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mulloey · 2 days ago

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distracted

bad students must face the consequences of their behaviour. it doesn’t matter who your boyfriend is.

words: 2.9k

part of my february festival event

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warnings: dom!professors matz x sub!student reader, teacher-student relationship (hongjoong x you), power dynamics, threesome, punishment, spanking with ruler, very light anal play, face fucking, double penetration (mouth & pussy), under-negotiated kink, unprotected sex, sir kink, degradation, light dumbification etc

i am not responsible for the content you consume.

“What is this?”

He waves the sheet in front of your face indignantly and you recognise it instantly as the test you’d taken last week; the red D scrawled in the top corner gives you away and you huff. “How did you even—”

“Seonghwa,” he says, cutting you off. You’d roll your eyes if you thought you’d get away with it right now.

You knew it was a bad idea, really, dating Hongjoong; he may not have been your professor, but he is a professor, so you should’ve figured he’d be in cahoots with your teachers. It’s not like discretion was a massive concern, anyway; your relationship is an open secret among the staff. It’s technically not allowed, but you’re a grad student, an independent adult and your parents donate enough money to the school that neither of you would be in too much trouble if anyone did find out anyway. So you suppose you shouldn’t be surprised that, when you turned in a piss-poor exam, Seonghwa had run off tattling to your boyfriend. Dickhead.

“I was just having a bad day,” you say. “I studied, really. I don't know what happened.”

Neither of you believe that, but you push your lips into a pout and do your best to look contrite—to play the sweet, innocent girl your boyfriend loves to ruin.

“Joong…” You try to sound scared but you both know you’re not; there’s nothing he could do to you that you wouldn’t enjoy, after all. You’re just as sick as each other.

Hongjoong chuckles, clicking his tongue. He looks thoughtful for a moment, like he’s pretending to be conflicted over whether to punish you or not, but he’s not very good at hiding his excitement. The regretful sigh he lets out when he makes his decision is laughably disingenuous. “Bad girl,” he says, shaking his head. “You know I can’t let you get away with this, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth to respond but he doesn’t give you time; he shoves you down harshly, bending you over his desk so your ass is sticking up in the air. It’s a familiar position that you’ve found yourself in time and time again since you met him and you body prepares itself automatically; expecting him to spank you, you stick your ass up higher and wait with bated breath for the first blow. It doesn’t come. You crane your head around, confused. “Joong, what—” Oh.

You don’t need to finish the question; standing behind you, next to Hongjoong, is the very man who’d got you in this predicament in the first place— your medieval history professor, Park Seonghwa himself. He tilts his head, smiling sweetly. “Good afternoon.”

Your jaw drops. You hadn’t expected this—when did he even come in, anyway? “Joong—”

“You think we didn’t notice how you look at him?” Your boyfriend asks coolly. It’s only because of the cock in his hand, hard and already leaking, that you’re not worried he’s mad at you; no, he loves this. You should’ve known.

“Is that why you failed?” Seonghwa asks. “Too busy dreaming about me bending you over your desk? You have a boyfriend; an esteemed colleague of mine, in fact.” His tone is chiding and you feel yourself flush.

Hongjoong snorts almost petulantly. “As if she cares about that.”

“No?” Seonghwa asks. “What does she care about, then?”

“Pull her panties down and find out.”

Your cunt throbs painfully at the surety of the demand and the dark look in Seonghwa’s eyes as he obliges without hesitation. He doesn’t ask permission before he touches you—he already has it from the one who matters, after all—but when he pushes your skirt up your back, his hands still momentarily; you smile into the wood as you realise what they’re both looking at—the white, lacy panties sitting snugly across your pert cheeks.

“Well, isn’t that a sight.” Seonghwa’s voice is hoarse and affected as he rubs a hand across the delicate material. You feel yourself tense under his touch, the unfamiliar feeling of his skin on yours, and he gently pinches the soft flesh. “Relax,” he mumbles. “Be good, yeah? I won’t hurt you, I’ll be gentle.”

A sweet sounding lie; you can tell from the heaviness of his hand as it comes to rest on your ass that he has no such intentions. He fingers softly at the lace of your panties, sighing ruefully. “These really are beautiful,” he muses. “I hate to have to take them down like this, but bad students have to learn, don’t they?”

“They certainly do.” You crane your neck to follow your boyfriend’s voice and find him leaning against the wall behind Seonghwa, staring you down with familiarly cold eyes. He cocks an eyebrow when you finally catch his gaze. “Got something to say, precious?”

“No, sir,” you whisper.

“Turn around, then,” he smiles. “I’m just here to watch.”

You turn back, though more so he doesn’t see you roll your eyes than out of a desire to obey him. Seonghwa has carefully shimmied your panties down to the middle of your thighs and the cold air of the office bites at your sensitive pussy.

“Spread your legs,” he says. “Show me how wet you are.“

Blushing furiously, you part your legs, spreading them as far as you can without snapping the panties bunched around your thighs. Seonghwa hums, running a long finger through your wet folds. The touch is unexpected but Hongjoong’s trained you well enough that you manage to stay still despite your surprise. You whine a little when he pulls away and you hear both men chuckle.

“Professor Kim,” Seonghwa says. His voice has a new quality; delicate and flirtatious as he addresses your boyfriend. “Come and taste how wet she is.”

You hear Hongjoong approach the elder and try to move around to see it, but Seonghwa’s firm hand on your neck holds you still. “I don’t think so, bad girl,” he tuts. “Only good little girls get to watch. Keep still.”

“Good call,” Hongjoong purrs. “She’s always loved seeing me with other people. Little pervert would probably start humping the table if she saw me doing this.”

You hear the wet, lewd sounds of Hongjoong sucking at Seonghwa’s finger, lapping up your juices with a noise of pleasure. “Delicious little slut,” he chuckles. “Let’s get her properly disciplined so we can play with her how she wants.”

Somehow you hear the wide grin in Seonghwa’s voice as Hongjoong backs away. “I quite agree.”

His hands rests on your ass again, squeezing it softly. “This is what’s gonna happen, little one. You got a 48 on my exam, didn’t you?”

You’re almost embarrassed to hear the number and you know Hongjoong is too. “Yes,” you whisper.

“Yes, Professor will do,” he says. “You’re not my friend, sweetheart. You’re just a wayward student being put back on the right path.”

Shame courses through you but it would be a lie to say it’s anything but thrilling. “Yes, professor,” you whisper.

He taps your ass appreciatively. “Good girl. So, you got a 48 on my exam. What was the pass mark?”

“60, Professor,” you mumble.

“Now that’s not very hard to achieve, is it Professor Kim?”

“It’s not. The pass marks in my class are higher, in fact.”

You want to roll your eyes at their smug, jovial tones but you’re too aroused now to do anything but anticipate.

“A pathetic score, really.” Seonghwa’s voice is closer than ever and you feel his presence just inches away. “Especially for such a bright young woman. I think you need to learn to separate your head—” he gathers a piece of your hair, gently folding it behind your ear “—and your pussy, hm?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Good.“ Something long and thin taps at your bare skin and you recognise it instantly—the wooden ruler Hongjoong keeps in his desk drawer for when he’s feeling particularly on-the-nose about the taboo nature of your relationship.

“I’m going to hit you with this twelve times,” Seonghwa purrs. “For each of the marks you easily could have gotten if you hadn’t been too busy imagining my cock in your mouth. Yeah?”

You nod, feeling yourself pulse. “Yes, Professor.”

“Repeat after me, alright?” The first hit is quick and sharp, spread over your ass and it makes you gasp. Seonghwa chuckles and rubs the reddening flesh before he grabs your hair, yanking your head back to whisper in your ear. “One,” he says. “I’m sorry for being such a slut, Professor.”

You repeat it quietly and he tuts. “Louder than that, love. I’m sure your boyfriend wants to know you’re learning your lesson.”

You oblige, repeating it louder and he makes a noise of satisfaction before the ruler comes down again, this time at the tops of your thighs. “Two,” he says. “I’m sorry for thinking with my pussy instead of my head.”

“Two, I’m… I’m sorry for thinking with my pussy instead of my head.”

The next hit lands in the same spot. “Three. I’m sorry for dripping over Professor Kim’s desk just from being spanked.��

You blush in embarrassment; you’d half hoped he wouldn’t notice, but that was a tall order anyway. When it comes to Hongjoong and anything to do with him, you’ve never been subtle.

The next hits follow the same pattern, spread across your ass and thighs with each one making you gasp louder than the last.

“Four. I’m sorry for making Professor Park waste his time disciplining me.”

“Five. I’m sorry for daydreaming about choking on another man’s cock.”

“Six. I’m sorry for being arrogant enough to think I’d get away with such an embarrassing performance.”

The last one hits you right on your dripping pussy, making you scream and he grabs your hair, spinning you around to face him and your boyfriend; your eyes hone in on Hongjoong’s cock, pulsing in his hands before Seonghwa forces your attention back to him. “Twelve,” he growls. “I’m sorry for being such a cockwhore that I’m making Professor Park break his rule about sleeping with students.”

You can’t help but grin as you repeat his words, feeling proud. Of course, you knew from the moment you turned around and saw him standing there what was going to happen, but it’s nice to hear it from him. He smiles, grasping your neck gently. “Did you like that?” He asks. “Getting spanked by your professor while your boyfriend jerks off to it?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I liked it.”

“Well, now that you’ve learnt your lesson,” he says, “I think it’s time you got fucked, no?”

You nod and turn to your boyfriend; he tilts his head, nodding towards his hard cock. “You know what to do,” he says.

“Yes, sir.” You sink to your knees, staring up at Seonghwa and sending him a teasing smile before crawling towards Hongjoong. You open your mouth, letting him push his dick inside; after all this time together, he doesn’t need to ease you into it anymore and can go straight to fucking your mouth and you take it diligently, opening your throat the way he’s trained you to. You hear Seonghwa whistle, admiring.

“She sucks cock like a fucking pro,” he laughs; the arousal in his voice is thick and unmistakable. “You’ve trained her well, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong laughs too, patting your head. “I had an excellent student,” he grins. You smile around him at the praise and he curses. “You’re too good at this, babe, Jesus. Gonna cum before I even fuck you.”

He thrusts into your mouth a few more times before pulling out abruptly, shoving you off of him and in an instant Seonghwa’s hands are in your hair as he pulls you to your feet and shoves you back over the desk. You collide painfully with the wood but you barely notice; you’re used to being manhandled by now, and it only makes you more excited.

Large hands you recognise as Seonghwa’s grab your ass cheeks, pulling them apart slowly; the air hits your exposed holes and makes you jump in surprise but you quickly regain your composure. As you still yourself again you feel Hongjoong’s finger running gently across your asshole, almost like he’s inspecting it, before it slides down to toy with your pussy.

“Hm…” Seonghwa’s voice is teasing. “What’s your favourite hole of hers, Professor Kim?”

“What a question,” Hongjoong chuckles and you hear the smile in his voice. His finger prods gently at your rim, making you tense unconsciously and he tuts, lightly slapping the tight little hole. It’s a subtle, painless chastisement but it makes you whine all the same. “Now, now, kitty cat,” he chuckles. “I didn’t train you to squirm, did I?”

“No, sir,” you mumble.

“Good,” he says. “To answer your question, Hwa, I’d have to say her pussy. I love her ass, of course, but nothing compares to the way that little cunt clings to my dick like it’s just begging for a baby.”

“Well that does sound nice.” Seonghwa’s hands leave your ass, returning to your pussy to spread you open. “It looks snug,” he says. “What do you think, little one? Want your professor to breed you?”

It takes you a moment for your brain to catch up with the rest of you and you frown in confusion. “I- you mean you, Professor Park?” You ask. It comes out as more of a strangled cry; your head is a mess of arousal and you barely even register what he’s saying to you, let alone comprehend it fully.

He laughs, patting your soft skin gently. “Yes, perhaps I should be more clear. It must be confusing to be bending over in front of two of your teachers.”

Your face burns at the obvious mockery; the degrading, sneering tone of his voice but you say nothing. Seonghwa hums. “So?” He asks sweetly. “You want me in your cunt, baby girl?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please, Professor.”

“There’s those manners,” he praises.

He keeps a firm grip on your hips as he slides in from behind; the feeling of his skin against your still burning ass is uncomfortable, but the way his cock is stretching you as he buries himself inside you is the only thing your brain can process right now.

He’s just as big as Hongjoong, maybe a little bigger, but his thrusts are more fluid and controlled; where Hongjoong fucks you like an animal hungry for more, Seonghwa fucks you with precision; with intention. His hands on your hips are firm yet gentle and the way he finds you in your deepest places has your head spinning with euphoria. “Jesus,” he curses. “Pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

You open your mouth to respond, barely getting a whine out before you feel hands in your hair, yanking at it to pull you forward. Hongjoong comes into view on the other side of the desk, his dick somehow still hard as he feeds it into your mouth. “There you go,” he coos. “Keep it hard, baby.”

You nod as best as you can and the friction against his dick makes your boyfriend groan. “Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re so fucking good with cock you could make me cum on accident.”

The feeling of two dicks inside you makes it hard to focus on either one; let alone to begin to process the filthy words they spit down at you. Intesd you close your eyes, letting the tears fall as Hongjoong starts to fuck your throat again; you’re limp against the desk now, held up solely by the wood and by the two men using you to satisfy themselves. “Oh shit,” Hongjoong says, seeing your dazed expression. “Baby’s gone dumb already.” He strokes your hair gently, a small comfort between punishing thrusts. “You okay, little dove?”

You groan in response, unable to do much else; it makes them laugh and Seonghwa pats your ass affectionately. “You’re doing so well,” he says. “I’m almost there, sweetheart. Gonna fill you up real nice, yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” you gasp.

The feeling of Seonghwa’s thrusts growing faster and harder and more desperate is overwhelming; coupled with the sensation of Hongjoong’s cock hitting the back of your throat again and again, it’s almost unbearable. Your fingers claw against the wood, surely leaving marks but you don’t care; you feel unlike you ever have before, stuffed full and used by two of the most attractive men you’ve ever even imagined.

You’re in so deep that you don’t even realise it’s over until the emptiness of your mouth and cunt becomes obvious; you feel cum leaking from your hole, a wet substance dripping down the desk and only when you look closer do you figure out what it is—squirt. You squirted. You squirted all over your boyfriend’s desk with another man’s cock in your pussy and you’ve never been more fucked out and satisfied than you are now.

When you stand up fully your legs, numbed and weakened by their abuse, start to give out but Hongjoong is there in an instant; he catches you in his arms, lowering himself to the ground so he can cradle you in his lap. You’re faintly aware of Seonghwa’s voice and strong hands stroking your hair before he’s gone, and it’s just you and Hongjoong.

“Good girl,” he mutters. “You took that so well.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” he smiles. “I only hope your performance in Professor Park’s class improves soon. Otherwise he’ll have to tutor you if you want to keep your spot in his class.”

Your heart jumps. “What?”

“Uni rules,” he shrugs, appearing nonchalant but the knowing smile on his face tells all. “If you fail two exams in a row, that’s what happens.”

You don’t know why he seems so surprised when you turn up in his office a month later with a D-minus and an already leaking pussy. He always knew you were insatiable.

Lucky for you, so are they.

—

comments/reblogs appreciated! i’m not sure im super happy with the ending but we move. let me know your thoughts! love🖤🖤🖤

ateez taglist: @pixie0627 @hon3ysun @bbdeongi @hwaromi @tangerineastronaut @fancypeacepersona @aloevendetta (unable to tag: @lemonkait00 @mylovelymito)

february festival taglist: @hohongsan @nopension

#ateez smut #ateez hard hours #kpop smut #ateez x reader #ateez hard thoughts #hongjoong smut #seonghwa smut #matz smut #matz x reader #poly ateez #mulloey writes #mulloey events

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 2 days ago

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Cold Rain

Swamped with school work and pain, sorry for the lack of updates.

Summary: It's raining outside so you and Bucky snuggle in bed.

You really don't like the rain.

It causes the floor to feel like ice, your skin prickling from the chill that sets into your house, and not to mention the howling winds out there make the night seem alive. Your hair stands on end, trying its best to protect you from the cold but it's not enough. You suppose it's partly due to your inability to tolerate the cold for some reason, a mystery you have yet to solve, but that has led to some funny incidents like the time you wore a hoodie out in the hot humid sun because you'd forgotten to take it off, causing Bucky to fret about heatstroke.

"Doll?" Said person appears in the doorway, holding two cups of steaming hot chocolate, the sweet scent wafting through the room. "Would you like one?"

"If I said no? What are you going to do with that other cup?" You peek out from beneath the pile of blankets.

"Drink it, obviously." He smiles, walking over to you and sits on the bed. "I suppose I get to drink both?"

You pout at him, reaching out with a hand and he chuckles, setting both cups on the bedside table. He gently tugs the blanket downwards and props your pillow up, causing you to slide off said pillow and pout further.

"I'm not risking you spilling any hot chocolate on the sheets, doll. Sit up or you're not getting any." He chides you, flicking your forehead with a look of amusement on his face. You huff, annoyed, but sit up anyways, clutching the blanket tightly. Bucky tucks himself in too before retrieving the cups, handing one to you, his hand lingering on yours.

"Wait. Let me sit on the other side." Bucky shifts, taking care to purposely hit you in the leg as he crosses over. You hit him back in the leg once he's settled on your left and he smirks, pressing his cold toes on your bare skin.

"Buck!" You shriek, causing him to burst out laughing. His retribution comes swiftly when you press your own cold toes against his bare skin, causing him to yelp in surprise. You grin, revenge gotten and begin to drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold. Bucky, the ever drama queen, scowls and sinks beneath the blanket, taking care to set his cup of hot chocolate down on the table before doing so.

He presses against you, resting his head on your stomach and you chuckle, knowing exactly what he wants you to do.

"You can always just ask, you know?" You run your fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp.

"But then we wouldn't have the telepathic connection couples have." He pouts, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes you've learnt to become immune to.

"I'm pretty sure we'd have the telepathic connection even if you asked," you snort, rolling your eyes.

"It wouldn't be the same," he huffs, rolling over to bury his face into your shirt. You're warm, and he likes the smell of your detergent.

"I think otherwise." You continue stroking his hair, smiling softly when you know he can't see it. He hums in response, curling up against you. It's days like these where you fully appreciate the fact that Bucky is just like a personal heater, the amount of body heat he emits has never bothered you, even on a hot day, but sometimes it can get a little too much, not that you've ever told him that. You like it when he cuddles with you, his vulnerable side on full display only for you. It makes your heart flutter, knowing that he trusts you with everything and you don't want him to stop.

Having finished your hot chocolate, you slide downwards, finally allowed to lie down on your bed. He grunts, feeling you shift underneath him and moves into a more comfortable position, taking care not to let his metal arm touch you. He knows how vulnerable you are to the cold, and likes being able to keep you warm. His heart soars whenever you tell him how much he's done for you, albeit in a drunk state but he'll take whatever praise he can when you rarely dish them out.

You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer to the other source of warmth in the room and press a kiss to the top of his head, making him smile. You drive away all forms of chill, enveloping him in a cocoon of warmth, forming a protective barrier that keeps the memories of Hydra out of his head, even if it's just for that short while.

"You're so warm," he murmurs, closing his eyes. "Everyone else is so cold."

You blink, then your eyebrows furrow with concern. "Buck? Is it that group of agents again? Do I need to beat them up or would throwing them out of the twentieth storey be better?"

"Doubt you could throw them any further than an inch, doll." His lips quirk up, one ice blue eye cracking open.

"I'll find a way to throw them out of the window," you growl.

"Fury will be pissed at you."

"Let him. Nothing's going to stand in my way of beating up people who talk behind my sugar plum's back.," you growl.

"Your sugar plum," he chuckles. "Never dropping that pet name, are you?"

