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capuccinodoll · 4 months ago

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Honey love, dark eyes

Chapter eleven

Summary: After a tense moment, you and Joel find the perfect moment to be alone, to clear the air—and, well, to explore other things too. It seems he enjoys teasing you. In other words—he cannot contain himself anymore. WC: 23.5k A/N: OKAY. WHAT. THIS IS LONG AF. I got sick and all i could do was THIS lol sorry!! I hope you like this part <3 LET ME KNOW WHAT U THINK. Love u all!!! <3 Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notis!

The drive to the hospital was brief and quiet, the kind of silence that didn’t feel intentional but rather borne out of mutual focus. Joel’s hand rested on your knee, grounding you, though you could feel the tension in his grip—the only outward sign of his worry.

He relayed what Irina’s mom had told him. The girls were playing in the treehouse, lost in their own conversation, when a bee buzzed through the open window. Irina screamed, startling Sarah, who stepped back too close to the edge.

She fell—eight feet to the ground.

The impact knocked the wind out of her and left her unconscious for nearly a minute. Now she was awake, pale and shaken.

"She's okay," Joel said, his voice firm but tight. "They said it’s not as bad as it sounds."

When you arrived at the hospital, Sarah was sitting up in a bed, a neck brace holding her small frame upright as a doctor shone a small light into her wide, watery eyes. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her lips trembling, her hands balled into nervous fists. She looked so much smaller than usual, her spirit diminished, and the sight of her like this made your chest tighten.

The diagnosis was straightforward—a fractured humerus and a mild concussion. Nothing life-threatening, the doctor reassured Joel, though the fall had clearly terrified her. Maybe the worst part wasn’t the injury but the fear that lingered, thick and immobilizing.

Joel moved to her side without hesitation, scooping her up gently, pressing his lips against her temple, whispering reassurances you couldn’t quite make out. Sarah clung to him, her little fingers clutching his shirt, her face buried in his chest.

When he walked into the room, a wave of absolute relief washed over her—the kind only her dad could bring.

“You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you now.” His voice cracked, but only slightly.

Irina’s mother waited just outside the room, wringing her hands, her face pale and guilt-stricken. The moment Joel had arrived, she’d apologized, over and over, her words tumbling out in a rush. He’d waved her off, his focus entirely on Sarah, but after seeing that she wasn’t in critical condition, his anger had softened into something closer to gratitude. He’d told her, gently but firmly, “It’s not your fault. These things happen.”

Later, after the doctor finished his evaluations and explained the treatment plan, you felt the tension in Joel’s shoulders ease, if only slightly. Painkillers, rest, home monitoring—nothing more. The doctor assured Joel that kids Sarah’s age were resilient. She’d bounce back faster than either of you expected.

“I’m happy you came with my dad,” Sarah said softly, her voice almost lost in the sterile hum of the hospital room. Joel had stepped out to handle the paperwork, leaving the two of you alone. She was nestled against the pillows, her small frame looking even more delicate against the stiff white sheets.

You reached out, your fingers brushing through her hair in gentle strokes.

“Of course I came, baby,” you said with a smile that you hoped looked relaxed, though you were still shaken from the chaos of the past two hours.

“Did he talk to you?”

You nodded. “He did.”

“Cool,” she murmured, her head tilting against your chest when you pulled her closer. You were careful to avoid jostling her injured arm, adjusting her so gently it felt like you were holding glass. After a moment, she said, “Please tell me that now things will go back to the way they were.” Her voice cracked slightly, and you could hear the weight of the day pressing down on her. You knew this kind of vulnerability didn’t come easily to her, even as a child.

Your chest tightened, the ache of guilt mixing with something softer, more protective.

“You have my word,” you said, your voice low but certain. “I promise you, no more ugly arguments.”

Sarah shifted, lifting her head to look at you with wide, serious eyes.

“You have to swear it,” she said, her tone firmer now, as if making sure you understood the gravity of her request.

You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“Okay, well,” you began lightly, trying to ease her tension, “I’m not sure we’ll never argue again. That’s just being human, right? But I can promise you this: this horrible situation? The one we put you through? It’s over. No more of that. I swear.”

She squinted at you, her lips curving into the faintest smile.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she said, her words carrying a hint of playfulness despite the exhaustion in her face.

“Well, fair enough,” you replied, grinning back at her.

It wasn’t long before Joel returned, his footsteps soft but calculated as he crossed the threshold. He looked calmer now, his shoulders looser, his face no longer drawn tight with worry. As he stepped beside you, his hand found the small of your back. His fingers slid beneath the hem of your shirt, his touch warm and deliberate against your skin. It wasn’t much—a small gesture, fleeting—but it sent a ripple of nervous energy through you.

You told yourself it was nothing. Joel had always been like this—touching your back, your arms, your hands. He was naturally affectionate with you, even before… before everything had changed. But this was different. The way his thumb brushed softly against your skin wasn’t just a casual gesture. It was conscious, intimate, a quiet declaration. And it filled your stomach with that familiar, fluttering sensation, like you were a teenager on the cusp of her first real crush.

Sarah, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice. Her head rested heavily against your shoulder, her breathing evening out as she relaxed.

You couldn’t help but glance up at Joel. His eyes met yours, a quiet understanding passing between you.

Your cheeks burned, the flush creeping up your neck as you looked up at him with a shy smile you couldn’t quite suppress. It felt ridiculous—how bashful you’d become under his gaze, like a teenager unsteady in her own skin.

Joel tilted his head, his lips curling into a small, sideways smile. His eyes lingered on your face, clearly amused by your reaction. He thought it was adorable.

Then, his attention shifted. His gaze moved to Sarah, who was watching the exchange with an exaggerated grimace, her face scrunched in mock disapproval.

“How are you feeling, baby?” Joel asked, breaking the moment as he leaned down to gently touch the cast encasing her arm.

“I’m okay,” Sarah replied with a sigh, like she was already bored of the concern, pretending to be over it. “I just wanna go home.”

He nodded, the smile on his face tinged with relief, though his eyes still carried traces of the fear that had gripped him earlier.

The drive home was unhurried, the car bathed in the warm light of the late afternoon. Unlike the trip to the hospital, the tension was gone now, replaced by the sound of Sarah’s voice as she filled the car with a running commentary. From the backseat, she recounted everything about the day—the bee that had sent Irina into hysterics, the moment she’d felt herself fall, the brief confusion when she woke up.

“I didn’t see anything,” she said, shaking her head with dramatic exasperation. “Like, nothing. I thought when people lost consciousness, they saw something, you know? Like a light, or maybe they dreamed.”

Joel turned in his seat slightly, glancing back at her with an amused expression.

“What did you want to see?”

“I don’t know,” Sarah said, shrugging. “God, maybe?”

You and Joel both laughed, the kind of laughter that comes easily after a day so heavy it felt like a release. Before either of you could respond, Sarah pivoted to a new topic with the abruptness only a child could manage.

“So, what, are you guys dating now or something?”

For a beat, the car went quiet—not because the question was particularly shocking, but because neither of you had an answer ready. You hadn’t talked about it, hadn’t put a name to what this was, not yet.

Joel cleared his throat, his lips twitching with a suppressed smile.

“Hey, don’t be nosy,” he said, though his tone lacked any real reproach.

“I’m just asking,” she said, her voice rising defensively. “I mean, it’s obvious—”

“We haven’t discussed it yet,” you cut in, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Well, okay,” Sarah said, sitting back as if satisfied with your answer. “I get it.”

When you arrived home, Cassie didn’t waste a second. She practically flew out the door to greet Sarah, her face lighting up as soon as she saw her. You’d let her know you were at the hospital, keeping it brief, and mentioned you’d left a key under the flower pot—an old trick, a bit worn but reliable. And of course, it had worked.

Sarah's excitement was palpable, and she wasted no time making her promise to have a girls' sleepover. Cassie, grinning at the enthusiasm, agreed immediately, her eyes sparkling with the same energy.

“Tonight!” Sarah added, grinning from ear to ear.

Joel, who had been quietly watching the exchange from the door, intervened gently.

“Sweetheart, you need to rest tonight, okay?” His voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of concern, his protective instincts still sharp from the scare earlier. “We can do the sleepover another day, when you’re feeling better.”

Sarah looked at him for a moment, her excitement deflating just slightly. After a beat, she nodded, understanding but not entirely satisfied. She still wanted the sleepover—tonight—but she accepted it.

It didn’t take long before she was curled up on the couch, almost swallowed by the cushions. The rhythmic sound of her breathing filled the quiet house, a sound that seemed too calm after the chaos of the day. Joel stayed close, his eyes flicking to her every few minutes, still watching with that careful, uneasy vigilance. You could see it in his posture—the way his shoulders remained tense, the way his gaze didn’t quite relax, even as Sarah slept peacefully.

Cassie stayed with you for a while, chatting quietly, though it didn’t take long before she stood, stretching and yawning.

“I’m so tired,” she said with a sheepish smile. “I’m gonna shower and then just collapse in bed.”

You nodded, feeling the familiar warmth of her presence slowly fading as she moved toward the door. But before she left, she winked at you, a playful spark in her eye. You watched her go, feeling a strange flutter of anticipation as the door clicked shut behind her.

Minutes later, your phone vibrated on the counter. You picked it up, unlocking the screen to find a message from Cassie:

“You have to tell me E V E R Y T H I N G”

It was frantic, a burst of energy that made you smile despite yourself.

You quickly typed back, promising her you’d share everything as soon as you could. Her reply came in a rush, the excitement practically jumping off the screen:

“Oh yeah don’t worry, are u kidding? stay with him. Tomorrow tho... all the damn details"

You were halfway down the stairs when you saw him stir from the couch. His broad frame moved toward you with that purposeful stride, his hand gesturing toward the kitchen, a silent invitation to follow.

“Are you hungry?” Joel’s voice was low, but it carried the kind of warmth you had come to associate with him, his eyes already scanning the fridge as he opened it, ducking his head to peek inside.

You approached him slowly, moving toward the counter and leaning back against it, your hands resting lightly on your lower back. You turned slightly to look at him, the cool, soft light from the refrigerator casting a glow on his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his profile. The fatigue was evident in his posture—the way his shoulders remained tense, the way his gaze drifted without quite focusing, as though the day had worn him down more than he cared to admit.

“Yeah, what do you wanna eat?” you asked, peeling yourself off the counter, sliding to stand beside him, your body instinctively wanting to close the distance between you.

“I dunno,” he muttered, his eyes gliding over the sparse contents of the fridge. Then, with a small chuckle, he added, “But I could eat a horse right now.”

You laughed softly. “Okay, I’ll order something. What are you craving?”

He closed his eyes then, letting his head tilt back slightly as if he were savoring the very idea of the meal.

“Pizza. Full of melted cheese.”

You took care of the order with quick, efficient ease, dialing the number and rattling off the specifics in less than two minutes. Two large pizzas—one with extra cheese and pepperoni, the other with extra cheese, peppers, mushrooms, and olives.

When the call ended, you placed your phone on the counter with a soft click, leaning back once again, your hands casually resting on your hips. Joel was angled across from you, his side against the fridge, arms crossed. The position made his biceps look even larger, emphasizing his strength in a way that was almost too natural. He had taken off his shirt earlier, and now only a thin, faded t-shirt clung to his torso, the smooth expanse of his skin exposed and catching the soft light of the kitchen.

He was watching you with that mischievous glint in his eyes, a playful smile tugging at his lips, as if there were something he knew that you didn’t.

You couldn’t help the way your heart skipped a beat, a warmth creeping into your cheeks as you met his gaze.

“What?” you asked softly, unable to hide the slight flush that had taken over your face.

He blinked slowly, his gaze flicking down the length of your body before rising back up, a playful, flirtatious glint in his eyes. You couldn’t help but smile wider, feeling the shift in the air between you two.

“You and I have some things to discuss,” he said finally.

“That’s true,” you replied, your voice quieter, teasing. You tilted your head to mirror his posture, a slow, deliberate movement. Your eyes skimmed down his body, the briefest of pauses at his chest before they lifted again, traveling up to his lips, lingering for a moment too long before meeting his gaze once more.

A soft pink flush spread over his neck and cheeks, the hint of a blush creeping up as he caught your gaze. The sight made something inside you flutter, and you had to fight to keep your chuckle at bay, knowing the effect you were having on him. It was silly—almost too easy—but you couldn't deny how much you were enjoying this.

“What's up, Miller?” you asked, stepping away from the counter. Your voice was laced with amusement, but you made sure to keep the playful edge intact, your posture still flirtatious, just enough to draw him in.

When you were only inches from him, you reached out, resting your hands lightly on his broad shoulders. The moment your skin touched him, you fought the instinct to pull back, to mask the undeniable warmth that his presence stirred inside you. You tried to maintain your composure, to not let him see how his steady gaze and quiet intensity were making your heart race.

Joel remained still, his eyes locked on yours, silent for a moment longer than you expected. There was amusement in his eyes, but it was tempered by a subtle nervousness. His breath was slow, measured, as if he were trying to read you, to figure out what came next in this strange little dance you were both playing.

It felt almost absurd to him, this moment. He was a grown man, someone who had known you for years, yet here you were—standing so close, your hands resting on him, that look in your eyes. It should’ve been ordinary, shouldn’t it? But instead, it unraveled something in him, leaving him completely unsettled, as if every instinct in his body was suddenly awake and alive in a way he hadn’t expected.

His arms moved, almost instinctively, and before you could adjust to the sudden shift, he brought his hands to your hips, pulling you closer. It was a subtle change in the balance, a quiet power shift that took a little of the control from your hands and placed it in his.

His hands didn’t stop there, though. They trailed up your back, fingers brushing the soft fabric of your shirt, but the touch was different now. It wasn’t just playful or teasing—it was tender, gentle, full of something deeper than either of you had allowed to surface before. The playful, mischievous grin that had been on his face moments earlier melted into something softer.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured. “You are beautiful.” His hand moved behind your back, threading through your hair, and he tugged a lock gently, pulling it upward until his fingers rested at the nape of your neck. “The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life.”

The words hit you like a wave, and you could feel your face warm, the rush of heat spreading across your skin. You looked away, your gaze dropping to his chest, as if the weight of his compliment was too much to bear.

“Joel…” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper, nerves creeping into your tone.

He noticed immediately, his smile deepening with that familiar amusement.

“What? Do I make you nervous?” His laughter came softly, a rumbling sound that made your heart skip, as if it resonated deep within you. It vibrated beneath your hand on his chest.

“You don’t have to say all that!” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. You lifted your eyes to look at him, only to find that familiar teasing glint in his gaze. “You’re just trying to make me nervous on purpose.”

“No, of course I’m not,” he replied, his voice laced with sincerity, though there was a glimmer of something mischievous behind his words. He pulled you even closer then, wrapping his arms fully around your waist, his face sinking into the crook of your neck as if he couldn’t quite get close enough. "I’ve always felt that way about you. It’s just... now I can finally say it."

You could feel the heat of his breath against your skin, and it made your pulse race.

“And I like making you nervous too,” he murmured, his voice husky, sending a shiver down your spine. “God, you smell so good.”

You smiled to yourself, a soft, satisfied curve of your lips. Of course you smelled good. The coconut and vanilla blend Cassie had gifted you worked its magic, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful. You made a silent promise to thank her later for that little touch of indulgence.

“I know,” you whispered. The smile stayed on your lips, unshakable, as your hands moved instinctively to his neck, pulling him closer in a gentle embrace.

“Mhm,” Joel murmured against your neck, his lips brushing your skin before he kissed your cheek, a fleeting, tender gesture. He followed it with a soft, lingering kiss on your lips. “Be careful what you say to me, I might just eat you.”

You couldn’t help the snort that escaped you, followed by an exaggerated eye roll.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

Joel’s laughter rumbled through him, his throat vibrating with it.

“A premonition."

You grinned, your heart racing with a mix of affection and excitement, as you stood on tiptoe to kiss him again. Your hands slid up the back of his neck, fingers weaving through his hair, and your lips met his with a quiet urgency. His hands found their way to the nape of your neck, fingers tightening in your hair as he gently pulled your head back, kissing you deeper, as if savoring every moment of the intimacy between you.

You smiled against the kiss, and Joel pulled back, his eyes still warm, a playful gleam in them.

“Does this mean you like me?” he jokingly asked.

It used to be that when you saw couples lost in their own little worlds, giggling and staring at each other like idiots, you felt embarrassed. How could they look so ridiculous, so wrapped up in each other? You’d watch them with something like amusement, maybe even mild distaste.

But here you were now, caught in the same web—completely, utterly lost in each other. And somehow, it didn’t seem silly at all. It felt so good.

You laughed softly, the sound escaping you more freely than you expected.

"Yeah, I like you."

Joel’s eyes softened, a warm, tender look settling there as he nodded, a quiet satisfaction in his expression.

“Great. You’ve never told me that before. I like it.”

“What, that I like you?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, Joel. I like you," you said, the words tumbling out before you even fully processed them. "I have the world’s biggest crush on you. You’re very hot, and I think you're amazing.” You paused then, realizing that no matter how lighthearted you sounded, you’d never quite said those words aloud. They felt heavier now, more real, and your chest fluttered slightly. "But don't let your ego get any bigger, okay?" You reached up to gently pinch his cheek, a teasing gesture, but the warmth in your touch was unmistakable.

Joel smirked, the corners of his mouth twitching into that familiar grin, but there was something a little softer about it now, something more assured.

“Like that’s even possible. I think you and Sarah do a pretty good job of keeping me humble.”

“Oh, Sarah keeps us all humble."

“True,” he agreed with a laugh. His hands found their way to your waist, gentle yet steady, and he squeezed the soft skin there. "Thank you for being with me today."

You met his gaze, your smile softening into something more serious, the air between you suddenly quieter, more sincere.

“You don’t have to thank me for anything. Even if things are bad between us, you can always count on me, Joel. I would never leave you alone during times like today.”

“I know,” Joel nodded, his expression thoughtful as he looked away for a moment, as if sorting through his feelings. “But still, thank you. I got really scared today. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to her.” His voice lowered slightly, the vulnerability in it clear. “And she’s growing up so fast. It’s hard to accept sometimes.”

You could hear the tenderness in his words, the quiet ache of a father watching his daughter change before his eyes. You nodded sympathetically, your lips curving into a soft, understanding smile.

“Yeah, but she’s such a smart kid. So capable. Sometimes she surprises me with the things she says.”

Joel furrowed his brows slightly, the familiar glint of pride in his eyes as he spoke again.

"This morning, she gave me this whole talk about how I had to accept that she’s growing up, that I had to let go of her a little at a time—like she was preparing me for something, even though, honestly, it was all just a strategy to leave me alone for the entire day." He shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "She had a plan."

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. “A plan?”

Joel let out a short, affectionate sigh and looked away for a moment, as though recalling the whole scene.

“Yeah. She was planning on going to Irina’s to sleep over so she could get me to leave her alone all day and force me to talk to you. She heard everything Travis told me this morning, and was pretty clear about what she wanted. But I told her she had to come back for dinner.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You should’ve listened to her. She really knows how to manipulate me.”

“Oh, trust me, you don’t have to tell me anything. She’s been working the same magic on me too.”

Joel’s smile grew wider at that, his face lighting up. Then, he cocked his head to the side, his gaze teasing but warm.

“Oh, yeah?”

You raised an eyebrow, unable to ignore the mischievous glint in Joel’s eyes. It was a look you had come to recognize, the one that meant he was up to something—something just a little bit dangerous, and entirely charming.

“Again with that sly look, Miller. What do you really want to ask me?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest, narrowing your eyes in playful suspicion.

Joel’s smile widened briefly before his head turned instinctively toward the living room, drawn by the faint sound of a small sneeze. When he looked back at you, his expression had softened into something tender, almost boyish. Without thinking, you mirrored his smile and took a step back, creating a sliver of space between you.

Just as you turned toward the sink, intending to get a glass of water, his hand closed gently around your wrist. The warmth of his touch sparked something electric under your skin, a slow, thrilling hum that coursed through you. Before you could fully process it—before you could form a word—Joel leaned in and kissed you.

It was soft but searing, a kiss that left no room for breath, only for the way his lips fit against yours.

“I’ll check on her, okay?” he murmured when he pulled back, his voice low and rasping.

You nodded, your lips still curved into a smile you hadn’t realized you were wearing.

Half an hour later, the three of you were gathered around the kitchen table, devouring slices of pizza that were too hot but too good to wait for. When Joel had stepped into the living room earlier, Sarah had been awake, though she kept her eyes closed, feigning sleep in a way that was almost convincing. Joel hadn’t pressed her about it—he suspected she’d overheard at least some of the conversation in the kitchen—but he let it slide. Instead, he scooped her up in his arms, and it didn’t take much to coax her awake once the promise of food filled the room.

Now, she sat cross-legged in her chair, a slice of pizza balanced in one hand. Her gaze flicked to the red-and-white logo on the pizza box—an old-timey man with a twirled mustache and a tall hat, forever winking.

“I wish Cassie stayed for dinner,” Sarah said between bites, her words slightly muffled. “How long is she going to be here?”

“I’m not sure, sweetheart,” you replied, trying to hide your smile as Joel, across from you, stuffed nearly half a slice into his mouth in one bite. “But I have a feeling she’s not leaving anytime soon.”

Sarah’s eyes lit up. “When can I have a sleepover with you?”

“When you’re feeling better,” you answered, leaning forward like you were letting her in on a secret. “Then we’ll have a proper recovery night—movies, treats, the works.”

“I feel better already,” she said, grinning wide enough that her eyes disappeared behind her cheeks.

Joel, now holding a glass of water, raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe next weekend,” he offered cautiously, glancing at you for confirmation. “If you’re up for it.”

“Out of the question,” you replied, feigning seriousness. “I’m in desperate need of a girls’ night.”

Joel chuckled softly. His eyes found yours, lingering just long enough to make your breath catch.

From her seat, Sarah cleared her throat dramatically.

“Uh-huh. Girls’ night,” she said, shooting Joel a pointed look. “No boys allowed.”

Joel snorted, leaning back in his chair.

“My own daughter,” he muttered, shaking his head with mock disbelief. “Unbelievable.”

You laughed, your hand brushing against the edge of the table as Sarah’s expression shifted suddenly, as if struck by inspiration.

“Wait!” she exclaimed, sitting up straighter. “Can we have dinner together tomorrow? Like, a barbecue? Dad hasn’t grilled in ages. We could celebrate.”

“Celebrate what, exactly?” Joel asked, his brow furrowing.

“Everything,” Sarah replied, as if it were obvious. “Cassie being in Austin, me not being dead, and you two finally stopping the whole... whatever that was.”

You stifled a laugh, pressing your lips together.

Joel shook his head, his mouth twitching at the corners.

“It’s not funny,” he said, looking pointedly at Sarah, though his voice had softened. “You scared the shit outta me, kid.”

Sarah just smiled, unfazed. “Good thing I’m still here, then. Right?”

Joel sighed, reaching over to ruffle her hair.

After two more slices of pizza and a handful of pointed remarks—most of them carefully aimed at her father—Sarah stretched dramatically and announced she was heading to bed. Joel stood, ever dutiful, to walk her to her room. You stayed behind, gathering plates and wiping down the counters, feeling the quiet settle over the house like a warm, familiar blanket.

By the time you’d finished in the kitchen, the living room was dim and still. You sank into the couch, pulling your phone out of your pocket. Without thinking, your fingers opened the chat with Cassie, like muscle memory.

Everything’s okay. Sarah’s feeling sooo much better. Already asleep, she was really tired. She was happy, though—said tomorrow she wants us all to have dinner together, you included.

You paused, re-reading the message, realizing too late that you were smiling.

Cassie’s reply came almost instantly.

I’d love to!

By the way...

How are things going with Joel? 👀

You sighed, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress a small laugh. What were you even supposed to say? You started typing, then erased the words, then typed again.

All good🫶💕 we haven’t really had time alone yet tho

There’s still... stuff we need to talk about.

You hesitated over “stuff” but left it there. It felt vague enough to be safe.

Cassie’s response was exactly what you’d expected:

Boring.

Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.

Love you.

You snorted, shaking your head.

What do u mean?

Love you too!!!

"That girl is out cold," Joel said, walking into the room with a soft, almost amused smile that seemed to smooth the worry lines on his face. "I was talking to her, and when I turned around, she was completely knocked out. You think I should wake her?"

You set your phone down on the coffee table, tilting your head at him.

"Wake her up? Why?"

"You know, because of the contusion." He dropped onto the couch next to you, his knee brushing lightly against yours as he leaned forward, frowning in thought. "Do you think we should be worried?"

"I don’t think so. Her scans came back fine, remember? And the doctor said not to stress. She was in good spirits, don’t you think?"

"She was," Joel murmured, almost to himself, leaning back into the couch. His arm stretched along the backrest, just behind your head. "Before she fell asleep, she told me she had a lot of fun today."

You laughed, short and surprised, a sound that made Joel’s gaze flicker to your mouth and linger there for a moment too long.

"She said that?" you asked, shaking your head in disbelief.

He nodded, his lips curving into a small, private smile.

"I was really scared today," you admitted, your voice quieter now as you shifted closer. "How many emotions can a person go through in two minutes? Because it felt like I was on a roller coaster or something. You Millers are going to drive me completely insane."

"Sorry," Joel said, his smile softening into something almost sheepish. His hand found your thigh, his fingers squeezing gently, as if to anchor you both. The touch felt warm, familiar, unspoken reassurance. "I promise you, on behalf of both of us, we’ll calm down. But I can’t make too many promises for Sarah. She’s a wild card."

You let out a small laugh, your head tipping onto his shoulder. His scent—faint soap, a hint of cedar—wrapped around you.

"I love her, and I like how quick she is, how clever."

"Me too," Joel replied, his voice low and warm.

The flickering light from the television bathed both your faces in soft, uneven glows. An old episode of The Sopranos played in the background. It was just noise, a placeholder for words that neither of you had spoken yet.

Your eyes burned from exhaustion, the weight of the day settling into your body, but the sensation vanished in an instant when Joel’s hand shifted on your thigh. He squeezed gently—not enough to hurt, but enough to wake you up in a different way. You couldn’t tell if it was intentional or just a subconscious movement. Then he did it again.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. “How are you feeling? About today... about us?”

