#in truth the problem is often time

[blooky8]

одна профессия, которую нужно гейткипить больше - это написание и перевод субтитров. бро, он не это сказал

one profession that does need better gatekeeping is people who write or translate subtitles. brother that is not what was said.

[calypsolemon]

sometimes people negatively criticizing DR will say things like "it must be bad writing otherwise it doesn't make sense why the ninja act differently in [DR situation] than they did in [MOS situation]" with no further justification for why that would be the case and it's like. my brother in spinjitzu the Situations are Different

[2cupids]

gojo can't get enough of the cute cow hybrid!reader farm hand at suguru’s ranch.

contains. f!reader, chubby!reader, lactation kink, hybrid!reader, fingering, reader’s kinda dumb. mdni (17+).

satoru told himself he was only visiting suguru’s farm to see what the hell a half-human half-cow girl looked like. it was supposed to be one visit, maybe two max, but he finds himself there every week now.

the first time he stepped into the barn and his eyes landed on you, you were far from what he imagined you to look like. you had cute floppy ears and an even cuter face to match, a perfect balance of the two species. his eyes subtly flicked down to your body and he forgot how to breathe for a moment. an itty bitty bikini top barely covered your heavy tits and high waisted denim shorts covered your cute little stomach pudge. your thick thighs were nicely out on display as you worked in the sweltering heat, swinging your tail slightly to keep a pesky fly away.

yeah. he was a goner from that moment.

it started as genuine curiosity the first couple of times. he asked questions you had heard more times than you could count, but they were asked in a respectful manner that you weren’t used to. he teased you, but he always kept it lighthearted and never crossed any lines.

and you didn’t mind his company either. yes, he was charismatic, a little too talkative for your liking, and a bit cocky, but he was kind. maybe even too kind. you pushed that thought out of your head though because aside from your boss, satoru was one of the few people that treated you like you weren’t an oddity and you couldn’t be more thankful. especially during times when problems arise that are out of your control.

your breasts often leaked milk on accident—something about your hormones were off balance and the doctors couldn’t fix it. usually it only happens a couple times a week, yet for some unknown reason, the problem has started becoming more prevalent around gojo. it’s to the point where they leak almost every day.

it happens unexpectedly in the middle of your conversations, you can feel your body temperature rise as you apologize profusely. satoru’s always extremely understanding every time it occurs, grabbing a towel or some tissue and giving you some time alone. he never seems to mind it, always reassuring you that it’s okay and to take all the time you need. and that’s the truth, because in all honesty he loves it. the way you get flustered and stumble over your words, how you rush to cover your nipples as the liquid wets your top. maybe it’s wrong, seeing how much distress it causes you, but he gets hard during each occurrence.

one night while laying in bed, he can’t stop thinking how it’s such a shame that so much milk goes to waste. that’s when the thought first comes to him—he wonders how your milk tastes.

it was outlandish to think about, even more so to ask you, but he still did it anyways. the question was masked with innocent curiosity to hide his true intentions for asking. “hey, you know i’ve been wondering something.” he starts, his tone more casual than usual and he avoids eye contact. “since you’re a hybrid and all, would your, uh… milk taste different from regular cow’s milk?”

satoru wouldn’t have been surprised if you became weirded out or reluctant, but to his surprise you simply tilt your head and a thoughtful expression crosses your features. “hm. i’m not sure. but… would you like to taste some?” you smile sweetly.

he kept his excitement contained the best he could as he replied, only agreeing to it if you were sure you’re okay with it. but internally? his mind is racing and his dick is already stirring to life as he follows you towards a large bale of hay in the corner of the barn.

the man wasted no time sinking to his knees as you lifted your shirt and let one of your tits free, his lips immediately latching on to your soft nipple and sucking.

it was supposed to be a one time thing, but you’re so naive for really believing that his reasoning for wanting your tit in his mouth was innocent and now, you’re letting him suck the sweet milk from your swollen nips every time he visits.

over time he gets more comfortable and eventually starts groping your breasts as he feeds. something about all this feels off, like you should ask him to take his hands off you—to stop.

but you don’t.

you like the way it turns you on, how your thong grows slick each time without fail.

one hand gently squeezes your breast, causing more milk to come out while his free hand moves to massage the other tit. you like the sight of a man on his knees in front of you, his long, pretty lashes fluttering shut as he sucks. you love the way he softly caresses your tummy too, like it’s the most precious thing on earth.

meanwhile gojo thinks it’s adorable how you always try to keep quiet but you never can, letting a mixture of half-human half-cow sounds slip from your mouth.

now, he’s got your back pressed against his chest, lazily dragging two slim fingers against the walls of your messy pussy. somehow he’s talked you into letting him finger you. silly girl.

warm breath hits your skin each time he opens his mouth to whisper something dirty in your ear, or to tell you how disappointed suguru would be. you want to tell him to knock it off, that his words strike a sensitive nerve, but instead all you do is clench around his fingers every time.

you’re such an easy little thing. at this rate, he’ll have his dick inside you in no time.

cleo’s note. i’d really like to hear your thoughts on this, like did i do hybrids justice with this or no? also ntm on me if my description is kinda off, i don’t go here.

[kekewrites]

Tw. insecure/introvert reader, angst(?), dark content, noncon kissing, implied noncon/dubcon at the end, jealousy, tension, mutual pinning, misunderstanding, hidden feelings, slow burn(?), stalking, toxic, sabotage, possessiveness, red flag, manipulation, dependency, no actual smut

***

Imagine being the childhood friend of the popular playboy in school.

He wasn’t just a typical playboy—he was popular for a good amount of reasons. He was, of course, hot, tall, with a pretty face, but he also had that effortless charisma. Easy-going, charming, funny when he wanted to be, and somehow still managed to keep decent grades. A good reputation wrapped in the kind of smile that made girls melt.

The only problem? His ongoing roster of girls. You honestly couldn’t pinpoint when or how he turned into such a flirt, it sort of just... happened. Maybe when high school hit, and puberty did him more favors than most. Whatever the case, he became that guy. The one you’d usually only see in dramas.

But it’s not like you had any business with that part of him. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

You two had always been close. Childhood friends. Neighbors. Playmates since you were practically in diapers. Your parents knew each other well, your families comfortable enough to arrange sleepovers that turned into routine. You grew up in each other’s houses, like siblings. Always “the duo.”

But while he bloomed into the guy everyone wanted to be around, you... didn’t exactly shine the same way. You were a little plain. A bit on the bland side compared to others, especially compared to him. While he stood tall, you were shorter than average, often overlooked in group photos. You didn’t have much of a figure either, which made changing in the locker room a quiet kind of dread. Flat and forgettable. You’d never say it out loud, but you noticed the difference.

He lit up every room he walked into. You were just... there. Next to him. Always next to him. Just not quite enough.

But it was fine.

You never made a big deal about any of it. It’s not like you wanted the spotlight anyway. You were comfortable being in the background, comfortable not having all eyes on you. Sure, sometimes you got a few questionable looks when you were with Mr. Charming, but you learned not to care. Let them wonder. You were used to being the quiet one beside the star of the show.

Though, truth be told, you sometimes wondered too. Why did he always stick around? Even when the popular kids were constantly egging him on to ditch you and join them, he never really did. He’d flirt and play around, sure, but he always came back to you. As if none of the sparkle out there was worth trading for late-night game sessions and instant noodles in your room.

"Geez, why’re you in my bedroom...? I thought you were about to go to the concert with them," you asked one evening, raising a brow as he sprawled across your bed like it was his.

“Nuh-uh. Don’t wanna,” he replied, eyes already glued to the game controller in his hand. “Plus, I wanna spend time playing games with you.”

You rolled your eyes at the time, but deep down, your chest tightened just a little. Warm and confused all at once.

It was things like that, small, innocent moments that led to the never-ending question you kept hearing from people.

“Are you guys dating?”

You always shut it down quickly, automatically, almost on instinct now.

“No. Definitely not. I’m not his type, we’re just friends.”

Because that was the truth, right?

Right?

***

He heard you say it all the time.

“We’re just friends.”

You said it so naturally, like breathing. Like it was a fact. Like it didn’t chip away at something in him every time those words slipped from your lips.

But damn, you didn’t make it easy to believe.

Not when you smiled at him like that. Not when you laughed at his dumb jokes, even the ones no one else caught. Not when you looked at him like he was just him, not the guy with a line of girls and a reputation he didn’t even care for anymore.

He told himself he was just being a good friend. That walking you home—even when it meant doubling back—was normal. That flicking some guy’s forehead for looking at you too long was harmless. Just a joke. Even if something in his chest burned every time.

And maybe he leaned in too close sometimes. Maybe he hovered near your space a little more than necessary. But he didn’t do it on purpose. Not at first.

It’s just... you never pulled away.

You made it feel like he belonged there.

And then there were the little things.

The way you always insisted you weren’t picky, but he still remembered how you liked your noodles with less broth. The way he always brought an extra hoodie because yeah, you always forgot yours, and he didn’t want you getting cold. The way he chose the seat next to you, even if the room was empty. Always you. Always your side.

You never questioned it.

Except that one time.

"Why’re you always hanging out with me? I'm not exactly a party."

He remembered how you asked it with a smile, trying to play it off.

But it hit him harder than he expected. So he gave you the truth. Or at least… part of it.

"Yeah, but you’re my favorite kind of quiet."

You laughed, of course. Brushed it off like it was nothing.

But he saw the way you looked down after. The way your cheeks went warm. And he carried that moment with him, filed it away with all the other things he never said out loud.

And when people asked if you two were dating and you laughed and said “No, I’m definitely not his type”—he never corrected you.

He should’ve. God, he wanted to.

But instead, he just smiled. That same tight, hollow smile.

Because you were wrong.

You were so wrong.

You weren’t loud, or bold, or flashy like the girls who chased him, sure. But none of them ever made him feel the way you did.

And you never saw it.

You looked at yourself and only saw “plain.” But he looked at you and saw home.

And he stayed.

He always stayed.

That part? You never really understood.

But maybe… he was just too much of a coward to make you.

***

It happened one weekend night.

Your parents were out of town for a wedding (you didn't want to go along), leaving you with the house to yourself. You’d planned to spend the evening curled up with snacks and a cheesy drama, nothing unusual. The house was quiet, comfortably so.

Until a knock came at the front door. Loud. Repetitive.

You opened it, and there he was, him. Tall, flushed, and very, very drunk.

“Heeeyyy,” he drawled, grinning lopsidedly as he leaned against the doorframe. “Youuuuuu. I missed you.”

You blinked, completely stunned. “Wait—what the hell? Are you drunk? Where were you?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stumbled forward, and your reflexes kicked in just in time to stop him from falling face-first into your entryway.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, arms flailing as you tried to support him. “Jeez, you’re heavy, what did you drink?”

He giggled. Actually giggled.

“Dunno,” he mumbled, dropping most of his weight onto you like a sleepy sloth. “They gave me... stuff. Tasted like cough syrup. Missed your face though…”

You groaned, knees nearly buckling under him as you fumbled to drag his dead weight toward the living room. “You missed my face? Seriously?”

He made a noise that was suspiciously close to a whine. “Yeah… You didn’t come to the party. I waited. Got bored. Left.”

“You should’ve just stayed and sobered up instead of dragging your drunk ass here.”

But he didn’t respond. Instead, he slurred something completely incoherent and nuzzled into your shoulder.

You finally managed to guide him to the couch, huffing and trying to keep your balance. But as you bent to lower him onto the cushions, he suddenly shifted his weight and with zero warning, pulled you down with him.

“W-Wait—!”

You fell right on top of him with a muffled oof, and before you could scramble away, his arms lazily wrapped around you, holding you there like a living body pillow.

“Comfy,” he mumbled against your hair. “You smell nice.”

Your brain short-circuited. “Wha— I— Get off!”

But he didn’t budge. In fact, he snuggled closer, warmth radiating off him as he held you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Y’know,” he whispered, voice thick with sleep and alcohol, “I don’t like it when you say you’re not my type.”

You froze.

“I hate it,” he added, softer now. “So dumb. You don’t even see how much I like being around you…”

Then silence. Deep, slow breaths. He was already half-asleep, completely unaware of the way your heart was trying to beat out of your chest.

You didn’t know what to say.

So you said nothing.

And stayed there, quietly listening to the sound of his breathing, with your face burning and your thoughts racing, wondering if he’d remember any of it in the morning.

Your heart was pounding like it wanted to escape your chest.

You could feel the heat of his breath against your collarbone, his arms still wrapped around you in a lazy hold. Everything about the moment was too much—the closeness, the weight of his words, the way he mumbled "I don’t like it when you say you’re not my type.”

It should’ve meant something. Should’ve stirred something deeper. And for a moment, it did.

But then, reality hit.

This was him—the same guy who’d flirted with three girls just last week, the same guy whose phone buzzed with messages from different names at ungodly hours. The guy who could have anyone he wanted with just a glance and a half-hearted smile.

Your brows furrowed, the haze of warmth in your chest beginning to cool.

Of course he was saying stuff like that. He was drunk. Sloppy. Blurry-eyed. Probably mistaking you for someone else, or worse, just saying the first sweet thing that came to mind because it was easy. Because that's what he does.

The warmth in your cheeks faded. Your eyes narrowed slightly as you stared.

You sighed.

“Stupid drunk,” you muttered, voice flat and unimpressed.

He didn’t react, already halfway to sleep, breathing soft and slow like a knocked-out puppy.

You stayed like that for a moment longer, caught between the ghost of his words and the bitter edge of your thoughts. Part of you wanted to believe what he said. But the other part? The part that had watched girl after girl fall for him and get tossed aside like it was nothing?

That part just wanted to roll its eyes.

Still, you didn’t move.

Because even if you didn’t believe him…

His arms around you still felt kind of nice.

***

You two acted normal after the morning of that. He probably didn't remember what he said, which was a good thing for you. Moved on, like nothing happened.

It's been a few days after that and you were talking about someone new—a guy from your class, apparently. You had that little spark in your voice, the one he usually only heard when you were talking about food or finding a cute dog online.

He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

“So yeah,” you said casually, biting into a snack as you scrolled on your phone, “he offered to walk me home the other day. I didn’t let him, obviously. But he was really nice about it. Kinda surprising.”

He sat beside you on your bed, leaning back on one hand, pretending not to care. “Oh? He did?”

“Yeah. I think he’s cool,” you said, voice light, unaware of how that single word stabbed into him harder than he wanted to admit.

He tilted his head, a smile pulling at his lips, one of those closed-eyed smiles he wore when he was being “harmless.”

“You do?”

You nodded, totally unfazed. “Mhm. He’s funny, smart. Kinda cute.”

There it was.

The trigger.

He sat up a little straighter, the smile never quite reaching his eyes now. “Funny, smart, cute?” he repeated, still with that casual tone. “Wow. Sounds like a real catch.”

You blinked at him. “Yeah, I guess. He’s easy to talk to.”

He snorted. “Right, right. Tall guy? Bit of a clean-cut look?”

You nodded again, chewing absently on your snack.

“Must be nice,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Bet he’s the type to open doors and call you ma’am too.”

You laughed. “I mean, manners aren’t exactly a red flag.”

“Oh yeah, totally,” he said, voice picking up heat now, even as he smiled. “So polite. Bet he irons his shirts and rehearses compliments in the mirror.”

You gave him a look, amused. “What is with you?”

“Nothing. Just sayin’—guy’s probably all talk. Bet he folds under pressure. Can’t even kill a spider without screaming.”

You raised a brow, “That’s a bold assumption.”

He scoffed, throwing his hands up, still smiling but not meaning it. “I’m taller, better looking, and I don’t have to try so hard to impress people.”

Your jaw dropped a little. “What?”

“I’m just saying,” he said, raising his bottle in mock-toast. “If you’re gonna go for someone ‘cool,’ maybe aim higher. You know. Someone who’s taller, funnier, better-looking, less try-hard. Maybe someone who’s known you since you were five. Just throwing that out there.”

“Huh?”

“And I bet my dick’s bigger than his."

You choked on your drink, “What?!”

He blinked. “What?”

You stared at him, stunned, and he just gave a tiny shrug like oops, did I say that out loud?

You laughed, shaking your head, brushing it all off like it was just another one of his weird ego trips. “Okay, weirdo.”

He didn’t respond right away.

He just watched you, jaw tightening slightly as you turned your attention back to your phone, entirely missing the storm he was trying to hide behind casual smirks and crude jokes.

You didn’t get it, because you didn’t think he looked at you that way.

***

After that conversation, things didn’t exactly change—but they didn’t quite go back to normal either.

He still walked you home. Still flopped onto your bed like it was his own. Still stole your snacks and your charger and your last bit of patience on most days.

But sometimes, you’d catch him watching you a little too long.

Not in the obvious way. Not like the way other guys did, staring with boldness and intentions written all over their faces.

No—he did it quietly. Like he was trying to memorize the way you smiled when you thought no one was looking. Like he was trying to figure something out about you… or maybe about himself.

Then there were the little shifts.

He started texting back slower when you told him you were talking to that guy again. Didn’t say anything harsh, but his replies were short. Blunt.

And when that same guy approached you one afternoon in the hallway, he just so happened to slide in between you two, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

“Didn’t know you liked hanging out with traffic cones,” he muttered with a lopsided grin, nodding at the guy’s neon hoodie.

You laughed nervously, brushing it off. “You’re so dumb.”

But the guy left after that. Didn’t even try to keep the conversation going.

And when you asked him what that was about, he just shrugged.

“Didn’t like his face.”

You rolled your eyes. “You don’t like anyone’s face lately.”

He smiled. “Yours is okay, I guess.”

And then there were those times when you were on your phone, texting, and he’d lean over your shoulder too quickly.

“Who’s that?”

“No one.”

“Hmm. No one has a name?”

You sighed, brushing him away. “Why are you so nosy lately?”

But he’d never answer. He’d just flop backward onto the couch or your bed and throw an arm over his eyes like he was bored. Or tired. Or both.

But you felt it.

Something had shifted.

He was getting quieter about the things he didn’t say. Quieter about how he stayed so close but kept himself just far enough that you wouldn’t really notice.

***

You didn’t say anything about it to him.

Not when you got the number. Not when you exchanged a few late-night texts with the guy from class. And definitely not when he asked who kept lighting up your phone and you lied—said it was your cousin, or some stupid group chat.

Because… if he wanted to keep treating you like you were just his best friend, then fine. Maybe you’d stop waiting. You were plain ol Jane anyway, at this rate you'd end up alone. Not like anyone would like you if you don't even try or put any effort to yourself. Maybe it was time to try something different.

Someone different.

So you said yes to a date.

It wasn’t a big deal. Just a small place near the station, casual, low-pressure. You wore a little lip tint. Changed your shirt twice. Checked your phone four times on the way there.

You even left the house without telling him.

Which was rare.

Because somehow, despite how frustrated you were, you still felt a little guilty doing something like this without him knowing. Scrap that! You shouldn't feel guilty at all, it's not like you're his girlfriend or something. Plus, this was your first date, you shouldn't even think of him.

You got there early. Sat at the little table. Smoothed your skirt out. Sipped water slowly.

And waited.

Then waited some more.

Minutes passed. Then a half-hour. Then an hour.

No messages. No call. Just… silence.

At some point, you stopped pretending to check your phone like there was something new. You just sat there, hands folded, eyes distant. Trying not to let it sink in too hard, but it did anyway.

He didn’t show.

No explanation.

No reason.

Just a reminder that maybe you really weren’t the type to be chosen after all.

By the time you got home, it was dark. You kicked your shoes off a little harder than usual, holding back the pressure behind your eyes. The house was quiet. Your parents weren’t home. Just you. And the lingering ache of rejection sitting heavy in your chest.

Maybe you shouldn't gotten your hopes up.

And then you heard the knock on your door. You already knew who it was.

He walked in like he always did, with a lazy grin and a snack in hand. You stared at him like you hadn’t just spent an hour trying to convince yourself you were worth showing up for.

“Yo. You were gone,” he said, tossing a drink on your desk like usual. “Didn’t text me back. Something happened?”

You looked up from where you sat on your bed, your voice dull. “No. I just… needed some air.”

He paused. The grin faltered, but only for a split second.

“…Did you go somewhere?”

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “Just errands. Nothing interesting.”

He didn’t question it. He trusted you too easily. Or maybe he didn’t want to push. Instead, he stretched out beside you, letting out a sigh. “People are exhausting. I don’t get how you deal with them.”

You shrugged, keeping your voice light. “Guess I just have more patience.”

He turned his head to look at you then—really looked. Eyes soft, searching.

“You okay?”

You smiled, quick and small. “Yeah. Just tired.”

And that was the thing with him. He’d always pull back just when he was about to see something too real. Like he was afraid of what he might find if he looked too closely.

So, he let it go.

He reached for the controller on your desk, tossing it in your lap. “Wanna game ‘til we pass out?”

You nodded.

Because what else could you do?

You couldn’t tell him your date never showed up. You couldn’t tell him that for a brief moment, you thought maybe—just maybe—you could be wanted by someone else. That someone else could make you forget the way he made you feel without ever touching you.

***

Of course, he knew.

He always knew.

He noticed the shift before you even realized it yourself—how you started texting a little less when he was around, how you smiled down at your phone and quickly locked it when he leaned over. How you’d hum that soft little tune you always did when you were nervous or excited.

It didn’t take much.

One glance at your screen while you left it unattended. One name. One stupid string of texts about Friday and coffee and maybe I’ll see you there? :)

And it pissed him off more than he wanted to admit.

Not because he thought you weren’t allowed to date. Not even because he thought the guy was anything special.

No.

It was because you thought someone else could understand you better than he did. That someone else could earn what he’d spent years protecting.

You didn’t know it, but he was the reason most guys never got near you in the first place.

He wasn’t exactly subtle—especially in high school. Any guy who so much as looked at you too long got “the talk.” A casual hand around your shoulders. A stare that went a little too cold. A whispered “She’s not interested” even if you hadn’t said it yourself.

He made it hard for anyone to approach. On purpose.

Because you were his.

Not in the possessive, boyfriend kind of way. At least, that’s what he told himself. But in the I know every part of you, and no one else ever will kind of way.

So when this new guy started sniffing around, he didn’t wait.

He caught the guy behind the gym after class, right where the hallway cameras didn’t reach.

The guy flinched when he turned the corner and saw him standing there—arms crossed, calm smile on his face like this was just another casual run-in. But his eyes… his eyes were cold.

“Hey,” he said smoothly, stepping into his path.

The guy hesitated, confused. “Uh. Hey?”

“You’ve been texting her.”

The guy blinked, caught off guard. “I—what?”

He took another step closer. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve been trying to take her out. Planning something for Friday, right? Café date?”

The guy laughed nervously, confused. “Yeah? I mean… she said yes.”

That smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Yeah. She’s nice like that.”

Then the smile dropped.

“But let’s get one thing straight.”

The guy’s brows pulled together. “What are you—?”

He grabbed the front of his collar, shoving him hard against the wall, voice dropping low and sharp.

“You’re not gonna show up.”

The guy froze. “What the hell is your problem?!”

“I don’t like repeating myself.” He leaned in close, breath calm and voice terrifyingly even. “You’re going to leave her alone. You’re going to block her. And you’re never going to speak to her again.”

“You’re insane—!”

He smiled again, twisting the guy’s shirt tighter. “No. You’re stupid. See, here’s the thing. I’m the popular guy. Good grades. Everyone loves me.” He tilted his head, voice dropping even further. “You? You’re a background character. No one’s gonna believe some awkward little shit over me. You tell anyone I threatened you, and all I have to do is smile and say, ‘Who, me?’ And everyone will laugh and move on.”

He let go with a shove, stepping back as the guy gasped, fixing his shirt.

“You can call it jealousy. Obsession. Whatever makes you feel better,” he said, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve. “But here’s what it really is, I’m not letting someone like you anywhere near her.”

The guy stared at him, chest heaving.

He walked away with a casual wave. “Don’t forget. Friday? You’re busy~”

The guy didn’t show up.

And that night, when he dropped by your room and found you curled up and quiet, wearing his hoodie like a safety blanket, something in his chest twisted.

You didn’t say a word about it.

But he knew.

He could see the flicker of hurt behind your eyes. The soft smile you gave him—fake, practiced. The way you brushed him off like it didn’t matter. He wanted to feel satisfied. Victorious.

But it just made him feel worse.

Because no matter how much he tried to control things… he couldn’t stop that sadness in your eyes.

You didn’t even know it was him. Didn’t even know that all this time, the reason you felt so overlooked, so invisible was because he’d made sure of it.

Not because he wanted to hurt you. But because he couldn’t stand the idea of someone else seeing what he saw.

You were his quiet. His warmth. His constant.

And if someone else took that away from him?

He didn’t know who he’d be.

***

It started small.

You noticed it when you caught him glaring at someone you’d only spoken to once. When your texts started mysteriously going unanswered. When people who used to be friendly now looked at you like they didn’t want to get involved.

At first, you thought you were just overthinking it. Paranoia, maybe. You were introverted, bad at reading people. You kept to yourself more often than not, maybe that just meant people naturally faded away.

But then there were moments.

Moments where you caught the sharpness behind his smile when someone mentioned another guy’s name. Moments where his “jokes” about being possessive didn’t feel so funny anymore. Moments where he looked at you too long, too quietly, like he was thinking something he couldn’t say out loud.

And then that night—everything shifted.

He was in your room again. Like always. Sprawled out on your bed, head resting against your pillow like it belonged to him. You were on your floor, flipping through old game cases, trying to ignore the heavy beat of your heart.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, tone light but eyes tracking every move you made.

You shrugged. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

You didn’t answer right away. You didn’t really know how to. Your mind had been a mess lately, spinning with everything you didn’t understand. Everything you were starting to understand.

“Do you…” you hesitated, eyes on the case in your hand. “Do you ever think people avoid me because of you?”

He sat up. Slowly.

“Where’s that coming from?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered. “It just feels like… people don’t even try anymore.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then he stood. Walked over. Sat beside you on the floor, shoulder brushing yours. You didn’t look at him. You felt like you couldn’t.

You looked up at him, finally and your breath caught.

He was quiet for a second. Then he said, voice low, “Maybe I like it that way.”

And then he kissed you.

Because his eyes weren’t teasing. They were serious. Dark. Familiar in a way that suddenly felt foreign.

Just like that.

No warning. No permission.

His lips were on yours—soft, warm, dangerous. It wasn’t rushed, but it wasn’t gentle either. It was sure. Like he’d been waiting. Like he’d done it a thousand times in his head already.

You froze.

For a second, your brain short-circuited. Everything blanked. Your body didn’t know whether to lean in or pull away. Because you’d thought about this before. God, had you thought about it. Wondered, dreamed, ached over it. But now that it was real…

You remembered the girls. The rumors. The way he never looked twice at them after he got bored.

You pulled back, breath catching. “Don’t.”

He blinked at you, surprised, maybe even a little hurt.

You stood, fast. Hands shaking. “You should go.”

He didn’t move.

Instead, he gave you a small, crooked smile. The kind you used to find charming. The kind that now made your stomach twist.

“Why?” he said softly. “I wanna stay the night.”

You stared at him.

He tilted his head, like this was all just a game, “We can play boyfriend and girlfriend again,” he said, voice low, teasing. “Like we used to when we were kids. Remember that?”

You took a step back. “That was pretend.”

“So~?” He stood too now, closing the space between you. “Let’s pretend again. This time I won’t leave.”

Your chest tightened.

You want to push him away, your mind reeling with the memories of him being a playboy.

“I said you should go,” you repeated, trying to keep your voice firm.

And you hated that your heart skipped. That your body remembered the kiss more than your mind could process it. But your gut? Your gut screamed something was wrong. You took another step back, putting space between you.

He didn’t move. His eyes tracked you like prey, something unreadable flickering beneath the surface.

"You used to let me sleep over all the time," he said softly, like he was reminding you of a rule you were suddenly breaking. “What changed?”

Everything, you wanted to say.

But instead, your voice came out smaller than you intended. “That was when we were kids.”

A slow grin tugged at his lips—but it wasn’t his usual smile. It was something darker. Almost sad.

“You’re acting like I’m a stranger.”

You clenched your fists, unsure why your throat felt tight. “You are. Lately... I don’t know what you are.”

Something in his jaw twitched. The grin dropped.

And then, suddenly he stepped forward.

You barely had time to flinch before you felt his hands on your shoulders, gently but firmly guiding you backward. Your knees hit the edge of your bed. You stumbled. Sat down.

His body was close. Too close.

Your breath hitched.

“I don’t want you to be scared of me,” he murmured, crouching slightly so he could look you in the eyes. “I’d never hurt you. You know that, right?”

You nodded slowly, heart hammering. But the unease wouldn’t leave.

He placed a hand beside your thigh on the bed, leaning in.

“Then why are you shaking?”

You didn't answer.

Because part of you didn’t know if it was fear… or something else. Something even more dangerous—doubt.

You tried to stand again, but he didn’t move back. He was watching you too closely. Like he was trying to read your mind. Like he already knew what was in it.

"I know you're confused," he said. "But deep down, you've always felt something too. I just had the guts to do something about it."

You opened your mouth, to argue, to tell him to leave again but nothing came out. Instead, you whispered, "I don't know what you're doing anymore."

His expression cracked for a moment—something bitter bleeding through.

“I’m doing what I should’ve done a long time ago.”

And for the first time, he didn’t try to mask it.

[gracieheartspedro]

Me and The Devil

pairing: qz!joel miller x fem!reader

how to help the palestinians and what it means to write for the last of us characters

description: joel seeks out revenge on the man who stole from him. he finds you in the process. 14k words

warnings: mdni!, dark content, DUBCON, joel is a bad man, no mention of age (but joel is older than reader), murder, weapon use (g*ns), mentions of drug and alcohol, excessive alcohol consumption from reader, nicknames for reader (sweetheart, little one, etc.), stockholm syndrome, forced withdrawals from alcohol, mentions of non-con, forced proximity, physical violence/assault, reader is freaky and insane, reader has a vagina and boobs, sub!reader, dom!joel, orgasm denial, masturbation, unprotected p-in-v, oral (m receiving), fingering, throat fucking, cumplay/cum eating, dirty talk, name calling, spanking. PLEASE LISTEN TO THE WARNINGS.

author’s note: hi everyone! this fic came to me literally like... january of last year. it sat in the docs forever. and then my wonderful and beautiful friend @amanitacowboy told me to pick it back up and it spiraled from there. she also helped me edit, so i've forever indebted to you, lindsey!! it's probably the meanest joel you will get from me. some of the story has loose ends, but it's intentional *brow wiggle* (; also thank you @pedgito for listening to me blab about this shit forever. lindsey and ali have heard every detail and tidbit in this fic, I swear. thank you for putting up with me! anyway, hope you dirty lil whores enjoy this one!

You thought he was a myth. 

The crime-riddled streets of the Boston QZ seemed to lace different stories about him together. You could not understand how a pill dealer could also kill countless guards and top honchos. People would conjure up the wildest lies about the man, so you were always morbidly curious. 

You would sit in your apartment organizing the weapons you and your partner laundered through the streets of the QZ, pondering what it would be like to meet the man. You were never the one to deliver the weapons, only ensuring you were getting what you paid for. Your partner, Roger, would dispense the weapons to God knows who. 

It was enough to get you by. You never ran out of rations and your alcohol dependency was never a problem. 

You were too young to be this beat down. That’s what Roger would tell you, at least. 

But the truth of the matter was that before the QZ, you were free-roaming the US with no purpose. You killed a lot of people. When you arrived at the QZ with an ounce of ‘normalcy’ within your reach, you promised yourself never again. The darkness you harnessed would have to be forced down, sitting in the very pits of your being. 

When you met Roger, he just needed someone to live in his apartment and watch his stash when he was gone. You did just that and eventually, you formed an odd bond with the older man. He would let you count his rations and drink his liquor. Four years later, you depended on him to bring you back alcohol in return for your watchful eye. If a shipment came in late, you would panic, thinking your addiction would get cut off. You needed something to numb the scrambling thoughts, violent tendencies, and crippling anxiety. 

After one tough deal, Roger stumbles back to your shared apartment, venting about the man. 

“Fuckin’ Joel screwed me again. Gave him two .22’s and the motherfucker shorted me a bottle of Oxys.”

You were already too far gone to listen to the rest of the rant, finding yourself dozing off on the couch. The alcohol too often consumed you, sending you into dark nightmares that would have you waking up in the dead of night screaming.

By the time you woke up, though, Roger was no where to be found. Him being gone was not the worrisome part, though. 

No, what worried you was all the drugs and guns he left out on display. 

Springing up from your spot on the couch, you instantly get to work hiding the paraphernalia. When you grab a handgun from the table where you remember Roger sitting before you close your eyes, you feel eyes on you. 

You are still drunk and now your stomach is churning. You feel like you may throw up. 

There’s a figure standing by the window. Too tall to be Roger. 

Your instant dazed reaction is to hold the gun up, and point at the large man who stands in your messy bedroom. You blink away the sleep that’s still in your eyes and stumble a bit as the intoxication still riddles your bones.

“You were sleepin’ when I came in,” His voice is slow and deep and it sends chills down your forearms. 

“Who are you?”

You managed to sound pretty confident, even though you were scared shitless. You had not been so rattled since you almost got bit by some infected a year ago. You can make out his clothes, but that’s about it. Dirty jeans, an old green flannel with holes, and dark brown boots.

“‘M Joel. Roger ever told you about me?”

He finally turns to face you. You’re shocked to see a handsome dark-haired man and not some damaged old mug. His eyebrows are perpetually furrowed it seems, but you could also tell he was annoyed you were pointing a loaded gun at him. 

You were so terrified, you could not even speak. 

He puts a hand up, holding it over the barrel of the gun. “You shouldn’t be pointin’ that at me, sweetheart.”

You just nod, slowly putting down the weapon. You did not want problems with him. You knew what he was capable of. 

You also knew your aim would be off if you did try to shoot, still feeling like you were rocking on a boat. 

“Sorry,” You mutter, bringing the gun down and to your side. You swallow hard as his eyes rake your entire body, “Yes, he’s told me about you. Other people have, too.”

He looks pleased with that response. He steps away from the window and begins to saunter over to you. His footfalls are heavy. You assume it is because of his filthy brown boots. Or maybe it was the intimidation factor he was playing for you. He did not need to scare you, because you were fucked up and not on your game. He could kill you at any time. Why has he not killed you yet? 

“What have people said about me?”

You gulp, sucking in a whiff of his musk. He somehow still smelled good, even though it looked like he had been rolling in the dirt. His hair was pretty greasy but the curls laid perfectly on both sides. He looks like a guy you would avoid in the street, especially in this QZ. The attractive ones were usually the ones who would take advantage of any woman who looked their way. 

“They said you’re dangerous,” You manage, holding the grip of the gun a bit tighter, “That you have killed a-a lot of people.”

“Yeah,” Is all he says, before stepping an inch closer, “Yeah, I have.”

You can not look away from him. You are so rattled at the fact that he is good-looking. You vividly remember hearing a couple of dealers talk about how formidable he was and for some reason, you mocked up a man who looked like The Joker from Batman. 

He inspects you and your gun and crosses his arms, almost like he is guarding himself. “Now tell me… What did Roger say when he came home last night? I need to know how to handle this situation without spillin’ any more blood.”

You start to panic a bit, but you know you can’t be rash with your emotions. You did not want to be more blood that Joel Miller spills. You did not need to be a notch in his belt. 

But you also did not want to rat out Roger. He had done so much for you and you knew deep down, he cared for you in his own sick ways. If you told Joel everything, would that come at cost to him? 

What were you thinking? He was a dead man. 

He notices your demeanor change and his eyes soften. “Don’t worry, little one. I don’t kill just anyone. Unless they cross me. You haven’t crossed me, have you?”

You do not know why or how, but tears start to spill from your eyes. You know you are not guilty of doing him wrong, but you have heard before that it does not matter in his eyes. By proxy, you are associated with the man who fucked him over. You would be next.

“I have not crossed you, Mr. Miller,” You start to slur a bit, your face getting wet quickly with more tears, “Roger just said you fucked him over. I was too fucked up to hear the rest. Said you didn’t give him enough oxys.”

Joel raises one hand and grabs the bottom of your chin. His skin is rough and callous against your sheeny skin. His whole aura gives off danger. You are too afraid to look at him. You’re trembling, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“That fucker stole them all, that’s why. When I tried to get him to confess his wrongdoings, fucker dipped out of there,” He explains, using his thumb to push one of your falling tears, “We followed him and luckily he swallowed too many pills even to realize we were breaking in. You were pretty out of it, too.”

“I w-was d-drinking last n-night,” You knew you had to get ahold of yourself. You were like sand in his hands, slipping right through his fingers.  You were so easy to get information out of. “Where did you take him?”

Joel clicks his tongue, tilting your face so your eyes would look into his, “Don’t worry bout that, sweetheart.”

“Is he going to die?”

“Probably.” He states plainly, his eyes scanning your figure, “You’re going to show me where his stash is and ‘m gonna take back what’s mine.”

Your heart sinks to the floor. Roger was all you had. Without him running the guns and ammo, you had no way of income. You could not do these things yourself, especially now that Joel Miller knew who you were. No one would come near you when they heard he paid you and Roger a visit.  

“I’ll show you,” You respond, trying to steady your voice. “Are you going to kill me?”

It was selfish. With him admitting to having to kill Roger, you knew you were fucked either way. Without a dealer or runner, you had no earnings. You were going to rot away in this apartment, dying from starvation. Joel killing you would be a mercy killing and from the sounds of it, he did not show much mercy.

“Just tell me where everything is.”

You shake your head as you step back away from him. Your instinct is to hand him the gun in your hands, proving to him that you are not a real threat. You grab the barrel and give him the grip, shaking it in his direction. “Here.”

He stares at you, the divots on his forehead still prominent. He slowly lifts his flannel. You first see his hairy tummy and then you see he has a 9mm strapped in his waistband. “Don’t need it, sweetheart.”

You keep the gun extended out to him, “You can have another.”

There’s a beat of silence, a bitterness in the air.

“Are you stalling?” Your blood runs cold. You were not, you were just afraid and unsure of yourself. You also assumed he would want your weapon so you would not use it against him. So many assumptions run through your head, that you are not even aware you are creating more uncertainty for him. 

Your eyes drop, looking at the gun. “No, sir. Here… Follow me.”

You turn on your heels, walking back out to the dining room, right off the kitchen. You scoot the table away from the rug, the ammo and pills on the table vibrating as it moves. Joel watches your every move, the same unimpressed expression written on his face. You put the gun down on the table before you get on your knees at the corner of the rug. You pull it back, revealing a large trap door Roger installed before you moved in with him. It had a deadlock on it that was only able to be opened with a code. 

You think for a moment, your muddled brain trying to remember the numbers.

8-3-6-7-1-9-6-9. 

You say it out loud as you open it. When it clicks, you pull down and unhook it. As you toss it away from you, you hear Joel clear his throat. “Move.”

You instantly throw your hands up, crawling back onto your knees and sliding away from the trap door. You glance back at the tall man, seeing he has his gun trained on you. You did not even hear him pull it out. You sit back, pressing your shoulders into the wall opposite of the entrance of the storage cut-out. It’s lined with different drugs, handguns, some shotguns, and lots of pornography. 

Joel chuckles darkly, looking into the unit. “Seems like you two are freaky, huh?”

You never assumed Joel thought Roger was your lover, but the inclination made you want to throw up. You shake your head, “He was. Not me.”

His addiction never really affected you in any way. He saved those vices for when he was alone. You do recall one night accidentally walking in on him doing something very disturbing that was forever etched inside your brain. Jerking off over a pillow with a magazine full of very young girls. You never looked at him the same way after that. 

Roger was sick in the head, but he gave you drugs. He gave you alcohol. He gave you a place to stay. 

Joel clicks his tongue, crouching down to loot through your stash. “You’re too young for’a man his age, anyway. Too pretty.”

The hairs on your arms and shoulders raise at such a comment. You cock your head to the side, watching the man curiously. He thought you were pretty. 

He does not say anything else the rest of the time he is picking up bags of pills. He inspects each one, sniffing some of the bags as he does. The illumination from the window in the dining room lights up his face with golden stripes. It made you take note of his amber eyes. They were not dark brown in the sunlight. You can hear people on the street from the partially shattered panels, some dragged-out footsteps, and some hushed conversations. Screaming for help would be no use, people hear women screaming in the streets in broad daylight and do nothing. This QZ was not about justice. It was every man for himself. 

Joel stands up, tucking his gun back into his waistband. His eyes laser toward you and you feel his gaze pierce you. “Stand up, you’re comin’ with me.”

You do not try to hide your fear. While you knew better, you silently hoped that he would just shoot you here, let you drown in your own blood in the comfort of your own home. But he was going to take you to a secondary location. You would be dying on his terms. 

You push yourself up off the floor, your feet stuttering as you walk over to him. “Can I put on some shoes?”