"James, I'm serious. Do I need to do something about that group of agents?" You give his cheek a poke, ignoring his attempt to change the subject. "Because I really will throw them out of the twentieth storey window if I have to."

"Please don't do something that drastic. You already got into so much trouble when you beat them up." He pushes himself up so that he can press a kiss to your cheek. "I don't want you to get into more trouble because of me."

"You know that I'll do anything for you."

"I know, doll, and I'm grateful for that. But I'd still rather you not get into trouble if you don't have to." He nuzzles into the crook of your neck. "I don't like seeing you in trouble."

"Then next time I'll just not get caught."

"Doll!" He huffs, exasperated and amused. He pulls back, ice blue eyes clouding with sorrow. "I mean it. You shouldn't go too far for me, I'm not worth that much."

Your heart breaks at the sad smile he gives you and suddenly there's an urge to punt everyone who's ever hurt him out of the twentieth storey window, even if they're nothing but corpses now. You'll punt their corpses, bones, whatever is left of them.

"Yeah, that's because you're worth more than that. You're worth more than I can ever give you but that won't stop me from trying." You wonder if you can get your hands on his former handlers and beat them until their skulls cave in, get your hands on the scientists who experimented on him and shove their syringes up their asses, get your hands on the higher ups and watch as they choke to death on paper.

His bottom lip trembles, gaze dropping to stare at the spot of bed between the two of you and you catch a glimpse of tears rolling down his cheeks. You reach out hesitantly, wondering if it's alright for you to hold him when he leans in, pressing against you and sobs, his tears staining your shirt. You take that as your cue to wrap your arms around him, holding him tightly as he cries, your own heart aching with each wail that spill from his lips.

He clutches at you, desperately burrowing into your warmth as you run your fingers through his hair, giving him all the time he needs to let everything out.

"I've got you," you murmur. "I've got you."

He doesn't let go, not even after his cries have dwindled to the occasional sob. He continues to soak in your embrace, trying his hardest not to let you see his tear-stained face and puffy eyes but he can't help but look up at you, desperate to know if there's a look of disgust on your face you're disguising with your actions, if you want no more weakness out of him.

All he sees is the infinite, boundless and unconditional love you have for him.

He presses his face back into your chest, swallowing the lump in his throat and squeezes his eyes shut. He's safe, free from the tendrils of Hydra, free from the freezing snow that chilled him to the bone, free from the cryostasis whose icy touch still haunts him to this day. Even if the nightmares try to convince him otherwise, he knows that when he wakes up, if you're lying there next to him, the cold will never touch him.

The love you have for him wreathes him in a warmth like no other. It's not the same kind of warmth that fire or heaters provide, it feels different in a way he can't quite describe. It's both gentle and ferocious, it curls around him protectively like a shield but is a sword that cuts through all who try to hurt him. You're his special personal heater, providing a different kind of warmth from the one he provides.

You don't stop your ministrations, the rhythmic pattern lulling what remains of his defenses to sleep. You're the only one who can lay him bare like this, the only one he willingly shows his scars to because you're the only one he trusts to this extent.

The rain patters on outside, the wind whistling as it ushers the cold into your room and you press closer against Bucky, tugging the blanket around the both of you tightly. Bucky shifts, letting out a breath and presses a kiss to your collarbone.

"You're so warm." The words slip out before he can stop them and he blushes, the tips of his ears turning red.

"You're warm too," you chuckle, playing with his soft brown locks. "My warm safe haven."

Safe? Haven? Him?

"I'm not a safe haven," he mumbles, face still pressed against your shoulder.

"Says my devoted protector." You flick him in the head. "I distinctly recall a certain someone chiding me over and over again that the only reason I'm still alive is because of you?"

"I'm also the reason you're being targeted," he mumbles sadly. "Being with me makes you a target too, and I don't want to see you hurt."

"Well, good thing I have you as my knight in shining armour then." You smile softly, slipping a hand into his metal hand. "There's no one else I'd rather have."

Bucky's eyes widen but his metal hand gently curls around your flesh hand, fingers intertwined with yours. He looks up at you, searching for permission to close the distance and you give him a small nod. His eyes light up as he leans in, pressing his lips against yours. He kisses you like there's no tomorrow, like you're about to disappear at any moment, and his love crashes into you — wild, fierce, endless.

Maybe the rain isn't so bad after all.

#marvel #marvel x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #mcu bucky #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #bucky fluff #slight angst but mostly fluff #bucky cuddles

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thedoomedpie · 2 days ago

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Accidentally made a zombie Micheal Jackson lol.

This is the testing area, so none of the area will be in the final product, but here's a little snippet of the gameplay! or, just. moving around and me laughing at the zombie. It's not even aligned with the ground yet lol.

Anyways, wanted to share a little bit of the game. Today I finished the slot checking in the inventory, coded in a new separate mailbox (as you can see in the video) and, obviously, added a zombie :)

The zombie wasn't too bad to make the sprite of. I made them instead of starting to complete the tile sheet lol. It's a daunting task, because I think I need at least fifty different blocks or so to accurately show the hermitcraft environment? I'll get around to it. I'll get around to it. eventually.

Aside from the tile set, I think all I need to do is create the 'scenes' (hermit bases & post office), code in a nether portal (the nether hub will be very dumbed down, just so you can travel between clusters of bases with their mailboxes). I also need to code in all the other hermits' mailboxes, and then I'll start the process of making all the letters, as I only have two working ones in now.

AND NOW that I've sidled into that specific topic, if anyone wants to have a tiny part in this little project of mine, I am in need of little letters that could theoretically be sent between the hermits in this season! I have a post with more info here. If you have letter ideas, especially for the lesser-known hermits (or just the ones I don't see enough- like XB, wels, xisuma, hypno, false, keralis, beef, to name the ones I'm most in need of) or just any of any quality! Please send them through! You will get your name in credit on the finished product, too!

I love absolutely all the submissions so far! And fun fact, there is already TWO neck kisses letters submitted. Godspeed friends you are all amazing.

#pie programs!#pearlescentmoon #hermitcraft #hermitcraft season 10 #talking and stuff #my art #hermitage express game

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pedrito-friskito · 2 days ago

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strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

after - part thirty-five

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3

you leave jackson behind, and things take a turn.

a/n: WE ARE SO BACK BABY. didja miss me? I’ll be completely honest I have up to part 37 written, about to start 38 and I am determined to finish this before s2 drops in april ok? ok.

word count: 7k

warnings: if you’ve been here this long you know what’s up, and if you’ve seen the show you know what’s coming.

✨@friskito-library for updates on new parts/works✨

The morning seems to move in slow motion.

Joel’s not used to the warmth. He’s not used to the pile of blankets that covers you both, bodies bare beneath the sheets, mere inches separating you two.

He made the most of the bed, to say the least. After your conversation had come to a close, things had turned heated. There were more words he wanted to say, but they were all things he wasn’t quite sure how to voice. He didn’t have the right words, ones that would properly convey his gratitude, his love for you. So he settled for whispered I love yous and moans muffled by each other’s mouths, hands roaming until you both lost it, the warmth between your legs the only true home he’s ever known.

“You’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me,” he told you after, brushing the sweat-damp hair from your face, his body still pressed to yours, letting his thumb ride the curve of your mouth. “You know that, don’t you?”

You’d just smiled, and damn it all if it still didn’t make his heart skip a beat.

Now, the sun barely cuts through the closed curtains. He feels guilty, needing to wake you — he can’t remember the last time he saw genuine peace on your sleeping face. A glance at the clock on the nightstand tells him it’s too early, but he knows you need to get going, one way or another.

He leaves you be at first, getting out of bed himself, crossing to the bathroom attached to the bedroom. You’d both taken a quick shower before going to bed, and he takes his time now, letting the hot water soothe aches in muscles he didn’t know could ache like they do.

Joel’s not quite sure how long he’s been under the spray when there’s the rustle of the shower curtain, your bare figure stepping inside and pressing up against him a moment later, arms wrapped around his middle. Neither of you says a word, just stood there, the steam surrounding you both, Joel’s hands lifting to cover yours.

It’s still quiet when you start moving again, taking turns beneath the water, Joel washing your hair and letting you return the favour, massaging his fingers against your scalp when he does. You let slip a little groan, and he kisses the noise out of your mouth.

The pace picks up slightly when you get out, towels rubbing skin dry, Joel watching you run a brush through your hair before pulling it back. It bares your neck and he takes advantage, pressing his face to your pulse, leaving a hot kiss there. He goes to pull back but you don’t let him, lifting one hand and fisting it in his hair, the other hand reaching back and pulling his arm around his waist.

“I wish we could just stay here.”

Joel tries to ignore the pang of guilt in his gut. You’d told him more about your conversations with Cowan and Henry, what you’d learned and how things had changed. It wasn’t hard to miss the light in your eyes as you spoke, and Joel knew you’d never ask, but it was obvious: if Ellie chose you, after you found the Fireflies, you’d want to come back to Jackson.

Lincoln was out of the question, he knew. Too many happy memories that could be tarnished by what waited behind Bill and Frank’s bedroom door. Boston wasn’t an option either — you’d never make it back through the gate, and while the memories were further from happy, it was a place that needed to stay in the past. Jackson made the most sense. Tommy is here, same with Cowan and Henry, and while it’s not the happily ever after he imagined for you, it feels like a soft place to land.

“We’ll come back,” he tells you, meaning every word, “if Ellie wants to go with us. I promise you, we’ll come back.”

He doesn’t have a name for the look in your eye, but you turn, leaning in to press a kiss to the patch in his beard, squeezing your hand around his before stepping out of his grip. “C’mon,” you say, your voice low. “I want to beat them to the stables.”

You’re quick to pack, dressed in new clothes Maria had left for you both. Joel keeps the flannel he nicked from Bill and Frank’s, not missing the smile on your face when you see it. As you leave the house, Joel finds himself pausing by Ellie’s door. He can hear movement, the telltale creak of the floorboards, but you tug on his wrist.

“She needs to decide on her own.”

The sun is just cresting the mountain range as you step out the front door, closing it as soundlessly as possible behind you. It casts a wintry glow over everything, and Joel’s grateful for the new boots Tommy had given him — even after the trudge from the house to the stables, he can still feel his toes.

There’s no one around as you make your way to the barn that holds the horses. Tommy won’t be far behind, Joel knows, and he won’t admit to the nervousness in his gut. He did this. He fucked it all up with his one-track mind and his messy emotions. What if she picks Tommy? What if he’s ruined it all?

“Aren’t you beautiful?” he hears you coo to one of the horses, a darker, chocolate-coloured mare he’d seen the day before. The horse chuffs in approval, nudging at your shoulder with her nose while Joel finds saddles for both the chocolate mare and the lighter, coffee-coloured one he’d rode through the gate yesterday.

It’s quiet again as you prepare the horses, strapping your bags to the saddles and finding what little supplies you can in the stables. There’s still no one else around, and it’s been nearly half an hour when your head perks up, listening, and a moment later, Tommy and Ellie come into view, standing outside the stall you’re both in.

“You came here to say goodbye or something?” Ellie asks, her tone biting, and Joel sees you flinch.

“No,” Joel answers, fiddling with the last buckle on the saddle. “We came to take horses and go.”

“I woulda given you horses,” Tommy answers, glancing between you.

You open your mouth to say something, but Joel beats you to it. “I know.” He takes a step toward Ellie, not missing the way her eyes dart to you over his shoulder as he moves closer. “You deserve a choice. I still think you’d be better off with Tommy, but Liv and I, we’ll—”

“Let’s go,” Ellie cuts him off, shoving her duffle at him.

“Okay,” Joel answers, a little stunned, holding the bag to his chest. She cuts around him, stepping into the stall and walking over to you, wordlessly wrapping her arms around your middle, and Joel can feel your grin from where he stands. “You wanna ride with…?”

“Liv,” Ellie answers, her voice curt, and he knows he’s going to have to make up for all this somehow. “Can we go now?”

Tommy just shrugs when Joel looks back at him, then helps you push the stable doors open, leading the horses out. Ellie walks toward the darker horse, and you go to help her up, but Joel moves faster, leaning down and cupping his hands together for her to plant her boot, lifting her up and over. She doesn’t say thank you, but he hands her the reins. “Hold onto both.”

“Uh-huh,” she mumbles, and her tone is already a little lighter.

“Which way?” you’re asking Tommy when Joel turns toward his brother.

“Head southeast till you hit I-25,” he tells you, glancing at Joel. “It’s right off the interstate. Shouldn’t be hard to miss.”

Joel nods, and you step forward, opening your arms to Tommy. “Thank you, Tommy, for everything.”

He hugs you tight. “O’course, Liv. Anything for you two, you know that.”

You just nod, stepping back and brushing past Joel as you step toward the horse Ellie’s perched on. Joel’s wrapped up in Tommy’s hug a moment later, squeezing his brother as hard as he can, reluctant as hell to let go.

When they part, Tommy’s eyes are glossy. “There’s a place for you here,” he says, clapping Joel on the shoulder. “All of you.”

“Countin’ on it,” Joel replies, glancing over his shoulder at you, at the grin still on your face. Tommy readjusts the rifle on his shoulder, and Joel hears you clear your throat softly. “Can I borrow that?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says instantly, pulling the gun off his arm.

“Cuz Maria took mine, y’know,” Joel continues, and you let out what sounds like a scoff.

“I already said yes, Joel,” Tommy laughs, handing him the rifle. “Adios, big brother.”

Joel mounts his own horse after making sure the pair of you are secure in the saddle, and then you’re heading for the gate, Tommy following between the horses. The men posted at the wall reach for their guns when they see you approach, but Tommy calls for them to stand down, and they do.

“Liv, wait,” Tommy says, and Joel watches you pull on the reins, your mare stopping quickly. “Take this.”

Joel watches his brother disappear into a small shed beside the gate, and when he walks back out again, he’s got your bat in his hand. Most of the nails are gone, but it’s still a decent weapon, and you thank Tommy as he helps you find a spot for it on the saddle.

The gate creaks open a moment later, and then you’re through, back out into the Wyoming wilderness, and well on your way.

It’s surprisingly peaceful, riding. Your horse — who you and Ellie have decided is named Brownie — is a sweet thing, gentle and obedient to every tug on the reins. Joel battles a bit more with his own mount, the lighter mare not as quick to trust, but by the time you’ve reached the first strip of forest, he seems to have the hang of it.

The cold doesn’t feel as bad either, not as biting. Ellie is a flare of warmth against your back, her arms wrapped around your middle, and the clothes Maria had left you are suitably warm. You refused to part with the sweatshirt you’d taken from Bill and Frank’s, but the long-sleeved shirt you now have beneath it is the perfect extra layer, along with the thick gloves and the sherpa-lined jacket. Your breath still turns to steam on the air, but your teeth don’t chatter.

She picked you.

You can’t get over the feeling of rightness in your chest. Anyone else would call you insane, you know, but this…this feels right. It feels like you were meant to do this, to find Ellie, to come as far as you have. It’s not just a job anymore — it hasn’t been for a long time, but the feeling is tenfold now.

There had been a moment where you weren’t sure. When she’d first appeared in the stables with Tommy, that split second when she saw you two standing there, the glower on her face, the pain in her eyes. For that moment, you thought it was over, that you and Joel would have to figure out something else, that she’d pick Tommy over you. And you wouldn’t have blamed her if she had.

But you’re sure as hell glad that she didn’t.

You push the horses into a trot when the snow gives way to large patches of grass, most of the white stuff melted away. A few hours of riding, and Joel calls you to halt. Your brow lifts, eyeing the fallen tree on one side of the grassy patch, another on the opposite side.

“Joel?”

“Just wanna stop here a bit,” he tells you, and you watch as he ties his horse to a nearby tree, walking over to you to take your reins a moment later. “Target practice.”

“Target practice?” you repeat, confusion in your voice as he leads your horse to his, tying the reins as well before offering you a hand to help you down. “I don’t think I need—”

“Not you,” he replies, shaking his head. Realization dawns as he juts his chin toward Ellie. “For the kid.”

“Me?” Ellie gasps, absolutely beaming as Joel helps her down from the saddle. “You’re gonna let me shoot?”

“You’re the one that wanted to learn how to hunt,” Joel says, shrugging, and you grin. “Now seems like good a time as any, don’t you think?”

She beams impossibly bigger and nods.

Her first shot goes wide, smashing a chunk of the fallen tree to bits and sending a spray of wood chips in the air. The second pulverizes a pile of snow. The third is just shy of the target Joel has set up, and she heaves a sigh. “Wide right,” Joel says, turning his head to look at Ellie. “You’re flinchin’.”

“The target’s too small!” she shoots back, peering through the gun’s scope. You stifle a laugh. It’s been almost an hour now, since you stopped, since Joel set up the target and showed Ellie how to hold the rifle, pointed out the different parts of the gun and taught her how to aim. You’ve been quiet, mostly, content to watch him with her, your chest nearly bursting with excitement at the ease you can see in his shoulders, the relaxedness in his expression.

It’s the most content you’ve seen him in a long goddamn time.

“I made it bigger than I should’ve,” Joel answers, nodding at the rifle. “Eject the cartridge.”

She does as he says, the casing pinging off the wood. “I am not flinching.”

Joel shoots you a look over the top of Ellie’s head and you stifle another laugh. “Mhm.”

“The rifle just sucks!” Ellie whines at you, and Joel scoffs.

“Okay, give it.”

Ellie sighs, but relents, still complaining as she hands him the gun and moves away to stand beside you. “It doesn’t aim right.”

“Mhm,” you echo.

Joel shifts into teacher mode. “A deep breath in, slow breath out. You squeeze the trigger like you love it.” His eyes shift to you as Ellie lifts the binoculars Joel had given her, watching the target. “Gentle, steady…nice and slow.”

“You gonna shoot this thing or get it pregnant?” Ellie quips, and Joel grins, lowering his head to peer through the scope.

You’re definitely not pressing your thighs together.

“It isn’t gonna work,” Ellie continues. “It doesn’t aim right.”

The shot echoes through the air…

…and just misses, sending more snow into the air.

“Aha!” Ellie yells triumphantly, jumping up and pointing at Joel. “I told you!”

“Gimme that thing,” you laugh, holding a hand out to Joel. He lifts his brow at you but hands you the rifle. “Someone’s gotta show this kid how it’s really done.”

The glare he gives you is halfhearted, and you grin as you take his place, lining up the shot and looking through the scope. If there’s one thing Nick Cowan did right by you, it was teaching you to shoot. But Joel’s words are not lost on you either. You take a deep breath in, then slowly let it out. You squeeze both hands around the gun, the barrel and the trigger, your touch gentle but firm. It’s not a far cry from the way you’ve held Joel.

Gentle. Steady. Nice and slow.

The kickback makes your shoulder rattle, but you stay firm, watching the shot through the scope.

Bullseye. Right in the middle of the ASSHOLE Ellie had scrawled out while Joel was making the target.

“Holy shit!” Ellie nearly screams, leaping to her feet. “Your wife is a better shot than you!”

Triumphant, you get to your feet, handing the rifle back to Joel, unable to wipe the grin from your face. “More practice, is all.”

Joel mutters under his breath as he slings the rifle over his shoulder. His annoyance is just as halfhearted as his glare had been. “C’mon, we should get goin’.”

He pulls you under his arm as you walk back to the horses, Ellie skipping ahead of you both.

“That was a lucky fuckin’ shot, baby.”

“You’re really never going to admit I’m a better shot than you?”

He buries his nose in your hair. “Just annoyed I’m not the one that taught you.”

You bark a laugh. “You taught me lots of other good things, Joel, don’t you worry.”

“I can hear you being gross!” Ellie shouts, and you both dissolve into laughter.

Ellie surprises you by asking Joel if she can ride with him for the next leg. His eyes flit to you after the words have passed her lips, and you give him a little nod, the corner of your mouth twitching.