The tenderness in his tone made something in your chest soften. You moved your hand, placing it over his and threading your fingers through his. A small smile tugged at your lips, one you didn’t let him see. There was something endearing—almost vulnerable—about the way he spoke, as though the words themselves were fragile.

“I feel happy,” you said, your voice light and firm. “Calm, finally. I missed you so much.”

Joel turned his head to look at you, his eyes searching your face. When you met his gaze, the intensity in his expression made your breath catch.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, the words heavy with regret. “I promise I’ll be better.”

Before you even realized it, your hand had lifted to his face. Your fingers brushed against the rough scruff of his cheek, a tender gesture he loved. His eyes softened, but there was still a flicker of pain there, the kind that came from knowing an apology could never fully undo the hurt. It was as if he didn’t believe he deserved your forgiveness—or your touch—but he was desperate for both.

Your thumb brushed over his lips. Then, closing the distance, you pressed your mouth to his.

Joel responded instantly, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck. His touch was firm but gentle, like he was afraid of breaking something precious. The kiss deepened, his lips warm against yours, but it wasn’t enough. It never seemed to be enough.

His other hand slid up to your waist, pulling you closer until the space between you was nearly nonexistent. Still, he wanted more—needed more. The taste of you, the feel of you, was intoxicating, and the quiet hunger in his movements made it clear that no amount of closeness would ever feel like enough.

Joel moved swiftly, shifting down the length of the couch and pulling you on top of him in one seamless motion. His arms wrapped tightly around you, grounding you in his hold as if he couldn’t bear to let you go. The suddenness of it made you let out a small, breathy whimper, your hands instinctively finding his shoulders to steady yourself. You leaned back just enough to adjust, settling against him more comfortably.

He rolled onto his side, bringing his face so close to yours that your breaths mingled in the small space between. His eyes, bright but laced with exhaustion, locked onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach flip. He smiled then, a soft, unguarded smile that revealed those dimples on either side of his mouth, the ones that never failed to make your heart flutter. He was so achingly beautiful it felt almost unfair.

Without thinking, you leaned forward, pressing a firm kiss to one cheek, right over a dimple, then the other. The affection in the gestures made his eyes soften even further. Finally, your lips found his.

“I love you, Joel,” you murmured. Your fingers toyed with the curls at the side of his head while your other hand rested on his chest, tracing idle patterns over the fabric of his shirt. “And I forgive you. You don’t have to keep apologizing to me—I don’t want you to feel like you need to.”

“I’m sorry, I—ah, shit, I really am,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "Fuck."

“Oh my God,” you laughed, biting your bottom lip to stifle the sound.

His lips quirked into a grin, and his voice softened.

“I love you too, sunshine.”

Your heart swelled at the nickname, and you nodded gently.

“That’s the way I like it,” you teased, clicking your tongue playfully. “Now, I know you’re sorry. But instead of saying it all the time, just show me, okay? Before anything else, we’re best friends. That doesn’t mean you have to tell me everything all the time—you’re an adult, and you’re entitled to have things that are just yours and—”

Joel shook his head, his expression growing serious as he interrupted,

“No. I don’t want to hide anything from you. You’ve always known everything about me. The Sienna thing...” He trailed off, his brow furrowing under your touch as his voice dipped lower. “That was a one-time situation. And I swear, it’ll never happen again with anything. It was... it was bad. I know that. But it’s over. It’s done.”

You studied him for a moment, his face so open, so earnest, and you could feel the weight of his words. You let your thumb stroke over the crease in his brow, smoothing it away as a small, knowing smile crept onto your lips.

“It won’t happen again? What’s that supposed to mean—are you giving up on dating altogether, Joel?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going celibate now?”

He stifled a laugh, the sound low and warm in his chest.

“It’s not that, no. I actually think I’m looking for something serious now.”

“Something serious?” you repeated, your tone dripping with mock skepticism.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” you asked, tilting your head as your fingers idly traced down the curve of his neck. “I always thought you were more of a lone wolf.”

“Not at all. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. I know what I want.”

“Well, since you mention it,” you said, grinning slyly, “I think I might have someone for you. You’re going to love her.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious.

“Oh yeah? Who?”

You leaned closer, feigning a conspiratorial tone.

“It’s kind of like fate, actually. I was on my phone earlier, and this Facebook post came up. I couldn’t believe it—it was Brianna! I thought; ¡No way! And now here you are, saying this. It’s fucking perfect.”

Joel groaned, shaking his head as he laughed.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“I’m warning you, though,” you continued, straight-faced. “She’s married. You’ll have to sneak around. Climbing out windows, that sort of thing. Although, judging by the sounds your knees make, I wouldn’t recommend it. Doesn’t seem safe.”

“Oh, she was crazy about me,” Joel interjected, cutting through your playful monologue with a smug grin. He leaned back, his expression exaggeratedly self-satisfied. “Couldn’t get enough of me. Always on top of me.”

You propped yourself up on one elbow, your mouth falling open in mock disbelief.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really,” he said, his grin widening, clearly enjoying your reaction. “My knees are just fine, by the way. Not a problem.”

You squinted at him, shaking your head.

“I never pictured you as the type to get involved in an affair, Miller.”

“Neither did I,” he said with a casual shrug. “But this is Brianna we’re talking about, I mean.”

You shook your head, narrowing your eyes at him, and said with mock seriousness, “Okay. That’s it. I’m done.” You started to shift away, pretending to leave, but he was faster.

Joel wasn’t having it. With a laugh, he grabbed you around the waist, pulling you back against him in one smooth motion, laying you flat on your back, over his chest. His mouth found the spot between your neck and shoulder, leaving playful kisses that sent shivers up your spine and made you squirm.

“Come on,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and full of amusement. “We’re too old for this shit.”

You laughed, your hands tangling in his hair as he continued to tease you.

“Speak for yourself. My knees don’t pop.”

Joel let out a low laugh, shaking his head.

“Shut up.”

For a while, neither of you said anything more. The air between you thickened, the silence soft and heavy. Joel stayed close, his lips brushing over the back of your neck, the curve of your jaw, trailing to your shoulder with a deliberate slowness. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, his hand at your waist. And, though you tried not to focus on it, the unmistakable pressure of him, half-hard, pressing against you.

“I'm serious,” he said after a moment, his voice breaking the quiet but holding onto its gentleness. “I want to be with you. Only with you.”

His words hung in the air, sinking into you like a weight you hadn’t realized you were craving. Your smile came unbidden, immediate and impossible to suppress.

Joel didn’t stop. His mouth pressed lightly to your shoulder as he continued, his voice low, like he was confessing something secret.

“I don’t want to waste any more time. I’ve already been without you, and I don’t ever want to feel that again. And I know what it’s like to just be your friend, and yeah, I fuckin' love that too—but it’s not enough. I want everything.”

Your heart swelled in your chest, so full it almost hurt.

“Me too.”

Joel stilled for a moment, his breath hitching.

“Yeah?”

You reached down and placed your hands over his where they rested on your waist. Your fingers laced together, holding on tightly, grounding him in your touch.

“Yes,” you whispered.

The smile that broke across Joel’s face was something you didn’t want to forget. You wanted to hold onto it, to remember the exact way his features softened, the exact way his dimples deepened.

Without thinking, you shifted, turning to face him in one fluid motion. His smile lingered, and you leaned closer, unable to resist the magnetic pull of him.

“What are we, Joel?” you teased, your voice light, your grin playful as your hand slipped under his shirt. Your palm brushed against the firm plane of his stomach, and you felt the way his muscles tensed at the contact. You would never get tired of this: the feeling of his skin under your touch, the way his body responded to you so effortlessly.

You fucking loved it.

Saturday. That morning, it was official.

You woke up on the couch, wrapped in your boyfriend's arms, his warmth anchoring you to the quiet serenity of the moment. At some point in the night, after he’d pulled you close and draped the blanket over both of you, sleep had claimed you effortlessly. The faint memory of his steady breathing and the way his hand had rested protectively on your hip lingered as you stirred awake.

Sarah had slept in, leaving the two of you to share a rare moment of solitude. The kitchen was bathed in soft morning light, the air carrying the faint hum of the world outside through the open window. There was something about mornings like this—unhurried, gentle—that reminded you of the way things used to be, before everything got complicated. That harmony, that unspoken ease, had found its way back to you.

Joel sat beside you, his coffee cup in one hand, the other resting casually on your leg. His fingers pressed into your skin with a gentle familiarity, an unconscious gesture that felt like it belonged exactly where it was. His hair was damp from the shower he’d just taken, curling slightly at the edges, and he wore a black T-shirt and gray sweatpants.

And it was too much.

Something wild stirred inside you, something uncontainable that you weren’t sure you could keep from surfacing much longer.

The first moment you saw him come down the stairs, you’d nearly choked on your breath. The way the T-shirt clung to his broad shoulders and chest, the way the soft fabric of his sweatpants hung low on his hips, hinting at every solid line of his body—it was maddening.

You felt like a feral animal, like every nerve in your body was tuned to him.

It didn’t matter what Joel was saying—something about the weather, or the coffee, or maybe asking if you wanted more toast. His words barely registered because your attention was completely hijacked by him.

The way his lips moved when he spoke. The subtle flex of his biceps every time he reached up to open a cabinet. The way his fingers curled around the handle of his mug, big and thick, and how your mind betrayed you, fixating on how those fingers would feel on you.

Your pulse quickened, your breath catching in your throat as he turned to look at you mid-sentence, a faint smile playing on his lips. You were convinced he could see the heat rising in your cheeks, feel the way your gaze lingered too long.

And still, you didn’t care.

“Tommy’s coming today,” Joel said, his voice pulling you out of the increasingly vivid direction your thoughts had taken. You blinked, focusing on his face as he glanced at you with an amused smile that suggested he had some idea where your mind had been. “I texted him a while ago, after I got out of the shower.”

You nodded, barely processing his words because now you were thinking about him in the shower. Water sliding over his broad shoulders, the way the muscles in his arms flexed as he reached for the soap, how the steam would cling to his skin.

“He seemed excited when I told him Cassie was in Austin,” Joel continued, his casual tone slicing through the haze in your mind.

You rolled your eyes, trying to refocus.

“Sure,” you said, shaking your head to clear it. “Did you even know our relationship was a frequent topic of conversation for the two of them?”

Joel raised an eyebrow, his face settling into a thoughtful expression, though there was no mistaking the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah,” you said with a grin. “Apparently, they talked all the time about which one of us would make the first move. Honestly, I wouldn’t even be surprised if there was a bet involved at some point.”

Joel’s lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh.

“Well,” he said, his voice teasing, “I guess we’ll find out today. If I see any suspicious money changing hands, I’ll let you know right away.”

You let out a soft, involuntary laugh as you rose from your chair, coffee cup in hand, and the sound of it lingered in the air as you crossed the room toward the sink. The familiar weight of the mug, still faintly warm from the coffee, felt grounding against your palm. You turned the faucet on, the hum of water filling the quiet kitchen as your movements shifted into the mindless rhythm of washing the cup.

“Hey, leave that,” Joel’s voice interrupted from behind.

You turned your head just as he came up beside you, his own mug in hand. It was only half-full, a dark swirl of coffee still clinging to the sides, but he set it down on the counter without much thought. His eyes, however, stayed on you.

“Come here,” he murmured, his hands already reaching for your hips.

The gesture was fluid, practiced even though this—all of this—was still so new. He guided you around, one swift, calculated motion that left you pressed between the solid counter behind you and the even more solid presence of him in front of you.

His hands didn’t leave you, palms settling firmly against your sides as if to anchor you, or maybe to ground himself. He leaned in, close enough that you felt his breath skim your skin. You caught your own breath, felt it catch somewhere in your throat, an almost embarrassing giveaway of how much his nearness affected you.

Your cheeks warmed—no, burned, really—and you knew he could see it, the flush creeping over your neck and jaw like a slow tide. At the same time, your eyelids dipped, your gaze meeting his with a softness that you couldn’t hide, no matter how much you might have wanted to. Honeyed, you thought vaguely, the way your eyes must look now, like you’d been caught in some dreamy, sunlit haze.

This was the part you hadn’t yet gotten used to: the closeness, the unapologetic intimacy. And the desire. Unfiltered, unrestrained, and so startlingly mutual. You’d spent so long wanting him from a distance that now, having the freedom to act on it, felt almost dizzying.

If you wanted to kiss him, you could. If you wanted to trace your fingers over the line of his jaw, you could. There was nothing in the way now, no reason not to. The knowledge settled deep in your chest, warm and thrilling, and it made you smile despite yourself.

Joel’s gaze flickered, like he caught the thought behind the curve of your lips. What would he say if he knew the places your mind had wandered since the moment you saw him that morning? If he knew that this—his closeness, his hands on you—was exactly where your thoughts had been circling all day?

Would it undo him the way it was undoing you?

“Joel,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hand drifted to rest lightly on his abdomen, the firm warmth of him radiating beneath your palm. Slowly, your fingers began to move downward, the motion unhurried. “I really like these sweatpants,” you added, the corners of your lips curving into a small, playful smile.

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his features, though his pupils were already wide, his dark eyes fixed intently on yours.

“Mmm?” he hummed, the sound low and almost distracted. His attention shifted as your fingers dipped just beneath the waistband of his pants, teasing the elastic of his underwear.

“Yes,” you repeated, your voice softer now, as though the moment demanded a certain quietness. Leaning in, you brushed your lips against his—once, quickly, the briefest of kisses that left him chasing after your mouth when you pulled away. His lips parted, his breath warm against yours, as if drawn to you by some invisible force he couldn’t resist.

“And I’ve been thinking about a lot of things, actually,” you added.

“What things?” he asked, his voice rougher now, as though the words had caught in his throat. He bent his head, his mouth finding the soft curve of your neck. The kiss he placed there was gentle but deliberate, lips brushing the delicate skin just over your pulse. You felt the rush of your blood beneath his mouth, the heat spreading outward, your legs suddenly unsteady beneath you.

You closed your eyes and instinctively gripped his shoulders, your fingers curling against the firm breadth of them. He was solid, grounding you as much as he was unraveling you. Joel’s body pressed harder against yours, the cool edge of the counter biting into your back in sharp contrast to the heat of him in front of you.

Warm, firm and hard.

“What things, baby?” he asked again, his voice dropping lower, his breath warm against the line of your jaw as he kissed his way upward.

Your hand slid up to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft, unruly curls there. You tugged lightly, and the sensation drew a quiet sound from him, a low, satisfied hum that sent a thrill through you.

A soft, unbidden moan escaped your lips as one of his hands moved down, his palm gliding over your thigh before curving firmly around you. His fingers squeezed, hard, his grip grounding yet electric all at once.

You couldn’t help the amused smile that spread across your face. Tilting your head back slightly, you let the moment linger, savoring the way his hands fit against you, the heat and weight of him pinning you there.

“You’re impatient,” you murmured, your voice laced with a quiet tease as you leaned closer, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

“I’m impatient?” Joel echoed, his tone almost incredulous, though the rough edge in his voice betrayed him.

“Yes.” You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes flickering with mischief, a playful challenge. For half a second, the two of you hung in that charged space, your words hanging between you like a dare.

And then his mouth was on yours. This time, there was no hesitation, no half-measure. The kiss was demanding, almost desperate, as though he’d been holding himself back until now. One of his hands stayed where it was, firmly gripping you, while the other slid upward, his fingers finding the back of your neck.

He tugged gently at your hair, the movement tilting your head back, giving him better access to you. You let him, the sensation sending a fresh rush of heat through you, the tension unraveling in slow waves as he kissed you.

A soft, involuntary moan escaped you, muffled against his lips, the sound reverberating through him as though it had been made for him alone. His tongue brushed against yours, savoring your mouth, a careful yet desperate dance, and the juxtaposition of tenderness and urgency sent a shiver down your spine.

Something inside you shifted, a spark igniting into a flame. Your breath caught sharply, your chest rising and falling as if trying to keep up with the intensity. Your hands moved instinctively, threading through his hair, the strands thick and soft beneath your fingertips. You held him there, pulling him closer, needing him closer.

Joel broke the kiss, his breath coming in uneven bursts as his lips found the side of your neck, pressing there for just a heartbeat before reclaiming your mouth. The brief reprieve only heightened your awareness of him, the way his presence seemed to surround you completely.

His hand drifted down, fingers trailing along your side before settling firmly on your thigh. With a quiet motion, he lifted it, shifting your weight so that your leg hooked over his hip. The movement pressed your bodies together more intimately, and the sensation was so overwhelming, almost too much; his cock pressing hard against your core through the fabric.

Your hands roamed restlessly, sliding over his head, down the strong column of his neck, and across his broad shoulders. Every touch was filled with a kind of desperate, unspoken need, your fingers tracing him as though you were trying to commit every detail to memory.

Joel’s hand left your thigh, his palm gliding upward to rest against your throat. He didn’t grip, didn’t press—just let his thumb stroke gently over the soft skin there, his touch both grounding and electrifying.

“Um,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and breathless, tinged with the smallest hint of humor. His mouth lingered for a moment longer, kissing you softly, reluctantly, as if he were trying to savor the last taste of you. Then, inch by inch, he began to pull back, his forehead resting against yours briefly before he looked at you.

“We’d better get started on our day, don’t ya think?” he asked, his tone casual in a way that made you almost laugh if you weren’t so undone. “We’ve got a lot of things to do.”

Before you could answer—before you could even process the sudden shift—he stepped back, the warmth of his body disappearing so abruptly it left you cold. The space he left felt vast, too vast.

For a moment, you just stood there, your breath still catching in your chest, your body still humming with the ghost of his touch. The abruptness of it all felt almost unfair, like you’d been woken from a dream before the best part. And yet, you couldn’t help but watch him, trying to make sense of the way he could pull you apart and put you back together all at once.

Joel moved to the table with a casual ease, gathering the empty crystal glasses in his hands. His movements were natural, almost unremarkable, but there was something in the simplicity of the act that made your breath hitch. You stayed where you were, your hands braced against the counter, the smooth surface cool beneath your palms. You felt anchored there, as though moving might break the tension crackling in the air.

Your gaze followed him. Confusion fluttered in your chest—at him, at yourself, at the pull between you that seemed impossible to ignore. Your breathing was uneven, and your eyes betrayed you, shimmering with the kind of spark you couldn’t suppress even if you wanted to.

When Joel returned, he set the glasses down beside you, the faint clink of crystal meeting counter slicing through the charged silence. He didn’t touch you, not even the briefest brush of fingers, but his presence was almost unbearable, heavy. And then there was his expression—the look in his eyes, the slight quirk of his mouth.

Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing. That was clear. And yes, he was hard. So fucking hard it was almost obscene. He’d done it on purpose.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, your voice firm despite the storm inside you. You straightened, peeling yourself away from the counter’s edge, and turned toward the table to retrieve your phone. “That’s right. I need to see Cass.”

When you turned back, Joel was leaning against the archway that framed the kitchen. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze was anything but. He looked at you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine, his eyes sweeping over you slowly. The grin that tugged at his lips was mischievous, infuriatingly so, as though he knew exactly how he was affecting you.

“Say hi to Sarah for me, okay?” you said, trying to sound casual as you stepped toward him. “I’ll be back later.”

When you reached him, you leaned in to press a quick, fleeting kiss to his lips—simple, restrained. But as Joel bent slightly to meet you, your hand moved without thinking. Your fingers found him, cupping him firmly through the soft fabric of his sweatpants, your fingers squeezing him with just the right strenght.

The groan that escaped him was immediate, low and guttural, and it sent a thrill through you. His lips parted, a quiet, breathless chuckle slipping out.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, his voice rough, the words caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

You smiled, a slow, knowing curve of your lips as you released him. Stepping back, you moved toward the door.

“So impatient,” you said over your shoulder.

After you had spilled everything to Cassie—every detail, every moment—you slipped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over you like a protective veil. The rhythmic pounding of the water filled the small space, drowning out the noise in your head, but it didn’t stop your thoughts from wandering. Inevitably, they drifted back to Joel. They always did.

You moved your hands over your body absentmindedly, lathering the soap and rinsing it away, but it was him you were thinking about, him you were feeling. As you ran your fingers along your skin, you imagined his hands in their place—strong, deliberate, exploring every curve, every soft part of you. The thought was maddening, the memory of his touch etched so deeply into you that even the water couldn’t wash it away.

Each stroke of the loofah became a stand-in for him, for the way his fingers would trace your skin, lingering in ways that made you shiver. Your body felt like a live wire, humming with an energy you couldn’t contain. Desire coiled tightly inside you, building with every passing moment, every thought of him.

You tilted your head back into the stream, closing your eyes as the water ran down your face and neck. This isn’t sustainable, you thought, biting your lip against the flood of sensations threatening to overtake you.

But you didn’t want to make it easy for him, either. No, he’d been cruel to you that morning, hadn’t he? Leaving you like that, strung out and wanting, while he stood there looking so smug, so maddeningly composed. The memory made your stomach tighten, heat blooming in your chest.

Of course, it wasn’t as though he’d walked away unscathed. You’d seen the way he looked at you, the tension in his jaw, the way his hands had gripped the wall like he was holding himself back. He wasn’t immune to this. You’d made sure of that.

But what choice did you have? The practical part of your brain—the part that always seemed louder in the light of day—reminded you of Sarah, sleeping just upstairs. She was the reason you couldn’t let yourself give in, not fully. What if she woke up? What if she came downstairs? You’d hate for her to see something she couldn’t unsee, to feel even a flicker of discomfort because of you.

The thought cooled you, just slightly, enough to keep you grounded. But it didn’t erase the ache, the way your body seemed to rebel against your restraint. Joel had set this fire, and now you were left with the smoldering embers, trying to keep them from flaring up again.

“So, what, what are you going to do when you get married?” Cassie asked two hours later, her voice cutting through the comfortable quiet of the living room.

The question caught you mid-thought, and you let out a soft, amused laugh, glancing at her from where you sat cross-legged on the floor tying your shoelaces.

“What?”

“What if, don’t give me that nonsense,” she said, waving a hand dismissively as she shifted on the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. Her tone was matter-of-fact, but her eyes were alight with mischief. “I’m already planning it all out in my head.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking.

“Oh, you are, are you?”

“Absolutely. I’m very detail-oriented, you know.” She leaned back into the cushions, folding her arms across her chest like she’d just made an airtight argument. “I mean, someone has to start thinking about these things. You’re not exactly in a hurry.”

“You just want to be someone’s maid of honor. I’ve seen how you watch those wedding shows,” you teased, pulling the knot tight on one sneaker before moving to the other.

“That’s not true,” she said, feigning offense, though the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth betrayed her. “I’m just honest. And a visionary. I always knew you and Joel would end up together—it was only a matter of time.”

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes, but there was warmth in your voice.

Cassie shrugged with an air of nonchalance, though you could see how much she was enjoying this.

“It took longer than I thought it would, I’ll admit that. But all the drama? Totally worth it. I mean, if you’re going to take your sweet time, at least you made it entertaining.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at her.

“Oh yeah? So now what, you’re going to start placing bets with Tommy again?”

“Maybe,” she said with a conspiratorial smile.

You reached out to swat her knee playfully, and she let out a dramatic yelp as if you’d actually hurt her. Rising to your feet, you grabbed your purse from the coffee table and slung it over your shoulder.

“Get off your ass, Cass. Let’s go,” you said, heading toward the door, your voice carrying a note of mock authority.

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied, dragging herself off the couch with exaggerated effort, but the grin on her face remained as she followed you out.

When Sarah opened the door, her face lit up with the kind of radiant, unguarded smile that made you pause for a second. It was the sort of smile that could only come from her father, and it tugged at something tender inside you. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, your fingers brushing gently through her hair.

“Hi, sweetheart,” you said warmly. Sarah beamed at you, her eyes sparkling with a knowing look that made you feel like you were sharing some secret.

Behind you, Cassie stepped forward, wrapping Sarah in a gentle hug.

“Hey, kiddo. How’s the arm?” she asked, careful to avoid touching the sling.

“It’s fine,” Sarah said, her tone casual but proud. “I barely even notice it anymore.”

“You’re such a trooper,” Cassie said, ruffling Sarah’s hair lightly before stepping back.

Inside, the house smelled of fresh coffee and something faintly smoky—Joel must have been at the grill. It felt warm, lived-in. Your gaze swept the room and immediately found Joel and Tommy in the kitchen, their heads bent together in hushed conversation. Whatever they were discussing seemed fun, but it came to an abrupt halt when they spotted you.

Both men turned, their faces breaking into wide grins. Tommy was the first to move, crossing the room in a few easy strides toward Cassie. He pulled her into a hug, his hand resting on the small of her back as he murmured something that made her laugh softly.

“Are you free now, Cass?” Tommy asked when they parted, his tone teasing. “A little birdie told me Rome is ancient history.”

Cassie smirked, stifling a laugh. “Who’s this little birdie? Because they sound a lot like you.”

“I never said that,” Joel chimed in from the kitchen, his voice low but amused as he leaned casually against the counter.

You moved toward him, your hand instinctively reaching out to tap his stomach in a playful gesture.

“No one mentioned you,” you laughed.

His hand was on you instantly, sliding around your waist and pulling you into his side with a practiced ease that felt both natural and thrilling. He dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, a greeting so sweet it made your heart flutter.

“I can’t believe it,” Cassie said, her voice mock-serious as she nudged Tommy’s shoulder. “They kissed!”

Tommy turned, feigning shock as he raised a hand to his chest.

“What? Really? Here? In front of all of us?”

Joel rolled his eyes, a small, indulgent grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“What happened?” Sarah’s voice cut in, and you turned to see her standing in the kitchen doorway, her expression a mix of curiosity and amusement. She had her phone in one hand and a pair of headphones draped around her neck.

Tommy chuckled, clicking his tongue as if she’d just stumbled upon some juicy gossip.

“Yeah, well, get used to it,” Joel said, his tone dry as he ruffled Sarah’s hair. She scrunched her nose in exaggerated annoyance but didn’t bother hiding her smile.

“What happened?” she asked again, stepping closer to you.

“Babe, they kissed!” Cassie exclaimed dramatically, throwing her hands up as though she were announcing the news to the world.

