud, too far. You can’t feel your hands. You can’t breathe right. You don’t even realize your drink is slipping out of your grip until you hear it shatter on the pavement beside you.

He doesn’t flinch.

He just goes back to kissing her.

Like you were never there.

Like none of it, none of you, ever happened.

You don’t remember walking back inside. You don’t remember Shoko finding you or pulling you out of the crowd. You don’t remember how you got back to the car.

But you remember that.

You remember his eyes. Cold. Intentional.

And you remember how it felt, for your heart to break in real time.

At first, it starts with just one skipped lecture.

You tell yourself it’s fine. Just one day. Just a break. You’re tired. You didn’t sleep. You’ll catch up.

But then one day becomes two. Then four. Then a week.

You stop checking the group chats. Stop opening your school email. The unopened messages pile up like snow. And you can’t bring yourself to dig through it, not when the mere thought of reading a subject line makes your stomach knot.

You ignore the calls. You watch them buzz across your screen and let them go unanswered. Even when it’s Shoko. Even when it’s Nanami’sReader. Even when it’s your professors. Even when it’s your mom knocking softly on your door saying, “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

You aren’t.

But how do you explain that?

How do you explain that some part of you is still stuck on a porch, staring at someone you used to know kissing someone he used to love, while looking straight at you?

How do you explain the way that moment split you open?

You don’t. You just stay in bed.

Your room becomes a blur of dim light and tangled sheets. Your phone lives somewhere under your pillow. The world outside continues like it doesn’t notice you’re missing. And maybe it doesn’t.

You stop brushing your hair.

You forget to eat lunch. Sometimes dinner.

You scroll through his socials, even though he’s blocked you everywhere. Sometimes you look through fake accounts. Sometimes you just search his name and stare at the results like they’ll give you a different answer if you look hard enough.

They don’t.

You see pictures from the party. He looks happy. Relaxed. That same girl draped on his arm in more than one photo. Her lips glossy. Her smile wide. Your stomach twists every time, but you can’t stop looking.

And the worst part?

You still miss him.

Even after everything. Even after he saw you and still made the choice to hurt you. A part of you still reaches out in your dreams. Still remembers the way he used to talk to you when it was just the two of you, lazy drawl, sharp wit, and something almost soft, just under the surface.

You lie to yourself, too.

You tell yourself this will pass. That next week you’ll go back. That you’ll reply to that one professor. That you’ll wash your hair.

But your alarm goes off at 7 a.m., and you don’t even flinch anymore.

You just roll over.

It’s late morning when you hear the knock.

Soft. Hesitant.

Then a pause. Then the door creaks open anyway.

Your mom doesn’t say anything right away. She stands in the doorway for a second, like she’s weighing whether to come closer or let you be.

“Hi,” she says gently.

You pretend to be asleep.

She doesn’t buy it.

“I brought you some tea,” she adds, placing the mug on your desk. “It’s the kind you like. Peppermint.”

You open your eyes slowly, only because you know she won’t leave if you don’t.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

She nods and walks over to your bed, sitting carefully on the edge like she’s afraid you’ll shatter if she shifts the mattress too hard.

“You haven’t been to class all week.”

You shrug.

“You’re not really eating. Not talking to your friends. I keep hearing you up at night.”

Another shrug.

She sighs, not frustrated — just tired in the kind of way that comes from watching someone you love disappear into themselves.

“I’m not going to force you to tell me what’s wrong,” she says quietly, glancing at the mess in your room, at the clothes on the floor and the untouched notebooks and the empty water bottles gathering on your nightstand. “But I’m not stupid.”

You don’t say anything. Just look at a spot on your blanket like it might swallow you whole.

“Boy trouble?” she asks, not unkindly.

Your throat tightens. You hate that two words are enough to make you want to cry.

You nod. Just barely.

She doesn’t press. She doesn’t ask for names. She doesn’t dig deeper.

Instead, she smiles softly and says, “You know, I once cried for three weeks over a boy who didn’t even know how to tie his own shoelaces.”

That pulls the faintest breath of a laugh out of you. She catches it and gives your knee a gentle squeeze.

“I know it feels like the end of the world right now,” she continues. “And maybe, in your heart, it is. But the beautiful thing about hearts is that they keep beating. Even when they’re broken.”

You blink hard, but the tears are already starting to burn behind your eyes.

She reaches out, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear.

