#MUTUAL FIC!!!!!

[witchywithwhiskey]

the alpha next door

pairing: alpha!steve rogers x omega!female reader

summary: you and your neighbor are harboring feelings for each other, but both of you think the other is too sweet. then, things take a turn when your first heat since moving in hits, revealing the depth of your feelings for the alpha next door—and his for you.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), omegaverse AU tropes (heats, knots, purring, mating, scenting), piv sex, breeding kink/pregnancy kink (reader's on birth control tho), accidental voyeurism, masturbation (m + f), dirty talk, praise kink, daddy kink, little bit of mommy kink, size kink, pet names (baby), mutual pining, idiots in love, dual pov

word count: 8.9k

a/n: here's my entry for @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420's Cum Together Extravaganza!!! i used the A/B/O AU and breeding kink prompts—and this is my very first omegaverse fic!!! so uhhh please be kind because i don't know what i'm doing 😅 also loosely inspired by "too sweet" by hozier!! anyway, this ended up a lot longer than i thought it would be....whoops!! hope y'all enjoy!!!

When you first moved into the little pink cottage next door, Steve Rogers decided that you were too sweet for an ex-soldier alpha like him. An omega like you was filled with sunshine and gentleness, and you deserved an alpha who would treat you like the precious thing you were. 

The kindest thing Steve could do for you was stay away. The thoughts you inspired in his alpha hindbrain had him hating the rough and greedy animal side of himself. He wanted to dig his fingers into your plush hips and bend you over, make you present your pretty little body in the way the alpha in him craved. 

But he reminded himself you were too sweet. Too sweet for the obscene thoughts that plagued his mind. Too sweet to be defiled by a big alpha like him. Too sweet to be swollen and round and glowing because you were carrying his child…

Still, you were his neighbor and Steve couldn’t avoid you entirely, even though everything he saw only reaffirmed his belief that you were too good for him. 

The little pink cottage beside his house had come with a front garden filled with pink roses and all manner of other pink flowers that Steve couldn’t even begin to name, but you tended to them like you’d planted them yourself. Steve would get home from work, park his truck in his driveway—which had a perfect view of your front garden. He’d watch you from behind his tinted windows as you took care of your flowers, looking like a garden fairy come to life.

When Steve eventually grew uncomfortable with how long he’d been watching you, he would get out of his truck and call a gruff hello to you as he made his way inside. Your melodic voice returning his greeting would follow him into his house, where he’d close his door and lean against it, panting like he’d just escaped a warzone while his cock strained against his jeans. But Steve wouldn’t stoop to jerking himself off to the thought of you—at least not while you were just outside. 

On weekends, Steve would work in his backyard, mowing the grass and tending to the shrubs that ran along the line separating his property from yours. When the weather was nice and pleasantly warm, you would sit out on your small back porch, curled up in a wicker chair reading some book or another.

Steve would offer to mow your lawn, just for an excuse to stay outside longer, and be a little bit closer to you. You’d let him, and thank him for his efforts by giving him some ice cold lemonade, smiling up at him while he drank it. Steve wasn’t the least bit surprised the lemonade was more sweet than tart. 

As the weeks and months passed since you’d moved in, Steve couldn’t help but feel his desire for you growing, becoming a living thing curling around his heart, making it beat for you. You were the sweetest and prettiest omega he’d ever met, and he’d be lucky to be your alpha, but he kept his distance, certain you could do better than him.

That is, until your first heat after moving in next door changed everything.

That was when Steve learned you were far more than the innocent little omega he’d determined you to be—you were a creature of sex and desire, made to take an alpha’s knot and be pumped full of come in the hopes that their seed would take root in your womb. When your heat hit fully, your keening wails echoed from your cottage, and they were a siren song that called directly to Steve’s alpha heart.

But he kept himself away. After all, there were polite ways of going about these things, and he’d never even asked you out on a date, so he certainly wasn’t going to assume you wanted his help to get you through your heat. Besides, you hadn’t asked for him to join you, anyway.

That didn’t stop Steve from keeping an eye on you, though.

He’d noticed the slight change in your scent a few days before your heat truly set in, his cock reacting even more to your perfect omega body than normal. Steve felt like he was walking around with a constant bulge in his pants after getting a single whiff of your scent, but he ignored the niggling feeling telling him he needed to be close to you and did his best to hide his reaction. He knew you had other things to worry about than the comfort of the alpha next door. 

Even though something in him compelled him to go to you, Steve couldn’t bring himself to walk over to your cottage. It occurred to him that even if you didn’t want him to help you through your heat, he could offer to go to the store to get the food and provisions you’d need. But he didn’t. He was worried about what he’d do if he looked into your home and saw your nest and smelled your sweet perfume. 

So Steve kept his distance, watching you from his truck and the windows of his house as you brought home a week’s worth of provisions—protein bars and sports drinks that would keep you nourished enough to make it through your heat. Steve wished he could carry the heavy-looking bags into your home, but his cock was pitching a tent in his sweatpants, and he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable with the way his alpha body reacted to your omega scent. 

Finally, as your heat drew closer, you locked up your cottage, closing all the windows and drawing all the curtains. Steve couldn’t help but notice, though, that you left the skylight in your bedroom cracked open a tiny bit. Steve’s alpha hindbrain itched at the thought that you’d only left it open because you couldn’t close it yourself, and he had to hold himself back from going over to your cottage to offer to close it.

Steve knew omegas liked to keep their nests dark and warm and locked up tight. They wanted to keep all the scents created during a heat trapped in their nest, at least until their heat broke. So it was curious that you’d left the skylight open, even a little bit. 

But when your heat hit in earnest that evening, your pitiful whimpers and desperate moans filtering through the open window and directly to Steve’s ears—through the window of his bedroom that he’d thrown open the moment he’d heard you—he forgot about what omegas typically wanted. Instead, all the blood in his body rushed to his cock, making him harder than he’d ever been in his life. 

Steve stood at the window of his bedroom, which overlooked your cottage, his eyes glazing over as he listened to you pant and whine and cry out for an alpha that wasn’t coming. Because of course Steve had noticed that no alpha had arrived to help you through your heat. He assumed you were using any number of the toys that were sold precisely to help unmated omegas get through their heats without an alpha’s help. 

But it meant you were alone, in your nest, riding out your heat on some silicone knot. That thought nearly made Steve storm from his house and barge into your cottage to demand you let him help you, but he reminded himself you were too sweet, too sweet, too sweet for him. So instead, he fisted his cock and listened to your raspy pleas fill the night sky.

“Need your knot, alpha, oh god, please,” you babbled, your voice beautifully melodic to Steve even when you were desperately begging for something he knew he shouldn’t give you. “Fill me up, daddy, I need it—need your knot, alpha—daddy, daddy, alpha, please, please, please!” Your moans grew louder and Steve could only imagine the thick silicone knot that was filling you up the way he should be filling you.

One of Steve’s hands gripped the frame of his window tightly, using the feel of the wood digging into his palm to keep himself grounded as he physically fought with his alpha instincts. He wanted to break into your cottage and rip your toys away from you so he could help you through your heat. Like he was meant to. It should be him inside you, sinking into your warm, welcoming cunt while you looked up at him with those beautiful eyes of yours.

Steve’s other hand gripped his cock, pumping his hard, stiff length with a fist so tight, it was nearly punishing. It helped a little, but his fist was a far cry from your perfect cunt, which would be gushing with wetness and so hot, Steve would feel like he was sinking into heaven and hell at the same time. And when he came, it wouldn’t be anywhere near as satisfying as emptying his balls right against your cervix, pumping your womb full of his seed while knot locked your bodies together so it would be almost certain he’d knock you up. 

That is, if you weren’t on birth control. Which most unmated omegas were, Steve reminded himself.

Still, the alpha in him was a beast barely caged—he wanted to breed you. 

Steve wanted to see you impaled on his cock and his knot, so bloated from how full you were with his come that he could see it in the way your belly bulged, giving a preview of what you’d look like growing with his child. He wanted to knock you up, he wanted to see you swollen and round with his pup. 

He wanted to keep fucking you even as you carried his child, watching you bounce on his knot, your tits swollen with milk and your belly big and round while he tried to fill your womb with another before you’d even popped out the first. Steve wanted to keep you pregnant all the time, your pretty little omega body always ripe and swollen with his pups, taking his knot and his come every moment of the day so he could make sure you were always glowing with the radiance of motherhood.

It was that image of you—beautiful and knocked up, your eyes hazy with pleasure that came only from being impaled on his cock, and being locked on his knot—that made Steve come. 

He grunted as the pleasure of his fist and his thoughts of you finally became too much, wrapping both his hands around his thick length, one squeezing his knot while the other pumped the rest of his shaft. His come erupted from the tip, streaming over the windowsill and dripping down to his bare feet on the wooden floor of his bedroom.

A growl tore from Steve’s lips while he came, a deep, dark part of his alpha hindbrain responding furiously to the fact that he was wasting his seed. He should be emptying his balls deep in your fertile cunt while your slick walls gripped his knot and milked every drop of his seed into your womb, where it belonged. 

Steve’s release seemed to last for ages, longer than he’d ever experienced before, and if it wasn’t for the fact that his head finally started to clear when it abated, he would’ve been worried he’d gone into rut. But finally, Steve surfaced from the depths of his pleasure, and winced when he remembered the thoughts that had made him come.

Steve was appalled by the direction in which his imagination had gone, and felt guilty for imagining you in such a state as pregnant and bouncing on his cock—even as the reminder made his cock leak one last spurt of his release. Cursing and castigating himself, Steve moved away from the window to clean himself up and wipe down the spot where he’d been standing. 

The entire time he was cleaning up after himself, Steve felt off-balance. He’d never felt such a pull toward an omega before you, and he’d never been so close to going into rut just from listening to an omega whimper and moan. If he didn’t know better, he would think you were his mate—the one omega in the whole world who was perfect for him. 

But Steve pushed that thought aside and reminded himself you were too sweet for an alpha like him. You might’ve sounded desperate and needy while you suffered through your heat alone, but you deserved better than an alpha who could think of nothing else besides pumping you full of come and knocking you up with his child.

Steve felt disturbed all over again when he thought of the vivid, obscene things he’d imagined while he’d jerked himself off. He’d never been the type of alpha to get off on the idea of breeding, let alone pictured anyone swollen with his kid while they were impaled on his cock. Steve felt so far out of his depth, he swiped his clean hand down his face to try to regain the equilibrium that had been shattered by your pretty omega sounds.

Thankfully, you’d gone blessedly quiet at some point when Steve had been coming all over his windowsill. He tossed the rag he’d used to clean up his mess into the laundry and flopped down on his bed, knowing he wouldn’t be getting any rest that night. It was a good thing he’d called out of work on heat leave.

Even as Steve lay in his bed, the refrain that you were too sweet for him repeating in his mind, he couldn’t help hoping that you were getting some much-needed rest. He’d never been one to worry over much about whether someone was sleeping or eating, but he wondered if you’d had a protein bar and drank a sports drink before falling asleep. He knew you needed to keep up your strength if you’d make it through your heat. 

His thoughts spinning around in his mind, Steve fell into a light, fitful sleep, his alpha hindbrain remaining alert and attuned to the sounds coming from your cottage. Little did he know, it wouldn’t be long before everything would change. Something would happen that would force Steve to finally give in to the connection between him and the omega next door.

When you woke on the second morning of your heat, it was to a burning need cutting through your core, urging you to roll onto your knees and sink down on the silicone knot toy that had slipped from your pussy while you slept. Unbidden, the face of the alpha next door, Steve Rogers, popped into your mind and you sobbed through another wave of aching desire, wishing desperately that he was with you to help you through your heat.

You hadn’t met the alpha until after you’d moved into the little pink cottage next door to his much larger home, and you were instantly smitten with the former soldier. He was big—so much bigger than you—with broad shoulders and bulging biceps that were barely hidden beneath the tight t-shirts he always seemed to wear. But it was Steve’s thighs that were always so distracting to you, so thick they made you want to ride them until your slick was drenching his jeans.

A pitiful moan fell from your lips as you reached between your thighs, grasping blindly for the toy you’d discarded in your sleep. With your face still shoved into a pillow and sleep still clinging to the edges of your consciousness, you slid down on the thick silicone cock, pretending it belonged to Steve. 

The alpha next door was just so…sweet. 

It hadn’t taken you long after moving into your cottage to learn your neighbor’s schedule, and you made sure to always be working in the garden in front of your home when he got back from work. You lived for the growly greetings he would call to you, and the faint blush that would graze his cheekbones, like he was shy around you, his harmless omega neighbor. 

And on the weekends, when you knew Steve wasn’t working, you sat on your back porch reading—though you were more often ogling the fit alpha’s shoulders and arms as he worked in his backyard. The sun would shine on Steve’s blond hair and make him look like a golden god, with sparkling blue eyes that would occasionally flick in your direction, though you didn’t think he was really looking at you.

Of course, when he’d offer to mow your lawn, you’d let him. Then, to show the alpha your thanks, you’d make him some nice refreshing lemonade. If that meant you could watch him quench his thirst while you imagined his sweet mouth on your body, drinking your slick as eagerly as he drank your lemonade, then that was just a bonus to being a good neighbor. Right?

It had become abundantly clear to you that you harbored a crush on Steve, and it was nearly excruciating living next to him when he didn’t seem interested in making a move on his omega neighbor. After all, it had been months, and he’d been nothing but friendly and respectful and sweet. 

It was obvious, at least to you, that Steve was too sweet for you—too sweet to be the rough, dominant alpha you craved. Too sweet to bend you over and impale you on his thick cock with one stroke. Too sweet to shove his knot into your cunt and make you come so hard you saw stars. Too sweet to knock you up over and over again, filling up that big house of his with pups that you’d created together. 

You’d told yourself it was for the best that Steve kept his distance. If he couldn’t be what you needed, then you didn’t want your crush to develop into unrequited feelings. But your heart didn’t listen, so you kept putting yourself in situations where you’d get to see your neighbor—working in your front garden when he got home, sitting on your back porch while he was in his backyard. 

Then, you began to feel your heat coming on, and your thoughts about the alpha next door only worsened. It wasn’t uncommon anymore for unmated omegas to ask alpha friends or acquaintances to help them through their heats, but the prospect of asking Steve for his help, getting to come all over his knot for days on end, and then trying to go back to the way things were sounded torturous. 

Instead, you went about your heat preparations as you always did, gathering supplies from the grocery store and stocking up the minifridge in your bedroom with sports drinks while you piled your bedside table high with protein bars. You closed and locked all the doors and windows of your cottage, drawing the curtains tight to keep out the sun. 

You knew you were a bit of an odd omega, and you didn’t like total darkness in your nest, which was why you had been the only one interested in the little cottage. It had a skylight in the bedroom that any other omega would want closed and covered during their heat. The window itself was covered in a film that dampened most of the direct  sunlight and you enjoyed the natural light, even when you were deep in your heat, so it was perfect for you.

It occurred to you, as you were preparing your room, that if you cracked open the skylight, the sounds you made during your heat would filter out from your cottage. Your desperate cries for a knot might even be heard by the alpha next door…

Later, you’d blame your decision to leave the skylight open on the dangerous combination of your pre-heat brain and the exquisite agony of your crush on Steve. But by that time, the little decision you’d made in the urgency of your heat preparations would’ve irrevocably changed your life—for the better—and you wouldn’t give a thought to regretting what you’d done.

Still, on that second morning of your heat, when you were woken by the need to be knotted and flooded with come, you didn’t even remember that you’d decided to leave the skylight open. So you had no idea whether it was working or not, whether Steve could hear you—but he wasn’t far from your thoughts as you rode your silicone alpha toy, trying to slake the need that burned through your body. 

Your heats were always a little hazy, like most omega’s, with desire and need pounding through your blood so insistently, you couldn’t form any coherent thoughts. Your mind could only focus on getting a cock inside you, then a knot and, if you’d had an alpha to help you, the gush of their come. Since you were so mindless, you uttered words that you’d forgotten the second they fell from your lips.

The first night of your heat, when you’d had a moment of clear-headedness enough to gulp down a sports drink and scarf a protein bar, you’d hoped you hadn’t cried out anything that would embarrass you—like Steve’s name. You’d had a vague memory of calling out for an alpha, which was normal for an unmated omega, and a daddy, which was normal for you, given your desires when you weren’t going through your heat. But you’d breathed a sigh of relief when you didn’t remember calling out for Steve specifically. 

You couldn’t imagine what would happen if you cried out Steve’s name while in heat. But you were about to find out.

The silicone toy in your cunt wasn’t cutting it. It had been just fine that first night, though you hadn’t felt as satisfied as you normally did, and you hadn’t slept as long as you typically did in between waves of your heat. Something about this heat felt different. You weren’t just desperate for an alpha’s knot and come, you wanted more…

You wanted a pup. You wanted an alpha’s cock shoved deep in your cunt, unloading their come against your cervix, filling your womb with a seed that would take and knock you up. You wanted to be bred—and not just by any alpha. You wanted the alpha next door to breed you.

Steve. You wanted Steve. You needed Steve. 

“Please,” you gasped, the word leaving your lips as you thought of your big, sweet alpha neighbor. His face came easily to your mind, those sparkling blue eyes and soft lips, that strong jaw and the way a blush turned his cheeks the most perfect shade of pink. “Please, alpha, need your knot, need your come,” you whined, speaking to the image of Steve in your mind.

You pushed yourself up onto your knees, grabbing one of the many pillows from your bed and shoving it between your thighs, forcing the silicone alpha cock deeper into your cunt. Still, it wasn’t enough, even as you tried to make due. 

You rocked your hips, trying to replicate the feeling of fucking yourself on an alpha’s cock, but it paled in comparison. A desperate whine worked its way up your throat, filling your room and slipping from the skylight into the morning air.

“Please, daddy, wanna have your baby,” you cried, your hands going to your tits and tugging on your nipples so roughly, pleasure and pain swirled through your body, creating a tornado of sensation that only fed the need burning in your core. “Wan’ you to knock me up, alpha, wanna give you pups, wan’ you to suck on my milky tits while you fuck me, daddy.” You groped your breasts, pinching your nipples like you were milking yourself, the sensations making your cunt gush slick all over the toy inside you. 

The pleasure was gathering in your core, making you more desperate to reach the pinnacle of your climax. Your hips worked, humping the pillow and cock between your thighs, shoving yourself down against the knot at the base of the toy, knowing it was what you needed to come, but your pussy was still too tight to take it. 

“Oh god, I need it, alpha, I need it, I need it,” you babbled mindlessly, fucking yourself furiously on the toy and still wishing it was Steve’s cock. 

You pictured him beneath you, his cheeks tinged pink, not with a blush, but with the flush of his desire for you, his blue eyes nearly black from his pupils blowing wide as he stared up at you. His soft mouth parted as he groaned, his thick cock buried in your tight cunt, twitching as you squeezed him.

It was with that image in your mind that the fateful words spilled from your lips. You cried out desperately, “Knock me up, daddy, gimme your pup, please—please, breed me, Steve!” 

So close to the edge of your release, you barely heard the distant crashing sound that echoed between your little cottage and the house that belonged to the alpha next door. All you heard were your gasping breaths and mindless moans, the toy shoving into your cunt making low squelching noises that only managed to turn you on more. 

It was only when a much closer smashing sound preceded the swirl of cool morning air infiltrating your home, and flooding into your nest, that you were able to drag your attention away from your own desperate frustration. Your omega instincts were going haywire, part of you telling you something was wrong, while another part unfurled and shifted, like a flower blooming toward the sun. 

Blinking your eyes to clear away the haze of your heat, your mouth fell open in an ‘o’ of surprise at the sight of the alpha in your bedroom doorway. 

Steve’s big body filled the doorway, his hands clutching the wooden frame while his chest heaved with heavy breaths. It looked like he was trying to hold himself back, his grip so tight on your doorframe that a distant part of your mind worried it might splinter beneath his palms. But you couldn’t think too closely about that, not when your neighbor was staring at you with a crazed look in his eyes, like he wanted to fill you with his knot as badly as you wanted to be filled.

Your too sweet alpha neighbor’s mouth—which was normally curved in a soft, friendly smile—was twisted with ferocious lust, and when he spoke, his voice was a rough growl like nothing you’d ever heard from Steve. 

“Invite me into your bed,” he rumbled, the order clear in his voice even if he didn’t use his alpha command. “Ask me to help you through your heat, tell me you want me here,” he went on through clenched teeth, an edge of desperation in his tone that called your heart—and your cunt. “Tell me you want me, omega.” His fingers gripped the doorframe tighter, and you heard the wood creak beneath his strength. 

Your pussy spasmed and your heart lurched when Steve called you by your designation, but it was when his scent hit you that you felt something inside your being shift and lock into place. Steve smelled like home—like safety and security and love. He smelled like a future of wrangling children together and making love together and sitting on a porch swing together and growing old together. 

In that moment, you knew what your instincts had known from the moment you met Steve—he was your mate. He was the one alpha in all the world who was meant for you, just as you were the omega meant for him. And once you knew that, it was the easiest thing in the world to part your lips and beg him to join you in your nest, in your bed, and help you through your heat.

“Please, Steve—please, mate, please help me,” you begged, your voice breathy with need and excitement, tears of joy shining in your eyes. 

Something shifted in Steve’s expression when you called him your mate. You watched as he took a deep breath, scenting you the way you had him. A riot of emotions swirled in those beautiful blue eyes of his—disbelief, acknowledgement, acceptance, satisfaction, pride. You saw the moment he realized what you’d only just discovered, a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth.

“My omega, my mate,” Steve growled, finally letting go of the doorframe and launching himself at you.

Finally—finally—Steve was coming to you, closing the distance between you, and you’d never been happier in all your life. The alpha next door was your mate, and you hoped that meant he would be more than willing to knock you up and breed you like you needed.

Steve had woken from his fitful sleep to the sound of your sweet cries that morning, though they sounded much more desperate to his ears. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or not, but you sounded less than satisfied with whatever toy you were using and Steve slid a hand down to his already hard cock, thinking you should’ve been riding him instead of some silicone dick.

He’d lazily stroked his cock, trying to restrain himself from coming all over his stomach, while listening to your increasingly desperate cries. Steve had fisted a hand in the sheets of his bed, hoping it would be enough to hold himself back from storming over to your cottage and taking your heat into his own hands. 

Then, Steve heard you cry out his name and something in him snapped. Before he even knew what he was doing, he’d thrown on some boxer briefs and stormed out of his bedroom, leaping down the stairs and throwing open the front door of his house so ferociously, he’d ripped it off some of the hinges. 

Not even caring that he was leaving his door open, Steve charged over to your cottage, taking a little bit more care with your front door when he broke the lock and pushed it open, flinging it closed behind him. He knew it was likely stuck closed thanks to the broken lock, but Steve only cared that it would prevent anyone else from getting into your home. He’d deal with getting out later. Much later.

Finally, Steve got to the doorway of your bedroom, your nest, and he’d stumbled to a stop at the sight that lay before him.

You were perched in the center of your big bed, a pillow wedged between your thighs, the knot of a toy barely visible while you humped futilely on the fake cock. Your delicate fingers groped your tits, squeezing your soft flesh and pinching your nipples like you were milking yourself—that thought making even more blood rush to Steve’s cock. Desperate whimpers and whines fell from your lips, more pleas to be knocked up and filled with pups, and they were nearly his undoing.

At the last second, Steve gripped the doorframe, holding himself back from pouncing on you, as he tried to remember why he shouldn’t be there. You were an unmated omega, in heat, and he hadn’t gotten permission to be in your nest, let alone help you through your heat. And you were too sweet for him…

God, you looked sweet, though. Sweet enough that Steve’s mouth watered with the thought of how slick you were, how good you would taste on his tongue. Even from the doorway, he could see the way your wetness had soaked the pillow between your thighs. He wanted to taste you, to scent you, he wanted you. 

Steve was seconds away from launching himself at you when your gaze finally landed on him. It was the delighted surprise in your eyes that urged him to ground out a desperate plea for consent to enter your room and help you through your heat. Blessedly, you seemed coherent enough to answer—but you didn’t only answer and beg for his help, you called him your mate.

That word struck a chord in Steve’s chest, his heart pounding even harder at the impossible prospect that you were his mate—that you were meant to be his. But he took a deep breath, taking in the scent of you and opening himself up to the possibility that you were his. 

