#i've had this account for years in good standing

[fedoraspooky]

Youtube rly out here removing features for smaller creators who don't post often enough for them %)

[neverendingford]

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[baby-yongbok]

Cam Star

Camboy!Hyunjin x Camgirl!Reader

♡ Genre - Smut ♡ Word Count - 10k ✧ Masterlist ✧

♡ Summary - You haven’t seen Hyunjin since the CamStar convention but he’s been on your mind and you’ve been on his. Today’s the day of your collaboration with him, a spicy show for hundreds to watch but the cam is the last thing on your mind.

♡ A/N: I started this as soon as I saw that gif of Hyunjin on live. I wrote this based on one of the many thoughts that gif brought me but it took me FOREVER to complete this. I'm glad that I can at least post it on his birthday! This is the longest fic I've written on this account and I'm proud of it. I hope that you enjoy! 💕+ reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡ MDNI

♡ Warnings: Use of marijuana and alcohol, Foot worship/play, unprotected piv, exhibitionism? - That should be all, let me know if I missed any!

You’ve had a month to prepare for tonight's plans. Everything around you is perfect, your sheets are soft and clean. Your set is lit to perfection and the new matching co-ords that you're sporting for tonight's show were picked out carefully by you and your best friend, Felix, who happens to be a close friend of tonight's guest. You’ve confided in your friend for weeks about your guest's preferences to try and calm your nerves but he didn’t tell you anything that you didn’t already know. 

You would think that maintaining a spot as one of the top five creators on CamStar for two years would make you feel more like a seasoned professional but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Every time that you think about the fact that you’re about to collaborate with Hyunjin, one of the top three male creators on the site, you want to scream and kick your feet like a flustered school girl. Hyunjin is the epitome of beauty, that might sound a bit extreme but it’s true. He’s captivating and shameless with what he does, always begging the chat to let him cum and making such intense and sexy eye contact with the lens that you feel like you’re right there with him. You’ve gotten off to his cams more times than you’d ever admit to him and according to Felix his friend has done the same to yours.  

The mirror would be sick of seeing you if it were a person because here you are standing in front of it for the hundredth time tonight brushing off your short shorts and pulling up your tube top. The deep golden yellow fabric is nearly see through against you and you can’t help but to think that maybe you should change. Maybe this is too much? I mean yeah you’re about to be naked on camera for others across the internet to see and you’re more than comfortable in this outfit but what if Hyunjin doesn’t like it? Felix said that he thinks that his friend will go speechless when he sees you but what if he’s wrong? What if - oh fuck, he’s here.

The echo of the doorbell through your living room leaves you frozen for a second too long before you break into a soft jog over to your front door. You slide across the hardwood with your fuzzy pineapple print socks and take a deep breath as you twist the knob. There he is. Your eyes meet his for a second and you both smile as you take each other in. He’s chosen his usual laid back attire for tonight's show as you expected. His oversized Hilfiger t-shirt and black cargo sweats don't surprise you one bit but you seemed to have caught him a bit off guard with your choice of threads tonight.

“Hey, you’re early.” Hyunjin stares at you, wide eyed and silent for a second too long before he’s clearing his throat and lifting his gaze from your bare thighs to your eyes.  

“Yeah, I uh - roads were clearer than I thought.” You step aside, inviting him in and you can feel the nervous pit in your stomach deepen as he brushes past you. 

“I told you they would be.” Once he slips his shoes off and drops his bag at the door the two of you stand in awkward silence as you steal glances and open and close your mouths for what feels like an eternity. 

“It’s uh- good to see you.” He leans in for a hug, wrapping his arms around your waist and you follow his lead, lacing your arms around his neck as you sigh.

“We’re being such losers right now.” The vibration of his chuckle as he pulls away brings a smile to your face.

“Can you blame me? I haven’t seen you in what? Five months? Maybe six.” You hum, making your way over to your couch and plopping down onto the soft cherry red cushion. 

“Six months, yeah. I mean, we’ve kinda kept in touch since the convention.”

“Commenting on instagram photos and retweeting posts do not count as keeping in touch and you know it.” A blush creeps across your cheeks as he sits next to you, elbows resting on his knees and that damned smirk on his lips. It’s the same one that he uses during his livestreams, the same one that you’ve cum to over and over again. 

“Yeah I know, I know.” You cross your legs underneath you, turning towards him. “You dyed your hair?”

“Yeah, wanted to do something different. I haven’t gone live with it yet so tonight will be the debut for this look.”

“I’m honored that you’ve chosen to debut it with me.” Your fingers rake through his soft locks as you take in the new cut.

“Of course, Princess.” The fact that you aren’t gasping for air right now and appear to be keeping your cool is actually magic. Pure witchcraft, honestly. How can someone make a pet name sound so good? “I need to get used to calling you that so I don’t say your name on cam.”

Your blush deepens as you stare down at his lap. Right, you forgot that you go by Princess when you’re on cam. He’s only calling you that cause that’s what you go by, gosh are you that down bad already? 

“I don’t have to change much, Jinnie.” You sing his name a bit and he smiles at the sound of it. 

“You’re lucky that I go by my name or else you’d have to moan something outlandish like Your Majesty or something.” You fall into a laughing fit, falling onto his shoulder dramatically for support. “Maybe I’ll have you call me that since you seem to enjoy it so much.”

His laugh mirrors yours as he watches you, your head resting on his shoulder with your eyes shut and your mouth hung open as you try to catch your breath. He’s never heard a prettier laugh in his life, he swears it. “Please do not make me call you that I won’t be able to keep a straight face.”

“You already won’t be able to do that though.” He grins as your laughing dies down and you take a final deep breath. Your previous laughter has started to turn into something else entirely. You can feel the heat start to surround the two of you but you’re not even on set or in front of the camera yet. This is what happened last time that you and Hyunjin were together. Everyone at the convention swore that you two had undeniable chemistry. 

“I would say that you’ll have to get used to moaning Princess but something tells me that you already have experience with that.” His eyebrows raise as he leans back into your couch.

“What gives you that idea?”

“Word on the street is that you watch my shows.” There goes that smirk again. He lets his head fall back against the back of your couch as he sighs a bit. 

“Is that right?” He lifts his head, inspecting your matching smirk as he licks over his bottom lip. “Well what if I told you that I heard that you are a big fan of my shows too.”

Your blush is back as you tongue your cheek. Damn Felix and his big mouth! Why would he tell him that? Just play it cool. “Where did you get that information?”

“From the same street that you got your information.” The eye contact that the two of you hold is strong and hot like a steady flame. You watch as his eyes trail from your lips and down the curve of your neck for just a second before rushing back up to meet your gaze but instead of his honey pupils meeting yours he’s met with the view of your own lustful gaze trailing down the slope of his toned arm. 

You’ve done other collabs with people that you're close to and some that you’ve only spoken to for a couple of hours at a convention so you can confidently say that you have never felt as titillated as you do with Hyunjin right now. To be fair, you didn’t have a crush on any of those other people. 

You may not talk to Hyunjin as much as you desire to but you’ve watched every single one of his cams and SFW Q & A’s as well as his YouTube vlogs that you only just found out about days after you asked him to collab with you. He’s mentioned his art to you before but it wasn’t until you came across his channel that you saw just how good he is with a brush or almost any other medium. That mixed with being able to enjoy his everyday lifestyle content and his breathtaking dance covers has made you feel closer to him than you felt before. Though you do find it kind of embarrassing that you’ve gotten close to him through a screen instead of real life.

 Little do you know that Hyunjin is no better than you when it comes to consuming an unspeakable amount of your content. Every single cam that you’ve ever done has been viewed by him at least once and he’s not ashamed to say that he’s even paid to view the premium content.

 He found out about your lifestyle and mental health blog around the same time that you found out about his YouTube channel and he proceeded to scroll all the way down to your first post and back up again. He watched each and every one of your advice videos on the site and has read every word that you’ve ever written and posted. He found himself falling in love with the way that your mind works. He loves the way that you look at life and how you’re able to transform your feelings into breath-taking statements. He nearly forgot about your cams when he found your site. 

“So you think that I’m used to moaning your name?” His question pulls your attention back up to his gaze. 

“Maybe you moan it in your free time.” You shrug with a wink, turning away from him quickly but luckily you don’t miss the smile and blush that he tries to hide from you. 

“I could say the same for you.” He grumbles under his breath as he lets his head fall back against the couch again. You both sit silently, trying your best not to smile like an idiot in front of the other. “Did you pre-game?”

“Uh no not yet, didn’t know if you wanted to join.” You stand, raising your arms to stretch a bit and shamelessly giving him the perfect view of your ass in your shorts. “I know it’s not really your thing.”

“Mm.” He must be enjoying the view. “I’m your guest, I follow your vibe. I don’t mind joining you.”

You hum, making your way over to the black box on your TV stand. “You smoke?”

“Yeah, casually, mostly just with Felix or at parties and shit like that.” 

“I didn’t know. Do you have a favorite strain? I have just about everything.” He falls into silent thought as you take your seat next to him, setting the box in your arms on the table and starting to set up.

“Purple Runtz, I think. I smoked that one before a cam once and I felt ten times more sensitive.” He sits up, leaning forward to watch as you open your box which basically serves as a mini dispensary. Your interest in weed goes way beyond just getting high for the fuck of it. It’s been the best remedy for your anxiety since you tried it but then again you don’t owe anyone an explanation on why you always have a blunt rolled and ready. 

“Ou, I love that one, I think I have some of that. My favorite is Apollo 11, it makes me feel so relaxed and fucking brainless. My anxiety evaporates as soon as I hit it.”

“Are you anxious tonight?” You don’t look over at him. You simply grin as you continue to search for your favorite pipe. You actually aren’t too nervous about tonight's show, something about having Hyunjin here is grounding.

“Not really but I still wanna take a hit or two.” He nods, reaching for the pipe that you laid out on your coffee table. 

“How the hell did you get your pipe so clean?” You giggle as you finally find the strains you both mentioned earlier and take a bit out for the both of you.

“That’s a secret, your majesty.” You erupt into your second fit of laughter for the night when you look over and get a glimpse of the most wicked side eye you’ve ever seen. 

“Fuck you.”

“You will soon.” You pick out your favorite grinder and close your box. “Want anything else?”

“Got any soju?” You pause, turning around slowly to face him with a raised brow.

“You want to get cross faded?” 

“Not really, I don’t drink much just up to the first line of a solo cup. That’s more of my thing than smoking, really.” He shrugs, placing your pipe back down onto the table.

“I mean, if you think that you can handle it. I do want you to remember the night, you know?” 

“I’m not a teenager, I can handle it. I’ve done it before and it’s not like I’m smoking an entire blunt by myself.” You proceed grinding the buds as he stands from your couch. 

“Your kitchen is…” He walks towards the archway of your living room and mumbles a small ‘there’ when he spots the dark kitchen right across the narrow hallway.

“Soju is on the top shelf of the cabinet next to the fridge.” You call out as you start to fill the bowl of your purple glass pipe. 

“So high up for such a little person.” He calls back as you hear the cabinet close.

“Solo cups are on top of the fridge and fuck off tall person.” You can hear the faint echo of his chuckle as he fixes his drink. You take the couple of seconds that you’re waiting for him as an opportunity to light the bowl and take the first hit. 

“A yellow solo? Really? You know that the red solo cups are the sexy ones.” You stifle a chuckle in a desperate attempt not to choke on the smoke in your lungs. He brings the cup to his lips quickly before taking the pipe that you're offering him.

“Sexy?” You question following your exhale. “What makes the red ones sexy?”

“The sense of mystery.” He mumbles as he exhales over his shoulder. “I just never see the yellow ones.” You hum, taking the pipe back and peaking into his cup.

“Hyunjin, that’s way more than just the bottom of the cup.” The corner of his mouth twitches as he offers you the cup.

“That’s because I got just a bit more to share with you.” 

“I didn’t say that I wanted any.” You tease.

“True, you don’t have to have any. Just thought of you since I came to your house and started drinking your liquor.” You set your pipe down and take the cup from Hyunjin’s hand silently before turning to him completely and holding your pinky out. 

“I’ll have some but I just need us to promise something first.” He turns to face you completely, glancing down at your finger with a faint grin. “I get high before almost every cam and I know that you’re aware of that but I’ve never really done it with anyone else. Well, not on cam. I just want us to be comfortable.”

He holds his pinky out to you, wrapping it around yours without question. “I promise that I’ll be fine and that I’m more than okay with everything that will happen tonight. If I’m uncomfortable I’ll tell you, you’ll do the same, right? I only want to make you feel good, nothing else.” 

“I promise that I’ll be fine too. I’ll tell you everything. I’ll communicate so much that you’ll want me to shut up.” The two of you had already discussed your limits beforehand and you’ve both done your research on the other person - whether it be for business or personal benefits varies - but you feel yourself relax further now that you’ve heard him say that he’ll be fine. Pinky promises are like a contract after all. 

“Impossible, I could never want such a thing.” You let go of his finger and he follows, a grin on both of your faces as he reaches for his cup but you beat him to it. “We’re sharing the bowl and the drink anyway, It’ll literally just be the tip of the iceberg.” He’s right, this isn’t enough to fuck you guys up, not with the tolerance that you have. It’s just enough to make you both melt and feel loose enough to drop your masks a little faster.

“You know what we should do?” He takes the cup as you pass it to him, drinking from the same spot on the cusp that you just did. Did he mean to do that? Was that like an indirect kiss? Or are you really that down bad for him already? Fuck, get a grip. “We should start a bit early, maybe just sit and talk to set the mood?”

“You can’t smoke on cam though.” He takes another sip as you finish your second hit. 

“Let’s start after the bowl then. We can share the drink and just chill? Get a feel of everything and vibe check the chat.” He hums, choking a bit on his inhale but recovering pretty quickly, he must do this more frequently than you thought. He clears his throat taking a sip of soju to substitute one burn for another. 

“That’s fine with me, Princess.”

“You never told me if I look okay.” The two of you finished smoking maybe fifteen minutes ago and decided to move to your office to start getting comfortable on set. 

“That’s because I didn’t trust myself to say something that didn’t sound lame.” Hyunjin makes himself comfortable on your sofa bed, yellow solo cup in hand while he pushes his hair out of his face.

“That was then, what about now?”

“Now I can confidently say that you look absolutely breath-taking.” The soft sound of R&B music playing across the room fills in the silence after his answer. Your content giggling and smiling while you set up your camera and adjust your laptop is enough feedback for him.  “What’s the second cam for?”

“Oh, collabs aren’t available in my archive to try and encourage more people to watch them. So if anyone misses this they’re assed out but I do like to record collabs for myself to watch back later.” 

“Yeah? Gonna get off to me fucking you later?” The weed and soju are definitely doing their job for him. His playful and teasing nature has been on full display since the two of you finished smoking. Your mask is dropped too so you have no problem matching his energy.

“Maybe, better put on an unforgettable show.” He tongues his cheek, eyeing your glossed lips. He can’t wait to smear that red tint across your cheeks, he’ll definitely give you an unforgettable show. You settle next to him, draping your bare legs over his clothed lap.

“You’ve seen my cams.” His eyes meet yours slowly. “So you know that I will.”

“Then let’s do this.” You lean forward to hit ‘Go Live’ but Hyunjin stops you before you can press it. 

“Hold on, I wanted to do something first.” He takes your hand gently as he leans forward to sit the yellow cup on the table in front of the both of you. You hum, staring at him with pinched brows but when he pushes your hair from your face and runs his thumb over your cheek bone you can’t help but to let go of the tension in your face. 

“I don’t really want our first kiss to be on cam, if you don’t mind.” A grin creeps up on you as he searches your eyes, leaning in so closely that you can feel his breath tickling your lips. 

 “Can I kiss you?” You answer him by leaning in and pressing your lips against his. He sighs into you as his lips move against yours. Soft, gentle and only for you. His other hand finds your waist and he pulls you closer to him until your racing heart is nearly against his own. You let out a soft moan as you feel his tongue trace the seam of your mouth. Once he hears that sweet sound he knows that he has to pull away or else the two of you will never turn that camera on and he’ll keep every inch of you to himself. You notice his reluctance as he pulls away but the look in his eyes once they flutter open and meet yours makes you forget about everything except the feeling of him against you. 

“You’re smiling.” You turn away at his comment trying to hide your face from him but he turns your head back, a matching smile on his lips. 

“You kissed me, of course I’m smiling.”

“Does that mean that you like me?” You turn away from him, groaning playfully as you avoid his gaze. 

“Are you ready now? Or are you going to keep flirting with me?” His chuckle brings back the smile that you’re fighting to get rid of and it excites the butterflies in your stomach all over again. Luckily for you Hyunjin is just as down bad as you are, his stomach is doing somersaults right now and he swears that his heart is beating out of his chest. 

“I’m ready.”

The chat went from being chill with just about ninety people watching to absolutely overflowing as soon as your usual air time hit. You’re used to having a large audience but the number on your screen is nearly more than double what it usually is thanks to your special guest. 

Jinnie! You dyed your hair. They look so hot together omg I’d do anything to be between the two of them right now Can he handle our Princess?

You and Hyunjin skim through the buzzing chat, responding to the comments that catch your eye. 

“So many comments about my hair. I just did it because I wanted to impress you all, did it work?” He winks at the camera, his signature smirk on his lips as he brings the cup up to take a sip. He tilts the cup towards you once he sips from it but you bring your hand up to play in his hair instead. 

“It’s so soft, like, you all would not believe it. I really like the black on him, don’t you?” His eyes meet yours as he licks his lips. 

“Are you impressed?” It’s your turn to smirk as you take the cup from him, brushing your fingertips over the back of his hand in the process.

“Let’s save the reviews for after the show.” You offer a quick wink as you sip from the cup. He tongues his cheek as he focuses back on the chat but his hands are only focused on you.

His fingers are having a field day as they trace sensitive circles and lines into your calves and thighs. He kneads at the flesh softly as he makes conversation with the viewers that he recognizes, but you can’t seem to focus on chat right now. Not when your crushes' big hands are massaging every inch of exposed skin he can reach.

Hyunjin notices that you’re a bit spaced out, so he asks you a question to help you refocus. The conversation kind of turns into an impromptu story time that consists of you and Hyunjin telling the viewers and each other about the other collabs that you’ve done. The further that you get into the show, the closer you and Hyunjin get. You’ve gone from just having your calves draped over his lap to moving closer and putting your arm over his shoulder. That has led you to how you are right now, his arm around your waist with your legs draped over his lap and your head on his shoulder. Your breath is tickling that sweet spot on his neck, and he’s trying desperately to focus on the timbre of your laugh instead of how eager he is to touch you. You’re laughing about something that probably isn’t that funny - thanks to the weed - when Hyunjin reads a comment out loud. 

“Looks like you got a tip and a request.” He leans a bit closer to the screen, pushing his hair out of his face and licking his lips as he reads the request to you. “Your socks are cute but I want to see your pretty toes.”

“Mm would you take them off for me, Jinnie?” He sighs at the way that you make his name sound so sweet yet sexy at the same time. He’s already rock hard in his sweats from how close you are to him, he can’t possibly handle your pretty voice saying his name like that too

“Ask me again.” Actually, he can take it. He’ll definitely explode later but right now he wants to take all that he can get. “You sounded so sweet the first time I just need to hear it again.”

“What if I'm not sweet this time?” 

“Indulge me, Princess.” A mindless giggle escapes you as you lean in and run your fingers through his hair. You stop right when your lips brush the shell of his ear and whisper. 

“Will you please take them off for me…” You suck in a slow breath and Hyunjin’s eyes flutter shut for just a second. “Your majesty .” His eyes squeeze shut and he folds forward in a fit of laughter that you quickly reciprocate.

“You’re so fucking stupid.” He sits up, trying to catch his breath the best he can so that he can fulfill your request.

“Then you should have no problem fucking me dumb.” You fake a pout at him through your laughter.

 “Come here.” You bend your knees, bringing your feet to his lap to give him better access. Your laughter quickly dies down when you get a feel of his hard cock under the soles of your feet. It would be a shame not to help him with that. As Hyunjin removes one of your socks you press the ball of your naked foot against his clothed shaft lightly, just enough for a delicious hiss to escape him. 

He moves to remove your other sock and you repeat your previous actions, pressing against his hard cock with the other foot and then following with both. Hyunjin's hands run over the tops of your feet as he watches you massage his dick over his pants. It’s too subtle for your mic to catch but you can hear his breathing start to pick up as you work against him. “Pretty.”  He mumbles, his voice thick with desire. You grin at him lazily, the effects of both strains of weed is starting to hit you a bit harder now that the heat between you and Hyunjin is starting to pick up. 

“You think my toes are pretty?”  He nods, his eyes darkened with lust. One of his hands runs up your calf, his grip gentle but firm. You arch your back, pushing your hips forward and inviting him closer while he leans in, bringing one of your feet up to his mouth with a feather light grip on your ankle and pressing a soft kiss to the top of your foot. A shiver runs down your spine as you watch him. 

“So pretty.” His voice is barely above a whisper, just loud enough for your mic to pick up but quiet enough to know that he’s talking to you and only you. It’s like he’s forgotten about the chat and if he is to be completely honest, he did, just for a moment. The feeling of your foot pressed against his dick is so intoxicating, how could he not? “Can I suck them?”

“I’ve never done that before.” The wide nervous smile and breathy chuckle that follows your confession leaves Hyunjin smiling too. He presses another kiss to the top of your foot, this time it’s sloppier and it sends another chill down your spine, are you into this?

“Do you want to try it?” You’ve never felt shy when doing a cam before. Not even when you first started, so why are you covering your eyes and giggling like a drunk teenager at the mention of having your toes sucked? “Aren’t these feet just too pretty, chat? Shouldn’t they be worshiped appropriately?”

I’d give anything to be Princess right now Such pretty feet need to be praised

Hyunjin’s question received more than a few comments back and nearly double the amount of tips but truthfully, you were already sold the minute that he asked to do it. Who in their right mind would say no to having those beautiful blushed lips on them? 

“I’ll try it.” Your bright eyes meet Hyunjin’s for just a second as he silently asks for confirmation. You nod your head, a goofy smile on your face as you lean back on your palms. He presses soft sloppy kisses to the top of your foot, adding more pressure and tongue as he trails down. His eyes stay on yours when he kisses your pinky toe, adding so much tongue that he’s practically licking it into his mouth. Your smile drops as he does the same to the next toe, you watch with parted lips and bated breath as he sucks on the digit, swirling his tongue over your purple pedicure and effectively making you gush between your thighs.

“Why the fuck does that feel so good?” Your question comes out as more of a quivering moan than you meant for it to but you’re way too entranced in this pleasure to give a fuck about how you sound. 

He smirks, his eyes twinkling with a soft desire to unravel you further. “Because I'm good at it.” His lips and tongue leave a trail of wet heat as he continues, his slow and deliberate movements build you up perfectly. 

Something tells you that this is going to be a good show. 

You can't help but let out a sharp gasp as his lips close around your big toe. Why is that one ten times more sensitive? “Oh fuck.” Your eyes flutter shut and you throw your head back with your lips parted in a euphoric smile. You puff out a small sigh of relief followed by a mindless giggle as he continues to lavish attention on your toes. “This is my new favorite thing.”

“Having your toes sucked?” He plants a sloppy kiss on the top of your foot as he lowers it back to his lap. “Or having me suck them?” He moves his hands to your thighs and parts your legs he sinks the tips of his fingers into your thigh as he pulls you forward into his lap. You gasp at the sudden shift, trying your best to stifle a giggle.

“You can answer that when it’s just you and me if you want.” His hands move to grab at the curve of your ass and you smile down at him, we can’t let him have all of the fun can we? 

The moan that escapes Hyunjin when you wrap your hand around his throat and pull his face towards yours is enough to make your ego explode. It’s only now that he’s so close to you that you can see how his eyes have a faint red tint from the weed, they’re droopy and have the tiniest fucked out glaze to them as they stare back into yours. 

“You sure are talking a lot for someone who needs me on their cock.” You swirl your hips against him, pressing your soaked core against the tent in his pants. You can’t help to resent the clothes keeping you away from each other, you much rather be grinding on his bare length right now. “Shouldn’t you be begging for me instead?”

"Make me beg for it." His words huff out in a shaky breath, his large hands swiftly and mindlessly gripping your plush hips as you grind against him slowly. 

"Show me how much you want it." He attempts to lean forward and catch your lips with his but you dodge him a bit before he can reach you. “Use your words, baby.”

The second that you call him baby Hyunjin swears that he could melt in your hands. He’s no stranger to the sweet name but hearing it fall from your lips makes every other time someone has called him that feel bitter. “You’re gonna drive me crazy.”

You halt all movement and he whines in protest. He attempts to buck up into you but you press down to stop him. “Let me hear you beg for me.”

 “Please let me kiss you, let me taste you.” His pleading voice is barely above a whisper. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, his pounding heart is all that he hears as he awaits your response. Your hand slides up the back of his neck, lacing through his raven locks and pulling lightly. “Please, I need you.”

“You sound so pretty.”  You lean in and kiss him, smiling against him as he cups your face with both hands and deepens the kiss. His lips move over yours with a hunger that you’ve never experienced before.

 His rhythm is gentle yet desperate like he’s savoring the taste of you. Your hands run over his strong shoulders and trail down to explore each curve of his bicep. You brush your fingers over the muscles, moaning when you feel them flex beneath your fingertips, the simple reaction prompts you to grind into him a bit harder earning a pleased groan to vibrate through him. Your hands are caressing the smooth skin of his forearms when his tongue swipes across the seam of your mouth and you promptly grant him access.

 Your hands fall to rest on his chest, balling the fabric of his shirt into a fist and your brain blanks out, there’s not a single thought going through that pretty head once the taste of him floods your tongue. He tastes more like Soju than he does weed and there’s a hint of mint from the gum that he was chewing beforehand.

“Chat…” Hyunjin pulls back, his eyes stay on you while he talks to the audience that you completely forgot about. Forgetting that you’re live with hundreds of people watching seems to be a running theme tonight. “You think I should take her top off?” His eyes trail down the curve of your neck until they reach the hem of your strapless top that’s leaving very little to the imagination.

“It’s so tiny how the fuck does it stay on?” You laugh a bit harder than intended at his question causing your top to slip down a bit. “Oh, fuck can you do me a favor? Bounce in my lap, I wanna see your top fall down.”

“You want me to bounce in your lap?” You coo with a sweet yet teasing tone. “Like this?” You bounce lightly, grinding down on his pulsing erection each time you come down.

“Shit, baby, please.” You continue to bounce in his lap lightly, feeling your top slip down little by little. 

“Is this how you want me to ride you, Jinnie?” You bat your lashes at him, his hands find a home on your waist, digging his fingers into the flesh. 

“Such a fucking tease.” The smile on his face quickly dissolves once your top finally gives way, you continue to grind against him slowly as he takes in the sight. “ Gosh, you’re gorgeous.” 

One of his hands slides up the curve of your waist and cups at your bare breast, kneading the mound slowly while pinching and twirling your nipple. It doesn’t take long for his other hand to follow suit. “Shit, they’re sensitive.” You moan at the contact, whining a bit when he pinches harder.

“Yeah? Can you cum from this, Princess? Gonna soak my lap from getting your nipples pinched?” You whimper, arousal flooding your - already ruined - shorts as you arch into his touch. “ Her shorts should come off next, shouldn’t they, chat?”

“Nuh uh, Your shirt is next.” 

“Can’t wait to get me naked, huh?” He reluctantly moves his hands to the hem of his shirt, pulling it off in one swift motion and revealing his beautifully built body to you. Hyunjin doesn’t usually get completely naked for his cams, eighty percent of the time he’ll keep his shirt on or just pull down his jeans enough to free his cock but he agreed to do it with you when the two of you were talking about your limits. “Happy?”

“Very.” You mindlessly run your hand over his chest, taking in every bit of him. You’re interrupted by the warm feeling of his hands snaking up your thighs and messing with the hem of your shorts. He taps your outer thigh twice, his bottom lip is pulled between his teeth as he waits for you to follow his silent command. “Can't wait to get me naked, huh?”

You mimic his previous statement and he offers a dark and airy chuckle in return. The banter between you two is not helping how hard he is right now. He’s always liked that about you, he likes that you always have something to say back. “Damn right.” 

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your shorts, keeping steady eye contact with Hyunjin as you remove them. He moans at the sight of you bare before him, the previous petting your thighs has turned into him digging into the soft flesh in an attempt to control himself. “No panties, Princess?”

“They’d just get ruined.” You grab at the hem of his sweats, fumbling with the drawstring and trying to not make your desperation too obvious. Once you undo the bow he helps you pull his pants off of his hips only to find him bare underneath. “No underwear, Jinnie?” He smiles, chuckling a bit with a shrug.

“You’d just rip them off of me anyway.” You laugh loud, hitting his arm and throwing his sweats to the side. 

“I would not!” Hyunjin follows up with a joke that you only half laugh at, you’re way too busy taking in the sight of his dripping cock resting against his toned abdomen, how is this man even real? Hyunjin catches on shortly after, taking a chance to enjoy the flawless view of you.

His cock jumps once his eyes land on your glistening core, wet and ready for him to ruin, he has half a mind to just turn off the camera and carry you to your bedroom where he can enjoy you without the prying eyes of your viewers who you both forgot about the second that you got undressed, or maybe it was sometime before that, when was the last time that you looked at the chat? A familiar text tone pulls you out of your thoughts and hurls you back into reality. This is a cam show. 

You don’t even need to look at your phone to know who texted you. You’ve got Felix’s text tone memorized. He attends every one of your shows and watches the chat to make sure that no one gets out of hand and you do the same for him when he goes live. Tonight he’s accompanied by Hyunjin’s stream mod and roommate Changbin.

 You assume that Felix texted you to tell you just what you were thinking a second ago, you need to look at the chat. You force your attention over to your laptop screen, trying your best to focus on the comments and tips flooding in left and right. 

“Jin is distracting me from the chat.” You tease, leaning in to read some comments.

They are in their own world Princess is going to ruin him I want him to look at at me like that

“You’re distracting me too.” He pulls you towards him by your hips so that you're straddling him with his cock pressed against your core. “Are you guys enjoying the show so far?” He asks after you send him a playful glare.

The chat lights up with comments and requests. Hyunjin knows that he should pick a request to entertain the audience. He knows that some people want to see him do specific things to you and you to him but he can’t help but to feel a bit selfish right now. He’s been dreaming about being this close to you for weeks. He doesn’t want to spend his time doing things that others request. He wants to savor you. 

“I know I’m enjoying it.” You turn your attention back to Hyunjin, your eyes run over his features, taking in his soft lips and his shining droopy eye. He licks over his bottom lip as he looks you over too. Your eyes are barely drooping despite being high, your lips are kiss bitten and barely glossed but the red tint is still visible and it’s smudged onto your cheek ever so slightly. Just what he wanted.

“I’m sorry…” Hyunjin mumbles as he switches focus between your lips and your lust glazed eyes. “I’m sorry, I can’t pay attention to chat right now.” His lips are on yours in an instant, punctuating his sentence with a heated kiss. You gasp at the sudden impact, your heart racing as your tongue tangles with his. Hyunjin pulls away for just a second, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers, “Can I fuck you now, baby? Can I fuck you like nobody’s watching.”

“You wanna play with me, Jinnie?” You whisper back as your arms wind around his neck.

“Until you break.” He dives back in, moving one of his hands to cradle the back of your head as he tastes you. You pull him closer until your chest is flush with his and you can feel the vibration of your shared moans rattling between you. You reach between your bodies with whatever space is left, lifting yourself up just enough to position him without breaking the kiss. He groans once he feels the head of his cock brush against your dripping slit, he breaks the kiss and leans back to take in the sight of his cock stretching your cunt. “That cunt is so fucking sloppy.” His eyes roll back as you sink down on him and he drinks in every second of your cunt swallowing each thick inch of his throbbing length. 

“O-oh, fuck.” He closes the gap between the two of you again with his hands on your hips to help guide you down. He leans his forehead against yours, gazing into your eyes as he fills you to the brim. Once you take him to the hilt you pause to catch your breath but Hyunjin has other plans. You cry out when you feel the tip of his dick kiss your cervix just right. The stretch of him is unlike anything - or anyone - you’ve ever felt before. 

“Tiny fucking cunt taking my cock so well. ‘S fucking made for me isn’t it, Princess? This cunt was made for me to fuck.” You move in tandem, timing when to swirl your hips so that he feels impossibly deep. You know that Hyunjin is the type to talk dirty during sex, you’ve watched enough of his cams to imagine what he might be like. You’re usually no different but the way that he feels inside of you is so dizzying that you might not be able to keep up with him tonight. The sweet buzz of the weed and soju makes everything feel like it could have you floating at any second. Even just trying to remember his name or your own for that matter is a full time job that your brain keeps clocking out of.

“J-just for you baby… god, this pussy is yours just please don’t stop.” Your fucked out eyes stare into his as you start to take more control, the sound of your skin colliding echoes as you bounce in his lap. His hands stay on your hips, periodically squeezing the flesh when you clench around him just right. Sweet whines and chants of ‘ah ah ah’ fall from your lips but you become muted when Hyunjin sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and lightly bites it. He plants broken kisses as you arch into his hand tracing the length of your spine. He had to get you to be quiet, if you keep moaning like that this show won’t last very long. 

“You know I could have you however I want, right?” He groans as he practically melts beneath you. “I could pick you up and ruin this pretty cunt but I want you to use me. I want you to use my cock in front of all of them.” His hands fall from your back and settle on your ass. The soft flesh in his hands has him holding on for dear life. What the hell are you doing to him? He’s never felt this good before. He needs you off of him now or else he’s going to explode.

 “Fuck, baby.” He lands a firm smack that draws a whimper from you. “Come here, show that pretty ass to the camera.” He lifts you up mid stroke and turns you around, your ass and dripping hole on display for more than a hundred people to see. The thought of it makes you bite your lip as Hyunjin reaches over you to jiggle your ass for the camera, leaving a bruising slap on either cheek as he pleases.

“Beautiful isn’t she?” He spreads your cheeks and leans over with puckered lips. Letting a stream of spit fall from between them and onto your asshole. He watches as it runs down and mixes with the sticky arousal of your pussy then drips down to pool on the sofa. A curse escapes him when he brings a finger up to tease your tight hole, rimming it gently then trailing down to tease your fluttering pussy. 

“Jin.” A mindless whimper escapes you and Hyunjin hums a  moan in response. He wants nothing more than to taste you, he’d make you cum while he plays with both of your holes but he wants to take his time with that. He can’t give you rushed head, you deserve better than that so he’ll settle for sinking his finger into your pussy with his thumb rubbing at your pretty puckered hole. “Oh my god.”

“Think I should add another finger chat?” Tips flood in as soon as the question leaves his mouth. You wiggle your ass at the camera earning a chuckle and a light ass slap from Hyunjin. “My eager princess, want another?” You nod, drawing out an excited hum that promptly fades into a moan once his middle finger slips into you. He fucks into you, pressing against your walls and sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. His other hand trails up your back and you arch for him, pushing your ass into his hand. Your moans echo through the room like a porn site on loud speaker.  