The horses are sweet animals, letting you push them through most of the day, stopping once or twice to let them drink from the river while you and Joel stretch sore muscles. Ellie asks to practice shooting again, and while Joel refuses the first time, her second ask is granted. He asks you to show her the right stance for shooting a pistol, and you do, helping her with her grip while Joel sets up a new target.

She hits it bang-on this time.

You’re reluctant to stop to camp, only because you know every bone in your body is going to scream in protest against sleeping on the forest floor again after the ecstasy that was that mattress back in Jackson. Joel lets Ellie take the first watch, giving her your watch and insisting she wake him after three hours, which she agrees to.

You lay out the sleeping bags and try to make things as comfortable as possible, warmer when Joel joins you, wrapping an arm around your middle and pressing his nose into the back of your neck. It feels louder out here — in Jackson, you’d noticed how…normal it felt. More like the way things used to be than the fear and insanity that had run your life in Boston.

It felt like Austin, in truth. The way you’d felt in Joel’s house before you left. The calm and the quiet and the warmth.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Ellie’s questions start your third day out of Jackson, after you’ve re-saddled the horses and forced some sort of protein bar down Joel’s throat, your new routine of sorts. There’s instant coffee, blessedly, and you’re riding solo, Ellie having picked Joel once again. You’re not even remotely mad — the easy grin on his face is all you really need.

“So the way they ran stuff in Jackson, was that how things used to be?”

“No,” you answer before Joel can, shaking your head as the horses weave between the trees. “The country was too big for something like that.”

“Back then, there were basically two main ways of lookin’ at things,” Joel interjects. “Some people wanted to own everything, and some people didn’t want anyone to own anything at all.”

“Which one were you?” Ellie asks him, and your brow lifts.

“Neither, I just did my job,” he answers, and damn it all if that isn’t the most Joel Miller response possible.

“Which was…building?” Ellie asks. Campfire conversation has gotten increasingly honest between the three of you, and you can see Joel’s walls crumbling for Ellie. He answers almost anything she asks, and you return the honesty in kind, offering your own answers when Joel falls short. Family is still a subject you all tiptoe around, though Ellie’s gotten a bit out of Joel regarding him and Tommy growing up.

“That’s right,” Joel tells her with a nod. “Houses, stores, that kind of thing. We were called ‘contractors’.”

Ellie pauses a moment, and then her voice comes out low and gravelly. “The Contractor. That’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah,” Joel says, and you can see his jaw working to stop a grin from taking over his face. “We were cool. Everybody loved contractors.”

“Nice,” Ellie mumbles, and leans fully against Joel’s back, pressing her face between his shoulders. He doesn’t hide his smile then, glancing your way, and neither do you.

It all continues on, more of the same. You make it as far as possible when the sun is up, find a safe place to camp when the sun sets. You hadn’t been greedy with what you took from Jackson, but it’s enough to last you, to prevent you from needing to go scavenging. Not that there’s much left to scavenge.

Joel takes Ellie hunting one afternoon, when the horses have finally put their hooves down, as it were. They need a good rest, and you’re not opposed to it, your ass aching something fierce from the straight days of riding. They come back with a few rabbits and squirrels and Ellie has the most triumphant look on her face. Joel looks like he won the damn lottery, coming over and planting a hard kiss to your mouth, not pulling away until Ellie makes an exaggerated gagging sound.

“Okay, so if you mess up your fourth down, then you give the ball to the other team?”

“Right,” Joel nods. “It’s called a ‘turnover’.”

“Turn over. But, if you make it to ten yards, then you’re back to your first down?”

“Yep.”

“So, basically just moving in one direction.”

“Basically. But violent.”

You scoff a laugh.

“Oh,” Ellie mutters, her tone sarcastic. “Well, there’s that.”

It’s the tail end of the football explanation that has you reaching the I-25, just as Tommy had directed. “How ‘bout that?” Joel says as you come up beside him, tugging the reins to pull your horse to the same speed. “Made it in five days.”

“Easy days,” Ellie chimes in, her face popping up over Joel’s shoulder. “I don’t know what Tommy was so afraid of.”

“Still time to find out,” you say, glancing around as the horses slow to match pace. “It’s damn deserted out here, I’m not sure I wanna know what’s lurking.”

“I’ll tell you what’s lurking,” Ellie says, leaning around Joel with a grin on her face. “The Contractorrrrrr.”

You giggle and Joel rolls his eyes.

The closer you get to the university, the lighter the snow becomes. Grass and plants poke through the white, most of it melted away or just barely clinging on. It’s quiet, and Joel can’t quite tell if it’s a blessing or a curse. He can feel your unease from where you’re riding beside him, Ellie having switched saddles for the last leg of the journey.

He ignores the subtler pang in his chest at watching the two of you together. The way you automatically shift into protective mode when Ellie is near you is not lost on Joel; he knows he does the exact same thing. But watching it from afar, the conversation you’d had back in Jackson still echoing through his mind, it’s different.

As the buildings come into view, Joel’s heart sinks. It all looks just as rundown as the rest of the world, and though he knows that wouldn’t stop the Fireflies from setting up shop, he can’t ignore the way your unease increases, clearly on high alert as you make your way onto the campus.

“Home of the Big Horns,” Ellie reads as you pass the sign, weathered bricks covered in overgrowth, but not enough to block out the words. “What does that mean?”

“Team mascot,” Joel calls to her. “It’s a kind of sheep.”

Her head perks up from where she’d had it pressed to your shoulder blade. “Oh! See, Joel? One step closer to your dream.” You grin, but it doesn’t touch your eyes. “Don’t see any Fireflies, though.”

“They’re probably in the middle, if I had to guess,” you say, your gaze scanning the buildings and roads beyond the gate you’ve paused at. “Would be safer, farther from the main roads.”

“This way,” Joel gestures, nudging his heels into his horse’s belly.

You’re nearly silent as you get further and further into the campus grounds. The only sound is the occasional howl of the wind, the horses’ hooves clipping against the cobblestones.

“So these places,” Ellie breaks the quiet, “people would live here and like, what? Go to classes and stuff?”

“Yup,” Joel answers, glancing your way.

“Even though they were adults?”

“Sort-of adults,” you say, the corner of your lips turning up. “I definitely didn’t feel like an adult in college.”

“You went?” she asks, and you nod.

“Michigan State University,” you reply, and Ellie wrinkles her nose. “I wanted to be as far away from Texas as humanly possible.” Then your eyes shift to Joel. “Then I graduated and went back to Austin, and I never wanted to leave.”

Your words light a fire in his chest, warm and welcoming, just as they always do.

“What did you study?” Ellie asks.

“English lit, minored in business. And yes, all my classes were filled with very helpful information on surviving the apocalypse. I have the girls’ softball league to thank for my swing, but honestly, I think it was just as much about partying and finding yourself as anything else. Figuring out what you wanted to do with your life.”

“What you wanted to do with your life,” Ellie repeats with a laugh.

What do you want to do with your life?

The question manifests itself before Joel can stop it, between the warmth in his chest and your eyes on him, Ellie’s easy grin and all the conversations that have been had.

“I’ve been thinkin’,” he starts, and you reach back to swat Ellie when she mumbles ‘oh, here we go’. “I don’t want a sheep ranch, actually. I mean, if the deal is that I can do anything?”

Ellie perks up some, realizing that he’s carrying on the conversation she’d started around the fire what feels like forever ago. “That’s the deal.”

“Well, when I was a kid, I wanted to be a singer.”

Your jaw drops, surprise plain on your face, and Ellie laughs. “Shut up.”

“Why is that funny?” he asks, adjusting his grip on the rifle as the horses veer close to each other, Joel’s knee bumping yours.

“You gotta sing something now,” she tells him.

“No.”

“C’mon, man, I’m not gonna laugh!”

“You’re already laughin’.”

“Yeah, okay, true.”

You glance at him sideways. “You know, in all the years I’ve known you, Joel Miller, I don’t think I have ever heard you sing. I’ve heard you hum, mind you, but never sing.”

He shrugs, feeling his cheeks heat. “It never came up.”

Your head drops back and you laugh. “I guess not.”

“Well, Joel, you’re singing for me later,” Ellie pipes in. “I’m gonna save the fuckin’ world, man. It’s the least you can do.”

You laugh again and Joel shoots Ellie a glare. “Fair enough.”

The horses continue forward, and high-pitched yelps make Joel’s shoulders tense. He sees your eyes cut to him for a moment before Ellie asks, “Are those monkeys?”

Sure enough, they are. Maybe a dozen of them, all yelping and scattering across the field before you. Joel deflates some, but the wariness doesn’t dissipate. “Must be from the old labs.”

“Look at ‘em go!”

“First time seein’ a monkey?” he asks Ellie, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“First time seein’ a monkey!” she echoes, and you huff a little laugh.

You keep moving, the sound of the horses’ hooves growing louder when you reach the mostly uncovered pathways, paved over but cracked to hell. You reach the place where the paths all intersect, a signpost standing in the middle, and you suck in a breath.

“Joel,” you call, and when he looks at you, you jut your chin back toward the signpost. “Look. Biomedical Sciences Building.”

There’s a yellow firefly painted on the sign, identical to the ones hidden all over the Boston QZ. There’s no mistaking it.

“Here we go,” Ellie mumbles, and you push the horses a little faster. Anxiety riots in Joel’s gut, and he can see it etched into your features when he steals a look in your direction.

You follow the signpost toward the medical building, and the field opens up, trees long dead from the cold lining the edges, and Ellie points out the two guard stations toward the building itself.

“But no guards,” you mutter, and Joel’s brow pulls down as he adjusts his grip on the rifle.

Ellie makes a wary noise behind you, and Joel sees your hand drop to her knee. “Get your gun out.” Your eyes skirt back to Joel’s as you pull your own from the holster on your thigh, and he gives you a nod.

It’s quiet. It’s too goddamn quiet.

You bring the horses to a stop between the guard stations, tying the reins to the tree that stands there. When you’re close enough, you reach for Joel’s hand, your skin frozen against his when he pulls off his gloves. Ellie comes up behind you, her gun held in both hands, and Joel pulls out his own pistol, swinging the rifle up onto his shoulder.

There’s another Firefly painted onto an overturned dumpster, and Joel can see the muscle in your jaw working as you walk past it.

Inside the building is less than promising. Papers are scattered on the floor, a few gurneys and stools cast on their sides. Your footsteps echo as you move through it, keeping close together. Ellie stops by a table that hadn’t been tipped over, runs her fingers over the instruments and test tubes and papers that litter the surface. “There were definitely doctors here.”

Joel opens the file folder on the table, scans the words scribbled there. Textiles, medical, ammunition, food/perishable…It goes on and on, and he realizes, “This is a packing list.”

Ellie’s brows shoot up. “They just left?”

Before you can answer, the sound of clanging metal echoes through the building, and you all look in the direction it came from.

“Maybe not all of them,” Ellie whispers, and you squeeze her arm, angling yourself in front of her as you look up toward the second floor.

“That came from upstairs,” you say, and Joel just nods, moving past you both and leading you toward the stairs. You’re sure to keep Ellie behind you, Joel checking the corners before signalling you to follow. The sound comes again, making you flinch, and Joel slips his free hand into yours.

Just as you reach the first door, the clanging echoes once more.

Joel lifts a hand to signal you to stop, and you step back, taking Ellie with you as Joel lifts his gun, his hand around the doorknob.

The door creaks as he pushes it inward, and a monkey with an old computer keyboard in its hands, the keys now scattered on the floor, screeches before taking off out the open window. As it goes, a few more scamper out the far window, metal clanging to the floor as they go.

You sigh, following Joel inside, and Ellie pushes past both of you, trying to get a better view.

“Well,” Joel mutters, reaching for your hand again, “at least it ain’t Clickers.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “but no Fireflies either.”

“Maybe in all that research, they turned into fucking monkeys,” Ellie quips, and Joel doesn’t miss the disdain in her voice.

This was supposed to be it. The endgame, mission completion, whatever they call it in those sci-fi books he never got into.

You step further into the room, releasing Joel’s hand to look at the desks, and he knows you’re looking for more Firefly symbols. He follows suit, picking his way around, avoiding the shattered glass and whatnot.

There’s a large corkboard along one wall, a map spread out and studded with thumbtacks. They’re in a pattern, of sorts. It looks like a route, the three different colours converging on—

“Salt Lake City,” you mutter, appearing at Joel’s side. He nods as Ellie appears, pointing at the spot with her gun.

“That’s where they went?”

“All the pins lead there,” Joel says. “Maybe gettin’ ahead of the weather, better facilities? I don’t know.”

“Then we need to—” you start, but cut yourself short, your head twitching toward the window, grabbing Joel’s arm in a death grip. “Get down.”

He does as you say, pulling Ellie down with him as you slink along the wall to the window, peering up and over the ledge. You’re all dead quiet, but Joel can see the fear in your face as you peer through the glass.

You hold up four fingers. Mouth the word. “Raiders.”

Joel tries to orient himself, figuring out the direction the staircase had led you. “They have the horses?” he whispers.

You shake your head, moving back toward them. Ellie stares between you. “What do we do?”

“Out the back,” Joel declares, grabbing your hand as you grab Ellie’s. He takes the lead, taking the stairs the opposite way and heading for the side door he’d spotted on the way in.

You crouch behind the piles of sandbags on either side of the door, both of you watching as Ellie tries to close the door as quietly as possible. The click makes you all wince, and Joel grits his teeth as you peer around the sandbags, trying to spot the raiders.

The horses are still where you left them.

“Quick,” Joel murmurs, and moves around the sandbags, acutely aware of the two of you following behind him as he reaches one of the guard stations. “Ready?” he asks you, and you nod, glancing at Ellie over your shoulder.

You sprint for the horses, Ellie unhooking the reins and handing one set to you as Joel puts the rifle in the saddlebag. She coos at the horse, trying to lead it away as you do the same, but then you freeze, staring over Joel’s shoulder.

“Joel!”

He’s got your fucking bat.

Your heart has simultaneously sunk into your toes and jumped into your throat as the man comes at Joel. He swings too high and Joel ducks low, and the bat cracks in half as it collides with the tree, the impact splintering the middle.

From the corner of your eye, you see Ellie lift her gun as Joel grabs the guy, shoving him back, away from the two of you. He swings his head back, slams it forward and into the man’s face, stunning him enough that he can adjust his grip, slinging his arm around his neck and pulling tight.

You put yourself in front of Ellie, pushing the horse’s reins into her hands as you lift your gun, pointing it past Joel. It’s quiet enough on campus for you to hear the man’s neck snap beneath Joel’s grip, and your gut roils with relief as his body thuds to the ground.

“Jesus Christ, we—”

You cut yourself short when Joel turns around. Behind you, Ellie lets out a quiet gasp.

No.

The handle of your bat, the broken end, is jammed into Joel’s stomach. Blood stains the edges of the green plaid, and Joel stares at you before dropping his gaze to the wood stuck in his body. Before you can stop him, he puts a hand against his stomach, closes his fingers around the handle, and yanks it out with a wet squelch. You can see just how jagged the end of the handle was, the splinters of wood where it snapped making the perfect makeshift weapon.

It falls to the ground at your feet, and his eyes move back up to yours again. You look away, movement catching your eye over his shoulder. “Ellie, get on the horse!” you shout, three figures sprinting toward you. “Now!”

Joel falters as you reach for him, pulling him toward the horses as Ellie clambers into one saddle. He shouts in pain as you push him up first, grabbing the reins and digging your boots into the horse’s belly.

“Go!” you shout, and Ellie obeys, taking off ahead of you. Joel flicks the reins, his hands bloody around the leather, and as the horse starts to gallop, you swing back, your gun aimed at the three raiders running for you. “Get back!”

They all drop at the gunshots, and you fire until the clip is empty.

Ellie looks back at you. “Go!” you shout again, and she does. Ellie just keeps going. You’re disoriented, no idea which direction you entered the campus from, or what direction you’re heading now. You reach the roads again eventually, and you’re far enough that you don’t think the raiders will catch up to you. You take a few turns, double back a few times to confuse the horses’ tracks in the snow.

Joel’s silent in the saddle. You fish a t-shirt out of one of the bags, fold it into something resembling a bandage and snake your arm around him, pressing the wad of fabric to his stomach. It makes him yelp in pain, the sound making your heart ache, but you have to do something.

You’re a week out from Jackson, and then some. You can’t double back now, Joel wouldn’t make it, he wouldn’t—

You push the thought away. Shove it into the farthest corner of your mind.

Eventually, you make it to train tracks. Train cars dot the station, long abandoned, and you don’t want to stay here long, if you can avoid it. There are too many places for people to hide.

Ellie brings her horse up right beside you, her face dripping with concern. “They’re not following us,” she tells you, glancing over her shoulder. “I think we’re safe.”

“Safe,” Joel repeats, and it’s the first word he’s said you took off. His weight sags against you, tipping backward, and you try to adjust your grip, digging your heels into the stirrups, but it’s no use. You both go tumbling out of the saddle, the earth hard and unforgiving as you hit the snow. Joel flops onto his back, his eyes fluttered shut, and you scramble upright as Ellie slides from her horse, leaving the pair of beasts standing on the train tracks.

“Joel?” you yelp, barely aware of the snow and dirt and rocks that broke your fall, now covering one side of your body. “Joel!”

No.

“Shit,” Ellie cries, moving to where you’ve fallen. She keeps talking, you think, but you can barely hear her.

This cannot be happening. Not like this.

“Joel?” you say again. He doesn’t move. You scan the length of him, see the spreading blood where the t-shirt has fallen away. You scramble for it, pressing it over his still-bleeding wound. “Joel. Joel, open your eyes.”

Ellie calls your name this time, her voice cracking on the syllable, and it brings you back to yourself. Your head snaps up, meeting her eyes where she’s crouched on the other side of him. “Fuck, Liv, is he dead? Is he gonna die? Oh god, we can’t fuckin’ do this without him, we’re fucked, we’re gonna die, we’re gonna—”

She cuts herself short, but her breathing is laboured, her eyes brimming with shiny tears as she stares down at him, her cheeks bright red in the cold. “Ellie, look at me,” you say, but she shakes her head.

“This is all my fault,” she says, reaching for Joel’s hand, moving it to put pressure on the wound. “He’s gonna die and it’s all my—” She sucks in a pained breath, tears sliding down her cheeks.

“Ellie,” you say again, and she finally looks at you, “Honey, I need you to calm down.”

“But I—” she starts, but another hard breath cuts her off.

“You need to breathe,” you say, surprised at how calm your voice sounds. “Listen to me. I know you’re scared. I’m scared, too.” You reach out and grab her hand, squeezing your fingers around hers. “But I can’t help him if I’m helping you. Breathe deep and breathe slow.”

She stares at you, and you take your own advice. Breathe in, breathe out. Rinse. Repeat. You cover Joel’s hand with your own, keeping pressure as best you can. Eventually, Ellie follows your example, breathing deeply. It shakes on the way out, but it’s something.

“Good,” you tell her, nodding. “Now, we have to figure out how to move him.” You lift your head, blinking back your own tears as you look around the train yard. Something catches your eye and you lift your free hand to point. “You see that shed over there? The covered one? I need you to go see if you can pull the tarp off, okay?”

On shaky legs, Ellie gets up, her eyes glued to Joel as she does. Her breath shakes again and you reach out and catch her wrist.

“Breathe, Ellie.”

You see it then, the change in her expression, the shift from fear to determination, and you know you need to find the same switch within yourself, but…You wait until her back is turned to let your tears fall. He’s warm beneath your hands as you brush your palm over his head, his hair soft and familiar against your skin.

No. Not like this.

“Joel Miller, you do not die today,” you tell him, lifting the t-shirt slightly. The fabric is nearly soaked through with his blood, and you wrack your brain for every bit of medical advice Deanna ever gave you. “You are not allowed, do you fucking hear me?”

Nothing.