You even smelled sweet, like the pink roses in your front garden—or, rather, the peace Steve felt when he came home to find you tending to your flowers. You smelled like the warmth of a gentle fire and the giddiness of butterfly kisses. You smelled like life, like the time unfurling before the two of you, years and decades spent with each other, making each other happy. 

It was as if Steve truly came alive for the first time when he scented you, and the last tether of the self-restraint holding him back from you snapped. 

“My omega, my mate,” he rumbled in a low purr, a voice he’d never even heard himself use before. But he didn’t have time to think about that too closely—he only knew he needed to get to you. 

As quickly as he could, Steve surged into your room, tearing off his boxer briefs—the only clothing he’d had the presence of mind to put on, and he was thankful for it, since it saved him the grief of a public indecency charge—in the few steps it took to get to your bed.

By the time Steve tackled you into the tangle of blankets and pillows, he was naked as the day he was born, his cock throbbing with need and brushing against swaths of your soft, bare skin, leaving his precum behind. The alpha cradled your body in his strong arms as he rolled you beneath him, his narrow hips slotting perfectly between your plush thighs, his hard length resting against your mound. 

But there was something in his way, something that shouldn’t be inside you and Steve couldn’t help but growl, “Get that fucking toy out of my cunt, ‘mega.” He softened the fury in his voice with light, fleeting kisses to your cheeks and temple and forehead, greedy to taste the sweetness of your skin.

“Yes, alpha,” you gasped, fumbling between your bodies to wrench the silicone dick from your tight hole. 

The sweet submission in your voice was too much for Steve—he had to taste it. Slanting his lips to yours, Steve kissed you for the first time, groaning into your mouth at the wondrous feeling of your mouth beneath his. You tasted better than you smelled, like radiant sunshine bursting on his tongue and casting a golden glow over his entire body. 

Deepening the kiss, Steve plundered your mouth, stroking his tongue against yours and nipping at your lips until you were gasping and panting beneath him. Your entire body trembled with unslaked need, your fingers clinging to his bulging biceps as you cried out for him, all of which stroked Steve’s alpha ego so much, his cock twitched and leaked against your belly.

“Please, Steve—daddy—alpha—I need you inside me,” you wailed in a broken voice and Steve’s instincts took over.

He shifted his hips back, the tip of his cock finding your slick hole and he pushed forward, sinking his hard length into your cunt with one thrust. Steve’s entire world realigned, his heart stuttering in his chest at the feeling of your tight heat consuming him, overwhelming him. An animalistic groan left his lips, and he buried the sound in your neck, breathing in your scent as he tried not to come immediately.

With Steve’s cock finally buried inside you, he felt your body relax beneath him, your moan of pleasure dissolving into a sigh of relief. Steve’s hindbrain felt a deep satisfaction at the way you melted in his arms, your submission to him apparent in the loosening of your muscles. Finding your lips again, Steve kissed you sweetly, cherishing the moment of calm before your heat urged the two of you to move.

“Thank you, alpha,” you whispered, your voice soft and blissful and the most content Steve had heard it since your heat began in earnest the day before. “The toys weren’t working.” You pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek on your way to burying your face in the crook of his neck, breathing so deeply he could hear your inhale, making his cock twitch in the depths of your pussy. 

Then, your words pierced through the haze of pleasure in Steve’s mind and he purred, smiling into your neck when you relaxed further beneath him, responding to him.

“You needed your mate, didn’t you, baby?” Steve cooed, lavishing your neck with kisses until you were whining and squirming beneath him. “Needed your daddy to pound your needy little cunt like only your alpha could, huh?” He started rolling his hips in tight circles, grinding into your cunt, his knot rubbing your clit in a way that had you clenching deliciously around him. “Needed me to pump your sweet little womb full of come, huh, needed me to give you a pup?” 

As soon as the heated words fell from Steve’s lips, he wished he could take them back. He’d heard you beg him to breed you, but that was when you were riding a silicone alpha dick, not when you were seconds away from taking Steve’s knot. 

Mentally, Steve chastised himself for letting his mouth run away from him so soon. He’d barely gotten his cock in you and he was already talking about knocking you up. He didn’t want you to think he was that kind of alpha, one that only wanted an omega to pump out babies for him—even though the thought did make Steve rock hard.

“Sorry, ‘mega,” Steve mumbled, shifting his arms beneath your body so he could cradle your head in one hand, holding you still while he rocked his hips into yours, kissing your cheek and jaw and neck and anywhere he could reach. 

“Sorry for what?” you asked on a gasp, hooking your legs around Steve’s sides and clinging to him so you could grind on his thick cock. 

Thankfully, you didn’t seem turned off or scared by Steve’s breeding talk. If anything, the way you arched your spine and shoved your cunt down on his dick made him think you liked it. But surely that couldn’t be true.

“Didn’t mean to mention pups so soon,” Steve said gruffly, hiding his face in your neck so you wouldn’t see the blush that he knew was turning his cheeks pink. 

“Oh god,” you moaned, your cunt squeezing Steve’s cock as your body writhed beneath his. “Wanna give you so many pups, alpha,” you cried, humping up from beneath Steve’s big body, riding his cock harder than you’d been riding your toy when he’d walked in. 

Steve went cross-eyed at the assault on his senses. Between the perfect heat of your slick pussy gripping his cock, teasing his knot every time you rocked against him, and the sound of your sweet voice confessing you wanted him to knock you up, Steve’s body shuddered with the effort it took not slam his knot home and flood your womb with his seed to give you exactly what you wanted.

“You like that idea, huh?” Steve rumbled, hungry passion and desire coursing through his body and urging him to move faster, to fuck you harder. He pulled out of your fluttering pussy and slammed back inside, relishing the desperate cry that left your lips and the way your fingers dug into the muscles of his arms. “You like it when your alpha tells you how much he wants to breed you?” 

Despite his best efforts, Steve could hear the thread of insecurity in his question, and he wasn’t surprised when you cupped his face and moved his head up so you could look into his eyes. What he didn’t expect was the sheer amount of pleasure and desire in your hazy gaze, or the mixture of sweetness and depravity in the little smirk you gave him.

“I do, daddy,” you said, your voice breathy but no less firm in your resolve. “I want to hear everything you’ve thought about doing to your little omega—want you to breed me, alpha.” 

Everything else in the world melted away as Steve focused on you—his omega, his mate—and the fact that he was going to try his damndest to give you what you wanted. After all, that was his duty as your alpha. You were his to take care of, to provide for, to protect, to cherish—to fuck and to knot. 

You were his to love—you were his to breed. And Steve planned on loving you and breeding you plenty.

You’d never felt anything so good as Steve sinking his thick alpha cock into your weeping cunt, and you nearly sobbed in relief as the edge of aching, burning need finally abated. This was what you needed—not a toy or any alpha’s cock, but your mate’s. Your body and omega instincts had known something was wrong, and it had taken a slip of your tongue to fix it. 

Even if it had been an accident to cry out Steve’s name, you couldn’t feel embarrassed about it, not when you finally felt something like satisfaction. The need of your heat still burned bright beneath your skin, but for a moment, you could revel in the feeling of being so intimately connected to your mate, your Steve—the alpha next door. 

The words of thanks had slipped past your lips before you could stop them, and you loved the teasing way he responded. But then you felt a shift in Steve. He’d seemed to feel guilty for mentioning pups, but even his apology turned you on, making your arousal burn hotter. Your body had been unable to still when you needed him so badly—needed to give him pups, needed to grow round with his child and know that he had claimed you in the most primal way possible. 

Your brain had short-circuited when Steve had said he wanted to breed you, but you’d still heard the anxiousness in his tone and you’d guided his head up so you could look at him. The uncertainty and guilt in Steve’s beautiful blue eyes nearly broke your heart. He was too sweet for words, wanting to make sure you were comfortable with even the words he said in the heat of the moment. 

Between one breath and the next, you fell in love with Steve Rogers. He wasn’t simply the alpha next door, he was your mate, and he was yours. A fierce possessiveness filled your chest as you smirked up at your alpha, determining to show him exactly how much you wanted everything he’d said.

“Want you to breed me, alpha,” you begged on a moan, your hips rising up off the bed to meet the brutal thrusts of your mate. “Fill me up with your pups, daddy, please, I need it!” You held Steve’s gaze, letting him see the pleasure on your face, hear the genuineness of your words. 

You saw the moment Steve’s insecurity and guilt melted into desire and determination. His blue eyes darkened and his face twisted into a mask of sinful resolve. He looked like a fallen god, with his golden hair and tanned skin, framed perfectly in the little bit of morning light filtering in through the skylight above your bed. Your pussy clenched around his cock, fluttering as he thrust inside you, teasing your hole with his knot.

“Don’t worry, ‘mega,” Steve rumbled, ducking down and capturing your lips in a sweet kiss that left you gasping for breath. He pressed his forehead to yours, staring deep into your eyes. “We’re making a baby today.”

“Yes, alpha,” you cried, spreading your legs wider in an effort to let Steve fuck you deeper. He grinned, shifting his hands to your thighs and pushing them up against your chest, folding you in half and pounding you into the bed. 

“Gonna fill up your perfect cunt with all the seed in my balls, and if it doesn’t take today, ‘m gonna fill you up until you’re overflowing with my come—until your belly’s bulging with it,” Steve growled, rutting into you with a ferociousness you never would’ve expected from your sweet alpha neighbor. But Steve’s sweetness was never far from the surface, and he proved it by lowering his voice to a deep rumble that you felt in your belly, asking, “Mm, ’s that what you want, baby, want daddy to give you a pup?”

You were pinned beneath Steve, his cock fucking you so hard, your room was filing with the wet squelching sounds of your soaking cunt and the sharp rhythm of your alpha’s thighs slapping against your own. But still, it was his words that seemed to have the most effect on you, turning you into a writhing, needy creature who’d only be satisfied when Steve emptied his balls deep in your cunt. 

“Yes, alpha,” you cried, your fingers clinging to Steve’s shoulders, digging into his warm, golden skin while he fucked you into oblivion. “Want you to knock me up, wanna give you a pup, wanna grow big and round with your child and feed you both from my milky tits,” you babbled, throwing your head back and screaming when Steve’s cock hit against your cervix, pleasure and pain swirling like an inferno in your body. “Please, daddy, god, I need it, I need it—knot me, breed, me, Steve, please!” 

“Baby,” Steve groaned, capturing your lips in another kiss while he rutted into you faster and harder, his knot pressing against your tight hole with every thrust and teasing you with the stretch of it. “You’re gonna get a pup, alright,” he growled when he pulled away, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re gonna pop out a kid for me and then I’m gonna fill you right back up.” Steve moaned, his body shuddering and you knew he was close. “Wanna watch you bounce on my cock with your belly ripe and swollen with my pups, your tits heavy with milk—the prettiest mommy and mate an alpha could ask for.” 

“Steve,” you sobbed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to hold him close, kissing him and thrusting your hips up to meet his. “Please, make me a mommy, alpha—wanna be a mommy, please, daddy, daddy, please!” Then your lips were too preoccupied with Steve’s, kissing him messily in between desperate moans while he fucked you hard and fast. 

Finally, Steve pulled back and thrust forward with so much power, his knot pushed inside your tight cunt and you screamed in pleasure, the feeling of his thick bulge stretching your tight hole sending you over the edge into the most earth-shattering release you’d felt in your life. It was a transcendental experience, coming on your mate’s cock, your alpha surrounding you and filling you up in every way possible.

As your body squeezed Steve’s cock, he groaned loudly in your ear, burying his face in your neck while his hips stuttered against yours, trying to fuck you with his knot but unable to move because your bodies were locked so tightly together. Then, with a moan of, “my mate,” you felt the moment Steve began to come. His cock twitched deep inside your cunt, a warmth filling you as he shot rope after rope of come against your cervix, filling your womb.

For a long time, the two of you stayed locked together, riding out your releases in each other’s embrace. Giggles and moans filled the room, each of you kissing the other wherever you could reach while you basked in your pleasure together. You breathed in the scent of Steve, your lips dragging up and down the column of his throat while he kissed your neck and shoulder and just beneath your ear, making you shiver. 

Eventually, when the squeezing of your cunt was reduced to a flutter and your body had milked every last drop of seed from Steve’s cock, the two of you settled. Your heat had abated for the moment. Though need still burned low in the core of your body, reminding you it wasn’t over just yet. 

But you had a bit of a respite, and you took the time to revel in you newfound mate. Turning your head, you pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek, which was flushed pink with pleasure.

You felt Steve’s smile against your skin and then he was rising up so you could see the full blush that tinged your alpha’s cheeks. He looked so sweet and ruined, his blond hair a mess, his blue eyes bright with satisfaction, a deeply smug smile on his plump lips. 

“Feeling better, ‘mega?” he asked, though there was so much male satisfaction in his tone, you were certain he already knew the answer. 

Still, you liked seeing this side of Steve. Typically you didn’t like cocky alphas, but Steve looked so hot when he was confident, your pussy fluttered around his knot at the sight of his smirk.

“I am, daddy,” you said softly, smiling up at your alpha, enjoying the way his smirk deepened as you confirmed what he knew. You couldn’t help but stroke his ego a little more. “Now that you’re here to take care of me.”

Steve’s eyes softened and he pressed a heated kiss to your lips. “Good,” he said when he pulled away. Then his arms were wrapping around you and he rolled onto his back, dragging you with him until you were splayed across his broad chest, your bodies still locked together by his knot. 

It would deflate soon enough, but you reveled in the feeling while it lasted, snuggling into Steve’s arms. Sleep called to you, but Steve was still moving and you when you opened your eyes, you found him reaching for your stash of provisions on your bedside table.

“Gotta eat and hydrate, baby,” Steve murmured as he unwrapped a protein bar and began feeding it to you. Even though you were exhausted, you knew he was right and you let him feed you, only sitting up when it was time to gulp down some of the sports drink he offered you. “Good girl, ‘mega, doing so well for your alpha,” Steve said, praising you while you ate and drank.

When you were done, Steve tossed the empty wrappers and bottles back onto your bedside table and relaxed into the many pillows on your bed. You settled down on his chest, your body sated in every way possible, muscles going loose when your alpha began to purr. 

“Thank you, alpha,” you mumbled, the urge to sleep more insistent since you were fed. Steve’s hands smoothed down your back, tracing your spine lightly with his fingertips in a way that made you melt even further into him. 

“Don’t need to thank me,” he grumbled, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple. “You’re my mate, ‘m gonna do everything I can to take care of you—and our kids.” He added the last bit like it was an afterthought, but you knew Steve meant it, and your heart warmed at his protectiveness. 

You smiled into Steve’s warm skin, nuzzling into his neck beneath his jaw, breathing in the scent of him—the scent of home—but his words made you remember something you should tell him. 

“Steve, ‘m on birth control,” you murmured sleepily, pressing a lazy kiss to the thick column of his neck. “Thought you should know.” You snorted a little, laughing at yourself for the silliness of your last statement, even though it was true.

The rumble of Steve’s purr changed as he chuckled, his strong arms tightening around your waist for a moment before he grabbed a blanket and pulled it up over your cooling bodies. “Figured, ‘mega,” he rumbled, his voice so warm, you could hear his smile. “Doesn’t mean ‘m gonna stop picturing you round with my pup, even if it’s a while before that happens.”

“Mm,” you hummed in acknowledgment, then pouted as you processed his words. “As long as it’s not a long while,” you muttered, hardly listening to what you were saying because you were so close to sleep.

Steve chuckled again, his hands squeezing you lightly. “It’ll be as long or as short as you want, baby,” he assured you in a gruff voice that was thick with just as much tiredness as yours. “I’d give you a pup today if I could.” 

You smiled, your heart filling with emotion, and pressed your lips to your alpha’s neck. You might’ve been exhausted, but it didn’t stop you from murmuring the words your heart urged you to say, “I love you, Steve.” 

Steve’s purr deepened, and he held you close, no hesitation in his voice when he said, “I love you, too.” Your alpha brushed a kiss to your cheek and smacked your ass very lightly. “Now rest, omega, we still have to get through the rest of your heat.”

You fell asleep with a smile on your face, feeling safe and protected and satisfied in the arms of your mate, your bodies still locked together by Steve’s knot. You never would’ve expected anything to come of your crush on your neighbor—and you never would’ve expected he’d be a perfect fit for your desires, let alone your mate. 

But, you knew the two of you were going to live a happy life together—and you couldn’t wait to spend every moment of it with the alpha next door.

[hinamie]

"I'll show you every day that choosing to live was worth it"

some of my favourite scenes from @hijinks-n-lowjinks' fic things i would miss from the other side . this fic tore my heart out fr but like in a good way and i wanted to pay it homage the only way i know how <3

[felixcosm]

I think it's mean how some people talk about fics on AO3.

'Oh you gotta wade through literal trash to find the good stuff'.

Were you not a beginner once? Did you not write crack fic or self indulgent things for your own entertainment?

Maybe don't speak that way about your fellow fic writers? Just because some fics aren't as polished as others, or involve fetishes and tropes you don't enjoy, or are not the style you want your fics to be doesn't mean they're trash.

It's a horrible thing to say and beginners are going to be discouraged from writing knowing that their fics might be considered trash because they're just starting out.

[damianito]

Chuuya will not remember. Dazai will.

[jewishrat420]

No one has ever flirted with Steve the way Eddie flirts with Steve.

And it's not like no one flirts with Steve. God, no, it's not like no one flirts with Steve. Steve can't walk into the grocery store without at least three sets of heads turning and focusing all their attention on him.

And he's not even trying to be cocky about it. That's just the reality he was gifted when he came out of his mother's womb looking like the world's freshest Adonis. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if they changed the colloquialism to "Steve."

Regardless. For as many people like to flirt with him, make themselves known, filtering in and out of his orbit like willing planets, no one knows quite how to get him going like Eddie. Maybe it's that they're not as confident as he is, maybe they're scared of the rejection Eddie was born facing and will die knowing.

Maybe they're scared of ruining their chances. Maybe Eddie isn't.

For whatever reason, Eddie doesn't seem like he's scared. Even though there was a long time before he knew Steve was bi, was just as into the flirting as Eddie was, even though there was a chance (not like it'd ever happen, but the unknown was there) that Steve could have beaten him up just for calling him "sweetheart," he did it anyway. He got right up into Steve's space, close enough that Steve could get high off the remnants of the joint he'd smoked earlier, and gave him a look that offered everything.

And, God, Steve wanted it. He wanted it all.

And so that began months of what Steve has so aptly referred to as torture. Apt, because he knows what it's like. He has the scars and the fear of ice cream and needles to prove it.

But this... this is a different kind of torture. Mental, emotional, spiritual, whatever you call it-- this is meant to tear him apart from the inside out, meant to make him want to rip his own bones out from his body and offer them to Eddie if it meant the other man making a fucking move.

And Steve would, is the thing. He would absolutely make the first move-- it's what he usually does, anyway, and he's got a pretty damn good success rate for it.

But, for whatever reason, this feels different. This back and forth they have, the constant teasing, the sliding in and out of each other's orbits, unable and unwilling to refute the most fundamental laws of gravity... it's something special, at least to Steve. Something sacred.

Which is why, when Eddie calls Steve "Harrington" for the first time in months, his first response is to pout.

They're about halfway through splitting a joint, the sweet smoke curling around wisps of hair and parted lips and filtering in and out of the holes in their sweaters. The air outside is getting colder, thinner, sharper, as the winter months dreg on. But inside the trailer, it's comfortable and warm. Safe.

Steve's being a bit of a hog, and he's man enough to admit that. But he had a shitty day at work and all he wants is to feel nothing other than the weightless relaxation of a good high buzzing through his bones. Sue him for taking a little more than his fair share of the good stuff, even if it is Eddie's.

"Steve," Eddie whines, reaching his hand out and curling his fingers in request. "Give it over."

"No," Steve responds, just on the edge of whiny. He brings the joint to his lips and takes a long, slow, deep drag, feeling the sweet heat of the smoke burning in his lungs, taking up the space where oxygen should be. He goes a little dizzy with it, feels his eyes lower. "Mine."

Steve can't see it, but he knows Eddie's rolling his eyes. Can sense the shift in the air, can sense every little fucking thing about Eddie at any given moment.

"C'mon, Harrington, you're being a brat."

And, normally, Steve would find another aspect of that sentence to freak out about. Would zero in on the word brat and relish in the flare of heat it sends shooting up his spine like firework sparks. Would squint his eyes at Eddie and tilt his head in the way he knows makes him look good, would give him his cutest little smirk and say, "Who, me?" and would preen in the response it gets.

This time, though, he's much too focused on the other name Eddie used for him. The one he hasn't heard come out of Eddie's mouth since before he realized that Steve was, as he put it, "actually a good dude."

He doesn't realize he's pouting until the sudden silence in the room starts to creep in, make a home in the buzzing in his ears. He didn't realize that he didn't say anything, and neither did Eddie, and now they're sitting in a mess of their own making. Of Eddie's own making, really.

His next words come out without effort, without intent.

"Don't call me that."

He chances a look over at Eddie, at the risk of appearing as vulnerable as he feels, and to his distress, he can't get a read on the man. His dark eyebrows furrow, brown eyes squinting slightly, and his lips part like he wants to speak. He licks them. Steve's eyes follow the motion unintentionally.

"Call you what?" Eddie says on an exhale. "A brat?"

Steve shakes his head. "Harrington. Don't like it when you call me that."

Eddie kind of softens, then, and Steve didn't realize he had stiffened until he isn't anymore. He sort of sinks into the couch, spreads his legs imperceptibly wider, and Steve wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for the way his left knee brushes against Steve's just barely. Just enough for those heated sparks to send a couple pinpricks across his skin.

"No?" he says, looking over to meet Steve's gaze. His cheeks are flushed, whether from the weed or the heat of the room or the heat between them, and Steve's sure that his look the same. "What do you want me to call you, then?"

Steve's definitely blushing now. He looks away from Eddie, tucks his chin to his chest, lets the joint between his fingers burn away. Eddie takes it from him, gently, and brings it to his lips. Steve hears the paper crackling as he inhales.

His voice is quiet, almost meek, when he speaks. It's completely unlike Steve, completely unlike the persona he used to so proudly take on-- but then again, Eddie is completely unlike anyone that Steve has ever met. He's more real, more human, and in turn, Steve is too.

"...You know."

Eddie makes a little noise, then, something in the back of his throat that was born and died within the very same second it was released. Something soft, almost pained, like his body couldn't help the reaction it had to that sentence.

Steve watches the thin, long line of Eddie's arm reach forward and press the joint into the glass of the ashtray. He follows the motion until Eddie's hand settles into the rips over his knee, fingers intertwining with the thread. His pinkie is dangerously close to Steve's own sweatpant-covered skin, and he feels the contact as if Eddie were touching him.

Eddie's hand twitches like it wants to move, and Steve resists the urge to grab it, hold it within the warmth of his own palms.

"Do I?" Eddie says, his voice quieter than it was a moment ago. That thick silence fills the trailer once more, settling in between the soft buzzing of the lightbulb in the kitchen and the muffled humming of the crickets outside. Steve hears Eddie take a stuttering breath. "Tell me."

Steve sighs, feeling his chest burn as his heartbeat picks up. His throat pounds with the pulsing of it. He places his own hand on his right knee, pinkie finger edging closer and closer to the space where Eddie's meets his. Eddie's hand twitches again.

"Like it when you call me sweet things," he says on an exhale, as though getting it out all in one breath would make it easier. "Like how it makes me feel."

Eddie lets out another one of those noises, then, something more like a cut-off groan. His hand curls into the fabric of his jeans for no more than a second before he releases it, and Steve gets to watch as the blood blanches and then returns to his knuckles.

"Sweet things, huh?" he muses, voice only slightly strained. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd say Eddie is nervous. "Like... Stevie?"

Steve hums. "Yeah. I like that."

Eddie's pinkie moves closer. Barely. Imperceptibly, if not for the way Steve is tuned into his every movement, like a dog to the sound of their owner's keys.

"Yeah?"

Steve hums again.

"What about... sweetheart?"

Steve closes his eyes. Lets out a shaky breath, inhales a smoother one.

"Yeah."

Steve feels something brush against his pinkie. Something warm.

"Honey?"

Steve nods, biting his lip. "Mhm."

Eddie lets out a quiet little laugh. "Even big boy?"

Steve returns it helplessly, feels the edges of a smile pulling at his lips. The air feels cold on his teeth, as though he's burning up from the inside out and anything outside of his own body is a cooling salve.

