Includes characters from Peaky Blinders: Thomas Shelby, Alfie Solomons, Jack Nelson , The King (2019): King Henry V (Hal) , The Witcher: Geralt of Rivia , Harry Styles , Vikings: Ragnar Lothbrok, Ivar the Boneless, The Devil All The Time etc.
Note: All with female inserted characters and are ‘x Reader’ unless stated otherwise. Most fics are written for male characters but not all. Continuously updating as I find or re-read fics.
🍥 - includes wlw
🦋 - personal favorites
🔸 - on wattpad
🔹 - on AO3
Last updated 29 March 2024
TOMMY SHELBY
One Shots
I Need You @m1d-w1nter
He feels a lot of emotions, poor guy.
Is Love Enough? @retromafia 🔹🦋
You took the children and left Tommy to go back to your parents. After few weeks your husband pays you a visit but this time something about him is really changed.
Ambition @padfootdaredmetoo
The reader always wanted a big life and so did Tommy. Promises were made and the reader comes to cash in.
The Matriarch @/retromafia 🔹
When Michael’s trying to take your husband’s crown and his mother takes his side, you don’t hesitate to fight for what’s yours and to protect your family.
Peonies @peakyltd
Set before the war and carries on afterwards, Tommy takes an interest in the girl working in the flower shop.
OC Elanor Shelby @dearshelbyy
Series
Love And Duty @retromafia (OC) 🔹🦋
Tommy Shelby wants Josef Meyer’s men to help him with getting rid of Billy Kimber. Josef Meyer wants someone to take over his business after his death. And for this someone to marry his granddaughter.
All We’d Ever Need @look-at-the-soul
You are Polly’s goddaughter, met Tommy when you moved in with your godmother. After Grace left, when he was broken, in a shell, moved by the pain… until he started noticing you. Then in a serious relationship some unexpected news will shake their worlds a little.
Field Of Poppies @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes (OC)
After being apart for six years, childhood friends Tommy and Amelia reunite under odd circumstances. Tommy is an outspoken young man and Amelia is pregnant and out on the streets. The bond of family can be unbreakable but it is tested often. Especially when Europe descends into war.
In This Together 2 @gypsy-girl-08 🦋
Where the reader is Tommy’s girlfriend, set in season one onwards.
Blind Date 2 @gypsy-girl-08 (Modern AU) 🦋
Tommy meets reader while she’s on a miserable blind date and he decides to make the date his own.
Destined @999itsanemergency (OC)
Saving The Devil @queenshelby
After Tommy’s wife and children died of consumption and he was diagnosed with inoperable tuberculoma, he thought that he lost everything. His life was over, but then, just as he had six months left to live, he met you and you changed everything for him.
Baker’s Girl @everyonesawhore
Thomas Shelby tells his account of how he fell in love with the reader through a series of bedtime stories to their son. This story frequently flips from their past, to Thomas and reader at present.
Silence @creativepawsworld (OC)
In a world where the threat of gangsters is impossibly high. Anastasia Adler finds herself thrusted into their life of criminal activity, killings and racketeering. All for the love of one man who makes her feel at peace in the wake of violence.
Protection @writers-hes
You always knew Tommy as the cheerful boy who took care of you. He always knew you as the smart girl that he visited by the docks. The daughter of a prostitute, the son of a deadbeat father; a soldier who protected his country; a whore who protected him; a gangster who controlled Birmingham; and now, a wife. War changes people, you just didn’t realize that war could change you both.
Blue Skies @cosmic-crybaby
Sparks fly when a self-sufficient, newly single mother meets the cold-hearted bachelor gangster of Birmingham. On their first outing, it was like everything in the world was asking for them to finally meet each other. But when fate intervenes, they soon find themselves suffering the repercussions of their own decisions.
ALFIE SOLOMONS
Series
Tapped Into Tour Mind And Soul @interstellargatorskinboots1812 (OC)
Arabella Shelby is tired of her twin brother Tommy keeping her on the back-foot of what is going on in the family business. She decides that if Tommy won't allow her to come out of the shadows, then she will make light of her own, elsewhere. But will a deal with the devil be the answer to her problems? Tommy has a proposition for Arabella and one that will see her tied to his most untrusting of business associates. Will Arabella take the plunge and start a new life in Camden, beside the eccentric and sadistic leader of the Jewish Gangs in London, Mr Alfie Solomons?
Tea With Mrs Solomons @retromafia 🔹
Alfie Solomons’ eccentric wife is the only woman Tommy can’t ever work out.
(tommy x reader themes in part 2)
Caller ID: Home Margate: Land Of The Dead @sunsetmourners
Being divorced hasn’t been easy, and it’s been especially hard since all you want is your ex-husband and your family to be together again.
JACK NELSON
Series
Little Harlot @zablife (OC)
John’s twin sister is a battle-hardened WWI field nurse who shares her brothers’ philosophy that every day back home is extra. In a bid to curb her disastrous thrill-seeking, Tommy sends her to Boston to keep her out of trouble and handle legitimate business. Tommy’s plan backfires when she meets rival gangster, Jack Nelson.
Laundry Girl @retromafia 🔹
Jack’s the one collecting money for the gang’s “protection” around your neighbourhood. You work at your step-father’s laundry and crush on the gangster. One day he finally asks you out.
Welcome Home Daddy @retromafia 🔹
Little Maggie Nelson can’t wait for her daddy to come back home from his business London trip.
RAGNAR LOTHBROK
One Shots
Never Be Rid Of You @/kiki0005
You and Ragnar are separated but when another man comes into your life, Ragnar is quick to remind you, you are his.
Series
The Second Wife @kiki0005
After your mother was killed by a king of Norway, your are taken as a hostage for a whole year. Your only escape from the cruel king is marrying Ragnar Lothbrok. A man twice your age. A man married. A man already a father. You are desperate to escape the vile king, and Ragnar is desperate for the resources the king can give him, so you both agree. Your marriage is strained at first but Ragnar soon comes to realize he loves his second wife more than his first.
Hemita @syntheticavenger
Your gift from the Gods keeps your village safe, until a sign brings a stranger to your world, upending everything you've ever known.
IVAR THE BONELESS
Series
Honor and Blood @conaionaru
Vanya is forced to marry a Ragnarsson to keep her country safe from the Vikings. Her brother chooses the perfect husband to break her spirit once and for all - Ivar.
HARRY STYLES
One Shots
Masterpiece @harryforvogue
Rude art student Harry & shy muse Reader.
A series of imagines based in the same universe:
Hades Harry x Persephone Reader @sunflowervolvimp3
CEO Harry x Model Reader @and-im-okay-with-it
Series
Only Angel @blushmis / @halomis (70s Rockstar AU) 🔸🦋
The 70s. A time of free love and music. A revolution. And that’s exactly what Harry and reader journey through together as the upcoming rockstar Harry Styles’ music career gains fame all across the nation. When sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll are involved, along comes many mishaps between Harry and reader’s relationship.
When The Sun Sets @harryforvogue (Post-WW1 AU | OC) 🔸🦋
It’s 1919 in New York and Harry has been back from the western front for months now. Once an optimistic and enthusiastic-about-life person, Harry has returned from France nervous and constantly on edge. The fallout from the war has been incommunicably overarching their relationship for months now. Tired of suffering with PTSD, Harry proposes he and Annaliese take a trip to get a change of scenery. A vacation (or a belated honeymoon, as Annaliese likes to bitterly think). They visit two places in the east coast of America, learn about each other, and consider their relationship and where it currently stands.
WTTS EXTRAS: Bad Dreams → Domesticity → Caught In The Rain
‘Cause Nothing Feels Like Home @harryforvogue (OC)
The one where writer!harry and his wife, safiyya, take a break from their marriage, as encouraged by their counselor, for thirty days.
Theadora @meetmymouth
A collection of stories about ex husband!harry
Enticing @unabashegirl
Harry Styles is a young billionaire and CEO of his own company. He mostly keeps to himself, he is stern and very meticulous when it comes to business. He also likes to keep his personal life very private for the sake of his newly born son Oliver Styles. It isn't until he meets Y/N Y/L/N that everything changes. She becomes his new nanny after his previous one quits due to personal reasons. She is young, caring, and sweet. Will they ignore their feelings? Will Harry's girlfriend accept their love and leave them? Will she be able to cope with his busy agenda? What about Oliver's mother? Where is she? Who is she?
KING HENRY V
Series
The Queen @/kaiswan94 (OC)🔸🦋
Lady Catherine de Valois's marriage to King Henry V of England is much more complicated than she had ever imagined. How will she navigate her loyalties, her life in a strange new land, and her blossoming feelings for a man she is supposed to hate?
The King @/blazeofphoenix 🔸
“A crown is a great weight to bear. But even greater is the weight of a crown at war.”
Henry meets a free spirited girl, who teaches him many things. Combat… wisdom… and love. She’s not like anything he’s ever seen before. And yet, a king has his duties. But what weighs down a soul more, love, or power?
GERALT OF RIVIA
Series
A Fate Unimagined @darklydeliciousdesires (OC) 🦋
ARVIN RUSSELL
One Shots
Going to California @allegra-writes
Arvin hitchhikes with some hippies.
Day In The Woods @just-a-writing-fan
You convince Arvin to have a picnic in a special place with you and your daughter Angel.
Series
Repent @ephemeral-parkers (Black Reader)
Y/N Lewis and Arvin Russell are best friends. For over ten years, they’ve never been apart. Unfortunately, not everyone in their town are huge fans of Arvin being so close with a colored girl.
WILLARD RUSSELL
Series
Fire and Brimstone @ohhey1293
[Not continued past first chapter]
FEZCO
One Shots
Faye @sublimecatgalaxy
You’re getting along with Faye while you’re all living together and Fez gets a little jealous of all the attention she’s getting.
DABI
One Shots
Cyber Sex @/sauza 🔹🦋Smut
.
MISC.
Come Away With Me @all1e23 - Bucky Barnes | Oneshot
Mystery of Love @the-great-imagines-of-1812 - Jo March | One Shot. Fluff, angst & more fluff. 🍥🦋
Familia @merakiaes - Oscar “Spooky” Diaz | Mini Series
Untitled @pigeonp0st - Villanelle | Angst 🍥
First Time @slytherweasley - Pansy Parkinson | Smut 🍥
Ring Girl @blinder-secrets - Bonnie Gold | Mini Series
A Ghost Story @wondernimbus - Cedric Diggory | One shot
Untitled @astroluvr - Jack Harlow | One shot
California Friends @sweetandsourfics - Billy Hargrove | Mini series
One Night And One More Time @lifeofa-fangirl - Damiano David | Smut
————————
⚠️And as always anything written about real people only uses them as a basis for the story. No one knows them in real life and no one should think that they do from any of these stories⚠️
PLOT. when you realize your husband might still be hung up on his ex-wife.
WARNINGS. mdni, angst, smut, themes of divorce, you are megumi's step mom, age gap, Toji's ex-wife's name is Rei, half-assed proofreading.
CHARACTERS. FUSHIGURO TOJI.
masterlist
CHAPTER ONE
warnings: mdni, 18+, kind of angsty, smut, degrotary terms (slut, bitch), saying the wrong name (whoopsy), drunk sex, very very very slight anal penetration, you are megumi's step mom, age gap, Toji's ex-wife's name is Rei.
CHAPTER TWO
warnings: mdni, 18+, angst, angst, and more angst, smut, oral sex (m. receiving), age gap, Toji's ex-wife's name is Rei.
CHAPTER THREE
warnings: themes of a possible divorce, sad gumi, angst.
CHAPTER FOUR
warnings: mdni, 18+, themes of divorce, brief smut, angst but kinda fluff, slight comfort, sad gumi, toji's ex-wife's name is rei.
CHAPTER FIVE
warnings: themes of a possible divorce, angst, toji's ex-wife's name is rei, not proofread.
CHAPTER SIX
warnings: themes of a possible divorce, angst, smut, cunnilingus, toji's ex-wife's name is rei, not proofread.
PLOT. when you realize your husband might still be hung up on his ex-wife.
WARNINGS. themes of a possible divorce, sad gumi, angst.
CHARACTERS. FUSHIGURO TOJI.
WC. 1.8k
masterlist :: crybaby masterlist
chapter two
"And I still think you shouldn't. Let's get divorced."
Megumi had taken an immediate ride home when his Uncle Satoru slipped up and revealed his parents' situation.
The ground had been ripped from beneath his feet when he heard about their divorce. The news left him in disbelief, he was practically reeling from shock when he first heard it.
He would have never imagined that his parents' relationship would come to such a drastic end. His parents, the most loving people he knew and probably will ever know, were getting a divorce.
His leg was shaking the entire train ride, anxiety flying through the roof. He had given his father one phone call informing him of his return, only giving you a text in contrast.
He only did so knowing his father rarely ever checked his messages. And now knowing the situation, he doubted the two of you were in talking terms.
That wouldn't happen though, right?
His parents won't outright stop speaking to one another, they still had him, so they can't. Right?
A deep sense of sadness washed over him as he realized the impact the divorce would have on his family. He couldn't bear the thought of his parents parting ways.
He had never seen the two of you ever show dislike towards each other. There was no animosity, only love. Then how come this was happening?
Was he the reason the two of you still stuck together? Because the moment he left for college he was struck with the knowledge of your divorce. Guilt gnawed at his heart, the weight of responsibility pressing down on his shoulders.
Should he have not left in the first place? The question lingered, a bitter reminder of the changes that had unfolded.
Did his absence somehow put a strain on your relationship?
He was scared for many reasons, but the most important one was custody. Still under the age of 18, he was an important part of their divorce, meaning having to decide who could legally take care of him.
There was a low chance that you would get custody, and at this point, he doubted you would fight for it.
You're already away from him due to college, but this would mean you'll truly be apart. Whenever he came home, you probably wouldn't be there.
If you were, you would be visiting the house, not living there.
As the train neared his destination, Megumi's thoughts were a whirlpool of emotions and unanswered questions. Returning home felt like traveling into the unknown, a path filled with pain and sorrow.
When Megumi arrives at the train station, his father is there to meet him, offering a lift in the family car. Megumi places his luggage in the car trunk and then takes a seat in the back.
Toji glances at him through the rearview mirror and makes a usual taunt.
"I'm not your fuckin' chauffeur. Get in the front" Toji says casually. Megumi rolls his eyes subtly before complying with his father's request.
As they drive home, the atmosphere inside the car feels tense. Megumi steals a few glances at his father, noticing the lines of worry etched on Toji's face.
He wants to ask about the divorce, about why his precious Ma is leaving them, but the words get stuck in his throat, suffocated by the weight of unspoken truths.
Toji clears his throat, breaking the heavy silence in the air.
"How's college been, kid?"
Megumi shifts uncomfortably in his seat, torn between the facade of normalcy and the conflict brewing inside him.
"Okay."
Toji nods, but there's a distant look in his eyes, as if his mind is elsewhere. The car ride continues in a sad quiet, each passing mile a reminder of the growing distance between the family members.
As they pull up in front of their home, Megumi hesitates before getting out of the car. He turns to his father, searching for answers in the depths of Toji's gaze.
"Dad, can we talk?" Megumi's voice wavers, unsure if he's ready to confront the painful truths lurking beneath the surface.
Toji locks eyes with his son, his gaze conveying a blend of acceptance and yearning, reflected in his eyes.
"Not now, kid. We'll talk, but not now."
With a heavy heart, Megumi steps out of the car, the weight of the situation lingering in the air like a silent plea for understanding.
The moment he faces the house, he's met with you at the gate.
Look at you...smiling as if nothing's wrong.
"'Gumi!" You run up to him, engulfing your dear son in your arms. He can't resist, and your embrace almost makes him falter.
With no words being said, he wraps his arms around you, returning your affection.
"Your bags." Toji comes up behind the two of you, passing Megumi his luggage when he separates from you.
"Could you bring these from the store, Toji? We're a bit short." You ask softly, handing him a small piece of paper. Toji nods, his fingers lingering against yours when he takes the list from you.
"Your father and I are making Chicken and Egg Rice bowls with extra ginger! Just how you like it!" You're enthusiastic as you relay today's lunch menu, leading him into the house.
"I'll help."
"Nonsense! You just came back home. Go take a nap if you want to." You reach up to pat his head sweetly.
Do you really think he can sleep in this situation?
"I slept on the train, so..." He lies. You chuckle, obviously believing him.
Except you didn't believe him, not when the bags under his eyes were apparent to you. But if this helps to keep the atmosphere lively, so be it.
You'll pretend for a while longer.
Due to his sudden visit, you had an inkling of his knowledge about the possible divorce
Satoru probably opened his big mouth.
"So, let me get this right," Satoru started, leaning back in his chair with a playful glint in his eyes.
His demeanor was a mix of casual confidence and genuine concern, especially when it came to you and Megumi.
You were seated across from him and couldn't help but smile at Satoru's familiar mannerisms.
"Go ahead, Uncle Satoru. Shoot." You match his behaviour, trying to lighten your mood. He notices this by the small stress in your tone when you say 'uncle', taking a play at the way Megumi addressed him.
Satoru chuckled, tapping his fingers on the table.
"You're telling me that you and Toji are on the brink of divorce? The perfect couple, the envy of every relationship out there?" Your smile fades slightly, replaced by a hint of sadness.
"It's complicated, Satoru. There's been a lot of self-doubt and insecurity on my part, and Toji feels like it's better if we part ways."
Satoru raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting to one of curiosity.
"And Megumi? How's he taking all of this? He still at college?"
A flicker of concern crossed your face.
"He doesn't know yet. We've been trying to shield him from the tension, but I don't know how long we can keep it up. He's quite sharp."
Satoru leaned forward, his tone serious yet comforting.
"You know I'm here for both of you, right? Whatever you need, just say the word."
You managed to grace a grateful smile, touched by Satoru's unwavering support.
"Thank you, 'Toru. It means a lot, especially now."
What you hadn't remembered about Satoru at this moment was his meddlesome persona. So you didn't notice as his mind was plotting a way to take this problem into his own hands.
You sigh, suspecting that Satoru let it slip, and not by chance either.
"So? What's with the sudden visit, 'Gumi? It's not even been two weeks."
"Can't I visit my home?" Megumi answers back with a question, eyes not leaving the potato in his hand, running the peeler across it.
PEEL
"It's nothing like that. I mean, I know I said you can skip a few lectures..."
PEEL
"...but isn't this going overboard?"
PEEL
"Well, it's not like I can be mad about it..."
PEEL
"...I missed you dearly, my baby." You smile sweetly, hugging him from behind, arms circling his stomach.
PEEL
"'Gumi?" You question when Megumi doesn't respond.
PEEL
"Hon?" You pull back, genuinely concerned.
PEEL
"'Gumi? Is something the matter-"
"You're leaving us, aren't you?" Megumi's hands cease to move.
Your heart sank as Megumi's abrupt question hung in the air. You hadn't expected him to bring up such a heavy topic during what seemed like a simple moment in the kitchen, but you should've known better.
Taking a step back, you let out a sigh, gaze soft yet filled with concern.
"So you found out...Was it Satoru, or your father?"
Megumi's hands remained still, the peeler forgotten amidst the weight of his words.
"Does it matter?"
Your heart clenched. Silence settled between the two of you, punctuated only by the sound of the peeler dropping onto the kitchen counter.
Megumi's eyes were now fixed on you, searching for reassurance amidst the turmoil of emotions.
As he turned to face you completely, you took a careful step back, creating a comfortable distance between the two of you.
"Listen, Megumi. Your father and I are going through a tough time, but we haven't made any decisions yet. We're still figuring things out." You say, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Megumi's shoulders tensed as your fingers made contact, the muscles beneath his skin stiffened with subtle resistance.
His eyes revealed a mix of sorrow and uncertainty as he came to terms with emotions too complex to fully understand.
"But... are you going to leave?" You shook your head gently at his question.
"I don't know, Megumi. It's complicated, and I wish I had all the answers for you."
"Do you not...love Dad anymore? Or me?" He asks the question that has been torturing his mind. You reel back in shock, eyes shining with unshed tears.
"Of course, I do! It's just sometimes...I feel like a stranger in my own family." You spoke earnestly, wiping the tears before they seeped down your cheeks
"But you're my Ma..."
You broke down because of the silent cry in his words, the weight of the situation pressing down on you.
"I'm sorry, hon. But I know that your father's heart will always be set on Rei."
"That's not fair...!" The sudden spike in his volume stunned you momentarily. There was a lot Megumi took after Toji, his ability to remain calm being one of them, but being pushed into such a situation can be enough to break someone.
"Why are you blaming Dad?" He's looking at you, and you can see the truth behind his visage.
He was blaming you.
Of course, You are the one to blame here, but it still hurts.
"He's always seen you as my mother, from the day I called you 'mom'. He loves you Ma..." He says, voice growing softer with every word.
"I know that, 'Gumi—"
"Didn't you love someone once before you met Dad? But now you only love Dad. How is that any different from his side."
Megumi was trying hard to reason with you. If only things were that simple.
"I'm sorry, Megumi. But there are complexities... things you're not aware of."
"Tell me! Maybe I can help!"
"No. It's something only I can fix. But, my heart just isn't ready for it."
A moment passed, sadness tainted your face as tears welled up in Megumi's eyes, and he turned away slightly to hide his emotions.
"I don't want things to change. I don't want us to be apart."
A sob follows after, moving closer to wrap your arms around him, holding him close.
Overview: Continuation of Part 2, Toji gets a call in the middle of the night—Now all a sudden he has to leave?
4:00am
Buzz. Buzzz. Buzzzzz—“Damnit Shiu what?!” Toji groaned into cellphone turning his head away from where you slept curled in his side with your head on his chest. His Business partner was currently giving him the deeds on a special grade sorcerer who needs handling, “This is big money I’m talking about Toji, thought you might be interested.”
Toji listened half asleep with a sigh, “it’s not like she’s taking me back anytime soon—I really need that money.” He thought to himself before slowly sitting up, slipping from your grasp. You stir awake inevitably feeling his absence, you watch him standing in front of the window, the moonlight illuminating his skin as he put his phone in the pocket of his sweatpants that already hung low enough for the waistband of his boxers to show. He then froze, curse those keen senses he had. “Sorry, I gotta go handle some business.” he said looking over his shoulder at you. “What business? Its way too early.” you said sitting up grabbing a pair of shorts from the bedside drawer. “Dont worry about it, I’ll be back before you know it so relax.” you huffed growing irritable by second as you thought of all the reasons he could have for leaving at this hour. “Whatever, Dont bother coming back. I dont wanna get Meg’s hopes up.” you sighed turning over to face the opposite side of the room. “The fuck are you talking about?”
“You know what the fuck Im talking about Toji, dont give me that shit!” you snapped back, he sighed cranning his neck to tilt his head at you with an irritated look. He knew exactly what you were talking about, but alas he kept his mouth shut refusing to admit it as usual. You rose from the bed holding your hand out, “let me see your phone.” “what? hell no.” he scoffed backing up as you sped toward him reaching for his pocket swiftly pulling it out before he could react. He tried to grab it back from you but you were quick, and small, it was no use. You began scrolling through his call logs, “what? Is she prettier than me?” “Oh you’ve gotta be kidding me. Just give it here Y/N Fuck!” he complained wrapping his arms around you from behind lifting you off the floor, thats when you paused. A familiar name at the top of his call log, “Shiu Kong” he sensed your emotion and immediately started talking, “I know what it looks like.” he started as he loosened his grip on you letting your feet touch the floor, “Baby, this isnt a full time thing alright? Its just–” “ you said you were done.”
“I know what I said sweetheart, and i am done, I am– I just need to do this one last job-” you threw his cell phone directly at his head only for him to dodge it sending it straight into the wall behind him. “Do you want to be alone for the rest of your life, huh? Cus’ thats exactly how this shit is gonna end for you.” “You dont understand y/n I have to do this.” he reasoned with you, “Do what? Push people away in order to prove something to no one at all? I told you to drop the assassin work before meg was even born but you just cant possibly put anyone before your selfish judgement can you? Do you want me in an early grave toji?” he shook his head, “No! Fuck, You dont know half the shit ive been through growing up in that fucking family.”
“Oh I think I know enough.”
“ I barely know who the fuck I am and your trying to take the only thing i actually know how to do.”
“YOUR NOT A ZENIN ANYMORE.”
You yelled silencing him for a moment, then a small voice cut through the silence, “Daddy?” you both turn your heads to the disheveled toddler. You watch as he waddles into Toji’s open arms, laying his head on his shoulder, “sorry champ, did mommy wake you?” He spoke aloud shooting you a glare causing you to scoff. You picked the man’s slightly cracked phone up off the floor handing it to him and reaching for your son, “cmon Meg, Daddy has to leave.” He began to whine gripping Toji’s shirt, “I can stay until you fall asleep bud don’t worry.” He said turning away from you lightly rocking the boy. then his phone began to ring, he cursed under his breath before bringing the boy to you, “Mh—No! Daddy stay!” His little voice broke as you pried him off of the man, “Say Goodbye Megumi.” You told him sternly as his tantrum progressed, you cradled him wiping his tears as he held his hand out for his father who stood just out of reach.
Before you could properly react he placed a hand on you and your son’s head pressing a tender kiss to you both. Then he was gone.
A/N: Sorry not Sorry. Yes I went there. Follow for more!!
Synopsis: There’s only two girls in Geto Suguru’s life, her precious 4-year-old and you—except you’re too far from his grasp as you both fell apart. But co-parenting was definitely the window he needed to get back at you again. Hopefully, it's not a co-parenting gone wrong.
Pairings: ex-husband!Suguru x Reader
Warnings: explicit content, r18, filthy smut, fem!reader, fairly graphic description of sex, porn with plot, kirara as your babygirl!, light angst (avoidant suguru), oral (m and f receiving), squirting, fingering, light choking, sugu’s tatted arms and pierced d!ck, mirror sex, multiple orgasms, mating press, breeding, he puts u in a headlock, nasty (dis)respectful sex
wc: 7.5k
Co-parenting has always been fairly easy especially for relationships that are rooted in utmost respect for their once partner, the kid is always the priority for parents. And it should always be that way. However, that’s not the case for all, particularly your relationship. Sometimes, your ex-husband’s 27 year old brain still… refuses to function properly for some reason.
It’s not that he’s not competent or that he’s a deadbeat—no, he’s such a great father in fact. He never forgets to take your daughter on dates, tuck her in, read her bedtime stories and even attempts to braid her hair. Everyone thinks that he’s just made for being a girl dad and you couldn’t agree more, he’s the best… dad, that is. It’s just that… the boundary between exes blurs when you come over to pick up or drop your kid off at his place.
Standing before you is your ex-husband, Suguru, leaning against the front door of his home wearing cozy sweatpants and no shirt but a lone towel slung around his neck. Your eyes zeroed on his tatted arm and his pierced ears. He’s doing this on purpose. And you? You’d be lying if you said it doesn’t affect you one bit.
You kissed your daughter goodbye for the weekend and she smiles up at you before skipping towards her dad. Suguru ruffles her hair, giving her a sweet smile that she definitely got from him. “Go inside, kiddo. Just need to talk to your mom real quick.”
Suguru smirks at you, hands behind his back like a gentleman waiting for orders. Although orders weren’t given but “nagging masked by reminders” according to him. He had no problem listening to them but sometimes it does irk him when you make him feel like you don’t trust him enough to be a responsible parent to his own daughter.
Hell, he’s only responsible when it comes to his daughter but his respect for this whole setup depletes when it comes to you. Fuck being exes. You crossed your arms against your chest and Suguru braced himself for the string of agitating reminders.
“Sugs, she just recovered from a fever. Stop giving her too much sugar and make sure she’s well hydrated. Keep an eye on her, bedtime is at 10pm. I’m sure you already know that but I'm still reminding you. Also, she has daycare tomorrow, tuesdays to thursdays.”
The man let out a sound between a sigh and a chuckle because he had heard that same reminder from last week and the week before, he’s just letting you off the hook right now because he likes seeing you turn into a nagging mom lowkey. He nods his head, “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. She’ll be fine. I know how to watch the kid, I’m her father after all.”
“I know but…” you peered over his shoulder to give your daughter another smile as you’ll be separated from her for a week again. “Sometimes you can get so reckless, just need to make sure she’s okay. Text me if anything happens or if you have questions about her daycare sessions. Strictly those sessions.” you warned in which he just laughed softly at.
You squinted your eyes at him because there’s just no way he can keep his word after last week’s ‘emergency’ call and it was just him phoning you to tell you he missed you. Who the fuck calls “missing my ex-wife” an emergency?
Suddenly he was inching closer, personal bubble invaded and you had to remind yourself why your relationship wasn’t the greatest—inside and outside of co-parenting. His purple irises stared into yours before scanning you up and down. “You need to chill out, ma, you worry too much… Kirara will be fine. Stop acting like I'm an incompetent father or something.” he mumbles as his hands find your shoulders, relaxing them until they drop to your sides.
“You’re so immature. Stop touching me like that. Have you forgotten we’re stupid exes now?” you cringed, rolling your eyes at him and clutching your bag tighter. His hands do flee away, now moving to cross over his chest, tattooed arms flexing as he does. Suguru clicks his tongue before mocking you for saying you’re just “stupid exes”. Clearly, he was affected by the sudden imposition of such label on your relationship.
“You know what? Fine.” he stepped aside dramatically, arm extending to grandly gesture towards the door. “Go on then, run away like always.” A beat of silence. Then he mutters under his breath a small “Still miss you though,”
Rolling your eyes again, you stepped out onto the porch before snapping your head in his direction after hearing his accusation. Run away like always? You knew in yourself that you never ran away from anything—from him, sure you did, but it was a mutual decision to go your separate ways so of course you took offense in that. You ran away because you wanted to fix things.
The topic about your breakup was still a mystery to him—a sensitive one, despite you explaining everything to him why you two needed to break up. Because you were two very different people with very different ideals, and somehow, your daughter is the only one who's keeping you afloat.. well, barely. But you’re trying to give her the best life she could ever have, to raise her together so she would never have to ask where mommy or daddy is.
Suguru's jaw clenches at your bitter remark, his eyes narrowing as he studies your annoyed expression. "Yeah, right." He huffs, running a tattooed hand through his tousled hair in frustration. "Looking for solutions is a bullshit excuse.." The corners of his lips twist into a sarcastic smile, his words cutting through the air like a knife. "And do you think I don't know why we broke up, huh? You were never satisfied with me, with us."
His words were a sharp sting, his ego still bruised from the breakup. You narrowed your eyes at him so as to send him a warning before yanking his arm to drag him out the door farther from your daughter who was enjoying her fruit snacks on the couch. “Do not put me in the wrong here. I wasn’t the only one who had shortcomings. You never compromised. I bent my back a thousand times to meet you, Suguru.” you snap, finger sending a jab to his chest.
He lets out a scoff as you drag him aside, his strong frame easily following after you but his expression remains stubborn.
"You never compromised either, smartass." He retorted back, closing the distance between you even more, his voice rising ever so slightly. "You always nagged at me, criticizing every little thing I did. You think you were the only one suffering here? You demanded a lot."
"Two years after we've broken up, Suguru, and here you are. Still prideful. Never changed one bit, huh?" you hissed.
Suguru clenched his jaw at your words, his ego bruised even more. His eyes narrowed, and he scoffed, "Oh, because you've changed so much, right?" His body seemed to cage you against the wall, his proximity so close, you could feel the heat radiating off him in waves. He thinks you're still as infuriating as ever.
Suguru chuckled darkly, a bitter edge to his tone. "Still bossy, huh?" He leaned in even closer until his face was only inches from yours. His eyes flickered to your lips for a split second before meeting your gaze again. He placed a hand on the wall beside your head, trapping you further, his body practically pinning you.
Just then, your 4 year old called out, little head of dark hair peeking from behind the front door, snapping you both from your intense argument. "Mommy! Daddy! Are you kissing?"
Your face flushed at your child's remark. Suguru happened to be a flustered mess too, tattoos doing nothing to mask his obviously worked up nature, and suddenly you were a muttering mess of "yes'es" and "no's".
"No, no, darling.. we're not— we were just talking.. I'll go now," You said softly, crouching down to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear and kissing her forehead for assurance. Suguru’s heart warmed at the sight unfolding before him. Despite everything, he always loved seeing how good you are as a parent but damn his pride for not letting him admit it out loud. "Mommy will see you in a week okay?”
Kirara mumbled a chirpy “okay” before waddling back inside as you and Suguru still fought in an intense silent argument, one you hated so much because it reminded you of the bitter past. Past aside, you were still bothered by your four-year old’s bluntness. Kirara was always a bright child, that she got from you and her daddy who always spoke his mind.
Suguru watched you leave, a mix of frustration and disappointment flashing across his face. He wanted to call out to you, say something, anything. But the words died in his throat, swallowed by his stubborn pride.
As the sound of your car engine faded into the distance, he leaned against the doorway, a frown etched on his features. The silence in the apartment felt heavy now, and his daughter's voice from the living room only served to emphasize the void that you'd left behind.
"Damn it…”
Your ex-husband couldn't focus on anything for the rest of the evening. He tried to keep his daughter entertained, but his mind was elsewhere. His thoughts kept drifting back to you, to the argument earlier, and to the fact that he had to spend a whole week without you. It was true that he did miss you. He had been thinking about it for a while, apologizing and mending burnt bridges but he can’t seem to swallow his pride for shit.
His daughter noticed how restless he was, concern growing over her little mind, to which he plastered on a smile and assured her that everything was fine. But there was a subtle pain in his eyes that spoke volumes, betraying his nonchalant facade.
It has been two days since Sunday and Suguru hasn't texted yet—not that you were hoping he would but relief washed over you to know that he's doing okay with parenting your daughter, no issues so far. Suguru is a dick and he'd always been one but you can’t deny how much he loves your baby girl too and how he would endure stuff for her.
A pang of hurt shook your feelings at how you hoped he’d show the same effort when you were still married. But like they say, the past is in the past. Some things are meant to be buried, not the reason for your stupid breakup though since it seems like every time you see each other, it's always been brought up either way. It's honestly getting exhausting at this point.
Suguru stared at his phone screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard for what felt like the hundredth time. He'd typed out a few messages: "Kira asked if you were coming to tuck her in tonight," or "She keeps asking when you're staying the night."
But he deleted them all with a scoff. Why did it always have to be him reaching out first? Suguru slumped back on the couch, running a hand down his face as Kirara giggled at some cartoon across from him. His daughter glanced up, sensing something was off again—her tiny nose scrunching in concern before she piped up, "Daddy… are you sad too?"
The question hit him like a punch to the gut.
Suguru froze at his daughter's question, the raw honesty in her tiny voice making his chest ache. He didn't know how to answer, how to explain that yes, he was sad, but not for the reasons you’d think. His jaw tightened as he watched Kirara’s bottom lip wobble slightly, her little fingers clutching a stuffed animal too tightly. An exhale left his lips before scooping her up abruptly against his chest, ignoring the way she stiffened in surprise.
"Tch… No," he lied gruffly into her hair, his grip just a little too tight, as if holding onto something would stop it from slipping away entirely. Kirara, however, saw through him like glass. The little girl squirmed in his lap, her round eyes peering up at him with an innocent concern she shouldn't possess at her age.
She reached up with a tiny hand, her little fingers grasping at his cheek to try and soothe the frown that seemed permanently etched on his face. He let out a low, strained sigh again at the touch, his expression softening despite himself. He'd become used to bottling up his emotions over the years, his usual stubbornness and arrogance masking his pain.
But here he was, being undone by his own flesh and blood, a child too young to understand the complexity of it all.
You, on the other hand, were on the way home from work, stopping by at the grocery store to shop for a few goods when you felt a buzz in your pocket. Reaching for it, you noticed that it was from Suguru, saying that your little girl had been asking her mom. Your heart clenched out of guilt.
If only you two had been a little more considerate of one another, then maybe you’re still married and raising your daughter together instead of having to take turns every week. Then maybe you’re spending time with your family, bonding over fruit snacks and dinner. Then maybe you’re not replying to him with an ‘i’ll be there in 30’ or asking if he had eaten anything yet.
Regret overflows in your cup right now. 30 minutes.
Suguru's face went through a range of expressions upon reading that—surprise, disbelief, then a flicker of relief he quickly tamped down. Despite the messy history between you, he couldn't deny the pang of excitement he felt at the thought of you coming over. Your second question caught him off guard. It was something he wasn't expecting from you anymore, but he couldn't help but appreciate the concern.