He nods almost robotically. He watches you carefully as you drag yourself across the living room. You start to realize how torn up the place really is. Roger must have put up a fight because the side table is in pieces on the rug. You step around the splinters and grab your boots. After you tie up your laces, Joel is yanking you up by your bicep and dragging you into the dark alley your apartment opens up into. You were so fucked. 

-

Joel is a harsh man, but he does not kill you. 

You did not understand why he kept you around. You were eating his food, occupying a room in his apartment, and you were going through horrific withdrawals. He refused to give you an ounce of alcohol. The first couple nights at Joel’s, you were so sick that you violently shook for a whole day straight. You begged Joel through the door to shoot you and put you out of your misery. It was the worst feeling in the world. Your heart felt like it may beat out of your chest. 

After the third day, your shakes had subsided and your mind was a bit more clear. You still felt like shit, but it was tolerable enough that you just laid in bed and stared at the floral wallpaper in your new bedroom.

You did not mind being spared, but being locked away was almost worse than death. You noted the mold smell the day you arrived in Joel’s apartment. You could not stop smelling it, no matter what you did. You kept telling yourself you would get used to it, but it always lingered.  He restricted you to a bedroom where the window was completely caged. You had spotty natural light that only really peaked through in the evenings. 

Joel would bring you a small meal every morning, usually stale bread and a mug of water. On rare occasions, his footsteps would stomp over to your rotting wooden door and he’d unlock the door to feed you for lunch. That only happened twice, though, and it was a bare-bones meal. But every night, right after sunset, he would barge in with a Spam sandwich and a cup of ice water. You would sit on the rusty framed-out bed as he sat in the armchair in the corner of the room by the window. Occasionally he would have a sandwich for himself, other times he would just sit there and watch you slowly eat the meal he provided.

And for some sick reason, you always thanked him. 

He would never reply, his jaw slack and arms crossed. You only heard his voice a handful of times since he brought you here. 

After two weeks of isolation and staring contests over dinner, Joel finally asked you a question after you finished your Spam sandwich. “Do you want to shower?”

You had not washed yourself in weeks and you could smell yourself. The idea of being able to shower was so appealing, that you actually smiled as he asked it. 

Joel guided you across his expansive apartment into his bedroom. The entire place was falling apart, but Joel’s room seemed completely untouched by the times. It smelled like pine as soon as you bounded through the threshold. His bed was made up perfectly, with two pillows on each side. His side table only had one single lamp and a novel that’s title was in another language. Joel snatched you away from soaking up his oasis and forced you into the dated bathroom. He shuts the door behind him, clicking when he rattles the handle. 

You swallow, “Are you joining me?”

He shakes his head, turning and grabbing the bar of soap on the edge of the vanity. “No, ‘m just making sure you don’t try anything.”

You narrow your eyes at him, not completely believing him. Joel had not made any moves towards you, so you are not sure why you are suddenly skeptical of his intentions. Even if he did try something, you knew you could not do anything about it. 

You were at Joel’s mercy. You did not completely comprehend why he was locking you down in his home and you did not get why you were just going along with it. You used to be a ferocious fighter, but after everything with Roger, you did not know where else you would go if it was not with Joel. 

You turn your back to him, hesitantly undressing. Your clothes were disgusting, stained with sweat marks that you left when you were going through withdrawals. As you drop them onto the cold tile, Joel clears his throat. 

You cannot remember the last time you were nude in front of another man. Another person. It had to be over 10 years. “I got ya some new clothes. I’ll grab them when you get in the shower.”

You just nod. While you were grateful for new clothes, you were still confused as to why you were here. As you turn on the water, you peek back at Joel. He is not looking at you, he’s looking out the window. His hands are tucked in his pocket and you have truly never seen him look at peace. His face is relaxed and his shoulders are eased down. 

You use your hand to gauge the water’s lukewarm temperature before you slip in behind the curtain. The bathtub is an off-white color. As soon as you get under the shower head, you note the dirt and grime combining with the water and spinning down the drain. 

You use the bar of soap Joel gave you to clean off your frigid skin. The scent is just a hint of lavender. It must have been an old bar and with age, the smell has faded. As you massage it in, you hear the door creak open and click shut. You assume it’s Joel doing what he told you and then your mind circles back to your previous observation. 

Why is Joel doing this?

You ponder the idea that maybe he is a sadist psychopath who just likes the idea of having someone held captive. But you had heard a lot about this man, and while he was a murderer, you never heard about him kidnapping or hurting women. If anything, he was easier on women who did him wrong. 

But you were not a woman who did him wrong. You did nothing to him. You simply were in the wrong place at the wrong time. You did exactly what he asked and then you went along with his plans for you. 

Maybe he was just lonely?

His deep voice slices through your thoughts, “You almost done in there?”

You nod even though he cannot see you. “Yeah, I’m almost done.”

You rinse the soap out of your hair and turn off the faucet. You peek your head out from the curtain and Joel stands there with a towel in his hands. He laid a pile of clothes on the sink and you noticed that your clothes were gone from off the floor. Joel extends the towel to you and you reach around and grab it. 

It’s scratchy, but it absorbs all the beads of water off your body. You wrap it around your body, tucking the end under your right armpit. You pull back the curtain and Joel is still standing there. 

You step over the edge of the tub, letting some of the droplets run onto the cold tiles. Joel’s eyes never leave yours, but as soon as you step towards the clothes on the counter, his eyes trickle down your body. 

Your heart picks up when his hand comes up to your cheek. Your natural reaction is to flinch away from him, but his motion is quicker than you. He wipes away a water drip off your cheekbone, pulling it down to your jawline. “All better?” He asks, his voice low. You nod, sheepishly. “Yes, thank you.”

He smiles. 

“So polite. So pretty.”

And then he leaves you alone, clicking the knob shut as he exits the bathroom.

You get dressed quickly. Joel somehow knows your exact sizes because the cargo pants, long sleeve, and undergarments are a perfect fit. You never even managed to find clothes to fit you this well when you were doing your own stealing and looting. 

His words rattle around in your head and you start to panic a bit. You start to formulate a plan. You had to stop thanking him. You had to stick up for yourself a bit more. You had to see where your boundaries were with him. You had to figure out his motive. 

It was scary. Daunting. But you knew you could not live like this much longer. 

You reach out for the door, but the knob was already turned and being pulled forward. Joel stands by the entrance of the door and you stride out, your head held a bit higher than usual. His face shows confusion, but you do not falter. 

“I’m still hungry.”

It is like all the air is sucked out of the room. Suddenly, Joel is nine feet tall and you are an inch short. Your voice was confident enough to pass, but it was like he saw right through you.

“I fed you.”

You swallow, your eyes averted from his face for a moment, “Can I have a snack?”

His frown is more memorable than his smile. It is a permanent fixture in his big scary man aesthetic. 

“A snack?”

You almost want to laugh at his condescending tone. But you also realize how you are playing with fire and at any moment this man could snap and kill you. You had to know if you were able to test him, see if you could truly ask him for something and he would be willing to give it to you. This would be your lesson. 

So you nod, very matter-of-factly.

He is looking at you like you have four heads, but he bites.

“Fine, I’ll getcha a snack. Why don’t you have a seat on my bed?”

His cadence is giving him away. You can already tell he is not good at hiding his annoyance. You hesitantly walk over to his bed, plopping down rather obnoxiously. Your feet swipe the rug like a child’s would as you wait for him to return to the room. When he comes back, he has a single piece of beef jerky between his fingers. 

You narrow your eyes at the so-called snack. You hated cured meats and you were sure to let him know that. “Jerky?”

You are really testing him now. And you can tell by the way his chest rises and falls in one quick breath.

“You seem very ungrateful, little one.”

You reach out to grab the bark but he snatches it back in a quick motion. You crinkle your eyebrows at him, trying your best to feign innocence. With the way he is staring daggers at you, you should fear his next move. 

“Beg.”

You feel like your chest cannot take any more air in. Your hand is still hanging in the air, trying to reach out to his offering, but his hand is holding it far from your grasp. 

You do not want to beg, this standoff would be part of your resistance to his captivity. In your mind, something would have to give way eventually. You could not sit around and just take his crumbs and passive weird behavior. So, you shake your head no.

“Go to your room. You’ve pissed me off,” His tone is abrupt and rushed. You do not want to push this further, knowing that you have made it an inch with him and were not completely ready to run the mile. You needed to game plan your next move.

You stand up, walking painfully slow to the door and leaving his space. His steps trail behind you, ensuring you did what he asked you to do. You can smell his musk, which makes the hairs on your arms stand up. He smelled good for a man as rugged as him. 

When you reach your bedroom door, you grab the handle and turn around to face him. He stares down at you, his pupils dilated. 

You make one last plea. “So, no snack?”

You regret saying it immediately. He puts the jerky bit up to his lips, opens them deliberately, and takes a huge bite of the meat. It pulls apart with a crackle and watching it, you know it probably would hurt your teeth if you did something like that. His flexed jaw is a lot stronger than yours. His action is animalistic in a way, reminding you of a lion tearing into an antelope. 

And for some reason, it brings a rise of heat from your shoulders to your cheeks. Watching his teeth gnaw on the jerky sends your mind traveling to la la land. 

His voice forces you out of your thoughts. “Go to bed. Now.”

-

He stopped bringing you breakfast. Instead of your usual routine, Joel started giving you one small meal a day. You start to resent him and by the looks he is giving you, he is still bitter over your whole scheme with the snack. 

You woke up hungry, which only started your day off wrong. You are regretting ever testing him in the first place. You were biting the same hand that literally fed you. The more you think about it, the more you realize that you should be grateful he is even keeping you alive. Why are you even trying to rock the boat with him? In some weird twisted way, he gave you a second chance. You were completely sober from alcohol going on a month now. And while most nights you grieved the burn of it going down your throat, your mind was more clear. You felt more grounded in reality. You did not want to go back to the way you were. Sure, you were hungry, but you were not plastered and sleeping 18 hours a day, and that seemed like a fair enough trade. 

But the ache of your chest started to set in. You were feeling impulsive. You do not clearly remember how your body felt before you started drinking so much, but you do recall the aggression that would riddle your bones from time to time. The knee jerk reaction just to let loose. It had gotten you in some very sticky situations, but it was a sort of rush you craved. 

After three days of the stalemate, he brought you the Spam sandwich and a short cup of water for dinner. You do not look at him when he walks into the room, and you do not thank him. 

You had to get on his good side again. Somehow.

“Are you on a hunger strike or somethin’?” His deep Southern drawl always extending out the end of his sentences. You loved hearing it.

You shake your head no.

“You stopped giving me breakfast,” You grumble, reaching out to the plate he offers you. He shrugs, plopping down in his usual chair in the corner. He does not have his dinner in hand tonight. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. 

“You were bein’ an ungrateful little bitch. I am offerin’ you a second chance here and you are not appreciative,” He states, almost sighing. You grit your teeth at his name for you, but you decide it is not worth the argument. 

You take a bite of the stale bread. The moan of your stomach subsides for a moment. 

“I am appreciative…”

He sits back, his shoulders flexing under his jean button-up. You scan his body, noting his dirty clothes and muddy brown boots. He was always tracking things into your bedroom from the bottom of his shoes and it ate away at your need for wanting things more clean. Your sober mind needed tidiness. 

He grunts, “Doesn’t seem that way, sweetheart. Didn’t thank me just now.”

You try to get your thoughts in order before you respond. You take one careful bite into the sandwich, trying to read the man sitting in front of you. He got you sober. He feeds you and houses you even though he could have shot you in the face for being involved with a man who screwed him over. And he is not a bad view to look at when you eat. 

“Thank you, Joel.”

He stands up and saunters over to you. As you swallow your bite, your eyes trail up his large frame. You start to worry a bit. Maybe he did not see your answer as genuine. 

His thumb begins to trace the outline of your jaw, before slowly making its way up to your cheekbone. You grasp onto the plate tighter, your eyes piercing his as he focuses in on your lips. When you think he’s about to pull away, his palm goes over your mouth and his hand squeezes your cheeks together. His grip on you is painful, his fingers sinking into the divots of your upper jaw. 

“You are receptive to feedback. Which is a good thing…” He trails off. Your heart starts to pound against your rib cage as you wait for the other shoe to drop. His hand jerks your head to the right, inspecting your side profile. “You will be good for me.”

You do not know what he is insinuating and are too afraid to speak up. You dip your head down, trying to promise him silently. Yes, I will be good. Please don’t kill me.

He slowly lets go of your face. He brings his thumb up to his lips and licks the very tip of the finger. You watch him bring it back down to your level. You flinch when he brings it up to the very corner of your lip. He wipes away at something like a father would to his young child who had food left on their face. 

Joel was violent. But he was quiet about it and that scared you. He moved with such intention and you found yourself occasionally hypnotized by his aura. He was unlike any man you ever met. It could be the fact that others around you made him out to be some enigma, but maybe he was one. 

You finally manage to speak up, the sudden tender touch starkly different from the aggression just minutes before. 

“What do you want with me?”

It comes out as a whisper, but with Joel being so close, his ears perk up. 

His face does not change from the steeled expression. “Time.”

-

He gives you breakfast one morning. You have been sleeping in, trying to use slumber as a substitute for food and it seemed to work for a couple of days. Joel brings in a plate with eggs and some stale bread. You had not seen him bring in eggs before and it shocked you. Your eyes almost well up in tears when he hands it to you in bed. 

“Thank you, Joel.”

He sits in his usual spot and watches you scarf down the meal. “I am going to be gone for a couple of days.”

Your eyes shoot back at him, confusion laced in your countenance. “What about me?”

“I’m letting you have access to the kitchen and living room. You’re not allowed to leave. The door will be locked from the outside.”

The thought of being alone for that long scares you. Your thoughts start spinning. Why is he leaving you? Why would he let you be alone? Would you be able to eat? 

Joel can see the cogs turning in your brain. 

“You are leaving me alone?”

He claps his hands on his thighs as he stands, “I have a run to make. I usually have other guys do it for me but I gotta do this one myself. You will be okay.”

For some reason, your instinct is to worry about him. Going out of the QZ walls is always a very dangerous feat and you knew he would be unprotected from the elements and infected. Joel seems more than capable, but anything can happen. What would happen if he died out there?

“How long will you be gone?”

The question comes out desperate and you do not mean it to. You crawl out from under your covers, planting your feet on the ground. You suddenly felt hot. When the cold air hits your bare legs, you realize that you forgot you discarded your pants in the middle of the night. You were just in your underwear in front of him. 

Joel’s eyes flicker down your unclad legs. You had a good radar when it came to men checking you out and as much as you did not want to admit it, you knew Joel was doing just that. 

His lips twitch, “Not long. Two days, max.”

You cross your legs, holding your hands in front of your crotch in an attempt to try to shield yourself a bit. You watch him meander over to you, his steps purposeful. Once he reaches about a foot away, your breathing slows as his hand trails up your arm. 

You felt this tension rise within the room and for a second you think he may act on his reaction to your legs. But instead, he just clears his throat. You are a bit disappointed and you do not know why. 

“I’ll be good, Joel.”

-

You survive the first night. You busy yourself with stuff around his apartment. You decide that you would not snoop through his belongings, only organizing the kitchen cabinets and alphabetizing his record collection. You had found a sense of purpose, filling your day with pointless tasks. 

When the second night comes, you decide that you finally need a shower. Joel did not tell you that you could use the bathroom in his room, but you became aware that the other tub did not work and was covered in mold. The smell in the bathroom was enough to make you gag. 

You were starting to reek of body odor and you did not want to sleep another night smelling the way you did. Plus, you knew the soap you used when Joel called you pretty was in that shower. He could not be that mad. 

So, you tiptoe into his room and wander into his bathroom. When you flick on the light, you notice some of his beard shavings in the sink bowl. To the left of the shower curtain, you spot a jumbled pair of boxer shorts. You feel a pang in your stomach. His face appears in your mind. You cannot stop yourself from imagining him in the room with you, just like he was when you stripped for your shower before. 

You step into the cool water, letting it soak you as your hands traveled around your body. Your nerve endings were buzzing as your thoughts pondered the idea of Joel being there with you. 

The glimmer of his eyes when you were pantsless days before still rattled around in your head. You had not been desired in so long and with that action alone, Joel made you feel wanted. The tension was so palpable. His close proximity to you, the occasional gentle touches, it was enough to fill your mind with all the dirty possibilities. 

Your hand travels down to between your legs. At first it’s only to clean, but as you explore, you cannot help but slip your fingers between your folds. The titillating motion is enough to have you throwing your head back in pleasure. You squeeze your eyes shut, thoughts drifting to how you need an explosive release and you sickeningly want Joel Miller to give it to you. 

Your pointer finger and middle spread your folds, rubbing carelessly and eagerly. You have not felt this driven to orgasm in years. You recall the sight of Joel’s stomach the first day you met him. Then you think about the boxers right outside of the shower next to you. Your thoughts spin and suddenly he’s naked in your mind. 

Your hand only moves quicker with the thoughts. Your clit is aching with such intensity, you are shuttering and using your free hand to balance yourself on the tub’s wall. The water is pounding down your chest, dripping through the valley of your breasts. 

Your eyes open a bit as you try to find your footing and you notice a bar of soap that’s covered in his short hairs. You snatch it up, bringing it up to your nose as your lips quirk up into a smile. 

Of course, it smells like him. 

You finger yourself faster, his name spilling from his lips as you press the bar into your face. It is almost like you are imagining it is his face stuck to your face. 

“Joel… Oh my god, Joel-”

The sound of the curtain being ripped away from its spot makes you completely jump out of your skin. His fierce brown eyes raking down your completely nude frame, hunched over and in a compromising position. He slams his fist against the faucet, shutting the water off in one swoop. You drop his soap to the floor, scrambling backward trying to dodge his rage. 

He is pissed. 

His hand wraps around your bicep, ripping you out of the tub and onto the tile. Your hip hits the ground first and it sends a shooting pain up your back. He is panting like he just ran a mile, standing over your sopping naked frame. 

“What are ya’? A bitch in heat?” He spits. You are so dazed and a bit afraid, you start to shake and raise your hands in defense. 

He squats down to you, his eyes scanning your dripping body. His hands work so quick to reach out and grab your face. With clenched teeth, he brings your face close. “Answer me.”

His grip is tight on your face and you do not know if you can even respond effectively. You feel your core pulsate with the way he has a hold of you. 

“I-I wanted to s-shower.”

He mocks you, “I-I… You are fuckin’ yourself in my shower like a dirty whore.”

He turns back to check to see if he actually saw you holding his bar of soap. It’s in pieces at the bottom of the tub surround. He pulls his hand away but the sting still remains. 

“I-I’m sorry, Joel.”

His gaze falls upon you again, a little less aggravated. “Dry off and get dressed. Sit on my bed when you’re done.”

-

Your mind is all over the place when you sit down on Joel’s bed. He is not in the room but you hear him in the kitchen moving around. You hear the clatter of some plates and then him grunting. 

When he barges in,you can tell he is annoyed still. 

“You reorganized?”

Your heart pounds with uncertainty. You did not believe that would ever set him off, but you are starting to realize you have gauged Joel incorrectly. “Yes.”

He stops his pacing, his hands still propped up on his hips. “Why?”

“Because I needed to keep busy while you were gone. I also went through and-”

“Alphabetized the records. I saw.”

Nothing was getting past him. Your breathing is labored, the idea of him killing you for helping him be more orderly is so pathetic. You had to go out in a better way. 

You clench your hands in your lap, “I did not mean to make you angry.”

He does not say anything, staring at you with an askane expression. He pivots to the dresser beside the bed, opening up the top drawer. He pulls out a pair of gray sweatpants and a beat up white t-shirt. He folds them meticulously, stacking them and then handing them to you. 

You reach out for them, putting them in your empty lap.

“Put them on and get under the covers.”

Of all the things he could have said, this surprises you the most. “In my own bed?”

“No, this one.”

You look back at his perfectly made bed. He wanted you to sleep with him?

“Joel-”

“We are tryin’ somethin’ new tonight. Change your clothes while I take a shower with my soap, and be under those covers when I get out,” His outline of directions is seriously rattling you to your core. You felt nervous but almost excited? 

You watch him turn on his heels and amble over to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Your stomach sinks when you hear the lock click. You look down at the clothes he gave you, raising them up to check the tags. 

Just your size. 

-

His bed is way more comfortable than the mattress you were cursed with. The blue quilt feels soft and worn under your fingertips. You lay on your back, feeling out of your own body. You hear the water shut off in the bathroom and your heart starts racing. You hear the rip up the curtain and some small stomps as Joel must be exiting the shower. 

When the door creaks open and you see him standing in only some boxer shorts, your breathing hitches. His hair is brushed backward and his hairy upper body is a sight to behold. You silently wished you had this image earlier when you were rubbing your clit. 

He walks over to his dresser, the same dresser he pulled clothes for you out of, and grabs a plain white t-shirt. He tosses it over his head, pushing his arms out of the holes on the side. It was slightly stained at the collar and it was see-through enough that you saw his dark chest hair still. 

“You are sleeping with me tonight,” He announces, walking over to the opposite side of the bed. Your stomach flips when you watch him pull the blanket back and crawl under the blanket. You observe how drastic his mood shifted from ripping you out of the shower. Why did he want you in his bed? What was his end goal? Your core is still sticky with your desire. You secretly wish he would just take advantage of you already. 

But he does not even turn your direction. You watch him face his back to you, tuck one arm under his pillow and shut the lamp off. 

Your mind starts to race. The bedroom door is unlocked, you can see it in the moonlight. You could easily slip out of the bed in the middle of the night and head for the front door and run. 

But it’s the same thought that slipped your mind when Joel left you a couple days ago. You could have jumped out a window, rigged the doorknob to the apartment to get out, but you just never did. Instead, you sat idle inside Joel’s apartment and waited for him to return. 

And now you have access to him when he’s at his most vulnerable. What was preventing you from sneaking a pointy object into the bedroom and stabbing him directly in the throat?

Because you needed him. And while your demented and violent thoughts of all the ways you could kill him rattled around in your mind, you knew deep down you would never do it. You craved the need to impress him. To be good for him. 

He’s silent next to you, not a sound leaving his body. You are not even sure if he is asleep when you slowly turn on your side, facing away from him as well. 

Somehow, you sleep better in his bed than your own. 

-

The routine changes after that night. 

Joel wakes up as soon as the sun breaks the sky and he leaves you in his bed as he prepares you breakfast. When you hear the door reopen, you always wake up to his frame standing over you with a plate. You rub your eyes as you grab the handoff, propping yourself up on his headboard. He would sit on the end of the bed, nibbling on his own meal. 

And then he starts asking you questions.

It starts off with him asking you where you were from originally. You explain how you traveled with a group of people that were essentially raiding other established communities. You had escaped the Baltimore QZ when a bunch of people got infected practically overnight and there was no oversight. When you got out, the people who survived with you became vicious and desperate. 

Then he asks you about your relationship with Roger. 

You give him the overview. You tell him you relied on him to fund your mind-numbing habits and he left you to look over his stash. When you press him about what he did to him, Joel gives you those eyes. Almost to say “you don’t get to ask the questions here.”

Most days you sat on the couch and read his collection of books. You were not the fastest reader so it took days to get through some of the stories. He had a lot of books about space and a variety of science fiction. He would leave every day, running his usual business. When he got back home, you would still be planted on the sofa, reading. He would slam his keys down and get to work on your Spam sandwich. 

Every other night you would shower. After the soap incident, he kept his soap on the very top corner of the shower. When you first noticed it, you smiled sickly. 

The sleeping situation is the same every night. You lay on your back, Joel lays on his side, completely facing away from you. Sometimes in the middle of the night, your arms would brush his back and he would stir. You tried your very best not to test his limits even though you had no real clue what they were. 

One particular night, the window he kept cracked was letting in the most frigid air. You always ran cold while Joel was like a furnace when he slept. He radiated enough heat to keep a whole house warm. But this night you were shaking under the quilt, your toes feeling like they may fall off. 

You turn on your side, facing his expansive back. You are so deliberate with your movement that when your arm falls over his waist, his body jolts. Instead of slapping you away or turning to face you, his body just stills completely, not even a rise and fall of breath. 

“What are you doing?” He asks through the darkness, his sleepy voice. Almost wholesome. 

You stifle a response, trying your best to sound confident. “I’m cold.”

He finally breathes out, his arm moving down over yours and holding it against his waist. Your heart races so hard you can hardly fathom falling asleep, but at least you were warm. 

You start to do it every night, even when the air is balmy outside. You settle on your side, your arm swinging over his waist and pulling your lower half taut with his butt. You never expected you would ever be spooning Joel Miller every night, but here you were, wearing his clothes with your pelvis flush to him. 

Your hand finds his hips one night while you adjusted your position. Your hand graces right below his waist and you feel his member half-hard in his boxer shorts. It makes your eyes snap open, the shock of your body waking him up. Your hand does not move, though. You hover it over that spot, curiously wanting to touch him through his shorts. 

“Do you feel me?”

His voice makes your throat tighten, unsure of how to respond to such a question. So you just hum and shake your head. 

He takes your reluctant hand and pushes it down to his clothed cock, his body pushing back into a bit. Your mind is still a bit fuzzy from your slumber, but when you feel him harden under your touch, you do not want to stop until you finish him. 

He is deliberately moving your hand around, pulling it over and under his boxers until you are touching his bare cock. You shutter at how large it feels in your hand and you cannot even see it from how you are laying. Your hand cannot completely wrap around it due to its girth. 

“Joel…” You practically whimper, clawing his back to get him to lay back so you can see him. He does not budge, still laying on his side. 

Your hand massages the very base of his dick, his curly hair poking your fingertips as you do. You are so eager that as you jerk him off, he grabs your hand to start guiding you slower. When your hand graces his tip, he hisses. 

“Gotta take me slow, girl,” He groans, holding your wrist so tight you know it will be bruised in the morning. You do as he says, slowly and methodically following how he likes to be jerked off. After a minute, you can hear his shallow breaths increasing as you bring your speed up just a bit. 

“Are you gonna cum?”

You try to say it in a sultry voice, but it comes out rushed and desperate. You just want to see him seize by your own hand. Joel grunts, his grip on your arm practically stilling your movements before he can even finish. You resist his persistent handle on you. You craved to make him orgasm. Eventually, he pushes his hips forward into your hand, sighing as he releases.

You feel the ropes of cum spill all over the back of your hand. As soon as the warm seed empties onto you and his tummy, he rips back the covers and stumbles into the bathroom. He shuts the door so fast, you hardly see him through the dark. 

You look at his clear-white fluid on your knuckles and smile in satisfaction.You want him to see your next actions. 

The bathroom light spills into the room as he holds out a wash rag to you. It’s obvious it’s the one he just used on himself. You shake your head, bringing your hand up to your lips, extending your tongue, and licking the spend off your knuckles. You swallow, willingly. 

He gawks at you, his eyebrows still knitted together, watching you clean off your hand entirely. “Didn’t even need my help. What a good girl.”

-

You wake up with Joel standing over you. It rattles you a bit, his stare zeroed in on your face. 

“Mornin’,” He uttered, holding out a small pile of clothes for you. “We are goin’ on a field trip.”

The last thing you expected after jerking the man off last night was an outing. You sit straight up, holding out your hands for him to shove the clothes in your palms. 

“Where are we going,” You stammer, pushing the covers down your legs.

His eyes rake down your body as you stand up, almost standing at attention in front of him. 

“You’re comin’ to work with me.”

You look down at the clothes he has given you. Some cargo pants, a short sleeve gray top, and even a new pair of underwear. 

This is the first outing you have had since being with Joel, so you are a bit nervous thinking about how the outside world may be. It cannot be any worse than it already was, but you worried about how you would be perceived walking down the street with Joel Miller. 

The more you ponder the idea, you start to feel more reassured than anything. If you were placed beside anyone, you would want it to be with the guy everyone feared. No one would ever think to give you a hard time. 

Joel’s line of work was dangerous but it was also a powerful role to have in this fucked up world in the QZ. You were on the right side of the insanity, in your opinion. Joel was your protection in some demented fucked-up way. 

You get dressed as he makes breakfast. This morning, he decides to make you two some eggs that he said were getting old so he had to make them. He likes his eggs runny, so you had to like yours runny, too. 

You two sat at the dining table as you ate. He scarfs his down in a minute, while you take your time to savor the different flavor. You missed eating food that was not Spam or plain bread. Joel notes your painstakingly slow chews. 

“Hurry up, we got places to be.”

-

The people on the streets pay mind to you now. Before, when you did leave your former place with Roger, everyone kept their heads down. Occasionally people would slam into you with their shoulders, acting like they could phase right through you. 

When you walk with Joel, people move out of the way.

The alleyway is not too far from Joel’s apartment. He forces you to walk in front of him, copying every step you make with his loud footfalls. He grabs your shoulders to direct you down a concrete staircase that seems to lead to nowhere. At the bottom, a brute man stands with his arms crossed. You hesitantly stop right in front of him, your eyes taking in all the scars littering his face. 

Joel grunts. “She’s with me, Pete. Thomas and Garrett in there with him?”

The man, who’s now known as Pete, just nods minutely. Joel pushes the door beside him open and grabs your forearm to drag you through the threshold. It’s a dimly lit hallway that smelled like dampness and gunpowder. There’s two light bulbs dangling from the paint chipped ceiling that guide you to the end of the hallway. Joel pushes open the door, and you smell that familiar metallic smell. 

It was a smell that leaked into your dreams occasionally. It’s so overpowering you can almost taste it. 

When you walk in, the room is occupied by three men. Two are standing over the other, their bodies blocking the entirety of the scene. You do note the huge puddle of blood on the floor near a knocked over wooden chair. Joel clears his throat and the two men step away looking at Joel, then you. They have to be around your age, maybe a bit older. The blond man speaks up first as he scans your body. 

“Bringing your kid along for the show?”

You glance over at Joel who’s jaw tightens. You watch his whole demeanor shift, his body becoming rigid. 

“Get out of here, Garrett.”

The blond man furrows his brows, not understanding why he was really being directed to leave. You can sense a bit of hesitance. “Joel, I’m just kidd-”

“Get the fuck out, now. We don’t need you.”

The man scrambles past you and Joel, shutting the door behind him. The dynamic Joel and his men have is very easy to figure out. Whatever he says, goes. The look the other man is giving him is that of unease. 

“He confessed that he stole from our stash. More than once.” Joel walks forward, drawing his gun out. Finally, the man on the floor comes into full view. 

And you recognize him. 

He was a pill smuggler that had come over to Roger’s a couple times before. He always gave off the vibe that he would take advantage of anyone, especially a woman. He would whisper things about you to Roger and you remember a couple times when he had inappropriately touched you. You believe his name to be Don. Maybe Ron. 

His eyes are swollen and bruised. His lip is completely split open and he has a gnarly gash on his left cheekbone. He is tied up, his arms and legs bound by ropes and zip ties. 

You are not at all phased by blood, but his beaten body is a bit hard to look at. He was not a nice looking man already, and surely the swelling was not helping him. 

His lips part almost like he is about to speak up, but Joel swipes the butt of his gun across his face with insane accuracy. 

One thing about you was you did not turn away from violence. Now that you are sober, it's easier to recognize that something was off for you to be so unfazed by the savagery. You sickeningly enjoyed watching people get their karma. 

You had no context as to why this man was bound and brutalized in this random basement, but you knew Joel had good reason to set him straight. 

“Donny boy, I thought we were friends,” Joel’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. He seems in his element as he squats in front of the man, “And you fucked me over good. Sold out people only to get yourself in this position. Pretty fuckin’ dumb.”

Don can hardly sit up, his body completely tilted with his elbow propping up his entire body weight. You can tell he is struggling to respond, but you hear the faintest voice quip up. 

“I told the truth, please,” He begs as he attempts to sit up more. Joel grabs his shoulder roughly, balancing his back on his butt. “I won’t do it again.”

You cannot see Joel’s face, but you know he does not believe that. His shoulders slot back a bit as he stands up and turns to face you. His face is straight, not showing any emotion at all. You notice the gun still in his hand, his finger completely off the trigger. 

“You know him?”

You just nod, your eyes peering down at the gun he has directed at you. His eyes flicker back and forth, seemingly contemplating what to say next. He pushes the weapon into your hand, his fingers curling around the grip so that your hand would follow suit. You watch every meticulous move, pulling the safety clip, slipping his hand away and gesturing towards the man. 

“You’re gonna kill him.”

Your eyes fly open, unsure if this problem should be dealt with by you. The promise you made to yourself when you stepped foot in this QZ rattled around in your brain as you tried not to show Joel your irresolution. Your mouth is dry when you gulp, “Why?”

His hand presses on your back as he pushes you towards the guy. You are about 2 feet from him and Joel’s face is so close to your ear. It’s the closest he has ever been to you. You can feel his breath on your lobe and neck and it makes bumps scatter across your body. 

He raises your arms, pointing the barrel towards Don. As soon as he does that, Don starts begging. His voice shaking, sweat pooling on his forehead, tears pricking at the corners of his swollen eyes. 

Joel’s voice is so hushed over Don’s pleas. “He is the one who told me about Roger stealing from me. Little did I know, he was stealing from me, too.”

It is like a switch goes off in your brain. Your eyes are trained forward on the trembling man but it is as if the whole world went quiet when Joel stopped speaking. You hear white noise in your ears and your mind shuts off for a nanosecond. Your pointer finger slots between trigger guard and trigger and you squeeze, your aim right at his head. 

You feel the spray explode across your face and suddenly you snap back to your reality. 

Your body was overtaken by the need to please. The need to impress Joel. It was also like your own sick revenge. This man is the reason Roger was dead. The reason you got ripped from your normalcy. Your brain had no time to catch up to your body’s actions. Instead of flinching or falling backward away from the body of the traitor, you stand over him like he’s some commodity in a circus. With wonder and curiosity, you lower the gun and smile. 

Joel steps beside you, his face expressing fervor. 

Finally facing him and forgetting the other man in the room who was just a witness to the scene, you speak up. 

“Did I do good?”

A small semblance of a grin spreads across his lips. “Very good, sweetheart.”

-

You and Joel do not stay in the room long after. Very quickly, he ushers you into another room where he checks a cabinet full of guns, looking over each other and counting in a hushed tone. You hear bounding footsteps in the hallway and men talking amongst each other. 

The voices are rushed and surprised. One states, “She didn’t even flinch. Joel’s lucky to have her.”

You feel a tickle on your brow and itch it absentmindedly. As you pull your finger back and look at it, it is stained red. 

You find a shiny surface in the room of arms and paraphernalia, glancing at your own reflection. The smear of blood goes across your forehead, while the splatter itself is speckled across your cheeks like freckles. Joel stops what he is doing to check you out, his steps trailing up to your back. His breathing is quite labored and as you stare at your own mirror image, you note the look he’s giving you. 

His hand goes across your chest, his finger tips starting to dance across your décolletage.

“We gotta clean you up. Can’t have you walkin’ the streets lookin’ like you killed someone.”

He says it while he rubs the blood across your chest, smearing it and massaging it into your skin. 

You loved it when he touched you. Even if it was roughly, you counted yourself lucky that Joel felt the need to do so. 

“But I did kill someone.”

Your voice does not have any hesitance, you are simply stating facts. Joel’s chin tilts upward, his hand grabbing your shoulder and jerking you around to face him. His face is practically millimeters from the tip of your nose. 

He grunts, almost like he’s clearing his throat. “And you didn’t even second guess me. I didn’t even need to push you, you just did it.”

You smirk to yourself, enjoying the slight praise he is giving you. 

“And here I thought I was testin’ ya.”

Your eyes flicker up to his, trying to see right into his soul. Testing you?

“Did you not expect me to do it?” You bite. 

“I had an inklin’ you’d be loyal. Consistent. Even a bit violent. But I didn’t expect a killer.”

Your chest rises at his statement. You are trying to manage your breathing as his words have a visceral effect on you. It was like he was talking dirty to you. Why did his impression of you mean so much? Ever since you met the man, you were at his mercy and you got off at his reassurance. It was like he was your new vice. 

His right hand traces down your bare arm, while his left grabs your jaw. “Let’s get you cleaned up and home, how ‘bout it?”

You agree with a jerk of your head. 

-

Once you walk into the apartment again, you are reminded of the smell of mold again. When the scent hits your nostrils, you scrunch your face. Joel is quick to notice the expression because his eyes and hands have not left your body since you shot that guy. He has been watching your every move. 

You toe off your shoes by the front door as Joel tosses down the keys. He takes the handgun out of his waistband and places it carelessly next to them. 

When he turns to look at you, he crosses his arms. He is studying you as you unzip the jacket he offered you. It was only to cover the blood that stained your new outfit. 

“Take it off slow.”

You shoot him a confused look, still trying your best to follow his instructions. You shrug the jacket off your shoulders, letting it purposefully fall down your arms. The blood on your clothes has left semi-permanent spots on your skin. Once the clothing pools to the floor, you stand there at Joel’s mercy. 

He clenches his jaw, nodding slowly as he inspects you. “Now the shirt.”

You do not second guess his next directions. You grab the hem of your shirt and draw it upward over your head. The fabric goes across your lips and nose lifting them up awkwardly. You smile when you drop the next article next to the jacket. 

The anticipation makes your pussy pulsate. You have thought about this moment for longer than you care to admit. 

“Pants.”

The pants are buttoned so you fumble with getting it undone before you are shoving them down your goosebump-ridden legs. When they get to your ankles, you use the opposite feet to step on the fabric and pull them off your feet. You kick them further away than the shirt and jacket.

You are only in your underwear in Joel’s living room. He is looking at you with such confliction. You have never felt very self conscious until this very moment. 

“Should I keep going?” 

It is an innocent question, but there is lustful intention behind it. There would be a point of no return if he did answer it. 

“I was gettin’ there,” He steps towards you, his guise not giving away any of his next movements. His face was still unyielding. “Panties first.”

Your breathing hitches when his fingers wrap around the elasticity of the waistband.

“I’m still c-covered in blood-” “Shut up.”

You nod, sliding the underwear down and revealing your already dripping core. He sucks in a big breath of air as his hand reaches between your legs and swipes at your wetness with the pads of his fingers. Your entire body tenses, the feeling so foreign and exciting that you cannot contain your gasp for air. 

Finally his expressionless face changes to a small twinge of a smile, “Dirty fuckin’ girl. Have been wantin’ this for a long time, eh?”

You are afraid to admit it out loud so you just nod. His fingers still make work through your folds and your knees feel like they may buckle with every swipe. Joel notes your position and grabs your face with his left hand, squeezing your cheeks so hard it forces you to look at him and stand up straighter. 

His fingers dip into you briefly, making squelching noise so loud that you both groan.

“Joel,” you whimper, sounding desperate and hasty.

He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours. It is a passionate act you did not expect. You did not know that sex would Joel would mean open mouth kisses, but you are thankful for it. His hand releases its grip on your cheeks and wraps itself around the base of your throat. Your lips slip open for his tongue, letting it explore every inch of your mouth. His fingers are making their slow methodical movements around your clit, driving you absolutely insane with desire. 

Your body seems so in tune with every movement he makes, but as you makeout with him, you realize it is because he has molded you this way. To curve and bend to his every will and way.

And you loved every moment of it. You thirsted for this type of control. You knew you would not have to worry or have a second thought, ever. Joel was already ten steps ahead and thinking out everything for you. 

He pulls away from the kiss, his eyes flickering between your lips and eyes. You note the red tinge of blood on his lips from kissing yours. 

“Get on your knees.”

You obey, whining when you realize that means he would no longer be keeping your pussy warm with his hand. Once your knees hit the hardwood, his hands are making work at his belt and jean buttons. 

“You know how to suck dick? Or do I gotta do all the work for ya?”

Your eyes fly open at the vulgarity. You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, “Yes, Joel. I’ve done it before.”

Having his dick in your hand last night was one thing, but seeing it for the first time is jarring. He is definitely the biggest you have ever had the pleasure of being in front of. He can tell by the look on your face that you are a bit stunned. 

“Let’s see how you do,” He inches his waist closer to your face and slightly ajar lips, “Open.”

Complying is what you do for Joel. 

You open your mouth nice and wide as he inches his cock into your warm mouth. You close your eyes, trying to focus on not disappointing him with your gag reflex. You try your best to relax, but his watchful eye is making you feel disoriented. 

He pulls out, letting you take a breath, only to push back in more forcefully. You try to stop his intrusion by putting your hand up on his hairy bare thigh, but it is no use. Your closed eyes prick with tears as Joel pulls out again, this time he is slapping his dick across your mouth. 

“Keep those fuckin’ eyes open and on me. Open nice n’ wide and relax that fuckin’ throat.”