“Jinnie I'm gonna - gonna -” He slaps your ass, sending you into a broken moan. 

“Go ahead and make a mess for me, baby.” You’re coming undone before you can process it. He fucks you through it, massaging your sweet spot and drawing out your climax. You collapse onto his lap, eyes closed as you try to catch your breath. “I’m the luckiest guy alive.” A smug smirk pulls at Hyunjin’s lips as he repeats the comment that he was able to catch before it went zooming by in the messy chat.

 Your eyes flutter open with the intention of looking up at him and throwing a smart remark his way but his throbbing cock resting against his stomach is too close for you not to pay attention to. Hyunjin is running his fingers through your hair as he’s still trying to read the chat. He’s so engrossed in that that he only half notices when you move closer to his cock, sliding it into your mouth with a content hum

“Oh baby, oh fuck” His hand rests on the back of your head, instinctively guiding you as you take all of him and allow his tip to abuse the back of your throat. He marvels at the stretch of your pretty lips around him, taking every single inch of him until his tip makes your throat bulge and your mouth water. “Please don’t stop, don’t stop.” He pants above you, his eyes are glued to your watering ones as you blink up at him and bat your thick lashes. You swallow around him with each bob of your head and use your free hand to pay attention to his balls. You massage them gently, covering them with the spit that dribbles down from the hilt of Hyunjin's cock.

“You have no idea how good you are at that. You have no fucking clue, do you? I’d give you anything, I’d do anything just to feel this pretty mouth on me all of the time. Holy shit, Princess.” You choke around him when he pushes your head down a bit, holding you there for a second to indulge in the way your throat squeezes him. A tear rolls down your cheek and Hyunjin wipes it away with his thumb. He brings the finger up to his mouth and sucks it clean, keeping his eyes on yours as he swirls his tongue around the digit. You whimper around him and he throws his head back at the sensation. “You’re gonna make me nut if you don’t stop. I don’t wanna bust in your mouth, I wanna fill your pussy.”

He makes a fist around your ponytail when you don’t stop, pulling your head back with a grunt. “Don’t fucking listen.” You offer him a messy smile, sticking your tongue out in an attempt to catch his dick in your mouth again. He takes the base of his dick between his fingers and slaps the tip on your tongue. “Filthy girl, so pretty. Look at me, Mhmm keep those eyes on me, fuck you’re unbelievable.” He groans, pushing into your mouth and moving his hips in slow circles. You gag slightly as he pushes deep, his grip around your ponytail tightening as he fucks your face. 

“You’re gonna drive me insane.” He pulls your head back again, a single string of spit keeps the two of you connected but it’s broken when he turns your head to the camera. “You liked being dirty for me in front of them? You see how many people are watching you suck my cock.” Arousal gushes between your thighs and you press them together as the intoxicating feeling of embarrassment creeps up and paints a blush over your cheeks.

“I love it.” You hum and he smiles down at you sliding his thumb into your mouth “You’re a dream.” You smile around his finger, swirling your tongue around the tip then releasing it with a faint pop.

 “Wanna lay down for me? Let me fuck you dumb?” You’re pulling yourself into position before he even finishes the question. The sudden urgency in your actions earns you a faint chuckle and a quick kiss to your forehead as you get comfortable. He gets up on his knees and slots himself between your legs. You bring them up to rest on his shoulders and he plants sloppy kisses along your calf while he strokes himself against your entrance, teasing your clit with his tip. 

“How ya feeling, Princess. You got a bit quiet on me earlier.” 

“I’m literally seeing stars.” Your loud laughs echo through the room and rumble through the mic in front of you. “I’m good, just on cloud nine.”

“Am I your favorite collab?” The answer is yes but you’ll never admit that to him, especially not while you’re live. Truthfully this barely even feels like a collab. It just feels like you and your boyfriend fucking in front of a camera. Wait, boyfriend…? What are you even thinking? Are you catching more feelings for him right now? Ugh, okay, you gotta sort that out later. 

“Are you trying to get me in trouble?” You lightly push his chest with your foot before resting it back over his shoulder. He chuckles and kisses the inside of your ankle. “Just fuck me.” 

“My pleasure, this is what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna slip into this pussy nice and slow.” He runs his pointer finger between your slick folds and your back slightly arches off of the mattress. “Then you’re gonna cross your ankles over my chest and I'm gonna hold them.”

“Is this supposed to be some type of forbidden position?” He rolls his eyes, laughing at you as you smile up at him. “It’s gonna make that tiny cunt of yours feel even tighter.” 

You take a shaky breath in as he starts sinking into you. It feels like there can’t possibly be enough air in your lungs. They’re burning but you willfully ignore it. “Oh, come on baby, this messy cunt takes me so well.” His voice is thick with aroused exasperation as he fills you. He halts his movement for a second to allow you to adjust. “Breathe for me.”

You suck in a slow breath but that’s all in vain when he starts rocking into you. “Hyunjin” Your eyes roll back as you moan his name repeatedly. It’s amazing how perfect he feels, like he was made specifically to be inside of you.

 “Cross your legs, baby.” You do as you’re told, moving slowly as you adjust to his languid strokes “That’s it.” His gentle pace only lasts another second or two before he starts getting more reckless. He brings his hand up to his mouth and bites on his bent finger while your mouth hangs open in a silent scream. 

“Oh what the fuck, Jin. What the fuck.” The moan that escapes you is desperate and nearly has a primal ring to it. The pressure on your clit for your legs being crossed mixed with him feeling as deep as he does is a recipe to blinding orgasm. 

“You’re so fucking - Oh my god, you’re the only person I ever wanna fuck. This cunt is mine, can it be mine Princess?” He settles into an unrelenting tempo, he grips your thighs with both hands to steady himself while his desperation sets in. “Tell me it’s mine please, please please.”

“Y-yours, all yours, fuck me like I’m all yours.” A deep groan rumbles through him, That’s exactly what he wanted to hear. He wants to be yours and he wants you to be his. He wants to be the only one who gets to feel like this. The only one who makes you cream on their cock. You look so pretty, you sound so pretty, fuck you’re so pretty. 

You turn your face towards the camera so that they can get a better look at you, eyes crossed and drooling onto the sofa.

“My brainless baby is drooling?” A broken moan interrupts him.  “My cock really got you fucking dumb, huh?” 

“I wan’ your cum, Jinnie, please. Need it. Need it inside.”

“You want it? Baby’s gonna milk my cock, huh? Gonna make me creampie that cunt. Shit - I’m close.” You clench around him and he swears that he can feel his soul leaving his body. He pushes all the way in, hitting spots that you could never reach alone. Your orgasm comes into sight when he hits your cervix just right. “You gonna take it, baby? Gonna take all my - fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

 “Don’t.” He groans, slowing down a bit but you whimper in protest. “Keep fucking me like that, p-please please. Deep like that, you’re so deep like that, fuck - please.”

“Pri-princess, I can’t - fuck, I can’t”  He whines and buries himself deep into you, hips stuttering as he gets closer and closer to losing control. 

“Don’t you d-dare cum, Jinnie. Don’t.” You press your thighs together in a desperate attempt at reigning in your orgasm. The pleasure build inside you, slowly creeping up your spine before it hits you all at once. Your body tenses as shockwaves rush over you and your walls spasm and contract around him.

“Holy shit, baby I can’t fucking take it.” His movements become erratic as he tries to help you ride out your high but the feeling of you flooding his cock throws him over the edge. His orgasm hits him like a freight train and he throws his head back and practically screams above you. He bites his lip in a desperate attempt to quiet himself but his efforts are not enough to keep his moans of euphoria at bay.

 He empties himself inside of you until his seed is spilling out in a helpless attempt to escape your plugged pussy. You uncross your legs from his chest and let them plop against the sofa once he releases his death grip on your thighs. With the lack of support Hyunjin falls forward but he catches himself before he collapses on top of you, his hips shake as he comes down from his high. Sweat drips down and runs along the valley of your breasts as he hovers above you and tries to catch his breath. You stay still, your body still trembling as the aftershocks of pleasure course through you. You stay like that until he finally pulls himself out and collapses next to you. 

Only your labored breaths can be heard throughout the room as you try to fill your lungs but that’s easily drowned out by the sounds of your hammering heart pulsing in your ears when you feel Hyunjin move next to you. 

He’s holding your hand.

His fingers intertwine with yours, giving you a light squeeze and you smile at the gesture, the butterflies in your stomach erupt into a clumsy swarm as the two of you lie in silence for a while longer.. 

“So.” Hyunjin breaths out, propping himself up onto his elbow so that he can look down at you. “Are you impressed?” You push him down with a laugh and roll over on top of him.

“I am impressed.” You lean down and catch his smiling lips in a slow and soft kiss. You both sigh into it, his hands tracing up your sides as yours run down his chest. You break the kiss with a smile and whisper. “Your majesty.”

“If you’re the Princess what does that make me?” Hyunjin teases with a smile and you stare down at him with a surprised blush. You attempt to hide your face in his neck and roll off of him but he pulls you in for another kiss before you can make your escape. The two of you melt into the exchange, getting so lost in each other that you don’t hear Felix’s text tone going off. Actually, you haven’t heard it go off for the past ten minutes that he’s been texting you. Changbin has been texting Hyunjin for the same amount of time if not a bit longer but the two of you have been so deep in your own world. Right now nothing and no one but the two of you exist. You’re both completely and totally enamored with each other and you have no problem with everyone knowing that…Except no one will know that. Why?

Because the livestream disconnected twenty minutes ago.

Thank you reading! Please like and share, it makes my day!

ASLO, please follow my back-up acct. @minniee-verse ❣️

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Brittle is Devotion

♡ featuring: ex-husband!toji x f!reader

♡ summary: it's been a while since you've seen your ex-husband, and on a drunken night, buried feelings emerge. wc: 12.2k+ (bruhhh)

♡ cw/tw: mentions of violence/blood, angst/comfort, rekindled feelings, rough sex, missionary, prone bone, full-nelson, overstimulation, cervix fucking, creampie, m/f receiving, throat fucking, sadism/masochism, dom/sub dynamics, squirting, fingering, praise/degredation kink, dumbification, edging, breeding kink, feral toji mmm, pet names (angel, sweetie, baby)

notes: good morning!! hope everyone is having a lovely day, i am so so so so sorry i haven't posted in so long i didnt abandon the account!! i've just been getting it together before the semester starts, and i didnt expect for it to be this long :(( im very tired but ill try to get some stuff out in the next couple of weeks, most likely long fics too. ty so much, and srry for any spelling mistakes. art by ilameys_ on ig! <;3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

Picking up the pieces after Toji is rough. The divorce was bad enough, and you currently have an aching pain stilling in your chest that makes it hard to take the shallowest breaths. It hammers in the tight confines of your ribcage, and as you sob into your pillow the only relief you desire is sleep, so that you may have temporary solace from the grief wrecking your brain. Your new apartment feels entirely too shallow. There’s no crumby television to use because you were too broke to afford the higher-end appliances, or that creaking mattress you both squeezed into until you could thrift a reasonable headboard. You missed the 60s style tiles painted a horrific green in your kitchen, and the shower that ran out of hot water every other day. It was terrible, downright unlivable for most, but you had each other.  

It hurts more because you love him. So much. Unbearably, to the point where you screamed at the top of your lungs until your throat scratched through angry hot tears, begging him to care for a moment, to give you a reason to stay. Countless times, threatening to walk out if he didn’t endeavor to change. But he never believed you. He thought you’d never leave, because all you had was him.  

And it was true, for years it was. Toji was your dream man; funny and thoughtful. It wasn’t conventional kindness, but it was his. Money didn’t matter—even as you enjoyed a frozen meal on the floor of your empty apartment in the first couple months of moving in with him, you had a smile on your face. Even when your friends and family begged you not to marry him, because they couldn’t stand the sight of him and his arrogant, sometimes aggressive candor, you went on with it anyway. You knew who he really was at heart.  

He was your first everything, you felt if he left, you’d melt to nothing and become a shell of who you once were, because Toji had become an extension of you. You waited for him to get home, had dinner, and slept through the outside commotion of cars and bar fights; his securing arm locked around you, hand cradling your head and legs intertwined. There was no one like him.  

He knew that and got greedy.  

To you, the change was fast, but it’d been spreading like a nasty mold for years. You’d sunk so deep you hadn’t noticed the drought until you reached the bottom. He taught you love, then pulled away; separated himself with additional shifts and pathetic excuses. In turn you punished yourself, showered him with heavier instances of love and endearment, and convinced yourself you needed to try harder. If the sex wasn’t daily, you gave him more. If he didn’t like the food, you learned how to be a better chef. If the house wasn’t clean, you scrubbed top to bottom. Wringing a tired towel, dry of sacrifice. Chasing after him until the soles of your feet blistered. Still, not a smidge of praise or approval came to fruition. When he did—which was rare—those peppered spaces ignited a lasting burn in your heart, keeping withering fire alive.  

Soon, those fleeting kisses and distant pauses weren’t enough, and he didn’t care enough to change. You’d plead and cry at his feet, and he’d scoff and walk past you.  

“We’ll talk about it later”, he’d say more often than not. You didn’t have the confidence to leave, and he consumed himself with whatever underground work he participated in, while you decayed in a declining marriage.  

A grimace on his face, laid back on the couch and looking at you expectingly, as if you would drop to your knees and service him in a heartbeat—but you did exactly that. And you were tired, utterly tired of pulling the emotional and mental leaden baggage on your own. It was heavy, and you were crushing yourself underneath it. You still loved him with every inch of your being, and you’d do it all for him, but it couldn’t be just you anymore. He came home one fateful night to you sitting at the dining table, spotlighted under the stark glass pendant lamp in your dark apartment, dejection that foreshadowed the unfortunate end.  

“Do you love me?” He gazed at your solemn face and scratched his head.  

“Mhm.”  

“Will you change?”  

“No.”  

That’s what you needed to hear. The next week, while he was at work, you gathered your clothes and measly possessions to leave. You sobbed the entire way through, shaking with uncertainty and fear of the unknown—unsure about a future without him. As you slid the dissolution of your marriage on the counter, the sudden reality made you unable to control your knees as you dropped to the floor, and tears spilled down your cheeks and freckled the papers. Luckily, Shoko was there to comfort you and help pack your things. The corners of that confinement spared a gentle, loving memory, and vitriol was left in its wake. Turning back to its hollowness for the last time, you imagined Toji, plopping onto the couch as he’d usually do to watch some late-night television show or going to bed. Like you weren’t there.  

Maybe you never mattered in the first place. 

It’s been a year since, and things are looking up for you. An opportunity surfaced in a field you were interested in applying for, and you miraculously got the job. Moving over a city helped you adjust to your new life—that, and a bottle of dark burning liquor. No matter how much you mindlessly typed at your computer or partied with coworkers, you couldn’t stomach the pit gorging through you, a hole that surfaced everything you’d been burying. 

You’re not prepared to face the forlorn mock of your bleached walls today. As you pry your eyes open, the flickering shimmers through your sheer curtain cast across unattended sheets, soothed by stuffed animals strung along the comforter. You reach for something that isn’t there in your groggy state—a gentle reminder that your morning would be just as empty as yesterday. 

Today isn’t any other; it’s what would’ve been your five-year anniversary. One year, of new beginnings and new friends. A year of solitude.  

You don’t bother slinking out of bed. The accumulation of tasks awaiting you is more daunting than the actual execution. In an attempt to regain control of your life, you established a healthy routine. It entails waking up at early hours to exercise and work on projects and meal prep, and ending your night early with extra exercise and skincare. It was amazing at first and quelled your sadness. What they didn’t inform you of, was the spectacle; the appearance and perception of perfection, and not the struggles or gradual burnout of maintaining that lifestyle. When the distraction died down, and work and social activities became a congealed, monstrous chore, you quickly resented those limp salads and vomit-inducing runs. 

You expel a loaded sigh and pull the covers over. 

The vibration of the phone buzzing on your stomach peels your eyes awake. You allow it to pass, but it rings again. From a frustrated exhale, your languid hands muster the strength to flip to its notification; Shoko’s calling.  

“Hello?” you mutter, fatigue caught in your throat. 

“Fuck, you sound like hell!” she replies. The repetitive clack of office keyboards and analog phones being slammed by stressed out coworkers distorts the background. Thank God I used my paid time off. 

“I love you too, Shoko.” 

“Sorry, didn’t mean it like that…you ok?” It’s much sweeter. Shoko has always been a supportive friend, perhaps bordering on too supportive. You cherish her motherly concern, and rather vulgar honesty. 

“Mm, I’ll manage.” 

“I can come over after work.” You flip onto your back, soaking in the mild sunlight. 

“S’alright, I’m sure you’re busy, and I might sleep in. Wallow in sorrow for a few hours.” Shoko drawls a dramatic groan and creaks back in her chair. 

“Nothing good comes out of feeling sorry for yourself. Go to the club or somethin’.” 

“‘N how’s that gonna help?” 

“Better than whining at home. Wear something sexy, look pretty and get laid. That’s how I get over shit.” 

“Mm, right. I don’t know if that’s gonna work” you giggle, toying with one of the ears on your stuffed bunny. 

“Oh yeah, forgot you’re the born-again Virgin Mary now. You know… if you want to get over ‘him’, you have to take the first step.” You can envision her air quotations. She treats his name as forbidden speech, and regularly refers to it in conversation as “he who shall not be named.” 

“Ugh, mother Shoko’s speaking.” 

“Listen, it may or may not work. Don’t knock it ‘till you try it is all I’m saying.” 

“Yea? Well, if he has a tiny dick, I’m blaming you.” 

“Nothing wrong with shellfish.” 

The last curl falls in place, and you follow it up with copious amounts of hairspray. Fanning your bathroom after a drawn out coughing fit, you get a good look at your figure in the mirror. The backless lacy black dress you’re wearing hugs you in all the right places and guides the detail sitting tight under your butt. It’s undoubtedly revealing, coupled with strappy heels and a dark cat eye.  

You walk past your vanity and pause at the messy jewelry box, riddled with remnants of Toji’s adoration. Sparkling varieties of heavy necklaces and rings and precious diamonds; ninety percent of your jewels were because of him. You’d asked if he stole the items he gifted you, and he’d come up with an elaborate sarcastic story about a jewelry heist he carried out, and how appreciative you should be. Buried underneath rested your engagement ring, a sparkling cut that crowded your entire finger. You couldn’t bring yourself to pawn it, opting to occasionally revel in its beauty before shoving it in a far corner with your feelings. 

Shoko wasn’t lying about how sexy you’d feel dolled up, and it shows in your confidence as you modeled around your bedroom, striking poses to no one. Your plushies weren’t very appreciative of the full-blown fashion show, but you hadn’t felt like this for a long while. Maybe it was about time you entered the dating scene. 

The entrance to Infinity appears as a run-down tacky club from an outdated era, and it’s easy to miss the multicolored flashes dotting the black tinted glass on each side. A few steps past the black and white checkered vestibule, and you get to experience the scale of a roaring, clashing club. It’s not half as lively on the outside; sweat dripping under twinkling lights of multicolor, bodies colliding and moving to the melodic sway of erratic music vibrating through the floor, freely drowning and expelling their insecurities, deepest struggles. It’s both welcoming and hopeless.  

A woman balances her shot glass as she gyrates against a stranger while another stumbles off the dance floor in a drunken stupor. The heat and screams are overstimulating, circulating around you. You consider withdrawing, especially since you held some reservations about partying solo. However, this is what you need, to get comfortable with doing things by yourself. 

So you down shots, two, three, burning of different varieties that heighten your body temperature and nerve. You throw back a mix of dark and white liquor, a dangerous combo that dizzies your vision and runs up an unfathomable tab you can't afford. The strangers accompanying you at the counter encourage you. No rational thoughts, let alone decision making, register in your alcohol-sodden mind. Like strings being fielded by a puppeteer, your legs move on their own to the dance floor.  

It’s hot. The blurring iridescence bends to produce shapes that make your fuzzy brain giggle for some odd reason. You’re moving in slow motion, and the world’s continuing at max speed. You don’t care either way. You’re light on your feet, and the music goads you to dance. Spinning, hands tangled between your locks traveling down the curve of your thighs, hearing the lyrics inside and out as if no one is watching. 

You dance with women and men alike, anyone willing to help you overlook your heartache. It’s floaty, an airiness that spills sober thoughts from cotton mouth and makes every touch electrifying. It’s in your legs and arms, your restless feet and fingers. You laugh hysterically, incomprehensibly, and switch to sadness in a heartbeat. These aimless bodies, just as lost as you, drinking to your despair. Was it worth the abyss tomorrow held, or the agonizing headache as a result? 

After those dances, mainly flailing efforts at rhythm, your head is barreling. You’re suffering from a heavy case of vertigo at the slightest turn, and your stomach’s riddled with knots. It hits you like a car crash, and you strive to stabilize yourself as bile fills your throat, cringing when you reluctantly swallow. A disorienting slurry of words and faces ask you things you cannot hear or see, and it suddenly becomes too real. 

In few sparse moments, your life plays before you in stop motion. From heaving over the toilet while a lady with long nails held your hair back, to knocking the drink out of someone’s hand on your way out. Now you’re walking on one heel and holding the other. You might’ve popped a nail if not for security holding the door open. They attempt to flag you, but you reply with a curt slurred “‘M fine.”  

You push your knees together, sitting on the corner of a curb. This isn’t how you expected the night to end. It’s pitch black beside street lamps, and awfully quiet in contrast to inside. Shivers ripple through you despite the persistent warmth pooling in your ears. You lean on a street lamp in the calm cold as people leave, probably running to participate in intimate affairs with their acquaintances. The gentle hand on a waist or shoulder forms a subconscious smile; young, passionate love blooming on a random night. 

And you burst into tears.  

Ugly tears streaming down your face in blobs that don’t stop no matter how much you wipe them, followed by deep sniffles. They smear across your phone while you search for a taxi app, and your cloudy eyes deceive you. 

You jolt when a hand brushes against your arm and turn to meet the foggy face of a man with stubble. You wipe your wet cheeks and lean further from him.  

“Hey baby, you alright?” The pet-name makes you shudder. You definitely don’t know him, and at this point there’s no one outside. 

“Wh’re you?” you garble. 

“Kusakabe. Where ya off to?” 

“Waitin’ for uh frien’” Your eyelids waver, failing to stay alert under the frightening stare burning holes through your skull.  

“A friend, huh…you gotta man?” he asks, stepping closer to you. You back away to the side of the light. 

“Go away.” You’re definitive, but he laughs as if it were the ridiculous request of a child. 

“I like that dress. You look hot.” His hand drags along the strap of your dress, but you nudge his hand.  

“Mm’get off me. N’don’ need your help.” He scoffs with offense, and as you go to leave, he grabs your wrist firm. 

“Relax. Tryna go home with someone tonight?” You’re trembling, tugging with as much force as you can muster in your punch-drunk state, but he doesn’t budge. 

“L’ve me alone” 

“Don’t be like that, baby. I’ll call a cab-” 

Whack! Your wrist goes limp, and the crunch and crack of flesh hitting concrete echoes. You sluggishly pan to him, knocked out cold beyond the spotlight. The influence takes you, however, and you nearly find yourself joining him on the sidewalk. Before you can fall, a broad, rough hand supports your lower back. Their deep gritty tone is inches away from you. 

“C’mon, sweetheart.” 

You rise from an unusually sweet slumber. The light shines through your eyelids, unavoidable even when you maneuver the velvety warm blanket for shade. Your eyeballs shift across thin skin being prodded by intrusive sun, and as they crack open, you catch a glimpse of the glass coffee table in front of you, arranged with perfection resembling a furniture showroom. You smile to yourself half-asleep, wondering when you bought such an expensive item, and how an abundance of sunlight made its way through your average window. You’re drifting off anew. 

Then, you shoot up. 

You start to really take in the surroundings, and when you do, a pit drops in your stomach. An ultra-wide flat screen television faces you, decorated with plants on either side. Craning your neck, the long windows of this penthouse line the adjacent wall up to the ceiling, which hangs a glass geometric chandelier. This isn’t your bedroom, nor your apartment.  

 Instantly you switch to sitting, and recoil just as fast. Pain envelops the wrinkles of your brain, and you wince from abrupt tension. You palm the bridge of your nose. 

“Fuck” you whisper. Last night replays in your head through staccato bursts, though you couldn’t remember the minutes before you passed out. Embarrassment creeps onto your ears at the freak show you performed hours ago. You’d made a fool of yourself, puked and tripped like a sloppy drunk college girl. You can’t be more ashamed, and to top it off, you’re in the house of a stranger you possibly slept with. You look down from the smooth sectional sofa, and notice your heels arranged neatly beneath you with your phone and bag. At the very least, the man you engaged with seems to be accommodating.  

You scurry to put your heels on, and hopefully sneak out in silence before you face further humiliation. Something about this blanket smells familiar; musk and oakmoss and man, grazing across your nose like the aroma in an intimate embrace, the earthy dew of calm before a storm, a trace only you can understand. 

“Finally up?”  

It’s that gravelly smoky voice you lived in for five years, and some before that. The voice you fell asleep to, mumbling nonsense in your ear through boorish snores. The voice you fell in love with, easily saying “I do” when you wedded at the courthouse. The voice you resent, saying nothing at all when you cried. 

You look behind you, and there he is, walking down the staircase. He’s wearing boxers, settled under the tufts of hair running down his belly button. His rugged muscles peek out from the untied black robe dangling to his strong calves. His hair grew out a bit since you’ve last seen him, shaggy bedhead running across his eyes and covering his ears. 

He smirks the same, though, sweet and soft for such a dour man, like nothing ever happened, approaching you while you sneer at the cruel joke bestowed upon you. 

“Toji.” You haven’t said it in forever. It’s abashing how quickly your regularly tense shoulders relax in his proximity.  

“How ya feelin’? Hope the couch was comfortable enough, figured you wouldn’t wanna sleep in my bed” he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he stretched his sturdy back.  

“It was fine.”  

There's an awkward quiet afterwards. The air’s thick, glass straining under pressure, threatening to give way at the smallest disturbance. 

Toji clears his throat. “So, um...you need somethin’? Water?” 

“No” you bark, folding your arms across your chest. You can’t look at him, not without feeling enraged. You’re the afterthought, the chaser, rushing after a man who wouldn’t dare look twice. “How’d you even know I was there?” 

“Coincidence” he replies, and you scoff. He couldn’t get away with lying to you; playing games with moves you’ve lost to countless times. 

“Like hell it was a coincidence. I’m in a completely different city now, what were you doing there?” You have to physically bite back the words begging to spill from your mouth as his head wanders in thought, possibly concocting another fabrication. 

“Had business” 

“Oh, I’m supposed to believe the man who hates keeping a job had ‘business’. Okay.” You don’t acknowledge the extravagance of the apartment he must be paying for monthly. That, or a chain of illegal activities—whatever assumption suited your irritation in the moment. 

“Well, ya wouldn’t believe me no matter what I said, anyway” he chides. You’re a shaken bottle ready to explode, and his nonchalant demeanor only eggs you on. Toji’s perpetually dismissive, looking down on you like a pitiful puppy. 

“Because you’re always full of shit” you snap. He exerts a loaded sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, as if he had any right to be tired of the situation. 

“’M not lyin’.” 

“Right.” You observe your surroundings more. It’s too opulent, pricey vases you wouldn’t expect from the ex-husband that once thought hanging jackets in the doorway was “decoration.” Definitely not fit for a single guy. You’re separated, and you know it's not your responsibility to keep tabs on his sex life, but that caviling thought won’t stop taunting you. How could he get over it so soon?  

“If you were just gonna bring me back to your fuck pad, I should’ve slept on the curb. Who knows how many girls you’ve had here.” 

He gets eye-level, sitting on the coffee table with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together like a drained salaryman, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

“What’s wrong with me? You can’t be serious. Like you never do anything wrong, like everything that’s happened until now is somehow my fault and you did nothing, nothing, to contribute to the bullshit. Stop acting like a fucking victim.” 

“Little lady, you got shitfaced, and some guy was tryna take your drunk ass home. You’re lucky you went home with me instead.” 

“I could’ve handled it; I don’t need you for anything-” 

“You could barely keep your eyes op-” 

“I would’ve handled it! Just like I handle everything else. Alone. Every time. It gets done, I’m not incompetent, Toji!” 

You could hear a pin drop in the stillness. Those forested eyes are gazing into your soul. It’s said and done, and you’ve got it off your chest, yet it hurts like a freshly sliced gash. The arguing doesn’t change, married or not. It sucks when you shout, uncontrollable like a blazing fire, only to be snubbed out by his calm, condescending tone. 

“...I know.”  

You can’t take it, it’s stifling being near him. Wounds loosely covered by band aids seem to peel at his presence, and you’re stuck at his mercy again. You can’t give him the satisfaction of crying in addition to the drunk, poor decisions you made, hardening your expression as you fumble for your phone. 

“Take me home” you demand. Toji stands with an exaggerated stretch on both arms, painfully slow. Before you can hurl your phone at him from the dramatics, he looks down on you with that intoxicating gaze. 

“Are ya hungry?” 

You furrow your brows, and hastily put on the other shoe. Turning on your heels, you go to leave, and are immediately stopped by Toji's calloused hand holding your wrist. You don’t watch, but his palm is gentle. You could smoothly slip out and exit his apartment, forget this engagement and continue a peaceful, isolated life. You’d move on eventually—perhaps to bigger, happier jobs and romances. 

 Despite that hopeful outcome, you remain.  

“I don’t wanna eat. If you don’t take me home, I'll call a cab.” 

“I’ll take ya home, just...look, I know you’re hungry, and I’m down to eat at a diner down the block. Don’t worry about a thing, I’ll pay for it.” Toji isn’t known for being docile, but with his curved posture almost leaning into you and dejection in his eyes, you swear he’s searching for pity. 

“I said I’m not-,” The untimely arrival of your dinning, rumbling stomach cuts off any excuse. A corner of his mouth upturns, and your face contorts to scorned pride. 

“...Fine. Let’s make it quick.” 

“Great. Can’t have ya walkin’ around like that, though.” He pans to your chest. You haven’t thought to give your outfit a glance, but when you do, your eyes grow wide. The entirety of your conversation with Toji, your chest was spilling out the dress, and now part of your areolas is exposed. You cover up the top, but he stares with an x-ray's invasiveness. You reprimand him, swatting his chest; 

“Pervert!” 

There was an added benefit to being around Toji; the way people cleared a path for him and treated him with frightened kindness, afraid that pissing off the physically intimidating man would land them a one-way ticket to the nearest hospital.  

They weren’t exactly wrong, and you have a satisfied pep in your step as people scoot aside. He strides in front of you to get the door, and you mutter a small “thank you.”  

Sweet fluffy pancakes and charred grills mingle with faint notes of bleach. At least he knew better than to take you to a fancy establishment, especially since you were wearing a baggy t-shirt from him, and basketball shorts you had to tie around the waistband. His massive slides had you flopping across the dining aisle as you got to your booth. He’s not particularly dressed either, wearing matching shorts and a compression top. 

It’s hard not to perceive the way women ogle him, drooling at the way his biceps flex when he raises the menu, and his chiseled jaw tensing while he ponders the food options. It was a notable problem when you were married. They’d glare at you, shower him with compliments in front of you, and you’d shrink yourself. Occasionally the waiter would pretend you don’t exist as she swayed her hips at every little thing Toji said. If they want him, they can have him. It’s not your business, right? It’s no different with this waiter, twirling the curl of her hair as Toji reiterates his order, shifting from one leg to the other to highlight her curves.  

Not my business. You're nauseous.  

Not my business. Your fists clench underneath the table. 

Your head’s swimming in thoughts, uncertainty crashing down like a wave upon your increasingly loud intrusions. You drown within yourself, until you’re pulled out by a thumb travelling up your hand, and other fingers clasping around it. 

“Watcha wanna order, angel?” You regain composure, and when you blink, Toji is waiting for you. The waiter side-eyes you and the joining of your hands.  

“You lost? Take her order” he spat. 

The food's steaming hot and fresh, and you salivate at the plate in front of you. Toji snatches your bacon before you can, and you begrudgingly watch as he breaks the strips into two pieces, the way you like it. He winks, and you groan. You coat your strawberry pancakes with maple syrup, trespassing territory around the scrambled eggs and bacon, and he laughs across from you. 

“What’s funny?” 

“Never stopped drowning your breakfast in syrup” he ribs. You pout and swirl your bacon, “It makes it taste better.” 

Soon, food in your belly aided your dialogue, and the old banter returned; an easygoing flow, similar to a lifelong friend you hadn’t spoken to in decades. You giggle between bites and gossip about mutual rumors. 

"What you been doin’ since..." Toji trails off, falling short of “divorce”—a word he never wants to say. 

"Shoko recommended me to her boss, so I'm working uptown now. Pay's okay, nothing to write home about."  

"S'good. Livin comfortable?"  

"As comfortable as I can be"  

"Real humble. Guessin’ it's better than before" he jokes, though you sense a displace in his bearing at the nervous grin he flashes. You reach onto to his side and grab one of the grapes off his plate. You pop one in your mouth, "So, what drug ring got you that house?"  

"The cartel. Good vacation time, too" he jests. 

"Nice. at least it's not that shitty garbage gig you had for a while."  

"It did pay well."  

"Yeah? Couldn't get rid of the rotten milk and vomit smell for weeks after. Remember I made you shower at Geto’s apartment?" 

“Heh, yeah, he was fuckin’ pissed” he laughs, stealing a piece of sugary bacon from the syrup pool. "I'm a CEO, run a company downtown."  

"Ooo, look at you. Can't be little if it did this much for you" you say as you gesture at the empty dishes on the table. Restaurants were a luxury in your household. 

"I guess. I had a vision, and some people believed in me”, he pokes at the leftover blueberries, “I finally made it happen, that counts for something, right?"  

You pick another off his plate, smile stretching, "You're a natural born leader. People will follow you regardless, even if it's not the right choice."  

His eyebrows raised in surprise, "That's the first good thing you said about me today."  

"Don't get used to it." 

You wait for Toji to retrieve his car after walking back to his apartment. You’re awestruck in many ways; he paid for the whole meal with a black card and showed undying manners. He bowed to your requests. You’re smarter than this, though. This is his opportunity to get on your good side, and he’s showing the best version of himself. However, it fills your heart with want—like the initial dating phase, those butterfly stricken, heart-numbing, sappy gestures that made you melt.  

He wraps around the car to open your door, and you plant yourself in the sleek beige interior. Your eyes flick to the veins in his forearm straining as he steers, his deadpan focused expression and the composed R&B music low in the background. It starts to drizzle, and raindrops plink the car roof. 

You feel complete; And that alone is a dreadful reality. 

The scar on his lip twists to a smile, “Did’ya like the food?”  

You turn your nose up, “it was satisfactory.” He snickers, and navigates to the street your apartment is on. “Shit, I gotta give you your clothes back.” 

“Forget it, bring it when you get the chance.” Chance. He expected to see you again. You hang your head as he approaches the complex. You didn’t want today to end, but this is it. You’ll leave this car and go your separate ways. This is how it should be.  