"Especially big boy."

Eddie laughs a little louder, and the jostling of his body brings his pinkie even closer to Steve's. Completely pressed against his own, now.

Steve swears he can feel his heartbeat through it. Or maybe it's his own.

"What about..." Eddie takes a breath. "Love?"

Steve's own breath hitches. He opens his eyes, looks at where their skin is touching in more than one place. He feels it, feels every point of contact where the cells that make Eddie are existing with the cells that make Steve. Wonders, maybe, if they stay here long enough, if they'll merge and mold over time. Become one.

"Yeah," Steve breathes. "I like that one a lot."

Eddie hums, and the room falls back into silence for a moment. Steve's skin burns where their fingers are touching. He moves his hand to the right, just barely, just enough to let Eddie know that he feels it. Just enough to ask Eddie if he does, too.

His response is overwhelming.

Eddie moves his hand to the left, solidifies all the points of contact between them, and Steve feels like he's exploding. Feels like a bubbling pit of lava that's set to burst, to overflow, like it can't hold back anymore. Like it's tried for so long that it's hurting, now, pressurized and boiling and hot, way too fucking hot.

And then, Eddie crosses his pinkie over Steve's, and Steve thinks he's dying.

He takes in a sharp breath like it's the last one he'll ever get, and he doesn't even have it in him to be embarrassed about it. He knows Eddie is right there with him, knows he's not the only one feeling this irrefutable pull like gravity between them. Knows, hopes, it's only a matter of time before they collide.

Eddie hums again. He taps his pinkie once over the smallest of Steve's knuckles, almost like he's making a decision. He takes a long, slow breath before he speaks.

"You know which one's my favorite?"

Steve's throat clicks. "Which?"

"Look at me."

Steve turns his head to the right for no more than a second before Eddie's lips are on his.

It's hungry, it's indulgent, it's immediately addictive. It feels like breathing.

Eddie presses his whole body against Steve's, and he can feel the way his tendons flex where his hand is covering the back of Steve's. Where their pinkies meet, their fingers intertwine and cross over one another like the roots of a tree, their bodies the whole mycorrhizal network.

The next word is spoken against Steve's lips, and Steve can feel the way his mouth forms around it. Decides, from this moment on, that he never wants to hear it another way.

"Baby."

Steve's exhale is more of a moan, a dying sound that, like Eddie's before, lived for only a moment in his throat before pushing through the wall of his lips. Eddie takes it, holds it in his own mouth, swallows it down hungrily and slides his tongue against Steve's as though asking for more.

"That's--" Steve pants, getting his hands on Eddie's hips and pulling until he's seated in his lap. "Mine too."

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, his lips still pressed against Steve's. Their words are muffled against each other, but they don't need to hear them to understand. They only need to feel the outline of them, the shape of the consonants and vowels against and around each other's tongues. They only need to press their bodies together and know, intimately, the meaning in each other's hearts.

"Yeah. Want you to call me that forever."

This time, Steve feels Eddie's laughter against his lips. His chest. Feels it bubble up in the space between his ribs, feels it flow into his mouth like a river, swallows it down like the first glass of water after a run. Feels his own creep up behind his teeth in return, gives it back to Eddie like an offering, who takes it greedily. Hungrily. Gratefully.

"Think that can be arranged, baby."

[gojos-version]

What a slutty concubine

Pairings- Y/N x Hein era! Sukuna

Summary- Your village gave you to Sukuna as an offering, so you became one of his concubines. He seems to ignore your presence for weeks until today.

Warnings- Monster fucking (if Hein era Sukuna counts as that), pet name (little one because you're physically smaller than him and he's 8ft. brat is used), his tummy mouth is used, mating press, double penetration, size kink, tummy bulge, very light choking, doggy style, full nelson and no protection.

Word count- 2.5k

Proof read- ✅

A/n- Hello!! This is the result from the poll i did yesterday! I really hope you all enjoy this as much as I did writing it :) I told yall id cook and make it filthy >:P Please feel free to request anything or drop any suggestions!! I hope you have a lovely day <33

⋆ ✩°｡⋆ 𖦹｡˚ ⋆ ✮ ༺ ⟡ ݁₊ ⊹ ა ✧ ໒ ⊹ ₊ ݁ ݁⟡ ༻ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ⊰⊱ ✩°｡⋆ 𖦹｡˚ ⋆

“Master Sukuna requests all of you to be lined up outside his chambers.” Uraume’s voice rings out, making you stop what you were doing. You nudge the woman next to you and whisper, “What’s going on?”, she nudges you forward softly whispering, “The king does this a few times monthly, or every few days depending on his mood. He chooses one of us to spend the night with.” She grins, “Come, let us go now or he’ll be mad.” You nod your head nervously and follow closely behind her. 

Spend the night with him? You think to yourself. What does that mean? Your heart races thinking it could mean..he’d kill you.. Or.. you stop yourself from thinking about that and shake your head. Not the time. It's not like he'd choose you anyway. He’s completely ignored you for weeks. You kneel down next to the other concubines bowing your head respectively. You hear his loud thump thump thump of footsteps. You want to look up at him but you can't bring yourself to. “They are here as you requested, Master.” you hear Uraume say and then Sukuna hums. “Excellent”, you feel his eyes scanning around the room, your heart racing feeling his gaze on you. 

“You. Come with me.” He orders, you lift your head up and Uraume nods their head at you, “Everyone else you are dismissed.” they order out. You feel your mouth go dry as the other concubines glare at you, some scoffing as they walk back to the room. The one you were talking to before smiles at you, giving you an encouraging “Don’t worry you can do this! Let me know how you go, okay? I’m Akari!”, You let out a small smile to her, “O-okay.. Thank you Akari, I’m y/n” you introduce yourself back. You didn't talk much to anyone when you got here, you did speak to Akari for a bit but never really got the chance to introduce yourself or know her name.

“Y/n, come. You don't want the King to be infuriated.” Uraume interrupts, you swallow thickly nodding your head and follow them into Sukuna’s chambers. You grip the sleeve of your kimono as you trail closely behind Uraume. They knock on the door, “You may enter.” Sukunas deep voice trails out. Your heart races as Uraume steps to the side and gestures for you to walk in. with shaky legs you walk into the room and the door shut with a soft click! “Don’t be afraid, little one. Come.” He orders. For a moment you take him in, 4 big muscley arms, a giant mouth on his abdomen, its expression mirroring his face. He's got 2 arms crossed and the other 2 by his side, all 4 of his eyes watching you. You step closer to him, standing in front of him. “What is it that you want, My Lord?” you ask, trying not to let your voice shake. He raises a brow and grins, “Answer me this, little one, are you pure?” Pure? Does he mean a virgin? If he's not happy with my answer what if he kills me?

“Um.. I am not pure” You answer truthfully. You've been with only one man in your life but, in the village you lived in before you were offered to Sukuna. You had a happy relationship with your boyfriend but god he didn't even say anything as the villagers pushed you towards Sukuna screaming out you were the offering. You see him hum thoughtfully. “Normally I'd kill you for it but since you were given as an offering, I'll give you a chance to please me.” Your eyes widen, you've only really done it once with your boyfriend. It was a fresh relationship before all this happened! It might not have been the best but to you it was more than enough.

“T-thank you, Lord Sukuna.�� You bow politely. Now what? Do you strip? Do you wait for him to kiss you? Do you get on the bed???? His voice interrupts your thoughts, “Strip and sit on the bed.” He orders as he turns around to take off his own kimono and he hangs it, while you step out of your kimono and undergarments. Hesitantly you sit on the bed laying on your back. “Good.” He praises, he crawls on top of you and takes your lips in his. You kiss him back and god you feel his tongue dominating yours, your body heats up, his tongue working against yours making you moan softly into his mouth, it feels like electricity shooting through your veins from a simple kiss.

Your now ex?? boyfriend never made your body react this way with a simple kiss. His lips part from yours and he starts nibbling at your throat. “How many times was he inside of you?” He hums against your skin. Your mouth runs dry, “U-uh once”, You hear a hum of satisfaction. Sukuna moves down to your breasts sucking on your nipple harshly, groping and fondling the other one. You feel yourself get damp, slick dripping down your sopping cunt down to your ass. You've never gotten this wet this quickly. You were almost concerned you got your period early from how goddamn soaked you felt. One of his hands goes down, touching your tummy down to your cunt and oh he laughs when he feels how damp you are. “Look at how wet she is” he smirks, his palm cupping your cunt. Your heart stops when you feel something wet and slimy against your sopping cunt. “Relax, it's just a mouth.” He grunts out, putting more pressure against it. You gasp out a moan, your hands reaching out to grip his shoulders.

“L-L-ord- Ah-!” You moan out as the tongue on his palm pushes deep inside of you, bullying its way into you. “Yeah? Feels good, hm?” He says smugly, sitting back on his heels to watch you, he can see your slick dripping down your thighs and making a wet spot on the mattress under you. You feel a knot in your stomach tightening up making you gasp and moan wildly. “S-suk-una-! A-ah! C-clooooosee!!” you whimper out gripping the sheets with a steel grip, your walls clenching around his tongue. Suddenly he takes his palm off of you, “That’s ‘Lord Sukuna’, little one.”, “I-i’m s-sorry!” You say a bit too loudly. You watch as he slips his undergarment down revealing not 1 but 2 thick, long cocks. 

Your eyes widen and your mouth runs dry. “M-my L-Lord I-im not sure i can-” He cuts you off glaring at you, “You will take them.” your heart races. ‘It looks like 1 is painful. How the hell am I gonna be able to take both?’ You think to yourself, your body feels really hot, you're breathing heavily watching his every move; spreading your legs in anticipation. He notices and smirks, he hovers over you propping your legs up to your chest. You are folded in half your cunt in clear view, so soaked with your ass hole in his view too. He takes his top cock and rubs the tip on your slit, bumping your clit, his precum and your slick mixing together. You can hear his cock and your sopping cunt connecting and every move he moves his cock up and down your slit you can hear the wet squelches your cunt makes. 

He starts to slowly push the tip in, immediately the stretch stings from the sudden intrusion. “Calm yourself.” He mumbles but god he won't admit it outloud, your warm wet cunt clenching around his tip makes him want to shove his entire length into you and fill you oh so full of his cum. You nod your head blearily trying to relax yourself as you feel him sink his cock into you. 2 of his arms grip your thighs, pushing your ankles to your head while his other top arms grip the headboard. He thrusts the first few thrusts slowly allowing you to adjust but after that? His thrusts speed up to an inhuman pace, his mushroom red tip slapping against your cervix hard. You don't moan, you scream out from how heavenly you feel right now, if it's possible somehow above that. Suddenly his left top arm leaves the headboard and his palm covers your mouth, a mouth forming on his palm and it shoves its tongue down your throat making you let out muffled moans it greedily swallows. Sukuna looks down and god he could cum right then and there at the sight of your stomach having a bulge from how big he is. When he thrusts in the bulge is right there and when he pulls back to shove his needy cock into you again and again the bulge disappears and reappears with each motion. You feel a knot form and you feel like you're about to explode. You can't even warn him because he has his hand covering your mouth with its tongue down your throat.

Your drenched cunt grips his cock like a vice, your eyes roll back and you sink somehow further into the mattress and you see not stars, pure white as you start shaking from how good you felt. You hear him grunt out a few curses and he fills you to the brim of how much cum comes out. He lets go of your legs and removes his hand off your mouth. With a swift motion he flips you over, on all fours. “We aren’t done yet, brat I’ve got a lot more in me.” He lines up behind you and pushes his bottom cock into your cunt making you moan out in surprise. “T-there's- more-? A-ah!” You whimper out feeling his tummy mouth's tongue licking your ass, the hole specifically. He stills inside of you breathing heavily and his tummy mouth stops dampening your hole, his top cock bumping against your hole making you shiver in anticipation. 

“P-please..you can put it in..” and oh you feel so pathetic for saying that when he smirks and laughs. “Oh? You’re not so scared now, hm? What happened to your complaining, brat?” He mocks, his tip circling your hole. “I-i’m warmed up now- i didn't mean it before- Lord Sukuna..” You add, not wanting to make him mad. You definitely didnt want to lose your head, especially mid fuck. “Mhm, sure little one.” He laughs and starts pushing the tip in making you gasp and cover your mouth, not wanting to be too loud. He sinks his top cock into your ass making your body feel like jelly; your head slumps against the pillow. 

You let out a string of muffled moans feeling him loom over your body as he begins thrusting both of his cocks in each of your holes. God he was going to destroy you. You feel his hips pistoning against yours, pelvis and balls slapping making a lewd plap! Plap! Plap! Each time he abuses your cervix. Both your hands grip the pillow with all your might, “M-my L-Lord-A-ah!” You squeal out as you feel his cocks so deep inside of you. Your eyebrows pinch up as your head’s slumped into the pillow, your body being used like a fuck toy to satisfy his needs. 

You feel that familiar knot in your tummy, hazily you turn your head and look over your shoulder to find Sukuna breathing heavily on your shoulder, cheeks flushed with his lower set of eyes watching you and his other 2 shut. His mouth on his abdomen licks where you're both connected from your sopping cunt and your ass that's leaking with his precum. “Stop looking at me, brat.” He mumbles out, as you go to look away and apologise one of his hands wrap around your neck, not enough to hurt you but just enough to have the edge of your vision blurred. 

“I-I’m-” Is all you get to cough out before you're squirting messily over his cocks. “Yeah that's it, take it.” He grunts out before filling both of your holes, not to the brim but past the brim, his cum leaking out of you as he thrusts sloppily riding out both of your highs. You see white as you shake uncontrollably. His hand lets go of your throat and you gasp for air, suddenly when you think it's finally over it's not. 2 of his arms grip your thighs, the other 2 grab your middle and upper body which makes your body follow his as he lies backwards onto his back, 2 of his hands holding your thighs up to your chest pinning you against him as he thrusts both of his cocks messily into your holes. “H-ah! M-my L-Lord- p-pleaaasee-ah! Ah! Ah!” You scream out as he bottoms out inside of you with every quick, harsh thrust. 

One of his hands snakes down to your clit and a mouth forms on his palm, licking and sucking your clit making you scream and cry out wildly. “S-s-uk-n-ah!” You whimper out, he moans as your holes clench around him, he hisses slightly then covers your mouth with his free hand and a mouth forms on it the tongue, tongue fucking yours making drool from the corner of your mouth drip down to your chin. 

“You’re so nasty, brat” Sukuna hisses out and bites your neck, your moans and squeals muffled by his nasty mouth on his palm. Your body feels limp just sitting there and taking it. You can feel his heavy breaths against your upper neck where he's biting down, your eyes crossed as you mindlessly claw against his biceps. He's beefy. Huge biceps. “What a nasty, filthy, slutty concubine I have. I’d say your village made an exceptional offering.” You feel yourself flush at his words. Right now it feels like his cocks are trying to rip their way to your lungs, his tongue trying to go down your throat, his tummy mouth trying to soak your back and ass and his other mouth trying to bite your clit off. But right now the lines between pleasure and pain blurred the moment he stuffed you full of his cock.

Your puffy cunt and ass squeeze his cocks like you're milking him making a moan slip out of his pink, pouty lips. God youd scream right now if you could but thanks to his tongue fucking your mouth you can only let out muffled guttural sounds. Your stomachs warm tight knot knots up signalling you're oh so close to coming all over his cocks. Your vision feels faint and you feel light headed from the pleasure but youre so close. Your cunt and ass squeeze around his cocks as you squirt again soaking his pelvis and legs, your eyes roll back and the last thing you can feel is his warm cum filling you up once again as you pass out. “Brat, did you pass out?” When you give no answer he lets out a ‘Hmph’ as he pulls out of you, grinning in satisfaction as his cum leaks from your holes, your tummy plump from how much he finished inside of you. 

The sheets are soaked and so are the both of you. He puts a towel around his bottom half as his cocks soften up. “Uraume, take care of her.” He orders out, “Yes, sir” They nod, wrapping you in a towel and taking you to your bed. He hums to himself silently thinking, he’s definitely going to have more fun with you in the future.

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Masterlist<3

[021894s]

THE GIRL FROM THE BAR ⭑ lhs

SYNOPSIS: After a tough workday, you visit a quiet bar to unwind, but are harassed by a persistent stranger. The charming bartender, Heeseung, steps in, defending you, sparking an unexpected conversation. As you connect, you feels your stress melt away, drawn to Heeseung's kindness and charm, setting the stage for a blossoming romance.

GENRE: romance, mutual pining

PAIRING: bartender!heeseung x f!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, smut, unprotected sex, oral (m & f receiving)

wc: 6.5k

It's an unusually quiet Wednesday night when you push open the door of the dimly lit bar. The cool air inside is a welcome contrast to the stifling heat of the summer evening. You make your way to the bar and take a seat, the events of your rough day still weighing heavily on your mind.

As you settle onto the stool, a man approaches, a sleazy grin spreading across his face. "Hey, beautiful," he says, leaning in closer than you'd like.

You roll your eyes, not in the mood for this. "Not happening," you reply, hoping he'd take the hint and leave you alone.

But he doesn't. "C'mon, don't be like that," he persists, his persistence grating on your nerves.

Before you can respond, a voice cuts through the tension. "Pretty sure no means no."

You look up to see a man standing behind the bar, his gaze fixed firmly on the man bothering you. The guy scoffs, looking the man up and down. "Oh, and what are you, her boyfriend?"

His expression remains calm, but there's a steely edge to his voice. "No, but I don't need to be to know how to respect women."

The man's bravado falters, and he mutters under his breath, "Whatever, you weren't that hot anyway," before slinking away.

He turns his attention to you, his features softening into a concerned expression. "Sorry about that. We get the average asshole in here every night."

You're momentarily stunned by his beauty, the way his dark hair frames his face, and the warmth in his eyes, his lean build that wasn’t remarkably bulky, but just enough to make your mind race at the thought of being wrapped in those arms. It takes you a second to find your voice. "N-no, it's okay. Thank you for that."

Heeseung smiles, a genuine and reassuring smile that makes your heart flutter. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

You manage a small smile in return, feeling the tension of your day begin to melt away. "A gin and tonic, please."

"Coming right up," he says, his hands moving deftly to prepare your drink. You watch him, fascinated by the ease with which he works, the smoothness of his movements.

When he places the drink in front of you, you take a grateful sip, savoring the way the cool liquid seems to calm your frayed nerves. Heeseung leans against the counter, his gaze steady on you. "Bad day?"

You let out a bitter laugh. "You could say that. Work was a nightmare. Everything that could go wrong did."

He nods sympathetically. "I know how that feels. Sometimes it seems like the universe just has it out for you."

You raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk on your lips. "You? I can't imagine someone like you having a bad day."

He chuckles, a low, comforting sound. "Looks can be deceiving. I'm Heeseung, by the way."

"Y/N," you say, offering a small smile in return. "So, what brought you to bartending? Surely someone like you has other options."

He shrugs, a hint of a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "I needed a job, and I like talking to people. Plus, it's a good way to pay the bills while I figure out what I really want to do."

You take another sip of your drink, feeling the alcohol begin to take the edge off your day. "And what do you really want to do?"

Heeseung's expression turns thoughtful. "I'm not entirely sure yet. Something creative, maybe. Music or art. I just know I don't want to be stuck in a nine-to-five grind forever."

You nod in understanding, your eyes sparkling with interest. "I get that. Sometimes I feel like I'm just going through the motions, doing what I have to do to get by. It's nice to meet someone who dreams big."

"Yeah, but sometimes you need to take a step back and figure out what makes you happy," Heeseung says, his gaze intent on yours. "Life's too short to be miserable all the time. And you seem like someone who deserves to be happy."

You feel a warmth spread through you, not just from the drink but from the unexpected connection you feel with this charming stranger. You continue talking, sharing stories and laughter, and as the evening wears on, you find yourself feeling lighter, the burden of your day lifting with each passing moment.

Heeseung leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a softer, more intimate tone. "You know, I don't usually see someone as intriguing as you walk through that door. It's a nice change of pace."

Your heart flutters at his words, and you can't help but smile. "Well, I'm glad I came in then”.

By the time you finish your drink, you realize you haven't felt this relaxed in a long time. "Thank you, Heeseung," you say sincerely. "I didn't realize how much I needed this."

He smiles, a genuine, heartfelt expression. "Anytime, Y/N. Sometimes all it takes is a good conversation and a little company to turn things around."

You stand up, feeling a sense of clarity you hadn't had before. "I'll definitely be back."

"I'll be here," he says, his eyes lingering on yours. "Looking forward to it."

As you walk out of the bar, your spirits lifted and your mind clearer than it had been in a long time, you can't help but think about when you'll see Heeseung again.

Over the following weeks, you find yourself returning to the bar with increasing anticipation. Each visit seems to bring you closer to Heeseung, and your interactions grow more flirtatious and comfortable.

Heeseung greets you with a wide grin. “Look who decided to make my night again.”

“Couldn’t stay away,” you reply, sliding onto the stool. “I’ll have a gin and tonic , please.”

As he mixes your drink, he leans in a little closer than before. “You know, you’re quickly becoming my favorite customer.”

“Am I now?” you tease, meeting his gaze. “Does that come with any perks?”

“Maybe,” he says with a wink. “Depends on how many more times you show up.”

Conversation always came naturally in the time you found yourself spending with Heeseung. You’d find out something new about each other every time, like how he actually lived right above the bar. Perks of being close with the owner. It didn’t surprise you, his charms and genuinely good heart making it easy for anyone to love him.

You hadn't realized how much you’d come to rely on your nightly visits to the bar until your job started to get more demanding. The project you’d been assigned had become increasingly complex, with tight deadlines and a seemingly endless series of business trips. Each day seemed to blur into the next, and your usual escape—those comforting evenings at the bar—became a rare luxury.

One particular week, a major client needed hand-holding through a difficult negotiation, which meant back-to-back meetings and a whirlwind trip to a different city. You barely had time to catch your breath, let alone think about your next visit to the bar. The days were long, filled with endless calls and emails, and the nights were spent in sterile hotel rooms, far from the familiar warmth of Heeseung's presence.

As the days turned into a week, you couldn't help but feel a pang of regret each evening. You missed the easy conversation with Heeseung, the way his smile seemed to make your worries melt away, and the genuine connection that had formed between you. You wondered if he noticed your absence, if he missed you even half as much as you missed him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you wrapped up the business trip and headed back home. Exhausted but relieved, you decided to head straight to the bar, your need for familiarity and comfort driving you forward.

As you walked in, the bar was just as you remembered it, but something felt different. The usual hum of conversation and clinking glasses seemed more subdued. You made your way to your usual seat, and there he was—Heeseung, looking up from the bar with a mix of surprise and relief in his eyes.

"Y/N," he called out, his voice warm and welcoming. "Long time no see. I was starting to think ran off with a secret boyfriend "

You smile, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. "oh yeah, couldn’t wait any longer we just had to elope." you joke back “don’t worry though you can still be my lover”

He laughs, the bright smile you missed bringing a smile of your own to your lips. "tempting. you think he’d be ok with that?"

You take a deep breath, his flirty response catching you off guard despite knowing it was coming. "what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” you flash him a smile, “seriously tho, It's been... a lot. Business trips, endless meetings, demanding clients. I’ve barely had a moment to myself."

Heeseung leans on the counter, his eyes soft with sympathy. "Sounds like you could use a drink and some serious relaxation."

"You have no idea," you reply with a tired smile. "I'll have my usual, please."

As he mixes your drink, you let out a long sigh, finally allowing yourself to relax. When he sets the drink in front of you, he doesn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he stays close, his presence comforting.

"So, tell me more," he says, his tone gentle. "What’s been keeping you so busy?"

You take a sip of your drink, savoring the familiar taste. "Where do I even start? This project I’m on has been a nightmare. We had to fly out to meet with a client who needed constant reassurance. The whole team is exhausted, and I’ve been living out of a suitcase for the past week."

Heeseung listens intently, his eyes never leaving yours. "That sounds rough. I’m sorry you’ve had such a tough time."

"Thanks," you say, appreciating his sympathy. "I’ve missed this place. I’ve missed... you."

Heeseung’s smile is soft and genuine. "I’ve missed you too, Y/N. The place hasn’t been the same without you."

You feel a warmth spread through you at his words. "Well, I’m back now. And I plan to make up for all the missed nights."

Heeseung grins. "I’ll hold you to that. You know, I was worried about you. It's not like you to disappear without a word."