Sarah rolled her eyes, but her grin widened. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Joel smirked, glancing down at her. “You’re just jealous,” he teased, reaching out to tug gently on her shirt.

Sarah crossed her arms, pretending to think.

“Hmm, no. I think I’m just glad I wasn’t here to witness it.”

Everyone laughed, the sound filling the room with a kind of easy warmth. Joel leaned closer to you, his breath brushing your ear as he murmured, “They’re never going to let us live this down.”

You tilted your head up to him, smiling. “I think we can handle it.”

“Famous last words,” he muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smirk.

Cassie clapped her hands together. “Alright, enough romantic comedy. Who's hungry? Oh, I brought beers!”

Joel raised his hand like a schoolboy, and even Sarah nodded enthusiastically. You laughed, stepping back to let the chaos of the moment unfold, your heart feeling full in a way it hadn’t in a long time.

The late afternoon sun poured over Joel’s patio, softening the mild autumn chill with a warm golden hue. The air smelled faintly of delicious grilled food and freshly cut grass, a perfect backdrop for the lively conversation happening at the table. Cassie, Tommy, Sarah, and you were gathered around, full glasses and opened cans scattered between you, as Cassie regaled Sarah with the story of the time she’d met Robert Pattinson at an airport.

“I’m serious,” Cassie said, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. “He was wearing this beanie, sunglasses—clearly trying not to be noticed. But I noticed, because, you know.” She gestured vaguely to her face, grinning. “It’s Robert Pattinson.”

Sarah’s jaw dropped, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“No way. What did you do? Did you say something?”

Cassie waved a hand dismissively.

“Of course not. I played it cool. Just casually texted everyone I know while standing three feet away from him.”

“You didn’t talk to him?” Sarah gasped, leaning back in her chair like she’d been personally betrayed.

“Nope. I just let him exist in peace. But I swear, the man has an aura.”

“A Robert Pattinson aura,” you added, chuckling.

Sarah shook her head, her expression still incredulous.

“I can’t believe it. I’ve been in love with him since I saw him in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Cedric Diggory was the perfect guy. And then, you know…” She mimed an explosion with her hands.

Cassie’s grin widened. “Oh, just wait until you see Twilight.” She leaned back in her chair, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “That movie… it was an awakening. Like, I don’t think I’ve ever been the same since.”

Tommy groaned audibly, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his seat.

“Come on. Vampires are supposed to be grotesque. Evil. You know, scary. What’s with the glitter skin? It doesn’t make any sense. If you want vampires, Sarah, you’ve gotta watch 30 Days of Night. Now that’s a vampire movie.”

“Tommy,” you interjected, placing your hand flat on the table for emphasis. “You’re missing the point entirely. Twilight isn’t about scary vampires. It’s about vibes. It’s an experience. I love grotesque, evil vampires—trust me, I’m a fan—but Twilight is something else. It’s special.”

“Special how?” Tommy asked, raising an eyebrow.

Cassie jumped in before you could respond.

“It’s not about realism, Tommy. It’s about longing. It’s about standing in the rain in a forest and declaring your undying love to someone who might kill you at any moment.”

“Yeah, sounds healthy,” he deadpanned, taking a sip of his bear.

“Listen,” Sarah said, her voice rising with enthusiasm as she gestured dramatically, “if Cedric Diggory is in it, I’m watching it. I don’t care if he’s sparkly or scary or made of actual glitter.”

“See?” you said, pointing at Sarah with a grin. “She gets it.”

Joel’s voice cut in from the doorway, where he’d been quietly watching the scene unfold. “What exactly are we getting?”

“Twilight,” you said, turning to him with mock seriousness. “We’re educating Sarah about the cultural phenomenon that is Twilight.”

Joel walked over to the table, grabbing an empty chair and sitting down beside you.

“I’ve seen it. I’m pretty sure it’s just two hours of people staring at each other dramatically.”

“Don’t forget the running through the forest,” Cassie added, laughing.

“And the baseball scene,” you said, grinning. “You can’t forget vampire baseball.”

Joel shook his head, a bemused smile on his face. “I’m not sure what’s worse—vampire baseball or glitter skin.”

“Neither,” Sarah said decisively. “The worst part is that none of you appreciate cinematic brilliance when you see it.”

The table dissolved into laughter, the warm sound filling the patio and blending with the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Joel leaned closer to you, his arm brushing yours as he said quietly, “You’re really defending this, huh?”

“Always,” you replied, smiling at him. “Someone has to.”

The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the patio as the conversation at the table meandered through topics, laughter punctuating the air. Joel sat beside you, his beer bottle in hand, absently turning it by the neck as his gaze shifted toward the horizon. Something about the sky had caught his attention, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he were reading the clouds. He loved to do that.

Without a word, he stood and walked toward the grill, the sound of his shoes scuffing lightly against the patio stones. His movements were deliberate, unhurried, his body relaxed but purposeful. Your eyes followed him, and you noticed how the soft plaid of his gray-and-black lumberjack shirt shifted with the broadness of his shoulders. Beneath it, the snug black T-shirt clung to his torso in a way that made your pulse quicken. The dark jeans and worn black Converse completed the look, effortlessly rugged and so distinctly him.

You swallowed, trying to tune back into the conversation at the table, but the sight of him at the grill was distracting in the most infuriating way. He flipped a couple of pieces of meat with a practiced ease, one hand gripping the bottle of beer, the other wielding the tongs. His head tilted slightly as he examined the food, his focus so precise it felt unfair. He looked...hot. Infuriatingly, heartbreakingly hot. His hair was neater than usual, like he’d taken an extra moment to tame it, and his beard—God, his moustache—was perfectly trimmed, the edges sharp and intentional. His lips, soft and full, curved into a barely-there smile as he took a long, slow sip of beer.

The conversation around you had continued, but you realized you hadn’t heard a single word. Joel was all you could see, all you could think about.

When you finally tuned back in, it was clear everyone else was engrossed in a debate about something trivial, their attention elsewhere. Seizing the moment, you stood, smoothing your hands over your clothes as you made your way toward him.

His eyes met yours immediately, dark and warm, and his lips tugged into a soft smile that made your knees feel weak. You reached him, the air between you buzzing with something unspoken. Without hesitation, his free hand slid to your waist, a gentle but possessive gesture that sent a thrill through you.

“How are you, beautiful?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” you replied, your voice softer than you intended. “What about you?”

“Couldn’t be better,” he murmured, leaning in so his breath tickled the shell of your ear. The closeness made your heart stutter. “I love what you’re wearing.”

A shiver ran down your spine, his words and the way he said them settling low in your stomach. His hand on your waist gave the faintest squeeze, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your shirt.

“Yeah?” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper, your pulse roaring in your ears.

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes dipping briefly to your lips before meeting yours again. “You look incredible.”

You smiled knowingly, the kind of smile that came from being perfectly aware of the effect you had on him. It wasn’t just the dress—it was that dress. The one you’d worn on his birthday, the one that had made his eyes soften and linger on you for just a beat too long. You’d noticed, of course. Joel didn’t have the best poker face, not with you. He had always found excuses to touch the fabric when you wore it, his fingers brushing against the light, soft material as you passed by him, as if he couldn’t help himself.

Today, you’d paired it with a denim jacket, the kind thick enough to ward off the gentle Austin autumn chill but casual enough to downplay the deliberate choice of the dress. A little armor, a little effort—it was all a balance.

As you stood in front of him now, his hand slipped up your back, fingertips grazing the fabric before settling on the base of your ponytail. He gave it a gentle tug, a playful motion that sent a little thrill through you.

“Careful,” you said, your tone light as you gave him a soft punch to the stomach, the flat of your hand connecting with his firm abdomen.

Joel laughed, a deep, warm sound that spread through the air and settled somewhere low in your stomach. He brought the beer bottle back to his lips, taking a slow sip before lowering it again.

“I love this dress,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. His lips curved into a smile, but this one was mischievous. “I've missed it.”

You raised an eyebrow, but before you could respond, he added, “And don’t think I forgot about this morning.”

A laugh bubbled up from your chest, and you shook your head at him, your smile widening.

“You started it, Miller,” you teased, leaning in just enough to make your point.

“Ooh, I love it when you call me that,” he said, squinting at you in mock challenge, his grin deepening into something boyish and utterly irresistible.

You rolled your eyes dramatically, but the fondness in your expression betrayed you. Your hand came to rest on his bicep, your fingers pressing lightly against the muscle there, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his shirt.

“I’ll go get more snacks,” you said, using the excuse to step back from him, though your smile lingered.

As you made your way toward the sliding door, you heard his footsteps following you. Without turning fully, you stopped and glanced back over your shoulder, a flirtatious smile tugging at your lips.

“Stay right there, Miller,” you commanded, your voice soft but firm, playful yet full of intention.

Joel halted in his tracks, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, his lips quirking in amusement.

“As you say,” he replied, the deep timbre of his voice laced with warmth, his eyes never leaving you as you disappeared inside.

Inside, the kitchen smelled faintly of warm spices and freshly chopped herbs, the remnants of the day’s earlier cooking. Sarah had joined you at the counter, her movements precise and calculated as she tipped the bags of chips and Doritos into bowls with one hand, each small tilt of the bag executed with care, ensuring no crumbs or stray pieces fell on the counter. It was something you’d always noticed about her: this quiet attention to detail, the way she moved through the world like it deserved her reverence.

She was like that—careful, gentle. A quiet kind of sweetness radiated from her, as if she were always making sure everything was in its proper place, just so.

Standing behind her, you watched her delicate moves, and for a brief moment, you let the noise of the world fade into the background. You felt your heart swell with something soft, something protective.

“You have no idea how glad I am that you're okay,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, your hand resting lightly on her shoulder, fingers brushing against the softness of her skin.

She stiffened slightly under your touch, a sigh escaping her lips before she turned to face you, her expression tinged with a mixture of guilt and uncertainty.

“I’m sorry,” she began, her voice low, almost apologetic. “It was unintentional. I just wanted Dad to talk to you. And I'm not even afraid of bees,” she added, rolling her eyes as if to dismiss the whole thing with an almost self-deprecating laugh.

You could see the sincerity in her eyes, the weight of the worry that had hung over her all day. You stepped closer, resting a hand on her arm.

“Of course it was unintentional,” you reassured her, brushing your thumb gently across her skin. “I know that much.”

She nodded, her lips turning down at the corners, still not entirely convinced that it wasn’t her fault.

“Irina felt really bad,” she continued, her words coming a little more quickly now. “She says it was her fault. I told her that’s not true, that it was just an accident.”

You raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement creeping into your voice.

“She’s afraid of bees?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sarah replied with a laugh, her eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and disbelief. “She's terrified of them!”

“Well, all the more reason,” you said, the corners of your lips turning up in a gentle smile. “Fear often paralyzes you. You don't know what to do or how to react in the moment. It was an accident, sweetheart, nothing more.”

You leaned down to kiss the top of her head once more, a soft brush of your lips against her hair, and then pulled back with a playful look in your eyes. “But for the love of everything good, please don’t climb on tall things again.”

Sarah laughed, the sound light and easy, as though the weight of the situation had finally begun to lift.

“Okay,” she agreed, popping a chip into her mouth with a dramatic crunch that echoed in the still kitchen.

The sudden, sharp noise made you laugh, too, as you threw the empty bags into the trash and rinsed your hands under the cool water. You turned back around, wiping your hands on a towel, and found Sarah looking at you, her gaze softer now, almost wistful.

There was something in the way she was looking at you, like she had something to say but wasn’t quite sure how to start. The silence hung between you for a few seconds before she finally spoke, her words wrapped in the kind of sweetness only she could manage.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper, as if afraid her question might break something.

You paused, your heart suddenly lighter in your chest. You had no idea why the question made your pulse quicken, but it did. There was a tenderness in it, a care that spoke volumes.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” you responded, approaching her again, your smile growing softer. “What is it?”

She hesitated, her fingers tapping the side of the counter nervously.

"I... I know that now that you and Dad are together, some things are going to change," Sarah said, her voice quiet but firm, as if she was trying to convince herself of it. She paused for a moment. "And... and I'm happy about that. I mean, I love you, and I love that you're always here. And if you're with him now, I mean, as a couple, that means you're going to be here even more, doesn't it?"

You paused, absorbing her words, trying to place the depth behind them. There was something tentative in her tone, something that told you she was still figuring out exactly what all of this meant. You offered her a soft, reassuring smile, trying to make sense of her nervous excitement.

“I think so,” you replied with a light laugh, sensing her need for reassurance. "I think you're right. I'll definitely be around more."

Her eyes brightened, and she nodded quickly, as if the idea of you being there more—of you becoming a permanent fixture in her life—was something that brought her comfort. She let out a small sigh, like she’d been carrying this weight on her shoulders for too long and could finally let go of it.

“Well, that,” she continued, her voice softening, as though the very idea of it was still sinking in. “I love being with you. You really are the most amazing, fun, and cool girl, and my dad is lucky to have you... and so am I. I'm so glad you're here."

Her words tumbled out in a rush, the sincerity in them so raw, so real, that it hit you like a wave. You felt a sudden swell of affection for her, for how easy it was to be with her, to feel her warmth and openness so effortlessly. But then, just as quickly, her expression shifted, her smile fading as a new, softer vulnerability crept in.

"I was so scared when you guys fought," she said, her voice quieter now, her gaze lowering slightly, as though the memory of it was still too fresh. "My dad was... bad all the time, and I seriously thought you were going to go off and leave me."

The confession, the fear in her words, made your chest tighten. You moved closer to her, instinctively placing a hand on her cheek, brushing your thumb over the softness of her skin.

"I would never do that, baby," you reassured her. "You’re stuck with me, alright?"

Her lips curved into a small, relieved smile, but there was still a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. She leaned into your touch, seeking something—comfort, maybe.

“I know,” she said softly, her voice more certain this time, but then it dipped again. “But it still scared the hell out of me, because I love spending time with you, and sometimes, almost always, I wish you were my mom.”

She pouted slightly, a small, almost childlike gesture, and your heart fluttered with a mixture of tenderness and sadness.

Your heart tightened at the look on Sarah’s face. It was fleeting, barely a blink, but it was enough. Just a fraction of vulnerability slipped through before she masked it with a smile. But you saw it, and it pierced something deep inside you, a quiet ache that you couldn’t ignore.

For a moment, she seemed younger than her years, the way her eyes reflected something you couldn’t quite name, some quiet sadness that she didn’t often show. She never spoke about her mother. Never. The absence of that conversation hung in the air like a shadow, one you could feel even when it wasn’t mentioned.

You didn’t know much about of she felt before —how things had been before you entered her life, she never told you about it—but you had learned that she never spoke of her mother, not even in passing. The silence around it was telling. It was as if there had been a permanent erasure of that part of her history.

But you, you had always been there for her. You had seen Sarah grow from a shy girl into someone who could light up a room with her smile. You had been the one she turned to when she needed someone to go with her to her school functions, the one she took with her to every event that called for a mother figure, even though you knew the absence weighed on her.

You remembered the mother-daughter day at her school. It was one of those moments where you had tried so hard to be what she needed, to fill a space you knew wasn’t yours to fill, but that she still wanted filled nonetheless. You had spent the entire morning trying to reassure her, to make sure she didn’t feel too different, to make her feel like she wasn’t missing something that everyone else had. But Sarah? She’d been absolutely radiant, grinning from ear to ear, as if she were the happiest girl in the world. When she told Joel about it that evening, her voice was full of excitement, her eyes sparkling with pride.

Joel had tried to talk you out of it at first, telling you that you didn’t need to put yourself in that position if it made you uncomfortable. But it didn’t, not really. What would have made you uncomfortable was not being there for her. You adored Sarah from the moment you first met her. The way she fit so seamlessly into your life, as if your heart had already known her before you ever met.

You were lucky. She was incredible, and you had the privilege of watching her grow, of being a part of her life.

But in that moment, as you held her, you could feel the weight of everything she had been carrying—the quiet fears, the quiet grief, the things she had never voiced. And it broke your heart all over again.

You reached for her, your hands trembling slightly as you wrapped her in your arms. You held her close, smoothing a hand over her hair, letting her feel the steadiness in your embrace.

“I’m sorry, honey,” you whispered softly, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry for putting you through all of this. We’re adults, but sometimes we get it so wrong, don’t we? I promise... I promise we’ll never put you through anything like this again.”

She pressed her cheek against your chest, her body shaking with the soft tremors of her sobs. Her words were muffled, but you heard them clearly.

“I know,” she murmured.

“I’m never going to leave you, you know that, right?” You pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, your heart in your throat. “You’re my special girl, baby. My favorite girl. I love you too much for you to ever doubt that.”

Her eyes were glossy with tears, but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips, a small, fragile thing. She pulled back slightly, looking up at you.

“I know,” she said, her voice still thick, but with a softer, more vulnerable quality. “And you’re my favorite girl, too.” Her smile flickered, but it was sincere. “Please don’t trade me for my dad, though.”

The seriousness in her tone was almost too much to bear, and despite the tears that still lingered in her eyes, you couldn’t help but laugh softly, your chest tightening with affection.

“Never."

“Oh, I’m so full. I’ve never eaten so much before,” Tommy groaned dramatically, stretching out in his seat, his hands settling protectively over his belly as if it might burst at any moment.

“You always say that,” Joel replied, his smirk almost too smug for the moment.

“And it’s always true, man,” Tommy shot back, raising his brows in mock indignation, “but don’t worry, I get over it. I’ll be eating again in like, two hours.”

The kitchen and dining area were finally in order, everything cleared and wiped down. Tommy, much to everyone’s surprise, had volunteered to clear the dishes after Cassie had jokingly called him a slob. The patio now had a tranquil, almost magical atmosphere. The warm lights Joel had strung up above flickered softly against the growing darkness, casting a golden glow over the space, while quiet music vibrated through the air in the background, a perfect close to the evening.

Sarah, having finished her ice cream, set the empty bowl down on the table with the same serious face someone might give after finishing a marathon.

“Done,” she declared, eyes wide with accomplishment as if she’d conquered an Olympic event.

Cassie, shaking her head with laughter, shot a glance at Sarah. “What a champ."

Sarah just shrugged and grinned. “It’s a talent,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Hey, speaking of talents,” Cassie continued, still amused, “I was thinking, how about we watch Twilight tonight? What do you think?”

Sarah’s face lit up immediately, a wide smile stretching across her face.

“Definitely!” she answered with such enthusiasm you would’ve thought she was agreeing to a life-changing event.

“I’m so excited for you to see it,” you chimed in, grinning. “You’re gonna love it.”

“Oh no, no... No, this is between me and Sarah,” Cassie interrupted, draping an arm over the back of Sarah’s chair, her voice taking on that dramatic, teasing tone she was so good at. “Besides, you look tired. Joel, you better keep an eye on my friend tonight.”

Joel raised an eyebrow but smiled, nodding gently.

“I can handle it,” he said, glancing over at you with that half-smile that only he could pull off.

You groaned in mock despair.

“Hey, I feel left out!”

Cassie rolled her eyes with a laugh.

“Don’t worry, we can watch it again when you’re feeling better. Promise.” She stood up, grabbing a few stray dishes—just a bowl and some empty glasses, which she began carrying toward the kitchen.

She paused at the edge of the table and turned to Joel.

“Is that okay with you, Joel? I’ll just borrow your little girl for the night. I promise I’ll take good care of her.” She raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with feigned innocence.

Joel didn’t miss a beat. “Analgesics every eight hours. She took them at five, so she should take them again at one in the morning. Do you have your alarm set, honey?”

Sarah nodded, eyes wide as she took her responsibilities seriously.

“Yes,” she said in her most mature voice.

Cassie beamed and added with a grin, “I’ll set one too.”

You watched the exchange, amused. Had they coordinated this already? Was this some kind of pre-established routine? Did Sarah know? It felt like a well-oiled machine.

Tommy, clearly not feeling like he was getting enough attention, sighed dramatically as he stood from the table.

“Okay, I see everyone has plans but me,” he said, feigning offense as he adjusted his hoodie. “So I think I’ll go home. Alone. And watch 30 Days of Night. You know, real vampires, kids.”

Cassie rolled her eyes but not without punching him lightly in the arm. Tommy made a theatrical groan, acting as though he had been mortally wounded.

“Ow, that hurt!”

Cassie didn’t let up. “You can come watch Twilight too,” she said, narrowing her eyes in mock contemplation. Then she turned to Sarah with a teasing glance. “Well, are you okay with that, kiddo?”

Sarah, always eager to please, nodded with the same enthusiasm she’d shown earlier.

“Sure,” she said, not even questioning it.

“Perfect,” Cassie said, grinning as she made her way toward the kitchen, but not before giving you a playful wink.

After the three of them gathered their things, the house filled with the sound of their chatter as they made their way to the door. Sarah clutched her bag tightly, its contents bulging with snacks and her medications, her cheeks pink from excitement. You followed her, smiling as you stepped closer to say goodbye.

She turned to you, her small frame leaning into your embrace as you wrapped her in a warm hug. You kissed her on the cheek, catching the faint scent of her shampoo.

“Don’t miss me too much,” she joked, her eyes glinting with mischief.

You laughed softly. “I’ll try not to. Have a great time with Cassie, and tomorrow, I want to hear all about the movie.”

Sarah grinned, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "I promise to watch it with you too, though. Cassie said you’d want to see it again."

Before you could respond, Tommy appeared beside her, his large hand resting lightly on her shoulder. He glanced at you briefly, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Alright, let’s get this over with. Take me to Robert Pattinson,” he deadpanned, the teasing tone unmistakable.

You bit back a laugh as he guided Sarah out, pausing just long enough to murmur a quick, “Good night,” over his shoulder.

Cassie lingered behind, stepping closer to you with her usual energy. Her hand squeezed your arm gently, grounding you in the moment, before she leaned in and pressed a loud, exaggerated kiss to your cheek.

“Goooood night,” she said, her tone light but her eyes carrying something softer. Then she added with a wink, “Sleep well.”

You smiled at her, a quick, reflexive gesture, though no words came. By the time your brain caught up with your mouth, the door had already clicked shut behind her.

You stared at it for a moment, the faint sound of her footsteps receding on the other side. Then the quiet settled in.

Turning on your heel, you walked into the kitchen. The soft glow from the overhead lights cast a golden hue across the space, warm and inviting. Joel was there, leaning against the counter like he’d been waiting for you—or like he simply belonged there, effortlessly a part of the room. His hands rested on either side of him, gripping the edge of the counter, fingers splayed.

His posture was relaxed, but there was a charge to his stillness, a barely-contained energy that made your pulse quicken. His dark blue t-shirt clung to the broad planes of his chest, and his hair was damp, though almost dry now, messy in a way that suggested he hadn’t given it much thought after his shower. And then—those damn gray sweatpants.

“I had to wash off the smoke,” he’d said earlier, a faint smirk playing at his lips. You hadn’t fully bought it then, and you still didn’t. But you weren’t exactly complaining.

Now, his eyes met yours, firm and unflinching. A smile curled at the corner of his mouth, slow and calculated, like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“Is it just me,” he said, his voice smooth and teasing, “or are we the only ones left in this house?”

You took a step toward him, and then another, closing the distance between you.

“I think so.”

When you stopped in front of him, you let your hands drift upward, settling on his chest. The warmth of his body beneath your palms made you feel reckless. Your fingers trailed over the fabric of his shirt, and then up to his shoulders, as if you needed the excuse to touch him. You looked up at him, your eyes tracing every detail of his face: the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the dark intent in his gaze.

“Do you think we’ll survive?” you asked, the hint of a smile playing at your own lips.

Joel didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his hands left the counter and found your waist, his grip firm, grounding you as he pulled you closer. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a murmur.

“Not a chance.”

Before you could reply, he leaned in, his face burying in the curve of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, and the weight of his arms wrapping around you made you feel momentarily weightless. You closed your eyes, letting the sensation of him—his solidity, his heat—anchor you.

“Take me to bed,” you said, your voice quiet.

Joel pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes gleaming with something equal parts playful and lustful.

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” he asked, his tone light, though the way his hands tightened on your hips betrayed him.

You raised an eyebrow, challenging him.

“I don’t think you’re the one who should be asking that question.”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you as he pushed off the counter, taking you with him. His hands stayed on you, guiding, insistent, as he walked you backward, step by step, out of the kitchen.

“Are you going to show me all those things you’ve been thinking about?” he asked, his voice dipping, teasing.

In one smooth motion, he turned you around, his chest pressed against your back now, his hands steady on your hips. His lips found your shoulder, brushing lightly before trailing up toward your neck. His touch was both grounding and electric, his grip possessive but not unkind.

“That’s right,” you whispered, tipping your head back to rest against his shoulder, exposing your neck to him. Your voice was breathless, barely audible, as his mouth moved against your skin.

Joel leaned in close, his lips pressing softly against your cheek, the briefest pause making the touch feel heavier than it was. When he pulled back, there was something unhurried in the way his hand slipped from your waist, like he was giving you time to notice the absence. Without a word, he turned in direction to the stairs, his eyes flicking upward.

You climbed the steps quickly, your movements unthinking but purposeful, every step creating a subtle sway in the fabric of your skirt. You were hyper-aware of Joel behind you, of the weight of his gaze on your body. When you paused at the landing and turned, expecting to meet his eyes, you realized he hadn’t followed.

Joel stood frozen on the first step, his hand gripping the banister like it was the only thing tethering him to earth. His eyes were locked on you—not just you, but the sway of your hips, the taut curve of fabric stretched over the soft flesh of your ass. It wasn’t subtle, the hunger in his gaze, and it wasn’t kind. It was primal, raw, like he’d been stripped of language entirely and left with nothing but the aching weight of desire.

His breath had slowed, deepened, his chest rising and falling like he was trying to keep himself in check. But his expression betrayed him—he didn’t just want to touch you; he wanted to claim you, to mark you, to press his hands into the softness of your thighs until his fingertips left indents in your skin.

The thought of it made his jaw clench. He could imagine the give of your body beneath him, the warmth, the way you might shudder if he let himself take what he wanted. His desire wasn’t just to hold you—it was to devour you, like something sweet and delicious. He wanted to feel the heat of your skin against his lips, to sink his teeth into you, to taste you fully, selfishly. You were a dessert he’d never been allowed before all of this, and the ache of it—of you—was driving him mad.