He responded quickly: “No, haven't yet. Don't worry about it, I'll eat later.”
Upon seeing his reply, you heaved a sigh before making a u-turn to the nearest drive thru. Suguru knew better than to shake off your concern but he was just overthinking it too much—that if he had said yes, then he would be crossing your boundaries. Not like the previous weeks of pushing and pulling, flirting, slight inappropriate touches he had given you isn’t already a manifestation of that.
If you had read his mind, you would’ve burned down to ashes because all those weeks of suggestive gestures, you had allowed them to happen and you’d just be lying to yourself if you denied that you missed him even the slightest.
You pulled up to his driveway with 10 minutes to spare as you practically sped through the streets just to get home to your daughter, paper bags of food in hand. Your fist softly knocked on the door while you balanced the bags in one hand. The door opened and swallowed a tall man with a sleeping toddler in his arms.
“Hey.. She asleep?”
Suguru's eyebrows shot up at the sight of you with food. His grip on Kirara tightened slightly as his eyes zeroed on the takeout bags, his sleepy daughter nuzzling into his neck.
"Uh." He blinked, voice dropping to a hushed murmur so as not to wake her. "The hell is all that?"
A beat passed before he scowled, though there was no real heat behind it, repeating his argument earlier that he’d eat dinner a little later. But even as he said it, his eyes flicked down to the cake pop poking out from one of the bags and damn if that didn't make something in him soften.
"Oh shut up, we both know you'll wait til morning to grab a bite. You gonna let me in?” you cocked a brow at him in which he just scoffed at as he opened the door wide enough for you. His eyes followed the back of your head, feet dragging him to the kitchen where you were.
"Tch. I was fine," he muttered under his breath, obviously a lie. He glanced down at your daughter’s face—peaceful for once. Suguru's shoulders tensed briefly when you reached for Kirara, his arms instinctively reluctant to release her. But he forced himself to exhale, slowly handing her over to you. “Go eat, I’ll take her,” he nods as you cradle the little one in your arms and how she buried her face into your shoulder. He tried to ignore the way his chest tightened a little. Deep inside, you were hoping that whatever was in those bags were still his favorite or else you’ll make a fool out of yourself.
Kirara was fast asleep and no amount of tapping will get her to wake up, so you opted to gently tuck her in bed, leaving a soft kiss on her forehead. You found yourself on the floor next to her bed, fingers instinctively brushing away her hair affectionately like she was made of delicate glass. The soft glow of her nightlight reflected off her chubby cheeks like the sun kissing her as you murmured an ‘I love you, my Kira,’ before closing her bedroom door.
The sound of plates and utensils click clacking against each other was heard from a distance, rustling paper bags sounding through the kitchen. You leaned on the doorframe, arms against your chest as your eyes laid on Suguru who was already munching on the sandwich, seemingly very hungry. With a push, you walked towards the island where he was.
"She's fast asleep, I tucked her in." you said softly. You two caught up, filling each other in on what happened while you were away, why your daughter asked for you so suddenly, Suguru knowing that he had wanted you there too, not just your baby. He looked oddly exhausted and you couldn’t itch the care you had for him no matter how hard you tried. After a minute of silence, you croaked out, “Suguru.. You did well today.”
It took every single nerve in his face to not smile at your words, hearing the comfort and calm in the way you delivered it. It felt like you were still married—to him. Confrontations like this is what he dreaded the most because he’s afraid that he couldn’t control what might happen next. A man who yearned for three years. Suguru could feel his defenses crumbling slightly as you smiled at him, the sharp edge of his stubbornness softening in your presence. Suguru was easy; you had always known exactly how to disarm him with a simple gesture.
He tried to keep his expression neutral, but he couldn't help but let out a huff. "Don't be nice to me," he muttered, taking another bite from his sandwich, "It's weird.”
And this is the part where you would usually argue with him, remind him of boundaries, shove him because he was getting too close. But instead you sighed, bringing your hand to pat on his shoulder. “Not being nice, Sugs. I just don’t want to argue right now. Can we not?”
Suguru gritted his teeth, the desire to argue still strong, but he forced himself to take a breath. He knew that you were right. Arguing would only lead to another heated fight, and both of you were too exhausted for that.
"Fine." He grumbled. "No arguing.”
Another sigh.
"You okay?” Suguru tensed up at your gentle squeeze. He so desperately craved your touch, he wanted to tell you that he wasn’t at all okay, that he missed you. But the fear of rejection just got the better of him, leading him to mumble a stupid line avoidant people would always say to escape confrontation.
“You should go to sleep.” his eyes averted from you, focusing on his sandwich crumbs, head motioning to the door at the end of the hallway he has always kept clean and tidy for you.
As always, he'd push you away. Even if you’re trying to communicate, he'd still push, push, and push away because he can't sit his feelings out. Because he's too proud. You let out what seemed to be your 50th sigh today, leaving the takeout boxes and a munching Suguru as you walked to his guestroom.
"Goodnight, Suguru. Don't stay up too late.”
Suguru bristled at your reply, his jaw tightening. He knew it was a simple thing—simple concern—but he couldn't help but feel defensive. Despite his claim, Suguru found himself unable to stay up much longer, his body betraying him with a wave of exhaustion. He forced down the rest of the food on his plate, before trudging to his own room, changing into a pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt before he collapsed onto his bed with a sigh.
As he laid in bed, eyes shut and mind wandering, he couldn't shake the damn feeling of having you nearby. He missed having you right there.
Your eyes wandered around the room; the coat hanger on the corner, the framed artworks on the wall, the bedroom door handle, the way this room even smelled the faintest of him like he was in here not so long ago, the empty side of the bed just reminding you of how lonely you are despite having your precious daughter in your life.
Fuck.. this feeling..
‘I don't miss him. I really don't. This proximity is just a test, I've moved on long ago. I'm doing this for our daughter.’ is the lie you kept telling yourself for over two agonizing years.
“Damn you really, Suguru.” you turned around to see your phone laying face up. Hand instantly grabbed it, checked the time. 2:46 a.m. The wallpaper being a grinning Kirara with paint all over her cheeks from.. well, a painting date with Suguru that he had sent you.
After debating whether or not you should do it, you heaved a sigh before opening your messages, straight right to his contact. ex-husband. He's just in the same house as you, literally in the room across but you feel like a stupid woman drunk texting her ex who clearly had no intentions of fixing things with her… right?
To ex-husband:
you awake?
Suguru was just about to give in to sleep when his phone pinged loudly against the bedside table. He groaned, cursing under his breath as he sat up, rubbing his face in frustration. He grabbed the phone and squinted at the bright screen as he clicked on the notification, and a flicker of surprise crossed his face when he saw your name. He hesitated for a moment, his mind conflicted—and then he typed out a quick reply.
Yeah. what's up?
You , yourself, were conflicted as to why you texted him. It felt like a burst of impulsivity, of alcohol surging through your veins even though you’re completely sober. Worrying is your priority right now, especially because even your daughter is affected by his actions.
To ex-husband:
nothing really.. just wondering if you're ok?
:)
Suguru blinked at the message, surprise quickly turning into confusion. You were asking... if he was okay? After the way he shoved you away when you were trying to talk to him earlier? A mix of annoyance and guilt swirled in his gut. Why the hell were you still concerned about him, after he practically pushed you away? Was it just out of politeness or worse... pity? The thought made him bristle.
He typed back a quick response.
I'm fine. Why are you asking?
Talk outside.
You found yourself sitting on the couch, house dead silent including the neighborhood, except for a few barking dogs. Suguru was across you, distance feeling farther than it already is. That is until he stands up and plops himself beside you just close enough that his knee was touching yours. He leaned forward, elbow propped on his kneecap as he massaged his temple, trying to find the words he needed to say. He had to speak now or forever regret it.
It had been so long since you had been this close to each other. You would only catch whiffs of his perfume every time you leave Kirara in his care but now.. You could feel your world stop because the scent of him filling your senses almost made you forget why you even broke up with him. You hated being criticized for your decisions but now, even you were going against yourself.
“I.. I missed you,” Suguru starts, “Like a hell lot. And I just… everything hurts without you, you know? I blame myself almost everyday, couldn’t even get a wink of sleep thinking about what I should've done long ago. You were just so stubborn too. It’s…”
For three long years, you yearned for him. Longed for him to say this, to open up. Assure you that he was just as crazy immature as you. You looked at him with much understanding in your eyes, he met your gaze as your magnetic force pulled him in. Your lips parted but not one syllable came out. Suguru stared at your lips, heart thumping within the confines of his chest.
“I’ll explain later, I just need you right now.”
Before you knew it, he was crashing his lips on yours in a soft yet needy kiss, his arms trapping you against the backrest of the couch. You welcomed him in, your own resolve crumbling at his warmth and closeness, hands reaching up to grab on his arms. You felt him dive deeper and allowed him to push the second thoughts away, his knee coming in between your thighs as he held your jaw softly. You needed him too. It had been too long since you’ve felt his touch, the one you’ve always craved for despite trying to move forward.
The way he threw you on his lap in the blink of an eye elicited a gasp from you that dissolved into a moan when his palms massaged your haunches, trailing to the curve of your ass just to grab and grind you on him. You pulled away, fingers still grasping on his shirt, feeling his muscles ripple under your touch. Suguru looked at you with so much desperation it almost made you swoon, breath ragged.
“You need this too. Let go.. Let go for me, sweetheart..” Suguru’s head tilted upwards to catch your lips in another kiss, hands caressing your thighs before focusing open-mouthed kisses on your jaw down. He was waiting. Waiting for your surrender. “Suguru..”
All you had said was his name but it was enough for him to read the want in your eyes. His hands traced over every inch of your thighs as he explored the smoothness of your skin, the way his name left your lips drove him insane.
He deepened the kiss even further, his tongue slipping into your mouth, hungry and desperate. It was as if he was trying to make up for the three damn years apart by pouring everything into this one moment.
“Sugu—oh—”
He groaned at the soft gasp that escaped you, the sound going straight to his core and only fueling his need to claim you entirely as his own again. His hands were all over you, lips covering every expanse of skin on your neck. Suguru gently pried your hands off of his shoulders and had them fall over the soft cushion of the backrest, making you surround him. His touch on your wrists burned with so much intensity and he couldn’t get enough, bringing your soft skin to his lips to worship.
"I need you," he muttered gruffly against your arm, his voice rough with craving. "Need you like hell right now, sweetheart.”
“God… but– but Kira—” Suguru growled in frustration—the damn reminder of Kirara was like a damn cold bucket of water. An unbridled groan against your lips, his grip on your thighs tightening almost possessively as he ground you down against his crotch again.
"Damn it... I know, I know," he muttered gruffly. "But goddamn it, don't want to think about our kid right now, not while I'm trying to have my way with you.”
A chuckle left your lips, feeling the distress beneath his words. Years of pure need later and Suguru was tired of being deprived of you, melting at the sound of your laugh that you only let out around him.
“Sounds like you want to give our little girl a baby sibling, huh?” your voice was raspy in his ear as you ground on him softly making his other hand grip on your behind tightly. His mind was hazy at your words, his self control thinning as the seconds went by. Suguru’s entire body went still for a solid second as he processed the implication. A sharp, ragged exhale escaped him—half disbelief, half hunger—before his grip on you tightened even more.
"Fuck… you're playing dirty as hell right now," he muttered huskily against your ear before nipping it lightly with his teeth. He grunted in frustration, "We're not having this conversation when I'm two seconds away from ruining my pants.”
"I'll take that as a yes?" you smirked, lightly tugging your shirt off but Suguru was too impatient and had the shirt flying across the room. Shirt gone, bra shielding your breasts. And to say that he was starstruck is an understatement with how fast and shamelessly he buried his face in them like a starved man—kissing, nipping, sucking at every inch of exposed skin he could reach. Hands immediately find their way to your bare sides, your waist, your hips. His fingers pressing into the soft swell of your breasts with rough reverence. “You’re killing me.”
Without any regard for anything, not even the sleeping kid, you let out a loud moan at how you missed him. Trapping him in your arms, fingers tangling in his long, dark strands, made him twitch in his pants. A groan erupted in his throat, his tongue scribbling strokes over your tits.
“Missed you,” he muttered on the inside of your left breast, biting down gently before turning his head to the other one and giving it the same amount of love and attention. His tongue grazed over the peaks of your hardened nipples, his thumb toying on the other. “Missed you,”
You were beyond dripping, you could feel the heat rise up to your cheeks when the fabric on his crotch softly glides against your clothed cunt, body bending into his touch. Suguru still clearly had this effect on you and it made you want to take him back again. Honestly? Not a bad idea.
Suguru marveled at the sight of you arching into his touch—God, you looked so damn responsive, so desperate for him. He took one of your nipples again into his mouth, sucking and teasing and flicking the tip with his tongue.
"Fucking hell, you're so perfect," he muttered, his breath ragged against your skin. "How the fuck did I go three years without this, without you..”
"I forgot just how good you feel, love.."
You ground on his lap again, feeling his hard cock press straight at your heat, hand instinctively flying down to his pants to pull on the waistband, freeing his length. Gorgeous.
"So hard for me..” slipping off his lap, a sharp gasp escaped him as you pulled his pants further down to pool at his ankles. His entire body shudders at the feeling of your hand on his hard cock but he mustered enough strength to kick off his pants. God, he was so hard, throbbing with need and aching for you.
Your eyes caught the glinting sets of metal arranged vertically on the underside of his shaft and your breath hitched.
“Fuck.. Suguru, is that—”
“Jacob’s ladder. Took a good while to heal. Ya like it, love?”
With lips parted and pupils blown wide, you managed a nod. As if he couldn’t get any hotter with his inked skin, he decides to pull this shit on you. Just how will you be able to forget any of this ever happened?
"God, sweetheart.. you have no idea what you're doing to me," he mumbles, voice low and filled with hunger as he stares at your eyes gleaming with equal carnal desire as his. You found yourself on your knees, skin hitting the carpet—you were thanking the heavens there were no sights of legos on the floor. Your eyes zeroed on his cock, hard against his black tank that hugged him so well, his tatted arms flexing as he leaned back on them.
“Shiiiit—oh my god, baby, i forgot just how good your mouth feels—”
“Mmff.. taste s’good, Suguru. So damn salty sweet,” you chuckled, pulling away with a soft pop!
Suguru’s hips bucked into you as your tongue teasingly circled around his tip, collecting the bead of precum welling on the slit. Your lips wrapped around him and attempted to swallow his length in one go knowing damn well he’s too thick and long, not to mention the bristle of his piercings on your tongue. His chest vibrates with a low chuckle at your desperate effort—attractive and endearing. Your name rolled off his tongue dripping with venom, cupping your jaw, thumb brushing on your stretched out lips around him.
“Still can’t take all of me huh? Get up, sweets, let me taste that pussy.”
“But, Sugs, I haven’t—”
“I want to.”
Well fuck.
A moment later and you’re nudging your head in the cushion, your nimble fingers grabbing and pulling, clawing, at the soft couch as Suguru licks a long stripe at your heat. His ego was skyrocketing at the way you squirmed under his touch. A low hum against your pussy later and he was making out with the sweet candy he missed for years.
“Like that, love? You missed this didn’t you? Fuck, you’re dripping on my tongue—she likes this.”
“Suguru, shut—up–” you let out a broken moan, back arching when your ex-husband smothered your pussy with his lips, eating at it with his eyes closed shut like his life depended on it.
Legs trembling, you reached behind to grab at his hair to get him to spare your sensitive clit. Suguru fluttered one eye open, tongue still lapping at your juices, reaching for your hand and intertwining your fingers together. His other hand grasping at the swell of your ass for leverage.
“Aww, wanna hold hands, love? That feel good?”
You hummed in response, the small whine muffled out by the cushion but it was enough for Suguru to pan his attention to you, on your pretty pussy—he called.
"Yeah? Want me to spend everyday between your legs like this, making you cry and beg for more? You want me to make up for all those months we spent apart?" he teased gruffly.
Soon enough, two of his fingers slid in and out of your weeping cunt, and every time he pulled out, he took his time to squeeze your pussylips as he sucked on your sensitive button and dragged the wet muscle along the tight slit. You swore you came on the spot.
"Sugs.. Suguru want you to fuck me please.. please?”
"Fucking hell, you sound desperate," a guttural moan against your skin. He was teasing you, wanting to hear you fold for him before giving you exactly what you wanted. "Hmm? Didn't hear a please there, sweetheart."
He was enjoying this, making you writhe and beg for more. He had a sadistic side that came out when you were alone, and he wanted to draw it out in you first, make stars burst behind your eyes before he could even get to the real thing.
“I did say ‘please’, Suguru,” you whined, patience hanging by a thread. You want him so bad. So bad you were willing to forget everything—the fuss, the fighting, the pettiness of it all.
Suguru grunted in amusement, breath hot and heavy, fingers still pumping in and out of you relentlessly. The squelches your pussy and his fingers made were obscene. A newfound desire fired in him when he felt little spurts of clear liquid leak from your sloppy cunt, his fingers curling in deep, determined to make you squirt.
“Su— fuck… I– think I'm gonna– Suguru—!”
Your face twisted in pleasure as your hand flopped on the couch, head peering over your shoulder. Through half-lidded eyes, you glanced at your tatted ex-husband now standing behind you, fingers plowing deep in you still.
Suguru’s eyes met yours, a smirk blooming on his face as he saw how lost in it you were. A weird pang of disappointment in himself swelled in his chest as he thought about how he just agreed to let this gem of a woman walk out of his life.
All thoughts of his were soon drowned by pride when he snaked a hand around your nape, squeezing slightly as you clenched on him again, a sound between a moan and a whimper breaking through your lips.
“Sounding so sweet as ever, love.. Want my cock?”
His hand landed on your asscheek, a soft sting making you jolt and straighten your back. He pulled his fingers out with a wet schlick! before bringing them to his lips, licking at your juices that dripped down his veiny hand. A soft “yes” escaped your swollen lips which was apparently not enough for the man. He was greedy, wanting you to speak your mind no matter how filthy your thoughts are.
“Speak up, darling, be a good girl. What do you want, hmm?” he whispered endearingly, voice laced with honey which was a stark contrast to his gruff gestures.
"Please, love, want your big, hard cock inside me.. need you raw," you murmured, the end dragging out into a whine.
Suguru groaned at your words, basking in the praise, hand grabbing your jaw to pull you into a rough, messy kiss that tasted of you and possession. His eyes were sharp on you as his lips tugged into a smile as you were hoisted in one arm, throwing you on the farther end of the couch.
Right in front of the mirror.
“Look at ya. How dirty.”
A shiver ran down your spine, hairs at the back of your neck standing as he positioned you on all fours. Suguru leaned forward, chest pressing against your back and his throbbing, waiting dick in between your folds. He tilted your head by your jaw to keep your eyes glued on the sight before you.
“I know you’re ready for me, love. No need to scream, ‘kay?”
Oh but you still yelped at the wide stretch of his thick head pushing through your entrance. Suguru bit back a moan at the scene unfolding before him; you arching your back, clawing at the back of the couch, hair messily sticking out everywhere and god, your face, so angelic.
Oh how he missed you.
Man was full of pride as he brushed through your hair, softly caressing at your neck and trailing it down the expanse of your back. He steadied his hands on your hips just until he managed to push all eight inches in you.
Bless the heavens for your rowdy ex and his fucking dick.
The drag of the barbells along his shaft made your toes curl into an orgasm just at the first few thrusts. Suguru groaned as your pussy clamped on his pulsing cock, momentarily halting his movements.
“Aha, liking the piercing, I see?”
“Suguru.. H-How the fuck am i going to avoid you now?”
“Avoid me? You can’t.”
You hated how right he is. But mostly, you hated how he sounded so confident like he’s all that (he is).
Suguru grunts as he begins to move again, slowly bucking his hips into your zero-resistance pussy. Impatient as ever, he sent you over the edge—literally, grabbing on the couch for support at the intensity of his thrusts.
“Fuck! Slow down, Suguru! You’re gonna send me to next week with—”
“Nah, you don’t get to tell me to stop. You love how i fuck you into oblivion.”
You rolled your eyes at the smug grin on his face. He didn’t wait for you to compose yourself before drilling into you with hard, deep thrusts. He kept it at a steady pace, letting the strength of his hips and his huge, pierced cock carry you to your climax.
Suguru walks his talk because soon enough, your ass was flushed pink, legs shaking from another orgasm around him. A hearty chuckle left his throat when his hand reached for your shoulder, pulling you up to wrap his arm around your neck and trap you in a nasty headlock.
“Don’t think I didn't see how you were eyeing my arms, baby. Do you like the ink too?”
“Suguru.. You— you did bulk up–”
“I did.. Now, beautiful girl, it’s a shame if you can’t see how good you look taking my cock, right?” the long forgotten mirror caught your attention again and the sight was mouthwatering—your fucked out expression, lips parted, an arm around your neck and the man you used to hate and his pretty monolid eyes admiring his mess.
The draw of his thick dick spilling rivulets of precum inside you made your eyes roll back, back arch even more. You felt so full that you were certain your pussy was molded to the shape of his dick at this point.
“Love..”
“Hmm? Gonna cum?”
“Yes– close–”
You choked out as Suguru let go of you gently, your upper body hitting the soft surface beneath you. He effortlessly flipped you over on your back before continuing ramming into you until he kissed your cervix. He was close himself and he was surprised he held out this long considering that your heavenly pussy almost squeezed him of his cum the moment he slid inside you.
“Mhmm, take everything, baby. Gonna be good and take everything? Shit, you’re really squeezing me.”
“M’gonna.. take everything, Suguru— give me–”
“Hmm? Give you what? Want my seed in you, precious? Fuck– so tight..”
The air was thick and heavy, lewd skin slapping resonating in the living room and echoing in the hallway. The coil in your abdomen tightened at the thought of such risky sex with your ex-husband but you couldn’t deny that you needed this.
“Yes—! Want it, Sugs.. want you t-to fuck— a baby into m-me, fill me up–”
Sanity long gone, Suguru grabbed the back of your thighs to push you in a mean mating press, the position allowing you to stare into his gentle purple irises. Those eyes that used to look at you like you’d just hung the moon. Eyes that knew every inch of you like the back of his hand. Your words were like the first drop of water he had in ages. And he can’t wait to fill you up again, fuck it if it sticks, he’s yours anyway.
“Uh huh, want another baby huh? God, I missed you, love. I missed you so so much–”
Hips stuttering, thrusts falling out of rhythm, this was the first time he’d gone gentle with you tonight. His touches were like fire on your skin and the way he was whispering filthy praises and words of affirmation in your ear only made you clench and crumble under another mindblowing orgasm. You made sure to mentally slap yourself later on for your clownery.
Suguru was letting go, groans dissolving into soft moans, forearms trapping your head, eyes getting teary. Your hands reached up to his face before yanking him softly to meet your lips. It was unruly due to his thrusts but tender enough that he saw right through your facade, that you still wanted him.
It didn’t take a while for your ex-husband to halt his movements after one last roll of his hips. His hands protectively wrapped over your head as you both melt into the kiss, streams of hot liquid emptying into your womb.
“Suguru—!”
“Shh.. take it, love.. take it all,”
“Miss you.. I missed you, my Suguru,”
Suguru smiled.
“Mommy! Daddy let me borrow your listip, look!” God knew the kid meant lipstick but she was being so adorable on her father’s chest coloring his tattoos with your scarlet lipstick that you just let her have her fun with it.
You walked over to the couch where your daddy and daughter were splayed on, chuckling and praising Kirara as Suguru huffed out in feigned annoyance. His eyes shot open at the sound of your shuffling footsteps. One finger motioned to his cheek and you raised your brow, leaning in to kiss his cheek before your daughter giggled, your broken lipstick in her tiny hand.
Well, you could always send her to daycare to learn more about colors, right?
ʚɞ summary: you and jude have been dating for two years, and you’d like to think you’ve learned how to navigate the turbulences of fame and notoriety. after finishing up your second world tour, however, cracks begin to show in your relationship, and they may run deeper than either of you expect.
⤷ jude bellingham x singer!y/n
⤷ angst, lovers to exes to a secret third thing
ʚɞ note: thank you to everyone who read & commented on part 1! i’m hoping to post a new part every other day. i wasn’t planning on making a taglist but a few people have asked so if you’d like to be tagged or if you have any requests for more jude fics, not just social media aus, let me know! that said, this is a very angsty part so prepare yourself 😭
series masterlist
────────── ♡ ──────────
📍 oahu, hawaii
🎵 snooze - sza
liked by judebellingham, k.mbappe and 5,019,872 others.
missyn if i can’t see in the water i ain’t getting in it!!!!
view comments
sza and i’ve always said that liked by author
bestfriend1 the rainbow was my signal for you to come home the kids miss you liked by author
➥ judebellingham you need to go to jail
➥ missyn ladies i’m tryna do my work type shift
tyla so hot the volcano woke up liked by author
user1 jude on his knees serving her iktfr
user2 she said fuck blind items take a look at all this 😭
➥ user3 he could’ve still cheated and she stayed with him lol
➥ user2 so clearly you’re sticking with your imaginary scenarios instead of accepting reality
➥ user3 i’m just saying this doesn’t prove the item wrong
➥ user4 you’re right, they should just go to your house and pinky promise the rumour’s fake or else
user5 i hate when hot people do hot people things together but don’t include me
user6 they’re getting engaged i’m calling it
➥ user7 who’s gonna tell bro…
➥ user8 they’re not even 25 chill 😭
────────── ♡ ──────────
────────── ♡ ──────────
liked by 6,190,824.
tmztv BREAKING EXCLUSIVE: Sources have provided a picture and footage of footballer Jude Bellingham at a club in Madrid with rumoured ex girlfriend on the night of his current girlfriend, Y/N’s, final tour date. Rumours of this alleged betrayal were first revealed in a blind item sent to Deuxmoi two weeks ago.
view comments
user1 VINDICATION. i knew in my gut the blind item was real omg
user2 poor y/n holy shit 😭😭😭
➥ user3 she just posted them together in hawaii a couple days ago, she probably already knew and stayed with him because she can’t do better lbr
➥ user2 i can’t wrap my head around that like there’s no way she knew. also wtf she definitely can do better than a cheater ???
user4 just fell to my fucking knees in a walmart this can’t be happening
user5 y/n just spent a year singing love songs about him across the world and this is how he repays her? i need all men to die fr
user6 i’m NOT defending him at all but it does look like that girl leans in to kiss him in the video and he pushes her away…
➥ user7 that doesn’t matter though omfg can y’all stop babying these grown ass men
➥ user8 bro he was letting her grind all over him i don’t think dodging a kiss makes a difference when he’s not single
➥ user6 no of course this is wrong i’m just saying it does look like they were only dancing, not doing anything more
user9 why is anyone surprised tbh jude went through girls like kleenex before y/n. it’s just what athletes do 🤷♀️
➥ user10 finally someone with a braincell in these comments! y/n knew what she was getting into with him
➥ user11 birds like you should be eradicated i’m serious
➥ user9 call me a bird idc. there’s two people in a relationship so there’s more to this story
I was inspired to write this since I had to go under quarantine earlier this month due to coming in close contact with a co-worker who tested positive for COVID. I returned to work this week and I’m doing just fine! If you wish for me to do this with one of the fandoms on my list, then feel free to request it!
~~Nana Osaki~~
Does NOT handle quarantine well at first. Being unable to sing makes her jittery and cranky! Will literally rant and rave to anyone who listens and she’ll do that for hours!
But once she gets all of the frustration out of her system, Nana will come up with ways to make the best of the lockdown. Surprise, surprise, they’re mostly music based!
Will use this opportunity to come up with new material and has video calls every night with the band to discuss it. They’re not gonna sit around and be lazy when they could be getting creative as far as she’s concerned!
If she’s with her S/O or Ren during the quarantine, then it’ll make things much better for Nana since she’ll have someone always around to talk to and just share company with! Cuddles! Lots of cuddles! Just don’t tell anyone though.
If Nana is alone during lockdown, then her anxiety will definitely spike and she’ll have panic attacks more often. When that happens, she’ll usually call or text someone while using the paper bag method to keep herself calm.
~~Nana Komatsu~~
Is pretty bummed about the lockdown but doesn’t want to complain and prefers to make the best of it instead. Will definitely be talking Nana down and off the ledge when she gets too annoyed.
Decides to make BLAST and Trapnest masks to sell online which become extremely popular much to her delight. Yes the bands approve and yes Hachi is making masks for them!
Is the most likely to gain weight during lockdown. Will look up recipes online and try them out which is the cause of said weight gain. Hachi loves food after all!
You can definitely expect to see Hachi on social media a lot and it’ll be her main way of keeping in contact with her friends and family. Livestreaming and making cooking videos will definitely keep Hachi occupied alongside her mask business!
If Hachi is with her S/O, she’ll definitely be doing many things with them and trying to make them a part of her videos which will be very cute and adorable! Awwwww!
~~Nobu Terashima~~
Takes the lockdown quite well. He’s pretty introverted so being alone and isolated for a while doesn’t affect him as much as others.
Uses the free time to write songs and new material just like Nana and they call every day with new pieces and ideas.
Spends a lot of time on social media and donates to a lot of humanitarian causes, persuading fans of BLAST to do the same which always succeeds.
Will gladly fight anyone who thinks the pandemic is a hoax, is an anti-masker, or just don’t wanna obey guidelines. You’re not gonna get other people sick on Nobu’s watch!
Likes to livestream and play music for his fans whether it be covers or original material. Hachi is one of his mods and his biggest supporter.
~~Shinichi Okazaki~~
The lockdown affects his living as a gigolo (if he still does it by then) so you’re damn right Shin doesn’t like it! He hates being restricted and you can expect long-winded debates between him and Nobu on how the pandemic should be handled.
If Shin has an S/O and is with them during lockdown, they can expect a lot of sex and overall intimacy! No one is surprised if Shin ends up getting said S/O pregnant. If he’s gonna be cooped up in the house for a while, then he could at least get some action out of it!
Is lazy AF during lockdown and isn’t interested in music or social media. In fact, don’t expect to hear from Shin during quarantine at all. Everyone has to initiate contact with him first and yes it pisses them off.
The only way to get Shin to do something productive is if his S/O threatens to cut him off sexually and goes through with it. He’ll do anything to get some WAP! Speaking of which, expect to see Shin dancing to music and expect to hear it playing a lot.
The only social media posts Shin will be making is photos of him and his S/O as well as getting on Nobu’s nerves. Shin gets tons of followers because of his looks but his heart is for his S/O only and he proudly displays that!
~~Yasu Takagi~~
Anticipated the lockdown and went shopping beforehand. He’s always prepared.
With an S/O, Yasu will use this opportunity to get closer to them and have deep conversations that can last for hours. Also lots of cuddles and affection! Yasu’s S/O will definitely be spoiled!
Yasu will be working from home so expect to see him on his laptop a lot. He will be doing video calls frequently with BLAST and upper management at Gaia as well as his law firm if he’s still a lawyer.
Likes to binge-watch YouTube videos and browse on Reddit. He likes to interact with his favorite YouTubers and give advice on Reddit like the kind person he is. Yasu will also donate to humanitarian causes like Nobu does.
Acts as the peacemaker during arguments between Nobu and Shin. Will also calm Nana down if her anxiety flares up. Got any problems? Call Yasu! He’s always available!
~~Ren Honjo~~
Gives no shits about the lockdown and is zen AF. He has to stay inside for a while? Ok!
Is mostly gonna spend the days in bed with his S/O (if they’re with him) and just wants to be close to them. Sleeping is Ren’s best friend!
If Ren is still using drugs, then he’s gonna be unbearable to be around since this means he’ll have to go through withdrawal and will have no way to get the drugs.
Will be unreachable during lockdown if he’s with his S/O. They come first as far as he’s concerned and he wants to make up for lost time with them as much as possible.
Will play music just to brush up on his guitar skills. May join Nobu on one of his livestreams every now and then and play with him as well as chat with fans.
~~Reira Serizawa~~
Has the same reaction as Nana when it comes to the lockdown and has bitching sessions with her about it too. Everyone is annoyed (except Shin) and if anyone tries to interrupt, they get bombarded by Reira and Nana to the point of not being able to get a word in.
Is bored AF and literally doesn’t know what to do with her time. Calls everyone and annoys the hell out of them to the point where they block her number. Reira just wants some company! 🙁
Spends the most time on social media out of everyone and mostly sings songs for her fans. Yes she takes requests and yes she gets a lot of them. Joins Nobu on his livestream whenever Ren is present and provides the vocals for their music. It instantly goes viral as one would expect.
If Reira has an S/O, they can definitely expect her to be clingy and trying to always have their attention. If they’re working from home and have to do video chats, Reira will definitely be in the background and will bring you things if you ask. She may or may not be appropriately dressed.
Loves to listen to other musicians on Spotify and will shout them out and uplift them. If anyone sings a cover of one of Trapnest’s songs, Reira will cry with joy and happiness!
~~Takumi Ichinose~~
Takes the lockdown in stride surprisingly enough. He doesn’t want to risk getting sick nor does he want his bandmates getting sick.
Decides to relax more instead of working which shocks most people. If Takumi has an S/O, he’ll want them to stay with him but if they can’t, he’ll settle for calls and texts.
Sex, sex, and more sex! His S/O will definitely be worn out unless they have a high sex drive and if they get pregnant, Takumi will be happy and expects it to happen unless you use birth control.
Likes to try new challenges and will have a YouTube channel dedicated to that. Such content includes eating a Carolina Reaper pepper, drinking very strong cocktails, and gaming-related challenges. Yes Takumi is a gamer and his rage is legendary.
Does weekly video calls with the band to make sure they’re taking care of themselves and staying safe. No one’s getting sick on his watch!
~~Naoki Fujieda~~
Hates the restrictions and whines about being stuck in the house all day, everyday. He wants to have fun damn it!
Will do anything and everything to keep himself busy and if he has an S/O with him, they’ll be dragged into it too! Naoki doesn’t want you to be bored!
Will do challenges with Takumi and plays video games a lot whether it’s by himself, with his S/O, or with Takumi. His livestreams are a riot and there’s plenty of laughter to be had, especially if Takumi is present.
Likes to upload skits and rants that become quite popular due to how funny and true they are. Also gives advice to people which actually works and makes their lives better.
Always makes sure his appearance is on point and likes to promotes fashion brands, ideas, and trends. Naoki loves beautiful things so expect to see a lot of pics of just that!
~~Junko and Kyosuke~~
Kyosuke takes the lockdown in stride while Junko panics. Junko ends up furloughed (she’s a salesperson) so she worries about finances.
Kyosuke comes up the idea of doing art commissions for money and it becomes a huge success. Junko decides to join in and also makes and sells masks with Hachi.
Their sex life becomes much more active during lockdown and it’s quite noticeable with how relaxed Junko is. Teasing them about this will just make Junko act like a tsundere and Kyosuke act smug.
They network with other artists worldwide and become quite involved, especially in the black community.
Kyosuke watches various livestreams while Junko sticks to services like Netflix and Hulu. Kyosuke is a mod for Hachi’s livestreams and Junko catches up on her favorite shows while live-tweeting with fellow fans of said shows and having discussions.
ʚɞ summary: you and jude have been dating for two years, and you’d like to think you’ve learned how to navigate the turbulences of fame and notoriety. after finishing up your second world tour, however, cracks begin to show in your relationship, and they may run deeper than either of you expect.
⤷ jude bellingham x singer!y/n
⤷ angst, lovers to exes to a secret third thing
ʚɞ note: my first jude fic & my first fic in years omg i’m nervous. i’ve never tried this format before & i’m still figuring out how to do it in my style, so pls lmk if you enjoy this! i’m anticipating it’ll be 5 parts in total. there’s no faceclaim for y/n but i’ve tried to keep the aesthetic somewhat consistent lmao.