Leaning down, you brush your lips against his, hoping for something, anything. You can hear the thump of his heart against his ribs, but he doesn’t so much as twitch. You glance in Ellie’s direction, seeing her back is still turned.

“Please, Joel. Please don’t leave me like this.”

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#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers #joel miller x oc #joel miller x liv stone

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the0p · 2 days ago

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studio

bf!hongjoong, fluff, a lot of kissing, both are idols, mlm, some of ateez mentioned (not all), short story for once!

I sat on the sofa, waiting for my turn to record drifting in and out of sleep as san and seonghwa argued next to me about which Lego set seonghwa should buy next. I leaned my head against Sans shoulder as he was the closest to me and closed my eyes, knowing it would be a long wait and being too tired to try and fight the sleep that was creeping up on me. san didn't protest as we were all relatively affectionate with each other, so it wasn't anything new as I drifted off to sleep. time passed by, and I was being woken up by hongjoong. The rest of the members were nowhere in sight, only him and me in the studio. "Hey y/n...wake up" his voice soft as he looked down at me with a small smile on his face. I sat up from the sofa I had been layed on, guessing by san, since I had fallen asleep on him originally rubbing my face a bit before standing up and stretching. "sorry hongjoong I didn't mean to fall asleep." he shook his head the same smile on his beautiful face as he brushed some hair away from my face. "it's okay. we all have done that at least once." his words are soft and comforting. "Come on, let's get done with recording so we can get ourselves back home." he said, his hand placed on my lower back pushing me gently towards the recording room.

I walked inside the room, putting on the headphones flipping through the sheet music, checking my lyrics, and warming up my voice before we finally got started. it did take a bit, and one crash out from me before i was finally done and hongjoong was pleased. I took the headphones out and took the sheet music with me, placing it on his desk, walking behind his chair, draping my arms over his shoulders, and resting my chin on top of his head. "Are you gonna finish it tonight or??" I asked as I watched him compose the whole thing together. he hummed, leaning back in his chair, tilting his head back, looking up at me as I looked down at him. "Probably tonight." I stayed quiet, already expecting that answer. "You don't have to sta-" I cut him off with a short kiss. "I'm staying. what type of boyfriend would I be if I didn't? " he chuckled but didn't protest. I pulled away from him, taking a chair nearby, placing it next to his, and sitting down, staying quiet and letting him work his magic.

he worked, putting everything together, asking for feedback from time to time, making sure everything was perfect, as I sat next to him, scrolling trough my phone, not having anything else to do just here to provide company so he isn't alone. he got halfway done when he pulled himself away from his precious computer and leaned his head on my shoulder, watching my tiktok feed with me. "Are you finished??" I asked, glancing at him. "No, but halfway there." it was obvious he didn't wanna do it anymore, his voice tired. I turned my phone off, placing it on the table before turning to look at him fully, a hand on each cheek, before I attacked him with kisses, making sure not to miss anything. he laughed as I showered him with love and affection, kissing his cheeks, forehead, nose, and lips numerous times before ending it with one long kiss on the lips. he returned the kiss, smiling into it. he finally broke the kiss, looking at me, the tips of his ears slightly red. "What was that for?" I shruged, taking my hands off his cheeks and sitting properly now. "You seemed tired. had to cheer you up a bit, plus who else will finish the song." I said, trying to play it off as no big deal. he rolled his eyes, placing a kiss on my cheek.

"You love me." he whispered a small smirk on his face.

"Sadly, I do"

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cuteandhughesy · 6 hours ago

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Love Looks Pretty On You | Jonathan Kovacevic

summary: dating one of the members of the new jersey devils roster was frowned upon, and breaching that rule could result in the loss of your job—however, when johnathan kovacevic comes into the picture, the rules seem to fade away

15.5k

a/n: based off this lovely request! this is a player i’ve never written before, and before this request I wasn’t too familiar with (just his name and the team he plays for) so i’m so happy to have learned and now share! but i’m actually really happy with this, so I hope you love.

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part1: job of your dreams

you toy with the long stick of liquid eyeliner, biting the most sensitive part of your inner lip as you contemplate your next move. your eyes dart back to your own reflection, examining your usual makeup look that you'd just finished. is winged liner too much?

today is the first day of your new—dream—job. a job which before jessica campbell paved the way to woman leading jobs in the nhl, you never imagined you'd achieve...but here you are—in your bathroom, minus 1 hour until you needed to show your face at prudential center and contemplating if you wanted to add a small black wing on your eyelid.

you want to come off sophisticated and put together, and you can't decide if liner is the perfect way to showcase that...or the complete opposite. you look down to the drugstore branded stick, and with a rough sigh, you slot it back in your drawer—nestled between other coloured pencils you're always hesitant in using and a stack of blotting sheets you always forget to grab before heading out.

you leave your warm bathroom without another glance at the mess of makeup left on your bathroom counter, hastily making your way through the hallway and towards the kitchen—you still need to get your coffee ready. the sound of your feet padding along the hardwood has you cat, hazelnut, chirping sweetly, jumping off the back of the couch in favour of weaving through your legs.

you almost trip, and you curse gently. "hazy, baby, please—i'm nervous enough already? the last thing I need is to fall and break my nose beforehand."

she blinks her wide green eyes at you, and obviously that's as much as an answer you're going to get out of your sweet kitty. you sigh, carefully walking around her and to the previously brewed coffee pot. to keep with the professional vibe you're hoping to give off, you opt for a sleek black travel tumbler, filling it dangerously high with decaf—although the chances of you leaving it in your cup holder is so high, you could've chose a rangers branded tumbler and it wouldn't of really mattered.

you fasten the lid, turning and meeting the eyes of hazelnut—who's now sitting comfortably on your kitchen island, her striped tail wagging happily. you give your cat a nervous, closed lip smile. "wish me luck!"

and in some twisted way like your cat can understand you, she meows once, a slow blink of her eyes following. it has the nerves bubbling in your stomach settling down ever so slightly, and you finally feel like you can drag yourself out the house.

just before you open the door, you double back and speed walk back into your mess of a bathroom, pulling the top drawer back open and grabbing not only your blotting sheets, but the eyeliner as well—throwing them both into your purse.

the drive to the arena was filled with your own personal ferris wheel of nervous anticipation and self deprecation—accompanied by your cheesy pop playlist full of tate mcrae, the wicked broadway soundtrack, and everything in between. you're so focused on not only the road ahead, but with the thoughts of how you'll make the best impression on the men that you'll be helping coach.

the professional hockey players that you'll be coaching. it's so surreal, and just as exciting—so much so that you're not even positive it's completely sunk in, despite the butterflies in your stomach reminding you every single minute.

by the time you pull into the parking lot, you're only just realizing you left too early—the practically empty parking lot and time on your dashboard undeniable evidence as such. you turn off your engine, unbuckling your seatbelt with a deep breath. you fall back into your seat, attempting to get a grip on your sweaty limbs and racing heart.

"fuck it." you chime, digging through your purse while simultaneously flipping your visior down—the mirror lights shining in your face. you grab the eyeliner, and with another sigh, you begin lining your lashes, creating the smallest wing. you pull back, and surprisingly enough it looks really good—good choice, you think to yourself.

"okay," you smile, "now just the other side." talking to yourself has always been your favourite pass time, as clinically insane as that may seem. there's no friend—or critique—like yourself, and sometimes you needed you to tell yourself things—like the choice to bring your eyeliner for example...smart.

you drop the felt tip to the middle of your lid, and slowly begin dragging it outwards. you're pretty sure your tongue is poking out as a concentration method, and you can only hope none of your new team members are around to see the way your face is contorted.

a soccer ball smacks against your window, making you jump. the tip of your eyeliner follows the line of your face, a thick black line going all the way back to your hairline. "shit!"

shocked, and still flustered from the sudden scare you whip around to look through the driver's window in an attempt to see what the fuck just occurred. a battered soccer ball rolls away from your tires, back in the direction it came from. your eyes follow the pattern, slowly trailing the line until you're landing upon...oh it's a man.

a man who is jogging towards your car with a sheepish expression on his face. you open your door and quickly get out of the car just as the man stops in front of you—his guilty expression not yet letting up.

he's actually quite handsome, you think. beautiful tawny skin with a hint of dark stubble lining his sharp jaw and chin. he's also tall, like intimidatingly so—it has you feeling tiny in comparison.

"i'm so sorry," he starts, voice gravelly in a way that has your stomach swooping. "soccer has never been my sport of choice...for obvious reasons." the man gestures between the now still soccer ball and your open car door, a small, but hesitant grin taking over his face.

if you were angry before, you're not anymore—any remarks dying on your tongue at the sight of the attractive man in front of you. you clear your throat twice, blinking to regain focus—this is the last thing you needed to be thinking about on a day as big as this one. you're not sure exactly what to say, but you know the words that leave your mouth next aren't the right ones. "yeah, soccer sucks."

his eyes twinkle with amusement, his grin growing slightly. behind you, a small brunette with killer curves and a phone in her hands calls for him. "johnny, can you at least throw the ball back! i'm missing prime content—wait, luke come back!" the girl in question attempts getting luke hughes, an nhl player you're well familiar with, to participate in whatever video she's filming—clearly one that involves the soccer ball between you and johnny.

he picks up the ball before tossing it back in her direction, which another player who looks like dougie hamilton catches. johnny turns back to you, eyes following the black line on your face. "you've got makeup..." he trails off, gesturing to the area on his own face.

you gasp slightly, memories of only moments ago when you'd totally not only messed up your eyeliner, but your face makeup. "fuck," you curse hurriedly, darting back into your car and pulling the mirror as close to yourself as it can go. you're in an awkward position, half in your car while your ass juts out.

johnny clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he attempt to draw his eyes away from your backside—your ass and thighs that are perfectly hugged by the heather gray slacks you're wearing.

you lick your thumb, swiping the liner—but it only makes more of a mess. "double fuck." you pull yourself out of your car, turning back to the 6"5 god behind you. he's blushing now, eyes not quite meeting yours as he attempts to calm himself down—johnathan doesn't think he's ever been this turned on from dress pants in his life.

"do you have a napkin? or maybe some tissue?" you ask him, seemingly unaware of the tension in his shoulders and flickering gaze.

slowly, he shakes his head. "no, I don't, i'm sorry." his face falls as yours does. he hates the way your clear disappointment makes him feel...fuzzy. johnathan steps closer, his mouth opening as he tries to finds his wording. "but, I can help...If you want. ill just use the sleeve of my sweater, I can wet it and clean you up..." his eyes twinkle, an awkward chuckle leaving him. "you can even lick the sweater if you prefer."

you look up at him with what you can only describe as a combination of amusement and disbelief. johnny has already pulled his black sweatshirt over his fist, closing the distance between you with one large step. "you can lick it, I don't mind."

he's kind of relived that you don't want to lube up his sweater with your spit, because then johnathan would be really turned on. he nods, wetting the edge of his sweater before bringing it up to the side of your face, gently wiping away the mess of eyeliner smudged along there.

despite how odd this whole interaction is, you can't help but feel rather enamoured with the mystery man—a man who obviously plays for the new jersey devils, or at least works for them. but based on his stature and the size of his quads peeking out from his athletic shorts—you're thinking it's the former.

his eyes are filled with nothing but concentration as he wipes away the makeup off your skin, his sweater soft against the side of your face as he works. you watch as his tongue pokes out the corner of his lips as he focuses, and that has a smile blossoming on your face.

"okay," he begins quietly, using the other side of his sleeve to dry your skin. "you might want to double check that, but I got it all off—well, my sweater did." johnathan laughs that awkward rumble again, and you can't help the way it makes your heart leap.

so much for being professional.

"thanks." you hum, smile growing. "i'm y/n."

he breathes in something that feels like relief, shoulders dropping slightly as the tension he'd been feeling earlier begins dispersing. "johnathan."

your brows pull in confusion, but your grin stays. "that girl called you johnny, is that what you prefer I call you?"

"you can call me anything you want." the words slip from his tongue before he can think them through, and johnathan hates the way his cheeks flush at his own words—but he loves the way your cheeks do.

"okay," you hum, turning to grab your purse from the passenger seat of the car. you take a glance in your visior mirror, and surprisingly he did a really good job at fixing your makeup—the wing is a little wonky but all the men you'll soon be surrounded with won't notice...you hope. you stand up straight, shutting the car door with an echoing thump.

the parking lot has begun filling up, various hockey players and team members making their way inside—most participating in the game the admin girl had set up by the entrance.

"i'll call you johnny then." you hum lowly, adjusting your purse on your shoulder as you begin making your way towards the entrance doors—heels clicking the pavement as you do. considering you're actively meeting and speaking to one of the guys you'll be coaching, slapping on the faux confident personality came as second nature.

it's not that you weren't confident in your job ability to coach these professional athletes—you were more than prepared and qualified for such. but, you've never been super confident in your personal life, especially when it has to do with attractive men who you really shouldn't be forming an attraction for.

regardless, you glance over you shoulder—eyeing his frozen stature and slightly agape mouth accompanied with an amused, flushed expression. "you coming, johnny?"

your question seems to snap him out of whatever daze he'd been trapped in, blinking three times quick as he begins moving, catching up to you with two strides—honestly, screw tall men with their long limbs! or maybe you just want to actually screw them...you can't decipher that right now.

much to johnathan's dismay, as soon as you enter the building, you are swept away by a member of staff, leaving him to stand awkwardly by himself for a fleeting moment until he realizes what the fuck he's doing. before the devils on ice practice today, they'd all been called in early for what keefe and fitzgerald described as an 'introductory meeting'—whatever that means.

it's not long until he's walking through the threshold of the large room, finding most of his teammates and various members of staff already in there. some sitting and chatting, while others haven't yet taken a seat, but instead stand beside the long rectangle tables as they discuss whatever they might be discussing.

johnathan takes his seat beside brett pesce and curtis lazar, greeting his teammates with a closed lipped smile and quick nod, stretching his long legs out underneath the table. they make small talk as the rest of the team filters into the room, following suit and finding various spots throughout the room to take their seats.

it's not 10 minutes later that the head coach and general manager of the team join them—smiling politely as they come to a stop at the front of the meeting room. fitzgerald clears his throat, and although the room has begun quieting down at the authority figures presence, it completely silenced as he begins to speak. "thank you all for coming so early, we appreciate your time for such a special meeting."

special? johnathan thinks, frown tugging at his lips. what's so special about this meeting?

the GM continues, an easy expression on his sunkissed face. "as you know, we've been looking for a new fit for our open assistant coaching position behind the bench. sheldon and I wanted to make sure that this person was not only qualified, but was fun, exciting and above all knowledgeable...." he trails off, smile growing. "with that being said, id like to introduce you to our newest member of staff: assistant coach, y/n y/l/n."

it's then that johnathan notices you—you and your ridiculously faltering pants and sexy eyeliner. he swallows nervously, eyes darting around the room like he's done something wrong. he hasn't, so he's not sure by it feels that way. he should've known that you and your new, pretty face had something to do with the introduction meeting sprung on the team.

beside him, brett snickers. "how are we supposed to focus with that talking to us?" his words are hushed and slow, brett's eyes never once leaving your figure as you begin introducing yourself to the room.

that comment makes johnathan feel the upmost angry, and suddenly he feels very inclined to punch his defensive teammate in the jaw. but, he thankfully doesn't. what he does do though is narrow his gaze, shrugging his shoulders roughly. "learn."

johnathan doesn't wait for brett's reply before turning his attention towards you, catching the tail end of your introduction. he kind of feels like a sleaze anytime his eyes wander over your body, studying the curve of your hips and the round, full display of your breasts under your high necked cotton top. it also doesn't help that he knows what your ass looks like bent over, or how he knows that you smell like peaches doused in brown sugar—that he knows how your skin feels underneath his spit covered hoodie.

a low groan rumbles in johnathan’s chest—thankfully it’s not loud enough to draw the attention of any close teammates, because he really doesn’t want to explain that. subtly, he adjusts in his seat, palming his semi-hard bulge as if he's trying to tell his dick to cut it out. you're acting like such a douche, he thinks.

you stand on the other side of sheldon keefe, half listening as he goes over some minor details before the start of ice practice. you can't help the way your eyes wonder, analyzing the new faces of various players you'll soon be coaching. jack hughes, who looks tired and like he'd rather be anywhere else this morning. then there's curtis lazar, who is the complete opposite of the middle hughes brother—eyes wide and alert as he nods along to his head coach.

then like a magnetic pull, your eyes find johnathan's—or rather, johnny. he's not looking at sheldon like his table partners, but instead his gaze lingers on you. immediately you feel warm, interlocking eyes and not wanting to look away. the faintest smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, so faint that you're not sure if it's happening or if you're imagining it.

he's stupid hot. like so hot your entire body is on fire. it's dangerous and wrong—it's tempting. not only is he easy on the eyes, but he seems sweet and slightly awkward. which is the perfect combination to have you falling. subtly, you raise an eyebrow at him in silent question.

johnathan blinks, looking away from you. just before you can feel embarrassed about the situation or feel like you read him wrong, a more prominent smile pulls at his lips, eyes flickering back to yours in a fleeting moment.

you're in trouble.

for the entire time you're on the ice, even when you're going through drills and giving words of encouragement as well as discipline, you can't help but find johnathan through the sea of various faces staring at you.

it's truly like a magnetic force, and your body feels drawn to his—even though you've barley talked to the guy. you know interpersonal relationships with the athletes is frowned upon, especially when you're in a coaching position. the hiring staff made sure you were well aware of that before you were hired.

to which you told them it wouldn't be a problem—but now here you are, watching the sweat trickle down johnathan kovacevic's neck as he catches his breath with some other players next to you. and you're almost annoyed at yourself, because you really like this job, and the guys are all so welcoming and kind—well, to your face at least, and that's honestly all you can ask for.

you don't want to risk your dream job for some silly little heat of the moment crush—you can't. but as you get home a few hours and a tour of the arena later, snuggled on the couch with hazelnut beside you and a slice of cold leftover pizza in your hand—you're googling him. you dive into articles and video interviews that when he speaks in them, your belly twirls around in excitement.

but you know you're fucked when you start scrolling through his google pictures, mentally taking note of which ones are your favourites. your cat keeps giving you looks, like she knows you're doing something you shouldn't be.

but you just can't help it—stupid magnetic pull.

the next day comes with a little less stress, and a lot more excitement. you go through your morning routine with steady hands, and a content smile. todays schedule looks a little different than yesterdays, as today you'll actually be put to the test—coaching alongside keefe, colliton, and mcgill during a game.

you head to your local gym before lunch to get in a workout—hopefully burning all lingering nervous thoughts and energy out of your system. after a few hours out of the house, you make your way back home, feeding hazelnut some blueberry salmon treats before hopping into the shower.

as you dress yourself for the game, you don't contemplate anything—you know the exact outfit and makeup style you want and unlike yesterday you're leaving the black eyeliner behind. you're taking the mess up yesterday as a sign, and that you're better off looking professional without the black wing lining your eye. but then again, it's the reason you met johnathan—which, yeah you can't stop thinking about him.

but you can't start thinking about how you can't stop thinking about him or you'll spiral into a panic—which isn't ideal—so you're avoiding that itch in your brain for now. you make sure hazelnut has an appropriate portion of biscuits and water before heading out, driving to the arena.

it goes by in a bit of a blur, with various interviews and introductions that you needed to complete as the new assistant coach of the new jersey devils—which is still so surreal, and the cameras, athletes and smell of the ice rink is even more. soon enough the lights are dimming, and the beginning chords of the national anthem begin.

you try your best to stay straight faced and forward, but keeping your eyes from wandering is something you have no control over. the stands are packed, which is an electric feeling—but even with the buzz of the crowd and the various athletes in front of you, there's only one face you're seeking out.