Then he started to climb. You turned instinctively, flashing him a knowing smile before continuing upward, each step deliberately slow, each sway of your hips almost a dare.

Joel was right behind you now, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, his breath catching as his hand found you. He didn’t hesitate, his fingers sliding under the hem of your skirt, brushing over the fabric of your underwear with a teasing familiarity. For a fleeting second, he played with it, tugging just enough to make you gasp, to let you feel his intent before he moved.

By the time you reached the second floor, he was no longer pretending at patience. He caught you by the waist, pressing you back against the wall with a force that was more need than control. His body pinned you there, hard and unyielding, and his hand claimed you again, squeezing the curve of your ass like he couldn’t bear to stop touching you. The other hand traveled upward, tracing the line of your body—your waist, the curve of your ribs, the softness of your breasts—until it rested at your neck, his thumb brushing over the delicate pulse that betrayed your excitement.

You tilted your head back to look at him with a sweet smile, and that smile—God, that smile—was the final blow to whatever scraps of restraint he had left. With you, there was no self-control, no measured response. There was only this.

His mouth found yours, not in a rush, but with a softness that startled you, the contradiction of it almost undoing him. Your tongue flicked over his bottom lip, and when your teeth grazed the soft flesh, biting just hard enough to leave a memory, the sound he made was something between a groan and a plea, weak and broken.

With a subtle shift of his weight, Joel used his leg to nudge yours apart, his knee pressing gently but insistently until you gave in, letting him part you. He stepped closer, the heat of his body almost unbearable, and lifted you effortlessly against him. Your feet barely grazed the floor, leaving you suspended between him and the wall. His thighs held you steady, and his hands, rough and sure, gripped you.

Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, tangling in the damp strands of his hair as you pulled him closer. You kissed him like you couldn’t get enough, your lips claiming his, your breath uneven against his mouth. But even as you touched him like you were desperate, you refused to give him control.

Tilting your head, you deepened the kiss. Your hips moved against him in lazy circles, teasing, testing, drawing a low, guttural sound from deep in his chest. Joel groaned against your lips, his breath catching as you felt him harden beneath you. Impatient.

You broke the kiss abruptly, the wet sound of it lingering in the charged air between you. His lips were parted, his chest rising and falling like he’d been running. You let the silence stretch, your breath warm against his cheek as you leaned in just enough to whisper, “No.”

The word slipped from your lips like a challenge, accompanied by a devilish smile that made his jaw tighten. Your palm pressed against his chest, just enough to create distance, and you slid down from his thighs until your feet found the ground again. His hands twitched at his sides, like he was trying to decide whether to let you go or pull you back into him.

“You said you wanted me to show you what I’d been thinking,” you reminded him, your voice soft but laced with mischief.

Joel smiled, though his breath hitched halfway, the sound uneven. His flushed neck betrayed him, the blush creeping higher as he nodded.

“Show me,” he rasped, his voice rough and low.

“Okay,” you murmured, taking a deliberate step back, your fingers trailing down his chest, then his abdomen, as you pulled away. His muscles tensed under your touch, his body reacting as if even the absence of your hands could break him.

“Then behave yourself,” you instructed, your tone playful but firm, “and do as I say.”

His smile vanished, replaced by something raw, a look so intent it left no room for words.

Joel nodded, his obedience immediate, though there was nothing passive about it. It felt like restraint—barely held, dangerously close to snapping.

You spun on your heels without waiting for more, walking toward his room with a confidence that made his chest tighten. When you reached the door, you extended your hand behind you, and he was there in an instant. His palm slid into yours, warm and firm, and his other hand found your waist as if he couldn’t help it—couldn’t stop himself from grounding you to him, needing to feel the curve of you beneath his fingers.

Inside the room, you guided him without a word, leading him toward the edge of the bed.

When you turned to face him, your hands slid up his arms, tracing the muscles there as if committing them to memory. You kissed him, soft at first, then deeper, coaxing him closer with the press of your lips. His need was palpable in the way he moved, how his fingers twitched like they wanted nothing more than to grab you, to pull you to him completely. But you didn’t let him.

Each time his hands wandered, you gently pushed him away, your touch firm but teasing, a silent reminder that this was on your terms. His frustration mingled with desire, but he obeyed, his breath uneven as he let you take the lead.

You reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up slowly, watching as his skin was revealed inch by inch. The sharp lines of his abdomen, the faint freckles scattered across his chest—all of it made your pulse quicken. But before you could finish, Joel took over.

With one sharp movement, he yanked the shirt over his head and tossed it somewhere in the room without looking, his focus entirely on you. His chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths, the tension in his body evident in the way his shoulders tightened, the way his gaze locked onto you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

With a sly smile, you slipped your fingers into the waistband of his pants, tugging him closer, closing the gap he’d been aching to erase since the moment you walked into the room. His body yielded immediately, drawn toward you like gravity itself demanded it.

Joel leaned forward, his lips searching for yours, but you pulled back just enough to keep him chasing. The mischievous curve of your smile sent a flicker of frustration across his features, but it was fleeting, replaced by a raw, almost pleading desire.

“You looked so good this morning,” you murmured, your voice low and edged with something tender. “All I could think about was feeling you, all of you.” Your hand slid beneath the fabric of his pants, and when you discovered the absence of anything underneath, you let out a soft sigh. “Just like this.”

Your fingers wrapped around him, warm and firm, tracing the silken skin that stretched over his hard, heated cock. You brushed your fingertips over his swollen tip, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him. Joel’s eyes met yours, dark and glistening, completely consumed.

Rising onto your toes, you pressed a kiss to his jaw, your lips trailing upward with deliberate slowness until they found his mouth. This time, he met you eagerly, his kiss filled with hunger but tempered, restrained in a way that showed he understood your game. He knew that if he pushed too far, too fast, you would pull away, and the knowledge seemed to both frustrate and excite him.

When you finally broke away, your breathing was shallow, your pulse a frantic rhythm in your chest. You slipped your hand from his pants, your fingers tingling from the lingering heat of him, and took a step back.

“Take everything off,” you commanded, your voice trembling slightly, though whether from emotion or need, you couldn’t say. “And lie down on the bed.”

Joel stared at you, his chest heaving, his cheeks flushed with color. For a moment, it seemed like he might resist, might challenge you just to see what you’d do. But then he nodded, his obedience laced with something deeper, a quiet devotion that made your thighs tremble in response.

Joel obeyed without hesitation, stripping off his sweatpants and shoes. When he stood before you, completely bare, the sight knocked the air from your lungs. Your gaze raked over him, tracing every line, every plane of his body, and the sudden rush of heat pooling in your stomach was almost overwhelming.

Your lips parted involuntarily, your mouth watering at the sheer, unapologetic beauty of him. Joel’s body was solid and soft, every muscle taut, and his skin flushed with a faint warm pink.

He moved to the bed without a word, lying back as you had instructed, his body stretching out across the sheets. His cock stood thick and proud, resting against his stomach, hard and swollen. The sight made your pulse quicken, each beat loud and insistent in your ears. He was completely, devastatingly yours to devour.

You kicked off your shoes, the thud of them hitting the floor barely registering as you climbed onto the bed, and the mattress dipped under your weight as you crawled toward him.

Joel propped himself up on his elbows, his dark eyes fixed on you like you were some kind of vision. He didn’t speak, didn’t need to—his expression was enough. It was desire laid bare.

Your hands found his thighs first, your fingers spreading wide to press into the soft, warm skin. You let your thumbs drag along the length of his muscles, kneading gently, savoring the way his body tensed and relaxed beneath your touch. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the slight tremor in his legs as you moved closer.

You leaned down, your mouth hovering just above him, so close that you could feel the heat of him against your lips. Then, slowly, deliberately, you dragged your tongue along the length of his cock, savoring the taste of his skin and the sharp inhale of breath it drew from him.

Joel’s head fell back immediately, a low, ragged sigh escaping him, as if the air had been knocked from his lungs. But the moment didn’t last—he was looking at you again within seconds, his gaze burning with an intensity that pinned you in place.

No, he wasn’t going to miss this. He’d be insane to look away.

Without warning, you dipped lower, your lips wrapping around the delicate curve of his testicles. The softness of the skin there was warm against your mouth, and you sucked gently, your tongue pressing in teasing circles as your hand found his length. Your fingers wrapped around him with just enough pressure, sliding slowly, deliberately, up and down, as if testing the limits of his restraint.

Joel let out a sound that was more than a sigh, something raw and unguarded slipping past his lips.

“Oh my God,” he murmured, the words breaking apart under the weight of his breath.

You released him with a deliberate slowness, your mouth leaving him with a wet, audible pop that seemed to echo in the charged air between you. The sound hung there and you couldn’t help the sly smile that curved your lips as you glanced up at him.

Your hand stayed on him, stroking with a rhythm that made his head tip back for just a second before his heavy-lidded eyes found yours again. You licked your lips, savoring the taste of him as you spoke.

“I want my mouth full of you,” you said, like a promise. “But you can’t touch me. Do you understand?”

He smiled faintly, though his eyes stayed closed, as if keeping them open might be too much, the desire too sharp to look at you directly. His eyelashes cast shadows against the flush of his cheekbones, and his voice, when it came, was low and rough.

“Why?” he asked, though the word felt like an offering more than a challenge. “I wanna touch you.”

You leaned closer, your breath warm against him, and his eyes flickered open, meeting yours with a helpless kind of longing.

“'Cause you said you wanted me to show you what I’d been thinking,” you replied, your tone tinged with playful authority. “And this is exactly what I’ve been thinking.”

Joel exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling in a way that betrayed the weight of his surrender. He nodded, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face as his gaze locked on you.

“Of course, baby, do what you want with me,” he said, his voice a little shaky, a little wrecked. “And I’ll do whatever you say.”

You smiled, a small crack in the veneer of control you’d been wearing, and Joel’s lips curved into something sweet in response, so genuine it almost made you falter. He reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek with a tenderness that felt out of place amid the heat coursing between you. But you allowed it, leaning into the touch, savoring the contrast of his warmth against your skin.

The moment didn’t last long. Joel, with visible reluctance, withdrew his hand and let it fall back to his side. His fingers fidgeted restlessly, his knuckles tense as though he was fighting the urge to reach for you again.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmured, his voice soft, like he wasn’t even aware he’d said it aloud. His head tipped back, exposing the long line of his throat as a groan escaped him. Your hand had resumed its slow, deliberate movements, stroking him with just enough pressure to keep him teetering on the edge of composure.

You licked your lips deliberately, watching him intently, your eyes following every flicker of tension in his body, every barely controlled breath. He was utterly undone in your hand—so ready, so hard, his need for you written across every muscle, every exhale.

Leaning forward, you let your lips wrap around the head of his cock, the taste of him warm, salty and intoxicating. You moved slowly, letting your tongue trace lazy patterns over him as your mouth took him in.

Joel moaned, low and broken, the sound sending a thrill through you. His eyes fluttered open, fixing on the sight of you, your lips and tongue working against him with calculated precision. His hands shifted restlessly at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling into the sheets as if he was clinging to the last shreds of his restraint.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice rough, almost hoarse. The way he looked at you—awed, overwhelmed—was enough to make your pulse race. And still, he didn’t move, didn’t touch, even though you could see how much he wanted to, how hard he was holding back.

Your hand began to move faster, your strokes gaining a steady urgency as your mouth took him deeper, inch by inch. Your lips formed a tight seal around him, gliding up and down in a rhythm that was both deliberate and merciless. Your tongue teased him with flicks and swirls, tasting him fully, the heat of him filling your mouth. The wet, obscene sounds of your efforts filled the room, a raw, unfiltered symphony of desire. Saliva gathered at the corners of your lips, dripping down his length and soaking your fingers as you worked him.

Joel’s breathing grew uneven, every exhale sharper than the last. You glanced up at him, catching the tension in his jaw, the way his chest rose and fell in quick succession. His eyes were open, heavy-lidded and glazed, but still focused on you, as though he couldn’t bear to look away. He was determined, it seemed, to take in every detail—the way your lips stretched around him, the way your hand tightened and twisted in sync with your mouth.

With your free hand, you moved lower, cupping him gently, your fingers tracing the soft skin of his testicles. You massaged them with care, applying just enough pressure to make his hips shift, his thighs tensing under your touch. The coordination was effortless—your hands, your mouth, your tongue—all working in perfect, relentless harmony.

Joel let out a low, guttural sound, the kind of noise that came from deep within, and you knew you had him. His head fell back, his throat exposed as he surrendered completely. His eyes fluttered closed, his body arching slightly, seeking more of you.

Then his hand rose, trembling slightly, hovering just above your head as though drawn there by instinct. Before it could rest against you, you pulled back, slowing your movements to a near halt. His cock slipped from your lips, glistening and swollen, throbbing visibly as you left him wanting, teetering on the edge.

Joel let out a weak, broken moan, his chest flushed a deep pink, every muscle in his body radiating heat. He looked like he was coming apart in slow motion, and the sight of him like this—undone, vulnerable, entirely yours—sent a thrill coursing through you.

You ran your tongue along the length of him, the motion deliberate and unhurried, savoring the way his body seemed to tremble beneath your touch. When you reached the tip, you cupped the base of his arousal with one hand, anchoring him as you leaned forward, letting your lips brush against him.

Then, in one slow, fluid motion, you took him into your mouth, sliding down his length until the swollen head of him bumped against the back of your throat. You paused, steadying yourself, and then pushed further, letting him fill you completely, your lips meeting the base.

“Baby,” Joel hissed, his voice ragged, the word barely more than an exhale. His eyes flew open, and he propped himself up on his elbows as if the intensity of the moment had drawn him back to consciousness. His gaze found you, dark and heavy with pleasure, and the sight of you like this—your mouth stretched around his cock, your nose brushing against his skin—seemed to undo him further.

You pulled back slowly, the motion precise, controlled, before taking him again, and again, each time deeper, smoother. Your movements built into a rhythm, your lips and tongue working in tandem, your nose bumping against him with every descent.

You surprised yourself with how easily your body accommodated him. Once or twice, with boyfriends in the past, you’d tried something like this, and it had felt impossible. They hadn’t even been as big as Joel. But with him, it was different—effortless, almost as if your body had been waiting for him.

Your pace quickened, the suction stronger, the hollow of your cheeks pulling tighter as you worked him. Joel’s breathing became erratic, his chest heaving, his whimpers breaking apart as he struggled to contain himself.

When you sensed him teetering on the edge, you slowed, pulling back until just the tip of him remained in your mouth. You flicked your tongue over the sensitive head in a playful, deliberate motion, a quick, teasing lick that made him shudder. Then, with a soft, audible sigh, you released him completely, pulling back and meeting his gaze with a knowing smile.

Slowly, with deliberate patience, you settled on top of him. Your palm pressed lightly against his chest, keeping him anchored to the mattress as though you needed to remind him who was in control. The steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your hand felt grounding, a contrast to the heat sparking between your bodies.

You shifted, positioning yourself so that your thin underwear brushed against him, wet and slick against the hardness pressing up beneath you. Joel’s gaze followed every movement with unflinching intensity, his lips slightly parted, his chest flushed with color.

Taking his hands, you guided them to your thighs, and he followed your lead willingly, his touch reverent. His fingers spread over the soft skin, squeezing gently before sliding down to cup the curve of your ass. He traced the same path back up, his hands moving as though he couldn’t decide where he wanted to linger most.

When you reached for the hem of your dress, lifting it with ease, his hands stilled briefly, the air between you charged with his anticipation. You slipped the fabric over your head in one fluid motion, letting it fall to the floor beside the bed.

Joel’s expression softened as he took in the sight of you, his lips curving into a small, unguarded smile. His eyes lingered on your bare breasts, the tender curve of your skin illuminated in the soft light of the room. You could see the restrained hunger in him, the way he longed to sit up and take your hard nipples into his mouth, but he didn’t move. His hands remained where you’d placed them, his obedience surprising you.

You leaned forward, your hands finding their place on his chest, steadying yourself as you began to move your hips in slow, deliberate circles. The friction was electric, the fabric of your soaking wet underwear brushing against him, creating a sweet, torturous sensation that sent a shiver through you. Joel’s hands tightened on your thighs in response, his breath catching, but he still didn’t move beyond what you allowed.

You let your eyes flutter closed, your head tipping back slightly as a soft gasp escaped your lips. Your breathing grew heavier, your chest rising and falling in rhythm with the pounding of your heart. A flush spread across your skin, a warm bloom of heat that seemed to radiate outward, pooling low in your belly.

Joel’s hands tightened on your ass, guiding your movements as your hips ground harder against him. The sound of the bed shifting beneath you, the quiet creak of wood and mattress, felt like a rhythm, a melody carrying you both closer to something inevitable.

You opened your eyes slowly, drawn to the point where your bodies met, the place where your need was most visible. Your core moved against him with urgency, dragging along his length through the damp fabric of your underwear. It wasn’t enough—it couldn’t possibly be enough. Without thinking, your fingers moved to the side of your panties, tugging them away to reveal the slick heat of your cunt, glistening and ready.

The sensation shifted instantly, impossibly more intense. The soft, hot skin of his cock pressed directly against you, his swollen tip brushing your clit with every movement. A choked moan escaped you, your hands finding purchase on Joel’s thighs as you arched your back, your head tilting to the side as your body chased the feeling.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, the words spilling out unbidden, your voice trembling. Your hips rocked against him, every motion sending sparks skittering up your spine. You couldn’t look away from him—his gaze locked on you, dark and focused, alternating between the slick heat of your center and the flushed expression on your face.

Joel’s hands gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your skin, leaving behind the promise of bruises. His restraint, so palpable moments ago, seemed to dissolve entirely. There was something raw in the way he looked at you, his need unraveling in real-time.

“On my face,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and barely audible, like a secret meant only for you. His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and when you looked up, his dark, desperate eyes locked onto yours.

“Sit on my face,” he repeated, this time a little louder. The intensity of his gaze, the hunger in his expression—it was impossible to refuse him.

You nodded, a silent affirmation, and let Joel guide you. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, their strength undeniable as he pulled you higher, positioning you exactly where he wanted. The warmth of his breath on your bare skin sent a shiver down your spine, and then his mouth was on you.

The first touch of his lips and tongue came with a guttural moan that reverberated through your core, primal and hungry. It unraveled you instantly.

“Joel,” you gasped, your voice breaking as your hand shot down to his hair, tangling in the soft strands and pulling tight.

He groaned again, the sound vibrating against you, his arms locking around your thighs to hold you in place. His fingers hooked the fabric of your underwear to the side, his mouth moving with intent and precision. He kissed your cunt as though worshipping, his tongue gliding in slow, deliberate circles over your clit. His eyes fluttered shut, his focus entirely on the taste of you, like you were his favorite meal.

Then his rhythm shifted, alternating between soft sucks and teasing flicks, the motions perfectly tuned to your body. The room filled with the wet, intoxicating sounds of his mouth and your uneven breathing. You couldn’t stop the soft cries spilling from your lips, each one punctuated by the heat building low in your stomach.

You were so close, the edge of release within reach, your body trembling under the weight of it. Almost instinctively, you began to move, rolling your hips against him, seeking more.

Joel smiled against you, the curve of his lips unmistakable even as his tongue worked its magic. His hand gripped your thigh tighter, grounding you, but his voice, low and wrecked, sent you spiraling.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his words hot against your skin, breaking only to drag his tongue across you again. “Ride me. Ride my face.”

The command was all-consuming, as though it was etched into your very bones. Your hips moved faster, a rhythm driven by need, and you threw your head back, your hair spilling over your shoulders as your body surrendered entirely.

“Joel, I’m going to—” The words tumbled out, but before you could finish, the sensation overtook you, a shattering wave of pleasure crashing through you. It consumed every nerve, your body vibrating with release, your voice caught in a broken cry as you clenched around the ecstasy Joel had pulled from you.

Your cries filled the room, raw and unrestrained, as Joel’s mouth continued its devoted work, tasting every shiver of your release. His hands gripped your hips firmly, holding you steady even as your movements slowed, your body trembling from the aftershocks.

It was too much—your sensitivity heightened to a point of near-pain, your breaths coming in shallow gasps. You tried to lift yourself away, but Joel’s hands stayed firm, his mouth lingering, as if he couldn’t bear to let go of you just yet.

When he finally relented, his lips releasing you with a soft, wet sound, you exhaled a shaky breath, shifting your hips lower to rest against his waist. Your eyes found his, and the sight of him stole what little air you had left.

Joel looked wrecked. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark and gleaming with a mix of satisfaction and longing. His beard glistened with traces of you, a visible reminder of his devotion, and when he smiled—a slow, tender curve of his lips—it wasn’t just desire; it was love.

You leaned down, unable to resist him, and pressed your mouth to his in a kiss that spoke of both gratitude and need. It was slow but full of intent, your hands cradling his face, your fingers brushing against the scruff of his jaw and curling behind his neck.

Joel’s hands shifted to your waist, his touch gentler now, his thumbs tracing soothing circles into your skin. Even so, there was tension beneath his tenderness, a barely restrained hunger that made his fingers tighten slightly as if reminding himself not to pull you closer just yet.

When you broke the kiss, your forehead rested against his for a moment, both of you catching your breath.

“Okay, cowboy,” you murmured, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the warmth of his skin grounding you. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Joel’s grin was slow and crooked. His eyes glinted with mischief, but there was something deeper there too, something darker and hungry.

He didn’t hesitate. In one fluid motion, he pulled you closer, keeping you perched on top of him as his mouth found your breast. The warmth of his lips was immediate, the gentle pull of his tongue sending a ripple of pleasure through you. His hands gripped you firmly, one kneading the soft curve of your ass, his fingers digging in just enough to anchor you.

You let out a soft laugh, the sound turning into a moan as his tongue flicked over your nipple, teasing and circling. Your hands slid up the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair, tugging lightly in encouragement.

“Joel,” you whispered. He moved to your other breast, his mouth just as eager, as if he were discovering a secret he couldn’t bear to leave untouched. The wet, rhythmic sound of his lips meeting your skin filled the room, and you felt the edges of your control begin to fray.

Then, without warning, Joel shifted. In one swift movement, he laid you flat on the bed beneath him, the sudden change making you gasp. He hovered over you, his breath warm against your neck as he began to kiss his way downward, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.

His mouth lingered at your collarbone, your sternum, then the soft curve of your stomach. Each kiss felt deliberate, reverent, as if he were committing every inch of you to memory.

Joel’s fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, and you lifted your hips instinctively, a silent invitation. He slid the fabric down your legs, his eyes fixed on you as he moved. The garment joined the growing pile on the floor, completely forgotten.

He knelt between your legs, his hands warm and firm as they pressed into your thighs, guiding them apart. The way he looked at you—unwavering, almost in awe—made your heart race.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, the words washing over you like a confession.

He leaned down, his lips brushing yours in the lightest kiss, his breath mingling with yours as he whispered against your skin, “Let me show you how much.”

Your hands framed his face, your fingertips brushing the rough stubble on his jaw as you pulled him into a kiss. It wasn’t gentle—it was consuming, your mouths colliding with a desperation that neither of you could hide.

Joel’s weight shifted over you, pressing you deliciously into the mattress. The heat of his body settled against yours, his chest flush with your own, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. The angle was perfect, the pressure achingly close, and the promise of what was to come made your breath hitch.

His tongue swept into your mouth as the blunt tip of him brushed against your entrance. The tease alone had you gasping into the kiss, your nails digging lightly into his shoulders.

“Joel,” you murmured, your voice trembling, your gaze locking onto his. Your eyes searched his face, wide and full of something raw, something vulnerable. “I love you, I love you so much.”

His expression softened, his features melting into something so tender it made your chest ache.

“I love you too, baby,” he said, grounding you as he pushed into you with aching slowness. His eyes never left yours, and the stretch of him inside you stole the breath from your lungs. “So fucking much. I’m so in love with you.”

A smile curved your lips, but it was short-lived as his mouth found yours again, swallowing the soft moan that escaped when he moved deeper, filling you completely.

Joel’s rhythm started slow, calculated. Every thrust was controlled but steeped in need, his body pressing into yours like he wanted to crawl inside you, to dissolve the space between you entirely. You felt it in the way his hands gripped your hips, the tension in his muscles under your palms.

The wet, rhythmic sound of him moving in and out of you filled the room, each stroke slick and purposeful. It made you shiver, and when he let out a guttural groan, his head dropping to bury his face in your neck, it was as if something inside you unraveled.

His teeth grazed the delicate skin at your throat, his lips brushing over the mark he left behind. The sharpness of it sent a jolt of pleasure down your spine, and his pace quickened, his hips colliding with yours harder, deeper.

“Yes yes yes— Oh, God—J-Joel,” you gasped, your hands clutching at his back, his name breaking apart on your lips. He was everywhere—inside you, around you, consuming you.

The rhythm of his movements grew frantic, unrestrained, and his moans became muffled against your ear, a wrecked symphony of desire that made you melt beneath him. Every thrust pulled you closer to the edge, your body arching into his as his name fell from your lips in a litany of surrender.

You bit into his shoulder, your teeth grazing the firm muscle as if to anchor yourself to the moment. Your nails left faint crescents in the skin of his back, a soft contrast to the unrelenting force of his body pressing you into the mattress. The sound of your bodies meeting, skin against skin, filled the room, a rhythm in perfect time with the erratic beating of your heart.

Joel shifted, bracing himself on one arm beside your head, the other wrapping firmly around your thigh. He pulled you closer, his grip possessive and sure, holding you exactly where he wanted you. The angle changed, sharper, deeper, and the intensity of his thrusts became something primal, something unrestrained, like he was staking his claim.

His gaze fell between your bodies, and you felt it as much as you saw it—the way his eyes darkened at the sight of you taking him, the slick evidence of your need coating his big swollen cock. A low groan rumbled from deep in his chest, his focus unshakable, as though the act of watching you like this was driving him just as mad as the sensation of being inside you.

Your hand reached up, shaky but insistent, pulling him back to you.

“S-so fuck-ing good,” you gasped, your voice fractured, the words tumbling out as if you could barely hold them together. “S-so good, baby. Please don’t stop—don’t stop.”

Joel’s lips curved into a smile, something rough and beautiful, his cheeks flushed with effort and desire.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you briefly, the heat of his mouth a quick reprieve before he was pulling back, thrusting harder. “Come for me again. Come all over my cock. All fucking yours.”