────────── ♡ ──────────
📍 new york city, usa
liked by charli_xcx, judebellingham, and 3,891,302 others.
missyn i love to tour, i go through heaven touring 🤍
that’s a wrap on the usa leg + ‘almost paradise’ tour. thank you so much to everyone who came out, your love and support allow me to live my dream and i couldn’t be more grateful. i’ll be heading home with a heart full of joy because of you. i promise next album won’t be as melancholic… 🤞🏾
view all comments
erling nice but sad liked by author
➥ missyn you’re a poet
➥ judebellingham so you’ll comment on her post but you won’t call me back because “you’re a father”
➥ missyn judebellingham he’s just not that into you 💔
oliviarodrigo noooo don’t go back to the uk you’re so sexy liked by author
➥ missyn come with me and we’ll find inspiration for bad idea right part 2: electric boogaloo
flo it was an honour and so much fun opening for you! see you back in the studio 💋 liked by author
➥ missyn ilysm THEE british girl group <3
user1 another day cursing the universe for making me broke and not live in the west
➥ user2 so real
user3 girl we know damn well the next album finna be depressing too don’t lie 😭
➥ user4 especially if those blind items about jude are true 🫠
➥ user3 wait what
➥ user5 what blind items omfg may i have the tea please
➥ user4 someone ALLEGEDLY spotted jude and a few of his teammates out clubbing the night of y/n’s last concert and that’s why he wasn’t there… but jude’s ex was lol
➥ user6 that’s it? y’all will believe anything ffs open the schools!!!
user7 jude in the likes and comments but couldn’t be bothered to actually attend her show oh ok
➥ user8 let me guess, you also think the moon landing was a hoax?
➥ user7 well no! but it’s a fact that the blind items about jude and y/n in the past all turned out to be true
➥ user8 that means nothing. blind items are wrong 95% of the time and there was no proof so now what
────────── ♡ ──────────
────────── ♡ ──────────
📍london, uk
🎵 outside — megan thee stallion
liked by bestfriend1, jobebellingham, judebellingham and others.
missyn first day as a free woman so obvi we outside + should i make an account for my bunny bertram yes or yes (twice pls follow me back)
view all comments
jobebellingham i’d happily block you and follow bertram liked by author
➥ missyn i’ll let him pee in your shoe next time
bestfriend1 first day back and she came home to me #noticing liked by author
➥ missyn which could mean nothing
user1 my heart fell out of my ass at “free woman” then got sucked back up when i saw jude liked it
➥ user2 she clearly meant free from tour, y’all read too much into everything she does
➥ user3 i mean yeah but jude didn’t comment and it’s weird that they’re not together now :/
➥ user2 here you go overanalyzing oh my god let’s turn the phone off and read a book
user4 lmao so we’re soft-launching the breakup i see
➥ user5 or she’s just having fun with her friends… you should look into making some of your own
➥ user6 tbh jude can do better (first time rage baiting kinda nervous)
➥ user4 you’re joking but i’m deadass lol he really could do better
“You lasted eight seconds on that bull...and I’m wondering if you can last longer.”
“Longer on the bull?” you ask carefully.
His smile is wicked. “Sure. Let’s start with that.”
synopsis: you think conquering a bull looks easy, so rodeo champion sylus decides you need a lesson in riding—in the backseat of his pickup truck.
tags: nsfw, explicit sexual content, cowboy!sylus x city girl!reader, lust at first sight, riding, teaching, kissing, car sex, size difference, cowgirl position, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, sexual overstimulation, creampie, fluff + smut
wc: 13.2k / ao3
a/n: save a horse, ride a qin che ;)
The rodeo smells like dirt and beer and bad decisions.
You’re wedged between Tara and some guy in an absurdly oversized cowboy hat who keeps whooping like he’s personally invested in watching men get concussed by livestock. The stands are packed, the sun is setting, and you are profoundly, deeply bored.
“Isn’t this AMAZING?” Tara shouts over the announcer’s voice.
“It’s definitely something,” you say, taking another sip of overpriced beer.
“Come on! Live a little!” Tara hits your arm playfully. “You said you wanted adventure, didn’t you?”
What you actually said three days ago was that you needed a weekend away from your suffocating corporate job and your mother’s passive-aggressive texts about your biological clock. Tara—your chaotic, impulsive, rodeo-obsessed friend and coworker—interpreted that as “drive three hours into the middle of nowhere to watch men cosplay as cowboys.”
“I said I wanted a spa weekend. With wine. And no animals.”
“This is way better than a spa!”
“Tara, I’m watching a man get thrown off of a bull into a literal pile of shit.”
“That’s the best part!”
You’re starting to regret every choice you made that led you here, mentally drafting escape strategies: sudden vague illness, a family emergency of unclear nature, alien abduction—
“Next up,” the announcer booms, “give it up for Sylus Qin, folks! Undefeated this season, riding Wild Cherry—”
The crowd absolutely loses their minds. Apparently this guy is famous. Or infamous. It’s hard to tell.
Tara is suddenly sitting up straighter. “Oh my god, it’s him.”
“Him who?”
“SYLUS. The Sylus Qin. He’s only the best bull rider in the circuit right now. Undefeated. Gorgeous. Thighs that could crush your skull and you’d say thank you.” She’s practically vibrating. “This is why we came.”
“We came all the way out here for one specific cowboy?”
“We came for THE cowboy.” She looks at you like you have brain damage. “He has entire fan accounts dedicated to him, y’know. Sychos, we call ourselves. Get it, like psych—”
“Yeah, I got it,” you cut in. “Naming yourselves after men who sit on angry animals for prize money. Very adult behavior.”
“Adult behavior is overrated.” Tara waves you off. “And just you wait, babe. You’ll be calling yourself one by the end of the night.”
You snort. “If that happens, I give you permission to euthanize me.”
“Fine, but I get your closet.” She bumps your hip with hers. “I’d grieve, obviously. But in designer.”
A group of girls in tight denim shorts and matching red bandanas suddenly flock to the rail below you, phones out, glitter letters spelling STAY ON, SYLUS across posterboard. One of them whispers something to the girl beside her that makes her giggle and bite her lip.
“Those are the Sychos, huh?” you say, like you’re confirming a wildlife sighting. “You count yourself among the faithful?”
“Please. Me? I’m not here to worship him.” She tips her chin toward the girls, sliding her sunglasses into her hair. “I’m here for his disciples.”
You shoot her a look. To Tara, men sit in the same category as traffic cones—loud and in the way, only tolerable when directing her somewhere else.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Unbelievably efficient, you mean.” She tosses her braid over her shoulder and checks her lipstick in the reflection of her phone screen. “They convert easily.”
Before you can respond, the PA system crackles in a sharp burst of static that jolts the arena to attention. Everyone shifts at once, boots scraping against metal as the crowd angles to catch a glimpse of the rider. Someone whistles. Dust stirs around the chute like it’s coming alive.
The girls below you erupt first, phones snapping up, posterboards rattling against the rail.
The announcer’s voice rolls through the speakers—a slow country drawl that buzzes through the bleachers, through your ribs, through the stupid can of beer in your hand:
“Competitor twenty-two…Sylus Qin.”
Tara exhales like she’s been waiting hours for this exact moment. “Showtime.”
“—ain’t nobody lasted more than six seconds on this beast all year—”
“That’s what she said,” you mutter into your drink.
Tara doesn’t hear you. She’s too busy screaming with the rest of the crowd as the gate slams open.
The bull explodes into the ring—twisting, bucking, trying to murder its rider with pure muscle and chaos. The man on top is already locked in, one hand high, the other on the rope, body rolling with each violent buck like he’s done this a thousand times. Because he probably has.
You’ll admit—objectively, technically, it’s impressive. In the same way watching someone juggle chainsaws is impressive. Impressive and dangerous and stupid.
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t wobble. Doesn’t even seem winded. Just rides the beast like it was born to be beneath him.
Six seconds. Seven. Eight.
The buzzer sounds. He dismounts smoothly, landing on his feet while the bull handlers rush in. The girls below you are shrieking like someone won the lottery.
You finish off your beer.
“...That’s it?” you mutter.
“That’s it?” Tara whips her head toward you so fast her sunglasses nearly fly. “He just survived a demon with horns and you’re bored?”
“Looked like…balance,” you say with a shrug. “Core strength. Decent stance.”
Tara opens her mouth, ready to annihilate you, but the crowd erupts again as the rider approaches the bleachers—a frenzy of camera flashes, dads slapping shoulders, girls crying.
You glance up just in time to see him.
Sylus Qin. Helmet off, silver hair tousled, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt. A handler says something to him, but he barely responds. His red eyes scan the bleachers, not searching the crowd—hunting through it.
And then they find you.
Not the screaming girls pressed against the rail. Not the sign glittering under the fluorescent floodlights.
You.
His gaze flicks over you once, slow, like he’s taking note of every inch. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t wave, just assesses you in a way that makes your pulse jump.
Tara gasps like she’s witnessing a miracle. “Oh my god,” she hisses, shaking your arm. “He’s looking at you!”
“He’s looking in this general direction,” you correct, throat suddenly dry.
“General direction, my ass.” Tara’s voice is wild with victory. “He’s staring at you like you just spit in his drink. And he liked it.”
You’re about to argue when Sylus drags the back of his glove across his mouth—still looking up at you, the stranger with crossed arms and a steady, blank stare. His eyes narrow, heat flicking to life behind them. Interest. Curiosity. Challenge.
You tilt your head, like you’re still trying to figure out what the fuss is about.
The gesture lands like an insult.
He holds your gaze for a beat too long, tips his hat directly at you with what can only be described as spite, and saunters out of the arena.
Tara explodes beside you the second he disappears through the gate.
“WHAT WAS THAT?” Tara is practically screaming in your ear. “What just happened? Did you see that? He looked at you like—like—”
“Like nothing.”
“Like EVERYTHING.” She grabs your face, turning it toward hers. “Do you understand what just happened? Sylus Qin just acknowledged you. Personally. In front of everyone.”
“He probably does that for lots of people—”
“He doesn’t.” A girl in front of you turns around, and she looks furious. “He literally never does that.”
She’s wearing a crop top with “Qin” bedazzled across the chest and more makeup than seems practical for an outdoor event. Her friends beside her look equally angry.
“Excuse me?” you say.
“You heard me.” She looks you up and down with obvious disdain. “We’ve been coming to his rides for months. Months. And you—you didn’t even cheer! You just sat there like you were bored!”
“I mean...I was?”
Tara makes a sound like she's trying not to laugh.
“This is bullshit.” Bedazzled stands up, and her whole group follows. “Come on. We’re going to the back. Maybe if we’re there when he comes out—”
They file out of the row, shooting you looks that range from annoyed to homicidal.
The moment they’re gone, Tara turns to you with the biggest grin you’ve ever seen.
“Oh my god.”
“Don’t.”
“You made enemies in under eight seconds. I’m so proud.” She’s bouncing on her heels now. “Did you see their faces? They looked like you personally victimized them.”
“I didn’t do anything—”
“You existed while looking unimpressed. Apparently that’s a crime here.” She glances toward where the group disappeared, then back at you with a gleam in her eye. “God, they’re going to be so upset when they find out he—”
“When they find out he what? Looked at me for two seconds?”
“That man tipped his hat at you like a declaration of war. That’s not nothing.” Tara is still grinning. “Anyway, I need to pee. Come with?”
“Yeah, sure.”
You both head toward the bathrooms, navigating through the crowd. The line is mercifully short.
“I’m calling it now,” Tara says as you wait. “Something’s going to happen.”
“Nothing is going to happen. He probably tips his hat at people all the time.”
“Sure, babe. Keep telling yourself that.”
You roll your eyes and head into a stall. When you come out to wash your hands, Tara is leaning against the sink, scrolling her phone.
“You go ahead,” you tell her. “I’ll meet you back at the seats.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m going to fix my hair. I look like I’ve been at a rodeo.”
“You have been at a rodeo,” she confirms, already heading out. “Don’t take too long! Next round starts in ten!”
You’re willing your last few flyaways into place when your phone buzzes in your back pocket.
Unknown Number: Tell me.
Unknown Number: Did I disappoint you, or are you always like that?
Your stomach drops.
You: who is this?
Unknown Number: Take a wild guess, sweetie.
Unknown Number: Here’s a hint: silver hair, red eyes, just gave the performance of the night to the most unimpressed audience member in rodeo history.
Fuck.
You: how did you get my number?
Sylus: Your friend. The enthusiastic one in the seat next to you.
Sylus: I asked one of the staff to track down “the girl in section B who looked like she’d rather be getting a root canal.” She was very helpful.
You’re going to murder Tara.
You: that’s borderline stalking
Sylus: It’s resourceful.
Sylus: Also, your friend gave me your number with the promise that I would “show you a good time.” Her words, not mine.
Sylus: Though I’m not opposed to the prospect.
You: you’re insane
Sylus: You’re texting back awfully quickly for someone who thinks I’m insane.
Sylus: So. What’s your damage?
You: excuse me?
Sylus: I just rode 2000 pounds of rage that hospitalized four people this season. People are losing their minds. There are women in this crowd who would commit felonies for my autograph.
Sylus: And you looked like you were waiting for a bus.
Sylus: I need to know what your problem is.
The audacity of this man…
You: maybe i’m just not impressed by men showing off
Sylus: Showing off implies I did it for attention. I did it because it’s my job and I’m good at it.
You: i don’t cheer for men who do their jobs. sets a bad precedent
Sylus: You’re cruel.
Sylus: I like you.
Sylus: Gate 7. Twenty minutes.
You stare at your phone. This cannot be happening.
You: why would i do that?
Sylus: Because you’re curious. Because I’m curious. Because you clearly have opinions about my performance that you’re dying to share.
Sylus: Or are you scared?
You: of what? you?
Sylus: Of admitting I was more impressive than you’re letting on.
You: you’re delusional
Sylus: Gate 7. Twenty minutes. Prove me wrong.
You should block this number. Should go back to Tara. Should absolutely not go to Gate 7.
You: ...i’ll think about it
Sylus: Clock’s ticking, sweetie. Gate 7. Don’t make me come find you.
You pocket your phone and find your seat beside Tara in the stands, heart racing.
“Your cowboy texted me,” you inform her flatly.
“HE DID?!”
You wave your phone in her face as evidence.
“When were you planning on telling me you gave out my phone number to the man who looked ready to challenge me to a duel?!”
“He was asking around for it! What was I supposed to do, say no?” She looks absolutely delighted with herself. “Shit, what did he say? Is he asking you out? Please tell me he’s asking you out.”
“He wants me to meet him at Gate 7.”
Tara screams. Actually screams as she rips your phone out of your hand. Several people turn to look.
“YOU HAVE TO GO.” She’s reading the messages, scrolling rapidly. “He’s obsessed. He’s one hundred percent obsessed with you.”
“He’s not—”
“‘Don’t make me come find you’?” She looks at you with her jaw dropped. “That’s obsessed behavior. When are you going?”
“I’m not going—”
“You ARE going. This is Sylus Qin. Do you understand how many people would kill for this opportunity?” She’s already pointing you to the aisle. “Those girls down there are going to lose their minds. This is the best night of my life.”
“You’re a little too excited about this.”
“Are you kidding? You’re about to go meet the hottest bull rider in the circuit, and his entire fan club is going to implode when they find out. This is peak hurt-comfort material.” She pauses, eyes lighting up with realization. “I’m gonna try to console them afterward. The blonde one is kind of cute when she’s angry.”
“Tara.”
“What? You get the hot cowboy, I get to make the heartbroken rodeo girls feel better. Everybody wins.” She grins. “Especially me.”
You roll your eyes. She physically shoves you toward the exit.
“Now go. Before he changes his mind.” Tara looks down toward the rail where Bedazzled and her friends are still trying to get Sylus’s attention. “I’m going to go offer emotional support. Wish me luck.”
You’re going to strangle her. After you maybe, possibly go to Gate 7.
Just to tell off the cowboy.
Obviously.
—
Gate 7 leads to a restricted area—trailers, practice equipment, and cowboys in various states of undress. You’re about to turn back when you see Sylus.
He’s leaning against a fence, hat tilted back, stripped down to a white t-shirt that clings to his muscled frame in ways that should be illegal. There’s dirt on his jeans, and a dark bruise blooming on his pale forearm that he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by.
He’s taller up close. Broader. And those eyes are definitely, unnaturally red.
“You came.” He sounds genuinely pleased.
You nod, keeping a careful distance. “You’re very pushy for a stranger.”
“Sylus.” He pushes off the fence, extending a hand toward you. “Now I’m not a stranger.”
You take his hand, large and calloused and scarred along the knuckles. His grip is warm and firm, and he holds on just a second longer than necessary.
“And you are?”
You tell him your name, and he repeats it slowly, like he’s testing how it feels.
“Pretty. Doesn’t match the attitude, though.”
Your eyes narrow immediately. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You looked miserable up there. Bored. Like you were mentally filing your taxes.” He tilts his head, studying you. “City girl?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Sweetie, everything about you screams ‘I don’t belong here.’” His eyes drag over you slowly—your designer boots, your expensive jeans, the way you’re standing like you’re afraid of getting dirty. “Your boots cost more than most people make in a month. You’re holding yourself like someone might brush against you the wrong way. And you’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The one people get when they’re critiquing something they’ve never done themselves.”
“I don’t need to ride a bull to recognize—”
“Recognize what?” He’s close enough now that you have to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. “Go on. Tell me, princess. What did I do wrong?”
Princess.
He says it like he’s daring you to get offended. You want to hate it. But your pulse clearly didn’t get the memo.
“Second buck,” you say before you can stop yourself. “You held center. But you should’ve leaned into it.”
His eyebrows raise slightly. “Should I?”
“The bull was digging left. You stayed neutral. If you’d shifted your weight—”
“Show me.”
You blink. “What?”
“Show me.” He gestures to the fence rail beside him. “Up. Show me what I should’ve done.”
“I’m not getting on a fence—”
“Ah.” He crosses his arms, stance relaxed like he’s already won. “All that mouth was just for show. My mistake.”
Your jaw tightens. You step forward and grab the top rail.
His hand closes around your wrist before you’ve even set your weight.
“You’ll slip like that.” He adjusts your grip, thumb dragging across your palm. “Fingers here. Wrist locked. Unless you want to fall.”
“I wasn’t going to fall—”
“Show me, then.” He steps back, waiting.
You haul yourself up onto the rail, boots wedging between the crossbars, steadying your weight to keep your balance. You settle there, stable, and you know you’ve done it well because he pauses in that particular way men do when they realize you’re more capable than they assumed.
He moves closer slowly, until he’s standing right there, palm coming to rest lightly on your ankle.
“Your eyes weren’t on the rider,” he says.
“They were on the bull," you tell him. “The rider’s posture only matters relative to momentum. The animal is the variable. You were just—compensating.”
His thumb shifts against your ankle bone, pressure increasing the slightest fraction.
“Compensating for a thousand pounds of rage isn't ‘just’ anything.”
You meet his eyes. “It is when you’re supposed to be good at it.”
He doesn’t smile. He steps between your legs, looking up at you with that unreadable expression.
“Show me,” he says, unhurried. “Show me where you think I should’ve shifted.”
You swallow. “I’m not a professional—”
“That didn’t stop you from having an opinion, did it?” He tilts his head. “You’ve been judging me since I got off that bull. So judge. Show me what I did wrong.”
You lift your hand, pointing to where you’d seen the bull dig in. “Second buck. Right there. If you’d leaned into it instead of holding straight—”
His hand comes to your knee. Not grabbing, just setting the angle. “Like this?”
Your breath catches.
His other hand settles light on your hip—the kind of touch that’s functional, yet makes your skin burn through your jeans.
“Or here,” he asks, voice dropping lower, “if you want to keep your spine neutral?”
The air shifts between you.
“You’re—” You have to clear your throat. “You’re mocking me.”
“I’m learning.” His thumb brushes a slow circle against your knee. “You sat above me for eight seconds looking unimpressed. Now you’re above me again.” His eyes hold yours. “So teach me. What should I have done differently?”
It’s not about the bull anymore. You both know it.
“You should’ve—” Your voice is unsteady. “Weight forward. Hips angled—”
“Show me.” His hands are still on you, patient and sure. “Don’t tell me. Show me where.”
You shift your hips forward slightly to demonstrate and his grip tightens, subtle yet unmistakable.
“Like that?” His words are rougher now. “That’s what you wanted to see?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.” He steps back finally, hands dropping away, and you hate that you immediately miss the contact. “Get down.”
“What—”
“Get off the rail. I’m going to teach you something.”
“I don’t need—”
“Yes, you do.” He’s already walking toward the practice area. “You know the theory. Now let’s see if you can execute. Come on, city girl. Time to back up all that criticism.”
You should refuse. Should go back to the stands. Instead, you climb down from the fence and follow him.
Because he’s right. You’ve been judging from a distance. And something about the challenge in his voice makes you want to prove him wrong.
Or maybe prove him right.
You’re not sure which would be more satisfying.
—
The mechanical bull sits in the empty practice area like a challenge.
“Absolutely not.”
“You just spent ten minutes telling me what I did wrong.” Sylus is already at the control panel, adjusting settings with casual confidence. “Now you get to prove you understand what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t need to ride it to understand—”
“Talk is easy. Execution’s different.” He doesn’t look up. “You can critique all you want, but until you feel it, you don’t actually know anything.”
The dismissiveness in his tone makes you tense. “Fine. Start it up.”
“Not yet.” Now he looks at you. “Get on first.”
You approach the bull, eyeing it skeptically. It’s wider than it looked from a distance.
“Problem?”
“No.”
“Then stop stalling.”
You grab the rail and try to pull yourself up. Your boots slip on the metal and you barely catch yourself.
“Easy, princess.” He’s beside you instantly, hands on your waist. “Step on the platform. I’ll lift.”
“I can do it myself—”
“I know you can.” His grip is firm. “But this is faster. Up.”
He lifts you like you weigh nothing, and suddenly you're straddling the barrel, thighs spread wide, hands scrambling for the rope.
“Don’t.” His voice stops you cold. “Hands off.”
“Then how—”
“You were very confident about hip positioning a minute ago.” He walks around you slowly, assessing your form. “So use your hips. Thighs tight. Core engaged. That’s all you need.”
“That’s not—”
“It is.” He stops in front of you. “You’re trying to hold on because you don’t trust your body. But I watched you on that fence. You’ve got the strength. You just don’t know how to use it yet.”
His hand slides up your outer thigh—not suggestive, testing muscle tension. Your body doesn’t seem to know the difference.
“Squeeze.”
You do, and his hand presses back, checking your stance.
“Harder. You’re holding back.” His thumb digs into your quad. “I can feel it. You’re stronger than this. Show me.”
You squeeze harder, and he makes an approving sound.
“There. That’s what I want to feel.” His hand stays on your thigh, warm and grounding. “When this starts moving, that tension doesn’t drop. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll see.” He moves behind you, his hands settling on your hips. “Lean forward. Hips first.”
He guides your position—forward, tilted, adjusted until you’re perched in a way that feels both vulnerable and powerful.
“This feel unstable?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Good. It should.” His hands don’t leave your hips. “That instability is what you work with, not against. The bull moves, you move. Simple.”
“Nothing about this is simple—”
“It is when you stop overthinking.” His breath is warm against your ear now. “I’m starting it slow. Just feel it. Don’t try to predict or control. Just respond.”
The bull lurches to life.
Your instinct is to grab, to tense, to fight it.
“Breathe.” His voice cuts through your panic. “Hips loose. Let them move.”
You try to focus on your hips, on moving with the gentle rocking.
“Better. But you’re still thinking too much.” The bull bucks slightly harder, and you gasp. “Stop planning your next move. There is no next move. There’s only now.”
“That’s not helpful—”
"No?" He kills the power suddenly. “You want helpful?”
Before you can process, he’s swinging up behind you.
The barrel was already small. With him on it, there’s no space left. His chest is solid against your back, his thighs bracketing yours, his presence overwhelming every sense.
“What are you—”
“Teaching you the difference between knowing and understanding,” he says, like it’s obvious. Like this was inevitable. “You can tell me what I should’ve done. Now I’m going to show you why it works.”
His hands settle on your hips again—firmer this time, fingers splayed wide.
“This is your center.” His fingers press into your hip bones. “Everything starts here. When I move, you’ll feel it here first. Pay attention.”
You can’t do anything besides pay attention. Can’t think about anything except the heat of him, the firm weight pressed against you, the way his voice seems to resonate through your entire body.
“Ready?”
You nod because words are impossible.
The bull starts again, and this time it’s completely different. You feel how his body moves—the subtle shift of his hips, the roll of his spine, the way he absorbs each movement and redirects it. His hands guide you through it, showing you without words how to respond.
“Feel that?” His voice is low against your ear. “That’s what you were trying to describe. The lean, the shift, the weight distribution. It’s not about thinking. It's about feeling.”
His hips roll against yours, demonstrating, and your brain short-circuits.
“Breathe.” His hand spreads across your lower stomach, steadying you. “You’re holding your breath. Don’t. Breathe with the movement.”
You try to breathe, but it’s difficult when you’re this aware of every point of contact.
“Now you.” His hands loosen slightly. “Match my rhythm. Show me you understand.”
You focus on his movement, on the way his body guides yours, and you start to match it. Your hips roll with his, following his lead, and suddenly the movement makes sense.
“There she is.” The satisfaction in his voice goes straight to your core. “Knew you could do it. You just needed to stop thinking you knew better than your body.”
The bull bucks harder and you move with it, your hips rolling, your thighs squeezing, and his hands tighten on you.
“Atta girl.” The words come out rougher. “That’s exactly right. Keep it up.”
You do, and you feel the moment something shifts—the moment it clicks, the moment you stop fighting and start responding.
“You feel that, sweetie?” His voice is strained now. “That’s what eight seconds feels like. That’s what I feel when I ride.”
“Sylus—”
“I know.” His hands slide to your waist, holding you steady as the bull spins. “You’re feeling it now.”
The intimacy of the statement, combined with the movement, the heat, the way his body fits against yours—it’s overwhelming.
“This is—”
“Intense.” He finishes for you. “That’s the point. That's what you were watching from the stands and didn’t understand. The rush. The focus. The way everything else disappears and it’s just you and the movement and eight seconds of pure instinct.”
The bull bucks hard and you gasp, but his grip keeps you stable.
“I’ve got you, princess. You’re not falling. Just stay with me.”
And you do. You stay with him through every twist and buck, your body learning the rhythm, responding to his guidance, until you're not sure where your movement ends and his begins.
When he finally kills the power, you’re both breathing heavily.
“You got it. Eight seconds,” he announces after glancing at his watch. “Not bad for someone who’d never done it before.”
“You were helping—”
“I was teaching. You were learning.” His hands are still on your waist, and he hasn’t moved away. “Big difference. That was all you at the end.”
You’re painfully aware that you don’t want him to let go.
“So.” His thumbs stroke once across your sides. “Still think a city girl knows better than a cowboy?”
Your mouth is dry. “Maybe we’re even.”
His laugh is low and pleased. “Maybe.” He dismounts finally, fluid and controlled, then reaches up for you. “Come here.”
He lifts you down and your legs immediately betray you, shaking and unstable.
His arm wraps around your waist before you can fall. “Easy. Adrenaline drop. Give it a minute.”
“I’m fine—”
“You’re not.” His hand finds your pulse at your neck, pressing lightly. “Heart rate’s still elevated. You’re shaking. When’s the last time you ate?”
“Lunch. Around noon, I think.”
“Hours ago.” He’s already pulling out his phone. “You need food. There’s a diner close by. Best pie in the state.”
“I don’t need you to feed me—”
“Maybe not. But I’m doing it anyway.” He pockets his phone, arm still around your waist. “You just burned through all your energy, and I’m not letting you back out there until I know you’re steady. So. Diner. My treat.”
“This feels like a scheme to keep me around longer.”
“Is it working?” He holds you tighter against him, almost automatically—like his body recognized you before his mind caught up. “Because if it is, I’ve got a whole list of other places I could take you. Hardware store. Feed supply. This town is full of exciting places I could take my time with you.”
Something in the way he says it sends heat down your spine.
“You’re not subtle, you know.”
“Never claimed to be, sweetie.”
Before you can respond, your phone vibrates.
Tara: where ARE u???
Tara: DID SYLUS THE STALLION KIDNAP U???
Tara: if u are in danger pls respond
Tara: if u are having a good time ignore this
You swipe the notifications away.
Sylus watches your thumb move, red eyes half-lidded with amusement. “Emergency?”
“No. Not yet, anyway.” You slide the phone into your pocket. “But if you murder me, my friend knows your name. And your face.”
His laugh echoes across the arena. “Noted.”
You try to step out of his hold, but your legs have other ideas—immediately crumpling under you like two pieces of wet spaghetti.
Before you can hit the dirt, his hand flashes out, hooking a finger through your belt loop and yanking you back against him.
“Careful, city girl. Told you. Adrenaline crash.”
He doesn’t give you a chance to argue, just scoops you up with one arm and settles you against his side.
“Sylus, I can walk—”
“Clearly not,” he counters, but he’s grinning as he starts toward the parking lot, carrying you with ease. “Stop squirming. You’re only making this harder on yourself.”
You’re acutely aware of several things at once: his arm banded around you, the heat of him, the way his shoulder is right there. And—
Oh god.
The group of girls from earlier. Bedazzled and her friends—minus the blonde. All staring as Sylus walks right past them, carrying you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t even glance their way, completely oblivious. But they notice. Oh, they notice. If the looks they shot you were bullets, you'd already be bleeding out on the dirt.
You bury your face against his shoulder, trying to make yourself smaller.
“Cold, sweetie?” His voice rumbles through his chest.
“No,” you mutter into his shirt. “I’m trying not to get shanked.”
He pauses mid-step. “What?”
“Your fan club. They look like they want to murder me.”
He glances back, finally noticing the group of glaring fans, and laughs like you told him a bad joke.
“Oh, them.” He adjusts his grip on you, hauling you higher. In one smooth motion, he tosses you over his shoulder.
You shriek. “What are you doing?! Put me down!”
He dips you, slow, like he’s genuinely about to release you. “If you insist."
Your legs are dangling, the Sychos are staring, and you’re suddenly very aware of the distance between your boots and the ground.
“No—no, I don’t insist—!” You clutch at his shirt, holding onto him for dear life. “Don’t you dare put me down—”
“Thought so.” He straightens, one arm locking securely against you as he keeps walking. “See? Now they can’t reach you. Problem solved.”
“Sylus!”
“You’re the one who said they looked dangerous. I’m just being practical.” His hand settles firmly on the back of your thigh, patting it gently. “Now stop wiggling before you fall.”
“I’m going to fall because you just—you can’t just throw people over your shoulder—”
“Just did.” He heads straight for a massive black pickup, tall enough you’d need a running start to climb in. He pops the door open with one hand and deposits you in the passenger seat. “And you’re still in one piece. I’d say it all worked out.”
Your hands are still fisted in his shirt, arms locked around his shoulders. He notices immediately.
“You can let go now, sweetie,” he says, amused.
Your brain registers that you’re sitting. That you’re safe. That there’s no reason to still be holding on.
Your hands don’t get the message.
“I—” You look down at where your fingers are twisted in his shirt. “My hands aren't listening.”
“I can see that.” He’s trying not to smile. “You need a minute?”
“Shut up.” You force your fingers to uncurl, releasing him. You sink into the leather, groaning into your hands. “My dignity is destroyed.”
“Your dignity was already questionable after that bull ride.” He leans against the doorframe, eyes glinting with mischief. “Besides, it could've been worse.”
“How could that have possibly been worse?”
“I could’ve set you down and let them watch you try to stand on your own.” He’s smirking now. “Would’ve made my point even clearer.”
Your cheeks burn at the implication. “You’re impossible.”
“You keep saying that.” He closes your door and walks around to the driver’s side, sliding in with easy grace. “But you’re still here.”
“Maybe I’m waiting for the right moment to escape.”
“Good luck with that. Your legs still work about as well as a newborn calf’s.” He starts the engine, eyes flicking to you with amusement. “Give it another ten minutes. Then you can make your dramatic exit.”
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“I’m enjoying you. The entertainment is just a bonus.” He shifts into drive. “Seatbelt. Then you're going to tell me what possessed a city girl to spend her hard-earned money watching idiots wrestle with livestock for sport.”
—
The diner is exactly what you’d expect—vinyl booths, checkered floors, jukebox blasting something twangy, and a waitress who looks like she’s been working here since the dawn of time.
“Sylus, honey!” She’s got a thick drawl and a smile that crinkles her whole face. “Didn’t expect to see you tonight. Thought you’d be celebratin’ with the boys.”
“Had better plans, Dolores.” He gestures to you.
“Well, ain’t that somethin’.” Her eyebrows shoot up, looking between you both with obvious interest. “The usual for you, sugar?”
“Please. And whatever she wants.”
You order coffee and pie because apparently that’s what you do now. Follow strange cowboys to diners and eat pie at ten PM.
“I’ll get that right out.” Dolores pats Sylus on the shoulder as she leaves, but not before giving you a very obvious once-over that feels almost approving.
“So,” Sylus says once the waitress leaves. “Eight seconds.”
“Are we really doing this?”
“We’re absolutely doing this.” He leans back in the booth, looking insufferably pleased with himself. “You lasted eight seconds on that bull. With my help, admittedly, but still. Eight seconds.”
“And?”
“And I’m wondering if you can last longer.”
The way he says it makes heat crawl up your neck.
“Longer on the bull?” you ask carefully.
His smile is wicked. “Sure. Let’s start with that.”
Dolores brings pie—massive slices that look homemade. You take a bite and it’s unfairly delicious.
“Okay,” you admit. “This is really good pie.”
“Told you. Dolores doesn’t mess around.” He takes a bite of his own, watching you. “So. What do you do? When you’re not being dragged to rodeos, that is.”
“Marketing. Corporate.” You make a sour face. “It’s as boring as it sounds.”
“Can’t be that boring if it pays for those boots.”
“The boots are the only good thing about it.” You take another bite. “What about you? Is bull riding actually lucrative, or do you just like getting thrown around for fun?”
“I don’t get thrown, sweetie. That’s the whole point,” he corrects you with a grin. “And yeah, it pays well. If you’re good at it.”
“Which you are.”
“Which I am.” There’s no false modesty to it, just fact. “Been doing it since I was seventeen. Worked my way up. Now I’m ranked second in the country.”
“Second?”
“For now. I’ll be first by the end of the season.” He says it with absolute certainty.
“Confident.”
“Realistic. I know what I’m capable of.” His eyes meet yours. “And I know what I want.”
The weight of that statement sits between you.
“And what do you want?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
“Right now? To figure out what it takes to actually impress you.” He leans forward slightly. “Because I don’t think anyone’s managed it in a while.”
You open your mouth to respond when Sylus’s phone rings. He glances at it and sighs.
“Give me a minute. I need to take this.” He slides out of the booth. “Stay put.”
You blink up at him, chin tilted just a little. “Yes, sir.”
He stops, eyebrows lifting, then gives a soft, incredulous shake of his head.
“Cute.” He’s walking backward toward the bathroom, phone angled away from his mouth, still looking at you. “But if you’re trying to draw blood, sweetie, you’re going to have to put your jaw into it.”
You’re left alone with your pie, trying very hard to pretend your heartbeat isn’t pounding in places it has no business reaching.
“Can I top off that coffee, sugar?” Dolores appears almost immediately, like she was waiting for him to leave.
“Sure. Thanks.”
She pours slowly, then glances toward the bathroom. “He’s a good one, that Sylus.”
“I just met him like, two hours ago.”
“I know.” She’s smiling. “That’s what makes this excitin'.”
“What do you mean?”
Dolores leans in conspiratorially. “Honey, I’ve been workin’ here for fifteen years. This is the spot all them rodeo fellas flock to after. I’ve seen Sylus in ‘ere dozens of times—always with the boys, always alone. Never once brought a girl here. Not one time.”
Your heart flips. “Maybe he just—”
“Trust me, them buckle bunnies try. Lord, do they try. That boy has more women throwin’ themselves at him than I have napkins in this diner.” She shakes her head. “He’s always polite about it, that sweetheart. But he never takes ‘em up on it. Too focused on riding, he always says.”
“Then why—”
“That’s what I’m wonderin’, honey.” Dolores sets the coffee pot back on the counter, wiping her hands on her apron. “But whatever you did, you got his attention. Really got it. I can tell.”
You notice his hat sitting on the seat beside you—the black cowboy hat he’d tossed there when he sat down. On impulse, you pick it up and settle it on your head. It’s too big, sliding down slightly, and you have to tilt it back to see properly.
Dolores notices and her eyes go wide. Then she grins. “Oh, honey. Do y’know what that means?”
“What?”
“Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.” She’s trying not to laugh. “That’s the rule ‘round here.”
Your face heats. “That’s not a real—”
“Realer than them nails on your hand.” She eyes your manicure with a shake of her head, still grinning. “Cowboys don’t play pretend.”
She walks away, leaving you sitting there in his hat, suddenly very aware of what you’ve just done. You consider taking it off. Handing it back when he returns. Playing it safe. But something stubborn and reckless in you keeps it on.