your gaze lands on him, trailing over the number 8 on the side of his jersey and the tail end of his last name on the back. johnathan looks really good in red, you think—it complements his tan skin and dark hair almost perfectly. speaking of his hair, the curly locks are in a disarray, wet from the water he'd poured on his head during warmups, and frizzy from the towel he ran over his head afterwards.

he takes a deep breath, his cheeks puffing out as he exhales. johnathan shakes his limbs out before resting his chin on the end of his hockey stick. like he can feel your stare, his eyes flicker towards you, and your heart almost stops as your eyes lock.

he squints almost playfully, the smallest grin on his face as the anthem comes to a close. you blush, the overhead lights flickering back to life as the first period begins. johnathan fully turns in your direction, but his eyes find one of the trainers—calling for a fresh set of gloves.

the sleeves of his jersey are rolled up just enough for you to ogle his arms—veins under damp skin that look so tempting…you want to run your tongue along them. your breath hitches just as he catches the new gloves, eyes landing on you once more.

johnathan was well aware of your wandering eyes, not matter how subtle they were. it has him feeling giddy in the best way, and just before he takes his seat, he winks at you—so fast and soft that he's not even sure you've seen it.

but you did, and you force yourself to look away before you get caught. fuck the risk, you need him.

part2: wandering eyes and fluttering hearts

it's seems that the universe has plans for you and johnathan kovacevic—you can't tell if they’re positive or negative yet...but you know it's got something up its sleeve.

not only do you have to fight your urges to pounce on johnathan during work hours—like meetings, practices and games—but it also seems like you're running into him everywhere, and your desires for him are growing stronger every time you spot him out and about. whether he's letting his hand brush against your lower back as a playful greeting in the frozen isle of the grocery store, or seeing you in the lineup of a cafe and tapping his card before you have the chance to pay for yourself—none of it is helping.

johnathan is ridiculously kind, and an even better listener—you've learned such in the now two months you've been with the devils. where as some of the players aren't always friendly, and snap in frustration at you (even if they're not mad at you specifically), johnny was different. it's safe to say you've developed an embarrassing crush on a man who is technically below you on the professional scale. you know it's wrong, and you know you're his superior, but you can't help the way you feel—despite the ethics of it all.

and johnathan doesn't care either—he's been nonstop thinking about you since your wild, makeup smudged eyes met his through your cars window. everything about you is tempting and exhilarating, and he's not sure how much longer he'll be able to keep his hands to himself. the way you seem to look at him with a certain twinkle in your eye, and blush anytime he comes in close to ask you a question, isn't doing him any favours—it seems like most days end now with his large hand wrapped around his throbbing cock, stroking himself to relive the tension you bring him.

the best tension imaginable.

he's not sure what the rules are when it comes to interpersonal relationships within the nhl, but johnathan doesn't care because he'd be willing to never even look at a hockey puck again if it meant he got to kiss your lips even once—he's down bad.

just before your third month of employment with the devils, johnathan cracks. it's late at night, too late for him to still be awake when an early morning practice awaits him—but he can't find himself to sleep yet, not with thoughts of you running through his head.

the bottom of his phone rests against his bare chest as he thumbs through his list of contacts like he's on autopilot. johnathan pauses as he reaches your name, thumb halting on the gray contact icon. just the thought of your pretty lips framing your smile has his dick twitching in his pyjamas pants. johnathan sighs.

all the players had the coaching staffs numbers, so it's not like it was only johnathan who obtained your contact —so reaching out would be that crazy, right? he groans to himself, running his free hand through his tousled dark hair. johnathan only contemplates for a moment longer before opening a text thread. "fuck it."

he readjusts the cellphone in his hands, typing out a message. 'are you awake?'

johnathan clicks his tongue, deleting it before he can hit send. he shouldn't be giving into his temptation like this, especially as an athlete who practices control. it's too late, and probably too risky. he drops his phone to his chest, letting his eyes flicker shut—trying to calm his instincts.

his phone buzzes.

'hey' it's your number staring back at him—and he knows that because he's been memorizing the seven digits for the 25 minutes he's been contemplating texting you. but here you are, lighting up his lock screen with your simple greeting.

across the city, you lay in your own bed—too hot and too awake to focus on anything other than your phone. you gnaw your lip as you await for a reply—if johnathan is even awake to see it. you know there's a morning practice, and the chances of him even noticing your message tonight is slim. just as you plan on turning off your phone, it vibrates with an incoming message.

'is this a you up text?' you can practically hear his rumbly voice through his text, a smirk pulling at his tempting mouth.

you breathe a laugh—one that is tinged with nerves. you were risking a lot by sending that that message, and you're well aware of how much shit you could get in—but what's so wrong about a hello? your skin has been on fire for weeks at the mere thought of johnathan, and you're finally willing to do something about it. no matter what.

you quickly send a reply. 'is that what you're hoping for?'

johnathan re-reads your message three times, and each time his blush deepens, travelling down his taunt chest. 'not telling' he sends back, and before you have a chance to reply, he types another message. 'I was about to text you.'

you gulp gently, a million questions plaguing your mind. 'oh yeah? about what?'

at this point, johnathan knows he's in too deep to start acting coy and secretive now—there's no point of pretending he doesn't want you, no scratch that, need you. 'about having dinner thursday night. my place.' it was the perfect opportunity to spend time with you—thursday night had no games and no weird evening practice or meetings. it was free. for both of you.

you and johnathan both know having dinner somewhere out in jersey was too risky, because anybody could see you and put two and two together. the chances of getting caught by fans or teammates is too high. so him suggesting dinner at his place was making your belly spin—even though it was seemingly the bare minimum (but let's face it ladies, what man even gives the bare minimum anymore).

'if I say yes, can we order in ramen?' you tag a playful emoji on the end to showcase some playfulness. your eyes don't leave the bubbles that move along the bottom of your screen, a soft grin on your face as you wait.

'i'll order anything you want, y/n.'

it's two antagonizing days of anticipation, both you and johnathan doing your absolute best at acting as nonchalant as possible—pretending like you haven't been sending flirty texts and borderline risky snapchats to one another (an app that you both had to download because you're both acting like horny teenagers) for the last two days.

when thursday comes, you're practically buzzing with excitement. after a meeting in the late morning, you get home and take an extra hot and long shower—double washing your hair with an expensive shampoo, exfoliating and shaving every inch of your body.

you lounge around in your housecoat until you have to start getting ready—two hours before you're supposed to head to johnathan’s apartment. you opt for your usual makeup and natural hair, and you decide on your favourite jeans and black long sleeve—keeping it casual, but still cute.

hazelnut blinks at you from her spot on your closed toilet seat, a tiny purr leaving her stripped body. you pause the last flick of your mascara wand, eyeing your cat. "what? should I change?" she blinks again, and you smile like a crazy person. "you're right, I think it's perfect."

your cat chirps like she agrees, and it makes you laugh, coating your lashes in the final coat of your favourite mascara. "okay hazel baby," you start, eyeing your small collection of fragrances. "which perfume gives off i’m sophisticated but also I want to have sex vibes?"

her head cocks to the side, and you sigh. "sometimes I forgot you're not human," you reach out and give her a few affectionate pats. "johnny is going to be so surprised when he finds out I talk to my cat." you mutter to yourself, eyeing the perfumes once more. before you can overthink the decision and ultimately be late for your date, you spray yourself with your usual perfume—praying that it's a scent that johnathan loves.

the drive to his apartment only takes about 15 minutes, the traffic not too much considering it was an uneventful thursday evening. the security guard lets you through the gates after you told him you're a visitor—the sweet old man must've got a heads up from johnathan about your arrival.

you park in the first available spot, unbuckle your seatbelt and send him a message, 'i'm here, should I just come up?'

not even 10 seconds pass before he answers. 'i'm on my way down to get you' you smile as you read johnathan’s text, opening your car door and stepping out into the clean but stuffy parking garage. it's not a minute later you hear him call your name, the sound of his voice sending a pleasurable shiver down your spine. you grin as he approaches, "hey."

his smile mimics yours. "hey yourself." before he can decide against it, he pulls you into a quick, but sweet hug, squeezing your waist affectionately—and you go easily, your grin growing ever larger as your engulfed in his chest. he pulls back, "you look really nice...wow."

you watch as johnathan’s gaze wanders over your body, like he can't decide if he wants to undress you with his eyes or simply just admire you clothed. it has your belly swooping, anticipation tingling your body. "thanks, johnny." you hum lowly, taking the time to let your own gaze wander him.

johnathan looks so handsome—a crisp black shirt, and light wash jeans wrapping around his large thighs so deliciously. much to your embarrassment (or maybe your liking), he catches your stare, and a deep smile settles on his face at you clearly checking him out. "let's go upstairs."

you nod, slightly dazed and already turned on, letting him slide his fingers between yours and pull you in the direction of the elevator. the tension between you is undeniable, and the flirtatious glances you keep giving each other on the ride up to his floor are almost embarrassing. you're both so infatuated with one another, and you haven't even been close to kissing yet.

johnathan opens his apartment door, and the smell of soy sauce and steamed vegetables hit you—your stomach lowly rumbles and your mouth begins watering at the thought of food. he gestures for you to enter first, and he follows behind, shutting the door with a soft click. "the food was early, i've been keeping it warm in the oven—hope that's okay."

his apartment is really nice, with dark furniture and exposed brick. it's definitely a man cave, but not in a single, frat boy kind of way—but a sophisticated, busy manly way. you run your fingers over a dark green throw hanging over the back of the leather couch, a small playful grin pulling at your lips as you shoot him a look over your shoulder. "you know johnny, you're not supposed to leave the oven unattended."

he's in the kitchen, and because the apartment is mostly open concept—minus the bedroom—you can see him perfectly. johnathan opens the oven door, a breathy laugh leaving him as he takes out the various takeout containers. it's definitely not healthy for a professional athlete to be eating salty, delicious japanese cuisine, and if you were a meal specialist, you'd be frowning. but you're not! so you're not complaining.

"guess im just a risk taker." he hums, placing some of the ramen broth next to the cooked broccoli container—popping the lids off both.

you walk towards the island, leaning against the counter top to watch him work. you practically ogle his body as it moves—muscles shifting and contracting under his shirt so temptingly. you remove the lid off the spring bean take out container, a small grin on your face. "i'm hoping so ."

all the food is on the counter now, and that leaves johnathan to grab some dishes for the both of you—opening the cupboard beside the microwave and grabbing two sloped bowls and match plates. "are you always so confident?" he questions, placing them on the counter in front of you. he pulls open one of the drawers on his side of the island, pulling out two of each utensil. "like I don't know, you always seem to know exactly what to say...it's hot."

you blush, his compliment laying heavy on your heart. you take one of the bowls, loading some of the vegetable mix into it. "no actually, my confidence is mostly fake." he hums in surprise, spooning some beans into his bowl. you continue, "like i'm confident in my job, but when it comes to things like this—like you—I gotta fake it."

johnathan’s brows furrow while he contemplates which meat he wants in his ramen. "what?! like me? what does that mean?" he shoots you an amused look, before inevitably choosing beef and adding it into his bowl.

you laugh once, rounding the island to better reach the small styrofoam container of green onion. "yeah, I don't know you make me...feel things."

"what kind of things?" he questions lowly, the sound making your head spin. johnathan knows damn well what you're insinuating, and as soon as you say the words out loud, he may pounce.

you put some liquid into your bowl, completing the ramen bowl. you break apart one of the many pairs of chopsticks—there's enough food on the island to feed the entire team and some, so the twenty odd pairs of chopsticks don't come as a surprise. you twirl the utensils through the coil noodles, "i'll tell you later."

johnny barks a laugh, a nod following suit. "okay, fine." he watches as you bring the noodles to your mouth immediately, and he stops adding broth to his bowl. "just be careful cause it'll be really hot-"

his warning is cut short as you jump, your mouth hung open as you attempt to fan the hot food in—so hot that the steam is pouring from you like a dragon. "fuck, oh my god." you curse through the mouthful of burning noodles. you can't believe you didn't think to give it a minute before shoving the food in your mouth, and now it's so hot that you can't even chew the food without pain. you're left to only fan yourself and wait.

johnathan abandon’s his bowl on the counter, walking towards you in two quick strides. a curse falls from his mouth, "okay, hold still." he instructs you firmly, but yet softly—large hands enveloping your head as he holds your face. slowly, as if to not startle you, johnathan begins blowing into your mouth, his breath coming in fast bursts that help cool the food in your mouth.

he's so close to you and his touch is so gentle that you can't do anything but blink at him dreamily, watching as he cools the food in your mouth like it's nothing. a moment passes, and his blowing stops. "better?" johnathan questions, pulling back just enough to gauge your reaction.

you nod, slowly starting to chew the significantly less boiling hot noodles in your mouth. he smiles gently, and drops his hands from your face almost reluctantly—already he misses the warmth of your skin under his touch.

thankfully the rest of dinner goes smoothly, and you blow on every single bite loudly before attempting to put it past your lips—which has johnathan laughing in amusement, sometimes even joining in on cooling your food, which should not be so hot, but it is. you're almost tempted to burn your mouth again just so he will hold you and blow into your mouth once more.

you're not even surprised at how well you and johnathan vibe and communicate—somehow it just all makes sense, and that really doesn't help the crush you have for him. after finishing your two bowls of ramen and johnathan’s three, you both clean up, easy chatter flowing between you. it's refreshing, and feels so right—you almost forget that it's wrong.

soon enough you find yourselves in his living space, sitting on the shaggy rug you claimed you needed to feel—your backs resting on the worn leather couch. you've got your knees bent towards your chest, balancing a wine glass between your two fingers and the top of your knee cap—looking over at johnathan as he laughs at the tail end of your story.

"okay wait," he smiles, eyes twinkling with the upmost amusement. "so your best friend just threw them on his lawn?" he questions, searching for confirmation that, yes, he did hear you correctly. he shifts, turning himself even further in your direction—so close that you can feel the heat of him against your side.

you nod, your own smile softly gracing your face. "yup, 20 boxes of instant mashed potatoes that turned into mush during the rainfall." he laughs once more, finding the story about your best friend and her revenge plan against her ex amusing.

"oh wow, remind me to never mess with her." johnathan teases, taking a sip of his mulberry wine. you follow suit, bringing the thin rim up to your lips and taking a gulp—the flavours spicing your tongue just the way you like. you've always had a hard time turning down wine, especially when a guy who looks like johnathan kovacevic is the one offering it. worse case, you'll just stay the night.

his eyes flicker with something you can't decipher, swallowing his sip of alcohol as he eyes you. "so what about you?"

you swallow, brows pulling in question. "what about me?"

"ever instant mash potato a guys lawn?" he asks with a tempting, playful smirk.

you laugh, placing your now empty wine glass on the rustic, chest style coffee table—the sound a gentle clink in the otherwise quiet apartment. you shake your head, "no, i'd be too scared of getting caught."

he purses his lips softly, brows coming together to create a small indent above his nose. johnathan hums quietly—the sound so charming you almost pass out. "I think you're braver than you think, y/n."

oh, you think—breath catching in your throat. johnathan’s eyes on you are too much, but somehow not enough. you can't decide where to look, your eyes darting all over his face to try and drink in as much of him as possible.

johnathan's breathing changes, his lungs working overtime like he can't quite catch his breath—the way you're looking at him having him feel nothing but breathless. his tongue swipes along his bottom lip, gaze finding your plump, wine stained lips.

he blinks, turning away to place his wineglass next to yours—there's a sip left in his, but he doesn't care to finish it. "you should probably go," johnathan mumbles, eyes finding your lips once more. "otherwise i'll end up doing something stupid like kissing you or..." he slowly trails off, taking a deep breath before he meets your wide, glossy eyes.

"or what?" you prompt, tone all hopeful and quiet.

johnathan hums deeply, the sound shooting signals straight down to your core—you clench your legs together to soothe the ache you've been feeling since you got here. he licks his lip again, slow and deliberate. "...or undressing you."

you almost whine—it's pathetic and johnathan finds it so unbelievably hot. you flush even deeper than the shade the wine has left you, and you slowly bring your lip into your mouth, nibbling on the edge. "maybe I want you to kiss me...and undress me."

he practically moans. "y/n...you can't say that unless you mean it." his words are almost like a warning—an out of the tension building between you. johnathan is giving you the opportunity to walk away, and not break the rules because of him—no matter how bad he wants you to. johnathan's fingers twitch as he desperately tries to keep to himself, watching you through half lidded eyes as he waits your response.

but you don't want an out—you want him. slowly, you shake your head, legs sliding down and away from your torso. the stretch is nice, but it does no favours for your throbbing core. "I wouldn't unless I did." you whisper, pushing up and onto your knees. gently, but confidently, you swing your leg over his lap and sit on him. johnathan's jaw goes slack, watching through his lustful gaze as you move.

he can't take it anymore—he needs to get his hands on you. johnathan's palms slide up the sides of your thighs, squeezing the flesh through your jeans. subconsciously you begin moving your hips, leisurely grinding your clothed core over his. your breath hitches, forehead resting against his. "I need you, johnny."

that's all it takes for johnathan to attach your lips together, kissing you like he's been wanting to since he first saw you. it's like your mouths are made for one another, perfectly moving and caressing and sliding around one another's like you've been doing it for years.

his hands slide to cup your ass, giving you a firm squeeze before he helps grind you over his clothed core—not once stopping the bruising, messy kiss you're engaged in. his lips feel so good it hurts, and if you were to die in that moment you wouldn't be upset. your hands card through his thick strands of hair, scratching his scalp in a way that his him sighing into your kiss.

suddenly, johnathan pulls away, leaving you to whine in disappointment. his glazed over eyes flicker open at the same time yours do—eyes locking. "i've been dreaming about this—about you." he says through heavy breathing, fingers flexing against your lower back.

"you have?" you ask through a moan, your covered clit perfectly sliding over his hardening length.

he nods, leaning in and pressing a hot kiss against your jawline. just when you think he'll stop, he moves farther down, littering kisses against the line of your jaw until he reaches your ear. "I want to please you." johnathan whispers before nipping at your lobe.

you sigh, pawing at the hem on his shirt. "please." you lift the item of clothing completely off, exposing the expanse of tan, defined muscles that you've only ever had glimpses of before this moment. you jaw goes slack, fingers absentmindedly racking down his pecks and abs. "oh my god, you're so hot."

he laughs once before kissing your lips firmly—a wordless thank you. johnathan's hands slip underneath your shirt, dragging it up and off your body like its second nature—leaving you in your polka dot bra. "shit, been dreaming of these too." he mutters, palming your tits. "you've been driving me crazy for weeks with these tits, baby."

all you can manage is a moan, hips moving on their own accord as you chase the tension building in your core. a whispered plea leaves you once again, and it has johnathan gripping your backside tightly and sifting you onto your back, skin melting into the soft, shaggy rug.

you exhale shakily, fingers fisting the carpet right next to your head as johnathan begins trailing kisses down your sternum, and further towards your belly button. "that feels good." you say, hips twitching under torso.

johnathan lifts his head, eyes twinkling with playfulness as he locks his gaze on your face. "can I taste you?" you nod eagerly, and his smirk shows once again—one of his hands fiddling with your button until it pops open. johnathan sits back on his heels, and you shiver at the lack of his body heat on top of you—but as he begins sliding your jeans down, exposing your damp paintes, you quickly forget about anything but that.

he shutters, licking along his lips as he locks in on your skimpy underwear. you bite onto your bottom lip, but your smirk isn't even hidden by that. "I need you so bad, johnny." the sight of your almost shy grin has him faltering, fingers itching to get you naked—and he does, hooking his fingers through your underwear and pulling them away from your wet core.

johnathan can't wait any longer, laying flat so his face is mere inches away from your throbbing pussy—licking his lips at the sight of your arousal pooling and slowly dripping onto his rug. "fuck, you're soaking wet for me, baby."

your hips jump upwards, desperate for some friction. you don't think you've ever been this turned on in your entire life, and for god sakes all you've done is a little amateur dry humping. johnathan's words further rile you up, and you can't help but whine out like a cat in heat.