His hand shifted, pushing your legs higher, opening you up to him in a way that had you gasping. The angle was perfect, his cock hitting that devastatingly tender spot deep inside you with every thrust. Your back arched involuntarily, a sharp cry escaping your lips as you tipped your head back, your hands fluttering uselessly before finding purchase against his shoulders.

Joel pressed his mouth to your neck and bit down softly, the sting of it swallowed by the overwhelming pleasure radiating through you. His movements grew wilder, faster, his breath hot and uneven against your skin.

His hand slid against you, his thumb moving in deliberate, smooth circles over your clit. The sensation caught your breath, dragging a choked gasp from your lips. You opened your mouth, soundless, helpless, as the tension in you coiled tighter, your orgasm cresting just out of reach.

"Joel," you whispered, the name breaking out of you like a plea. Your eyes met his, and you found him already watching you. His face was undone, raw and aching. He looked wrecked, like he was hanging by a thread, his chest heaving, his skin flushed a deep red that spilled down his neck.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he stammered, his voice hoarse, barely more than a breath. That sound, the way he said it, was all it took to tip you over the edge.

Your head fell back, and the moan that broke from you wasn’t something you could contain. It ripped through you, sharp and desperate, splitting you open as Joel’s movements quickened, harder, deeper, like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

He watched you, unblinking, his gaze full of something that felt like worship. His voice was a low, guttural sound, raw with want and need, as he thrust into you, chasing his own undoing. You felt it in the way his rhythm faltered, his body trembling.

And then, with a shuddering groan, he came, his release pulsing hot and deep inside you, spilling into every inch of you like he was giving you everything he had.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling his body flush against yours. His weight pressed down, heavy and grounding, knocking the breath out of your lungs in the most exquisite way. For a moment, he let himself rest there, his warmth sinking into you.

When he pushed up slightly on his arms, the loss of him—his weight, his closeness—made you moan softly, an involuntary sound. His smile spread slow and lazy across his face as his hand came up to your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. His eyes, dark and unreadable, locked on yours.

Then he kissed you. Slow, tender.

Your hands moved to his curls, fingers threading through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. You looked up at him, your gaze betraying just how deeply you were lost in him. Irrevocably, helplessly in love.

“Stay on top of me.”

His smile deepened, dimples flashing in the dim light. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek.

“I’m going to crush you.”

“I don’t mind. I like it,” you said, your fingers trailing along the curve of his lips, tracing the shape of him like you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Fine,” he relented, dropping his weight just a little more, still not enough. His mouth brushed your cheek, then your jaw. “But only if you let me taste you again.”

You laughed, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging lightly, playful.

“See? Impatient.”

His grin widened, that familiar mischievous glint lighting up his face.

“Darlin', I’m not rushing anything,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours with every word. “We’ve got all night.”

307 notes · View notes

poetic-vulgarity · 4 months ago

Text

ᎮᎥᏖᎩ ᎮᏗᏒᏖᎩ II- Kim Minjeong x Reader

Word Count: ~7K

Prompt: When Minjeong transferred to an elite school, she didn't expect to catch the attention of Y/N, the golden girl. Then again, she also didn't expect Y/N to be the root of all her misery.

Tags: slow burn; angst; drama; high school! AU; richgirl!Y/N; happy ending (?)

Part I, Part II, Part III

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

Minjeong was ignoring Y/N.

That much was clear.

It started happening after the night Y/N confessed to her.

There were texts left on read. Calls unanswered. When Y/N called for Minjeong in the school hallways, the short-haired girl just walked faster and disappeared. When Y/N tried talking to Minjeong before or after classes, the other girl put her headphones on and focused on her exercises.

Y/N thought she hadn't ruined anything with her confession.

She thought she and Minjeong could work things out with patience.

"Maybe I thought wrong."

"Are you kidding me?" Aeri frowned, her arm wrapped around Y/N's shoulder as the two walked along the hallways. "From what you've told me, you've been nothing but lovely to her."

"Well, clearly, something went wrong." Y/N shook her head. "She seemed fine when we were at my house. We even went to a convenience store, and I walked her home. I-why would she just start ignoring me?"

Aeri stayed silent, not really knowing how to answer. Her best friend had been the happiest she'd seen her in a while. It didn't make sense that Minjeong would just ignore Y/N for no reason after that.

The only possibility Aeri could think of was that Minjeong had realized dating Y/N wasn't going to work and had decided to break it off.

The problem was that ignoring Y/N instead of talking about it was a pretty poor way to-

Aeri tilted her head, an idea suddenly crossing her mind. "Didn't you say she's friends with Jimin?"

"Yeah, so-" Y/N turned to Aeri, her eyes widening ever so slightly. "You think she told her about my father?"

"I mean," Aeri hesitated, "Jimin did tell Ning that she regretted breaking up with you... and she always goes after what she wants."

Y/N took her time to think her options through.

It was ridiculous.

Jimin was the one who broke up with her. She was the one who let their parents' business get in the way of their relationship. Two years down the drain because Y/N's father was elected as mayor and not Jimin's.

And now she was ruining her relationship with Minjeong?

Y/N shook her head, looking down at her hands, picking at a few loose skins. "Jimin wouldn't do that."

"Wouldn't she?" Aeri suddenly halted in her tracks, and Y/N turned to her in confusion.

She followed her gaze and felt her jaw clench in anger.

Walking right towards them were Jimin and her group-Yunjin, Ning, and Minjeong. Y/N felt a little sick to her stomach.

The group moved to walk right past her, but Y/N reached for Minjeong, her hand suddenly trembling.

"Hey." She tried to meet Minjeong's eyes, but the other girl refused.

Minjeong could feel Y/N's grasp on her arm but refused to meet her gaze. Her heart was beating out of control in her chest, a mix of emotions washing over her.

She didn't want to see Y/N.

She didn't want to talk to Y/N or get close to Y/N or get to know Y/N.

In fact, all she wanted was to forget her.

Because if she got close to Y/N, she'd only come to care for her more.

She'd only come to care about a girl who had done nothing but lie to her. A girl whose father had completely ruined her life.

"Can we talk... alone?" Y/N's voice was as calm as ever, but one look at her face told everyone that she wasn't very happy with the situation she found herself in.

"Actually, I need to get to class, sorry," Minjeong mumbled.

Minjeong felt bad about the way Y/N's face fell at her response, but she had a hard time caring about it at the moment.

All she wanted to do was get out of the situation and clear her mind.

Y/N's hand tightened around her arm. "Minjeong, please. I just need a minute."

"Didn't you hear her?" Jimin spoke up, wrapping an arm around Minjeong's shoulder. "She doesn't wanna talk to you."

Y/N clenched her jaw, her eyes darkening as she turned to finally look at Jimin. "What did you tell her?"

"Only the truth," Jimin replied calmly, her eyes never leaving Y/N.

Minjeong just stood there, frozen, as the two stared at each other. She was aware of her friends worriedly glancing at her, unsure of what to do with their situation.

"You had the chance to tell her everything on your own. You didn't, so I did."

"I was going to." Y/N's eyes fell on Minjeong. "Minjeong, I swear-"

Minjeong shook her head. "You had plenty of chances to tell me. You chose not to."

She stared at Y/N for just a little while longer as hurt filled up in her chest. "It's too late now," she finally said simply.

When the bell rang later that day, she pushed the door open and walked into class, ignoring the looks Y/N was giving her.

Their teacher was always late, so students were walking around the room, chatting with each other.

Minjeong settled down in her spot and pulled out her notebook. Her eyes instinctively rolled back when she caught a familiar figure approaching her from the corner of her eye.

"Will you, please, just hear me out?"

Minjeong tensed as Y/N took the seat next to her.

"Minjeong-" Y/N began.

"Don't." Minjeong found her voice again, her eyes glued to her notebook.

The last thing she wanted was to hear Y/N making up excuses, so she steeled herself and refused to look up.

"Look, my father did build your old school, and I knew who you were from the minute you set foot inside this school." Y/N decided she'd be honest and make herself heard. "I was friendly with you because I wanted to make myself feel better for my father's actions. I'm sorry. I promise you that everything I told you when I confessed to you was true. I really do-"

The room seemed to freeze as Y/N's head snapped to the side on impact.

Minjeong's hand stung as it left Y/N's cheek, the sound of the slap resounding through the room, and everything came to a standstill.

Minjeong could feel all the eyes on them, but all she could focus on was the wide-eyed, hurt look on Y/N's face.

Minjeong forced the words out of her throat, her breaths coming up shallow against the weight of the emotions in her chest. "You need to shut up and leave me the fuck alone."

She held Y/N's eyes for a second, taking in her wide-eyed expression. There was hurt in the other girl's eyes, the look nearly making Minjeong feel bad.

The moment didn't last. Once the door opened behind them and they heard the teacher's footsteps approach, Minjeong turned to the front of the room again.

Y/N looked down in embarrassment and shame. She stood up from her seat and wiped away the stream of blood in the corner of her mouth.

The slap had made her accidentally bite herself.

She moved back to her seat, ignoring everyone's eyes on her.

Minjeong tried her best to focus on the teacher and write down as many notes as she could. She had to keep her mind on something, and if writing down notes would help, she'd do it.

At one point during the lesson, she felt a pair of eyes on the back of her head.

It was a familiar feeling, similar to the one she had felt when she walked down school hallway earlier that morning.

Minjeong grit her teeth against the memory, refusing to take another look over her shoulder.

Y/N took the clue immediately.

It took her a slap to understand, but she did. She distanced herself from Minjeong. She didn't look her in the eyes anymore; she didn't try to talk to her or reach out for her.

Their friendship/relationship came to a complete halt...

For a full two days.

"Good afternoon!"

Minjeong's breath hitched at the familiar voice. It was Saturday. Why was she hearing this voice on a Saturday?

The short-haired girl looked up from her phone, and her eyes found Y/N standing there in her family's restaurant.

Minjeong almost dropped her phone in surprise.

She could feel goosebumps trailing down her arms as she stared at Y/N. The girl stood there waiting, an expectant look on her face, as if she expected her to say something.

Minjeong opened her mouth to speak-she wasn't even sure what-but her mother's voice echoed from the kitchen.

"Minjeong, you have a customer."

The girl swallowed nervously. Her phone went back into the pocket of her coat. She straightened her back and moved from her spot, making her way to where Y/N stood by the counter with her hands stuffed into her pockets.

The moment she came to a stop, a heavy silence fell over them.

Minjeong was sure she saw some bruising on Y/N's cheek and on the corner of the girl's lips.

Still, Y/N smiled gently at her and raised an expectant eyebrow, waiting for her to talk.

The short-haired girl's eyes were drawn to the bruising under Y/N's eye and on her lips. Her fingers twitched before she forced them into stillness.

"What are you doing here?" Her words came out harsher than she had intended.

If Y/N was taken aback by her harshness, she didn't show it. "I'm hungry."

Minjeong couldn't help but scoff. "And you decided to come here?"

Y/N stopped, looking around the place.

It was a restaurant, wasn't it?

"Is that okay?"

Minjeong's eyes narrowed, unsure whether Y/N was trying to mess with her head.

"There are other restaurants, you kn-"

A slap was delivered to the back of Minjeong's head. Her mouth fell open, and she turned to find her mother glaring at her. "Minjeong, why are you denying service to such a-"

The older woman turned to look at Y/N, and the latter put her most charming smile on display.

"-pretty customer?"

Minjeong's frown deepened as she watched her mother fall for Y/N's charm.

It was ridiculous.

Her eyes turned back to Y/N, who was looking at her with a hopeful gaze.

Minjeong clenched her jaw against the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her again. "What do you want to eat?"

Another slap. "Let her sit and get accommodated first," her mother hissed, turning to Y/N with a wide smile. "Sit wherever you want, sweetie. Minjeong will be with you shortly."

Y/N bowed her head thankfully, smile still there. "Thank you, Ma'am. It's a pleasure to finally meet Minjeong's mom."

The woman was surprised. "Oh, you two know each other?"

Minjeong opened her mouth to disagree, but Y/N beat her to it. "I'm courting your daughter. I was actually hoping to get your blessing."

She's what-?

Minjeong's face flushed with embarrassment, and all she could do was stare, mouth half-open.

Her mother didn't notice. Her eyes were wide, cheeks tinged pink as she looked at the beautiful girl in front of her.

"Oh, really?" Her mother glanced between them, her expression growing giddy. "Yes, of course, sweetie. Minjeong is a lovely girl-she can just be a little grouchy sometimes."

Minjeong's hands clenched into fists at the look on her mother's face.

Of course, she was completely smitten.

Her mother had always harbored an adoration for the wealthy and powerful, especially when it came to Minjeong's future partner. It was something Minjeong had grown used to, but it never failed to leave a bitter taste in her mouth.

Her mother ushered Y/N toward a booth and then turned back to her. "I knew sending you to that school was a good idea! Why didn't you tell me you were seeing someone?!"

Minjeong resisted the urge to roll her eyes as her mother gripped her arms, giddy beyond reason.

"I'm not seeing anyone. Y/N is an awf-"

Her mother cut her off, nudging her toward the booth. "I like her! Don't leave her waiting, come on!"

Minjeong gritted her teeth but gave in.

Her mom beamed as she walked away, completely oblivious to the storm of emotions brewing in her daughter's chest.

Minjeong reached Y/N's table and forced herself to take a deep breath.

Y/N's eyes followed her every step, watching her closely, completely entranced. She couldn't stop the small smile tugging at her lips.

"What do you want to eat?" Minjeong asked again, gritting her teeth against the urge to throw this girl out of her family's restaurant.

Y/N snapped out of her reverie, eyes widening as she cleared her throat.

This was a restaurant of what, exactly?

"I-uhh-" She looked around, trying to see what the other customers were eating, but she couldn't make anything out. "What-what do you have?"

Minjeong's eye twitched. The menu was right in front of her. Y/N was just too busy staring to notice.

Forcing herself to stay calm, Minjeong pointed at the stupid thing, her jaw clenching as the taller girl leaned in to look.

She could see her mom eyeing them from across the room, not being discreet in the slightest.

Minjeong wanted to be six feet under.

Y/N skimmed through the menu, eyes moving quickly over the selection.

"I think I'll have the dwaeji gukbap."

Minjeong nodded, ready to grab the menu and leave, but Y/N wasn't done.

"Also, the milmyeon, godeungeo-gui, agujjim, and eomuk, please. Oh! And can I get the dongnae pajeon and the guljeon?"

Minjeong rolled her eyes and yanked the menu away before Y/N could order anything else.

"What are you doing?"

Y/N looked confused. "I was... ordering."

Minjeong wanted to slap her. Again.

"What, you couldn't personally shower me in your money anymore, so you came to do that at my family's restaurant? Can't you be a decent person for once in your life and just leave me the fuck alone?"

Y/N just smiled. "Dinner's on me tonight. My parents are in town, and they brought a few friends over."

Minjeong clenched her jaw.

She hated how unbothered Y/N looked, how effortlessly she wormed her way into her life again.

If she had any shame, she'd just go home.

But no. She was there, flashing her money and privilege like always, getting exactly what she wanted.

Minjeong wanted to deny her service-kick her out, ban her from ever stepping foot inside again.

But the amount of food Y/N had just ordered... meant rent was covered for the month.

Minjeong hated her. More and more.

She was about to make that very clear when Y/N suddenly stood up and bowed, looking past her shoulder.

Minjeong turned to see her father approaching with a warm smile.

"Oh, fuck me."

Her father wiped his hands on the black apron tied around his waist as he reached their table. Slowly, almost carefully, he extended his hand for Y/N to shake.

"My wife told me to come meet my daughter's girlfriend."

Minjeong wanted to die.

"Hopefully in the future, sir." Y/N chuckled softly-a sound that tickled Minjeong's brain just right. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

She reached out, clasping his hand with practiced ease, bowing just enough to be respectful.

She just had to be perfect at everything, didn't she?

Minjeong's father was immediately taken in by her manners, her gentle touch.

Minjeong wanted to scream.

She wanted to tell him about the lies.

She wanted to tell him about the secrets hiding behind that polite, practiced smile.

But she couldn't.

The amount of money Y/N was about to spend-the dinner her parents and their friends were about to have-would keep her family afloat for another month.

And Minjeong couldn't take that away from her parents.

It all felt like a cruel game.

Her chest tightened as she watched her father and Y/N exchange a few words. His eyes gleamed with admiration as he looked at Y/N, and Minjeong felt the sudden urge to throw up.

She kept her gaze fixed on the table, doing her best to block out the conversation.

Once her father left-after shooting her an approving nod-Y/N sat back down, looking entirely too satisfied with herself.

"You're a manipulative liar," Minjeong tried again, her voice firmer this time.

Y/N didn't budge. "A manipulative liar who's in love."

Minjeong's jaw clenched at the words.

In love?

The audacity of this girl to even say that.

Her fingers curled into fists.

How could one person be so infuriating?

She turned sharply, stalking back to the counter to put the order into the register-only to catch her mother watching their every move, a pleased smile on her face.

That was it.

As soon as her shift was over, Minjeong was going to off herself.

Meanwhile, Y/N simply watched her go, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. Her heart pounded in her chest.

Why was it so easy to get under Minjeong's skin?

She dragged out her time at the restaurant as much as she could.

As long as she was there, she was fine.

She got to see Minjeong. She got to talk to Minjeong's lovely parents. She got to not be at home with her parents.

It was perfect.

Unfortunately, Mr. Kim had other plans. He worked as quickly as possible, insisting that Y/N and her parents shouldn't have to wait long for their food.

So, far too soon, Y/N found herself stepping back inside her house, dinner in hand.

"What took you so long?" her father asked from the living room, seated among his colleagues.

"I was quick." She replied shortly, carrying the bags into the kitchen.

Grabbing a plate for herself, she made her way upstairs, wanting nothing to do with the circus unfolding downstairs.

The following days were the same.

Y/N would come, order a ridiculous amount of food, and leave-only to come back again the next day.

Minjeong's parents were absolutely thrilled by her presence.

And Minjeong?

Minjeong hated it.

The anger, the frustration, the sheer distaste burned through her chest every time Y/N walked through that door.

But after two weeks of the same thing, the fight had drained out of her.

She didn't yell. She didn't snap. She didn't even glare anymore.

She merely stood behind the counter, arms crossed, waiting while Y/N placed her order.

"Food will take around thirty minutes to prepare. You can sit while you wait." Minjeong's voice came out flat, her expression unreadable as she turned away.

She walked to the kitchen, relaying the order to her father.

"She here yet?" he asked with a grin.

Minjeong let out a slow, controlled breath, doing everything she could to hold onto what little patience she had left.

"She's here," she muttered through gritted teeth.

Her father's smile widened. "Good! Take care of her for me."

Minjeong's mother perked up from where she was wiping down the counter, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

"Let me go say hi to her."

Ten minutes later, when Minjeong stepped out of the kitchen, she nearly dropped the tray she was holding.

There, sitting comfortably at one of the booths, was her mother. And across from her, whipping the tables, was Y/N.

Minjeong froze.

Y/N-cleaning?

Her mother sat there like she hadn't just handed off one of her responsibilities to a paying customer, chatting away with a warm smile on her face.

Minjeong's fingers twitched against the tray.

What the hell was going on?

She stormed over, trying not to trip over her own frustration. "What are you doing?"

Y/N looked up, unbothered, a rag in one hand and a spray bottle in the other. "Helping."

Minjeong turned to her mother, expecting an explanation, but the older woman only beamed. "Such a sweet girl," her mom sighed dreamily. "She insisted, Minjeong! Said she wanted to help out since she's always here."

Minjeong clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay calm.

This was ridiculous.

She hated it.

She hated how easily Y/N charmed her parents.

She hated that Y/N was still here-in her space, in her life.

She hated that a small, stupid, buried part of her chest felt warm at the sight of Y/N helping out.

She exhaled sharply, shoving the thought away.

"Go sit down," she snapped, yanking the spray bottle from Y/N's hand.

Y/N grinned. "You're worried about me?"

"I'm worried about my restaurant looking like a joke," Minjeong shot back.

Her mother gasped. "Minjeong! Don't be rude!"

But Y/N just laughed, wiping her hands on her pants. "I'm just waiting for my food," she said casually. "Might as well make myself useful."

Minjeong turned away before her mother could see the glare she was sending Y/N's way.

She had to endure this.

At least until Y/N got bored and finally, finally left her alone.

Easier said than done.

Y/N was persistent.

At school, it had been fine. They didn't have every class together, and Minjeong could simply ignore her when she approached. But now Y/N was at her restaurant, invading her space, and it was getting to be too much.

The frustration built and built, day after day, until it finally snapped. It happened in gym class.

The basketball ball hit Y/N's cheek with a loud smack, and she went down.

Hard.

The gym fell silent.

Minjeong's eyes widened in shock, regret washing over her.

It wasn't a light hit. It was a ball thrown with strength, purpose, and precision.

Y/N didn't even remember hitting the ground-just opening her eyes to see the teacher and several classmates hovering over her.

Fuck.

Minjeong looked around as the commotion grew. The coach knelt beside Y/N, checking on her, while the rest of the class murmured among themselves.

Her gaze met Aeri's and Chaewon's, who just so happened to be in that class as well. Their jaws were slack as they looked between her and their best friend.

Chaewon was never known for having the best temper. So it wasn't a surprise when she stormed over, shoving Minjeong back with enough force to make her stumble.

"What the fuck is your problem?!"

Chaewon's voice echoed through the gym, filled with unrestrained fury.

"Stop it, Chae." Aeri tried to intervene, wrapping an arm around Chaewon's waist to keep her from doing something she'd regret. She was angry too-they both were-but getting Chaewon expelled wouldn't help anyone.

Minjeong's head snapped toward them, her mouth opening to respond, but no sound came out.

Her eyes darted back to the group surrounding Y/N. Her stomach churned at the way everyone was looking at her-at the frowns on familiar faces, at the unspoken accusations in their stares.

"Girls, that's enough."

The teacher's voice cut through the tension as he knelt beside Y/N, helping her sit up.

"Chaewon, Aeri, take Y/N to the infirmary. Minjeong, stay behind after class. Everyone else, disperse! Class isn't over for another fifteen minutes!"

Minjeong's heart sank.

She had never gotten detention before.

And now, because she let her emotions take control, she had made a fool of herself in front of everyone.

She stood frozen, watching as Chaewon and Aeri carefully helped Y/N off the ground. Even from a distance, she swore she could see the glares they both sent her.

Detention it was.

Minjeong tried to see the bright side of things.

At least now, Y/N hated her. She would finally leave her alone. She would stop showing up at the resta-

Minjeong blinked.

There she stood, in front of the counter, completely soaked.

There was a storm outside. The restaurant was practically empty.

What the hell was Y/N doing there?

"Hi." The taller girl let out, the corner of her bruised lips tilting into a soft smile.

A loud crash of thunder boomed in the background, and heavy rain pelted against the windows.

But Minjeong wasn't paying attention to the storm. Her focus was solely on Y/N. On the dark purple bruise marring her left cheek-a clear, undeniable reminder of what had happened just a day ago.

And yet, she had the audacity to smile at her.

Minjeong didn't know how to respond. Thankfully, she didn't have to. A loud gasp surged from behind her, and she stiffened as her mother rushed forward.

"What happened to you?" Minjeong tensed as her mother gently cupped Y/N's face in her hands, tilting it up to assess the damage. She expected Y/N to back away, to flinch under her mother's touch. But she didn't. She just stood there, smiling, like a complete fool.

"It's been raining so much these days," Y/N said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "I slipped and fell."

Minjeong's breath caught in her throat.

Did she just lie?

Y/N could have easily exposed her.

She could have ruined her right then and there, could have held it over her head like a trophy.

Minjeong had expected her to lash out, to finally snap and make her life miserable.

But she didn't.

She just stood there, soaking wet, a bruise on her face, and a stupid smile lingering on her lips.

Why?

Minjeong already knew her secret. She knew who Y/N really was and why she had approached her on that first day. She knew how rotten Y/N and her intentions were.

So why?

"You're completely soaked too."

Minjeong's mother turned toward her. "Minjeong, get her a towel and an ice pack, please."

Minjeong froze.

Her mother turned back to Y/N and ushered her toward a table. "You need to take care of yourself! Look at that pretty face of yours! And what if you get sick?"

Y/N chuckled lightly. "I'll be fine, Miss Kim. I was more worried about you, though. How's your leg?"

Minjeong stiffened.

Her mother had injured herself years ago-she had slipped during a storm, just like this one, and broken her leg. Even now, on cold nights, the pain lingered.

But how the hell did Y/N know about that?

Why did she care?

Minjeong's heart fluttered, just for a second. She gulped, pushing away the feeling, and stepped away to grab the towel and ice pack.

Her fingers gripped the fabric tightly as she glanced back at Y/N, who was still sitting, listening intently to her mother.

A nagging thought scratched at the back of Minjeong's mind, urging her to give in to this strange, persistent kindness.

She shoved it away.

"Here," Minjeong muttered, placing the towel beside Y/N and setting the ice pack down on the table.

She turned to leave- a hand wrapped around her wrist.

Minjeong's breath hitched. She looked down, expecting Y/N, but it was her mother.

"Hold the ice up for her, will you? I'm going to get her some soup to warm up."

Minjeong's jaw nearly dropped.

She could not believe what she was hearing.

It was pure karma.

She opened her mouth to protest, but her mother was already walking off toward the kitchen, leaving her alone.

With her.

Minjeong turned back to Y/N, who was still sitting, head tilted slightly, studying her with that same infuriating curiosity.

She sighed and reached for the ice pack.

A soft chuckle stopped her.

Minjeong's gaze flickered up.

Y/N was smiling-lips curled just slightly, dimples barely visible. She pulled the towel from her shoulders, setting it aside.

The sound of rain against the windows filled the silence between them.

"You don't have to do that," Y/N said, voice softer than usual.

Minjeong frowned.

"Just keep me company for a little while, please. I miss talking to you."

Minjeong felt it again. That stupid flutter in her chest.

Y/N had to be faking it. She had to. But the look in her eyes-

It wasn't the same glimmer she gave her friends, the playful twinkle that Minjeong had grown used to seeing.