“You don’t have to talk about it. Not yet. Not until you’re ready.”

You nod again, barely holding it together.

“But let me do something for you.”

You look up.

“Can I brush your hair?”

The words are so soft, so simple, it makes your chest ache.

You hesitate not because you don’t want her to, but because you don’t remember the last time someone cared for you like that without asking anything in return.

You finally nod.

She gets up and moves behind you on the bed. You hear her rummaging in your drawers for a brush. When she finds one, she begins slowly, carefully, untangling each knot like it’s something sacred. Like she’s putting pieces of you back together.

You sit there, eyes closed, tears slipping quietly down your cheeks while she works.

She doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t need to.

Her fingers are gentle. Her presence is enough.

When she finishes, she presses a kiss to the crown of your head, stands, and walks to the door.

“I’ll be downstairs,” she says softly. “Come when you’re ready.”

And then you’re alone again — but not quite as empty.

Not quite as lost.

Just… starting.

The first day, you take a shower.

It doesn’t feel good. It doesn’t fix anything. But you do it. And afterward, your skin feels a little less heavy.

The second day, you open your laptop. No assignments get done, but you look at them. You write down due dates. You check a few emails and send two replies.

By the end of the week, you eat dinner with your parents. You talk a little. Ask about your Mom’s day. You even laugh when she tells you how your neighbor locked herself out again.

Your room is still dim most days. But now your blanket is folded. Your floor is clear. There’s a cup of tea next to your bed every morning, even if you forget to drink it.

You haven’t seen him.

You don’t even know if you want to.

But his name is still in your search bar. And sometimes, when the nights stretch too long, you look. You scroll. Just to check. Just to see.

Your mom doesn’t ask about him. But you can tell she knows when the silence you carry feels heavier than usual.

She lets you heal quietly.

⸻

The grocery store is quiet. Mid-morning, slow. A few parents, a couple students. The kind of people who know where everything is and don’t linger longer than they need to.

Your mom’s halfway through her list when she turns a corner and nearly bumps into someone at the end of the cereal aisle.

Toji.

He’s holding a box of off-brand granola and wearing a hoodie that looks like it’s been through one too many practices. His hair’s messy. His eyes a little bloodshot. Not tired exactly, but… worn.

They both freeze for a second.

“Oh,” your mom says politely. “Toji.”

He straightens a bit. Clears his throat. “Uh. Hey.”

She notices his hands — how tightly he’s gripping the box, like it’s anchoring him. Notices how he doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

They haven’t spoken since the last time he was in your house.

Since he sat in your room.

Since you disappeared into yourself.

Your mom offers him a small smile. “Running errands?”

He shrugs, glancing away. “Yeah. Coach said if I keep eatin’ crap, I’m benched.”

She laughs lightly, trying to ease the tension. “That sounds about right.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Toji fidgets, fingers tapping against the cardboard, jaw tight.

Then, too casual: “How’s, uh… how’s everything?”

Your mom tilts her head. “Everything?”

He doesn’t correct himself. Doesn’t clarify.

Just swallows and keeps his eyes on a shelf of oatmeal.

She watches him closely. Sees the shift in his stance, the way he keeps his shoulders stiff but his gaze flickers toward her, like he’s waiting for something, anything.

“She’s doing better,” your mom says softly.

His head turns slightly. Not all the way. Not enough to look her in the eye.

But he heard it.

“She’s getting there,” she adds. “Takes time.”

Toji nods once. Barely. Like if he lets himself move more than that, he’ll give something away.

Your mom doesn’t push.

She just gives him the same gentle smile she gave you when she brushed your hair, and says, “It was nice running into you.”

He mumbles something that might be “You too,” and walks past her, quick.

Doesn’t look back.

But when she glances over her shoulder, she sees him standing at the self-checkout with the box of granola still clutched in one hand and the other balled tightly in his pocket.

Like he’s holding onto something he doesn’t know how to let go of.

[rosefantasy77]

THIS MIGHT BE WEIRD but can you do a smut where y/n catches Malachi masturbating to girls on the internet and you catch him and he tells you he feels like you’ve been distant with him so he didn’t wanna ask to do anything. Can it end with like makeup sex and he shows her she’s the only one he loves truly. Sorry if weird thanks 🫶🏼

Missed You

—Summary:You've distant from Malachi and he has no idea what to do.