His demands needed to be met, so you nod and adjust your position, laying your tongue out. He inches in again and instead of resisting, you relax and watch him through your eyelashes. His face twists as he draws back, his cock getting so impossibly close to the back of your throat. When he hits your gag reflex, you grip onto your own thighs tightly to contain the urge to empty your stomach. He smiles sickly at your reaction. “Poor girl,” He teases, snapping his hips forward again. Another gag. “Can’t fuckin’ take me? Guess we will have to train that mouth and throat, huh?”

He keeps fucking your mouth as your eyebrows draw together in concentration. Joel’s loving every moment, watching you writhe under him. Your wetness is pooling on the hardwood and you can already hint the embarrassment you will feel if Joel notices. 

You hollow out your cheeks, attempting to assert yourself in the situation. When you do that, Joel pulls out completely. He leans down to grab your arms and lifts you off the floor, dragging your shins against the uneven wood planks. And to your horror, he notices the wetness on the floor. “Drippin’ on the floor like a wet mop, ain’t ya?”

Joel’s eyes were always dark brown, but they look black with his eyes as dilated as they are. His grip on your arms is very assertive and when he pushes you back over the arm of the couch, you can feel your heartbeat in your ears. 

“Please, Joel.”

He grabs you up by your armpits, dragging your body across the couch. When you're lying flat, he settles himself between your legs, holding your right leg taut with his hipbone. 

“Keep begging,” He demands, a smug expression taking over his face. His eyes scour your entire body, “My little killer.”

The word sends your body into overdrive and you start grabbing at his body, trying to take what you want. He fights your hands, grabbing both of them and pinning them against the throw pillow right above your head.

You want to confess everything to him in that moment. The very moment you laid eyes on him, you wanted to give yourself to him. In every single way possible. 

“I want you.”

“I know you do,” He grabs the shaft of his cock and begins his torture. Sliding it through your soaked folds and humming in satisfaction. You lift your hips, trying to get him to slip it in, but he is always quicker than you. “Desperate, ain’t ya?”

Before your face can react to his mocking, his hips snap forward, fully sheathing himself inside you. The meat of your thigh presses against his waist, trying to hold him in that spot, but he does not let up. The pressure is almost too much but the pain is appallingly satisfying.

You cannot even remember the last time you felt this. Your previous sexual encounters were usually hasty and boring. Most were not consensual and left you feeling gross and deprived of release. 

The build up between you and Joel was a months long endeavor that left you feeling borderline insane. You could not help but let your desire for him fester. 

His pace is not slow in the slightest, but it is calculated. You manage to widen your legs a bit allowing more space for his thighs to take up. As he kneels between you, you get a great view of his muscular flexed thighs.

Joel was a specimen. You could not stop yourself from admiring such a sight, especially when his hands are all over you and his dick is driving into you over and over. You had never been in love, never seen it first hand even, but you knew you love this moment. You love Joel for making you feel so good. That’s not a feeling you have ever had for anyone, let alone a man in this sick world. 

“Oh my god, yes,” You clamor, your hands still locked over your head. The tension you feel in the pit of your stomach feels like it may explode, “Please, please.”

He repositions himself, releasing your wrists and pushing your legs up. You are folded in half while his upper body falls over you. You can already see the glistening of sweat across his neck and shoulders. His body locks you on the couch as he continues rocking into you. 

“You don’t cum til I say, got me?”

He fucks into you harder now, and from this angle, you do not know how that will be possible. A couple more thrusts and you know you are a goner. 

“I feel it,” You choke, trying to clench to prevent yourself from letting go before Joel’s instruction. “Joel.”

“I said hold that shit back,” His pace only speeds up, like he is chasing his own high, “Not ‘til I say.”

The friction is too much. You tug your lip between your teeth and you bite so hard that you start to taste blood. He is not letting up and you know the rope is about to snap. No matter how hard you try, when your eyes roll back and your body goes rigid, you let the release take over everything. 

You are screaming, your voice cracking as you do. Joel’s hip stutter when your pussy tightens up around him, but you know he’s only slowing down because you did not listen. 

Your limbs feel like jello and being that you are unable to really shift or move below Joel anyway, you just lay there limp. Joel flexes his arms and you can tell as he pulls away from your body that he is pissed. 

“Roll over.”

You knit your brows together, still trying to manage your breathing. “I’m sorry-”

He slaps your thigh, the sting prickling down your entire leg. “Roll the fuck over.”

The motion takes almost all of your energy. When you are on your stomach, Joel hauls your ass towards his pelvis. With your ass up in the air, you can feel the cold air hit your spent cunt. Your head is tilted, only able to see Joel in your peripheral vision. He looks down at your pussy, dragging his cock head through your seams. You note how he smiles coyly. 

When his lips purse and spit starts to dribble out, you start babbling all sorts of nonsense. The spit lands perfectly between your pussy lips and the top of his red tip. 

“You know what happens to girls who don’t listen?”

You keen as he pushes his cockhead into your cunt, “What?”

“Punishment.”

The thrust is so powerful it has your body almost slamming back onto the sofa. As he ruts into you, the moans that come out of you do not sound human. You are already so sensitive from your orgasm, you know that it takes practically no touch at all to set off the chain reaction again. 

His grip on your ass will leave bruises, just like all the other bruises he has given you in the last couple months. You count all of them like trophies. All the time Joel has touched you. 

When the grip turns into open hand spanking, you know your ‘punishments’ would be something you would enjoy tempting time to time. 

They are brutal. With each thrust, his palm comes down on your left ass cheek. All the while, his right fingers are digging scratches all along your ass and thigh. Between the sounds of the smacks and his balls slapping against your skin, you are being sent back into an ever-growing burn in the pit of your stomach. 

“Fuckin’ pussy is squeezin’ my cock,” He mewls, his voice gravelly, “You like gettin’ spanked? Hm?”

You restrain yourself from screaming out that you love it. You settle for just, “Please don’t stop.”

You can hear him chuckle behind you, his actions continuing as he bucks into you. 

“You’re lucky ‘m feelin’ nice.”

His hips start to stutter as you continue your mewling over his cock. He reaches out to your shoulders, pulling you upward and locking his arm around your neck. He has you in a loose headlock as he fucks you. Your hands rest on your forearm, your nails digging so hard that you leave small half moons on his freckled skin. 

His other arm finds its way between your legs, swiping your clit as his thrusts become more labored. Even with the pace slowed down, the small titillating circles he pushes into your sensitive bud sends you over the edge again. As you fall apart in his arms, he spirals into his own climax, fucking his seed so deep into you that you will probably have it dripping out of you for days. 

The husky moans he lets out as he empties himself inside you rattles in your eardrum. It was like music to your ears. You finally got what you want.

“You came again without permission.”

You do not respond, just grunt and fall onto the couch. 

-

Your body is humming still. Joel’s half-hard cock is still standing at attention as he stands up and walks over to the kitchen. You grab the back couch cushion and push yourself up to watch him wander over the sink. His hand reaches for a kitchen towel and he wets it under the sink faucet. 

His ass is so perfect and you silently curse yourself for not grabbing it when he was balls deep in you. 

“Come ‘ere.”

You scramble up, your legs wobbling with each step. Joel’s eyes scan your entire body again, enjoying the sight of you so bare in front of him. “Didn’t think you were the one for aftercare.”

He furrows his eyebrows, as he extends the towel to you. “I ain’t. Wipe yourself up.”

Your heart pangs against your ribcage. For some reason you thought being so intimate with him would bring something different out. You are sorely mistaken. 

The anger you felt earlier, the blind rage, takes over all your nerve endings again. You cannot stop yourself from lashing out after such a high. A high he gave you. 

You slap the towel away, tilting your chin up at him. He has never seen you defiant. His face twists in confusion. 

“You made me kill for you. Then you fuck me. And you can’t even give me any decency by wiping your fucking cum off of me?”

The words are like vomit coming out of your mouth. You ever thought you would talk back to him like this. It is the kind of thing you could have been killed for months ago. But now, you both are in vulnerable positions. You want to prove a point. Look at me, appreciate me, love me. 

“Excuse me?”

His tone is threatening. But so is yours. 

“You heard me.”

As silence cuts through the air, you notice the gun Joel put on the kitchen counter next to a broken coffee pot. He sees you eyeing it and goes to reach for it, but you are closer and a bit faster than him. When your hand wraps around the metal, you point it directly at his hairy chest. 

Proving a point with violence was always your specialty. Before the alcohol, and now, after the alcohol.

“You fuckin’ bitch,” He bites, his lips tightening inward, “You put that shit down now.”

You are steady with it, your finger not on the trigger, but only millimeters from gracing it. “No.”

“You’re not gonna kill me. Not after all you just did for me,” His voice is more clipped, his words staggered. His hands raise in the air, almost in surrender. “Put it down.”

You are not sure what your next move should be. The rage now turns into confliction. 

You have screwed yourself for snapping so quickly at him and now he was never going to trust you. Threatening him with words would be one thing, but pointing a gun at center mass was absurd. While you wanted to get your point across to him, you knew this was overkill. Your fuse was so short and your urges were unkempt. Acting on impulse was going to get you in major trouble.  

In the time you are second guessing your actions, Joel’s already springing forward and snatching the gun from you. You are easy to disarm when you are not prepared for a naked man springing at you in your time of contemplation. Joel grabs the gun, pushing you backward into the kitchen counter and points it at you. 

“Now…” His southern drawl carries out the word. Your heart is pounding, the same way it was racing last time Joel trained a gun on you. This time was different. Instead of a look of contempt and uncertainty, he appears to be offended by your actions. “You know damn well that shit ain’t gonna fly with me.”

“Joel-” “Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” He steps closer, the gun still trained on you, “You know better, don’t ya?”

The coldness of the barrel on your right collarbone is enough to send you over the edge. Your eyes flicker between his chest, his lips, to his eyes, “I do. I don’t know what came over me.”

His eyes reflect a silent consideration. He is trying to figure out if he believes you or not. You silently pray he does even if you do not fully believe yourself. 

“You are too quick to react to someone tellin’ you no. Knock that shit off now or else we will have bigger issues.”

You knew those bigger issues would lead to Joel putting you out of your misery. You would have to work on impulse control. “It won’t happen again. I will work on it.”

“You’re lucky I love that pussy of yours or else you would have a hole in your fuckin’ head.”

Love.

“You love it?”

He smirks at your candor. He did not even realize he said that. “Get on your knees and beg for my forgiveness. You don’t have time to get a big head.”

“On my knees?”

He clenches his jaw, withdrawing the end of the gun from your skin. It leaves a small circle indentation, solidifying that next time, there may be a much bigger one there. “On your knees, little one.”

divider from @/saradika-graphics

[porcelainbirdss]

paper heart

summary: you thought he was just kind. everyone did. what you failed to discern, however, was the visage of something darker lurking underneath the man’s grinning face. such a pity, it was.

cw: fem!reader, yandere Phainon, mentions of death, descriptions of violence (not towards reader), grief, manipulation, stalking, obsessive and unhealthy behaviors, emotional dependency, hinted depression, open ending. ||wc: 13k

a sorrowful melody filled the air as your fingertips slowly dragged across white and black tiles. they were covered in a sheen layer of dust, probably because you abandoned your small hobby some time ago. you don’t know why your instincts told you to sit there, and play when you obviously should be doing something else — but they did. it was only logical, in a way — people upon meeting with peril often freeze. their reason fails them, and instead of acting rational, they begin to work their most favored instrument, for example.

once you reached the end of notations, tune abruptly stopping, you flipped the music sheet, and a very brief thought passed your disarrayed thoughts.

you needed to run.

it all began so long ago — the horrors, hidden below veils upon veils of primitive happiness and joy. all the dangers and pain, tucked away under the cloth depicting a face of your beloved (well, perhaps you should be using a past tense when referring to him in such an affectionate way).

you don’t know where the line between normalcy and insanity began to blur. where the borders separating an ordinary feeling and something much more unsettling crashed, becoming one. no matter how perceptive you were, it slipped past your notice.

maybe mulling over your demise was never the point — you could have been as well as doomed the second your eyes first met.

it has been thirteen months since the death of your mother.

a year and one month, then. you didn’t like counting the time in such a trivial way, though. a mere numer 'one' could never possibly depict the sorrow dragging your whole body down. numbers of a bigger scale were suitable — thirteen may be a large quantity. it surely was, considering the context of your current situation. thirteen months, so three hundred ninety six days filled with woe. enough to showcase all the seconds you spent on practically falling asleep within yourself.

your day to day life was the same, always following a routine you didn’t have the strength to change. it’s not like you were particularly crushed under the weight of your experiences, no, you just… got used to it. the silence. the dust gathering on the shelves. unused cups, and too many utensils in your drawers. abandoned music sheets, sitting obediently on your piano, opened in the middle — their melody never to be finished by the original musician.

it wasn’t well, nor good, and your existence seemed to lack in any rhythm — but it was bearable.

and, truth be told, you wholeheartedly believed it would continue to stay like so for the unforeseen future. except it didn’t.

as your shoes clacked over the cobblestone road, eyes trailing after all the cracks under your feet, you began to think about dinner. another feeble attempt at composing your life together, and it would probably end up in vain as any other — but hey, everything starts with something, and food was the most fundamental part of staying on your legs (at least in the physical sense).

the market spread widely before you, stalls upon stalls standing next to each other, filled up with various fruit and meat. people were yelling over the clamor, exchanging goods for currency. if that wasn’t the prime example of a beating heart, then you don’t know what is.

you stepped forwards, vision taking in your possible options. money was never a problem for you — except you took far too little this time, so perhaps it would be good to stick to something on the cheaper side. strong wing carried over the intense scent of peaches, instantly making your mouth water. huh, you hadn’t had them in a long time. they were always your favorite. maybe not the most suitable for dinner, but still satiating enough.

as you dragged your feet over to the stall, a group of children ran by your side, one of them accidentally knocking against your hip. they didn’t even turn to apologize, too absorbed within their fun. you could briefly discern the nursery rhyme they were singing, happily prancing around and skipping by multitudes of people.

"one for sorrow, two for mirth,"

you meekly greeted the vendor, gently grasping a singular peach within your fingers, and inspecting it with your keen gaze.

"three for a wedding, four for a birth,"

the colors were intense, orange and red seeping together into a flury of shades, creating appealing streaks. you almost smiled to yourself.

"five for silver, six for gold,"

once you pressed your joints, the fruit easily caved in. ah, on the other hand, perhaps it was overripe? considering how strongly it smelled, it was a possibility.

"seven for a secret ne’er to be told,"

you asked the seller for the cost — and seriously, was he a lunatic? who in their right mind would spend so much on peaches, especially when they were mere days away from practically rotting?

"eight for a wish, nine for a kiss,"

you scoffed under your breath, complaining about how unreasonable the price was. the man told you to take it or leave it.

"ten for a bird you must not miss,"

still, you kind of wanted those peaches — from what you deduced, no one else in the closest proximity was selling them. you either bid goodbye to all the money in your wallet, or…

"eleven for hope, twelve for health,"

with that, you offered to bargain. the vendor agreed. it of course didn’t go as you would have liked it to, and now you were getting irritated. soon your conversation changed into something resembling a barking match, with you yelling at the man and saying he was a scammer. he snarled back at you every time. people were staring. at some point you wanted to back out from the pitiful charade you caused, but your honor didn’t let you.

"thirteen beware of the devil himself!”

as you opened your mouth to spit another insult at the seller, a hand gently gripped your shoulder. you jolted up, startled. your head whipped towards the one who decided to interrupt you, ready to snap at them too — and you’d probably do so, if not for who that was.

a familiar face with that ever-present kind smile. one of the Chrysos Heirs. the fair, tousled locks and rather outstanding garments left no question within you — Lord Phainon. you swallowed thickly, eyebrows narrowing.

"my, i’m sorry. did i startle you, miss?" he immediately jumped to apologies, confusing you even further. "i just wanted to see if everything was alright with you two. of course, i didn’t mean to pry, however…" he chuckled, taking a small pause, "well. it seems there’s trouble?"

you simultaneously wanted to shake and nod your head. for whatever reason, you felt slightly stunted — his voice sounded nice. it reminded you of the way mourning doves chirp in the morning, all soothing and sweet. then, there was his smile, maybe capable of competing with the very sun hanging above your heads. a row of white teeth along with twins of blue crinkling in the corners. a picture of perfection. how come you never payed any attention to him?

upon your lack of reaction, a hand waved in front of your eyes. "…iss. miss? you still with me?"

you blinked twice, rapidly pulled out of your temporary stupor. oh. it would seem he was talking to you, and you remained unresponsive. what a way to make a fool out of yourself.

"ah, yeah, sorry." you forced out awkwardly, scratching the nape of your neck. "just got lost in thought."

at that, Phainon snickered. his attention returned to the vendor, and he pointed towards the peaches — cursed objects of your dismay. "alright! kind sir, i’d like to buy a few." he smiled politely at the man.

you observed him purchase your desired fruit with the slightest of disappointment, paying without any complaints or hesitation. then, he turned to you, and practically pushed the paper bag into your arms. "i’m— is that for me?" you stammered, eyes widening.

"of course." the corners of his lips lifted even further upwards, forming into a grin. "i just hope you don’t mind?"

how could you possibly mind? even if he felt like doing charity work out of pity, it still meant a lot to you. for quite some time, you hardly received any sort of kindness. perhaps that’s what you’ve lacked for all this time.

when you noticed some other people lining up behind you, you stepped to the side, Phainon following in tow. "i don’t mind. thank you, Lord—"

"let’s not use the honorifics, hm?" he chimed in before you could even finish your sentence, swaying his hand dismissively.

you nodded, a somewhat bashful smile forming on your face. you felt kind of perplexed by the whole exchange, but nevertheless, it was a nice change of pace. "fine with me. oh, by the way, my name’s—"

he cut in again. "[name], am i right?"

upon hearing that, you let out a clipped laugh. how did he even know? well, it’s not like you’re alienating yourself from the rest of citizens, but hey. Phainon was at least a few ranks above you, and from what you could discern, people of higher status rarely concerned themselves with identities of the commoners.

you itched to ask: how’d you know?, but held your tongue — that would be surely impolite. "yes, you got that right."

"well, it was nice to meet you, [name]." he said, tone remaining light and jovial, mouth still stretched into a grin. you wondered how is it possible his cheeks didn’t hurt from the constant strain. "enjoy your peaches!"

Phainon was halfway swiveling on his heel, ready to walk away — and you, upon some godforsaken impulse, gripped his wrist. he stopped in his tracks, turning to you with a quizzical expression.

"uh— maybe you’d like one?" you queried, hastily reaching into the bag, and pulling the fruit out. "i mean… you bought them for me, so it’s only fair."

his irises took your face in (maybe a bit too intently for your liking), and he looked seconds away from bursting into a triumphant laughter. for what reason, you honestly didn’t know. "sure, thank you." he nodded, grasping the peach from your palm.

you followed in tow, because — why not? you were hungry, and the sight of his teeth sinking into the tender flesh caused your stomach to rumble, reminding of its discomfort. "oh, my! these are great." you remarked casually, wondering whether you should be acting so easy-going with a Chrysos Heir. anyway, you’re not the one to blame, are you?

"they are." he affirmed, smiling when he took another bite. juice seeped down his hand, slipping under the sleeve, which caused him to let out a dismayed yelp.

you laughed at the sight. he laughed harder.

the sun shone brightly, and you didn’t even know him, but felt a sting of familiarity in your chest. Phainon’s strands of hair billowed straight in his face, tousled by the strong gusts of wind, and nothing seemed to matter at that moment. thoughts of any morose kind left your exhausted brain, leaving you with that blissful emptiness. there was only him, you, and those damned peaches.

after that, your friendship with Phainon unfortunately only grew in its size. to this day, you aren’t sure what tempted you to let him practically snake his way into your life. perhaps it was the fact you were lonely, and grief-shaken — upon your mother’s passing, none was the same, and everyone seemed to turn their backs at you. it hurt like hell, so any kind of company satiated you. well, Phainon wasn’t just any kind. he was incredibly sweet, and helpful, and sometimes you caught yourself thinking he was everything you needed and more.

at first, your meetings were coincidental (but from the retrospective, they probably weren’t). you were doing some shopping, and he just happened to stumble across you on the street. the man was sitting in that lovely garden, surrounded by prancing chimeras, and you’d accidentally cross ways. things were falling into place, and fate seemed to be tethering you both — so you only got closer, and closer.

the bond between you tightened with every passing month, until you found out it’s already been a year, and your cursed brain decided to bestow you with its worst gift. a crush. an infatuation, of sorts.

sharing your sorrows came easier, and Phainon was only more eager to hear you out. it placated the thunderstorm in your heart enough to let the gates down — you invited him in, completely willingly. you initiated the acts that would later prove to be your doom, and now you couldn’t even find a suitable excuse. after all, no one forced you to spend most of your free time with him. not a single person gripped you by the shoulders, shaking, and commanding you: stick with him, and ignore all the times when that borderline manic smile failed to reach his eyes.

you think you’ll regret not backing out when you still had the chance forever.

air in the antique bookstore was thick, making your lungs heavy as you accidentally inhaled another portion of dust, the little speckles seating themselves uncomfortably in your nostrils. you wanted to sneeze, however held the insistent urge back, mindful of every other patron — there weren’t many people here, but still, you’d rather not startle anyone.

you flipped to another page of that certain memoir which managed to catch your attention. the paper seemed fragile and yellowed, already damaged by years of sun exposure, and the spine was pretty much cracked in half. that didn’t matter, though — a thing bearing so many profound memories will remain beautiful, even if it was to be tossed into a fiery pit.

memoirs and biographies alike were always your favorite. you don’t know why, but they carried a certain sense of comfort — death was inevitable in human existence, but if you write your life down, you’ll stay alive in the minds of others (at least to some extent). books, unlike people, do not have a lifespan. they will not perish, unless someone burns or destroys them.

that was soothing. literature won’t leave, nor will it abandon you. it is definitive. it is attested. it is a certainty which cannot be guaranteed in every case. memories will not slip you away, as long as you tuck them onto a piece of paper — be it a simple notebook, or a diary. human brain is unable of perceiving the recollections properly after some amount of time — it will mix everything up, having you debate whether it truly happened or not. books weren’t like that. they won’t fail you nor bend the reality.

you turned to another page when a doorbell rang through the space, the sound of silent greeting gracing your ears. somebody new came in. you decided to ignore them for now, intently reading through the sentences to discern if this specific lecture was genuinely up to your taste (because you didn’t feel like spending another sum of money on something you’ll drop sooner than later).

and as you were busying yourself with that, a pair of palms suddenly obscured your vision — you’d probably jump up in fright if not for the fact your nervous system was already used to such endeavors. you giggled meekly under your breath, gently shutting the book.

"guess who." rang the sing-song voice, so familiar and saccharine.

you rolled your eyes, a weak smile tugging the corners of your lips upwards. "hm, i’m not sure. who could it be?" you huffed, swiftly tugging the hands away from your face, and turning to see who decided on surprising you.

obviously, it was no revelation when your irises locked with the radiant pools of blue, already grinning at you so widely. or perhaps it was? you honestly didn’t expect to see Phainon here out of all places — sure, judging people by a stereotypical lens was wrong, but you would have never thought he took any interest in literature.

Phainon pouted at your words, the corners of his lips curling downwards in a pitiful expression. he honestly reminded you of a kicked puppy. "ah, [name], i’m so hurt. it’s me, obviously!" the man whined, one of his arms attempting to sneak around your shoulders. you eluded the touch.

"well, hello there." you sighed, wry amusement lacing your tone. then, you thought to ask: "what are you doing here?"

a silly question it was, because obviously he didn’t visit an antique bookstore to pick strawberries.

your friend hummed under his breath, eyes briefly flickering over the books, finally locking on the one you were holding. "i like reading from time to time. by the way, is that another memoir?" he inquired innocently.

you nodded. “yeah. why?"

"nothing, nothing." he waved his hand dismissively, a chuckle slipping past his lips. "you just read so much of them. don’t you ever get bored?"

your mouth opened to grant him with a response, but then your brain lagged. a very silent, practically non-existent alarm rang in the back of your mind, causing you to pause. when did you ever tell him about your fondness for this specific genre? well, it’s not like you were actively trying to keep it a secret, but still. you both rarely conversed about such things, especially your reading hobby.

anyway, you’re probably acting irrational right now. you must have told him before, and it simply escaped your memory.

you cleared your throat, putting the book back on the shelf. for whatever reason, you didn’t feel like purchasing it anymore. "no, not really. they’re interesting." you answered without much commitment.

Phainon gave a noise of acknowledgment, his smile growing into a grin. "is that so? well actually, i like them too."

"i have plenty at my house." you said, irises avoiding his face. the expression he donned was practically blinding. "if you want to, i can lend you some."

the fact he also enjoyed memoirs didn’t seem particularly believable to you, but you decided to indulge him nonetheless. after all, he was your friend. your only one.

(not to mention you may have been crushing on him).

"that would be nice!” he replied instantly, and you thought if you squinted enough, you’d manage to spot the tail wagging behind him excitedly. "do you have the time?"

"as in… right now?" you queried, but before you even affirmed, Phainon was already dragging you out of the store. you didn’t protest. whenever you did, saying something that didn’t especially please the man, the look on his face always fell so somberly. you hated that sight.

with that, the both of you went to your home. to be fair, you visited him more often than he actually visited you — so as you opened the door, you immediately began apologizing about the mess (which wasn’t overly prominent, but a lot of dust gather around, and you didn’t have the strength to clean up).

"again, sorry. i just didn’t really have the time to tidy recently.” you let the white lie easily slip off of your tongue, slowly putting your shoes away.

Phainon looked at you as if you were crazy. "[name], i already told you i don’t mind. my place isn’t the most perfect either." he laughed merrily, patting your back.

you reciprocated his smile, internally grateful for how understanding the man was. his gaze was always relentlessly kind (spare for the times when he stared blankly into the distance, blue irises completely dull), and never once you thought he appeared anyhow judgmental.

"well, anyway. about the books…" you began, stepping closer to the shelf in your living room, stuffed to the brim with lectures. "anything specific you’d like to read about?" you asked, knowing the memoirs spread across a rather wide range of topics.

"your favorite ones." Phainon chimed, following in tow.

you huffed out a hushed chuckle, quickly taking out at least five of your beloved titles. he was really sweet if he wanted to read your favorites, and it made your heart clench happily. "here you go." you handed him the books, carefully balancing them on the man’s palms.

you wholeheartedly believed he’d at least check out their backs, interested in the contents — but his intense gaze remained glued to yours. now that you think about it, this occurrence was somewhat common. one time you went to a restaurant, and Phainon, instead of seeing what the menu had to offer, continued to stare at you with a dumb grin. he ended up ordering the same dish as you. or, for example, when you visited him, and asked whether he could pour you some juice — that day was beyond scorching hot, so you were parched. Phainon immediately agreed, but as he was filling up your glass, he seemed to get distracted. the juice overflowed, spilling all across his lap, and he only stopped when you yelled at him.

the man either loved daydreaming, or analyzing your face contours in depth. you surely hoped it wasn’t the latter option (not because you’d mind — it simply made you feel overly exposed).

"don’t hurry with reading them all." you offered him a wry smile, receiving a nod of understanding in return. "anyway, maybe you’d like some tea?”

Phainon sat by the table, placing the books on its surface. "sure, why not." he replied, lazily opening one of them, and skimming through the pages without actually processing the words. if not for the fact his leg was bouncing, you’d think he was the perfect picture of peace now — light gently illuminating the galant features, long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks.

when he found you staring (even though you just internally berated him for doing the same thing), he sent you a knowing smile, eyebrows arching upwards. you cleared your throat awkwardly, hastily disappearing into the kitchen without a further comment.

once the tea was done, you settled it on the table, seating yourself as well. to no surprise, Phainon was distracted again, vision focused on your piano standing under one of the windows. it has seen better days — previously taken care of, its jet-black surface shone, reflecting all the light. now it was a mere imitation of its earlier glory, covered in dust and wilted petals of that flower you were too exhausted to water, and too unmotivated to throw away.

"something caught your eye?" you questioned, taking a small sip of the herbal drink.

he turned to face you, shrugging. "i was just wondering if you ever play this piano. i visited you multiple times, and it always stands…" he paused, as if weighting the words, "abandoned."

that much was true. you rarely concerned yourself with your hobby — after the passing of your mother, nothing seemed to draw your interest anymore. she was the one who taught you how to play, and now she was gone. no longer were the duets, or mirthful tunes resonating early in the morning.

she was much more talented and skilled than you could ever be, winning award after award. still, you cherished your shared passion for music — you learnt a lot, embedding the notes deep inside your mind. and she was proud. even if you failed, your mother would always cheer you on, patiently explaining what you could fix. life was good, back then.

but it was no more.

"i don’t play." you replied, voice a bit sterner than you’d like it to be.

Phainon didn’t seem anyhow deterred by your tone, sending you an encouraging smile. "really? that’s a pity. i’d love to hear you."

it wasn’t hard to deduce what he was insinuating. even though you swore to never touch that instrument again, your resolve chipped off at his words. "well… i suppose i could try for you."

your friend’s expression melted into a subtle triumph. "great!" he clasped his hands together, shifting on the chair to watch as you got up from your place, seating yourself by the piano.

you ran your palm over the dust and withered petals, shoving everything on the ground. you’ll swipe it later. then, you took a breath, attempting to recall anything familiar — it would seem you got rusty, because as you flipped through the music sheets, only one melody came to mind. why’re you so worried, anyway? you’re not here to impress Phainon (even if you’d like to, terribly).

with that, you positioned your fingertips on the tiles, shoulders tense from how his insistent gaze kept boring into your back. you winced upon the first sound, trying to remember how to play, and how to push back the memories haunting your sorrow-worn brain.

after a while of uncertainty, you finally fell into the right rhythm, smiling dimly at the forlorn tune. it was slow, and calm. all the world surrounding you seemed to cease in its existence, and now it was only you, and the piano. no Phainon, no birds flying outside of the window, no overcast skies, no memories of your late mother.

with each press on the tile, you felt as if you were discovering pieces of yourself anew, like a sacred ritual — playing made you happy. it truly did. how were you able of forgetting about such a simple fact?

as you regained the confidence, you worked your joints with more fervor. everything was going well, until two palms fell onto your shoulders, startling you.

a strained, prolonged sound filled the air as you accidentally hit the tiles, messing up the melody. your head quickly whipped towards Phainon, who was now looking at you with a surprised expression painted on his face. when did he even come up here? you hardly heard any footfall.

"i’m so sorry, did i scare you?” he chuckled, obviously without any remorse.

you sighed, fingers reaching over to touch his hands. "a little."

a smirk stretched his lips upwards as he leaned a bit closer, twins of blue flickering between your form and the instrument. "i didn’t mean to." he responded coyly, no matter if you didn’t sense any guilt coming from him. well, it’s not like you’d hold a grudge for giving you a brief spook. "i just wanted to look from up close. you played so beautifully."

you felt his joints interlock around yours, and now you were slightly hot, something summery itching at your cheeks. Phainon was way too near, and the worst part is — you wished to render the distance completely.

he appeared so pretty from up close. you could discern the faint dimples in his cheeks as he smiled at you tenderly, and how light coming from the window illuminated his radiant irises. if you were able to, you’d immediately snap a picture with your own eyes, because there was no way any sort of lens could ever truly mirror his prepossessing features.

"i can teach you." you blurted out on impulse, wanting to sink into the chair from embarrassment at your silly proposal.

you expected Phainon to laugh — except he didn’t. his face pulled even closer, effectively knocking the air out from your lungs. assuming your heart had legs of it own, it surely would bolt straight out of your throat.

"i’d like that." he murmured.

your breath hitched, and then his lips brushed against yours. you barely stopped yourself from digging your nails into his hands. upon some sprout of boldness, you moved to close your mouths together — but Phainon inched away. that caused your mind to lag, blinking twice at him in confusion — did you even kiss? it was so brief, and chaste in its nature. more like just… pressing your lips against each other, as if to exchange oxygen.

his palms left your shoulders, and he straightened out, stepping back. your thoughts spurred, wondering whether you did something wrong, or if you offended him — however, there was no trace of dismay on the man’s face. he kept smiling sweetly at you, slowly gathering the memoirs into his arms like nothing ever happened.

"well, teach, can i see you tomorrow for a quick lesson?" he asked amusedly, eyebrows arching upwards.

no matter how perplexed you felt, you still forced the corners of your lips to stretch. "s-sure." you stammered out, fingers clenching around the material of your attire.

perhaps you imagined it, after all.

with that, time continued to pass, and for whatever reason you never again touched upon the topic of that barely-kiss. you remember being frustrated then, for pretty obvious reasons. still, Phainon didn’t seem to be in need of talking about that, so you kept silent.

now, from the perspective of time, it might have actually saved you from a fate much worse than what you had presented before you at this moment. your chance to escape Okhema remains unshaken, but what if you pushed Phainon earlier on? surely, the man’s fangs would clench around your neck, refusing to let you go.

he continued to visit you after that, and you taught him how to play. it was no revelation when he grasped the concept rather quickly — he seemed to be some kind of an omnibus, catching on everything naturally.

those shared moments were so precious to you, back then. when Phainon became confident in his somewhat stable skills, you both would sit by the piano, playing a duet. your sides touched as you slowly pressed on the tiles, sometimes even humming along to the tune. whenever one of you messed up, you’d laugh, bickering quietly.

you were enjoying yourself — more than you probably should. all the red flags and alarming behaviors slipped past your notice, and you genuinely thought you regained a long-lost part of yourself.

the dust was now gone from your home, wilted plants and trash thrown away. the piano shone like it used to, and the sun seemed to peek out from behind the clouds more often. your fridge was never empty, because Phainon always brought you some fresh food, and the bed in which you could lie for hours on end didn’t appear as alluring.

it’s not that you miraculously recovered from the grief and burdens of your doleful mind, however, it was progress. the heart remained heavy still — but the man’s fingers curled under its beating form, lifting it up. it was easier to function with him.

at some point, you thought a life without Phainon would be impossible.

everything was going well, and you no longer were carrying so much sorrow. previously, your brain practically drowned into a state of paranoia — every single person appeared as if they wanted to harm or betray you in some way. you scowled at the passersby, a bitter frown painted across your face. but now it was gone. all the wariness and disdain and chagrin lulled into something softer, more amiable.

alas, you should have kept it with you.

you stirred awake, pressing your eyelids shut at the dim light of early morning uncomfortably irritating your eyes. you don’t know why, but your stomach churned, and you felt unsettled by the thought that something was not right.

your room was way too cold. of course, it was chilly in the mornings, but this? this was beyond normalcy. you finally looked around the space, trying to control your trembling limbs. nothing was amiss. every single thing lied in its destined place, all of the windows closed.

still, the temperature made you wonder. with an uneasy feeling, you slowly dragged yourself off the bed, treading downstairs to check it out as well.

it’s a good thing you didn’t go back to sleep, because the sight there made you gasp out loud. your doors were opened — not widely, just slightly ajar — but they were, and it made your guts clench.

under any other circumstances, you would have blamed it on your forgetfulness, however right now that was simply impossible. you never once forgot to close the door, always making sure at least two times the locks were secure and tightly shut.

when you were little, you and your mother fell victim to a robbery — your whole home got practically destroyed, every single furniture toppled over once the thieves were satisfied with their search for any valuables. ever since then, your mother got paranoid about stuff like that. she instilled utmost awareness in you, and so, you adapted. the habit stuck with you to this day, and you took extra precautions just to make sure everything was locked.

wind flew through the gap, lapping at your bare ankles with its frigid tongue. someone broke into your house — and the worst part is, you don’t know whether that person was still inside.

untamed panic attempted to squeeze your heart, but you steeled your resolve, taking a deep breath. no, you mustn’t fall into a hole of fright. your eyes quickly jumped across the space of your living room, scanning everything up and down — nothing.

you took a step forward, jumping up at the low creak your floor made. you cursed under your breath, placing a shaky palm over your pounding chest. you tentatively dragged your feet over to the middle of the room, trying to gather your disarrayed thoughts. as you somehow managed to calm your nervous system down, you hastily turned back for your teleslate, gripping it in your hand as if your life depended on it.

you glanced around yourself precariously, too afraid of even checking out other rooms — after all, if that intruder were there, what would you do? you couldn’t fight. one hit from behind, and you’d be gone.

as carefully as possible, you started walking down the stairs, already dialing a familiar number. you needed him — he was way more capable than you. you were absolutely sure if that person who broke into your house would see him, they’d pass out.

you stood frozen on the cold floorboards, counting down the signals. one. two. three—

"hello, [name]?" resonated the slightly dazed voice, still half-asleep. you must have woken him up.

"Phainon," you began, trying to maintain your tone stable, "can you come to my place?"

you heard a noise of something on the other side, muffled and static. "you mean… as in right now?"

"yes, right now. i know it’s barely four in the morning, but—"

a loud thud on the window cut in the middle of your sentence, causing you to practically shriek in horror. it was a bird — you saw it so clearly, its small silhouette bumping against the glass — and yet, you bolted out of your house as if you were hunted by a pack of fiends.

you almost tripped over your own legs, bare feet falling onto the cold grass, freshly covered in dew. you heard Phainon’s voice calling from your teleslate, asking if you were alright, so you pressed it back to your ear.

"what in the hell happened, [name]?" he asked, probably for the fifth time now.

you took a shaky breath, running a palm over your face. "nothing, i just— just please, come here. i think…" you stammered, clumsily stumbling over your words in haze of trepidation, "i think someone broke into my house."

"wh—" the man began, immediately abandoning his track of thought, "alright. okay, i’ll be there. where are you now?"

you warily looked around, taking in the dimmed sight of your surroundings — the sky was still somewhat dark, periwinkle shyly peeking through the grayish firmament. "in my garden."

Phainon affirmed he’ll come as soon as possible, and you hung up, anxiously pacing around the patch of grass. you were torn between staying outside, and coming back home — but ultimately decided to remain in place.

you fidgeted with your fingers, eyes flickering to the door you forgot to even close as you sprinted out. you mulled over all the dark scenarios, clenching your hands into fists, imagining what you’d do if that intruder were to suddenly emerge, and attack you. their motives surely were odd — nothing was missing, your furniture unmoved, all the possibly valuable things untouched. it was different from what you had experienced as a young girl. if not for the money, then…

the grim realization struck you, and you breathed meekly, feeling your knees get wobblier. how is it you came out of this completely unscathed? as you continued to drown in morose reveries, you heard the fast footfall, head whipping to see who was coming your way.

Phainon, in all of his glory — ivory locks tousled in ever single possible direction, still donning his sleepwear and combat shoes that totally didn’t match. perhaps under different circumstances, you would laugh at the sight.

"[name]." he called, swiftly rendering the distance between you. his facial expression seemed somewhat distraught, but he didn’t take his sword with him, which was… well, somewhat weird. maybe he simply forgot it.

you stepped towards him, grabbing his palms into yours. "thank gods you’re here…" you muttered, feeling at his joints tensing. "why don’t you have a weapon? what if— what if that intruder is still—"

"everything is going to be just fine, alright?" he responded, interrupting your waterfall of hardly-coherent words. "i’ll go search through your place. you should, uh… perhaps stick to me."

you nodded eagerly, sighing with relief at the security Phainon’s presence brought you. with that, you trailed after the man, glued to his hip like a stray animal begging for a scrap of meat.

both of you carefully checked out every single corner of your house, and the more you looked, the more unsettled you became. the thief was not there, but a few things were missing. first of all — your pens. as you stepped into the study, you briefly noticed the disarray on your desk, soon finding out half of your utensils were gone. then, there was that handkerchief you spent so much time embroidering with intricate floral patterns — also no sight of it.

the disappearances were so inconspicuous, it terrified you way more than the vision of losing your jewelry or money. what person casually decides to break in, only to steal somebody’s pens and a piece of cloth? those things were not valuable whatsoever — the fact that this intruder took them was beyond off.

when you pointed it out, Phainon’s eyebrows narrowed with concern — and then his expression shifted into almost dismissal. he said not to worry, after all none of your actually precious stuff was gone, and that must be a good sign, no?

you were consternated at his suddenly carefree attitude, but didn’t point it out. since your friend told you everything was fine, then who were you to undermine his words? certainly, he knew better than you — even if something deep in your gut told you otherwise.

you pushed back the feelings of unease and ambivalent emotions, soon changing the locks and making sure all of your windows were secure. this accident has shaken you, and now your sleep was restless — but life goes on, and Phainon promised he’d never let any harm come your way, so at least you had an ounce of comfort to cling to.

you don’t know why you were so blind, back then. the signs were there for all of this time — you simply decided to turn a blind eye on them.

perhaps it was because you repressed the grief deep inside, but it still dragged you down. silently, innocently. it resurfaced only when you were alone, staring pointlessly at your own feet or a half-empty cup of water. you began to fear it, and so, you tethered yourself to the source of your consolation.

it has been twenty six months since your mother’s death, and thirteen months since your "friendship" with Phainon first bloomed. a number big enough to show the amount of conflict brewing within your heart — torn between everything your instincts were telling you, and ignoring them.

sometimes you wondered: if you kept your curiosity at bay, would anything ever resurface? would the ugly things finally appear, seated in your lap like an obedient lamb? he was an intelligent man, so perhaps not.

anyway, there’s no use mourning over spilled milk.