This was different. It was softer. Gentler.

Minjeong swallowed, pressing the ice pack against Y/N's bruised cheek.

Y/N winced slightly at the cold but didn't move away. Instead, she smiled, shifting slightly to make space beside her in the booth.

Minjeong hesitated. Then, slowly, she sat down. Silence settled between them, but Y/N didn't let it linger."I'm sorry about Chaewon," she said, voice quiet. "She's... protective."

Minjeong tensed. It wasn't like she could disagree.

Chaewon was protective. But she was also right.

Minjeong had hurt her friend.

Her grip tightened slightly on the ice pack as she kept it in place.

"She had every right to be," Minjeong said, her tone cold. "I didn't mean to hit you that hard."

Y/N only smiled, leaning into the touch.

Minjeong's breath caught, her jaw clenched at the closeness.

How could someone she hated be so damn comfortable around her?

Minjeong wanted Y/N to get angry-to yell, to scream.

Not sit there and be friendly.

She clenched her jaw as Y/N smiled, "So you did mean to hit me."

Minjeong couldn't deny it. She stayed silent.

The rain outside filled the quiet that settled between them.

She could hear her mother moving around the kitchen, the clatter of pots and soft humming mixing with the sound of thunder in the distance.

Minjeong wanted to say something-anything. Even an insult would do. But her mind was blank.

The ice pack had started to warm against her fingers. She adjusted it against Y/N's cheek, pressing it gently into place.

"I still don't like you," she huffed, more to fill the silence than anything. "I'm not falling for your lies again."

Y/N exhaled, something unreadable flickering in her eyes.

"I didn't lie about wanting to be your friend. Or liking you," she said softly. "I just... didn't approach you with the right intentions. I'm sorry. My dad-he's not the best person. I barely know him. But I knew that he hurt you. And I wanted to make it better somehow."

Minjeong's throat tightened.

She didn't want to hear that.

She nudged Y/N's shoulder instead, scowling. "Just shut up and keep drying yourself. You're soaking the sofa."

Y/N smiled.

It wasn't much but it was a start and she was patient.

So she kept showing up at the restaurant.

She kept talking to Minjeong at school.

Interaction by interaction.

Brick by brick.

Until, somehow, impossibly-Minjeong let her back in.

Things got better.

So much better, in fact, that on Christmas Eve, Y/N found herself standing in front of Minjeong's house, clutching bags of gifts and food in her hands.

When the door opened, Minjeong just stared.

Her voice caught in her throat, countless thoughts racing through her mind.

"Y/N-what are you doing here?"

Y/N hesitated for only a second before raising the bags slightly, a small, lopsided smile on her face.

"I promised, didn't I?"

Minjeong blinked.

If anyone had told her that Y/N would actually show up, she would've laughed and told them to get their head checked.

She hadn't even expected Y/N to remember. The words had been brushed off as a joke, an empty promise at best.

But she was there.

With food. With gifts.

Minjeong's chest fluttered painfully as she took in the sight of her.

The soft glow of Christmas lights reflected in Y/N's eyes, and the crinkle at the corners of her smile made her stomach twist.

"You're crazy," Minjeong mumbled, before sighing and stepping forward, pulling Y/N into a small hug. "Y/N, you didn't have to."

"It's nothing." Y/N shrugged, stepping inside when Minjeong opened the door wider for her.

And if Minjeong had thought her parents were easily charmed by Y/N, her siblings proved her wrong.

Y/N didn't even have to say anything to win them over.

The moment they saw her step inside, looking like Santa Claus himself with all those gifts, their eyes lit up.

Minjeong watched from the side as her siblings swarmed Y/N with excitement, admiring the gifts all for themselves.

She bit the inside of her cheek to stop a chuckle, but still startled slightly when her mother suddenly gasped.

"YOU CAME!"

Before Y/N could even react, Minjeong's mother had grabbed her arm and dragged her straight to the kitchen. "Come try my kimchi! You like spice, right? I made it extra spicy this year!"

Minjeong couldn't help but soften as she watched her mother pull Y/N into the bustling house, filled with the laughter and chatter of her family.

The sight of her siblings holding their new toys, excitedly showing Y/N their favorite things about the gifts, made her heart swell.

She exhaled, shaking her head as she slowly made her way into the living room.

But even as she sat down, her eyes never left Y/N.

The way she smiled, the way she laughed, the way she fit so effortlessly into her world.

It took a while, but eventually, Y/N stepped back into the living room, her eyes searching for one person and one person only.

Y/N gave her a small smile. "Your family is lovely."

Minjeong stood from the couch, reaching for her hand without thinking. "They keep hogging you," she muttered, tugging her gently" "Let's run away."

Y/N laughed but didn't hesitate to hold Minjeong's hand. She smiled, glancing around as the other girl led her to her bedroom. The house was small, but filled with warmth and comfort. Y/N couldn't help but envy it a little.

"Thank you for all the gifts," Minjeong murmured, closing the door behind them. "You really didn't have to."

The silence was a welcome change, but it didn't last long.

Somehow, they ended up lying on Minjeong's small bed, facing each other, when Y/N reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, wrapped box.

"I didn't know what to get you," she admitted, "I'm sorry."

Minjeong let out a soft laugh, her fingers moving to gently take the box from Y/N's hands.

"You didn't have to get me anything, Y/N. But whatever this is-it's perfect."

The gift was small, wrapped a little messily, but Minjeong didn't care.

She was too focused on the way Y/N was watching her.

Nervously, yet eagerly.

She unwrapped the box, tilting her head when she found a guitar pick inside. It was gorgeous-an ivory color with the initials K.M. engraved on each side.

Minjeong ran her thumb across the engraving, feeling the smoothness of it.

She couldn't believe what she was holding.

"The guitar should be arriving tomorrow."

Minjeong's eyes snapped up at Y/N's words, her grip on the pick tightening.

Her brain barely registered what she just heard.

'The guitar should be arriving tomorrow.'

The words repeated in her head, over and over, as she just stared at Y/N, her mouth slightly open.

A million thoughts, emotions, words-nothing could properly form.

Y/N was crazy.

No-this was insane.

There was no way Y/N actually bought her a guitar.

Just the thought of it made her feel lightheaded.

"Do you like it?" Y/N asked hesitantly.

Minjeong was still staring at the guitar pick in her hands, her mouth hanging slightly open.

"I heard you tell a client you were saving up to buy one," Y/N continued, pulling out her phone and sitting up to show Minjeong a few pictures. "It's this one. I talked to a guy, and he said this one is good for beginners."

Minjeong's breath hitched as she looked at the screen.

The guitar was beautiful.

Glossy black, brand new strings, shining under the store lights.

She swallowed thickly, looking up at Y/N again-who was just watching her, waiting.

Patient.

The gift was expensive and gorgeous and thoughtful.

Minjeong's heart swelled, her chest tightening with an emotion she couldn't name.

So she did the only thing she could.

She threw her arms around Y/N's neck, hugging her tightly.

Y/N froze for a moment at the sudden warmth engulfing her-but then she melted. Her arms instinctively wrapped around Minjeong's waist, pulling her close.

Her heart skipped at the unexpected affection, her cheeks burning.

She closed her eyes and smiled, taking in Minjeong's warmth, the way she felt against her-her scent, her presence.

"I'm glad you like it."

Minjeong couldn't stop herself.

Her grip on Y/N tightened as she buried her face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent.

It was warm.

Comforting.

She sighed, her heart pounding as she closed her eyes.

"I love it."

Her voice was soft, muffled against Y/N's embrace.

She slowly pulled away, her face burning as she looked down at her hands.

"I also got you something," she mumbled, "but it feels useless compared to your gift."

Y/N frowned slightly at that.

Minjeong shouldn't compare gifts. That wasn't what this was about.

Before she could say anything, Minjeong stood up and walked toward her closet, pulling out a small box covered in reindeer-patterned wrapping paper.

Y/N's heart quickened at the sight.

She could see the effort Minjeong had put into wrapping it-the way the corners were neatly tucked, the way a tiny ribbon sat perfectly tied on top.

Her eyes flickered up to Minjeong, who was now holding the gift out for her. She reached over and took it carefully, her fingers running across the smooth wrapping.

The box was light and small in her hands. "Can I open it?"

Minjeong nodded.

Y/N smiled softly, taking her time untying the ribbon, making sure not to tear the paper as she lifted the lid off the box.

Inside, there was a layer of tissue paper.

She gently pulled it back and her breath hitched.

A blue jewelry box sat inside.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she lifted it, flipping the lid open.

Inside, nestled against the soft velvet lining, was a golden necklace.

Y/N carefully picked it up, turning it over in her hands-

-and a small chuckle escaped her lips.

Dangling from the chain was a tiny, detailed basketball ball charm.

She swallowed thickly, her throat tight. It was so simple, yet it meant everything.

"You couldn't help yourself, could you?"

Minjeong smiled as she watched Y/N admiring the present.

Her heart squeezed gently as Y/N laughed and carefully lifted the necklace from the jewelry box.

Minjeong knew her gift was nothing compared to what Y/N had gotten for her. But seeing her like this-her face so soft, eyes full of warmth-made her more than happy.

The two stayed in Minjeong's room for as long as they could.

Which wasn't very long-because soon enough, her siblings and parents were calling them downstairs.

Y/N didn't linger much after that.

Christmas was about family, after all. The last thing she wanted to do was overstep.

So, despite Minjeong's mother asking her to stay for the twentieth time, she gently refused, saying she needed to get home before the snow started falling.

Minjeong walked her to the door, feeling a little sad to see her leave but too too shy to ask her to stay.

"Thanks for coming."

Y/N nodded, her chest feeling impossibly full. Minjeong had no idea how much tonight had meant to her.

She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Minjeong's cheek. "Thanks for having me."

Minjeong felt her breath catch in her lungs.

The touch was gentle. Warm.

The spot where Y/N's lips had been tingled, heat rushing to her face.

Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, trying to memorize the feeling-burn it into her mind.

But before she could process it, Y/N was already pulling away.

"Drive safely," Minjeong managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N smiled at her one last time before stepping out into the cold, pulling on her jacket.

Minjeong stayed by the doorway, watching as she got into her car.

And only when the car finally disappeared down the street did she allow herself to breathe again.

Time went on and Christmas break soon ended. Y/N was ecstatic to return to school after the break.

She couldn't wait to see Minjeong again.

As she walked through the hallways with her friends, there was an extra bounce in her step, a lightness in her chest.

They made their way outside for lunch, hoping the sun would warm them up.

"I don't know, I still don't like her."

Y/N paused mid-step at Chaewon's grumble.

She quickly exchanged an exasperated glance with Niki and Aeri before sighing. "Give it a rest, Chaewon."

"Give it a rest?" Chaewon scoffed. "Did you see the way she threw that ball at you, Y/N? That girl is dangerous, I'm telling you! What if she gets angry and throws another ball at you? It's psychotic. You were knocked out!"

Y/N shrugged, thanking Niki as he held the door open for her.

They stepped out into the school's wide garden, where the winter sun was shining brightly.

"She's got a strong personality, so what?" Y/N said easily. "Plus, she didn't mean to hit me that hard. And-" she grinned, holding up the charm hanging from her neck, "-she got me a necklace for Christmas!"

Chaewon snorted at that.

"A strong personality? She sounds like a psycho to me."

They reached an empty bench, settling into the sunlight.

Aeri gently nudged Y/N. "Just ignore her. She's just petty she's single."

Chaewon went on to argue that, but Y/N didn't mind them.

She knew her friend was just being protective-and she was thankful for that.

But at the same time, she was sure of one thing.

"Chae, Minjeong would never do anything to hurt me again. Trust me, she's-"

The words died in Y/N's throat.

Her chest tightened, breath catching as her gaze landed on a new sight.

It felt like the air had been stolen from her lungs.

Minjeong was leaning against a tree-not too far away.

And standing in front of her, with one hand gently placed on her waist and the other tangled in her hair, was Jimin.

Y/N watched, frozen in place, as Jimin tilted her head down and kissed Minjeong.

Minjeong tilted her head up to meet her, their lips pressing softly together.

Y/N could see everything, the way Jimin pulled away gently, the way Minjeong's lips curved slightly in response.

Her heart plummeted into her stomach.

The world around her blurred, sounds faded into nothing-her ears were ringing, her pulse pounding in her head.

She hadn't even realized that she'd stopped breathing.

Her lungs screamed for air but she couldn't breathe in.

For a split second, the urge to step forward burned inside her. To pull them apart. To rip Jimin's hand away from Minjeong.

But time had frozen around her.

And in that moment, Y/N was done.

#aespa x fem reader #aespa x reader #winter x reader #kim minjeong x reader #aespa minjeong #aespa #winter imagines #kim minjeong imagines #minjeong x reader #winter scenarios #winter x y/n #winter x you #minjeong x you #kim minjeong #aespa winter

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mediumgayitalian · 1 year ago

Text

Nico wakes up to gagging and a soft glow coming from the bathroom.

His first thought is, bizarrely, that Hazel’s home. But her bunk is still empty, and her shoes aren’t by the door, and she didn’t wake him when she came in. She always wakes him when she comes in, even if it’s four thirty in the damn morning, because nothing makes her cackle quite like Nico choking back curses and tweaking under her smothering pillow.

“Shit,” comes a small voice from the bathroom, followed by more retching. “Shitshitshit, no —”

Nico bolts for the door.

“Hi,” Will says, or tries to. His scarred knuckles clench with every gag, wrapped too tightly around the rim of porcelain to tremble like the rest of him.

Something about the wobbly smile he keeps trying to form in between gags. Something about the sweat that has drenched his t-shirt, something about the deep circles under his eyes, something about his spot in the bed completely cold, wrinkled.

Something is not adding up.

“You’re not sick,” Nico murmurs, pressing the back of his hand to Will’s forehead. Will mutters something about bliss, leaning into Nico’s hand; he smiles again, but it is strained, and at odds with the glassy look in his eyes. The sharp, rapid breaths.

“Just don’t — feel good.”

Every word is punctuated by a big, heaving gasp, like he’s trying to breathe through heavy cotton. On a hunch, Nico slides his hands down Will’s face, brushing the goosebumps on his neck, the irritated, pulsing tendons, and rest flat against his chest, over his heart.

His heart that is pounding, so quickly it is actually challenging to recognise as a beat rather than a buzz.

“You’re having a panic attack,” Nico says quietly.

Will shrugs. He gags again, but clamps his mouth shut before it goes anywhere, breathing deeply and carefully through clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. His heart pounds faster, and the rapid movement of his chest grows shallow, but he manages to choke back his bile, swallow down whatever nausea is plaguing him.

“I’m — fine.” His laboured breathing is the loudest sound in the cabin. In the camp. “I’m handling it.”

Nico watches him. Watches him clench his jaw and squeeze his eyes shut and make a noise like he is being betrayed, like he is being sold for thirty silver by his own body, his own mind; watches him flex his muscles rigid and hold himself still like he can stop the nails and thorns from coming. He thinks of wide smiles and far away eyes and mental health pamphlets and cheerful slogans on infirmary walls.

“I think one of those things are true.”

“I don’t need —”

Whatever he doesn’t need is forgotten, because he is heaving again, only this time his body finds something to dredge up, even if that something is stomach acid and he cries as it burns its way up his throat, and in between heaving he wheezes, horrible whistling gasping noises, and his hair plasters to his forehead, and his body slumps into Nico’s hold and jerks away from him like rocky waves against a lakefront.

“How long have you been here?”

Will just shrugs again, and he cries, and he says “Leave, please,” and Nico wraps an arm tighter around his waist, and presses a kiss to his sweaty temple, lingering, holding, tasting salt from Will and from his tears both, and squeezing his eyes shut, and holding back the anger. Gritting his teeth and softening his hold, deliberately, resting his fingers delicately on the dip of Will’s hip, the raised pink of the stretch marks along his ribs.

“I hate it when you run from me,” he murmurs, and Will sobs again.

“I can’t breathe,” he says, and Nico squeezes and promises he can. “I’m dying. I’m dying, I’m gonna —”

“I’m here, Will.” He doesn’t say you’re not dying. He doesn’t say you’re fine, because this is the longest they’ve sat together in five days, because it is the the quiet middle of June, because yesterday Kayla spent half her shift screaming at Will to get out and ignoring him when he shouted back. Because the bandage around Will’s wrist has been worn to threads, because Lee’s hoodie has not been washed in weeks, because there is a newcomer named Michael and Will cannot even look at him. Because it has been bad. “I’m here.”

It is as much a reminder as it is a plea as it is a reprimand as it is a fruitless nothing, because when Nico struggles he gets angry, when Nico struggles he gets mean and biting and violent, but when Will struggles he wants the world to kill him. And for all that Nico is halfway to the grave he has clawed and chewed and fought his way to survival. And when Will scratches at the skin around his ears and screams into his hands and opens the chapped over scars on his lips his palms his fingers, Nico can only hold him, Nico can only gently pry his nails from his flesh and tell himself that one day they will get to the point where Nico wakes up. Where Will wakes him up, where he burrows into the place between his arms and his chest and hides in someone else for once. Where he trusts someone outside of himself enough to bare his back.

“I’m here,” he whispers again, and he presses his lips to Will’s hair and holds him as he sobs, “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

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aae-tuu · 4 months ago

Text

With Your Hand In Mine, This Place Could Be So Divine. But Only If You’re Here With Me

Ft: Till (alien stage, gn!reader, he hates that he loves you, slight angst(?), Till is in denial, Till is Till so 911 help?, childhood friends to lovers? ish…maybe?, 2nd POV, idk how Anakt garden works, might be a multiple part series idk)

Till glances down at his sketchbook as his pencil gently glides along the paper, making the shape of someone familiar.

It was supposed to be a sketch of the flowers in the garden, with delicate line art that would depict the blooming petals accurately. However, today, like most days, he can’t concentrate.

It's your fault. Somehow, everything has been your fault recently. He constantly finds himself staring at you, his mind wandering, his heart beating just a bit too fast for his liking.

His eyes flicker up to look at you, the way you’re sitting not too far away from him, making a flower crown without a care in the world, and he quickly looks away, feeling his cheeks heat up.

He is currently going through the five stages of denial and/or grief or whatever it was called in the book he glanced over.

At first it was denial of course.

It was not possible. Absolutely impossible.

He doesn’t like you like that. He doesn’t!

And then anger for feeling these dumb feelings.

He doesn't even know when these damn feelings developed and he’s absolutely furious about it.

Then comes bargaining.

Bargaining with who though??

God?!

But he doesn't even believe in God.

He even offered to give away his favorite guitar if some higher power could get rid of these feelings, but alas, nothing has changed.

He's so sick of you being on his mind all the time.

And now he has finally reached the lowest point in the 5 stages: Depression.

He's full on depressed now.

Which is why he's currently sitting against the tree trunk, feeling sorry for himself and cursing his brain for being stupid enough to fall for you as he continued to draw your face once again in his sketchbook.

You were taking up too much space.

He turns his head slightly to look at you again. His eyes linger just a bit longer than they usually do, and his lips part a bit as he watches you work.

And then his eyes flicker down your lips.

The more time he spends looking at you, the more he feels his heart rate quickening, and is that a butterfly in his stomach?

The horror.

And then you just had to turn your head to look at him.

Till jolted, quickly averting his gaze, turning his body 180 degrees away from you. His face flushed a bright red, and it was hot and he felt shaky and his breath was running out and his thoughts were running faster than normal, they’re jumbling out and he can’t seem to slow them down to understand what they’re really trying to say and-

“Till?” Your voice snaps him out of his train of thought.

He looked up, teal eyes meeting your own as you crouched down in front of him, tilting your head curiously.

———————

he read acceptance is the last stage

and as he made eye contact with you, holding your gaze

that’s when he finally got past the depression stage and dove right into the last stage without his consent

his heart making the choice, leaving his brain scrambling to try and function again

This all I got so far

@aniriva

#alien stage #alien stage x reader #alnst till #alien stage till #alnst x reader #alnst #till x reader #alnst till x reader #alien stage till x reader #gn!reader

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casedclosedbye · 4 months ago

Text

The Missing tag

Bucky Barnes x reader

Oneshot

Summary: What started as a simple misunderstanding over a missing dog tag escalates, with both of you blaming each other. You storm out in frustration, hurt by Bucky’s stubbornness and lack of understanding.

The apartment was unusually quiet, save for the sound of the occasional rain pattering against the windows. The kind of quiet that settled into your bones, heavy and thick, the way things did when tension grew thick enough to suffocate the air.

You paced in front of the couch, every step faster than the last, the anger and frustration bubbling up inside you. The argument had started small, a simple misunderstanding—at least that’s how you thought of it. But Bucky’s dismissive attitude had turned it into something else entirely.

“You’re really gonna blame me for this?” you snapped, glaring at him as he stood in the kitchen, his arms crossed. His posture was tense, defensive, and every second that ticked by only seemed to fuel your anger.

Bucky didn’t flinch. “You’re the one who lost it. I told you to give it back, and what do I get? One dog tag gone.” He gestured at the counter with a flick of his wrist, his voice low and sharp. “I’m not sure how you lose something that important, but here we are.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “I didn’t lose it, Bucky! I didn’t even have them when you took them back. You left one of them on the bathroom sink after you took them from me. I didn’t touch it!” You were yelling now, the frustration that had been building finally spilling over.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed as if he was trying to make sense of what you were saying, but instead of looking guilty, he looked almost annoyed. "So what? It’s your fault now that it went missing?”

“Yes, it’s your fault!" you shot back. "You took them back from me, then left one of them on the sink when you went to shower! How is that my fault? You think I’m just going to sit here and pretend you didn’t make a mistake?”

Bucky’s face hardened. His expression shifted, that wall of armor he so often wore slipping into place as his temper flared. “I’m not gonna stand here and let you accuse me of things I didn’t do. You were supposed to take care of them.”

You threw your hands up in exasperation. “I was careful with them, Bucky! I didn’t lose them. You left it there!”

There was a long, drawn-out silence as the words hung between you both, neither one of you willing to back down. But the tension in the room was suffocating, like it was building up to something much worse.

“I don’t need this right now,” you muttered, shaking your head. The hurt in your chest was overwhelming, your voice trembling. “You always do this. You always make it my fault when something goes wrong. I’m so sick of it, Bucky.”

Without waiting for a response, you grabbed your jacket and stormed out, slamming the door behind you. The cold hit you immediately as you walked out into the hallway, but it did nothing to ease the anger or the sadness that twisted your gut.

Bucky stood there in the kitchen, his mind racing, a mix of anger and guilt clouding his thoughts. He had never meant for any of this to happen. Sure, he had taken the dog tags back, but in his mind, they were just… tags. The connection wasn’t something he had verbalized much, but it was important to him, and now… now everything felt wrong.

But it wasn’t just the tags. It was you. It was always you.

Hours later, Bucky found himself alone in the apartment, the weight of the argument still heavy in the air. He had tried to distract himself, tried to get his mind off everything, but it was impossible. The longer he was by himself, the more the guilt ate at him. He hadn’t meant to hurt you, but his pride had gotten in the way. He knew that now.

It was late, far too late, but he found himself walking to the bathroom. He needed to clear his head, maybe wash his face and go to bed. He stood in front of the mirror for a long moment, staring at his reflection as if he could figure out where everything had gone wrong.

That’s when he saw it.

The dog tag.

There, lying innocently on the bathroom sink where he had left it the day before. He hadn’t even remembered to pick it up. His stomach sank as he realized it had been there all along, just waiting for him to notice. He had left it. It wasn’t your fault. It was his.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair as guilt hit him like a punch to the gut.

He cursed under his breath, realizing how much he had messed up. The argument had been petty. The way he’d blown it all out of proportion—it was foolish. But even more than that, he felt the sting of knowing he had let you walk out of the door hurt, all because of his stubbornness and pride.

Bucky didn’t waste another second. He grabbed the dog tag, his heart racing. Without thinking, he rushed out the door, the need to fix things with you consuming him. He couldn’t let it end like this.

You didn’t expect to feel so… alone when you walked into your friend's apartment. The anger was still there, hot and stinging, but beneath it, there was a pang of sadness. You had left because you needed space, needed to think, but you never imagined Bucky would dig his heels in like that. He never really saw things from your perspective, it seemed. And maybe that was what hurt the most.

Your phone buzzed on the counter, the notification lighting up the screen with Bucky’s name. You ignored it. You didn’t feel like dealing with it right now. You needed time to cool off, to let your emotions settle.

But then you heard a knock on the door. You frowned, wondering if your friend was coming back, or if someone else was visiting. It wasn’t until the door opened, and you saw Bucky standing there, his expression frantic, eyes wide, that you realized he’d come to find you.

"Bucky?" you whispered, your heart suddenly in your throat.

“I messed up,” he said, breathless. “I shouldn’t have—" He paused, taking a deep breath as if trying to gather his thoughts. "I shouldn’t have blamed you for losing the tag. It was my fault. I left it there on the sink after I took it back, and I didn’t even realize until now. I… I was too stubborn, and I hurt you. I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t want to admit I was wrong.”

You stared at him for a long moment, your mind racing. He was standing there, his eyes soft and regretful, holding the dog tag in his hand like it was the most important thing in the world.

“You always think you’re right,” you said quietly, the frustration still lingering in your voice, but the edge had softened. “I just wanted you to see it wasn’t my fault. I care about those tags. I care about you, and I hate that you think I’d lose something that matters to you.”

“I know,” Bucky said, stepping closer. “I know. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His voice was quieter now, sincere, and the tension between you both seemed to dissipate just a little.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “It’s not just the tag, Bucky. It’s about us—how we always seem to fight, and then no one wants to apologize first.”

Bucky reached out, gently taking your hand. His touch was warm, comforting. "I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t want to lose you over something so stupid."

You nodded, squeezing his hand. Maybe things weren’t perfect. Maybe it wasn’t all fixed in one conversation. But for the first time in hours, you felt the anger start to fade. There was hope again, quiet and uncertain, but it was there.

And maybe that was enough for now.

#bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #winter #winter soldier fluff #winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james barnes #james #bucky #barnes #bucky fluff #bucky barnes #marvel memes #marvel #sebastian stan

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porceline · 7 months ago

Note

So, I'm thinking of your fic, and in it we see how the reader reacts when Optimus is turned human. My request is headcanons or a little ficlet/drabble on how OP would react if you (his human S/O) were to interact with a relic that turned them into a Cybertronian.