You place an earnest hand on his shoulder and cast a smile. The corners quiver and your first syllable wobbles, but you finally speak, “I’m proud of you, Toji. I mean it. You’re going to do great things, and I’m always rooting for you.”  

He swallows stiff, and suddenly he’s sickly pale. Something within you is pleased at that reaction; if he wants redemption, he should beg and drop to his knees and crawl for forgiveness, he should lock himself up for your eyes only and cut off everyone else in his life. You’re walking away a second time, rightfully so, but you struggle to decipher what you want in this moment. He palms your hand, staring at you, “I’m all for praise, but tell me when we meet again” 

“Toji, there can’t be a next- “ 

“Give me your phone.” 

“Huh?” His urgency throws you off guard, “Don’t think, just give me your phone.” It’s impossible to kill the complicated slurry that is your mind, and a new bundle of thoughts emerges from his request, but for a heartbeat, you allow yourself to wander. Pitter patter and muted music, heated seats, the cologne radiating from Toji—all that exists. 

 You moved on instinct, and now your phone is in Toji’s hands. He's adding his contact information. He hands it back to you, fingers brushing against your soft skin.  

“I won’t text or call you. ’S there whenever you need me. Move at your own pace and call me when you’re ready.” With that, you exit his car. No hug or gratitude, skipping goodbyes as you rush out the car. It’s bittersweet when he pulls off, and you’re left with the ghost of him.  

The familiar click of your convoluted keys in the apartment door could bring you to tears. You’ve officially reverted to your mundane, boring lifestyle. The walls look duller today. 

You curiously click on his contact, and giggle at the name he assigned himself: 

dumbass ex 

tick, tock, tick, tock 

The blue light beaming through your office computer is an eyesore, but you have little say in the matter. There's an upcoming deadline for these reports, you can’t waste precious skill complaining about circumstances out of your control. It’s tiresome, and you rove to the cobweb missing a string in the corner of the room, or the single drop of water roaming outside those wide sterile windows. The balls of your feet carry your flats as you absentmindedly push a pen against your lip. 

Your concentration has been out of commission since meeting Toji. He kept his word and hadn’t called you whatsoever. A month passed, and still nothing. Be glad, you told yourself, get your goals back on track. Your exercises get vicious, from jogging to a full sprint, hoping that those buckets of sweat will shed off the extra weight of Toji’s abidance. The fruit bowl on your break offends you with mocking displays of strawberries and grapes. You’ve pondered deleting the contact entirely to repel enticement, but you can’t do it. It’s painfully clear that you miss him. 

He’s horrible, callous and selfish. Of course, Toji had a way of showing up at your lowest to fill your head with empty promises and gestures of affection, that charming grin shooting daggers at your weakness. In his gaze, you’re defenseless, and in his arms, you’re exposed.  

Albeit late, a pestering thought carves into you, unfortunate and disgraceful to the healing you strive to accomplish; message Toji. 

A set of wheels rolls above the carpet, and you see Shoko, lifeless arms hanging beyond the armrests. The bags under her eyes signify stress from finalizing late papers.  

“Unnghhhh, (Y/N), I can’t do it” she laments, drooping her head to the side. You pat the top of her hair, “I believe in you.” 

“What are you working on?” She quirks a brow, and you stare at the screen with her. You’ve typed an entire page of straight gibberish. “I’m getting distracted too...” 

“Let’s quit and tell her to shove it.” 

“You know I can’t do that” you fuss as you backspace the document. “Mm, me neither. What’s got you zoned out?” 

“Nothing in particular.” You’re afraid to tell Shoko of your rendezvous, she might become volcanic and fire magma at the sound of any “-oji”. 

“I know it’s not nothing. New boyfriend, hm?” 

“S-something like that” you chuckle. She shapes an ‘O’ with her mouth, and wheels closer. Her bangs touch your eyebrows, and she rests her chin on her hand. Her usual dead eyes have a malicious twinkle in them. 

“What’s he like? Is he tall or short?” she gasps, “did you meet him at the club? I told you it was a good idea; I really am the best advisor.” 

You sigh, “It’s no one new.” 

“Ooo, an old flame. Spicy. What’s his name?” You turn slowly, a nervous bite on your lips. She studies your face, and slowly hers drops. 

“Do not fucking say it.” 

“Shokoooo” you whine, searching for sympathy from her. Instead of that, your body is shaken violently as she whisper-yells, “Are you kidding? Get a grip! What’s gotten into you, you were fine!” 

“But I wasn’t. It sucks, I feel lonely all the time.” 

“You felt lonelier with him than without him!” 

“I know, but...” You ball your lips in with furrowed brows, and she holds her breath. 

“I wanna go see him” you squeak. Instantly, she squishes your cheeks with both hands to hold you in place. 

“Absolutely. Fucking. Not.” 

At home, you pace back and forth in front of the phone resting on your bed. Toji’s contact is open, and nausea is brewing in your stomach. You’re giddy and ill, working up the courage to press “call”. You really should be practicing Shoko’s advice, but you’ve long surpassed common sense. You leave and come back, spying on it from a distance. Eventually, you forgo the theatrics and grab the phone to hit the messenger app. 

Three dots vanish and resurface. You can’t get it right:

'Hey stranger I got custody of ur clothes rn' 

'Hey haha I missed u can I come over?' 

'Yo what’s up? Still have ur clothes do u want them?' 

'I’m coming to give u ur stinky clothes' 

This shouldn’t be complicated, and you don’t usually perform the process of elimination for simple responses, but it’s Toji. You’re scrambling and overanalyzing, reiterating your choice of slang only to delete it all over again. You settle for a simple message. “Hey Toji, I wanted to return your clothes. Let me know when you’re available. Thanks”  

Once you hit send, you run a marathon around your bedroom, tippy tapping to expel your anticipation. The churning grows as seconds pass, and so does your doubt. You tiptoe to the phone as if a displaced floorboard would activate the alarm. You’re about to tap the screen, and then your ringtone plays.   

Oh god. 

You take a deep breath and swipe right on the faceless profile picture labeled “dumbass ex”.  

“…Hello?” 

“Hey, angel.” You avoid a dull pound in your chest at the memorable pet name. “So, um-“  

“I wanna see you. I’m available now, and I’ll be home by the time you get here” he states, direct and confident. His conviction validates yours, you bend to his direction. 

“Okay then. I’ll start getting ready.” 

“I’ll send a cab to your address. See you soon.” When he hangs up, you dive into the pile of plushies. Squeezing them for emotional support, kicking your feet in the air as you scream into your ruffled pillows like a girl’s first crush. You have a long night ahead of you. 

You access Toji’s building. He must’ve notified them you were coming, as the doors were open upon arrival, and a bellhop was sent to guide you to his floor. You’re standing outside of it, clothes and a bottle of champagne in hand. Your stretchy maxi dress clings to your figure, complimenting the juicy shade of lip gloss you’re wearing—the shade he loved most on you during your marriage. You ring the bell, and it doesn’t take long before he opens the door. The scene you’re exposed to swells heat between your legs. 

Toji has nothing but a towel shimmied low on his hips, v-line adorned with veins and biceps corded with muscle. He’s trimmed his hair since your last encounter, and it’s dripping wet along with the rest of his soaked body. You’ve interrupted his shower apparently, but he didn’t hesitate to rush to the door, water cascading from the raven veil, sluicing down his sculpted chest. He had to have done this on purpose, but you weren’t complaining at this point; he looked damn good doing it. You can’t disengage from the beads branching amid his pecs and through his happy trail. God, you wish you were water personified right no- 

“You’re staring, dollface” he teases with a smirk. Your eyes snap to his, and you remember to breathe. You clumsily hold up the liquid peace offering, “Brought a little something.” 

“Thanks. Make yourself comfortable, I’m gonna get dressed.” You nod, and he marches upstairs. You don’t need comfortability; you need to be in and out of here before you do something you’ll regret.  

But...is that cedarwood and vanilla? The interior gives off romantic energy at night, attractive dim lighting throughout and dull flickering pops of his fireplace in the living room. You find the source of that heavenly scent sitting on his kitchen island, and awkwardly place the bottle down. You don’t know what to do with yourself, more so you don’t know what to say. It’s hard to recite a script when things aren’t going according to plan. Did you want to apologize, or force him to apologize? Maybe you should’ve cursed him out, rehashed his asshole behavior from the past until he drowned in guilt. You want to kiss and slap him, cry in his arms until your voice gives out and disappear all at once.  

There’s a beautiful clear vase in the center, crammed with your favorite flowers, and your fingers dance across the petals. “You like ‘em?” he asks stepping into the kitchen. His hair’s still saturated, but he’s sporting grey sweatpants and a black ribbed tank top. “They’re very pretty.” 

“They’re for you.” 

You switch between his playful expression and the burst of colors, “You don’t have to do that.” The bouquet evokes recollections of heated arguments—anytime he’d angered you to tears, and you slammed that bedroom door in his face, you always woke up to similar flowers on the floor. They were cheap, but it meant more than money; because despite the fights and disagreements, it let you know that he’d love you regardless. 

“I wanted to. As thanks for bringing my clothes.” He’s pacing towards you, and you’re bound to the floor like melting wax. His gaze is captivating, and you’re entranced by the verdurous ardor that won’t deter from you. 

“Thank you”, you say as he looms above you and inspects the scripture on the pale bottle. His large thumb blocks the intricate lettering he’s trying to read, “I should be thanking you. Didn’t think you’d ever message me.” 

You can feel the body heat radiating off him, the airy words as he mouths the contents. His eyebrows furrow to follow his focus, while you lose yours.   

“I-I should probably get going-” Without delay, Toji blocks your side with an iron grip on the island, trapping you in the confines of his broad wingspan. 

“Leaving so soon? You got plans tonight?” Saying and doing are completely different stories, and from the way your feet haven’t moved, you aren’t in a rush to go anywhere. 

“Not really, but I worked today and I’m kinda tired-”  

“Then what better way to unwind than with a bottle? I can’t drink this by myself, might as well keep me company” he suggests, persuasion to a greater extent when your lower back hits the bar. A drink or two couldn’t hurt, right? 

“I guess I can stay for a few minutes.” Toji flashes a victorious toothy grin and retrieves cups from the sink cupboard. He gives you a rounded glass, and his muscles flex below candlelight as he maneuvers the cork at an angle. 

“Let’s crack this open” he says, popping the cap off and pouring a substantial amount of golden fizz into both cups. 

Toji raises his glass, “A toast.” 

You tilt your head but raise yours as well. “To what?” 

“Us.”  

Us is a funny thing—with enough effort, it becomes you and I just as quickly as it formed. You don’t know if you’re willing to accept the responsibility of eternity. The devastation of commitment could damage you forever. There’s no us, but there’s you and him. So, you clink your glass, “To us,” and his eyes never leave yours as he takes a swig. It lasts a lifetime among longing breaths and unsaid words. 

He brings the champagne to the living room, “I’ll turn on a movie. You know that cheesy romcom shit you used to watch? They made a sequel.” You fall flat on containing your excitement. He grabs the remote and lays back with his thighs spread apart.  

Toji pats the couch, “Come sit. Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” You hardly believe that, but you remove your heels and relax upon overstuffed cushions. You opt to sit farther on the couch, and there’s an annoyed twitch on his lip at your display of boundaries. Nevertheless, he starts the movie. 

Toji’s not particularly sneaky. He announces multiple bathroom breaks, returning to a spot on the couch that’s inconspicuous, but inching closer to you. The intent becomes clear when the ghost of his shoulder knocks against you, spreading his thighs wider to brush against the softness huddled into your snug figure. You’re half paying attention to the cliché performance, and half observing Toji. It’s hard not to smile when he behaves like a disobedient dog obligated to sit.  

It’s cute that he arced himself to be eye-level with you. His tank rode up to expose his lower abdomen, and he adjusts himself in his sweats, jaw occasionally clenching. It could be the drink talking, perhaps you’ve had too many.  

The movie ends, and you exhale a sigh of relief. “I forgot how corny this shit is.” 

Toji shrugs, “I didn’t think it was too bad.” 

“No way, you actually liked it?” you gasp. He huffs out his nose, smiling, “People change.” 

“I’m shocked” you quip. Dusk creeps into a descending sunset, and you steal a glance at your phone screen. Bright as day, a notification from Shoko emerges. “NO TOJI >:(" 

You’re stumped thinking of a reply, one that doesn’t compromise your less-than-ideal situation, when Toji puts his hand over the screen. “Hope I’m not gettin’ ya in trouble.” 

“Like you care.” He chuckles and slides it to the far side of the couch. “You’re right. Let’s watch another.” 

This next movie's decent; a flat racing plot with excessive sequels. He unleashes an exaggerated yawn, extending his triceps to land behind your head. You quirk a brow at him, and he plays innocent. “You look cold” he says. You don’t care as much as you pretend. His pads trace the shell of your burning ear down to the lobe, to fine hair at the end of your neck. His rough hand massages the back of your head, and you lull to his chest. Be it the champagne or his actions, it’s too hot for comfort. Clamping your thighs shut spurs the intensity. His other hand languidly tests the limits of your skin, gossamer touches from your knee to your thigh. It's asking, and when you don’t object, he invites the entire palm to your knee, rubbing delicately. He brings it to your upper thigh, and retreats to the outside, getting dangerously close to your rear. The worst part is it’s not that bad. It’s intimate. Warm. 

Loving. 

It takes you a minute to comprehend you’re tearing up, but Toji recognizes that hushed sniffle. Airy and choked, quiet as to not be a burden. He circles a hand around your waist and pulls you impossibly close. He tilts your chin to his gaze, soft and deceptively gentle when he asks. 

“What’s wrong pretty, hm?” You say nothing through the constrains in your throat, streaking the tears that fall faster than you can wipe them. This man alone can reduce you to mush with a wave of his hand. He bares your rawest state and sculpts you back together with such purity, such devotion, that you’d plead for him to sink his clay sodden fingers into your nothing, and make you everything. 

“Tell me, and I’ll fix it.” 

You say just above a whisper, “You’re selfish, you know that?”  

“Mhm, I know” he nods, grazing his thumb across your lip. 

“This isn’t healthy for us; we can’t heal like this.” He angles your head with his half lidded gaze, polishing your damp undereyes.  

“I don’t need healing. I need you.” 

You find passage in his hair, and surrender to temptation. 

You test with a smooch. Then another. Then a series of tender, sugary kisses are pushed upon his pliant lips, and he responds in kind. You curl your fingers through his tresses as you explore the contours of his lips for what feels like the first time. Toji isn’t known for patience, but the sensation of his mildly dry lips getting smoother from your supple kisses gives him the will to savor this moment. You push and pull from each other, indulging in the messy smacks and caresses. You stop amid shared breaths to skim and nudge his yearning lips, diving into more hungry kisses. Toji abruptly lifts you over him, and you deepen its bruising passion.  

You lick his bottom lip, and he groans, parting his mouth to allow your entry. You traverse the pink mass, interlacing in a wet feverish exchange. Your mind is numb, and the heartbeat in your core strikes stronger when your tongues intertwine. Toji hikes your dress up and slinks his massive hands over the plush fat of your rear. He earns a muffled moan from you as he kneads and gropes, and you feel his smirk against your lips. He grips your ass and starts to grind your hips on the bulge in his pants, a silent beg for any amount of friction. You wind with his movements, consuming him, and you hear a whimper get lost in the back of his throat.  

You drag your teeth along his neck. You lick and suck in a few spots and decide to draw harshly on a responsive patch of skin while circling the fat of your pussy over his sensitive cock, taut in his boxers. His breath hitches, and he slaps your ass. “Fuck, baby please.” It’s rare to witness him begging like this, and you’re drinking it in. You lick up his Adam’s apple and pepper his jaw with kisses. “You like it?” 

“Need more.” You bite his bottom lip for what seems like an exchange, but break away once he leans in. “Mm, be patient Toji.”  

Your hands traverse the rugged muscle under his tank top. He aids in taking it off, and you rake over his breathless torso. You kiss along his pecs and lick the groove of his abs, delighting in the parts you missed during your separation. Toji has a tinge of red soaking his chest and ears, shifting uncomfortably from his throbbing cock when you bat your eyes as you slope to the floor. You slip a finger under his waistband, playfully running over its span, and snapping it from a peak. He hisses. You palm his erection, and he grinds into it.  

“Wait” he husks. He reaches for a pillow and shuffles it under your knees. “Oh, thank you” you say, but it doesn’t look like he hears you in the chaos of tugging his sweatpants down to expose his boxers. The anticipation’s killing you, so you free his dick from its confinement. 

You can’t forget the mouthwatering size. His girth meets his length with equal satisfaction. The base is tan, fading to a rosy tip and a faint curve. You committed his veins to memory, small ones embossing the sides and a prominent one meandering to his tip. 

You maintain eye contact with him, hand steady on the base as you deliver taunting little licks to his frenulum. You precisely ring around his urethra and trace the veins, pulsating from the flick of your wrist. Toji hisses shaky curses and bucks, beefy thighs stiffening when you roll a flat strip to his leaking head and pump the base of his cock. He didn’t want to push you, but his whole body twitched in desire. “Your mouth” he groans. You react a coy ‘huh?’, tapping the head on your tongue and slathering it in saliva with cutesy doe eyes. He’s homed in on the strings of saliva connecting him to your tongue. 

An undertone of desperation in his gravelly voice, “Whole thing. In your mouth,” he expends another shaky breath, “please.” 

He bites his lip and stifles a moan, watching you engulf the cockhead in your mouth. You hollow out your cheeks while the underside of your tongue holds firm, and cautiously accommodate his size. It’s too big for comfort and it stretches the capacity of your plump spit-covered lips, but you work through the daunting pressure poking your reflex. You gradually relax, periodically gagging from an unprepared increase, and he twitches at your tightening throat. Your nose finally touches the hilt, flooded in his musk, and you start to suck. You bob leisurely, adjusting to the sense, and he subtly squirms in your touch.  

Toji crinkles his brows when you release a pleasant pop on his tip, purely to observe his eyes rolling back when you wreck him in a noisy suction. Noise was no longer a factor—sounds of spit and dry retching overpowered the volume of the movie regardless. He holds your hair away from you to get a better view of your face, smothered with tears and mascara, drool ceaseless down your chin. “F-fuck, you’re so good, so, so good to me” he groans. 

Your tongue swirls around him as you’re bobbing, and you accompany it with a tender massage to his balls. You cup and fondle them, using the lubrication from your spit to glide your fingers across. He sighs and grabs a handful of your hair. “Need to come. Keep that pretty throat open for me, yeah?” 

He rapidly shoves you down to the hilt, and you wince before he continues at a relentless pace. You anchor his thigh for stability, and he throws his head back, fucking your throat raw. There's a sheen of sweat where his bangs stick to his forehead, and he emits an endless measure of moans the closer he gets. Rambling about nonsense, yes’s and curses as he stiffens. He treats your mouth like a flesh light, evident by the throat bulge disappearing and reappearing. You happily accept the searing jaw, swaying your ass from thrumming in your saturated panties damp to your inner thighs.  

You can tell he’s about to climax because he goes completely quiet minus the panting, open mouthed with his head back. You resume massaging his balls, and he shoves you to the base, “C-coming” he moans. You grab onto him, and a squeak dies in your throat when he paints it white. He shakes, groans for each spurt coating your mouth, pumping the last of his semen as you swallow. 

Toji shudders when he pulls out, and his panting returns to a soft huff. You expected him to be spent, or at least sit in the aftershocks for a while until he calmed down. But he tightens the grip on your hair and forces you to look up. “Show me” he husks. You stick your tongue out, proof you swallowed every bit. “Now c’mere”, he guides you into a filthy French kiss, devouring you with much more dominance than before. It’s as though your nearness restored him. You can hardly stand your feeble knees and sopping core, but Toji takes care of it for you. With unnatural vigor, he lifts you over his shoulder, and marches up the stairs. “Ah, Toji, maybe you should take a sec-” 

He swats your butt harsh, and you yelp from the sting. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do. You’ve been so mouthy, a damn tease, too. You’re gonna regret it.” 

You’re ferried into the rather plain bedroom lined with dim hues, and a wide ceiling length mirror opposite the bed. He tosses you on the dark gray bedding and climbs over you. Your heart’s racing with thrill. Toji yanks the dress over your head, uncovering the sheer white lacey bra, similar to your underwear.  

He stares like you’re a piece of meat, feasting on your flawlessness not yet smothered in hickeys and bruises, your nipples at attention under the fabric. “It’s all for me, huh?” he whispers, lust rolling off his tongue. You nod, because it’s always been for him, whether he was here or not. He buries himself in your cleavage and hums in satisfaction. His touch sends goosebumps to your skin and keeps your back arched when he drags a pad along your spine. Then your bra unclasps, and he removes it carefully, as if he didn’t want to spoil the surprise by unwrapping his gift too early. He gawks at them for an embarrassingly long pause, enough to make your cheeks hot, and you chide, “Stop staring.” 

“Shut up, you’re gorgeous.” Toji submerges the bud, whirling around it while he roughly squeezes both breasts. He molds the dough of your breasts with strong palms, nips and tugs your nipple before soothing it with fierce tongue kisses. Consistent teeth grazing hikes your sensitivity before he trades it for sucking. When he switches to the other, he pinches the maltreated peak, eliciting a whimper. You merely bind your thighs and embrace the disarray being caused on your spit-soaked nipples. The cold air your abused tits receive as he withdrawals from suckling is nullified by the hickeys he leaves. You quiver from constellations of splotchy purplish red, delicious pain tingling throughout your torso. “Not so much, I have to go back to work soon” you moan, not very convincing.  

“Even better; everyone’ll know who fucks you” Toji winks, and your heart skips. He dumps a nice vibrant bruise on your sternum, and advances to the dainty hem. He parts your thighs with ease, throwing them on his shoulder. Then he develops a haughty smirk.  

You’re monitoring his face, until he presses a pad against your aching clit, and the subsequent juices overflowing from a huge wet patch. He plays with the spiderweb of slick between his digits, “Mm. Y’still my girl.” You blush as he sucks on them and licks his lips afterwards. Hooking under the panties, he pulls them taut, projecting the swell of your pudgy vulva in tightening lace. It sinks past your outer lips and cages your clit—you want to writhe from friction, but it makes it worse. He ghosts against you and kisses the print, and you want to scream. “Tell me what you want, or I won’t do it.” 

“P-please...” you whine. You lock eyes, and you can hardly manage a word in the foreground of his intensity. How can he expect you to form coherent sentences when he sees through you like this? He gives a disappointed tut and puppeteers the strings, shifting them back and forth upon your neglected vulva. You cry out, and he cinches it together, isolating the part that pulses incessantly. He has an evil grin on his face, the bastard. “Details, baby.” 

“Toji...please t-touch me alre-eady so I can come, m’sorry I won’t tease you again!” you promise, willing to do whatever it takes to reduce your sentence. 

“And what else?” 

“Your mouth on m-my pussy...please lick it.” You’re humiliated at the request that tumbles from your bottommost desires, but he’s satisfied. He’s never been one to shy away from dirty talk. 

“Good girl.” Toji slithers your panties off, and you sigh from a loss of pressure just as his bangs tickle your pubic area. He interlocks your hands, a breath from eating you. 

“You don’t look at me, I’ll stop. Think you can do that f’me?”  

“Mhm!”  

He hums in agreement and submerses into you. Toji’s a messy eater, especially when he’s desperate. He ovals the outer lips and precisely stirs your clit, and your stomach turns in knots from simple motions. He frames it and carefully winds around his capable tongue, really focusing on the spots that make your back curve; really focusing on your entry, as he teasingly digs in.  

Toji cajoles a groan from his nose caressing your bud, then laps a level tongue over your wetness, truly tasting you. It isn’t long before his teasing farce began to crumble, and he obliged his ravenous appetite. He eats you starving, insatiable as he absorbs your twitching cunt and perfumed essence spilling down his chin. You clasp your hands, desire building in a trembling quake, but he doesn’t falter. He slurps your inner lips, and finally delivers proper care to your neglected clit. He hums a low vibration when he sucks, his pursed lips moving from a steady tongue to full on slobbering like some savage animal.  

You appreciate the support his steady hands give your shaky ones. “Toji, hahhh coming” you whine, a familiar sensation flipping in your core. He lets his words fan onto you, “You know better” he husks. Your hips are bucking frantically, and so you whine, “Please, can I come sir, please please please please!”  

“Hmm, I don’t know, you were ready to disobey me just now.” He says that, however the look in his eye is unrelated; it craves you, the want to make you squeal repeatedly until you’re on the verge of collapse. “’M can’t take it anymore, please let me come!” You urge your hips to his mouth, and meld into his warmth. 

“Come on my face, pretty girl” he groans, just as hankering as you. He laps at your clit, and you sooner fall apart underneath him. Your whimpered plea forms an innocent sob as you spasm from overstimulation. Toji just doesn’t stop. His head careens against you, tasting everything your body has to offer. You’re suddenly regretting how badly you wanted to come. 

“Toji- I-it’s too much” you protest, but it receives no response. Your release dribbles down his chin and he persists, ultimately unbinding when you lose a hold on his hands from the tremors. He diverges your lips and admires the way your mess clenches around air. 

“Heh, you’re shaking. Cute.” He rubs the back of your legs, reassuring you in spite of his previous cruelty. You make a sad attempt at wiggling away, but he grabs you firm. 

No running. Be good and hold your legs back.” He folds your legs to your shoulders, and you mewl, reluctantly wrapping your hands around them. ‘No’ isn’t a valid response at present.  

Toji’s thumbs spread your wrinkling opening, and you feel a draft on its expanse before he spits directly into your hole. You jerk, startled, and he shushes you. He slathers his thick digits in your glistening strip, and smoothly sinks one inside. “Pussy so slippery for me. Miss this...miss you” he sighs, starting to pump. He prepares you for the main course, scrapes your walls and curls his finger to hit a spot you can’t reach. The nasty squelching sounds you echo from a mere finger casts heat on your cheeks, and he seems to enjoy your responsiveness as he adds another finger to the commotion. He twines a ‘come hither’ motion that makes your back arch from every delightful swipe against your velvety walls. Then his pink muscle undulates along your swollen bud, and you dissolve to a puddle. Your hips stutter, and surge after surge of torturous pleasure strikes you with no end in sight. 

“Toji, f-fuck wait- hng s’feels too good” you whimper, and he gruffs a chuckle. He expands his fingers with precision, then chooses to slide a thumb in your butthole. The combination of both hands intruding your being, coiling into your soul jams your head with intoxicating dizziness and fictitious futures. Static pools in your stomach and circulates like the goading flickers of a raging inferno. He contacts your g-spot, and you moan, “Ah- can I, I’m close” 

“I know, I know. Let go for me,” he says, or at least that’s what it sounds like when he’s face-deep. Your eyes are screwed shut, white noise before you crash and shatter around his fingers. Fortunately, you’re deaf to your own lewd wailing, clutching for dear life through contractions. It gushes past his wrist. Tears reside in your lashes, croaked sob from the slap he gives your puffy pussy. “That’s it, baby, there we go.” 

Toji shows mercy and slips out. You’re still registering sultry bliss, untangling your limbs to lay slack. Empathy isn’t forever, though, because he forces your butt rearwards as he hops off the bed. Precum seeps from his tip, sheeting his shaft and heavy brimming sack. He propels your thighs to your chest, and your expression switches to fear for a second at the angry red tip sitting at your entrance. It's as if it grew since the blowjob, and you’re sure you’ll die if he stuffs that monster inside you.  

He slides up and down the entrance, seizing the sore bud, “Mmm, pretty thing making a mess all over my cock.”  

“Just go slow, okay?” you meek. 

“Of course, ‘m not tryna kill you.” Toji doesn’t disrupt the yearning gaze between you, giving your entry several threatening caresses. He groans from the sensation of your puffy lips snuggling his length. Then he plunges the bulbous tip, encased in your passion. He’s unhurried for the most part, besides the instants he stops himself from ramming into you, cock begging to feel the fervor. He’s plugging you to capacity, and you’re only halfway in. Soreness whirrs in your walls being outstretched beyond belief, yet you’re milking what remains, dragging the rest of him in. His breath hitches, a spiderweb of veins pulses in your tight embrace and he rocks his hips further. “Look at the way you’re gripping me. Fuck” he shudders. His tip presses on your cervix, and you feel the weight of his balls on your rear. 

Toji drives into you nice and slow. In this position you feel each vast stroke massaging your tumid core, squelching amidst your languid bodies. There’s almost a gloss film on his eyes as he indulges in the sweet addiction swamping his thoughts with unfiltered lust. “When you left it hurt real bad, y’know? I even cried.” You’re a bit stunned at his spur of honesty, but it’s short-lived as his thrusts get wilder and brutal. Your mouth hangs open, drool shameless out your mouth as he kisses your cervix without trying. You throb frenetically, chest heaving from the way his sack smacks against your ass and the creamy translucent ring forming at the base of his cock. His swinging strokes graze your g-spot and you sob, but he doesn’t check for your mitigation, encompassing your numb clit in the heat of his mean smacks.  

“Heh, dunno if you remember, but you left a pair of panties when you moved”, Toji regresses to the tip and bottoms out repeatedly, “I’ve jerked off in them so many times, imagining you backing up this juicy pussy on my dick.” You’re hysterical, flushed from head to toe and struggling to take breaths. Toji has you locked slamming into your cervix. It coaxes a mix of pleasure and pain burning through you, and your toes curl. “You love me?” he asks. It’s unfair to ask you now, scatter-brained and drooling like a stupefied slut. But you nod, and he plasters a cocky grin. “Good. ‘S long as I have that, I’m okay.”  

The unexpected flood of your orgasm quakes you, unable to warn Toji, or even ask for permission. How disappointed he’d be in you, as your juices sluice and soak, fluttering where you come undone. It’s a trail of fire, and it hurts to come. His hips sputter and he mutters a string of curses, flicking your nub faster to heighten the intensity of the earlier mess. You paw at his chest, back arched and fresh tears clustering in the haze. “Please, please!” you babble to an unresponsive Toji, stuck in a feral trance.  

Toji pulls out, palpitating at the precipice of his own climax. You take this opportunity to flip on your stomach and creep to a farther part of the bed. He’s in no rush. You can’t go far like that, a net of arousal at the apex of your thighs. He climbs onto the bed and grapples your hips, thighs capturing yours. He curves your back and slips into your gummy walls anew. You grip him like a vice notwithstanding the complaints. You hate to say it, but Toji’s length bullying its way to your cervix is a poison you’d drink habitually. He snares your hair and holds the underside of your chin. “Hah- c’mon baby, you can take a little more”, he groans at a savage pace, “be a good girl.” Your ass ripples against the brawny man, hoarse voice in your ear, scrotum pummeling the overworked bundle of nerves. Your knuckles turn white on the sheets. All you should do is let him use you, that’s all you need to do, right?   

Toji pans your head to the mirror, “Look how good you’re taking me, angel. You’re doing well.” His honeyed praises make you throb, attended by the bestial snap of his hips. “See that?”, he references your release slugging both legs, air heavy with sweat, “you’re such a f-fucking slut, what man could satisfy you besides me?” You sniffle and muster a pathetic babble, and he laughs. “You’re my perfect slut, though, fuck- ‘nd I’m not gonna make the same mistakes again.” There’s a tinge of regret swimming in the sea that is Toji’s confidence, and you feel it. It’s a subtle confession; please don’t go. 

Then he stops. Toji lets go, and you’re impulsively manhandled in front of him while he’s behind you. He lays back, and in doing so, ferries your knees to the sides of your face and hooks his hands to the rear of your head. You’re unveiled in the reflection of the mirror, a panel that bounces back the thin sheen of sweat on your bodies, your disheveled hair and makeup, wrinkled sheets, and the sticky lacings attaching you to Toji. You want to shy from the humiliating sight. “Don’t hide your face” he coos. You glimpse a portion of his face in the mirror, a glint in his eye, “I like this view more.”  

He bends his knees and pounds your chubby cunt with reckless abandon. He’s fucking your cervix, heedless grunts and panting groans as you swallow him up. Toji sputters, throbbing along your abused body and reverberating vicious staggering plap’s that could be heard on the lowest floor. You can’t breathe, let alone think, and the asphyxiation goes straight to your pussy. “O-oh fuck, heh, feel s’good. Gonna fill you up, yeah? Shit- have a mini me crawling around. Y-you'd like that, wouldn’t you, doll? Wanna carry my baby?” The headboard thuds against the wall, and in your fog, you call out for him, chanting his name like a mantra. The emotion is overwhelming, you claw at his bicep as shockwaves burst and fizzle out on your skin. “You’re dripping down my balls, sweetie, you close again?” Tougher, nastier strikes allure your orgasm, and you bleat a scream as a stream of liquid surges from you that drenches the sheets and Toji’s shaft. It’s a blinding white light, and you go limp through the violent spasms.  

“Ohhh shit, that’s it baby, take everything I give you” he rasps. Toji shoulders your dead weight with ease, going silent, then plummeting you to the hilt. His balls tighten, and he manages some slushy pumps before he comes. He spurts thick, hot globs that paint and crowd your walls with greed. You milk him dry as he bucks. It overflows to trickling down his length, and his muscles quiver as he comes down from his high. His staggering pants reduce to hitching, and he relaxes your exhausted limbs. 

Toji drives out and turns you around. You’re edging unconsciousness, sporadic jolts and innocent sobs carrying in your scratched throat. “I know. Breathe, baby.” He brings you flush with his chest, and you absorb his gentle puffs, the methodical beat of his heart. “You okay?” You’re unresponsive, gathering yourself in an incomplete collage of thoughts. You want to talk but it dissipates on your tongue. He rubs your back and kisses your forehead.  

Then it’s muted; solely the dwindling rate at which your heart races, and the tender smooches Toji dots on your face as you cuddle. When you open your eyes, the sheets are changed, and you’re cleaned. Clearly some time has passed. You sit, and Toji comes out the bathroom, running water in the background. “How ya feelin’?” 

You wince at the blunt thrum in your vulva, “Okay. How long was I out?” 

“Like half an hour. Up for a bath?” You don’t have the energy to move your body. Toji scoops you bridal style and leads you to the bathroom. You found it amusing how considerate he was after wrecking your brain. 

Toji spoons a generous quantity of Epson salt into the corner jet tub. He helps you in and joins once you’re stable. It’s a lavish proportion, but you decide to be next to him. Your head situates on your forearms over the tub rim while Toji sloshes water onto your back. The steam and serene jets below ship you to a luxury vacation on a tropical island, its quality comparable to spas with extensive dollar signs. You study each other. 

“I’ll let you get whatever you need from your place.” You knit your brows, “For what?” 

“You live with me.” You simper at his audacity.  

“So, you’re the decision maker now?” 

“For this, yes. Can’t risk you runnin’ off again.” 

“It’s your fault I left.” He pauses, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

A piece of you becomes whole at his acknowledgement. There are no petty jabs to be had where lingering truths wade in the mist. “Never thought I’d hear an apology from you.”  

“It’s overdue. I was a dick, and I should’ve never treated you like that. Was tryna sort out my shit, but I didn’t have to take it out on ya.” 