Phainon, being one of the Chrysos Heirs, was often sent out on missions of various kind. they never took him too long — he always came back in time, maybe a bit battered, but still in one piece. today, however, seemed to be different.

everything started out smoothly — you knew he was out of town, so you arranged to meet with one of your newly-formed friend. you got ready, actually putting effort in how you looked, and waited patiently for the hour of your little get-together to finally arrive.

when your teleslate vibrated next to your thigh, you believed it was your friend, letting you know to come out now — so once your eyes met with Phainon’s vague message, you blinked in surprise.

he asked you to come to the infirmary, only stating that he wanted to see you. naturally, you texted back — did something happen? — but the silence that followed was maddening. an utterly unreasonable flood of worry surged through your mind, each passing second stirring it into a thunderstorm. without wasting another moment, you grabbed your bag and hurried out.

by the time you arrived, every nerve in your body felt like it was set in flames. stress relentlessly gnawed at your thoughts, and a thousand of dark scenarios bloomed intrusively in your imagination. you barely managed to ask one of the nurses where he was, and she responded with a door numer — it already managed to dissolve in your thoughts. you walked upstairs, heart pounding with a single morose question: was Phainon truly in such a state that he’d ask for you? gods, you hoped he was just being dramatic.

you shoved the door open and exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding. there he was — alive, upright, and breathing. he sat on the bed with a slight recline, supported by a multitude of pillows, his gaze fixed on something outside the window. when he heard you come in, he turned, expression almost instantly shifting into a cheerful smile.

"[name], you came." he hummed happily, briefly running his fingers through the fair locks, maybe a bit self-conscious by how messy they were.

Phainon’s left cheek was covered by a piece of gauze, and you managed to spot a few bandages sticking from under his loose robes — but fortunately, nothing else caught your attention. he was all well, and now you were wondering why did he sent you such an ominous message in the first place. maybe he simply wanted to mess with you.

you nodded, rendering the space between you two. "of course i did." you spoke meekly, deciding to seat yourself on the small chair, standing just right next to the bed. "anyway, are you… okay?"

the blue irises studied you for good, prolonged three seconds before he thought answer. "could have been worse. accidents happen from time to time, even to me." he chuckled, a cough ripping from his chest abruptly.

you winced, fiddling with your fingers. you did not know what to do. "why don’t you lie down?" you asked, sending him a wry smile. comforting others was never your strongest forte, and now it was evidently showing.

he obediently took up on your offer, the corners of his lips remaining lifted. "[name], don’t frown so much. it’s not like i’m dying, or something."

you laughed at that comment, and he laughed along. whenever you as much as voiced any sound of joy, he always followed suit — at first it wasn’t very noticeable to you, but after some time, you recognized it as a habit of sorts. an unconditioned reflex.

"sorry. i didn’t mean to, i just…" you trailed off, eyes falling to your lap.

a short beat of silence passed between you before Phainon spoke again. "you look especially pretty today. any occasion?" he mused, a teasing lilt to his voice.

at that, you almost choked on your own spit. your relationship with the man was… well, somewhat questionable — but whenever he complimented you in such a straightforward way, you always felt as if somebody smacked you across the face with an electric wire.

you cleared your throat, trying to fight off the blush steadily creeping onto your cheeks. "maybe? i’m not sure. i was supposed to meet up with my friend today." you explained.

Phainon’s smile widened, and you didn’t fail to spot how the corner of his lips twitched. "sounds great."

you nodded, unsure of what to reply with. sometimes he responded with such vague sentences, it was hard to even come up with an answer. still, you forced your mind to muster up anything to keep the conversation going.

you talked for quite a while now, and you definitely lost the track of time — the sky darkened slightly, and you continued to ignore the buzzing of your teleslate. whenever you reached into your bag, your friend always began asking you some barely sensible questions, demanding your attention to stay focused solely on him.

you indulged him, naturally, but when you heard the sound of a ringtone, you could no longer pretend. what you were doing was hardly polite — looking at the hour, you were already fifteen minutes late to your meeting. even if Phainon was battered, he surely would understand, right? after all, he is the prime example of kindness, constantly gracing everyone with that cordial smile of his.

with a sigh, you grasped the device, ready to pick up. "sorry, i really have to—"

before your fingertip managed to even do as much as graze the teleslate’s screen, a hand suddenly locked around your wrist. you let out a mixture of surprise and confusion from your throat, vision returning to Phainon. he was smiling — alas, it didn’t encompass his eyes anymore. the man’s grip wasn’t hard, but it caused you to accidentally drop your teleslate, the thing slipping from your palm and hitting the ground with a clatter. it was still ringing a merry tune, so notorious and loud.

you swallowed, consternation painting itself across your face. "hey, what are—"

a vivid picture of sudden change grew in front of you, dull irises snapping back into their lively forms — he hastily let go of your limb, retracting his hand. did Phainon suffer some head trauma while he was away on a mission? he never once acted so erratically before, so you wouldn’t be surprised to find out his brain was in a concussed state.

"sorry. is your teleslate alright?" he spoke calmly, easing back into the stack of pillows.

you bend down to pick it up, briefly inspecting it. "yes, it is." you nodded, eyes avoiding him. when you glanced at the screen, you saw at least ten delivered messages, waiting for you to read. you felt guilty.

"anyway," he started, that lighthearted lace returning to his tone, "who were you supposed to meet up with?"

you sighed at the innocent question, turning the device off. "Phaoriseus. you remember him, don’t you?"

to be completely honest, you expected another burst of bitterness from your friend (and you wouldn’t blame him for it) — so it was a surprise when Phainon gave a hum of understanding, still smiling at you without a single waver. "i do remember him."

(you didn’t spot how terribly hard his fingers curled around the covers, nor the tight clench of his jaws).

"so, uhh, i guess i should…" you began, wondering why were you feeling so unsure, "i should go now. he’ll get mad if i just ditch him like that."

Phainon’s expression remained frozen for a good second — but soon the blank page of his face twisted into a pitiful frown, eyebrows knitting together. "really? but you just got there!" he protested, and you thought he looked like a mistreated dog. injured face, stitches, locks tousled messily — and those big eyes, practically begging.

he was not right. you didn’t just get there. it has been two hours since you stepped into infirmary, and perhaps it would be better to go now — but Phainon had this irresistible ability of tugging on your poor heartstrings. you felt torn, and when your teleslate began ringing again, you knew it was the high time you finally decide.

and the worst part is — it came so easily to you. just like that. without much hesitancy, you turned on the silent mode, tossing the thing back into your bag.

sure, you wanted to maintain friendships, and whatnot — but the man lying now in front of you was simply more important. you chuckled dryly under your breath, wondering how could you ever possibly leave his side — and when he heard the sound coming from your mouth, he laughed along. sweetly, like pure saccharine or sugarcoated apples.

"so you’ll stay, i presume?" he inquired, fingertips reaching over to yours. you squeezed his hand immediately, smiling at the warmth of his joints.

"of course i’ll stay." you affirmed, all remnants of internal conflict seeping away. it was good this way. you didn’t need much in life — as long as you had Phainon, everything would be just fine.

you could mock your past self for remaining so oblivious, but it would lack in any sense anyway. it’s not as if berating yourself for putting trust in somebody else could fix the old mistakes — none can undo the past.

now that you think about it, Phainon always was… somewhat quirky. beloved by everyone, cherished and praised highly in the general community of Okhema, he stayed as a picture-perfect golden boy. no one would ever suspect there was something more to him — not even you, at least back then.

however, sometimes his usually radiant eyes lost their glow, boring pointedly into the distance with dullness you couldn’t put your finger on, or discern where it was coming from. it was eerie in a way, seeing how the very life seemed to practically disappear from him — but you never thought to judge him. you understood better than anyone else that a human’s existence is filled with various hardships and grief. maybe Phainon experienced something akin to your loss, and simply attempted to smother the sorrow instead of letting it dissolve naturally.

then, there were his mood swings. they weren’t overly prominent, but it was quite apparent the emotions within him were in a constant state of swirl. for example, how quickly and rapidly he could burst into laughter at something mildly funny you said — you always wondered whether he seriously found your dry jokes so amusing.

not to mention, you perceived Phainon as someone relentlessly kind, but he just had that odd habit of glaring at whoever was talking to you. no matter if you were acquainted with them, or not — he’d stand a little behind you, eyebrows narrowing together lowly. when you caught him scowling like so, his look always shifted into a docile smile, innocently asking what was wrong — as if he never did anything in the first place. you let that slide, too.

perhaps this was not a very obvious sign, but from time to time, you noticed the slip-ups in his masterfully crafted masks. well, maybe not masterfully, because Phainon wasn’t all that great at controlling his facial expressions — but the fact he could hold them up with such a hell in his mind remained impressive. you stated something against his wishes — his eyebrow twitched. you did specifically what he told you not to do — his lower eyelid quivered, as if he was seconds away from losing it.

and finally, the vague responses Phainon offered you. previously, you had no clue why he got so mopey sometimes, but now you know it stemmed from pure, barely contained jealousy. the short "okay-s" and "fine-s" often sounded as if he practically forced them out. almost like there was something in his throat — obscuring the man’s windpipe, refusing him from mustering up anything more.

earlier on, when you were still so blissfully oblivious, you could live with that. you could swallow down all the doubts and questions, cherishing the company of your beloved friend — or something more. you ignored all the cracks, and wavers, pretending not to see the sharp eyes of a predator lurking from underneath sheep’s clothing.

you were so hung-up on the vision of remaining by Phainon’s side, you ignored the warnings — not only originating from your own intuition, but other’s as well.

the weather seemed a bit unstable today — you agreed to come out on a walk with Phainon, bumping into Mydei along the way, and dragging him with you too — and the sun shone brightly from one part of the sky, while the other remained darkened by the rain clouds. it was a little unsettling, watching as the gloom spread relentlessly fast towards your way.

still, you couldn’t exactly complain. you were having fun with both of the men, giggling under your breath as they bickered over the dumbest things. you already had to work as a mediator, and a judge — when their debates remained unsolved, they instantly turned towards you, demanding you decide which one of them was right.

and as you strolled through the main square, your eyes met with an ice cream stall. the temperature was quite hot, so you offered to buy some — Phainon agreed with you, saying that he can go wait in the line, since it was pretty long. you sent him a grateful nod, hiding with Mydei in the shade meanwhile he had to stand in the scorching sun, already appearing somewhat dazed by the hotness.

you leaned on the cool pillar, sighing with relief. the man next to you followed suit, glancing at you with the corner of his piercingly sharp iris. "[name], i have to ask you about something." he began, perhaps a bit tentatively.

to hear him speak up first was a slight surprise, especially since you weren’t particularly close, nor did Mydei seem to be overly social. still, you didn’t point it out — it’s not like it was a bad thing he attempted to strike up a conversation with you.

"go ahead." you sent him an encouraging smile, quickly reaching to wipe the sweat off of your brow. the high temperature was seriously getting to you — any longer in the sun, and you’d probably faint.

he cleared his throat, letting out a prolonged sigh. "what do you think of Phainon?” he questioned, the tone of his voice more gravely than usual.

confused, you blinked twice, mulling over his words. what’s that supposed to mean? "well, i think he’s a… good person. i enjoy his company.” you replied, wondering if that’s the answer Mydei was looking for.

the man shook his head, eyebrows narrowing together. "is that all? don’t you think he’s been acting off?"

the more he talked, the more perplexed you got. "what?"

Mydei clicked his tongue in irritation, probably barely holding back a scoff at your obliviousness. "[name], i’m sure you are more intelligent than you let on. don’t tell me you can’t see how he looks at you?"

a nervous chuckle escaped your lips as you scratched the nape of your neck. where was he even going with all this? "sorry, are you—" you took a pause, weighting your words, "are you insinuating Phainon has a crush on me?"

this of course wouldn’t be any sort of revelation, considering the things you both have done before, however hearing it from somebody else’s mouth was certainly weird.

he huffed out a humorless chuckle, leaning in a bit closer, as if his sentence was some kind of top-secret. "more than just infatuation. there’s… there’s something uncanny to his gaze." Mydei murmured with a hint of cautiousness in his voice. "i really hate to talk of him in such a way, but i know him longer than you, and—"

your brain almost — almost connected all the circumstances and dots you were pushing back for a long time already, living in denial — but then a familiar voice caused you both to jump back, straightening out.

"i’m back!" you turned to look at Phainon who held up three cones, a triumphant grin stretching his lips upwards. "now, what were the two of you talking about, hm?" he laughed inconspicuously, handing out the ice cream.

Mydei sent you a glare so stern, you’d never dream of admitting the truth. "just… discussing our favorite chimeras." you forced out, making up some hardly-authentic excuse on the spot. you saw the blonde man cringe at your dumb lie.

Phainon’s eyebrows lifted, and he nodded slowly, as if silently messaging he didn’t believe a single word. "is that so? well, Mydei was frowning so much i thought you were conversing about the very death." he joked lightheartedly, licking at the already dripping ice cream.

"it doesn’t matter, Deliverer. [name]’s telling the truth." he retorted, and you winced when he took a formidable bite out of the cold food.

you observed them exchange heated looks, but neither said anything further. with that, you took a small step back, hunching your shoulders inwards as you slowly licked on the ice cream — for whatever reason, you lost your appetite.

funnily enough, no matter how ominous Mydei’s words were, you soon forgot them. an awful decision on your side, but hey — at least you’re aware now that he remained completely truthful, then. you could be almost grateful at his high perception, though it didn’t help much at that time.

you were never close with the crown prince of Kremnos — he always seemed a bit distant, and detached from the rest. the only reason you had any contact with him was because of Phainon. perhaps that’s the reason why his warning dissipated so quickly from your mind — assuming you were better friends, you’d surely take everything he told you under consideration.

as you slowly reached towards the end of your favored piece, fingers falling rhythmically on the tiles, you began to think you should have listened. you should have taken it all to heart, ridding yourself of the blindness, and accepting the truth.

alas, you didn’t do so, and the longer you sit by the piano, playing and mulling over events of the past year, the more evident your demise starts to appear. every single sound resonates like the oh-so familiar footsteps, and singing of the night birds outside reminds you of his voice.

maybe he’s standing right behind you, and you just don’t know it yet. a silly, paranoid vision that was — you made sure to lock the doors, barricading them with additional furniture. you’d certainly hear it, if he were to force his way inside — but still, you feared to turn your head.

after all, when it came to Phainon, your cognitive functions always seemed a bit faulty.

the storm season began, and you shining with utter intelligence, forgot to take your umbrella. again. you swear, at this point you’ll have to write it on your forehead in big, bold letters — remember about the rain!, or something of the sort.

fortunately or unfortunately, you were close to Phainon’s place, so you quickly ran to his door, almost slipping on the mud. with a huff of exasperation, you knocked energetically, hoping he was home. your limbs were trembling from the cold, and clothes stuck uncomfortably to your frame, encompassing you in their heavy wetness. you barely stopped the chattering of your teeth.

after a few seconds, the man finally opened the door, obviously taken aback to see you. "oh, [name]!" he called out in surprise, immediately ushering you inside with a kind smile.

once he shut the entrance, you sighed in relief, drinking in the tranquil silence. loud rainfall was no more, muffed out by the walls surrounding you — and the air definitely got warmer, a soothing balm to your shaky joints. then, you turned to look at Phainon.

"i got caught up in the rain." you stated the obvious, a humorous snicker slipping past your lips as you quickly shook off the water-filled shoes.

your friend’s expression turned fond, and he cocked one eyebrow up at you. "really? i never would have noticed." he chuckled, reaching for your soaked hair — he raked his fingers through the strands, and you swatted his teasing touch away.

"anyway, i’m cold and i want something to drink." you stated, hurriedly dragging your feet towards the living room. Phainon followed in your tracks, just a few steps behind.

you sat on the leather couch, barely containing the shaky breath threatening to escape you. he stood in front of you, clasping his hands. "alright, how about this— self-service today, and while you’re preparing yourself tea, i’ll run you a bath." he offered, before quickly adding: "oh, and maybe i’ll find some fitting garments for you…"

the vision of a hot bath and dry clothes was better than ever — you nodded earnestly, jumping up from the couch like a wind-up toy. "sounds good. thank you, Phainon." you smiled, grateful for such a considerate companion. whatever ethereal being was looking after you, they certainly made sure to bless you with an angel.

he reciprocated the gesture, saying he’ll try to be as quick as possible, soon emerging upstairs. you already took a step forward the kitchen — but then something caught your eye.

door, slightly ajar, just in the corner of the room — of course, you were aware of their existence, but didn’t know where they actually led to. they always remained tightly shut, and Phainon never seemed to use them (at least in your presence).

upon some tinge of uncontainable curiosity, you walked towards the source of your interest. it was extremely rude to pry and search through one’s home while they remained unaware — but your friend wouldn’t get mad even if he found out, right? sure, maybe he’d scold you, but it would end at that.

you opened the door a bit wider, studying the space — it was rather claustrophobic, to be honest. it looked like a larder, except it lacked in any sort of food. a rather obscure wall unit stretched on your left, devoid of anything useful in particular — empty jars, some scrolls, everything covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. the only thing that didn’t seem abandoned was a carton box, situated atop a feeble chair.

you stepped forwards, prying its flaps open with the slightest of guilt — alas, the freshly ignited marvel won, and you couldn’t hold yourself back. at first it didn’t seem to harbor anything special, just a few books along with an innocent-looking wooden casket. you almost laughed, a bit disappointed to find nothing interesting — but then you saw it.

those were your books, the same ones you lent to him some time ago, and pretty much forgot about.

why would Phainon store them inside some dusty cellar instead of just giving them back to you? it was perplexing. you slowly reached for them, lifting the books up — everything seemed fine, and they lacked in any damage. you put them away, focus relocating towards the unfamiliar object lying at the bottom — a… diary?

you gently grasped it, your instincts screaming at you to abandon your task and go make yourself that damned tea. unfortunately, you decided to stay curious.

as you slowly opened it, you immediately got greeted with the familiar handwriting — it was loopy, and nice to the eye. you always envied Phainon because of it.

with a shaky exhale of thrill, you began to scan through the contents.

i finally spoke to [name] today. after all my hesitation, i can’t believe how gentle and kind she turned out to be. what was i so afraid of? i waited for the perfect moment, wanting to make a good impression — and i think it was worth it.

i bought her peaches, though i’m not quite sure why she was so hellbent on bargaining for them. she’s never lacked in money, at least from what i’ve managed to deduce. still, i bought them, and she surprised me by offering one back. such a small thing, and yet it meant so much. i nearly cheered out loud with joy.

it feels like a good beginning. earning her trust will take time, i know — but perhaps i can dare to believe i’ve already taken the first step. i dearly hope i’m not wrong.

your eyebrows narrowed together, and the air gone heavy in your lungs. what? just… just what the hell was he even writing about? yes, the piece of text seemed innocent enough, but it wasn’t hard to discern Phainon thought of speaking to you long before you personally met him. maybe you were simply exaggerating, and the man’s intentions remained pure — but still, you hurriedly shuffled through the pages, stopping on another one.

today was thankfully free from any obligations, leaving me with much time to devote to what truly matters: learning more about [name]. it’s not difficult to trace someone’s steps, honestly. i’ve always found it quite easy — some may say it’s somewhat unethical, but i never thought of it that way. ah, i digress, don’t i?

she doesn’t work — not surprising, really, considering her late mother’s fortune. if memory serves me right, that woman was once a pianist of some renown. still, i do wish [name] ventured out more often — her long absences complicate things unnecessarily. but i endure.

when she does take a walk, she moves as if without a particular purpose — never talking to anyone, never daring to look up from her feet. it fascinates me. what thoughts fill her head during those quiet strolls?

she has some sort of a fondness for that antique bookstore, near the main square. i paid a visit myself, naturally. the clerk, eager to please a Heir, shared the details of her last purchase — a memoir. i’ve never cared much for them, but if my [name] finds value in such lectures, then i shall too. it’s only logical, after all.

as always, i was careful today. our paths crossed — seemingly by chance, of course. i’ve gone to great lengths to ensure that every encounter feels like a mere coincidence. she likely thinks of them as such. there’s a certain naivete in her logic and understanding, a quality i find utterly disarming. it will certainly make things easier for me to ████ ██.

all in all, today was successful. i hope the following days will remain equally bountiful.

your hands shook now, jaw hanging slack as you barely stopped yourself from dropping the diary and bolting out of that man’s house. was this supposed to be a joke? if so, then it surely wasn’t funny.

he was a lunatic. Phainon — the one you considered your most beloved and only friend — was insane. he followed after you, tracking you down, as if you weren’t a real person with their own emotions, but a mere animal to hunt, shoot down, and put on display.

you were terrified. no, that was an understatement. you were terror-stricken. everything you took for granted suddenly crumbled over your head, rendering you frozen — but, perhaps, this really was only a joke? some… some kind of a fictional story Phainon decided to make up out of morbid boredom?

with that, you turned another few pages forward, hoping to see a revelation which could ease your anxiety, and finally clear up the misunderstanding. you had to squint your eyes a little, observing as the elegant handwriting suddenly took a sharper turn, erratic and barely able of discerning.

my hands tremble as i write this, the ink already smudging in places. it’s strange — i’ve faced peril more times than i can count — and yet nothing has shaken me quite like what happened today.

i met [name] at the bookstore again. i nearly commited a gravely mistake — i made a remark about her taste in memoirs, something she’s never confessed to me directly. for a moment, i thought i completely messed up everything i worked so hard for. i could see the faintest flicker of suspicion in her eyes, but she said nothing. thank gods for that. i had no excuse prepared, so i suppose i would’ve been doomed.

she invited me to her home to lend me some memoirs. as if the books mattered. of course i accepted — not out of my interest for the literature, but because the offer was simply too enticing to turn down. time with her, and [name]’s own beloved volumes in my hands. a chance like that cannot be missed out on.

i tried not to show it, but my eyes were drawn to her piano (i thought it looked quite proud and imposing). it stood abandoned in the corner, as if she completely forgot about it. i asked if she could play for me. [name] hesitated, but ultimately agreed.

what followed was something beyond music. her fingers moved with such grace, her posture so painfully poised. the room dissipated away. i watched, completely mesmerized. why did she not follow in her late mother’s footsteps? well, perhaps it’s better this way. the world doesn’t deserve her. not like i do.

as she played, i stepped towards her, putting my hands on her shoulders. she jolted up, stopping rapidly — startled, maybe. i should have felt guilty, but i didn’t. [name]’s surprise, her breath catching in her throat — it was alluring, in a way.

and then, i kissed her. not fully — just the brief touch of lips. but it happened. she didn’t pull away. if anything, i thought i felt her coveting for more. i backed out, though. if i haven’t, then i ████ ███████ ██.

[name] is driving me to the edge of reason. she doesn’t even know it, not truly. i am already hers. completely, helplessly hers. how could i not be? when i met her, i realized she was unavoidably special. ████ ██ i am sick with desire. she makes me ████ █████████.

so it wasn’t a jest, then.

you turned to another page.

what i did tonight would, by most standards, be considered shameful — depraved of any morality, even. but i feel no remorse.

ever since i first tasted the warmth of [name]’s kindness, i have found it impossible to resist my longing. could you believe it? she offered to teach me the piano. imagine that — her delicate hands guiding mine, her voice so close i could feel it brush against my cheek. we’ve started to play duets together. to be fair, it’s hard for me to contain myself with her sitting so close, side pressed into mine.

tonight, the ache became unbearable.

i broke into her house while she was asleep, and i observed her for quite some time. i wanted to take something from her — to soothe the torturous ache in my chest when she’s not near. i cut a lock of her hair. it smelled faintly of lavender and something sweeter i couldn’t name. i held it to my lips. it felt like worship.

i searched her study next — not to violate, or anything of the sort. i simply needed more. i settled on a few of her pens and a handkerchief, enthralled by the intricate embroidery. just little things, nothing valuable.

you couldn’t read it anymore. if there was a feeling comparable to being continuously stabbed into the heart, you certainly felt it now. shocked, you dropped the diary to the floor, practically throwing yourself at the innocent-looking box — your shaking hands reached for the wooden casket, prying it open without much finesse.

knowing what you would see at the bottom was more awful than remaining oblivious, and it caused your stomach to churn. exactly as it was written — a piece of your hair, tightly embedded with a ribbon of sorts. then, the pens you lost, along with the handkerchief.

you slowly put it away, careful not to make any sounds. Phainon was taking quite a long time preparing you this bath, or whatever the hell was he doing. running would be the wisest option — but something pushed you to bend down for the diary, and read another entry. you had to get some closure.

as you flipped towards the end of the filled pages, you noticed how messy it was — smudged ink, splatters of… something? on the paper, scratches so hard they ripped through. still, you forced yourself to decipher the following text.

i caved.

the restraint i fought to maintain finally tore. i’ve done something irredeemable, and yet i ████ █. perhaps that makes me ██. but if loving [name] this fiercely is madness, then let me descend into it without apology.

it began with my injury. she came to the infirmary, just as i hoped. the sight of her standing by my bed — so gentle, so beautiful — was almost too much to bear. i asked where she was headed, because obviously, she dolled herself up. i believed she’d say nowhere.

but no. she mentioned a meeting. a friend.

a friend.

████ █████████ ██ █████.

something cracked inside me then. who gave her permission to give her time — my time — to someone else? ████ ███ who was that man, to think he could occupy the thoughts and laughter that should belong to me alone? ████ █████████ ██ █████

i found him. of course i did. people like him are easy to track — even easier to silence.

i don’t remember much — the moment is a blur, as if my mind repressed it from the sheer disgust for that intruder. only the sound remains: a dull, heavy thud as his body hit the ground. after that, there was stillness.

he’s gone now. that’s all that matters. [name] is safe — untouched, unspoiled by others. ████ █████████ ██. she is mine.

i love her with a force i can’t contain. it consumes me. it burns like fire. but if she ever learned the truth — if she knew what i’ve done — i know she would hate me. she would curse my name. that, i cannot allow.

she must never see that side of me. no one must.

i’ll keep my secret buried deeper than that man i laid few meters underneath the ground. ████ █████████ ██ ████. and i will keep smiling when i see her. i will kiss her hands. [name] doesn’t need to know what i’ve done — only that i love her. more than anyone else ever could.

there was more — much more text to go through — an unhinged rant about whatever that maniac’s mind managed to come up with. unfortunately, you didn’t have the strength to read it. your stomach churned mercilessly, bile threatening to gather in your mouth. then, you heard the footsteps.

if not for that terrifying sound, you’d probably curl up on the floor and start wailing. you didn’t even have the time to process anything as you rapidly began to put everything back into the box, desperately attempting to recreate how the objects were laid out.

you began to count the steps. one, two, three, four, five.

he wasn’t in a hurry. you quickly put the casket back, placing the diary along with your books above it, wondering if you did that right — your vision obscured by tears, you fought tooth and nail to hold the waterworks back. if that man saw you crying, then he’d surely guess what you just found out.

six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

you shut the flaps of the box, stepping away to give that bedlam a last glance. you then turned, trepidation squeezing at your hammering heart.

eleven, twelve, thirteen.

as you opened the door, ready to walk out casually as if nothing ever happened, your face bumped straight into Phainon’s chest, causing you to stumble backwards. oh no. no, no, no—!

your eyes rose towards him, and you forced your expression to remain as neutral as possible. no matter for your heavy breaths, or the wet tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. at first, he looked equally surprised as you felt — but then, he smiled. a grin, more teeth than cheer, hardly reaching his blue irises.

"what are you doing here, [name]?" he asked calmly, the completely stoic tone of his voice causing your limbs to freeze.

Phainon’s eyes bore into your form as if he was a starving animal — a panting wolf, barely holding itself back from sinking its marred fangs into the hare’s nape.

you swallowed thickly. "nothing. i-i mean…" you stumbled over your own words, sweat dripping profusely down your temples. "i was just curious about this room, so i—"

"don’t worry, i’m not mad at you." he spoke, taking a step forward. "i’ve already prepared the bath, so why don’t you go and take it?"

against all your reason, you nodded obediently, trying your hardest to force your legs to move forwards. the man’s gaze refused to leave you as you dragged your feet over. then, a brief realization passed through your exhausted brain:

he’s not a poor dog, like i thought — he’s a full-fledged pack of rabid hounds, stuffed into a singular being.

you could only pray your sprint was fast enough.

[agustdtown1]

CLOSER TO YOU [JJK]

PAIRING: nerdy!roommate!jungkook x fem!OF!reader

GENRE: smut, roommates au, nerdy!jk, photography major!jk, friends to fuck buddies.

SUMMARY: After getting various comments about your poor filming skills for your OF page, you finally decided to give in and reach out to the one person that could help you with your problem. However, what started as your roommate just helping you to film your video turned into you begging him to fuck you.

How long would it take for Jungkook to finally give in? After all, all he ever wanted was to be closer to you.

WC: 8,7k

WARNINGS: smut, masturbation, fingering, voyeurism, dirty talk, nerdy!jungkook going from shy to freaky to shy and freaky again. Pet names, jungkook with glasses (that NEEDS a warning idc), jk being completely whipped for reader but also mocking her and being a little shit when he got into it. Use of “good girl” (1), mention of only fans and adult content. If I’m missing something lmk!

A/N: part one is finally out!! I honestly feel nervous to post again and I really hope you guys enjoy this one! lmk what you think in the comments or sending an ask, enjoy ur reading <3!

masterlist

“I need a favor.”

You barging into his room along with those three words were enough to break the quiet and cozy atmosphere that your roommate had going on. He was sitting in his gaming chair, with his headphones covering his ears and glasses slightly falling off the bridge of his nose. Jungkook looked startled, with his big, round eyes staring at you as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t, when in reality a loud and violent video game was the only thing playing on his computer screen.

“H-Hi to you too.” His response and his rapid way of blinking let you know that Jungkook was not expecting you to come into his room unannounced, however, there was not a single complaint flying out of his mouth. More often than not, you would invade his personal space with your overenthusiastic self, chatting his ear off about some new gossip from your class that he was not really interested in, but Jungkook being Jungkook could never tell you to shut up, even when it was needed. “What do you need? Is everything okay?”

A pang of guilt spread through your chest by the way he completely abandoned whatever game he was playing to put his undivided attention on you when he noticed how distressed you were; what you were about to ask him was far from being a serious or urgent matter, but rather something that might bring chaos and awkwardness into your friendship. In all honesty, you weren’t even sure why you decided to entertain the idea of asking for Jungkook’s help. All you knew is that Eunbi, your best friend, was very eloquent while suggesting your roommate as a solution for your problem, and while you weren’t exactly desperate, you didn’t want to spend more time thinking of other alternatives either.

So here you were, hoping that the following minutes would remain the same after you inevitably tell Jungkook the truth.

“Y/n…? Is everything alright?” He asked once again, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Yes, right! It is. I just…” A frustrated sigh escaped your lips. “I need a huge favor, but I don’t know how to tell you.”

“You know you can tell me anything, I’m here for whatever you need.” His tender smile made that guilty feeling become stronger.

You tried to find the words to voice the idea running through your mind without making this situation painfully weird, but nothing could really prevent the inevitable awkward silence that was bound to be installed between you two once you put it all out.

The favor and the help you needed was regarding your line of work, something that Jungkook was pretty much aware of, but never fully involved in. Being a creator for adult content, more specifically for only fans, was already hard enough to explain to him when he moved in with you a few years ago, but somehow you managed to make it seem as if it wasn’t a big deal. You thought that it would be a dealbreaker, that Jungkook would run far away from you and never even consider being your roommate when you told him you made content for only fans, however, after a few days, he willingly showed up at your apartment with boxes full of his belongings and a shy smile, telling you that he was ready to live with you.

That memory was the only thing keeping you from running out of his room and hiding inside your own until the embarrassment subsided, instead, it helped you to follow through with your plan and accept the outcome of this, like the confident woman that you were.

However, the long pauses that you were taking to organize your ideas were starting to worry the brown-eyed boy in front of you. He’s never seen you like this before, hesitating and so unsure of yourself. Your confident demeanor would often throw him off, and the way you so surely carried yourself wherever you went was a stark contrast to his shy and awkward way of living, but that’s something Jungkook was used to, that’s how things worked between you two. You were the easygoing, extroverted friend that would strike up a conversation with almost anyone, while he was the quiet, shy and reserved friend that was ready to lend his shoulder if you ever needed a good cry.

But this, the way you were so notoriously nervous and preoccupied was something new for Jungkook, a new side of you that he never thought he would see.

“Listen, Y/n, you don’t have to tell me right now. I’ll help you with anything you need, but if you feel like it’s too much in this moment, you can talk to me about it whenever you’re rea–”

“I need you to help me film a video for my page.”

There, you said it, it was all set in stone, with no way to go back. No backtracking, no regretting, no way to undo it. Your words hung in the air with a heavy weight falling upon you two. If Jungkook was startled when you came into his room, he was completely dumbfounded after listening to what you needed.

“Co-Come again.” It wasn’t the smartest way to ask you to repeat yourself, but it sure fit into the conversation. “I-I mean, are you seriously asking me to do what I think you’re asking?”

He wasn’t stupid, Jungkook was familiar with your work, and while he didn’t consume your content, apart from a few pictures he looked at while scrolling through your page out of curiosity, the boy knew exactly what your deal was. Posting your whole body on the internet for almost anyone to see was the easiest way to describe your job; making videos, taking pictures that left little to the imagination for the people that came across your profile, even going as far as hosting lives to chat with your followers and sometimes cater to their filthy needs. That’s the kind of job you had, the kind of things you were willing to do, and it was crystal clear how comfortable and okay you were with it.

Jungkook had never judged you or questioned what you did for a living, not once in the years he’s known you, mainly out of respect and because it was none of his business, but also because he didn’t want to think or imagine the things you did in front of the camera. Now, however, he might have to, because what you were asking of him was more than what he was expecting from you.

Asking him to cook dinner, fix your laptop or pick up his clothes from the bathroom floor was okay with him, he could do it in a heartbeat, but filming a video for your secret page was something he was not ready for.

“I know it sounds crazy, believe me. I actually thought about this for a few days, but I wouldn’t ask you to do it if I truly didn’t need your help.” You were almost ready to beg him at this point. It has been weeks since the last time you posted a video and the lack of content was starting to upset your followers. There was really no other option. “I swear I’ll try to make it as normal as possible, but I really need you”

She needs me.

Jungkook had to look away from you, the pleading eyes you were sending his way were starting to affect him more than they should have, and while he was usually willing to lend you a helping hand at any moment, this time he really needed some time to think about it.

“I don’t know, Y/n…” He hesitated, taking his glasses off for a brief moment and rubbing his eyes. “I mean, why me? Doesn’t Eunbi usually help you with that stuff?”

“Yeah, she does, but it’s mainly to help me choose an outfit, makeup or the color of the lights. She doesn’t know about cameras like you do. And lately my followers have been complaining about my poor filming skills.” You finally explained your reasons behind it all. “You’re a photography major after all, wouldn’t you know about angles, settings, and all that stuff better than us?”

You took some cautious steps towards your roommate before making him turn around in his chair only for you to sit on his lap. You were aware that it was an unfair strategy to use on him, but desperate times call for desperate measures, don’t they?

A blaring alarm went off inside of Jungkook’s head the moment you became painfully close to him, invading his personal space. Then again, it was not out of the ordinary for you to be touchy-feely with him, but the boy still had a hard time getting used to your overly affectionate demeanor. His hands were eager to lay on the warm skin of your waist and feel your soft flesh against his, nonetheless, he knew better than crossing that line. If Jungkook wanted to maintain his sanity, he needed to remain still for as long as possible.

“Would you be a sweetheart and help me with this, Kookie?

Fuck, not that nickname.

Jungkook melted right on the spot whenever you called him that or any other short variant of his name. He was weak for you and both of you were aware of it.

“I…” It was a hard decision, but how could he say no to you when you were looking at him as if he was your only saviour. “Okay, yes. I’ll help you, but just this time. I will teach you everything you need to know to make your videos better, but next time you’ll be on your own.”

“Oh my god! Thank you, Kook, thank you so much.” Your arms found their way to his neck, engulfing the shy boy into an effusive hug. “I promise I’ll repay you with anything you want.”

“We can figure that out afterwards, don’t worry about it now.” He assured you with a sheepish grin while his hands finally reciprocated the affection by timidly patting your back.

The more you stayed in that position, the more Jungkook wondered if he was really ready to take such a big step into your dynamic, however, there was no way out. You were already counting on him.

What have I gotten myself into?

The following days were spent trying to figure out the logistics and set a schedule that would work for the both of you. Despite what anyone would think, Jungkook was a very busy guy, between his major, work and tutoring lessons he offered three days a week, he had little to no time to hangout with his friends or even watch a movie with you. Therefore, Saturday seemed like the safest option to film the video. Usually Jungkook would play online games with his friends during the weekends as it was the only time he could actually have some free time for himself, but he was willing to sacrifice one day just this time, especially if it was for you.

The boy was in a constant fight or flight mode during those days, overthinking every single minute of his day about how terribly wrong the whole thing could go. He had a plan from A to Z for any unfortunate situation that might occur, only to prevent ruining your friendship any further. Jungkook was so anxious and absorbed in the predicament that he didn’t even notice when Saturday finally arrived.

In a blink of an eye both of you were already making sure that everything was ready to start filming. You would use his professional camera instead of your phone to enhance the quality of the video; he helped you find the perfect spot in your room, void of your personal stuff or anything that could be used to reveal your real identity. He even showed you the angles that you could use to prevent your face from showing but still giving your followers what they wanted. The setting and ambience was perfect, with the perfect amount of lighting and the right color to make the whole moment more enjoyable for your viewers.

“Whenever you’re ready.” His soft voice echoed through the room while you were doing some touch ups to your makeup. Jungkook was doing a good job with keeping a straight face and calm attitude. It was barely impossible to tell how nervous and anxious he was at that precise moment.

“I’m ready.” You stood up from the chair in front of your vanity, and started your way towards the place where you would be filming. It was a corner decorated with a bunch of pillows and a fluffy blanket to make it comfortable for you. “I should take this off now, shouldn’t I?” A nervous giggle escaped your mouth while pointing to your robe.

It would be the first time you would present yourself like this to Jungkook, at least that you were aware of. The boy had already seen more of your body that he would’ve preferred, thanks to his curiosity, however, this time it was different, it wasn’t a simple picture of you in lingerie or with your bare chest showing. It was you in the flesh, quite literally. Naked and ready to put your body under a plethora of sensations he could only think of —he shouldn’t even think about it in all honesty—, along with sounds that up until this moment were only part of his imagination.

“Do-Do you want me to like… turn around?”

It was an innocent and genuine question, yet you couldn’t help but laugh.

“There’s no point. You’ll have to see me to check that the filming is going right, either way.” You waved him off, trying to ease his worries. “It’s okay, don’t read too much into it, you’re only being a good friend and helping me.”

“Sure… a good friend.”

Why does it bother me so much when she calls me that?

Oh, if only he understood.

“Okay, here goes nothing.” In a swift motion you undid the knot of your robe, taking the piece of clothing completely off to show your body covered in the prettiest set of red lingerie that you owned.

Your tits were engulfed by the soft lace of your bra, adorned with a red bow right in the center, drawing more attention to your cleavage. Your panties left little to the imagination; see through lace covering just enough to tease the viewers and make them crave for more of your beautiful body. In hindsight, it wasn’t the sexiest or most elegant set out there, but you liked the way it enhanced your features just the right way to feel comfortable and sexy with your body. And as it turns out, Jungkook thought exactly the same.

The boy could not tear his eyes, covered with his round glasses, away from your figure, taking his time to let the way you presented yourself before him sink in. So bare and vulnerable, yet so sexy and confident. You looked incredibly stunning, beautiful, gorgeous, delectable… words were not enough to describe what he thought of you the moment your robe fell to your feet. However, along with appreciating your body came the realization that helping you film this video would be the hardest task he would ever do.

How can I do this to myself?

“Does it look good?” A very dangerous question, but it was intended to ease the tension already forming in between the two. The longer Jungkook took to answer, the more you wondered if you chose the correct outfit “Should I change?”

“No!” His answer, then, was definitive. “I-I mean, you don’t really need to change, unless you want to. It looks… good, very good on you.” He used one finger to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

His cheeks turning red was something you could not ignore, it brought a sweet smile to your face.

“Alright then, let’s get this over with!”

A faint fighting came out of your roommate’s mouth while waiting for you to position yourself in front of the camera. The moment you stepped into the comfortable yet sexy set your whole demeanor changed. Your cheerful smile was replaced with a cheeky smirk; your eyes were charged with this sensual energy that made the boy in front of you swallow harshly; your velvety voice was like a siren chant, luring him to step closer and fall into the trap.