Turn of events

Pairing:

Optimus Prime × cybertronian!reader

Summary:

After a decommissioned disguise relic ended up in the hands of the Autobots, everyone's favorite reader (you), ended up being transformed into a giant cybertronian.

Word count: 1k+

A/N: HIII GUYSSS I'm so sorry it took me so long to get this out, gosh I got sick AGAIN! and some personal stuff went down, but I'm back and badder than ever!! Enjoy loves!

(Ps. This isn't as detailed as I would've liked but I rushed to get it out cuz I was taking too much time, but might even make it a full fic when I finish my current one!!)

It was an accident, completely an accident. You hadn't meant to. You just wanted to see.

Sliding thin, fleshy fingers between large gaps in buttons and pressure plates while no one was paying attention, with no idea the relic would be so sensitive. Not your proudest moment.

You always knew your curiosity would be your downfall. You're just lucky Bulkhead moved the kids out of the way.

It was the most pain you've ever experienced, it felt like your limbs were getting stretched beyond their limit, your skin pulled hard and slowly, then it felt like it was turned to stone.

No one had any time to react before you became ten times bigger than you were born, your new form falling onto the elevated platform designated for humans.

The concrete was thick enough to hold your weight, but the iron safety bars bent under you.

Everything was tinted blue, and somehow brighter than before. You had to squint your eyes.

Your vision kept blurring, sometimes focusing on one single spot, zooming onto it as if you were wearing Binoculars.

There was a panic around you, commotion and yelling. Everything sounded so far away though. You couldn't focus.

A hand, much larger than yours grasps your shoulder. Another cups your cheek and turns your head.

It's Optimus. He's speaking. His mouth is moving but you hear nothing. You're scared.

"Have you shrunk?" You blurt out, you can feel the rumble of your own voice like never before, it sounded so clear despite not being able to hear.

He raises an eyebrow, his mouth begins to move again, but you still can't hear anything.

Thick brows furrow as blue optics scan over your worried face. Optimus puzzles together what might be wrong, his face softens as he reaches to the side of your head.

You hear three loud clicks, then the sound of the base booms into your ears, making your head throb.

"What happened!?"

"Primus, what did you do!?"

"Why did you touch that?!"

"Are you alright?"

You snap your head towards Optimus, his gentle optics stare deep into your own.

You shake your head.

He hums, sliding a thick arm under your back, helping you sit up. His free hand slides over your legs, turning them to hang over the large concrete block you're sitting on.

By now, Ratchet has made his way over to you, an angry look on his face as both he and Optimus help you stand up.

The rest of the team are watching in silence, mouths agape in awe at the sudden transformation they had just witnessed. Seeing you go from such a tiny being, to being slightly larger than arcee was incredible.

Your feet, well, pedes, finally hit the floor, they felt so much heavier than what you were used to. Like someone glued concrete blocks onto your feet.

The two of them loosen their grip on you, the lack of support nearly makes you topple over, making you blurt out an embarrassing yelp.

Ratchet scoffs in annoyance, while Optimus shakes his head, leaning you back to scoop you into his arms.

"Let's keep you off your pedes for a bit."

You don't argue.

Ratchet leads the way to the medical bay, walking a bit faster than Optimus. You can practically hear the anger in his steps.

"I'm so sorry." You whisper, burying your face in your hands. How could you have been so stupid?

"None of that," Optimus pulls your hands away from your face, tilting your chin up.

"It's not your fault, it was an accident. Ratchet might seem angry, but he really is just worried."

Everyone else has since gone their separate ways, still on edge from, the event earlier.

What a horrible way to start the day.

Optimus settles you down on one of the large metal cots, leaning you back against the wall.

He sits down next to you while Ratchet occupies himself with running tests on you. The scanner in his forearm drowns you in a green light, covering you head-to-toe.

Completing the scan, Ratchet turns back around. His digits tap against the keyboard as he types.

You look up to the monitor above his head, the text scrolls down the vibrant green screen.

But you can read it.

It's incredible, you understand it but you also.. don't? You can read it, but the text is still so foreign to you.

The information on the screen appears to be vitals, and though you can read it, you can't quite understand it.

Optimus holds onto your hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. It was a comforting touch.

Ratchet returns to your side, taking an object that looks like a human-ish pistol from the table beside you.

Before you can even breathe, he turns your hand over and shoots your palm. It hurt, but not as much as you had anticipated. It was like getting a flu-shot.

The vial attached to it starts filling with a blue liquid, energon, you presume.

Ratchet doesn't say a word when he pulls the gun away, slotting it into a machine next to your cot.

The awkward silence eats away at your mind, you grip the grey armor plating on your thighs.

"Ratchet.. I didn't mean-"

"Ehp yehp yehp! I don't want to hear any of it."

You sulk your shoulders, hunching your head down as his thick metal digets tap away at the keyboard.

Optimus sighs. "Ratchet..-"

The prime is interrupted by his medic.

"Not you too! I can barely deal with one whining bot, by Primus don't make me deal with two."

Your eyes widen, your hands open in a defensive position.

"I'm not whining!"

He points his thick digit at you. "That, right there, is whining! Can you please try to be quiet while I figure out how to fix this?!" Ratchet huffs, turning away back to his monitor. Mumbling something about humans being loud.

You glare at the back of his head, sighing in frustration.

This week is going to be hell.

#optimus prime x reader #tfp #transformers #ao3 #optimus prime #tfp optimus prime

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sugudoe · 1 year ago

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❛ 𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 | 愛 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𝗴𝗲𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝘂𝗴𝘂𝗿𝘂

✶ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: never one to trust old men in high positions, you decide to follow your guts and track down your best friend to question him on the rumors. what you didn’t expected was to be forced to sit in a small chair and play tea party with two little girls.

✶ 𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: it took me two days to write this, i’m super sick, but i love geto. i also really need to make a masterlist, but i don’t know how to make the link with the name, pls help sos. also reader’s domain name is embarrassing pls ignore it, i’m not good with names. english is not my first language. 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓: reader’s cursed technique is basically ‘enhanced’, anything they do is 100x more, and it’s heavenly influenced by their emotions, mostly anger and another one very special.

✶ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: friends to lovers, mostly fluff but has a bit of angst, mentions of murder, blood, violence, reader has no gender specified except one part where they are called ‘Queen’ but you can read as you please. reader is a special grade sorcerer. suggestive theme at the end. happy ending.

✶ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.8k

You know the Higher Ups can sense the aggressiveness in your aura. Even behind their so called protection nothing could stop you from slicing them with your bare hands, the thought of that ignites your energy. Behind you, someone gasp.

“I’m going to be gentle and kindly suppose this energy you are emitting comes from your anger towards the criminal Geto Suguru.” A male old voice makes itself present.

“If you want to believe that, then be my guest.” You answer in a heartbeat. Principal Yaga is by your side, that was supposed to be his reunion, but when you heard the talk would be about your best friend, Geto Suguru, you barged in the room before Masamichi.

“You are not supposed to be here, insolent girl.” Another voice, still old and male, speaks to you. You roll your eyes and snicker at it.

“You are talking about an important Special Grade Sorcerer, and I know this talk will reach me eventually. If it is true what you say, is either me or Gojo Satoru you will be sending to try to kill him.” Yaga sighs at your answer, but does not stop you.

“What we say? Haven’t you know? Haven’t you seen the pictures?” The first person ask, voice shaking in anger. “Geto Suguru is a monster who needs to be exterminated, he annihilated a whole village and we have prove to believe his own parents as well.”

“We will not send you, L/n Y/n, for your insolence.” A third leader speaks, much calm and colder than the others. “There will be no such thing as try to kill him, Geto Suguru is certain to die. You and Gojo Satoru may be special graders as well, but your loyalty is stained with the blood of those innocents. Someone else will do the job.”

Principal Yaga’s hand reached your back, you turned to him hesitant, you see his head pointing to the doors outside telling you your time here was over.

You moved faster than anyone could see, leaving the school grounds in mere seconds, you reached the forest and let your anger dissipate in the form of a scream, so loud and so yourself, a barrier was created leaving your throat and splitting the trees in front of you.

“Your cursed technique never fails to amaze me, Y/n.” Gojo appeared behind you, his hands falling from his ears. “Unconditionally, huh? Everything you do, you do majestically. Run, scream, jump, punch…”

“Shut up, Satoru.” The tall boy laughed at that.

“I wonder if it works for all your emotions, don’t you?” Gojo circled you, much like a predator ready to strike. “Your anger is your strong point, am I right?” He doesn’t wait for your answer. “Whenever you are angry, you could break Tokyo with just one punch to the floor.”

“Where are you trying to get with that, Gojo?” It had been too long since the last time you addressed your friend as that, your squeezed your eyes at him, but the boy was unfazed.

“Don’t you think the oldest, most powerful emotion in humanity could change you? Transform you into something more dangerous?” He stops in front of you.

“What could possibly be more strong than anger?”

“It’s, obviously, love. I can feel it in your aura the amount of love you have for Suguru.” Gojo says nonchalant, making you question if you heard right.

“What…”

“He is my best friend as well, Y/n.” The white haired interrupts you. “And I love him enough to want to go after him, but for some reason I can’t. I’m afraid I’ll see something terrible, sense the reality, and try to kill him.” Gojo takes your hand in his. “I don’t think I can kill him, but the thought of trying scares me. I can’t lose him, and neither can you.”

“What do you mean by all that, Satoru?” Your whisper barely reached Gojo.

“If it comes to meeting him, you should do it. Your love for him could be either his salvation or we lose you to him, but I don’t think you would mind that, would you?”

“You think he did it?”

“I don’t want to think.”

A week after that weird conversation, Gojo, Shoko and you had been meeting more than normal in private spaces. For the unknown eye, the three of you are just friends catching up after the loss of the fourth party. But in the reality of your room, Shoko has been using her secret weapon to make Gojo’s plan work — her messages with Geto Suguru about you, cute and overly sweet.

“I don’t like this. I don’t get this!” You mumble on your cat plush, a gift Geto gave you. Your whole face is pink and your lips are numb for the amount of time you have bitten it.

“I don’t get it either. She already loves him too much, no need for this torture.” Shoko laughs at your embarrassed state, when she turns to Gojo, the girl scrunches her eyebrows. “What is it, weirdo?”

You turn to look at Gojo and he is intensely staring at you, which makes you feel uncomfortable, and a little scared.

“You can’t feel it?” He simply ask.

“Feel what?” Taking the pillow from under you, you hug it tight to your chest.

“Feel Geto.” Gojo whisper. “Can’t you sense where he is?”

“How on earth would she be able to do that, Satoru?” Shoko mumbles before grabbing her cigarette and moving towards the window. Unfortunately Ieiri is in Gojo’s presence, and the boy follows her quickly to complain about the smell.

You turn your face down to meet the fluffy cat under you, it’s quite ugly but lovely behind its weird black shaggy tissue. Geto had given it to you after one of your first missions together, he took you to a fair and got you the little fella you kindly named ‘Catoru’.

In your heart you could sense the connection to the ugly thing, linking a string that connected your core to its own, and if you turned down the sound of Shoko and Gojo’s bickering, you could feel a third presence in it. You wondered silently if Satoru was right and your so called love for Geto could create this bridge between the two of you, enough that you could sense him anywhere he was. Could Suguru feel you too?

You tried to focus on that silver string that laced both your heart and the plush, closing your eyes you scanned the deepest part of your soul, of your technique, that you had never been knowledgeable about. It was only in what seemed hours later, you opened your eyes with goosebumps all over you.

You turned back, seeing Gojo and Shoko still arguing — it had only been a few seconds. Maybe you were stronger when it came to fondness, love.

You took some days practicing this new technique and also to make sure Geto was still in the same place, not moving around like the criminal everyone thought of him. If he was still that meant he was innocent, right? It had to be.

Gojo barged into your room on the fourth day, his breath unhinged. You jump out of the bed in a second.

“They already send someone!” You stared at your friend with confusion all over your face. “This Grade One from Russia, they said he will become a Special Grade if he kills Geto. He is strong, I could feel him all across the campus.”

Gojo didn’t stop you when you moved to your bathroom and returned with your uniform. You turned to him, who was now sitting on your bed and hugged his shoulders.

“If this is the last time, you need to know you are my best friend as well. And we may fight a lot, but I would burn this world for you.” You let Gojo go and move towards your door, he stays petrified at the ideia of losing you and Geto. “Tell Shoko I love her as well.”

You leave so quickly, lifting dust from the floor and creating a warm breeze that kisses Satoru’s cheeks and tears.

It takes your half an hour to reach the other string — the location Suguru is. And you find him almost instantly, in the garden of the temple he has settled, he uses traditional clothes and his hair is half up and down. You are taken back by his new look, but mostly by the fact he is fighting the russian sorcerer, and he does seems to be nearly losing.

One of Suguru’s curses launches at the unknown male, and that’s the moment your friend notices you. By the look of his face, he was normal, but his hands instantly trembled in your presence. You start to walk towards him, but the foreigner appears again, his sword nearly slashing Geto’s arm off.

You can feel fear creeping your veins, and it’s not good — Fear makes you weak, but how to avoid it when the man you hold so dearly is fighting a life and death battle?

“I wouldn’t oppose to a little help, sweetheart.” Geto’s voice snapped not only you, but the russian, he punches Suguru, who falls, and turns to you.

“They warned me about you.” He says with a thick accent, pointing his sword in your direction. “They gave me the green light to kill you if you come here. So be patient, love. I’m right at you, gotta end this one first.”

You are disgusted by him, but the way he says “Love” reminds you of your mission, and so you look at Geto, who is already staring at you. He simply smiles, and that turns into fuel for your next movements.

It’s like sliding through water, in a quick second you are behind the foreigner. He turns to you startled, and Geto uses the opportunity to move inside the temple. Before the man can do anything, you punch him in his face, and during his dazed state you move your hands, making your signal.

“Domain expension, Unconditional Disaster.”

It’s not long before you come inside the temple, blood drips from your head to your toes, but you are unharmed. Geto knows this, but he can’t help himself and lunges at you, holding your wet face and searching for any bruises, as if him himself isn’t scattered with some.

“My savior.” Geto laughs quietly, and you can’t help but mimic him. He takes you by your shoulder, tainting his robes, he moves with you to somewhere you don’t care to know. You are in his arms and that’s the place you were meant to be. You wonder if Gojo was right, would you trade anything for Suguru?

Inside an ancient decorated room, Geto grabs a pair of clothes you could only guess belongs to him, he takes your hand and you follow him into the bathroom. He doesn’t say anything when he turns the water to cold, as you have always enjoyed.

During the shower, you can’t help but wonder what is going to happen now. Would another sorcerer be sent to kill you and Geto? Would it be Gojo? He wouldn’t do it, you knew that. A part of you was growing accepting your place besides Suguru, maybe Satoru and Shoko, even Nanami, could come as well, you all would be happy.

You left the bathroom already dressed with Geto’s black sweater and pants, while drying your hair you notice Suguru is not there, and also the eerie feeling the whole building has, with that you hold the towel with a bit of strength, before returning it back to the bathroom. You move towards the door, needing to find Suguru like your life depended on this, but before you reach the door pain shoots through your feet.

“Argh! What the hell…?!”

You turn to look down, and what you would expect to be a knife, turns into a mini lego castle, now dismembered. You scrunch your eyebrows, turning your attention from the toy to the room, you start to notice how Suguru’s room is splattered with a couple of children’s plaything. On the wall next to you there is a mini wooden kitchen, with an equally small dinning table. To your other side, near the bed, a fortress made with blankets, massive pillows and fairy lights, there is also an immense amount of animal plushies. Was Suguru trying to heal his inner child or something?

“Getou-sama!” A high pitched voice comes from behind the door, you jump frightened and for the second time, you land on the lego, now breaking it, a few swear words scape your mouth. “What was that? It’s that his girlfriend, Mimiko?” You don’t hear an answer to that. “Hey lady, can we go inside, pretty pretty prettyyyyyy please?”

“Nanako! Getou-sama told us to let her alone.” The second voice, much more calmer interrupts the first girl.

You bite your lips trying to contain a laugh, especially when you notice the doorknob being shaken. If you could guess, the little girl is trying to open but her height doesn’t help. You sigh, grabbing the broken toy near your feet, dropping in a box near the door and with a slow movement, you open it.

“Oh, you are prettier than Getou-sama described.” The blond girl says as soon as she sees you.

She doesn’t wait for your reaction, quickly grabbing the other’s hand and moving both of them inside the room. You turn to her, but keep still at the door, waiting for maybe Suguru to come in and address what is this.

“Come on, please. I want to have tea with you.” You can guess by her voice and direct personality that she is Nanako. She lefts her friend by the small kitchen and comes to you, closing the door behind and grabbing your hands, she moves both of you towards the dinning table, where she makes you sit. You don’t tell her you are uncomfortable sitting on the extremely small chair, but you can bet she wouldn’t care.

While you are fidgeting in your seat, both Mimiko and Nanako are playing pretend with the fake food in the kitchen. You take the opportunity to stare silently at them. Nanako is, obviously stated before by herself, the extroverted one. The girl keeps glancing at you from time to time, giving you either cute smiles or funny faces, to which you start to return back and she laughs sweetly. Mimiko, you could tell since the beginning, is more shy. The dark haired keeps her head down, she steals some glances at you, but when she notices you are looking, she goes back to her play with crimson cheeks.

“What pie do you want?” Mimiko asks with a slight tremble in her voice. The child comes to you with a plate decorated with wooden pies, you pretend to be inspecting each-one.

“What is your favorite?” Your question takes her by surprise. The plate starts to shake a bit but in her lips a small smile is forming.

“The blueberry one.” Mimiko whispers, pointing with her small finger the one of her choice.

“Then I want that one.”

The girl goes back to the kitchen, putting your ‘desert’ on a pink plate. Nanako turns to you with an also pink teacup.

“Then can you have my favorite tea?” Her pretty brown eyes stare at you like a sad puppy, you know she is trying to make you fall for her, and you do within a second, nodding your head.

When your tea and pie is in front of you, the girls fix their own plates and take a seat on the chairs by either side of you, Nanako specially moving hers closer to you.

“Gerou-sama talks about you a lot.” Nanako says while pretending to eat her raspberry pie, she ‘cleans’ the side of her mouth before looking at you. “Mimiko and I have been begging to meet you. He told us you needed to rest, but I think a tea party is the best way to rest.”

“I agree with you, honey.” The girl smiles at you. “And where is Geto?”

“We waited ‘till he was in the shower.” Mimiko answers you, less shy now. You can’t help but laugh with how sneaky both of them are.

“What does Geto talks about me?” You grab your teacup, raising your little finger like Nanako told you to, and pretend to sip on it.

“He talks about how strong you are, stronger than anyone he had ever met.” Is Nanako who answers you, and Mimiko nods. “Getou-sama also says you are his best friend in the whole world… Well, now he says we are his best friends as well. That’s why we wanted to meet you, the four of us can be good friends, right?”

“Yeah, we are going to be the bestest of friends.” Nanako smiles at that.

“He…” Mimiko starts but pause when you turn to her, you smile encouraging. “He also says he likes you a lot.” The little girl whisper, with her small hands on her mouth. “Do you also like Getou-sama?”

Before you can answer, there is a knock on the door and soon it’s opened by none other than Suguru. Long gone is his traditional clothing, now he wears something identical to you, a large pastel pink sweater with sweatpants. His hair is in his famous bun with his charming bang decorating his pretty face. Suguru’s eyes find you instantly, before catching two little girls who are running out of their seats to try to hide behind you, giggling loud.

“Hm.” Geto simple hums, before closing the door and moving toward you, and you bite your lips to avoid laughing. “You know, Y/n, I was going to introduce you to two little sisters I met a while ago, but I couldn’t find them. You haven’t seen them around, have you?”

“Oh, I haven’t, I’m just here by myself having an one person tea party.” You hear two small laughs after your answer.

“Then why is there two extra plates?” Geto sits in the chair in front of you, in his lips is a large smile you haven’t seen in a long time. You are wonderstruck for a moment, before blinking your eyes and staring at the girl’s plates.

“I was very hungry.” At that, Mimiko and Nanako can’t help but laugh louder, coming out of their hidden spot and tackling Suguru with hugs. He closes his eyes and hold the girls in both his arms. Staring at them, you feel your chest warming with a good feeling, he was still your charming Geto.

For some time, the four of you spend the tea play pretending to delight in the fake food, laughing at Suguru’s imitation of a monarch and addressing both Nanako and Mimiko as princess.

“If Getou-sama is the King, then that means Y/n-sama is his Queen?” Mimiko asks after some time, taking you by surprise.

“Hm, I don’t know. Why would that be?” Suguru turns to the little girl who shrugs her shoulders.

“Well, of course, Mimi!” Nanako answers her sister. “Can’t you see?”

“See what, Nanako?” You catch yourself asking.

“You guys are best friends who love each-other, it’s clear as crystal.” The girl get up from her chair and sits on your lap. You pat her little head and stares at her, avoiding Suguru’s eyes, but you can sense he is focusing on you.

“I think it’s time to go to sleep, girls.” Suguru gets up slowly, when you look at him he is picking Mimiko in his arms. “Don’t even try to give me your puppy eyes, Nanako. I’m avoiding them.”

“But…” Pouting, the girl shifts in your lap, hugging your body and staring at you. Damn, she does have puppy eyes that make you want to give her anything. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetie. I’ll be here in the morning.” You shouldn’t have said that, what if Suguru is only opening his house for you for today. You look at him worried, but sighs when see his beautiful contempt smile. “Yeah, I’ll be here.”

Nanako smiles triumphantly, before getting off your lap with a quick kiss to your cheeks, you get up as well and move towards Geto, before you can do anything, Mimiko also kisses your cheek, hers again burning pink.

“Thank you for coming back to Getou-sama.” The girl quietly says, and you pat her head while she hides her shy face in Suguru’s chest. Nanako grabs the man hands and the three of them leave the room, with the girls waving you goodbye.

You turn to the toys around the room and start to clean the dinning table and fix the little mess, trying to occupy your mind from the persistent question: would Geto come back? You hoped so, you wanted to question him on the rumors, but could you possibly do it? You moved towards the bed and sat on it, looking at your hands and remembering the amount of blood you had in it just a couple hours ago — did the same happened to Suguru? Would you still be by his side if it was true?

The door opens a moment later and Geto moves your way so quick, like both of you are magnets. He sits by your side and takes one of your hand in his, his breathing is calm but a part of you can sense the turmoil of his heart.

“How did you knew where I was?” It’s the first thing he says you, his eyes are focused on your tangled hands. “That I needed you? The moment I started to lose that fight, can you believe I prayed for you? And you came.”

“I’ll always come to you, Suguru.” You whisper back, catching his face with your other hand and making he look at you, there is a yellow bruise on his cheek that has your heart breaking. “I knew where you were for some time. Gojo helped me with this… Honestly, I don’t know what it is, there is a connection between you and me, and I followed it to you.”

Geto uses his free hand to caress the one you have on his face, he closes his eyes as if he was finally in peace.

“You want to know the truth, right?” You nod, he doesn’t open his eyes but you know he can sense you do. “I did it.” It’s a quiet confession that has your core shaking. “I went to that village, killed the curse and had to swallow it, the same thing over and over. The monkeys… The non-sorceress took me with them to an abandoned house, leading me to a makeshift cell where there were two sisters, little girls, so beaten their eyes were closed and bruised, their whole body was covered in bruises.” You gasp when you realize Suguru is talking about Mimiko and Nanako. “They have cursed energy, but they didn’t do it, I killed what was tormenting that village and still they were blaming the girls. How could they be so cruel and terrible to defenseless creatures?”

Geto catch his breath before letting go of your hand on his cheeks, he sighs when you remove your hand and his eyes open, moving to the ceiling. You know he wants to cry, that he is frustrate and sad.

“They told me, demanded me, to kill the girls. I couldn’t do it, Y/n, it’s not in my nature, y’know that.” You nod, squeezing his hand. You wouldn’t have killed the girls if you were in his place, but would you have killed the humans? “So, I took the non-sorceress outside and told them everything was fine, the girls were innocent. I begged to take them with me, the assholes wouldn’t have to worry about them anymore. And guess what? They denied me of it, although the girls are orphans, they wanted them for themselves. I was going to open that prison with my bare hands and take Mimiko and Nanako whether they wanted or not. But when I turned back to the house, a man said he would kill the girls himself, and the others agreed.”

You closed your eyes, already knowing how the story ended. Catching your breath, you move your head towards Geto’s chest, and he hugs you instantly.

“What…” You voice is trembling. “What about your parents?”

“I explained to them what happened, but they are non-sorceress, they didn’t understood. Humans are selfish and only trust themselves, they believed the villagers, even when they saw the girls covered in bruised, limpering. I sometimes regret it, but I was so angry, I snapped.”

Suguru’s arms hold you tighter, you could sense the fear he was having right now. After all, he had dropped all his cards at the table, the truth of his murderer nature in front of you, bleeding honesty and terror. You raised your face from his chest and stared at him, the tears shinning his purple eyes fixated on you, only you.

“You can go, if you want.” He says after some time, pain evident in his voice. “Go back to the school, tell them what happened. You can even give them my head if you want.” It hurts your heart that he thinks that of you. But should you do it? Leave Geto, go back to the High Ups and a world of fighting battles against curses, to be killed and replaced by a younger version who will follow your steps, dying as well.

“I want to stay.” You say minutes later. “I want to stay with you, with Nanako and Mimiko. If you would have me.”

Geto’s hands move to your face, staring at your eyes in search for uncertain, for maybe a lie, you can’t tell. You stare at him back with love, after all Gojo was right, you love Suguru more than anything, and have always loved him. From the first day you met each-other, especially right now, where the reality of this cruel life shifted everything you knew. There was no questioning if this decision you made was right, you couldn’t go back to the school after this, your place was by Geto’s side, had always been.

Suguru caress your cheeks, a beaming smile forming on his perfect lips, he touches your forehead with his and the two of you close your eyes. In that moment, you feel his lips on yours, and you don’t take a second to answer his movements, letting his tongue slips in your mouth and his hands fall into your tights, bringing you to his lap. Geto Suguru kisses like a starving man, starving for your love and affection you grant to him so easily, he whimpers under you.