—Warning: Language, masterbation, little angst, smut, p n v sex, unprotected sex, may be rough sex in a readers pov

—Song: That's So True; Gracie Abrams

—A/n: Hi anonymous reader! This one is totally fine! It just may not be as detailed as most as my usual ones. It may a little bit shorter. But don't worry, I gladly accept. And no apologies necessary! You're perfectly fine. <3

Being with Malachi is a blessing. Malachi means so much to you. Y’all’s story started when you two were little bitty babies.

Your parents have been friends for year. Y’all were about one when your parents met. It was around when Felicia was on American Idol. So about early 2010. You guys are like brothers and sisters.

Well to you it was.

Malachi it was a little different. Malachi had feelings for you before he knew what feelings for. He would always see that light in your eyes. He didn’t understand it. But, he was already in love with you.

Malachi grew up liking you. He would tell his parents about it. He was like head over heels for you. He still didn’t understand it. You were different. Good different. Guess it’s just who you are.

Throughout middle school, you started having feelings for Malachi. Especially in the 8th grade. Just something hit different. You weren’t sure what it was though. It was different. Good different. Just like him.

Malachi was already head over heels for you. High school was when big things started to happen. Like homecoming. He would want to ask you out. But, some other guy would take you. Granted, you had feelings for Malachi, but it was probably just gonna last for a couple months.

Sophmore year came. You still have feelings for Malachi. They don’t make sense. Why would you have feelings for Malachi? He has always been your best friend. But, why are the feelings coming into the scene now?

Homecoming for sophmore year was a big bomb. Nothing you imagines happened. You wanted Malachi to be yours. But, that didn’t happen this year. You weren’t sure why. It doesn’t make sense. You thought Malachi did. You thought he did.

Plot Twist: He does. Malachi just doesn’t know how to tell you. That’s how special you are to him. he doesn’t know how to tell you how he feels. He’s scared that he is gonna run you off. Afraid that you may never want to be his friend again.

One evening he had to go to his mom. He was maturing. He is 16 years old. And he only chooses you. There are so many girls in school. Crushing on him, wanting to lose their virginity in the bathroom with him, being his and only his. That’s not him.

Those girls flaunt. They may not know they falunt everything. But Malachi does.

Do you?

Of course not. You take care of yourself. You work hard. You work your very best. That’s what Malachi looks in someone. That someone is you. ‘Cause there is no one else like you.

Junior year is all it took. Took the guts to ask you to prom. It was the night before. You had a study session. He wanted to tell you everything. And he means everything. Since he was like 4 years old. He has wanted to tell you everything that has happened for the past 12 years.

When he did, you heart was flying in colors. It all hit you like a truck. But you didn’t care. It just felt amazing to have Malachi confess his feelings. How it was the night before prom. And how he asked you the night before prom. It didn’t make sense.

Which is okay. Not everything has to make sense. Sometimes, not making sense is a good thing. Helps to understand what the best way is.

Junior prom. The prom you have been waiting for since you were 13 years old. You got to spend it with your favorite person. Best friend since birth. Malachi Barton. And you couldn’t ask for anyone better.

Yes, you did get the looks from the girls. But, all they are is jealousy. They don’t understand anything. They don’t understand how much you mean to Malachi. And how much he means to you. Nothing and no one could change that.

Senior year did.

Since Malachi was around 8 years old, he starred in a couple Disney shows. Since you were a kid, you loved Disney. You even saw your best friend on Disney. How cool is that?! It’s amazing honestly. You knew Malachi was a disney star.

You were kind of like that. Only this time, you were more of a singer.

You loved singing. Long story short: ever since you were 7 years old, you would go around the house. Start singing your heart out. Going to your room; playing your favorite song. Singing it. Liked you own the song to yourself.

Malachi has always though you’ve had a great voice. Which you do. He loves listening to it. Especially his new songs from Zombies 4.

It was scary meeting the Zombies 4 cast. Everyone knowing you’re Malachi’s girlfriend. They really didn’t give a damn. They loved you. Especially Freya and Sway. They were like your older and younger sister. You have a lot in common with them.

When it comes to you, MK, and Malachi. You intend to be the third wheel. Yes, MK should really be the third wheel. However, Malachi and MK have gotten really close since Zombies 4 took action.

Which, you don’t mind. You got your twins by your side. Meaning, Sway and Freya. Your big sister and little sister. (According to what you call them). Hey! That is just how life works.