You take a sip of coffee, trying to look casual, when the bathroom door opens.
Sylus walks back toward the booth, phone in his hand, looking slightly annoyed. “Sponsors. Kept going on about—”
He sees you and stops dead in his tracks.
His eyes go dark—pupils blown wide, that red almost glowing in the diner lighting. His jaw tightens, and you watch his throat work as he swallows.
“What do you think you’re doing, city girl?” His voice has dropped at least half an octave.
“Drinking coffee.” You take another sip, holding his gaze, heart hammering. “Why?”
“You know why.” He slides back into the booth, but there’s tension in every line of his body now. “Take it off.”
“Why?” You rest your chin on your hand and blink up at him. “Does it not look good on me?”
He goes quiet for a moment, just looking at you. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, almost laughing. “It looks perfect on you. That’s the problem.”
“I don’t see a problem.”
“Of course you don’t, princess.” He leans back, arms spreading across the back of the booth. “You put on a man’s hat and think it’s just a fashion statement.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.” He’s studying you now, that intense focus that makes you feel pinned in place. “It’s a claim. One I don’t think you intended to make.”
You adjust the hat on your head, tilting it back slightly so he can see your face better.
“That depends on what I’m claiming.”
His gaze traces your mouth, your throat, the line of brim shading your eyes. When his attention finally returns to yours, he drops the word between you like a coin:
“Me.”
You open your mouth, but nothing actually comes out. He smiles like he knew that would happen.
“You publicly claimed a cowboy. Impressively reckless move, by the way.” He leans back, legs stretching under the table like he’s getting comfortable. “So now I have two choices: ignore you, or teach you what you started.”
“And which are you choosing?”
“What do you think?”
Your eyes narrow. “I think you’re enjoying this too much.”
“I am. You’ve been pushing me all night. Looking unimpressed, critiquing my ride, now stealing my hat.” His eyes scan your face. “Now you’re sitting there wearing it like you’re innocent."
“Maybe I just like the style.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you wanted to see what I’d do. How I’d react. Whether I’d actually follow through.” He cocks his head. “So. How am I doing? Meeting expectations?”
Your mouth is dry. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.” His voice drops lower. “You’ve been testing me since the moment I met you. Before that, even. Every word, every look.” He leans forward slightly. “This is just you pushing harder. Seeing if I’ll push back.”
“And will you?”
“Absolutely.” He doesn’t waste a breath. “Question is whether you’re ready for it.”
“I can handle it.”
His laugh is quiet. “Can you, sweetie? Because that hat says you want something specific from me. Something I’ve been holding back on all night.” His red eyes are dark now. “And once I stop holding back, I don’t do things halfway.”
The promise in his voice makes heat pool low in your stomach.
“You’re very confident.”
“I know what I'm looking at. Someone who’s been playing it safe. Someone who wants to stop overthinking.” He pauses. “Someone who put on my hat because she wanted me to do something about it.”
“That’s a lot of assumptions.”
“Then take it off.” He gestures to the hat. “Right now. Prove me wrong.”
You reply with a single shake of your head—no.
His smile is absolutely feral.
“We’re leaving.”
You blink up at him. “Maybe I’m not finished.”
He tosses way too much cash onto the table—enough to pay for the coffee, the pie, Dolores’s retirement, and the entire county fair.
“Yes, you are.” He stands, extending his hand. “Come on, city girl. Time to see if you can back up what that hat is promising."
You look at his hand. At the challenge in his eyes. At the way he’s smiling like he already knows exactly how this is going to end.
And you take it.
His palm is warm against yours as he guides you to the door. As you pass the counter, Dolores calls out: “You take good care of her now, y’hear?”
Sylus doesn’t break stride. “Oh, I intend to.”
Outside, the night air hits you, cool and dusty. Gravel crunches beneath your boots as you approach his pickup parked at the edge of the lot. He opens the passenger door, but before you can climb in, his hands are on either side of you, caging you in. One is pressed beside your head against the metal, the other settling on the open door, his body a wall of heat that’s too close to ignore.
“Last chance,” he says, like a warning. His fingers toy lazily with the hat. “You take this off, I drive you back to your hotel. Wish you good night like a gentleman.” His thumb pauses at the curve of the brim. “And the next time we see each other, we’re back to being strangers.”
It’s a terrible idea. You know it’s a terrible idea. But he’s looking at you like he’s already imagining you in his lap, and you’re looking at him like you want to see how good he is without the bull.
You reach up and adjust the hat, making sure it’s secure.
“I don’t want to be strangers.”
He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, his hands settle on your waist as he lifts you effortlessly, taking his time settling you into the passenger seat. He reaches for your seatbelt, pulling it across your body slowly. The click echoes in the quiet of the cab.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I couldn’t forget this—”
Only then does he lean in, forearm braced against the doorframe, his face inches from yours. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear with an affection so unexpected you forget how to breathe. For a second, you think he might kiss you.
Instead, he flicks the spot he cleared on your forehead.
“—if I tried.”
—
Sylus doesn’t drive back toward town. Instead, he heads in the opposite direction—away from the arena, away from the lights, into the dark stretch of highway that leads to nothing but open land.
“Where are we going?” you ask.
“You’ll see.”
His hand rests on the gear shift, close enough to your thigh that you’re acutely aware of it. The radio plays something slow and country that you don’t recognize, and the silence between you isn’t uncomfortable—just charged. Waiting.
You watch the landscape change outside your window, buildings giving way to fields, streetlights disappearing until there’s nothing but darkness.
“This is very serial killer of you,” you say finally.
He glances over, amused. “Having second thoughts?”
“Just making an observation.”
“For the record, if I wanted to murder you, I wouldn’t take you somewhere this obvious.” He’s smiling now, thumb tapping against the steering wheel in time with the music. “Besides, you're still wearing my hat. That implies a certain level of trust.”
Your hand goes to the brim automatically. You’d almost forgotten it was there.
“Or a certain level of stupidity.”
“Maybe both.” He turns off the highway onto a dirt road, the truck bouncing slightly over the uneven ground. “We’re almost there.”
“Almost where?”
“Patience.”
The road winds upward, climbing steadily. Trees give way to open sky, and then suddenly you’re at the top of a hill and he's pulling over, killing the engine. The entire valley spreads out below—a sea of twinkling lights in the distance, small towns and scattered ranches creating constellations on the dark earth. Above, the sky is filled with stars, more than you’ve ever been able to see in the city.
“Oh,” you say quietly.
“Yeah.” He’s watching you instead of the view. “I like to come up here after a ride. Bulls fight back, fans scream—up here, no one asks anything of you.”
You tear your eyes away from the sky to look at him. “It’s beautiful.”
“It is,” he agrees. But he’s still looking at you, not the landscape.
“Pretty stars,” you say, but there's a challenge in the words. “Shame you haven’t looked at them once.”
“If you want to talk constellations, sweetie, I’ll play along.” He shifts in his seat, angling toward you. “Or you can admit you didn’t climb in my truck because you're fond of astronomy.”
“First of all, I didn’t climb in your truck.” You manage to find your voice. “You picked me up and put me in it.”
“Correct.” His mouth curves slow. “And then you latched onto me like a kitten falling out of a tree and said, and I quote, ‘don’t you dare put me down.’”
Your face heats. “My legs weren’t working—”
“Your legs were working just fine once we got to the truck.” His eyes hold yours. “You just didn’t want me to stop touching you.”
The tension in the truck is suffocating.
“Get in the back,” he says quietly.
Your stomach flips. “What?”
“The backseat.” He says it simply, nodding toward the leather bench seat behind you. “Go on. I’ll give you a head start.”
“A head start for what—”
“For getting comfortable before I join you.” His eyes are dark now, heated. “Unless you’d rather stay up here and stare out the windshield?”
You should probably ask more questions. Should probably think this through. Instead, you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn toward the back.
The console is in the way, making you climb over the seat awkwardly. You brace one hand on the seat back, getting one knee up on the console—
“Keep it moving, sweetie.”
You shoot him a look over your shoulder. “Make me.”
The crack of his palm against your ass is immediate, sharp enough to make you gasp. Then his hand is rubbing the spot gently, soothing.
“Consider it done."
“You just—”
“Helped you along. You asked for it.” He sounds completely unrepentant. “Would’ve been inconsiderate of me not to oblige.”
Your face is burning as you scramble the rest of the way into the backseat. You turn to glare at him through the gap between the seats.
“Comfortable back there?” he asks smugly.
“You’re an asshole.”
“And you like it.”
You settle into the backseat, heart pounding, very aware of how spacious it is. How the tinted windows make it feel private despite being parked on a hilltop. How he’s still in the front seat, just watching you squirm.
“Are you coming back here or not?”
“Depends.” He’s taking his sweet time, the bastard. “Are you going to keep that attitude when I do?”
“Probably.”
“Excellent.” He shifts, and you hear the driver’s door open. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
He gets out and you hear his boots on the ground, coming around to the back door. It opens and suddenly he’s there—too big for the space, filling the entire doorway as he climbs in with easy confidence.
The door closes behind him, and suddenly the truck feels very small.
He takes a seat, legs spread, one arm along the back of the headrest, and just looks at you.
“Come here.”
You move toward him and he guides you with hands on your waist until you’re straddling his lap exactly like you straddled the bull earlier. The position is familiar now, but infinitely more intimate. His hands settle on your hips, thumbs pressing into the hollows.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Still wearing my hat, I see.”
“You told me to keep it on.”
“I did.” His hands slide up your waist, then back down. “Looks good on you. Better than I imagined.”
“You imagined this?”
“From the second you put it on.” His eyes hold yours. “Imagined you exactly like this. In my lap, in my hat, in the back of my truck. Reality’s better, though.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His hand comes up to adjust the hat again, tilting it back slightly so he can see your face better. “Because now I get to see if you can follow through on what you started.”
You swallow. “And what did I start?”
“Everything.” His hand moves to cup your face, turning it toward his. “You sat up in those stands looking at me like eight seconds was nothing. Critiqued my form to my face. Then had the goddamn nerve to put on my hat in front of witnesses.” His other hand presses against your ribs, palm warm and steady through the thin cotton. “And for someone so unimpressed, your heart’s about to beat right through your shirt.”
You glance down at his hand on your ribs, then back up at him, tilting your head with mock innocence. “If you wanted to get your hands on me, you could’ve just asked nicely.”
“Is that right? Then allow me to ask you nicely.” His fingers curve around your jaw, thumb skimming your bottom lip. “Can I kiss you? Can I put my hands on you? Can I make you forget every reason you think this is a bad idea?”
The directness of it steals your breath.
“That's a lot of questions.”
“One word answers all of them.” His eyes search yours, glowing a deep red that’s almost otherworldly even in the dark. “So what's it going to be, sweetie? Yes or no?”
You want to make him work for it more. Tease him, push back, see how far you can take this.
Instead, you hear yourself say: “Yes.”
His smile is devastating. “Say it again.”
"Yes."
Then his mouth is on yours, and every thought evaporates.
The kiss isn’t tentative or testing—it’s all-consuming. His tongue slides against yours with clear intent, his hand tightening in your hair to angle you exactly how he wants you. You make a sound that’s embarrassingly desperate and feel his mouth curve against your lips.
“There it is,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to speak. “Knew you’d make those pretty sounds.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
You kiss him harder, fisting your hands in his shirt, and his laugh vibrates through you. His hand slides from your jaw to your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, feeling your pulse race under his palm.
“You taste even better than I thought you would,” he says against your mouth, kissing you again before you can respond. “Been thinking about this since you looked at me like I was wasting your time in those stands.”
“That was barely three hours ago—”
“Three hours too long.” His teeth catch your bottom lip, tugging gently. “Could’ve done this in the parking lot. In the diner. Hell, I thought about it on the practice bull when you were sitting in my lap, acting like you didn’t know what you were doing to me.”
You roll your hips like you did on the bull, teasing, feeling exactly how hard he is through the denim.
He hisses through his teeth.
“That's how we’re doing this, hm?” His hand slides from your throat to your hip, holding you still with effortless strength. “You want to play, princess? Fine. Let’s play.”
His mouth finds your neck and you gasp at the heat of it, at the scrape of teeth followed by the soothing stroke of his tongue. He’s marking you, and you both know it—intentional, claiming, leaving evidence that you were here, that you let him do this.
“Sylus—”
“I know. I can feel you shaking. You want more.” His hand slips under your shirt, settling at your low back. “You’ve been worked up since the bull, haven’t you?”
Heat runs up your spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Liar.” His teeth graze your earlobe. “I felt how you were shaking. Saw how flushed you got. And I’d bet my prize money that if I touched you right now, I’d find you soaked.”
Heat floods through you at the accusation. “You’re very sure of yourself.”
“Am I wrong?”
You don’t answer, which is answer enough.
“Thought so. You want something? Then ask nicely.” His smile presses against your throat. “You made such a point of it earlier. So ask.”
Your pride wars with your need. “I don’t beg—”
“I didn’t ask you to beg. I asked you to ask.” He pulls back to look at you, and there’s heat in his eyes, but something patient, too. “What do you want?”
The way he’s looking at you—like he’ll wait all night if that’s what it takes, like he’ll give you anything you ask for as long as you just ask—makes something in you soften.
“Touch me, Sylus,” you say quietly. “Please.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard.” His hand slides higher up your shirt, fingers tracing your stomach, your ribs, the underside of your breast. “And since you asked so nicely…”
His thumb brushes across your nipple and you gasp, arching into the touch.
“That’s what I wanted to see.” His voice has gone dark, satisfied. “You, letting go. Not thinking so hard about your next smart comment. Just feeling.”
His thumb circles again, slower this time, and you bite your lip to keep from making another embarrassing noise.
“Don’t.” His other hand finds your chin, pulling your lip free with his thumb. “I want to hear it. Every sound. Every breath. No one can hear you out here but me. So let me hear what I do to you.”
He rolls your nipple between his fingers, and you can’t stop the moan that escapes.
“Perfect.” He sounds wrecked. “Do that again.”
“Sylus, please—”
“Please, what?” His mouth finds your jaw, kissing a path to your ear. “Use your words. Tell me what you need.”
“More—I need more—”
“More of this?” His hand moves to your other breast, giving it the same attention. “Or more of me?”
“Both—” Your hips rock forward on instinct, and this time he doesn’t stop you. Sylus lets you grind against him, his free hand at your hip guiding the movement.
“That’s it, pretty girl. Take what you need.” His breathing has gone rough. “Show me how badly you want this.”
You rock against him again and feel him twitch beneath you, hard and hot even through all the layers of clothing.
“Fuck.” The curse slips out raw and unfiltered. “You feel what you do to me? How hard you make me when you move like that?”
“Yes—”
“Good. Because I’d like to return the favor.” His hand slides from your breast down your stomach, fingers playing at the button of your jeans. “Say yes.”
“Yes—god, yes—”
Your yes barely lands before his mouth is back on yours, hot and wet and relentless as he flicks the button open and slides the zipper down with ease. “Lift up for me.”
You do, bracing your hands on his shoulders, and he helps you shimmy out of your jeans and underwear. They get stuck on your boots, and you both fumble with them, laughing breathlessly until you’re finally naked from the waist down.
“Leave them. Boots and hat stay on,” he decides, eyes dragging over you. “I like the look.”
“Of course you do.”
“City girl spread out like a cowgirl in the back of my truck?” His hands are on your thighs, spreading them wider. “That’s a fantasy I didn’t know I had until right now.”
He’s still fully clothed, and there’s something obscene about it that makes you squirm—you half-naked in his lap while he’s still in his jeans and t-shirt.
“Don’t get shy on me now.” His thumb brushes your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you need him. “You’ve been pushing me all night. Testing me. And you’ve been so damn good at it, too.”
He glides a single finger through your center and you gasp at the contact, your body curving into his touch involuntarily.
“Christ,” he groans. “All this for me?”
You can’t form words.
“Since the bull?” His fingers trace through your wetness, maddeningly light. “Since I had my hands on your hips? Or before that—since you watched me ride?”
“All of it,” you manage.
“All of it.” He sounds way too satisfied with himself. “So you were impressed. You were just too stubborn to admit it.”
“Your ego—”
“Is about to get a lot bigger.” He finds your clit and circles it slowly. “Because I’m going to make you come for me at least twice before you even think about taking my cock. Understand?”
Your breath catches. “Twice?”
“Minimum.” His hand slides higher, cupping you fully now. “You’ve been wound up all night. I’m not rushing this on account of your impatience.”
“Don’t—ah—” Your protest dies when his finger circles slowly. “Don’t be smug about it—”
“Too late.” He watches your face with wicked eyes as he touches you, learning what makes you gasp, what makes you grind down against his hand. “But I like that you’re still trying to tell me what to do. Keep it up. See where it gets you.”
His finger slides inside and you cry out, head falling forward to rest against his shoulder.
“That’s it. Take what you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
He works you slowly, adding another finger when you’re ready, his thumb finding your clit with devastating pressure. And all the while he’s murmuring praise against your temple—telling you how perfect you are, how good you feel, how beautiful you look falling apart for him.
“Sylus—I’m gonna—”
“I know. I can feel it.” His fingers move faster. “There. Right there. Come on, princess. Let me see what happens when you finally stop fighting it. Make it count. I've got you.”
The command combined with his fingers and his voice and the heat of him beneath you—it’s all too much. Your orgasm hits with a cry, clenching around his fingers as pleasure crashes through you. He works you through it, drawing it out until you’re trembling and oversensitive, and only then does he slowly withdraw his hand.
You’re still catching your breath when he brings his fingers to his mouth.
Your eyes go wide. “Sylus—”
“Shh.”
His own eyes close as he tastes you, tongue dragging over the pads of his fingers. When his lashes lift again, he looks wrecked in a way you've never seen.
“That,” he murmurs, lips closing around his knuckle, “is going to be a problem.”
You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but stare at his mouth.
“A...problem?”
“For me. And now for you,” he says, hand already sliding up your thigh once more. “That’s one. Now let’s get you the second one before I lose my mind.”
You shake your head. “I can’t—I’m too—”
“You can. You will.” His two fingers slip inside with little resistance, fucking you slowly but without mercy. “I need you ready for me. Need to make sure your body can handle what it’s begging for. Understand?”
Your hand flies to his wrist—not to stop him, just to hold on.
He looks down where you're holding him, lips brushing your cheek. "Oh? That bad already?"
Your head falls to his shoulder. “This is torture—”
"Maybe." His thumb presses against your clit again and you jerk. “But you’ll thank me for it later.”
His fingers work you back up, and despite the oversensitivity, despite thinking you couldn’t possibly—
“That's it.” His forehead presses against yours, breath hot against your lips. “Feel that? Let it build. Don't rush. I want all of it.”
You’re climbing again impossibly, every nerve ending screaming, and when his fingers curl just right—
“Fuck—already?” He increases the pressure, and you cry out. “Greedy little thing. Go ahead. Give me another one.”
You do, less intense than the first but somehow deeper, clenching around his fingers while he murmurs approval.
“That’s two.” He slowly withdraws his hand, and your breath hitches at the loss. Before you can process the movement, his fingers are at your lips. “Open.”
You do, and he slides them into your mouth—the same fingers that were just inside you. The taste is foreign and intimate and when you automatically close your lips around them, his breathing goes ragged.
“Look at that.” His eyes are locked on your mouth. “So obedient when it suits you, hm?”
You swirl your tongue around his fingers deliberately, and his hips jerk beneath you. Then you bite down lightly and he laughs.
“There she is.” He pulls his hand away, already working his belt. “Now help me with this before I lose what’s left of my patience.”
Your fingers join his at the buckle. “Didn’t know you had any patience to begin with.”
“I’m a very patient man.” He gets his jeans open just enough to free himself. “Just not when it comes to you.”
There’s a moment where your brain can’t connect the visual to reality.
His cock sits in his palm, thick and heavy, already flushed and glistening with precum that's slowly swelling under his thumb. A single vein runs along the shaft, steady and pulsing with each heartbeat you can feel through your own.
You felt him earlier—broad and unforgiving, even through denim, against the curve of your ass every time your hips rolled back into him on the practice bull. You’d convinced yourself it was just the momentum. Coincidence. Adrenaline.
You look up at him. Then down. Then up again.
“Show-off,” you scoff, but it comes out thinner than intended.
He huffs out a laugh, low and disbelieving. "Sweetie, if you're going to bluff to my face, at least don't drool while you do it."
You try for nonchalant, rolling your eyes and straightening your spine. It does nothing to hide the tremor in your knees.
“You’re shaking. Relax.” Before you can protest, he’s already cupping your jaw, kissing you slowly, deeply, thoroughly, in a way that says slow down, you’re okay, I’m right here. He pulls away only when he’s sure you’re not trembling anymore. “You can handle it.”
He positions you over him, hands on your hips, guiding you onto the blunt head of his cock.
“Slow,” he instructs. “Take your time. Let your body adjust.”
You sink down slowly and the stretch makes you gasp. He’s patient—letting you control the pace, hands steady on your waist.
“That’s it. Breathe. You’re taking me so well.” His voice is strained. “Almost there. Just a little more.”
When you're fully seated, you’re both breathless.
“There,” he says roughly. “That’s one.”
Understanding hits you through the haze.
“You’re counting,” you say.
“I’m counting.” His hands squeeze your hips. “You lasted eight seconds on that bull. Let’s see if you can make it to nine on me.”
“And if I can’t?”
“Then we keep trying until you do.” His teeth scrape your collarbone. “I’ve got all night.”
You brace your hands on his shoulders and start to move, rolling your hips the way he taught you earlier.
“There you go. Just like that. Find your rhythm.”
You do, and his hands help guide you, help you find the perfect angle.
“That’s two,” he says when you rock down particularly hard.
When you really start to ride him it’s not pretty, not practiced, but instinctive and desperate. The stretch, the fullness—it's almost too much, the way every shift of your hips makes him groan beneath you. His hands slide up your back, threading into your hair when your rhythm stutters.
“Three.”
You’re already nearing the edge of release again—oversensitized and overwhelmed but chasing that feeling anyway.
“Four.”
“Sylus, it’s—too—too much—”
“You can take it. I know you can.” His fingers circle your clit slowly, and you can't help the way you clench around him. His jaw flexes, eyes closing for half a second. “Not yet, sweetie. Give me five more. I know you’ve got it in you.”
“I can’t—”
“Yes, you can. You’re tougher than you think.” You slam down hard, chasing that feeling, and his control visibly cracks. “Five—fuck—”
Your thighs are burning, your breath coming in gasps, but you don’t stop. Can’t stop. You sink onto him once more, inch by inch.
“Six.”
“Sylus—”
“I know. I can feel it. The way you’re clenching around me.” His other hand tightens in your hair. “But you don’t get to come until we hit nine. Think you can hold it?”
It’s torture. Exquisite torture.
You ride him in one long stride, hips lifting until just the tip holds you, then sinking back down until he fills you to the base.
“Christ—Seven—”
Your thighs are shaking now, barely holding on, and he knows it.
“That's it. Take it.” The words are hot against your throat. Everything else fades. “Eight.”
“I can’t hold it—”
“Yes you can. Give me one more." His hands tighten around your hips, holding you steady. "One more, and it's all yours.”
You slam down hard, and he groans your name into your mouth.
“Nine.”
You shatter, clenching around him, and suddenly he’s moving—flipping you both so you’re on your back across the seat, legs spread, boots planted on either side of him as he looms over you.
“My turn.” He pulls almost all the way out, your walls still fluttering around him as you chase the end of your third orgasm. "Unless you want me to stop?"
“Sylus—please—I need—”
He pushes back in, driving deep into you in one motion. You wait for the rhythm, the thrust, the relief. He doesn't give it to you.
“I know what you need.” Your hips twitch once, and his fingers tighten around them in gentle warning. “But I need to hear you say it.”
You clutch at his forearms, nails digging into the taut muscle. "Sylus—move—"
"Move how?" He stays infuriatingly still. "Faster? Harder? You're going to have to be more specific than that, sweetie."
"Harder—I need you to—god, just fuck me, Sylus, please—"
"Finally."
It sounds like relief, like hunger, like he's been holding himself back as much as he's made you wait.
Then he moves—hard and fast and exactly what you asked for—and your back arches off the seat. His hands shift to your thighs, spreading you wider, holding you open at an angle that hits deeper, more intense in all the places you’re already trembling from before.
"Is this what you needed? This what you've been trying to say?"
"Yes—ah—yes—"
One hand slides between you, finding your oversensitive clit, and you nearly sob.
“Wanted this since I saw you—” His hips snap forward harder. “That bored look on your pretty face—wanted to fuck it right off you—”
He’s not counting anymore. Not teasing. Just taking what he needs, and something about the raw desperation in it makes you clench around him.
“Jesus—” he groans, head dropping forward. “—do that again.”
You do, and he’s on you, mouth on your shoulder, teeth catching skin—not to mark you this time, but to survive you. His hand leaves your thigh to brace against the window behind you, giving him more leverage. The truck rocks with the force of his thrusts and you don’t care, can’t care about anything except the feeling of him inside you.
“Too much—”
“Not enough. One more,” he says, and it’s not a request. “Give me one more and I’ll give you everything.”
You’re wound up impossibly again, every inch of you too sensitive, his fingers and his cock and his voice still pushing you higher, higher, higher—
“That’s it. You feel that?” His thrusts get harder, more erratic, fingers circling your aching clit as he pounds into you. “You've got me. Fuck—I'm right there with you, okay? Right there—stay with me. Take me with you. Now.”
You clench around him helplessly, so tight that Sylus feels every pulse, every aftershock, every sensation of your orgasm wrapped around his cock. He follows immediately after, burying himself deep with a sound that’s almost pained, spilling the heat of his release inside you, holding you like he's afraid you'll disappear. His hand grips the leather seat like he might rip it out of the truck, and you feel the way his whole body goes taut before collapsing against yours.
For a moment he stays frozen like that, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard. Then he carefully pulls out, and you both wince. His hands are immediately around you, pulling you up and gathering you against his chest as he shifts to sit back against the seat.
You end up curled in his lap, dazed and spent, his arms wrapped around you like he's not quite ready to let go yet.
His mouth finds your temple in a single, unhurried kiss. Another follows just under your jaw, then another on your shoulder. He doesn't speak, just holds you while your breathing slowly evens out.
“Holy shit," you finally manage.
“Yeah.” His laugh is breathless against your neck. “Holy shit.”
He shifts you carefully in his lap, pulling you tighter against his chest so you're tucked under his chin, legs draped over his thighs. Your body feels like liquid, every muscle completely melted, nerve endings still firing in aftershocks. His hands are gentle now—one rubbing slow circles on your back, the other reaching for tissues from the center console. He takes care of you with surprising tenderness, his touch soft where moments ago it was demanding.
“You with me, city girl?” He speaks quietly into your hair, pressing a kiss on top of your head. “How are you feeling?”
You lift your head to look at him. “Like I just got thrown off a bull. Except better.”
“Mission accomplished.” His smile is relieved, then turns knowing. “You’re going to feel this tomorrow. Fair warning.”
“Is that supposed to scare me?”
“It’s supposed to prepare you.” He glances down at you, hand tracing patterns against your hip. “Every time you sit down in those bleachers tomorrow, you’re going to remember exactly what happened in this truck.”
“Bold of you to assume I’ll be in the bleachers.”
“You will be. Front row, sweetie.” His voice is confident but not cocky. “So I can see the moment you stop pretending I don’t impress you.”
You could play it cool. Noncomittal. Hedge your bets. But the way he’s looking at you—hopeful and honest and maybe a little uncertain underneath all that confidence—makes you want to be honest with him, too.
“Yeah. I’ll be there.”
He goes still for half a second, just long enough for you to catch the spark in his eyes. He looks at you for a long moment like he's trying to memorize something, then clears his throat.
“That's good. Really good,” he says it low, fighting a smile and losing. One hand squeezes your hip while the other reaches for your jeans. “Here. Lift up. Let's get you dressed before I say something that makes you reconsider.”
You do, and he helps you shimmy them back on. They get stuck on your boots—again—and you’re both laughing together like a shared secret by the time you finally get them past your ankles.
“These damn boots,” you mutter.
“Careful." His tone is almost protective. "Those boots are innocent. They stayed on like they were supposed to. That's what matters.” He helps work your jeans over them carefully. "In fact, they're the only thing that behaved." His eyes land on something near his feet as he's tucking his shirt back in. He picks up his hat, holding it between two fingers. "This one apparently couldn't handle the ride."
“When did that happen?”
“No idea. I was distracted.” He settles it back on your head like it belongs there, adjusting the brim. “There. That’s better. That’s the look I wanted.”
“What look?”
“City girl in a cowboy hat looking like she just got thoroughly ruined by a bull rider.” His smile is pure satisfaction. “It’s a good look on you.”
“Your ego is showing again.”
“Can you blame me?” He cups your face, eyes warm as he leans in to kiss you, softer now, but no less intense. “Now. Where are you staying? I should get you back before your friend calls the cavalry.”
While he’s focused on finding the location on his phone, you glance around the fogged interior. The windows are completely opaque—condensation covering every surface, hiding the world outside. On impulse, you reach back and trace your name in the moisture on the back window.
You’re halfway through when you catch his eyes in the rearview mirror, watching you with an expression you can’t quite read.
“Hold on.” He sets his phone in the cupholder and twists around, reaching back to add his name right next to yours in the condensation, then draws a heart connecting them.
“There.” He settles back into his seat, looking pleased. “Now we match.”
Your heart does something complicated behind your ribs. Before you can respond, your phone erupts with buzzing from somewhere in the passenger seat.
Tara: GIRL WHERE ARE U
Tara: are u ALIVE
Tara: send proof of life IMMEDIATELY!!!
“Your friend thinks I've got you hogtied behind the barn,” Sylus says, reading the texts over your shoulder. “Funny. I haven't even gotten my rope out.”
"Yet?" The word slips out before you can stop it.
His laugh rumbles through his chest as he pulls you back against him, like the sound is something you're meant to feel, not hear. “You're unbelievable. Now give me the phone.”
“Why—”
“Proof of life. Come here.”
He pulls you against him with one arm, holding your phone up with the other. You’re both completely disheveled—his silver hair a mess, your face flushed, his hat crooked on your head—both grinning like idiots.
He takes the photo and hands your phone back.
“There. Send that. Should ease her concerns.”
You send it.
The response is instantaneous.
Tara: OH MY GOD
Tara: OH MY GOD
Tara: U LOOK SO HAPPY
Tara: IS THAT HIS TRUCK???
Tara: THATS MY GIRLLLLL
Then another message pops through. A photo.
It’s Tara—equally disheveled, equally pleased—with her arm around a blonde girl. The blonde girl, the one who'd been glaring daggers at you earlier. Both of them look extremely satisfied with themselves.
You stare at your phone. “Oh my god.”
Sylus leans over to look, and his laugh is genuine.
“Looks like you and your friend both got your money's worth out of the rodeo.” He starts the engine, hand immediately returning to rest on your thigh. “You ready, sweetie?”
“For what?”
“The twenty-minute drive where I try very hard not to think about pulling over and seeing if you can make it to ten.”
“Ten?” You blink at him. “That’s…ambitious.”
He doesn’t miss a beat.
“Tomorrow, then.” He says it with such certainty, like it's already decided. Like there's no question you'll both end up here again.
He shifts into drive, thumb tracing lazy patterns on your leg. The radio plays quiet jazz. The world outside is dark except for passing streetlights and the occasional glow of distant houses. You settle back into your seat, watching the open road unfold ahead of you.
Then you catch it in the side mirror—the back window of his truck, still fogged from the heat you created together. And there, illuminated by the moonlight, you can just make out the shapes: your name and his, connected by that careful heart he drew.
Your heart stumbles in that way that always means trouble.
His hand squeezes your thigh once, like he knows exactly what you're thinking.
You look over at him—at his profile in the dim light, at the small smile playing at his lips, at the way he glances over at you like he can't help himself—and cover his hand with yours.
and once we reached the coast you said, "end of the line", we finally reach the edge, after all this time
you and hollis finally hit california, the coast, and for a brief moment, everything seems right. until it doesn't.
tags: roadtrip, smut (p in v), fingering, oral sex (male receiving), slightly angst with resolution, happy ending.
w/c: 8.8k
a/n: i don't even know what to say it took me a while to figure out how to wrap things up with this one. i thought about so many possible ways to end it, but this one seemed like the right one. also, thank you to everyone who took the time to read through the whole thing and show love, it really got me excited about writing all eight chapters. hope you like this one!!!<2
this is the 8th and final part of a series, consider reading the previous parts for context: ﴾ part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, previous part ﴿
The road south slowly dissolved the deep green and blue of the valley into something else entirely. Only an hour in and the landscape had already shifted — wider, flatter, golden in the late afternoon light. You didn't know if it was the thrill or the anxiety of finally getting somewhere, but you couldn't stay still. Your feet were up on the dashboard, the sun warm through the glass on your ankles. The windows were down and the wind pulled at your short hair in a way you were still getting used to. You had his gun in your hand, turning it over idly like a toy.
"Careful," he said. You smirked. "I mean it."
"What? You taught me how to use this thing."
"I taught you how to use the revolver. That's something else."
"It's pretty, this one," you said, the pistol sitting differently in your grip than you expected — heavier, unfamiliar.
"And expensive," he said, and you opened your mouth.
"You're worried I'll break it? Not that I'll hurt myself?"
"Both, actually."
"Don't worry about your little toy," you said, and he laughed at the undertone of it.
You let it rest in your palm and traced the lines of it absently with one finger. The road hummed beneath you. The wind through the open window. You felt light in a way you hadn't in a while — maybe longer than you could account for.
"It's weird, isn't it?" you said.
"Seeing you with the gun?" He glanced briefly your way and you smiled.
"No." You set the gun carefully in your lap and shifted in your seat — swinging your legs off the dashboard, turning sideways, sliding your feet across the console onto his thigh. "Being on the road for the last time."
He went quiet. One hand left the wheel and settled over your ankle, gently. "Will you miss it?"
You considered. Your feet moved absently on his thigh, and then you felt him shift — his body going slightly still. It gave you an immediate idea.
"I don't know," you murmured, still looking at the gun in your hand, playing perfectly innocent as you dragged your feet slowly upward. "I definitely missed being just us."
"Did you?" His voice had already changed — lower, careful.
You pressed higher, deliberately, the arch of your foot moving over him. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing," you said, eyes on the gun, the picture of innocence.
"You're going to make me crash," he said. His hand tightened around your ankle — not stopping you, just gripping.
"I doubt it. You're such a good driver, Holli." Your toes kept moving. "You want me to stop?"
"I didn't say that."
You felt him responding beneath your foot, growing harder slowly, and it made you bite down on your lip. You traced his length through the fabric, feeling him fully hard now.
"Want me to do something about that?" you asked.
He glanced at you, amused, unhurried. "Be a good girl for me."
"Always," you said, smiling.
You shifted onto your knees on the seat and leaned over the console. You looked up at his face briefly before bending toward his lap, working his zipper open and pulling his jeans down enough. His cock was already hard, pulsing once in your grip when you took hold of it. You felt a specific pride about that — that this was your doing, that his body answered you this readily.
You kissed him first — slow, open-mouthed kisses along his head, down his length, dragging him across your lips and cheek like you were taking your time with something you wanted to. Because you were.
His hand came to your back, unhurried, no pressure. Letting you work.
You took him into your mouth in slow, deliberate strokes — head moving up and down, saliva trailing down his length. What wouldn't fit in your mouth you worked with your hand, the two moving together until you found a rhythm that drew his breathing uneven above you.
"Fuck, baby," he groaned.
The sound of it made you want to give him more. You sank down further, taking him until he hit the back of your throat, thick and stretching you wide. Then his hand came to the back of your head and pressed down — holding you there for a few seconds, your eyes going wet, your throat working around him. When he finally released you, you came up gasping, mouth slick, a mess of saliva down his length.
You didn't stop. You caught your breath while your hand kept moving and then took him back in, chasing the rhythm he'd set with his hand. His praise came low and steady above you — how good you were, how well you took him, words that did something to you that went beyond the physical.
You felt him growing unsteady — his hips shifting forward, searching for more depth, losing the composed ease he'd maintained. You went faster, worked him harder, and when he finally came it was straight to the back of your throat, thick and sudden enough to make you choke. You held him there anyway, kept sucking until the last of it, until he had nothing left to give.
You sat up slowly, still on your knees, and looked at him. His eyes cut sideways to you — worn out, warm.