Jungkook was mesmerized by the nonchalant way you executed every single movement, as if it was second nature for you, and it sure was. It was part of your routine, part of your lifestyle. The brown-haired man was only now discovering what it was like, but you’ve been under the spotlight for quite some time. Your hands knew perfectly well the path they had to go through to get to the most sensitive parts of your body. Your fingers knew just the right amount of pressure they had to put into your flesh to elicit those sinful sounds. There was no hesitation, no second thoughts, you knew what to do and you loved every single second of it.

Jungkook was entranced by your performance, hands curled into fists to prevent them from acting on their own; cheeks tinted with a rosy color that got lost in the red lights adorning your room. His eyes were glued to your fingers dancing up and down your sides, stealing faint sighs out of you. He had a love-hate reaction to how long you were taking to strip out of your bra. It was sensual, teasing, yet it made the boy fall into a desperate state, eager to see you fully, in all your glory.

“I’ve missed you guys so much.” Your sultry voice sent a shiver down his spine, but the words coming out of your mouth were a cold reminder that he wasn’t there as a viewer but rather as a helper. “It’s been so long since the last time we saw each other.”

A small gasp fell from your lips when you finally pushed down the cups of your bra to display your bare chest. Your hardened nipples were glazed with your saliva after running your wet fingers over them. Little by little you let loose, forgetting that Jungkook was even there, watching you touch yourself and talk to the camera with the most cliche and nasty lines you’ve mastered up until now. Once again, it was part of your routine, and in that routine you needed to have some sort of interaction with your viewers. But truth be told, Jungkook was loving it. He loved how free you looked, and probably felt. He loved how careless you were, how you never hesitated to take a step further and further until you were fully naked, panting and moaning while your fingers graced your inner thighs with a tender touch. He loved it because you were in your element, you were in full control of yourself and body, and that was beyond attractive for him.

“Shit.” A breathy moan elicited from your soft lips when your fingers ran over your folds with a feather-like touch. “I’m so wet.”

Fuck.

Jungkook mentally cursed himself for getting into this situation. It was so hard to watch you in such a lewd way and not be able to get involved. But then again, even thinking of the possibility of being the reason behind your sinful sounds was beyond wrong. You were his friend, his roommate for fuck’s sake, he shouldn’t be thinking of you in that way.

He shouldn’t think of how beautiful you’d look under him, writhing and chanting his…

“Jungkook.”

Fuck, yes.

“Jungkook!”

If only I could make her sound like that.

“Kook!! I’m talking to you.”

Your urgent tone snapped him out of his dirty thoughts. His eyes connected with yours, with a disoriented expression as he fixed his glasses.

“Shit, sorry, I just… zoned out for a bit.” He tried to excuse himself, but the way his voice cracked in the middle of the sentence prevented it from sounding sincere. “Wh-What were you saying?”

You chuckled, deciding to ignore his reaction and cutting right to the point.

“I can’t get into it.”

“What do you mean?”

His tilted head and innocent, round eyes made your frustration lessen. The whole time you let your hands run free over your skin you were trying —almost begging, to get in the mood to continue with the video, but as it turned out, you were nowhere near turned on. It was disappointing — after putting so much effort into it and gathering the courage to ask Jungkook for help, you couldn’t even get aroused.

What is wrong with me today?

With a deep sigh, you sat right up and covered your naked skin with the fluffy blanket next to you. “What I mean is that I can’t get in the mood to, you know… do it.”

“I’m not following.” Jungkook shook his head slowly, trying to comprehend the message that you were sending him. “Do you need anything? Are you uncomfortable?”

“No, it’s not that. I just can’t get turned on.” Plain and simple. He surely would get what you were trying to say.

“You mean that you’re not–”

“Oh my god, I’m not wet enough to continue filming!”

A pregnant silence fell into the room. Neither of you dared to move or say a single thing after that. Jungkook was rendered speechless after your confession and you could not even look at his face due to the embarrassment you were experiencing right in that moment. Maybe it was too much information, but then again, you were literally naked in front of him, voicing out your frustrations to the only other person in the room wouldn’t be that bad, would it?

Well, apparently it was, especially because it was not just anyone but Jungkook. The boy who not only had to endure seeing you touch yourself but also had to listen to your ridiculous complaints about not being aroused.

“Bu-But you just… you said you were…” He couldn’t even finish his sentence. “Fuck, I feel so lost right now.”

The brown-eyed boy was so confused, if your facial expressions and sounds were anything to go by, Jungkook could swear on his life that you were enjoying it. Your frustrated reaction and straightforward confession threw him off; how come he was fighting his own instincts and urges to not come right on the spot while you were faking it all along? Maybe it was due to being the first time in such an environment with you. Would your viewers know when you’re not being genuine and that’s why you stopped? Or was he really that clueless to women’s pleasure?

“I was acting.” You confessed. “Sometimes I talk like that to help myself and get in the mood, but clearly today is not working for me.” A dejected groan flew out of your mouth.

“Can I, I don’t know, help you with that?” He shyly asked, “Maybe it’s because I’m here. Perhaps having another person in the room is making it difficult for you, I can leave…”

You shook your head, “No, if anything, your presence is helping me to feel somehow relaxed.” You thought about it for a second, trying to come up with a quick solution. “Maybe we can try something else.”

“What would that be?”

It took you a few seconds to voice your idea, mainly out of fear and nervousness due to how much it could damage your friendship. In all honesty, involving Jungkook in the filming was already damaging and risky enough, but it was still within the limits you mentally established for this situation. What you were about to ask him, however, was beyond those limits.

“Could you step closer?” You waited a few seconds before developing your whole idea. “I mean, could you film me from a closer angle?”

“Would that really help?” He asked in a shaky voice.

“We could try and see.”

And see he did. Jungkook moved from his position behind the camera, trying to get his equipment and himself as close to you as possible —losing a little bit of his sanity in the process— with the utmost caution and respect. He didn’t want to overstep the boundaries that were established before starting filming, he also didn’t want to do a wrong movement and throw everything to waste. Jeon had the opportunity to see your body from a closer perspective, and albeit unsure, he managed to keep calm and resume his work.

“Is this okay?” Your roommate asked, angling the camera to focus solely on the space between your legs, right where your fingers wished to disappear in. “Tell me if it becomes too much, okay?”

“Will do.”

After listening to your words of approval and making sure you felt comfortable with the new position, Jungkook continued filming you and every single movement you did. It was hypnotizing how you so confidently went back to your previous endeavors to get you in the mood. Your noises sounded sexier, your breathing was heavier, your eyes were closed tighter than before, willing yourself to enjoy the moment thoroughly and push back the feeling of being so exposed to the only man you swore would never see you like this.

Jungkook tried to stay calm and collected, cool and relaxed, even when he felt the air getting stuck in his throat when he watched your fingers dive into your warm walls through the lenses of the camera.

“Fuck…” He breathed out without realizing. The boy was quick to cover his mouth with his hand when he noticed your quizzical look. “Sorry.” Jungkook mouthed and focused on his work as the cameraman.

You continued with your ministrations, ignoring the heat in your cheeks that wasn’t exactly due to finally getting worked up from your touches. Your fingers moved in and out of your cunt, slowly and carefully, as if you were calculating what you were going to do next. A faint moan fell from your lips, eliciting a raspy groan from the boy in front of you.

Right in that moment you noticed how aggravated Jungkook was. Eyes shining in the dark like a pair of beautiful stars but with a glint of lust covering them along with his glasses; lips parted, letting out his heavy breath and small sighs. His hands were twitching at his sides, eager to move and, most likely, to touch what he was not even allowed to taste.

Maybe this was more than he could handle, maybe you shouldn’t have asked him to help you with this video, perhaps this was already creating a dent in your friendship that you were nowhere close to know how to fix, but the way he was looking at you was nothing you had ever seen before, at least not from him. There was hunger, need and desperation mixed in his hard glare, and as much as you wanted to deny and ignore it, his reaction was doing wonders on you. And so a new idea was installed in your mind. Your friendship was already beyond salvation, how bad would it be to make a last request?

“Kook…” You breathed out, “I need you.”

It was so subtle, so fleeting the smugness that covered his face that you barely noticed. His eyes widened and his lips moved like that of a fish trying to survive out of the water, he didn’t know what to do, much less what to say.

“Me?” He whispered, completely clueless of the effect he was having on you in that moment. You nodded, fingers stilling in between your legs. “Wh-What do you mean?”

You sat up, stopping the filming once again. “Exactly what I said, I need you… I-I need your help with something else. You can say no, but… I would be forever grateful to you if you said yes.”

Jungkook was putting to use his 128 IQ score to try and understand what you were hinting at, but none the wiser, he needed the words spelled out to him to get your idea. And so, as softly as possible, you explained what your need was actually about. You noticed the way his body reacted to you and the show you were putting on for your viewers but more specifically for him; it was painfully obvious how much he desired you, and in all honesty, you weren’t any better.

Ever since you two started living together, you swore that you wouldn’t act on the small and silly crush you developed for him after meeting for the first time. It was just a silly attraction that wasn’t worth the hassle of getting involved with your roommate; his built body and big biceps drove you crazy, and you couldn’t turn a blind eye to the intricate tattoos adorning his arm, which was such a stark contrast to the type of man he made himself out to be; the lip ring shining from his mouth was so painfully enticing, and more often than not, you found yourself wondering what it would feel like against your lips while kissing the life out of him. And God bless the person that gets you started on how much you loved those black rimmed glasses that adorned his eyes almost 24/7, giving him a geeky look that would never fail to make you weak in the knees. But all of those features, as well as the lewd scenarios conquering your mind minutes before going to sleep, had made it difficult for you to stay in your lane all this time. Tonight, however, might be your one and only chance to turn your dirty dreams into reality, only and only if Jungkook agreed to your idea.

“I don’t want this to ruin our friendship.” He murmured, looking down at the floor and avoiding your hopeful eyes glaring at him. You reached out for him, your soft hands coming in contact with his covered thighs while you kneeled in front of him. “Y/n… don’t do this to me.” His whole body stiffened, fighting the urge to jump your bones and turn you into a crying mess just like he always imagined.

“You don’t want me like that, Kookie?” You so innocently asked, lashes fluttering against your cheekbones. “Is that the real problem, hm?” Your hands were sliding up and down his thighs, teasing him.

“God, no.” He answered breathlessly, “You have no fucking idea how bad I want you…”

“Then why don’t you show me? What’s stopping you, hm?” Your cheek resting on his jean-covered thigh elicited a soft gasp from your roommate. “It's just a small favor.”

“I… fuck, you’re driving me crazy right now.” He ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends while letting out a frustrated groan. Jungkook took off his glasses while rubbing his eyes before looking at you again. “You have to promise… you really have to promise that it will be a one-time thing. No more favors after this, at least not of this caliber.”

You nodded eagerly, looking at him with a spark in your eyes. “I promise, just this time.”

“Okay,” Jungkook nodded, “I’ll help you with anything you need.” One of his hands, albeit shakily, reached out to push away a strand of hair falling into your face.

With a wide grin you pull his hand to get him closer to you. It was a bit hard to get his face and the majority of his body out of frame, but both of you managed. Jungkook sat behind you, with his built back leaning on the soft pillows while yours was resting on his firm chest. Both of his strong arms wrapped around your body while his hesitant hands touched your skin lightly.

In all honesty he didn’t know what to do, it felt unreal to be this close to you, especially under those conditions. Jeon was trying so hard to figure out what to do next that the tension conquering his body was noticed by you.

“Relax, Kook, do what you would do with any other girl.” You tried to reassure him while softly stroking his forearm, but the silence in between you two was making you feel uneasy. “You’ve done this before, right?”

Should he answer honestly? The short answer would be yes, he’s done it before; the long one though, would be that he only did it once when he lost his virginity at a random party his friends at the time invited him to. Jungkook couldn’t even remember the name of the girl or how she looked, all he could recall from that time was the awkwardness and how short it lasted. Jeon wasn’t sure that he could live up to your expectations, and while he was not clueless to how it worked, he doubted his performance would be as amazing as that of all your previous sexual partners, which caused part of his nervousness.

He was reading too much into it whereas you were starting to feel desperate and needy. You had the boy of your dreams right behind you with his hands very close to the place that was basically begging to be touched, but not much has happened. It was a bit disappointing how long it was taking him to act, but you also understood that it might not be an easy task to do, especially if it was your roommate doing it.

“Let’s go with an easy start, okay? I’ll lead.” Your hands reached out for his, guiding his right hand towards one of your tits. “You can explore my body as much as you want, don’t be afraid to touch.” And just as if you were reading his mind, you added, “Don’t think too much about it, I won’t be mad if this doesn’t go as planned.”

“Okay.” With a deep sigh he let his fingers feel your skin up, touching, caressing, pinching even.

His slender fingers wrapped around one of your already hardened nipples, toying with it, which elicited a soft gasp from you. His other hand slowly reached for your other tit, trying to stimulate both at the same time.

“Yes… like that, Kook.” Your praising words were helping him to build up his confidence. The more you praised him, the more adventurous he got, letting his hands explore the entirety of your body.

After a few more minutes of playing with your boobs, his hands finally started to drift south, with feather-like touches here and there before reaching your tender thighs. His big hands looked very attractive against your flesh, like the prettiest accessory. The one that was cladded with a bunch of tattoos started to descend more and more, landing small smacks on your inner thigh.

“Oh…” you breathed out, a bit surprised by the sudden move.

“Sorry, should I not have done that?” Jungkook asked, retrieving both of his hands.

“No, no, no!” You pulled them right back where they were placed before. “Please continue… I really liked what you were doing.”

“Okay.”

With a more confident attitude, Jungkook started to touch your thighs, kneading your skin while his hot breath was hitting the back of your neck. In all honesty, it all felt surreal, you never thought that a moment like this would ever happen, that you would have the same boy that you had fantasized about many times before touching you and willing to please you.

“You can use more than your hands, you know?” You whispered softly, closing your eyes due to how good everything was feeling.

“Are you sure?” He murmured really close to your ear, sending shivers through your body. You hummed in response, leaning more and more into his touch. “So, it would be okay if I do this.” His lips graced your neck with a faint kiss, eliciting a small gasp from you. “Or this,” a firmer kiss was placed right under your ear, Jungkook’s lips moving skillfully. “And since I’m at it, you surely wouldn’t mind me doing this,” His teeth sank into your skin suddenly. “Right?”

“Shit…” You moaned out loud, “N-No, I… I don’t mind, at all.”

A husky chuckle erupted from his throat, “Good.” His hands kept moving in between your legs, now finally reaching your needy cunt. “Are you sure you want me to do anything I want to you, Y/n?” You once again hummed, unable to properly answer due to his touches. “I think I might need to hear you say it, before I go any further.”

If he was trying to get your consent or just teasing you, you didn’t know, but you were sure of one thing, you needed to feel any part of him inside of you. Now.

“Fuck, yes, I’m completely sure, don’t make me wait anymore, please.”

It was the please added at the end that really did it for him, the way your needy and desperate voice echoed through the room was enough for Jungkook to give you what you wanted.

He finally pushed one of his fingers inside your velvety walls, slowly sliding in and out with enough easiness that got you wondering just then how wet you were before he started touching you. Your whole body squirmed, reacting at how great it felt to be touched like that. Curses, moans and gasps were falling from your lips, creating the most sensual cacophony.

“You like that?” His husky voice rang through your ears, earning an effusive nod from you, “You like that I’m touching you like this, hm?” You could feel the smug smile against your skin, right under your earlobe, “Maybe I should try harder, since you’re not answering to me.” With no further warning, Jungkook added a second finger, stretching you out deliciously. He picked up his pace as well, pushing in and out with such vigor that got you sinking your nails into your palms.

“Oh my god!” You breathed out.

Where was this sudden change in attitude coming from? Not a minute ago he was acting shy and reserved, as if he had never touched a woman before, as if he didn’t have it in him to wreck you in the way you wanted. But now, that whole act was left behind and there seemed to be no trace of the innocent and nerdy Jungkook you thought you knew, only this suddenly confident and teasing boy, ready to make you fall apart on his fingers.

“That’s not quite the answer I’m looking for.” Jeon goaded you on to the response he wanted from you. “Come on, pretty, tell me how much you like it.”

“Fuck…” You cursed out loud, “I-I can’t.”

It was difficult for you to concentrate on gathering the words that your roommate wished to hear due to his fingers moving deliciously inside of you. He was hitting the right spots with his long and slender digits, over and over again to the point that tears were pooling in the corner of your eyes.

“Hm, and why is that?” Jungkook questioned with feigned innocence in his voice. “Is it really that difficult for you to speak?”

You nodded desperately, looking into his eyes right through those slutty glasses you adored so much. “I can’t… I-I can’t con… centrate.” You finally admitted.

A mocking chuckle flew out of his mouth, his fingers never relenting, “Poor little you.”

“Ah, fuck, Kook.” Your sounds were becoming dirtier, needier, more naughty and desperate as the familiar hot sensation started to invade your body. You knew your release was coming with such rapidness and ease.

It was astonishing how Jungkook could so effortlessly get you to your breaking point, when it took you several minutes to even get aroused. You wanted to believe that it was all due to your previous touching, but deep down you knew that doing it on your own would never get you the pleasure you were experimenting in that moment.

“Shit, you’re squeezing my fingers so much.” He pointed out, struggling to move thanks to the firm grip your walls had on his digits. “So tight and warm.”

If only he knew that his way of talking was only contributing to your forthcoming release. Your eyes could not look away from his face. His hard features and the way his lustful orbs were looking right down at you got you in a trance, one that you didn’t want to get out. The faint smirk on the corner of his lips, along with the lip ring were once again taunting you, tempting you; threatening you with a good time, and just as you were about to reach and find out if your assumptions were correct, Jungkook leaned down and captured your lips in a harsh kiss.

Kissing you for the first time was life-changing, or so he would say, because despite all the girls –only a few actually– he has ever kissed or been intimate with, Jungkook has never felt like this with any of them, so addicted, so eager to taste more of you; craving you in ways that he probably shouldn’t.Your lips were so soft and sweet, and it was right in that moment that he realized that it would be a living hell to go back to normal after getting a taste of you. The way your mouth was chasing after him when he pulled away briefly due to running out of air, it drove him crazy, making him feel light in the head. Being able to see that look in your face as your orgasm was approaching, while your puffy, red lips were begging him to kiss you more was, in fact, something that Jungkook would never forget.

Kissing Jungkook for the first time felt exactly like you imagined, dangerous and messy. It was dangerous because it was right in that moment that you realized that there was no way to go back to your normal routine after this; it wasn’t only because of the intimate act that you both decided to engage in, but because there was no way in hell that you would let him go on with his life without having him like that again. Your previous words became an empty promise the more his lips devoured yours, kissing and biting as if his life depended on it. The coldness of his lip ring was making you shudder and chase for more; you finally got an answer to your question: it felt amazing while kissing. On the other hand, it was messy due to the both of you being so eager to feel more of one another; saliva coating your lips while his tongue finally made an appearance inside your mouth, making you squirm and fight the urge to burst right in that moment.

“I’m so close.” You announced against his lips, panting ridiculously loud.

“You’re gonna come for me, baby?” It was so strange to hear him talk to you like that, using pet names and saying things that Jungkook would never even think of saying in any other situation. “Wanna come on my fingers, hm?”

“Yes, yes, please.” The begging and whiny voice almost made him come in his pants, but Jeon managed to maintain his composure.

“Go on, let go, baby, but keep those pretty eyes on me.” Jungkook’s free hand came up to lay right under your jaw, squeezing lightly but firmly enough to keep you in place. You didn’t have to be told twice, the moment his hand came in contact with your hot skin you felt the waves of your orgasm crash over you. “That’s it… you’re doing so good.”

Fuck, if only he could talk to you like that all the time.

“Oh my god, Jungkook!” You moaned, closing your thighs tightly, capturing his hand in between your legs. “Shit, it feels… so good.”

“I know, doll, I know.”

Not once did your eyes look away from him, not even when the tears started to spill down your face like the most beautiful raindrops, all due to the overwhelming feeling or your orgasm. You couldn’t even grasp the fact that you just came on Jungkook’s fingers, or that your body was shaking uncontrollably while his hand kept moving rather slowly, going from sliding up and down your soaked folds to rubbing your swollen clit. Even in your post-orgasmic state you recognized that one was not enough; as good as his fingers were, you needed more of him. It was more a want than a need, but you couldn’t finish the day without knowing what his cock felt like inside of you.

Craving.

That’s the best way you could describe this feeling; you were craving his body on top of yours, even under, sideways, it didn’t matter, but you had to have more, even if it was just for the night. Even if it would leave a burning memory in your brain to fantasize about in the solitude of your room, when your hands were the only solace for your lewd desires and obscene scenarios playing in your head.

And so, letting the wild side of you speak, you uttered a sentence that was bound to change the whole course of your friendship.

“Jungkook…” You called for him, getting his attention right back on your face rather than in the space in between your legs. After listening to his humming you added “I want you to fuck me.”

His hand came to a halt, fingers not moving an inch, completely frozen in place. His brown eyes were now coated with a glint of fear and uneasiness. Jungkook had been taken by surprise a lot during the day, but right there in that moment, with you eagerly waiting for his response while looking at him with perfect innocent eyes, it had to be the most unexpected thing that could have happened to him.

A deep silence fell in the room once again, with Jungkook quickly retrieving his hands from your body. It took him several minutes to come up with something to say, something that wasn’t pure stuttering and nonsense coming out of his mouth.

“I-I beg your pardon?” His feeble voice rang through your ears due to the proximity, otherwise you wouldn’t have heard him. “I don’t think you understand what you’re asking me.”

You sat up straight, turning in your place to be face to face with Jungkook. “I’m fully aware that what I’m asking of you might be too much, but I honestly can’t ignore how much I want you, Kook.” You leaned forward, straddling his hips and resting both of your hands on his shoulders. “I thought you liked this too.”

It was funny how minutes ago he was completely into you, adamant on making you come and talking with his sultry voice until you fell apart on his fingers and now he was back to his shy and reserved persona; stuttering while trying to gather his thoughts. There were two sides of Jungkook as it seems. One was simply Jungkook, the co-founder of a comic club at your local library; the boy that spent a whole night trying to recover a document you foolishly deleted the night before you had to submit it. Jungkook who always pulled you close whenever you walked near a group of guys whose eyes were glued to your legs, and the one that didn’t hesitate to go and buy you a bunch of snacks as a way of comfort when a date you were so excited to go on went terribly wrong. That was the Jungkook you knew and adored, the one that was ready to do anything for you, being at your beck and call, but that also would get upset if you interrupted him while watching his favorite show.

And then, there was Jeon Jungkook, the boy that rocked your entire world with a few touches. The boy that spoke to you in such a sensual voice with the craziest sentences that you would never imagine him uttering. The Jungkook that called you baby, doll, pretty and kissed you so passionately that you almost forgot your name. The same man that unexpectedly acted with confidence, sure of himself and what he was doing, moving his skillful fingers in and out of your cunt with an ease that left you beyond surprised. There was the side of Jungkook that you didn’t know, and that was exactly why you needed to have more of him.

“It’ll be just this time, remember? Why not go all the way out and have a little fun yourself?” You reiterated your previous promise, even though you knew it was far from being the last time having each other like this. Without thinking too much about it, you started to grind your soaked cunt on top of his crotch; hips moving slowly to rub deliciously on top of him. “So what do you say, hm?”

You could see his self-control starting to crumble the more you rubbed yourself on him. His hardening cock felt wonderful under your hot pussy, along with the rough material of his jeans, because yes, he’s the type of guy to wear jeans while being home, even if he wasn’t expecting anyone to visit him.

You were getting too lost in the sensation, in the way Jungkook was fighting against his own moans escaping his lips or his hips thrusting up into you that you were startled by the weight of his hands on your hips, stilling you in place and preventing you from moving any further.

“I say,” He began with a husky tone, “that you’re making it really difficult to be nice to you.”

Those words caused a shit-eating grin to appear on your face, and with the most seductive voice you could muster you said “I didn’t ask you to be nice to me.” Leaning in closer to his ear you added “I asked you to fuck me… as hard as you possibly can.”

A hiss abandoned his lips while Jungkook’s hands squeezed your hips deliciously tight.

“Is that what you really want, hm? For me to fuck you senseless.” One of his hands weaved through your hair, pulling you away with enough strength to get you to look right into his eyes. “Didn’t think you would be that desperate.” A mocking chuckle echoed through your four walls, bouncing on every corner and back to your warm ears.

“You clearly don’t know everything about me.” You said through gritted teeth, the harsh grip he had on your hair was hurting you in the right way, making you wetter by the second. “Please say yes… I need you so bad, baby.”

It was the first time you called him that, and Jungkook would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy listening to your sweet voice saying it. He retrieved his hand from your hair, changing his direction to rest his thumb right onto your bottom lip.

“I did promise I would help you with anything you needed, didn’t I?” A playful smirk adorned the corner of his mouth.

“That you did,” You pointed out. “And now you have to keep your promise.”

“Alright, alright. I wouldn’t want you thinking I’m not a man of my word.” Jungkook sighed. “But you have to be good, okay? You gotta be good for me.” His thumb brushed against your bottom lip, ever so slightly, making it bounce right into place after playing with it.

An electrifying rush went down your spine by the way his voice tone changed so quickly. Once again, there was no trace of his shy demeanor as it seemed to blend into this smug attitude growing slowly inside of him. A lazy smile took place on his face while his hand continued to caress your tender skin.

“You’re gonna be my good girl, hm? Do exactly as I say?”

A moan flew out of your mouth, not expecting him to say it so confidently. You nodded effusively, though, wanting nothing more than to follow whatever order he had for you.

Hot cute, he thought, admiring the way you were so eager to agree to anything he said.

“I need you to say it, Y/n. Use your words, sweetheart.”

“I’ll be good, I’ll do anything you ask me to.”

“Alright then, let’s see how much you can handle.”

taglist 🏷️: @petalsofink @goldietigers294 @ggukieshoe @jk-190811 @hanamgi @internetbelle @songbyeonkim @berryonasummerevening

if your user is in bold it means i couldn’t tag u !

[neohazed]

Mate Me (M)

pairing. alpha heeseung x female omega reader

wc. 20k

warnings. Alpha/Omega dynamics, miscommunication, angst, heejay fight, jealousy, tension, smut, dubcon, rut sex, very rough & unprotected sex, breeding/pregnancy kink, possessive behavior, heeseung Alpha’ing the fuck out, alcohol mentioned, self-torture, restraints, blood, masturbation, scenting, marking, biting, love confessions, he’s a simp🫩, big dick heeseung, knot fucking, squirting, oral, fingering. minors DNI.

preview—

Heeseung has to bite down on the backs of his teeth to stop himself from calling you cute for the thousandth time. Everything you do is so fucking cute. It’s ridiculous how endeared he feels watching you do the most mundane of things. The way you nervously scratch your nose, how much you whine when he stares at you for too long, and how often you raid his closet in search of his comfiest most oversized clothing that all sits too loose on you. 

He’s..obsessed, to put it lightly.

“Ugh, you’re doing it again.”

Shaking his head and rapidly blinking his eyes, he apologizes. Rubbing at his nape as you scratch your nose. “Hard not to stare when you show up in my favorite hoodie.”

“Oh? You want it back?” You grin mischievously, skirting around him. Leaning in close to whisper against his ear. “Gonna have to fight me for it, Alpha.”

You’ll really be the death of him.

That’s the problem. You are really a problem, ever since your heat broke out a month ago, he’s been fighting you everyday. Fighting himself to control his Alpha, to ignore the venom acidic burn running through his canine teeth. The desire to claim you, never hear his friends question how he is the one that landed you.

You belong to him, there’s no need to question it.

And yet, here he is, too scared to tell you the truth..

Read On Ao3–>

[softaestluv]

Grease & Grime Won’t Break Your Bones

You never thought you were attracted to grease and grime, sweat and exhaustion, definitely needed a shower and scrub, but no one has worn it like he is.

Mechanic! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem! reader

Tags: dirty, greasy, grimy, sweaty, blue collar worker, yeah I’ll take one of those! you own a pick up, & I actually don’t know anything about cars, eventual smut

Pt . 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Ao3 | masterlist

Contrary to popular belief, you weren’t completely daft when it came to cars. There were a handful of things you could do, as simple as they might be. You knew how to change a flat tire, how to change your oil, the oil filter and air filter. Even knew how to change the bulbs in your headlights— yours had gone out more than once.

Kept up with basic maintenance, topped off all fluids when necessary, rotated your tires, visited a shop when needed.

Though, the piece of shit pick-up you owned seemed to have more problems than one. Sticks on wheels, lemon of a vehicle, engine light flashing more often than not. You were quite exhausted from all the maintenance, worked too hard to keep staining your clothes in grease and ruining your manicured nails.

A pretty thing like yourself shouldn’t be doing such hard work, but you put entirely too much time into the old truck for price gauging and scamming mechanics to stereotype you— a woman, naive.

Simple.

Maybe you had been lucky when you stumbled across ‘Ghost’s Garage’ and the mechanic was anything but, even if his shop was a rundown brick building on its last leg. Old, dinky, mortar deteriorating, cracks and chips in the bricks. It was honestly a miracle it was still standing, but he worked in auto-motives after all, not construction.

Maybe you were a little biased when the mechanic seemed to walk out of a Men’s Health magazine.

Blonde hair, white t-shirt hugging his biceps, coveralls low on his hips, grease stained arms and fingertips, tattoos curled over his ridiculously tanned skin. It was almost cliche the way he approached you, dirty rag pressed to his forehead, wiping the sweat that dripped down his temples before using the same rag to clean the grease off his fingers.

“What can I do for ya?” He asked with shallow breaths, thick accent twined around each word.

You swallowed thickly, “My oil, I just need my oil changed.”

He raised his brow, gesturing to your blue truck in the service drive, “This your C10 right ‘ere?”

You nod, “That’s me.”

“Y’can sit in my office if you want, ‘ts hot out here. Shouldn’t be long.” He explained, pointing to a small room in the corner of the shop.

It was a typical mechanics office, small, a little dirty. Papers scattered across the desk and floor, plain beige walls, spare parts thrown in a corner. One frame on the edge of the desk, a picture of him and three other men, one of which he’s not really smiling in, just a slight lift to the corner of his lips.

You’re quite grateful that he let you sit in his office rather than being stuck in the summer sun; it was hot, scorching. Even the shorts and t-shirt you wore clung uncomfortably to your skin, thighs pressed tacky to the leather chair.

Despite the fact that it’s a bit too stuffy, a bit too cluttered, you don’t entirely mind. Not when it gives you a perfect view of the mechanic bent over the hood of your truck through the rooms only window.

Now you could really look at him, appreciate the absolute hulking mammoth of a man he is. Burly, brawny, sinewy, can’t even begin to think of all the adjectives to describe him.

Sweat drips down his thick neck, over broad shoulders, and around stout biceps, accentuates each dip and curve of his beefy muscles. It soaks his white shirt wet, makes it cling to his back and abdomen, displays every defined contraction of muscles.

Makes your body burn hot.

You feel like an absolute pervert, mouth salivating at the sight of a mechanic changing your oil. Maybe there was truth behind loving a man in a uniform, even if it was dirty, filthy, soiled, and half off.

You never thought you were attracted to grease and grime, sweat and exhaustion, definitely needed a shower and scrub, but no one has worn it like he is.

It isn’t long, less than 10 minutes, and meanwhile you appreciate the efficiency, a part of you is a little disappointed at the loss of the show.

“All set for you.” He says once he enters the room.

You jump up, “Ah, thank you so much!”

“Nice ol’ thing, ‘aven’t worked on one of ‘em before,” He compliments, zipping up the rest of his coveralls— ‘Simon’ printed on a pocket patch.

You laugh, real low from your chest, “That’s what you think. Just wait ‘til I come back next week cause the engine light came on.”

Simon chuckles, “No worries, bring it t’me for whatever you need.”

“Depends on how much you’re charging me for today’s services,” You joke, rummaging through your bag for your wallet.

“‘ts on the house,” He responds, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against his desk.

“What? No, I didn’t mean like that,” You stammer, shaking your head, “I’ll pay you.”

Simon just shrugs his shoulders, “Just be back for your next oil change.”

Your smile is wide, “I’ll see you in a couple thousand miles then.”

✦.─Masterlist ─.✦

[taeyongdoyoung]

daddy's home

summary: boyfriendless, jobless and hopeless, you rush to take the first opportunity you find, which is a nanny position. but the kids are not the only ones you grow fond of... pairing: seungcheol x reader genre: fluff, smut, single dad x nanny AU warnings: kids (triggering, i know), age gap (unspecified), mentions of past cheating, abandonment issues, potential therapy, male masturbation, confessions, blowjob, kissing, eating out, protected sex (unbelievable), dirty talk, size kink, pet names (sweetheart, angel, darling, little girl), sir+daddy kink, unprotected sex (with baby-making goal), breeding kink, creampie, more kids (sorry im ovulating) author's note: this is loosely based on the sitcom the nanny in that there's a single dad with three kids but minus the dead wife trope cuz that's too depressing for my tastes word count: 4.3k

You are desperate. Your shitty boyfriend cheated on you, broke up with you and you also lost your job. So it’s been a couple of terrible weeks. Now, you would take pretty much any kind of job as long as it pays enough for you to afford food and the bills. ASAP.

Single dad looks for a live-in nanny for his three kids. Full-time with Sundays off. Contact this number for more details.

Okay, truth be told, you’ve never considered yourself as someone who is good with kids. But how hard can it be? Have you mentioned you’re desperate?

“Listen, Miss L/N,” Mr. Choi, your potential future employer starts. “I appreciate your enthusiasm but I’m not just going to hire you. I’m looking for someone with experience.”

“Well, I have a bunch of nephews, if they turned out alright under my care, then I guess that counts for something,” you chuckle.

“That’s very nice but I’m talking about professional experience. Have you been a nanny before?”

“Technically, no, but how can I get experience if you won’t hire me?”

“Touché,” Mr. Choi laughs.

“How about a trial period? Let me spend some time with your kids under your supervision and prove myself capable.”

Mr. Choi nods reluctantly.

“Well, you’re in luck since my little goblins have driven away five nannies in the past month.”

Oh, dear. Five nannies…And here you were thinking this could be an easy job.

“So, what’s one more?” you chuckle nervously and Mr. Choi shakes your hand, agreeing to give you a chance.

You are excited when meeting his kids. The eldest daughter - Chaerry is 15, very elegant and polite. You think that you’ll have no problems with her and you’ll have lots to talk about. The middle child and only son - Dino is 10, extremely mischievous and loud. You’ll definitely have problems. Finally, the youngest daughter, Elsie, is 5, she’s such a cutie but leaves a mess of her toys everywhere she goes. It’s easy to trip if you’re not careful, but nothing you can’t handle.

The trial period goes by in a flash. Dino attempts to get on your nerves by pulling pranks like hiding fake spiders in your bag and spraying your outfit with ketchup, but you accept all that with an easygoing laugh. Elsie constantly asks you to play with her toys and you need an unlimited source of ideas to keep up with her wild imagination, but it feels more like fun than a job. Chaerry is quiet and doesn’t share much at the beginning but eventually tells you about this boy at school she has a crush on. So, you count that as a success.

“I must admit, Miss L/N, I had some worries at first but seeing how quickly my kids accepted you is remarkable,” Mr. Choi shares his observations with you at the end of the trial period.

“So, am I hired, then?” you beam with excitement.

“Absolutely, yes. The kids have taken a liking to you and changing nannies so often is probably not great for them, either.”

“So true. Kids need stability and I would be happy to stick around for as long as you’ll have me, Mr. Choi,” you are thrilled not only because you will have a bed to sleep, food to eat and money to spend, but because you are genuinely looking forward to spending more time with these little munchkins.

And spend time with them you do. You're not sure what exactly it is that makes the kids warm up to you, but whatever the reason, it's working.

With Chaerry, you talk about boys and high school drama and make-up. On one occasion, she tells you something that sincerely touches you.

“Thank you for being my best friend, Y/N. I know I shouldn't keep stuff from my dad, but he can be so overprotective sometimes it's difficult to talk about...well, going on dates with boys, mostly.”

“Aww, Chae, you can tell me anything. It'll be our little secret,” you give her a wink, followed by a hug.

You're not exactly sure what the correct response here is. But you'll make sure to maintain some kind of balance - both look after her safety so that Mr. Choi sleeps peacefully at night and not betray Chaerry's trust in you.

With Dino, after the initial phase of silly pranks passes, you notice that he's become more honest and calm.

“You won't leave us like our mom and all the other nannies did, will you?” he asks you one afternoon as you're watching TV together.

You haven't asked Mr. Choi what exactly happened with these kids' mother because frankly, it's none of your business, but something is telling you they're a lot more hurt than they let on.

“I'm not going anywhere, Dino,” you promise, though really, it's up to Mr. Choi to decide that.

“Good. It would really suck if you left.”

That's a lot, coming from the kid who damaged like half of your wardrobe with all kinds of sauces.

With Elsie, another strange situation takes place due to the fact that the kid has no filter.

“Let's play family!”

“Um, okay,” you agree without thinking much.

“This will be daddy,” Elsie points at a stuffed lion plushie and then grabs a tiger plushie, “And this is you, mommy!”

“Oh, honey. I'm not your mommy,” you try to explain as gently as possible.

“But can you be? Daddy says our mommy left and has a new family somewhere else.”

Okay, that's a lot to unpack here. Though you don't think it is your place, you'll need to have a conversation with Mr. Choi, because the kids obviously have some kind of unresolved trauma...

One evening, after the kids have gone to sleep, instead of going to your room, you wait in the living room for your employer to come back from work, so you can approach the subject as delicately as you can.

“Good evening, Miss L/N. Kids go to bed?” he greets you as he takes off his coat.

“Evening, Mr. Choi. Yes, they did. I was wondering if we can have a chat. It can be a sensitive topic, I'm sure, but for the sake of the kids, I think it's important.”

Mr. Choi nods and takes a seat next to you on the couch.

“About their mother...”

“I was wondering how long it'd take you to bring that up,” he chuckles bitterly. “Other nannies wanted me to spill the tea on day one.”

“Wow, seriously?”

“It's not like it's this big secret, I just prefer not to talk about it unless absolutely necessary. My ex-wife...cheated on me and got pregnant by another man, so we had a divorce and I kept the kids, because she said she wants to start anew with this other guy, and...well, the kids said this is their home and that they won't move. So, I suppose the judge took that under consideration.”

“My God. I had no idea.”

“You couldn't have known, considering I just said I don't enjoy revisiting those painful memories.”

“Yes, of course, I only meant that...I guess it explains some things. Forgive me for saying this, but I think the kids have some kind of abandonment issues. Elsie and Dino, in particular, they seem to have a fear that I'll leave just like...well, their mom and the other nannies.”

“And are you? Leaving, I mean.”

“Not if I can help it. Mr. Choi, your kids are very vibrant and precious to me. I genuinely love my job. But I'm worried that what happened with your ex-wife affected them more than they show. Maybe you should look into therapy?”

“I will definitely take that into consideration. Thank you for your candour, Miss L/N.”

“You're most welcome.”

“What about Chaerry?”

“What about her?”

“You said that Elsie and Dino express these abandonment issues. Does Chaerry not have them?”

“She probably does, but at the moment she's too busy thinking about boys.”

“Boys? At her tender age? I don't think so,” Mr. Choi immediately goes into ultra alpha protective dad mode and you honestly find it kind of funny. And hot.

“Oh, relax, Mr. Choi. It's just typical high school drama. There's nothing to be worried about.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly.

“I'm counting on you. Does it ever occur to you how quickly they grow up?”

“I suppose it's more difficult for you. I've only known them for a few months but I think I get what you mean.”

“Yeah...How strange, it feels like you've been part of this family forever.”

You try not to think too deeply about it. He...considers you part of this family. Elsie called you mommy. Dino doesn't want you to leave. And Chaerry talks to you about boys. A topic, which girls usually discuss with their mothers. Oh, sweet heavens. Maybe, this nanny gig is becoming more than a job...

One Monday Mr. Choi texts you not to come to work this Saturday, as the kids will be spending some time with their grandparents (aka Mr. Choi's parents). However, the moment you receive the text, you're too busy trying to escape from Dino who is chasing you with a water gun in the garden. So, you somehow forget to put it down in your calendar.

Saturday arrives and poor Mr. Choi thinks you'd be in your own apartment. Finally, some peace and quiet. His parents picked up the kids early in the morning to go to the park with them so he's all alone and free to do as he pleases.

But alas, you go down the stairs of Mr. Choi's enormous house and make your way to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast for the kids. However, it's too quiet. Hm, how strange. Maybe, they're not awake yet? You shrug as you pour some milk and cereal in a bowl.