You were really happy for Malachi. Glad that he is filming his really big role. Getting close to his castmates. But, for you. You are one of those lead singers in a band. It’s your own band.

“Golden Stars.”

Singing has always been a passion. Malachi completley understands that. Like you understand his acting. However, you created your first 5 albums. And, your band has decided to go on tour. You are suppose to be going on tour for the next 6 months.

When Malachi found out, he was really upset. But, at the same time he shouldn’t. ‘Cause he is going on tour as well. Not on yours, but the other one. DZ world collide tour. It doesn’t make sense why Malachi would be upset. You’ll always be there for him. Just not physically.

Malachi understands. But, when tour is over, he is gonna be alone. Not having you in his arms. Not studying with you. Not graduating with you. No breakfast in bed. He has gotten really upset.

But, it was only a couple more weeks untill you were home. Weeks passed. And you were back in his arms. Malachi was so excited to have you back in town. Catching up on the tea. Filming TikTok’s, Snaps, and Instagram videos. He finally gets to do that with you again.

Little mix up came along. Within those couple of weeks, the band wanted to create a new song. You didn’t think anything about it. Malachi was upset. Again. Thankfully, this was only a couple hours. Only like 3 or 4.

Hours flew by. You were back at your place in just a couple hours. You were so excited to have Malachi back with you again.

However, when you arrived at your place, somethin felt off. You weren’t sure why. But, it was something. And weird.

You heard noises. You listened again. Listening very carefully. The sounds were coming from your room. You opened your door to reveal….Malachi? What is he doing here. You knew he was here. Just not doing what you think he was doing.

He was on a live. With all of his followers. MASTERBATING? What does he think he is doing? Everyone knows the two of you are together. You just can’t believe he was doing this. You slammed your backpack down on your bed. Everyone in the comments typing that you are home.

Malachi realized. Once he did, he knew he was cooked. He said ‘gotta go’. Ending the live as fast as he could. He could see you were upset. Why would he do this?

“Malachi, what is going on?” You question. “I want a report right now. What is happening? What did I walk in on?”

“Okay, babe, just listen to me before you talk, okay?” Malachi advised.

You sighed, sitting on your bed. “Fine.”

“You have been very distant lately. It’s been 6 months since I have seen you. I just miss you. And I crave you. I just didn’t bother you while you were out.” Malachi explained.

“That doesn’t give you a reason to jerk off! And in front of everyone?” You exclaimed.

“I know, I know. That’s why….” Malachi started to take your hoodie off. Along with your blouse that had buttons. Revealing the black bra he gave you for your anniversary. “I wanna make it up to you.

Malachi stood up, taking off his shirt and jeans. “What do you say?” He smirked.

You bit your lip. You couldn’t be mad at him. Never are. “I like that idea.”

Malachi did as you wished for. He took off the rest of your clothes; along with his. His hard cock showing through his boxers. Finally being revealed to you. He leaned you back onto your matress. It sighing right beneath you.

Malachi slowly slid into your wet folds. Causing both of you to moan as he did so. Malachi started at a slow pace. Taking his time with you. But, you needed more. Not this slow.

“Malachi….go faster.” You begged.

Malachi did as he was told. Malachi went faster. Deeper. A little rougher.

Your hands went behind his neck. Feeling the sweat pour down him. Leaving marks on his back. His pace was rougher than usual.

“God, Malachi. Don’t stop. Shit.” You moaned.

Malachi smirked. He loved the way you beg for him. How you forget his name. Only think of his name. The way his body connects with yours. His skin slapping with his.

Both of your ends were close. Both of you could feel it. And you were close. Closer than ever before. “Malachi, I am so close.” You warned.

“Come on, baby. Cum for me.”

With one last thrust, you and Malachi had an orgasm. It washing over you like a wave. The beat of your hearts were in sync. Sweat pulling down your body. Finally back in each others arms.

Exactly where you belong.

[inkedtension]

Bad habbit

[exex to lovers..?]

Nanami Kento’s a good man.

He’d thought he was over his ex. He’d thought he’d stop jerking off to her voice notes from years ago, or her phantom voice in his head.

He’d thought wrong.

Because you’re standing in front of him again.

It’s his first day at the new office. He’s early, crisp suit, tie knotted tight — the picture of discipline. And then you walk in, all lazy grace and unbothered power. Jacket slung over one shoulder, shirt buttons left loose enough for him to see the chain glinting against your collarbone. Trousers cut to make your legs look a mile long, heels clicking with a confidence that hasn’t dulled since high school.