His hand came to your face. "Let me see."
You parted your lips slightly. He smiled — that particular smile.
"Swallow."
You did. Grinning, he ran his thumb across your cheek, and pulled you in for a brief kiss. “That's my girl,” before his eyes went back to the road.
You laughed softly at his words, settling back into your seat, watching him buckle his pants one-handed. Eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, that particular easy posture that made him look effortlessly good. You could still feel him. Could still taste him. It always did something to you, pleasing him — it stayed with you afterward in a way you'd stopped trying to explain.
You turned to the window to stop thinking about it, focusing on an abandoned house sitting alone in the desert, and that was when his hand landed flat on your thigh. Familiar now, his touch. Hollis was always touching you — you'd learned that. But then his hand began to move, long fingers sliding up your inner thigh, not just resting but gripping lightly, moving higher until he reached the seam of your shorts. You glanced at him. He looked completely absent, eyes still on the road. His hand kept moving, finding the fabric between your legs, pressing over it.
You spread your legs slightly without deciding to. He smiled, faint and knowing, still not looking at you.
You'd ask what he was doing but the question died before you'd voice it — it was obvious what he was doing, obvious from the slow firm pressure of his fingers working you through the fabric. You hummed low, your hips shifting to meet him.
Then he moved higher — and you almost made a sound at the loss — his palm sliding up under your shirt, over your stomach, until he had your breast in his hand. He groped you unhurriedly, thumb circling your nipple, and you watched his face beside you — resting, composed, one hand on the wheel and the other on you like this was nothing, like he was just passing the time.
When he came back down it was to your waistband. One hand, one motion, and your shorts were open. You thought he'd want them off but he just slid his hand inside, under the fabric of your panties, and found you directly.
"Fuck," he said, and laughed. "You're soaking."
He wasn't even looking at you. Your face went warm immediately.
Two fingers pressed over your clit and you sighed — a long, low sound you couldn't contain. He started moving in slow circles, so casual about it, so unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.
"Is it good, honey?" he asked.
"Mhm." It was all you could manage. "So good."
"Wish I could taste you right now," he said, and his voice alone was doing things to you. "Is this because you sucked me?"
It took you a moment to find language. His fingers kept moving, gentle and steady, getting the most out of the least. "Yes," you said, the word dissolving into something closer to a moan.
He pulled his hand free without warning and you looked at him like he'd done something unforgivable. He lifted his fingers to his mouth, licked them clean, taking his time, then glanced at you.
"Take your shorts off," he said. "I'm not done with you."
You pulled them down — shorts and underwear both — and he looked at you properly for a beat, eyes moving down your body and back to the road. His hand returned to your inner thigh, gripping, spreading you wider. Then his fingers were back on you, the same slow rhythm, those circles on your clit that he'd learned made you lose your mind, before he moved lower and slid two fingers inside you. Easy, you were so wet. He pressed into you deliberately — not just moving but finding the places that made your back arch, stroking you in a way that made your hands go immediately to his forearm just to hold onto something.
"That good?" he asked.
You nodded, dumbly, completely.
He went faster. Harder. The sounds his fingers were making of you competed with the engine and won, wet and unmistakable, and you didn't care. You were past caring. You called his name when you came — the word dissolving into something that barely held its shape — and gripped his arm with both hands while the heat of it moved through you in long waves. He kept going through it, kept working you, and you whined at the overstimulation, folding yourself toward him.
"Hollis," you managed. Still shaking. "That's... that's too much."
"Is it?" he asked. Unmoved.
He slid his fingers out — and then instead of stopping he spread his palm across you, rubbing everywhere at once, your arousal spread through his whole hand. His thumb found your clit and pressed, more direct this time, in a way that made your hips jerk and your legs try to close around him.
"Don't do that, angel," he said, casual as a warning. You forced your legs back open for him.
Like you were something he was idly playing with while he drove. Like you were just something to do with his hands. That thought alone tipped you over a second time, your whole body shuddering through it, and you were begging him to stop before it finished, genuinely, incoherently begging.
He pulled over a few miles up — the shoulder of an empty road, scrubland on either side, the sun still bright and indifferent. You considered climbing into his lap and then he was out of the car, walking around to your door, opening it.
You should have felt something about being on the side of a highway in broad daylight in the state you were in. You didn't. He'd made you too stupid with his fingers for shame to find much purchase. He bent you over the edge of the seat, one hand gripping the roof of the car, one hand at your hip, and when he pushed inside you the sound you made was completely beyond your control.
You kept glancing at the empty road. The very empty road.
"Worried someone will see you, honey?" His voice came from directly above you. "Yeah. They'll see you being my little slut."
You clenched around him, the combination of his voice and the exposure and the desperate overstimulated state of your body building into something you couldn't hold. When you came this time it was closer to collapse — you would have gone down entirely if his arm hadn't come around you. He kept moving through it, kept stroking into you deeply while your body gripped him, chasing his own edge. You felt when he got there — the pace going ragged, the grip on your hip tightening past comfort, his weight leaning into you before he spilled inside you with a sound low in his chest, pumping through it until there was nothing left.
He pulled out. You were still braced against the car, still breathing. You felt his hand at your ass cheeks, spreading them apart, and looked back at him over your shoulder — too spent to manage a proper expression.
"I fucking love this," he said. Watching his cum dripping out ofyou.
When you understood what he was looking at your face went completely red. He caught it — caught the blush and the wide eyes — and leaned forward and kissed your forehead.
"My pretty girl." His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back to him, and for a moment you almost forgot you were half undressed on the side of the road.
You got back in the car, still pulling yourself together. "You okay?" He asked, hand to your chin, tilting your face toward him, thumb brushing lightly. You smiled, held his wrist, and nodded.
Only then did he pull back onto the road.
You didn't fully recognize the landscape or track where you were — just hours and miles of the same desert stretching flat on both sides, the sun burning without apology, not even a gas station or a diner in sight for long stretches. Peaceful though, in the particular way of things that ask nothing of you. A low song played on the stereo, something with chords and what might have been a banjo, and you watched the road unspool and let it take you.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
You woke to the car slowing into a parking lot. You opened your eyes and adjusted — desert to town, nothing to light and people and a main street with actual buildings. A groundbreaking change.
"Where are we?" you asked, still groggy, turning to find Hollis already reaching into the back for a bag.
"Lone Pine," he said. "California."
If you'd been more awake you might have reacted properly. Instead you blinked at the windshield, taking it in while he got out. You followed, still dazed, and stood in the warm evening air of the first California town you'd ever been in, and let the information settle.
It still looked like most towns you'd passed through — a main street, a motel, the brown hills close on either side — but it was California. Finally.
Hollis came back with a key in his hand and a tired look that softened when he saw you standing there. He held out the key. You took it, and you both walked to what would be the last stop of the trip.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
"I know this isn't what you pictured," he said later, holding you under the shower, one hand at your waist, his thumb tracing slow patterns on your wet skin.
"What do you mean?" Your hands were on his chest, his stomach.
"Baby, you didn't think I'd bring you all this way to stay somewhere like this, did you?" He chuckled. "I was just tired. Stopped at the first town I saw."
"Oh." You half-opened your mouth and he laughed.
"There's a place a couple of hours from here. I rented something for us there. A coast town, just northwest of LA. Thought it would be a good place to start, somewhere calm." He kissed your lips briefly. "We'll get there tomorrow."
The thought of it — a coast town, and him having planned it, having thought ahead to something specific and right for you — undid you completely. You kissed him with everything you had, thrilled and warm and jumping almost into his arms, and he laughed through the kiss and pulled you in tight.
The bath was mostly washing each other, until the small stupid tease Hollis started escalated — him not letting you finish getting dressed, annoying you for the pure entertainment of it, until you shoved him onto the bed and he fell without any resistance whatsoever.
"You're not even going to fight me?" You came on top of him, straddling him. He smirked, entirely unbothered. "You said you were tired and now you're doing this."
"Couldn't resist." Completely shameless. "You look so good when you're mad."
He reached for your hips and you caught both his wrists, pinned them to the mattress above his head. He laughed under you, eyes gleaming — like this was exactly where he wanted to be and he'd gotten here on purpose.
"You're so annoying," you said.
"Yeah?" That smirk.
So you started moving — slow rolls of your hips above his, deliberate, watching his face. "Is this your way of punishing me, baby?"
"This is my way of getting what I want," you said, face close to his.
You felt him hardening beneath you through the fabric, and your breath changed without permission. His arms shifted under your grip and you pressed down harder to keep them there, which made him smile wider.
"You like being in control, my angel?"
You nodded, slowly, feeling yourself getting wet against him. You whimpered under your breath and he caught it.
"So needy," he said softly. And somehow even pinned beneath you, arms locked, he had that look — the one that said he had you completely figured out and was very comfortable there. It should have been annoying. It felt stupidly good instead.
He let you set the pace. Let you take the lead and sink down onto him and feel every inch of it. He let his arms free only when you eased your grip, and only touched you once you'd silently asked him to. Mouth to mouth, you riding him slowly, his hands patient on your skin in a way they weren't always — not rough, not light, something in between. Like he was paying attention to everything at once.
When he finally flipped you he did it without force — just pressed you into the mattress with his weight, steady and sure, and you went willingly. You held him, felt his body shake once above you, heard his breath fail him at the edges. You took his face in your hands at some point, brushed the damp hair from his forehead.
"You're so beautiful," you said quietly.
It was the first time you'd said it out loud like that, plainly, and you watched something happen in his expression — a flicker of something unguarded, almost surprised, like he genuinely didn't know what to do with it. So you kissed him before he had to figure it out. Took whatever that was into your mouth and held it there.
It ended with you in his arms, too spent to sustain a single further thought. You assumed he'd sleep through the night but you woke in the dark to his silhouette at the window.
He was sitting in the frame of it, smoking, one knee up, the city's quiet outside around him. You lay still and watched without meaning to — the cigar going small drag by drag until it was done. He didn't come back to bed. So eventually you got up and crossed to him and hugged him sideways, wordlessly, your head finding his shoulder.
His arm came around you.
"Thought you were tired," you said.
"I was." He was looking outside. "Can't sleep though."
"Why?"
"Nervous, I guess." He said it easily, like it wasn't hard to admit. "About getting there. About actually settling somewhere."
You looked up at him. He glanced down, caught your eyes.
"Don't get me wrong," he said, a small laugh in his voice. "I can't wait. We've waited long enough. It's just — "
"I know." You rested your chin against his chest. "I'll miss this too. Real life will be different."
"Real life?" He raised his brows. "Honey, this is real life."
"I know, I just mean... We'll be like... regular people. I don't know how to explain it."
He laughed softly and kissed your forehead. "If you miss it too much we can rent a motel on the edge of town every couple of weeks. Just for the feeling."
You laughed and shook your head. "No. I'm done with motels. I want a big bed and clean sheets that smell like something good."
He smiled — wide and open. "You'll have that, honey." He leaned down and kissed your lips, unhurried. Then he pulled back and looked at you for maybe too long, too carefully.
"Thank you," he said. "I'll never forget any of this."
You didn't know exactly what he meant by it. But the thank you was so genuine, so unguarded, that something in your chest tightened around it. For just a moment it felt like something else — like a weight being set down, like a door closing softly. Like a goodbye.
But it wasn't. You wouldn't let it be anything other than what it was meant to be.
You stayed at the window with him until the cold came in and he finally carried you back to bed.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
You both lost the hours to morning. When you woke you had barely an hour before checkout. You snuggled into Hollis, tried to rouse him, and he did what he always did — pulled you tighter without opening his eyes. It took another half hour before either of you actually got up, and then you moved the way you always had. Bags, checkout, car. For what turned out to be the very last time.
Two more hours and the landscape shifted completely — desert giving way to palm trees, the mountains disappearing, and that particular day the sky was so clear there was nothing above the town but blue. It was different from anything you'd passed through. But what caught your attention, what held it completely, was the ocean — the white sand meeting the water — and you might have kept staring indefinitely if Hollis hadn't pulled the car to a stop on the wide avenue leading to the beach.
"End of the line," he said, stepping out.
It was a small building, two or three floors, white walls with blue trim. An older woman waited at the entrance — the landlord, you learned quickly. She wasn't unfriendly, just brisk. She handed over the keys, told you what you needed to know, and left you to it. You went upstairs — one flight, a short hallway, four doors along it — and you were just taking it in when Hollis's arms came under you and lifted you completely off the ground. You nearly screamed.
"What are you doing?" you said, laughing, arm dropping around his shoulders.
"Isn't it tradition? Carrying your girl over the threshold?"
"That's for newlyweds," you said, still laughing.
"Same thing," he said, and shrugged, and you laughed harder.
"We're not married."
He furrowed his brows in theatrical shock. "Of course we are." He stopped in front of the door. "Honey, I thought you'd accepted a long time ago that you're my wife."
Clumsily he opened the door and your eyes moved over the whole room the moment the door opened and Hollis set you down slowly. It wasn't large or fancy, but something filled your chest immediately. The first thing you noticed was the light — white walls, a huge window in the living room — and you walked toward it without deciding to. The ocean was visible from there, wide and vast and real.
"So," Hollis said from somewhere behind you. "Do you like it?"
"It's better than anything I imagined." You turned and smiled at him — fully, openly. He had a small, contained smile on his face. Something behind it that sat heavier than the moment asked for, though you chose to read it as nerves. "I love it. Really."
"That's good, my angel." He crossed to you, hand to your cheek, caressing lightly. "This is your home now."
Something tightened in your chest. "Our home," you said. And then you just hugged him — tucked your face into his chest without ceremony — and he held you back, one arm around you, the other hand resting on your head, fingers moving through your hair.
He showed you the bedroom after that, and you ate together for the first time in the flat, something ordered in, sitting on the floor because there was nowhere else yet. And just after eating, glancing outside again, you said it casually.
"I've never seen the ocean."
"You what?" He stopped what he was doing. "Never?"
"I told you. I never left Oklahoma."
"Well." He stepped closer and extended his hand. "Come on."
"What?" You frowned, already smiling.
"You're seeing the ocean, honey."
You took his hand.
On the way there all you could think about was how impossible it was — the beach just across the street, the sand warm under your bare feet the moment you took your shoes off. Hollis left his shoes and his hoodie behind and held your hand all the way to the waterline.
You didn't want to go in at first. But Hollis always had a way of getting you to fold when he looked at you with that wide smile, the one that reached all the way up, and so you went. The waves hit you before you were ready — crashing into your body, soaking your dress, catching in your hair. Something about the way the water pushed at you and pulled back, like it had opinions, was unsettling in exactly the right way. The further in you went the closer you stayed to him. His hair had gone a tone darker with water, long strands gone thin against his shoulders, and in the afternoon light he looked like something that had no business being real. You tasted salt water when he kissed you, right there, in the middle of the ocean.
You left the beach with sand in your boots and your dress stuck to your skin. Hollis's jeans hung low from the weight of the water and he complained the whole walk back as though this had been anyone's idea but his own.
But you went back home. To your home. You took turns in the shower and then went out to find somewhere to eat — a small restaurant down the street, nothing remarkable, just the two of you at a table with the evening outside the window.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
The following days felt like nothing you'd ever felt before. The stillness fit. The lazy mornings had their own rhythm. Even the smallest things — going grocery shopping for the first time, learning that Hollis hated cucumbers and would eat citrus fruit at any hour, watching him frown at prices in the produce aisle — these were things you noticed without meaning to, pinned carefully somewhere in your mind.
A few nights in, almost asleep, you felt him shift closer. His hand warm and large on your stomach.
"Y/n?" Your name. Unusual.
"Mhm?" You didn't open your eyes.
"Can't sleep." Small and tired, rough at the edges. You felt him press his face to your collar, a kiss against your skin.
"Is something wrong?" Your arms found his shoulders, your fingers moving into his hair.
A silence that went on too long. His arms tightened slightly. "No. Just can't sleep."
You hummed and held him and kept moving your fingers through his hair until your own eyes closed. He was still wrapped around you in the morning. You chose to take that as something.
But it was the beginning of something you hadn't quite named yet. The restless nights. Waking to find him smoking in the kitchen. Opening your eyes to him sitting up against the headboard, not looking at anything in particular. Once you came home from running laundry and found him on his phone in the kitchen, and you were just about to tell him something about a neighbor you'd passed on the stairs when you caught the last thread of his voice.
"I fucking told you, I can't— " He went quiet the moment you came through the door. "I gotta go."
He hung up, set the phone down, turned to you like nothing had happened. You asked. He said it was nothing. It hadn't sounded like nothing — there was a rawness to his voice in those last seconds that you didn't recognize, something stripped of the composure he usually kept.
You couldn't say these moments were constant in the days that followed. But they were there. And you should have handled it better when it finally came to a head. One night you let your insecurity speak too loudly — asked if he still didn't trust you enough to tell you things, accused him of not wanting this to work as much as you did. And if there was one thing that got to Hollis, it was being accused. The fight stretched through dinner, both of you eating in silence at the kitchen counter. You wanted to cry the entire time but didn't let yourself.
It resolved the way things between you always resolved. By bedtime you got out of the shower and lay down without looking at him, turned onto your side. Within moments his arms came around you from behind — his chest against your back, his mouth close to your neck.
"Don't go to sleep mad at me," he said, barely above a whisper. "I love you. I want this to work more than anything."
You were still angry. You were still aware that something was off. You turned in his arms and pressed your face against his chest rather than looking at him. He held you tighter.
"Stop hiding things from me," you said. "Please."
His breath caught. The hand in your hair went still. "I will," he said. But his voice wasn't certain, and you filed that away somewhere you didn't look at directly.
The next evening he moved differently — carefully. You thought at first it was about the fight. He took you to the pier, bought ice cream, walked beside you in the evening light pointing out things he noticed. Later he cooked pasta, told you it was something he was an expert in, and it was actually good, and he wore a smug expression about it that you found entirely insufferable and completely charming. You laughed at the table together and the fight felt like something from a different week.
It wasn't about the fight. You understood that only the next morning.
You woke and his side of the bed was empty, which happened sometimes, so you didn't think about it. You went to the kitchen and put the coffee on. You looked out the window at the ocean and reached for a mug and that was when you saw it — on the counter, a small piece of paper that hadn't been there the night before.
You picked it up just out of curiosity.
Something came up. I gotta solve some stuff. I tried my best not to let it reach us and the last thing I wanted to do was leave you now that we got here.
Trust me. That's all I ask.
I left money for you and the rent is three months paid. I love you. I'll come back, my angel.
For a full minute you stood there and felt nothing. Then you reduced it to a joke — a mean silly bit he'd started and would end any second. You went to the bedroom. His things were gone. A few pairs of clothes left behind. The gun was nowhere. The knife was nowhere.
Your legs stopped working properly. You sat on the edge of the bed with a shirt he left behind in your hands and stayed there for a good hour.
Then you stopped sitting. You threw things. Smashed the plant by the window. Made a wreck of the room and cut your foot on the mess and some reflex in your muscle memory thought Hollis is going to scold you for that and you hated the thought. You hated that he wasn't there to have it.
You wanted to fight him. Wanted him right there so you could say mean things you didn't mean and watch him get pissed off and try to prove you wrong. You missed two nights ago when you were arguing. You missed it so badly it was physical.
Prove me wrong, you cried, quietly, to no one.
You read the note again. Looked for something in it that wasn't there.
Trust me — I'll come back.
Trust me — I'll come back.
Trust me — I'll come back.
Trust me — I'll come back.
You tried his old number. Somewhere along the way you'd known he would have changed it. The call went nowhere.
That was all you had.
For a week you held onto it. Checked the words against themselves like they were proof of something, like they came with a deadline attached. He'd come back. He'd said it. He would. He didn't come back after the first week. He didn't come back after the second. By the third week, lying in bed most of the day and going out only for instant noodles, your body had started to protest the stillness. You had to live. He'd left money, but money ran. There was rent. There was survival. There was, underneath everything, the specific loyalty or devotion or whatever it was that said: if he comes back, you have to be here, whole.
You applied everywhere — a general store, an electronics repair place, a dental receptionist position. You got the diner. Serving tables wasn't bad. The days filled. You made friends with another waitress — Lisa—, and with the boy from the kitchen — Josh. One evening coming home you found a ginger kitten on the side of the road and took him in and named her Ginger, which was obvious but felt right, and she became a kind of company. You spent your days pretending to be a regular girl and came home to a hauntingly quiet flat with only a cat at your feet.
After the third month you paid rent yourself. You came home with your wallet lighter and found the note in your pocket — still there, worn at the folds now — and read it again the way you'd been reading it whenever his absence got heavier.
Whatever he'd gone to do, it had exceeded the time. Three months paid and no sign. Of course he knew you could take care of yourself. But what sat differently in your chest was the fear that it wasn't that he didn't want to come back. That he couldn't. That somewhere out there something had gone wrong in a way that was bigger than a note on a kitchen counter could account for. That scared you more than being left behind ever had.
That couldn't be it. You still felt him.
Months in, his absence in the bed still registered every night. Months in, every morning at the window with coffee, the strip of ocean visible between the buildings, you still remembered that afternoon — the waves hitting you before you were ready, his hair gone dark with water, the salt taste of him when he kissed you in the middle of it. Sometimes you felt the anticipation of him, that particular alertness your body had learned, and reached for it and found nothing. The shape of him in the flat, in your days, was like learning to walk around furniture that had been moved. You kept finding the absence where the presence used to be.
Was it hope that kept you? The note in the nightstand drawer, the scapular at your throat that you touched without thinking throughout the day?
No. It was more than hope. Walking home from work one evening you passed a church — nothing like the one back home, shaped differently, a different kind of quiet — and you stopped and looked at the cross and thought of his hands on you in the back room of a church in Collinsville all those months ago and understood what it actually was.
It was Faith. And Faith hurts. Faith meant sacrifice. Faith was giving without expectation of anything except your own salvation.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
When your birthday came it sat heavier than it should have. You tried to move through it normally. Your friend from the diner found out and made a thing of it, insisted you come out, and you resisted until you didn't. You went to a bar and drank more than you should have. It was fun at the start — genuinely, for a few hours — until a man across the room turned a certain way and your mind placed Hollis there for a fraction of a second before reality corrected it.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Josh said from beside you.
You laughed it off. Said you thought you saw someone you knew. They didn't push. You drank more than you should have after that and Lisa drove you home, and you sat on the outside steps of the building and said things you only half-remembered in the morning.
"You said something about a man," Lisa told you at lunch the next day. "About him leaving. About how unfair it was."
"Did I?" you said, your head aching.
"Who is he? I thought you were here alone."
"I am," you said, and took a bite of your sandwich. "He was... He's just— " The words stopped. What even was he now? Eight months away. "It's complicated."
"Complicated ex?" She shrugged. "Been there. You can tell me."
And for the first time you talked about him. You said his name out loud to someone after so long and it felt like speaking about a person who existed in a different tense. You didn't tell her everything. Just how you met, how you left everything behind, how you'd ended up here.
"We planned to come here for a while. When we got here, he had to leave."
"Commitment issues?"
"No— I don't— " Your voice faltered. "It's not that simple."
"Men often can't handle something real when they're finally standing in front of it. They run."
"Hollis isn't like that." The defense came out before you'd decided on it. Was it true? You didn't know. "Whatever his reasons were... It's not like that."
You saw on Lisa’s face, she found it strange that you defended him. You found it strange too, in a distant way.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
One morning, feeding Ginger and waiting for the coffee, you looked at the ocean long enough to do the arithmetic. You'd been missing him for longer than you'd actually been with him. The trip had lasted barely over a month. You'd been waiting for six.
That afternoon, taking the trash out, you ran into Josh in the alley behind the diner. You exchanged a few words and turned to go back inside.
"Hey," he said. "I've been meaning to ask, how would you feel about going out sometime?”
“Well, that’d be cool,” you smiled. “I promise not to drink too much this time, and I’ll tell Lisa–”
“No, I mean just the two of us."
You stopped. Looked at him properly. He was decent-looking, genuinely sweet, actually funny. You had never once considered it. A date. The instant thought felt wrong in a way you couldn't entirely defend.
"I can't," you said. Then, because you saw his expression: "I'm sorry. It's complicated."
"Lisa said you were single," he said, easy, no pressure. "I just thought—"
"I am. It's just... complicated."
"Well, if you ever figure this out," he said, with a smile that didn't push, "give me a heads up." And you smiled back with something sitting uneasily in your chest.
Half a year of nothing. And you still couldn't allow yourself.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
You functioned. You went out sometimes with Lisa and Josh and found that you could laugh genuinely, that a whole hour could pass without him surfacing. But you came home every evening to the flat, and Ginger would be waiting, and the quiet would settle, and you'd think about the one week you'd had here with him. Imagine coming home to him. Imagine him eventually tolerating the cat, probably pretending not to like him. You'd smile and then correct yourself. Because he wouldn't be there when you opened the door. Ginger purred at your feet and waited for her dinner and that was what you had.
By the eighth month his shape inside you had settled into something that lived alongside the ordinary rather than interrupting it. It still surfaced — his hoodie in the wardrobe, his belt on the shelf, the note now soft with refolding in the nightstand drawer. A stranger on the street with a certain posture. A slow, unhurried voice in a crowd that made you turn. But you'd learned to let these pass through without pulling on them. Like living with a ghost you'd learned to carry — to dismiss, to keep private, to disguise when it shook you more than usual.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
It was late afternoon, slow hour at the diner. You were at the register, cashing orders, offering the smile you'd learned to produce automatically. Josh was visible through the order window and you'd been laughing about something stupid with him when a customer stepped up to the counter.
You were still looking down at the register.
"Excuse me." A single word, a single vibration, and the back of your neck went cold. You went completely still. "I was wondering if you sell cigarettes here."
You looked up.
It felt like the mind playing its trick again — the one it had been playing for eight months, placing him in strangers, correcting itself. You waited for the correction.
It didn't come.
He looked different. More settled in his face somehow, older in a way that eight months could account for. His hair was darker, shorter, sitting just at his shoulders. He looked like he’s been a life you had no part in it. He was wearing sunglasses that he took off when you stared too long.
"Hey," Josh said behind you, "the customer is talking to you, dumbass."
You stepped slightly forward. "We do," you said, slowly, still not trusting it. And then, because your body remembered before your mind caught up: "Marlboro Red?"
He smirked. The particular smirk that had always meant he was pleased with you for something.
"Yeah," he said. Low, open.
You turned and got the pack. Held the smile back. Rang it through. He paid and neither of you moved after that — just looked at each other across the counter while the diner went on around you.
"When do you finish?" he asked.
"Five," you said.
"I'll be in the parking lot." He nodded once, took the cigarettes with a slight hesitation, and walked out in those slow unhurried strides you'd spent eight months hearing in your memory.
You felt it everywhere — the rush, the reality of it, the fact that he had just been standing there. That he was just outside. You looked at the clock. Barely three o’clock. You wouldn’t wait any longer, you waited enough. You looked at Lisa across the room.
"Can you cover for me?" You caught her by both shoulders before she could ask anything. "I know. I'm sorry. He's here. Hollis is here."
She blinked. Once. Twice.
"Go on," she said. And as you were already moving toward the door you heard her say behind you, loud enough: "Kick his fucking ass."
You weren't sure what you were going to do, really. You weren't sure about anything except that you had waited long enough and you were not waiting until five o'clock.
The parking lot. The afternoon light. And there he was — leaning against the hood of a car you didn't recognize, arms crossed, already watching the door like he'd known which way you'd come out.
Your stride didn't slow. In your head you had things to say, real things, eight months of things. You were going to reach him and shove his chest and make him hear all of it.
And then you were in front of him, and he was looking down at you with his hair framing the face you had been so afraid of forgetting, and he was smiling — but it was the sad kind, the kind that meant he could see your face and your face was doing something you hadn't felt it do in a long time.
You were crying. Warm tears down your cheeks, already, without having decided to.
"Why did it take you so long?" Your voice came out small. Like a question asked by a child who just wants to be comforted.
"I'm sorry, my angel." He tossed the cigarette. His hands came to your face, his thumbs moving across your cheeks. "I'm so sorry."
You found his chest the way you had before— like the reflex had never gone anywhere, like your body had simply been waiting for the object it was calibrated for. His arms came around you immediately, long and certain and familiar, and he pressed his face into your hair and breathed you in and made a small low sound that told you he had been waiting too, in whatever way waiting looked like from his side of the eight months.
Neither of you spoke. You didn't need to. You didn't want to. Whatever he had to tell you, it could wait. Whatever you'd been carrying, it could wait. You just needed to feel him. You just needed to know you still had him.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
Getting home with him was strange, to say the least. You'd pictured it so many nights that the real version felt like a slightly off copy of something you'd never actually been able to prepare for. After the hug and the tears in the parking lot you went back inside and finished your shift. He stayed in the lot the entire time. When you came out he asked, very politely, if he could drive you home — said he needed to talk — and you couldn't say no. Lisa offered him a deadly look. Josh just stared.
The first thing you heard when you opened the door was Ginger, meowing and then purring at your feet before freezing at the sight of Hollis behind you. She hissed once and disappeared into the living room.
"Warm welcome from—" he waited.
"Ginger," you answered, dropping your keys on the kitchen counter.
You stood there a moment, your back still to him, fighting the urge to turn around too quickly. Just registering that he was actually there. You heard his breath and a part of you wanted him to take you in his arms and make you skip the hard part — but he didn't.
"Look," he started with a deep breath.
"I don't want you to excuse yourself," you turned. Heart pounding.
"I wasn't," he said and you frowned. "I was going to ask you if I'm still welcome here. Back into your life."
He looked at you so helplessly. Some type of stray puppy look you didn't even know he was capable of. You almost wanted to hiss at him like Ginger did and just run. But no, you stayed put. Hand on the counter.
"This time—" you started. "I need to know everything. I need you to tell me. Where have you been? What were you doing all this time?”
He stopped like he was gathering courage, then glanced at the living room. "Can we sit?"
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
From the initial weight of sitting down together you could already tell it wouldn't be a quick conversation. It would be a long night. You sat a few inches apart on the couch, still in your uniform, playing with your own fingers because you needed something to do with your hands.
"You can start," you said, when it became clear he was taking too long. You looked up and found him already watching you. "Where were you?"
"I've been on the run." His eyes stayed on yours. "For the first three months after I left you, I was running. And then, when I tried to get back here, they caught me."
"Running from who? Who caught you?"
He sighed. You could see the tension in his body, the particular stillness of someone gathering themselves. He looked away, focused on nothing specific. "I did bad things. Before I met you. Back in Chicago." A pause. "I'd like to say it was my father making me, but it wasn't. I learned how to do things; how to do things to people. and for a while I enjoyed the power it gave me."
His hands spread flat over his knees. His eyes dropped.
"What kind of things?" He looked at you briefly when you asked, then away again. "Hollis. You can tell me."
"I used people. I hurt people. I turned into this asshole who'd follow my father's word around like it gave me some kind of right." He stopped. "It started when I killed someone."
The silence after that had weight.
He didn't look at you but you kept looking at him, trying to read whatever was moving through him, and what you could see was how uncomfortable he was — not defensive, not deflecting, just genuinely sitting in what it cost him to say it out loud. He exhaled slowly. "He was a nobody. Some guy who'd argued with me at a party over nothing, and I just— I snapped. I beat him badly enough that he ended up brain dead in a hospital. His mother was standing there pointing at me, her son in that bed because of me, and afterward all my father said was that I was a man. That I'd stood up for myself."
He laughed, dry and bitter, still looking at the floor. "I wish I could say it made me more sensible. It didn't. After that everything went further in the wrong direction. I learned to be exactly what my father wanted. And the exact thing that made my mother look at me like I was a stranger." He went quiet for a moment. "When she left, I sank deeper into his business. Hurting people stopped being incidental. It was the job. And I was good at it."
You didn't ask what the job was specifically. You didn't need to. You took the shape of it and let it sit.
"What made you leave?" you asked.
"You know I'm not a man of God." He smiled faintly. "But maybe something like that. Something like a miracle. My father got me in the wrong mood one day and I punched him in the face. That fucking pussy had his men beat me half to death; to teach me a lesson, he said." He laughed again, the same humorless sound. "So I paid him back. I fucked up one of his deals and stole from him. Planned that shit for months, had people backing me. That was the whole plan. Hit and run." A pause. "Until I found you."
You were quiet for a moment. "If you had money, why did we— Why were we robbing people on the road?"
"I'd sent it ahead to a contact in California, to dismiss them." He grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "It didn't work. He followed me here. His people. That's why I left you. So they wouldn't find you."
He stopped talking. A full minute passed before he stood and crossed to the window. You watched him light a cigarette, take a long drag, and stand there with his back half turned, looking out at the dark stretch where the ocean was.
"Robert told me to go to the police," he said eventually. "Stop running and just go."
"Robert knew about all of this?" You sat forward.
"Who do you think helped me plan it? He had his own reasons to want my father finished." He glanced back at you. "If my father's people caught me they'd probably kill me. So I turned myself in. The Feds offered a deal — I give them everything I had on him and they'd reduce my sentence. The lawyer explained it in about ten thousand words and I retained maybe half of it." He shrugged.
"And you didn't think to call me once."
"You heard everything I just told you and that's what you're focused on?" His voice lifted slightly.
"Well, yes!" You stood. "Because I was here. For all this time. Not knowing if you were alive. Not knowing anything. I thought all kinds of stuff, Hollis— "
"I was afraid if I mentioned you they'd want to question you. I was afraid they'd dig up what we did on the road and it would come back on you. I didn't want to expose you to any of it." He said it with the particular restlessness of someone replaying a decision they've already turned over too many times.
You stared at him. Arms crossed, jaw tight. "You’re so stupid," you said, looking away and then back. "So genuinely, completely stupid."
"I am," he said, pulling another drag. "I know I put you through enough. I didn't want to make it worse."
"Don't— " You took a step toward him without meaning to, pointing at him. "Don't you ever do that again. Don't you hide things from me to protect me. I am not a child, Hollis."
"I know you're not, I just— "
"No excuses."
"Fine." He raised both hands, a ghost of amusement crossing his face despite everything. "I won't do it again. But does that mean you're taking me back?"
You stopped walking. Pressed your lips together. You looked at him — cataloguing the differences and recognizing everything underneath them. The darker hair making him look older. The broader set of his shoulders. But the way he looked at you, that hadn't changed at all — that particular combination of hoping and knowing, like you were the most extraordinary thing in the room and also the thing he was most certain of.
"I should say no." You took another step toward him. "I should kick you out and make you sleep in the car."
"You should, honey." Hearing it after so long did something immediate to your stomach. He was fighting a smile, like he already knew.
"But I won't."
"Why won't you?" He tilted his head, letting the smile come.
"Because I waited for you." Your voice caught without warning, the emotion surfacing before you'd decided to let it. You were close to him now — close enough to look up at him properly, close enough that an arm's length would have been enough. "Like a fool."
"You're no fool, my angel." He reached for your cheek slowly, tilted your face up, and you let him. "That's because you're too good. Too good to be real. Too good to be mine, and yet you chose it, and I take you gladly." You bit the inside of your cheek not to cry again, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "I'll take whatever you have to give me, if you're still willing to be mine."
You reached for his forearm. Held it. Not to stop him — just to finally touch him. You turned your face into his hand and closed your eyes.
Your answer had been ready since the diner. Since before that, honestly. Since the note on the counter and the months that followed and every night you'd spent holding onto something that was mostly memory and a piece of paper and the weight of a scapular at your throat.
"I thought we already agreed on this," you said, opening your eyes. "When we swore on blood."
"Honey." His other hand found your waist, pulling you in until you felt the full length of him against you. "We agreed long before that."
He leaned down, face coming toward yours. Your hands pressed flat against his chest. "Tell me you're mine," he whispered, right before his mouth reached you.
"I'm yours," you said. "All yours."
Your eyes closed as he kissed you — slowly, carefully, like you were something he was still making sure was real. His hand at your waist, brushing up under your shirt to the skin beneath. His other hand holding your face like it mattered that he could feel you were there. You kissed him back the way it felt — like it ached, like you'd been holding it in your body for eight months waiting to give it somewhere to go.
He lifted you easily and you held on, arms and legs finding their places around him like muscle memory, and he carried you to the bedroom.
Time seemed to move differently. Every touch revealed how long it had been — how much had been accumulated and held — and yet neither of you hurried any of it. Not while he undressed you from the uniform, not while you pulled his shirt over his head and reached for his skin. Every touch a deliberate choice. Every kiss something chosen.