The corner of your mouth quirks up. “Sorry...but not sorry enough to let me go?” 

 “No. You need nobody but me.” 

You chortle, and he cracks a smirk. “Arrogant asshole.”   

“I love you, too.” 

[adancingalien]

𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

Benjicot/Davos Blackwood x bracken!reader

summary: after learning of your impending betrothal to another, you and Benji make a plan to stop it

warning: smut 18+ no use of y/n this fic revolves around pregnancy and has some light breeding kinks towards the end. the reader in this is able to get pregnant and is described as a woman.

word count: 3.9k

note: its finally here! i've really enjoyed writing this fic, its been a while since written one and i've never written smut so if its not the best sorry lol. thank you for everyone's support! i hope you guys like it <3 next time I post it will be on this account @dancingaliensfics so if you like this follow that account. also a couple people asked me to tag them so here you go x @alifeinspiredd @gotranting

It's Early in the morning when your father gives you the news. The sun had risen only an hour prior, the days growing short as winter approached, and your mother sat across from you. 

Marriage.

You spend some time considering the thought whilst eating your porridge. In any other case, it would have been good news. The list your father had created so far was filled with well-suited men. You recognised some, two Bracken cousins you knew well, a Mallister boy you’d met at a tourney. They were all reasonable ages, only one was older than thirty and he seemed to be an afterthought. Your father assured you that he'd consider your opinion in his choice. 

Truthly you were lucky, if it was a year earlier you'd be excited. But the one name you wanted, the only man you would ever consider marrying, wasn't on the list and never would be.

Benjicot Blackwood.

Heir to Raventree Hall, the seat of your enemy house, the man who'd captured your heart 10 moons ago.

And so you sit in silence, eyes distant, as your father speaks to you of balls and meetings and gifts. Your mother watches you quietly, although what goes through her mind you cannot say. Eventually, the conversation fades to noise as you watch the last streaks of pink fade from the sky. 

You meet with Benjicot in the same spot you always do. A field of clover and wildflowers, sheltered from the gaze of Stone Hedge by a small patch of woodland. He brings you a bouquet of dandelions, dittander and hedge bindweed he picked himself along the path. Every time you meet he brings you one and each time he hands it to you with that grin before hiding his face in your neck. You love it, and after all this time you still feel your heart flutter at the sight, no matter how torn and pathetic the blooms themselves usually are. 

Gods, you love him. And you're certain you'll never love anyone else the same. Still, you hope he hasn't found the bindweed from near your gardens, it's beautiful but so quickly consumes all other plants.

He flops onto the grass and then beckons for you to do the same. Benji wraps his arms around your side and you lean your head on his chest as he begins to tell you about some skirmish at the hedge stones.

“Those Brackens think they can do whatever they please whenever they choose. You’d think they'd have learnt their lesson after the beating we gave them last time.”

As he speaks you pluck at blades of grass beside you, tearing the seeds from the stem. He often forgets your heritage, as you do his, and the reminder makes you anxious.

“Still,” you mutter, “I wish you wouldn't rush so quickly into battle.”

Benji turns his head to look down at you and you feel his breath on your face. He pauses for a few moments, watching you closely before responding.

“You needn't worry, dove, I can hold my own, especially against some Bracken bastards.” His words are harsh and said with a grin but you can feel the sentiment behind them. Still, his answer doesn't satisfy you.

“You're not the only person I stand to lose in a battle.”

The two of you tend to speak little of the different sides you sit on, choosing instead to focus on your shared qualities. But since your father's announcement that morning, you find your heritage is all you can think of.

His hands tighten on your side and he begins to shift in the way he often does when unsettled. “Tell your bracken brethren to stay on their side of the lines then.”

“Yes because it is such a simple thing, to announce our ties to my whole family!” You turn from him with a huff pulling hard on the piece of grass in your grasp. You regret your words immediately but find yourself unwilling to apologise.

Benji pulls his brows tight, running his fingers over the hem of your skirt. He looks like a scolded dog, his face sullen and eyes moving quickly.

“I’m sorry.” He looks at you softly for a moment. “Will you tell me what's bothering you love? You've been down all day.”

You pause for a while, having pulled away all the grass in your little patch, leaving your fingernails stained green.

“My father gave me news.” You lift your head to look at Benji, his eyes watching you closely. “He's finding me a husband.”

“No.” The response comes quickly and with strong conviction.

Baffled by his response, your brows furrow. “What do you mean no?”

“I simply won't let it happen. You're mine and I'm yours and we were destined to be together, I know it. You will not be with anyone else.”

You pull a pained face, turning away from him. How can he say that with such certainty? That he simply won't let your father marry you off as though it's such a simple thing. It's both endearing and irritating.

“It's not so simple you know.” You look out at the setting sun as you speak, “I've been trying to think of ways to avoid it but truthfully, I have nothing to complain about. What can I say to stop it? I've spent so long thinking of options but nothing seems right.”

Benji takes hold of your hands, gazing at you with such intensity it catches you off guard.

“We'll run away together, you and me, right now.”

Your eyes widen and you stumble on your thoughts. What an idea. It's a pleasant thought really and part of you is compelled to accept, to leap up and run away with Benji in that moment. But it is not this part of you that speaks.

“What- Benji- I cannot, we cannot! Where would we even go.”

“Essos, the free cities, the North, gods I'd go to the Iron Islands if it meant I could marry you. Anywhere in the world where the names bracken and blackwood mean nothing.” your heart skips at the thought, that Benjicot Blackwood would abandon his title and land and family to be with you. Travel to an unknown land and begin again. It's a feeling that quickly spreads through your body leaving you warm and filled with a joy so strong it again compels you to accept and leave in that moment.

You run your fingers over his knuckles, feeling the healed cuts and scrapes that cover them. You consider your own family, of your mother, sat at her window, waiting for you to return home. Your father, sending out his men to fruitlessly search across all of Westeros for his beloved daughter. 

“I can't Benji.”

“Then we'll go in a few days instead, you can pack your things, and I'll think of a plan of where to go-”

“No Benji.” you look into his eyes. You see in them a future and a path you cannot take at this moment. “I couldn't do that to my family, couldn't leave them forever and you couldn't either. It would break your mother's heart.”

Your words sour his mood and he visibly shrinks. You take his hands fully in your own and reach over to kiss him softly on the cheek. You can feel slight stubble and realise he must have rushed out after receiving your letter. How you love this man. 

It isn’t long before you see a new thought arrive in his mind and it's clear he does no further thinking before sharing it.

“I'll just take you then!”

Truthly, your expectations were not high but you still find yourself floored by the stupidity of his ‘plan’.

“What.” You can simply find no other words.

Benji turns to face you fully, squeezing your hands tightly. He has a crazed look on his face and you wonder if this is what your Bracken brethren see on the battlefield. 

“Listen, I’ll simply take you with me to Raventree Hall and we will wed there.” He must notice your unimpressed look as he quickly continues. “That way you don't have to go too far and your family will know you're safe. Sure it'll take some time for those Bracken curs to accept it but eventually they'll have to and then you can see them when you please.”

“Safe? Benji, you've come up with some terrible ideas but this is a new level. It would be war! You really believe that my father, that any bracken would simply accept a blackwood taking their daughter in the night?”

“Then war it would be. I'd kill a thousand men to keep you.”

“A thousand of my men, my blood! Yes, what a beautiful honeymoon it would be, setting the funeral piers of my family.”

He falls silent at this and looks down at his hands. You can see him thinking but he has the sense to keep his thoughts to himself. After a few minutes, you sigh and take his hands back in yours, having dropped them at some point during your rant. Leaning over, you capture his lips in your own for just a moment and when you pull away he follows after you.

“Just… leave it to me. I shall think of a plan for us. We can keep yours as a last resort, yes?”

He brightens at this, happy to trust in your judgement. He agrees quickly before closing the small space between you.

It's a week later when you send a raven summoning Benji. As a child, you had discovered passages within Stone Hedge which had long been forgotten and often used them to pass in and out of the castle. Now you and Benji used them to visit each other in secret. It's a few days before he is able to make his way to Stone Hedge, having been corralled by his father into some dull political nonsense you couldn't care less about. By the time he makes it to you, slipping into your chambers using the passage hidden behind large tapestries, you feel truly desperate for him.

It's overwhelming really, how much you love him. Your entire body aches for him, your mind thinks of him at all times. The thought of marrying another leaves you ill and to imagine laying with a man that isn't Benji is truly mad. He knows you in ways no other has, and, if you get your way, never will. So really it's not a surprise that upon seeing you waste no time in pressing yourself to him. As your lips meet you can feel all the stress of the past days leave your mind and you quickly forget what it was you summoned him for. It seems Benji has found himself in a similar position to you as his hands begin to explore your body through your evening gown. His soft touch turns rough as you run your fingers through the coarse strands of his hair. 

You pull away, moving toward to settee. He trails after, lounging next to you with his around your shoulders, fingers toying with your hair.

“I’ve had much time to think,” you say hands resting on your lap. “And I believe I've thought of a solution. It’s mad truly, but it is the best chance we have. I am certain I want it but if you do not you must say and that will be final. It is not a decision to take lightly.”

At your serious tone, Benji straightens and looks at you fully. You are nervous, such a proposal is hardly made easily and yet you feel certain in your bones that he will accept. You know he loves you, there is no doubt about it. You only wonder if he is truly ready for a life together.

“I would do anything to be with you, dove. Tell me and it'll be done.”

You sigh at his words, both from frustration and adoration. 

“Do not say such things before you hear the proposal.”

“Then tell me it so that I may say them with informed certainty.”

You look him in the eyes then, struggling to find a way to say what you mean.

“I would have your child.”

Benji pauses at this, and you can see confusion in his eyes before he speaks.

“Yes. when we wed we shall have many children, as many as you wish.”

“No Benji,” you squeeze his hands tightly and push yourself to speak. “My father will never choose you as my husband so we must give him no choice. If I was with child, with your child, he would have to accept a marriage or risk shame upon myself and our house. I know my father well and I am sure he would choose my happiness over tradition.”

At this, Benjicot stops and his face falls blank. It's as if his mind is —- and you wait patiently for his response.

“It is…” he stops and then restarts “I would love nothing more than to have a child with you. It is something I have dreamt of and I truly believe myself ready for such responsibility. I do not doubt the longevity of my love for you. So please do not think it is commitment with gives me pause. It is just…” he begins to play with your fingers, nervous energy flowing through him. He stands quickly, releasing your hands though you are used to his restlessness and simply wait for him to return. He paces in a small circle, running his hand through his hair and then returns to his seat. 

“I would not do that to you,” he says finally. You look at him in surprise, his answer seeming nonsensical to you.

“You have done it to me many times.”

“No not that,” he says quickly, covering his face in his hands as he thinks again how to phrase what he means.

“I wouldn't put you through such treatment! As an unwed woman to father a child by you. No, I couldn't dishonour you like that.”

“Dishonour me? Benji, you have dishonoured me more times than I could count. By simply being here in this room you dishonour me. We have laid together, many times. If this was a concern of yours, you should have voiced it long ago.” your words are tinged with amusement.

Benjicot stands again, moving his arms wildly. 

“And what of how you would be treated? Not just by your parents but every member of the court, the servants, anyone who knew of it. You would be shamed and shunned by others.”

“You think I care what others say of me?”

“I think you will care when it happens.”

“Do not make assumptions on my behalf. I am my own woman, I can make my own choices. And I do not need you, Benjicot Blackwood, to decide such things for me.” 

You pause, breathing deeply in an attempt to remove the heat from your voice. It isn’t your intention to force Benji to do this with you and you fear if you continue to argue your meaning will be lost.

“If your reasons to not go forth are your own, because you do not feel ready or because you do not want to, then that is fine and I will accept it.”

Your attempt to calm the situation backfires miserably and your words light a fire inside of Benji.

“Of course not, didn’t say I would marry you in that field? That I would give up everything to be with you. Do not doubt my love.”

“I do not doubt it, Benji. But if you are willing to give up your titles and home, go through battle and fight hundreds to have me, why can't you trust that I would endure the shame of a pregnancy outside of wedlock for you?”

At last, Benji returns to his spot next to you. He looks into the fire but his gaze is distant.

“I can protect you from danger, from enemies. I can kill any man that threatens you. I can stand with you in fire and pain. But I can’t save you from cruel words and shame. This is… it's something you’ll have to bear alone. And I hate the thought of it.”

At last, you understand his meaning. Benjicot Blackwood is not a man who often loses control. He is fierce and strong and can slay any man who comes in his path. 

“I am strong. And I can protect myself, just this once. And you will be stood with, at my side, to give me strength when I fail.”

“I know, I just fear you aren’t ready.”

“I am ready.”

A coy smile spreads across your face.

���Let me convince you.” 

At that you kiss him, one hand placed on his cheek and the other on his chest. He quickly reciprocates and you move closer until you can throw one leg over his lap. His hands find your hair, attempting to undo your intricate braids before pulling away in frustration and glaring at the strands. You laugh lightly, moving to remove your pins as he reaches for your neck, leaving a firm bite before his tongue lathes over the area. His ministrations pull a soft moan from your mouth and as he lifts your skirts to run his hand up the soft skin of your thigh, your hair is released.

His other hand quickly finds its way into your hair, fingers weaving into the strands before your head is pulled back allowing better access to your neck. As Benji continues trailing kisses across your neck and chest, you begin to move yourself on his lap, grinding against him as you feel his cock harden beneath his breeches. How you long to feel him inside you, and the thought of him staying even as he reached his peak, seed spilling inside you, has you moving with increased vigour. Benji begins to let out his quiet groans and pants to match your soft moaning and it's not long before he has your behind held firmly in his grip. 

His mouth reaches the neckline of your dresses and begins to suck marks onto your skin while you fumble with the fastening of your gown. Once the bodice is undone and the stays are loosened, he pulls them down, taking your breasts into his hands. His mouth quickly latches onto one of your peaks and his tongue swirls around them. He shows you no mercy in his actions, hands pressing so tight they are sure to leave bruises. Benji moves his hand to your core, fingers covering themselves in your wetness before pressing against your clit. They move quickly, circling your bud for some time before travelling towards your hole. His thumb moves to take its place, pressing firmly against you as it rubs. His fingers prod gently at your hole, before one slips inside. He stays like this, easing his finger inside of you until you're ready to take another. His fingers move inside of you for a few minutes, your walls clenching around them as they stroke, before they increase in speed, beginning to curl deep inside of you. Benji continues to assault your chest, relishing in the moans and whines he pulls from your lips. 

It isn't long, however, before he pulls away from your chest to speak.

“I need you, my love.” he lifts your chin so that your eyes meet. You lean forward and kiss him, giving your answer through your actions. He removes his fingers from you, wiping them on your dress much to your disgust before standing, holding you with his hands beneath your ass and your legs around his waist.

 He moves quickly towards the bed and, though he's strong, you can see him focusing on not dropping you. You take the chance to join your lips to his neck, leaving your marks there. Although you know him to be faithful to you, you can’t stand the thought of any Blackwood whore making a pass at him and the hickeys serve to claim him as yours. Gods, you think, you must stop thinking in such ways, you’ll be a Blackwood yourself soon. The thought leaves you giddy and you grin at his neck. Benji drops you rather unceremoniously onto the bed before staring at you with a bemused look on his face.

“What you grinning about him?”

“Just the thought that I will soon be your wife.”

His grin widens at that and he leans down to capture your lips once again. 

“Yes, my wife and I'll be your husband.”

You kiss him again, biting his lip and tugging on it slightly.

“All mine.” your words pull a deep moan from him.

It isn’t long before both of you have stripped completely and you find yourself lying back on the sheets, Benji between your legs. He moves quickly above you, rubbing his cock against your folds, the head catching perfectly on your clit with every stroke. You moan wantonly, fingers reaching up to pull Benji towards your lips by the hair. Your firm grip causes him to groan deeply into your mouth and his movements increase in speed. It isn't long though before you pull away.

“Benji, darling, I need you inside of me please.”

You're expecting him to tease you, and make a joke about your begging and neediness but instead, he lets out a long breath, before reaching down and taking himself in hand. He runs the tip of his cock along your wetness once more before pressing inside of you. Your body accepts him eagerly and it isn't long before he fills you. How could you ever marry another when even your body is moulded perfectly to him? The sounds of your pleasure harmonise as Benji begins to move inside of you. His thrusts are fast and deep as always, his hips snapping against yours with every thrust. You feel your mind slipping as your sounds increase in volume. Your hands roam his whole body. Filthy words spill from your lips.

“Benji please my love- ah- I must have you. Please”

“You have me sweet one, you have me.”

You pull roughly on his hair at his words.

“No I must have all of you, please I need your seed. I want you to cum inside me.”

His hips stutter before his thrusts continue with increased fervour.

“Fill me please Benji, it will feel so good.”

Benji lays his head in the crook of your neck moaning without restraint. You feel yourself reaching your peak quickly and want him to cum with you. You lift your legs and wrap them tightly around his waist, moaning, turning to shrieks.

“I love you so much Benji,” you cry out, fingernails leaving scratches down his back. “I love you and I want your baby, please cum inside me.”

At your words, Benji lets out a choked sound, hips pressing firm against you, and feels the warmth of his release spill inside of you, pulling you to your peak alongside him. Your eyes squeeze shut, but if they hadn’t you would have seen the most delightful look on Benji’s face and he finished inside of you. It takes some time for his cock to stop twitching and even longer for the both of you to come back to the world of the living. Benji begins to lift himself off of you, but you tighten your legs.

“Stay.”

A simple command that he follows without question.

[familyvideostevie]

the meaning of it all

joel miller x reader

summary: Joel Miller, of all people, teaches you to ask for help. 

word count: 13.6k

warnings: jackson au, post part i, joel and ellie worked it out! joel is soft! language, violence, fluff, learning to accept help and love.

a/n: this fic is a soft joel (think part ii joel but make it two years into jackson because he and ellie resolved everything <3) and a reader who is much more me than i've written before. i hope you like it! thank you again to @strangerfreaks who held my hand through this, i owe you my life.

___

Luck. God damned old-fashioned thank-fuck-for-that luck has kept you alive since the world ended. Deep festering rage and a near-constant state of fear have helped. But every bullet you've found, every undamaged can of food, every shot that landed in the right place so you were the last one standing -- that's all luck. Or a curse, depending on the day. Depending on how you're feeling about it all.

And Jackson? That's the biggest stroke of luck you've had in twenty years. A single woman on her own with plenty of working years left and no obvious red flags was probably a no-brainer for the community to take in but you feel like you've finally made it. After two decades of violence and horror and pain, you fucking made it somewhere safe.

You spend as much time as you can making sure everyone knows how grateful you are. You don't have any special skills, not really. You can shoot well enough, cook well enough, clean well enough. Young enough when all the shit went down that you don't have a trade or any work experience, you just go wherever they need someone in town.

Keeping busy means you're bone-tired most nights. Exhausted sleep means fewer nightmares, less time to wander the halls of your very nice but much too-big-for-you-home and miss everything you've lost. But picking up shifts wherever you can also means you don't meet many people beyond hellos and exchanging names. Farming is easy and you get to work with a lot of the kids in town, daycare much the same. You're lousy with power tools but you're able to carry materials wherever they're needed. Cooking is easy when it's stew for hundreds of people and doing dishes is even fun when someone turns on the radio. You're making it work.

Patrol is...patrol. You're able, so you're on the roster. It's not that you hate it, not exactly. Going outside the walls makes you feel like you're someone else. You slip back into the mask of fear and anger, the one that kept you alive for so long. And the worst part is it's comfortable. 

You've done the training runs, the group patrols for three months. Infected still freak you out a little but you're smart enough to be more scared of people. All of the senior patrol members have cleared you for paired patrols and today is your first one.

Tommy meets you at the stables to check-in.

You don't really have any friends, though everyone is perfectly nice to you, but Tommy and Maria are probably as close as it gets.  You figure they take a shine to newcomers like you, ones who come in alone, maybe to keep an eye on them as much as anything else. But they've both got a smile and kind word for you whenever you see them, always asking if you need anything. You always tell them no, you're fine, thank you.

"You ready?" Tommy says. "I've had them pull Apollo for you." You pat yourself one more time to make sure you have everything. Pistol on your thigh, knife at your hip, pack secure on your back. Hat and gloves tucked into your jacket pocket to account for the wind on the trails.

"I think so," you tell him. You blow a raspberry at your horse and he blows back, nudging your shoulder with his nose.

"After this, pretty sure you'll have done every job there is to do in this town. Pullin' crops, plantin' crops, cookin' crops. Kids, the library, cleanin', buildin' that ramp at Lenore's last month. You've been here, what, six months? And you've done it all."

It should make you feel good that he's noticed. It does, but only a little. You still feel like you could work every day for the rest of your life and not repay what he and this town have given you. To make up for the things you've done on the road.

"I'm the best floater in Jackson," you joke instead. Smiling makes people like you. You haven't had much cause to smile in recent years so you're still getting used to the urge. Tommy scoffs. "I don't do important council stuff like you and Maria, though."

He ignores that. "Y'know, pretty sure they call that a jack-of-all-trades. A real Ren-ai-ssance woman." You try to come up with a retort, eyes wandering to the patrol assignment board. Your name is under ELK CREEK and under it is --

"Quit harassin' her."  Tommy rolls his eyes and flips off whoever comes up behind you. You turn around and see a man you know of but have never actually met.

"Joel," Tommy says. "I believe this is called havin' a conversation. You ever tried it?"

"Funny," Joel replies. He nods at you. "You my partner today?"

"Seems so." You introduce yourself, Apollo's warm breath at your back.

"Joel Miller," he says back.

You're a little intimidated, truth be told. You know him by reputation mostly. Tommy's big brother who came to town a few years ago with a little girl. They're both pretty much everywhere. Joel fixing houses and talking to kids in the street, going on patrols and always bringing back extra for whoever needs it. Ellie galloping around town with other teenagers and bringing home the biggest game. You've handed her books a few times at the library, too, seen her bright eyes and infectious energy underneath teenage angst that transcends even an apocalypse. And you've seen them together, heads down in the dining hall or pressed closed walking down the street -- heard rumors about why they came here, how they came here, too -- and one thing is clear to you: the Millers are beloved. By this town and by each other.

It's a miracle all its own in this fucked up world.

"You two ain't met yet?" Tommy says, pointing at the space between you. You snap out of your thoughts. "You've been here long enough to have met everyone by now."

"Guess not," you say with a wry smile. The younger Miller is too polite to call you out for not having a single friend in that time period, either.

"Well, here we are," Joel says. "Gonna keep us here forever, Tommy? Or can we do our job?"

Tommy claps him on the shoulder and winks at you. "Tone down the asshole for her first paired patrol, yeah?"

Joel snorts. He grabs a horse that was already tacked for him and leads it out of the stable. You follow with Apollo. The patrol coordinator hands out rifles and reminds everyone of the rules.

You hop on your horse. "You ready?" Joel asks, startling you a bit. "We'll gallop to the mouth of the river and then start patrollin'."

Something in you relaxes a bit at his clear confidence in you to handle yourself. You know you're with him for a reason -- he's one of the best. That, or maybe he just doesn't give a shit. Somehow you think it's the former.

You follow him up the hill outside the gates and through the tree line. The noise of the Outside is different than that of Jackson. Birdsong, snapping branches and dry brush under your horse, the wind rippling down the hill. You take a deep breath through your nose and feel a part of you come alive. It's funny how a world so beautiful can be so deadly.

Joel gallops a little ahead of you, strong and steady. You watch him, think about what you know. He's older than you, that much is obvious. Greying hair curling around his ears, lines on his face from more than just a stressful life. But he's strong, good at what he does. Those rumors come back to the front of your mind. How he and Ellie showed up, half-starved and bloody. How he and Tommy are the most famed patrol duo for Infected kills and otherwise. It makes you feel safe. It makes you want to learn from him. It makes you want to know more.

And he's got kind eyes. Somehow, he's got kind eyes.

"Alright," Joel calls back to you. "Route starts here." He slows his horse and you pull up beside him. He shifts in his saddle and turns his face to you. "Now, I know this is your first pair," he says. "I won't order you around or nothin' but my main piece of advice is that everyone has a different patrol style. Know how to adapt."

You dig your gloves out of your pockets and wiggle them on. Joel watches before his eyes snap back to yours. "Noted." You honestly didn't think he'd talk this much. "And let me guess. Yours is patrol in silence?" You punctuate the nervous quip with a smile.

Joel snorts. "Nah," he says. "Unless you're Max. Can't stand that fucker."

It startles a laugh out of you and any ice you'd imagined breaks for good. Max is one of the middle-aged men who probably would have been a lawyer or a politician based on the way he likes the sound of his own voice.

"Now," Joel says. "You done this route before?" His knuckles are a little red but he doesn't put on any gloves.

"Twice, I think. First log book in that old station, right?" Joel nods. "Second in the town?" He nods again.

"Color me impressed." His mouth tugs up at the corner into something you might call a smile. You try not to look too pleased with yourself. "Some of the dipshits on the roster don't even remember that much."

It feels like you've passed a test. His praise makes you feel nice. Noticed. Not something you often seek but you know yourself well enough to admit that you'd like a little more of it. Even if it's from a man you just met.

"Not that hard," you say softly. Joel looks at you for a moment longer before clicking his teeth. His horse starts to walk. You signal to Apollo to follow.

The patrol goes off without a hitch. Joel signs the log book in the station and you sign it in the tower. He lets you snipe two runners that he spots and doesn't scold you when you take three tries on the second one.

"Settlin' in okay?" he asks once you've rounded the town one last time and started back towards Jackson. "Six months, Tommy said?"

Despite his earlier words, you haven't chatted much this patrol. While you'd like to know more about him, want to get him to smile at you again, you're really just enjoying being out here with someone else, knowing that you're safe. That you've got somewhere to go back to.

"It's nice," you sigh. "I never imagined I'd find a place like this."

You really should pick up the pace to get back to town but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry.

"I know the feelin'," he murmurs. "Ellie'n me slept on the floor for a good two weeks at the start. Been two years and some nights I don't take my boots off."

"What a fucking life, huh?" That earns you a wry smile. "Having a house is...strange. All of the hinges squeak and I --"

"The hinges squeak?" You look over at him and Joel's brows are furrowed.

"Oh, I mean, it's no big deal --" You stumble over apologies. You don't want him to think you're complaining about a home his brother gave you when he sure as shit didn't have to.

Joel taps his thumb on the pommel of his saddle. "Can get that fixed, y'know."

You didn't know, actually. "Really?"

Now he looks at you like you're a little stupid. "Ain't you the one hauling shit to people's houses when they need a hand?"

He has a point and you hate it. It never occurred to you to ask for someone to come fix your hinges. They're just hinges, for fuck's sake. Other people have holes in their floorboards or leaks or need new rooms for family members. You're just...you.

Joel sighs. It feels like you've disappointed him and it swirls in your gut. "I'll take a look at it this week."

Your neck cracks audibly with how quickly you look up at him. "What? No, Joel, you don't have to --"

He says your name in a tone that you know means no arguing. "I know I don't have to. I offered."

"You don't even know me!" The words fly from your mouth before you can stop them.

He brings his horse to a full stop so quick you almost run into him.

"Look," he says. His gaze holds yours. Wow, he really can be intimidating when he wants to be. You can only imagine the things he's done, the things he's capable of. Anyone who has made it this long has blood on their hands. You've washed it from your own skin plenty of times. And yet, you feel completely safe. And you know that you'll probably do whatever he tells you. "I know how it can be."

Your gut swirls. "You don't know what I've been through," you say softly. It's not a jibe, it's just the truth. No one knows because you've told no one because it doesn't matter. You're here now.

"I've been alive for a while longer than you," he continues. "I've seen the world, just as you have. I've been out here. I was out here for a long, long time." He runs a hand through his beard, fiddles with his broken watch in what looks like reflex. "I know how hard it is to ask. To get back to something that makes any damn sense. But you can if you try."

The words linger in the chill around you. He's right, obviously. He's so fucking right that you want to be mad. You haven't asked for anything because you don't want to fracture the good thing you've got. Don't want to be too much, to be a burden they can't support, to make people think you don't deserve to be in Jackson. All things that don't make any fucking sense, not really, but you can't stop them. It's just how you're wired.

"So I'm comin' over this week to fix those hinges. Alright?"

"Alright." Something in Joel softens when you agree.

"Good," he says. "Good."

You finish the patrol in comfortable silence. All told it's been nice. To talk to someone, to feel like they give a shit about you even for just a few hours. You have no doubt Joel will be over to fix your hinges but you figure it'll fizzle out after that -- it always does. You don't know how to ask someone to stick around, anyway. But even this little bit of him will have been worth it.

Something both loosens and tightens in your chest when you get back to Jackson and through the gates. Goodbye beautiful, horrible outside world, hello safety, community, home. It's a trade-off. You and Joel hop off your horses and return your rifles. You're about to hand Apollo off to be brushed and returned to the stables when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

Joel says your name and you turn around.

"Good job today," he says softly. "Not too excitin' of a patrol, but you're good out there."

You blink owlishly. "I-- thanks," you manage. "Maybe we'll get to go out again as a pair." You're showing your hand but you can't help it. You want more of whatever this was.

Joel's mouth pulls up at one corner. "Maybe."

___

Two days later you drag yourself out of the house for community breakfast. Most mornings you're out the door and at your work detail for the day before you can pop over but you don't have anything assigned today. It's a rare respite and it has you antsy. You don't remember how to be idle, aren't any good at it. Sitting in your empty house means your mind might wander to the thoughts you try very hard to keep at bay. The loneliness, the regret, the fear. The loss. It's always there and you've gotten better at dealing with it after so many years but some days you really just wish you could talk about it to someone, could just bitch and moan about how fucking awful this life can be.

But everyone is carrying their own shit and you don't need to add to it. You don't want anyone to have to carry yours, too.

Breakfast is quiet this morning. You settle at a table with your toast and your eggs and your potatoes and smile back at anyone who smiles at you but no one sits with you. If they did you don't know what you'd say.

But then the air changes. Your neck feels a little hot and you slowly look around until you see what's caused it -- Joel and Ellie are here. He's already looking at you when you meet his eyes and he smiles a little, a half-moon curve of his mouth, and nods. You wave.

Ellie waves back, which you don't expect. She says something to Joel and he frowns, rolls his eyes. She punches him in the arm and he flips her off and grabs two plates, starts to fill them. You smile down at your own food.

"Man, are the potatoes that fucking good today?"

You look up and find Ellie in front of you. You're pretty sure she's 16 or thereabouts, still growing into herself based on the way she shifts on her feet. Her right forearm has the outline of something floral. She notices you looking at it and crosses her arms, looking unimpressed. Ah, teenagers.

"Pretty okay," you tell her. "I don't know if we've met yet --"

"We kinda have," she interrupts. "I know your name and you know mine, so. And you're at the library sometimes when I check shit out."

This still does not explain why she's over here talking to you. You can see Joel in the breakfast line still, glancing over his shoulder every so often to see if she's still in the room. You try not to catch his gaze because you're a little afraid of what Ellie might read in it.

"Can I do something for you, Ellie?" you ask, not unkindly. She scrunches up her nose and then sighs.

"Joel told me not to bother you but I wanted to ask if you could look out for a book for me. At the library." Her words get faster as she reaches the end of her sentence. She takes a look at you, sees that you're not telling her to fuck off, or something, and keeps talking. Some book about the history of comics or something.

"Oh," you say. You feel a rush of affection for her and the fact that she can hold the record for headshots on a group patrol and still want to read about something she loves in her free time. "Yeah, I'll look for you. I don't have a library shift until tomorrow but I'll look and put it aside if I find it for you."

Ellie tugs on her fingers. "Don't you need to write it down or something?"

You smile at her. "No, I'll remember." You recite the title and author she just told you back to her and it seems to satisfy her. It's like a switch is flipped -- her earnest expression morphs into something you can only call mischief.

"So Joel's coming over to fix your doors, or whatever," she says. "How'd you crack him?"

"I--what?"

"You patrol with him once and he's coming over to your house," she says. "It took him like, weeks to laugh at one of my jokes. And I'm fucking funny!"

You have no idea what to say to that. Patrol with Joel was your first time talking to him and while he's a bit intimidating, sure, he never came off as anything other than...good. But you'd bet he wasn't always that way in this world. Maybe this girl in front of you had something to do with it.

And honestly, you're sure he just feels a little bad for you. He's nice enough to worry, to make sure everyone in town can do their part and you'll take what you can get even if it's temporary attention.

Part of you knows Ellie is just giving you a hard time because she's a teenager and you're kind of connected to the guy who looks after her so you're fair game, too. But she's talking to you like she wants to which is throwing you for a loop. And you're realizing it's been a long time since you actually wanted someone to like you. Well, Joel aside.

"You want to tell me one?" you ask. She looks surprised and then delighted.

"Oh, fuck yeah. Okay, let me think." You take another bite of your breakfast. "Okay, okay, I got it. What did the mermaid wear to her math class?"

You give it a few seconds before you shrug. Ellie grins. "An algae-bra."

Your laugh makes her grin bigger. "See? Fucking hilarious." She holds out her hand for a high five and you oblige. "Anyway, Joel's gonna come over tomorrow, I think. Seriously, dude, I don't know how you did it. He never used to be this nice!" She looks over her shoulder at the man in question. He's sitting down at another table. "He's getting soft."

Her voice is fond and you're pretty sure she doesn't notice. "You should go eat your breakfast, Ellie," you tell her.

She sighs like the weight of the world is on her shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fucking hungry. Let me know if you find that book!"

"I will," you call after her. You can't help but watch as she barrels back to her table with Joel and immediately makes an attempt at his bacon. He fends her off with his fork before surrendering a piece with a scowl.

He looks up and catches your eye again. You stand with your tray and nod at him, turning around before you can see his expression. Stupid, so stupid to be caught looking like that. But you can't help it -- looking at the love still alive in this shitty world and wondering what it feels like.

___

You run into Joel on your walk home from the next day's shift at the library. You spent probably far too much of it looking for the book Ellie wanted but it was worth it because you've got it tucked under your arm. It feels like a small miracle but you're not one to question it.

Maybe it's the good mood you're in, but when you see Joel from behind you call out his name. He doesn't stop walking but turns his head like he heard something. When he spots you he does stop, waiting for you to catch up.

"Hi," you say, suddenly a little less brave.

"Howdy," he replies, amused. "I'm headed your way."

"You --" He lifts a toolbox you now realize he's carrying. "Oh, right. Hinges."

"I can come by another day if it's not a good time."

Joel could knock on your door in the middle of the night and it would be a good time. "No, ah. Now's good." He motions for you to lead the way even though he clearly knew where he was going. He must have asked Tommy.

It seems like everyone waves as you two head for your street. They call out Joel's name and he knows pretty much everyone. You feel a little self-conscious being seen with him like this -- you, pretty much a nobody in town through your own doing and Joel, beloved by all.

It doesn't stop until you're almost at your door. "You're popular," you say, trying to make it sound teasing. Instead, it sounds awed.