You’re smiling at someone else — a coworker, a receptionist, whoever — like they’re the only person in the world. Like he’s not here, staring at the curve of your mouth and remembering how it looked smeared with his release.

Your hair’s different now. Sleeker. But your eyes, The same. The same eyes that watched him break apart under you. That same devil-may-care aura that made people love you, fear you, and fantasize about you in equal measure.

His cock stirs before he can stop it. Pathetic.

You glance his way once — just once — and it’s nothing. A flicker of recognition, maybe, before you look past him. No smirk, no jab, no “Kento” in that low, mocking drawl you used to use right before you’d pull him into some dark corner and ride him until his legs shook.

He should be grateful you’re ignoring him. Instead, his pulse won’t slow down.

By lunch, you own the office. People hover near your desk like it’s the center of gravity. You’re laughing with someone, that stupid it guy who stares at you way too much for his liking, leaning back in your chair, blazer hanging open enough to make him remember how you used to leave your clothes on sometimes during sex, unbuttoning your shirt just enough for him to get distracted while he fucks you.

“Oh. Kento.” Your voice is light, warm, friendly. Nothing like the syrupy, taunting way you used to moan his name in the back stairwell then. “Didn’t realize you worked here.”

He swallows. “Yeah. Just started.”

“Mm.” You look back at your screen, dismissive in a way that feels deliberate. “Good to see you.”

Good to see you.

If you knew what he’d been doing to your memory for the past seven years, you’d probably laugh in his face. Or maybe you’d close the door to this office, sit on his lap, and make him ruin another suit.

...

Nanami had timed his way home with precision.

Avoid the surge. Skip the lobby noise. Ride the elevator down alone.

What he did not account for was the shriek of your voice echoing down the hall—loud, animated, mid-rant to some intern as your heels clicked with psychotic cheer behind you.

“Oh my god, and then she had the nerve to say ‘I didn’t think you were that type of girl,’ like babe, what type do I look like to you?—oh hi, Kento!”

His jaw tensed. Elevator doors began to close.

You shoved your arm in, slid in beside him just in time.

As if fate wanted him punished. The intern greeted you and left for her night shift.

“What floor you going to?” you chirped.

...

“You look well,” you say breezily, like you didn’t disappear two years ago after the most toxic slow-burn relationship either of you had ever suffered through.

Nanami doesn’t answer.

You try again. “No hard feelings, right?”

His jaw tightens.

You glance up at him. “Still angry?”

He turns. Slowly. His voice low and furious. “You really walk around acting like nothing ever happened, don’t you?”

You shrug. “We broke up. We moved on.”

“I didn’t.”

The breath catches in your throat.

He steps in, cornering you in the small metal box like a predator. The air is electric now — buzzing with every fight, every broken promise that ended in bruises and moans and cold shoulders the next morning.

“You haven’t changed,” he says bitterly. “Still all charm, no accountability.”

You smirk. “Still taking me way too seriously.”

Nanami’s lips curl, furious — then crash into yours.

Your back slams against the wall of the elevator as he kisses you like he’s been starving — like he’s furious you still taste like heaven. His hands grip your waist, pinning you, grounding you, dragging you against him.

You moan into his mouth. “You hate me.”

He pants, nose brushing yours. “I hate that I still want you.”

Then he kisses you again — deeper this time, tongue sweeping in, greedy and rough. You claw at his shoulders. Your bodies grind like it’s muscle memory. You feel his cock straining against his slacks, pressed right into your thigh, and your hips betray you, rolling into his.

That’s when the elevator dings.

And the doors open.

Standing there, slack-jawed, is that guy from IT.

He sees it all — the disheveled suits, your lipstick smeared, Nanami’s hand halfway under your blouse, your leg hitched around his hip.

Nanami breathes out through his nose. Doesn’t even flinch.

The IT guy stutters, “U-Um—”

Nanami grabs your wrist. Yanks you forward.

You wave sweetly over your shoulder as you're dragged away.

“Hi Taichi~! Can you send me that data patch later? Thanks!”

His jaw hung open. Still loading.

Nanami slammed open the office lobby door, dragging you toward the parking lot like he was possessed.

He drags you down the hallway, until you hit the parking lot, and he slams open the car door.

“In.”