It was like learning him again. A second first time, except this time you weren't nervous about who he might be, because you knew exactly who he was — enough to know you were part of him. You found new things on him: a scar on his left side above the ribs, another on his forearm, one on his shoulder. He let you touch each of them and watched your face while you did, careful and quiet.
When he finally laid you down and lined himself up and slid inside you, inch by inch, unhurried, it felt like exactly what it was — coming back to something that had always been yours. He held your face in both hands because he needed to watch you. And you looked back at him and cried quietly, held him tight, because you could, because this was the man you knew better now than ever before, and for that same reason you loved him more than you had before, and you couldn't stand a single centimeter of distance between you.
The night stretched into hours of an unhurried, sloppy fuck that neither of you seemed to want to end. And when it did, it ended with you talking nonsense at each other in the dark just because you could, just because you had each other back and that made even nonsense feel like something worth saying.
When you finally curled into him, head on his chest, he felt you tracing the scar above his ribs.
"You can ask," he said, laughing softly.
"How did you get it?"
"A spoon someone had sharpened into a knife. A fight I wasn't even involved in." His voice was easy about it, like it was a story about someone else.
You lifted your head and looked at him. He glanced down at you for a moment before pressing his lips to your forehead.
"It's alright," he said, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss it. "I'm fine now."
You exhaled slowly and lay back against him.
He fell asleep not long after — deeply, easily, the way he hadn't in those last restless nights before he'd gone. You watched him. He looked peaceful in the way you'd always noticed, so completely unguarded, like sleep was the one territory where nothing could reach him. You thought about what he'd been living through while you were pretending to be a regular person at a diner counter, and felt the ache of it move through you and settle.
You reached up and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead.
Then you hid your face in his collar. He smelled exactly the same. That particular warmth of his skin, that scent that had become so familiar you'd stopped noticing it, and then had spent months trying not to forget.
In his sleep his arm found your waist. Pulled you in.
"I love you," he murmured, half under.
"I love you," you said back. Barely a sound.
He hummed. The way he had a thousand times. The way that meant I know without needing to say it.
You closed your eyes.
Outside, the ocean carried your blood in unison. The whole road was now behind you — every mile of it, every motel and gas station and state line, every robbery and argument and almost-goodbye. All of it leading to whatever this was. This quiet, long-awaited beginning.
a/n: softest fluffiest part i've ever written, a whole chapter without any of them committing any criminal act!!!!!!that's a first. and with this one, we only have one last chapter left</3
this is the 7th part of a series, consider reading the previous parts for context: ﴾ part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, previous part ﴿
Gardnerville was a very small town before the valley. You'd been watching the landscape change for the last hour — something out of an old western, the kind your father used to watch on television on Sunday afternoons, John Wayne and endless ochre horizons.
"Are we staying here tonight?" you asked after the waitress came back with your orders and stepped away.
"No, we're not very far now. Just stopped because you said you were hungry." He looked out the window. The main street — the only street — was nearly empty even at just past noon.
"Mhm," you hummed, quieter, looking back at him.
"You okay?" His eyes came to you.
The truth was that since he'd told you about the footage, your mind had been running a quiet, constant battle between reasoning and something closer to panic. And for some reason it was your hair that kept bringing you back to it — you kept threading your fingers through it without meaning to, thinking about the profile shot, the side of your face, your long hair identifiable on some grainy security feed being run on a news segment somewhere.
"Yeah," you said. "Just nervous. First time meeting a friend of yours."
He smiled at that, nodded. "Don't worry. He's going to love you. His wife too."
His wife. You thought it and didn't say it. It was hard to picture any friend of Hollis already married and living somewhere this remote.
After you finished eating he asked again if you were alright and whether you needed anything else from town — the way he said it carrying the implication that you wouldn't be coming back for a while.
After you said no you were back on the road — maybe for the last time in a while.
You watched the valley open around you — snowy mountains behind you now, a wide flat green stretching ahead, livestock visible in the distance, ranches and properties passing every few miles. A peaceful landscape settling under the dim gold of dusk, peaceful enough that your eyes grew heavy. You had your head resting against the window, nearly under, when the road shifted to gravel and dirt and the change woke you. You raised your head. Wood-post gates ahead. Fencing either side, a barn, a granary, and further up the dirt track, a house with a porch light on.
"Thought you were asleep," Hollis said. He looked tired — he'd been driving since the car theft, since the casino. "We're here, honey."
He parked in front of the house and got out like it was nothing. You followed him, nerves crawling up the back of your neck. There was a couple on the front porch and the moment they saw Hollis a wide smile broke across the man's face. The woman beside him smiled too — quietly, warmly, the specific fondness of someone who hasn't seen a person in too long.
Hollis went straight to the bags, which left you to walk up to the porch ahead of him. Both of them were older than you'd expected — late thirties or forties, you'd guess. You couldn't place it. You couldn't place any of it — how Hollis knew ranch people in Nevada, how a boy from Chicago had ended up with friends like this.
The man came down the porch steps before you could introduce yourself and pulled you into a hug that surprised you completely.
"You must be y/n," he said, warm, easy. "I'm Robert. That's my wife Janice." He gestured to the woman behind him. "Make yourself at home. I'll give him a hand with the bags."
He was already moving toward the truck before you could respond. You watched him go, then turned toward Janice, who was watching you with a smile.
You noticed the slight curve of her stomach as you approached, her hand resting on it in that particular absent way. She looked at you and Hollis stepping out of the truck with an expression so genuinely fond it caught you off guard.
You were almost at the top of the steps when she spoke first.
"So you're y/n!" Her whole face lit up. "Oh, Hol talked so much about you."
"He did?" It came out before you could stop it.
"Of course he did! You're the whole reason he finally came to visit after all this time." Her arm came around your shoulders. "Come inside. Let me get you some tea. Leave them with the bags."
She steered you through the door and you followed her to the kitchen, which smelled like something that had been cooking low and slow all day. She was an easy talker. Questions arriving one after another without pressure, your age, about your hometown, genuine surprise when she learned you'd come all the way from Oklahoma. She told you about her kids briefly — already in bed, she'd introduce you properly in the morning — and about the property, and about how long they'd been out here, and you mostly listened and let it wash over you, the strangeness of being inside somewhere, somewhere with a kitchen and a family and a dog that came and pressed its nose to your knee and then wandered off again.
When Hollis and her husband came through the door Janice's whole face shifted — that specific tenderness, the kind you don't see often.
"Hol!" She stood. "You look so good. Could use some extra pounds though, have you been eating properly?"
She crossed to him and took his face in both hands, squeezing his cheeks lightly. He wrinkled his nose.
"It all went to his height apparently," her husband said from behind him, laughing. You laughed too.
You watched the three of them together — the way they moved around each other, the ease of it, the particular quality of her fussing at him and him tolerating it — and thought: this doesn't look like friends. This looks like something else. An aunt and uncle. A nephew who doesn't visit enough.
Hollis excused himself not long after, genuinely tired. You followed him.
"They're very sweet," you said, changing into something comfortable — which that night meant his shirt.
"Glad you liked them." He watched you from the bed, back against the headboard.
"Janice asked me a million questions while you two were getting the bags." You crossed to him and he pulled you into him before you'd fully decided to sit. "Robert, that's his name?"
"That's his name," he said.
"I know this wasn't exactly the plan," he started.
"I'm happy we're together," you said, before he could finish. Simply. Meaning it.
He looked at you for a long moment — studying you, the way he sometimes did when he was deciding something. "Me too," he said finally, quietly. "I'm happy, honey."
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
Next morning you woke before him. He was still deep under, his face tucked against your hair, the weight of his arm across your waist. You lay there listening to his breathing, to the birds outside, to voices somewhere below. When you finally tried to slip out from under him he tightened his grip and pulled you back.
"Wait," he said, sleep thick in his voice.
"Everyone's up already." You giggled when he buried his face further against your neck.
"Not us." He kissed your shoulder.
It took some time. Hollis being constitutionally opposed to getting up before he was ready, and you not being entirely convincing in your objections.
The table was already set when you two made it downstairs. Janice greeted you both warmly. Three kids sat waiting — two older boys and a small girl. You settled beside the girl. Hollis went around the table to the seat across from you, stopping on the way to mess up the older boy's hair.
"Look how big you are," he said.
The boy groaned and shoved him, both of them laughing. Hollis sat down between the younger two. "I don't know these ones yet," he said, gesturing at the smaller kids.
"Oh, right! Let me introduce 'em to y/n too" Janice sat. "That's Bob" — the older boy — "that's Timmy, and that's Betty." She pointed to each in turn. "And the one on the way is either Noah or Ada, we haven't decided."
"You two don't have a TV or something?" Hollis said, reaching for the waffles.
"Hollis," you said.
He laughed. Janice laughed too.
"I see you only got taller." Robert appeared in the kitchen doorway, walked up behind Hollis, and slapped the back of his head lightly. You covered your smile as Hollis frowned.
Breakfast was light in a way you hadn't felt in a long time — maybe since before you left Collinsville, maybe longer. The way these people moved around each other, teased each other, made space for each other at the table without thinking about it — it was so unlike the family dynamic you'd grown up knowing. And more than that, you felt included. Every time Hollis said your name in a story, every time they caught your eye to share something embarrassing about him, every time Janice refilled your cup without asking — it accumulated into something you didn't quite have a name for yet.
Afterward, Robert took you both around the property while he ran his morning routine. A small amount of animals — chickens, cows, sheep in the barn. You'd never fed a newborn calf before and spent a full ten minutes doing it while Robert watched with an amused expression. When he brought you to the horses you'd never seen Hollis's eyes go quite the way they did — lit up and immediate, moving straight to a white horse at the far end of the stable, talking to it in a low soft voice you'd rarely heard him use on anything.
"They look like twins," you said to Robert, nodding between the horse and Hollis — both tall, both with long pale hair, both carrying themselves like they were aware of it.
Robert laughed. "Good to know I'm not the only one who thinks so."
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
It didn't take long to fall into the rhythm of the place. Within a couple of days it felt almost as if you and Hollis had always been here.
Janice was the sweetest — she reminded you a little of Donna, that same motherly warmth, except Janice had a dry wit underneath it that would catch you off guard and pull a laugh out of you before you'd seen it coming. You did your best to be useful. You started with small things — offering to help cook, washing dishes, sweeping — the kind of help anyone could accept without feeling obligated. But Janice didn't just accept it. She drew you in like you'd been there for years, teaching you her recipes, the small tricks she'd developed over time, things done a particular way for reasons she'd explain and you'd try to remember. Things your own mother had never had the patience to pass on.
You weren't quite there yet, though.
One evening Janice stepped out and left you alone with the stew you'd been following step by step, and you almost turned it into something unrecognizable. Not entirely your fault.
"What are you doing?" Arms came around your waist from behind. You were already frowning at the pot.
"Stew," you said, voice tight with worry. "Or something like it. I'm not sure anymore."
"The smell's good." Hollis rested his chin on your shoulder. "But is it supposed to look like that?"
You laughed despite yourself and smacked his arm. "No," you said, somewhere between a whine and a laugh. "Hers was all colorful and... I don't know what went wrong."
"We'll sort it out." He unwrapped his arms from you, took the wooden spoon gently from your hand, and poured a small amount of the sauce onto his palm to taste. "It's not bad. Really."
He said it while visibly trying not to smile. You saw the corners of his mouth going.
"You're terrible," you said, pushing him lightly. He laughed.
"I'm being supportive."
"That's not supportive." You whined. "I'm a disaster."
He stepped closer, arms coming back around you, walking you gently toward the counter until you were up against it. Then he lifted you onto it in one easy motion, positioning himself in front of you.
"I don't mind," he said, smiling. "I could learn to cook. Or we could just order in every night."
He leaned in, hand at your waist, mouth finding yours. For a moment you forgot entirely where you were — forgot the stew, forgot the kitchen — until his fingers found the hem of your skirt, and then the smell of something burning brought you back abruptly.
"Hey." You pulled back, already sliding off the counter, pushing past him to get to the stove. "Look what you did."
"Me?" He followed, watching you turn off the burner.
"You." You looked at what remained of the stew and then looked at him, and he was already laughing, which made you laugh despite yourself. "I hate you, I really do."
That night you made him stand beside you while you confessed to Janice what had happened to her recipe. You were thoroughly flustered the entire time. She laughed — gently, genuinely — and only stopped long enough to turn and scold Hollis when he joined in.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
He moved differently around the property. When he wasn't with you, you'd find him following Robert around — dealing with the animals, doing repair work, chopping wood, fixing a section of fence that had come loose. It was a completely new version of him. Something domestic in a way you didn't usually get to see. You wouldn't have admitted it easily but it was attractive, watching him work with his sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back, the particular focus he had when he was doing something physical. It also looked completely wrong on him in a way you found quietly hilarious — this city boy now covered in dirt and carrying fence posts like he'd been doing it for years.
One late afternoon you were standing on the porch when he came back from the fields. Mud on his jeans, on his hands, streaked across his white tank top in ways that suggested a genuine disaster had occurred somewhere on the property.
"What happened to you?" You held back your smile.
"There was a leak. I helped fix it." He said it simply, walking toward you in slow, unhurried steps.
"Right. Country boy."
"You mocking me, ma'am?"
He reached the porch and grabbed you before you could respond — pulling you clean off the step and into his arms. You grabbed his shoulders on instinct and held on, and it took you a moment but you did eventually register that his mud-covered hands were now on your white summer dress.
"My dress," you said, laughing. Not really caring.
"I can get used to it." He kissed your neck, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. Your legs found their way around his waist without you deciding to, and his hands settled under your thighs, holding you there.
"Me too," you said quietly, looking at him. Your fingers moved lightly over the back of his neck. "This feels like a home."
"It does." His eyes were soft looking at you, softer than the fading light. "Do you miss home?"
You shook your head and smiled. "I said it feels like a home." You kissed him briefly. "Nothing like mine."
He held your gaze for a beat too long — processing it, storing it somewhere, giving it more weight than you'd necessarily intended. Then he kissed you again, and carried you back toward the porch until you made him put you down before anyone could see.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
"When I was helping Robert with the leak," Hollis said, stepping back into the bedroom after his shower, "we passed by a pond. Really nice spot. We should go."
You were sitting up in bed waiting for him. "Mhm. When?"
"Tomorrow." He dropped down beside you, hair wet. "We don't have much on tomorrow anyway. It's Sunday and Robert said he's taking Janice and the kids to church."
"What is it with you washing your hair at night?" You reached for the towel on the nightstand. "Come here."
He had that small mischievous smile as he shifted and laid his head in your lap, letting you do what you could with the towel. "So?"
"I like the pond idea." You pouted a little. It was exactly the kind of thing that excited you and he knew it.
"Then it's a date, honey." He smiled up at you.
It always did something to you when he settled into you like that. His whole frame took up most of the available space, which made the way he curled into you so naturally all the more disarming. It melted you in a way you'd stopped being embarrassed about.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
The pond wasn't far from the main house — just beyond the property line, a fence to hop and a few minutes of walking through tall grass and trees. But it was, as promised, nice. A clearing in the green, sunlight coming down through the canopy and catching the water like a spotlight. A wide flat rock sat beside the bank like it had been placed there deliberately.
Hollis dropped the bag you'd packed and pulled his shirt off. This time you didn't wait for him to call you in. You were far enough from anywhere that it didn't matter, so you stepped forward and undressed completely — your dress first, then everything underneath — and walked into the water without looking back.
You knew his eyes were on you when you glanced over your shoulder. He was standing at the bank, slightly stilled, before reaching for his zipper.
"You coming?" you asked.
He moved quickly after that, finishing undressing — fully, the same as you — and you laughed to yourself at the symmetry of it. You dove in before he reached the water, surfacing a few feet away, and when you looked back he was smiling in that particular way that meant he was already plotting something.
It stayed light for a while. Genuinely light, the kind of easy that had been rare on the road — him making stupid observations about the fish he could see near the bottom, you splashing water at him when he got too comfortable, stolen kisses that tasted like pond water, both of you laughing at nothing in particular. You couldn't track how long it went on. You stopped trying.
At some point you climbed out and sat on the flat rock, letting the sun work at drying you, and watched him from the bank.
He stayed in the water a little longer, floating on his back, eyes closed, face tilted toward the sun. You watched the way the light caught the edges of him—the line of his jaw, the rise of his chest, the way his hair fanned out in the water like something from a painting. He looked peaceful.
When he finally opened his eyes he found you so quickly, like he already knew where you'd be before even looking at you, something shifted in his expression. Not surprise — something like recognition.
He moved toward you unhurried and you couldn't help but notice the mess he made of your heart whenever he walked your way. Handsome in every sense of the word. Water ran off him as he came out of the pond, and you watched the way it traced the lines of his shoulders, his arms, the narrow dip of his waist. He didn't rush. He took his time, letting you watch.
When he reached you, he didn't sit. He stood over you, blocking most of the sunlight with the width of his shoulders. His skin was still wet, cool when his hand came up to your face, water dripping down your neck, your chest. You didn't move. Just looked up at him.
"Watching me?" He braced one arm on the rock above your head and gently cradled your face with the other, tilting you back so your head rested in the crook of his forearm.
"I couldn't help it," you said, the flush already moving up your cheeks.
"My perverted angel." He smiled — nothing innocent about it — and the look alone made you feel instantly warm.
His hand moved from your face to your neck, and when he held you there, gently, his thumb at your pulse, he finally kissed you. You reached for him immediately — his shoulder, then his arm, loving the way his muscles shifted under your touch. His hand moved further down, finding your chest unhurriedly, like he was simply feeling you. He squeezed lightly, then teased your nipple, and the sigh that escaped you was involuntary. He pulled back just far enough to watch your face when it happened, smiling at what he found there.
When his hand trailed lower still, a shiver moved through you — partly the cold of his fingers against your warm skin, partly anticipation. You spread your legs for him at the exact moment his hand found your inner thigh, before he'd asked you to.
He teased — his thumb brushing over you lightly, sliding between your folds without quite touching where you needed it, doing just enough to make you wet and no more.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, his face close to yours.
His fingers finally did what you were aching for — slow, circular pressure on your clit, unhurried, deliberately gentle. You gasped and whimpered and he watched your face like it fascinated him.
"Holli." His name came out as a plea, your nails pressing lightly into his shoulder.
"Tell me, my angel." His voice was tender at the center and rough at the edges, the particular combination that got to you every time.
"I need you," you whined.
"Do you?" He whispered. "Do you really need me?"
You didn't get to answer. Two fingers slid inside you and your response became a nod, wordless and helpless.
He worked them slowly at first — almost torturously slow, curling slightly, finding the places that made your back arch and your legs try to close around his hand. When he picked up the pace, stroking deeper and harder, the sounds of the pond and the wind and the birds gave way entirely to the sound of your voice and the wet noise of his fingers moving inside you. It only compounded when his thumb found your clit at the same time, and you grabbed his forearm with both hands just to hold onto something.
You couldn't look away from him. His hazel eyes had you completely, wouldn't let you go.
You were already shaking, your orgasm building through you, your toes curling against the sun-warm rock — when he said it.
"I love you."
Quiet and calm, watching your face as you came undone beneath him.
You didn't answer. He kissed you before you could, slowing his fingers through your edge, then drawing them out of you gently. The need that followed was immediate — your hand trailing down his chest, his stomach, finding his cock and wrapping around him. You stroked him slowly as you kissed, messy and open-mouthed, both of you making sounds against each other.
Then he was between your legs, filling you in one long slow push. He kept that same unhurried pace — kept his hand firm at your jaw, keeping your eyes on his, not letting you escape his gaze for even a second. Every stroke deliberate. Every throb of him inside you pulling his words back to the surface.
You pushed him back and straddled him. He sat up, arms coming around you immediately, hands gripping your ass as you rolled your hips over him. You brushed the hair from his face, took his face in both hands, looked at him — and almost said out loud how beautiful he was. Instead, breathless, so sensitive you felt like you might come apart entirely, you said it.
"I love you." Your voice broke slightly on it, more feeling than volume. "I love you so much."
It came out like something that had been held too long. Hollis smiled — really smiled, the kind that reached all the way up — kissed your lips and panted against your mouth. His large hands pressed into your skin and pulled you into a faster rhythm, and you went willingly, chasing it together until he came undone beneath you with a low, drawn-out sound, face pressing into your chest, arms pulling you in so tightly you felt it in your ribs. He spilled inside you, warm and familiar, and you held his head against you while both of you caught your breath — his face buried between your breasts, your fingers in his hair, the water running beside you and the afternoon light warm on your backs.
"Say it again," he said. "Please."
He looked up. You held his face in your hands, thumbs moving over his cheekbones.
"I love you, Hollis."
He looked at you for a moment like he was taking it in properly. Then he pulled you close again, a low, quiet laugh against your skin. "I fucking love you.”
The aftermath was slow and suspended — both of you back in the water eventually, you wrapped around him while he carried you through it, neither of you in any hurry to go anywhere at all.
The silence was interrupted by casual conversation, you casually saying how you didn't get to go to places like this back home while Hollis added how he used to sneak out as a teenager to go diving in a dam in Chicago.
"When I was a kid, there was this dam near my house. Wide one, deep as fuck. I used to sneak out some times and go there with my friends."
You lifted your head to look at him. His eyes were on the water, distant, like he was seeing something you couldn't.
"What did you do there?"
"Jumped off the cliffs. Swam. Smoked. Just..." He shrugged. "Felt alive, I guess. It was the only place I could feel like myself."
"How old were you?"
"Fifteen, sixteen." A small smile tugged at his mouth. "We thought we were untouchable. Like nothing could happen to us."
"Did anything ever happen?"
He laughed, low. "One time, my friend jumped and hit the water wrong. He was fine, but we thought he was dead for a solid minute. Scared the shit out of us. Didn't stop us from going back the next day though."
You smiled against his skin. "Sounds like you."
"Like me?"
"Reckless. In the best way possible.”
"Yeah. Guess I haven't changed that much.”
You traced your fingers along his collarbone. The water moved around you both, slow and unhurried. “I mean, I wouldn't jump out of a cliff but this here was pretty fun, wasn't it?” You said and he laughed lightly.
“I don't need to jump off cliffs anymore. I'm gonna tell you a secret.” You looked, waiting and his gaze found yours. “I've been feeling alive ever since I saw you at that gas station.”
“Ever since?” You asked, not fully buying it, but his gaze was unwavering. It gave you certainty.
“Every single day after that.”
You kissed him — not urgent, not demanding. Something slower. Something that said I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.
On the walk back, his hand in yours, you thought about the irony of it — that the pond had been where you finally said it out loud to each other. You'd sworn on blood. You'd crossed state lines and shared a bed every night for these past weeks. But you'd never said those words until today, in a clearing by the water on a farm in Nevada, miles from anywhere either of you had started.
Maybe the road had been too relentless for it. Maybe you actually needed to stop somewhere long enough, to be still enough, for it to find its way out.
It got you thinking about what love even was. Whether it lived in the calm — in the quiet moments only the two of you would ever know about. In a glance sideways on a long stretch of highway. A motel stop at dusk. His warm hand finding yours before you'd thought to reach for it. His body beside yours every night, a constant you'd stopped questioning. You were sure, thinking about it now, that you'd loved him for longer than today. But what bound you was more than love, or at least more than the word. You could call it devotion. You could call it despair. You could call it an aching need that overflowed you when you weren't managing it. But it was simpler than all of that. It was life. Life had brought you together. And as drastically as it sounded, you thought that only the far opposite of life could bring you apart.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
A few days later you were watching the kids in the living room while Janice rested. They were lovely, mostly — except for Timmy, who had a particular talent for finding things that shouldn't be broken and testing their limits. Currently it was his sister's doll. You managed that with patience, explaining carefully while the older boy mocked him from the couch, which made Timmy cry, which required a separate round of managing. You handled it. Somehow.
"You're actually good with them," Janice said, appearing in the doorway with two cups of coffee. "Did you have younger siblings?"
"Not really." You took the cup she offered. "But they're easy. Especially Timmy."
You winked at the boy and he beamed at you from the floor, entirely recovered.
"Do you want kids?" Janice asked.
You nearly choked. "No. I mean. Not now."
She laughed and patted your shoulder. "Relax. You two are very young. But who knows?"
"No." You widened your eyes. "No, no. There's no way."
You laughed nervously. Though somewhere underneath the laughter was the quiet, unwelcome awareness of how many times you hadn't thought about that, and the dread that followed.
Janice leaned in, her eyes catching the pendant at your chest. She reached out and held it lightly between her fingers. "I see he gave you his mother's scapular."
"His mother's?" The conversation shifted entirely. "Do you know her?"
"If I know her?" She laughed quietly. Then, leaning closer, lowering her voice: "I was her college best friend. I was there the day she found out she was pregnant with that boy."
You stared at her.
"He didn't tell you that," she said. Less a question than a realization.
"He just said Robert was a friend. That's why we were coming here."
"That dumbass." She groaned softly. "Okay. I'm going to tell you this because that boy cannot use his words to save his life. Robert was his father's business partner, until things got out of hand. We left Chicago a few years ago. Bob was only five."
"I'm sorry," you said, not entirely sure what else to say.
"Don't be. We made a life here. Away from all of it. We're happier here than we ever were there. And honestly— " She looked at you steadily. "I'm glad Hollis got out too. I couldn't have watched him turn into one of them."
There was something in her voice that wasn't just resentment. It was relief, old and deep, the kind that comes from having worried about something for a long time and finally being told it turned out alright. You sat with it quietly, and felt the itch of every question you now had no idea how to ask.
That night in bed, Hollis was telling you something about the property — something that had happened with one of the horses, you thought — when he stopped mid-sentence. You'd drifted without meaning to, your eyes somewhere past him, your hands around the scapular.
He watched you for a moment. You didn't notice.
"Y/n," he said.
"Sorry." You looked up at him. He was standing by the bed, watching you with that particular stillness that meant he was worried and trying not to show it. "I'm sorry."
"What is it?"
You sighed. Looked down at the pendant in your hands, then back at him.
"I was talking to Janice today." You kept your voice slow, careful. "She told me this was your mother's."
"It was," he said. Dry, simple.
"She told me. About her and Robert. That they were friends with your parents." You looked at him. Waited.
He crossed to the bed and sat on the edge of it, back to you. The silence stretched.
"If you don't want to talk about it— "
"It's alright." He said it to the wall in front of him. "I'm just not used to it. But yeah. They were friends. I grew up knowing them."
You moved closer, reached for his shoulder, hesitated briefly before pressing it lightly. Then you wrapped your arms around him from behind. His hand came to rest over yours where it lay against his stomach. He exhaled slowly.
"So," you said, quietly. "It's like meeting your family."
He laughed, but there was something bitter at the edge of it. "Might as well be. Robert's more of a father to me than my actual father has ever been."
It broke something loose in your chest — not just because of what he said, but because you recognized it. You knew what it was to feel that way about a parent, and you hadn't wished that on him. You kissed his shoulder. His neck. Rested your face against him.
"Everyone's escaping that man." His voice came low, rough at the edges.
"And your mom?" You felt brave enough to ask before you could stop yourself.
"She left him. Two years ago." His hand tightened over yours. "Left everything, actually. I don't blame her. A bad life, a worse husband, and a troubled kid. I would've done the same."
"Hey— "
"It's okay." He lifted your hand, pressed his lips to your knuckles. "I really don't blame her. I left because I didn't want to become what I was becoming. That's all." A pause. "You'll meet her one day. She's... She's something else, honestly. Really esoteric, super artsy. But she's sweet. You'd like her."
You laughed softly at how he said it. "Do you think she'll like me?"
"Who wouldn't like you?" He said it simply, like it wasn't even a real question. "She'll adore you."
You felt the warmth creep up your neck. "Stop it."
You tried to pull back and he caught your wrist, turning in one easy motion and pulling you into his lap. His hand found your face — that warm, steady hold that always made you look at him properly, whether you meant to or not.
"You're the most charming person I know," he said. "Anyone who doesn't love you immediately is out of their mind."
You didn't have anything to say to that. You just kissed him, and felt your heart ache with it — with how open he'd been tonight, how tender underneath all of it. You could see it clearly, for the first time without any fear attached.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
Routine was starting to grow on you. Waking up in the same bed every morning, lazy mornings that stretched without obligation, talking about the day before falling asleep — you loved all of it. For a while you almost forgot why you were here. While things were this peaceful, this quiet, it was easy to let the rest of it recede.
Until you caught Hollis and Robert talking in low voices somewhere on the property, and they went quiet the moment you came close enough to hear. Or you walked into a room and the conversation stopped. It bothered you — not because you needed to know, but because it made you feel like a child being kept from the adult table.
Once it happened while you were standing with Janice, and she frowned at them — mainly at Robert. "You could both be less obvious about it," she said, and went back to what she was doing.
Which raised its own set of questions. She knew. How much did she know, and why were you always the last to have any of it?
One evening you were gathering laundry for the next morning — you and Hollis had been taking turns, and this was yours — while he lay in bed with his phone. A rare enough sight that you noticed it. He seemed focused, so you tried to start a conversation. He gave you half his attention at best.
You dropped the laundry basket onto the mattress.
He looked up, eyebrows raised. "What's that for?"
"I'm trying to talk to you," you said.
"I'm sorry, honey. I'm just dealing with something." His eyes went back to the screen.
"What? What are you dealing with?"
He looked at you again, more carefully this time. "Our way out of here."
"Is that what you and Robert keep whispering about?"
"Among other things."
"And what does he know about us?"
"A lot."
"What about Janice? And why do I know nothing about any of it?" The annoyance in your voice was clear, and you weren't trying to hide it.
He sighed and set the phone down. "Come here."
It took you a moment, but you went. He did what you knew he'd do — hands at your hips, pulling you in until you were standing between his legs, his eyes coming up to find yours. Your hands settled on his shoulders on their own, and he smiled faintly.
"They know why we're here," he said, his thumb moving slowly along your waist beneath your shirt. "They know about the footage, half the things we've been doing. But there are other things — things that go back to Chicago. Things that don't involve you entirely. Not yet."
"Then tell me," you said quietly, threading your fingers slowly into his hair. "We're— I mean— we're something, aren't we?"
"Baby, we're way more than something." He laughed softly. "And I want to tell you everything. I just— I don't want to put this on you right now. Don't wanna worry you."
"I'm already worried, Holli." Your brows pulled together.
He took your hand from his shoulder and pressed his lips to your knuckles. "Do you trust me?" You nodded. "Then let me fix this. The things from Chicago, they don't touch you. Not for now. Let me sort it out, and when we actually get to start our lives, you'll know all of it. I promise. We'll have all the time in the world."
He kissed your hand again, and eventually you folded into him — your face tucked against his collar, his arms coming around you, warm and steady.
"Do you want me to do the laundry tomorrow?" he asked after a long, quiet while.
You laughed against his neck. Nodded.
"I'll do it, pretty girl."
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
The next morning you woke earlier than usual. Hollis's side of the bed was already cold — you could hear the shower running, and then stopping, and then nothing. A line of pale light slipped through the gap in the bathroom door.
You dragged yourself up, still half-asleep, and pushed the door open.
He was standing at the mirror, towel wrapped around his hips, hair wet, body still drying. If you'd been any more awake it would have been a sight worth stopping for.
"Morning, honey," he said, glancing at you.
"Why are you up so early?" You pressed the back of your hand to your eyes, trying to bring the room into focus. The pale bathroom light wasn't helping.
He turned slightly, cupped your face in one hand, and pressed his lips to the top of your head. "Going to town later with Rob. Figured I'd finish my chores first."
"Very dedicated of you," you murmured, looking up at him. He'd turned back to the mirror, studying his face with a particular expression.
"What do you think about this?" He gestured vaguely at his jaw.
You squinted. It took a moment — you'd never seen it before, not once during the whole trip. He'd always taken a razor to his face before anything had the chance to grow. But now there were faint lines of a mustache beginning, the suggestion of a goatee, and along his jaw a sparse, barely-there growth that had clearly been quietly happening while you weren't looking.
"Oh," you said, stepping closer to see him properly in the mirror. "I didn't even know you could grow a beard."
He laughed. "What do you mean? I'm offended!"
"I'm sorry!" You laughed too, at your own surprise. "You just... You always shave before it gets anywhere." You looked at him in the glass. "You're still handsome, honey." You rested your head lightly on his shoulder.
"Well." He shrugged. "Better get rid of it."
He reached for the shaving foam on the sink and the thought arrived so quickly and clearly that you just said it before it had fully formed.
"Can I do it?"
He turned to look at you. "Shave me?"
You nodded. He grinned, confused and amused in equal measure.
"Do you know how?"
"How hard can it be?" You took the foam from his hand, looked at it, looked at his face, and smiled. Already committed.
"Sure, honey." He was smiling too now, settling into the idea. "Go on."
"Sit there." You pointed to the edge of the bathtub and he obeyed without argument, lowering himself down, long legs spread wide, looking up at you with that particular expression — amused on the surface, something else underneath.
You stood in the space between his knees and got to work — spraying foam into your palm, working it across his jaw, his chin, his neck, above his upper lip. Careful and focused. His eyes stayed on your face the whole time. You'd have felt self-conscious once, under that gaze, but somewhere along the way that had changed. His attention still made your heart do something, but the urge to escape it was gone. It just felt like him.
"Don't move," you said, picking up the razor.
"Wasn't planning on it," he said, the smile still there.
You hesitated briefly before the first stroke and then started. Slow, short strokes, rinsing between each one. You were frowning slightly without meaning to, brows drawn together in concentration.
"You can press a little harder, honey," he said.
"Quiet." You didn't look up.
He laughed softly. You felt it through the hand steadying his jaw. "I said don't move."
"Alright, alright."
His hands found your hips. Not pulling you anywhere, not pressing — just resting there, warm through the fabric of your shirt, like they'd landed out of habit. You noticed and kept working. You were holding your breath somewhere in the middle of it and didn't realize until you let it out. His eyes hadn't left your face. Under the pale bathroom light they looked brighter than usual, that specific hazel that you'd learned to read before you'd learned it was something you were doing.
When you finished you took the towel and wiped away the remaining foam, turning his face gently to check both sides. Even. Clean. You reached up to the cabinet without letting him stand and found a lotion, which you applied slowly across his jaw and cheeks.
He watched with a knowing smile. "What are you doing?"
"You should moisturize after shaving." You kept your voice matter-of-fact.
"Yeah?" His smile was all teasing now, entirely unbothered by the skincare advice.
He pulled you closer — arms wrapping slowly around your body, his chin lifting toward your chest as he looked up at you. You hugged him back, fingers threading into his still-damp hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way you knew he liked.
"Thank you," he said, after a moment. Quieter now. "I'm not used to it. Being taken care of."
You pouted. Your face went warm. "I like taking care of you."
"I know," he said. He caught your hand, pressed his lips to it, then stood — pulling you with him, both of you nearly stumbling in the narrow bathroom, and you laughed. He laughed too, steadying you both, his arms still around you.
"You're so good to me," he said, low. "So fucking good."
You pulled him down by the neck, closing the small distance until your noses touched, foreheads together, eyes level.
"I love you," you said.
"I love you." He smiled before he kissed you — warm, unhurried, the kind of kiss that took the rest of your breath without trying to.
He carried you back to bed, and the early morning became something slower and quieter, his body moving over yours lazy and unhurried, both of you still half in sleep, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
Later, Hollis went to town with Robert — something about the car — and you stayed with Janice. The usual rhythm. You'd just come back to the house from feeding the chickens when you found her on the porch, scissors in hand, trimming Timmy's hair.
"You do that yourself?" you asked.
"Easier than driving to the hairdresser every two weeks for a trim. I cut my own too." She didn't look up, focused on the back of Timmy's neck.
You watched her work, and without deciding to, your hands went to your own hair. You couldn't remember ever cutting more than a few inches off it. It had been long your whole life, as long as you could picture yourself.
And then — quietly, the way realizations sometimes came — you thought about the security footage. Your profile. Your hair. The one detail that maybe could make you identifiable even in a blurry image. A new life could come with new hair.
"After Timmy," you said, "would you cut mine?"
Janice looked up, a flicker of surprise giving way to enthusiasm. She hesitated when you told her how much — just above the shoulders, significantly shorter than anything you'd ever had. But she didn't talk you out of it. You sat down, and as the long strands of dark hair fell to the porch floorboards you felt the specific strangeness of watching something you'd carried for years disappear in sections. The chills moved through you. So did something that felt almost like relief.