Joel runs his free hand through his beard. "Don't remind me," he grumbles. "Can't go for a walk without a damn conversation."

You pull out your keys and unlock the front door. There are plenty of people in Jackson who don't lock their doors but you can't shake the need. "Sounds difficult."

He chuckles and you feel it zing up your spine. It's nice to make him laugh. "Yeah, yeah. S'pose it's nice." The front door opens with a creak and you look at him sheepishly. His eyebrows touch his hairline. "They all like that?"

You nod. Joel whistles. "Christ," he says. "Alright." He follows you into the house. You try not to think about what he sees. You've tried to make it your own, just a little. Posters you traded for, books you've collected. You cleaned the whole thing top to bottom when you moved in but somehow it still looks a little un-lived in. You're working on it.

"Don't let me bother you," Joel says, getting on one knee with a grunt and prying open his box. "Probably need 'bout an hour to get 'em all. I'll holler when I'm done."

That's your cue to busy yourself with something, anything, but you don't want to. You want to talk to him, to watch him do whatever he's going to do, to soak up this time with Joel before he walks out the door and you go back to being acquaintances.

"What are you going to use?" you ask. He looks up, a little surprised, before pulling out a spray bottle and a rag. He shakes it at you.

"It's some sorta homemade shit one of the younger guys cooked up," Joel says. Somehow he manages to sound self-deprecating, like he thinks he should've thought of it first. "I think it's...soap? And cleanin' stuff? Fuck, I don't know." He huffs a laugh. "I know it works, though. Back in the day we'd use shit you could buy on the shelf." He stands with a grunt. "You old enough to know that?"

That gets you to laugh. "Yeah, Joel," you say. "I'm old enough to remember the hardware store."

His gaze feels a little different than before, like he's allowing himself to look. "Hmm," is all he says. "I'll just --"

You don't know how to justify shadowing him as he oils your hinges -- there's a joke there's somewhere -- so you don't. You grab a book from the shelf and settle on your couch and try your best to read but your mind wanders.

It's pretty clear that you have a crush on Joel. You've spent one patrol with the guy but somehow he's gotten under your skin. It's inconvenient but also...nice? A crush at the end of the world. The fact that you can still feel something so sweet, so juvenile after all you've seen and all you've done is almost laughable. And it's not like it's going to go anywhere -- you're sure Joel thinks you're too young for him, too green, and he's probably tripping over admirers in town. But you can let it be something to keep your days interesting until it fades.

It was hard enough to love yourself before the world ended for reasons anyone could understand. Societal pressures, stupid comparisons, things that don't matter at all now. Who has time to think about being loved when you're constantly faced with death? Feeling desired, feeling loved, feeling looked after isn't exactly top of mind. You're not even sure you remember how. You put one foot in front of the other and that's enough.

But wouldn't it be nice to be on the receiving end of affection from a man like Joel?

"All finished." You startle and realize you haven't turned a single page of your book. If Joel notices he doesn't say. He wipes his hands on a rag and eyes you. "Pretty sure I got all the doors."

You hop up from the couch and try to find your words. "I -- that's -- you're --"

"Thank you will do just fine," he says with a smirk. He tucks the rag in his back pocket and crosses his arms, leaning against the wall.

"Let me cook for you," you blurt out instead. "In exchange." You can make a few things fairly decently and making him something is another excuse to talk to him like this, to be on the receiving end of those eyes. "I can make chili. Does Ellie like chili?"

"Don't have to do that," he says kindly. "Helpin' you ain't a business deal. S'what people do here." He stands straight and heads for your front door, picking up his toolbox on the way.

"Joel," you say, snagging his sleeve with your fingers. You pull them back quickly and grab the book you brought home, holding it out for him. "Ellie asked me to look for this. Could you give it to her?"

He looks at the book the same way he looks at his kid. It's tenderness so raw you look away. "I will," he says softly. He tucks the book under his arm like precious cargo. "Thank you for findin' it for her." He clears his throat and looks at you, smirk back in place. "Wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks. You don't follow. "Havin' someone help you," he adds.

Your face feels hot. "I'll still cook for you," you say, opening the door. He shakes his head.

"You let me know if you need anythin' else, alright?" A quick smile and he's down the steps and back into the street, strolling back to his own home.

"I will." You say it to yourself and almost mean it.

___

You patrol a few more times over the next month but never get paired up with Joel. If you were a little braver you'd ask Tommy or the kid he's training to take over the schedule to put you two together but you don't. Instead, you wave at Ellie when you see her, nod at Joel from the other side of rooms where he's always talking to someone else. You let yourself enjoy the way your heart picks up at the sight of him and the thrill you feel after he smiles at you. It's a nice change to the boring, lonely routine you had before.

The doors in your house open and close silently.

Being outside is fine. You don't like it any more or any less, it just is what it is. Life at the end of the world continues on.

Until you have a bad patrol.

It's no one's fault and no one gets bit. You and your partner, Astrid, are tailing a buck that's wandering along your route. If you can shoot it you can load it on one of your horses and ride back together on the other. Winter is on its way and any extra meat helps.

You follow protocol. You're lining the deer up through the scope while she keeps watch. Just as you prepare to pull the trigger you feel it -- the pull of your gut telling you something isn't right. That feeling has kept you alive all these years so you lower the rifle and turn to Astrid just in time to see a stalker lunge out of the brush.

Its broken and jagged nails catch your shoulders and you go down hard enough to bruise. You can't hear anything over its snarls and the blood pounding in your ears but you do your fucking best. You wedge your forearm under its chin and try like hell to keep its mouth away from you. Your other hand somehow makes it to your belt and unsheathes your hunting knife and in one swift movement, you shove it into the soft jaw of the infected. Hot blood spurts over your face and you keep your mouth closed, shoving the corpse off you.

A gunshot has you whirling around and scooping up the rifle. You've got it ready to fire but you only find Astrid standing over a stalker corpse of her own, forehead bleeding and revolver smoking.

"You clean?" you ask her, eyes on her forehead. She nods.

"Shoved me into some thorns. You?"

"Yeah. Can we go home now?"

Your hands don't shake until you get back to Jackson. They tremble when you wash the blood from your face, your hair. You wish for just a second that you had someone to hold them, someone to tell you it's alright. Someone to talk to about how shitty your day was and how scared you were and how sometimes this life is so fucking exhausting and just when you think you're safe you're reminded that no one is safe anymore.

Maybe this is the kind of thing Joel was talking about. Asking for help.

The thought fades quickly. You can deal with this. You're just out of practice. You just got comfortable.

You go to bed as early as you can bear, closing your eyes and hoping for dreamless sleep.

You could only be so lucky.

You're no stranger to nightmares. Hell, who isn't? Usually, it's the same old shit -- people you've lost, fucked up things you've done, horrors you've seen. You know how to deal with it.

But this is the first time in a while you've got new nightmare fuel. The hot, rancid breath of the stalker and the agonizing sound of its moans. Your own choked gasps as you try with all of your strength to keep its rotting teeth away from you. Unlike reality, your dreams don't allow you to grab a hold of your knife and instead, you feel it take a chunk out of your neck, hot blood splattering your face and you have to just lie there as it bites and bites and bites --

You jolt upright with a small gasp. Necessity has taught you to wake silently.

"Fuck," you say to the empty room. No way you're going back to sleep after that. You swing your legs over the side of your bed and put your head in your hands. "Breathe. Breathe."

The sky is black through your windows. You have no idea what time it is but you stand before the lingering panic can take hold and make things worse. Fresh air will get the iron smell out of your nose. You dress in the dark in more layers than necessary but you want to stop shaking.

Jackson at night is quiet but there are always a few people around, always someone else who can't sleep. The sky is clear and the moon is bright and it smells like woodsmoke and the unique earthy feel of the valley. This is your home. So long as you have this you can get through it.

Your feet take you through the streets of houses, most of the windows dark. Just another lap around town and then you'll go home, try to sleep again.

Then you hear something. The gentle strum of an acoustic guitar weaving with the night air like a dream. A song from before, a song you recognize but don't know the name of, don't know the words. You wrap your arms around yourself and follow the sound down Rancher Street. If you find whoever is playing it you'll wave and walk slowly home.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see whose house it is. Joel is on the porch, rocking slowly and head leaning back, eyes closed as he strums. How did you not know he played guitar? It only makes sense that the hands that are capable of such violence can also make something beautiful. He can ruffle Ellie's hair and pull the trigger and fix your doors and do this.

Something in your chest tightens.

Joel's eyes open and land on you immediately. You realize how it looks -- you standing in front of his house in the middle of the night, watching him. But he stops his playing and calls out your name.

"Hey, you alright?" he says. You hover between taking a step forward and a step back.

"Couldn't sleep."

He shakes his head. "Can't hear ya," he says. "C'mere."

Step forward it is. Up the stairs and onto the porch that creaks a little under your boots. There's only one chair and a small table with a lantern on it. Wind chimes dangle over the railing and you drag your hand through them on instinct like a child with a toy.

"Sorry," you say softly.

"Only got one chair," Joel says. He's got one boot resting on his knee, guitar slung across his lap. He looks tired. "I'll go get another --"

You wave him off. "No, please," you say. "I'll stand. I'm too antsy to sit, anyway." If you sit down in a chair next to Joel Miller you might never get up.

He frowns but settles back into his seat. "You alright?" he asks again.

His gaze is a little too much. You feel silly all of a sudden, not sure how you got here. A fucking nightmare? God, you're ridiculous. You cross your arms and lean back on the railing and look anywhere but him.

"Couldn't sleep." Joel hums.

"Heard that one before."

He strums some more and you relax again despite yourself. "Sounds nice. Do you play a lot?"

"Sometimes," he says. "Old habit."

"It's a nice one. Better than walking the streets in the dark." Your tone is harsher than you mean it to be and Joel frowns.

"It's safe to," he says, as though your wellbeing is his personal concern. "Bit cold, though."

"Why are you out here then?" You're frustrated with yourself and taking it out on him just a little bit. The smell of blood fills your nostrils again and you press your fingertips into your crossed arms, hard, and close your eyes. Your breath stutters in your chest.

"Nightmares," Joel says wryly. There's some shifting, the scrape of wood on wood and you open your eyes. His are fixated on your fingers and you stop squeezing. The guitar is now leaning up against the house and he's got his elbows on his knees like he's about to ask you a serious question. The lantern light makes his hair look darker, less silver, but it also makes the lines on his face look deeper. You wonder what kind of shit he's seen. What things he has nightmares about.

"Had this conversation with Ellie a million times," he huffs, rubs his hand through his beard in what you now consider a familiar gesture. "You don't need to talk if you don't want to. But can't hurt."

Is he asking you to talk about your nightmare? Does he actually want to know? Do you know how to talk about it?

"I take it you're a fountain of emotional sharing, huh?" Again, the misplaced frustration. You don't know how to turn it off.

His eyes flash but he just leans back in his chair and shrugs. "Depends on the day."

The low-level hum of your infatuation with him flares and your traitorous brain bats it down right away. You want to see all sides that he can offer you, want to make him frustrated and angry just to see if that'll make him sick of you.

You run your hand through the wind chimes again, watching your fingers move through the air. You remember what the knife felt like in your hand, the way the blood was hot as it dripped down your wrist and onto your face.

"Tough patrol," you say. "Messiest since I got here." Joel says nothing and you don't look at him. "I...it was fine. We got jumped by some stalkers and it was fine but...close. And I -- I didn't realize how badly I wanted to come back here until then. How badly I wanted to go home at the end of it. Does that make sense?"

You finally look up and Joel's knuckles are white on the arms of his chair. When he sees you looking he crosses his arms. "Sure," he says, clears his throat.

The urge to try to explain more is overwhelming. "I mean, we've all done fucked up shit. I've been up to my elbows in infected guts and still come out on top and slept like a rock the night after. And all of a sudden I can't fucking handle a stalker getting in my face. It's like I've never had to get my hands dirty before and what if it means I'm going to fuck up next time --"

"Hey," Joel says firmly. You feel a hand on your forearm and realize you've been pacing, arms flailing as you rambled. He gives it a squeeze and then releases you. "Feel like I gotta say fuck now to catch up with you."

A wet chuckle works its way out of you. Where did that come from? Are you about to cry? On the porch of the man you have a stupid, stupid crush on? This is embarrassing. And his touch. People touch you all the time, all things considered. A tap on patrol indicating silence, a hand on your arm to get your attention, to brace you as you lift something. Children in town who don't know the horrors outside the walls give affection freely. Hell, Joel touched your shoulder after your patrol. You're not touch starved but you feel like no one has touched you with tenderness and meant it in years.

"Sorry."

Joel tuts. "C'mon," he says. "I asked."

"I don't think I feel any better."

He stands and grunts as he does so. He's so much closer than before, so close you can smell what you can only describe as Joel: wood shavings and gunpowder, laundry soap and leather. It's a little dizzying. He leans on the railing next to you.

"Bet when you go back to bed you won't dream," he says. "Usually what happens."

"Here you are again," you sigh. "Helping me out. I promise I get on just fine on my own."

"I know," he says. His eyes are warm and so, so deep. "Don't have to, though."

Joel, for all his kindness and popularity in town, is a man just like any other. A person who has seen and done shit that no one should have to see and do. You know he's got his fair share of secrets, of things he won't talk about. You all do. You know he can be unflinching and maybe even cruel, dangerous and deadly. Whatever is happening here -- this openness, this desire of his to help you out -- is hard won. You think about what Ellie said and let yourself have a dangerous thought: maybe he's this way with you because he wants to be.

You sway into him just a little before catching yourself and standing up straight. "I should go try that dreamless sleep," you say softly. "And you should, too." It does not escape your notice that you haven't talked about Joel's nightmares, whatever they are. You don't think he'd be that open. A piece of you imagines a world where you ask and he answers.

"I might," he says. Neither of you move.

That small piece of you would stay here all night. That small piece of you tries for the next best thing.

"Will you let me cook for you now?" you ask. It sounds a little desperate to your own ears. "Please?"

"Persistent, ain't you?" He taps his closed fist on the railing once, twice. "Well, if it's that important to you. Chili, you said?"

"I can have it done by sundown tomorrow. I'm on greenhouses but we always finish early. You can come by and get it. I'll do enough for you and Ellie for a few days." You're rambling but finally he's going to let you do something for him. Hinges, nightmares, it's too much. Maybe you can somehow cook out this affection for him, get rid of it with your own hands if you try hard enough.

"Alright," Joel says. He puts his hand on your shoulder lightly and squeezes once. You feel it all the way down to your toes. "Now get outta this damn cold."

He doesn't offer to walk you home. You'd say no if he did. You need the time to sort out the mess in your mind. You give him the most earnest smile you can manage and he watches from his porch until you turn out of sight.

__

Joel is on your mind all day. More so than usual, which is saying a lot. The crush has turned into something...more. Something that makes you hope and that something is dangerous. It's just setting yourself up to be hurt through no fault of Joel's when it goes nowhere. Because why would he be thinking about you?

"You're smiley today," Dina says. She's a sweet girl and you're paired together on greenhouse shift today. She's always got a story to tell about plants she and her sister saw in New Mexico or some weird mushroom she found on group patrol. You love how positive she is and you try to absorb some.

"Am I?" you say lightly.

She tugs on one more cucumber, putting it in your shared basket before wiping her face. She gets dirt on her nose. It makes her look young. "Got big plans?"

Your face feels hot. "Just cooking for a...friend." It's the first time you've said that out loud. It's probably true, right? Acquaintance, at least. Joel is important to you and it's taken an alarmingly short amount of time for it to solidify. That's just how the world works these days -- you never know how much time you have so everything moves faster. You care harder despite years of proof that nothing good comes of it. You can't help it. You were made to leak love like an open wound.

"A friend," Dina teases. Teenagers. You remember that she's friends with Ellie and it's very possible she knows exactly what you're talking about but she's too kind to say anything more.

"Yep," you say, popping the p. "Do I have to start teasing you about Jesse or are you going to cut me some slack?"

"Well, hey," she laughs. "I think it's nice to be excited about something. You're so serious all the time."

"Am not," you mutter.

Something you appreciate about Dina is that despite her age she knows when to leave it. "Whatever you say," she says primly.

Once work is over and you're back home the cooking goes quick. You focus just enough considering you want this to actually be good and for Joel and Ellie to like it. It's thank you chili, it's you are important to me chili, it's I want to see you every day for the rest of my life chili.

Well. It's thank you at the very least.

And food, especially in this world, means something extra. There's enough to go around in Jackson, more than enough, but anyone taking the time to fix something with their own hands means more. You know how different a meal can taste when someone makes it with care.

And to say you care is a bit of an understatement.

The chili is simmering and you're about to start on the dishes when there's a knock on the door.

"Shit," you say. You wipe your hands on a towel and pad down the hall in socked feet. When you open it you find Joel bathed in the golden light of the sunset. His hands are tucked in his pockets, the collar of his coat turned up to protect his neck from the chill that's settled in for the season. His face softens at the sight of you but his shoulders are still tight. Is he...nervous? No, you're projecting.

Here he is on your doorstep again. If you're not careful you'll get used to him being there.

"Sorry for bein' a bit early," he says at the same time you say, "I was just thinking about you ."

The tension melts out of him and he smirks like a man with a secret. "That so?"

Your eyes are wide as you find your words. Hopefully ones that aren't embarrassing. "Come in," you say. "I'm letting the heat out."

He follows you to the kitchen. "Smells good," he says.

"It's not quite done yet but that's a good sign, I guess." You stir the pot before rolling up your sleeves and taking your spot in front of the sink. "Sorry it's a bit of a mess, I was about to start on this --"

"Now I know you ain't about to do all that yourself," Joel drawls. It's a syrupy tone you haven't heard from him, not really. Is he...flirting with you?

"I...what?"

"Scoot," Joel says. He steps beside you in front of the sink and gently bumps your hip with his. "Seriously."

"Joel--"

"Does it look like I'm kiddin'?"

He keeps his eyes on yours as he shrugs off his jacket, tosses it on this island, and rolls his shirtsleeves up to his elbow. You look away from him so you can watch.

"This is getting ridiculous," you tell him even as you hop up to sit on the counter closest to the sink so you can see his face. He turns on the tap and starts on the various things in the sink even though some of them are clearly not from cooking tonight. "You'll be sick of this chili before I can pay you back."

"I told you it ain't like that," he scolds. "So quit it."

There's no real bite to his tone but you do as he says all the same. You kick your feet out a few times and do your best not to stare but fail miserably. The fall sunlight seems to have followed him into your house, pinkish-golden beams falling across his face. You can see a triangle of chest at the top of his shirt, a few dark curls teasing the hair on him. The scar on the bridge of his nose is much harsher up close, much deeper than the countless other ones that dot his forehead, his temples. He doesn't look as tired today. Maybe he got some sleep after all.

So did you. You didn't dream.

"How was your day?" you ask. Joel's eyes flick up to yours for just a breath before he looks back down at his task. His mouth pulls up at the corner.

"Fine," he says. "Had to fix the water heater at Ellie's place."

A piece of hair falls in his face and you shove your palms under your thighs so you don't brush it back.

You tap his denim-clad thigh with your socked foot, almost like a compromise with yourself when it comes to touching him. "And that took all day?" Damn, are you the one flirting now?

Joel seems amused in a grumpy way. "Well, no," he says. The faucet is on so he speaks a little louder. "Did some house chores. Worked on a guitar. Took a nap."

The image of Joel sprawled out on a couch is clear as day. You bet he looks relaxed in his sleep, the lines on his face not as pronounced, his breathing steady and even.

"Busy day," you say softly. He's about to say more, lips parted to ask about your day, maybe, but you're not about to admit that you spent all day thinking about him so you keep talking before he can. "Does Ellie like living in the garage?"

"Think so," he says. "She spends a night in the house every so often but I think she likes havin' her own space. S'important to me to give her that."

This is uncharted territory. You desperately don't want to step in shit, to somehow make him bring his walls back up. Everyone is protective of the things they love in this world and for good reason and you're pretty sure there is nothing and no one Joel loves more than Ellie.

"She's a good kid," you offer. "Everyone in town loves her."

Joel smiles down at his hands, that soft, raw smile you've seen a few times when talking about her. It makes your chest ache. "She is," he admits. "Pain in my ass, too."

You want so badly to ask him the details. How did they meet? How did they get here? How did they become so devoted to one another? And what happened in the last twenty years to get him to right now, washing dishes in your kitchen?

But you haven't earned that stuff yet. Maybe you never will.

"Does she like Jackson?" You remember what he said about them settling in, sleeping in the living room with their shoes on. You imagine he kept watch for weeks, maybe months, before deciding it was safe.

He nods. "S'good for her to have friends. And havin' school is good for her. She's real smart." He clears his throat. "And you? D'you like it?"

"Well, I like it much better now that my hinges don't squeak."

Joel laughs. "I'll bet you do." He's almost done, everything from your chili-making washed and set aside to dry. He's doing your dishes from breakfast but shows no signs of stopping."Do you cook like this a lot?

Your brows furrow. "I-- no, actually," you admit. "It's just me, so. Not worth putting in the effort that often."

He turns off the tap and grabs a towel and starts to dry. You should offer to help but you feel frozen to the counter. If you get any closer to him you might snap. His jaw is tight.

"When Ellie and I --" he stops, takes a moment to focus on the bowl in his hands. Joel, you've noticed, doesn't tend to say things he doesn't mean, at least not to you. It's like he knows that every word counts in a life as unpredictable as this. "We had a bit of a rough patch last year and we didn't talk for a while. I was damn near eatin' canned veggies on days Tommy didn't drag me to the community meals." He sighs and sets the bowl on the counter ever so gently. Violence and tenderness go hand in hand with him. "Just didn't have it in myself to try cookin' if she wasn't there to eat it."

It's the most vulnerable thing he's said. He keeps doing this -- offering you pieces of himself that you want to hold close, that make you think maybe he wants you to know him.

"Joel--"

"I guess what I'm sayin' is it's easier to take care of yourself when you're also takin' care of people who matter to you. That make sense?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "It does."

The whole scene is so...domestic that your chest aches. Joel in your kitchen doing your dishes. He's helping you yet again but this feels different. It feels like he wants to be here, talking to you. It feels real.

He finishes his task and dries his hands on a faded towel. You hop down from the counter to check the chili. "Should be done," you say. "Do you want to try it? Make sure it's worth it?"

"Oh, it's worth it," he mutters. You work to keep your face neutral. What does that mean? "Sure."

You pull a spoon from the drawer and while it would make more sense to just hand it to him you don't. Instead, you dip it into the steaming liquid and hold it out for him, your other hand cupped underneath to catch any spill. Joel stares at your offering for a few seconds and you wonder if he can hear your heart beating.

Then Joel reaches out slowly like he's afraid you'll bolt if he goes too fast, and lightly wraps his hand around your wrist. It's the first time he's touched you skin to skin and you know immediately that it's a mistake.

You'll never stop wanting him now.

His palm is warm, callused fingertips pressing gently into your skin and he tugs, bringing the spoon -- and you -- closer to his mouth. Everything moves in slow motion for a few moments and it's like you are the only two people in the world. Your kitchen fades and it's just Joel. His lips part and he slides the spoon into his mouth at the same time as his thumb strokes the inside skin of your wrist.

It's very possible that you gasp a little.

He closes his eyes and you're torn between watching his face and his throat as he swallows. You could look at him forever, you think, and never get enough. The set of his brow, the hard line of his jaw. Lines around his eyes and mouth from years of terror and violence but also from laughter and smiles. You want to learn every inch of him if he'll let you.

"Christ," Joel says. His eyes fly open and find yours. "That's good. That's real good."

"You're just saying that," you say weakly. He hasn't let go of your wrist and his thumb strokes once again. You wonder if you realize he's doing it.

Something in his face changes, something so small that you only notice because you're watching. It feels like he has decided something and you wish you knew him well enough to say what. You dare to hope it has to do with you.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm a good liar but I ain't just sayin' that."

Sweetheart. It echoes in your ears, burrows its way into your chest and takes root.

You're so fucked.

But there's something in Joel's gaze, in the brush of his thumb across your skin, in the fact he's just done all of your dishes and talked to you like he wants to be here that gives your traitorous heart some ground to stand on.

You send him home with as many glass containers of chili as he'll take. He argues that you won't have enough for yourself and manages to convince you to keep a few. You don't tell him that what you really want is to sit next to him at a table and eat it, knees bumping under the wood and his smile making your empty house feel warm.

"Tell Ellie I say hi," you say once he's out your door and on the porch. "And let me know if she likes it."

"Will do," Joel says. You hug your arms around yourself against the chill. He frowns slightly.

You wonder if he'd touch you if his hands weren't full.

"And thank you for--"

He shakes his head. "Not acceptin' thanks," he chides. "Not from you."

You don't know what to say to that. Joel seems to realize he's rendered you speechless, not for the first time, and nods his head before heading home.

"See you around, Joel," you call after him. It sounds half like a question and half like a wish.

He turns. "Countin' on it."

___

You do see him around but not as much as you'd like. Things pick up around town before the seasons can change and send Wyoming into winter. You find yourself in the kitchen most days helping seal jars for the community food stores, hands chapped from the hot water and heart light when you think about Joel. He nods at you from across the dining hall, opens the door of the library when you're going in and he's coming out, and tells Ellie to tell you how good the chili was when you share a shift at the stables.

"Fucking amazing," she says.

You sleep fairly well, going to bed each night with a little bit of lightness in your heart that you allow because why not? There's no way out short of Joel telling you to fuck off and you don't think that'll happen. If only you could get over yourself a little more and actually do something about it.

As much as you want to keep telling yourself that this -- glances across rooms, smiles from a distance, memories of his hand on your skin -- is enough, you're not sure that it is. The force of your want is destabilizing considering the most that's happened is maybe a little bit of flirting. But maybe this is you taking his direction to ask for...no help, not exactly, but to ask for something. To ask for him.

Today you're going on patrol. You decide as you mount your horse that you're going to ask Joel if he wants to get a drink when you get back. You want to talk to him again, let him under your skin a little more. Maybe tell him some things about yourself. Sometimes he's milling around the gate or on wall duty but you don't see him as you and your partner -- a fairly new kid in his twenties -- take your rifles and head out. You're on an easy route today, just clearing out the town over the hill and the highway exits near Jackson. Shouldn't take you more than a few hours.

It goes to shit fairly quickly.

The kid -- Conner? Charlie? You can't remember -- is rambling about the infected he's killed for some reason when you realize something isn't quite right. You can't hear any birds. Apollo snorts and it sounds panicked. You motion for the kid to stop talking but he either ignores you or doesn't see.

He sure shuts up when the clicker bursts out of a house to your left. Apollo startles and rears at the moment you reach for your gun and you can't grab hold in time.

You go flying, bouncing off a rusted-out car and landing hard on the broken pavement of the street with a popping sound. There is a pain in your shoulder so intense your vision whites out. The kid is shouting, the clicker is making that awful sound, but then you hear two gunshots and nothing else.

"Holy fuck," he says, rushing over to you. "Fuck, are you okay?"

Well, for a talker, this kid a good shot.

"Get the -- horse --" You roll onto your back with a groan and he grabs Apollo and settles him.

"What happened?"

You stare up at the sky, blue turning purple. It'll be sunset soon and you very well might be fucked if this is what you think it is.

"I think my shoulder popped out," you say through gritted teeth. Your head doesn't hurt like you smacked it and your side is only a little sore. Maybe some bruised ribs. Your hands are scraped, blood beading on the heels of your palms. "Help me up."

"Holy shit." He helps you sit up and then stand, your left arm hanging limp at your side. You hiss through your teeth as it gets jostled and lean heavily on the car. "You don't look so good," he says. "Can you ride? We should only be a half hour out of town."

"I...don't think so." You're pretty sure you'll pass out from the pain and this kid doesn't look like he can handle that. You don't want to fuck up the joint any more than you have to. "You're going to have to go back and bring someone to set it for me, okay?"

"But the rules say --"

"I know what the fucking rules say," you snap. Don't let your partner out of your sight. Your shoulder is throbbing and you might cry but not until this kid is on his way back to town. "That's why you're going to go as fast as you can, alright?"

"We should at least clear a building first so you can --"

"No time," you say, looking at the sky. "If we want to be back before nightfall you need to go now. I'll handle myself."

You really should know his name. He sets his jaw in a move that reminds you of Joel which causes a pang in your chest so intense you want to rub it away. "I'll clear that garage, okay?" He points behind you and before you can stop him he runs towards it with his gun out.

Lucky for both of you it's clear. You take Apollo inside and slump against the wall, pistol in your hand. The kid closes the garage door behind him and you hear the clop of his horse as he gallops away.

"Fuck," you say into the empty room. It's dusty and full of cobwebs and not much else. Empty metal shelves, a rusted-out lawn mower, some tarps so ratted they're useless. Apollo snorts. "Not your fault, buddy."

Death has been nipping at your heels for twenty years now. You've always expected it. And you're fairly certain you won't die out here. Maybe end up spending a night on this floor, having to walk yourself back to Jackson tomorrow morning. But you can't help the fear that rises in your throat. You know how an injury like this means so much more in this world. You won't be able to work for weeks. You won't be able to patrol, to pull your weight.

You're going to need a lot of help.

You close your eyes against the stinging tears and thud your head against the wall.

The pain dulls the embarrassment you feel when you catch yourself thinking of Joel. You wish he was here. If you'd been on patrol together this wouldn't have happened. You wonder what he's going to think of this.

What you'd really like is for him to hold you and tell you it'll be alright.

A few tears slip down your nose. Apollo noses at your knee.

There are no windows so you don't know how much time has passed. You start to question if this was the right call. Maybe you could have made it back on horseback, or at the very least slung across the back of Apollo like a sack of flour, arm be damned.

Your traitorous brain is about to remind you of all the things that go bump in the night out here when you hear something. 

Someone is calling your name. Yelling it.

"Here!" you scream. Apollo whinnies. "I'm here!" You have no idea if they can hear you. You press your good shoulder into the wall behind you and try to push yourself to your feet but just as you do the garage door is hauled open and there stands --

Joel.

A sob bursts from your throat and you will yourself to pull it together. Behind him the sky is much more orange than it was when you first sat down.

Joel's eyes look you up and down once before cataloging the space and locking on some milk crates. He stacks two of them.

"Sit," he says. His voice is tight.

"Joel --"

"Sit."

You do as he says. He kneels at your feet and rummages around in his bag. His horse stands munching on some overgrown grass on the driveway. Did he come alone?

"How are you here --"

Joel cuts you off with a glare. His eyes are blazing, jaw grinding as he holds out a length of bandage.

"Hold this." He stands and his knees crack. "Kid said it's your shoulder. Anything else?"

The throb is still deep, still intense, but his arrival almost made you forget all about it. You shake your head.

"Didn't hit your head? Crack ribs? Nothin' like that?"

"No, I don't think so --"

"Need you to sit up straight," he says. There's no warmth in his tone but it's a little softer now that he's taken stock of the situation. "I ain't gonna lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell." He digs in his pocket for something and pulls out a square of leather. "Need you to bite down on this."

He squats so that you're just about face to face and holds out the leather. It feels like being in your kitchen, you holding out the spoon and fighting your desire to touch him. Except this time he won't look you in the eye. You open your mouth and he gently places it between your teeth, thumb catching the corner of your lips and trailing along the edge of your chin before he pulls away and stands up.

"I'm going to reset it on three, alright? Bite down hard on that." He finally meets your gaze and you nod and close your eyes. He puts one hand on your shoulder and the other on your wrist and you wince even though you feel incredibly safe in his hands. "Alright. One...two --"

Joel jerks your arm up and around before he hits three and you barely hear it pop back into place because, as he said, it hurts like hell. You bite down hard on the leather which also serves to muffle your scream.

Someone is talking to you."I know, baby, I know. Good job, you did a good job."

You open your eyes and wipe away a few tears with one hand and pull the leather from your teeth. Joel looks pained but his face snaps back to neutral when he sees you watching. His eyes narrow.

"Where did that come from?" He gently grabs your wrist and looks at your palm and you both find it bloody. "Got it on your face."

"Scraped my hands when I fell," you say hoarsely. He clicks his tongue.

"Give me that bandage." You don't even get a chance to hand it to him because he plucks it from your lap. "Gonna make this into a sling for this arm. Try not to move it much. Then we'll clean those hands and head home. Get you to the clinic for some meds." He gently positions your arm, which hurts a lot less than before but is still throbbing, and ties a sling so it's bent close to your chest. You can feel his breath on your neck as he does the knot.

And then he's back crouching in front of you.

Joel Miller on his knees for you so many times in one day makes you a little dizzy. Or maybe that's the adrenaline.

"Are you angry with me?" you ask softly as he wipes clean your palms and cheek with firm touches. The muscle in his jaw twitches again and his hands freeze for a split second.

"No," he says. "I ain't mad at you. I just can't believe the fuckin' kid left you here."

"I told him to."

"Can't believe that either. You know better."

"It's fine, Joel," you say. "It doesn't matter. I would have just walked back in the morning if no one came --"

He pulls his hands away and tosses the rag to the floor. "Damnit, it does matter," he curses. "'Course it fuckin' matters. Cut that shit out."

Now you're confused. It sure seems like he's angry with you. "Joel, I don't understand --"

His hands cradle your face and the protest dies in your throat. "You matter to me," he says thickly. His eyes are wide but his stare is steady. "Ain't it fuckin' obvious?" Anger and desperation are dripping from his words. "It matters."

For one long second you think he's going to kiss you. Now that might kill you.

You wrap one hand around his wrist and lean into his palm. A thousand thoughts swirl in your head but you focus on one. Joel is here which means you're safe. Joel is here which means he's going to take care of you. Joel is here. Joel is here. Joel is here.

"Oh," you breathe. You turn your face in his palm and press your lips to the center of it. His breath hitches and it feels like something big between you shifts, slots into place. "Okay," you say against his skin.

He pulls his hands away and stands. He works his jaw a few times before shouldering his pack and holding out his hand. "Let's go home," he says.

You stand with his help. "I think you'll need to help me get on my horse."

"Not a fuckin' chance," he growls but you can still see tenderness in his eyes. "Can't hold on well enough with one arm. We're ridin' together."

This Joel is one you haven't seen. But this is what you wanted, right? You want to see every part of him. Something molten and heavy sits in your stomach at how tense he is, how his hands remain gentle despite his harsh words. How he just told you that you matter to him. Maybe this is all a dream.

He helps you on his horse and then gets on behind you, tying Apollo's reigns to his so you won't lose him. He wraps one arm right around your stomach, mindful of your arm.

"Ain't gonna be comfortable," he says in your ear. "But it'll be over quick."

You lean back into him. Hell, it's all on the table now. If your arm is going to hurt you might as well enjoy your time pressed against him.

"Oh, I don't know," you say. "This isn't so bad." He snorts and snaps the reigns.

He talks low and steady in your ears as you gallop, his palm firm on your abdomen to keep you as still as possible though it's a hopeless venture. Your shoulder aches, sends sharp tendrils of pain through your entire arm with every stride.