"I’m sorry," you say, feeling a pang of guilt. "I should have let you know what was going on."

Heeseung shakes his head. "No need to apologize. Just glad to have you back."

As the evening wears on, you finish your drink, feeling the comforting buzz of alcohol mixed with the profound exhaustion from your grueling week. Heeseung has gotten busier, a rush of customers filling the bar and demanding his attention. He glances at you frequently, concern flickering in his eyes whenever he catches sight of you.

You try to keep your eyes open, but the combination of exhaustion and the alcohol makes it increasingly difficult. You rest your head on your hand, your eyelids growing heavier with each passing moment.

From your spot at the bar, you watch Heeseung expertly handle the crowd, his movements fluid and confident. Every so often, he throws a reassuring smile in your direction, but the bustle of the bar pulls him away each time he tries to come over to you.

Finally, the exhaustion becomes too much. Your head droops, and you find yourself struggling to stay awake. Just as your eyes begin to close, you feel a gentle touch on your shoulder.

"Y/N," Heeseung's voice breaks through the fog of sleep. "You okay?"

You blink a few times, trying to focus on his concerned face. "Yeah, just... tired."

Heeseung's brow furrows as he takes in your weary state. "Why don’t you come upstairs and rest? You’re not driving home like this."

You hesitate, shaking your head slightly. “No, it’s fine. I’ve been up longer before. I don’t want to intrude.”

Heeseung’s eyes soften, his concern evident. “You’re not intruding, Y/N. I insist. You need rest, and I have a spare room. Please.”

"Come on," he says softly, guiding you to the door at the back of the bar and up the narrow staircase to his apartment.

Once inside, he leads you to the spare bedroom and helps you sit on the edge of the bed. "Stay here. I'll get you some water and something for the morning."

You nod, too tired to do much more than mumble a thank you. Heeseung disappears for a moment, returning with a glass of water, a couple of pills, and one of his soft t-shirts.

"Here," he says, handing you the shirt. "You’ll be more comfortable in this."

You change into the t-shirt, the fabric soft and comforting against your skin. Heeseung returns with the water and pills, sitting beside you on the bed.

"Take these," he says gently, holding out the glass and pills. "They’ll help with the hangover."

You do as he instructs, feeling a bit more coherent now. "Thanks, Heeseung. For everything."

Heeseung smiles, his eyes soft with concern and something else you can’t quite identify. "Anytime, Y/N. You know I’m here for you."

You look around the room, taking in the minimalistic decor, the photos of Heeseung with his best friend Sunghoon, and pictures of his family. The personal touches make you feel closer to him, a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

"You really have a nice place," you say softly, feeling a bit more grounded.

Heeseung chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thanks. I’m glad you think so."

As you settle into the bed, Heeseung stands, looking down at you with a mix of concern and affection. "Get some rest, okay? I’ll be right downstairs if you need anything."

You nod, already feeling the pull of sleep. "Goodnight, Heeseung."

"Goodnight, Y/N," he replies, his voice gentle as he turns off the light and quietly leaves the room.

In the darkness, you let out a deep breath, the events of the past week finally catching up to you. But despite the exhaustion, a sense of peace settles over you. Knowing Heeseung is just a room away, that he cares for you enough to make sure you’re safe and comfortable, fills you with a warmth you hadn’t realized you were missing.

As you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but feel grateful for the connection you’ve found with Heeseung. And maybe, just maybe, there’s something more than friendship growing between you.

The next morning, you wake up to the soft light filtering through the blinds, your head surprisingly clear thanks to the water and pills Heeseung gave you last night. You stretch, feeling the comfort of his t-shirt against your skin, and remember where you are. The events of the previous evening come back in a rush, and you’re filled with a sense of gratitude and a hint of embarrassment.

You decide to freshen up, so you get out of bed and make your way to the restroom. Just as you reach for the doorknob, the door swings open, and you find yourself face-to-face with Heeseung, freshly showered, with only a white towel hanging low on his hips. His hair is damp, drops of water still clinging to his skin, and his well-defined torso is on full display.

For a moment, neither of you moves. You’re too stunned to speak, and Heeseung seems equally taken aback. His eyes widen slightly as he registers your presence, and then a slow, teasing smile spreads across his face.

"Good morning," he says, his voice a little huskier than usual. "Sleep well?"

You swallow, trying to maintain your composure despite the sudden heat rushing to your cheeks. "Y-yes, thank you. I was just... heading to the restroom."

He steps aside, still smiling. "It's all yours."

You nod, squeezing past him, trying not to brush against him too much. Once inside the restroom, you close the door and take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. After a moment, you gather yourself and freshen up quickly.

When you step out of the restroom, Heeseung is in the kitchen, now dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, his hair still slightly damp but styled. He’s making coffee, and the rich aroma fills the apartment.

"Feeling better?" he asks, glancing up at you with a warm smile.

You nod, walking over to join him. "Much better, thanks to you."

Heeseung pours you a cup of coffee and hands it to you. "Good. I’m glad. I didn’t want you to go through today feeling like a wreck."

You take the coffee, savoring the warmth. "You’re really kind, Heeseung. I don’t know how to thank you."

Heeseung leans against the counter, his expression thoughtful. "You don’t need to thank me, Y/N. I’m just glad I could help. You work so hard; you deserve to take care of yourself, too."

His words touch you deeply, and you find yourself smiling despite the lingering awkwardness of the morning. "Well, you’ve definitely made a fan out of me. I don’t know what I would have done without you last night."

Heeseung chuckles. "I think you would have managed, but I’m glad I was here. Besides, I like having you around."

You both fall into an easy silence, sipping your coffee. The atmosphere is comfortable, and you feel a sense of closeness that goes beyond the usual bar conversations. It's as if the bond between you has deepened overnight.

"So," Heeseung says after a moment, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Do you have any plans for today, or are you just going to recover from the week?"

You laugh softly, feeling the tension of the past days finally lifting. "I think I’ll take it easy. Maybe catch up on some sleep, watch a movie, and just relax."

Heeseung nods approvingly. "Sounds like a good plan. If you need anything, feel free to hang out here as long as you like. Mi casa es su casa."

"Thank you," you reply, genuinely touched. "I might take you up on that."

Heeseung’s smile widens. "I hope you do."

As you both finish your coffee, the morning sun streaming in through the windows, you realize that this simple act of kindness has brought you and Heeseung even closer. The easy conversation, the shared laughter, and the mutual respect all make you feel incredibly lucky to have found someone like him. Friend or someone thing more.

Heeseung’s expression brightens, and he leans forward, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “How about we make today fun? I know you said you wanted to relax, but maybe we can do something together. It doesn’t have to be anything crazy—just something to take your mind off work.”

You feel a flutter of excitement at his suggestion. “That sounds great. What do you have in mind?”

Heeseung grins. “Well, there’s a little café down the street that makes the best pastries. We could start there and then see where the day takes us.”

You can’t help but smile back, the prospect of spending more time with Heeseung lifting your spirits. “I’d love that.”

As you get ready to head out, you glance around his apartment once more, the personal touches making you feel even closer to him. The photos, the simple decor, everything speaks of the man you’ve come to care about.

Heeseung grabs his keys and turns to you, his smile warm and inviting. “Ready?”

You nod, feeling a sense of anticipation. “Ready.”

The café Heeseung mentioned turns out to be a charming little spot with a cozy atmosphere and an enticing display of pastries. As you walk in, the smell of freshly baked goods and brewing coffee envelops you, making your stomach growl in anticipation.

Heeseung leads you to a table by the window, and you both take a seat. He smiles at you, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “What do you want to try first?”

You glance at the display, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the delicious options. “Everything looks so good. Maybe we should get a few different things and share?”

Heeseung nods enthusiastically. “Good idea. I’ll get us a selection. Be right back.”

As he heads to the counter, you watch him interact with the barista, his easy charm and warmth evident in every gesture. You can’t help but feel a surge of affection for him, grateful for his presence in your life.

Heeseung returns with a tray full of assorted pastries and two steaming cups of coffee. “Hope you’re hungry,” he says, setting the tray down with a grin.

You laugh softly. “I am. This all looks amazing.”

You both dig in, sharing bites and commenting on the flavors. The conversation flows naturally, the ease between you growing with each passing moment. It feels like the perfect way to unwind after the stress of your job, and you find yourself relaxing more and more.

After you’ve sampled nearly everything on the tray, Heeseung leans back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. “That was a good call. I’m stuffed.”

You nod in agreement, feeling content. “Me too. Thanks for bringing me here. It’s exactly what I needed.”

Heeseung’s eyes soften, and he reaches across the table to take your hand. “I’m glad. You deserve to have a break and enjoy yourself.”

Your heart skips a beat at the tenderness in his voice. “Thank you, Heeseung. For everything.”

He gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “Anytime, Y/N. You know I’m always here for you.”

As you both finish your coffee, the café begins to fill up with the lunchtime crowd. Heeseung glances around, then back at you with a playful glint in his eye. “How about we take a walk? There’s a park nearby that’s really nice.”

You smile, feeling excited at the prospect. “I’d love that.”

You leave the café and head to the park, the sun shining brightly and a gentle breeze rustling the leaves. As you walk along the winding paths, Heeseung keeps the conversation light and playful, making you laugh with his witty remarks and stories.

At one point, you come across a small pond with a few benches nearby. Heeseung leads you to one of the benches, and you both sit down, enjoying the peaceful surroundings.

He turns to you, his expression thoughtful. “You know, I’ve really enjoyed spending this time with you, Y/N. It’s nice to see you relax and have fun.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. “I’ve enjoyed it too, Heeseung. You make everything better.”

Heeseung’s eyes hold yours, a hint of something deeper flickering in their depths. “I’m glad to hear that. You mean a lot to me, Y/N.”

Your breath catches at the intensity of his gaze, and you feel a rush of emotion. “You mean a lot to me too, Heeseung.”

For a moment, the world seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of shared feelings and unspoken words. The connection between you feels stronger than ever, and you realize that what you have with Heeseung is something truly special.

Heeseung breaks the silence first, his voice soft. “I’m really glad you came into the bar that night. It feels like we’ve known each other forever.”

You nod, your heart full. “Me too. It was the best decision I’ve ever made.”

The following week, after a particularly easygoing day at work, you decide to stop by the bar for your regular visit. The familiar sight of the dimly lit interior and the hum of conversations usually bring you comfort, but tonight, something feels off.

As you walk in, your eyes immediately land on Heeseung behind the bar. Relief washes over you, but it’s short-lived. Standing in front of him is a blonde girl, effortlessly beautiful, with a radiant smile. She's leaning over the counter, clearly flirting with him.

You freeze for a moment, feeling a pang of something sharp and unwelcome in your chest. Jealousy. It's a bitter taste, one you’re not used to, but there it is, gnawing at you as you watch them. The blonde girl is everything you feel you’re not—gorgeous, confident, and completely at ease.

Heeseung laughs at something she says, and it’s a sound you’ve come to cherish. But hearing it now, directed at someone else, it feels like a punch to the gut. You glance down at your work attire, feeling frumpy and out of place compared to her chic outfit.

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself and walk towards the bar, determined to act like everything is normal. As you approach, Heeseung’s eyes meet yours, and for a brief moment, his smile falters. He quickly recovers, but you can see the flicker of surprise and perhaps guilt in his eyes.

"Hey, Y/N!" Heeseung greets you with his usual warmth, but you can’t help but notice the way the blonde girl glances at you, her expression curious but dismissive.

"Hi, Heeseung," you reply, forcing a smile. You sit down a few seats away from the blonde, not wanting to intrude but unable to completely leave.

Heeseung shifts his attention to you, his gaze lingering as if trying to gauge your mood. "The usual?" he asks, already reaching for a glass.

"Yeah, thanks," you say, your voice coming out steadier than you feel.

The blonde girl pouts a little, clearly annoyed by the interruption. "I was just telling Heeseung about this new club that opened downtown," she says, trying to pull his focus back to her. "Maybe he could come check it out with me sometime."

You feel your heart sink further at her words, but you try to keep your face neutral. Heeseung, however, surprises you. He doesn’t immediately respond to her invitation. Instead, he finishes making your drink and slides it over to you, his hand brushing yours ever so slightly.

"Here you go, Y/N," he says, his voice soft. Then he turns to the blonde girl, his smile polite but distant. "I'll think about it, but I’m pretty busy these days."

The blonde girl looks disappointed but doesn’t push further. She lingers for a few more minutes, trying to engage him in conversation, but Heeseung’s attention keeps drifting back to you. Eventually, she gets the hint and leaves, though not without casting you one last curious glance.

As soon as she’s gone, Heeseung leans across the bar, closer to you. "You okay?" he asks, concern evident in his eyes.

You take a sip of your drink, the familiar taste grounding you a little. "Yeah, just a long day," you reply, managing a small smile.

Heeseung studies you for a moment, then nods. "Well, I’m here if you need to talk," he says, his voice gentle.

You nod, feeling a bit better knowing he cares. The jealousy still lingers, but seeing the way he prioritizes you over her, even subtly, helps ease some of the sting. For now, that's enough.

Over the next few minutes, the bar starts to fill up, and Heeseung gets busier, but he still finds moments to check on you, giving you reassuring smiles or quick touches on your hand whenever he passes by. It helps, but the image of the blonde girl still lingers in your mind, gnawing at your insecurities.

You watch Heeseung work, marveling at his ease and grace. He moves behind the bar with practiced efficiency, chatting with customers, mixing drinks, and flashing that charming smile. It’s clear why people are drawn to him.

“Another drink?” Heeseung asks, stopping in front of you.

“Sure,” you reply, handing him your empty glass.

As he makes your drink, you can’t help but blurt out, “She seemed nice.”

Heeseung glances at you, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Who? Amelia?”

“Yeah, her,” you say, trying to keep your tone casual.

“She’s a regular. Comes in every now and then,” he explains, sliding your drink over. “But I wouldn’t read too much into it. She flirts with everyone.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Everyone?”

“Everyone,” he confirms, his smirk widening. “It’s just her way.”

You nod, feeling slightly better but still uneasy. “Well, she’s really pretty.”

Heeseung leans closer, lowering his voice. “So are you, Y/N.”

You blink, caught off guard by his comment. “I—what?”

“I mean it,” he says, his eyes sincere. “You’re pretty, and you’re interesting. I enjoy our conversations a lot more than random flirtations.”

You feel your cheeks heat up, and you look away, flustered. “Thanks, Heeseung.”

“Anytime,” he replies softly.

Just then, a group of rowdy customers enters the bar, and Heeseung has to attend to them. You take a deep breath, letting his words sink in. It feels good to hear that from him, to know he sees you differently.

As the evening progresses, the crowd in the bar begins to thin out. Heeseung wipes down the counter, glancing at you with a playful smile. He sets down his cloth and approaches you, the energy between you two crackling with unspoken words.

“You know, Y/N,” he says, leaning closer, “I’m due for a break. Mind if I join you for a bit?”

“Not at all,” you reply, your heart racing with anticipation.

Heeseung slips around the bar and takes a seat next to you. He stretches his legs out and leans back, looking more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him while working. His scent infiltrates your nostrils. The cologne he was wearing wasn’t remarkably strong, but it mixed with the scent of fresh laundry and a little sweat. You thought the combination worked quite well. “So, how’s your night going so far?” he asks, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“It’s better now that you’re here,” you say, your voice soft and genuine.

Heeseung laughs, a sound that sends warmth through you. “Glad to hear it,” he says. “It’s nice to get a break and actually talk to you without having to rush around.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” you say, feeling a growing confidence. “It’s good to have some uninterrupted time with you.”

Heeseung’s eyes lock onto yours, and the intensity of his gaze makes your pulse quicken. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week,” he admits. “It’s like the highlight of my Fridays.”

You smile, feeling a thrill at his words. “Really? I didn’t know I had such an effect on you.”

“You have no idea,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone. “I find myself thinking about you more than I probably should.”

You laugh softly, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. “I guess that makes two of us then.”

Heeseung shifts closer, his arm brushing against yours. “You know, Y/N,” he says, his voice husky, “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

“What’s that?” you ask, your breath catching.

“Do you want anything to eat?” he asks, his eyes searching yours.

You feel a little disappointed at his question. You’re not quite sure what you expected but if your were being honest, you were hoping he’d finally ask you out. Moving past the disappointment, you feel a sudden surge of boldness, you lean in slightly, your lips curving into a mischievous smile. “You,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Heeseung’s eyes widen slightly in surprise before a slow, delighted smile spreads across his face. “Is that so?” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement and something deeper.

“It is,” you confirm, holding his gaze.

The playful banter between you intensifies, and Heeseung inches closer, his face now mere inches from yours. “you sure you can handle me baby?” he says softly, his breath mingling with yours.

For a moment, the world around you seems to disappear. Heeseung’s eyes are locked on yours, and you can feel the magnetic pull between you. He inches closer, his breath mingling with yours, and you realize that this moment could change everything.

“Wanna find out?” you ask, your heart soaring with anticipation.

Heeseung takes hold of your hand, leading you through a door at the back of the bar, up a narrow staircase that creaks under your feet. The air grows warmer, and the intimacy of the space makes your pulse race.

Heeseung unlocks the door and pushes it open, revealing a cozy, modest apartment. The soft glow of a lamp casts a warm light over the room, highlighting the simple, comfortable furnishings. It feels like a sanctuary, a place where the rest of the world fades away.

Heeseung turns to you, his expression serious but tender. “I want you to feel comfortable here,” he says. “If at any point you want to stop, just let me know.”

You step closer, reaching out to touch his arm. “I trust you, Heeseung,” you say, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

He smiles, a mixture of relief and desire in his eyes. “Come here,” he murmurs, pulling you into his arms.

The embrace is electric, and you feel the tension between you dissolve as you melt into each other. Heeseung’s lips find yours in a kiss that is both gentle and passionate, a promise of everything you’ve both been yearning for.

He leads you further into the apartment, his hands never leaving yours. The world outside fades away as you step into the intimacy of his space, every touch and whisper drawing you closer together.

Heeseung guides you to the couch, sitting down and pulling you onto his lap. The feel of his body against yours is intoxicating, and you lose yourself in the sensation of his hands exploring your back, your sides, your face.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” Heeseung murmurs against your lips, his voice filled with a raw honesty that makes your heart ache.

“I know the feeling,” you reply, your fingers threading through his hair.

You leaned in and kissed him again. The kiss becoming hungrier, the both of you unfraid to show how needy you were for each other.

You could feel his growing length pressing against your clothed core, the both of you letting out a small moan when you ground your hips against him.

He reached down and pulled up your skirt, slipping his fingers inside your panties and finding you wet and ready for him “shit baby you’re so wet”. You gasped as he stroked your clit, his long, slender fingers applying just the right amount of pressure to get you squirming on top of him.

“shit, seung feels so good” his fingers slide down your folds, prodding at your whole. Without warning he slips one in, that singular finger reaching places you haven’t with your own. “You’re all I’ve wanted since I met you”, Heeseung tells you, his words making you clench around him , “m-me too”. He quickens his movements inserting a second, and then a third, the coil in your lower belly snapping at his “seung im cumming” you hardly manage to get out.

“let go for me baby, show me how good I make you feel” without another word, you’re coming undone.

Desperate for more, you reach to unbutton his pants pulling out his hard dick. It was long and thick. You didnt deem it possible for a penis to be considered pretty, but that’s the only word you could think of at the sight in from of you. You couldn't wait to feel him

“like what you see?” he asks. confidence in his voice, it was a stark contrast from how gentle he was towards you on your frequent visits to the bar. It made him all the more desireable. “mhm more than like”

You wrapped your lips around his mushroom tip and sucked him deep into your mouth. His length being enveloped bya warmth that had his eyes rolling to the back do his head. “shit baby”.

You clench around nothing, the newfound nickname one you never watched to stop hearing.

He groaned and grabbed your head, running his fingers through your hair, gripping it. You could feel him getting closer to cumming, but You didn't want him to just yet. You pull away and His eyes shoot open, looking at you with confusion “are you okay?” you smirk at him, climbing up from your spot and straddling his lap “mhm i’m more than okay”. You guided his dick to your entrance, teasing the tip on your slick. You slowly sank onto his cock, a low groan escaping his throat at the newfound feeling of your tight, wet heat.

“hee” you moaned, digging your nails into his shoulder at the feel of him stretching you so deliciously. “I got you pretty, s-shit you feel so good around me” He smashes his lips against yours, capturing you in a hungry kiss.

He pulls out slowly, whining at the loss, only to let out a loud moan as he slid back in, inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt. He repeated the action several more times until you grew frustrated with the pace. “Hee, please go harder”. At your plea, he snaps his hips forward, faster and harder, making you cry out in pure pleasure.

He grabbed your hips and thrust up into you, harder and faster, “y/n… come on baby cum for me”. You could feel yerself getting closer to cumming. You leaned back and ground your hips against him, rubbing your clit against his pelvis.

“hee i’m so close”. He reached up and squeezed your tits, pinching your nipples “so close, I can feel it”. You moaned, your pussy clenching around his dick. Felling you come undone around his cock, he couldn't hold back any longer. He grabbed your hips and pulled you down, cumming deep inside you. “f-fuck baby. so good”.

You pull yourself off his lap, collapsing next to him onto the couch, He joins you not a minute later, pulling you to him, your heard laying on his chest, hearing the quickened beats of his heart begin to settle down back into their normal rhythm. You lay there, panting and sweaty, for a few moments.

"I’ve been wanting to do that since I first saw you” He confessed. You couldn’t help but laugh at his honest revelation. “yeah well, at least i’m not the only one”, you tell him, a smile spreading across your face, as you look up at him.

He grinned down at you leaning in to press a soft kiss on your lips. "so…" he started as he pulled away, “I don’t want this to be a one time thing… but I also don’t want it to be casual”.

Your heart skipped a beat the moment you heard his confession. You’d fallen for him the moment you met, and the time you spent together did nothing to but increase those feelings. “well it’s a good thing I feel the same way then”, You smile, your big brown eyes bright, filled with promise as you kissed him again. The promise that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

taglist: @chaeyunloveeee @llvrhee @yohanabanana @simplicitysbabe @woorcve @soapsters @hwhjsthetic @iisvlinaiii @jaehoonii @txnwvc @rbf-aceu @vhuteryh @shuawons @tanisha2060 @mheretoreadff @laurradoesloveu @bllueorchid @seungjiseyo @isa942572 @deobitifull @soobieboobiedoobiedaboobie @yjwluvs @penny44224 @yohanseyebrowmole @blockbusterhee @cha0thicpisces @soobnuuy @slut4hee @pprodsuga @ineedsomezzz

[keferon]

The tac net crash chapter is one of my favorites so far~

Ah and. Guess what. I just discovered that including this post, I made 50 pieces of fanart for Mistakes on mistakes until.. I’m so sane and normal about this story can you tell👍

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch4. in a mother’s eyes

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 4/x

ᰔ words. 10k (omg a whole number...very sexy)

a/n. hellooo my ihm friends! hope you're all doing well. ahh i'm glad to finally be posting this chapter lolol. it's a littleee off tangent from what happens in ch3, but still has some important plot developments. it does dive into feelings of depression & anxiety, so just wanted to give a warning on that! but yea other than that i hope you enjoy and see you at the bottom!! :) also so sorry if there are errors i only had time to skim through it once :((

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 (pending)

“Just go ahead and sign right here for me.”

You take the pen from the hospice nurse’s hand. It’s cheap black plastic with a pink fuzzy pom pom attached to the end of it with peeling glue. 

Your eyes briefly flit across the paragraphs detailed in printed ink until your gaze lands on the highlighted lines at the bottom of the page. Your signature. Spouse’s signature.

“We’ll need to have your husband come here to sign the paperwork as well, since he’ll have to add your mother on his list of dependents, but we can certainly get started on expediting this process for you since the insurance has already been pre-approved,” the nurse tells you as she accepts your signed paperwork and then neatly tucks it into one of the compartment holders. 

The afternoon goes by smoothly, with your mother surprisingly patient as she sits in the waiting room while you wait for the nurses to formally show you to her new room.

You thought that you could put off putting her in hospice for a little longer, because in all honesty, you weren’t prepared to let her go just yet. You weren’t prepared to not have her in the house anymore. But lately, she’s been putting herself in lots of danger, like attempting to take her own medications when she does not know the correct dosing, and forgetting things on the stove when she attempts to cook.