Oh, you hear some noise from the living room. Is that the TV? Your curiosity gets the better of you and you enter it only to find Mr. Choi in a very compromising position. He is touching himself, watching very obscene things on the big screen!

You are on the verge of chastising your boss for doing something like that in the living room, where the kids could walk in any minute, when you remember. The kids...They're with their grandparents today. Which means that...Fuck, you're not supposed to be here. You should be at your own apartment instead of being witness to...your very sexy and very single employer taking care of his needs.

You are going to sneak back into the kitchen and wait for a more appropriate time to leave the house when you hear it. At first you think you're hallucinating but then you hear it twice. Your name.

“Y/N...please, let me-” Mr. Choi moans, his eyes closed, he is unaware of your presence.

However, he doesn't get to finish his sentence because you are so shocked that you drop the bowl of cereal, which shatters on the ground with a loud noise.

“Fuck, I'm so so sorry,” you murmur nervously as your boss finally notices you watching him.

His cheeks flushed, his lips pouting, he is the most adorable you've ever seen him. He hurries to tuck his cock back into his pants and turn off the TV.

“N-no, I'm sorry...Miss L/N, what are you doing here?”

Oh, so you're Miss L/N now...Very well, then.

“I apologize. It must have slipped my mind that the kids are with their grandparents today.”

“It must have,” Mr. Choi repeats coldly, obviously embarrassed by this situation.

You wonder if you should tell him what you heard. Would that be unprofessional? But then again, he is the one who said your name, so...what is professional anyway?

“Do you want me to leave?”

He sighs deeply.

“What's the point? You already saw me...fuck, I feel so humiliated.”

“Why would you feel humiliated? Am I so undesirable that my presence immediately turned you off?” you ask bluntly.

“That's not the case and you know it.”

“I'm not sure I know anything anymore,” you admit. “You...said my name. How is that supposed to make me feel?”

“You were never meant to hear that,” Mr. Choi hides his face behind his hands, the redness refusing to leave his complexion.

“But I did. So, what now?”

“Please, don't quit. I realize that what I did is unforgivable but...the kids care about you so much, it would devastate them to lose you.”

“I wasn't even thinking of quitting. But...are the kids the only ones who care about me?” you need to know.

“No...As it so happens, I care about you.”

“So, stop hiding from me,” you don't know where that boldness comes from as you grab his wrists and remove his hands, so you can look at his face. Fuck, he's so pretty.

“You're not...grossed out by me?” Mr. Choi blinks at you in surprise.

“Kinda flattered, actually,” you confess. “But I'd like it much better if you let me take care of your frustrations.”

“You would?” he is unable to believe his luck when you drop on your knees in front of him and take him out of his pants again, engulfing his cock with your pretty mouth. “Y/N...”

The way he says your name is enough to make you even more enthusiastic, sucking him deeper and bobbing your head to the best of your abilities. He grips your hair tightly and you make sure not a drop is spilled as you swallow his cum down your throat. You wipe off your lips and sit down next to him, unsure of what to do next.

“Mr. Choi...”

“Call me Cheol, please.”

“Cheol...may I kiss you?”

Seungcheol doesn't respond and instead kisses you passionately, grabbing your face with his hands. His tongue is exploring your mouth in ways you'd never imagined could bring so much pleasure and you can't resist the urge to sit in his lap. Somehow, against all reason, he's hard again, as you grind against him. Fuck. He's so hot and sweet and amazing you just want to make him happy. How anyone could cheat on this fine man is beyond you.

“Um...not to assume or anything, but do you have a condom?” you ask sheepishly.

“I do, yes,” Seungcheol goes to his coat and brings a package.

“I mean, don't get me wrong, I love kids, but I think we should be responsible considering this is our first time together and you already have three of your own,” you're probably talking too much but oh well. Better safe than sorry.

“No, I understand. You're totally right.”

“Will you fuck me?” you inquire.

“Here? On the couch?” Seungcheol is in disbelief.

“Well...you were touching yourself here, but I guess it's whatever. Your home, after all.”

He chuckles, suddenly embarrassed again.

“Come on, let's go to my room.”

Seungcheol offers you his hand and you follow him upstairs excitedly. Is this really happening? Are you seriously going to do this with your boss?

He lifts your chin up because he notices you're not meeting his eyes out of nervousness.

“Look at me,” he commands you easily and you're on the verge of falling apart and he hasn't even undressed you yet. The power this man holds over you... “We don't have to do this if you're not ready.”

“It's not that. I do want this. It's just...I don't remember if I told you but I was also cheated on. A little before I came to work here. And like, I haven't been intimate for a while, so I'm nervous. What if I mess something up?”

“Okay, first of all, give me that asshole's address, I just wanna talk. And second of all...darling, I haven't been intimate since way before my divorce took place. Trust me, I'm a lot more nervous than you right now.”

You shake your head.

“Whatever you do, I'm sure I'll find it like super hot.”

Seungcheol laughs and tilts his head, kissing you again.

“You're so cute,” he whispers against your mouth. “I can't wait to ruin you.”

And just like that, it's as if a switch is flipped. He pushes you onto the bed and leans above you menacingly, a devilish smirk painting his pretty face. Seungcheol pushes your dress up hurriedly, touching you all over.

“You really thought you could get away with it, huh? Walking around my house in those dresses of yours looking so sexy? Tempting me?”

“N-no, s-sir,” you murmur, not knowing where the title is coming from.

“God, I'm such a cliché. An old man unable to resist the gorgeous young nanny...”

“You're not old, sir,” you try to reassure him. You're not sure if he's just engaging in dirty talk or is actually having some insecurities. He's still young in your eyes. Whatever the case, you're there for him.

“Don't lie to me, sweetheart. I'm too old for ya...I have three kids. What do you have, hm?” Seungcheol speaks while caressing your pussy through your panties.

“I have you, sir,” you smile and palm his dick teasingly.

He sighs wistfully and buries his head between your folds, licking and teasing until you're a soaking mess for him.

“S-sir, p-please...C-cheol, don't stop,” you cry out helplessly.

It feels so good, too good. He holds you down, hands gripping your thighs as you cum against his tongue. He barely gives you any time to recover as he rolls up a condom on his cock. You stare at him hungrily, impatient to have him inside of you.

Seungcheol is like the drug everyone warned you about. Once you have him, you won't be able to quit.

“Are you ready?” he asks softly in sharp contrast with his previous behaviour.

“Please take me, Cheol,” you would beg if you had to.

And take you he does, entering you deeply with his big cock.

“Fuck, you're so tight, barely fitting me in,” he speaks, stroking your clit in circular motions with his thumb, while he fucks you harshly.

“It's okay, I won't break, sir,” you try to convince him.

“What if I want you to break, little girl?” Seungcheol inquires, his voice half-joking, half-serious, as he.

“Then, I'd be happy to serve you, daddy,” the word slips from your lips before you could think twice about it.

“Daddy, huh? You need daddy to make you cum?” you are grateful he plays along instead of making fun of you in this very vulnerable moment.

“Yes, daddy, please, I'll do anything for you,” you promise in a daze.

“Cum for me, sweet girl, let daddy take care of you,” his deep voice is enough to bring you to the edge.

“Fuuuck, daddy...Cheol,” you mumble repeatedly, as white appears before your eyes.

You're shaking in his arms but it feels like flying.

“I've got you, angel, daddy's right here,” Seungcheol comforts you, as he rides out his own high, spilling inside the condom. Then, taking it off and throwing it in the garbage bin, he hurries back to you.

You make grabby hands at him and he envelops you in a hug.

“I'm here, sweetheart,” he kisses your forehead gently and you melt against his chest.

“Cheol...I think you just murdered me a little,” you laugh.

“Well, then, I better make sure I revive you, because I can't imagine my life without you.”

“Good. You ain't getting rid of me.”

“That sounds perfect because me and the kids would like you to stick around.”

“Oh God, the kids! What time are they coming back?”

“We've got time, don't worry, they should-”

“Daaaad, we're home!” you hear Dino's loud voice from downstairs.

“Fuck,” Cheol curses under his breath and the two of you hurry to make yourselves look somewhat presentable.

Once dressed and back in the living room, you can only hope that you're not too obvious about what went down. However, you can't stop yourself from glancing at Seungcheol and he's just as flustered as you.

“Oh, hi, Y/N,” Dino greets you as if it's completely normal for you to be there. As if you belong.

“How was your time with your grandparents?” you ask, trying to act casual.

“We had so much ice cream!” Elsie squeals excitedly.

“Grandma and Grandpa took us to the park,” Chaerry starts telling you about everything they did in great detail and you are glad that the shy girl you first met is becoming a confident young woman.

Elsie is asking for more ice cream but Seungcheol is explaining that it's lunch time. Dino is painting the table with mustard and honestly, that's so on brand for him...

It is funny where desperation brought you. You realize this is the happiest you've been in a while.

Later, when Seungcheol catches you alone after spending the afternoon with the kids, he asks:

“I know we kinda messed up the proper order of things, but...would you like to go on a date with me?”

“Oh! I'd love that, Cheol. Is it okay to still call you that?”

“Yeah, it's alright.”

“What about in front of the kids? I'm not sure to what point you'd like to mix professional with...personal life.”

“In front of the kids is okay, too,” he laughs, scratching the back of his head. “Actually, do you know what Elsie keeps asking me?”

“What?”

“When will you make Y/N my new mommy?”

“Yeah, that definitely sounds like something Elsie would say.”

“So, um, no pressure. But I think you're more than the nanny to me.”

“Well, I would certainly hope so. I didn't raise you, mister!”

Seungcheol can't miss the opportunity for a joke. He takes hold of your hand and places it on top of his...very hard dick.

“You raised him, though,” he whispers.

“Mr. Choi!” you hiss, scandalized. “I mean...Cheol.”

“Did you mean daddy?” Seungcheol teases you relentlessly.

“Stop it, you deviant!” you shake your head. “Fuck, you'll never let me live this down, will ya?”

“Do you kiss your boss with that mouth?” he smirks.

“Don't mind if I do,” you reply and bring your lips to his.

A year passes by quickly. You love every day of your life. Whether it'll be spending time with the kids, or going on fun dates with your boss turned boyfriend, or having mind-blowing sex with said specimen, you are truly happy with how things turned out for the best.

With one tiny thing missing.

“Cheol, can I ask you something?” you mumble one evening, as you are playing with his soft, fluffy hair.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Seungcheol turns towards you, giving you his fullest attention.

“Have you ever thought about having more kids?”

“Hmm, it hasn't crossed my mind. I already have three kids. But it depends. Is that something you're interested in?”

“Not till now. But if it's with you, I'd love to have a kid,” you confess shyly.

“Well, then, let's make you a mommy,” Seungcheol quickly makes it his mission and for the first time, doesn't use a condom.

“Yes, please, daddy, give me your cum,” you moan wantonly, as he fucks you deep.

“Take it like the good girl you are, I'll give you all I've got, fuck a baby in ya,” he grunts in your ear, sounding even more excited than you are.

“I love it, feel so full,” you whimper and can't stop kissing him. You can't believe this beautiful man is yours and wants to give you another present.

“That's right, sweetheart, I'll stuff you full of it,” he moans and releases himself inside you. Your walls clench around him, pulling him deeper, as you reach your high.

Seungcheol gently pushes the cum that's spilling out of your pussy back inside and lifts your legs up.

“Do you think it'll stick?” you ask doubtfully.

“Can't hurt to try again until it does,” he shrugs, determined to succeed.

Nine months later, as you welcome the twins into the family, you realize you've never expected to achieve so much happiness.

“You really had to outdo yourself and give me not one but two babies,” you playfully push Seungcheol's shoulder.

“Is it too late now to say sorry?” he grins nervously.

“Don't be. I'm more than satisfied. But you'll have to give me a raise!”

“I'll give you something better than that,” Seungcheol promises and pulls a diamond ring out of his pocket.

“Oh my God,” you are in shock.

“Y/N...you've given me more than I could ever hope to deserve. You started off as a nanny but you became my three kids' best friend and now, the mother of two more angels. You became my closest person, my source of joy, my sweetheart. Knowing that I can come home to you is the best thing that's ever happened to me. Will you do me the absolute honour of becoming my wife?”

“Yes, of course, yes!” you say through your tears and kiss him, as he slides the ring on your finger.

“Can I call you mommy now?” Elsie peeks her adorable head behind the door, followed by Dino and Chaerry, who are all excited by the good news.

“Congratulations, Y/N!” Chaerry greets you with a hug and whispers: “Thanks for taking one for the team and making our lonely old man. happy.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Seungcheol complains loudly.

Dino jumps on the back of his dad with a loud squeal.

“You better treat her right, Dad!” the boy warns. “Or I'll ketchup your room!”

“Why do I feel like I'm the one being welcomed into the family?” Seungcheol bemoans his fate but he's never smiled wider.

“You'll get used to it,” you joke. “Come on, guys, meet your new brother and sister.”

“Hii, babies!” Elsie and Dino jump excitedly around the twins.

“Oh, they're so cute! Aren't they so cute, Dad?” Chaerry coos at the babies.

“They are, but it's too early for you to think about how cute babies are. Look at me...I already have five. Isn't it tragic?” Seungcheol keeps messing around.

“It could have been twelve or something,” you play along.

“I can't imagine,” Seungcheol cries out indignantly. But deep down, maybe he can.

The End

[lyrefromthesea]

Maybe drunk hashiras x reader ?? :00

something like a reader dealing with drunk hashira and how would they act? Can they hold their booze well?

Male Pillars x Reader - Drunk Idiots

pairing: Tengen x reader, Obanai x reader, Rengoku x reader, Sanemi x reader, Giyuu x reader, Gyomei x reader

content warning: alcohol consumption, mild suggestiveness (if you squint)

Tengen:

• can drink a decent amount of liquor before actually having reactions to it

• won't drink much when outside, knows it could be dangerous

• however, gets drunk at home parties

"come on, it's time to leave." you told your guests, ushering them out of your house. with a few sighs and goodbyes they made their way out, asking whether they could repeat this sometime.

"maybe, who knows? as long as Tengen's not claiming the booze." you laughed, watching them take their leave after a few more laughs.

you closed the door behind you, walking towards the living room. Tengen was still sitting on the ground, a sakazuki filled with sake in hand.

"I think that's enough for you, hm?" you interrupted, gently taking the liquor out of his hand. he mumbled something incoherent, watching you set the drink to the side and pull you close.

"you're no fun, beautiful.." he muttered, pulling you onto his lap and leaning against your back. you rolled your eyes with a smile, feeling him rest his head on your shoulder.

"i know you sent the others away, but that doesn't mean the party has to end.." he snickered, wrapping his arms around your torso.

"i think that's exactly what it means." you answered, wriggling out of his grip to turn around and put your arms over his shoulders.

"like i said, you're no fun.." he sighed, the smell of alcohol making you squirm and turn your head away.

"you reek. go brush your teeth and go to bed!" you scolded him, yet you laughed seconds later. you just didn't expect him to pull you even closer, pressing his lips against yours.

when he broke the kiss and looked at you with his signature smirk, you felt your cheeks go red.

"i could go drunk on your kisses too, if that's what you desire.." he breathed against your lips, his smirk growing with the spreading blush on your face.

Obanai:

• doesn't drink often, doesn't drink much

• knows he can't handle it well, but will drink a glass to keep etiquette

• feels the effect after one or two glasses and stops immediately

Obanai had already told you he couldn't drink much, that he would probably need to go home sooner than later.

you had tried imagining how he would act after a glass or two, but you didn't expect him to cling onto you. he didn't let go of your body since the two of you have walked home.

"[name], i don't know if i ever told you.." he started, your face turning towards him. you had brought him to bed after you came home, now laying next to him.

"told me what..?" you asked, realizing that the man had stopped in the midst of his sentence. it almost felt like he had forgotten what he wanted to say. tilting your head lightly, you were waiting for his response.

"you're so beautiful.." he answered, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. you were surprised by his tender touch. of course he showed you affection on a daily basis, but he still had problems expressing himself.

seeing his eyes stare at you with incomparable affection, you felt your heart beat faster. you could see the thoughts behind his eyes, that he was speaking the truth, while the alcohol had fogged his mind.

he moved closer, until the two of you were directly facing each other. the alcohol had made him bolder, had taken away his inhibitions.

without much hesitation he closed his eyes, pressing his lips against yours through the mask. you thought he would stop after one kiss, but the time it took for him to stop made your face flush.

"so undeniably beautiful.." he whispered, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

perhaps you should encourage a weekly glass of wine with him.

Rengoku:

• doesn't drink often, can hold a decent amount of liquor

• has a habit of drinking too much when he's at a party with you

• confused, nothing more, pure confusion

"let's go home now, Kyojuro." you smiled, putting a hand on your husband's arm. he had nearly emptied three bottles by himself, now completely drunk on the alcohol.

"who are you..? i'm waiting for the love of my life.." the man slurred, making sure to brush your hand off his arm. "i'm not a cheater.."

you tried containing the laugh threatening to spill from your lips, realizing he didn't recognize you. you had only been in the bathroom for a few minutes, wanting to refresh yourself before leaving.

"oh, i take it you're married?" you asked, taking the opportunity by it's head. you knew he was a good man, but you couldn't stop yourself from indulging in the situation.

"yes, i'm married to the- the most beautiful person alive..!" he muttered lazily, looking towards the bathroom doors. the way he couldn't comprehend that you were right next to him made you laugh quietly.

you excused yourself and wished him a good night, walking back into the bathroom, just to leave it a few moments later. Rengoku's eyes were trained on you, lighting up.

"careful, Kyojuro!" you gasped, watching him stand up and stumble towards you. he laughed in response, telling you that everything was fine.

"come now, let's get you home.." you said, a comforting smile on your face. the man smiled back, letting you lead him towards your new destination.

he would be embarrassed about every time he stumbled on the way back home when he woke up tomorrow - just how he would be embarrassed when he remembered his conversation with the seemingly unknown person trying to hit on him.

Sanemi:

• has probably the highest tolerance out of the pillars

• somehow still tends to push his limit

• will either become positively energetic or tired, no in-between

when you took Sanemi with you, wanting to bring him home, you didn't expect the man to change your destined path.

he had been silent for most of the way, but after entering a certain area, he looked around a few times, grabbing your hand and pulling you with him.

"it's here." he noted, stepping past the last bushes. you had wanted to complain, but your eyes widened when you saw the landscape in front of you.

you didn't know a place like this existed near your home - a beautiful flower field. the moon was shining onto the colorful flowers, giving the scenery a magic light.

"what do you think?" he asked, the hiccup leaving him betraying his sober facade. you would've rolled your eyes at his drinking habit, but the view was too beautiful to get mad at.

"it's breathtaking.." you admitted, your voice quiet, almost appearing like you didn't want to break the night's silence.

"it's not the only thing that's taking my breath away." he answered, placing his hand on your lower back. you fell silent, feeling his fingers interlock with yours, mimicking a slow dance.

it wasn't elegant by any means, the two of you were just slowly dancing through the field, but his actions took your breath away.

"i didn't know you could be this romantic.." you mumbled, a soft chuckle following your words. he simply looked at you, his eyes traveling to your lips.

"blame it on the alcohol." he said, leaning in to press a kiss on your lips. despite the alcohol's bitter taste, still lingering on his lips, you closed your eyes and kissed him back.

he smiled at you after ending the kiss, lidded eyes displaying affection. yet just a moment later, his smile faded, placing his head on your shoulder.

"i'm about to fall asleep." he noted, your eyes widening when you felt him lean more onto your body.

the rest of the night contained of ushering him home, telling him to stay awake until he could finally lay in bed.

Giyuu:

• less than Tengen or Rengoku, more than Obanai

• knows his boundaries

• you caught him drunk at a party just once, you still tease him about it

"Giyuu..?" your voice was barely above a whisper as the man hovered over you, looking at you with hazy eyes. any trace of happiness had left his face, now only revealing frustration and jealousy.

he knew his limits, he usually did, yet he took another glass when he saw you talk to a man that wasn't him - and another one, and another one, and..

before he knew it, he made his way towards you, flushed cheeks and unfocused eyes revealing how many shots he had chucked down.

"we're going." he said, his hand grabbing yours, pulling you away from the other man. he pulled you along - his grip never painful, but clearly determined.

he didn't listen until you two were outside, a few streets away from any other person. his eyes hidden by his lose bangs, you would've expected angry eyes to meet yours, but the sight never came.

you felt his head drop onto your shoulder, hands pulling you close and wrapping around your torso.

"don't ignore me anymore, i want to be the man you're looking at." he mumbled against your skin, brushing his nose against the side of your neck.

"Giyuu, i.." you were rendered speechless, his hands coming up to your shoulders before he stood straight again, looking down at you.

"i'll show you.. i'll show you why you only need to have eyes for me.." he told you, his hand coming up to brush the strands out of his face.

your breath nearly hitched when you saw the glint in his eye, his gaze traveling over you before he sped up to hurry home with you.

whatever he had planned, you surely wouldn't forget this night.

Gyomei:

• can drink more than most of the pillars, but still has boundaries

• doesn't get fully drunk, will stop when he feels the alcohol's effect

• calm, somehow appears nearly sober, but people who know him can tell

if it hadn't been for the light flush of his cheeks, you wouldn't have noticed that Gyomei had engaged in drinking booze.

what surprised you even more, he didn't only drink one glass, he did have quite a few of them.

"are you sure you're okay..?" you ask him carefully, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. Gyomei turned towards you, his eyes narrowing a fraction.

"do not worry, darling, i am fine." he answered, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek. you had expected him to lean in and kiss you, but that wasn't the case.

"you, however, seem to have taken a glass too many." he said, letting you press your cheek against his palm more. he smiled at the act of affection, not missing the hum leaving your lips.

"how come?" you ask, wanting to know how he figured it out. it's true after all, you've swallowed a few glasses yourself.

his other hand came up to cup your other cheek as well, leaning down with a smile. you looked at him curiously, seeing that he had something on his mind.

"your cheeks are surprisingly warm. could that be a side effect of the liquor, darling?" he responded, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs.

"maybe both of have had a glass too many." you answered with a chuckle, happy when you heard him laugh with you.

he listened around the room, knowing that it was already late and people have left. "perhaps we should take our leave as well.."

"you're probably right. besides, i wouldn't mind getting you alone for some time.." you smiled, making your way towards the door with him.

parties were great, sure, but spending time with him was better.

[deikshen]

Shen Jiu—father of a little Shen Yuan—who never joined CQMS after saving Qi-ge's life, both father and son rogue cultivators now. Shen Yuan is a curious child who quickly turns into a nosy teenager, and Shen Jiu enjoys spending time doing small cultivation jobs, helping his brothel Jiejie, and having a peaceful life with his son.

Over time, Shen Yuan grows large enough to be indistinguishable from Shen Jiu. Just a little bit of their eyes and expressions can differentiate them at a glance. The Meimei in the brothel who don't know them for a long time often refer to them as the Cultivator Twins, and that is a bit of the reputation they have. They are not important enough to attract the attention of large sects, and their low profile keeps them working without problems. Shen Jiu is in charge of making talismans, fighting monsters, and making medicines!! Shen Yuan transcribes manuals, compiles bestiaries, and sells information. Almost any time it comes to gathering plants, herbs or mushrooms, or working with some beast, Shen Yuan will be there to do it!

Eventually and under some circumstances, Shen Yuan ends up poisoning himself with Without-a-Cure- He swears it wasn't his fault!! It was an unforeseen accident, it could happen to anyone! But his cultivation base is damaged, and the only person Shen Jiu knows to help with the poison and create a treatment, is the Peak Lord of Qian Cao, Mu Qingfang.

However, Shen Jiu refuses to introduce him as his son!! He even refuses to get too close to the sect of his own. What's more, even so, he urges Shen Yuan to show up at Cang Qiong Mountain, impersonate him to the Sect Leader and demand that medical help be provided.

... Shen Yuan doesn't believe it will work. But apparently, it really does! Because Zhangmen-shixiong turns pale when he sees him, and he orbits around him as if he wants to hug him, but without making any sudden movements. Shen Yuan does his best imitation of his father, being sullen, hostile, rude and demanding, and it works beautifully. He is sent to receive medical care. Mu Qingfang prepares tonics and medicines, and he will need to visit Qian Cao Peak once every three weeks to have his meridians cleansed.

And, while in Qian Cao, Shen Yuan meets Luo Binghe.

He is a young disciple of Bai Zhan! Cute as a bun, but apparently, he had defeated at least ten of his martial brothers in battle!! So powerful!! Shen Yuan is not surprised to see him sometimes, when he visits Qian Cao for his meridian cleansings; Luo Binghe shines like a wounded sun, and seems to want to get closer to Shen Yuan more and more, always talking, asking, wanting to talk to him. Even if Shen Yuan has to force himself to imitate his father, can't help but smile behind his fan! He's a good, adorable boy!!

The boy is exceptionally intrigued by Shen Yuan, where he comes from, how he became infected with the Without-a-Cure. The boy also seems to be waiting for him, looking at him with barely concealed curiosity, doing meaningless things as if he were waiting for a reaction from him. He pours tea for him and looks at him expectantly, he drops his tray and stands still as if expecting a harsh scolding. But even if he could, Shen Yuan would never scold him! Luo Binghe is a wonderful boy.

Shen Yuan greatly enjoys visiting Cang Qiong just to see him, even if he has to hide his emotions behind his father's mask. Even if he's supposed to be hostile or not too nice. He... He really enjoys the company of the young disciple Luo Binghe. And maybe... Maybe he's considering telling him the truth. He's kind of like, a friend! Right? He thinks he can tell him the truth... At some point. Perhaps after the Immortal Conference Alliance, so that Luo Binghe can fully concentrate on that and emerge triumphant!

(What Shen Yuan doesn't know is that this adorable boy is not a simple young disciple. Luo Binghe was once the Emperor of the Three Realms, a ferocious heavenly demon... who had perished after a fierce qi deviation. Horror! And he had become aware just before Cang Qiong's disciple selection. A cycle of torture repeated endlessly!

But there was no Shen Qingqiu to select him. Instead, he was selected for Bai Zhan by Liu Qingge; Qing Jing's Peak Lord was not even Shen Qingqiu.

... And Luo Binghe is freaking lost. Where is that horrible Shizun of his? He's raised through fights, through steady cultivation, through... friends? Through a good Shizun. He's having a nice new life. It's not like the life he had, but, he thinks, maybe it's retribution from the universe? Giving him what he should have had, not forcing him into a life of suffering and hatred. Luo Binghe is not going to complain about it.

Then, Shen Qingqiu appears. Well, not Shen Qingqiu. Shen Jiu.

Even though he's hostile, there's something... different about him. He's softer. His cutting comments aren't entirely poisonous, and when Luo Binghe speaks, he... listens. He looks at him as if he sees him as an equal, and more than once he found him smiling!!! Behind his fan, yes, but he was smiling!! Luo Binghe doesn't understand. Could this be... the same kind Shizun whose glimpse he managed to get in that other world? Did the universe put him before him, for him, in this world where Luo Binghe is not suffering? In this world, so that Luo Binghe doesn't have so much pain and can instead find peace?

Luo Binghe doesn't know. He only hopes that at the Immortal Alliance Conference, the Abyss won't open up and swallow him up. ... Or just let it happen. Then he can return as a Demon Lord to see if this No-Shizun really still sees him as an equal. If he remains kind, if he continues to smile behind his fan, if his face continues to light up at the sight of him even when he becomes a monster upon exiting the Endless Abyss... Luo Binghe isn't sure what he'll do, but he doesn't think a harem is necessary this time. His No-Shizun alone would suffice.)

(For his part, oh. Shen Jiu has also died and woken up in his own loop of suffering watching the flames of the Qiu estate. And he remembers everything.

This time, however, he welcomed into his the life that Qi-ge had unknowingly given him after a chance encounter, and allowed this life to exist far away instead of joining Qing Jing. He will never go near that cursed sect, nor its demonic disciple, nor all the horrible martial brothers who abandoned him to his fate to be tortured.

Shen Jiu will stay safe. He will survive. It's more than he could do before.

He doesn't mind reliving the past. He doesn't mind sneaking away. He will stay alive, and he will keep his son safe, no matter what he has to do.)

[neverendingford]

,

[littlegochu]

night in mexico │ jjk 18+

"Told you I’d fly you somewhere you’d never forget. You like it, baby?"

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader (f)

genre: young couple, drug dealer bf

rating: 18+ fluff tho, swearing, drugs

synopsis: jeon jungkook doesn’t do soft. not with strangers. not with threats. not even with himself. but with her? he rents out oceanfront villas, kisses her like she’s fragile, and acts like he’s not dangerously obsessed.

-

"you’re so beautiful."

his voice is quiet, almost lazy, wrapped in smoke and salt-heavy air. jungkook exhales slow, watching the stars like they’re saying something only he can understand. he doesn’t look at me when he says it. just lets the words slip out like he’s not used to giving them shape.

we’re curled together on the sunbed outside our suite, tucked beneath a thin blanket and the thick hush of the tulum night. the ocean hums somewhere below. the air is warm and soft and still, like the world’s finally holding its breath just for us.

he’s shirtless, his skin golden from the sun, tattoos inked across his chest like constellations of their own. the spliff in his fingers glows faintly, a soft orange flicker every time he drags it to his lips.

i shift against him, thigh grazing his. “you’re just saying that cause you're high.”

he scoffs under his breath, doesn’t even glance my way. “high or not, you're beautiful”

but his hand doesn’t stop moving—still brushing up and down my thigh, slow and lazy, like he needs the contact. like touching me keeps him grounded.

“you look happy,” he says after a beat. “i like that shit.”

i blink, surprised. he never says things like that, even when it’s obvious. jungkook doesn’t do soft. not out loud. but he’s been different these past few days. quieter. more still. like being here has peeled back a layer he doesn’t usually let anyone see.

“it’s nice out here,” he murmurs, eyes still on the sky. “no calls. no noise. no fucking problems. just... you.”

i tuck my face into his shoulder and breathe him in—smoke, sun, and that faint clean scent that’s just his. he says it so casually, but i know what he means. he doesn’t get peace often. he doesn’t let himself rest.

but here, with me, he lets his guard down.

“i wasn’t supposed to end up like this,” he says, barely above a whisper. “i was supposed to be in school. something boring. i don’t even remember what i wanted to be.”

i don’t say anything. he’s not looking for answers. he’s remembering things that hurt.

“i used to skip class. steal shit. told people college was a scam ‘cause i didn’t get in.” his voice drops lower.

i sit up, turning to straddle him. his hands come to rest on my waist, like they always do—automatic. like even when he doesn’t want to talk, he still wants to feel me.

his jaw ticks. “you never left me, and i still don’t get why.”

“maybe because i see what you don’t.”

he frowns. “what?”

“you’re not just the bad shit, kook. you’re also the guy who warms my feet under the blanket. who picks the seeds out of my fruit even when you’re pissed at me. who looks at me like i’m the only thing that’s ever made sense.”

his throat works as he swallows.

“you say you’re a mess,” i whisper, brushing my thumb along his cheek. “but you gave me a life i never dreamed of. not just the money. the safety. the love.”

he exhales like he doesn’t believe me. like he’s trying to.

“i used to laugh at couples like this,” he mutters. “villas and soft shit. matching swimsuits and late-night cuddles.” he looks away. “now all i wanna do is keep you wrapped up in it forever.”

“you say that like it’s easy.” i say.

he scoffs. “loving you is easy.”

he kisses me then. it’s not perfect. it’s soft and a little clumsy and tastes like the last drag of his spliff—but it feels like everything. like truth. like surrender.

when he pulls back, his forehead presses to mine. he whispers, “you ever think you settled?”

“no.”

“not even once?”

“not even close.”

his hands slide down to my thighs, holding me like i might vanish. “i don’t know how to be better.”

“you don’t have to be better. you just have to be you.”

we fall into silence again, my head resting against his chest, his heartbeat slow and steady beneath my ear.

he tugs the blanket back over us and lets out a breath.

“you want anything?” he asks.

i shake my head. “i’ve got everything.”

his hand tightens on my leg. “good.”

then, quieter: “but if you ever want something—anything—just say it.”

and i know he means it. i know if i said i wanted the sky, he’d rip it down and hand it to me. and he wouldn’t even ask why.

he doesn’t say anything for a while.

just rests his head back against the cushion, one hand on my thigh, the other coming up to thread through my hair. slow. gentle. over and over again.

his fingers trail from my scalp down to the ends, then back up, curling slightly as he combs through. his breathing is steady. no tension in his jaw anymore. just quiet.

i melt against him, letting my eyes slip closed, cheek still pressed to his chest. it’s warm, and his skin smells like sun and something faintly minty, probably whatever lotion i left in the bathroom that he pretended not to use.

he keeps running his fingers through my hair, sometimes pushing it behind my ear, other times just letting it tangle in his hands.

then he leans down a little, just enough to press a kiss to the crown of my head.

soft. like a thank you. like an apology.

his lips linger there, and i can feel the breath he exhales against my scalp.

“you’re everything,” he murmurs. “you know that, right?”

i hum, barely awake, lips curling at the edges. “mm.”

“don’t leave me,” he says, quieter.

“nope,” i whisper.

and i mean it.

he presses another kiss to my hair, then one to my forehead, his mouth warm and steady against my skin.

“good.”

i feel myself drifting. the weight of the day, the warmth of his arms, the lull of the waves—it all pulls me under like a tide. like the safest kind of drowning.

he notices.

his hand leaves my hair, slips beneath my thighs. the blanket shifts as he scoops me up gently, like i weigh nothing.

i blink once, half-asleep. “i can walk,"

“shut up,” he mutters. “you’ll hurt your back out here.”

i want to say something smug in return, but i’m too far gone, too tired, too comfortable. i just nuzzle closer into his chest, arms loosely wrapping around his neck as he carries me inside.

i hear him smile.

his bare feet are quiet against the floorboards, the door creaking softly as he nudges it open with his shoulder. the room is dim, moonlight cutting across the floor, the sheets on our bed still rumpled from earlier.

he lays me down carefully, adjusting the blanket over me before sliding in beside me.

and then he pulls me close—no hesitation, no space between us.

one arm around my waist, the other tucked under the pillow, fingers brushing through my hair again.

his breath is slow, and when he thinks i’m fully asleep, he whispers it.

“i love you.”

i smile into the pillow, heart full, body warm, and fall asleep with his arm wrapped around me like a promise.

authors note: pls comment for suggestions and ur opinions on this story!

[drfruitcake]

Matcha

Michael Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader

Rating: Explicit/MDNI (language and smut) Word count: ~17,000 Tags: slow burn, slight plot but mostly just an excuse for eventual smut, slight age gap, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, p in v, oral, friends to lovers, colleagues to lovers, mutual pining, meet the parents, reader insert, no y/n, 2nd person POV, no beta

Summary: It's Thanksgiving and you're en route to introduce your boyfriend, Dr. Robby, to your parents for the first time. Though you're nervous about their reaction to your age difference, you reflect on the journey of your relationship and how proud you are to call him yours.

Notes: Reader is a 35-year-old psych doc. Dr. Robby is 50. This takes place a year after S1 ends. I never know if I should refer to him as Michael or Robby, but Michael just feels so weird to me. Also, I am not a doctor or any type of medical professional, so please forgive any medical inaccuracies. Thanks to all who take the time to read!

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Nope, not like this.

Bringing a boyfriend home to meet your parents was supposed to be thrilling. And truthfully, it was. You adored your boyfriend and you were proud of him. After years of a slow-burn back-and-forth, the two of you finally breached the boundaries of the ‘will-they-won’t-they’ whispers within the curious confines of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.

So yes, you were excited to introduce your man to your parents, and they were excited to meet him, too. After all, you hadn’t introduced them to a boyfriend in nearly two decades, since you were sixteen. They’d spent years patiently waiting on you to finish med school and acclimate to your career. Now, they were ready to see you settle down and start a family. They were both newly retired and itching for grandchildren. 

But they didn’t know your boyfriend was closer to them in age than he was to you.

You, personally, didn’t view it as a problem. It wasn’t a scandalous age gap. Your boyfriend was experienced, mature, and over the performative bullshit that often accompanied relationships. He was open, honest and blunt about what he wanted, not to mention he was in therapy now, something most men your age avoided like the plague. He made you feel safe and secure, valued and loved. Most importantly, you couldn’t get enough of each other.

So yes, you loved your boyfriend. But you weren’t sure your parents would love the notion of their 35-year-old daughter dating a 50-year-old man.

The drive from Pittsburgh to Cleveland was quiet at first. You insisted on driving – you enjoyed it and you knew where you were going, you claimed. In truth, you hoped focusing on the roads would prevent you from dwelling too deep within your own insecurities.

The roads swished with steady traffic beneath grey skies as other travelers headed home for the Thanksgiving holiday. You promised your mother you’d arrive by 2 p.m. Dinner was planned for 4 p.m., and then you’d spend the night at your parents’ house before returning to Pittsburgh in the morning.

It all seemed so simple. The plans were in place, your parents were happily awaiting your arrival, and you were smitten with the man sitting beside you. But your brain buzzed with anxious energy.

Your parents were good people – kind, friendly and hard-working. They ensured you got into med school and supported your decision to specialize in psych, rather than become a primary care physician like they’d hoped. And when you’d decided to remain in Pittsburgh rather than return to Cleveland to work, they remained supportive.

But they were still old-school, set in a particular way of doing things. Your dad was protective and your mom still worried far too much about what others thought. And now, you were worried over what they’d think. 

There was no reason for them to dislike your boyfriend beyond your age gap. He was handsome and humble, but sharply intelligent and competent. Most importantly, he adored you. But you weren’t sure your parents would be able to see past the 15 years that separated you. They’d surely wonder what a 50-year-old man was doing with you.

Sometimes you wondered that, too. There was the obvious – you were pretty. And you were sharp as hell, often deemed snarky and sarcastic by your friends, but also one of the smartest people in every room. You were the classic honor student turned doctor, but that of course meant you’d ignored much of the social life you should have had in your 20s. Dating wasn’t your expertise. You were more of the girl who went home with men and forgot to call them back. But while others looked at you as the boring, albeit brilliant, workaholic, your boyfriend saw someone who understood the sacrifices required of a career in health care.

You knew your parents would also wonder what you saw in him. The short answer was everything, but you also knew few people understood your boyfriend the way you did. Others saw a man who could be gruff and moody. You saw a man who merely wanted to save as many people as possible, even if it meant sacrificing his own best interests. But you were helping him work on that.

Others also wondered why you didn’t date someone your own age, who didn’t carry as much emotional baggage, or who better aligned with your generational interests. You saw a man who didn’t lie or cheat, who didn’t waste your time or his, and who preferred to catch a ballgame than catch an STI at the club.

The two of you were simpatico, a match meant only for your understanding. You brought light to his darkness, but you never tried to extinguish it. You didn’t view him as someone who needed fixing. You embraced him exactly as he was, with hopes that seeing and accepting him would help him find comfort in you.

With twenty minutes remaining in your drive, the soft sounds of Springsteen wafting from the car speakers, you snuck a sideways glance. Though the two of you often sat in peaceful silence, your boyfriend was fidgeting with the strap of his seatbelt. His eyes remained forward, but it was clear he wasn’t actually observing anything.

“Robby,” you said gently, your eyes glinting with warm amusement. “You alright?”

His eyes shifted toward yours and he offered you a reassuring smile.

“Oh yeah, I’m good,” he said. You turned your head slightly to offer him a pointed stare, your eyes quickly returning to the road.

“Liar.” You smirked sideways at him and he chuckled.

“I’m fine, really,” he assured. “This is just…”

“Weird,” you finished. “It’s weird.”

“You said it, not me.”

It was your turn to chuckle softly. “I know,” you said sincerely. “I know it’s weird. Trust me, this was not on my life’s bingo card.”

“What, you mean to tell me the teenage version of yourself never envisioned bringing a 50-year-old boyfriend home to Mom and Dad?”

You laughed. “The teenage version of myself was supposed to end up marrying the lead singer of My Chemical Romance.”

“Guess that shouldn’t surprise me,” Robby said. “Your vinyl collection is atrocious.”

“Says the man who only owns Springsteen albums.”

“Hey, respect your elders.”

You rolled your eyes, the corners of your lips curved upward in a smile. “They’ll love you, you know,” you said encouragingly. 

“I still think you should have disclosed some of the more important details,” Robby muttered.

“I did disclose the important details,” you noted. “I told them you’re an ER doc at Pitt Trauma, that you’ve never been married, no kids and no criminal background.”

“Just not the part where I’m only twelve years younger than your dad.”

“And you’re only fifteen years older than me. It’s not a big deal,” you insisted. “It’s not like this is a Bill Belichick situation.”

“Isn’t your dad a Browns fan?”

“Yes.”

“Feel like I’d be better off as Belichick.”

You heaved a sigh, though you’d be lying if you said you weren’t entertained. After all, this was a predicament of your own doing, so you might as well learn to laugh through the discomfort. Not that you’d intended to fall for the ER’s senior attending in the first place. 