He tells you that he was on the wall when your partner came back alone. That he knew something was wrong with you as soon as the kid came into view. He'd seen the patrol assignments and knew you were paired together. Kid didn't know what flag to use to signal his approach because you're not supposed to leave behind your partner.

Joel tells you how he hopped down from the wall and asked the kid where exactly he left you. Demanded to know how hurt you were, if you'd been bit. He was on a horse before anyone else could get their shit together, told them to get Tommy and have the clinic ready for you. Started hollering your name as soon as he got to the street, rifle ready for any infected to show up.

"Damn miracle when you yelled back," he says just as Jackson comes into view. You're sweating and dizzy from the pain, practically all of your weight slumped back into his chest. "Almost there, sweetheart. Doin' real good."

The rest of it is a blur. Joel takes you to the clinic where he becomes increasingly agitated that he set your shoulder wrong until one of the staff says he did it just fine. They give you a real sling and one painkiller to take if you hurt really bad, despite some harsh words from Joel in an attempt to get you more.

"Don't move it above your head for two weeks. Keep the sling on for that time, too. Ice it today, start moving it back and forth a few times in a few days. You got someone to help you for a bit?"

Before you can open her mouth Joel answer for you.

"Yes." The nurse hides her amusement well. She lets you go. Joel keeps his hand on your back as he walks you to your house.

You stop him when you get to your front door. "Joel --"

"If you're about to argue with me, so help me God, I'll --"

"I was going to ask if you need to go check on Ellie." You pull out your keys and after a second hold them out for him. Maybe letting Joel help you is helping him, too. You can handle that. You think.

"Told Tommy to when I left. I'll go home once we get you settled."

We.

"Okay," you say softly. He unlocks the door and motions for you to go in. You sit gingerly on the couch and Joel brings you a glass of water.

And then he paces. He looks at the books on your shelf without seeing them and rubs his thumb against his first two fingers over and over. And all of a sudden he won't look at you.

"Joel, sit down or something," you grumble. "You're making me nervous."

He stops. "Fine." His tone has a bit of bite to it that makes you close your eyes. There's an armchair in the room but he sits next to you instead. He presses his knee to yours, almost in apology.

The adrenaline has faded by now and all you feel is the ache of your shoulder and ribs and rawness of your palms and heart. The shoulder hurts like hell but in a way all of this hurts deeper, harder than that. In the way you know love, or the beginning of it, can hurt.

You sniffle.

Truth is you're overwhelmed. By what happened, by Joel coming to get you and saying all that shit. By him touching you, by him being here, by your own heart beating so quickly at his nearness. Even though you dared hope he felt something close to your affection for him it's a shock to realize he cares about you because you're you, not just because he's a good man. You've always wanted love that came from a place of purpose, which feels selfish on the best of days. You should just accept whatever kindness comes your way in this cruel world.

But, fuck, you've always wanted to feel chosen. Like you matter.

And you do. Right here, you do. From his own lips he's said you do.

You don't even realize you're crying until Joel curses softly and one wide, warm palm is on your face again.

"What's wrong? You hurtin'?" His thumb swipes at your tears. "Talk to me."

"I'm fine." You press your face into his shoulder and he holds you, hand soft on the back of your head. "I'm just -- I'm just really glad you're here, Joel."

"Course I'm here," he says into your hair. "C'mere."

There's nowhere for you to go considering you're already pressed against him. But his arms come around you fully, mindful of your shoulder, and your fingers fist in his shirt.

You should be embarrassed. On the scale of fucked up shit that's happened to you, today is remarkably low. But you let yourself have this. You breathe him in and let him hold you.

"I was going to ask you to get a drink tonight," you mumble. His chest vibrates with laughter.

"That so?" he says. His hand rubs up and down your spine. "Reckon I'd say yes."

You pull back just enough to see his face. This close you can see how his eyes have a bit of gold in them. "Really?" Even with proof of his affection right in front of you it's a little hard to believe.

"Am I readin' this wrong?" he asks. "It's okay if I am--"

"No," you say quickly. "No, you're not."

"Thought so." His lips pull up at the corner just a bit. "But, still. You've had a real rough day, and --"

"Joel," you breathe. You free your good arm from your embrace and put your hand on his jaw. He's touched you plenty today and you want to give it a try yourself. His face is warm, his beard gently rubbing against your skin. His eyes flutter close for a breath before he opens them wide and leans into your hand just a little.

"Alright," he says softly. Then he says your name, just once, ever so tenderly. It sounds like a prayer.

Joel Miller kisses you in the middle of your living room. Despite the affection you've been nursing for him over the last little while you never allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like to kiss him.

It's like this: the first press of his lips is soft like he thinks you'll pull away. When you don't he takes your lower lip between his and presses a little harder. Your hand slides into his hair and he palms your hip with one of his and cups your face with the other. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you open for him, let him lick into your mouth. You sigh into it and tug on his hair just a little. Joel makes a sound deep in his throat and then pulls away.

You're both breathing heavier than before, both smiling. Joel presses his lips to your forehead, your temple. He holds you against him and you breathe against the skin of his neck.

"Will you let me take care of you?" he says into your hair.

"For my sake or yours?"

You think he'll laugh but he just breathes. "Both," he says. "Hell, you know what's goin' on here. I showed my hand. Been showin' it." He pulls away so you can see the honesty in his face. "I told you in as many damn words as I know how."

He did. He did and you make yourself believe it. Love in this life is worth holding on with both hands. Whatever this is, whatever this is going to become, you want it. You want to let this man continue to teach you to ask for help. You want to learn from him, maybe teach him a few things of your own.

You want to love him. You think you could sooner rather than later.

You trace the line of his brow, run your fingertip over the scar on the bridge of his nose.

"Can you kiss me again?" you ask.

"What a fuckin' question," he says. "C'mere."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[rafeyscurtainbangs]

Breaking Dishes - Rafe Cameron One Shot

+18 Minor DNI

CollegeStudent!Rafe x CollegeStudent!Reader

🪄 re-uploaded because I had to make a new account

⭐ republished ⭐

+18 Minor DNI

🪄 Warning: SMUT, lots of pet names, lovey Rafe, friends to lovers, oral (female receiving), oral (male receiving), unprotected p in v

📖 Rafe’s best friend helps him make the best of his buzz cut era and he gets whatever he’d like in exchange.

✨"Do you think about me a lot, y/n?" He breathes.

"Yes," you press out the word through a moan.

"And you wanted to know what my hands could do. Didn't you? I've seen the way you look at me," he taunts. "Are they doin' it for you, Y/N?" He works you a little harder.✨

2.8k (<- mostly smut)

Readers POV:

“It hurts.”

“Does it hurt? Or does it itch? There’s a difference.

"Both, Y/N… This is fuckin’ stupid.”

“No. Nah. Nope… What was stupid was the fact that you, a grown-ass man, didn’t know how to do his own laundry.”

“That’s what you’re for.”

You flick your eyes from his hair to the mirror, catching him with your death stare. “Keep going." He gives you a shit-eating grin, making you fight off a smile of your own.

"This has to be done." He looks at his hair in the mirror, the bleach altering his dark blonde buzz to an icy white.”

“Almost," you sing, running your polished nail through the bleach, eyeing your work.

"And I get whatever I want if I do this. Yeah?”

“Anything you’d like.”

Anything.

It started simply with you and Rafe. He looked like a pouty little man-child, holding his Ralph Lauren polo by the shoulders, his privilege showing as he eyed the streaked bleach stain across the front. This sort of shit had gone on for days. First, it was no detergent, then fabric softener only, followed by straight bleach on the third day. He looked pathetic, desperate to accomplish this simple task. You helped him on the fourth day, sparking a friendship in the process, making your first year at college a little easier.

There was so much stuff he just didn’t know how to do… Stuff that he could fully figure out on his own, but if he did… Then, he wouldn’t need you. And both of you knew that.

There was a spark. There always was. But this time, it was a loaded exchange. You do this for me, and I’ll do anything you’d like, Rafey.

“Purple shampoo?” He mumbles.

“I’m being proactive. Gotta tone it. Don’t question it,” you giggle, emulsifying the shampoo, watching the suds and bleach swirl down the sink. “Gah… Looks so fucking good." He grunts in reply. "Stay here." You run over to the rack, grabbing a fluffy white towel. "Stop!”

“What? Why? It’s my hair, Y/N. Jesus fuck.”

“‘Cause… It’s a surprise," you practically growl out the words through your excitement, swathing the towel around his head, pawing out the water.

"What am I gonna do if this looks like shit?”

“It won’t. It won’t," you smile. "What are you gonna tell Topper?" 

"That I lost a bet. I don’t know. You’re takin’ advantage of me, y/n.”

“You’re the only person I know with a buzz cut, Cameron. It fits your aesthetic. Lean into it.”

“I’m not leaning into shit.”

“Stand up.” You feel your cheeks redden as Rafe rises from his hunched-over position in the sink, his muscular frame bare, just a pair of gray sweats on his tight body. “You blushing, Y/N?" He asks as a cocky smile spreads on his lips. You bite yours, casting your gaze away as you try to collect yourself. "I look that good. Huh?" He taunts, hooking his finger under your chin, guiding your gaze to his. You stare into reach beautiful baby blues, feeling your heart start to race.

"Yeah, Cameron.”

He bites his cheek, holding back an all-too-wide smile as his cheeks redden as well. You reach up, tapping the high point of his face, silently calling him out. “Got me," he whispers, making your heart flutter. "Alright… So, can I look?" You smile and nod. Rafe turns on his heels, eyes widening as he takes himself in. He goes through all the emotions at once, landing on a meh. His lip tugs slightly, shoulders shrugging in acceptance."It’s not that bad…”

“I love it," you praise, smiling brightly back at him.

"You’re way too fuckin’ excited about this, Y/N.”

“Nah… You wouldn’t get it.”

“M'Kay. What now?” He cops a slight attitude, unenthused with the rest of your request. You snatch your phone out of your pocket, flicking to your camera, turning it on record. “NO!" He rips it out of your hand, turning it off before passing it back.

"What…" You pout.

"The fuck do you have to record this for?”

“Me!”

“What are you gonna do with it, Y/N? This goes nowhere.”

“It’s just for me, Rafey. Jesus Christ. Calm your tits.”

“Don’t tell me to calm my tits," he huffs. "I’m so fuckin’ serious, Y/N.”

“I promise,” you answer earnestly. “And, you have to say the thing.”

“I forgot.”

“Bullshit.”

“When?” He crosses his arms before his chest, his hip popped slightly.

“After I start the song, of course,” you tease. “Alexa play Breaking Dishes by Rihanna.”

“This is weird,” he snips, looking down at you disgustingly.

“It’s alright, baby girl. You don’t have to get it.”

“Don’t call me baby girl, Y/N,” he huffs as the song starts to build.

“Fine. Alright, Rafey. Lights, Camera, Action.”

“A man, a man, a ma-a-a-an…”

Rafe rolls his eyes and sucks his teeth, throwing his arms to his sides. His ab muscles flex more than before, making you squeal internally. Fuck, he looks good.  Your eyes widen, threatening him with your glare to say his fucking line. “Snow always lands on top.”

“Ah! Yes, Rafey!” You press the little red button, ending the recording, letting out a delighted squeal before jumping into his arms. His eyes fall down your body, roaming back up nice and slow. Rafe’s gaze gets stuck on your lips, wetting his own, tension building between the two of you as you wait to see if he’ll ask for what you both want.

“You know, Y/N… I wouldn’t do this shit for anybody else," he mumbles. 

"I know," you smile. "So, what do you want, Rafe?" You ask, drawing his focus back to your gaze.

"Helped you set up that big mirror last week," he rasps.

"Mhmm…”

“Wanna fuck you in front of it, Y/N." You feel your stomach flip, your heart instantly picks up pace.

"Oh.”

“That okay?" He asks, leaning in slightly.

"Yeah… That’s okay.”

“You want that?" He smiles; his lips mere centimeters from yours, breathing softly against yours.

"Yeah.”

“Words, Y/N," he whispers.

"I want you to fuck me in front of the mirror, Rafe," you respond, voice hoarse and breathy as your nerves start to get the better of you. Everything fades away as Rafe’s lips crash into yours, taking your breath away, claiming your mouth against his. Heat rolls over your skin. Your body starts to tingle, hands moving from his neck, wrapping around his broad shoulders tightly, drawing him closer. His lips are sweet, just like you expected. A soft moan escapes your lips, landing in his. You feel him smile against your kiss, making you do the same.

"You sure this is okay?" He mumbles between kisses as he walks with you into your bedroom.

”Perfect.“ Rafe’s tongue slips through your lips, greeting yours, rolling softly with your rhythm. Fuck… He draws back from you, looking at the two of you in the mirror. 

"First thing I thought about when you asked me to put this up, Y/N. Been thinkin’ about it ever since.”

“Yeah?" You smile as you look back into his blue jean eyes. "Why do you think I bought it?" His smile shifts to a smirk at the sound of your admittance. Rafe sets you down, making quick work of your clothing, peeling it off between kisses. You bite your lip as your fingers dance over the indentations of his muscles, working down to his waistband, his slutty gray sweats. You work the material over his thighs and down to his ankles. He kicks them off, just a pair of white cotton Calvin’s on his large frame. You take your time, revealing his thick cock inch by inch. His dick springs free, standing straight; a bead of cum gathered on his swollen tip.

His rough fingers ghost over your soft skin. Rafe takes hold of your breasts, pressing them together. His touch lightens, feather-soft circle over your nipples. "Rafe," you whine as you throw your head back. His mouth quickly greets your skin, sucking harshly, skimming and flicking your hardened nipple with his tongue. His hands roam down your body as his lips return to yours. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. It’s happening. Rafe’s hand disappears between your thighs, making you moan. He runs his finger along your silk. 

"So fucking wet for me, y/n," he hums, turning you to face the mirror. You feel your whole body start to pulse, every nerve firing hot. Rafe’s fingers meet your bud, circling softly. You’d always look at his hands, wondering what they could do. 

"Feels so good," you whine, causing him to chuckle sinfully. Rafe pulls another moan out of your parted lips, his dark gaze matching yours over your shoulder. He adds a second finger, curling it inside of you, thrusting in and out. Rafe moves his thumb to your clit, adding a little more pressure. 

"I’ve always wanted you," He growls, lips grazing your ear.

"Yeah," you mewl.

"Do you think about me a lot, y/n?" He breathes.

"Yes," you press out the word through a moan.

"And you wanted to know what my hands could do. Didn’t you? I’ve seen the way you look at me," he taunts. "Are they doin’ it for you, Y/N?" He works you a little harder.

"Yes! Yes." You cry. Your thighs start to tremble. Rafe’s lips lock on your neck, licking you, marking you as his own. "I’m gonna cum.”

“I know, baby. I know," he whispers against your skin. ”Can you be a good girl and cum when I tell you?“

”Rafe, I… S-Shit.“ Your eyes flick open, resting on him as you fight back your pleasure, Rafe working against you, trying his very best to push you over the holding.

"Cum.”

“Fuck!" You lose yourself, fluttering around his fingers. He continues to please you, toiling harder and quicker than before. Your lips crash into his, cries of pleasure against his mouth. The two of you are breathing heavily. Rafe sucks off your bottom lip slowly.

"I can’t wait to have you, y/n," he groans huskily. ”Fuck. That was beautiful.“ Rafe wraps his strong arms around your waist, holding you tightly. "How was that, baby?” He drawls.

“Fantastic… Holy shit.”

His hands fall down your skin, landing on your hips, turning you before pulling you close. Rafe circles your ass, squeezing you, giving you a little spank. Your urges are too strong. You just can’t resist.

You throw yourself in his arms, lips locking with his. He moans into your kiss, tongue rolling with yours. Your hands grasp the front of his thighs, nails sinking in slightly.

You drag your fingers down his tight body. A smile spreads on Rafe’s lips as you wrap your hands around his thick dick.

“Shit, y/n," he chuckles raspily as you fall to your knees.

"Can I suck your cock, Rafey?”

“Mmm… Mhmm," he groans, a lusty chuckle leaving his lips. ”Hell fucking yes, Y/N.“ You feel your confidence building by the moment. You swirl your tongue on his velvety head, collecting his precum on your tongue. Rafe takes a sharp breath, followed by a loose, drawn-out moan.

"I’ve always wanted you in my mouth, Rafe," you pant. You trace the head of his shaft, lips close, breathing warmly against him. "Do you want my mouth?" You whisper onto his tip, his lashes flutter.

"Ugh, Shit. Yes, y/n," he groans. "I need your mouth on my cock." His voice is coarse and delicious, driving you wild. You flatten your tongue, licking him from base to tip. Rafe’s fingers rake through your hair, his hands gripping the back of your head.

His hips thrust into your mouth slowly, pushing you to see how far he can go. He draws out, your tongue swirls to the tip. "Fuck me, Y/N," Rafe hums. The grip on your hair tightens.

Each thrust is deeper than the next, a soft swirl to his tip. Your eyes start to water. Rafe readjusts his stance, his eyebrows furrowing. Bringing your hands up to his balls, you play with them as well. Rafe bites his lips, grunting with each thrust as he starts to buck his hips into your mouth. You’re choking on his cock, tears streaming down your cheeks. You bring your fingers down to your warmth, pleasing yourself as well.

”Y/n,“ Rafe grunts, taking notice; his breathing increases. "You’re going to make me cum, baby," he sears. He adjusts his stance, thighs quaking. ”Mmm… Y/n. I can’t wait to have you. I’m going to fuckin’ ruin you, Y/N,“ he growls, eyes pinched shut. Hollowing your cheeks, you increase your suction, causing his lips to part. You feel his dick twitch on your tongue. Rafe thrusts into you roughly, his climax spilling deep into your throat. He throws his head back again, holding yours against him as you scratch your nails along his ass. "Y/n, f-fuck," he pants, breathing rapidly. ”Ugh… Holy shit.“ You come off him slowly, eyes set on him. "Best blowjob of my life..”

“Stop,” you giggle.

“Fuck, y/n. I mean it." He helps you to your feet, quickly pulling you in tightly. He presses a kiss against your forehead, breathing rapidly, still coming down from his climax. "Can’t wait to taste you, Y/N?”

“M'so wet…" You hum, fanning the flame. His eyes darken, trailing your curves before tossing you down on the bed. You feel your pussy throb, craving Rafe’s lips; his fingers; his cock. He wraps his arms around your thighs, drawing you toward his face.

You throw your arms above your head, arching your back as his tongue glides through your silk. "Shit," you mewl as you feel the warmth of his mouth, and the whisper of his breath against your sex. Rafe buries himself between your thighs, nose brushing your clit; tongue dipping into your entrance. Your heart starts to race again. You prop yourself up on your elbow, meeting his stare. Drawing your hands up your body, you take hold of your breasts. Rafe moans against your pussy, watching as you play with yourself.

He whispers your name softly against your clit; you toss your head back. Feeling the roughness of his hand against your stomach, working higher. Rafe palms your breast, rolling your nipple softly between his fingers. You feel your pleasure building. Your body moves, grinding your hips to get a little more friction. Rafe’s hand lowers, your anticipation builds. He licks a line up your slit. His fingers toy with your entrance. "Rafe, please," you wail, your thighs widening, pressure building in between. "Ugh… Fuck!" You cry. Rafe sinks two fingers deep, his soft lips sucking roughly. Your thighs start to quiver as he thrusts his digits in and out.

”Can you cum on my fingers?“ He breathes. "Can you soak my hand for me?”

“Yes… Yes.”

“Mmm… My cock’s gonna feel so good sliding in and out of this pretty pussy, Y/N.”

“Yes!" You punch out the word, back arching off the bed. You feel your release, just like he asked, making a mess of his hand as you grip the sheets. You can hear the sound of it. His fingers working sloppily, in and out.

"Baby…" You stutter, relaxing around his fingers, craving more. Rafe grips your hips in his strong hands, tugging you even closer to the edge. You tilt your head up, watching as he takes a grip on his cock, hard and throbbing. Your eyes shift as he guides himself closer. He seizes himself by the base, tapping his dick against your clit. Your thighs tremble with each touch, spurs of pleasure, your sensitivity at an all-time high.

"So fucking wet," he praises. Rafe’s hands shift, taking a harsh hold on the back of your thighs, pressing them to your chest. "Mmm… Hold these f'me," he groans. You relax your head to the side as Rafe runs his tips through your silk, his eyes meet yours in the mirror, a smile spreading on his lips.

His mouth parts, mirroring yours as his cock starts to stretch you out. You let out a soft whimper, your eyebrows knit as he gives you all of him. Every inch pushes you to your limit; your eyes roll back as he draws out, quickly thrusting back in.

Your hands grab his forearms, holding on tightly, drawing him closer, pulling him deeper. "Look at me, Y/N," he moans, his eyes shifting from the mirror, driving into yours. He leans into you, folding you in half, pinning your thighs against the bed as he kisses you deeply. Your tongues intertwine, moaning and blissful cries are exchanged between your lips.

You separate slightly, breathing rapidly, lips hovering close. His skin slaps against yours, your forehead, nestled against his. "You’re so fuckin’ beautiful," he pants.

”God, this feels so good.“

"So good, baby," he echoes. Rafe picks up speed, feeling your walls drawn in around him. His strong hands grip your hips, using them as leverage to drive deeper.

You throw your head back, eyes shut tight as you feel yourself about to fall apart. Your mouth draws open, a string of curses and praise flow freely. Rafe’s lips lock onto your nipple, sucking hard.

"Rafe. Fuck!” Your pleasure releases, your body pulses around his shaft. Your hands reach for him, pulling slightly, tugging him toward your lips. Rafe picks you up swiftly, taking a seat on the bed, his cock still deep inside.

“Are you okay?" He pants with a smile.

"So good… So fucking good.”

You start rolling and grinding your hips on top of him. Rafe starts to bounce on the mattress. His breathing increases; you can tell he’s close. Grabbing his shoulders, you press him down on the bed. Rafe’s hands squeeze your ass tightly, guiding you, setting a rapid tempo. “Fuck… Ugh," he whimpers. "I’m gonna cum.” He takes you by surprise, drawing out quickly, rolling you to your back.

He plunges back in, reaching for air as he grunts and moans incoherent words. “I’m cumming… Shit," he groans as he climaxes. Rafe continues to drive his release deeper. He presses his lips and body against yours, rocking slowly to a stop.

"Holy shit…." he pants, holding you close. Rafe nuzzles himself into your neck, breathing rapidly as he kisses you softly. You sigh blissfully, relaxing into the bed, giving him better access to your skin. His lips work over your neck, moving up to your jaw.

"So…" he whispers.

"So," you giggle, your heart racing rapidly against his.

"I like you, Y/N, if that’s not clear. And that… Fuck. That was so damn good," he groans blissfully.

"I like you too," you cup his cheeks in your hands, kissing him gently.

"And, just so we’re crystal clear, you pictured yourself fuckin’ me and not…" He points to his hair, narrowing his eyes on yours.

"Rafe? No, President Snow. Of course, I pictured myself fucking you and not Rafe Cameron.”

“Brat." He spanks your ass, making you yelp.

"Fuck, Rafe!” You whine as you look back, watching the print shift from white to red.

“Ah, shit. You don’t like it rough, Y/N?" He taunts through a snickering laugh. You lower your lips to him, brushing gently.

"You owe me now, Rafey… Round two. I like it rough.”

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[willownwisp]

ree's leon valentine's day advent <3

hi everyone. <3 as the leon kennedy fluff truther, i'm making an advent for valentine's day because pookie deserves so much love! everyday, i'll be posting a fic ranging from nsfw/sfw fluff for babu leon, i'll be putting out the scenarios and snippets below if y'all are interested. author's note: i've been meaning to put this out like a week ago when i finally figured out the problem w my account as to why tumblr wasn't letting me reply to comments :( but sadly, college got me so head empty. anyway, i've already got 2 days worth of fics already finished so i hope y'all can give me a read. <3

FEBRUARY 8 𖹭 nice legs, daisy dukes. (vendetta!leon x fem!reader) Leon feels like a creep, fuck that. He definitely looks like a creep. Thirty-six year old in all of his 5'11 glory standing outside his girlfriend's college leant against his Ducati like a dick, carrying a box of those, instagrammable pastries you always like to look at. It doesn't hurt to be sweet. Not when you walk — run, at the sight of him in your preppy mini dress, highlighting those long, long legs. Nothing is sweeter, especially when it's wrapped around him.

FEBRUARY 9 𖹭 starry skies, blue eyes. (re4r!leon x fem!reader) Stars dot stygian skies, the night is young, the moon is high. Leon's heart soars with your every laughter. The way your eyes close and your nose scrunches. God he was so in love with you, he could forgive the fact that the tent should have been up hours ago before night. You swear you remember your knots from your wide-eyed Girl Scout days, and he swears these silly moments with you are what makes life bearable.

FEBRUARY 10 𖹭 cold woes. (re4r!leon x fem!reader) Leon S. Kennedy. The apple of his instructors' eyes (and yours), he's a top graduate in the Police Academy for fuck's sake. He's decimated hordes of zombies in his first day as a rookie cop. Endured military training in the middle of nowhere, he's saved the President's daughter. He doesn't get sick. Only that he does catch a cold at the expense of prioritizing you, his clumsy girlfriend, who forgot to wear a jacket on a camping trip, offering his warm clothes to you. He doesn't regret it, he likes taking care of you, but there's something adorable about your sheepish apologies as you wait on him. He could get used to being babied. FEBRUARY 11 𖹭 love on me. (di!leon x fem!reader) As much as Leon loves the sun, the beaches, the tropics. Oh what he would give to become a beach bum in his next life instead of being smacked by bioweapons day in, night out, and being a good bitch to good ol' U.S of A. Unfortunately, after the events of Alcatraz, maybe he's had enough of the sea for now. He gives himself a pat on the back, takes out a chunk of his savings to go to Japan because you've been eyeing it. You said you were interested in the food, culture, and sights. So why in the world were you dragging him to a love hotel? FEBRUARY 12 𖹭 fill up your cup. (re6!leon x fem!reader) He feels himself spiraling recently, turning to the bottle because a glass is never troubled by his woes. He breaks them of course, can't help it, seems like his life is doomed to him breaking in the end. Fragments of glass scatters on the floor, vodka spills on the floor splashes it around like his grief because his body can only take so much. You arrive as he tries to pick them up, attempts to pick himself up. You whisper assurance, he doesn't deserve it. The way you look at him ardently, the gentleness that is your existence. You empty out his pain, and fill it with love. FEBRUARY 13 𖹭 the thrill, the love. (damnation!leon x fem!reader) He wills his old Yamaha to go faster. Your dainty arms clinging to him, the softness of your touch as his speed breaks the sound barrier. What started as mere curiosity turns into rituals. Secrets that only the both of you know. He knocks on your door at midnight, drives you around town. He scolds you every time your arm breaks free, throwing them to the wind. You don't care, you love the thrill, you love him. Leon admits that there is something alluring to the thrill of the chase. Perhaps that's why he's spent his years chasing Ada, but with you it was different. FEBRUARY 14 𖹭 kiss it better. (di!leon x fem!reader) Leon is a man full of stories, his pain, his peace, his fears, his needs. There is more to him than just being a formidable weapon against bioterrorism. He never was a weapon, just a flesh and blood human, and in his mortality there are scars. Deep within him, and littered in his skin. You kiss the faded slash on his hand, he tells you how he'd got it from when Ashley Graham had tried to stab him under the influence of the plaga. You kiss it again, and what he doesn't tell you is the wave of warmth that washes his entire being, it tugs on his very soul. You kiss the scars because it's there, because it's him, and in his reverie, he thinks you truly are his person.

[mxtantrights]

day court!reader barges in on a meeting with the inner circle

Your day was just beginning but you have had enough.

Not only did you wake up this morning in some random male's bed after a bad late night tryst, he had the nerve to kick you out because he was not in fact single. His girlfriend came back by the time you managed to flee through the back door.

On top of that, you were hungry. You hadn't eaten since last night, when you picked up the lying male at the bar. He offered to make you food at his place but one thing led to another, and you two ended up in bed. And you were the one left unsatisfied, tired, and hangry. So you tried to sleep it off.

So you walked through the city in your clothes from last night. Gaining a bit of looks, but honestly it wasn't that uncommon for other fae to do the walk of shame. It wouldn't be your first, but you prayed to the mother it would be your last.

When you finally got to the palace you found out you missed an important meeting because someone moved it a day forward. That someone being Helion. And that seemed to irk you a bit more than anything else. Or maybe it was the tipping point.

That is why you are stomping to the visitors room. One of the palace guards said he was in there with guests, but you didn't really care about the guests part. You just cared that he was in a location you could get to.

Once you reach the door you swing the door open. He's seated at the table with three others. A male, and two females. You didn't really take them into account because you were too ticked off to do so.

"Helion, do you wish to tell me why the meeting on creating new positions in the court was pushed to today?" you ask.

Helion smirks, "I'm entertaining guests."

"You can entertain all you want, but you'll answer my question first." you answer.

Helion shrugs his shoulders.

"I wanted to free tomorrow up for you." he answers simply.

You stand there in silence. He wanted to free up your day for tomorrow? Why would he want you to be free? Actually, back to the meeting, why would he not tell you that the was moving it?

"You could have told me about this plan." you say.

Helions nods, "I could have, but then I would have ruined your night out. Tell me, was he any good?"

You suppose most family members don't talk about such intimate acts with each other. Too taboo. But you and Helion aren't like most. For the first ten years of your life he didn't even know you existed. And then everything happened and you ended up under his care.

Helion isn't a regular parent by any means. But he tried, for you.

And you guess, this is him trying now too.

You sigh, "No. It was completely uneventful, which is why I was on my way here to have food and prepare for the meeting."

"Food? I have tons of that, take a seat." Helion holds his hand out for you to take a seat.

It's then, and only then, that you take a look at who he is supposed to be entraining. The first female, the high lady of the night court. Your eyes widen as you take her in. And beside her is another habitant of night court. The blonde warrior, Morrigan. And then there is the male. Wings and shadows. Spymaster.

You take an apprehensive step back, "Actually, I should let you entertain your guests. I can speak to you later about this."

"No please, this was the most interesting thing I've heard all morning." the blonde one, Morrigan, says.

"What she means is, we were getting nowhere with our discussion. You can join us if you like." the high lady says.

You toss a look over to Helion. He nods at you. You decide to take the plunge and sit at the table, right in front of the high lady. Feyre. That's her name.

You reach for one of the glass lutes of fruit juice. You raise the glass to your lips and take a long sip. You sometimes needed to read the room and shut your mouth. This is one of those times.

"I don't think you introduced yourself, this is my stability ambassador and hopefully, the next day court liaison." Helion says.

You almost choke on the juice.

[sozila]

convalescence. (sukuna x reader)

synopsis: convalescence noun. time spent recovering from an illness or medical treatment; recuperation. ryomen s. itadori was a disease that infected every part of your life, and you didn’t notice until it was too late.

pairing: best friend's older brother!ryomen s. itadori x pre-med uni student!fem reader.

warnings: explicit content eventually, mdni. mentions of underage drinking, descriptive sexual activities. masterlist | previous | next

you are on: incubation. (part one) a/n:

hello!! my name is sozila, and this is my first ever work on tumblr/ao3 so bear with me if my writing seems a little elementary :,) let me know what you think, esp if it's constructive feedback! i've been a huge fic reader since i was 11, if that's any solace <3 (i'm in my second year of college now lmao) this piece really just came to me because i craved older brother sukuna and breezed through every fic with him in it. also, i wanted to incorporate parts of my college experience and hence the allegory to infectious diseases, i promise i'll hash it out adequately soon haha <3 also to note: i'm aware this chapter is rather short, but i intend to make longer chapters as the story continues! until then, here's a little bit of what i have :) enjoy!

ao3 link here.

incubation. (part one) you were 2 years into being best friends with yuuji itadori before you saw him. an idea of him was created in your head through a web of yuuji’s descriptions, megumi’s mild irritations. nobara’s hot-cold opinion that “he’s an insufferable asshole, but those tattoos do numbers on girls”. some part of you felt allured by the mystery of his identity, even though you knew exactly who he was. at least, as much as you could from the near-empty instagram account and pictures from yuuji’s childhood littering the apartment.

it was odd you didn’t meet until now, but university had other plans for you. it made sense though— as a pre-med student, you didn’t have much time to hang out or go to frat parties, as much as nobara complained about your lack of thrill for wilding out. you digressed, but promised as soon as you secured an internship you’d maybe allow a bottle of vodka on you, in the comfort of your shared apartment. yuuji and megumi never held your busy schedule against you; which you genuinely appreciated. you loved that whenever you did get to see them, things picked up right where you left off.

which is why you were surprised at the very least to be met with someone you knew yet were so unfamiliar with standing before you when you knocked on yuuji’s door.

“you one of yuu’s new leeches or what?”

your brows furrowed a little more at the jab on your character, but you utter nothing as you take in the fact ryomen itadori isn’t a mythical brother your best friend made up. he looks exactly like the lockscreen picture on yuuji’s phone, save for a couple new tattoos on his face and arms. his hair was a mix between a mean undercut and ivy league, sporting the same pink hue of his younger brother’s. a simple silver chain hung on his neck which drew you downwards to his chest. he was definitely built much bigger and wider than yuuji. coarse, and just.. raw. you register you’ve been staring at this man clad only in a wife pleaser and joggers for an inappropriately long time and clear your throat, straightening, holding your bag a little closer as if it was going to disappear with a glance of his sanguine eyes.

“you gonna stand there all day, or should i close the door on ya?”

his gruff voice now laced with irritation led you to match his demeanor. you give him a wry, plastered smile and push past him. he lets you, surprisingly.

“can’t really go in with you blocking the entire entryway, asshole.”

he doesn’t acknowledge the blatant insult and walks towards the kitchen. your nose catches it first- he was cooking something really good. suddenly, he yells over his shoulder while he stirs the pot.

“yuuji c’mon, i’m not babysitting for your ass!”

the thomp-thomp-thomps of yuuji’s footsteps follow with him hurrying down the stairs and he flashes a dorky smile to you. “sorry, sorry! you met my lovely best friend then, aniki?”

he grunts without turning around. you didn’t even consider this a conservation, but yuuji seemed unphased by his wet-blanket personality. guess older brotherhood looked like this. yuuji flits around the stove where he’s working to stick a finger in the pot and steal a taste, which sukuna smacked him upside the head for.

rubbing the back of head, yuuji then turns and faces you to give your arms a little squeeze. “megs is running a little late from swim team practice, but he’ll be here soon. ryo made dinner for us though!” he quips brightly.

with a whip of his head and a withering look, you deduced sukuna wasn’t aware of this information, but grumbled to himself. you made out a “motherfucker” and “freeloader” in his long curse.

you pull your happy-go-lucky friend a little out of earshot and bring him to your level to whisper harshly. “yuu, i don’t want to inconvenience your brother.. he already seems pissed i exist,” you murmur. your gaze returns to the giant man in the kitchen and something tickles in your chest. immediately he slaps your shoulder and chortles, as if you told him something outlandish. “don’t even worry! he acts like that all the time, he just doesn’t know you well enough yet.”

you weren’t sure you even wanted him to.

it was 7:30 when you heard the ring of the doorbell and your head lifts from the snug placement you took on the couch. sukuna had already slipped away upstairs so yuuji answers this time, much to your dismay. you lament internally that megumi wouldn’t face the same frosty welcome as you did. you hear two voices instead of just the one you expected and crane over to see a certain red headed girl you knew. she beams upon noticing your peeking form. “you’re here early, miss i-have-no-time-for-my-beloved-friends,” quicker than you could react, she was already beelining to jump on you with a smothering hug.

you try to muster a clear response but get muffled by her puffy knit sweatshirt. “if you checked your phone you’d know i told you!” you push your computer out of reach so it wouldn’t be swept in the tornado that was nobara kugisaki.

megumi had already taken a seat on the rug beside yuuji, deep in conversation about winter finals. however, it became evident it was more megumi lecturing yuuji on course material and the latter looking more confused and stressed by the second.

you move nobara enough to clap your hands and catch their attention.