When you looked in the mirror and brushed the new length back, you felt like someone else. Not unrecognizable — just new. The bangs Janice had cut, the layers, the way it all framed your face differently. Someone new and also still you.
"It looks so good," Janice said from behind your shoulder. "You look so girly."
You smiled at that. You felt it.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
Hollis came back late in the afternoon. You were in the kitchen putting together a snack for you and the kids when you heard him come through.
"Honey, Jan said you were in he— " He stopped.
You glanced back. "How was town?"
"The— " He stopped again, whatever he'd been about to say dissolving entirely. "You look— that's just— "
You felt a flicker of nerves. He was looking at you with that particular stillness, eyes moving over your face like he was processing something and hadn't finished yet.
"God, you look beautiful." He crossed the kitchen in a few strides and took your face in both hands — you felt small in the best way. "Did you just— "
"Do you like it?" You looked up at him, your face warm under his hands and his attention.
"So much." He leaned down and kissed you, brief and certain. "Didn't know you could get any prettier."
"Shut up," you laughed.
He kissed you again and pulled you in with one arm around your waist.
"That's seriously gross." Bob's voice from the table.
You pulled back, laughing. Bob and Timmy were both making faces of theatrical disgust.
"Y'all too nosy," Hollis said.
"Y'all disgusting!" Bob announced.
"Disgusting?" Hollis's voice went playful and low. "Nah, little buddy. You're done now."
He went after Bob, who scrambled off his chair and started running laps around the table. Timmy was already screaming catch him, catch him with tremendous investment. You stood by the counter laughing as the chase moved through the kitchen, into the living room, and out the front door — where Hollis eventually caught up with Bob and they both went down in a heap on the grass, and then Timmy was crying because he'd tripped over his own feet following them, and Hollis spent the next five minutes quietly negotiating with him not to tell Robert, apparently offering bribes you couldn't quite hear but could absolutely imagine.
You watched from the doorway, the afternoon light warm on the porch, and thought: this is what it looks like. Whatever it was they were building toward. This exact thing, right here.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
Later that night you were lying on top of him in bed, his hand moving slowly through your hair — a light, absent caress that made your already worn-out body feel even lighter. Then his hand came to your forehead and he started brushing your new bangs back and forth across your face, back and forth, like he was experimenting with them. You laughed and pushed his hand away gently.
"What are you doing?" you asked, smiling.
"I don't know. It's different." His hand moved to your cheek instead.
"Good different?"
"Definitely." He petted your head the way you'd pet a cat and you smiled despite yourself. "It makes your eyes look bigger."
"What?" You laughed. "Is that a compliment?"
"Of course it is. You look like a doll." He pulled you in and kissed you briefly. "My pretty doll."
You didn't know how he always knew exactly what to say, but it got you blushing and tucking your face into his neck before sleep took you both under.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
It was early morning — still dim, the light just beginning to come through — and you were in the barn with Grace, the newborn calf you'd been feeding since the first day. Her mother wasn't producing enough milk, and you'd taken over the bottle without anyone asking you to. She knew you now. When you came in calling her name she made small sounds of excitement that you found entirely disproportionate and completely wonderful.
"I see you two have gotten close," a voice said from the entrance.
Robert, leaning against the doorframe with his coffee.
"I'm basically her second mother," you said, still petting her forehead.
"You really are." He laughed. "You finished with her?"
"Just saying goodbye."
"Could you give me a hand with something?"
You ended up outside holding a fence post steady while he hammered it in, the morning cool and quiet around you.
"I think you know by now," he said between strikes, "but I've known Hollis since he was about this high." He lifted one hand to his waist. You laughed, thinking of the height of the man currently asleep in your shared room. "What was he like?"
"Impossible." He said it with the particular warmth of someone who'd loved a difficult person. "You know Timmy? Make it ten times worse. He used to follow me everywhere, asking questions like I'd have every answer. Wouldn't stop talking."
"That's genuinely hard to picture," you said.
"He'd tell you his whole life story if you asked only for his name." Robert laughed to himself. "Until he grew up and learned to keep things in. And then he kept too much in. You know how it is."
"Yeah," you said quietly. "He still does."
"He learned it for his own protection." Robert paused, setting the hammer down for a moment. "I can't imagine how things got after I left."
"He holds you in a high place, sir," you said.
"God, don't call me sir. Rob, Bob, anything else." You laughed. "But listen. I'm glad he found you. When he told me he was leaving Chicago with nothing but a car it scared the hell out of me. Then he told me he'd brought you along and that scared me even more." He laughed at that, something fond in it. "I gave him hell for it, honestly. But I think you might be the best thing that happened to that boy on this trip."
"I don't know," you said. "Sometimes I feel like I've made things harder for him. He says the opposite, but— "
"You drive him crazy, he told me that too." You looked at him, surprised. "But you make him feel. And that's something I was genuinely worried his father had taken out of him."
That landed somewhere deep. Not just the words but the weight of who was saying them — someone who'd known him as a child, someone Hollis trusted with things he didn't give anyone else. Knowing he'd talked about you. Knowing someone this important to him had looked at you and approved.
"You're making her do manual labor, old man?" Hollis's voice came from behind you.
"She's being helpful," Robert said, his tone shifting easily into something playful. "Unlike you."
"Give me that, honey." Hollis reached for the fence post and you started to say you could finish, then just nodded and stepped aside, watching the two of them take over like you hadn't been there at all, and feeling entirely at peace with that.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
A few days later you were coming back from the barn when you noticed Hollis out in the field with the white horse he'd taken to immediately, embarrassingly, on the first day. He was standing close to the animal, one hand on his neck, his face near his, talking to him in a low voice. You stood watching them for a moment before he noticed you and waved you over.
"You really like him," you said when you reached him.
"Her," he corrected, glancing at you. "Her name's June."
"Sorry." You smiled. "Hi, June. You're very pretty. You look just like my Hollis."
You said it softly to the horse, who turned her large head toward you at the sound of your voice. You reached up carefully and scratched at her neck. She shook her mane and you felt the muscles beneath your hand shift and twitch, which made you laugh.
"She likes you," Hollis said.
"How can you tell?"
"She didn't bite you." He said smiling. You laughed.
"Have you ever ridden a horse?" he asked.
"A long time ago. When I was little."
"Do you want to?"
You thought about it for a moment — but he was looking at you with that particular open smile, the one that made him look younger, and you already knew where this was going.
He helped you up on her first, bareback, his hands firm at your waist, lifting you with ease. You settled onto June's warm back, the muscles beneath you shifting as she adjusted to your weight. You grabbed a handful of her mane, steadying yourself, and felt the sun on your shoulders, the breeze catching your hair.
Then he mounted behind you — one smooth motion, the kind of ease that came from practice. His weight settled behind you, and you felt the solid warmth of his chest press against your back, his thighs bracketing yours.
"Alright?" His voice was close to your ear, low and warm.
"Yeah," you said, breathing out.
His arms came around you, both hands finding June's mane, his wrists grazing your sides. You loosened your grip on the mane, let your body settle into the motion of the horse beneath you. His arms were loose around you, not holding you in place but just there, bracketing you.
June started forward, a slow, easy walk that rocked you gently.
"Doesn't it bother her?"
"She's strong," he said. You could hear the smile. "You said she looks like me, but honestly she's more like you."
"How?"
"Stubborn. But sweet about it." The horse picked up a slow, steady pace and you moved with her, adjusting. "One time I was brushing her mane and she got annoyed and pulled away, so I stopped. Left her alone. And the second I walked off she followed me halfway across the field like a lost puppy."
"That's not what I do," you said, looking back at him.
"Sure, honey." He squeezed you lightly against him.
You leaned back into him anyway, just enough to keep the contact, and he let you. You passed through the open gate and out into the field, the valley spreading ahead of you, green bathed in the low gold of late afternoon.
"This is nice," you said quietly.
"Better than the car?"
"So much better." You exhaled slowly.
His laugh moved through his chest and into your back.
"We're leaving in a few days," he said, his voice shifting into something quieter.
"California?" you asked.
"Yeah. Finally." Something in his voice had weight to it — not reluctance exactly, but heaviness. Like the word had more in it than he was letting out.
"I'll miss this," you said after a moment. "I'll miss them." A pause. "But I'm ready to actually get somewhere."
He hummed. And for a while there was nothing but the sound of June's hooves moving through the grass, the wind passing low through the field, and his breath steady at the back of your neck.
Later that evening you sat on the front porch and watched the valley turn blue and then dark. You lost yourself in thought without noticing the temperature drop, and by the time you came back to yourself your fingertips were cold.
The front door opened behind you. You looked back and found Hollis in the frame of it, the inside light behind him, his silhouette filling the doorway.
"Dinner's ready," he said.
You didn't answer right away. He looked past you, out toward the valley. And then, like he'd understood exactly why you were sitting there without needing it explained, he came out and sat beside you. He stayed quiet for a long while, the same as you, watching the dark settle over the flatland and the mountains beyond it. You rested your head on his shoulder. He was steady in a way nothing else had ever been.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
The remaining days passed faster than you expected. Janice kept you close, always finding reasons to pull you into the kitchen or onto the porch, always starting conversations that drifted naturally toward something that felt less like small talk and more like advice she was offering sideways — about Robert, about their early years, about how things weren't always easy and how that was part of it. She mentioned once that Los Angeles was only seven hours from Gardnerville, that she sometimes thought about making the drive down with the kids. It was a small thing and she said it casually, but you heard what she was doing. Not only had you grown attached to this family — the feeling was mutual, and she wanted you to know it.
The hardest part was the morning of the departure.
Janice made a full breakfast — said you had a long drive and needed to be fed. Hollis pointed out there were restaurants on the road and she swatted him. It was all warmly comic and a little melancholic, the particular feeling of a last morning somewhere you weren't ready to leave.
Then Timmy overheard.
In all the weeks you'd known him, through all the tantrums and the broken toys and the crying jags over completely invented injustices, you had never seen him like this. His small round eyes went watery almost immediately. You thought at first it was Hollis he was upset about — but then you felt a small hand close around the hem of your skirt, and a small head press against your hip, and you understood he was trying, in his quiet way, to simply keep you there.
When it was time to actually leave, he wouldn't let go. When you shifted he started to cry — silently, the way children cried when they were trying not to be seen doing it.
"Oh, Timmy," you said softly, reaching down to smooth his blond hair.
"Don't go," he said, small and shy, barely audible.
"Honey, the car's— " Hollis stopped. He'd looked down and found Timmy at your skirt. You could see the amusement starting at the corner of his mouth and you gave him a look that said don't you dare and he held it back with visible effort.
He crouched down in front of the boy instead, one hand on his shoulder, eye level. Timmy looked away, his face going from sad to sulky and betrayed.
"You're taking her away," he said.
"I'm not— " Hollis almost laughed and caught himself. "I mean, we have to go home. But we'll come back."
"You don't know that. I heard Mama saying you were going to a whole other country."
"Another state, you fool," Hollis said, and you pushed his arm lightly. He grinned. "I'll bring her back. I promise. Like I promised you that chocolate and I delivered, didn't I?"
Timmy considered this with a small pout, working through the logic of it. Then he looked from Hollis to you.
"Don't forget about me," he said, smaller again, a different register than the one he used with Hollis.
You crouched and pulled him into a proper hug. "I promise I won't."
"Hey," Hollis murmured behind you, "where's that voice when you talk to me?"
You pushed him without looking.
The rest of the goodbyes were easier, as goodbyes went. Janice held you longer than anyone, whispering thank you against your ear and telling you that you were family now, that whatever you needed she'd be there. Robert was more contained in the way he always was — a long embrace, a few quiet words to Hollis that you didn't catch. Bob and Hollis bickered for a while the way they always had and then Bob gave you a shy, sideways hug like he wasn't entirely sure how. Betty was cheerfully oblivious to the whole departure, which was its own kind of mercy — her small wave and uncomplicated smile lightening something that might otherwise have been heavier than you could manage.
You left in a different car than the one you'd arrived in. The stolen truck was gone — you figured that was what the trip to town with Robert had been for. This time you didn't watch the farm disappear in the mirror. You looked at each of their faces one last time, properly, and then turned to face the road ahead.
Your eyes kept drifting to the driver's seat. Not checking on him — just out of habit. A habit you'd caught yourself in since the very first time he'd driven you anywhere. You noticed, not for the first time, that his roots had grown in darker, the blond giving way to his natural hair. You'd noticed before but neverf quite registered. This time you just reached over and took his hand where it rested on his thigh. He looked down at it, then at you, and brought it to his lips without a word.
From the reflection in the glass wall you could see your pupils still dilated. Beyond it, the city stretched out below, the desert wrapping around the lights and buildings, beautifully guarding — or locking — it in. But you focused on one particular thing in the glass: his reflection, collapsed in bed, lying on his stomach, his long arms and wide back taking up almost the whole king-size mattress as he sprawled out.
After a while he shifted, his hand patting your side of the bed. You watched from the window as he raised his head, found the empty space, then found you.
He got up without a word. Still naked, hair everywhere, face soft with sleep, he crossed the room and came up behind you — arms circling you from behind, one long exhale into your hair before his chin settled on top of your head. His hand came to your neck, gentle, his fingers finding the scapular cord and threading through it slowly, like he was making sure it was still there.
"Can't sleep?" You shook your head, silent. "We're almost there."
There used to mean California. Now it meant his friend's house. You hummed under your breath, your hand slipping out from the sheet wrapped around you to find his.
"Pretty decent view, isn't it?" He said it knowing you'd gone quiet, the way he always tried to coax you back out one way or another. You laughed lightly at that. "What?"
"Yes. It's beautiful up here, Hollis." You rubbed his knuckles, let your head rest against his hand. "I'm alright. If that's what you're checking."
He laughed, light. "Thought you were on a bad trip for a second."
"Oh, that— " Your voice dropped. "It's almost gone. My eyes just feel a little funny now."
He squeezed you tighter, kissed the top of your head. Your eyes drifted back to the city lights and he held you there in silence.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
A few nights before, you'd been passing through a town — a really small one, neon signs bleeding into dusk, a gas station with a broken pump, and a fair that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. You noticed the ferris wheel first — a rusted skeleton lit up above everything — then the tents, the people drifting between them, the monotonous carnival music. You must have been staring too hard, because you barely noticed when Hollis stopped the car.
"What?" You glanced at him.
"Want to take a look?" he asked.
"No, we don't have to— " A smile pulled at his mouth and stopped you.
"You were looking at it like a kid at a toy store window." He laughed. "Come on. We don't have a schedule."
His hand found yours the second you stepped out, fingers lacing through yours, warm, so familiar now it felt like a reflex. What wasn't familiar was the setting — for the first time in longer than you could remember, the two of you were just moving, just looking, no rush, nowhere to get to and nothing to run from. You could still tell he was watching, alert in the way he's been lately, but he was trying to be light for you, you could see that. Whatever you showed even a flicker of interest in, he steered you toward. He bought tickets and you ended up competing at a ring toss — he won, mostly because you missed the last bottle, and you were still accusing him of cheating when he handed over your prize. Your sulky face disappeared the moment you saw what it was: a small cat keychain.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱
While you waited in line for the ferris wheel, he went to get you ice cream. You watched the crowd drift by, and when you looked back at him there was a girl beside him in line, obvious about it — all smiles, leaning in to say something while she touched his arm. He was reserved in his own way, took a step back from her, but it still got under your skin. You were sulking by the time he made it back with the ice cream.
"What?" He locked onto your face instantly.
"Nothing." You just took the cone and pretended otherwise.
You stayed sulky all the way onto the ferris wheel. But it didn't last long. The thing made a rusted groaning sound the moment it started moving, and you laughed despite yourself.
"This thing might fall apart any minute," he said, and you laughed harder. "And you laugh?"
"How romantic would that be?" You bumped his shoulder. He caught your hand.
"Fucking romantic, honey." You felt his kiss land on top of your head.
You rested against his shoulder as the wheel climbed toward the top, where it stopped, suspended, for a couple of minutes. The noise from the ground barely reached you up there. Just his breathing. Just the shadow of the endless dark desert stretching out around everything.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱
The night ended with Hollis furious at a shooting gallery. He'd wanted the biggest prize on the wall and burned through every ticket missing almost everything, walking away with a bracelet, a balloon, and a ragged little doll instead of the giant stuffed horse he'd had his eye on.
"Holli, it's fine," you said, fighting back laughter.
"The fuck it is." He glared at the kid running the booth. "This shit's rigged."
"Sir, it's a skill game," the kid said, unbothered.
You nearly lost it at that. Hollis's brows pulled together, properly irritated now. You walked a few steps away, him still muttering.
"Skill game my ass. We'll see about that." He stopped, handed you the balloon and the doll. "Wait here, honey."
You didn't know what that meant until you watched him scan the area, then duck behind one of the booths. A minute later he came out with a fistful of tickets stuffed in his pocket. He walked straight back to the shooting booth and tried again and again — and this time walked away grinning, the giant stuffed horse tucked under one arm.
"For you," he said, clearly proud of himself, handing it over. You took it, wrapping your arms around something nearly half your size.
"For me or for you?" you asked, low.
"For you. Obviously." It made you laugh.
On your way out he stopped a kid — a boy walking away from one of the booths with a sour look on his face — and reached into his pocket. You watched him hand over every ticket he had left. It was a lot.
"Great example you're setting, giving kids stolen tickets," you said when he came back, draping his arm over your shoulders.
"Gotta learn early," he said, laughing, and you laughed with him.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱
You didn't stay in town that night. Back on the road, the pale desert swallowing the little lit-up town behind you, you hugged the horse to your chest, head against the window, listening to Hollis's playlist. Music wasn't something you talked about much, but you'd started learning his taste through the nights you fell asleep to it. He had a strange, wide range — one night it was old country, or hard rock from the eighties, the kind your father used to play back home, then he'd switch to rap, humming the lyrics low under his breath in a way that always got to you, then something stranger still, something that sounded almost like noise. The one time you asked, he told you it was called witch house. It sounded haunting, honestly, but you'd gotten used to it — almost physical, the kind of thing that settled into your body. Sometimes you caught yourself humming along to the rhythm of it without meaning to.
By the time you saw tall buildings ahead, you were barely squinting your eyes open. The city looked familiar, the way things seen only in movies sometimes do — unreal, blinding with light even though it was nearly daybreak. Hollis caught you staring as you surfaced from a deep sleep.
He drove through the outskirts — past gas stations, motels, bars, signs advertising things you didn't dare ask about — until the streets opened onto a scene unlike anything you'd passed through before. After the small towns and mid-sized cities along the way, this one was the loudest, the most colorful. Every building seemed to be competing for your attention, not so much inviting as demanding. Neon, palm trees, and further out, the silvery reflection of what looked like a river running alongside the main avenue, catching the first rays of sun.
"Is this Vegas?" you asked, passing a casino sign.
"Not quite." He laughed. "Vegas is a bit further north. We're not going through there. Too crowded."
You just nodded and he went on.
"But we could have some fun here." He slowed the car. "I mean, if you want. I was thinking— "
There was something in his voice that sounded almost like a kid afraid to ask for too much. You glanced over and only then noticed how genuinely excited he looked, watching the buildings and signs, his eyes practically lit up. You held back a laugh.
"I think it'd be fun," you said, smiling.
His whole face brightened. Within minutes he was pulling into the parking lot of a hotel, and you frowned as he started grabbing your bags like it was just another stop.
"We're staying at a hotel?"
"We deserve a little comfort." He was grinning.
It was a tall building with a massive red billboard out front, white lettering announcing GAMBLING HALL + HOTEL. You followed him through the entrance and let him handle check-in while you took in the place — the lobby mirrored the city outside, too much color, too much noise, too much light. You learned there was a pool, a show room, a casino floor, and so many other corners of the place that you nearly missed him calling your name the first time.
You ended up on one of the highest floors — whether on purpose or because it was the only room left, you didn't know, but you were grateful either way. The second you stepped in and caught sight of the floor-to-ceiling window facing the river, you ran for it, barely glancing at the rest of the room, straight to the balcony.
"This is so beautiful, Hollis." You looked back to find him dropping your bags by the door.
"It is." He came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you, eyes on the view too. Warm, easy.
"Did you see there's a pool? And some kind of show house?"
"We've got the whole day. Maybe the next one, if you want." He squeezed you tighter. His voice was tired — you remembered how little he'd slept, hours behind the wheel.
"Want to rest?" You turned in his arms, looking up. His exhausted hazel eyes looked back at you gently. He cupped your face, thumb brushing your cheek.
"Just a quick nap," he said. "Wake me up, okay? We're going out later."
He was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, completely worn out, blond hair falling across his face, expression gone slack and peaceful. Only then did you really look at the room — simple, white walls, white sheets, red carpet. Large and far more comfortable than most places you'd stayed. It smelled faintly cheap, but clean.
We're going out later. The thought alone gave you butterflies.
You showered, ran through your usual routine — if it could even be called that — and dug through your bag for the clothes you'd been saving. You slipped into the white lace lingerie you'd bought, blushing a little at yourself in the mirror; you didn't usually wear anything like it, and it made you feel good and a little ridiculous at once. Same with the skirt — short enough that you stared at your reflection longer than you meant to. You were halfway through buttoning your blouse when you felt his gaze land on you from behind.
You caught him in the mirror, eyes dragging over your whole body, openly, even half-asleep. You froze, just stood there and watched him watch you.
"You're staring."
"Obviously." It made you laugh — you weren't sure if it was nerves or because it really was funny. You adjusted the skirt, suddenly aware of how exposed it felt, more so under his eyes.
"Is it too much?" you asked. "I don't even know if it fits right."
"It fits perfectly." Still staring, completely unbothered by it.
"Stop being a creep," you said, fighting your own laughter.
"Just let me look at you." He smirked.
He showered while you waited on the bed, flipping through channels without committing to anything. He came out in all black, shirt half-unbuttoned the way he always wore it, gold chain at his throat, effortlessly the most striking thing in the room, as always. You nearly sighed out loud.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
The night began on the casino floor — a maze of noise and light. Slot machines chimed in endless overlapping rhythms, their colors bouncing off the low ceiling like something out of a fever dream. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and something sweet underneath it, cheap perfume and spilled alcohol. Hollis took it all in like his own personal amusement park.
"Pick a machine," he said, hand finding yours.
"Mhm." You scanned the row and picked one at random, pulling him along.
It was funny watching him lose twenty dollars to it. Then another twenty. Then another.
"Bad luck," you said, holding back a laugh.
"I'm warming up." He pulled the lever again. Another loss. You giggled.
"Having fun?"
"You're warming up, baby," you said, and he glanced at you — half annoyed, half amused.
"C'mere." He pulled you onto his lap, easy as that. "You're my lucky charm."
You rolled your eyes even as your cheeks burned. "Go on, try it."
He fed the machine another twenty and let you pull the lever yourself. The reels spun, landed on matching symbols, and the whole machine lit up, buzzing.
You'd won.
"Did I win?" You were already grinning. His arm tightened around you.
"You sure did, honey." He kissed your shoulder. "That's my girl."
"I beat you at your own game."
"Beginner's luck."
"You're a sore loser, baby."
"Is that a challenge?" He smirked, leaning in, eyes dropping to your mouth.
"Maybe," you said, close enough now that you felt the word land between you.
He kissed you, quick and hard enough to make you laugh against his mouth.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
Between drinks and machines, small wins and bigger losses, you wandered through the tables — roulette, blackjack, something else you couldn't name. But Hollis's attention had already locked onto the poker room. Green felt tables, players stacked around them.
"Wanna play?" You squeezed his hand.
"I mean." He glanced away, then back. "A little game wouldn't hurt."
You laughed, already catching something sharp in his eyes that told you it wouldn't stay little. He found a table — an old woman, a man in a cowboy hat, someone with dark circles under his eyes and an office shirt, and a kid who looked almost too young to be sitting there. You stood beside him, hand on his shoulder. He kissed it before sitting, and from that point you barely existed to him — he locked in immediately, more serious than you'd seen him over anything all night, nothing like the easy laughing loser from the slot machines.
You didn't really follow the game beyond the basics — bluffing, calling, folding — but you noticed when he lost the first hand by the sigh he let out, and the second by the curse that followed. You just rubbed his shoulder.
"Holli, maybe we should— "
"One more, honey. Promise." He kissed your hand and you sighed.
On the third hand he pushed every chip he had into the center. You didn't need to understand the game to know what that meant. Players dropped one by one — the old woman, the man in the office shirt — until it was just Hollis and the cowboy. The cowboy bet. Hollis called. The cards turned over and you stared at them without understanding a thing, until Hollis's face split into a wide grin.
"Sorry, partner," he said to the cowboy, already standing. He turned, grabbed your waist, lifted you clean off the floor, and kissed you.
"You won," you said against his mouth.
"We won, pretty girl." Another kiss. "You're my lucky charm."
But the cowboy wasn't having it. His hand came down on the table hard enough to rattle the chips. "You rat."
Hollis raised an eyebrow and turned back to him, you still in the circle of his arm. "Excuse me?"
"I saw you. You palmed that last card." The cowboy was on his feet now, face going red beneath the brim of his hat. "You think I don't know a cheat when I see one?"
"Buddy, I really don't know what to tell you." Hollis was grinning — lazy, completely unbothered. "Maybe just take the loss."
He started to turn back to you. The cowboy came around the table, stepping closer, his eyes flicking between you and Hollis, working himself up to something.
"I'm calling security, or — " He moved past you, closing in on Hollis, and something in you just snapped.
"Back off!" You shoved his chest without thinking. "He didn't cheat and you are far too grown to be acting like this over a card game."
The cowboy's face went a deeper shade of red. He took a step toward you — not threatening exactly, but close enough that the space between you shrank considerably.
You didn't flinch.
Then Hollis's hand found yours — fingers lacing through quickly and surely — and he was already pulling you away from the table.
"Time to go," he said, grinning.
You barely had time to register it before he was dragging you through the crowd, weaving between tables and slot machines, laughing low under his breath. You stumbled after him half-running, half-laughing, your hand warm in his.
"What — " you started, breathless.
"We're not giving him time to call security," he said, glancing back at you with that grin. "Don't look back. Just keep moving."
You didn't look back. You just held on and ran with him.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
Outside, after collecting your winnings at the counter — a fair thick stack of bills — the night air hit you both, cool and electric. You were still laughing, breathless, hands on your knees.
"Did you see his face?" you managed.
Hollis was leaning against the casino wall, chest still heaving. "I did. Thought he'd pop a blood vessel."
"And you didn't even cheat." You straightened up and looked at him. He laughed — head tipping back. "What — but I was watching you the whole time!"
"What can I say, baby? I have my tricks." His arm came around your waist and he pulled you into him. You pressed against his chest, still catching your breath. "Also, he was a terrible loser."
"So are you!" You tapped his chest.
"That's different. I'm charming when I lose." A small, self-satisfied smile. He was right, but you weren't giving him that so easily.
"You're insufferable when you lose," you said, voice lower now.
The dim neon of the side alley was intimate in that particular way that made it far too easy to get lost in his gaze. You were already there before you'd decided to be. "You're something else, you know that?"
His hand came to your face, thumb tracing your chin. "What? Why?"
"Standing up like that." He leaned closer, voice dropping. "Didn't even think twice, honey."
"He was being a jerk," you said, eyes already drifting to his mouth.
"You just— " He exhaled, like he'd been holding something in. "I liked that. I like when you're brave."
He kissed you there in the alley, hand gripping you tighter, and you felt the adrenaline in both of you winding slowly down through the press of his lips. "My little devil," he murmured against your mouth. "Picking fights with cowboys."
You laughed against him, kissed him again. And again. Until you both had to stop, out of breath, out of patience for being anywhere other than back at that hotel room.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
You walked the length of the riverwalk, past boats docked along the shore, past palm trees lined up like sentries. The water sat dark and silver, the mountains beyond it black against a starry sky. It still felt unreal.
The avenue opened onto a plaza, even brighter than the rest of the city. In the middle sat a fountain — as large and tacky as everything else in town, its lights changing from green to red to gold, colors bleeding out across the water in slow, repeating waves.
You thought you were just passing through, but Hollis slowed his steps and you followed his lead. "Hold on," he said, stopping completely, and you watched him reach into the inside pocket of his jacket and produce a small golden chain — a scapular, you realized quickly. He held it out to you and you took it, turning the small felt square over in your hand. The image pressed into it was the Sorrowful Mother, worn but still clear. You looked from the pendant up to him.
"Hollis, this is beautiful." Your voice came out low. "Where did you get this?"
"I've had it for a while," he said. His eyes were uncertain in a way you didn't often see — almost nervous. "Do you like it?"
"I love it." You smiled, a little shy, a little guarded with it. "So much."
Something left his chest then, like he'd been holding his breath long enough. He smiled back at you — gentle, soft. "Let me put it on you, then."
He stepped behind you, brushing your hair over your shoulder to fasten the clasp at the back of your neck. You felt his knuckles graze your skin, and then the small golden pendant settled against your chest.
You turned back to face him. His eyes dropped to it immediately, one hand pulling you closer while the other touched the pendant lightly, his long fingers brushing your skin. You covered his hand with yours.
"It looks right on you," he said.
There was something in his expression you couldn't quite place — not just the look he usually kept for you, but something underneath it, something older and less easy to read. It made you certain, without him saying so, that this wasn't something he'd produced on a whim.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
By the time you reached the hotel room, the alcohol was still doing funny things to you — tingling fingertips, a faint dizziness — but the sighs escaping your mouth and the heat spreading through your body were entirely Hollis's doing. His grip on your face, his other hand sliding down to grab your ass in that particular firm way that made you gasp against his mouth.
He unbuttoned your blouse as you worked at his shirt, mouths meeting and parting in the rush of it. Once he'd gotten your shirt off and stepped back to finish with his own, his gaze dropped to your body, catching sight of the lingerie underneath. He didn't comment — just stepped back in, hand trailing under your chin, down your neck, across your collarbone, your chest rising and falling under his touch. He toyed with the edge of your bra, then cupped your breast properly, thumb rubbing over your nipple through the thin lace. You had to press your lips together to keep quiet.
"You're trying to drive me crazy tonight." He kissed your face while his hand kept working, then your neck, then lower. You held onto his shoulders, scratching lightly along the muscle of his arms.
In one quick motion he lifted you off your feet, and a small surprised sound escaped you.
"I've got something for us," he said, carrying you to the bed. "Just a little treat."
You looked at him, confused, while he laid you down. Once you were beneath him he reached into his back pocket and produced a small plastic bag — something colorful and small inside, like little candies.
"What's this?"
"Molly." The name was familiar. You sort of knew what it was, just not exactly. He caught the look on your face. "Just something I want to try with you."
"Have you done it before? Is it safe? What does it actually do?" Your eyes kept flicking between the bag and his face. He laughed, hand finding your cheek, thumb brushing lightly.
"Yes, yes, and it just makes everything feel... better." He kissed your face, pulled a small laugh out of you. "But if you don't want to— "
"I do." Simple. "There's not really anything I wouldn't try with you."
He smiled — that wide smile, something like pride underneath it, and something else beneath that. "My girl."
He placed the small pill on your tongue, then took one himself. At first you didn't feel much of anything — your senses already overwhelmed by his mouth on your skin, kissing down your body, lifting your skirt, his face disappearing between your thighs. And then, right as he was working you with his mouth, it hit.
Like a flash of light filtering through everything you were thinking. The air seemed to ripple, faintly, like steam — the city lights through the window suddenly more vivid, more present than they had any right to be. When you looked at Hollis he seemed to glow, gold catching in his hair, his skin almost luminous. You blinked, trying to take him in properly, and when he looked up at you his eyes felt like something you could fall into. His tongue still moving against you, his hands holding you steady — every sensation arrived in waves you could feel all the way through your body.
"Fuck," you whispered, and caught the shape of his smile.
"You seeing it too, baby?" He paused, fingers taking over, slow circles over your nub. "We're glowing."
The rest of the night blurred into color and light and feeling — too much feeling, all of it at once. You felt him everywhere, under your skin even before he slid into you, and when he finally did it set you alight instantly. Neither of you talked much, and when you did you couldn't always tell if you'd actually said it out loud or just thought it loudly enough to feel like speech. Your body kept asking for him and he kept giving you everything he had.
It was restless in a way that didn't seem to want to end — even after you came, even after he finished inside you the first time and pulled you into his arms, neither of you was anywhere close to stopping. The heat of it stretched on for what felt like hours, slowly softening into something quieter and more intimate — his breath against yours, your hips rolling slow over him, his hands tight at your waist like he was trying to press himself into your skin.
By the time he finished the last time, you were both bare, you sitting up over him, holding his face in both hands, looking at him so directly it felt like a kind of conversation neither of you needed words for. Like you'd both silently agreed you'd reached some edge together and didn't need to go further tonight.
He smiled, lay back, pulled you down with him. Still inside you, both of you pulsing in time, you kissed him slow and messy for what felt like a long while, and somewhere in there you must have stopped and just settled into each other, because that's how you ended up — tangled together, quiet. Hollis fell asleep easily, the way he always did, but you stayed awake watching him for a while. Watching the light seem to drain slowly out of him, like something dimming. You looked down at your own skin and found it didn't glow the way his had, but every place he'd touched seemed to catch a faint shimmer, fading slowly the longer you watched it.
That's how you ended up at the window eventually, sheet wrapped around you, looking out at the city lights and the river beyond them.
"You really doing okay?" he asked.
"Yeah." A light laugh. "Maybe better than I've ever been."
You left the city that afternoon. There was still so much you hadn't seen, so many places that seemed to be calling you back — but something in you had settled. Like you'd reached some kind of peak that night, and there was nothing left this place could give you that would top it. You watched it shrink in the rearview, another small, glowing reflection behind you.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
You'd been noticing the strange sound Donna's car had been making ever since you left the hotel. Loud and repetitive, like the engine was whining at something. Hollis had noticed too, even if he pretended otherwise. Sometimes the car would shudder almost to a stop before catching itself again, and you'd look over at him and he'd keep his eyes on the road, expression neutral, performing calm.
The thing was, you were in the actual middle of nowhere. Nevada was emptier than any state you'd driven through — tall cornfields on either side of the highway, barely a car passing in either direction. Just miles and miles of forgotten road. According to the signs you still had hours before reaching anything, and the engine had been making that sound for two of them already.
It was no surprise, really, when it gave one final shuddering scream and the truck rolled to a stop on the shoulder.
You watched Hollis get out and lift the hood. Smoke came curling out and you heard his muffled "old piece of shit" before he kicked the front of the truck once, hard, then stood there with his back to you, staring at nothing in particular.
You got out and came to stand beside him.
"Hey." You reached for his arm. He didn't look at you. "Overheated again?"
"No. Not this time." He finally looked over. "This thing's done."
You stood next to him, staring at the dead engine the way you'd both stared at things that had no solution. Your phone showed no signal. No houses in sight. And after Utah, you weren't particularly eager to accept a stranger's hospitality.
A car passed, slowed briefly to look at you both, then accelerated away. Something lit up in your mind.
"Hollis— "
"Yeah, I know." He cut you off, frowning at the horizon. "I'm thinking, honey."
"I already thought," you said. He looked at you. "We need a car."
His brows pulled together at the obvious.
"We could steal one."
"What?"
"Ask for help," you said, "and then steal the car of whatever unlucky person stops for us."
He stared at you like you'd said something in another language. "Do you think anyone's going to stop for two people in the middle of nowhere? You're naive, honey."
"Who said two people?"
He frowned harder.
You laid it out for him. He'd hide in the cornfield — far enough in to be invisible, close enough to move fast. You'd wait by the car alone, flag someone down, play confused and helpless. When whoever stopped came around to check the engine, or whenever the moment was right, Hollis would step out with the gun and take the keys.
"So you'd be the bait," he said flatly.
"Essentially."
"No."
"Why not?!"
"Because it's risky," he said, like it was obvious. "And what happened to laying low? I thought we agreed."
"I don't know why we're laying low because you won't tell me." He opened his mouth and you kept going. "You said you'd explain in time. Fine. But since I still don't know the reason, this sounds like a pretty good option to me."
He looked flustered, which you privately enjoyed. He was losing the argument and he knew it.
"You really want to steal a car," he said. Less a question than a surrender.
You nodded. He sighed, brushed his hair back, and went to the truck to get his gun and his knife. You watched him come back, both in hand, and stop in front of you — close, looking down at you with that particular expression that meant he was choosing to trust you while still thinking it was a bad idea.