Your crush on Dr. Robby developed long before you had any idea you’d end up working in the same hospital as him long-term. 

You first met him in the Pitt Trauma ER during your clinical rotations, where you quickly decided you weren’t interested in emergency medicine. Still, you developed a close bond with the ER staff and grew to view many of them like family. Once you’d decided on psych, you desperately wanted a residency at Pitt Trauma to remain close to them.

But even after you completed your residency and cemented your spot on staff within the Pitt Trauma psychiatric care team, you never predicted you’d find love within the hospital’s walls, too. After your residency, you opened up more to dating. You swiped your way through apps, stumbled home with men from bars and even let Dana set you up with a family friend.

Dates came and went, some stuck around for weeks, even months. You even had a three-month fling with Dr. Shen that fizzled when you discovered him following far too many models on Instagram.

But you never envisioned yourself in a months-long relationship with Dr. Robby of all people. You’d always admired him from afar, a schoolgirl-type crush in which you often daydreamed of pulling him into a supply closet for a hook-up, but never thought you’d learn what he eats for breakfast or what brand of deodorant he buys.

But your attraction stemmed from more than mere physical desire. You felt pulled to him. He was confident and commanding, respected and revered. Even when you made it clear you weren’t interested in pursuing emergency medicine, Robby taught you things few students had the opportunity to learn. And when you revealed you were interested in psych, he ensured you were included in all of the interesting psych cases.

You respected the hell out of Dr. Robby. The gentle banter and attraction for him were merely bonuses, as far as you were concerned.

But once you began visiting the ER for psych consultations and were no longer under his direct supervision, your chemistry with Dr. Robby ignited from a simmer to a rapid, rolling boil.

Your colleagues noticed, no matter how much you insisted on the contrary. Meanwhile, you remained convinced Dr. Robby remained clueless. But he heard the whispers, too. He shrugged off inquisitive remarks from Dana and Dr. Abbot, stifled the jealousy that shredded his insides when you dated Dr. Shen, and did his best to maintain a respectful and professional distance.

The night at the bar was the first time the two of you approached the edge, the near-tipping point into something you couldn’t claw your way back from. 

Trinity convinced you to go, insisting that most of the ER day shift would be there. So you tagged along and spent the first portion of the night laughing and drinking with your old friends.

You enjoyed catching up with them, nostalgic for your time spent in the trenches of The Pitt, while your eyes occasionally swept toward the TV airing the Pirates game above the bar. You were simply checking the score, you told yourself. You were most certainly not glancing at Robby, who stood at the opposite end of the bar with Frank Langdon.

But as the night progressed, so did the confidence in some random bar bro who offered to buy you drinks. You kindly thanked him for the offer and said no, but he lingered. You could feel his eyes clinging to you the entire evening, like a predator biding his time.

Typically your friends would have your back and tell the guy to fuck off. Typically you would, too.

But Samira was working late, Cassie was with her son and Trinity was too busy trying to beat Mateo on the skee-ball machine. And an incident a few weeks prior hovered in the back of your mind. 

You were in line at a coffee shop when a man struck up a conversation with you. You were polite and friendly, perhaps too much, because by the time you left the shop, he asked you to dinner. And when you said no, he called you a “fucking tease” and a “waste of time,” vowing that someday, women like you would "pay for your bullshit behavior.”

So when the bro at the bar moved in again, the smell of liquor and cigarettes smothering your senses as he tried to ask about your Penguins sweatshirt, you seized an opportunity as Robby happened to emerge from the bathroom.

“There you are!” you squealed, making a quick beeline toward him, leaving the bro with your vacated barstool. You tossed your arms around Robby’s neck and he froze, his eyes wide in confusion and lips lopsided in an amused smile. “Babe, it was the longest day without you!”

“Uh, you too,” Robby managed, his posture rigid. Neither of you could believe you were that close. You silently thanked the gods that Robby was sharp enough to catch on to what was happening.

“Babe, let’s go out back to the patio and have a smoke,” you said, grabbing Robby by the hand to drag him toward the back door. He followed you without resistance.

You snuck one final glance toward the bro at the bar, who was scowling at your retreating forms. Once outside, you dropped Robby’s hand immediately. 

“I am so sorry!” you exclaimed hurriedly. “That guy, he’s been following me around all night. Couldn't take a hint.”

“It’s alright,” Robby chuckled, amusement blooming within his warm eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” you said with an assuring nod. “Just didn’t want that weirdo near me anymore.”

“I’ve been watching him all night. Seems like he was pretty drunk.”

Your lips thinned at Robby’s admission. Why had he been watching that guy? Was it because he was also keeping an eye on you? You swallowed the naive notion and flashed Robby a grin.

“I’m sure he’s harmless,” you said. “But can’t be too sure. Anyway, thank you for… you know, being my boyfriend for 30 seconds.”

“Anytime.” Robby stood with his hands in his sweatshirt pockets, the signature pose you’d come to expect from him. You struggled to meet his eyes and prayed he couldn't see the flush creeping up the back of your neck.

“Well, I think I’m going to call it a night,” you finally said with a soft smile. 

“I’ll come with you.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, I’ll walk you home.” More amusement glimmered in Robby’s eyes and all you could think about was how fucking appealing he looked.

“Oh. No, you don’t have to do that,” you said as casually as you could manage; nevermind the sudden spike in the pitch of your voice. “My apartment isn’t far, I’ll be fine. I have pepper spray.”

“Nonsense,” Robby said, motioning you toward the door. “I couldn’t live with myself if I let you walk home alone after some creep’s been following you all night. I was getting ready to head out anyway.”

Heaven help you. You returned inside the bar, where you waved goodbye to your friends and pretended to ignore Trinity’s piercing stare when she realized Robby was leaving with you. 

Once outside on the sidewalk, you silently begged every higher power to prevent you from embarrassing yourself. You weren’t sure why you were so flustered – beyond the fact the man you’d held a years-long torch for was walking you home.

But this was Dr. Robby. You’d known him for years and you were comfortable in his presence (when you weren’t thinking about how handsome he was or how nice his hands were). There was no reason to be rattled by him. Nothing had ever happened between the two of you, nor would it in the future, you reminded yourself. He was your colleague and a mentor. You couldn’t allow your silly crush to jeopardize your relationship.

“Did you, uh, end up admitting that patient this afternoon?” Robby asked as you walked. “The man who was presenting with ideation?”

“We did,” you sighed. “He has family flying in from Florida in the morning.”

Robby nodded in quiet acknowledgment. Silence settled between the two of you, and you couldn’t decide if you were grateful or terrified. You glanced at your phone to check the score of the Pirates game, desperate for a distraction. Robby smiled.

“Still the eighth inning?” he asked.

You shook your head as you slid your phone back into your bag. “Bottom of the ninth. They’re down one.”

“You ever find one of those co-ed softball leagues?” Robby asked. “I remember you mentioning wanting to join one.”

“I did, but it was too late,” you replied. “Their season had already started and the spots were full.”

“Ah, too bad.”

“I was thinking we could start a Pitt Trauma team,” you mused. “Santos said she used to play and Langdon’s competitive as hell. Could be fun. You in?”

“Oh, no one wants to see that,” Robby joked with a shake of the head. 

“Oh, come on,” you teased. “You love baseball. How bad can you be?”

“I’d rather not find out.”

You laughed, thankful for the ease in your self-inflicted tension. But as you neared your building, the anxiety bubbled into your throat again. 

“Cool building,” Robby commented as you approached the front steps. His head tilted backward as he scanned the building’s exterior to admire the historic details. “I love this part of town, all the old architecture.”

“It’s a great neighborhood,” you agreed. In fact, the architecture and old charm was precisely why you’d picked it. You fished your keys from your bag and met Robby’s eyes with a smile. “Well, thanks for getting me home… and for, you know, keeping me safe from bar creeps.”

“Anytime,” Robby said. The warmth in his eyes seemed to permeate your skin, sweeping across your flesh with a crimson flush. You hoped it was too dark to notice.

You knew it was time to say goodnight, or to say literally anything to initiate your exit. It was time to go inside, to hop in the shower and crawl into bed to pretend you weren’t down bad for the senior attending of the ER. But you remained frozen in place, your feet unable – and perhaps unwilling – to step away from Robby.

“See you tomorrow?” you finally managed. Robby seemed to swallow, though his eyes held your gaze, heavy and intense. They pierced the battlements of your resolve, then flickered downward for a fleeting moment toward your lips. You held your breath as you wondered if he was going to kiss you. Your heart threatened to slam against your ribcage. 

“Ah, yeah, I’m on tomorrow,” he said instead, knocking the air from your lungs with disappointment.

“Oh, great,” you said, much too cheerily. “See you then. Goodnight, Dr. Robby.”

“Goodnight.”

You avoided the ER at all costs the next day.

Weeks passed and you had managed to move past whatever that moment was outside your apartment. In fact, you convinced yourself it was nothing. Robby acted no differently at work, so you decided to do the same. You had merely been swept up in a wave of wishful thinking, you told yourself.

But the fire changed everything.

It was your day off and you’d spent the afternoon running errands around town before meeting up with a college friend for dinner and drinks. 

You declined to mention Robby when she pressed you for details on your dating life. After all, he’d need to ask you on a date for it to count as anything more than a crush, right? Instead, you merely shrugged and insisted you weren’t seeing anyone, nor were you interested in any prospects. Your friend called you boring. You didn’t disagree.

As she disclosed more details about her upcoming wedding, you were none the wiser to the fire that threatened to destroy your home. In fact, Robby learned of it first.

The ER received two transports from the scene, a mother and son who had suffered burns and smoke inhalation. Then more victims trickled in, none seriously injured but coughing and covered in smoke and soot.

“What happened?” Robby asked as another victim was wheeled past him.

“Apartment fire,” one of the EMTs answered. “1100 block of Liberty Avenue.”

Robby froze. “Liberty Avenue?”

“Yeah, big old brick building. Sounds like it started as a dryer fire in the basement.”

Robby swallowed the lump forming in his throat. Focus, he told himself. You’re needed here. She doesn’t need you.

But by the end of his shift, he was damn near ready to sprint to Liberty Avenue. He went straight there, eyes roaming the building as he approached. The flames and smoke had been doused hours ago, but fire crews were still on scene and the sidewalks were still wet. 

He didn’t know why he thought he’d be able to help you. The entire building had been evacuated, its residents gone in search of other living arrangements. You had always been tough and independent. Surely you’d already figured things out.

Robby heaved a sigh and shook his head, annoyed at himself for coming there. If you’d needed him, you would have reached out. And the notion that you would have picked him for help now felt silly. You were closer with McKay, Mohan, even Dana would have been a likelier choice. 

He turned to head home, his eyes widening when they landed on you. You had just rounded the corner from the bus stop, your shocked expression revealing that this was the first time you’d been home all day. Before he could react, Robby watched you sprint toward the building before you were stopped by the fire crew. He jogged after you.

“But I need my stuff!” you were shouting. “All of my stuff is in there!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we can’t let anyone in. It could be dangerous. The structure has to be checked and secured, and the investigators need time to determine the fire’s cause,” a fireman told you.

“But what do I do? Where do I go? I have nowhere to stay! I have no stuff!” 

“See that van over there?” The fireman gestured toward the other side of the street. “That’s the American Red Cross. They’ll help you out.”

“But my stuff— Dr. Robby? What are you doing here?”

“I heard about the fire at work,” Robby answered quickly. “We treated a few of the victims and I… I thought I’d check and make sure you’re okay.”

“Clearly not,” you mumbled, your head spinning at the overwhelming clash of emotion. You were exhausted and stunned, scared and aggravated. But you were also relieved to see Robby.

“Come on,” he said, draping a gentle arm around your shoulder. “You can crash at my place.”

“What? Oh- no, no I can’t ask you to do that-” you started, your panic threatening to swell into a full-blown attack.

“You’re right, you can’t, because you don’t need to ask,” Robby said. 

“No,” you repeated. “I can’t, I won’t be a burden. I mean, I don’t even know how long until they’ll let me move back in and-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Robby said. He began steering you away from the building. 

“But I have no clothes. I have work in the morning. How am-”

“I’ll hook you up,” Robby said. “At least until the morning when we can get you some new clothes.”

You didn’t want new clothes. You wanted your clothes, which were carefully curated from years of an Anthropologie shopping addiction. Besides, Robby lived alone. He didn’t have a girlfriend or wife or daughter whose clothes you could borrow. Your eyes began to tear up at the thought of having to sleep in the jeans you were wearing. But it wasn’t the actual jeans or clothes that were making you cry. It was the sudden, crushing realization of what was happening to you.

You refused to let Robby see you cry, so instead you walked in determined silence. You didn’t even notice when you reached his building until he was leading you into an elevator. You stared at your reflection in the steel doors. Robby remained quiet.

When he unlocked his door and motioned you inside, you paused. You never dreamed you’d actually ever see the inside of Robby’s home, let alone under such bizarre circumstances.

“Go on,” Robby said in your ear as he held the door open for you. “I promise, it’ll be fine.”

You held your breath and stepped inside. Had you not been distraught over your present predicament, you might have smiled. Robby’s apartment was exactly as you would have imagined – clean and tidy, but completely lacking in character or decor. The far wall was exposed brick and a vinyl record player sat on a table against it. There was no artwork on the walls, but a framed photo of Robby and Jake at a Pirates game sat on a corner of the TV stand.

“Make yourself at home, okay? I’ll be right back,” Robby said as he brushed past you. He tossed his backpack and keys on the counter before disappearing down the hallway.

As you stood, glued to your spot near the door, Robby scrambled around his bedroom. Like the rest of the apartment, his bedroom was neat and orderly, but he kicked his laundry basket into the corner and hurriedly changed the bedding. He had nothing to hide, nothing embarrassing in the apartment, but he still felt the undeniable pressure to impress you. Or at the very least, he wanted you to feel comfortable. 

He popped into the bathroom to make sure it was clean – it was – before returning to you. You hadn’t moved.

“Are you alright?” Robby asked gently. His eyes suffocated you with their concern.

“I’m fine,” you sighed. “Just… processing everything, is all.”

Robby nodded with sympathy. “I can’t imagine how you feel right now,” he said. “If there’s anything I can do-”

“Trust me, you’re doing more than enough,” you said. 

“Well, if there’s anything more I can do, just ask.”

“You know I won’t,” you couldn’t help but joke. Robby smiled.

“I know,” he agreed. “It’s not like you to ask for help. But I want you to know you can.”

You nodded in silent acknowledgement, not that either of you believed you.

“Right now, all I want is a hot shower. And maybe a beer.”

“At the same time?”

“Do I look like a frat boy to you?”

“Just checking.” Robby chuckled as he motioned you toward the hallway. He reached into the bathroom to turn the light on before he stood back, hands finding their usual place in the pockets of his hoodie. “Towels are under the sink. Take your time and I’ll go get that beer ready. No IPAs, right?”

“Right,” you breathed, flattered he remembered your beer preferences. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Robby retreated to the kitchen and you quietly snapped the bathroom door shut. You closed your eyes, grateful for the peace and solitude. And once you stepped into the hot shower, you couldn’t help but chuckle quietly to yourself. You couldn’t believe where the fuck you’d ended up. 

You were presently naked in Robby’s apartment, no clothing, nowhere to go. Sure, you could have checked into a hotel, but something had blocked your brain from entertaining the idea. You blinked at the bottles of shampoo and soap and snorted. What the fuck is Old Spice Swagger? You sighed and lathered up, your senses quickly recognizing the familiar woodsy scent that you had always associated with Robby. 

By the time you finished showering, steam had fully fogged up the bathroom mirror. You dug beneath the sink for a towel and cursed under your breath. Clothes. You forgot to ask for clothes. 

You muttered a string of “fucks” under your breath before securing the towel around your body. You checked it twice and a third time until you were certain it was more secure than a deadbolt. 

Your feet padded quietly down the hallway until you carefully peeked around the corner. Robby was sitting on the leather sofa, a beer in hand while the Pirates game played on TV. You inhaled sharply, as if oxygen would give you the courage to speak up.

“Hey,” you managed, stepping tentatively into the living room, very aware that you were nearly naked in front of someone who was technically your superior. “Um, I need some  clothes.”

“Oh, fuck!” Robby exclaimed as he scrambled to his feet. It would’ve been a comical moment had his eyes not been so wide and your cheeks not so flushed. He set his beer down and scurried past you into the hallway. “Sorry, I meant to get you some clothes before you got in the shower.”

“It’s my bad, I should have asked,” you offered, fingers gripping your towel for dear life. You followed Robby toward the bedroom and lingered in the doorway, unsure if you should follow him as he rummaged through his dresser. After all, when you’d fantasized about being naked in his bedroom, it certainly wasn’t under these circumstances.

“Here,” he said, offering you a pair of black sweatpants and a t-shirt. You took the pants but blinked pointedly at the shirt.

“I'm not wearing that,” you deadpanned.

“What? What’s wrong with– oh, that’s right. You’re a Cleveland girl.”

“Damn right, I am. I won’t be caught dead in Steelers gear.”

“But you root for the Pirates.”

“That’s different. Different divisions, plus Cleveland’s in the American League. I don’t mind rooting for an American League and a National League team. Now put that hideous Steelers shirt away… or in the garbage.”

“Right, right, I get it,” Robby sighed. He returned to the dresser and fished out another shirt. “Here,” he said as he held it up. “What are your allegiances to The Who?”

You snorted but reached for the shirt. “God, you’re old,” you teased. 

“Sorry it’s not Jay-Z.”

“Jay-Z’s old, too. I’m more of a Nas fan anyway.”

You both fell quiet and for a fleeting moment, you thought you caught his eyes roaming your toweled form.

“Right, well, I know that’s not exactly your style, but it’ll get you through the night. Tomorrow you can go shopping for clothes that fit,” he said. 

“I don’t mind the oversized part,” you mused. “It’s the old man aesthetic that bothers me.”

“Then maybe you can stop by the Baby Gap,” Robby teased. 

“Probably cooler clothes than what you wear,” you shot back. Robby chuckled and moved for the door. 

“You can change in here,” he said. “Your beer’s waiting for you on the counter when you’re done.”

The moment he closed the door behind himself, you seized the opportunity to examine his bedroom. A king-size bed was an interesting choice, you thought, as you couldn’t help but wonder how often Robby needed a bed that big. A TV was mounted to the wall opposite the bed above a dresser, which was cluttered with a watch, Robby’s wallet and a stack of books. You decided the room was clean and spacious, with dark, masculine tones. Once again, it was very Robby. You resisted the temptation to rummage through the nightstand and got dressed.

Robby’s gaze wasn’t lost on you as you returned to the living room. You prayed he wasn’t appalled by your make-up free face or your body, which was drowning beneath his baggy clothes.

Of course, Robby had seen enough of you to picture your body beneath the oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. He’d seen you in everything from scrubs to professional dresses and jackets to jeans so tight they looked like they were painted on. Those were his favorite. But this was new. He loved seeing you in his clothes. In fact, he decided you’d never looked more alluring. 

As you turned toward the counter to fetch your beer, he shifted in his seat, his head swarming with filthy thoughts as he remembered you weren’t wearing any underwear beneath those loose pants.

You sat at the other end of the sofa, your legs tucked beneath yourself as you pretended to be positively enthralled by the Pirates game. Nevermind the score was 10-1 and they were losing.

“Terrible at-bat,” you muttered as you watched Tommy Pham strike out. “He couldn’t hit sand on a goddamn beach.”

Robby laughed and eyed you from the corner of his eye. Your hair was still wet, dripping damp spots across the t-shirt. You hadn’t noticed, but the white cotton was clinging to your skin in translucent patches. Just the right amount of light and he might be able to see the color of your— fuck, Robby thought as he scolded himself for thinking of you like that. You’d surely scold him for being such a pervy old man. He decided it would be a good time to excuse himself to the shower.

Once he was out of the room, you tilted your head back and closed your eyes. How the fuck were you going to survive this? It was agonizing enough to be wearing Robby’s clothes and sitting next to him, alone, but what if you had to do this for weeks? 

There was no way. You’d check into a hotel or find a friend to stay with. There was no way in hell you could do this for more than one night.

You rested your eyes and listened to the TV until you could feel your phone buzzing in the pocket of your sweatpants. Your group text with Samira, Cassie and Trinity was full of missed texts.

Cassie: Heard about your apartment! You good?

Samira: Do you need a place to crash? You can stay with Jack and me.

Trinity: Or you can stay with me if you want to steer clear of the lovebirds. I can make Whitaker sleep on the couch.

Samira: Rude.

Trinity: You aren’t dead, are you?

You sighed and tried to choose your words carefully. Not that it mattered. They were going to freak out regardless.

‘I’m okay!’ You wrote back. ‘I’m staying with Robby.’

The replies were instant.

Samira: ??????

Cassie: WHAT?

Trinity: DR. ROBBY?!

You: Yes. He came by to check on me.

Samira: What do you mean he came by? Came by where? 

Trinity: I bet it won’t be the first time tonight he’s going to c-

You dropped your phone as Robby reentered the room. It clattered to the floor with a thud and you scrambled to pick it up. Robby lifted an amused eyebrow at you and you became determined to deflect your embarrassment.

“I’m surprised you don’t have a dog,” you commented with a casual air. Robby tilted his head to look at you. 

“Why does that surprise you?” he asked as he lowered himself to the couch again. You averted your eyes when you realized he was wearing grey sweatpants. 

“I don’t know,” you said with a shrug. “I guess I always figured you were a dog guy.”

“I love dogs,” Robby agreed. “But I’m also not home enough to take care of one.”

“Ah, that’s fair.”

“Pretty tough to keep a pet with this lifestyle. Or to keep much of anything.”

“Cheers to that,” you muttered as you raised your bottle. 

“Says the woman who just had the day off,” Robby teased.

“And whose apartment nearly burned down!”

“Ah yeah, I suppose that’s true.” You rolled your eyes at him and returned your attention to the TV. But you could feel him studying you. “You sure you’re okay?” he finally asked.

You nodded and tilted your head to meet his gaze to assure him. “I’m fine,” you said. “Not like there’s much I can do.”

“Well, if you need to talk…”

You smiled at him. It was an amusing spin of fate. Just a year ago, you’d been the one offering to talk to Robby when it became clear he wasn’t healing from the deaths of Dr. Adamson and Jake’s girlfriend. Then Dr. Collins moved to Arizona, leaving him with no one who could pull him from the dark place that was dragging him downward.

So you spent numerous nights on the roof of Pitt Trauma Medical Center with Robby. You didn’t want to pry or overstep your boundaries, to make him feel like you were trying to treat him like one of your patients. You merely offered him friendship that crafted a slow, budding trust that eventually eased Robby into opening up more to you. 

Some nights, you'd sit there in cheap lawn chairs and share takeout, bantering back and forth. Other times, he'd speak to you with a quiet vulnerability, detailing the demons that lingered in the dark corners of his head.

And when you decided he needed help from a professional he didn’t know personally, you recommended a colleague with a private practice. Robby began weekly therapy sessions — and he hadn’t missed one yet.  

Slowly, you watched the sadness vacate Robby’s eyes. It was replaced with the old familiar laughter you’d once adored. 

“I’m fine, really,” you finally insisted. “In the grand scheme of things, this is merely an inconvenience, right? At least the whole damn building didn’t burn down, and at least no one died.”

Robby nodded in agreement. “And at least you’re safe.”

“You didn’t have to come check on me, you know,” you said. You quelled the temptation to ask him why he did so in the first place. Though you were dying to hear an explanation, you didn’t need to make Robby uncomfortable in his own home.

“I know. But when I heard the EMTs mention the fire was at your building, I got worried,” he said.

It was an honest reason, and you weren’t sure why you felt surprised by it. Robby had always been one of the most honest men you’d known, almost to a fault at times. Perhaps you were merely surprised because, though you considered him a friend and colleague, you didn’t expect him to spend any time thinking about you outside of the workplace.

“Well, thank you for checking. And for this,” you said, gesturing around the room.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Robby said seriously, his eyes matching his tone. 

The room’s atmosphere was shifting. You could feel it in the way it pricked your skin, the way it hummed in your ear, a low buzz meant to distract you from all decorum. It was a devil on your shoulder, dangerous and desperate to make you do things that would surely sever your friendship and working relationship with Robby.

He sensed it, too. He clenched his jaw, fingers gripping his bottle of beer with far too much pressure in an effort to calm his nerves. The air felt like charged static; it crackled overhead, oppressive and full of energy.

What you craved felt forbidden. You weren’t sure why. You certainly wouldn’t be the first attending and former student to do this, nor would you be the first age-gap couple to grace the halls of Pitt Trauma. 

But this felt taboo because it was Robby. Everyone wondered if he’d ever settle down, find someone who didn’t fear his surly nature and obnoxious devotion to his job. Then you came around and the whispers shifted to you, the pretty intern-turned-doctor who clearly had chemistry with Robby. But neither of you dared to breach the boundary of professionalism. And you were convinced Robby was too mature, too jaded and too busy to bother with someone like you.

“I should probably get some sleep,” you finally said. Robby swallowed audibly, but you pretended not to notice.

“Of course,” he rasped. “Bed’s ready for you. There’s an extra blanket in the closet if you get too cold.”

You blinked at him in confusion. “Wait. No. No, no, no, I can’t. I won’t impose like that-”

“Nonsense,” Robby cut you off. 

“No, let me sleep on the couch.”

“Absolutely not.”

“But-”

“The answer is no. So either you take the bed, or we’re both sleeping on the couch.”

Your lips thinned as you searched your mind for words that could help you reason with him. You genuinely hadn’t expected to take over this man’s bed when he offered to let you stay with him. If anything, you wanted to share it with him.

“Robby, I can’t-”

“You can and you will,” Robby insisted. “Now off you go.”

You sighed and rose to your feet. You were afraid to look at him, fearful how you might react to his gaze. 

“Goodnight, Dr. Robby.”

“Goodnight.”

Your insistence on only staying with Robby for a night or two fell on deaf ears. He refused to take no for an answer, even when you swore you could afford a hotel. Meanwhile, your building manager said it would take weeks before you could move in again, due to concerns about structural integrity. So you became Robby’s unofficial roommate, much to the jubilation of your friends.

“How’s it going?” Dana asked one morning when you wandered into the ER for a psych eval. “You poison Robby’s dinner yet?”

“Things are great,” you chirped. Dana offered you a knowing smile.

“I’m sure they are,” she mewed. “But I’m sure he’s also driving you crazy.”

“What? Robby’s great!” you insisted. “He’s easy to live with. Clean, quiet… I’ve got no complaints.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Dana said with a smirk as she sauntered off to check on a patient.

You were about to shout a rebuttal at her when a familiar voice found you.

“There’s my favorite shrink.”

“Good morning, Myrna,” you called over your shoulder, not bothering to look. “How are you today?”

“I have a bone to pick with you.”

“Oh?” You spun to face Myrna, curious what kind of out-of-pocket accusation she’d make this time.

“I heard a little rumor about you,” she said in her usual raspy tone. “I heard you’ve been shacking up with Dr. Robby.”

You sucked your top row of teeth. “Oh? And who told you that?”

“I was eavesdropping on the nurses,” Myrna answered simply. “They said you moved in with him weeks ago, you dirty girl.”

“Oh did they now?” You returned to the paperwork you needed to complete. The quicker you finished, the quicker you could get out of the ER.

“Spill it, sweetheart,” Myrna continued. “I’ve gotta know.”

“Know what?”

“About Dr. Robby! I’ll tell ya, I always thought he was a fruitcake. Didn’t know he had it in him to go after the young ones.”

“Myrna, I’m in my thirties,” you deadpanned.

“Makes you a youngin’ compared to me. Now tell me, sweetheart, what’s it like? How is he?”

“How is he?”

“In the sack!”

You closed your eyes, unsure if you should laugh or sprint toward the stairs. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Myrna?” You knew she didn’t. She never did.

“At least tell me the size we’re workin’ with here, doll,” Myrna pressed. “With that posture, I can tell he’s hung like a hor-”

“Goodbye, Myrna.”

Despite the incessant teasing from your colleagues, you and Robby quickly fell into a comfortable routine. You’d never been one to go out after work much, save for the occasional date or round of drinks with friends. But now, you found yourself wanting to go straight to Robby’s apartment as soon as your shift ended.

On the days where you both managed to get off work around the same time, you’d meet him outside the ER and walk home with him. Sometimes you’d join him and the rest of the ER day shift crew in the park for beers. 

Other nights, when he ended up working late, you’d head to his apartment and have dinner ready for the two of you. He never said it, but he looked forward to those evenings the most. It’d been ages since anyone cooked for him – and ages since he came home to any company. Some nights, you sat together and ate at the counter, but most nights, you sat in front of the TV with the Pirates game on. You chatted about your days, joked about your colleagues and merely appreciated each other’s presence.

You also realized that Robby noticed the little things. When he gave you his spare key, you expressed concern you’d lose it, so he rummaged through his junk drawer until he found an old keychain from Southern Tier Brewery to help you keep track of it. The next day, you noticed he cleared space on the hook next to his by the door, where you could hang your keys and purse.

He also noticed that, like him, you enjoyed reading. One evening you emerged from a shower and found him reading on the couch, his glasses on and an open beer on the coffee table. The two of you slipped into a discussion of your reading lists and favorite writers. The next morning, you found two books from your list waiting for you on the counter, plucked from Robby’s collection.

But your favorite simple gesture was the matcha. Robby noticed you didn’t drink coffee in the mornings. Instead, you’d stop at a shop on your way to the hospital for a matcha latte. Robby teased you, said you were blowing money on “grass water,” but two days later, you discovered a tin of matcha in the cupboard.

It was simple but comforting. You’d never admit it to anyone, but you didn’t want your time there to end.

Still, you and Robby remained at arm’s length inside his apartment. You never stood too close, always sat at opposite ends of the sofa and never discussed topics that were too personal. Until the night you went out with Santos and Whitaker.

You and Trinity dragged Dennis to a karaoke bar one Thursday night after he revealed he’d never been to one. Several rounds of drinks and a group performance of Espresso later, you found yourself swaying on your barstool.

“You good?” Trinity asked, smirking at you in amusement.

“I’m fine,” you sighed wistfully, the latest round of tequila shots taking command of your composure. It was becoming painfully clear you couldn’t keep up with the 20-somethings anymore. “But I kinda wanna go home.”

“Home?” Trinity mused. “As in, to your condemned apartment, or to Dr. Robby?”

“Robby’s apartment is really nice,” you babbled. “I love the exposed brick. And he somehow manages to keep it so clean. And he buys the good ice cream, not the shitty generic brands.”

Trinity snorted. “That all you like about Dr. Robby’s place?”

“No,” you said dreamily, clearly too drunk to notice your whimsy state. “I like hanging out with him.”

“Yet neither of you has made a move yet,” Trinity noted.

“Oh, please,” you laughed. “That’s never going to happen. Robby is way too mature to be interested in me.”

“Dr. Robby is a single, straight man,” Trinity said. “Trust me, he isn’t worried about your age gap. It’s not that bad anyway. No one has a problem with Mohan and Abbot.”

“But this is Robby we’re talking about,” you insisted. “He’d never be interested in me.”

“You’re joking, right?” Trinity groaned. “Please don’t tell me you really think he’s out of your league or some self-esteem bullshit. You are way too hot to be talking like that.”

“It’s not that,” you sighed. “I just… he just…”

“You like him way too much,” Dennis cut in. “You like him so much, you’ve built him up in your head and now you think he’s unattainable.” You and Trinity both blinked at Dennis. “What?” he asked with a shrug. “I observe things.”

Trinity laughed. “Who knew Huckleberry was so perceptive.”

You walked back to Robby’s apartment well past midnight, and much later than you’d planned to be out. You treaded quietly when you approached the door, assuming he’d already be asleep on the couch. 

When you entered, the lights inside the apartment were still on and the TV was airing an old rerun of Bar Rescue. Robby was seated on the couch, an open pizza box on the coffee table. He clearly had nodded off.

Your plan had been to tiptoe to the bedroom without waking him. But your inebriated brain couldn’t quite compute the proper distance between your body and the furniture, meaning you bumped clumsily into the back of the sofa.

“Fuck!” you hissed at the sharp pain that surged within your hip, and at the sight of Robby stirring. He blinked a few times before his gaze found you. “Hey,” you giggled. “Did I wake you? Sorry.”

“S’alright,” he mumbled. The sleepy look in his eyes made you want to climb him like a tree.

“Didn’t mean to get in so late,” you continued. “But Whitaker was really into it. Guy’s a big Kesha fan.”

“Who?”

“Nevermind.”

You eyed the pizza sitting on the table and the tightening in your stomach reminded you it had been hours since dinner. 

You should have walked away, taken yourself straight to bed. Solitude inside the sanctity of Robby’s bedroom would have been the safe choice, where you couldn’t get yourself into any trouble.

Instead, you sank into your side of the sofa and reached for a slice of pizza.

“So, was it just you, Whittaker and Santos?” Robby asked. You nodded as you chewed.

“Mohan was supposed to come, but bailed. I saw Abbot had the night off so I suspect he spent it on her,” you said.

“Thank you for that visual,” Robby muttered. 

“Don’t be a hater,” you giggled. The laughter made your head spin. The room tilted and you decided it’d be in your best interest to be horizontal. You let yourself flop over until you were flat on your back, your head in Robby’s lap.

His spine straightened immediately.

“I think Samira and Abbot are great together,” you babbled on. “And he’s absolutely obsessed with her. Not in a creepy stalker way, but he clearly adores her.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

“Weird? Why is it weird? Two people with undeniable chemistry falling in love? Do you think it’s weird?” You stared upward at Robby curiously, your pulse spiking in anticipation.

“No, I don’t think it’s weird at all,” Robby responded. “I think they’re great together. I just wasn’t sure how you felt about your friend dating an old guy.”

“Aren’t you older than him?” you laughed. 

“By one measly year,” Robby noted. 

“Why do people get so hung up on age?” you rambled on. “It’s not like she’s a teenager. It’s not like he’s Leo DiCaprio. If two consenting adults want to be in a relationship, they deserve support, not judgment.”

“Hey, I’m with you,” Robby agreed. “I’ve just never heard you talk about Mohan and Abbot. Wasn’t sure how you felt about them.”

“I think they’re lovely together. And I think most of us could only be so lucky to find that kind of connection.”

The silence that settled between you rang in your ears, a screaming signal that you should say something, or better yet, take your ass to bed. But instead, you merely blinked up at Robby, who peered down at you with a soft smile. 

“You’re right,” he said. “They seem to make each other very happy.”

“Exactly. That’s all that matters.”

The warmth in Robby’s eyes made your pulse race. Maybe it was the curiosity in them, or maybe it was the alcohol surging through your bloodstream, but you were finding it hard to swallow the words that threatened to spill from your lips.

“What about you?” you finally asked, the liquid courage taking command. “When are you going to settle down?”

Robby laughed, but you noticed his smile didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll ever do that,” he said.

“Why not?” you asked innocently. “Marriage and kids not your thing?”

“I didn’t say that,” Robby replied. “I just haven’t had the best luck. Most people don’t understand what this job entails. It’s hard to convince anyone to stick around for very long.”

You nodded in understanding. “It is hard,” you admitted. “It’s a commitment and a sacrifice that rarely returns any favors.”

“See, you get it,” Robby said. 

You couldn’t help but pout at him, the alcohol tempting your thoughts with more truths. 

“But do you want to find that?” you pressed. “You know, your person?”

Robby shifted slightly, causing your head to bobble in his lap. If he felt it, he did a hell of a job of hiding it. 

“Of course, I do,” he answered simply. “But I’m not holding my breath. I spent a lot of years pushing people away when they got too close. My opportunities may have run their course.”

“I’m sure you will,” you said with far too much honesty. “I mean, of course you will. You’re too…”

Robby rose an eyebrow at you, urging you to continue. “Yes? Too what?”

Your eyes bailed, shifting toward the wall in a cowardly attempt to appear nonchalant. But your tongue continued to betray you.

“You’re too… everything,” you blurted out. “Too handsome, too brilliant, too good of a person. You’re far too good of a catch to miss out on your person.”

A flush crept across your face as you spoke, drawing another smile from Robby. 

“Handsome and brilliant?” he mused. “You should go out drinking more often.”

You scowled at him in faux annoyance and he laughed fondly at the way your face scrunched. 

“Watch yourself, old man,” you threatened. “I know where you sleep at night.”

“Says the lady who’s taken over my bed.”

“You offered me that bed.”

“And you’d better stop calling me old man unless you want me to take it back.”

You managed to swallow your thoughts before they could take on the form of words that would surely embarrass you. You wanted nothing more than for him to take his bed back, as long as you were still in it.

Instead, you continued to pout at him.

“Would you really put an innocent person out on the street?”

“No, I’d send you to go live with Mohan and Abbot.”

“That’s even worse.”

“I know.”

You shared a laugh that made your body bloom with more warmth. It sprawled over your skin, from the pit of your stomach outward to your toes and fingertips.

“And what about you?” Robby suddenly asked, his eyes studying your expression with far too much focus for your comfort. “Do you plan on finding your person?”

“Of course,” you offered with a bit too much gusto. “But it’s hard to weed out all the douchebags in bars and impatient idiots who don’t respect my career. Like you said, few people really get it.”

“Can I ask you something?” Robby blurted out. You tried not to tense, in case he could feel it. That question always had a way of unsettling you. “Why’d you date Shen?”

You shrugged in amusement, a drunken giggle threatening to surface. “I don’t know, honestly,” you answered. “He really isn’t a bad guy. He just needs to grow up a little. I’d like more conversation and less video games.” 

“Sounds about right,” Robby muttered. 

The silence that followed was more comfortable this time. You let your eyes fall shut, the sleepy stage of your drunken night out taking over. When you finally cracked them open again, Robby was staring at you. Though you felt like you might vomit your heart up, you lifted your head from his lap to sit back on your elbows. You were no longer in physical contact, but your face was much closer to his. 

“Sleepy?” he asked as he held your gaze. You were certain you were going to drown in his irises. 

“Very,” you breathed. The air inside the apartment seemed to hitch, as if the walls pulsed with a heartbeat of their own. They were waiting with bated breath for something, anything to happen. 

Instead, you smiled softly at Robby and sat all the way up, your hair falling in tangled tresses down your back. You rose to your feet and paced toward the hallway, stopping to linger in the archway as you turned to look back at Robby.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You crawled into bed and wondered how close you had just come to discovering the side of Robby you’d only envisioned in solitude. He went to sleep wondering why he stopped himself.

Three weeks became four and you began to wonder just how long you could get away with being Robby’s roommate. As much as you cherished all of the alone time you had with him, you felt guilty. The poor man had begun complaining of back pain, and though he’d never admit it, you knew it was from sleeping on the couch.

Finally, you received a call from your building manager informing you your building would reopen in a week. Your relief clashed with your disappointment.

Meanwhile, Robby found himself clashing with Gloria, per usual.

She cornered him in the ER one morning to remind him he hadn’t returned his RSVP for the hospital charity dinner. Robby swore under his breath.

“It’s non-negotiable,” Gloria warned. “You’re the head of this department and all department heads are expected to attend. The only reason I came down here to remind you to RSVP was so that we can add your plus-one to the list.”

“My plus-one,” Robby deadpanned.

“Yes, as in your date,” Gloria replied as if it were obvious. “Ask a date, rent a tux and don’t forget to return the RSVP.”

Robby muttered a string of curses as Gloria left.

When he returned home after his shift, he found you chopping bell peppers in the kitchen, wearing earbuds that were undoubtedly playing 90s music given the way you danced around.

He couldn’t help himself. He paused in the doorframe and watched, smiling softly to himself. It had become impossible to ignore the surge in serotonin he felt whenever he was in your presence. And this – this was too perfect; you, dressed in a skimpy pair of track shorts, your hair pulled back into a high ponytail as you hummed to the Spice Girls. It was a masterpiece mounted on canvas in Robby’s mind.

He watched as you began to chop another pepper and approached you with caution, reaching to remove your left earbud as he loomed behind you.

“Hey.”

You flinched and nearly dropped the knife. “Asshole!” you hissed, though the laughter in your voice negated your anger. “You can’t sneak up on people like that. I have a knife, for fuck’s sake.”

“Sorry,” Robby chuckled. “Didn’t consider the fact you might be capable of murder. What are you making?”

“Fajitas,” you said happily as you removed your other earbud. “We’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?”

“My building manager called. He says I can move back into my apartment in a week.”

“Oh.” Robby forced a smile and silently prayed it was convincing. “That’s great.”

“He said there was no significant damage to my unit, but they still need to treat the entire floor for smoke damage,” you continued casually, searching his eyes for something, anything that indicated disappointment. You thought you caught a glitch in his stare, but convinced yourself you were merely seeing what you wanted.

“Great,” Robby said, turning to fetch a beer from the fridge. “I’m glad they’ve got it all straightened out.”