But the last straw was when you came home from a very brief run to the grocery store at night a couple days ago to see a handful of your neighbors out on the front lawn with your mother at their side. She had apparently gotten out of the house and walked down the neighborhood, then fallen on the sidewalk but was unable to get up. When your neighbors had found her, a miracle as they were just coming home from dinner and caught sight of her in the illumination of their headlights, they tried to help her get up but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even tell the firefighters that came by to help her what her name was, or what year it was, or where she lived.

It was when you realized you couldn’t even keep her safe anymore that you had to let go.

“Is that a wedding ring?” your mother asks, pointing a trembling finger to it as she lays tucked inside her new hospice bed, “are you married?”

You glance down at the ring Gojo gave you in the courthouse, almost surprised to find that you were still wearing it in good faith. “Yes, mom. I am.”

“Why am I here?” she asks you, “I don’t want to be here.”

You stiffen a little. Although you were mentally preparing yourself to answer these questions, the preparation didn’t make it any easier. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just for a little short while, okay? The doctors want to run some tests on you.”

“Who are you married to?” she asks.

“To Satoru,” you tell her, “our neighbor.”

She lets out a small gasp. “The sweet boy who fixed our A/C?”

You roll your eyes. not sure why your mother has hyper fixated on that memory with Gojo when most days she’ll look at you like you’re a stranger. “Yes mom.”

“Oh, I like him,” she tells you with an affectionate nod. She hesitates slightly, wearisome of some other thought that flashes through her mind. “How long have you been married?”

You let out a small sigh. This is already a conversation you had with her a couple days ago, and it doesn’t feel good to lie to her. It was hard enough to do once, but to have to constantly lie to her over and over again over all the smallest things just so that she stays calm and safe and happy seems to drain you of all your energy and happiness you had left in your bones.

Little white lies, that’s what they are. Harmless ones. That’s what you tell yourself to absolve yourself of the guilt.

“I’ll come back soon, okay? I’ll tell you more about him some other day,” you say to her, speaking gently in the way an adult would speak to a child. The way she used to speak to you. You could never exactly pinpoint when those roles became reversed.

You finish discussing some more insurance matters with the front-desk nurse as she puts together a small folder of documents for you. While she works, you glance at the little counter shelf that includes a plethora of pamphlets on how to deal with the complicated feelings that arise from putting a loved one in hospice care, and dealing with the emotions of having a relative with advanced stage dementia. They are pretty brochures, lovingly creased at the folds as if looked through multiple times by people who walk in and out of this facility, but seemingly only few take them home. You slip one of each into your folder when the nurse hands it to you, manage the best smile possible, and then turn on your heel to head out the hospice doors.

The sun is setting outside as you take the walk back to your car, which was purposefully parked a half mile away to afford you the luxury of a melancholic stroll. Somehow, you feel like you’ve left a piece of yourself back at the hospice. A feeling you can’t quite shake from your bones.

Your feet stop walking somewhere along the sidewalk on their own, the street lights above you flickering brighter into life as the sky is now a dusty gray with only streaks of purple. There’s a liquor store you spot across a small parking lot to your right, and you’re guided towards it, but not without a sickening feeling in your chest.

When you open the door, the bell at the top jingles, and you glance to the right where you see a lanky young man playing some sort of shooter game on his phone by the cash register. You grab a bottle of vodka, a bottle of white wine, some packs of skittles, one of the mini pizza boxes at the hot food station, and then dump it all onto the counter.

The young man scans all your items without even so much as sparing you a glance, but does take a look at your ID, then says, “Total’s $68.65, cash or card?”

“Card.”

Just before you tap your card, something displayed behind the cashier counter catches your eye. Something familiar, something tempting, something you weigh in your head about twenty times within one millisecond all due to the cortisol coursing through your veins and you eventually say, “Uh, and could I get one of those, too?”

The cashier looks behind himself to what you’re pointing at before turning around. “Sure.”

The same jingle is heard on top of your head as you leave the store, now with a burning hot mini pizza box in your hand as well as a plastic bag that carries your candy and the two clinking bottles of alcohol.

“Oh!! omg, y/n,” you hear a feminine voice call out and you’re instantly wincing. The last thing you wanted was to be bothered right now. You just wanted to go home and get drunk and then pass out on the floor of your living room. But alas, the world is small.

You turn around to see Hana come running across the sidewalk lot towards you, and when she’s about a few feet away, she glances down at your hands and all the things you were carrying. You quickly shove your last-minute purchase into your jacket pocket with a shameful conscience, and try to hide the plastic bag of liquor behind your calves. There was no hiding the pizza box, but at least that was the least incriminating.

“Oh, Hana, wow! What a coincidence seeing you here,” you say to her, pressing your lips into a small smile.

“Yeah, I um,” she points over her shoulder towards the hospice that’s standing tall in the darkness of night, cells with windows illuminated with light. If you didn’t know any better, you would think it was a prison. “Remember I told you my friend’s mom is sick and she’s at this hospice?”

“Yeah,” you say.

“I was just visiting her mom with her,” she tells you.

“Aw,” you comment, “I see, I see.”

You adore Hana, you really do. She was there for you when the whole Yuna and Choso thing went down, picking your shifts up for a good week when you couldn’t stomach going into work when your ex-best friend’s stupid face was gloating in the halls over how she stole your boyfriend. Hana was there for you when you were a new hire and all the doctors were being bitchy about a “newbie in the ED”, but she stood up for you, even cussed the fuck out of one of attendings for the whole hall to hear when you were being disrespected by one of them. She’s someone you can beam about how hot the EMT and Firefighter men that stroll into the ED are, too. A priceless companion.

And even though you two have hung out after hours sometimes, it was still always a little awkward to see a coworker outside of work.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“I actually, um, was going to tell you at our shift tomorrow, but I just admitted my mom to the hospice too,” you say, “and…thanks a lot for telling me about it. I really appreciate it. It seems like a wonderful facility.”

Her eyes briefly widen with surprise before they soften once again. “Oh, that’s wonderful, love. I hope all goes well. And your little insurance scam worked! Good for you!”

“Shhh,” you hiss at her, looking around yourself with paranoia, “the feds are everywhere.”

She laughs, sweet in the air, before the sound settles and she looks at you with something reminiscent of well-intentioned concern. Her eyes flit to the plastic bag you were still holding behind your legs. “Hey…um, if…if you ever want some company when you come to visit your mom, just let me know. I hope you know you don’t have to do everything alone.”

You blink at her, sucking in a short breath to respond, but it only leaves you as a slight puff of air. There’s a silent gratitude that you give her, because it’s hard for you to express any feelings with words, but you’ve found that the people in your life who know you best can always read you without them. 

“Thank you, Hana,” you manage to say with a slight croak to your voice because you were fighting back tears.

She smiles at you. “Take care, okay? And see ya tomorroooowwwwww,” she coos at you, coming up to you to give you a small hug, a squeeze of your upper arm, and then she heads back towards the direction of the hospice.

You watch her walk away until you can’t see her anymore. And then you head towards your car.

When you arrive at your neighborhood, you park in front of Gojo’s house. You have a feeling that you won’t be able to bear the vast emptiness of your home now that your mother is elsewhere, and so you drag your feet up the stone stairs of his house with a heavy heart instead.

The spare key that he gave you weakly pushes into the keyhole with about as much force as your fingers can manage, and you realize they almost feel atrophied. 

The house is dark when you step inside, spare for the ambient street lights shining through cracked open blinds on the windows, and the curtains rustle gently from the draft of the AC, a chill that reaches you too by the time you make it to the staircase.

It doesn’t seem like Gojo’s home. A glance at the clock tells you it’s close to 8pm. You briefly consider texting him to ask where he’s at, why he’s out so late, when he’ll be home, and what’s for dinner, but you can’t even bring yourself to pull your phone out of your coat pocket.

Weak legs manage to take you upstairs and you’re about to pass through to your room when the slightly open door to the master bedroom taunts you, like a peephole into some other wordly dimension. Like the wardrobe in the chronicles of Narnia. A portal into your fake husband’s life.

With a palm pushing on the door, you slowly crack it open, and you know the anxious voices in your head are getting worse by the day when the creaking of the door hinges sounds like a lullaby to you. 

Was this an invasion of privacy? And did you really care if it was?

The room is big, with a king sized bed off to the left, sheets neatly made and duvet primly tucked under, like the way hotel beds are set up. You feel a slight flush of embarrassment when you remember you haven’t been making your bed in the mornings for the past couple days you’ve been living here so far, and you wonder if Gojo would judge you for something like that. If he’d think you were a messy or undisciplined person. If he would think less of you.

Truthfully, in a lot of ways, you still felt like a child. You barely weathered a lot of your formative adolescent years when dealing with your parents’ divorce, and you’ve had to put so much of your life on pause to take care of your mom ever since she got diagnosed. So here you were, in the body of a 29-year-old woman, yet still feeling so painfully juvenile. One that forgets to make her bed in the mornings, and on most nights can’t seem to stomach anything other than cereal for dinner. It was like you were still at a party that everyone else had left, except all it ever was is hell. Your life was such a stark contrast to the lives of other adults you’ve come across. The ones that wake up at six to go on runs, the ones that have paid off mortgages with five figures in their retirement accounts, oh god, the ones that meal prep, and the ones that, all things considered, have their lives together. The ones that don’t spend at least an hour of every day, in fetal position on their bed, sobbing until tears soak through the sheets of the pillow down to the feathers like bone, because you’re so overwhelmed with stress and preparing yourself for the grief of losing your mother which you know that, no matter how hard you try to save her from, will inevitably one day come. 

You used to cook dinner every night, make your bed every morning, and go to pilates on the weekends. Back when you were a little younger and healed and excited to live life. But now, you barely get by. Your priorities are with your mother. You can’t remember the last time you did anything nice for yourself, including something as simple as the luxury of getting to come home to a clean house because you hardly ever had time to clean it, not with all the doctor’s appointments you were driving your mother to, not with all the extra shifts you were picking up at the hospital to pay off your debt, not with all the times you felt too depressed to even get out of bed. 

But your mother is in hospice now, so you’ve made time, right? You’ve made the decision that everyone in your life has been begging you to finally do. So why do you still feel so empty inside?

By a quick survey of the room, you notice Gojo doesn’t really have many framed photos hung up on the walls or perched up on surfaces. None, actually. Only a contemporary painting above his bed frame and then a faded vintage horror movie poster plastered up near his desk. Not terribly odd, since in your experience most men don’t really do the whole “cluttering the house with millions of photos of their family” thing until they at least have a couple of kids and some purebred dog. The thought of Gojo someday setting up a little portrait photo at his desk with his wife’s—his eventual real forever wife’s, pretty face in it, posing with their two beautiful kids, makes an oddly melancholic feeling waft through you. You wonder if he would keep a two-by-two in his wallet, too.

Your feet move one in front of the other as your finger traces the surface wood of a dresser cabinet, something that looks a little vintage and oaky, in stark contrast to the modern minimalist vibe Gojo has set up in the rest of the room. A family heirloom, maybe? There’s no dust that coats your finger, which surprises you. If you were to run your finger across your dresser at home you’d have collected enough dust to snort down your windpipes like a recreational drug. But Gojo’s a real estate agent, making a living off of dressing houses up in perfect cosplay so that monetarily stable middle class families feel inclined to buy them. So you’re not exactly surprised he’s invested in keeping his own house in pristine condition too. 

There is a little bit of chaos, though. Like the shirt he has haphazardly hung over his chair at his office space over to the right. There’s a coffee mug sitting there too, porcelain and reflecting the moon light off, but upon peering inside you see that it’s half empty with stale coffee. He’s got pens sprawled across the desk, in a fashion that suggests he accidentally knocked them over in a rush, and slowly, like some grounding exercise, you place them one by one back into the paper mache pencil holder. It briefly occurs to you that he has a lot of paper mache containers of sorts around the house. You lift up the pencil cup, turning it in your hand until your eyes catch something written on it with glittery pink gel pen.

i luv u unkle toru! -yur BEST FREND 4EVUR juno!!! :D

A small smile makes it onto your face. The handwriting was messy, more like scratches than smooth lines, and nothing less than what you would expect of a child. You remember making paper mache and clay trinkets at preschool for your mom and dad when you were younger. And you’re sure if you were brave enough to open the box of memorabilia that sits in your attic some day, you’d see your own scratchy scribbled handwriting on them. An innocence that is long gone and buried, never again to be delicately placed on desks or counters for all the living.

The draft from the AC reaches you once again, brushing over your skin and causing a chill to shiver down your spine. It kicks at the curtains as well, causing them to ruffle up towards you, baring the dark outside world into the streets. And you notice in that momentary glance that there’s a roof just outside the window that overlooks the backyard. A roof? Spotted by a depressed woman going through a quarter life crisis? There was nothing more tempting than that. 

The window was easy to open, which only caused unease over the revelation of how easy it would be for someone to rob this house. You make a mental note to tell Gojo to get a ring camera or security system of some sort since he doesn’t seem to have one, but you can already picture him telling you something about how statistically low the crime rates are in this neighborhood compared to all the other neighborhoods, and then you’d tell him that it’s just for your peace of mind. But whether he’d compromise or not after that, you’re really not sure.

You take a seat on the roof, a little scared as you sit because of the slight slope, but it’s comfortable once you’re settled. You sit criss-cross-apple-sauce, staring out into the neighborhood of perfectly lined up suburban houses. You’ve got a better view into some neighbors' backyards, noticing that a couple of them had pools while some of them have big gardens. There's a cat resting up on a fence in the distance. A car drives by with headlights illuminating everything in its proximity briefly before zooming off. You glance up at the sky, and notice the full moon, but it’s too cloudy to see any stars. Or perhaps it was just the light pollution from the lamps making it difficult to see.

On instinct, your hand reaches inside your coat pocket for your phone, but your knuckles hit something else instead. A moment of brief confusion flickers through your head, but then you immediately recall the last-minute purchase you made at the gas station.

Your hand pulls out the object, and then you stare down at it. Squinting your eyes a little, because it’s a sight that feels familiar but also one you haven’t seen in so long: a pack of twenty Marlboro red cigarettes. 

You’ve tried a lot of things to manage your stress over the years. Excessively working out, eating a lot of sugar, going on six hour hikes to touch grass, flirting with random men at bars, fucking Choso until he was rendered speechless, multiple types of antidepressants, you almost tried smoking weed once with your roommate in college but you wimped out last second. But the habit that had gotten you through the years of 21 to 24 is held loosely in your hand right now. It’s been five years since you quit, but resolve was often a fickle thing. As the saying goes, once an addict, always an addict. 

There’s a brief moment of hesitation as you slowly peel the plastic off of the back, but then it all comes back to you like a reflex you’ll never forget up to where you slide a cigar up out and then pinch it between your two fingers. Forgetting to buy a lighter with the cigarettes is definitely something you would do, but because you remembered it was something that you would do, you remembered not to do it. The flick of the flame coming to life is ASMR you didn’t know you were painfully nostalgic for, and you balance the cigarette between your lips in that sort of movie-star way people used to obsess over back in the day. But just as you bring the lighter up to the end of the cigarette, and just before you can light it—

A hand shoots out in your periphery, grabbing your wrist and entirely stalling the movement.

You gasp, lips parting enough for the cigarette to fall from them and into your lap. The hand wrapped around your wrist is large and masculine, and you briefly consider screaming, but when you snap your neck to look at the perpetrator, you see Gojo crouched down next to you on this roof. You notice he’s wearing a black suit, a tie that was loosely secure hanging from his neck into the space between his spread thighs as he’s crouched, and whatever gel he had in his hair from earlier only barely remains as strands fall over his forehead haphazardly. He looks like he’s on the other end of a long work day. 

You blink at him, expression plastered with surprise, but his is only earnest. With breathtaking blue eyes that you realize he could easily use to surrender a person just by looking at them, like the way he’s looking at you right now. His lips are pressed together into a firm line, as if to suppress some emotion, but the slight crease to his brow makes you feel like you’re in trouble somehow. Like he was silently scolding you for something.

“I—” you stutter.

He lets go of your wrist and discreetly pulls the lighter out of your hand. And then his hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes you were balancing on your knee, but on some reflex that you don’t even think about, you try to snatch them away from him, and now you’re both tugging at the same pack of cigarettes.

“y/n,” he says, “let go.”

“No,” you say stubbornly.

He sighs and tugs a little harder. “Give them to me.”

“But—” you stammer, voice becoming softer to see if that’d work on him, “I’m…” Your grip on them tightens. “I’m stressed.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, then finally loses his patience and snatches them right out of your hand. He stands up from his crouched down position to toss the pack off to the side onto the roof somewhere. You’re surprised when he lets out a sigh and sits down next to you on the roof, as if he felt the obligation to. His legs stretch out in front of him, but still bent slightly at the knees, and he leans backwards with his body weight braced on his palms laid flat on wood paneling behind him. “There are better ways to relieve stress,” he tells you candidly. 

“Like what?” you ask, and just when he opens his mouth to speak, you clarify, “and don’t say sex.”

He shuts his mouth and his eyes flit up to the sky for a brief second. “Damn. I didn’t have a back-up answer.” 

You roll your eyes, releasing a deep breath, then draw your knees to your chest before resting your chin on top of them. 

“I didn’t know you smoke,” he says after a century-long minute. 

You wince a little, because you were half hoping he was going to just drop the subject all together. 

You bite your lip nervously and hug your knees to your chest tighter as if to hide yourself from him. “I don’t. Well, I haven’t. Um, not for a while.”

“Huh. I see,” he says.

Another silence passes, and as he shuffles next to you, the fabric of his suit brushes against the fabric of your coat, and you’ve become entirely too aware of the feeling.

“So,” he says, breaking the awkward silence, “your mom’s in hospice now?”

You nod, enthusiastic enough to where you won’t look like you’re entirely depressed about it.

“That’s good,” he says, “no issues with the insurance?”

You shake your head. “They need you to sign some papers by the end of the week though,” you tell him. “We’ll have to go in person.”

He nods slowly to affirm he’ll make time for it. “I really hope things get better for your mom,” he says, voice soft as he stares off into neighbors homes like you had been doing ten minutes ago. You see the cat that was resting on the fence get up, do a big stretch, and start walking along the length of the fence. Your eyes briefly glance at Gojo, and you notice his gaze is tracing the cat’s path. 

“My—” you start, hesitant all of a sudden by the vulnerability you already feel swelling within you, most definitely due to sitting with someone on a rooftop late at night, but you decide that you’ll be nice to him for once, “…my mom seems to remember you a lot. More than she remembers me.” You let out a small humoring laugh, as if that fact doesn’t completely destroy you. “She was blabbering to me again for the seventh time about how you apparently fixed our AC.” You try to bite your tongue, but can’t help it when you say, “although I’m pretty sure you just pressed a bunch of buttons until it started working again.”

“Yup. That’s exactly what I did.”

You roll your eyes and sigh.

Another awkward silence.

“Can I ask you a question?” you say.

“Sure.” His voice sounds deeper, like he’s sleepy. 

“Why did you agree to marry me? That’s not something people just do out of nowhere.”

He glances over at you, and you flicker your eyes to him. “Why? Having regrets?” he teases, with a slight nudge of his elbow to your side. 

“Just answer me.”

He lifts his palms up from behind him and leans forward, placing his hands on his knees instead. “I don’t know. If something I could do would help someone out that much, I wasn’t going to say no.”

You hum quietly, still confused by his intentions. But you’re too jaded to question them.

“It costs nothing to be nice,” he adds. 

You run soothing circles over your thigh through the fabric of your jeans. For some reason, your mind wanders to Choso. Thinking of all the years you wasted staying with him even though you knew his affections were long gone, just because you didn’t want to break his heart. Only to realize that you never had that privilege in the first place. 

“I think,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper as you draw your knees closer to your chest, “that sometimes it does.”

A gust of autumn wind breezes by, ruffling the trees that the two of you are at eye-level with at the moment. You're pretty sure you’ve completely lost Gojo’s interest at this point, where he’s finally too tired to deal with your oddly cryptic attitudes and overall generally displeasing vibe, assuming this based solely on his prolonged silence beside you. You’re ready for him to get up and abandon you here on this roof, left to ponder every single thing you’ve done wrong in your life. It was any second now.

“Sometimes,” he instead speaks up, and it’s so surprising to you that you jolt a little bit, “you can do everything right, and people will still find a way to fuck you over. But I don’t think that’s any reason to stop being nice to others.”

You glance over at him, your eyes widening slightly, but he just continues to peer off straight into the night. His blinks are slow, lingering on being closed for a moment before he opens them again, and you’re mesmerized by the sight. The skin under his eyes is slightly dark from exhaustion, heavy with character that makes you aware that he’s just a person too. And for what feels like the tenth time this week, you realize that he’s—…handsome. And for what feels like the tenth time this week, your heart flutters in your chest.

He scoffs suddenly and dusts his hands off. “I sound like a fucking youth pastor.” He lets out an exhale before suddenly standing up onto his feet before you can think more on it. He looks off into the night again and lets out another exhale that sounds more like a sigh this time. “God, it’s getting a lot colder these days. Might have to start running the heater.”

You blink up at him with no commentary to add. 

He looks down at you. His face is relaxed, but you can tell those eyes are distracted. A shimmering blue ocean in its own world while he attempts to stay present in this one. 

He holds his hand out to you, and you stare at it blankly like you’ve got no clue what he intends for you to do with it. But you finally take the hint and curl your hand around his palm so that he can pull you up onto your feet too.

You stumble a little, falling forward from the sudden blood flow to your brain, but he holds you steady by the strong grip of his hands on your elbows. He’s close to you, close enough to where you can smell the faint lingering scent of his cologne. Something different than that expensive one he wore to the courthouse, but it’s comforting somehow. A fragrance that’s more him. And you feel nervous as you look up at him underneath pale moonlight. 

He lets go of your elbows. You feel cold from the loss of his touch. But his right hand moves to gently hold your left hand in his palm, holding it curled as his thumb barely grazes the stone you wear on your ring finger; the one he gave you.

The way his thumb prods at the silver band is like he’s inspecting its quality, as if it has to pass some test to be worthy of sitting on your finger. Or maybe just any finger, if you were to quell the delusion. You’re not sure if he’s satisfied with his inspection.

“Where did you get it—” you blurt out.

His gaze flickers up to your face briefly before he’s back to examining the ring. “It was my mom’s.”

Your mouth gapes slightly in shock, heart dropping a little in your chest, and all of a sudden you feel guilty. Guilty that he put his mother’s ring on your finger for something that was fake, something that was essentially a business deal, something exchanged to you out of fraud when it was a precious family heirloom that should be exchanged with love. And maybe he didn’t care about it much, some people don’t care about the sentiments of objects. But your mind thinks of the oaky vintage dresser in his room, so out of place in the aesthetic of its surroundings, a decision you can only imagine him of all people, mr. “everything in this house has to look like an IKEA catalog”, would do if the dresser held some importance to him that was more than meets the eye. And so you’re compelled to think that maybe this ring did, too. 

“Why would you give me this?! You could’ve just gotten a cheap fake diamond ring from a pawn shop and called it a day,” you ask him, suddenly feeling burdened by it.

“Well I wasn’t exactly given much time to think of other options.”

“But—” you start, only to realize you have no counter arguments for that.

He lets out a huh noise, like the sound someone makes when they’re pleasantly surprised by something, as he looks down at your hand that he still held in his. “It’s kinda crazy that it fits you perfectly. I wasn’t sure.”

Your mind wanders to when he slipped the ring onto your finger in the courtroom, followed by the kiss. Soft, sweet, the lingering warm sensation of his palm on your cheek as he cupped your face, the same way those heartthrob actors do in all those romance movies and kdramas that you watch on Friday nights while snuggled up in a blanket, wondering when anyone will ever kiss you like that. You remember the ghost sensation of his hand hovering over the small of your back, fingers lightly grazing the nape of your neck, his frame blocking out everything around you as he kissed you, just to pull away and for the two of you to then pretend like it never happened, as if it wasn’t one of the sweetest kisses you’ve ever known.

You slowly pull your hand out of his, the moment feeling too tender for your liking, and you clear your throat before flitting your eyes up to his. 

“Rule #1,” you remind him with a soft whisper, “no touching.”