"Anything that puts you at risk will make things escalate very quickly," he said.
"I know." You held his gaze. "I trust you."
Something in his expression softened against his will. "My little devil," he murmured, leaning down to steal a quick kiss from your lips before tucking the gun at his waist and disappearing into the tall corn.
Three cars passed without slowing while you stood at the roadside with your hand raised. The fourth you almost missed — you were turning away in frustration when you heard an engine slow behind you and turned to find a large black pickup, a man inside leaning across the passenger seat to look at you through the window.
"Not really." You put your hand on the hood of Donna's truck. "My car just died on me. Or broke. I'm honestly not sure."
You did your best to sound clueless, which wasn't difficult. What was harder was ignoring the way his eyes moved over you when he first stepped out — a quick, assessing scan that you felt even if you didn't acknowledge it. He was apparently in his thirties, short, broad-shouldered, a wedding ring catching the light on his left hand.
He asked questions about the car — the sounds it had been making, the fuel, when it had last been serviced. You answered vaguely, which fit the role well enough.
"You coming from Arizona?" He glanced at the plate. "Not to be forward, but what's a girl like you doing traveling alone out here?"
You just wanted him to open the hood, give his back to the cornfield. But he leaned against the truck instead, looking at you with a settled, easy smile.
"Family emergency," you said. "Grandma's not well."
"What a devoted granddaughter." He smiled, leaning slightly closer, and you shifted back on instinct. "I'll be honest with you, I don't know much about engines. But I can give you a lift somewhere if you need it— "
The wind blew your face in a gust, pulling your hair across your face, and you reached up to push it away — but he got there first. His hand came to your cheek, fingers brushing the strands back slowly, unhurried, like it was a perfectly ordinary thing to do.
You went still.
The click of a gun being cocked cut through everything.
"Do not move," Hollis said from somewhere behind the man. The man started to turn. "I said don't."
"Hey, man, calm— "
He didn't finish. Hollis hit him — the butt of the pistol catching the side of his forehead in a sharp, heavy strike — and the man went down, barely catching himself on his knees before crumpling further. Blood ran immediately, red spreading across the side of his face, and his hand came up to cover it.
"Do you know this guy?" the guy asked you, voice shaking, eyes finding you.
"Do not speak to her." Another hit, same spot, harder. The man folded forward, groaning.
"I don't have any money— "
"I don't want your money." Hollis's voice was commanding in the way you'd heard before, but there was something underneath it now — sharper, less controlled. "I want your car keys."
Hollis came around to stand in front of him, mask already down, gun now pointed at you — you almost rolled your eyes at his little act. The man's hands shook as he held the keys out.
"Did you like her?" Hollis asked, taking them.
"I was just helping her, she was alone— "
"She was alone." He pointed the gun at the guy again "And that's how you help a girl on her own?"
Another strike. The man's head snapped sideways. He was crying now, quietly, both hands pressed to the asphalt.
"Please, I have a family— "
You'd been frozen, genuinely caught off guard by the degree of it, watching with wide eyes as Hollis kept going, kept hitting, kept threatening in that low controlled voice that somehow made it worse than shouting would have. The man kept glancing at you, and you almost felt it — his genuine belief that you were a victim in this, that you needed saving, which was its own complicated thing to sit with.
"If you look at her one more time," Hollis said, and you could hear the smile in it, "you won't go back to your family."
He hit him again. And again. The man was nearly fully forward now, barely holding himself up.
"Just take me," you said, stepping forward and catching Hollis' arm.
He turned slowly. His left hand was stained with the man's blood, and you felt it warm against your skin when he reached up and took your face in it, tilting your chin up. His eyes scanned yours for a moment through the mask.
"Want me to take you," he said, low, "or want me to stop hurting him?"
"Hey, let her— " The man started, and without looking away from you Hollis hit him again, almost absently.
"I want you to take me," you said. Your hand came to his wrist, steadying him there. Your other hand found the bottom of his mask and lifted it just below his nose.
He understood. He leaned down and kissed you — not urgent, not tender, something harder than both, like he was making a point with his mouth, releasing something through it. His blood-stained hand gripped your jaw. You felt his tongue against yours and your whole body answered it before you could decide anything.
When he pulled back you were both out of breath, a thin thread still connecting you. He was smiling.
Then he looked back at the man. You thought he was done. You thought.
He crouched to eye level, gun to the man's chin. "Don't worry. I'll be taking good care of her."
The man opened his mouth and Hollis's fist connected with his stomach. He coughed, folded completely, hands flat on the asphalt. Hollis straightened, nudged him aside with his boot, and turned to you.
"To the car," he said, handing you the keys.
You went. One last glance at the man on the ground. Hollis retrieved your bags from Donna's truck, then came around and placed the stuffed horse in your lap the moment he got in, like it was the most natural thing in the world. You held it against your chest. The same man who'd spent twenty minutes raging at a carnival shooting booth trying to win this thing for you. The same man who'd just done what you'd watched him do on the side of a Nevada highway. The contradiction wasn't something that surprised you anymore — wasn't something that scared you. It had settled into you somewhere along the way, sitting in your chest with a kind of terrible familiarity. That was the man you'd been helplessly falling for. Both of him.
Miles of silence. The afternoon sun burning hard through the windshield, bright and relentless. Hollis didn't put music on, which he always did.
"You didn't have to be that aggressive," you said finally.
"What?" He glanced over briefly.
"All that blood. All that— " You gestured. "It was unnecessary."
"You didn't have to be that friendly either," he said. "All that good girl shit."
"You're not serious right now."
"Dead serious."
"It was the plan, Hollis. I was the bait." Your voice pitched slightly. "That's what we agreed."
"Even baited me, apparently," he muttered.
"Oh, clearly. Which explains why you had to go full kidnapper with the gun to my face — did that make you feel powerful? Did it turn you on?"
His jaw tightened. You watched it happen and felt entirely inclined to keep going.
"You were deadass jealous," you said, the laugh escaping before you could stop it. "Of a man we were robbing."
"I was protecting you." Flat, unmoored.
"Protecting me from what? I was fine, I was— "
"From being recognized." He cut across you, quieter. "If he thinks you're a victim, you won't be linked to— " His voice stopped.
"Linked to what?" Silence. "Hollis."
"We've been seen." He kept his eyes on the road. "My old car, the one we left at Donna's. And you. An outside security camera. It caught your back getting into the car. Your hair. The side of your face. That's why I panicked. That's why we're not going to California yet."
You went quiet. Looked at him for a moment too long while you tried to process it — your image on a news segment somewhere, blurry and partial and real.
"That's why we're laying low," you said, barely above a whisper.
"Yes."
You stared ahead. Your arms tightened around the horse. You weren't sure you'd wanted to know — the ignorance of five minutes ago had been infinitely more comfortable than this. "They know who I am?"
"Not really, honey." His voice had shifted, gone gentler. "They said they're tracking the car and you're unidentified. The footage is poor quality. I'm just being careful."
You nodded. Said nothing else. The silence stretched into evening, the road unreeling in front of you, neither of you reaching for music or words to fill it.
"You know what?" he said eventually.
You looked at him.
"I was fucking jealous."
You hadn't expected that. You waited.
"I wanted to break every finger he touched you with," he said.
"Well." You exhaled slowly. "I'm proud of your restraint. You only broke a few ribs. Maybe gave him a concussion."
He laughed at that — light, genuine — and you joined him, the absurdity of it landing on both of you at the same time, fitting somehow, making the unreal make sense the way it had started to do lately. You felt it again — that specific relief of not being alone in whatever this was. Of having someone to share even the things that had no name.
hello! I’m so happy to see a nana blog!! Do you wanna perhaps have any headcanons for yasu in a relationship? I’m rewatching the show and my thirst for him is unexpected but real 🥵 sfw and nsfw would be lovely~
Blogs about NANA are such a rarity aren’t they? :( But it’s good to know that there are still fans out there!
Ahhhh I see we have a Yasu fangirl ;) But I can definitely understand why! He’s so amazing and underrated! He needs more love!
~~SFW~~
Because of how he looks, Yasu has a bit of a hard time when it comes to women. He often finds himself being the chaser since the ladies are often intimidated by him and think he’s menacing. If a woman ever does approach him first, Yasu will literally not know what to do!
Yasu usually remains single because of how hard he works taking care of other people and he doesn’t mind at all. But Yasu has had his fair share of relationships and he definitely wishes to settle down one day with a wife and kids. Getting and maintaining Yasu’s attention isn’t too difficult and once you have it, you remain there like a nasty infection.
His family and friends have to meet and approve of you before you and Yasu become official. They’re very protective of him and don’t want him to get tangled up with some two-timing whore. It’s mostly Nana and Ren who have the final say since they’re the most significant people in his life aside from his adoptive parents of course. It goes without saying that if you wanna be in Yasu’s life, you have to get along with his friends and family. It’s not up for debate.
Yasu is very easy to talk to and likes deep conversations so don’t be afraid to talk to him about anything you want. To him, one of the most intimate things to do with his partner is to simply have a nice conversation while cuddling. Yasu doesn’t care what it’s about or how weird it is. As long as you’re talking, he’s as happy as a pig in slop!
Conversely, if you prefer silence or if you’re more introverted, Yasu will settle for cuddling with you while silent or talking less. Sometimes it’s nice to simply enjoy each other’s presence and take in the moment. Yasu just likes being around his S/O and prefers to have private time with them but make no mistake, there will be date nights aplenty in your relationship!
Although Yasu is a very busy man, he’ll always make time for you and is very reliable. If you ever need him for anything no matter how big or small, he’s there no matter what. If you’re the more independent type and prefer taking care of things yourself, then Yasu will respect that but he’ll still have your back regardless. Just from a behind-the-scenes perspective.
Yasu is quite serious as we all know but he does appreciate a good laugh every now and then. He has a healthy sense of humor and may or may not pull a prank or two on you so watch your back. Yes BLAST will definitely be his accomplices too. If you prank him back, Yasu will be laughing for days and it’ll be a great memory to look back on for him.
Yasu is pretty secretive and doesn’t really talk about anything that happened in his life before he met you. It’s not that he has anything to hide. He just doesn’t see why it matters. He kinda operates on a “need-to-know” basis and values privacy highly. He respects your privacy and wants the same in return. This can lead to many misunderstandings and arguments but they’re resolved quickly because of how mature and understanding Yasu is. If you want Yasu to open up, just ask!
Yasu isn’t one for taking risks and likes to play it safe and careful. Responsibility is a huge thing for him. This can make him seem kinda boring to people who are more lively and extroverted. Yasu does indeed have a wild side but prefers to release it in private which leads us to........
~~NSFW~~
When you and Yasu start sleeping together, he takes the slow, gentle, lovemaking route. He considers it the ultimate form of trust and therefore he wants to make sure you’re absolutely comfortable and feeling nothing but pleasure. Yasu doesn’t sleep with just anyone so if he’s having sex with you, consider it a privilege because he definitely values and trusts you more than he does most people.
One might assume that Yasu is vanilla in bed with the way he carries himself but he’s far from it. Deep down inside, he’s definitely a freak. But it takes a bit of coaxing to bring it out of him because Yasu doesn’t want to frighten you or make you uncomfortable. But once you convince him that it’s ok, oh boy are you in for some fun!
Yasu is definitely a dom and has a secret Daddy kink. He’s kind but firm with his Baby Girl and he always makes sure you’re left fully satisfied. Yasu loves to both give and receive praise so expect a lot of that! His voice alone will make you melt and he has a certain tone that he uses for damn near every occasion!
Yasu prefers to keep everything in the bedroom because it allows for maximum privacy. You’ll have to make the first move if you wanna do something risky. Yasu actually has some secret fantasies believe it or not! One of them is sucking him off while he’s working on his laptop or on the phone with someone. If you do this, Yasu will be flustered and will definitely return the favor.
While Yasu will definitely NOT have sex with you in the studio, he’s not against having sex with you in the dressing room or backstage after a concert! When that happens, expect the sex to be much rougher and faster. If you’re not having sex in the bedroom, you’ll be having a quickie. Sorry!
Having a safe word with Yasu is paramount because when he gets rough, he can get pretty brutal and ruthless. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you and respects your body and wishes to the highest degree. Yasu’s favorite positions include this, this, this, and this. He also loves spanking, bondage, sensation play, and body worship. You’ll never have a complaint in the bedroom with Yasu!
The best way to ensure that Yasu will be riled up is to tease and mess with him in public. Flash him discreetly, send him naughty pics and videos while he’s out and about, give him a handjob while he’s having drinks with his bandmates while you’re at it! When you two get home afterwards, Yasu will definitely be punishing you and when he’s done with you, you won’t be able to walk properly or sit for a week!
Yasu’s aftercare is amazing and will have you purring like a kitten. He’ll sing your praises, gently massage and tend to any sore areas, and make sure you’re feeling comfortable. But that won’t stop from leaving a mark or two on you that’s visible. If anyone asks, Yasu doesn’t know what they’re talking about and keeps his mouth shut. He doesn’t kiss and tell!
It’s rare that Yasu is the sub in bed but if he’s feeling particularly exhausted, he’ll let you take the reigns and pamper him for a change. Yasu will definitely appreciate it and love you even more for it! Sometimes he needs to be reminded that it’s ok for others to give to him too! Treat each other well and your relationship will be one for the record books!
Hihi ummm this might be kindof weird but I was hoping you could write something for Yasu from Nana, like the anime / manga from Ai Yazawa? I saw a post from you long time ago about how you read the manga or I thought I did and I wanted to know if you would write for himm because I really like him and there isnt really a lot of fics for Yasu.. Preferably woudl you write about like us getting into a relationship with him or like life with him or you could do whatever too that's fine. If not that's totally ok!!!! Thank you!
a/n ❤︎ . . . i clicked on this so fast when i saw it lol. ty for the req anon and for being a long-time fan, i think? i made a post about reading the manga a few months ago i'm pretty sure, so i assume you've either been following me for a while or you stumbled across it and then got this idea! whatever happened, i LOVE yasu from nana and this reminded me of my big fat crush on that man. ik he's kind of a niche character to write for, however i really loved to write this req here, and if i want to, or other ppl send in more ideas, i'll probably write a lot more for him <3 ty you again anon, hope this suffices!
contains ❤︎ . . . established relationship; life w yasu as ur bf, being friends with the nanas + blast, light angst, & a nsfw blurb too; potential spoilers for the nana anime/manga (ch. 10 & beyond)
❤︎ yasushi "yasu" takagi x f!reader - rockstar & lawyer second, boyfriend first ❤︎
Bright red and white lights against an obsidian backdrop, loud, blasting rock music, the coolest alt styles you've ever seen, millions of piercings and tattooed, Nana's cool, husky vocals, her band, her past, her friend and roommate who was also named Nana (apparently) next to you, and moshes that weren't too aggressive but still frenzied for the band. This was your average weekend, attending a loud show, slightly out of your element (or maybe completely in your element, what do I know about the kinds of scenes you run?)—supporting your boyfriend, the drummer for Blast and the guy who joked that he'd be your lawyer if you went to jail, Yasu.
When the band had played their set, you were always one of the first at the side of the venue's stage, bright-eyed and excited to see Yasu post-show. He was always so happy; his gaze searched for you throughout all of his shows, and when he saw you, he kept his eye on you the entire time. Waiting for the show to go on, the music to end, the crowd to part—he always made sure the security or managers for their gigs knew your face, that you weren't to be trifled with and that you were allowed backstage with him and the band. He'd always get straight up from the drums and pull you up, into his arms, then kiss you all over while you laughed and showered him praise.
"Su! You were great, you looked so good—"
"Yeah, to hell with what I did, gorgeous. You were what kept me energized the entire time." He grinned against your neck when you wrapped your arms around him and allowed him to spin you around, your feet dangling above the ground. "So glad my best girl got to see me rock. Which song was your favorite, huh? C'mon, we're going to clean up the equipment and then go to a bar. Want you on my arm the entire time."
You two met through Nana Osaki and Nana Komatsu, believe it or not. You were one of the Nana's friends, and at a drunken, loud housewarming party alongside many other people you came to know (Junko, Nobu, Shoji, Kyosuke), you met Yasu. The only one anywhere near sober, smoking near an open window, you two shared a cigarette and a long conversation about life, dreams, hopes, basically everything and anything you could think to talk about. You two ended up talking for the rest of the party, and he drove you home after everyone else passed out from the booze and lack of music (the stereo had died a while ago, and nobody noticed).
You'd met a guy in the city, and he seemed perfect. Reliable, handsome, kind, cultured, a rockstar, obsessed with you. And he had passions—he'd told you about his past, about how his parents died in an accident, his friendship with his bandmates and the cryptid Ren. Yasu loved you, he told you early on. It seemed you two were meant to be.
Whatever you were doing in Tokyo, though, kept you there, and he had his commitments in other places while training to be a lawyer. Before Yasu moved to the city (to both be with you and pursue a different life from being a lawyer), it was hard being long distance with you. Though he wasn't too far away, and it was more of a medium distance dynamic, you two hated having to schedule time together and make trips out of home to do anything.
Of course Yasu frequently visited Nana and Hachi, and he used those visits as an excuse to come and see you. And eventually he stopped searching for excuses and just came to see you. He was on the bullet train at the end of every week practically, bag packed to spend the weekend with you, no shame in the world at all the money he was flushing down the drain on tickets and travel expenses.
Evidently he'd foregone becoming a lawyer at some point—stuck it to the man metaphorically—and moved to Tokyo permanently. You wanted him to move in with you, but both of you knew your box of an apartment wasn't enough to subsist two people—so you bought a bigger place together and plotted it out with each other like Nana and Hachi were doing.
You attended band practice with Su, sat and listened while chatting with Hachi. Nobu tried to constantly make you laugh with stupid jokes and little stunts; Shin let you pluck a few strings off his bass once in a while, and Nana O. made an effort to include you in everything the band did. And between work and stabilizing your young adult life, it seemed that everything was just... perfect. Perfect, peaceful, happy with your boyfriend, who made sure to contribute to your life together with a day job (of course while making sure his passion for the band didn't diminish).
Though, this wasn't to say there weren't bumps in your relationship. Like when you learned about Yasu's admittance to having feelings for Nana at some time in the past. Of course he was with you, and she was with Ren then, but to learn about that... it hurt.
The argument you had over it wasn't instantaneous. You told Yasu that it was fine, it was in the past and everyone had feelings, romantic or not—it was natural. Natural, right?
It went without saying that you internalized some things and didn't express your insecurity until everything got to be too much—and you broke down into tears one night after Yasu came home particularly moody after work. You can still recall that night vividly.
"You loved her! You loved her, and you still love her, don't her? You can't help it—"
You cried, unable to stop the tears from flowing. You moved back when Yasu tried to touch your face, and you hated the hurt that flashed over your boyfriend's face.
"I did love her," Yasu said, trying to be the calm and collected one, though you could see his resolve cracking with how his shoulders shook. "And I do still love her, but I don't want to pursue something romantic. God no. I have you. I've had you, haven't I? There's nothing that can take me away from you, and, by god, I hope nothing that can take you from me. I don't want to be with Nana, baby—"
"You're in a band with her. You see her almost every day!"
"I come home to you. I love you. I look at rings for you!"
"What did you say?"
Safe to say, you two made up. In more ways than one. He apologized to you over and over for not being more reassuring, for not looking past the surface, and you apologized for being irrational and letting things build up—and you two were definitely healed by the words you shared. However, on that occasion, and others where you two fought or simply just needed to do something else than talk, Yasu expressed his feelings in another manner.
"Eyes on me, angel."
Your back was flush against his chest. Yasu had sat down on the couch after a stressful day, slightly pissed at you, mostly pissed at work and the utter stupidity people could encompass, and sat you on his lap to calm himself.
He was two fingers deep in your pussy, thumb circling your clit in a vicious, slow movement. Not giving you enough, but giving himself enough to appease himself by watching your body squirm, your face contort in disappointment and pleasure. He'd already given you one orgasm—now he was just toying with you until he decided what to do with you next.
"I know, I know... 'M so mean. Usually I'm so nice, and I wanna give you more, I do—jus' want to enjoy this first, okay? You're so pretty like this. Fuck, I've barely touched you. Sit on my face next? Please?"
I NEED a genuinely good reader insert written for Nana like, I know by now so many people have watched it since it kind of went “main stream”? Idk the word for it but I will literally pay $100 to a peak writer.
told tales about your confusing relationship with the trapnest's notorious calm demeanoured lead guitarist, ren honjo.
content warnings: mentions of sex (not detailed), allusions to sex, unhealthy relationship, codependency, black stones vocalist!reader, pregnancy, having children, vague bisexuality implications (hachi and reader), mention of reader having a panic attack, mention of ren’s substance abuse, smoking, reader with avoidant attachment style, ren with abandonment issues, mutual obsessiveness, mutual possessiveness, toxic relationship, miscommunication, takumi is an asshole as always, spoilers for NANA
you cannot explain your relationship with ren honjo.
you'd say it's... anything but ordinary.
you don't understand him either.
you had told him early on that there's no room for label in your relationship.
and yet even before he left for tokyo, he doesn’t toss you away after you have sex. like how he should.
you’d often wake up in the morning wearing one of his button ups or jackets that smell just like his musky cologne and seven stars cigarettes.
he always remembers to clothe you so you don’t catch a cold.
even then, ren buys you a lot of gifts and lacy lingeries. when he notices your eyes linger longer on a vivienne westwood necklace, the next day, it’s yours. he once gave you a cryptic necklace that spells venus. he worships you like a goddess, hence, he sees you as the very goddess of love, beauty and sex herself, goddess venus.
you're his venus.
every time you catch him smoking, you steal the cigarette from his mouth and put it on yours. he steals it back and wordlessly stubs it under his heel. he's always been like that. he stubs out his cigarettes whenever you’re with him so you don’t inhale the smoke, even if you smoke too. always tells you, "it's bad for your health" and yet he smoked first.
in amidst of the chilling dawn, you wonder, why isn’t he dating anyone and seeing some other woman that doesn’t always run away from your feelings like you do?
you tell ren to fool around with other girls and enjoy his youth.
he still doesn’t, anyway.
he stays over at your house in the weekends and when he has to leave early he leaves you something to eat. with a note reminding you of the things he remembered in your schedule today that you told him the night before.
he cares about your well-being more than you do.
why?
why does he care so much?
everytime you have sex, your primary feeling, or so you think is always nothing but lust. desire.
but ren… ren’s is love.
why is he filled with this much love for you? why doesn’t he give up on you?
ren is always one call away.
remember that one night when you were having a panic attack and was breaking down? with one dial on his number, he picks up. after hearing one muffled sob from your line, because you couldn't form even a single word from weeping, he's dashing towards his car in the middle of a heavy rain with nothing but a shoulder for you to cry on.
you hate how he laughs it off whenever you insult him to stave him away from you. you don't really want to push him away, but your avoidant nature leads you to. he knows you don't mean it.
even when you saw him again after he moved to tokyo, his eyes always had a way of finding you amidst the crowd.
that night after trapnest's concert, he found you backstage. everything was a blur after. you shouldn't even be here because seeing trapnest's ren honjo with black stones' vocalist would make a lot of headlines and destroy his image, yet ren doesn't care.
why is he ready to risk everything just to keep you around?
everything happened quickly. how he pulled you to the side away where no one hears or sees, how you ended up in his house, how he hugged you for the first time after years.
“i lo–” you cover his mouth.
“don't. don't say anything.”
he removed your hand from his mouth. “i love you.”
“i said don’t!”
“i get high just to keep my mind off you. i tried to drown it, but i always end up reminded that no drug can suppress the intensity of what i feel for you. you’re only one i want and desire. i love you. i’ve always had–” you cut him off with a kiss.
and then it so happens that one kiss turns into a passionate one, and leads to another, and another.
it was hard to stop.
he was addictive.
maybe the fact that he acts up on the way he wants you, added to the passionate warmth he ignites inside you. something no one has ever made you feel because everyday the universe reminds you you were always unwanted and that's all you'll ever be.
the following morning, you hear a soft moan from his lips while you were sitting on the corner of his bed and buttoning your clothes that were discarded on the floor last night, careful not to wake him up. when you were about to stand up, you felt ren’s hand tugging yours. he didn't say anything, he just held your hand.
“i'm sorry, did i wake you up?”
“stay…” there was something somber in ren's eyes.
“you know i can’t.”
so he lets go of your hand with a forlorn smile.
he expected it, and he understands. yet somehow, he still hopes… he hopes you would.
from there, everytime you leave in the morning after a long night of multiple rounds of sex, he hugs the sheets smittenly to pretend like you were still there. it still smells like you.
yasu and the others eventually found out you and ren were seeing each other like that again. yasu knows way more than he shows. you know he does. he always knew about ren's strong regard for you. you didn't. because you pretended not to.
which is why you were shocked when nobu's tongue slips and accidentally blathers, “ren wanted you for so long. it’s crazy. all these years and yet still you’re the only one he wants and ever wanted. did you cast a love spell on him or something?”
you think about what nobu said a million times everyday.
so much that you wish you hadn't heard it.
you once stayed in ren's unit the morning after for the first time while he went out to buy groceries and you answered the door on takumi while wearing one of ren’s white shirts and boxers. you called ren's phone to let him know his bandmate’s here. ren told you to stay there and he’ll be coming home as fast as he can. he knows you and takumi do not get along.
takumi sat across you on ren’s couch. “so, what's your relationship with him?” came his condescending question. you can tell he was looking down on you.
what, indeed?
“what's it to you?” you answered with the same monotonous tone.
the truth is, you don't have any idea either.
ren calls you his girlfriend—at times whenever you're not around otherwise you'll tell him to stop calling you that—but he's never heard you call him your boyfriend. he doesn't mind, though. months continued on with you and ren in that labelless set-up. he's still the same calm yet goofy ren you knew.
he still remembers every single thing about you. your scent, your favourite food, music, everything.
then ren came with the question you're most afraid of hearing.
“what… are we?”
ren batted an eye up at you while he was hugging your torso and sitting on the bed while you were straddling his lap.
you searched yourself for an answer.
ren took the long silence and your visible uneasiness as the same answer he got from you over the years.
“i’m always up to take this in the long run. but it’s okay if you don’t want to.” as long as you're here, with him. he buried his face on your chest and you two forgot about it.
maybe takumi was right, you’re just using ren.
and ren's okay with that.
this is so wrong.
how could he be that cruel to himself?
ren still reminds you to eat. some habits die hard, no?
whenever he eats with you, he even sanitizes your hands for you, with his own hands rubbing yours to spread the sanitizer.
“stop coddling.” you snatch your hand away from him.
ren chuckles, “okay, sorry.”
he keeps an eye on you in band practices. you threaten him that if he doesn't stop distracting himself with your presence, you'll leave. he obliges, but he won’t hesitate to step in if some creep bothers you.
he's possessive of you even if he doesn't show it openly.
but you're somehow possessive of him too.
when you saw a girl touching his shoulders, you wanted to chop her hand off.
“i’ve been deprived of everything my whole life. now, even my ren?” ren overhears you talking to yourself. your ren, huh?
“i’m sorry, ren.” you pecked a kiss on his lips after you told him to screw off and date other girls after you got jealous. “will you forgive me?”
he pulls you into a hug, “it’s okay, i forgive you.” he kisses your cheek. “i never said i don’t love you anymore.” he kisses the side of your neck. “why are you giving me away, anyway? if you’re jealous, be jealous. next time, tell me and i’ll do something about it to ease your mind. just don’t give me away like that again.” he kisses the side of your head.
such big words for someone who is afraid of communication himself, thought ren.
he’s subtly affectionate to you in public places like when he lays his head on your lap in standby backstage. one of the members of the management asked nobu if you’re dating, to which nobu answered “it’s complicated,” and then refused to elaborate.
you always turn him down whenever he asks you to stay, but once, when you were the one that asked him to, he said, “i could never refuse you.” while patting your head and hugging you after when you asked him to stay the night.
when you woke up first, you brushed his hair up and planted a kiss on his forehead.
“i love you, ren.”
four words you can’t say.
rather, words you’re afraid to say.
ren was always very open with the idea of having a kid with you. but he wouldn’t force you to.
why would he want a future with you?
takumi dislikes you, obviously. you couldn't care less about him, anyway. you hate him with the same passion. he tried to knock sense on ren one time. it didn't go as he planned.
“i see your woman’s quite a catch.” takumi puffs his cigarette.
“of course,” ren replied.
“but she's quite like a closeted harlot.”
he's wrong. you never had anyone else after ren.
ren's ears tingled and his eyes darkened upon hearing what his band mate said. “are you insulting her?”
“don’t get me wrong. the way i see it, she doesn’t seem emotionally involved with you. it seems to me that you’re the only one who is in your relationship, whatever you two are. if i know, i’d say she only wants sex and not love. you’re okay with that?” takumi chuckles mockingly.
ren raises his head. “so be it. i couldn’t care less.” if that’s what it takes to keep you around him.
“i’m just warning you, dude.” takumi raises both his hands in a defensive manner. “you of all men should know that women like that, they belong to the streets—”
ren, for once lost his calm demeanour and threw a shot glass at the nearest wall. the loud sound of the glass shattering startled everyone around them. even reira who was recording a demo of one of their tracks. naoki's face turned pale in fear that they might fight there.
ren's face settled into a death stare. it was scarier than a face that actually visibly showed anger. his fists clenched after the burst of anger he let out and takumi was taken aback by the unexpected behavior of his usually composed bandmate. it was the first time they all saw ren lose his cool and snap.
“i don’t want to hear you talk about her like that ever again.” he pulled his leather jacket nestled on the sofa headrest and coldly turned his back on his bandmate to go outside and calm himself down.
ren rarely gets mad. but when it's about you... it's another story.
ren is non-confrontational. you two rarely even get into fights because ren stays out of drama and he avoids confrontations. which is why he's prone to taking the role of the more matured, bigger person and keeping his emotions to himself instead of expressing them. sometimes, he takes the blame all to himself and claims it's his fault whenever you two are on the edge of arguing just so you two don't fight, even if it's actually your fault, and you know it.
he likes using any products with your signature scent. it makes him feel like you’re there with him everywhere he goes.
“ren, you smell like white wine and strawberries, just like a girl!” was what reira told him upon stepping inside the room while sniffing him. “it leaves a scent trail. it smells familiar. what perfume are you using?”
ren turned to her, says it's your shower gel.
“from black stones? woah, you stay at her place?” naoki stood up from his seat. ren entertained their questions for a little while.
it goes the same for you too in band practices too.
“is that ren’s perfume on you?” nobu speaks from behind you, smelling the familiar scent of his friend on you.
“no.”
“but…” nobu scans your figure. “oh. it’s because you’re wearing his shirt.”
you didn’t even smell how the shirt smelled like ren. your nostrils got so used to his scent that it didn’t even register to you how you didn’t smell like yourself.
his desire to take your relationship to the next step was strong, but the desire to keep you around him was stronger. he knows he’ll drive you away if he mentions about tying the knot in a serious talk.
your relationship was unstable and full of uncertainties, and you hate being emotionally vulnerable in front of anyone, even him.
sometimes, it makes you want to leave.
“ren.”
“hm?”
but then you embrace him and suddenly, you’re reminded how strong your feelings are for ren honjo.
he stares at your face longer than he should in the morning when he wakes up first and you’re sleeping soundly next to him.
you’re beautiful. like you came straight out of a magazine.
if you were to be put beside supermodels, you’d outshine everyone. ren revels at the thought. if your face were to be featured in a magazine, he’ll frame it and keep it forever.
ren mutes all phone calls when he’s sleeping with you. but when he goes on tour, his mind is there back at home with you.
“i didn’t know booty calls worry whether and what the other person eats. is that how people do it nowadays? so modernized, truly shocking,” came takumi’s remark staring at ren while talking to reira and naoki out of ren's earshot.
“that’s so mean, takumi. leave him alone.” reira glared at him, having flashbacks of when he offended ren when he was talking to him about you. her eyes were also on ren who's on the phone with you.
you'll always come back to him, he’ll always be waiting for you with his arms wide open. you two are hopeless.
more time passed and you finally decided to take a step forward. ren was only waiting for you to initiate.
one snowy night while you and ren were sharing each other's heat, you hovered on top of him.
ren stops you. “wait,”
“do you not want to?” you were prepared to get off him in case he doesn't want to do it, but he held you in place.
“it’s not that. it’s just…” he trailed, “i do want a family with you more than anything. i always have. but if you’re off the pill right now then…”
you immediately got what he was trying to say. “so what?”
“i don’t want you to get pregnant if you don’t want to. what i say doesn’t matter. decide for yourself.”
“i want your child, inside me, ren.” he was about to tell you to think it through again, but you put his hand firmly on your hip. “let's start a family.”
and once again, he can never deny you of anything.
after weeks, you didn't take the news well about hachi's pregnancy and engagement to that fucking asshole, takumi.
“one of these days, i’ll snatch hachi back from you.” you told him.
“are you still in love with my fiancèe even after everything? i pity ren for being ardent with his love for you. dump him if you can’t love him back like that. he doesn’t deserve your half-assed love.” takumi smirks, enjoying how riled up he makes you while relaying the news.
you thought you were just crazy when you went through a deep state of grief after that conversation.
but you found out another cause were your hormones.
you were pregnant.
when you told ren the news, he reacted to the news calmly yet ecstatic. he'd been waiting for this moment with you all along.
you chose not to tell ren about the conversation you had with takumi about hachi only a few days ago that put you in distress. you know he'd act and do something about it, and that'll cause more problems.
nothing much changed for the first few weeks, you continued on with your gigs while your belly bump wasn't showing yet and you can still move around normally.
ren stopped his substance abuse when he learned he'll be stepping into fatherhood. he set his own ground rules. no getting high around you and his child that you're carrying. there were withdrawal symptoms, of course, that were hard to bear. but he's trying, and he's getting there.
yasu always keeps a close eye on you especially whenever ren is not around, even without ren's instructions. he's always there to aid you whenever you need something, which rarely ever happens because your pride doesn't let you ask for help from anyone. yasu still insists, anyway.
nobu speaks to your not-so-showing yet belly under your edgy peplum top and tells your kid to not grow like his or her mother, you, all gloom and grumpy. he earns a smack on his head in return. he's still in a state of grief himself after how unfortunate his relationship with hachi ended up to be, but he's happy to be a soon-to-be-uncle of your child.
shin follows you everywhere like a puppy. he accompanies you to your walk to you and ren's shared unit and he stays over whenever he wants to. sometimes falling asleep comfortably on your lap while he enjoys the chill of your unit's AC and the feel of your hands petting his blue hair like a cat on your lap. you two watch light-hearted movies on the TV.
when you started showing, you took a break from the band for a few months but you didn't disclose your pregnancy to the media, announcing that it's only a hiatus.
when your belly started to get bigger, your clothes fitted small to you, which is why to maximize their use, you let shin have his way with your closet. you had somehow similar versatile fashion styles, anyway. because of his small frame, almost everything in your wardrobe fits him. you told him to grab whatever he wants to borrow from your closet.
ren is there every step of the way. he buys you a lot of your cravings. whatever you need, he'll go through hell to get.
he'd give his trapnest career up for the if ever he gets put in a situation where he has to choose.
when you gave birth, everyone visited.
everyone... but hachi.
you try not to think about her anymore, but you still wonder about her whereabouts. you told ren and the others to stop talking about her in front of you when you were pregnant, so it became a sensitive topic for everyone to talk about. and besides, you know another factor is also because takumi locks her away.
you only overheard from yasu telling ren that hachi gave birth to her child with takumi too, a few months before you gave birth to venus.
ren used to call you his venus.
your daughter’s name is venus.
venus honjo.
it's a pretty name the both of you agreed on giving such a pretty daughter.
you always opt to eat healthy while breastfeeding.
ren is a good father to venus. she's more close to her father, that's why her first word was “dada”.
he gave your daughter everything the both of you never had, and you protected your daughter from the things no one protected you from when you were younger.
you were extra gentle with her because you too, were a little girl once, and she doesn't have to go through the same pain you went through during girlhood.
ren got deja vu when he was coddling venus and she snatched her arm from him. just like how you do whenever he coddles you too much.
“i kept praying she wouldn’t take after your temper. i guess mama’s genes are stronger than expected,” ren laughed after what just happened and continued dandling his daughter. the engagement ring on his finger shining under the morning sunlight made you look at your matching ones.
you ended up with him after everything.
and yet the exact words to describe your relationship with ren honjo were still nowhere to be found.