“Me too.”

You weren’t sure what you were even hoping for. For him to beg you not to go, to please stay forever? That was ridiculous and unhinged and you knew it. But the disappointment sat heavy within your stomach, so much so, you no longer wanted any fajitas.

You both picked at your dinner in excruciating silence, your legs dangling nervously from your barstool at the counter. Robby could sense your shift in mood. It mirrored his own. 

He decided the past few weeks had been too good to give up on. You’d be moving back home, so he might as well find a way to craft another memory with you.

“Hey, are you going to the hospital charity dinner gala bullshit on Saturday?” he finally asked.

“Oh that,” you said with a fake laugh. “No, I’m not going. Dr. Meadows in neurology brought it up, but I told him I couldn’t make it.”

“Meadows asked you out?”

You nearly jumped in your seat at the sharpness in Robby’s tone. You blinked up at him, taken aback. 

“Yeah,” you answered slowly. “But I told him no. I figured I’ve got too much going on with my apartment and whatnot.”

“Oh.”

“...Are you going?”

“Don’t have a choice,” Robby sighed. “Gloria says it’s non-negotiable.”

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Maybe that’s just her way of getting you in a tux. Rumor has it she’s on the hunt for a new man now that her divorce has been finalized.”

“Can’t imagine why she of all people would be divorced,” Robby muttered. You snorted.

“I’m sure the dinner will be… nice,” you offered.

“Nice,” Robby deadpanned. “Nice and miserable.”

“Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad. You get to fill up on shrimp cocktail, schmooze the donors and pretend like people give a shit about supporting the American health care system.”

“Easy for you to say, you aren’t required to be there.”

“Eat some shrimp in my honor.”

“Actually, I was thinking,” Robby started. Your mouth became cotton as you waited with your breath held. “Maybe you could come with me. Then you could eat all the shrimp you want.”

You pleaded with yourself to stop from fucking this up – even if he was only asking out of what you assumed was convenience. You knew Robby. He’d likely hoped he could get out of attending the dinner and failed to ask anyone to be his date. Now, you were his only viable option.

But you liked spending time with Robby. And if you were going to be moving back home soon, you wanted to take advantage of whatever time you could get. Even if it would inevitably worsen your feelings for him.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” you noted. “All of my clothes probably reek of smoke.”

“So then we’ll go shopping.” 

You quirked an eyebrow at Robby. “What are you, my sugar daddy?” you couldn’t help but joke.

“I thought you said you’d knock it off with the old man jokes.”

“Never.” He was waiting, watching you intently for an answer. Even if you hadn’t wanted to go, you wouldn’t have said no. “Alright fine,” you finally said, not that you needed convincing. “I’ll go. But I can buy my own damn dress. And I get to make double the old man jokes.”

Two evenings later, you dragged Samira and Trinity to the mall after your shifts. Normally, Trinity would have needed to be tranquilized or bribed to go dress shopping, but given the circumstances, she was elated, and you were grateful for style advice from your younger friends. 

“I still can’t believe you’re going on a date with Dr. Robby,” Trinity teased as the three of you combed through racks of formal gowns.

“It’s not a date,” you insisted. “I’m going as his date. There’s a difference.”

“You’re full of shit. It’s a date.”

“No, it’s a convenient agreement between two friends,” you said tactfully. 

“A what?” Trinity snorted.

“He forgot to ask a date and I was around and available, so he asked me,” you said simply as you eyed a blue gown.

“Please don’t tell me you think that low of yourself,” Samira said. “We all know Dr. Robby wanted to ask you to begin with. He was just too much of a coward to do so and got lucky that you happen to be living with him, which gave him the perfect excuse.”

“Not for much longer. I can move back into my apartment in a few days,” you noted.

“Well then, sounds like you and Dr. Robby had better seal the deal soon,” Trinity said with a smirk. You rolled your eyes and disappeared into the fitting rooms.

By the time Saturday night arrived, you were certain you’d be better off flinging yourself from the roof of Pitt Trauma. You began to wonder if you were making a mistake, if you were setting yourself up for a disastrous freefall. But as you applied a coat of mascara and checked yourself in the bathroom mirror for the millionth time, it became painfully clear that you’d already tumbled too far deep into the point of no return. 

Robby was standing in the kitchen when you emerged from the bathroom. When you appeared, your heart jumped into your throat as you watched him do a double-take. His eyes scanned you with excruciating intensity, though his expression remained stoic.

“Wow,” he blurted out. “You look… Wow.”

You stifled the urge to squeal. Instead, you eyed him back. His tux fit him surprisingly well and you made a mental note to ask him why he had such a nice suit tucked away in his closet later. 

Though you felt incredibly confident and sexy in the dress you’d picked out, you wanted nothing more than for Robby to rip it off.

You failed to notice the way he dragged a palm across his face in agonizing lust when you turned to fetch your clutch, presenting him with another view of your very backless dress.

“You look wow, too,” you said simply when you turned around again. “Langdon insisted you don’t own a suit. Guess I should’ve bet him on it.”

By the time you arrived at the dinner, which was taking place at the Rivers Casino Event Center, you were certain you were going to pass out from nerves.

The walk into the ballroom was more daunting than your med school graduation, your first day of residency and your senior prom combined. The realization seemed to creep over the room like a slow surf, breaking and sprawling until it felt like all voices had fallen to a hush and all eyes were on you.

Neither of you spoke but as you swapped a glance, it was clear you and Robby were thinking the same thing: the rumor mill was about to spin at full force. But despite the inevitable gossip, you couldn’t help but swell with pride to be Michael Robinavitch’s date. Standing next to you, he was even prouder.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting from an evening as Robby’s date. You assumed you’d spend much of it on your own, chatting with random colleagues while Robby engaged in performative pleasantries next to Gloria. 

But he was astonishingly attentive to you. He fetched you flutes of champagne from the bar. He included you in every conversation, even the ones with the hospital big-wigs who would surely forget your name the minute they stepped away. He even held your clutch so your hands would be free to eat hors d'oeuvres. And every once in a while, you could feel his hand gently find the small of your back as he spoke, leaving traces of unbearable heat from his fingertips. 

The only time he wasn’t at your side was when you excused yourself to the restroom. While you were gone, Robby waited patiently at the bar.

“You lucky bastard,” Frank mused as he leaned against the bar next to him, a sly smirk across his features. 

“Gonna have to be more specific than that, Langdon,” Robby sighed.

“Oh, come on man,” Frank said. “You brought her? It was about time. But Jesus Christ, you’re making the rest of us look bad.”

“I know you aren’t objectifying my date, are you, Dr. Langon?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m certain I don’t.”

Frank shook his head and clapped Robby on the back. “Whatever you say, man,” he said as he walked away. “But we’re all happy for you.”

You could tell Robby was ready to leave by 10 p.m. He stopped trying to mask his annoyance with Gloria, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in aggravation each time she dragged him into conversation with another person of importance.

When he finally managed to slip away from her, you offered him a sympathetic smile.

“Want me to fake a seizure or something?” you offered as you stood in front of the room’s large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Ohio River. The reflections across the water’s surface seemed to dance and shimmer with the music playing behind you.

“You’re in a room full of doctors. They’d catch on in a heartbeat.”

“Want me to pull a fire alarm?”

“Pretty sure that’s a misdemeanor.”

“Wouldn’t be my first.” You cackled with laughter as Robby turned to look at you in bewilderment. “In all seriousness, if you need an excuse to leave, I’ll help you create one.”

“No,” Robby sighed. “I’m fine. Shouldn’t be too much longer before Gloria’s had enough wine to make her forget I’m here. By the way, I apologize for her calling you my girlfriend when she introduces you to people.”

“I’ve been called worse.” Robby couldn’t suppress a smile. “But you still haven’t asked me to dance,” you continued. 

“Yes, because I value your physical well-being,” Robby answered. “Trust me, you don’t want to dance with me.”  

“You’re no fun.”

“I’ll make it up to you later.” The words spilled before Robby could think to stop them. You tried to conceal your reaction, your eyes threatening to widen and lips tugging toward a nervous smile. Your brain began to short-circuit as you scrambled for a smart reply.

“Thought you couldn’t make it.” 

Oh, fuck. You recognized the voice of Dr. Cooper Meadows behind you. 

“Cooper,” you said warily as you turned to face him with a nervous smile. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s a surprise to see you,” Cooper said dryly. “Thought you said you were busy tonight.”

“Well, I kind of am, right?”

“Right.” His eyes flickered toward Robby. “I guess we have different definitions of busy.” 

“Look, Cooper, I’m sorry,” you sighed. “I genuinely wasn’t planning on coming tonight, but-”

“But what?”

But Robby needed a favor. That’s what you were going to say. That was the honest, surface-level truth. But the deeper truth was you wouldn’t have come with anyone else.

“But I twisted her arm until she agreed to come with me,” Robby cut in. 

“Figures,” Cooper muttered. “Another senior attending throwing his weight and authority around to chase younger tail. Thought you were better than that, Robinavitch.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” you cut in. “What the fuck, Cooper? Robby’s got nothing to do with this.”

“Bullshit. You know, I am so sick of the higher-ups at this hospital walking around like they’re gods,” Cooper continued, narrowing his eyes at Robby. Robby blinked at him and Cooper’s glare shifted back to you. “But how very stereotypical of you. The psych who needs to fix the miserable old senior attending just because he crashed out during an MCI last year.”

Robby opened his mouth to reply, but you were quicker. “Fuck you, Cooper,” you snapped. “You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about. I’m here because I want to be. I turned your miserable ass down because I was waiting for Robby to ask me. Just because your brain is too tiny to fathom the fact that someone is interested in someone other than you doesn’t mean you get to throw strays. Now fuck off so I can get back to my date.”

Cooper’s lip curled. He was clearly debating whether to keep pressing you, but finally rolled his eyes and stalked off. You swallowed in an attempt to ground yourself, too pissed and too embarrassed to look at Robby yet.

But he was looking at you intently. “Well, I think this night’s just about done,” he said. You thought you could detect a hint of amusement in his tone, but chose not to acknowledge it.

“Sorry,” you sighed, your eyes still refusing to meet his, mortified over your admission. “I forgot he’d be here. Though I didn’t think he’d be that much of an asshole.”

“He’s in neurology,” Robby mused. “Of course he’s an asshole.”

“I’d hate to hear what you say about psych.”

“Perhaps another time. You know, when you don’t look like you’re contemplating murder charges.”

“Can’t charge me if they can’t find the body.”

Robby chuckled and you felt his hand graze the small of your back again. You fought the instinct to tense. You didn’t want to tense. You wanted to melt to the floor so that Robby would scoop you up and carry you home. 

“Are you ready to get out of here?” he asked. You nodded, your eyes registering one final glance out the window. 

“Yeah,” you sighed. “Best leave before causing any more scenes.”

“At least we got some entertainment,” Robby offered. His hand was still on your back. Why was his hand still on your back? Nervous tension simmered through your body, rising into your skull until you could practically feel it pulsing in your hair.

Langdon caught Robby’s eye and raised a very suggestive eyebrow as the two of you headed for the door. Robby, still guiding you with his hand on your back, shot Frank a sharp look before he snuck a glance at you to ensure you hadn’t seen.

Instead, you were staring determinedly straight ahead, fearful your knees would give out. 

Something was happening. Something had changed, a shift in the current between you and Robby. Its usual push and pull, the back and forth that had always kept you hopeful yet hesitant, now felt smoother; a free flow of high-charged anticipation. It made your insides twist and your palms sweat, a clash of uncertainty and excitement. 

But what if it was all in your head? What if your delusions were crafting a foundation built on frail glass? Or what if the two of you were one act of bravery away from getting exactly what you wanted?

By the time you were climbing into the front seat of Robby’s SUV, you were gnawing at your fingernails. Robby, of course, noticed from the driver’s seat but said nothing.

“You enjoy yourself tonight?” he finally asked. Streetlights whizzed past your window and you tore your gaze from them to study him as you spoke.

“I did,” you said assuringly. “I ate more shrimp and shook more hands than I can count.”

“Yeah, it’s a lot of socializing,” Robby sighed. “Worst part of the job.”

“Gloria seemed pleased with you.”

“Gloria is never pleased with me.”

“Really? I would have thought a night of ass-kissing would do the trick.”

“You’d be surprised.”

A silence fell over the car as street signs swished past, but your mind raced faster. Were you and Robby really toeing a boundary, on the brink of leaping into something new and uncharted? Or were you merely making things up in your mind? Either way, the more you studied Robby from the corner of your eye, the clearer it was that you were already tripping over the unspoken line. 

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” Robby said quietly. You flashed him the prettiest smile you could manage, even if his eyes were on the road. 

“I appreciate the invite,” you said. “Even if it was only to please Gloria.”

“Can we please stop talking about pleasing Gloria? It sounds… wrong.”

“Fair enough,” you laughed.

“I didn’t ask you because I needed a date,” Robby pointed out. “You know that, right?”

“Oh.”

“I’ve gone to those damn fundraising events solo countless times. I asked you because I wanted you to be my date.”

“Oh.”

Robby cast an uneasy glance your way. The whoosh of a passing car roared in your ears, though it may have been blood rushing to your head. The air conditioning inside the car was on, but you felt flushed and flustered as you willed yourself to respond with poise – something, anything to give yourself a fighting chance.

Instead, you shifted in your seat. Robby’s eyes darted toward you, then downward for a fleeting moment at your exposed thigh in the high slit of your dress. You watched him flex his hand around the steering wheel. 

Your quick, shallow breaths stretched into torturous seconds of silence. You had a choice, you decided, and you wanted to choose Robby.

“Well, I’m glad you asked,” you said carefully, steady enough to convince Robby of your sincerity. “I didn’t want anyone else to ask me anyway.”

“Oh.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his response. “Yeah,” you continued. “The feeling was mutual… or is mutual.”

“Oh.”

You held your breath as you waited for his next move; a chess match between two people who had no desire to play in the first place. Neither of you wanted to continue your dance around the glaringly obvious. You didn’t want to play games. You were tired, needy and looked too damn good to waste your time on any more uncertainty.

“Well, I’m glad it worked out for us both then,” Robby finally continued. You both snuck a glance at the same time, your eyes meeting for a flash. It spiked your pulse and made your pupils dilate.

And finally, Robby’s hand slowly reached for the top of your thigh. The motion was smooth, as if his hand was always meant to be there. It was a dizzying juxtaposition – Robby’s large and rough, calloused hand against your smooth, soft flesh. Your knee stilled, as if moving it in the slightest would force his hand away. You wanted it to remain there forever.

Both of your eyes remained glued to the road straight ahead. Oasis played quietly from the radio.

The walk from the parking garage to the elevator inside Robby’s apartment building seemed to extend from mere feet to miles. When the elevator doors snapped shut, you held your breath again, eyes still fixated forward as Robby stood behind you. In the doors’ reflection, you could see his eyes clinging to your form.

The dip in the back of your dress, the pieces of hair that had fallen loose from your updo, the scent of neroli and jasmine from your perfume; it was all pulling Robby to a vexing place where he was torn between his desire to stop resisting you and the vulnerability required to do so.

The clack of your heels echoed through the hallway towards Robby’s apartment door, a steady tick-tock that counted you both down to the moment of truth. When you reached the door, eyes clouded with desperation, you shared one final glance. Robby’s eyes darkened with hunger. 

He wanted to be gentle, wanted to be careful and sweet. But all of his suppressed cravings breached their dam, spilling from their confines in the form of primal dominance.

The sharp click of the lock felt symbolic – unlatching years of what-ifs. Robby entered the apartment first, tossing his keys on the counter before he whirled around. Before the door could fall shut, he had you pinned against it. It latched when it met the force of your back, concealing the two of you from the outside world with a quick thud.

Robby held your face in his hands as he kissed you. It knocked the breath you’d been holding for weeks from your lungs in the form of a pitiful whimper. The kiss was deep but sensual, fervid but sophisticated, giving yet demanding. It continued until you were gasping into his mouth, desperate for air and desperate more. When he finally pulled away, his hands lingered, still cupping your face as he studied the reaction in your wide eyes. You stared back, your chest rising and falling as you caught your breath. 

You didn’t blink. You didn’t move. You refused to do anything that could be misinterpreted as anything but your desire to stand right there in that moment.

Robby kissed you again. This time, your hands snaked over his arms until you were sliding his suit jacket off. You only removed your lips from his to shift your focus to his tie. Once you loosened the knot, he pulled you toward himself this time, one hand pressed flat into the small of your back as he kissed you.

He dared to step forward, pressing his body against yours until he had you backed against the edge of the counter. Your fingers worked over the buttons of his shirt until you could skim your palms over his chest. You could feel it rising and falling beneath them as Robby’s breathing became more ragged.

Once his shirt was off, he raised an eyebrow at you. 

“How come I’m the only one getting undressed?” he murmured. You offered him a pointed blink.

“I don’t see anyone stopping you from helping me out of this dress,” you replied matter-of-factly. Robby couldn’t argue with that. 

You expected him to make a hasty move for your dress, but instead he hooked an arm around your waist to pull you in for another kiss. This one was slow and deliberate. Your teeth grazed gently against his bottom lip, desperate to pull more from him. Your arms clung to his neck until you were damn hear hanging from him, thankful for his sturdy frame.

You could feel his hand glide from your hip to the slit of your dress, his fingertips caressing over your thigh. His lips found your neck, first pressing a tender kiss there until he dragged his lips toward your collar bone. A low moan hummed in your throat. His touches were tender and deliberate. The ache between your thighs burned to your core.

Robby’s hand disappeared inside the slit of your dress and your breath hitched as he finally swiped a finger against the fabric of your thong, relieving some of the agonizing tension. The slickness pooling at your entrance was a dizzying paradox to the heat that scalded your nerve endings. Robby inched two fingers inside your panties and groaned at the sensation of your arousal clinging to them. And before you could beg him to continue, his index and middle fingers skimmed your folds. They met your clit and pressed until a whimper escaped your throat.

Robby leaned with one hand on the edge of the counter, the other dragging against your sacred flesh until your knees threatened to give out. Your head tipped back, your eyes squeezed shut as you silently thanked every higher power you didn’t believe in for granting you the privilege of crossing paths with Michael Robinavitch.

His lips found your neck again, ghosting hot breath against your skin that sent goosebumps peppering across the surface. 

You inhaled sharply as Robby sank a slow finger inside you until you could feel the heel of his palm pressed against your clit. It quickly became clear that Robby knew what he was doing – not that you had expected anything less.

The obscene sound of his rhythmic hand pulling you toward the edge echoed around you, your labored breaths its only rival. You whimpered over the mounting pressure within your walls, tightening them until Robby groaned again. 

“Robby,” you panted with a desperate plea. He curled his fingers and you choked out a moan. The coil inside you tightened as Robby’s hand hastened its pace, his fingers pulling against your front wall until they dabbed your sweet spot. Your fingers clutched at his bicep, nails pricking at his skin as your body tensed. 

Your hips jutted forward and a pitchy whine rose in your throat until the coil inside you finally snapped, sending your climax pulsing through your core. Your hips rolled as you rode it out around Robby’s fingers, your clit grinding against his palm until your high subsided, leaving you slumped against him.

You didn’t speak – hell, you couldn’t – but Robby eyed you in quiet satisfaction, grunting in arousal as he removed his fingers from your soaked cunt. Your chest rose and fell as you caught your breath, head still cloudy in its post-orgasm haze.

Finally, you felt Robby’s arm squeeze around your torso as he lifted you up, your feet dangling in the air as he supported you on his shoulder.

“You know, I’m perfectly capable of walking,” you noted from over his shoulder.

“Really? Because I seem to recall you nearly falling in those heels no less than five times tonight,” Robby replied.

“I thought you wouldn’t notice.”

You could feel Robby’s body shake as he chuckled. He carried you toward the bedroom and you became certain he could feel your heartbeat rattling within your ribcage. When he set you on your feet again, he studied you with pensive eyes, as if he were waiting for you to change your mind. 

You shimmied your arms from the straps of your dress, revealing your bare chest. Robby stilled.

“Jesus,” he hissed. “You are… so fucking beautiful.”

Words were failing you so you licked your lips in anticipation. Robby lifted a slow hand to guide your dress downward until it pooled in a heap at your feet. You stepped out of it and kicked your heels off, widening your height difference. You tilted your head backward to peer up at Robby, urging him to act. 

He leaned into you for a long kiss, his hand roaming from your waist until it was cupping your breast. His thumb brushed over your nipple and you could feel his erection pressing against your stomach, triggering your impatience. You fiddled with his belt until it clinked apart. 

Once you managed to shove Robby’s remaining clothing to the floor, he stepped from his shoes and you chewed at your bottom lip. It’d been weeks since you had sex, since before you moved in with Robby. And it’d been ages since you had sex with someone that big. You swallowed a laugh as you realized Myrna was right.

The groan Robby released when your hand curled around his cock sounded like it had been stifled for weeks. Of course, that had been exactly the case.

“Fuck,” he rasped as you stroked him, his jaw clenching at your touch. You could practically feel his cock twitching in your hand. 

Your patience waned until you were practically dragging Robby toward the bed. He tugged your thong down and kissed you hard, his hand tangling itself in your hair while the backs of your knees met the bed frame.

Robby eased you onto your back, his knee between your thighs as he planted a trail of kisses from your neck, across your collar bone and to the swell of your breasts. The ache returned between your thighs.

You held your breath as his kisses drifted downward past your navel to your hip bone, then across the tops of your thighs. You could feel them tensing, squeezing together in an attempt to relieve the throbbing between them.

Robby smirked against your skin. His hands gently parted your thighs and you sucked in a sharp breath when you felt his tongue find your clit. Your hips grinded upward, desperate for more until you were fisting his hair. It spurred Robby on, leaving his arms hooked around your thighs. The sight of your soaked entrance ignited an invigorating surge of avidity in him. He’d fling himself from the roof of Pitt Trauma before he allowed anyone to deny him a taste.

His tongue flattened against your clit, pressing and prodding until your legs were shaking. Your eyes fluttered shut and Robby hummed against you in approval of your taste.

“Jesus Christ, Robby,” you breathed, unsure if you could withstand the sensitivity. But the way your hips were jutting upward, pressing your entrance against his tongue, told him you wanted more.

He drove his tongue harder against your clit, forcing it in swift, short swipes until your feet were kicking from the pleasure swelling inside your nerve endings. You ground yourself against his tongue in slow, sweeping motions, desperate for more friction. 

Robby received the hint. He sucked on your clit, lips pulling it against his rigid tongue. It was a tactical assault of unwavering pressure. Your cries chorused higher until you issued a rapid succession of whimpers, one after another, as you climbed toward your climax. 

Robby applied more force and held his tongue in place until your body seized, your nails sinking into the back of Robby’s neck as heat sprawled across your cunt, its ripples triggering a blissful shriek from you. It left you boneless, your head void of all coherent thought.

But Robby’s desperation peaked. He crawled on top of you, his eyes dancing with a raw greed you’d never seen before. He leaned down to kiss you, his lips slow and assuring as if the two of you were exchanging an agreement to stop withholding from one another.

Robby’s eyes locked on yours when he pulled away to position himself between your legs. Your heart hammered as he held your gaze and lined the tip of his cock against your entrance. The air in your lungs screamed for relief as you held your breath, your fingers pressing into the mattress in anticipation.

He sank into you slowly, groaning at the squeeze of your tight heat. Your teeth chewed at your bottom lip as you willed your walls to stretch around him. The friction was dizzying as he filled you. Robby clenched his jaw so hard, his teeth threatened to crack. 

Once he’d reached the hilt, a clarity settled within your skull and your senses became hypersensitive to every movement, every breath and every agonizing second that Robby wasn’t driving you into the mattress.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Robby rasped. His voice was strained, as if he was in pain. In truth, he was merely fighting his final threads of self-restraint.

Robby was torn. The sight of your folds swallowing his cock was beyond anything he’d imagined, a vision he wanted burned into his mind forever. But he also felt a desperate longing to be close to you. He wanted to shower your face and lips with kisses while he whispered passionate prose in your ear.

“Robby, please,” you begged. As arousing as the power was to Robby – the pitiful whine of your voice, the plea in your eyes, the way your body twitched in response to his cock – he didn’t make you beg again.

Robby’s hips retreated and snapped forward, driving his cock within your plush walls. You issued a low, guttural moan in response. Robby’s hands reached for your hips, pulling you into him in contrast to his thrusts. Together, your bodies composed a symphony that was approaching a grand coda.

“You feel so fucking good,” Robby groaned. You bucked your hips in response, his praise heightening your arousal and your desperation to learn how it would feel to fall apart around his cock.

You squirmed beneath him, each panting breath signaling your impending orgasm. You squeezed your cunt tighter around him and your eyes clamped shut as you focused on the friction within your core. Robby shifted until he was directly above you, supporting himself with one arm as his shaft dragged through your walls and his tip pressed into the deepest part of you. The bedsheets clung to their corners for dear life. 

Your nails sank into Robby’s shoulder, leaving tiny half-moon divots. If he felt them, he said nothing. Instead, he grit his teeth at your slick passage, his cock nudging you closer to the edge with each snap of his hips until you were certain the force would drive your heart straight into your throat.

Heaven couldn’t feel this good and hell couldn’t feel this hot. 

“Oh fuck, Robby,” you moaned. The sound of his name spilling from your lips became his new favorite song. “Robby, I’m close.”

The desperation in your voice instilled a sense of urgency within Robby; a demand for deliverance that could only be rivaled by the high pitch of a flatlining patient. But this wasn’t loss of life; this was rebirth.

Robby rocked back to a kneeling position, his eyes glued to your joint union as he drove his cock upward. It speared your core’s pressure point until your toes were curling.

Your cunt clenched tighter, beckoning your release. It mounted within your walls, swelling until it surged. You unleashed a sharp, ringing cry that filled the bedroom while your back arched off the bed and stars filled your eyes. Robby maintained his pace as your cunt convulsed, sending spasms searing through your nerve endings.

The end of your high marked the beginning of Robby’s. The vision of your mouth hanging open, breasts bouncing, dripping cunt swallowing his cock, was far more than he could handle. He swore loudly as his cock twitched. He yanked your hips flush with his as he spilled himself inside you, his fingers pressing hard into your flesh. 

Robby stilled when it was over. He released your hips and collapsed on the pillow beside you, his arms snaking their way around your torso as he pulled you close. You, however, were incapable of any movement. Your fucked out frame was limp and weak, but you couldn’t remember the last time you were this satisfied.

Faint traces of the morning’s first sunlight leaked through the curtains of Robby’s bedroom when you awoke. He slept with one arm flung across your torso. You studied him quietly as he slept. His peaceful breaths were a soothing contrast to his serious demeanor.

Then he snored so abruptly, he jerked awake. You bit back a laugh.

“Hey,” you said softly. Robby rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms and offered you a crooked smile.

“Hey.” Robby studied you with such intensity, you could feel the familiar flush threatening to creep over your cheeks. “You sleep alright?”

You nodded. “You?”

Robby cracked another smile. “I did, considering it’s the first time I’ve slept in my own bed in weeks.”

“And whose fault is that?” you laughed with faux indignation. “I seem to recall offering to let you have the bed.”

“I only wanted it if I could share it with you.”

You swallowed your heart back down to your chest. “Well you left that minor detail out,” you quipped.

“Well I wasn’t aware it was an option,” Robby replied. You chewed at your bottom lip, unsure how to respond and annoyed at yourself for the lack of confidence. But in all fairness, it'd only been mere hours since the man had absolutely ruined you by turning you into a pitiful, whimpering, moaning mess. “But in all seriousness,” Robby continued, the amusement in his eyes shifting to something much more serious, “You do understand that I didn’t want for this to be a one-time thing, right?”

“You didn’t?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“But if you do want it to be a one-time thing, it’s alright,” Robby continued. “I just… you just…” His eyes scanned the ceiling as he decided on the right words. “Just tell me, okay?”

“I don’t want it to be a one-time thing, either,” you said immediately. Normally, you’d have practiced more restraint, more poise, played it cool and nonchalant, but this felt too raw and honest to hold back. 

“You don’t,” Robby repeated as if he needed confirmation.

“No.”

“Okay, good.”

You shifted to rest your head on his chest, the warmth of his body enveloping you with comfort. 

You couldn’t believe that, finally, you got what you wanted. Now it all seemed so simple; you and Robby made sense and it shouldn’t have taken so long for the two of you to reach that mutual understanding. But now, you were too giddy and too relieved to dwell on the past.

“The ER’s going to have a field day about us,” Robby muttered. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m pretty sure they’ve all had their bets placed for quite some time,” you said.

“We don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to,” Robby said carefully. “But I don’t want you to feel like we have to be a secret. You’re not a secret or something that I could ever be ashamed of, but I understand if you want to keep this under wraps.”

“I’m not ashamed either,” you said with a frown. “Robby, I’ve wanted this – wanted you – for as long as I’ve known you.”

“Oh.” Robby seemed genuinely surprised by your revelation. He dragged a palm across his face and grimaced. “Guess we both wasted the past few years then.”

“Guess we’ll have to make up for it,” you said, drawing a grin from Robby. “But maybe to start, we just let everyone at work figure it out on their own.”

“Wanna bet on who’s the first to figure it out?”

“Oh, I’ll put $20 on Mohan,” you said confidently.

“I’ll put $20 on Dana.”

“Deal.”

A quiet moment fell over you, and you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the momentous change that had just taken hold of your life. Just 24 hours ago, you were single and pining hopelessly for the senior attending you thought couldn’t be bothered with any interest in you.

“I’m going to make some tea,” you declared, sliding out of bed to pull your bathrobe on. 

Once you were alone in the kitchen, you couldn’t help but grin to yourself. You gazed around the kitchen, now wondering how often you’d spend time there in the future. Sure, you’d move back to your apartment in a few days, but you couldn’t help but feel like you were in your second home.

The sudden buzz of your phone on the counter pulled you from your daydreams. 

“Hey,” you said, accepting a Facetime call from Trinity.

“Goooood morning,” she said in a sing-song tone as Samira peered over her shoulder. They were clearly at work, standing at the nurses’ station. You’d never been so grateful for you and Robby to have a mutual day off.

“Good morning,” you said carefully, your tone cheery but not too jubilant.

“How’d it go?” Samira asked eagerly.

“Wait,” you said with a frown. “Samira, didn’t you work last night? Why are you there?”

“Working a double,” she responded breezily. “Now quit deflecting. How was the charity gala?”

“It was good,” you offered casually, propping your phone up on the counter against the backsplash so you could retrieve your tin of matcha from the cupboard. “I had a good time.”

“A good time,” Trinity repeated blankly.

“That’s what I said,” you hummed.

“Oh, come on,” Samira whined. “We need details. Did anything happen?”

“Define ‘anything,’” you replied as you filled the tea kettle with water.

Trinity rolled her eyes. “You’re really going to hold out on us, after all we’ve done for you.”

“What exactly did you do for me?” you laughed.

“We helped you pick out that stunningly sexy dress that Dr. Robby was supposed to tear off of you,” Samira answered matter-of-factly. 

“You two are insane.”

“And you are an asshole,” Trinity retorted. “Come on, give us something. You really can’t tell us that nothing-”

Her voice stopped abruptly and you watched her eyes widen at something behind you. You turned to look over your shoulder, where a shirtless Robby had appeared. 

“Hey, Dr. Robby!” Samira called out merrily. Meanwhile, Trinity’s jaw was hanging open.

Robby blinked, his hair still a tousled mess. “Good morning,” he said, stepping closer to peer at your phone. “Everything alright?”

“Everything is splendid,” Trinity answered. Even through your phone screen, you could see her eyes glinting with glee.

“Is that Dr. Robby?” Dana’s face appeared in frame and you sighed as you watched her expression react to seeing her senior attending standing in nothing but sweatpants behind you. “Well good morning to you both!” she mused with a knowing smile.

“Fuuuuuck,” Robby groaned from behind you. 

You glared daggers of annoyance at your friends. “We’re hanging up now,” you said.

“We’re hanging up?” Trinity mused. “You hear that? She’s already referring to them as ‘we.’” 

“Goodbye!” you sang as you ended the call. Behind you, Robby was rubbing his temples.

“Sorry,” he sighed. 

“It’s fine,” you said, more amused than annoyed. You’d known all along your secret would be short-lived. You crossed the kitchen to slide your arms around Robby’s torso, tilting your head backward to smirk up at him. 

“Guess you technically owe me $20, though.”

By the time you turned onto your parents’ street, your nerves had you anxiously drumming your hands on the steering wheel. You tried to play it cool, to keep Robby from worrying more, but the closer you came to your childhood home, the more the knot in your stomach tightened.

When you pulled into the driveway, you could see your mom peeking from the living room curtains.

“Ready?” you asked as you put the car in park.

“Ready,” Robby said with a surprising air of confidence. You couldn’t help but raise a curious eyebrow at him. “Look,” he continued. “I want your parents to like me, obviously, but I’m also too old to think that their opinion of our relationship is going to make a difference. How they feel about us isn’t going to change how I feel about you. They love you, and so do I.”

You offered him a smile, your heart swelling over how fucking lucky you felt. 

“You’re right,” you agreed, reaching to the passenger’s seat to give his knee a gentle squeeze. “Regardless of what they think, it’s still you and me.”

The glance exchanged between your parents when you introduced Robby wasn’t lost on you. You knew what they were thinking — they were surprised you’d brought home an older man. But as the evening progressed, you found yourself seated at the dinner table, smiling to yourself at the warm conversation that unfolded. You felt silly for doubting your parents. Sure, they could be a bit conservative and too concerned with keeping up appearances, but by the time your mom was cutting the pumpkin pie for dessert, they had embraced Robby with fondness. 

“And you really doubted me,” Robby murmured into your hair as you cuddled up to him in bed that night. 

“I didn’t doubt you,” you pointed out, turning to peer at him through the lenses of his reading glasses. “I doubted them. And I guess I shouldn’t have.”

“That remark your mom made about grandkids was a bit alarming though.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you sighed. “But at least she likes you enough to grant you permission to make her a grandparent.”

“She does know any child of mine will be raised a Steelers fan, right?”

You smacked him with a pillow. 

You woke up early the next morning and crept quietly into your parents’ kitchen, leaving Robby to sleep. Your mom was already up, drinking coffee in her favorite armchair by the front window. 

“Morning,” she chirped, motioning for you to sit on the sofa. When you obliged, she smiled at you. “Robby seems really nice, honey,” she said. “He seems like a hell of a doctor. And he really seems to care about you.”

“He’s brilliant,” you agreed. “And he’s a far better person than I could’ve asked for.”

“Do you think he’s the one?” 

“I hope so,” you answered. “Because even if there were two of him, he’s the only one I’d want.”

By the time Robby woke up and strode into the living room, you and your mom were watching the latest episode of 90 Day Fiance. Robby shook his head at you and headed toward the kitchen for coffee. 

“Sorry I don’t have any tea for you, honey,” your mom apologized. “I always forget that you don’t drink coffee.”

“I have tea.” Robby poked his head back into the living room. “I brought your matcha. It’s in my backpack.”

From across the living room, your mom smiled at you in approval.

[maidenvault]

During my last rewatch of the prequels I was actually shocked by how much I've misremembered or decontextualized certain moments in my mind because of how they're often talked about in fandom as showing the Jedi as too arrogant, too bureaucratic, generally just burying their heads in the sand while everything goes bad etc. So I'm gonna try to address every individual scene that typically gets brought up to argue that this is an actual theme in Lucas's portrayal of the Order.

The Council doesn't take Qui-Gon's account of meeting a Sith seriously.

Mace and Ki Adi Mundi do both express doubt this guy could be a Sith. (Understandably! Historically they've never known Sith to be able to hide their existence, and for them to have survived totally in secret for a thousand years is a pretty wild thing for Qui-Gon to be so sure of.)

BUT Yoda admits that the dark side is hard to see, and Mace assures Qui-Gon they'll do everything to find out the identity of the attacker. Later he's ordered to go back to Naboo and try to draw out Maul to discover more. Qui-Gon accepts this and doesn't ask for backup. Why should he? He held his own against Maul before, and Maul's probably not gonna show himself again to face a ton of Jedi. They end up missing the chance to learn who trained Maul because of how things go down, but Qui-Gon's death isn't the result of the Council mishandling the situation.

At the funeral, Yoda says the presence of one Sith means there's another out there. They know they've got to be on guard now and will be, but they've got no more leads for now.

2. Qui-Gon's not here to free slaves.

There's this idea that slavery existing on Tatooine shows the Order is apparently too tied up doing shady things for self-interested politicians (footage not found) to help the people who really need it. But Padme's shocked to know the Skywalkers are slaves for a reason. The truth is there isn't a lot of slavery in the galaxy at this time because the Jedi have helped keep it that way for centuries only by working with the Republic. In TCW we see that Zygerrian slavers have a particular hatred of Jedi because they're literally The Anti Slavery People and did so much of the work to crack down on their trade. But Tatooine is controlled by the Hutts and they simply don't have the resources to start a war with them.

(And honestly, it's crazy how people talk like Qui-Gon's a monster for honestly and apologetically telling Anakin no, that's not why he's here. This is a child he's already indebted to and who has a hero-worshipping idea of Jedi, it would be fucked up for him not to be clear about how he can't help him and his mom.)

3. They doubt Dooku could be behind the assassination attempt.

This I understand shows the Jedi to be a little naive. But they knew Dooku as a good man, and at this point he and his followers are still putting on a show of wanting to secede for idealistic reasons (and a few of them, manipulated by Dooku, actually do have good intentions). Only later do the Jedi learn they're illegally building an army before they've even officially left the Republic and clearly have no interest in the peaceful resolution Padme's been advocating for. And they only find this out because they have Obi-Wan investigate the assassin and this very quickly leads him to Dooku.

4. "Arrogance, yes. A trait more and more common among Jedi. Even the older, more experienced ones."

In context, this line from Yoda is clearly not meant to be taken so seriously. Obi-Wan says he fears Anakin is too arrogant, and this is Yoda's light-hearted way of telling him not to be so hard on him. Part of training a Padawan is learning to trust them so they can grow, and Obi-Wan perhaps needs the reminder that he isn't done learning himself.

Of course Yoda saying this could be partly motivated by them having been caught off guard before by the existence of Darth Maul and the dark side clouding their awareness, as we're told repeatedly throughout the PT they know is a problem. But it's kind of contradictory to take this as confirmation that this is a serious fatal flaw of theirs. If someone acknowledges their own arrogance then they're aware of their ability to be wrong, which means they can't actually be that arrogant. If truly meant in a general sense and not just as a gentle reproof of Obi-Wan, it's a pretty self-deprecating comment coming from Yoda.

5. "If an item does not appear in our records, it does not exist."

Chief Librarian Jocasta Nu gives this haughty response to Obi-Wan looking for Kamino, a system that's not in the Jedi Archives. So being so overly confident in the infallible knowledge of the Jedi, he takes her word for it and totally drops this lead.

Except no, he goes to someone older and wiser to figure out what this actually means. And he and Yoda are forced to conclude that the unthinkable - a trusted person among them somehow had reason to erase information from the archive - must nonetheless be what happened. This is honestly an exception that proves the rule: Kamino, and we can assume only Kamino, is missing from the archive only because it was removed, which is so suspicious it just shows he must be on the right track to discovering something. Jocasta is kind of snooty about it but theirs obviously is supposed to be one of the most accurate and complete databases in the galaxy.

6. Obi-Wan doesn't believe what Dooku tells him about the Senate.

For one thing, in this conversation Dooku's lying about basically everything but this. And I can't ever stress enough that Palpatine is a threat unlike anything the Jedi have ever dealt with before, who's already taken control of so much before they even know they're fighting anything, so the idea that a Sith is controlling the Senate would be really hard for anyone to believe.

Still, we know Obi-Wan reports this to the Council anyway. But it's a vague statement and they still don't have any information to act on. Palpatine soon has them very busy putting out fires in the war, and naturally fighting the Separatists who are led by Sith seems the best way for them to get to the bottom of what exactly is going on with the dark side. And they do finally turn their attention to how power-hungry Palpatine is getting once the war is nearly over and they've got the bandwidth for it, and think about what they might have to do if he's the threat to their democracy they fear, but of course he's too many steps ahead of them all the time.

---

So basically, what we see the Jedi being so guilty of in these examples are thought crimes. When confronted with the crazy explanation that happens to be true, their instinctive reaction is "No, I don't think that's possible." And then they do their due diligence to uncover as much of the truth as they can anyway. And Yoda, the Grand Master of them all, is often the first to admit that their first assumptions could be wrong. But Palpatine wouldn't be a good villain if his moves were predictable and he couldn't get an advantage over the good guys - that's just how storytelling works sometimes and it's not that deep.

It honestly felt stupid typing so much of this out because it's 90% just describing what actually happens in these scenes. But I guess it's a lot to ask that people actually carefully watch the films they discuss. 😒