"that noise," he breathes, spreading your legs even further apart with his large hands. "keep making it." johnathan doesn't give you a chance to answer before he's licking a firm strip up your folds, spreading your arousal with his tongue.

"oh...fuck." you curse, eyes fluttering with bliss and pleasure, johnathan repeating his movements in a lapid, expert manner. his long fingers flex on your thighs, digging into your flesh to continue holding you open—giving him the most range on pleasing you.

he sucks your clit into his mouth before swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud—a movement that has you approaching your peak quicker than expected. you breath hitches, nails digging into the rug. "oh, fuck i'm close."

johnathan moans against your clit before dipping back to your entrance, thrusting his tongue into your sopping hole—a squelching noise echoing through the room. he doesn't let up, and it has you reaching your peak, a frantic 'i'm cumming' leaving you in a hurry as your walls spasm on his tongue.

your ride our your orgasm while johnathan licks against your clit lazily, sending jitters through your body. it's ethereal, and so fucking good—you can't decide if you want to scream or sob. your eyes blink open, finding him hovering over you once more. "you okay?"

you hum blissfully, hands running over johnathan's arms and unapologetically squeezing and feeling his biceps. "better than okay." you watch him smirk briefly, his fingers tilting your chin up in an affectionate way before sliding back and caressing your jaw. and like the sex god he apparently is, his thumb parts your lips, rubbing along the surface before leaning in and kissing you.

you could be kissing for only 2 minutes, or it could be 20–time has completely slipped away from both you and johnathan as your lips move along one another. you can feel his hard length through his jeans, pressing against your thigh like a rock—you can also feel your own arousal building back up, dripping down your ass like you're some pornstar.

you disconnect your lips, pulling back just enough to talk. "I want you to fuck me." reaching towards his belt, you begin fiddling with the buckle, the metal clinking together as you unfasten it.

he kisses the corner of your mouth. "I must be dreaming."

you smile, tugging his zipper down. "you're not." johnathan assists you the rest of the way, briefly standing so he's able to completely rid of his jeans. just before he tugs his boxers down, he curses lightly—smile never wavering. "hold on, baby. need a condom."

you get the pleasure of watching him jog into his bathroom in the retrieval of protection—his ass looking mouthwatering under his fitted black briefs. without even thinking logically, your hands slide down your body until you're finding your wet folds, gathering your arousal and bringing it to your clit—circling the bundle slowly.

johnathan finds you like that, condom wrapper half torn in his hands. "you can't do that baby," he groans, "i'm already dying here."

you giggle, the sound broken by a moan at a powerful circle around yourself. your breath hitches, eyeing his almost completely naked body like you're an animal. "take your underwear off, johnny."

he's already in the process of removing the last article of clothing on himself as you ask, releasing his angry, heavy cock from the restraints of his briefs. the sight of him—the sheer size of him—has you gasping. johnathan drops back down between your legs, pulling the condom over his aching length.

you help guide him to your entrance, breathless as his tip brushes your slick folds. johnathan's eyes find yours, "you sure?"

too pent up to speak, you nod—eyes filled with nothing but need and aching, desperate to finally feel all of johnathan. and with that, he eases his entire length into you, stretching you perfectly—your walls molding around him like you're made for him. you let out a choked whine, watching his cock disappear into you. "oh fuck."

he bottoms out, balls resting against your ass—twitching as your gummy walls flutter over him. you can feel him in your stomach he's so deep and long—it feels like he's everywhere. "god, you feel so fucking good." johnathan babbles, already drunk on your pussy. he can't wait a moment longer, and begins thrusting, sliding in and out of your pussy easily due to your leaking arousal.

you're both so horny and worked up and only a few minutes of deep, passionate thrusts, messy kisses and hushed affirmations, that you're both growing close to your respective releases. you're whining like it's the only thing you know how to do, wrapping your thighs around johnathan's torso and he ruts into your hole—stabilizing yourself as best you can. it's a bit difficult when you feel like jello, but it's so good that you're not even caring.

"I can—oh fuck—can feel you fluttering baby, you gunna cum?" he breathes, the rhythm of his thrusts begin to falter as he nears his first orgasm of the evening. but he holds on, focusing on your spasming hole and pleasure pulled face.

you nod, jaw slack. "so close."

johnathan pushes even deeper into your pussy, which you didn’t think was possible, but he does it—tip kissing your cervix with every delicious rut into you. his hand finds yours, and he interlocks your fingers together—grounding not only himself but you to the moment.

"please don’t stop," you mewl desperately, grip tightening around his warm hand as you find the tipping point of your orgasm. "i'm cumming." and you do, walls clamping down on his cock as your reach another toe curling release.

johnathan's brows furrow in concentration as he focuses on your orgasming pussy, groaning as he thrusts into you three unrhythmic times. "holy shit, me too, fuck." his seed shoot into the latex, hot spurts of cum filling the condom wrapped around him.

you smile at the feeling, pressing a firm kiss against the front of johnathan's strong shoulder—nipping his skin with your teeth playfully.

he grins, still nestled in your warmth. "stay with me tonight."

you don't need to be asked twice, and soon enough you're being ushered into the spacious shower of johathan's apartment—the two of you washing one another in the most intimate, soft way. you're completely ruined for anyone else, and now you'll never be able to stay away from johnathan. the way he looks at you, dressing you in his clothes for bed while you're hair is still wet and face flushed—it's something you'll never forget.

you fuck again in bed, riding him slowly as breathy moans leave you both. you're not even fully naked this time, johnathan's college shirt pulled up and over your hips as he holds onto your love handles, helping you slide up and down his length. you both fall asleep in a breathless, tangled embrace—soft conversation and adorning smiles shared before you both let your eyes flutter closed.

part3: kiss it better

from that moment on you're pretty positive you're falling for johnathan kovacevic. the morning after your date, you both wake up frantically, afternoon practice sneaking up on you. just before you left, all tangled mess of hair and mascara stained eyes, johnathan grabbed your wrist gently, tugging you close to him. "can we do this again? I don't just mean the sex..I mean the dating and talking and everything in between."

to which you responded with, "yes please."

for the next few months you and johnathan find yourselves in a very secret relationship. you're going on dates late after games, lounging in his apartment or your apartment until you both fall asleep. hazelnut approves, and you think she likes your boyfriend more than she likes you. johnathan is always sending you flowers, and ordering you food when you're cranky—which obviously makes you emotional and clingy. you watch each other's favourite movies, and you're the queen of stealing his clothes. and oh my god the sex.

johnathan is like ridiculously good when it comes to pleasing you—kissing, sucking, licking and pounding all the right spots until you're on the verge of tears. sex with him is addicting, you don't think you had as much intercourse since like...ever—not even when you were a horny driven teenager.

johnathan will never get tired of your flushed skin and pulled face—jaw fallen slack while you whisper johnny over and over like a prayer. he is as obsessed with you as you are with him—if not more so. he's only had two serious girlfriends between meaningless hookups in his lifetime, and neither of them felt like this.

it has the both of you getting a little...risky, to say the least. your gazes linger on one another for just a second too long while you're at work, johnathan stands close while in huddles, and his fingers brush the back of your hand in passing almost every time—it's dangerous but neither of you can help it.

2 months into your forbidden romance, you're both dressing (in separate homes, unfortunately) for the new jersey devils charity gala—an event where everyone dressed in beautiful gowns and/or sharp suits to mingle, participate in raffles and raise money for charities.

johnathan was expecting you to look phenomenal based on the mere fact that you always do, but when you walked into the decorated rink, covered in a soft cream silk dress that dipped low down your back—leaving little to the imagination—he just about ripped it off you right in the middle of the bustling room.

you knew you were in trouble by the way your boyfriends gaze followed you throughout the first hour of the evening, tongue swiping his bottom lip or biting it in an attempt to not run over to you and destroy you. it also doesn't help that you want him to, god damn you feel like you're in heat looking at johnathan—standing with staff and teammates in a perfectly tailored suit, sipping some champagne like a slut.

so from across the room when he gestures for you to follow him, you listen easily. it's only a few antagonizing minutes later when your boyfriend is pulling you into a coat closet, lips finding yours instantly in a heated exchange.

"you look fucking edible." johnathan groans against your mouth, hands running over your body and squeezing your flesh through the silky dress. he nips at your jaw, igniting breathless laughter from your heaving chest.

you drag his face back to yours, pressing your lips to his once again. the kiss isn't only hot, but it's risky, especially in the closet that holds all the jackets and personable teams of team and staff members. but as johnathan drags your dress up one leg, slipping his hand underneath the cream silk—your mind goes blank. two long, strong fingers brush your exposed core, spreading the sticky wetness that's pooling between your folds.

he curses lowly, the tip of his middle finger prodding your entrance—but then, the door handle rattles, curtis lazar's voice growing louder as he begins opening the door. you and johnathan pull apart, jumping to opposite sides of the room and pretending to look busy—stifling through various coats and jackets.

thankfully, curtis saw nothing and is to aloof to the tension lingering between his teammate and assistant coach. from that moment, you and johnathan both know you need to get a grip, and if you're not careful, your reputation and relationship will be destroyed.

so with that in mind, you both make sure while you're at work, you're strangers. johnathan doesn't look at you, and you don't let your gaze linger on his. and this crisp tuesday evening, surrounded by thousands of fans packed into the prudential center, it'll be no different. you're his coach, and johnathan is strictly a player to you. period.

everything is normal—how it should be, really. well, everything expect the lingering turning in your stomach and heat warming your skin uncomfortably. you've not been feeling the best today, and there's been a constant queasy feeling in your belly since you got out of bed.

you've done your best to try and ignore it, brush it under the rug until it goes away—but it's proving to be persistent, and as the hours tick by your symptoms are getting worse. you know you probably should've called in, but you didn't—and now your feeling dizzy watching the players skate past the bench.

a deep exhale leaves your lungs, eyes darting to the foam covered floor beneath your feet. the crowd has your head pounding and ears ringing—this isn’t good. your stomach feels like a shaky roller coaster on the verge of turning upside down and ruining your day.

the lights are impossibly bright as you look back up, and that's when you know something is wrong. weakly and with dwindling vision, you shuffle closer to sheldon, subtly nudging his side. "I think i'm going to be sick."

his brows raise, turning his full attention to you—keeping his face neutral as to not raise suspicion. "you've been pale since you walked in here—please, go get checked out. i'm getting worried, and I don't need us to be distracted."

you attempt to laugh, but it comes across as a painfully hushed groan. sheldon gently guides you in the direction of the hallway, and into the arms of a medical staff member. after you tell ronald, said staff, what's going on he's shuffling you down the hall and to the direction of the medical room.

you don't make it inside before your knees give out, falling to the floor as you go unconscious.

johnathan skates back to his bench after a 1:30 shift, chest heaving as he desperately fights for air. he throws one gangly leg over the boards, followed by the other—but he freezes as he notices you're no longer present.

his brows furrow in a mixture of confusion and worry. you were there when he left the bench, and you seemed fine—a little pale and quiet but still ordering the team around like the confident, sexy woman you are. but now you're missing. johnathan tries not to show emotion on his face, but he can't help but to look over his shoulder every few minutes to see if you've returned.

by the time first intermission begins, you're still nowhere in sight. johnathan is glad nico brings attention to your sudden absence after keefe's speech, because johnathan is dying and anxious about not knowing your whereabouts.

"coach y/l/n left to get checked out by medical because she wasn't feeling good. i'm not sure of her condition but I understand she will not be coming back tonight."

sheldon's words have johnathan's stomach dropping down to his ass. before he has to head back out to the ice, he shoots you a quick text—letting you know that he'll be at yours after the game.

the rest of the game goes by in a flurry of anxious waves and painfully slow minutes. he can't get out of his gear quick enough, speeding through a shower so he's able to quicker get on the road—get home to his girl.

johnathan definitely breaks a few laws on the way to your place, but he can't help it—he knows nothing about your state, only the brief text of acknowledgment you sent him in response, and he’s started to get really fucking worried.

the doors unlocked, and johnathan kicks his dress shoes off beside one of hazelnuts feathery toys, walking into your silent apartment. he finds you on the couch, still in your work clothes. the door shutting had your eyes blinking open, vision slowly focusing just as your boyfriend kneels in front of you.

"hey baby," he mumbles, running his hands over your sweaty forehead. "what's wrong my girl?" his eyes flicker over your dewy, pale skin, a frown pulling on his face at the sight of your obvious discomfort and exhaustion.

your cat perks up at the sound of his voice, and immediately jumps off the back of the couch to run against johnathan's legs. you pout, "i've been feeling sick all day, and it just got worse. I didn't even make it to the medical room before passing out, johnny." tears begin gathering in your eyes, making clear vision even more impossible—you feel awful. "it was really scary."

instantly he's leaning down to kiss your head. "i'm sorry baby. did they give you some meds?" he asks against your hair.

you hum—the sound strained. "yeah. they're making me tired."

he fusses over you for a few moments longer, pressing comforting kisses to your damp face—but he doesn't want you to be in uncomfortable clothes for any longer. johnathan strips you of your clothes and quickly changes you into your favourite sweats before slipping behind you on the couch—pulling you into his chest.

you're kind of out of it and all you can really register is your boyfriends dark button up under your cheek, his hand rubbing your back and the sound of sex and the city playing from your tv. it's so numbing and relaxing that it quickly has you falling back to sleep, soft snores passing through your dry lips.

you wake up the next morning in your bed, eyes slowly focusing as you catch the sight of johnathan pulling his suit pants back on in your bedroom—the morning sun streaming the the cracks of your curtains.

"hey," you start, voice croaky. "what's going on?"

your boyfriend whips around in your direction, shoving one arm through his dress shirt. "hey, sorry I didn't want to wake you up." he rounds the mess of blankets half off the bed, kissing your head. "how was your sleep?"

"I don't even remember you getting here yesterday." you admit sheepishly, rubbing the sleep out of your eye. "I was so fucked up, god."

"it's okay," johnathan reassures you sweetly, buttoning up his shirt. "you really had me worried—you looked so sick."

you cough, a sickly dry sound that is a rough reminder of the illness lingering your body. but as you eye your boyfriend, seemingly getting ready for morning practice, has all thoughts of sickness leaving you—replaced with panic. "oh my god, i'm going to be late for practice."

you try and get out of bed, but johnathan is quicker—gently pushing you back to the pillows. "you're not going—I dealt with it all through your phone, okay. and I must say, keefe was rather relieved that you're taking the day."

"oh," you hum with a small grin, body naturally melting into your bed. "okay. you going now?"

johnathan nods. "yeah. gotta stop at home and change quick, but i'll be back later." he tosses last nights suit jacket over his shoulder, "need anything brought back?"

you smile, "just you."

he smirks all slow and syrupy down at you, cupping your cheek with his warm palm. "okay baby—can I have a kiss?"

you slap your hand over your lips—which are rather crusty and has you cringing. "I don't want to get you sick." you say, words muffled against your palm.

johnathan brows pull tightly, his smirk not letting up. "I don't care baby." his words have you faltering, dropping your hand and puckering your mouth for a kiss—which he happily obliges in giving you.

later while he's getting changed, pulling his shin pads on, he hears jack asks about your whereabouts beside him. johnathan isn't sure if he's just speaking out loud, or asking him directly—but he turns his full attention to the middle hughes brother. "she called in sick today."

jack kind of makes a curious face, one that says and how would you know that?

and the following day when johnathan doesn't come to the rink because he's sick...jack has the smallest inkling that he may know why the defence man knew about you're whereabouts.

part4: you’re made for me

you think your least favourite part about being on the road is the lonely feeling you get lying in an empty hotel room—left with only your thoughts and the hum of the heating unit.

it doesn't help that johnathan is in the same hotel…on the floor below you, and you can't even see him. you're not long back from the game, a win nonetheless, and the vegas night life is still buzzing in the street below. you knew some of the guys would be heading out for a few hours to enjoy the casinos—but you heard your boyfriend decline curtis' invitation.

so you know he's in his room—but wether his roommate is with him is unbeknownst to you. you miss him, and are in desperate need of hearing his voice. you hum, grabbing your phone off the charger beside you—thumbing your screen until his contact comes up.

you've got him saved under the soccer ball emoji—ever since you two started getting serious, you knew that having johnathan saved as his name was risky, especially when he had a habit of sending you toe-curling texts. and the same goes for your name on his phone, and instead of the previous use of your full name, he's replaced it with the name of your favourite tv show character.

hey, you send. are you alone?

a beat passes and then your phone begins to ring, the soccer ball emoji filling your screen as johnathan calls you. your grin, biting your lip as you slide over the answer button.

you lift your phone to your ear, excitement bubbling and settling deep in your belly.

"i'm alone." johnathan answers lowly, the slow smirk evident through his voice.

you sigh softly. "didn't want to go out tonight? celebrate the win? mr. two point night." your voice is playful, and kind of sexy—it has him already palming himself through his sweatpants.

a low groan leaves him, the sound leaving you flushed in the other line. you already can tell the turn this conversation is going to take, and you're not opposed to it one bit. he laughs, the sound doing a million things to you and your needy clit. "got those points for you, baby."

"whatever," you grin, hand slipping under your loose pyjamas shirt, resting on your lower belly—absentmindedly tickling just below your belly button.

"you okay?" this question is more serious, because above all else, johnathan cares for you, and if you're texting him, he wants to make sure nothing is wrong before he asks to see your boobs like a schoolboy.

you nod, and then remember he can't see you. "yeah, just miss you." you admit shamelessly, fingers dipping below the band of your sleep shorts. your breath hitches as the pads of your fingers brush over your folds, slipping through the wet mess that's been building since you picked up the phone.

the sound has johnathan groaning again, his own hand slipping under his sweatpants and finding his now rock hard and aching cock. he’s been thinking about this moment since he say your game day skirt—hugging your ass delightfully. he squeezes the base, igniting another strangled moan from his chest. "yeah?"

you hum lowly, teasing your entrance with your middle finger before trailing back to your bundle of nerves, circling yourself slowly. "I wish you were here."

a small curse leaves his lips. "what would you want me to do...if I was in your room right now?" johnathan questions, his large hand sliding up the entirety of his length, fisting the tip three times before coming back down to the base.

you inhale sharply, but you're breathless regardless. your thighs tighten around your slow moving hand, trapping yourself—your body reacting to your boyfriends words instinctively and leaving you overwhelmed already.

"don't be shy," he grins, squeezing himself. "i'm so fucking hard, baby—your voice is so sexy."

you whine helplessly, johnathan’s words pushing you into a flaming pit of lava—igniting your body in molten flames. "I'd want you to tease me, run your fingers over my soaked shorts until i'm begging you for more." you admit, cheeks flushing even deeper at your dirty words.

there's something so weird about phone sex, but with johnathan's breathing against your ear, and the throbbing between your legs, you're starting to feel very different about the idea. it’s exciting and so fucking hot—mostly because of your sexy boyfriend on the other line, prompting you.

he curses, pulling himself out of his sweatpants so that his cock is standing fully erect. he hisses at the air touching his sensitive skin, running the pad of his thumb over his leaking slit. "holy—fuck me—and then what baby?

"and then..." your breath hitches as you slip your middle finger into your wet entrance, your throbbing pussy sucking you in, down to your knuckle. "then i'd take you out of your pants, and lick up your shaft—slowly—before sucking the head of your cock just the way you like."