You purse your lips, watching his round eyes blink once, then twice, before he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. He rocks back and forth on his heels for a few seconds, nodding slowly in submission, and then he turns on them to head back to the house. You’re standing a little stunned from the abrupt ending to this trance of a moment on the roof, and you’re also a little surprised with how your chest is heaving a little bit with fast breaths, but you eventually snap out of it to follow him inside too. 

You two make it back inside the house, with little words exchanged. You pretend to not notice the way Gojo tilts his head at his desk, like he’s confused about why it looks tidier than when he left it. You’re prepared to feign innocence or ignorance, but he doesn’t press you about it. 

“Y’know,” he says from behind you, his chest briefly brushing against the back of your head as he pushes the bedroom door in front of you open so that you can head out into the loft, “those oversized 1800s-esque nightgowns you’ve been wearing around the house kinda make you look like a less-hot version of Ebenezer Scrooge.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“Sign right here for me, sir.”

You watch as the nurse slides the papers across the high-raised counter of the hospice nursing desk towards Gojo, his eyebrows narrowing as his eyes skim the words on the paper and land at the highlighted lines where he’s been intended to sign. You feel nervous for some reason, as if he’d suddenly find something disagreeable and refuse to sign, then take you to the courthouse first thing to finalize a divorce and send you off to prison while claiming he was blackmailed into the whole marriage in the first place.

Instead, he pulls a pen from the chest pocket of his suit jacket, clicking the end of it and scribbling his signature onto the paper with some jet black ink that looks like it takes a second to dry. How pretentious of him. The pink pom-pom pen was right there.

The nurse behind the counter continues to chat with him about something, blah blah dependents, blah blah tax claims, blah blah you’ll receive an itemized bill in the mail. You’re trying your best to eavesdrop in on the conversation, but most of your senses are being occupied by examining all your surroundings. When you dropped your mother off at the hospice, your feelings were at the forefront of conscience, but now that you’ve had a couple days to come down from that overwhelming emotional high, you’re here to scope out the quality of this place you’ve just dumped your mom at.

The facility is clean and sleek, with a color theme of red and an ocean blue across the signs, the furniture, even with the paperwork they hand out. All the workers had color-coded scrubs based on their occupation or specialty, and none of them had stains on the fabric. You take a glance down at the modest leather pumps you were wearing past the creases of the long skirt, and notice that the floor was shimmering off their reflection in a perfect polish. It wasn’t bad, this place.

“Thanks, you too,” you hear Gojo say to the nurse behind the counter. He has a professional smile on his face, but still kind and genuine, which makes the woman at the computer something bashful and unable to make eye contact. He folds something that looks like a receipt into his chest pocket before tucking his pen back in there too and then turns to face you. You make a mental note to pay him back for whatever he just paid for, at least once you move some money around. 

Your eyebrows lift, feeling a little dazed as you blink at him blankly.

“Alright,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, the sound of his shoes on the polished hospital floors satisfactorily tapping in your ears as he took a couple steps towards you, “where’s your mom’s room?”

“Huh?”

“What’s her room number?” he asks you.

“Y-You wanna go see her??”

“Of course I want to,” he says, “she’s my mother-in-law.”

You roll your eyes and pet the fabric of your skirt to smooth the wrinkles out. “You’re getting a little too invested in this role of fake husband.”

“I get to annoy you all day and ride the adrenaline rush of committing a federal crime,” he says, “of fucking course I’d get invested.”

You sigh, tossing some of your hair to behind your shoulder before glancing up at the signs, squinting slightly to locate the ward where your mother’s room is, before you hear an extremely high-pitched and somewhat catty feminine voice call out from behind you. You glance at Gojo’s face as he peers off to whoever’s behind you, and you see him visibly stiffen a little.

“Is that Dayton county’s sexiest realtooorrr???” the voice purrs, and you turn on your heel to see a blonde bombshell of a woman clacking her kitten heels down the glistening floors of the hospice, with another brunette bombshell just a few paces behind her. Bombshell #2 sighs something like “it issss” before they walk right up to your fake husband and take turns at giving him a playful squeeze of his bicep. You have to physically stop your jaw from dropping at the sight. 

“Wow! Ladies, so–...so great to see you two,” he says out of polite obligation, and you immediately clock the fact that he doesn’t address them by name.

Bombshell #1 turns to look at you, all of her hair moving as one solid entity with the motion from all the hair spray that’s probably holding it up, and she points at you with a long slender finger that narrows into a french-tip. “Oh who’s this?? Another one of your clients??”

“Oh, no, she’s my–”

“I’m his wife,” you interrupt him, irritated for some reason. 

Both the women chirp something out like oh! before their faces twist with confusion. 

“I didn’t know you were married,” Bombshell #2 says in a thick New Jersey accent.

Gojo lifts his left hand up, the silver band on his hand glimmering under fluorescent hospice lighting. “Very happily,” he says, as if someone was holding a gun to his head.

Bombshell #1 crosses her arms, and you try not to stare at how nice her boobs look in the low scoop-neck jaguar print top she was wearing. You were no better than a man. And now you’re pissed off at the idea of Gojo glancing down too, but a flick of your gaze up to his face tells you he’s safe. For now. 

“You weren’t married when I asked you if you were a month ago,” Bombshell #1 sneers at him. It’s true, the math wouldn’t make sense, but in his defense, this marriage was a fraud.

“Or when you took me out for dinner last week after I bought my house,” Bombshell #2 snarls with an undertone of hurt. 

Gojo clears his throat beside you before pointing at Bombshell #2. “How is that, by the way?” he asks in an attempt to change the subject, “the half acre down on Maple Ave, right? You, uh, enjoying the pool?”

The woman let out an offended scoff and–were her eyes sheening with tears?? She puts her hands on her hips. “No. Mine is the three bedroom house with the cedar gazebo on 14th street.”

Her friend next to her rolls her eyes and smacks her gum between her cheek. “I’m the one that bought the half acre down on Maple Ave, jerk. Ugh!” She grabs her friend’s arm with a high-pitched hmph noise leaving her throat, and you can hear the other one sniffling subtly as she wobbles on her heels with her friend’s pull of her arm. 

Right before leaving the two of you alone, Bombshell #1 turns to you and says, “I hope you find someone who treats you better,” and then they storm off together down the hallway, their perfectly blow-dried hair bouncing in sync with each stomp.

You blink at the sight, a little flabbergasted from the interaction, and then flit your faze up to Gojo. You see him awkwardly scratching at the back of his head with a grimace on his stupidly handsome face. 

“That’s what you get for being a manwhore,” you tell him.

“I’m not a manwhor–”

“You went on a date with another woman while you were maaaaarrrieeeddd?!” you coo as you let out a fake gasp and slap your cheeks with your hands, “despicable, really.”

He lets out some disgruntled noise, the source coming from deep within his throat. “No. We weren’t fake-married yet,” he vindicates himself, “and it wasn’t a date. I just bought her dinner as a congrats for buying a house. Not a big deal. I do it for all my clients.”

“Satoru. You do realize you’re leading these women on, right? I mean, I’ve seen the way you talk to them. Even if you think you’re just being friendly, please know that your definition of friendly is most people’s definition of flirting.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s true.”

He raises an eyebrow as he glances down at you. “Alright, how come this flirting in disguise of friendliness hasn’t worked on you then?”

You scoff in disbelief before crossing your arms. Maybe you did deserve a better fake husband. “You’re never friendly with me. You’re always rude to me.”

“What? I’m not always rude to you.”

“Well, you’re certainly much more rude to me than you are to other women,” you say, tapping the tip of your shoe with irritation.

“Can we not do this right now? We’re in the middle of a hospice.” 

“God, you’re such a cop-out,” you mumble as you forcefully push past him towards the hallway that’ll lead you to your mother. You can hear that Gojo’s on your tail, following you down one of the more dimly lit hallways, and you can tell he needs to stall the strides of his Daddy Longlegs to not overtake your pace.

“What the fuck is a cop-out?” he asks you from behind.

“Look it up on urban dictionary, Grandpa. Unless you don’t know what the Internet is, either,” you spat. 

You waltz right up to your mother’s room just in time to see a nurse making her way out with a clipboard in her hands. She glances over to you when she sees you approaching in her periphery.

“Hi! How can I help you?” she asks.

“Is it alright if we visit my mother?” you ask her.

“Oh! Sure, let me just clean her bed pan really quick.”

Your brow furrows. “B-Bedpan?? Why is she using a bedpan??”

The nurse stops in her movements. “Well, yesterday and today, that’s just what she has decided to use.”

You immediately become hostile. “That’s not right. She never needed to use one at home. Why is she suddenly using one here? Is that not a clear sign of deterioration? The restrooms must not be kept well enough here if she doesn’t want to use them.”

The nurse becomes something meek, her eyes widening as her mouth gapes slightly. “Ma’am,” she squeaks out, “we see this commonly with patients as they begin to adjust to hospice life. We’ll urge her to use the restroom, but as of right now, we need to prioritize what she finds most comfortable.”

Your expression softens, your shoulders relaxing from their tense position, and you duck your head a little with guilt. “Right…I’m sorry.”

The nurse presses her lips together with a well-meaning smile before shuffling into the room and closing the door behind her. You sigh and lean your back against the wall next to the number plate, cheeks flushing slightly from the confrontation. You have no idea how loud your voice was or who heard you. But you try to convince yourself that you’re just stressed and trying to look out for your mother, although the guilt still sits.

You glance up to see Gojo staring at you with slightly wide eyes, his hands shoved into his pockets, and he tilts his head to study your expression.

“What?” you snap at him.

“Are you doing okay?”

“Just fine, thanks.”

“Are you sure?”

“Satoru,” you cut his questioning off by raising a palm into the air, “just—…just stop.”

His brow furrows together slightly, but before he can show any further concern, the nurse exits the room and holds the door open for the two of you. 

“All set!” she chirps, and Gojo moves to hold the door open in her stead, and then the nurse bolts down to disappear somewhere down the hallway.

You hear Gojo let out a small huff of a scoff as he stares down in the direction the nurse ran off in. “Glad to know I’m not the only one that’s scared of you.”

You roll your eyes and walk into the room through the open door.

Your mother lays in her bed, looking out the window with her hands resting on top of layers of white linen sheets, her skin looking slightly paler than usual. You approach her bedside slowly and she finally turns her head to look at you.

“Hi mom,” you gently greet her, sitting down on the stool beside her bed, “how are you doing?”

Her eyes dart across the features of your face, and you briefly glance towards the wall to the right where you see Gojo standing from a slight distance.

“Oh, hi dear,” she says with a smile, and relief washes over you.

You match her smile with your own. “Mom, I brought someone here to see you.” You glance over at Gojo, who starts to close distance now as he approaches the foot of the bed, “this is Satoru, my husband.”

Your mother’s eyes widen, “Oh! I know him,” she scoldingly swats a hand at you, like you’ve embarrassed her somehow by assuming that she doesn’t know who he is, “he’s my neighbor!”

You sigh, “yes mom, the one that fixed the A/C?” You attempt to finish her sentence for her.

She looks confused for a moment, but slightly nods as if to avoid any further confusion for herself. “But—…but, why…” she trails off and then looks at you, “I’m sorry, are you my nurse?”

Your shoulders drop slightly. “No, mom, it’s me. Your daughter. Do you remember?”

Her face scrunches before it entirely relaxes to keep some image of composure despite the haze you know she feels in her head. “Oh…yes, yes…my little girl. I remember you, of course!”

Your eyes become layered with a slight sheen of tears, “I’m glad.”

“Where’s your father?” she asks, “he said he’d bring me some…oh dear, what—…he said he’d bring me tea. I’ve been waiting.”

“Mom, dad is—” you pause for a moment to think on your feet. You could either tell the truth, or a little white lie. You never know what to do. And either one comes with either guilt or sorrow. “Well, he’ll be here soon, I just wanted to come see you.”

“Oh okay…” she trails off, her eyes squinting at you once more with that same look of confusion on it, but then they drift towards Gojo. “Oh you’re a very handsome young man! You look just like my neighbor.”

Your eyes flicker up to Gojo, and he walks up to your side by your mom’s bed. “Yes, Mrs. l/n, I am your neighbor.”

“With the lemon tree!”

“The avocado tree,” you correct her with a small sigh. “And he’s my husband mom. And also our neighbor.”

“Oh I see I see…” she says, looking up at him, and in a moment that shocks you, she holds her hand up for him to take.

There’s a slight moment of surprise on his face too, but he accepts her frail hand in his, and you glance over to your mom to see her look at him with some look of peace on her face.

“Oh, sit down here, won’t you?” she tells him, and you both blink at her in a moment of hesitation.

He pulls a stool up to the side of the bed right next to you and takes a seat down onto it. Your mother holds his hand with both of hers now, soothing her palm over the back of it before she taps on it lightly.

“Oh, my little girl is very sweet. She would bring me flowers from the garden when she was,” she glances at you, confused once more, “well I remember her when she was so little but she looks…a little older now. Ah, but she would bring me such pretty flowers.”

Your heart aches in your chest. You never knew what version of you your mother would remember. Some days, you’re still supposed to be an angsty teenager that shuts doors in her face, some days you were just as you are right now, and other days, you were just her little girl. And it confused her, the image of not seeing you in the way that she remembers. In the only way she knew how.

“You’ll take good care of my sweet girl, won’t you?” she asks him.

And it knocks the wind out of you.

It drops your heart to the center of the earth.

The thought that, after so many moments where she doesn’t remember you, she still knows that you’re someone she wants to keep safe.

Your mouth gapes slightly, tears welling in your eyes and you try your best to blink them away, but you see Gojo’s hand slip out from being held by your mother’s hands, to instead use both of his to hold hers. Your eyes snap to his face, and you see that same earnest expression you’ve been growing used to seeing these days. 

“Yes,” he responds, eye contact level with hers, “I will.”

A small puff of air leaves your lips, a single tear streaming down your cheek and you quickly swipe your trembling fingers to remove any evidence of it before you huff out a shaky, “excuse me.” And then you’re standing up off the stool, and in a few hurried steps across the room as more tears continue to stream down your face, you make it to the door to push out into the suffocating air of the hallway.

It’s hard to breathe, huffs and puffs barely leaving your lips as you struggle to pull air into your lungs while you storm down the hallway at a fast pace, your heels clicking underneath you in a way that only sets you off further. Suddenly, all the sounds around you make you sick to your stomach, a wave of nausea washing over you, and your nose burns with the intensity of the tears that continue to stream down your face. A few hospice staff look at you with concerned expressions, and you eventually reach a heavy-duty door that leads you out into a secluded staircase hallway where the dim lighting serves to relax at least some of your senses, but you still feel like you’re about to pass out.

Even in the haze of your emotions, there’s this glimmer of a memory that comes to mind. One from when you were younger and you were pushed on the playground at school. You cried and cried and cried in your mother’s arms, but even then, you didn’t want her to baby you. You would say to her, I’m a big girl now! in that same way a child knows nothing of what it truly means to brave the world. 

That little girl had no idea that one day, there would be moments where she wouldn’t be remembered as her mother’s little girl anymore. 

No matter how old you grow, you will always be my little girl, your mother’s voice echoes to you, the feeling of her squeezing you in her arms as she holds your sobbing little form in hers casting a ghost sensation across your skin.

In a mother’s eyes, you’ll always be her baby.

And that’s why it hurts.

Because it’s all fake.

It’s phony.

It’s not real.

This arrangement you have with Gojo.

And if your mother were to die tomorrow, there would be no one to take care of her little girl anymore.

Not in the way she believes there will be.

Of all the white lies, this one pierces you straight through your heart in a way that leaves you gasping for air.

Amidst your whirlwind of thoughts, you hear the door push open harshly, and when you glance over, you see Gojo standing in this dimly lit hallway as he turns his head quickly to the left and sees you standing there.

“Hey,” he says, catching his breath as he lightly jogs up to you, “hey, hey, hey,” he repeats with more concern now when he sees the state you’re in, and he seamlessly pulls you into a hug, your cheek pressing against his chest that feels warm even through the fabric of his suit jacket and shirt, and that familiar scent of him completely engulfs you.

You sob quietly, wiping your snot on his tie and your tears on the felt fabric beside it, your hands balled into tiny fists at your chest, squeezed between the two of you. You feel him tuck your head under his chin and his arms wrap around you tighter. You don’t even realize it at first, but suddenly, it has become easier to breathe.

Then, you wail, and you cry, and you sob, because you don’t have the words to even explain how you feel, about not just this, but with everything, a buildup of everything that has been suffocating you in your life that just comes crashing down on you all at once.

“I know,” he says, his palm resting on the back of your head as he holds your face to his chest, his voice soothing in your ears while you sob until there’s nothing left to cry. “I know.”

You two stay like this for another minute or so as you come down from the cries, your remnant sniffling echoing in the hallway while you wipe more of your snot on his jacket. You make the first move to pull your face away from his chest, but he still keeps his arms wrapped around you when you look up at him.

With your gaze darting across his face, you take in the blue in his eyes. Eyes that are looking at you so softly it’s suddenly hard to breathe once more. And when those eyes flit to your lips, your mouth parts slightly as you two breathe in unison.

It’s possible that you could have dreamed the moment you saw him lean down slightly towards you, his eyes still set on your lips, but it didn’t matter because you’re pushing him away with strong fists before you can even register the thought in your head.

He lets go of you entirely, his eyes wide once more, and you glance down at your feet. 

A tender moment, just like on the roof, broken just because you can’t handle that—…that way, that intense way that he looks at you. New rule, no looking at me longingly like you want to kiss me. I won’t allow it.

“I want to go home,” you whisper, still examining your shoes. And you suddenly feel embarrassed that he had to see you this way. He’s supposed to be scared and intimidated by you, not holding you in his arms while you cry. 

He’s silent for a moment, but you can tell he’s searching for things to say. “You don’t want to say bye to your mom before we go?”

You swipe your palm against the wetness on your cheek. “No. I just want to go home.”

“y/n,” he tried to convince you.

You finally look up at him. “Please.”

He breathes in a few breaths as he studies the features of your face in a way that makes you feel so seen that it’s frightening. But he slowly nods, then says,

“Okay.”

.

.

.

.

.

[end of chapter 4]

a/n. hi friendsss i hope you enjoyed :'') yea like i said at the a/n in the beginning, this chapter is a slight off-tangent from last chapter, but ch5 will continue with a lot of the stuffs that were brought up in ch3. but yea i wanted to explore the whole process of emotions reader would go through putting her mom in hospice, since it kinda felt like a big thing, hence why it got its own chapter. aaa i hope to see you in the next one!! much love from me :''0

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[sweetteainthesummerx]

wrapped 'round my finger !

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

pairings: quinn hughes x best friend!reader, quinn x sunshine!reader

warnings: angst and comfort, fluff, smut, fem!reader is described as smaller (shorter?), and swearing.

summary: you're the sweetest thing on planet earth, but you have terrible taste in guys. however, you've got the captain of the canucks wrapped around your pinky. too bad you don't see him that way...right?

trope: best friends to lovers, idiots in love, grumpy x sunshine, whipped boyfriend

word count: 1.3 k

notes: princess treatment is WHAT EVERY GIRL DESERVES!! also I just love quinn hughes :) happy reading!!

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

bsf! quinn hughes who absolutely is wrapped around your finger. he loves you so freaking much and he's so in love with you it's all over his face. bo and millsy take turns making fun of him, while petey watches his lovelorn expression with a teasing grin.

bsf! quinn hughes who treats you like a princess: he's always giving you his jacket when you pout because you're cold, even though he already told you to bring a sweater. he's always opening doors, cans of soda before he hands it to you. he grumbles when you flutter your eyelashes at him, but flushes pink anyways and does what you want.

bsf! quinn hughes who doesn't let you lift a finger when you're together. he does everything for you, because you deserve to be taken care of.

bsf! quinn hughes who has to watch you date guy after guy, something sour and heated twisting in his chest because they can't treat you right like he does.

bsf! quinn hughes who finally confesses his love for you after you complain about a guy who left you at the restaurant to pick up a package during your date, because he's so fucking fed up with you being unhappy and the fact he can't kiss you like wants to.

bsf! quinn hughes who kisses you hard and rough as you whine into his mouth and clutch at his shirt while he grips your hips hard enough to leave a bruise.

bsf! quinn hughes who doesn't let you go, instead picking you up and (gently) tossing you on the bed. he crawls up to lick into your mouth one more time before going down on you.

bsf! quinn hughes who's totally a munch, but only for you. he keeps going even after you cum all over his face twice. you're grinding against his nose, as he murmurs "just one more". you're all teary and fucked out, but he pulls two more orgasms from you: one with his fingers and the other with you canting you hips on his thigh.

bsf! quinn hughes who groans and throws his head back when he finally pushes himself into your heat, after you tell him you're on the pill. you feel so much better than his hand during roadies where he moans your name to find release. you claw at his back, grabbing at his biceps as you call his name. he wants to swallow you whole.

bsf! quinn hughes who has dreamed of you on your back in his sheets, your manicured nails scraping his scalp as he ruts into you. the pleasure is almost unbearable, and he shudders all over. he has one forearm above your head to hold his weight, the other pressed on your belly where he can feel himself moving within you.

bsf! quinn hughes who marks up your neck as you whimper and mewl at the overstimulation, trying to wiggle away. he mouths at your pulse, relishing in the way it thumps loud and fast.

bsf! quinn hughes who grunts and almost comes when you lock your legs around his waist, whining for him to fuck you harder. he grabs your chin so you can watch as he lifts one of your knees over his shoulder, both of you rolling your eyes back at the new angle.

bsf! quinn hughes who is enraptured as you come on his cock, crying and pulling him close. he murmurs, "good job, baby. that's it. ride it out". you finally settle down as he rides out your high as long as possible.

bsf! quinn hughes who is still incredibly hard and pent up, but your hole is too sensitive. he's ready to take himself in his hand, except you flip yourself over onto your tummy, tucking your chin over you shoulder with your ass in the air, all tired bedroom eyes and mussed hair. he tells you you're perfect as he fulfills another of his wet dreams. he makes a mess of you, and presses his lips to your spine as he finally releases.

bsf! quinn hughes who holds you close in the shower, as you give slow, languid kisses to his chest.

bsf! quinn hughes who asks you shyly to be his as he cuddles you to sleep from behind. you tell him yes, flipping to shove your face into his neck, hiding your massive grin. he smiles: he finally got the girl.

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

bf! quinn hughes who is way more publicly affectionate with you than anyone has seen him be, especially after you guys finally get together.

bf! quinn hughes who becomes so clingy that even his brothers cringe at the way he becomes an absolute baby when you enter the room.

bf! quinn hughes who loves being cooed and fussed over. he loves when you feed him after a long game, eating straight from your fingers as he leans back on the headboard of your shared bed as you sit on his lap, pushing bites of food past his lips.

bf! quinn hughes who is so proudly a loverboy. he always has to have a hand on your back, an arm around your waist or shoulder. petey jokes that his eyes are practically magnetic to you.

bf! quinn hughes who's not that tall - especially since he's surrounded by other bigger hockey players - but you make him feel like the biggest man in the world. you always tuck your tiny hand into the crook of his elbow, clinging to his bicep as the two of you walk in public. he loves how you need to tiptoe and tug him down to kiss him, despite the neck pain.

bf! quinn hughes who loves to toss you around like a ragdoll, safely, of course. he loves to manhandle you: throwing you over his shoulder playfully and slapping your ass as you shriek, swatting his broad back. he picks you up like you weigh nothing to plop you down on the counter to hear you yap as he makes breakfast. you climb him like a tree when there's a spider in your en suite bathroom.

bf! quinn hughes who loves seeing you wear his clothes, because you look so cute drowning in his hoodies. his favourite thing to come back home to is you wrapped up in one of his jersey's - a warm flush pleasant over his skin because you're wearing his last name so proudly - and a home cooked meal after a hard game.

bf! quinn hughes loves to make you laugh, and will talk hours with you even though he has a hard time opening up to anyone else. he also loves listening to you talk, because you're just so kind and good to everyone, and it shows through the loving way you speak.

bf! quinn hughes who loves when you compliment him. a "good job, quinny. you played real good today", or a "thank you for dinner, baby" or even "please don't shave your playoff beard! you look so handsome" gets him all hot and bothered.

bf! quinn hughes who for sure has a captain kink. it's a heat of the moment thing for you, when he's got his face tucked into your neck as he grinds down into you, and you mewl his name along with his title. he stops, and you slap a hand over your mouth in embarrassment. he tugs it off, teeth scraping at your jaw as he tells you to say it again.

bf! quinn hughes who is bossy - in bed and out - and you love it. you love when he tells you to dress nice for a date to your favourite restaurant, who orders your food for you because he already knows what you want, who tells you to buy something pretty with his credit card because he can spoil you that way.

bf! quinn hughes who just loves you so much!!