“if you guys utter the word ‘exams’ one more time, i swear will explode.”

nobara snorts above you and knocks on your head. “look who’s talking. is your memory shot to hell or do you not remember all the times you bring it up yourself?”

“she literally did this afternoon,” yuuji mumbles with a pout. you throw a decorative pillow at him.

“hey! don’t forget i literally made your study schedule for you. and even the studious want a little break,” you defend with a huff. nobara d’awws and squishes your cheeks. “my poor little baby! however did you survive.”

“you guys suck. i deserve nothing but love and affection.”

yuuji rolls his eyes and whines. “oh my goood, yes we love you and appreciate you, hugs kisses rainbows blah blah— i wanna watch a movie already!”

you giggle at his antics as nobara pushes off you, walking to the unabashedly large TV and starts filing through yuuji’s big movie bookshelf. “what are we feeling tonight? fast and furious, ladybird, jigsaw..”

after a couple minutes you all agree on midsommar, which you protested but lost in a 3 to 1 vote (democracy is a joke). you could never sleep properly after a good horror movie, hence you always watched them during the daytime. but because your friends were evil, namely nobara, you had to endure some at night and ended up sleepless and jumpy. “if you can’t sleep, just slip in with me tonight,” nobara counters with a dismissive wave. while you knew neither nobara nor her girlfriend, maki, would bat an eye because of their long friendship with you, you worried for your own well-being. nobara was a huge kicker in her sleep (she denies this profusely). too many times after a night out you’d wake up on the floor with bruises on your side while nobara dozed peacefully, starfish-ed on the bed. you sigh and accept your fate.

the movie ends up being just as if not more unsettling than you expected. you knew nobara clocked out much earlier than you thought when you heard no reaction to the bear scene (never getting that image out of your brain, you fear). you stretch your neck to assess who’s out. beyond the dirty plates on the coffee table from the dinner sukuna “made” for you all, you can make out yuuji cradled into megumi’s chest, snoring lightly. the urchin haired boy didn’t stir much either, so you peel from nobara’s vice-like grip on you to throw a blanket over the two of them. out of the corner of your eye, you see yuuji cuddle into megumi a little more, a small smile on his dozing face. god, you eagerly await the day they could be honest about their feelings. you step back around quietly to adjust nobara on the couch into a more comfortable position.

to navigate out with a better light you fish your jeans for your phone but to your dismay, are met with empty pockets. it didn’t help that your nerves on high alert and the living room was lit only by the glow from the tv. something straight out of a horror movie. genuinely fuck my life. you frown as you crouch down to feel around underneath the couch. after a few minutes of helpless padding later, the task seemed fruitless and you began to retreat to yuuji’s room. nothing could prepare you to feel a big, cold hand palm your shoulder. you freeze, your spine going icy. is this how i’m going to die? swiveling faster than your mind could compute you almost let out a bloodcurdling shriek, only to be met with the same cold hand pressing your mouth shut.

“are you fuckin’ mental?”

sanguine eyes bore back into yours and you fight the urge to bite the hand pressing on you. the audacity of this guy was baffling, really.

you shove him off and glare pointedly.

“me? i’m mental? says the dick who decided to sneak up on someone and grab them like a fucking serial killer!”

you jab a finger on his chest, seething in a whisper. his chest, in reality, was much harder than you anticipated and your finger probably hurt more than the attack on him.

a step. he’s closer to you and now in possession of said finger.

“i lightly tapped you. the rest was damage control, sweetheart.”

“sweetheart?”

“i can’t call you that?”

“how about you don’t call me anything, ever? thanks.”

“makes sense that i can’t call you. got your phone, and all.”

your mouth drops a little. “what?” he snickers. “if you weren’t so busy trying to curse me into the next domain, you’d realize i’ve had your phone in my hand this whole time. fuckin’ idiot.”

lo and behold, your phone was nestled in his raised hand, looking much smaller than you remembered. or was it that his hand was just that large in comparison? how big was this guy, really? part of you wanted to stop everything and just ask him to hold different objects and compare how they perceived in his grasp. but reality struck and you recall this is the same guy who just scared the living daylights out of you.

you yank it out of his stupid mammoth hand, ripping his grasp on you in the process and take a step back. you were awfully close to one another upon closer inspection.

“not an idiot, by the way. 4.0 gpa doesn’t exactly scream stupid.”

“idiocy applies to everyone, sweetheart. regardless of how much you dick ride your textbooks.”

every word that left his mouth had a lilt to it. the laughter in his eyes, his head cocked to the side.. he was messing with you and relished it. that pissed you off. who the fuck was he to decide who you were? what you stood for? you had barely known this imaginary-but-actually-real brother for a couple hours, and here he was insulting and teasing you all in one gift-wrapped present. what gave him the confidence to be so insufferable? and better yet, what could you do to stomp it out?

“go to hell, sukuna.”

you were unwilling to stay in his irritating presence for a moment more. your face was stony and unrelenting, your foot tapping incessantly in impatience. you wanted to slap his face off, but thankfully for him, your best friends were in dreamland just a few feet away.

“goodnight, idiot.”

your feet padded angrily up the stairs and you could still feel those dark sanguine eyes boring into your skull and all over your body. you decided that imaginary or not, yuuji itadori's older brother was the most pompous asshole you've ever had the displeasure of meeting. you didn’t get hit with your skin radiating heat until you closed the door of yuujii’s bedroom behind you. question is, was it anger or arousal?

... she never told me her name.

omg light banter... guys i really love slowburn so sexy time isn't guaranteed soon :( once i've outlined it i'll add specific explicit warnings and maybe you'll get a glimpse of what i envision for you and sukuna aaaaa :) for tumblr, i'll have a navi/masterlist up in a little!

peace luv bathtub!!!

© sozila 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other mediums or sites. cross-posted on ao3 and tumblr under same alias.

[reiluvr]

Suguru's Morning Routine

hello! this is a new account, just cause i wanted to start somewhere new! requests are open and im still working on everything so...

i'll eventually make a masterlist, once i've posted at least 5 works or so.

this is pretty much 100% fluff even though i'm a hardcore angst girl. just starting off easy. uhhh there's suggestive words but no smut.

just suguru being head over heels for you and toru <3

It's the way Suguru has his alarms set for at least half an hour before the other two ring. He's so used to this routine that he doesn't even really need the alarm, his eyes already open and hands reaching for his phone to turn the alarm off in case it wakes you two up. He turns his body, a smile subconsciously falling onto his face as he observes the mess of your hair. He gently brushes a few strands away from your mouth, fingers tracing your features as he grins.

Once his ten minutes of admiring you are up, his body shifts, neck craning to admire Satoru on your other end. His heart flutters as he watches the constant rise and fall of Satoru's chest, finding solace in watching the "honored one" look so mundane. His smile only widens further as his eyes trail down to observe how your legs entangle with Satoru's, Suguru being the only somewhat normal sleeper. In the quiet of the room, a small giggle escapes him as he thinks back to the beginning of the relationship, how hard it had been to get a good amount of sleep between Satoru's limbs stretching across the entire bed and you're constant mumbling. Now it's only one of his countless favorite things about his two partners.

He alternates between both of you, waiting until the sun has fully risen to quietly get out of bed, humming a soft tune as he turns on the coffee maker, already pulling out countless items from the refrigerator. It was honestly a blessing that Satoru was loaded, because not only did he eat for a family of ten, all three people in the house had very different tastes, leading to grocery weekends being quite hectic. He places three cups on the counter, practically adding only a few drops off coffee to the first one as he drowns it in creamer and sugar cubes. He moves to the second, not even trying to fight the smile as he notices the small paw prints on the side of the mug. He had gotten accustomed to finding cat themed items all around the house once you had moved in. It had been a nightmare listening to Satoru whine constantly about how "those stupid cats mean more than we do, right?" He adds two sugar cubes to the cat themed cup, pouring the coffee and topping it off with whatever nut based milk they had bought that week. By the time he turns to the last cup, Satoru's poptarts have popped out the toaster, so he quickly places them on a plate while he heats up a pan to prepare his own eggs. He quickly pours coffee in his own cup, not bothering with sugar or cream as he takes a few sips, mixing granola into some strawberry yogurt. By the time breakfast is ready, he can already hear Satoru's soft whines from the bedroom, the man already having found something to complain about. He places the poptarts on one end of the desk, placing the granola in the middle, and the eggs on the other end. No one spoke about it, but everyone knew they had an assigned seat.

He takes his coffee with him, leaning against the door frame of their bedroom as he watches. Satoru seems to be clawing at the bedsheets, one hand digging into the bed as the other is wrapped tightly around the bedframe. You stand there, hair a mess and clothes all ruffled, clearly just having gotten up, with one of Satoru's ankle in you hands, desperately trying to pull him out of bed. Suguru rolls his eyes, you'd think after years of living together, they'd be over this dramatic scene every morning. He sighs, placing his cup on the dresser as he shuffles behind you, hands wrapping around your waist as you drop Satoru's leg in surprise.

"For once, could you two just wake up normally?"

He has to suppress his smile as he hears your own frustrated complaints, already talking his ear off first thing in the morning.

"I woke up and he was literally laying on me! So I push him off and he start whining and crying, you know how he is, he's all like "you don't love me" and "I'll just go die, I guess". And then! Suguru, you're not gonna believe this, actually, you will, cause Satoru still acts like he's 16. He pulls me back with him as he's like, "Hey ma". MA? WHY IS HE TRYING TO HAVE SEX FIRST THING IN THE MORNING??-"

Suguru does the only thing that he knows will shut you up, pressing his lips against your own as he silences you, Satoru cackling in the back as you push Suguru away, already on another rant about how you're living with two men who are horny 24/7. Of course, you're just kidding, already back in Suguru's hold a few minutes later, both of you just swaying in place while waiting for Satoru to finish washing his face. (He has a 24 step skin care routine.)

The three of you finally settle into your places, both you and Satoru digging into the prepared breakfast in front of you. Suguru sighs happily, watching as a bit of yogurt sticks to your nose, Satoru pointing it out. He watches as Satoru throws his head back in laughter as you try to wipe it off, only smudging it more. He holds back to urge to tell Satoru not to speak with his mouth full. He watches as you rub your nose red, somehow still missing the smudge. He watches as Satoru finally reaches over, using the edge of his sweater's sleeve, it's Suguru's sweater but he's already accepted he's never getting it back, to gently rub your face, getting rid of the mark. By the time he takes a bite of his own eggs, they're cold. He just smiles and continues eating, a cold breakfast being a small price to pay for enjoying his morning with his favorite people.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 63: Alexander's Contentment

Previous > Masterlist > Next

tw: mind control, captivity, blood drinking

October 1925

"So… how long have you been a thrall, if you don't mind me asking?"

Roger swallowed a bite of sandwich and washed it down with water. He'd devoured most of it the moment the plate was put in front of him. "It must be close to twenty-five years by now."

"Twenty-five years!" Oliver could see that Roger was quite a bit older than him, but he hadn't been expecting that.

"Most of that time has been with Fitz," said Roger. "My first master was much less agreeable. The less said about him, the better."

"Does your master treat you well?" said Oliver sympathetically, also hoping to scope out his master's friend for himself.

"He's temperamental and dramatic. He doesn't lift a finger to do chores. He demands I wake him up in time for his shows, and then when I do, he whines about how he doesn't want to leave his bed." Roger sighed. "But he isn't cruel, and he never hurts me. He can often be good company, and when he's not in need of attention, he allows me to do as I will. My life is pleasant, on the whole, so as far as vampires go, I'm glad I have him as master and not another."

Oliver breathed a sigh of relief. "So he isn't dangerous?"

"All vampires are dangerous," Roger pointed out. "But no, my master has no intention of doing you harm. He's been looking forward to feeding from you, as he made abundantly clear."

"Yes, he certainly did."

"How about you? Is Alexander treating you well?"

"Yes, very much so, I would say," said Oliver. "He's very gentle, and I appreciate his library. He seems determined to ensure I want for nothing. The only problem is… well…"

Roger nodded. "My master told me that there was a run-in with your master's sire."

"Have you met him?"

"Thankfully, I have not. Fitz makes a point of keeping us out of his reach. That's why we visit so infrequently."

"Did you know my master's last thrall?"

"Henry. Yes." Roger downed the last of the water glass, and Oliver stood to refill it. "He was a decent sort, a former accountant. Quiet. Loved to play cards. It's… unfortunate, what happened to him."

"…Yes." Oliver's hand shook slightly as he put down the glass.

"Thank you," said Roger, taking a sip. "For what it's worth, both Alexander and Fitz seem much more interested in you than they did in Henry, so there's reason to hope things turn out differently."

"What do you mean by that?"

"It seems possible that they'll pull out the stops to try and protect you. I've never seen my master so excited to drink from another thrall." There was a hint of jealousy in Roger's voice and eyes.

"It's my blood, I suppose," Oliver said sheepishly.

"You must have high grade blood. I'm similarly 'blessed,'" said Roger. "God only knows how vampires decide that. It reminds me of how they review fancy wines, and how it's meant to taste like flowers or minerals or some nonsense."

"I can't say I've ever really had fancy wine, even before it was illegal."

"Right, alcohol is banned here. Ridiculous, if you ask me. Vampires don't care in the least about human laws, so --"

Oliver's attention was pulled away from the conversation by a beautiful low note in his head. It sounded like his master's singing, but it didn't seem to be coming from anywhere. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That song -- my master --" Without any words, it was beckoning him, a call too strong for him to ignore. It had never happened before, but he somehow knew just what he was meant to do.

Roger seemed unsurprised. "Your master's calling you, is he? You'd better go, then."

"Um, but you…"

"I remember the manor well enough. I'll make myself at home in a guest room. Don't worry about me."

"All right," said Oliver, grateful that Roger understood his sudden exit. He didn't stand a chance at resisting the song, and practically floated up the stairs as though he were in a dream. When he reached the door of his master's bedroom, he knocked. "Sir? Were you calling for me?"

"Come in, Oliver," said Alexander.

The room was dimly lit with a couple of gas lamps. Alexander and Fitz were both lounging casually on Alexander's bed. Alexander's shirt was unbuttoned, Fitz was wearing only an undershirt, and they were both in their shorts. A blush crept onto Oliver's face, but the vampires didn't seem embarrassed in the slightest. Vampiric aura was thick in the air, and Oliver's nerves were fighting unsuccessfully against the docile trance state that was quickly claiming him.

"Did you wish to drink from me, sirs?"

"There he is," said Fitz with a positively predatory grin. "What a picture perfect thrall."

"Oh, he is," said Alexander, and Oliver felt like glowing. "Why don't you come sit down, Oliver?"

Oliver politely sat down on the side of the bed, and Fitz slithered up next to him. "Nervous?" Fitz asked.

"Somewhat, sir."

Fitz rolled over like a cat, looking at Oliver upside-down. "There's no reason to be nervous. I do bite, but I promise that you'll like it."

"What Fitz is trying to say," said Alexander, "is that we'd very much like to share in your blood, if that's all right with you."

He couldn't even think of denying his master this. The vampires' desire was too strong and his conditioning too deep. "Yes, sirs. Please share me."

"Well, now that we're not all standing around on a freezing cold dock, I can pick up where I left off, can't I?" Fitz sat up, and brought his hand near Oliver's face without touching it, his fingers moving in a fluid, mesmerizing motion. "I don't know if your master explained this to you, but just as his power is in his voice, mine is in my hands."

Oliver was staring at his fingertips, easily recalling how irresistible that touch was, aching for it. "I see, sir."

Fitz's hand cupped his cheek, and the last of his thoughts dissolved into bliss. "I'm glad we have an understanding, then," he said. "You'll be good for me, won't you, Oliver?"

Oliver had no defenses whatsoever against this new trance, not with his master looking on in approval. His muscles relaxed, his tension wiped away. "I'll be good for you, sir," he said, already half-asleep.

"Exquisite," said Fitz encouragingly, as he ran his hands through Oliver's hair and traced a finger down his jaw and neck. "You're so very good. Not resisting me at all. Just happy and obedient."

"Obedience is pleasure, sir," Oliver muttered, leaning into Fitz's soft touch. so utterly hypnotized and eager.

Fitz laughed. "That must be one of Lily's little mantras."

"Lily did a fine job priming him, not that there was any doubt," said Alexander.

"Such a charming thing," Fitz murmured, cradling Oliver's chin, "the way he simply melts under the slightest enthrallment."

"Hmm, yes, reminds me of another thrall I used to have."

Fitz chuckled. "Surely I was never like this."

"Surely you were."

Oliver's brows furrowed as he struggled against trance to process the conversation. Fitz had been a thrall? Alexander's thrall?

"No, none of that," said Fitz, tapping Oliver on the nose. "No thinking for you."

"Yes, sir," he said automatically, allowing the worries to fade away once more as Fitz caressed him.

"I've been looking forward to watching you go to work on him," said Alexander.

"Well, I can't disappoint, then." Fitz turned back to Oliver. "Do you enjoy being Lex's thrall?"

At the moment, any concerns he might have about his situation were far, far away. "Yes, sir, I'm very happy to be Lex's thrall."

"Don't you love his song? The way it makes you feel?"

"Yes, sir," he said, nuzzling into Fitz's hand with no shame, dreaming of his master's voice. "I love it more than anything."

Oliver felt strong arms taking him around the waist, pulling him close to his master's chest. His master began to hum softly in his ear, an enchanting song of pleasure, while holding him tight. All the while, Fitz kept up his intoxicating touch. Oliver's mind was entirely gone, consumed by an enthralled bliss that was stronger than any he had known.

"Isn't that song so beautiful, so easy to listen to?" said Fitz in his other ear.

"Sir…" he slurred in his drowsy haze. "It's so good… sir…"

Fitz chuckled. "You're delightful, Oliver, do you know that?"

"You're being so good for us," Alexander added in his other ear.

"So good."

"Wanna… be good… sirs…" said Oliver.

Fitz ran his finger across the spot where Alexander normally fed, and Oliver shuddered from the intensity. "You'll keep being good for me when I drink, won't you?"

Oliver was certain he'd never needed anything so much as that. "Drink… please drink from me, sir…"

"How could I ever deny such an adorable request?" said Fitz. "Just relax and keep feeling good, okay? I promise you'll find this enjoyable."

Oliver nodded, and gasped as the sharp fangs pierced his neck. It felt different from Alexander's feeding, hungrier, more desperate but no less pleasurable.

An overwhelming swirl of emotions began to pool in his mind. Joy at seeing Alexander. Fear for the future. Loneliness. Desire. Shame. Obsession. And through it all, an undercurrent of need, a deep, dark need that could never be fully satiated.

"Oh, he is delicious. I've never had a blood so rich." Fitz had paused briefly in his meal. "Why don't you have a bit, Lex? You look hungry."

"I'll take a sip, and then you can have your fill."

Oliver was shifted slightly to be closer to his master, and then Alexander was drinking gently from the wound Fitz had made, filling Oliver with a sense of peace.

Before he knew it, Fitz was at his neck again, feeding like a starving man. He was taking so much blood, and Oliver was floaty and sleepy, his eyelids drifting shut and a sigh escaping his lips.

"Fitz --"

"I know, I know, I don't want to overdrink from a thrall like this. Honestly, I don't know how you can control yourself, Lex. I wouldn't trust myself to not drain him dry."

"…It's difficult sometimes," Lex admitted.

Oliver slumped backwards into his master's arms, drifting in and out of a light doze, content and fulfilled and safe.

"You must be hungry -- all of that buildup, and you barely had a drop to drink," said Fitz. "Why don't I call up Roger so you can have a snack?"

"I certainly wouldn't mind that," said Lex.

Oliver woke up slightly as he was transferred from Alexander to Fitz, but the whine of protest in his throat was silenced as Fitz guided his head to his lap and began to stroke his hair, scattering his thoughts and stuffing his head full of cotton. The door creaked open, and Oliver could see Roger emerge from the gloom.

"You wish to drink from me, sir?" he said.

Alexander began to sing, and Oliver could feel the command in the melody, a command beckoning the listener forward and into Alexander's hold. Roger walked forward through the room, his steps as heavy as a sleepwalker's, and as he drew closer, his wide, glassy eyes reflected the gas lamp.

Oliver couldn't resist the pull, either, and Fitz didn't stop him as he crawled across the bed to his master and curled up next to him. Alexander stroked Oliver's face with one hand while welcoming Roger in with the other, singing of bliss and obedience.

"You remember my song, don't you?" asked Alexander.

"Yes, sir, very clearly," said Roger.

"Then you know the deep sense of fulfillment you'll feel when I drink from you."

"Yes… sir…" The worry and stress on Roger's face was melting away, and he looked somehow younger.

"A wonderful thrall. I'm very glad that your master has a thrall like you. Thank you for taking good care of him."

"Of course, sir… it's my pleasure and my duty…"

"You're going to be so relaxed now, Roger. You deserve it after taking care of Fitz every day."

"I do, sir."

"What are you trying to imply?" said Fitz with a laugh.

"There you go, perfectly relaxed," said Alexander, ignoring Fitz. "You'll feel no pain, only pleasure."

Alexander opened his mouth wide, and his sharp fangs glistened in the flickering light. Oliver watched in dreamlike fascination as he bit into the soft flesh of Roger's neck. Roger's eyes went lidded, his expression slackening. A goofy, dazed smile spread across his face. Oliver was too content and relaxed to be jealous. He couldn't help but wonder if this was how he looked when his master fed.

Soon, Alexander licked the last of the blood from the small marks on Roger's neck. He sank back onto the pillows, cradling Oliver in one arm and Roger in the other. Oliver glanced up to see a sly expression on his master's face as he started to hum again, the same song he had used to draw in the two thralls.

"What are you doing, Lex?" said Fitz. "Are you trying to enthrall… me… too…" A moment later, Fitz was snuggling in next to Oliver, and Oliver was surprised to see how entranced he looked. "I'll allow it, just this once."

They were all in a large, comfortable kind of pile centered around Alexander, and Oliver could feel his master's contentment. He was so used to the undercurrent of loneliness that constantly radiated from the vampire that it almost seemed foreign. This is exactly how things are meant to be. Everything that's mine is in its rightful place.

"I take it that it was agreeable to drink from Roger, then?" said Fitz quietly.

"Very much so. He was as delectable as always, and a perfect gentleman," said Alexander. "And you certainly seemed to enjoy Oliver."

"You know, when you told me the frankly extravagant amount you bought him for, I admit that I was skeptical. I couldn't imagine even the finest thrall being worth that much," he said. "But now that I've seen and tasted him… I understand. I wouldn't have given him up for any price."

"I'm glad you understand." Alexander toyed with Oliver's hair. "Apart from his natural obedience and decadent blood, he's also very pleasant company, soft-spoken and well-read." Oliver nestled in closer, happy to absorb his master's praise.

"He reminds me of you, a bit," said Fitz, running his hand through Oliver's hair. "It must be the smell of books about him. I suspect that's part of why I find him so appealing."

"Is that so?" said Alexander. He leaned down and planted a kiss on Fitz's forehead.

"And now I can tell everyone I've fed from a triple-A, twenty thousand dollar thrall."

Alexander laughed. "Well, not everyone can find such an exceptional thrall at a bargain price like your Roger here."

"To be fair, he was less of a bargain when I had to pay Lily to fix his poor mind. Still worth every penny and then some."

"Speaking of Lily, she suggested that we all meet up at the Tiger's Eye…"

The vampires continued to chat in low tones, and the sound of his master's voice was slowly lulling Oliver asleep. He tried to keep himself awake, wanting to hear the conversation and enjoy basking in his master's company, but his eyelids were drooping and heavy. He heard a yawn and then a bit of a snore coming from Roger, and he yawned too. His mind began to doze, drifting far away, unable to focus on what the vampires were saying, only listening to the cadence of Alexander's voice.

Previous > Masterlist > Next

Next week, Alexander advances his plans.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

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@pokemaniacgemini @jumpywhumpywriter @basica11ywhumped

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Hiya! It's me! I've been sending you so many asks that I wouldn't be surprised if you gave me a restraining order!

I made an account so I can actually participate in some of your rp things- if that's okay with you of course.

I sent you the ideas for the succubus, deadpool x wolverine and bimbo!au's, I sent others but I'd need to go through my memory, which would take all night.

Anyway- I have a new au idea for you! I think you'll like this. It's basically a gothic vampire!au.

I'm going to attach screen shots because I've already written it out and for some reason Tumblr doesn't let you copy and paste (it's already 1am where I am and I don't want to have to write this out all again, so I'm really sorry if this'll be annoying for you 😭).

Continuation--

Adam: it's rude to stare, you know. How did a kid get in here?

Lucifer jumped at his voice: I-I'm not a kid!- I'm 30 years old!

Adam: really dude? What are you? 5"3?... you didn't get the long straw when it came to genes, huh? See what I did there?

Lucifer sighs as the man chuckles to himself.

Lucifer: uh... that's... not important- a-are you the owner?

Adam stares at Lucifer for a few seconds before taking a sip from his glass. Lucifer watches his every move, he feels like prey- are those fangs??

Adam: I guess you can say that.. my names Adam. Even though I think the asshole who broke into my house should introduce themselves first- but I'm in a good mood today!

Adam stands and pulls a chair infront of him.

Adam: Here man, have a seat, might as well make yourself comfortable.

The way Adam smiled and watched his every move made Luicfer shiver. He walked as calmy as he could to the chair infront of Adam. He sits, eyes never leaving Adams deep red ones.

Lucifer: I'm Lucifer- and I apologize for the breaking and entering. It's uh, not the best first impression.

Adam: wait- Lucifer? Like the Devil? That's sick. And I'm not one for first impressions, but you've certainly made an entrance, buddy.

Lucifer: Yeah, like the Devil, blame my father for that one-

Adam: I ain't judging man! I think it's cool, everyone has such boring names these days, it's nice to be surprised, nothing surprises me much anymore.

Adam runs his clawed hand through his hair, eyes never leaving Lucifers face. He notices as his eyes travel down to his chest, where his shirt has opened a bit more. Adam smirks, leaning forward, giving Lucifer a better view.

Adam: I would offer you a drink, but I think you want something else~

----

That's all I have! I hope this seems interesting to you 😭

Feel free to continue it, I'll try and participate to! It would be my first time doing these rp type things, so I'm sorry if I'm a bit all over the place lol

Okay- bye!

Ahhh!! Thank you for all your amazing ideas friendo! This too is amazing 🤩

And yes of course you can participate in the rp blogs! What account is it?

-

Lucifer felt a little called out, this man was so good looking he felt like he was trapped in a trance.

Lucifer: I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-

Adam: Pfft it's fine, I get it. I know I'm hot shit and I don't mind you looking. In fact.

Adam leaned in closer until his hot breath ghosted over Lucifer's face.

Adam: I wouldn't mind you doing more than just looking.

He grinned at the way the blonde man's face turned bright red at the implication. Humans were always so easy to work up. And man this one was easy on the eyes as well.

It's been a while since Adam had a visitor. Even longer since he had a rendezvous.

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

A/N ::: I'm just going to come right out and say it, I love Kafka Hibino. He's so goddamn cute that I literally want to just eat him alive. This is my first time writing for him - though I've been thinking about it for ages. I hope you like it, @supersecretsaga And I apologize, I'm wholly incapable of writing without it exceeding 1k words. So, SORRY. I proofed this once on google docs and that's all I have in me today. Any gross errors that look like I didn't mean to do them, message me!

C/W ::: Human Kafka, F.reader, not a lot of swearing. I just don't get the sense that Kafka would swear unnecessarily. Maybe I'm wrong. My perception will probably change. Really, who cares. Um, P->V (unprotected), jumping the relationship gun (but, with him, I would, too.)

WC ::: 3,094 (about 7 3/4 pages on G-Docs).

MDNI UNDER THE CUT

Kafka Hibino was simple, through and through. But when he met you that day in the hospital, his whole life changed. He knew he'd never be the same man he was before he was admitted.

You're a nurse. You were great at your job, and you knew it. Though the first time you saw that big, dumb puppy-energy-giving man, you knew that you were a goner, as well.

He was admitted around 2 am. Settled in around 5 am. He was in a lot of pain from the fight he'd gotten into with the Kaiju around midnight. He had 2 broken arms, bruised ribs. A number of different things had happened to him.

Kafka would be in good hands, though. Really, really good hands.

Your hands.

**** 7:30 am ****

"Oh- oh my god. What was THAT!?" You pulled your hand from the large porcelain tub in his bathroom and squeezed the sponge out over his short dark hair.

Giggling, you blinked slowly because you couldn't deny the warmth that was spreading throughout your whole body. And not just between your thighs. No, this was something else entirely. His stupid haircut, his kind eyes and dumbass smile were hammering their way through your boundaries. The same boundaries you'd worked so hard over the years to build to not get emotionally attached to patients.

"You're an idiot, Mr. Hibino. A complete moron. Have you never been bathed before? That was just a little something extra to help loosen up your muscles, a quick massage. My goodness. It's as if you've never been pampered." You stood from where you were on your knees on the floor and shook your hands out, purposely getting water on his face - you hoped in his eyes - so you would have a reason to gingerly wipe it dry.

"Call me Kafka," he said, his eyes never leaving yours as he watched you grab the towel and stand over him.

"What?" You were confused. You didn't realize he'd been asking you something.

"Call me Kafka. It's my name, yeah?" He sounded so serious, so sincere. You nodded and wiped his face with the towel, noticing the small wrinkles as he smiled up at you.

Fuck. He's adorable and you're finding it harder and harder to stay professional.

"No. Your name is Mr. Hibino and that's what I'll be calling you. Ok? Mr. Hibino? Now, let's finish this bath and get you back in bed. The doctor will be coming by soon to check on you and he can give you another massage if you need it." You moved your hands to his shoulders, gently massaging them as you continued talking. "You've been through a lot, Mr. Hibino. Your body needs to heal."

He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back against the tub.

You kept massaging him, not stopping until he was almost asleep.

This sweet, gentle man, had a power over you that no one else did. And you weren't sure how to deal with it.

Quite a while later (sorry, storyline faux pas - I didn’t take into account healing time. But let’s just say that because he’s part Kaiju that he heals exceptionally fast. Ok? Ok!)*****

**** 1 month later, 10 pm ****

You hadn't seen Kafka since the morning bath you'd given him. He was discharged and sent home to continue his recovery. As a nurse, you knew he would be alright. But as a woman, you were left feeling empty and wanting more of him.

You were home that night, exhausted, but unable to sleep. You tried to keep your thoughts away from the big, gentle man who had stolen your heart with his kind words and warm smile, but it was impossible.

Your mind drifted to the way he looked at you as you bathed him.

How his body was perfectly balanced between the hard muscles he'd earned in his training and the slight squish around his mid-section that you wanted nothing more than to run your fingertips over.

His arms were thick and strong. Yet not battle-worn. He didn't have too many scars, though they'd have only added to his appeal.

His legs were muscular, too. Thick and strong, like his arms. His thighs were something else, something you found yourself daydreaming about wrapping your own legs around.

You wondered what his cock would feel like inside of you. You snuck a glance when he was in the tub. You knew his eyes were closed when you looked at it, bobbing away in the water. You're certain he was hard. Otherwise, you prayed he wasn't a grower because any more than that and you'd be the one being admitted to the hospital.

You thought about his hands on your body, squeezing your breasts and sliding between your thighs. You imagined what it would be like to feel his fingers inside of you, massaging you and bringing you to orgasm faster than you could imagine.

You rubbed your clit slowly, gently. You couldn't bring yourself to fuck yourself with a vibrator or even your own fingers. You didn't want to give yourself that much pleasure. 

You wanted it to be Kafka.

You wanted him to be the one to take you, to fuck you, to make love to you.

You rolled over onto your stomach, burying your face into your pillow as you yelled out in frustration.

"This is ridiculous. This is so stupid. I - I'm not some teenager who can't control herself." You stood and walked to your closet, grabbing some comfortable clothes and your purse and left for the mini mart down the street from your house. 

Chocolate was the next best thing you could think of. Other than, of course, Kafka running his hands all over your body. But what are the chances of that.

What are the chances of that?

The night air was cool against your skin. A nice contrast to the heat you'd built up while thinking about him.

You grabbed a pint of chocolate ice cream and began walking back home.

You felt better, slightly, but still very much wanting.

**** 10:30 pm ****

You were halfway through your pint and the movie when you heard a knock on your front door. "Coming, hold on, please." You walked to the door and looked through your peephole to see who it was. "Oh, you're fucking kidding me. What on earth are you doing here, Mr. Hibino?" The smile on your face was causing the back of your head to strain. You couldn't hide that you felt like your prayers had been answered all at once. But at the same time, you didn't want Kafka to see this look of bliss on your flushed face.

"Call me Kafka," he said softly, leaning against the doorway and smiling back at you. "And I wanted to see you again. May I? Come in, I mean. Please?"

You stepped aside and let him in, closing the door behind him.

You watched as he looked around your living room. You could tell he was a little nervous, but so were you.

You'd never felt this way about a patient before. Ex-patient, you had to remind yourself. He was no longer under your care. 

"Ok, Kafka." He smiled at the way you said his name. He'd never heard anything like it before. "Would you like some ice cream? I was just sitting here, eating some, watching a bad movie." You chuckled, showing him the container and spoon.

"Sure. I'd love some." He sat down right in the middle of your couch, and you sat next to him.

You handed him the ice cream and he dug in.

You both ate in silence for a few minutes until he said, "This is good."

You nodded and smiled. "It is. Sometimes chocolate, um, well, sometimes it's the only thing that helps. Y'know?" You looked at him, noticing the way his lips had turned up into a smirk. "What? What did I say?"

"Nothing, nothing. You're just ... you just ... h-here. Can I? There's a little bit of ... right ..." He swiped his thumb across your bottom lip so slowly and then sucked the ice cream off. "... there. You just had a little on your lip. 'S gone now."

You weren't sure what to do. Your body was telling you to jump on him and fuck him until neither of you could walk. Your brain was telling you to wait and see what other kind of sweet nothings he'd do for you. 

So, you waited. You had no idea your self-control was this well-honed. Again, you’d never been tested like this before.

But Kafka was different.