"i'm gunna facetime you, okay?"

your stomach drops in excitement. "okay." you slip out of yourself before completely removing your shorts, just as the incoming facetime lights up your phone. you answer it giddy, gnawing on your lip as johnathan's face fills your screen.

he smirks, eyeing your plump pink lips and rosy cheeks—the lust clear in your gaze. "you look so fucking pretty."

your smile grows, and even the way your teeth enclose around your bottom lip can't hide the fact. "johnny," you hum slowly, legs falling open to reveal your core to the empty hotel room. "I need to cum so bad."

he licks along his bottom lip. "set the phone up so I can see."

your vagina throbs pathetically, grabbing a pillow before leaning forward and resting your phone against it—the angle giving johnathan the perfect view of your glistening pussy, the outline of your perky nipples under your shirt and flushed face. he groans, stroking himself as he gets off the bed and moves towards the desk.

johnathan props his phone against the lamp, angling the camera so you're able to see his cock. "slip your pretty fingers in that pussy, baby. wanna see you fuck yourself like I would."

he watches your chest heave as you attempt to catch your breath, hand slipping down your covered stomach and back down through your soaking folds. with a moan, you ease your middle finger and ring finger in your entrance.

"fuck." you whine, head falling back as you begin moving your fingers shallowly, not quite thrusting into yourself, but not staying still either. the perfect amount of stimulation that has your toes curling.

johnathan's jaw goes slack at the sight of you and your hand—a ring of creamy arousal pooling at the base of your knuckles before dripping onto the bed. it's embarrassing how close he is to cumming, fucking his hand while he pretends it's your gooey walls enveloping him instead. "that feel good?" he asks, voice husky. "you're so sexy."

you lift your head, lips parted as breathless sighs leave you. "feels good—wish it was your fingers." a high-pitched whine bubbles from your throat, the palm of your hand rubbing against your clit perfectly. through lidded eyes, you watch johnathan. his abs clench as he fists himself, the smallest drop of pre-cum trialing down the underside of his delicious cock.

you gasp, orgasm hitting you in a white hot surprise, leaving you fluttering around your hand as your release drips off your fingers.

the sight has johnathan following suit, ropes of hot cum shooting from his head as his eyes train on your fluttering pussy and blissed out face.

a beat passes, both of your still working on coming down from your high and catching your breath. johnathan smirks all lazily at you through the screen. "I'm gonna fuck you so good once we get home, yeah?"

his promise has your core jumping all over again, and if johnathan has to fist his hand once more in the shower before bed—that's nobodies business expect yours (because obviously he sends you videos on snapchat).

thankfully the road trip is only two more days, and you get your hands on your boyfriend as soon as you're back in the enclosed walls of his apartment.

a few weeks pass since then, a whirlwind of games and practices that leave you holding your breath and clenching your thighs—you'll never get over how handsome johnathan looks all sweaty and damp, and it never fails in sending butterflies straight down to your pussy.

it seems like weeks until you get a free evening, but eventually it comes, and you take the opportunity for an at home date night—realistically the only ones you can have. johnathan cooks you mouthwatering pasta, and you get to watch him work over the stove from the kitchen island—checking out his back muscles over the rim of your wine glass.

anytime he catches you doing so, he pauses to lean over the island and give you a heart stopping kiss. it's romantic, and you think you may love him.

you eat your food next to one another on the couch, your feet tucked under his thigh while you watch she's all that. johnathan is the kind of boyfriend you dreamed of having since you were little—kind, compassionate, sexy, funny and a little awkward (plus a sex god, but 6 year old didn't know about that).

soon enough your empty bowls are abandoned, and you’re on his lap while your mouths move together. just before anything starts to escalate—johnathan's hands fiddling with your bra—a knock on the door pulls you apart.

"kovy?" an all too familiar voice calls on the other side of the door. "we know you're home. saw your car." we? as in plural? as in there's multiple of his teammates on the other side of the door?

you go stiff on johnathan's lap. "is that curtis?" you question wildly, words barley above a whisper.

he squeezes the flesh of your hips, nodding once. "and brett and erik." johnathan admits through his teeth. "i forgot they wanted me to come out tonight—someone's birthday."

one of them knocks again. "open up you little shit." the voice who sounds like brett laughs, sounding already a few drinks in.

"oh my god," you hiss, getting off johnathan's lap, pulling your discarded hoodie over your head. "oh my fucking god."

johnathan moves quickly, taking your empty bowls to the sink. "one second!" he calls in their direction, running a hand through his messy hair after wetting the dishes.

"are you fucking naked or something?" erik questions, leaning against the wall with an amused expression.

you hear curtis snicker. "he's probably jerking off."

your boyfriend looks at you, eyes full of guilt. "i'm so sorry baby, I totally forgot." he grabs your arms firmly, keeping your attention on him. "i'll get rid of them, okay? I promise."

you look almost scared—blinking up at him like everything is falling apart before your eyes. after all, you're a door away from being caught. "okay."

he nods, kissing the side of your pouting lips before guiding you to his bedroom. "just stay in here, okay? and if you hear me say watermelon, jump into the closet."

if you weren't so anxious you'd probably laugh. but obviously you don't laugh, sitting on the soft mattress as johnathan gives you one more hurried look, shutting his bedroom door with a soft click.

he quickly makes his way to the front door, pulling it open to reveal his three teammates—all of them with splitting grins on their faces. "we've been texting you, man! you forget about us?" brett grins, slapping johnathan's shoulder as the three of them walk into his apartment.

he chuckles awkwardly. "yeah, sorry—meant to text you but i'm not feeling up to going out tonight."

"boooooo," curtis drags out loudly, spinning on one of the bar stools like it's a carnival ride. "boring."

erik picks up the wine glass you left on the coffee table, a visible print of lipgloss on the rim. "you got a girl here, johnny?"

"no." he says all too quickly, face pale and red all at once. "I mean, not anymore. she left."

brett smirks, grabbing the glass out of erik's grip. he inspects the mark closer, that shit eating grin never leaving his face. "you know who wears lipgloss like this? coach y/l/n."

on the other side of the bedroom door, you feel like you're going to faint. you press your ear further against the wood, listening in.

the barstool squeaks under curtis' weight, a mixture of a disgruntled groan and laugh leaving him. "why do you know what kind of lipstick our coach wears? fucking weirdo." much to johnathan's delight, curtis' response has all three boys moving on from the marking on the wine glass. which, thank god because he had no clue how to respond to that observation.

erik eyes the ending scene of she's all that, a knowing grin on his face. "so if she's gone, you're gunna come out with us, right?"

"not really feeling it." johnathan reiterates with a shrug, subtly grabbing your keys off the counter and tucking them into his pocket.

brett groans like a naughty kid, sluggishly making his way back to the door. "fine—we'll let you beat off in peace." the other two follow suit, sending johnathan snarky little grins as they leave.

he rolls his eyes, a tiny grin pulling at his lips. "whatever—have fun." as soon as johnathan can't hear his teammates loud voices anymore, he's shutting the door and flicking the lock. he bounds back to the bedroom, and you pull open the threshold before he has the chance—your eyes wide with unshed emotion and stress.

it has johnathan feeling nothing but guilt, and he wastes no time wrapping you in his arms. "are you okay?"

you nod, but then stop. "no. I thought we were fucked—especially with the lipgloss, oh my god johnny."

he kisses your head three times, each one longer than the last. you sigh into him, letting johnathan hold you like the delicate flower you feel you are in that moment.

you hate this feeling—because secretive behaviour makes you feel dirty. and with the secret you're keeping, you're much more than just dirty. you're breaking the rules, and risking not only your job, but johnathan's. the last thing you want to do is ruin his reputation—you fucking love him for fucks sake.

it’s not even about you anymore. because for him, you’d leave everything if it meant being with him. but you know johnathan, and he would never let you give up your job for him—ever. but you can’t keep going around like this, it’s running you.

you pull back, swallowing roughly as you drop your arms from around his waist. “we can’t do this anymore.”

he freezes. “what do you mean? can’t do what?”

you blink. “johnny…” your voice is laced with a knowing edge, because you know johnathan knows exactly what you mean—you can see it on his face. you look away, as you can’t bare to look at him any longer, it may kill you otherwise. “if we keep sneaking around, it’s going to end badly—it almost blew up in our face tonight.”

his brows furrow, cupping your face firmly so that you have no choice but to look into those eyes you love so much. “but I didn’t-It won’t if we do this right.” a rough swallow makes his adam’s apple jump, looking over your face like he can’t decide where to go. “tell me what I can do to change your mind.”

a tear falls down the round of your cheek, and the sight stabs him right in the chest. you shake your head, licking the salty water off your cupids bow. “I just…I think we need to stop.”

his hands fall from your face, and he runs them through his hair—pulling at his root until it hurts. johnathan respects you, and he loves you—even if he thinks you don’t love him in this moment. he will fulfill any wish you ask of him, and he’d do it with a smile, because you’re the most important thing in the world. so he nods firmly. “okay. if you want to stop, we’ll stop. I don’t care what’s happening. all I care about is you.”

you nod—too many emotions lodged in your throat to speak. johnathan reluctantly hands you your keys, your fluffy keychain tickling his skin for the last time. you pluck your purse that’s wedged between the pillow and side of the couch, slinging it over your shoulder before making your way to the door, leaving without another look in johnathan kovacevic’s direction.

part5: love looks pretty on you

as soon as you get back to your place you break down in embarrassing sobs—falling onto the couch while hazelnut licks your chin. although you think she just likes the taste of your tears, rather than it being a comforting thing, but you pretend it’s the latter.

as much as it hurts you and you regret it, you know breaking things off with johnathan was the right choice. you don’t want to burden him, or hold him back—you can’t be that girl. so as much as you want to call him and tell him you’ve changed your mind, you don’t. it’s for the better, even if you have a hard time believing it right now.

the next week is nothing short of painful. you can feel johnathan’s eyes on you constantly, but you’re strong in ignoring him—going about your drills like he’s just another face in the crowd. if keefe notices something is up with you, he doesn’t say anything. which honestly seems worse than if he was to ask.

johnathan is no better. he’s slacking on the ice, and it’s showing even during practice—slow and uncertain and clearly distracted. he can’t stop thinking about you, or looking at you. johnathan cant help but think about all the things he wish he said to you, before you ended it.

how he’ll always care for you. how he’d quit hockey for you if that’s what you wanted. how he’s never felt about someone the way he feels for you. that he loves you.

it’s lonely without you. he misses your laugh and your smile and the way you kiss his peck every morning when you wake up. johnathan even misses hazelnut and her persistent chirping.

he so desperately wants to get you back. show up on your doorstep with flowers and a speech that would probably make you cry. but he doesn’t do that—because it would go against your wishes, and break whatever trust you put in him. it’s killing him, and he can only hope you’re happy.

—

you’re lingering with the uneasy feelings that come with a loss, tossing your purse on the counter before kicking off your heels. although the loss was a team issue, you can’t help but remember how johnathan was -5 tonight, and how exhausted and defeated he looked the entire game.

you can’t help but speculate—scratch that, there’s no speculation. you know it’s because of your breakup, and that makes you feel really shitty. if it’s still affecting him this much, hell if its still affecting you this much, you can’t help but think it was the wrong choice to make.

months of a healthy relationship down the drain for…what? because you were scared? that’s not you. johnathan brought out the best in you, he listened and cared for you like nobody before. in jersey, you’re alone. no friends or family close by to talk to or spend time with, only hazelnut. but with johnathan you had family. and you fucking threw it away.

your eyes flicker to the clock on the microwave. it’s almost midnight. you take your bottom lip between your teeth, contemplating your next actions. are you really about to do this? show up to your exs door and what? apologize? beg for him back?

you don’t know. but you know you love him, and you think letting him go forever will be the worse decision of your life.

coaching is a dream job. working with athletes in such an authoritative manner is a dream—it was your dream. but you have a new dream, and his name is johnathan. and if there’s one thing you’ve always lived by, it’s that to never give up on your dreams, especially for someone else. but that’s not what you’re doing—your dream has shifted, and you’re following its path in hopes of fulfillment.

before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re slipping on the first pair of shoes you see—a pair of heart print sandals that aren’t appropriate for the spring chill. you grab your keys and nothing else, getting into your car and following the familiar route to johnathan’s apartment.

the doorman recognizes you by now, and he lets you in with a smile. you’re anxious on the way up the elevator, a million things to say running through your mind—but as the doors open on johnathan’s floor, your head goes blank.

you force yourself to knock, a quiet sound that is barley heard from the bedroom at the back of the apartment…but johnathan hears it. he trudges over to the front door, nothing but a black hoodie and his boxers on.

as soon as the door is pulled open, revealing you in summer shoes and your game day pant suit from the game, johnathan is exhaling lowly. his eyes dart around your face, analyzing you. “you okay?”

your stomach clenches. he’s so fucking caring. “you’re my dream, johnny.” you blurt out, definitely too loud for this time of night.

his brows furrow, like he’s not sure what you mean. and fair enough, you think, because what does that mean? you continue shakily, “I love you. so much that it actually hurts. I would give up everything if it meant being with you forever—and I know you’d never let me, because you care about me and my dream. that’s why I ended things, as stupid as that sounds, because I didn’t want to put you in that situation. I didn’t want you doing something crazy like requesting a trade or fucking retiring early so that I could work for the team—because I knew you would do it.”

you swallow, but your mouth is so dry it almost hurts. “but you’re not going to let me forget about my dream, johnny—because you are my new dream. and if you love me, you’ll let me live with my new dream. being with you is all I need.”

johnathan shakes his head in amused disbelief, the faintest grin tugging at his mouth. “c’mere.” he mumbles, fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you into his apartment—only lit up by the lamp next to the tv. “you love me?” he asks, fingers leaving your wrist in favour of tucking some loose hair behind your ear—the strands that have escaped your once tight braid.

you nod all too quickly, “so much. i’m sorry.”

johnathan’s smile deepens, cupping your face like he’s done hundreds of times. “it’s okay, baby. I don’t care that you ended things with me—well, yes I care because I love you too—but if that’s what you needed in that moment, I would give it to you over and over again. even if it killed me.” he wets his bottom lip, looking deep into your watery eyes. “are you sure?”

there’s not hesitation in your words—there never has been with johnathan. “positive.” you nuzzle into his palm, “I love you so much.”

he leans in close, lips brushing yours. “I love you.”

and as he leans in and kisses you, you know that everything will work itself out. you’re not worried about the outcome, or what the future holds for your position with the team, but as long as you have johnny to come home to—it doesn’t matter.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

playlist

glitch by taylor swift

stuttering by jack & jack

cry your heart out by adele

fantasy by mariah carey

love looks pretty on you by nessa barrett

sports car by tate mcrae

babydoll by dominic fike

#🤍⊹˚₊ cute and hughesy fic #jonathan kovacevic #johnathan kovacevic smut #johnathan kovacevic imagine #johnathan kovacevic #johnathan kovacevic fic #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #nhl x reader #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl smut #nhl fanfic #hockey x reader #new jersey devils imagine #new jersey devils smut

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crowsofdarkness · 2 days ago

Text

Vaz Prizrak: Chapter Four

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Agent! Reader.

Content Warnings: language, 18 + implied smut, angst, fluff, violence, mentions of losing a pregnancy, thoughts of taking one's life, an attempt to take one's life. I will give another warning when that chapter is posted.

Summary: Bucky and Reader have been in their own solace while in Wakanda for years. They were finally happy to create the life they wanted and deserved. That was until a new foe came along to dust it all away.

Authors Note: This takes place during Infinity War and Endgame! If you haven't yet, please read Soldat and Dorogaya beforehand.

Tags: @globetrotter28 @sakuracyberhex @chinggay85-blog @bookofriverr @misatxox @that-blonde-girl @cats-chaotic-mind @wintrsoldrluvr @sebastians-love @pumpkin-babydoll @ordelixx @starfly-nicole @j23r23 @baw1066 @capswife

Soldat Masterlist | Dorogaya Masterlist | Vaz Prizrak Masterlist

The sheets were cold, warmth fleeting a long time ago, and I cuddled the pillow closer to my chest as I tried to think it was something else.

Someone else.

Tears had stained the pillowcase multiple times and no matter how many times it was washed, the tears remained. The soft, quiet sobs that I tried to keep to myself, hoping I wouldn’t wake the others. But I knew that no matter how quiet I was, there was always one person there to help dry the tears.

The first few nights were the roughest, crying out his name in my dreams. Nightmares. I couldn’t sleep because I would always see his face, his ghost haunting me. I refused to leave the room because I didn’t want to see anyone. Nat had tried bringing me something to eat a couple of times but when she came back hours later to the untouched plate still in the same spot outside the door, she gave up.

We were all grieving, I knew that, but they didn’t know that I was grieving something extra. No one understood the pain I had gone through.

No one.

I knew that they were all busy looking for Thanos to undo the snap but they were all idiots. We barely made it out alive and now they want to go after him again? With less numbers? Half of the world had vanished in the snap, it was a ghost town out there.

Again, idiots.

Rolling over to the other side of the bed, my broken eyes glanced up to the adjacent bathroom in the room. The body stood in front of the mirror, contemplation clear on his face. He looked from the mirror to the object in his hand. His muscles tensed underneath his tank top as he leaned closer to the mirror, making his decision.

Once finished, he looked towards my reflection in the mirror. His sad eyes raked over my body, a sigh leaving his lips. He knew that trying to get me out of bed to eat something or even take a shower was a pointless argument. I only did things on my terms, when I wanted.

But with the broken state of myself in front of him, he knew that he couldn’t allow me to continue on like this.

The shower had turned on with a start causing my body to jump at the noise.

Silence was still tangled between us as he gently pulled me to my feet. I tried to fight against him but after weeks of fighting, I was tired.

“Steve,” I muttered.

“Don’t!” He demanded.

Without another word, he placed his hands on my shoulders and led me towards the bathroom. He motioned towards the shower with a quick nod.

“I’ll give you five minutes. When you’re finished, we’re going to the common room to eat something.”

Once alone, I reluctantly stripped out of my clothes, letting the warm water cascade down over my body. The warm water had instantly relaxed the ache in my muscles and I silently cursed myself for not trying this earlier.

Steve was the one who had helped me through the hell the last few weeks had become. I tried to sleep alone the first few nights but after the third night of screams for Bucky, Steve had brought me to his room. He refused to let me deal with this loss alone.

We were never intimate. We did share a bed but that was it. He wouldn’t allow whatever lingering feelings he had left for me get in the way of me trying to heal.

If it wasn’t for Steve, I would have put a bullet in my brain 21 days ago; the night Bucky disappeared.

“Y/N?”

I quickly wrapped a towel around myself and shut off the water, letting Steve know that he was good to come inside.

“Natasha bought you some more clothes,” Steve mentioned while setting another bag of clothes next to the other six bags.

The only clothes I had chosen to wear were Bucky’s shirts, hoping that the scent would be enough to make me think he was actually here.

It didn’t.

I nodded to Steve while sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes immediately connecting to the picture frame on the end table.

Bucky and I in Romania, all those years ago. My fingers played with the necklace he had bought for my birthday. I never took it off.

“I’ll let you get dressed.”

Steve went to walk away but stopped when I reached for his hand.

“You can stay. I’ll get dressed in the bathroom,” I stated.

He nodded and I could feel his eyes on my back as I hesitantly grabbed some clothes from the bags that Natasha had bought.

Once I had completely dressed, I mentioned to Steve that he could uncover his eyes. He had walked into the bathroom, leaning against the door frame to watch me.

I stood in front of the mirror, grimacing at my broken state. The circles under my eyes had darken and my hair was starting to dry in a knotted mess. Running a brush through it, I peaked at Steve through the mirror.

“Thank you.”

All he did was nod in response.

“Are you hungry?” He questioned.

I shook my head. “I don’t want to see anyone.”

“They’re worried about you, Y/N.” Steve said. “They haven’t seen you since we came back to the compound.”

“I know, Steve.” I sighed, turning myself to face him.

I leaned against the sink and crossed my arms over my chest. “I can’t look any of them in the eye. I understand that they’ve also lost people they loved but knowing what I lost.”

My words trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Steve knew, however, and pulled me into his embrace. “You don’t have to tell them.”

“It’s not fair, Steve.” I looked into his eyes, the bare skin of his face smelling like fresh aftershave. “The only piece I had left of Bucky disappeared along with him.”