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

© sweetteainthesummerx.tumblr. all rights reserved. unauthorized copying, translation, or claiming of my writing or any works as your own is strictly prohibited.

[jesuistrestriste]

art is the MESSIEST kisser ever like if u make out his spit is literally everywhere. like he'll kiss u on the mouth then keep on kissing ur neck but w the wettest kisses ever. and i JUST KNOW he def drools. like when u give him head and his head is resting against a pillow, he's so lost in it that he can't even think. like the only thing he can do anymore is whimper and moan like a little bitch. and when u look at him u see him drooling all over the pillow😭

art donaldson has a messy mouth. he drools when it feels too good, he kisses with almost too much tongue when he's desperate, and his warm, eager lips are always on your skin whenever he gets a chance to touch you properly.

he practically salivates like a thirsty puppy on a hot day. it pools under his tongue whenever he catches a glimpse of the more intimate areas of your soft skin; the nape of your neck, your stomach, your inner thighs. and he has to try desperately to swallow it down when you two are in public and he can't get his lips on you.

the first time you and art made out, it was very sloppy. you thought this mightve been a result of minor inexperience on his part, or nervousness, or excitement, so you let it happen. you let him moan into your open mouth and grab at your shirt while he slid his pink tongue over yours. you let his sticky saliva mix with yours as your mouths mashed together. you let him kiss you and kiss you and kiss you until he came in his pants.

the whole ordeal lasted about 7 minutes.

after that, you had assumed that—in time—he'd get more reserved with his mouth as you two continued to be intimate.

but this didn't happen.

if anything, he only got more comfortable with you, and thus only became more orally-fixated and messy with his mouth.

he liked to suck on your fingers during sex.

he liked to slather your arousal with his spit when he went down on you.

he liked to kiss you wetly all over your body before bed.

he liked yearned for it all.

when you'd give him head, your slick lips bobbing over his tip and swallowing salty dribbles of precome, he'd drool all over whatever was near his mouth. it was just too hard to focus on not drooling when the warmth of your tongue got him close so fast. his eyes would get lidded and his knees would grow weak and his mind would turn to mush the second you started to blow him. sometimes you'd have to hold his hips to keep him steady. he was very predictable.

one thing you two like to do together is have art get on all fours on the bed, knees spread apart with his cock hard and hanging between his thighs. his hands will go up and squeeze onto the pillows as he lowers his head and lets you jerk him off.

it’s kinda demeaning, in a way; being milked like a cow.

but you like doing it to him, and he likes whatever you like, so he loves this.

when your hand starts to stroke his cock, strings of pre leaking from his slit, his arms will usually start to shake. it'll start at his shoulders, and then go down to his elbows, and then end when his wrists can't hold him up anymore. he'll let himself collapse down onto the cushions without more than a whine of protest and a renewed tint of pink across the bridge of his nose. his head will lay on one side of his face, his lips parted to let out whimpers and whines as his hips jolt, and then it’ll start.

he’ll drool.

all over.

down the side of his face, over his bottom lip, down his chin. it all happens depending on how his head is positioned. but he always, always, always slobbers on the pillow a little.

just as his eyes start to roll back, and his pelvis starts to shallowly move to thrust his cock into your moving grasp, his sweet and sticky saliva will dribble down his face someway and soak into the pillowcase.

he can't help it.

because, again, you make it hard to pay attention to anything other than how good you make his dick feel. it throbs in your hand.

when you catch a glimpse of his drooling, you usually smile and speed up your touch.

"Art, baby-" you'll coo to him, "drooling."

and he'll know right away what you mean.

"Anghh— feel s'good, s'good— 'm sorry, 'm sorry," he'll inevitably slur.

he'll try to wipe it with the back of his hand, but he's usually shaking too much for that to do much of anything. it more just smears the transparent fluid across his flushed face.

slurp. wipe. whimper.

a few more strokes of your hand, and a thumb pressed right under his cockhead, is all he needs to let go after that point.

his eyes will roll back as he cries out and bucks into your fist, shooting and coating the bedding underneath with his load. he'll tremble and whine until his hands grasping at the sheets below have the instinct to fly between his legs and stop the overstimulation. you generally let up soon after he makes that known.

after you clean him up and ease him into bed, he'll make sure to kiss you goodnight. and it's messy and needy and a little bit too much, but you let him do it anyways. he's eager to please, and he's eager to show you how much he appreciates the way you take care of him. he’s just eager.

maybe one day you'll get sick of how much tongue he uses when he kisses, but you doubt it. it’s just so perfectly him.

[stervrucht]

“We need to defrost the freezer,” Steve tells Eddie when he walks out carrying a tub of ice cream.

Eddie sighs, head resting on his hands while he overlooks the empty shop. “I wish someone would defrost my will to live.”

Steve finds it funny. In a guilty snort sort of way, because Eddie’s jokes are kinda dark and he isn’t sure if he’s supposed to laugh. But yeah, working at Scoops is a drag at times, and Steve understands it at some level.

It escalates from there. 

Steve will tell Eddie they’re out of hazelnut ice cream, and Eddie will get a look on his face that doesn’t promise anything good.

“I’ll hazel your nuts.” Eddie cocks his head, staring at him in that ridiculous sailor uniform with mischief painted on his face.

“What the hell does that even mean?” 

Steve tries to pretend he’s weirded out, but when Eddie laughs at him like that, Steve can’t help but crack up as well. 

But that’s the normal stuff — because sometimes Eddie’s comments are hard to play off, and Steve doesn’t really know whether he’s joking at all.

“Morrison really fucked us over with the new schedule.” Steve frowns at the paper on the wall because they got like four evening shifts that week, including Friday and Saturday, and it’s messing with his dating life — even though that’s barely hanging on by a thread right now.

“I wish you’d fuck me over,” Eddie says as he cleans the glass display window with lazy motions.

It makes Steve stop in his tracks; makes his mouth run dry and his heart rate pick up. But Eddie just stares at him, same smile as always, waiting for Steve to shoot something back.

“Maybe I should.” The words are out before he knows it and Steve feels a little mortified by how much he meant it. When he looks over at Eddie, his lips are slightly parted, cheeks a little red, and the hand cleaning the window has stopped in its tracks.

Steve thinks that maybe Eddie meant his words as well.

[ellecdc]

so what if im ovulating 🙄 doesnt change anything

anyways closer to a full moon remus would be so mean and rough and sirius would have to be the one thats soft with you and praises you and its such a 180 it makes you feel even dizzier than you were already feeling, hed coo and tell you how “youre doing such a good job for our moony, sweet girl” and remus would just be grunting “mine mine mine mine”

ive not rly studied for my exam do u think theyd pass me if i wrote this instead? xoxo

....... I'm not proud of this.......

wolfstar x fem/afab!reader close to the full moon (nsfw, 18+)

CW: pure filth, 100% smut. little fluff in the aftercare. p in v sex, cumming inside someone, over stimulation, slight subspace mention (?), slight dom/sub dynamics if you really squint and look at it sideways, writer is still new to writing smut and not well versed so be nice

There were quite a few things that Remus and Sirius had in common.

They were both very mischievous, they were both funny and teasing, they were both very protective and possessive, and they both seemed crazy about you.

But there were also a lot of differences between your two boyfriends. 

Remus was calm and assured; he was your rock and safe space when life got crazy. He was the good cop to Sirius’ bad cop, he was always down to leave the party early, and he was so incredibly soft with you.

And Sirius, whilst soft on you, was rarely ever soft with you. He was boisterous and excitable; always down for fun and adventure. He was quick to anger but just as quick to fold when your lip wobbled or you bat your eyelashes at him, and he knew how to push all of your buttons like a professional pianist’s fingers dancing along the keys of your soul. 

And it was because of this that you found your current predicament quite contrary to the norm (and thus, so much hotter). 

“I…I can’t, I can’t.” You cried breathlessly; currently held upright by a strong arm around your ribs and another hand gripping your neck.

The only response you got from the boy behind you was a low grumble as he tightened his grip on you and thrusted into you with new vigor. 

“Can you give Rem one more, sweetness?” Your usually very brazen  boyfriend murmured softly, pushing some of your sweaty  hair away from your face so he could see you. 

You keened and shook your head as you felt Remus move his hand that had been roughly gripping your waist down to your clit; every muscle in your body strung taut in response. 

“She’s close.” Remus gruffed from behind you before replacing his teeth gently into your neck.

“Are you close, sweets?” Sirius confirmed. 

It was too much, too much. You were very quickly reaching your… (third? Fourth?) orgasm of the evening and you weren’t even sure you’d been going at it for that long. 

Sirius was in much the same state, currently soft and satiated below you where he’d just spilled down your throat before you were pulled back up vertically to the sound of steady chants of “mine” by Remus. 

That had been his third of the evening too. 

“You’ve been so good, baby; so good for our Moony, yeah?” He cooed at you softly as he sat up. You felt tears form in your eyes as Remus shifted you in his grip so that your knees were barely touching the bed any longer. 

“Tell her she’s been a good girl, Moons.” Sirius encouraged gently, taking your hand in his that you quickly held in a death grip.

“S’good.” Remus nearly growled behind you. “My perfect girl.”

You cried out as you felt yourself fall over the edge one last time, tears falling down your cheeks as Remus fucked you through it.

Remus shifted his hands again to grip each of your wrists behind your hips and let your torso fall forward into the bed as he sped up his already merciless pace into your sopping cunt; the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing against the walls of the room. 

You felt Sirius’ hand push hair away from your neck and rub a thumb against your temple. 

“Gonna fill your good girl up, Rem?” He purred to your boyfriend.

Though you couldn’t see it, you could hear the two of them share a deep kiss which never even slowed Remus’ thrusts. 

“Mine.” Remus repeated as he pulled away from Sirius.

“All yours, Moony. Show her how much you love her, hm?”

And with that, Remus’ thrusts stuttered before he was spilling deep inside of you.

He came with a sound that bordered a whine and a growl as he fell forward; his body blanketing yours and burying his face into your neck as you both fought to catch your breath.

You’re not sure if you had fallen asleep, but the next thing you knew you could feel gentle kisses being pressed to your shoulder as Remus pulled out of you as gently as possible; with how oversensitive you were, it still caused you to hiss.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, dovey.” He whispered; pressing more kisses to your neck. “Are you sore?”

You whined in response and tried to shove your face further into the bed.

“Talk to us baby, are you okay?” Sirius added, appearing beside you and encouraging you to face him.

“M’Okay.” You mumbled, staring what you were sure was rather dopily at your long-haired boyfriend.

“I think Pads ran you a bath, sweet thing.” Remus murmured quietly, rubbing soothing strokes up and down your spine from behind you. “You feel okay to get up?”

“Yeah.” You sighed, though made no movements to rise from your current horizontal position.

You heard Sirius chuckle but Remus made a sympathetic cooing sound. “I’m so sorry, dovey. Are you sore?”

“No. Just sensitive.” You grumbled as you pushed yourself up to sit back on your ankles. “That was a lot.”

Remus sighed and brushed some hair away from your face. “It was a lot, but was it too much?” He clarified; tone inlaid with a subtle vulnerability completely at odds with the relentlessness he’d just treated you with.

“No.” You said as you offered him a sleepy smile. “Not too much.”

“I, for one, had a ton of fun.” Sirius said with a clap of his hands, causing Remus to snort a laugh.

“Yeah I bet you did.” He responded teasingly. 

“Wanna take a bath, princess? Go pee and then you can climb in with moons.” Sirius instructed as he helped you stand up on slightly wobbly legs. 

“No, she can climb in with you.” Remus argued. 

“Why would she climb in with me? I ran the bath for the two of you.”

“I was the one who took things too far, so-” Remus started, causing both you and Sirius to squawk in protest.

“She just said it wasn’t too much.” Sirius drawled. “Let me take care of you guys!”

“No!”You listened to the two boys argue over who got to perform the aftercare for the other (and thus, who loved each other the most, according to Sirius) as you went pee and then sunk into the perfectly drawn bath alone.

[capquinn]

In Between | Q. Hughes

summary: your friendship with quinn is slowly transforming. there is an unspoken tension and feelings that simmer beneath the surface, keeping you on the edge of friendship and something more. the in-between is where you both linger, uncertain yet drawn to each other. based upon the song in between by gracie abrams [request] pairing: reader x quinn hughes content: friends to lovers, mutual pining, bit of fluff, easy reading word count: 4.9k ↪masterlist

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Quinn has felt it for a while, though he’s tried to push it aside. It’s subtle at first — small changes in the way he anticipates your messages, the way his heart skips when his phone buzzes, hoping it’s you. He finds himself checking his phone more than usual, almost unconsciously, just to see if you’ve sent something. And when you haven’t, there’s that quiet ache in his stomach, a flicker of disappointment that he tries to ignore. It’s ridiculous, he tells himself, we’re just friends. But the more he talks to you, the more he’s beginning to realise that, whatever it is, feels different.

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"I just can't come between 'em, they got their own thingI wish he'd stop pretendin', he won't let his phone ringFor more than a couple seconds, oh, I think maybe twoTwo hearts just fallin' in and out of love for somethin' new"

Quinn’s back home for the summer, a rare stretch of time when he’s free from the constant grind of the season. His brothers are sprawled out on the living room floor, teasing each other as they dive into a game of cards. It’s loud, it’s chaotic, and it feels like home. He loves it — this easy, familiar rhythm of being back with his family.

His phone buzzes on the coffee table, cutting through the noise. He glances at the screen and, without hesitation, picks it up. Your name flashes across the screen, and there’s no delay in his reaction — he’s quick to answer nowadays, barely letting it ring twice, his voice immediately softening as he presses the phone to his ear.

“Hey,” he says, and the easy grin that spreads across his face doesn’t go unnoticed by his brothers.

Jack and Luke exchange a knowing glance. It’s subtle, but it’s enough. They’ve seen this look before. The way Quinn’s whole demeanour shifts when he’s talking to you, how his voice drops to that soft, relaxed tone that only seems to happen when you call and a beaming smile that reaches his eyes. 

“Everything okay?” Quinn asks, his attention fully on you, completely oblivious to the smirks forming on his brothers' faces.

“Yeah, just wanted to check in,” you reply on the other end, your voice a little muffled, but he hears the warmth in it. “You doing anything important?”

Quinn leans back in his chair, ignoring Jack’s playful elbow jab as Luke mutters something under his breath that he chooses to ignore. “Nothing important. Just hanging out.”

Since Quinn has been away, you’ve been in more contact than usual; trying to stay connected despite the distance. Calls that stretch late into the night and texts exchanged throughout the day. What were once quick updates are now filled with small, meaningful details and random moments from your day, like you’re inviting him into your world. At first, it felt casual, like old friends catching up but somewhere along the way, it all started to feel different — more intimate and filled with silences that seem to say more than words.

The conversation flows easily, the kind of back-and-forth that’s always existed between you two. You talk about the little things in your day, sharing stories, inside jokes, and quick laughs that come effortlessly, just like always. Quinn’s responses are natural, his voice relaxed, his words flowing without hesitation. It feels familiar, comfortable — like home. But there’s something more beneath the surface now. 

Quinn has felt it for a while, though he’s tried to push it aside. It’s subtle at first — small changes in the way he anticipates your messages, the way his heart skips when his phone buzzes, hoping it’s you. He finds himself checking his phone more than usual, almost unconsciously, just to see if you’ve sent something. And when you haven’t, there’s that quiet ache in his stomach, a flicker of disappointment that he tries to ignore. It’s ridiculous, he tells himself, we’re just friends. But the more he talks to you, the more he’s beginning to realise that, whatever it is, feels different.

He’s trying to pretend it’s just the distance. It’s easier that way, less complicated. You haven’t seen each other in a while — of course he misses you. That’s normal, right? It’s been months since he’s been in the city, and he hasn’t had the chance to hang out with you like he used to. That’s all it is, he tells himself. He’s just missing his friend. But deep down, he knows it’s more than that. This longing he feels isn’t just about the physical distance between you; it’s about the emotional closeness that’s been growing steadily with every call, every shared laugh, every moment that feels more intimate than the last.

The truth is, it’s not just in his head. The way you talk to each other now — the pauses, the laughs, the silences that stretch a little too long — it all feels different. There’s a tension building beneath the surface, and no matter how much Quinn tries to downplay it, it’s there. He knows it, and he’s pretty sure you do too.

“Alright, I’ll let you get back to it,” you say after a few minutes, your voice carrying that familiar warmth that always makes Quinn smile. “Talk soon?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice softening even more, trying to sound indifferent that the phone call is ending sooner than he’d like. “Talk soon.”

As soon as he hangs up, he’s met with the inevitable barrage of playful nudges from his brothers. Jack leans over, raising an eyebrow in Quinn’s direction. “You could’ve pretended not to be so eager, you know.”

Luke snickers from his spot on the floor, tossing a card into the pile. “She calls, and it’s like everything else just disappears.”

Quinn rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide the slight blush creeping up his neck. “Shut up.”

But Jack isn’t done. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, grinning widely. “Come on, man. We all see it.”

“There’s nothing to see,” Quinn insists, leaning back, trying to brush it off like he always does. But he knows it’s a weak deflection. He’s never been able to hide much from his brothers, and when it comes to you, they’ve seen right through him for a while now.

"Their past is cold and empty, they know it's been enoughOf waitin' on somebody, someone who doesn't careBut he knows her name, she knows he'll always be there"

The bar is buzzing with life — the hum of music, the clinking of glasses, the laughter of people drifting through the air — but it feels distant, like a backdrop to the moment unfolding between you and Quinn. Tucked away in a quiet corner booth, it’s just the two of you, like the rest of the world has blurred out. Ever since Quinn got back to town, it’s been different. The usual rhythm of your friendship has shifted, and you both feel it — the weight of something unsaid, the way every glance and touch feels like it carries a thousand unspoken words.

You’ve been trying to ignore it, trying to convince yourself that maybe you’re imagining things, but the way Quinn’s knee has been brushing against yours under the table, staying there a little too long, makes you question it. It feels deliberate, intentional, as if he’s just waiting for you to acknowledge it. His eyes keep flicking to yours as he talks about training, about the grind of the upcoming season, but you can sense his focus isn’t on hockey. He’s distracted — and so are you.

You take a deep breath, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass as you try to steady yourself. “I ended things with that guy.” You watch Quinn as the words leave your mouth, a little too quickly, a little too nervously.

His reaction is subtle — just a slight pause in his movements. His fingers tighten briefly around the glass in his hand, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he quickly schools his expression back into something more neutral. But you’ve known Quinn long enough to catch the shift. The easy smile he wore just a second ago falters, and his eyes flicker away from yours, just for a moment. He’s listening, but something has shifted in him now, and you feel it settle in the air between you.

You should feel relieved, like you’ve gotten it off your chest, but instead, your pulse quickens, and the warmth in the room seems to move with it.

Quinn leans back in his seat, taking a long sip of his drink, his jaw tight. “Yeah? You weren’t happy?” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge there, something quiet and careful, as if he’s trying not to show too much. His eyes meet yours again, and though he’s trying to keep his usual steady demeanour, you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his body has gone just a little bit rigid.

You hesitate, unsure how to answer. It wasn’t about being happy or unhappy with the guy, not really. It was more about how that relationship never stood a chance, not with the way your thoughts have been tangled up in Quinn. But you can’t say that — not here, not now. The tension between you both is palpable, and you’re not sure how much more you can handle.

You shrug, trying to play it off casually. “I guess it just didn’t feel right, you know?”

His gaze sharpens, and you swear you see something flicker behind his eyes, something that makes your breath catch in your throat. “Yeah,” he says, a little too quickly, his voice low and almost distant. “Sometimes it’s like that.”

There’s a beat of silence, and in that moment, everything feels heavy. His leg, which has been brushing against yours under the table, remains there. He doesn’t move away, doesn’t shift, and it sends a wave of awareness through you. You don’t move either. The tension is thick now, humming between you, filling the space that once felt comfortable, but now feels charged with everything you’re both avoiding.

Quinn’s fingers tap against the glass, a telltale sign of his discomfort, but his eyes are locked on yours. The casual ease of your conversation is gone, replaced by something deeper, something unspoken that neither of you can quite name. His usual calm demeanour is cracking, but he’s still trying to hold it together, just like you are.

“You good with it?” he asks, his voice softer now, but there’s a heaviness behind his words, like he’s asking about more than just the breakup. Like he’s asking if you’re okay with the way things are between you and him — the way they haven’t been acknowledged, the way you’ve both been skirting around the inevitable.

You feel your heart skip as you nod. “Yeah. I think it’s for the best.”

He looks down at the table, lips pressing into a thin line, and you wonder if he’s disappointed or if he’s relieved that you’ve dodged the real issue again. The tension between you feels almost unbearable now, like it’s right there, ready to spill over if either of you says the wrong thing. You can see it in the way his posture has shifted, more closed off than usual, and you know he’s doing the same thing you are — keeping it all locked up inside.

The longer the silence stretches, the more aware you become of the weight of his gaze, the subtle shift in his demeanour. His leg remains pressed against yours, and now it feels more deliberate, like he’s testing your boundaries without crossing the line. It sends a shiver through you, but still, you don’t pull away.

You clear your throat, trying to break the tension that’s winding tighter between you both. “So... hockey. You’re ready for the season?” It’s a weak attempt to redirect, but you can’t handle the intensity in his eyes any longer.

Quinn lets out a quiet breath, almost like a sigh of resignation, and his lips curve into a small, humourless smile. “Yeah,” he says, though it’s clear his mind is elsewhere. “Always ready.”

But he’s not talking about hockey anymore. You know it. He knows it. The tension between you is almost suffocating now. You’ve both sidestepped it once again, pretending everything is fine when you both know it’s not.

Still, the silence stretches, and his eyes drift back to yours, holding your gaze for just a moment longer than before. His leg stays where it is, pressed against yours, warm and steady, like an unspoken promise.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

And the tension, the thing you’ve both been avoiding for so long, continues to simmer beneath the surface, waiting for the moment when one of you finally decides to break.

"She toes the line between 'em, he says he's new at this There's holy ground beneath them, and sparks fly when they kiss"

It’s an unusually free Friday night for Quinn — no games, no media commitments, just a rare quiet slot of time that you had both been looking forward to. You’re both on his sofa, a bottle of red wine shared between you, glasses resting on the coffee table as the conversation ebbs and flows. The city is muted through the window, the distant hum of the nightlife outside contrasting with the stillness in his apartment.

The warmth of the wine is settling in, buzzing just beneath your skin, making everything feel a little softer, a little easier. You’re both relaxed, more than you’ve been in a while, and the absence of his usual responsibilities means there is nothing pulling him away. It’s just you and him, and this moment that feels long overdue. 

The conversation has slowed into something quieter now, the playful banter from earlier fading as the night deepens. You’re sitting closer than usual, your legs brushing his, your bodies naturally leaning toward each other in the comfortable warmth of the room, and while you’d like to blame it entirely on the wine, you both know that isn’t true. The drinks are just an excuse, a convenient explanation for the shift that’s been happening between you for weeks — the simmering tension that neither of you have acknowledged yet.

The wineglass in your hand feels warm, the liquid swirling as you take another sip, and you glance over at Quinn. He’s leaning back against the couch, his arm draped along the top, not quite touching you, but close enough that the proximity feels charged. 

You laugh at something Quinn says, the sound filling the quiet space between you, and without thinking, you scoot closer, resting your head on his shoulder. It feels natural, effortless, and you can feel his body relax slightly next to yours. 

“This is nice… being here with you,” you sigh softly, your words lingering in the air, more meaningful than they might seem.

Quinn shifts beside you, turning slightly as if to make more room for you to settle in even closer. His hand, now just brushing against your knee, lingers longer than before. His arm draped along the back of the couch still isn’t quite around your shoulders, but it’s close enough that anyone watching would assume the two of you were already past the point of casual.

There’s a silence between you, the kind that speaks louder than anything either of you could say. The tension, the closeness, the feeling that everything has led up to this moment — it’s undeniable.

Then, softly, Quinn breaks the silence, his voice low and a little hesitant, as if he needs confirmation of what’s already clear. “You feel it too, right?”