Anyway, Nanami Kento’s a good man. But he’s about to be a very bad one.

[for-your-modesty-dude]

Reentry - Bonus (Prequel)

Part 1 ... Part 2

A/N: Sorry it's been awhile, y'all. Summer is always so freaking busy, what with work, enjoying the outdoors, and small business events. That being said, I didn't want to just leave you hanging any longer. I don't have anything new, but I do have a little bonus here for you. This is just a little something I wrote up before starting Reentry, to sort of work out the dynamic in my own head before I started writing for real. It's helpful for me to get the dynamic down before I really get anything done. But anyway, here it is. I want to write more, but I'm trying to enjoy the outdoors between bouts of existential dread... LOL. Love y'all. - Hy

p.s. please tell me if you want to be added to my taglist!

Summary: A short intro to life before Eddie's release. What his friends have said about him, how you learned of him. I'm proud of this one. Soft, gentle, but lots to learn.

Warnings: Mentions of drugs and doing time.

Word Count: ~1.2k

Your first months in Hawkins were something of a whirlwind. You’d essentially thrown a dart at a map and uprooted your entire life to restart there. Nothing drastic had happened, not really, but that was part of the problem. Nothing had happened for pretty much your entire life. You’d grown up in a normal, boring family, gone to school, graduated, gone to college, gotten your degree, and started a boring office job at the first place that interviewed you. The good thing was that you were able to save up a hefty chunk of money for a fresh start at this new job, being that you had very few friends in your hometown, and a nonexistent social life that went with that. So you decided it would probably be for the best to relocate and start fresh.

Originally, your arrival to this small town in Indiana made you a little nervous. After all, what if there was no one your age in the area? What if this was a bad decision? But you’d silenced all of those thoughts within the first week of arriving there. You’d moved in, and two days later saw the signs for the county fair that was happening that weekend. So you decided to go, and found out that the area was bustling. Whether or not Hawkins specifically had the right people, you knew the area did, so that was enough. 

Once you were entirely moved in and had some down time, you made your way to the local video store to rent a tape for the weekend. You didn’t expect to make friends there, much less with the attendants themselves, but Steve and Robin from behind the counter were kind and excited to see someone their age moving into the area. You ended up hanging out with them until the end of their shift, and then heading over to the arcade next door together. There, you met their friends, and the rest was history.

When you decided you wanted to rent out the open space next to Melvald’s and open up a coffee shop, your nerdy new friends insisted you add a book store to the mix, since the local one had closed a few months earlier, and you decided to do it. They helped you with the demolition in their free time, and then once the construction team finished their jobs, they helped you decorate both the cafe and the bookshop, painting walls and staining wooden shelving, the taller boys helping hang things and put decorations on the walls. The Hellfire Club (they kept the name after high school, or so you were told) helped you with quirky drink names to match your books, and soon you were opening up. 

Opening day was not the first day you’d heard the name - but it was the first time you’d asked. “Eddie would’ve loved this place,” Dustin said with a smile as he looked around at the final product, the ‘GRAND OPENING’ banner hand painted by all of them. Steve laughed and agreed, shaking his head with a fond smile.

“Who’s Eddie?” You finally asked the two, and the rest of the party seemed to pause in conversation, but soon resumed to try and keep up morale.

“Uh…” Steve hesitated, reluctant to be the first one to tell someone new about their friend. “He’s just- one of us. He’s indisposed.” Your brows furrowed, but you didn’t question him further. Gareth was the one who eventually just bit the bullet and told you, which made sense.

“Eddie’s my best friend. He was our original DM, and totally the heart of the group. He’s Corroded Coffin’s guitarist and front man, which is why we’re not playing gigs or anything right now.” You nodded slowly, but didn’t really know what to do with that information, as it seemed they were all avoiding an important detail. 

“Right now?” You asked curiously, and he and Jeff shared a look before he exhaled, long and tired.

“Yeah, right now. Like Garth said, Eddie’s indisposed. He’s uh - doing time. Nothing crazy, he was just caught dealing some pot, and the locals have always seen him as some crazy cultist, so they used it as an excuse to lock him up. He’s out in a couple years, though. He got a total of five years.”

“Which is total bullshit,” Dustin interjected, “they just wanted to arrest him for something because they think he’s a criminal for the music he listens to and the way he dresses.”