"You're beautiful, y'know." He whispered, looking at the floor like he was trying to burn holes in it with his eyes. He turned his head, leaning in a little bit closer than you were to him at the hospital. His hand moved to rest on your knee. And he said, "I've never met anyone like you before. I thought I was just going lay in the hospital bed until I was better. But you showed me kindness and care. I know you were just doing your job, but I'm grateful that you were there. That you were … you."

You didn't say anything. You were too busy trying to keep your heart from leaping out of your chest. You're sure if he'd looked, he'd see your tits jumping ever so slightly from the heaviness of the beating.

"Thank you for that. Thank you for everything you've done for me, Miss. I don’t know your first name. I’m embarrassed at how many ‘L/N’ households I went to looking for you.”

Your hand shot up to cover the smile that immediately bloomed across your lips. "That's not important. It's Y/N. And you're welcome. I'm happy I was able to help you. I didn't expect you to come here, though. I'm glad you did." You shifted, moving your knee so that your legs were touching. He didn't move his hand. He held it there, squeezing your knee gently.

"I didn't think I'd come here either. But I couldn't stop thinking about you. I know it's not appropriate for me to be here, but I had to see you again. I wanted to say thank you, in person." He turned his head and looked at you. You leaned in closer to him, your noses almost touching. "And maybe something else. Something that would make you feel as special as you made me feel when you took care of me."

You were so close to him you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. He smelled like the air before a storm, and whiskey. But a little liquid courage never killed anyone.

"Kafka," you whispered, reaching up and touching his face. You were fidgeting with a small piece of his hair as you rest your forehead against his. "Kafka. I ..."

He sat up abruptly, "Oh shit! You're not married, are you? I should have asked, I'm so sorry for showing up here so late. Without any warning." He bowed to you and started for the door.

"Kafka! I'm not married. I'm not even seeing anyone right now. Please, come back. Come sit." You stood and took his hand, leading him back to the couch. "I was going to say I've never felt this way about a patient before. You make me feel like there's something more to life than just my job."

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours for any signs of dishonesty. He couldn't find any. "So, you don't mind me coming here?"

You shook your head. "I don't mind you coming here at all. I'm glad you did. I was just surprised, that's all. Please don't leave. Not yet." You held his hand tighter and urged him back down on the couch with you.

Pulling him back in, kissing him gently on the lips. "I've been wanting you to do that since the first time I saw you, too. But you in terrible pain when you came in. How did you have the presence of mind to want to kiss me when you were so badly beaten up?"

He laughed, "I wasn't beaten up, per se. I just didn't come out on top." He paused for a second, and then continued, "And the pain wasn't as bad as you think. I'm used to it. It's a part of my job. But being here with you, it's like I can forget all of that. And just be me. Kafka. Nothing else."

You leaned in and kissed him again, this time with more urgency. His lips parted slightly, and you could taste the chocolate on his tongue. You moaned softly, shifting so that your legs were wrapped around him. He pulled you onto his lap, and you straddled him, grinding yourself against his crotch.

"Oh my god," he moaned, pulling back slightly and looking into your eyes. "Y/N. You're so beautiful." He reached up and touched your cheek with his thumb, rubbing it gently.

You pulled his shirt off, tossing it to the floor. His chest was chiseled and smooth, his abs flexing slightly under his cute belly as he breathed heavily.

You ran your hands over his shoulders and down his back, feeling every muscle and every scar. You kissed his neck, biting it gently and sucking on his skin. "Kafka, I want you. I want you so much."

He pulled your shirt off and threw it next to his. "I'm gonna make you feel so good that you'll forget all about chocolate."

You stopped, pulling back from his face, and you laughed so hard for the first time in ages. "Oh, that might be the most serious thing anyone has ever said to me. Challenge accepted!"

He pulled you back into him and kissed you, his hands reaching around to squeeze your ass as you ground yourself against him. He picked you up and carried you to your bedroom, gently laying you on the bed before climbing on top of you.

You unclasped your bra and tossed it to the floor, allowing him to see your breasts. He gasped as quietly as he could manage, running his hands over them and squeezing them gently. "You're so beautiful. You know that?"

He leaned down and took a nipple in his mouth, sucking on it gently as his fingers worked at your pants. He slid them off, revealing your black lace panties. You'd never felt so exposed in your life. And you loved it.

"Kafka, please," you moaned as he sucked harder on your nipple, his hand moving down to rub your clit through your panties. "Please fuck me. I need you. I need you so bad."

He pulled back, looking at your face. "You want me to fuck you? You want me to make you cum? Oh-hoh baby, I will. I might even cum before you do! But don't lose faith. It's just, well, it's been a while? I guess? But that's not important right now." He leaned in and kissed you again, biting your bottom lip and sucking on it gently.

"It's ok, Kafka. I want you. I don't care if you cum before me. I just want you inside me. Please, please." You looked up at him with tears in your eyes. You couldn't believe you were begging like this, but you didn't care. You wanted him so badly.

He nodded and pulled your panties off, throwing them to the floor. He pushed his own pants down and pulled his boxers off with them, his cock set free.

You gasped at the sight. It was so much more than what you saw when he was in the tub. "Jesus, I-"

He looked down, "Oh. That?" He turned his head away, "Yeah, sorry. I'm sure you've seen um, better? But I make up for it in other ways! I promise, y/n. Just give me a chance."

You shook your head and smiled, "That's not at all what I'm trying to say here. There's not a doubt in my mind you won't fuck me stupid, Kafka." You giggled and reached your arms out to pull him down against you.

He positioned himself between your legs, rubbing the tip of his cock against your clit as he kissed your neck.

You moaned, "Ohhh, fuck. Yes. Do that." Your hand moved to his ass, squeezing it as he rocked against you.

He pushed himself inside of you slowly, stretching you out as he went. The slight sting you noticed dissipated as quickly as the onset. You moaned, your nails digging into his back as he started to thrust faster. "Kafka, oh my god. That feels so fucking good. More. I want more,  please."

He grunted, his cock sliding in and out of you as you arched your back, grinding yourself against him. He sucked on your nipple again, his tongue flicking over it as he fucked you harder and faster.

You couldn't believe how much he was making you feel. You hadn't had sex in so long, but this was different. This was something else entirely. He was with you. He wasn't just there to get himself off. You'd been with guys like that before and they, more often than not, left you with a (literal) bad taste in your mouth.

Your breathing quickened, and you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. And the closer you got, the harder your nails dug into his muscular back. "Kaf-hoh shit. Y-that ... pl- fuck. 'M gonna cum ... very … very soon."

He pulled back slightly, looking at your face as you bit your lip, your eyes rolling back. "Me too, baby. Me too. You're so tight, and you feel so good. I can't believe I'm inside of you. Fuck. I'm gonna cum, Y/N. Oh shit, I'm gonna cum." He grunted again, his cock twitching inside of you as he came hard, filling you up.

You came with him, your pussy squeezing around his cock as he kept fucking you, slowing his thrusts until he stopped completely.

"Fuck," you whispered, reaching up and touching his face gently. "Kafka."

He smiled and kissed you softly. "RIGHT!?" 

You laughed through a yawn at the high energy he had when you first met, despite his injuries, and how he seems now. “Stay? Stay with me. I don’t want you to go. Tonight. Ever.” 

He held you close to him, kissing the top of your head and brushing your hair down as you drifted off to sleep against his warm chest.

"Just try’n get rid of me, y/n." 

@darkstarlight82 @katkusuo @kazutora-kurokawa

@arlerts-angel @southside-otaku @trevengersprincess

@bakubunny @reiners-milkbiddies

***If you guys absolutely hate this anime or don't give a shit, please please let me know so I don't keep writing and tagging you in stuff you don't care about! Thanks, mooties! <3***

[rainofaugustsith]

I had a few things I wanted to say about Nano, and how disappointing it is that one of the last bastions of the internet that was truly about fun and people sharing their interests- the internet of Geocities pages and Livejournal blogs- has fallen to the dark side in such a definitive way. The original intent of NaNoWriMo, back in the day, was to Write the Thing. To get the words out. At the end of 30 days, it was expected you'd have a raw, messy, but gloriously 50,000-word first draft you could build upon, edit, or completely delete as you so wished. The idea of using generative AI to produce a polished manuscript that you didn't actually write is completely contrary to that spirit. And miss me on the "if you're against AI you're ableist and classist" bullshit. Generative AI that scrapes other writers' words without their consent or compensation and approximates it for others is not an access tool. It stands to cost people, including poor and disabled writers, their jobs as publications naively turn to AI instead of paying writers. How many disabled and poor writers have been fucked over by having their work stolen by generative AI databanks, and they can't afford to challenge it? In the amateur writing world, betas, proofreaders, volunteer editors - these are all things. I've betaed others' work and had mine betaed in return, entirely as a free exchange of support for each other's passion in writing. It's a place where you will find people willing to support you and your writing without any monetary expectations. But I guess Nano forgot that? It's a shame. I miss the days of the internet where you could read someone's Livejournal blogs about their day, or see someone's painstakingly assembled little Geocities page about their favorite film, or enjoy content created by others for no reason other than to share it online - no influencers, no sponsors, no product placement. We all know that world is gone, and the Nano that was so good 20 years ago is also gone. I still had a Nano account, unused for years, and yesterday I deleted it.

[canirove]

Ben Chilwell Imagine | seven

Author's note: Just something random I came up with the other day after seeing this post by @lovelynikol16 She wrote it about Mason, but I feel like these days we need some cute and nice Ben content, so I wrote it for him. As always, I hope you like it, and thank you for reading! 💜 Little summary: Ben Chilwell, the football player you've had a crush on for years acknowledges you on his Instagram stories after you win a gold medal at the Olympic Games, and your friends convince you to slide into his dms 👀 (female reader/pov)

Masterlist

“Oh my God!”

“What… No!”

“What are you two gasping about?” I ask my teammates. 

“You won't believe who just congratulated you for your gold medal and said that he is, and I quote, very proud of you” one of them says, showing me her phone.

“Holy shit. Is that… Is that real?”

“Very very real” she says. “Check your phone if you don't believe us.”

“He also started following me.”

“What?” they both say, moving to stand one at each side of me so we can all see my phone's screen. 

“He shared that story congratulating me, and he started following me” I say, still not believing what the little notification says. 

Ben Chilwell. Ben freaking Chilwell, Chelsea and England National Team player… Has congratulated me for my gold medal at the Olympic Games, said that he is very proud of me AND started to follow me on Instagram.

What… the fuck.

“Girl, you seriously have to slide into his dms and tell him thank you or something.”

“What?” I laugh.

“You've had a crush on him for ages and now he has discovered that you exist and knows who you are. Make your move!” my teammate says.

“I… I can't do that. What if he doesn't reply? What if his account is run by a pr person and not him and I make a fool of myself? What if…”

“What if, what if, what if” my other teammate says, rolling her eyes. “You are just texting him a thank you, not asking him to marry you… yet” she smirks.

“Idiot” I reply, giving her a little push.

“C'mon, send him a message.”

“And what do I say? Thank you for your support?”

“For example” she shrugs.

“Ok” I say, taking a deep breath and starting to type.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

Thank you very much for your support, Ben. It means a lot! ☺️

And good luck for this season, it's gonna be the one! 💙

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Is that ok?” I ask my teammates.

“Perfect.”

“Now what?” 

“Now we just wait for his reply.”

“If he replies…” I sigh.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Today we finally had some time off and we left the villa to do some… Mum, I have to go.”

“What? Why?” she says over facetime. 

“Something has come up.”

“Something like what? Is it bad? You look… weird.”

“No, no. It's just a team meeting. I'll call you again after dinner, ok?”

“Ok. But…”

“Love you, mum” I say, ending the call before she can say goodbye. And why? Because an Instagram notification that just popped up on my screen, one I had lost all hope would get to see. “Ok, you can do this” I say to myself, taking a deep breath and tapping on it.

Why the hell are my hands shaking so much? Aaahhh!

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

Thank you very much for your support, Ben. It means a lot! ☺️

And good luck for this season, it's gonna be the one! 💙

You're very welcome!! 💙  You seriously are amazing. My mates and I watched you perform (if that's the right word? 🫣) and you were fucking amazing 😱 Also sorry for the late reply but we just got back from the US and the jetlag has been kicking my ass 😴

Wow, thank you. You are gonna make me blush 😳

And don't worry, I've been there with the jetlag 😅

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

Don't worry, don't worry, but I've been having dreams with him replying to my dm since the day I sent it. And he already is making me blush, but shh.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

Just telling the truth 🤷🏻‍♂️ Also thank you very much for the luck! We will be needing it this season. Especially me 🙈

Last season was a tough one, wasn't it?

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

Of course it was, you idiot. He spent half of it injured!

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

But hey, when I was 19 I injured my knee  and doctors told me there were high chances of not being able to do gymnastics again, yet look at me right now. I've won a gold medal at the Olympic Games, and I've done it against probably the best gymnast in history!

If I was able to come back, so will you. I believe in you, Ben! 💪🏻

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“I believe in you, Ben… God, I'm so lame” I say to myself.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

Thank you very much 🥺💙 I may have to hire you as my motivational coach or something 😜 How much the hour? 

Well, since you play for my team, I think I can give you a discount 

Wait, then it is true? Do you support Chelsea? I read it online but wasn't sure

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

Has he… has he been googling me? What?

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

Chelsea girl since the day I was born

I actually left the hospital wearing a tiny Chelsea hat and had a matching bib

No way! 😱  Is there a photo? 👀

There is 

May I see it? 😇

Ummm…

Please 🥺🥺🥺

Ok, fine

But only because it is you.

If this ends up anywhere online, I know where to find you, Chilwell 🧐

It won't leave my phone, I promise 😇🤞🏻 Also you were such a cute baby!! 😍 And still are Cute I mean Not a baby You obviously are a woman A cute woman I mean, beautiful Women are beautiful and you are a beautiful woman  Sorry 🤦🏻‍♂️

It's ok, don't worry 😅😂

Thank you ☺️

And same 😉

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

Did I… Did I just kind of flirt with him? After he said I was a cute baby and that now I am a beautiful woman? Ummm… hello?

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

Am I a cute baby or a beautiful woman? 🤔😜

You are a very handsome man who also happens to be very cute

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

There. I said it. I just told Ben Chilwell that he is handsome and cute. Do men like being called cute? Is that a turn off? Urgh.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

Thank you 😳😳😳😳 That's my face right now, btw

What? 😂

You've made me blush 😳

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Yeah, sure” I snort.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

Photo or didn't happen 

I look like shit right now You don't want to see that

I disagree 🤷🏼‍♀️ 

Fine 🙄 

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Looking like shit, he says… You look bloody gorgeous, Benjamin” I say, zooming on the pic. How can someone be this handsome and look this good on a random selfie? It isn't fair. 

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

That's not looking like shit

Like shit is how I look after training for more than 12 hours 

And I can't see you blushing with the beard

Should I shave it?

You won't dare!

Team beard? 😂

Team beard forever 💙

Interesting 🤔 Most girls don't like it They say it bothers them when I kiss them

Those girls know nothing 🙄

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

I mean, if a guy like him is kissing you, who cares if it feels a bit itchy? Also, have they seen his lips? Like, urgh.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

I promise you I will keep my beard for the day we meet 😇 Which length do you prefer?

The one you always have the day before you shave

I hate it when you do that

It gets good and pum

Gone

Also, are we meeting? Since when? 🤨

Sorry 🙈 And I was thinking that maybe I could have a chat with the team and see if I can invite you to pay us a visit at Cobham  Since you are a Chelsea fan since the day you were born, I think it would be cool A little homage after winning your medal  I've never seen one in real life, you know?

Oh, so you just want to see the medal, not me

Cool

What? No, no, no I want to see you And the medal Both things But mostly you The medal is cool but…  God, I'm rambling again, am I not?🤦🏻‍♂️

A bit, yeah😅

But it's ok, don't worry 

Thank you 💙 I do it all the time when I get nervous 🙈

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

He is feeling nervous? Him? Benjamin James Chilwell? What? And most importantly, why?

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

So, should I ask the team if they are up to it? Would you like to come to Cobham and have a tour?

Would you be my tour guide?

It'll be my honour Unless you have a favourite player and want him to do it instead 

He just said it would be an honour to do it 🤷🏼‍♀️

Am I your favourite player? 😏

No

Try to fix it now 😜 Anyway, I'll keep you updated, ok? 

Ok

😘😘 (Imagine they have a beard 🧔🏻)

😂😂🥰

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“Wow” I say, putting my phone down. “Just… wow.”

I just had a proper chat with Ben Chilwell. With the guy I've had a crush on since he played for Leicester. And we've flirted. Like, he called me beautiful. And he said he wanted to meet me. To see me in person. Me. 

And I didn't freak out. I mean, I did, but it didn't show. I think. It is easier to not do it through texts, but just look at him and his rambling. Who thought he would be like this when he usually looks so confident and sure of himself? When he definitely has a lot more experience on this than I do? And that photo he sent me? Dear lord. He is handsome. He's stupidly handsome. Gorgeous. He…

“I have to show the girls” I blurt out while grabbing my phone, quickly getting up from my bed and leaving my room.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

Ok, I have good news and bad news Which ones do you want first?

Bad 🫣

The Cobham visit isn't possible 😞 There are some things going on and… yeah 🫤

Shame 😞

The good news are really good news, tho Are you ready? 😏

Ready

Ok… How would you feel…  About…

Are you always this slow? 🙄

Just with good things that are worth going slow for 😏

Ben, you are making me nervous! 😩

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

Because telling him that what he's actually doing is kind of turning me on just by thinking about what things he does that are worth going slow for, may be a bit too much, right?

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

I'm sorry, I'm sorry So… How would you feel… About…

BENJAMIN!!

Ok, ok 😂 How would you feel about a guest appearance during our first game of the season at Stamford Bridge?  We are playing against Manchester City, it's gonna be a big one Hey Are you still there? Hello? Oh my God, I killed her Her heart couldn't take the news 💔 Jokes aside, are you ok? Why aren't you replying? Should I call someone? Did something happen?

Hi, sorry 

There you are 😮‍💨 What happened? Are you ok?

Yeah, yeah

I was just… processing 

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

And maybe jumping on my bed after reading his message. 

Me being a guest appearance at Stamford Bridge? And during a Chelsea- Manchester City? That's… that's… I have no words to describe it.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

And what's the outcome of all that processing? 😅

Yes

Yes what? 🤨🤔

Yes, I want to go to the game and do a guest appearance and yes

Yes yes yes YES!!!!!

Ok, I think now I got it May need another yes, tho 😂

🙄

😜😜 Anyway  The team said they will give you a shirt with your name and then you'll take some photos, show the medal to everyone, do that first kick, maybe give a little interview for the team's social media… The usual And you are gonna be attending as my very special guest and will be sitting in my box 😏

Wait

With your family and friends?

Yeah Unless that makes you uncomfortable and you prefer to sit somewhere else I should have probably asked you before telling the team, shouldn't I? Urgh, I'm so stupid 🤦🏻‍♂️

No, no 

That's ok

Though one question…

Sure 

Am I allowed to take someone with me as a plus one? 

I would like for my dad to be there with me, he's the one who made me a Chelsea girl 🥹

Of course!  I'll discuss it with the team, but I don't think there will be any problem  Though I don't know how my plan for after the game would work if you have your dad there with you 🤔

Your plan? What plan? 🤨

I was planning on taking you out for dinner 🫣

You and I?

Yeah You and I A date 

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

A date. A fucking date. I… asdfghjklñ.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

I'll think of something, don't worry 

Is that a yes to having dinner with me, then? 😏

It is, yes

Cool ☺️ Looking forward to it 😘🧔🏻 

Same 🥰

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Bloody… hell” I whisper, putting down my phone after sending that last text.

I just said yes to going on a date with Ben Chilwell. And I'm gonna be a guest appearance at Stamford Bridge for the first game of the season. And my dad is gonna be there to watch it all. And after I'm going on a date with Ben Chilwell.

Bloody hell, indeed.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“I can't believe we are here. Like… woah” my dad chuckles.

“Yeah…” I say.

We are at Stamford Bridge, and not in the stands like so many times before. We are in the tunnel waiting until they call me to go on the pitch, show my medal and kick that ball, hopefully not embarrassing myself in front of everyone and, of course, in front of Ben.

Right now he is chatting with the referee, stretching and laughing about something. And he hasn't shaved or touched his hair. 

He sent me a photo last night asking me if I liked how his beard looked, and I obviously told him that he looked perfect (which isn't too difficult) and that he should also keep his hair like that if it didn't bother him while playing. So there he is now, with his beard and his curls free of that bloody hair gel, looking gorgeous. 

“Miss? It's time” the Chelsea staff member who has accompanied us since we arrived says.

“Shit, ok. Ummm… thank you” I smile.

“You can do this, pickle” my dad says, putting his hands on my shoulders. “I mean, you've won a gold medal in front of the whole world, haven't you? This is nothing compared to that.”

“Or everything” I sigh.

“You can do this” he repeats, giving my shoulders an encouraging squeeze.

“Miss?”

“Yes, sorry. I can do this” I say, taking a deep breath and giving my dad a quick kiss on the cheek before following the staff member, the whole stadium cheering as the speaker announces my name.

Maybe I can't do this. Maybe I should go back inside, say I'm not feeling well. Maybe I… But then I see him. Ben.

He's standing in the middle of the pitch with the referee and Rúben Dias, Manchester City's captain today. Usually I would also give him a good look because… well. I have eyes and he is, you know. But right now those eyes can only focus on the person wearing the darker shade of blue, the one with a smile that makes my knees feel like jelly but that at the same time is what is making me walk and do what I'm supposed to. Like waving at the crowd and all that.

“Congratulations, miss” the referee says, shaking my hand. He is the bald one who looks like Iniesta according to my dad, can't remember his name.

“Thank you” I reply.

“Congratulations” Rúben Dias says next, also shaking my hand. 

“Thank you” I say, somehow managing to smile. And then…

“Congratulations… again” Ben chuckles, giving me a hug. “You look beautiful, by the way. Chelsea blue suits you” he whispers.

“Thank you” I mutter, my cheeks on fire when he moves and winks at me. 

Now this is the confident Ben Chilwell I'm used to, not he guy who starts rambling because he gets nervous while texting, which is something that still haven't been able to stop thinking about.

“Can you pose for some photos, please?” someone says behind me.

“Yes, of course” Ben says, his arm suddenly around my waist, moving me to stand between him and the referee.

“Big smiles…” the photographer says.

But I'm not able to focus my attention on him. I can only think about Ben's arm, about the way his thumb is moving on my back, kind of caressing it and trying to make me… I don't know, relax? But how can I relax when he is doing that? 

And then, when the referee moves so I am standing between him and Dias… Wow. I'm pretty sure there are many people out there who are wishing they were me right now. Though once again, I can only focus on Ben's arm, on how he has pulled me closer to him as if… Nah. It can't be. He can't be doing that because he is jealous of Dias, is he? He…

“Ok, we are done. Thank you” the photographer says, bringing me back to the real world.

“Time for that first kick” Ben says, definitely taking his time to move his arm from around my body. 

“When you are ready, miss” the referee says, putting the ball in front of me.

“Which way do I go?” I ask him.

“That way, towards the other Chelsea players.”

“You can do this, c'mon” Ben says with an encouraging smile. 

“Ok” I say, taking a deep breath and…

“That's it, well done!” he laughs, one of his teammates stopping the ball, the whole stadium cheering. 

“This way, miss” the staff member from earlier says.

“Yes, ummm… Nice to meet you” I say, giving a shy wave towards Dias and the referee, who reply with little nods. “Chilwell.”

“See you later” he winks. Again. How have I not tripped with my own feet after seeing that will remain a mystery.

“That was amazing, pickle!” my dad says when I join him on the tunnel.

“I just kicked a ball, dad.”

“Isn't that what they all do?” he laughs. “Anyway, let's go find our seats. I don't want to miss anything, and knowing that Haaland guy, he is able to score two goals in five minutes. Again.”

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“And… yeah. It was a good game. Still a lot of work to do, but it's just the first of the season.”

“Will we be seeing you again at Stamford Bridge?”

“My dad comes to all home games and some away ones, so I hope so” I smile.

“Looking forward to seeing you. And… we are done. Thank you very much for being so patient” the interviewer says. “You must be tired of giving interviews.”

“For my beloved Chelsea I have all the time in the world” I chuckle. “Thank you for having me.”

“Well done, pickle” my dad smiles when I join him.

“Dad, can you please stop calling me that in front of strangers?” I say, looking around. 

“Why? It is your nickname.”

“Yeah, but… it's something for family only.”

“Chelsea are our family” he says. “And speaking of that, I should probably get going if I want to make it home for dinner with your mum. Where are you meeting with the girls?”

“At the restaurant. I already have a car ready to come pick me up.”

That had been the excuse I had come up with to stay for a bit longer at Stamford Bridge before meeting with Ben for our date. Our date. I still can't believe I am going on a date with Ben fucking…

“Chilwell!” my dad suddenly says.

“What?” I say, turning around.

“Hello” Ben says with his best smile as he walks towards us. 

“Look, pickle. It's Ben Chilwell!”

“I know, dad” I say, feeling my face on fire. 

“She's a big fan of yours, you know? She even has a poster of you in her room.”

“Dad!” I gasp.

“What? It's the truth, isn't it?” he shrugs. “You look better in the picture she has, tho. What is with all that?” he says, touching his face.

“My beard?” Ben says, running a hand through it and making me want to do the same, something that doesn't help with the current temperature of my face.

“Yeah. You are in need of a shave, son.”

“We'll see” he smiles. “Did you enjoy the game? Was everything ok with your seats?”

“It was perfect” my dad says, not allowing me to talk. “We actually sat next to your mum and your sister!”

“Did you?” Ben says, acting as if he was surprised. Because my dad thinks it was Chelsea's idea to invite us here tonight, not just Ben's. How do I explain to him that I had slid into his dms and that he had suggested it after some flirting?

“We did. You have a lovely family.”

“Thank you” Ben smiles. “Anyway, I came here hoping to catch you and get a pic just the two of us, maybe see that medal up close?” he says, looking my way.

“Oh, yes. Of course” I say, finally being able to be part of the conversation.

“Cool. Rob, hey!” he says, calling for the photographer who had been with us the whole day. “Would you mind taking some photos of us together? Maybe some with my phone too?”

“Of course” the photographer says.

And while we get ready for those photos, guess what happens again?Yes, Ben puts his arm around my waist, that thumb back to its previous shenanigans and to sending waves of heat all over my body.

“May I get one too?” my dad says when we are almost done.

“It'll be my pleasure” Ben says with his best smile while I just pray for this torture to end soon. And with torture I'm not only talking about having Ben that close and everything he is making me feel. I'm also talking about my dad saying things he shouldn't and embarrassing me in front of him.

“Are we done now?” I ask.

“Why such a hurry?” my dad chuckles. “You aren't meeting with the girls until later, are you?” 

“I'm not, no. But Ben probably has plans with his friends and family, and I don't want you getting home too late. Especially when mum is waiting and you are carrying this” I say, taking off my medal.

“Wait… Can I… Ummm… Can I touch it?” Ben asks me.

“Oh, yes, sure.”

“Thank you” he says, smiling like a little kid on Christmas morning. He looks so happy. “This is amazing, isn't it? So cool. Wow.”

“You've already won some of those yourself, son” my dad chuckles.

“I have. But none of those are as big as an Olympic gold medal. I mean, the Champions League is quite big, don't get me wrong. But this one is just…” he says, inspecting the medal as if it was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen, somehow making me… emotional? What? “Thank you very much for letting me hold it. It means a lot” he says, giving it back to me.

“Don't you want a photo with it too?” my dad asks him.

“There is no need. But thank you, sir.”

“Well, then I better get going. May I?”

“Uh?” I say, being brought back into the real world once again after my dad stops whatever was going on between me and Ben after he had handed me back my medal and our fingers had touched, our eyes getting locked on each other's. 

“The medal, pickle” he chuckles.

“Oh, yes, sure. Sorry.”

“Chilwell, will you keep an eye on my girl until she has to go? I know she is in good hands with you, our vice captain! Or captain like happened tonight.”

“I will, don't worry” Ben says, giving my dad his best smile. If only he knew…

“Great. Don't forget to text us, ok?” he says, kissing my cheek.

“I won't. Love you, dad.”

“Love you too” he says before waving goodbye, walking down the tunnel and already in deep conversation with the staff member who has helped us throughout the day.

“You have a really nice dad… pickle” Ben smirks.

“Oh my God” I say, covering my face with my hands. “I can't believe you heard that.”

“Why? It's cute.”

“It isn't. It's embarrassing.”

“It's cute” he says, his hands suddenly on mine, moving them from my face and making me look at him. “Hi” he smiles.

“Hi” I whisper. 

“Did you really enjoy today?” 

“Yeah” I nod. 

“Do you want a tour of the stadium?”

“Now?”

“Now. Perks of being Chelsea's vice captain, or captain tonight like your dad said” he says.

“I… umm…”

“C'mon, say yes… pickle” Ben says with a teasing smile.

“I swear to God, Chilwell. If you call me that again, I'm leaving.”

“What? No, no, no, no. I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry" he apologizes, the way he is looking at me making my heart sink. "I won't say it again, I promise.”

“Thank you. And I'm sorry if that came out too… harsh. Too many emotions today.”

“I get it, don't worry. And again, I'm sorry” he says, that thumb back to caressing me. Though this time you could say it is even worse, because there is no fabric between it and my skin since he still has his hands on mine.

“Yeah, ummm… I think we should start with that tour before they close the stadium with us inside.”

“We should, yes” he says, his smile coming back and making my heart skip a beat. “Let's go” he says, letting go of one of my hands but still holding the other, interlacing our fingers except for one. That one. 

Because as he walks me down the tunnel and starts telling me all the details about the stadium, that thumb is constantly moving over my skin. And even though at first I feel like it is burning where he is touching me, after a while I stop noticing it and it feels like what I guess he was looking for since the beginning. Like something natural, something comforting. Something even… intimate, just between him and I.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Ben?”

“Yeah?” he says, turning to look at me as I stop walking.

“Why are we back in the tunnel?” 

“The… Oh, yes… Umm…” he says, running his free hand through his hair. Because yes, you guessed it. The other still is holding mine. 

He didn't let go of me as he showed me around the stadium and told me anecdotes about the building that I didn't know about or about things that had happened to the team since he joined them, all while sharing little moments that go from shy smiles to loud laughs that would have definitely made people give us a weird look if we hadn't been alone, and everything in between. At times he even started rambling like when we were texting, the cheekiness and confidence disappearing and his nerves taking over him like it is happening right now.

“I have a surprise for you.”

“What?”

“Come” he says, giving my hand a little squeeze and starting to go up the stairs that lead to the pitch.

Most of the lights have been turned off and only a couple are still on, lightning one spot in the grass. One where there is something that looks like… 

“Ben, is that… Is that what I think it is?” I ask him, stopping as we set foot on the pitch.

“If you are thinking about a picnic, it is, yes” he smiles before moving to stand behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder. “My original idea was to go to a nice restaurant, but then I thought that if we didn't want to have to worry about someone recognising us and going to the press, we would have to go to one of the most exclusive ones and I wanted something more chilled for our first date. So I started thinking about different options, checked Instagram for some inspo, and came up with this.”

“Ben, I… I… I don't know what to say. I…” I mumble.

“Do you like it?”

“I do” I say, moving in his arms to face him, not expecting to end up being so close to him. To have my chest against his as I rest my hands on his arms (or his biceps to be more precise), our noses almost touching. We are so close, that I can see his freckles perfectly. So close, that just by moving a tiny bit I could kiss him if I had the guts to do it. “I love it, Ben.”

“Thank God” he says, letting out a big sigh and making us both laugh. “In case my rambling hadn't given it away, I was so nervous about this... About you not liking it... I thought that maybe it was too much, but since you have been a Chelsea girl literally since the day you were born… I don't know” he shrugs.

“It's perfect, so no need to be nervous anymore” I smile.

"Easier said than done" he chuckles.

"Uh?"

"In case you haven't noticed, you make me nervous" he says, caressing my cheek. "But in a good way."

"I... umm..." I mumble, feeling my whole face on fire. "Is this picnic the reason why you texted me the other day asking me what kind of food I Iike?” I asking, trying to change the topic of conversation.

“Yep” he says. “Who knew I wasn't the only person in this country who hadn't had Chinese yet.”

“I honestly don't understand why people made such a fuss about it” I shrug.

“Well, you are about to find out” Ben says, taking my hand again and leading me towards our little picnic set. 

“Is that… Is that a Chelsea blanket?” I laugh.

“And a Chelsea picnic basket and cutlery. Look” he says, opening it. “I had no idea they sold such random things in the gift shop” he laughs.

“Oh, this is nothing compared to what other teams sell.”

“Like?”

“I've seen a West Ham garter.”

“What?” he laughs again.

“Yeah” I shrug. “Anyway, should we sit down? Something smells really good and I can't wait to find out what it is.”

“Of course. My lady” Ben smiles, helping me sit down and making me giggle.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Don't tell your friends, but I still don't understand why the fuss about Chinese food.”

“Says the person currently licking her fingers after not leaving anything on her plate” Ben laughs.

“I was hungry” I shrug.

“Sure.”

“I was” I insist.

“And I said sure” he says with a teasing smile. “Are you still hungry for some dessert, tho?”

“Always.”

“Then get ready for the best tiramisu you've ever tasted.”

“Tiramisu after Chinese food?” I chuckle.

“Why not? And this is homemade.”

“Made by who? You?” I tease him.

“Nope. My mum.”

“Your mum made us tiramisu?"

"She made me tiramusi. She has no idea we are here together right now. Like your dad, she also thinks I am having dinner with my mates" he smiles. "And here” Ben says, offering me a spoon full of tiramisu. “Open your mouth.”

“What?”

“C'mon” he says, trying really hard to not smirk. “You are gonna love it, you'll see.”

“Ok” I say, leaning forward and doing as he says. 

“And?”

“Of my gof!”

“What?” he laughs.

“Oh my God, Ben. This is amazing!” I say again once I've managed to swallow.

“Told you” he says with a cheeky smile. “But you…” 

“Uh?”

“You have something… Let me...” he says, moving on the blanket even closer than we already are, one hand holding my face by my chin while the thumb of the other (yes, that thumb) moves over my lower lip, making me gasp. “There, perfect” he smiles.

“Thank you” I manage to say, none of us moving a single centimetre, his hand still on my face. It's like the world has stopped, like it is just me and him. And then…

“May I kiss you?” he whispers.

“Please” I whisper back before it finally happens. No more imagining how it is to feel those glorious lips of his on mine. Now it is actually happening, and it is… it is… Wow. Just wow. “Did it tickle you?”

“Uh?”

“My beard. Did it tickle you like all those girls have said?” Ben says against my lips.

“I already told you that those girls know nothing, Benjamin. But…” I say, finally making my dream of touching his beard a reality.

“But?” he asks.

“I think we should keep kissing to be sure they just talk bullshit.”

“Ok” he laughs. "May I kiss you again, then?"

"You may" I smile before he kisses me again, proving that, indeed, those girls know nothing.