He gently placed a hand over my stomach, ghosting over the place where mine and Bucky’s unborn baby used to grow. His lips parted to speak but closed when the tower began to shake, almost as if an earthquake was happening.

Before I could argue, Steve was pulling me along with him towards the main common hall of the Avengers Compound.

I watched as Tony lay in one of the hospital beds in the med bay of the compound, Pepper stuck to his side like glue.

He had been floating in space for the last twenty-three days but was saved by a new friend, Carol Danvers.

Or Captain Marvel as she called herself.

Tony said that he had fought Thanos on his home planet, before he showed up to Wakanda, ultimately losing in the end, just like we had.

“This is stupid,” I muttered to the remaining members of our team. “We went after him with double the army and we still lost!”

Steve sighed. “We have to try, Y/N.”

“To what, kill him?” I scoffed. “We tried that!”

“You didn’t have me last time.”

My eyes snapped over towards the new blood of the room.

“Do you even know where he is?” I asked Carol.

“I know some people who might,” she stated.

“Don’t bother, I know exactly where he is.”

The other new blood, a robot named Nebula, spoke this time. From the brief introductions, I gathered that she was the daughter of Thanos. If it wasn’t for Steve stopping me, she would have been burnt to ash the second those words came from her.

“So he’s retired to a planet?” Rhodey asked.

“He used the stones again,” Nat said, astonished.

I couldn’t believe that we were even discussing this and I couldn’t believe that I had ultimately agreed to it. Even if there was a slight chance that I would be able to bring Bucky back, along with everyone else that had vanished, I owed it to him to at least try. He wouldn’t want me to sit on my ass anymore; I needed to fight.

“Let’s go get this son of a bitch,” I cursed while leaving them all behind.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan #bucky barnes and reader #the winter soldier #marvel #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier smut #bucky barnes x agent!reader #james barnes smut #james barnes imagine #james bucky barnes #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #soldat bucky barnes #vaz prizrak bucky barnes

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softpascalito · 1 day ago

Text

I To Dig a Grave I Chapter 7 I

Summary: Twenty-one years after the outbreak, you come to Wyoming looking for something and end up in Jackson after a stranger saves your life.

But he doesn't stay a stranger.

Turns out Joel Miller is looking for something too. It feels like a fresh start. But when bad luck seems to follow you, Joel is the only one to turn to, forcing both of you to confront your feelings about your pasts- and each other.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 29k+ Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Smut, Explicit Content, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Chose not to use Archive Warnings, Tags to be added

AO3 LINK // Series Masterlist // Playlist // ko-fi

notes: everyone be safe this year ♡

this fic will deal with heavy topics. please note that it doesn't use archive warnings and tags will be added as we go in order to avoid spoilers. each chapter will have detailed warnings in the end notes on ao3.

Chapter 7 – The Ceremony Part 2

‘I feel that I want to be forgiven, that I want her to forgive me. But I do not know how to state my crime.��

— James Baldwin, Giovanni's Room

The church is filled with more people than you even thought lived in Jackson. The front row is occupied by Mrs Moss and a woman that keeps patting her back reassuringly. Next to her, you make out Cat among a few of Lane’s friends, two or three others that you know played important roles in her life. She got to Jackson years before you, having spent most of her teenage years with the community and, evidently, having left quite an impression. The two seats on the very right are yours and Joel’s. He is anxiously perched on his, his fingers tapping the wood below him as he keeps his focus on you.

The rows behind him are filled with more friends, acquaintances, the others that help out at the school. And behind them are children. Seemingly all the children of Jackson, the ones that have been told off a million times for talking in class or not doing their homework by both Lane and you, are sitting in their finest clothes, staying still and quiet, somber expressions on their small faces.

It hurts more than anything else could.

You finish taking stock of the audience by letting your gaze fly over the last rows—and those standing behind them, for the lack of space. You see Maria and Tommy, him sending a reassuring nod your way before you both turn your attention back towards the priest, who is finishing up his speech.

“The only thing we can do is keep the memory and spirit of Lane alive. We will now hear a few words from those who knew her best. And I ask you all to listen and remember her, not for how her story ended but for who she was before.”

A short nod from the priest towards you is followed by the walk up to the small podium that seems to last a very long time. You’re painfully aware of the eyes on you, eyes that have not seen you since you’ve been carried through the town in Joel’s arms a few days ago. This too, seems much further away than it actually is.

You place the neatly typed sheets of paper on the podium and take a deep breath.

***

Joel doesn’t leave your side the entire way to the graveyard. The wind has picked up again and the gray sky promises that more snow is on the way. You’re walking just behind the front of the procession made up of Mrs Moss and a few people around her. You would’ve been very content to stay a bit further behind—it makes you feel exposed to have so many pairs of eyes following your every move. How many of them believe you didn't know about this? How many will go home and whisper about Lane behind closed doors, saying that they saw it coming. How could anyone?

The grave is outlined, even if not dug. A small wooden cross has been erected where the headstone will be eventually. You can barely bring yourself to watch as the priest places the wreath in front of it. It’s beautifully crafted, decorated with a black ribbon in the front. For a second, you forget what it symbolizes and instead just stare at the flowers. You’ve never known you could find so many colors in the Wyoming winter. There is purple and yellow—and blue. Hydrangeas and bluebells, trailing all around the twigs that hold the wreath together.

The words of the priest bring you back to the reason you’re staring at the flowers and immediately, their beauty is lost on you.

There is no ritual, no petals or earth. With no grave, you can’t help but feel there is no way to say goodbye. The cross is just a piece of wood, carrying Lane’s name and the two dates that mark the span of her life.

It’s not a very long one.

Joel steers you through the crowd, people occasionally giving you a small, sad nod. You try not to look at them for more than a few seconds, tired of the look they all have. The same face, the sad somber eyes, the same pat on your shoulder. You’re glad when you reach the town hall, the tables decorated with the same flowers you’ve just seen placed on Lane’s grave. It kills whatever appetite you try to pretend to have.

There is cake, mostly homemade, a few women and men still shuffling around the tables, trying to find a place to squeeze in their baked goods. Just like in the church, it feels like the whole town is around and, slowly but surely, people grab food and drinks and settle down, their voices low and eyes cast downward.

A few of the younger people, including Cat, eventually come up to you, expressing their condolences and inviting you to sit with them. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Joel mutters into your ear for the third time and you give a small nod. “Yeah, I get along with them. I swear, it’s okay.” He only seems mildly satisfied with your response, lingering next to the table you’ve settled down at for another second.

“Just—” You lean over to him. “Don’t leave without me?”

“I’ll be around, just want a quick word with Tommy. You come and find me if you wanna leave early, okay?” He hums into your ear and you give a quick nod before watching him make his way through the crowd.

He’s a tad less touchy, with all these people around, and as you listen to the conversations around you and attempt to swallow the cake that feels much too dry in your mouth, you catch yourself longing for another cold night and a good excuse to curl up against his body and let his warmth soothe you, away from the prying eyes and the whispered conversations that seem to follow you around.

***

Joel's eyes are scanning the crowd when he finds a familiar face, one that makes his insides churn with guilt. He glances over his shoulder, checking if you still seem okay, before making his way over to a corner towards the front of the hall.

He sighs as he reaches the table tucked away there, leaning against the wall. “Hey, kiddo.”

“Hey,” Ellie replies quietly, her gaze wandering around the room behind them, her eyes never quite reaching Joel. Her gaze avoiding him the same way she does. He lets a few seconds pass, forcing himself to soak in the uncomfortable silence. Then, he clears his throat quietly.

“Look, I’m sorry I haven’t come by yet, it’s all been a bit—” He struggles to find the right word. It’s complicated because Lane is dead and he needs to get that into your head without ruining you, and during all that, he also needs to ignore the thoughts in the back of his own head that seem to get louder each time he feels your body pressed against his.

“A bit much,” Ellie finishes for him. She stares at her feet for a moment before looking up, this time directly at him. “It’s fine. It’s nice she has someone who looks out for her. If that’s what this is.”

Joel feels like he’s been punched in the gut. If that’s what this is?

He sucks in a breath, watching as Ellie sways back and forth, her eyes still on him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, if you look out for her, that’s nice. Unless that still includes lying, by your definition.” Her face shows that she knows it’s a low blow. Joel nods curtly, clenching his jaw for a moment. His glance wanders back to the table you’re sitting at and he half wishes there’d be something there, some sign of distress that would give him an excuse to walk away from this conversation. But there isn’t and he knows that he doesn’t deserve it either way.

“Ellie, this ain’t the time for that,” Joel mumbles, shaking his head a bit as he shifts his focus back onto her. “If you’ve got something to say about—”

“I’m moving in with Dina.”

If he’s been punched in the gut before, now Joel is certain his attacker has added a knife to the equation. It must be visible on his face because Ellie’s defiant gaze falters slightly and seems to soften a tiny bit as she watches him, no doubt waiting for the reaction to her news. For once, he looks absolutely dumbfounded, his mouth slightly open, waiting on a confirmation that he hasn’t just heard those words.

“I didn’t mean—” Ellie groans a little, moving her hands into the air. “Not right now. But we’ve been talking about it and I figured…” She gives a small shrug. “I figured you should know. Means you can have the shed and—”

“I don’t want the damn shed,” Joel blurts out. He doesn’t say that he just wants Ellie, and preferably you, close by. He gets that she wanted some privacy, more than the illusion of it in the form of a thin wall between their rooms, but having her in his backyard seemed like a good compromise. It allowed him to make sure she ate or to have breakfast at the kitchen table, the window facing the backyard and Ellie’s front door.

Joel lets out a small breath, slowly, as he nods to himself. Damage control. That’s the best he can do right now.

“The shed is yours, always. The house is already way too big for me ‘n myself,'' Joel mutters, fighting the urge to tell her that he should get some say in this, that this is a decision that they should make together. One he’d very much like to put off for a long, long time.

Joel doesn’t know how to let go because he’s never had the chance to. Everything he’s lost has been ripped away from him with violence and blood trailing behind it. Not once has he willingly given something up. So he doesn’t know how to.

He protects and holds them close until they die in his arms. And they always die.

The image of Sarah's body flashes before his eyes for a moment and Joel grabs the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white as he tries to push the thoughts away.

“Look, I think Dina is a good—you seem to like her,” Joel mumbles, glancing around to make sure they’re not being overheard. “You do … like her, right?”

Ellie makes a noise that almost sounds like a small laugh, but somehow, it only makes Joel feel even smaller. “Yeah, she’s not so bad.”

“Right,” he responds because he can’t think of what to say to that. He racks his brain for a reply that won’t immediately cause another row, something that feels impossible with Ellie these days. He distantly longs for their time before Jackson—when she hung on his every word, never quite did as he told her but stuck with him nonetheless. A tiny voice in the back of his head points out that maybe the town tucked away behind Wyoming's mountains doesn't hold such good luck after all.

Ellie’s gaze is back on the room behind Joel and she tilts her head slightly as she speaks. “You won't be completely by yourself in the house though, right? Not with her moving in.”

It's not that she doesn't like you. The few lessons of yours she attended were admittedly fairly interesting and more than once you'd brought Ellie a new book you'd stumbled upon while learning to navigate the library—usually something about space. But the one thing she's never quite understood is your relationship with Joel, why both of you have dinners and dance around each other and still never seem to get anywhere.

“She’s not moving in,” Joel clarifies, his voice straining slightly. “Look, if that’s what this is about—”

Ellie quickly shakes her head. “It's not. I mean—it's a factor. But it doesn’t… I don't care who lives with you, Joel.”

They both know her words are not entirely true, but Joel decides to let it slide, knowing that the only thing waiting for him here is another argument. “Okay, look. You don't know what she's going through. Lane’s death has been hard on her and none of us can imagine—”

“What it's like to see your best friend die?” Ellie interrupts. Her tone isn't loud enough to stand out among the noises of the crowd around them but it still carries that hint of disappointment. “Yeah, jeez, I really can't imagine.”

Fuck.

Joel shakes his head, his fingers tapping against the fabric of his pants more quickly. “Ellie, I didn't mean—” He sighs, his gaze wandering back to the crowded room.

It's at the same moment that Joel's eyes meet yours and you take in his features, a small frown appearing on your forehead at what you see.

He doesn’t know that he looks so incredibly tired.

***

His mind is still on the idea of being all alone in his house, of Ellie being so damn far away, when you finally leave the funeral feast, stepping out into the cold air.

“Was that Ellie with you earlier?” you ask politely.

Joel nods weakly, unable to open his mouth, unable to tell you about their conversation or about Ellie’s plans. It feels like the knife is still lodged in his stomach.

“It’s nice you two are speaking.” He’s lucky your attention is still on your own thoughts, enough to not notice the small flicker of something that dances over his face before he takes a deep breath and goes back to pretending that everything is okay. He has an idea that you feel very similar about the day. Pretending that it’s normal to be writing eulogies instead of finals.

“Your speech was lovely,” he says in a low voice, remembering how he had to pinch himself to stop the tears from gathering in his eyes.

“Thank you,” you mumble back, your gaze focused on your feet below as you leave the main street.

“I wanted to stop by the graveyard again,” you pipe up softly. “If that’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course. You wanna go now?” Joel asks carefully. The sky is still overcast, the snow piling up more and more. The town seems more bleak and cold than ever, even more so in direct comparison to the warmly lit town hall with the smell of good food and the constant hum of conversation all around.

The graveyard is empty.

The small cross and the footsteps in the snow are the only signs that someone was here. Or in Lane’s case, that someone isn’t.

As you turn the small corner that opens up to the meadow that holds around two dozen other graves, Joel carefully sneaks his arm around you, pulling you a bit closer into his side, silently vowing his support.

Your stomach drops as you get close enough to make out Lane’s name carved into the wood. Something seems to be clawing at your chest from the inside, violently attempting to find its way out of you and into existence.

A bit of snow has gathered on the cross and you reach out to wipe it off when your gaze falls onto something between the flowers below. Slowly, you bend down, trembling fingers pushing the snow to the side, only to be met with the most horrifying thing you could see placed on a grave.

It is a kid's drawing.

Two stick figures, one with blue hair, your names written underneath. A small rainbow hovers above Lane’s head, the colors just slightly off. You feel like you’re going to be sick.

You barely notice the sharp intake of breath behind you as Joel glances over your shoulder to see. His hand rubs small circles into your shoulder.

“I didn’t think they’d put them out here.”

Whatever has been inside your chest finally breaks free and with it a wave of anger like you have never known rolls over you. It settles inside every inch of you, wrapping itself around your skin, casting your body.

It moves faster than it has in days when you turn around and roughly shove Joel’s hand off you, taking a staggering step back into the untouched snow.

“You knew?”

Joel stares at you with a mix of pity and surprise. And you truly, fully hate him. For giving you that look, always giving you that look, since the first time you met. Like you’re something that’s broken, that he needs to fix.

He seems to fight to find the right words for a moment before nodding carefully, the hand that was on your back a moment ago slightly raised in a calming gesture. “They wanted to help the kids grieve. So they let them draw the pictures. Maria said—”

“I should’ve been there,” you press out, not yet willing the tears to fall that you can already feel bubbling up.

A flicker of something else flies over Joel’s face. A sternness you haven’t seen on it in a long time. “We didn’t think you were—”

“I don’t care what you think!” you roar, sending a flock of birds up in the trees flying into the sky. “I’m so tired of all of you treating me like a goddamn child!”

Joel’s face has fallen slightly and he swallows hard, raising his hand a little higher. “I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t care what you meant! None of you know what this is like so stop pretending that you understand! I never wanted this!”

“I know you didn’t,” Joel says quietly, his eyes alert and trained on you.

“You said it would all be better! You said it was so much easier and safer in Jackson, that everything would be better here! You were the one who made me stay!”

Joel just stands there, letting you yell and rage at him, and somehow, that makes it even worse. You want him to yell back, to fight you on this, to do anything but stare at you like you’re this sad thing he can’t leave. An animal that has been grazed by the bullet. Enough to hurt, not yet enough to bleed out.

“What else have you been keeping from me?!” You don’t think you even care. But now that you’ve started yelling you can’t seem to stop. Because you know that the anger is the only thing between you and the overwhelming wave of grief that will come crashing down on you the moment you allow yourself to breathe.

Joel almost looks like he wants to apologize but then his face changes and he shakes his head firmly. “I have not been keeping things from you. I’ve been protecting you.”

“I never asked for your protection!” you yell, moving a step forward to shove at his chest. It barely makes him stumble. Controlled, strong, as always. But something is simmering under his skin too. And you can practically see the moment it reaches his throat.

“Fine! The next time the kids draw pictures for you, I’ll just shove them right into your face!”

You both immediately know he’s crossed a line. Your lungs are burning, the cold air hurting your throat as your voice finally quiets down. “They drew pictures for me?”

Joel opens his mouth and closes it again, shaking his head and it suddenly becomes clear to you that he didn’t mean to say this, that you only know of yet another secret something because you’ve pushed him to a breaking point. He takes another breath, forcing his voice to be quiet when he speaks again.

“I put them below the stairs. I was gonna give them to you, I just thought it was a bit early to—”

You don’t hear the rest of his sentence, instead storming off towards the large metal gates of the graveyard. The white house on Rancher Street is not locked. The hallway seems oddly long as you hurry through it, your gaze fixed on the wooden stairs leading to your bedroom.

His bedroom, you correct yourself. You don't live here. And you surely won't after this.

The first two cupboards you open contain fresh linen that you carelessly shove out of the way. The third one holds a small plastic container that is filled to the brim with paper in a variety of colors.

There are pictures of the school, the classroom, Lane at the front. Lane surrounded by children. Lane next to someone that looks like you. Lane in the woods. There are a few poems and cards in between, each one neatly stacked in the container. There is a weathered postcard showing Flat Creek Lake.

You’re on the wooden floor of the hallway when Joel finally steps into the house. The box clutched to your chest, your body practically curled up around it.

He has been able to keep the tears at bay during your speech. He isn’t able to now. He doesn’t notice that he’s crying until the first tear slips down his cheek and he quickly uses his hand to wipe it away.

Your sobs are almost silent, your body shaking with the effort of keeping them that way.

Joel knows it’s his fault. Because despite all the arguments he’s been storing in the back of his head, he knows you’re right. He is the one who made you stay. He promised you an easier life in Jackson, watched as you trusted him and built your life here rather than anywhere else. And in return, you’d gotten two years of happiness and two pages of goodbye.

A whimper escapes your throat, weak and high-pitched, like the animal that has been grazed by the bullet is finally dying. You’re all trembling limbs and weak sobs as he carefully pries your fingers off the plastic container and sets it aside, making sure not to hide it. He’s done with that.

His back protests as he lifts you up with no support from you, no hands clutching on to him like they usually do, no arms wrapping around his torso. But you don’t fight him, which is all he thinks he can ask. He takes the stairs very slowly, careful not to trip before placing you down into his bed.

Your eyes are closed but he can’t tell whether the grief has worn you out too much or if you’re just trying to ignore that he’s there. He only lingers for a few moments, taking off your shoes and coat and spreading the thick winter blanket over you. Then, he quietly closes the bedroom door behind him and heads back downstairs, ignoring the fact that every part of his body is screaming at him to turn back, to find your trembling body below his sheets and wrap himself around you, hands sneaking over your skin.

Instead, he creates a makeshift bed for himself on the couch, kicks off his own boots and settles down, his eyes landing on his wrist. The hands sitting below the cracked glass of his watch are still, the exact way they have been for over twenty years.

He allows his mind to wander to his daughter for a few moments. Not the night of her death, not even the year. But to her first day of school, to their first Christmas, to his daughter Sarah rather than his dead daughter Sarah.

‘Remember her not for how her story ended but for who she was before.’

He doesn’t remember falling asleep.

notes: thank you for reading ♡

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