He looks at you, his eyes searching yours for clarity, for reassurance. His question isn’t just about tonight — it’s about everything that’s been building between you. The tension, the unspoken connection that’s simmered for a while now. His question hangs in the air, waiting.

You nod, the answer already written across your face before the words even come. “Yeah,” you say, your voice sure. “I do.”

The relief on his face is immediate, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The space between you closes, the weight of the unspoken words dissolves, and suddenly, you’re no longer just two friends dancing around something more.

Quinn’s eyes remain locked on yours, and there’s a vulnerability in his expression that wasn’t there before. He shifts again, his hand moving fully to rest against your thigh now, his touch warm and steady. The question had been lingering between you both for so long, and now, with the truth out in the open, it feels like something is shifting beneath your feet, like you’re standing on the edge of something new, something sacred.

He lets out a small, almost nervous laugh, and his lips curve into a soft smile. 

“I’m new at this,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. It’s not just about admitting he’s new to this kind of intimacy. It’s more than that. It’s about navigating uncharted territory, stepping into something that feels both familiar and foreign all at once. Moving this friendship into something more, and for the love of all things holy, not messing it up. His eyes flicker down for a moment, as if he’s trying to gather himself before looking back at you. “I don’t really know how to...”

The words trail off, but they don’t need to be completed. You can feel the weight of what he’s saying.

There’s a silence, but it isn’t uncomfortable. The ground beneath you feels as is its trembling with anticipation, and the moment stretches as Quinn inches closer, his breath warm against your skin. There’s a pause — like he’s giving you one last chance to pull back, to stay in the safety of what you were before — but you don’t.

Quinn's lips meet yours, and the world seems to tilt on its axis. The kiss is soft at first, almost hesitant, as if he's still unsure, but that uncertainty dissolves almost immediately. The tension that’s been coiling between you for weeks… months… finally snaps, unraveling with each second that passes. His hand tightens on your leg, fingers pressing into your skin like he’s grounding himself in this moment, tethering himself to the reality of what’s happening between you.

The kiss deepens, slow but intense, and it feels like every suppressed emotion, every lingering glance, every accidental touch is being released all at once. There’s a heat between you that wasn’t there before. It’s something that goes beyond the warmth of the room or the haze of the drinks. This is raw, electric, and it pulses through you with every breath you take.

His other hand, the one draped over the back of the couch, finally moves, slipping down to gently rest on your shoulder before sliding around to your back. His fingers trace a slow, deliberate path along your spine, and it sends shivers racing down your body. The contact is firm but tender, pulling you in closer, until there’s barely any space left between you.

You respond instinctively, your hands moving to his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your palms. His heart is pounding just as hard as yours, and the realisation of that shared vulnerability only intensifies the moment. The air between you buzzes, charged with every unspoken word, every unsaid feeling. Your hands slide upward, fingers finding their way to the back of his neck, tangling in his hair, pulling him even closer.

There’s no hesitation now. The pent-up tension that’s been simmering for so long unravels in waves, and it’s not just the kiss. It’s the way your bodies move together, how every touch feels deliberate, meaningful, like you’re both making up for all the moments you held back.

Quinn shifts slightly, pulling you with him, deepening the kiss, and you feel the weight of him, the heat of him, pressing against you. His hands roam more freely now, one slipping from your back to rest on your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt, tugging you closer, needing you closer. Your legs brush against his, and it’s as though every point of contact is sparking something more urgent.

The world outside fades, and all you can feel is him. His warmth. His breath. His heart beating against yours. The tension between you isn’t just releasing — it’s transforming.

There’s no need for words. Everything is being said in the way his hands move over your body, the way your fingers press into his skin, the way the kiss deepens and slows, and deepens again. The tension that’s been keeping you apart for so long has unraveled, and now all that’s left is this — this raw, electric pull that neither of you are resisting anymore.

"She loves how he talks late at night, when there's no one else to say How she's beautiful and funny and smart like nothin' he's ever seen He's good to her and she wants it more than everything in between"

The phone buzzes softly on your nightstand, and you don’t hesitate to grab it, your heart skipping a beat when you see Quinn’s name lighting up the screen. You’ve been in bed for a while now, trying to lose yourself in a book, but the pages blurred as your thoughts drifted to him — away on a road trip for a series of games, alone in some unknown hotel room, hundreds of miles between you. Though it’s not the first time he’s been gone for a stretch, this is the first time you’ve been apart for so long since everything changed between you. The distance feels like more than just time zones. It’s a physical ache, an emptiness that lingers.

You answer on the second ring, eager to hear his voice. “Hey,” you murmur, the late hour making your voice rough.

“Hey,” Quinn’s voice comes through, low and familiar, and just hearing it feels like a balm to the loneliness that’s been creeping in. You can hear the soft rustle of sheets, maybe the distant murmur of a TV on low, and you imagine him in some anonymous hotel room, far from you but somehow closer with every word.

“How’s the trip?” you ask, trying to keep the conversation light even though your chest tightens just hearing his voice.

“Same as usual,” Quinn responds, a hint of exhaustion creeping into his tone. “Long flights, long days. But…” There’s a pause, and you know what he’s going to say before he even says it. “I miss you.”

There’s something so vulnerable in those three words, something that makes your heart clench, and you find yourself smiling into the phone. “I miss you too.”

You can picture him there, lying back in bed, maybe one arm draped over his forehead like he does when he’s trying to hide how tired he is. 

“I love this,” you murmur into the phone, your voice soft, barely cutting through the quiet. Your fingers absentmindedly trace the pattern of the blanket draped across your lap.

“What’s that?” Quinn’s voice, low and a little rough from the day, comes through the line, and even though you can’t see him, you can hear the curiosity in his tone.

“This,” you say with a quiet smile. “Just you. Talking like that.”

On the other end of the line, you hear Quinn chuckle softly, the sound rumbling through the phone in a way that makes you wish he was here, with his laughter vibrating against your skin. “You love hearing me talk, huh?” There’s a teasing lilt to his words.

You press the phone closer to your ear, as if somehow it could make him feel closer. “Yeah, I do,” you admit, feeling the warmth of your confession. “Especially when you get all sweet on me.”

There’s a pause, a beat of quiet between you, and you can practically see Quinn shifting, running a hand through his hair the way he does when he’s caught off guard. “I don’t get sweet,” he protests, but there’s no conviction in his voice. You both know better.

“Mhm, sure you don’t,” you tease gently, heart fluttering. “You don’t tell me I’m beautiful, funny, smart — none of that?”

He sighs, but you can hear the smile in his voice. “Alright, maybe I’ve said that once or twice.”

The air feels lighter between you now, but it’s not enough to shake the ache in your chest, the emptiness of the space beside you. Even through the phone, you can feel the weight of his absence like a shadow, clinging to every moment. This is the part of loving him you didn’t expect — the way missing him would feel so physical, like something tangible pressing against you in the quiet.

Time feels fluid, stretching and slipping away as you talk with Quinn. His voice, low and familiar, wraps around you like a blanket, and the distance between you feels inconsequential, almost forgotten. The conversation is effortless, a mix of soft teasing and the easy exchange of stories from your day — his tales from the road, your small updates, and the shared laughter that punctuates each moment. It's the kind of talk that feels more intimate than the miles would suggest, as if his voice alone closes the gap between you.

Every now and then, the conversation drifts into comfortable silence. You can hear the soft rustle of sheets on his end, the quiet rhythm of his breathing, steady and even.

For a fleeting second, you wonder if he’s fallen asleep — the stillness of his breathing so steady it lulls you, too, into a softer state. But just when you think he’s drifted off, his voice breaks through again, raspy and warm. The sound of it tugs at your heart, a gentle reminder that he’s just as reluctant to let go of this moment as you are.

“You should be sleeping,” you murmur gently, the words laced with both affection and concern.

Quinn chuckles softly, and the sound is so familiar that it tugs at your heart. “Yeah, I probably should,” he admits, though neither of you move to end the conversation. You hear the faint rustle of sheets as he shifts, settling deeper into bed, but there’s still no rush to say goodnight.

Eventually, you give in, your voice thick with exhaustion, still playful. “Goodnight, Quinn,” you say, the words rolling off your tongue in a sing-song tone.

“Don’t go,” he whines softly, and you can hear the smile in his voice, even though he’s clearly just as tired.

“It’s late,” you remind him, knowing he’s been dreading the blare of his alarm in just a few hours.

“Don’t care,” he half lies, and you know he’d stay on the line as long as you let him.

You let out a small laugh. “I’m going to hang up now, but I’m doing it for your own good, so you can’t be mad at me.” 

Quinn sighs on the other end of the line, a sound that’s both exasperated and warm, like he’s really not ready to say goodnight. But before he can protest again, the words slip out — “goodnight. Love you.” 

And for a split second, the air goes still, and your heart skips, freezing in this fragile moment where everything feels suspended. You realise what you’ve said, what’s just hung in the silence between you. Panic flares in your chest, sharp and hot, and before Quinn can respond, you fumble to end the call, your finger hitting the button too fast. 

You toss your phone under your pillow, rolling over as if you can outrun the wave of mortification crashing over you. Your mind spins, replaying the words, each syllable sharper than the last. How could you say it like that? Blurt it out so casually, without thought? What if it was too soon, too forward? What if you’ve pushed him away, scared him off when everything was finally right between you?

The thoughts whirl through your mind, gaining speed as you lie there, squeezing your eyes shut like it’ll stop the embarrassment creeping up your spine. But just as the spiral begins to tighten, your phone buzzes from beneath the pillow. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. 

With trembling hands, you pull the phone out, dread settling like a heavy weight in your stomach. The screen lights up, and for a second, you hesitate, afraid of what you might see. But then your eyes land on the message, and your breath hitches.

Quinny: Love you too

Relief floods you so quickly it makes you dizzy, your heart swelling with a mixture of disbelief and happiness. You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding, a quiet laugh escaping your lips as the tension in your body melts away. The words linger in front of you, simple and sure, and you feel the warmth of them settle into your chest, softening everything.

Quinn’s message glows softly in the dim light, and though your relationship has been official for months, it still feels like a quiet, pivotal moment. The in-between — the space you both danced around for so long — has long since disappeared, but the echoes of it remain. It wasn’t just a transition from friends to something more; it was the space where your connection deepened, where the foundation of everything you have now was laid. The friendship that came first is woven into every moment of this relationship, grounding you both in something real, something steady.

You think about that, about how the laughter, trust, and late-night conversations that once kept you in the comfort of friendship are now the very things that make this love feel solid. The in-between was where you found your footing, but it’s the friendship that carried you here, to this place where being with Quinn, loving him, feels as natural as breathing.

[honnelander]

go fish! part 2

guyssss i did NOT expect this little series to blow up. y'all are amazing! i'm turning into a Sanji writing blog and am i mad about it? no lmao i received a couple of requests and i'll work on them as soon as i can. i'm really in the zone rn so i'll ride this wave as long as i can. if you want to be a part of the taglist for whenever i post new Sanji content, lmk. i hope you enjoy!

WARNINGS: none

word count: 2.8k

pairing: opla!sanji x fem!reader

summary: after being humiliated by Usopp earlier, reader stays in her room to decompress. however, she gets a visitor.

prequel part 1 part 3 part 4 masterlist

taglist: @smolracoon25 @mischiefmanaged71 @jovialcat123

Mortified. That’s how you felt. Still. 

Ever since you ‘forfeited’ from finishing your Go Fish card game with Usopp a couple of hours ago, you had taken your glass of water that Sanji had poured for you and boarded up in your shared room with Nami, refusing to come out due to “heat exhaustion”. 

Poor Luffy, ever the golden hearted captain, was immediately worried for your wellbeing as soon as he heard that but after multiple reassurances from you and getting up off of your hammock multiple times to prove you were in fact, just fine, he relented from wanting to stop by the nearest island so he could find a doctor for you. Usopp had managed to convince him as well that all you needed was some water, alone time, and that you would be fine by dinnertime. 

You rubbed your eyes as you let out a sigh, vowing to yourself that the next time you wanted some time by yourself, you should just take a bath or something, since any other excuse would cause someone on the crew (Luffy) to lose their mind at the thought of someone not feeling well. 

You readjusted yourself, sitting more upright, as you downed the last of your water, it being warm by this point since it had been poured by Sanji hours ago. 

Sanji. Ugh.  

Your heart fluttered once again at the mere thought of him, but that flutter was immediately replaced by a wave of crashing embarrassment at the thought of the afternoon’s sequence of events. What had happened earlier wasn’t even anything that groundbreaking or special, but to you? It was everything. It wasn’t common practice in your life for the object of your affections to be so kind towards you, so thoughtful, to read and anticipate your needs before you even knew they were even there. But Sanji? He was all of that and more. And you didn’t even know him for that long! You’ve all been a part of the straw-hat crew for 5 months at this point and it felt silly to admit to yourself that you had developed a crush on one of your crewmates in that short amount of time. 

And having feelings for your crewmate? Someone who you literally couldn’t get away from since you all were trapped on a ship together (not that you would ever want to be away from him or anyone else for that matter, besides Usopp, but still), it felt morally wrong. You guys were all a team. Sure, you all were off to sail around the world and chase dreams, but achieving all of that required teamwork and trust, and that was hard to do if two of those people were caught up with matters of the heart every hour of every day. 

Like, what if things didn’t work out in the end? Would you really want to put the crew’s dynamic at stake just because you thought the blonde guy was cute? No, you wouldn’t. It would be selfish so you would never dare to put yourself or Sanji in that position. No matter how much you liked him. 

So as much as it pained you, you could never tell Sanji how you feel. You would never cross that line of being a ‘professional pirate’ into something more, like a pirate wife. Or a pirate chef’s wife. 

It definitely didn’t help that freaking Usopp of all people on the crew knew about your affections for Sanji. Ugh, you groaned. He was the absolute worst person to know about it too. Why did he have to figure it out? Why did he have to be the one that had put two and two together to equal four? That your random bouts of awkwardness and shyness plus ‘heart eyes’ and blushes whenever Sanji was around equaled to you having a forbidden crush on the crew’s chef? It was embarrassing. And complicated.  

He loved to stir the pot too, so whenever he could tease you for it when you both were alone or in front of a clueless Sanji, he would. You remembered the kiss he had shared with Kayla back when the straw-hats had acquired the Going Merry, so you definitely jabbed him right back when you had had enough, since part of you felt guilty for it since Kayla was thousands of miles away and Sanji lived on this ship with you. Your situations were slightly similar but completely different.  

Also, completely different in the way that him and Kayla were basically dating at this point, albeit long distance, and had shared a kiss while you could barely sustain eye contact that lasted more than 5 seconds with Sanji. 

You were hopeless. 

“Knock, knock,” a familiar accented voice came through the closed door. “Y/n? Are you awake?” 

"Sanji?” you blurted out in complete surprise.  

Shit. You weren’t mentally prepared to see him just yet. At all. You were still replaying the interaction you both had earlier in your head, your overthinking mind going over every minute detail to figure out if Usopp’s careless teasing had given away your affections.  

Usopp, you mentally ground out. You were going to kill him. Sanji had never stopped by your room before so what on earth was he doing here now?  

Suddenly, a thought struck you like a bolt of lightning and made your stomach drop fifty miles below sea level: if Sanji had specifically stopped by your room just to gently let you down, that no, in fact he did not feel the same way about you, that he only thought of you as a member of the crew and nothing more....then yeah, you were definitely going to kill Usopp and throw him overboard. 

Before you could mentally plot out more details on Usopp's murder, the door opened and the straw-hat chef’s blonde head appeared. His eyes quickly scanned Nami’s empty hammock on the room’s left side before turning his head to the right, his blue eyes immediately finding your surprised ones, a (relieved?) smile lighting up his face at the sight of you. 

“So, I take it you’re awake?” Sanji asked in a light, teasing tone but not making an effort to move himself away from the doorway. 

“Uh, y-eah,” you stuttered out in surprise as you just stared at him dumbfounded. You still couldn’t figure out why he was here. 

Sanji continued to lock eyes with you, making your cheeks flush the longer you both stared at each other, and your palms sweat as the silence stretched on, making the tension in the air become thicker by the second. He blinked, his eyes darting to the side in confusion, raising an eyebrow as he asked, “May I come in?” 

“OH! Yes, of course- sorry,” you stuttered as you waved him inside, sitting up in your hammock and mentally face palmed yourself. Of course, Sanji was waiting on you to invite him inside. Like always, he was acting like a true gentleman. “Please, come in. Have a seat. Sorry, that was rude of me. Make yourself at home.” 

Sanji stood up to his full height and walked into your room with an easy smile and a small laugh, closing the door behind him. “Ah, don’t ever apologize y/n. You could never be rude to me,” Sanji rebuttalled and waved off your apology as he looked around and took in your very plain and basic shared room with Nami.  

Your room, or side of the room more specifically, wasn’t much to brag about considering you really didn’t have much to your name but for now, it was home to you. Your side consisted of your hammock, a wooden barrel next to it to act as a makeshift nightstand that housed your only book, a journal, and a lamp, along with an empty wooden crate to act as a makeshift seat and another to hold some of your other clothes and small travel bag. Nami’s side was similar to yours but had a touch more personality as she hung up some maps she found at various markets and drew up herself on her wall. 

You swallowed, suddenly feeling a tad self-conscious about the lack of things in your room considering your current guest was dressed, as usual, to the nines in his signature black suit and blue and white striped shirt complete with a skinny black tie. “Sorry for the sad state of my room-” 

“Sad?” Sanji stopped admiring your room and snapped his gaze to look at you. His eyebrows pulled together as another confused smile adorned his features. “Why would you say that? Your room isn’t sad, I like it. It’s a reflection of you,” his next words came out softer, “and I think that’s beautiful.” 

You could feel heat crawling up your neck at his words as you busied yourself with placing the empty glass in your hand on your barrel nightstand. There was no way Sanji was calling you beautiful, he was just commenting on your room. With Nami. On your shared room that owed any ounce of ‘personality’ to the ship’s navigator because it was obvious you literally brought nothing special to this room whatsoever.  

You stopped yourself from spiraling into ‘I don’t bring anything special to the straw-hats, I don’t know why they keep me around’ thoughts because now wasn’t the time to think about any of that. Those dark thoughts were reserved when you couldn’t sleep in the middle of the night.  

As you placed the glass on the nightstand, you asked, “So, what brings you all the way to my room? Aren’t you usually prepping for dinner around this time?” 

Sanji’s eyes followed your hand and lit up when he saw the sole book on your nightstand. “Oh, a book? I didn’t know you liked to read.” His megawatt smile lit up a couple of notches as his eyes sparkled, he looked like he had just learned one of the universe’s greatest mysteries as he took a seat near you on an empty crate. “What book is that?” 

“Oh, that?” You mentally deflated at the fact you now had to tell Sanji about your favorite book, “It’s Pride and Prejudice.”  

You weren’t ashamed of having that book specifically, you loved it and it was your favorite book of all time, you had lost count at how many times you had read it at this point, but it was the fact that you now had to share this part of yourself with the guy you fancied. Guys normally scoffed and turned their nose up at romance book and romantic things, so you were bracing for Sanji to scoff and laugh at you like all the other guys did (like even Zoro and Usopp did when they first saw you reading it) but it never came. 

Instead, Sanji’s smile remained bright. “Ah, so you’re a lover of classic romances? Pride and Prejudice? Romeo and Juliet?” 

Immediately, you smiled, finding yourself instantly comfortable suddenly whenever you got to talk about one of your favorite things. “Absolutely. I don’t think there’s a problem big enough out there that love can’t solve. Family backgrounds? Wealth and status? At the end of the day, none of that stuff matters. What matters is if two people love each other.” 

Sanji stayed quiet for a moment, looking into your eyes with a twinkle of an emotion that you couldn’t decipher. It made your heart skip a beat. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly, never breaking eye contact. “I agree.” 

You swallowed. “You like this stuff too? Have you read Pride and Prejudice?” 

Sanji blinked and that indescribable emotion he had in his eyes was gone. His smile remained, however, and became sheepish as he held up his hands, “Ah ok, you caught me. I’ve never read the full thing, but I know the main parts of the story. My favorite part that I did read though, was the first dinner with Mr. Collins and he complimented the Bennets on their ‘excellent boiled potatoes’.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head slightly as you teased, “I should’ve known that the chef of the Going Merry’s favorite part of the book is when food is discussed!” 

The blonde cook held his hands up again with a good-natured laugh, “Ah, you got me!” His face softened as he asked, “What about you?" He nodded towards the book. "What’s your favorite part?” 

You paused for a second as you mulled the question over. “Well, I'm not sure if you know about this part since you never read the book...” 

“Try me,” he encouraged softly. 

Your face turned to the side, your eyes looking at the wooden wall to your right, unable to bring yourself to look at Sanji as you told him your favorite part of your favorite book. You took a deep breath to steady yourself and calm your nerves, your voice becoming quiet as you told him, “My favorite part is...when Mr. Darcy barges in on Elizabeth for the first time, while she’s at her friend Charlotte’s house writing a letter. He had come to practice ‘conversating’ with her since he admitted that it wasn’t something he was good at and she had told him to practice it. So, Mr. Darcy just barged in and they had one of the most painfully awkward conversations ever...and he did all that just because he loves her. He did something he hated and was bad at, and opened himself up to embarrassment just because he wanted to improve and be better for her. It’s so romantic and beautiful.” 

The air was quiet after your mini monologue and for a moment, nothing could be heard except for their quiet breathing and the occasional crash of the ocean from outside your small window. 

Part of you worried that your little rambling had bored Sanji, so when you finally looked at him, imagine your surprise when you found him leaning in towards you, hands clasped, elbows resting on his knees and his eyes watching you, completely engaged. It was like he was hanging onto your every word. 

Sanji scanned your face for a moment, the corner of his lips curling upwards as he said, “Yeah, you’re right. I’m not familiar with that part in the book,” and before you could open your mouth to bring yourself down, he continued, “but, that doesn’t mean your answer is wrong.” He leaned back and slapped his hands against his thighs, “Hell, it’s a much more insightful answer than mine!” He laughed. “I just liked how they were poking some fun at boiled potatoes.” 

You laughed with him because yes, that part in the book also made you laugh as well. But at the mention of food, you realized that you still didn’t know why Sanji was here in the first place. Wasn’t he normally prepping for dinner at this time? He had to be running behind schedule at this point. 

“Why are you here, Sanji? Isn’t it almost time for dinner?” 

“Yeah, it is actually but I heard you weren’t feeling well so I wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re feeling alright and see if you have any special requests for dinner?” 

You couldn’t help the slight smile that overtook your face, trying to hide the blush at the fact that he was kind enough to check in on you and offer to practically be your own personal chef for the evening. 

You hummed for a moment, acting like you were deep in thought before asking with a raised eyebrow, "And what would you say if I requested some boiled potatoes?”  

The smile that lit up the chef’s face was priceless. He had never looked more beautiful. “To that, I would say ‘Absolutely. If that’s what the missus wants, then that is what the missus will get.’” 

Missus. There it was again. You felt all warm inside whenever he called you that, it made you feel like he was your husband and that you were his wife. But that wasn’t the case. Sanji definitely must have called other women that before. You weren’t special to him, he was just being polite.  

You swallowed down your emotions, putting your sudden wave of sadness away for later, putting on a small smile. “Then that sounds perfect. I would like to formally request some ‘excellent boiled potatoes’ as a side for dinner, please.” 

If Sanji noticed your sudden change in mood, he didn’t show it. Instead, he grinned as he said, “Excellent choice, Madam. Boiled potatoes, coming right up.” As he stood up and made his way towards your door, Sanji did one of the most unexpected things that nearly knocked the wind out of you. With his left hand on the doorknob he said, “And don’t worry, Madam. I’ll sprinkle in a little bit of extra love in there,” he turned and winked at you, “just for you.” 

With that, Sanji left your room, gently closing the door behind him, leaving you completely dumbstruck in your room, your mouth agape and body frozen. 

Did Sanji just say he loved you? 

You shook your head, because there was no way he did, right? He said he’d ‘sprinkle in some extra love’ into your potatoes, not 'I love you". You weren’t a chef, maybe that was a euphemism for something. 

You sighed.  

Those better be some good boiled potatoes. 

[lotus-pear]

have u ever drawn kunichuu before,,,,they would be so elegant in ur style

you are SO lucky i had this lying around...............anyway i think they should makeout forreal god bless i love it when my two favs are in love