You let his kisses fall to your neck and chest, goosebumps sure to follow, you let Geto be devoted to you like the a deity he worships. He holds you so close, afraid you might disappear somehow, slipping through his fingers. But you don’t, you bring Suguru to your embrace with the same strength he shows you.

That night you know your life changed forever, and maybe the old men with unknown faces and strong powers might send a thousand soldiers to try and kill you, but with Suguru by your side no one could touch you. After all, the ancient and strongest feeling on earth, Love, was the fuel for your powers. And love was with you, in the bed and tangling sheets, love was also in the room next door, sleeping with teddy bears. It was at the other side of Tokyo, white hair and cigarettes, in the future exchanging secrets letters and secret hangouts, even playdates with two more little loves.

You were surrounded by it, emerged in the pure essence. No High Up could come near you or your family, you would make sure of that.

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mediocre-shark-tales · 2 months ago

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Standing on My Own Two Feet

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

Landing in Monaco, I felt the weight of the past weeks slowly begin to lift from my shoulders. The tightness in my chest that had been there since I boarded my flight finally loosened as I stepped through the private terminal, breathing in the crisp night air. I still felt raw—like an open wound—but I was here. I was safe.

I adjusted the hoodie that swallowed me whole, pulling my sleeves down over my hands as I tugged the brim of my cap lower. The mask covering my face hid my expression from anyone who might be watching, but my eyes still darted around anxiously, scanning for them.

And then I saw them.

Max, Ollie, and Kimi stood near the entrance, all wearing hats and masks to shield their identities, but it wasn’t the disguises that gave them away—it was the small, barely legible sign in Max’s hand with my name scrawled across it. My heart clenched at the sight of them, tears immediately welling up as my feet carried me faster across the marble floor.

By the time I was only a few feet away, my carry-on suitcase slipped from my grasp as I all but launched myself at Kimi. He barely had time to react before my arms wrapped tightly around his neck, my face burying itself into the space between his neck and shoulder. He staggered slightly but held firm, arms coming around me securely as if he could shield me from everything.

And just like that, I broke.

Silent sobs racked my body as I clung to him, the weight of everything I had been holding in finally spilling over. Kimi didn’t say anything at first, just hummed softly—a gentle, soothing sound as his hand ran up and down my back in slow, comforting strokes.

"It's okay," he murmured. "You're okay. We’ve got you now."

I felt another hand settle on my back, warm and grounding. Ollie. "Damn right we do," he said softly. "You went through hell and came out the other side, Y/N. You’re one of the strongest people I know, you hear me?"

I pulled back slightly, sniffling as I looked between them. Kimi’s eyes were soft beneath his cap, and Ollie’s gaze held nothing but fierce protectiveness.

“I don’t feel strong,” I admitted, my voice small. “I feel like… like I barely made it out.”

Ollie scoffed lightly. “That’s the thing about being strong, Y/N. It’s not about feeling like you are—it’s about surviving when everything is trying to break you.”

Kimi nodded. “And you did. You got yourself out of there. That’s what matters.”

I exhaled shakily, my body still trembling from the emotions coursing through me.

Max exhaled sharply, his arms still crossed, but there was no anger in his expression when he looked at me—only the simmering rage he held for the people who had put me in this situation.

"You know, Ollie didn’t even finish explaining everything before I told him to I’d send my jet for you," he said, his voice firm but steady. "And I don’t blame you for not calling me first—I know you barely had time to think before Ollie did. But your parents…" His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "They’re the ones I have a real problem with."

I swallowed hard as Max continued, his blue eyes dark with barely contained fury. "The fact that they set you up with men like that—men who had no respect for you, for your safety… The fact that they let it happen and didn’t care—it makes me sick." His voice dropped lower, more dangerous. "Parents are supposed to protect their kids, not throw them to the wolves."

My throat tightened, my fingers curling into the fabric of my hoodie.

"I get it," Max muttered, shaking his head. "More than you know. Some people shouldn’t be parents. And yours? They never deserved you." He met my gaze then, and something in his expression softened, just slightly. "You don’t owe them anything, Y/N. Not a visit. Not an explanation. Nothing. They lost the right to call you their daughter the second they put you in danger and let it happen."

A lump formed in my throat. I had spent so long trying to justify their actions, trying to find some reason why they were the way they were. But Max’s words struck something deep inside me—a truth I had been too afraid to admit.

I had never really had parents. I had just been a responsibility to them. A pawn.

Max exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "If you ever need anything—help, advice, even just someone to vent to—you call me. Because you don’t have to deal with any of this alone anymore, alright?" His eyes darkened again. "And if your parents ever try to worm their way back into your life, you let me know. I’ll make sure they understand exactly what they lost."

The corners of my mouth twitched, my heart swelling despite the emotions still twisting inside me. "You planning to scare them off with your champion status?" I teased weakly.

Max smirked, but there was an edge to it. "If that’s what it takes."

A watery laugh escaped me, and Max finally let out a breath, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

Kimi gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze before finally pulling back, glancing at the row of boxes and bags that had been unloaded from the jet by the staff. “Come on. Let’s get your stuff packed into the car. You’ve got a real home waiting for you now.”

I exhaled slowly, the reality of it all setting in. I was free. I had left everything behind—my parents, the house I had grown up in, the expectations and suffocating control. All that mattered now was the future. A future with the people who had chosen me, just as I had chosen them.

Each of them grabbed a box or bag, the weight seemingly lighter in their hands than it had ever felt in mine. And as we walked toward the car, I realized something. I wasn’t alone anymore and I never had to be again.

I have a family now. A real one. And nothing—not my parents, not the past, not even the scars left behind—could take that away from me.

—

Waking up to the soft morning light filtering through my balcony window, I let out a slow, contented sigh. The gentle warmth of the sun kissed my skin, and for a moment, everything felt peaceful. No rush, no pressure—just a quiet morning all to myself. I stretched lazily, my muscles loosening as I rolled onto my back, savoring the rare feeling of ease. The sheets were cool and comfortable against my skin, and I almost considered staying curled up for a few more minutes.

But the clock on my bedside table reminded me that I had about two hours before the boys arrived. Plenty of time to ease into the day, but not enough to waste.

Kicking off the blankets, I padded over to my bathroom, enjoying the soft feel of the rug beneath my feet. The moment I turned on the shower, steam began to curl around the air, wrapping me in warmth. I stepped in, instantly relaxing as the hot water cascaded down my back, washing away the remnants of sleep. I let myself linger under the spray, eyes closed, breathing in the soothing scent of my body wash as I massaged it over my skin.

One by one, I went through each bottle, carefully working my favorite shampoo into my hair, letting the scent of berries and vanilla fill the small space. The rich, foamy lather slipped between my fingers as I worked it into my scalp, the gentle pressure soothing any lingering tension. I rinsed and followed with conditioner, smoothing it through my damp strands while humming softly to myself.

By the time I stepped out, the bathroom smelled of warmth and citrus, the lingering fragrance of my products mixing with the steam. I grabbed a plush towel, quickly wrapping it around myself before reaching for another to twist up my hair. The feeling of being freshly showered—clean, warm, and relaxed—was one of my favorite things in the world.

Moving into my bedroom, I pulled open my dresser, fingers brushing over the neatly folded clothes as I picked out a set of soft, oversized sweatpants and a matching hoodie. Something cozy. Something safe. I tugged them on before slipping into a pair of thick socks, relishing the warmth as I padded back to the bathroom.

Unraveling the towel from my hair, I took my time carefully drying it, making sure to avoid any unnecessary tugging or breakage. Once it was damp enough, I brushed through it with ease, twisting it up into a loose, effortless updo, securing it with a claw clip. A few strands framed my face, but I didn’t mind.

With my hair taken care of, I turned my attention to my skincare routine. The cool splash of water against my face was refreshing, chasing away the last bits of drowsiness. I moved through each step with practiced ease—cleanser, toner, moisturizer—relishing the way the products felt against my skin. By the time I finished, I felt fully awake, fully refreshed, and ready to take on the day.

I made my way into the kitchen, the thought of a warm drink tugging at my mind. Coffee or tea? After a brief internal debate, I settled on tea, reaching for a soothing blend. As I waited for the water to heat, I leaned against the counter, my mind blissfully blank. No stress. No worries. Just the simple pleasure of a quiet morning.

Then, just as I was about to pour my tea, my phone vibrated against the counter.

I reached for it absently, expecting to see a message from one of the boys letting me know they were on their way early. But the second my eyes landed on the screen, every ounce of warmth drained from my body.

My mother’s name glowed against the glass, her contact staring back at me like a ghost from a past I wanted to forget.

My fingers curled around the edge of the counter as an icy chill ran down my spine. My blood ran cold, my heartbeat hammering against my ribs as I just… stared.

For a second, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Then, slowly, my thumb hovered over the answer button, my stomach twisting into knots.

Finally, I hit the answer button.

The second I brought the phone up to my ear, I heard the shrill, piercing scream of my mother. The sound shot through me like a bullet, rattling every nerve in my body. My grip on the phone tightened as her voice cracked with rage, and in an instant, I was no longer standing in the present—I was thrown backward, suffocating under the weight of memories I had fought so hard to bury.

I was a child again. Small. Helpless. Standing in the center of a pristine living room, my back straight, hands clasped in front of me, as their voices crashed over me like relentless waves. Screaming at me for every misstep, every imperfection, every time I failed to be the flawless little daughter they had sculpted me into. Every time I forgot my place. Every time I let my own thoughts or desires seep through the cracks of the perfect mask they forced me to wear.

And now, here I was again. Right back in that place.

“I cannot believe you,” my mother spat, her voice sharp enough to slice through bone. “Do you even realize how humiliating this is for us? Your father and I have had to sit here and listen to the absolute disgraceful way you treated each of those men! Do you think we raised you for this? Do you think we gave you everything you have just for you to embarrass us in front of the very people we spent years building connections with? Do you have any idea what you've done?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

My father’s voice, colder and heavier than hers, followed like a hammer striking down. “We gave you choices. We were generous. We let you have a say, even when you didn’t deserve one. And how did you repay us? By acting like some ungrateful, selfish child who thinks she can throw away the future we worked so hard to build for her.” He scoffed. “You should be ashamed. You should be on your knees begging for forgiveness.”

“This was your duty,” my mother snapped. “Your only duty. To marry well, to secure this family’s future, to do the one thing we asked of you. But no, instead of being a good daughter, you acted like some spoiled brat, driving away every last one of them! And the worst part? Each suitor came back with a worse story than the last. Do you have any idea how that makes us look? What people are saying about us?”

My father exhaled sharply, the sound dripping with disappointment. “You have single-handedly tarnished your family’s reputation.”

I could feel my stomach twisting, the guilt clawing up my throat like a living thing.

“You weren’t raised to be some foolish little girl who chases love and passion like some nobody,” my mother continued, voice seething with disgust. “You were raised to be better. To be smart. To be a wife to a man who could give you—and this family—stability, wealth, power. And yet, here you are, throwing away every opportunity we gifted you.”

“You should be grateful,” my father said, his voice dangerously low. “Grateful we even allowed you to pick one you liked at all.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my lips together.

“We are not asking,” my mother hissed. “You will fix this. You will apologize to each and every one of them. You will make this up to them tenfold—convince them that you aren’t the ungrateful little disgrace you’ve made yourself out to be. And you will do it immediately before this family’s name is dragged through the mud any further.”

A suffocating silence followed. My pulse pounded in my ears, my hands trembling at my sides. I opened my mouth again, trying to find the right words, something to make the noise in my head stop. But before I could speak, my mother’s voice cut through the silence, cold and sharp as a knife:

“Excuse me? Where is our fucking apology, Y/N?”

The final blow.

And just like that, something inside me snapped.

The guilt, the self-loathing, the paralyzing ache of failure—all of it was crushed beneath a wave of something hotter, something sharper.

Rage.

Pure, unfiltered rage.

I laughed. A bitter, humorless laugh that carried a subtle edge, sharp enough to cut.

"What the hell are you laughing about?" my mother snapped, her voice filled with venomous conviction.

"What is the point anymore?" I muttered, more to myself than to them.

The silence on the other end was deafening. I could almost see their confused, angry faces—my mother’s lips pursed in irritation, my father’s brows furrowed, waiting for me to explain myself, to justify my existence like I always had. But this time, I had nothing left to give them.

"This whole time," I continued, my voice steadier than I expected, "I thought maybe—just maybe—if I did well enough, if I stayed in line and played my role, you two would finally see me. Maybe you’d finally grow to love me the way good parents should. But no matter how hard I tried, no matter how many times I broke myself to fit into the mold you carved for me, you never saw me. I was just a pawn to be moved. A tool to be used."

My mother tried to cut in, but I wasn’t done.

"No, mother," I spat, my voice sharp enough to slice through her interruption. "You both will stay fucking quiet and listen—because I have waited far too long to say this."

And for the first time in my life, they actually shut up.

I exhaled, my breath shaking as I steadied myself.

"For as long as I can remember, I have been a desperate addict, crawling on my hands and knees for a scrap—just a scrap—of your love. And you fed me crumbs, just enough to keep me chasing, just enough to make me believe that maybe, if I was perfect, if I met every single one of your expectations without fail, maybe then… you'd finally love me. But the truth is, you never have. You never fucking have."

My voice wavered, but I forced myself to keep going.

"I convinced myself for years that you still cared, because how could you not? I was your daughter. Your child. But now? Now I realize that I was never a daughter to you—I was a bargaining chip. A means to an end. A body you brought into this world not because you wanted a child, but because you needed one to sell off into a marriage that would benefit you. The only reason I exist at all is because you love Jack too much to ever force him into this bullshit, so instead, you built me for it."

I let out a bitter scoff.

"I mean fuck, it's been, what—seven months since I turned eighteen? And you’re already shoving me at men like I’m some prized cow at auction. And if that wasn’t enough to make it obvious that you don’t give a single shit about me, then let’s talk about the fact that one of those so-called ‘suitors’ was at minimum around your own fucking ages." I let out a dry laugh, full of disgust. "And I’m almost certain he was older. But why would that matter to you, right? So long as he met your standards, who gives a shit about me, right?"

I barely took a breath before pressing on, my voice rising.

"Oh, and by the way—since we’re being honest—the one closest to my age? He was ready to fucking assault me the moment we were alone on our first date. In case he didn’t tell you. But why would he? And why would you care?" My voice cracked, fury and disgust colliding in my throat. "Why would you care that the daughter you raised to be nothing more than a doll, a prize, a fucking asset, was nearly violated by the men you handpicked for her?"

The silence on the other end was suffocating.

I inhaled deeply, grounding myself before delivering my final blow.

"I resent you," I said, the words burning like acid on my tongue. "I resent you for the childhood you stole from me. For the years I spent begging for love that should have been freely given. You were never my parents. Never my family. And honestly? The only person who ever earned that title was buried barely a week ago."

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat.

"Uncle Jeff was the only real father I ever had. He was the only one who ever loved me. And from this day forward, he is my parent. Because it is fucking humiliating—humiliating—to even admit that the two of you are tied to me by blood."

I exhaled sharply, my next words cutting through the silence like a blade.

"I swear on everything I have left, that whatever family I build for myself, I will be a better parent than either of you ever were. But let’s be honest—" I let out a hollow laugh, "that bar is so fucking low I could walk over it without even noticing."

I let the weight of my words hang between us for a moment. Let them sit in the ruins they created. And then, finally—

"So goodbye, Mick and Selina. I truly hope we never see, hear, or speak to each other again."

With that, I ended the call.

Blocked them both.

And then—

The silence hit me like a freight train.

My breathing hitched. My chest clenched, the anger burning away too fast, leaving behind something raw and jagged and unbearable. My hands shook as I stared at the phone, my fingers frozen, unable to move, unable to do anything but feel the weight of what I had just done.

I was free.

I was alone.

My breath quickened. My vision blurred. The room suddenly felt too small, too tight. My heartbeat pounded against my ribs, too fast, too loud, too much. My lungs fought for air, but it wasn’t coming in fast enough.

I tried to steady myself. Tried to think. Tried to move.

But I was already falling.

Falling into the crushing, suffocating weight of panic.

My phone was still in my hand, screen dark, but I couldn’t bring myself to put it down.

I wasn’t alone.

But the panic was already sinking its claws into me, wrapping around my lungs like a vice. My vision blurred as my thoughts spiraled—had I really just cut them off forever? Was I really free? Or was I about to regret everything?

No. I wouldn’t regret it.

But that didn’t stop the fear from creeping in.

My hands were shaking as I forced myself to look at my phone. I needed—someone. Anyone. My family. My real family.

Lando.

Before I could overthink it, I hit the call button.

It rang once. Twice. Then—

“Missing us that much, sweetheart? We’re only twenty minutes away,” Lando’s voice came through, teasing and warm, the familiar background noise of Oscar’s car humming behind him. I could hear Oscar and Franco talking, the energy light, happy.

I tried to say something. Tried to respond.

But my breath hitched instead, sharp and unsteady.

The change in Lando’s voice was instant. “y/n?” The teasing was gone, replaced with something firmer. “Hey—what’s wrong?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing the heel of my palm against my forehead as I struggled to find words. “Parents.” My voice barely came out. “Called.”

Silence.

Then the unmistakable screech of tires.

“Shit,” Lando muttered. “Hang on, sweetheart. We’re getting there faster.”

I could hear Oscar curse under his breath, Franco’s voice urgent in the background. “She’s having a panic attack, isn’t she?”

I let out a shaky exhale, gripping the phone tighter as my fingers dug into my thigh, desperate to ground myself.

“y/n, listen to me.” Lando’s voice came back, steady and commanding, the way he always sounded when he needed me to trust him. “You’re not alone. You hear me? You’re not alone. We love you, okay? All of us. You’re our girl.”

I swallowed hard, but the panic was still there, pressing against my ribs like a lead weight.

“I—I don’t know how to stop it,” I admitted, voice breaking.

“You don’t have to,” Lando assured me. “That’s why you have us. We’ll be there in five.”

I could barely nod, barely do anything but curl in on myself as my body slid down to the cold tile floor of the kitchen. My arms wrapped tightly around my knees, trying to hold myself together, trying to focus on anything other than the spiraling chaos in my head.

I wasn’t alone.

But it still felt like I was drowning.

“The key,” I forced out, voice barely above a whisper. “Fake plant. By the door.”

“Got it,” Lando said instantly.

The call ended.

The silence returned.

But this time, I knew it wouldn’t last long.

I rocked slightly, forehead resting against my knees, trying to count my breaths, trying to slow the erratic rhythm of my heart. I could still feel it clawing at me, the panic, the weight of everything I’d just done pressing down on my chest like an anchor.

Then—

A loud bang against the front door.

Then—

The sound of rushed footsteps.

And then—

Warmth.

Arms—everywhere, all around me, pulling me up, holding me, grounding me in something real. The scent of cologne, the feel of fabric against my cheek, the press of familiar bodies that reminded me I wasn’t alone.

“Jesus Christ, y/n,” Lando breathed, voice unsteady, but I barely registered it as another arm tightened around me.

I was lifted slightly, my body adjusting as someone—Franco?—shifted so I was completely enveloped in them. A hand—Oscar’s—gripped mine, firm and steady.

“You’re okay,” Franco murmured into my hair. “We got you. We got you.”

I squeezed my eyes shut.

They had me.

—

Sitting on the couch, I could finally feel my muscles relaxing once again. The tension that had gripped my entire body for what felt like an eternity finally eased, leaving behind a quiet exhaustion, but also… relief. A weight I had carried for years was gone, and though I wasn’t sure what came next, I knew I had done the right thing.

Lando sat to my left, his hand resting on my thigh, his thumb moving in slow, soothing circles against the fabric of my sweats. He didn’t say anything, just grounding me with his touch. Oscar was on my right, his face still clouded with concern, his arm draped over the back of the couch, hovering just close enough that I knew he’d pull me in if I needed it. On the floor in front of me, Franco sat cross-legged, his hands gently massaging my calves, his brows furrowed like he was deep in thought.

I let my gaze move between them, their presence steady and unwavering. My family.

A soft smile tugged at my lips before I finally found the courage to speak. “I finally stood up to my parents.” My voice was even– stronger than I thought it would be. “They called to berate me, to guilt-trip me. Tell me how embarrassing I was for them.”

I saw it immediately—the shift in their expressions.

Lando’s jaw clenched, his fingers tightening slightly against my thigh before resuming their gentle movements. Oscar exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head, while Franco muttered something in Spanish under his breath, his grip on my legs firming for just a second before relaxing again.

I swallowed, willing myself to keep going. “Something in me just… snapped. When they finished talking, expecting me to apologize, I finally let loose. I told them everything I’ve ever wanted to say, every single thought I’ve buried for years. And by the end of it, I was just done. I told them I was cutting them off, that I was embarrassed to say they were my parents by blood.”

Lando let out a quiet fuck, his thumb stilling against my leg for a moment before resuming its slow, comforting motions.

“I told them Uncle Jeff was my real—my chosen father.”

That was when I saw it—the pride in their eyes.

It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t sympathy. It was pride. A kind of pride that told me they saw me. That they understood just how much this moment meant.

“With Uncle Jeff gone, though,” I continued, my voice quieter now, “that means I don’t have any living family.”

Lando made a soft noise of protest beside me, but I wasn’t finished.

“I didn’t tell them this, but I realized in the last few minutes that I do still have a family.” I glanced between them, my throat tightening with the weight of what I was about to say. “It’s you guys. It’s the people I’ve met on the grid that includes you three.”

Tears burned at my eyes, but for once, they weren’t from sadness or grief.

They were tears of happiness. Tears of relief. Because for the first time in my life, I wasn’t forcing myself to belong.

I belonged.

Franco was the first to move. He surged forward, wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his face into my stomach, his hold tight, as if he was trying to physically keep me together. “Siempre,” he murmured. “You will always have us. Siempre.”

I choked out a small laugh, threading my fingers through his hair.

Then Oscar leaned in, pressing his forehead lightly against the side of my head before wrapping an arm around my shoulders, pulling me in close. “You’re family, y/n,” he murmured, voice firm, certain. “And I don’t care what it takes—we’ll make sure you never feel alone again.”

Lando didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he shifted so he could cup my face in his hands, tilting my chin up so I had no choice but to meet his gaze. His blue eyes were intense, unwavering. “You’re ours,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “You hear me? You’re our family. Not because we feel sorry for you. Not because we have to.” His thumbs brushed against my cheeks, catching stray tears. “Because we love you. You’re stuck with us now.”

I let out a choked laugh, a real one this time, and before I could respond, Lando pulled me fully into his arms. The others followed suit, arms wrapping around me in a tangled mess of warmth and safety.

I let myself sink into them, into the feeling of belonging. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t searching for love. I had already found it, or really, it found me.

—-

As the night settled into something softer, the weight of the earlier breakdown faded into the background. My body still felt a little shaky, and the exhaustion was creeping in, but for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel alone.

Oscar had volunteered—well, been volunteered—to go pick up the Chinese food while Franco busied himself in the living room, gathering every pillow, blanket, and cushion he could find to construct the ultimate movie night blanket fort. His determination was almost comical, muttering to himself about structural integrity and making it “a fortress worthy of kings.”

Meanwhile, Lando and I were raiding my bedroom for any extra pillows and blankets, piling them into our arms.

“Are you sure you don’t have a hidden stash somewhere?” Lando teased, nudging me as I tossed another throw blanket over my shoulder. “Because if I know you, you’re the type to hoard these things.”

I rolled my eyes, but he wasn’t wrong. “I might have a few extra under the bed,” I admitted, kneeling down to drag out a storage bin filled with more soft blankets.

Lando let out a triumphant laugh. “Knew it!”

I smirked, throwing one of them at his face. He caught it with ease, shaking his head at me.

As I folded another blanket over my arm, I hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I’ve been thinking about getting a dog.”

Lando paused mid-motion, looking over at me with curiosity. “A dog?”

“Yeah,” I said, glancing down at the blanket in my hands, suddenly feeling a little nervous. “An emotional support dog, actually.”

Lando’s teasing demeanor softened in an instant. He set down the pillows he was holding and stepped closer, tilting his head. “Oh?”

I exhaled slowly, organizing my thoughts. “I just… I know you guys will always be here for me, but I also know you can’t always be here, you know? You all have your own lives, races, obligations.” I swallowed, my voice quieter now. “I don’t want to be alone when something like tonight happens again.”

Lando didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached out, taking the blanket from my hands and tossing it onto the bed so he could pull me into a hug.

“You’re never alone, y/n,” he murmured against my hair.

I melted into him, the warmth of his embrace grounding me. “I know. But having a dog would help, too. Someone who’s here all the time. I could train them to help me when I have panic attacks—like deep pressure therapy, or even just something to focus on when I start spiraling.”

Lando pulled back slightly, keeping his hands on my arms as he studied me. Then, a slow smile spread across his lips. “I love that idea.”

I blinked. “You do?”

“Of course I do! You’d be the best dog parent ever.” His grin widened. “And we’d totally help you pick one out.”

A relieved laugh escaped me. “You guys would probably try to make me get some high-energy dog that runs as much as you do.”

Lando gasped, feigning offense. “How dare you assume such a thing.” Then he grinned mischievously. “But like, imagine a little Border Collie that zooms around and keeps you on your toes.”

I groaned playfully, shoving him toward the door. “Go help Franco before he collapses the entire blanket fort on himself.”

Lando laughed but relented, grabbing an armful of blankets before heading back to the living room. I followed behind, my heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time.

As we stepped back into the living room, Franco was standing proudly in front of his masterpiece—an elaborate pillow-and-blanket structure that took up half the space.

“Behold!” he declared dramatically, arms spread wide. “The ultimate movie night sanctuary!”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Franco, this looks incredible.”

“I know,” he said smugly, winking at me. “Now, come on, get in! This is a no-stress zone.”

Lando and I exchanged amused glances before setting the rest of the pillows inside. As I crawled in, a sense of peace settled over me.

Maybe I was still healing. Maybe I still had a long way to go.

But surrounded by my chosen family, wrapped in warmth and laughter, I knew one thing for certain—

I wasn’t alone anymore and most importantly…

My Redemption had just begun.

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