“The traffic tickets didn’t help,” Steve added with a grimace. The conversation quickly devolved into how unfair the whole thing was, and you couldn’t help but feel for this guy you’d never met. This town seemed a bit judgmental of anyone who dressed differently - which you’d learned quickly, with your own style being darker than they were used to. The excuse they gave for you was that you were from the big city, so surely things were just different there. They didn’t offer guys like Eddie the same grace, especially not since he’d taken three tries at senior year to finally graduate. 

You did eventually have to slip away from the conversation to mingle with the other guests and invitees to your grand opening, and see how your new employees were handling their first real day. It was a lot of work, and there were moments where you felt overwhelmed, but the event went smoothly, and when it ended, you couldn’t help the feeling of satisfaction that washed over you. Your friends all stayed late to help clean up, and you let them take baggies of leftover pastries and other sweets with them as payment. Steve and Robin were the last to stick around, and helped you lock up. 

“So… I had heard this Eddie guy’s name, but I hadn’t heard his story. Should I not have asked? That felt, like, super personal,” you worried. 

“You might as well know, right? I mean, the guy’s gonna get released eventually, and then you’re gonna have to meet him and know his story, so you might as well be told now,” Robin shrugged. “Besides, he’s not exactly the quiet type. Eddie’s never been quiet about anything a day in his life. If he were around, he would’ve told you himself on, like, day one.” She popped a quarter of a cookie into her mouth. You considered this for a moment, and looked to Steve for his input. 

“Rob’s right. Eddie is the kind of guy who never did anything quietly. He used to go on full tirades in the cafeteria in high school. He’s never been… discreet. And he’s not ashamed, either. Yeah, it sucks that people always called him a freak, and don’t get me wrong, I totally contributed to that back in the day, but… I dunno. I wouldn’t think about it too much. You’ll meet him someday, and it won’t be a big deal.” He promised. Something about his tone convinced you, and while you were definitely going to think about it more, it calmed your nerves and you no longer felt like you were invading someone else’s private life. You had years, anyway. So it would be fine. You’d just learn about him slowly, as the years went on. It would be fine.

@am0iur @ali-r3n @hellmastereddie @ziggeddie @nojamsonmytoast @seedlingghost @loveu2themoonandsaturn @aliceheart247 @littlemissholy @daydreampending @justalotoffanfiction @midnightdragonzero @iyskgd @girlwedontcare @micheledawn1975 @kaita @dreamerjj @bellalillyrose

[cosmicterrorthe8th]

Do you all think that Normals yearbook club that recapped the yearbooks of the past just covered what was in the book or was he trying to get the extra drama too by consulting PPL who were in highschool that year and reading b/w the lines?

Then I would have died to join the club because it would be so entertaining.

Do you think he would have covered the last year's yearbook every year as a back to school special so new kids wouldn't feel like an outsider? And to find good parts of school where he wasn't shunned?

He would redo the last year one everytime a new kid joined mid-year?

Do you think he has done yearbook recaps of the years the kiddads were in highschool and interrogated each of them and their classmates (except Nicky, maybe he got Nickys scoop later but idk if he covered what he got from him in the club). So he knows way too much about their mundane shenanigans and that makes them uncomfy in a way idk

[mamawasatesttube]

it's like, i really do enjoy most of the bats as characters and i really do like a lot of their comics. but also i am sooooo tired of them being hailed as better than literally everyone else. both in fanon but also in comics (modern ones are esp egregious imo, like WHAT was that shit about batman and the joker being the most dangerous men on the planet. hi. have you heard of lanterns? speedsters? supers? actually if i keep listing groups who could kick batman's ass we'd be here all day). they're like kudzu. that shit needs to stay in its native environment (funky little neo-noir detective stories) and stop being an invasive species (putting down everyone else to make them seem cooler). put bruce wayne back into a murder mystery setting that isn't about saving the world but is about saving one person or one family that no one else would've saved right now or so help me god. the whole invasive species cross contamination thing is unhealthy for both him And the other ecosystems he keeps getting transplanted into. please. it's so dark in here

[folkloregirlfriend]

i hate feeling ambitionless aimless the future is so bleak

[laurellala-comics]

there are two wolves inside of you. One of them is fretting that you went through all the effort of making a new art account just to pigeonhole yourself once more into a specific fandom, which holds you back from exploring original art concepts that you care about. The other one came up with three separate ace attorney comic ideas in the last hour alone and isn't stopping anytime soon